#Instead they let their minds numb out before logic can kick in and they just say anything goes

[mommyhorror]

i love that the last addition speaks for itself because it is truly one of the worst takes I’ve ever seen in every sentence of it- but I can’t get over this

“The people don’t always actually fit in the boxes, and that’s not the fault of the people (shoving them) - it’s the fault of the boxes”

not the fault of the people? These same people who are quite literally defending, upholding, even reinforcing those boxes aren’t at fault? how convenient to say the box exists but it’s made by “everyone” and it just “exists” and therefore IT is at fault… people are people and you’re making sure the boxes suffocate people and lead them to extreme decisions like major surgery or threatening suicide because you have convinced them that that decision = freedom from “the boxes” when it’s literally not freedom and also its only purpose is put yourself INTO A BOX😭😭😭

but now people are stuck in the boxes and instead of finding freedom in self acceptance, they’ve decided to do something irreversible to their bodies. And they can’t deal with that reality (of course) so they need to make sure it’s justified in others’ minds at every turn. They feel an intense need to convince people of a lie! It’s so sickening

How many minutes till I’m banned for this comment do you think

[radiosandrecordings]

Crossposting my @summer-in-the-archives-event fic here too. [AO3] [Accompanying beautiful art]

He’d never get used to the rolling fields of quiet.

Miles behind and miles to go, not that he could see any of it through the thick blanket of fog that clung to his ankles, and his wrists, and his eyes. Miles to go before I sleep…

It was hard to describe the rain that fell, because even ‘fell’ felt like too active a descriptor. It didn’t pour, it didn’t ‘beat down’, it didn’t pelt, because those all required a sense of agency that the landscape just felt too apathetic to muster. It simply existed, and just happened to be moving downwards by coincidence.

Jon wasn’t sure if he knew or Knew that it seeped into his clothes, coating his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the droplets landing, even pinpricks of touch creating too much of a sensation for this place. He briefly wondered that, if he still had need for his glasses, would the rain even make the effort to trickle down and cloud the lenses.

The last Lonely domain he’d passed through, he’d never seen the avatar that lorded over it. He didn’t have any real interest in finding out, not like the personal vendettas that lead him to seeking out Jude, or Jared. Because with Peter dead he wasn’t left with any Lonely avatars left to chase, save the vague notions of the Lukas extended family. He was simply going to keep his head down and keep trudging, hopefully emerging through the thick banks of mist before he lost his mind to the monotony. If there was ever something to make you miss muffled cries from beneath the earth…

“Why are you here?”

The sound was accusatory, and may as well have been a shotgun in the silence. The damped chill was nothing in comparison to the ice that shot up his spine. The voice had no clear origin, no figures even silhouetted in shadow against the overgrown grass, but it came in close, delivered on the gentle, numbing breeze. Despite this, though, never in a thousand domains could he forget the sound of it. Of course it was his. Of course. Of course. “Martin?”

“No! ”

The voice sounded… Angry. But hurt, like it flinched away from the word. Like something that had been left to sit in the dark too long, that recoiled back from a stinging source of light.

“... I’m going to assume no one has called you that in a long time.” He tried to keep his voice light, as much as the stifling atmosphere would allow it.

“No one is anything here. It’s easier that way. If you’re somebody, you can be hurt. If you have too much personality, too many little facets and cracks, things start to snag and catch on it, and it drags you down to where things ache. But if you’re nothing, then they don’t have anything to cling onto. You can just slip away unharmed.” The voice sounded like it was moving, curling around him and moving from ear to ear, forward and back as it droned on in that echoing monotone that Jon had hoped he would never hear again, and at the same time, had longed to.

“And what about the good things?”

“There isn’t anything good, not anymore. You saw to that.”

Jon snorted. “Low blow, but fair.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to summon the words.

He’d had time, after he left the Lonely, to consider his actions. Regret pooled like acid in his stomach at the memory, and somehow it hurt more than ending the world. He wouldn’t say it was more important. He knew whatever he felt, and moreso, knew that one human life, was not paramount to the suffering of every creature great and small, but it felt more tangible. When he walked through the hellscapes, they were dreamlike, hazy, information in such clarity but to an extreme where it still felt nonsensical to perceive it as reality. He knew the fundamental truths that surrounded him but it still felt hard to accept them even as he lived them.

Yet despite having lived without it for eight months prior, the space beside him that failed to solidify into Martin still stung with his absence. And Jon regretted it every not-day he spent walking the hellscape, both in knowing he doomed a good man to suffering, or worse, revelry, in this new world, and in the far more personal, and far more selfish, part of him that missed him so goddamn much.

“But- But Martin, I think I made a mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“Not- Not that. I mean, when we were in the Lonely. The- The first time. With Peter Lukas.” The silence droned on, and Jon took that as his cue to continue. “Do you remember what I said? That maybe you were safer here? And that’s… That’s why I let you stay. I didn’t push you to, to leave with me because I thought you wanted to be here, that you’d be safer here than you’d be with me. But I don’t think that was entirely true.”

“I am safe here.”

“Maybe so. It doesn’t mean it’s better though, does it. Martin, I saw those people, in the last Lonely domain. I know it’s different, they were victims and you’re… You’re an avatar, here, you’re feeding off of all of this, but I promise you they were not happy. They were so alone and it didn’t protect them, it just made it worse. Think about it, the logic of this world. There are threats out there of unimaginable horror, and yet they were still assigned here, it’s their worst nightmare. And you were assigned here too. You’re all suffering, just in different ways, but all calculated to be your personal worst.”

“The Martin Blackwood you thought you knew doesn’t exist anymore. He had to be filed down, too many breaks and tears in him that grew and grew, any time someone raised a harsh word. The best way for him to be protected, is for him to go away entirely. You cannot hurt something that doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you just said ‘I’.”

“What? ” That anger reemerged again, and as staunched as it was it was beautiful, a return to form amongst the dull monotone, reminiscent of the few times Jon had been privileged enough to witness a truly pissed off Martin Blackwood.

Jon found himself grinning. “You said ‘I am safe here’. Emphasis on the ‘I’. Ergo, you still have some form of identity left, and thus I would wager that the part of you left is Martin. Unless I’ve wandered across some other avatar of the Lonely who sounds like him, of course.”

“You’re always so fucking smug, you know that?”

The voice is coming from behind him. Actually, physically, presently behind him and Jon spins around so fast he’s almost dizzy.

And as much as it made his heart soar, and much as he was glad to finally, finally , see him again when he’d thought he never would, Martin looked… Bad.

His skin had darkened, mottled and blotchy with large swathes of a bruise-like blue or sickly green cropping up across his face and neck, or the parts of his forearms visible where his cable knit sleeves rolled back. It was like frostbite from the cold, or some disturbing onset of trench-foot from the damp, corpselike and unsettling. What was worse, though, were the parts that simply ceased. His hair didn’t even reach the tips, simply fading out into a grey static that merged with the mist, and it consumed his eyes whole, tear tracks streaking down his face in patterns of fuzzy, crackling grey that snapped and popped in the silence, far too reminiscent of a tape.

The sight made Jon’s heart clench like a fist, the combination of relief and horror, and in that moment he understood Jane Prentiss more completely than he ever had before. It would’ve felt like a rude comparison to consciously make, the person he cared for most equated to a pulped and writhing mass that churned out creatures that made your skin crawl before tearing into it. But he knew what she had seen in it, that call towards the thing that fascinated you, despite the turning it causes in your stomach.

Despite this, however, Jon steeled himself. This was rapidly becoming a battle, and he couldn’t afford the cost of emotions. He had to keep Martin, well… Martin. Draw out the emotion. In short, be a bit of a bastard. So instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked that about me?”

He could see Martin’s fists clench, the colour of his extremities dyed black from frostbite. The irritation was still clear as he started into “Fucking hell J-” but they both appeared taken aback as he dissolved into a choking, hacking cough.

It took everything in him for Jon to tamp down the need to surge forward, put a hand on his back and ask if he was okay. It was a strangely mundane thing; the man was made out of static and fog and despite seeming to have an on-and-off-again relationship with his corporeal form, this was the first recognisably human thing to adversely affect him. Why, though? What had Martin done to trigger- Oh. Oh .

“That- That priest from the statement… 0113005? Father Burroughs. He couldn’t say the name of god. Anything related to it, really. And you… You couldn’t say my…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Martin spat. “You’re not a god or thee god, whatever your new eye magic might imply. It’s just…” He let out a breath that turned into a grumble. While his eyes had always been cloudy, he was now refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

Regardless, it still drew a breathy laugh out of him. “No, I’m not that far gone into my own self importance yet. But… It’s about the connection, isn’t it?” Something in the conversation had changed, it’s tone or it’s flow, that felt contradicting. Tension coiling up to spring, or they’re barrelling towards a culmination, but at the same time, Jon felt like the wind had been kicked right out of him. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, settling among the grass and trying to ignore the unpleasant dampness under him. Hey, he could feel the damp again. That was something.

“That’s more flattering, actually, I would say… The Lonely, it thinks if you acknowledge me directly, that would loosen it’s hold on you.” Jon huffed out a breath. “You know I listened to all the tapes. What was it that Daisy said to you, when I was on the run? ‘People say you two are close’? Well, the Lonely appears to agree.” He took a minute before adding, “I would, as well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too… Too in my own head, before, to admit it. Too much of a coward to do it before that, even. But you need to know I love you. And I know that you… Cared for me, at least? Even if I stuck my head in the sand to ignore it. But the Lonely seems to think you do, still. So will you please come back to me? I know it’s not- I know it won’t be much better, travelling through the domains, but it’s all I can offer and it has to be better than this. I can’t promise anything kind will be waiting for us in London, but you’d be yourself again, and I can’t… Martin, I can’t lose you again. To leave here, again, without you, I’d be losing you. Please.”

“No.”

There wasn’t even a delay to his response, stating it in monotone the second Jon had finished speaking. It felt like ice, lancing through his heart.

“Martin. Martin, please -”

“I said no. I thought you would’ve learned by now; I’m not exactly amenable when you come crawling to me with half baked plans of escape. Because you don’t love me, you love the idea of me. You are quite literally the only free man left in the world and you’re lonely . So you’re looking for a familiar face. Kind Martin, caring Martin, always there with tea and taking your side in every argument. Defending you to Tim when you’d just as soon slag him off behind his back, or on tape. Pretty appealing when everyone else is trying to kill you. At least he treated you like a god before this even started.”

Each sentence felt like another dagger to the chest, and it took him a moment to compose himself, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Eventually, though, Jon spoke. “That’s not true, though. I- Martin I can’t apologise enough that that’s what it’s felt like, for you. But I need you to know, that isn’t true. A-At the start, maybe, I can’t deny I was stupid and spiteful, but you didn’t deserve any of it. And after that… I didn’t do a one-eighty and decide you were a doormat. I liked you because you were secretly enough of a prick as well. Any time you’d pull me out for lunch when I dragged my heels, or argued back when I said something shitty, that was… It felt like I was seeing the real you. The one you didn’t want to let people think of you as, but the one you were, because despite wanting to appear like the picture of innocence, you are a bitch, Martin Blackwood. And that’s my favourite thing about you. Maybe time is sweetening my memory, slightly, but I truly don’t believe there’s rose coloured glasses here. If we walk out of here, I’m not under any sort of illusion that it’ll be a honeymoon. We will doubtless find something to argue over, if not several, but I want that. I want you at my side to, to disagree and point out all my blind spots. We’re both stubborn bastards but I’m stupidly fallible, and I need you to keep me balanced. I don’t want a yes-man, I want you, Martin, and I’m asking for that knowing full well what it entails.”

When the words stopped flowing, he found himself gasping for breath, sobs building in his chest and threatening to spill over. But Martin was standing closer.

“That’s- I don’t- Fuck.” As Jon looked up, wiping at his own eyes, he could see fog starting to trickle from Martin’s mouth, coming in short bursts as his nostrils flared and chest rose and fell noticeably for the first time that Jon had seen since he stepped foot onto the moors. This caused a conflict of emotion in Jon, because while it seemed to be another step towards humanity, Martin letting the Lonely fall to the wayside in favour of reclaiming himself, it also looked far too close to a panic attack to be something worth celebrating.

“I don’t understand,” he finally settled on, voice cracking on the words. He slowly let himself sink to the ground opposite Jon, knees pulled up to his chest. “I left you. Time and again I left you. I left you to work with Lukas, and I left you when you tried to get me to run away, and I left you when I stayed on the beach.” His palms were pressed into his eyes, mist seeping from between his knuckles as he dragged them across his face, though Jon couldn’t be sure if he was attempting to wipe the fog away, or if he was stalling while he faltered, trying to summon the words. Both, maybe. Jon took the silence from him.

“You didn’t really choose that, though. You didn’t feel like you even had a choice. So Martin if… If you’re worried that I think badly of you for that, I don’t. Martin, I’ve done so many terrible things, so to- No, no, actually I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re a good person, compared with me. I think you’re a good person full stop. And I just want you to be able to see that. I know the Lonely is quite literally clouding your judgement right now but… Please, just, just make me a deal?”

Martin’s palms were resting on his chin now, cupping his cheeks and curving around his neck. He nodded once, wearily, for Jon to continue.

Jon drew in a breath “I think I’m in some sort of… Bubble. Like a miniature domain, when I’m travelling. I think, if you agree to come with me, even for a little bit, that might dissolve some of the Lonely’s more adverse effects. Make it easier to think, to, to be yourself without its influence. If that is what happens, and you want to return… I’ll bring you back. But please, just… Try? For me?”

Martin sighed, hands dropping from his face. “...Fine.”

“You- Really?”

“Yes. I… Look, J-” Martin bit back another coughing fit. “Look. I am… There is a lot of me right now that wants to leave. The fog is… It’s in my head, figuratively, probably even literally, but… I remember something Basira said. When she got back, from, from The Unknowing . Melanie wanted to know how she got out, when the other three… When you, and Daisy, and Tim, didn’t. She said she reasoned her way out. So I’m going to listen to reason for a minute, as much as it’s paining me.”

Despite those final words, Jon felt his face crack into a smile. “That’s… Yes, you’re right. Well that’s… That’s a very reasonable connection to make.”

And for the first time in a long time, Martin smiled.

“Uhm, so how does this work then?” He eventually said, hand coming up again to scratch the back of his neck in an old nervous habit Jon could not be more happy to see.

“Well”, Jon said, taking a moment to brush sodden grass from his trousers as he got to his feet, “I would say, based on the dream logic that everything here seems to run on here, it should be rather simple.” He held out a hand to tug Martin up after him.

Martin took it.

It was almost cliché, how the Lonely fell away from him. It only took a few seconds, all in all, for the bruising to fade, receding their colourful splotches until his skin lay clear again. His frostbitten fingers healing themselves, sewing broken skin back together and returning to a healthy colour. His face, too, was returning to its original pallor, the change creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and leaving rich brown in its wake. Dark eyes stared down at Jon from behind long lashes, blinking away the last of the fog. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Jon managed to choke out.

“Hi,” Martin said, and pulled him into his arms.

Jon just let himself be held in the pressure of the embrace for a moment, before bringing a hand up to card his fingers through Martin’s hair. While it had solidified into soft curls, the colour had stayed the same, bleaching it white under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if Martin had noticed or not, but that was a conversation for another time. They were both a little preoccupied for the moment.

“How do you feel?” Jon eventually said, words pressed into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Uhm. Strange?” Martin eventually settled on. “It’s… I can remember what my thought process was, what the Lonely was pushing me to believe, but it’s like… It’s like the camera panned out, and now I can see it all clearly, and it looks… It looks stupid. Thank you, Jon. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Jon whispered, “Of course.”

Another moment passed before Martin spoke up again. “...Did you mean what you said, though? Or was that… Was that just to try and get me to leave? I- I won’t be angry, if it was, that- that’s very clever, I just want to know.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Which part do you mean?”

Martin let out an agitated sigh. “You- You know which one I mean, Jon. The- The part where that you said that you…”

“That I love you?” Jon said, picking up where Martin trailed off.

Martin’s face flushed, and just the sight of colour spreading across it made Jon’s heart soar, let alone the implications of why . “Of course I did. I- I’m sorry that you would think I would lie about that, even for something like this. No, Martin, I love you. So very much. And I know you might not feel that way anymore, in which case I am very much embarrassing myself here, but I know that you did at one stage so I hope it won’t make things too awkward between us.” “I do, Jon.”

“What?”

“I do. Still feel that way. I love you too, of course I do. My hero.”

It was Jon’s turn to feel his face flush, pleasant warmth bubbling to the surface. “Oh,” was all he managed to stutter out.

“Can I- Jon do you mind if I…” Martin trailed off again, and Jon began to think this might be a recurring theme between them. He’d make it work. He was pretty good at reading Martin, and the eyeline pointed directly at his lips made intentions quite clear.

“Is- Would just the cheek be okay?” He replied. It didn’t really feel like the time for a full run down on where boundaries lay, but he figured it was a start.

“More than,” Martin said, leaning down to press his lips softly against Jon’s cheek. He lingered for a few seconds, skin largely healed but still chapped from the cold, and it was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever felt. He slipped one hand into Martin’s, and he felt their fingers twine together.

Martin leaned back, clearly trying to calm his grin into something more close-lipped and calm. “Where to now then?”

“Uhm. Forward, really, is just how I’ve been going. There isn’t any real sense of geography to it, we’ll just…. Get there when we get there.”

“Right. Because nothing can be simple these days.”

Jon missed this. He missed him. But he didn’t have to miss him anymore, did he? He was right there.

He squeezed his hand once, and started leading the way.

[weightlessrosewrites]

Heartbreak Headcanons

A/N: some headcanons for Dazai, Chuuya, and Kunikida reacting to finding you on their doorstep after being rejected/broken up with. No abilities. Gender neutral reader TW: alcohol mention for Chuuya, mentions of suicide for Dazai.  Masterlist 

---------

Kunikida Doppo

He.. didn’t really know what he was expecting when he found you on his doorstep late into the evening. Honestly, he thought Dazai had come to pester him.

So he took a little longer to get to the door. Upon opening his door, he immediately regretted not getting there sooner seeing your tear-streaked face. 

“ Sorry for arriving unannounced.. “ You hiccupped through a bitter smile. “ I.. didn’t know where else to go. “

Kunikida may not have been familiar with this type of situation, but you bet your ass he let you in and made you tea. 

“ Would you like to talk about it? “ He’d inquire while wrapping a blanket around your body. 

If yes, then he’d offer you advice and comfort, bring you tea and snacks. He’d try, and probably fail, to cheer you up, but it’s the thought that counts. After listening to what had happened, he also has a few choice words about it, and where the person who broke your heart could stick it. 

But if you wish to not talk about it, then he’ll simply enjoy some peace and quiet with you. Maybe tell you about his day, or just how pissed off he got with Dazai. 

Nevertheless, as long as you were smiling by the end of it, was all that mattered to him. 

He loves you, after all, and he’d do nearly anything for you. He’d offer you his spare bed and invite you to stay the night, and really? How could you say no to such a gentlemen?

If, for whatever reason that Kunikida comes across the person who hurt you, he will absolutely give them a piece of his mind, but he’d never resort to threatening. Regardless, that person will never look at you again.

Dazai Osamu

Dazai was most not expecting you on a rainy Thursday night. But the subtle knock at his door had him up and heading to the foyer of his little house. 

So imagine his surprise when he opened the door to find you crying, soaked from the rain, on his doorstep. His heart broke and immediately pulled you into a hug, taking a step back to close the front door. 

If you’re worried about getting him soaked too, don’t. Dazai will gladly be soaked with you just so he can try and make you feel better. He’d hug you tight and not let go. 

Wouldn’t make any jokes about committing with him; he knows he can’t joke about that when you’re in this state. Dazai wants you to live, if not for yourself, then for him. 

There’s no talking, you can’t talk. Your throat burns from trying not to cry but the words are just not there. He doesn’t mind though, he’ll murmur for you to take your time and hold you close, humming softly. You don’t recognize the tune, but it’s soothing. 

When you are ready to talk though, his front is just as wet as you are from the hug, not that he minds. 

“ sorry.. I got you wet too.. “ you mumble as you pull away. He shook his head, “ nonsense, you’re important to me. I’ll do literally anything for you. “

Is the most childish of the three, hands down. 

He’ll start cracking jokes to make you smile before he gets a set of clean clothes out for you, gently pushing you to take a shower and warm up, while he changes himself. 

Whether you shower or not doesn’t matter, because some how he’s already got snacks and blankets ready in the living room for a movie sleepover. You don’t question it. 

Once you’ve fallen asleep, he sends a series of threats to the person who hurt you. He’s up front about his past; Dazai has nothing to hide. And he makes sure the person knows it if they ever hurt you again. 

Nakahara Chuuya

Listen.. he’s got eyes and ears all over the place. He knew what was coming, he just.. wasn’t aware it would happen so fast. Chuuya didn’t have time to prepare. 

He didn’t expect you to show up at his flat at three in the morning. Your tears had since dried, and you just felt numb. You’d been dumped, and kicked out, and had no where to go. 

So.. the only logical idea was to go see the angry redhead. You thought for sure you’d be in for a lecture but.. when Chuuya opened the door, the confused look he had only fell. 

Seeing the state you were in hurt him. Wordless he reached forward and gently grabbed your wrist, tugging you into the darkened apartment. 

“ ..I don’t have anywhere to go.. “ you mumbled. Chuuya hesitated for a moment, turning to face you as he raised a brow. “ You mean to tell me he kicked you out of your own apartment? “ Oh. Oh. This, Chuuya thought, would be so much fun. 

You nodded slightly, staring at the pretty carpeted floor in shame. You could tell his was angry. Instead of yelling like you thought he would

Chuuya simply let out a heavy sigh, tugging you into a side hug. “ Bet you were expecting me to say ‘told you so’, or somethin’, hm? “ His voice was soft, and his hug was secure. 

“ ..yeah. I should have listened to you. “ You’d mumbled as he led you to the living room. He shrugged, “ it’s part of being human. We’re not perfect; we’re flawed. We don’t learn unless we make mistakes. “ 

In the end, you both ended up haphazardly laying together on the couch drinking his expensive wine.  

Out of all of them, Chuuya is the one who confronts the person who hurt you the morning after. While he threatens the person, he collects all your belongings and brings them back to his place. 

After, he helps you sort out everything with you landlord, and your ex is kicked out. Chuuya knows that, as long as you’re with him, that the dark side isn’t as scary as it feels. He’s not afraid to get blood on his hands for you. 

[tarithenurse]

In the eyes

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader Content: Feels. Angst. Loss. Love. Reference to killing (war and murder). Captivity. Sorrow. Hope. Anger. You name it, it’s there. A/N: I just want to say in my defence that this story isn’t my fault. Blame @maladaptive-ninja-returns​...it’s her birthday present (yes, I’m late)!

In the eyes

The steam is long gone together with your interest in the drink when you drain the cup of tea as the black-haired man gets up to leave. The cape hides what he’s missing – if only it was his leg instead – that way you wouldn’t have to keep the distance to the bare minimum, constantly risking him discovering that you’re following him. It doesn’t help to complain, though: he’s alive and mobile...and you have to watch your every move.

Volunteering for the assignment has probably been one of the more masochistic choices you’ve made, but you just couldn’t let the last Uchiha go yet.

For years, watching the kid grow older had kept a wound alive that no one knew about. It festered, saturating you with a sickening, rotten, sadness that never washed off but wasn’t detected by your peers. You should have let it heal. Should have moved on. But there had always been something keeping you from accepting what everyone else had decided must be true.

You weren’t the only one dealing with grief, of course. The life of a Leaf ninja was to say goodbye too soon and then to live with the numbing ache, renewed each time memories stirred.

Before the fourth war, the newfangled gossip of the dead returning was treated as ghost stories by most people until the climax of it all, when too many stood face to face with loved ones. Lost ones. And you were too weak to prevent the hope from being rekindled, so once peace was a reality and all the shinobis prepared to celebrate in the chaotic haze of the aftermath, you made a decision.

That is why, three seconds after the door closes behind Uchiha Sasuke, you get up...

...and sit right down again to avoid pressing against the sharp blade of the person suddenly appearing beside you.

The newcomer’s face is hidden partially under the wide-rimmed hat and the rest behind a dark and tattered cloak. Glancing down, a hand with purple-painted nails slips the kunai into the darkness of the cloak, leaving you with the knowledge that it’s there.

There’s no doubt in your mind that this is a shinobi. Where did you come from? Admittedly, there are others frequenting the little tea house because it’s a popular stop at a major crossroads...even if it mainly services those without national affiliations. None of the rest of the clientele reacts to the scene unfolding discreetly and you have no wish to catch their attention before you know what and who you’re dealing with.

“What do you want?”

It takes a second before you realize the question isn’t asked by you. Another one to recover from the smooth dusk that is the stranger’s voice. A voice with a hint of familiarity in the timbre which you decide must be your mind playing games.

“Nothing. I’m no enemy of yours,” you try to placate them, silently counting the seconds worth of head start separating you from Sasuke, “and I hold nothing of value...you should let me go.”

The tickle of a laugh surprises you. “If I’d wanted your possessions, they’d already be mine. I want answers, Konoha-girl.”

The headband you carry is hidden under your clothes, well out of sight from any prying eyes. Finally giving up on stalking your initial target, you turn your undivided attention to the person who has seated them-self before you.

The little skin you can see is pale, and a few black strands have escaped the slack ponytail and fallen in front of the face where only chin and jawline is visible. As if knowing your annoyance, the head is tipped slightly, allowing you to glimpse soft, gently smiling lips. Kissable. The thought jars you.

“I recommend you give up that wish.” No one should be able to hear the nervousness in your voice...but the stranger smirks. “My business is my own.”

“Not when it involves him,” they says, inclining the hat towards the door where Uchiha left.

You’re out to get him? You almost feel sorry for this fool who clearly doesn’t have a clue about the one-armed ninja’s identity.

“Don’t be mistaken,” the person smiles as if reading your thoughts, “I know who he is and what he’s capable of, after all...he’s my brother.”

Calmly meeting your gaze, the eyes meeting you flash red.

...

“Don’t look an Uchiha in the eyes”. It was the warning that was whispered into your ears as soon as you were big enough to run errands on your own. Naturally, you had to do it, and what met you was not as demonic as the warning stories had made you think – rather, they were kind, and wiser than the smooth face hinted at – although you never looked another Uchiha in the eyes just to be on the safe side.

It was impossible to discern the colour. Some days, they seemed leaden as if the rain clouds were gathered inside the boy too. A few times, in the morning when he watched where his fists struck the wood, the sparks from the cozy fire of the evening before still lingered in the warmest of black. What you loved the most, though, was when the gaze was locked onto infinity and they were soft like liquid.

...

Everything is different: the stuffy tea room with its noisy patrons has been replaced by somewhere deserted that seems to be carved out of grey stone.

How did I get here? Careful to move as little as possible, you take in the new surroundings only to find the place empty and with only one way in and out. A dull cold has already seeped into your feet as you stand there, lost as your bearings have nothing to latch on to – the only light is a torch in a wall sconce to your left.

Feet. They are bare, and a quick pat-down reveals that all of your weapons, your belt, and your headband have been stripped from you too. The sensation is uncanny, akin to nakedness. The logic behind it is obvious as it reduces the chances of a successful escape even if you were to make it out and establish a route.

On the other hand: you’re unharmed and unbound.

Turning, you have no doubt that the wooden door is locked but of course you go over to try, heart frozen near your throat when you push against it with your shoulder. Surprisingly, it does open and the screaming hinges sets the tiniest hairs on your body on end.

“Not wasting any time, Konoha-girl.”

You recognize the voice and the decorated nails on the hand that appears to pull open the door completely, and not just from the rest stop but from years of aching recollections that have been warped by watching Sasuke grow up with this man’s shadow lingering over his life. Over your life.

No. There’s no way. He died. Now your heart jackhammers a frenzied rhythm.

It’s a fool’s hope that powers the jab towards his neck. An idiot’s dream urging you to sprint past him. At least I tried, a bitter thought comments the moment both attempts are thwarted as a rib-crushing kick sends your tumbling backwards and you land sprawled in the middle of the room.

The ceiling is still spinning, it seems, when you sense the man’s presence loom over you. The fingers are cool (and surprisingly gentle) as the curl around the back of your skull, fingers digging into your hair to grant a tight grip to pull you closer by. Very close. A hand’s length separates the tips of your noses and you want to be oblivious to the way his mouth curves softly.

“You’re not leaving,” he whispers, “until I say so.”

Feeling and strength are beginning to return to your arms, including a sharp ache in your chest that grows with every shallow breath which you try to ignore. Should have restrained me, fool...and the thought dies there as everything shifts and the ground swallows your limbs.

“N-no...how...? No!”

He watches your struggles lazily before releasing his grip and sitting down next to you on the hard floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But you did. Wait...no! You haven’t...it wasn’t you...it can’t have been...

“You lie about your identity,” you scoff, regretting the outburst immediately as pain stabs coldly into your side, “so excuse me for not trusting you on this either.” There is a little smile there on his lips, full of sadness and regret that makes your insides cringe momentarily until you have the breath to explain to him (or yourself) why it can’t be true: “Uchiha Itachi has been killed!”

“Yes...and then I was brought back.” He’s impossibly calm as though he’s simply discussing the weather. “Twice.”

Double reanimated? As if! The war had been a horror to live through and would have been without people facing their deceased comrades and family members on the battlefield. However, once destroyed or sealed, none of the animated dead had walked again and all of them had been dealt with properly in the end.

Looking at the ninja, none of the signs of reanimation are prominent. On the other hand...even if they had been, you might not even notice it now that you meet the man’s gaze and the liquid infinity there.

“I could show you...but I’m afraid your mind can’t take the strain in your current state,” the so-called Itachi explains.

Mind, your aching heart still reels from fear of being broken once more, this is all in my mind.

Zoning out everything else, you focus on the flow of chakra within. Calming it, soothing it, until abruptly forcing the flow to revert. It feels as if your very soul drops for a second but the moment it returns to its place, the world is no longer made up of lies and imaginary sensations...and you’re still lying on the ground in a room made of stone, your ribs feeling as if they’re speared by frost. The only improvement is that at least your limbs are free.

And Itachi? Yes, you have to call him that because deep within you can’t deny it any longer.

The official reports hadn’t been released by the time you left Konoha and you’re not high enough up in the ranks as a shinobi to get the juicy information unless it’s necessary for a mission – and since your missions tend to be B or simpler A rank...well, I guess my current mission’s a bust but this is an important discovery!

A silky chuckle refocuses your attention. “Very good...I suppose I must strengthen my genjutsu against you.”

He’s so close, you could touch him. Shifting to lean against the wall, he rests his arms casually on the knees and begins to pick at the chapping nail polish.

“No need to,” you bite back a groan as you roll over to sit up, “I take it that’s how you got me here?” Pretty eyes are watching your every move as he nods in agreement. “Hm. It’ll probably be useless to ask where we are, so...why? Why show yourself now?”

Sitting cross legged, you find the pain lessens if you pull your clothes and arms tightly around your torso, restricting the depth of your breathing. Broken or bent ribs? Not that it really matters. First of all, he would be able to beat you in a fight anyways; secondly, even if you got out of here you wouldn’t know where “here” is; and third (but not least), you don’t really want to run from him.

Rather than answer, Itachi stands up and holds out his left hand for you. Puzzled, you take it. Soft fingers curl around yours and he pulls you to your feet, studying your movements and the twisting facial expressions.

He doesn’t let go.

Not when he guides you out the door and into a hallway shaped of the same kind of stone as the room was made of. Carved from.

Not when he slows down at the sound of the squeaky breathing the pace forces from you.

There doesn’t seem to be many rooms along the winding path. Here and there a door bars the way or you catch a glimpse of a dead-end that looks as though the excavation was abandoned or even disrupted by cave-ins.

You do your best to memorize the path, but frankly, your mind is getting fuzzy from pain and exhaustion. You have no sense of time, just hunger and tiredness weighing you down to indicate the loss of many hours.

“Just a bit longer, [Y/N],” Itachi soothes.

When did I tell him my name? You want to ask or at least protest, but it would be a choice between talking or getting to wherever he’s leading you...and you doubt he’ll let you pause.

A few dozen steps later and a short flight of stairs up, he ushers you through a door into a room that looks like a mix between a kitchen and work station. A fire is the only light and heat source (the smoke venting up through a chimney too narrow to be an escape route), casting a warm glow over the solid wooden table and chairs. Everything else is hewn from whatever mountain you’re inside.

“Sit,” your captor finally releases the grip and points at a chair near the fire and you obediently do as you’re told.

There are shelves and niches almost hidden in the dancing shadows at first holding with boxes, bundles, and various utensils. He knows where everything is, grabbing a few items before returning and laying it out in the light. Bandages. His movements are fluid and elegant, just like you remembered.

He motions towards your upper body, then turns to tend to the fire. “Strip.”

“That’s really not -”

“Some of your ribs are broken. Restraining them will minimize the pain.”

He’s right. Of course he is.

With clipped movements, you pull off the layers until you hesitate at the poor excuse of a bra. Despite the now roaring fire, the cold from the stone still seeps into your body and raises waves of goosebumps and tightens your nipples. It would be easier to apply the bandages correctly without the last bit of clothing in the way, but right now it feels like the only shield left at your disposal as Itachi turns back to you.

“We’ll work around that,” the man offers softly.

He works quietly at first. Hands winding the linen bandages around you adeptly, pausing each time the ministration intensifies the pain and causes the discomfort to escape as stubborn hisses. The purple nail polish is mesmerizing – simultaneously a contrast to the horrific stories of a killer and perfectly fitting the pretty, nearly feminine, traits you see. Especially the eyes. Sure, they’re filled with a bottomless sadness that you don’t feel comfortable acknowledging, but they’re beautiful. Haunting.

“You’re staring,” he hums without looking up.

Shit. “No. I just -...let’s say you’re who you claim to be,” you try to recover, “why’re you back?”

“To be his watcher.”

“Says who?”

This time, he stops and looks you dead in the eyes. “Otsutsuki Hagoromo, the Sage of Six Paths.” There are very few proper comebacks to that, so your captor continues without giving you a chance to think of something, “Otsutsuki told me about the bonds of families and that it can transcend blood. He knows hatred can cause – and has caused – too much harm...but something rekindled his hope that it can be overcome.“

I don’t have an eye on Uchiha constantly, but... “Does Sasuke know?” Returning to his work, Itachi avoids your gaze. “He doesn’t...”

“He’s finally found peace and is on the right path...I can’t risk undoing it.”

Bullshit! “Or you’re a coward who doesn’t have the guts to fa-” the rest is cut off as soft fingers tighten around your throat.

Blood-red eyes pierce your mind, numbing you for an eternity or a millisecond.

...

They were a means to reach the goal but their words still hurt as you followed meekly in their footsteps. Snobbery. Disdain. Considering how proud your two team members clearly felt, they had very little to show for their reputation as Uchihas and frankly, it was your skills rather than theirs that ensured successful missions and still, you never once looked them in their face. Instead, you kept an eye out for two other of the clan.

Where one was, so would the other be. Thick as thieves, the boys had found a companionship that complemented their differences in the same manner as the sun and the moon. But as opposed to your teammates who swooned at the brightness of the sun, you were drawn to the night and the calmness it brought whenever that boy was near – each time he met your eyes, time became meaningless.

...

The two of you sit in silence as the steam from the soup caresses your face. Your mind is blank, slowly starting to pick up on the absence of stone walls – wood has replaced the cold surfaces, making it almost unbearably warm with the bandages underneath your layers of clothes – and a plethora of questions begin to press against your conscious only to be held back as most of your thoughts get derailed whenever you look at the man before you.

Without the hat and cloak to conceal him, it’s impossible to ignore all the details you’ve nurtured in your memory for ages, such as the slight pull of his lips as he thinks or the elegance of his movements now that he gets up and refills his bowl from the pot hanging over the fire.

“Why are you following Sasuke?”

You should be diplomatic. “I could ask you the same.” You’re not.

“I already told you,” Itachi shrugs.

“Well I...I don’t believe you.”

But you do. There’s no denying anymore that this man is who he claims to be and so, why would he lie about his purpose? The sad smile. The quiet mannerisms. The idea that Itachi would somehow transcend death to watch over his little brother? That’s a mysterious intricacy that fits with your memories of him from before that night.

“You do...but something else is bothering you.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Am I not what you expected?”

No, you’re not. However, he’s what you remember with a layer of sorrow added on top. He doesn’t get to be sad. The little spark of anger is what you need. You nurse it, feed it until it flares up hot and bright and consumes your regrets and self-pity.

“Expected? I don’t know what I expected from someone like you!” Your voice is rising, shaking with years of frustration. “Clan killer. Murderer. I never told anyone but I was in love with an Uchiha! That night, I’d gone to bed, finally sure that I was gonna tell him but when I woke up...” Something inside you had broken that day and it still hurts now. “They told me how you’d left Sasuke alive...but the boy I loved was gone and no one knew I was mourning. Each time I saw him -” you can’t hold back a strangled sound and you realize, you’re crying -”I saw the ghost of...” The bowl of floating vegetables looks blurry until you blink angrily. “Ugh! But what does a teenager know of love, right? They’ll grow up. Get over it. Except I knew you were out there still and that you had all the answers. Why? The Itachi I remember wasn’t a mindless monster! I was told a story, but it doesn’t make any sense. If all the monster wanted was power then why spare Sasuke? Why did everyone else have to die?”

The inhalations are shallow and rapid, making you dizzy as you cling to the table and the spoon. It burns in your lungs and cheeks.

“I am sorry for the pain, I’ve caused you.”

Your gaze snaps to his face and you know he’s speaking the truth but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You don’t get to be sorry! I missed y-...the boy, I loved was gone and it took ages before I could let go and stop mourning, finally accepting the truth had died with you and now...now you’re here? And it’s all back and I don’t understand! How could you?” Itachi doesn’t flinch as you launch the bowl towards him – he doesn’t have to because your aim is off and it clatters to the floor in a shower of shards and wasted food after hitting the wall behind him. “How? The boy I loved was not a monster! He wouldn’t do what they s-”

The echoes of your wheezing shouts ring through the room after the abrupt stop. Holding your breath, you wait for the ground to swallow you whole or for the man at the other end of the table to react and the fear is colder than the burning in your chest.

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” Itachi eventually whispers, “they were just people who had been wronged and misguided until their arrogance made them blind.”

What? That’s not exactly what you had expected. Without explaining further, your captor gets up, handing you his bowl of food before beginning to clean the mess you’ve made.

“Don’t...I’ll get tha-” you begin.

He only has to look at you.

...

The dew had soaked your toes, cooling and soothing them after each kick that you landed on the wood stump. Pine. The new splinters refreshed the scent as they fell to the ground and you knew that birds would rummage through them in the hope of finding a morning snack once the training grounds were free of people again – they were already gathering at the edge of the clearing except for where Itachi stood.

The realization made you stop mid-kick, gaze locked with his and heart fluttering in your chest. How long had he stood there?

“They’re wrong.” You could barely believe he was talking to you. “Your teammates...don’t listen to what they say.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Itachi was gone and maybe it had all been your imagination running free.

...

Sitting up abruptly, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the low light of the dying embers. Where am I?

Salt and drying seaweed is heavy in the air, somehow worming its way into what appears to be yet another room of stone. No...it’s a cave. You’re sitting on a bedroll splayed out onto the sand filling the place and you have no memory of arriving.

The dark form on the other side of the fire pit makes no move as you slip a hand underneath your shirt to confirm what you already know: the bandages are gone and there’s only a muted tenderness as you prod at the ribs. How long has it been?

“You’re safe,” Itachi’s gentle voice assures, and you feel your pulse slow despite the ominous situation, “go back to sleep.”

Yes. Sleep...hang on! Shaking your head, you fight the urge to succumb to the fuzziness that weighs your thoughts. “Why’re you doing this?” you mumble.

It doesn’t make sense why the man wouldn’t simply get the answers he want and then dispose of you or at the very least leave you locked up somewhere while he keeps following Sasuke from the shadows. Instead, your captor has put an effort into keeping you comfortable. Feeding you.

“I remember you.” His eyes reflect the red coals as they burn into your soul all over again. “Memories don’t do your justice, though.”

...

There is no world beyond the walls of the garden but a red sheet of sky dotted with storm clouds. The sliding doors have been pushed aside, opening the hallway to the view, and you know the wood beneath your bare feet should be silky from decades of use. You can’t feel it. There are no scents either, no breeze to toy with the soft fabric of your yukata, nor insects clicking from the rhododendron.

“This isn’t real.”

“No,” Itachi confirms from behind you, “but here I can create what you need. Who you need.”

Turning at last, there’s no reason to shy away from meeting his gaze even if it matches the fake sky. He looks real – as opposed to the familiarity of the home of your childhood that surrounds the two of you – and the ghost of a smile kindly tries to hide the sadness.

“...need. For what?”

The black strands falling into his face are strangely dull in the nightmarish light. “Closure.”

“That’s not possible.”

Wanting to leave, to run away and avoid what Itachi intends, you find yourself rooted in place by an invisible force. Even turning your face away is impossible and you pray that he doesn’t understand the well of emotions he must be able to see in your eyes.

“This is a chance for you to say goodbye to the one I killed. The one you...love,” he pauses to scrutinize your expression and you try to remain neutral, “because you do. You still love him.”

“You have no right...” swallowing hard, you fight to keep the words back, “no right t-to claim to know what I need!” Finally, you manage to close your eyes but they snap open again at the touch of his fingertips on your forehead. “This isn’t something you get to fix like -”

...

The world has shifted again and you’re back in the ocean side cave. You can feel how uneven the sand is under your knees and shins even with the bedroll to soften the press and some some the grains have found their way in between your toes...but none of that matters because Itachi is still right before you, his fingers gently resting on your brow.

A pop-and-crackle from the fire pit is the only sound other than your shallow breathing. You know, he knows. Eyes widened in nigh-comedic understanding, it’s as if he sees you for the first time.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N].”

You barely manage to whisper, “for what?”

His fingertips send shivers along your spine as they trace a path, allowing him to cradle the back of your neck in his palm.

“Everything” Itachi’s lips brush your cheek, “for breaking your heart in so many ways and for making you think your love was unrequited.”

[mintmatcha]

10 Months

Matsukawa and Hanamaki

Part One

CW: mentions of death and illness, ANGST

Today’s just another day at work. Someone’s dead and someone else is talking about it. 

The worst part of the job, Mattsun decides, isn’t consoling the grieving or dealing with the aftermath of death: it’s listening to these shitty, repetitive speeches. There’s only so many times a man can hear about God’s plan and how much better someone is now that they’ve entered the great beyond before he goes numb. Sure, yes, logically, he understands this is all sad, but before all else?

 It’s boring.

Has he always been this bitter? Has he always been this good at choking down his feelings? Probably.

Mattsun looks away from the speaker at the front of the room, who's droning on about some shit while practically draped over the coffin. He does a precursory scan across the room, making sure everyone was properly teary eyed and mourning, before pulling out his phone. Maybe it’s unprofessional, but it doesn’t matter. No one’s looking at the funeral director during these things. If they were, it was something for them to discuss later during the reception.

'Did you see that employee?' 

'No, I was crying.'

'He was on his phone!'

'How horrible!'

Just before he can open Twitter, a glimpse of unforgettable, bright strawberry blonde hair catches his eye. For a moment, he ignores it off. He’s used to imagining things, used to his brain searching for hints of pink wherever he goes. He's used to turning his head to see it was a trick of the eye.

But this time the color doesn’t fade. Instead, it comes into focus, catching the light that pours through the stained glass windows, rainbows painted across pale skin. All at once, the presence becomes real, and Mattsun feels like he’s seen a ghost.

Not a literal one, but, fuck, he might as well be.

It’s been years since he’s seen Makki, longer since they actually talked, but there he was, standing at the back of the parlor with an obituary in hand. He loathes himself for the way excitement bubbles inside him and his heart gets caught in his throat… and then immediately drops as he processes why Makki would be here. He tries to remember the last name of the deceased, hoping the last name wouldn’t be familiar. Makki’s dad was never in good health, could it be-

No, he definitely would have recognized anyone else with the last name Hanamaki.

That’s when it hits him that Makki isn’t dressed for the funeral. In a sea of black, he’s wearing some raggedy sweatshirt with coffee split down the sleeve and a loose pair of jeans, ripped in all the wrong places. Frankly, he looks like shit, but he’s just leaning against the door frame, standing there like he belongs, with a tiny little grin on his face. 

Makki never looks over, too involved in the speech, but he’s aware of Mattsun’s presence. His torso is angled to face his old friend, chest broad and inviting. Mattsun hates that after all these years, he can still read his body language and understand what it means. It’s an invitation to come over.

Mattsun has to stop himself from going over there. Time has passed, he’s made his choices. He can’t just drop his work for an old friend.

No, not a friend. Stranger adjacent. 

He’s made his choices. 

He stays where he should be, in the corner, for what feels like hours, autopiloting through the rest of the service. By the time it’s all over, and the lights are dimmed, Makki’s already gone.

Mattsun hates that he knows exactly where to find him.

.

.

They find each other behind the parlor, wedged between the building and the dumpster. Makki’s sitting on the curb, legs folded up under him and pressed into his chest. That signature smile hasn’t faded, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He pats the empty space next to him, but Mattsun just shakes his head and stays standing. 

“Just like high school, huh?” Makki says, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pouch. He taps the bottom four times,  then shakes it, hard. Waking up the cancer, making sure it’s out of bed, he used to joke. 

“Except we aren’t hiding from teachers anymore.” Mattsun kicks at a crumpled soda can and watches it bounce across the asphalt. “And you’ve changed brands.”

“Now we’re hiding from your boss.” Makki pulls a stick out and waves it, “And Iwaizumi’s not here to bitch about it.”

“Dude,” Mattsun tries not to sigh, but it sneaks out. The casual act was unsettling; Makki was pretending that past 3 years never happened. “I’m happy to see you and all, but I’m working right now.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Makki pats his pockets frantically, then pulls out a small pink lighter. It's not the same pink as his hair, but it's close. He brushes it against his pants, back then forward, opening it and lighting it in one smooth motion. He holds out the cigarette, twirling it between his fingers, “Help me light this, why don’t you?”

Mattsun blanches, scoffing in annoyance at the thought. There's the flash of a memory, Hiro's fingers against his lips, holding the cigarettes for him as he breathes in, skinned knees brushing against each other, but he pushes it down.

 “Hanamaki, I-”

“I’ve been demoted to just Hanamaki, huh?” he places it between his teeth and sets it alight, sucking in until the end glows orange. He holds still, savoring the moment, then lets out his breath, smoke seeping out through his teeth. “So, it turns out that I need to plan a funeral.”

Mattsun lets his apathy break, just for a moment. He runs his hands through his hair, completely fucking up the slicked back style as he processes this.  “Fuck, dude, I’m sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be.” Makki shrugs, “Not the end of the world.”

Mattsun blinks, trying to shake off the initial shock. He just lets his work persona take over. “Well, we would be happy to help you plan. We can scheduling for next week in my office, if you want-”

“There’s no rush, don’t worry.” Makki leans back and faces the sun. Even though he’s sitting on the ground, no more than 5 feet from garbage, he seems so peaceful. 

“Who’s it for?” Mattsun asks the obvious question and Makki grins wider, like he’s been waiting for this moment. He waggles his fingers in the air, like he’s celebrating.

“Me.” Makki says. He rolls his head forward and that pleasant air about him fades. It strikes Mattsun that he’s lost weight since high school; his already sharp features are more sullen, sunken into his face. “I’m dying.”

How hadn’t he noticed earlier? He spent so much time looking at Hiro in high school, so much time studying his features…. How could he miss such a dramatic change? Even now, he can remember exactly how the curve his cheek felt under his thumb, how smooth his skin was. Mattsun doesn’t realize he’s sitting until loose gravel bites into the palms of his hands.

“Fuck, dude.” he can only look straight ahead, focusing on nothing, “Are--- are you sure?”

“As sure as medical science can get,” he has the audacity to laugh, “I got brain cancer.”

Brain cancer. Mattsun knows what that means in a vague sense and yet it means almost nothing to him. Questions bubble up in his mind, all of them swimming around, begging for any sort of information to make this all make sense. 

"How long?" He wanted to ask anything else, but that’s the only sentence he could form.

" 'bout 7 inches.” Makki pauses for affect, “Oh, you meant how long do I have left to live?" he's grinning wildly at his own joke, waiting for Mattsun to react. When he doesn't he just takes another drag of his cigarette, smile never fading. "I thought it was funny.”

"It was a little funny." Mattsun relents, gesturing for the butt. It's passed with brushing fingers, knuckle against knuckle. It's been years since he's smoked- since third year of high school- but each pull still burns all the same. "How long?"

"Well, two months ago they told me I had years," he says, like it's nothing, "But the doc did a rescan and it's way worse than they thought.” He taps his temple,  “Apparently, three lil fuckers in there."

"How long?" Mattsun can’t stop repeating himself.

"10 months." he wobbles his hand side to side, “Give or take.”

Mattsun takes another drag, harder this time. It’s unfair that he’s this upset about it, that this isn’t just another funeral to him.

“Whoa, don’t hog the whole thing!” Makki grabs for his cigarette, opening and closing his hand like a small child, “You’ll get cancer from these, you know? ”

Mattsun doesn’t laugh. He just watches the ember fall on to his slacks. They flare of a quick moment before dying, leaving  little discolored burns in their wake.

“Both of us can’t get cancer- it’d be like wearing the same dress to a party. So embarrassing.” he finally just snatches it out of Mattsun’s hand, “So, are you going to help me?”

“H-help you.” he repeats back. Nothing that’s happening right now feels real.

“With my funeral. Duh.”

“You want me to plan your service?” Mattsun asks.

“Well, us. Not just you. Duh.”

Duh. 

“Why?” Mattsun breaths and yet he feels like he’s suffocating, “Why me? After everything I did-”

“I don’t want my dad to worry about it.” Makki kisses his teeth and pulls himself into a ball,  “He almost had a heart attack trying to figure out my mom’s and I …. I just don’t want him to worry.” Makki breathes out through his nose- it’s how he dispels negativity in his life, just like how he did in high school. “Besides, if I plan it, it doesn’t have to be some fucking boring ass pity party. We can make it fun. A fun-eral.”

These all just seem like words. There’s meaning behind them, sure, but they don’t seem to mean anything when they’re strung together like this. Mattsun wonders if this is shock, or some weird form of it. He’s seen it before, in the eyes of family’s blindly choosing and planning. He always thought they dumb, not knowing how to react, not knowing if they should be sad or angry or …. Something. 

But he gets it now. The news doesn’t always sink in.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits after a long moment, “I don’t… I don’t think I’m processing this.”

Makki pushes off of the curb and stands, brushing off dust from his pants. “I get it. It’s a lot to hear.” he flashes a peace sign over his shoulder as he starts down the alley, “Think about it and get back to me.” A thin puff of smoke curls into the air, “My number’s the same as it always was.”

Mattsun sits there, hidden between the dumpster and his work, and tries to process as he watches Makki walk out of his life once again.

[lemonzestywrites]

sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

paring: buck x eddie

word count: 2,268

tw: panic attacks, implied claustrophobia 

[ao3 link]

_____

Buck has never been a fan of the dark. Especially as a child, the thought alone had brought along too many nightmares and memories of running to Maddie’s room to make her double-check for monsters under his bed. It doesn’t bother him as much anymore, but still, every now and again, on nights where his anxiety is all too present for his liking, the same twinge of uneasiness will find itself scratching away at his brain.

He hasn’t felt it in a while, but that itch has been sitting at the base of his subconscious since he’s clocked in for his shift, and now Buck can’t help but be on edge. He tries his best to ignore it and go on with his day, but the next 12 hours tick by with a foreboding weariness he can’t quite place.

The hospital only makes it worse. The plain white walls, the PA system going off every other minute, the frigid cold that sticks to his skin, he hates all of it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that wonders if it’s just the result of having been admitted so many times. It doesn’t feel like all too sure of reasoning, but he’d rather not linger on the thought too long. So instead, Buck settles for it and chalks it up to nerves, making a mental note to bring it up during his next session with Dr. Copeland. Until then, he should be fine.

Emphasis on should.

Because apparently, the universe gets a real kick out of watching Buck suffer since it wasn’t enough that the hospital’s power went out- no, the entire fucking city got hit with a widespread blackout. And if that wasn’t worrying enough, Eddie hasn’t been answering his radio, and Buck’s phone isn’t working either. He does his best to stay calm, really he does, but with every passing minute of radio silence, the sick coil of nerves knotted in his stomach only gets tighter and tighter.

After 10 minutes of no response, Bobby had given Buck the go-ahead to go look for Eddie, and that’s all he needed before he’s off, weaving through the halls of the hospital heading to where he’d seen him last. If it weren’t for whatever shred of self-control in him, Buck would probably be sprinting through the building by now.

Eddie’s been back to work for only about a couple weeks now. And he’s doing great (obviously, he wouldn’t have gotten cleared to go back if he wasn’t). Buck is happy for him- happy that his best friend is back. God knows the last couple of months had been rough without Eddie, he had spent the last couple of years carving out and filling a special place in the station especially reserved for him, and then all of a sudden, it had been vacant again.

Buck is excited that he’s working again, really he is. But now the energy between them feels…different, and he knows why- they both do. It’s not like Buck had expected them to come back completely fine either. But even months after the shooting, they still have yet to talk about any of it. A part of him feels like they should, but in the months he stayed over at Eddie’s, helping out however he could during his recovery, Buck could see the toll everything had taken on him, both physically and mentally. Eddie didn’t seem ready to unpack that with him yet, and Buck wasn’t going to push him.

It’s fine. He knows Eddie has been going back to therapy. They’ll talk whenever he’s ready.

Buck does his best to give Eddie his space, let him, you know, do his job, but the past weeks feel like he’s been doing nothing but living on the edge. Every time Eddie’s out of his sight for too long, he can hear a voice screaming at him, ‘Where is he? Is he okay? Find him. Protect him. Find him. You said you’d have his back. Your fault. Your fault. Your fa-’

Then Eddie will turn the corner, and Buck’s lungs will release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding on to. He hopes it’ll take the fear, too, that with every sigh won’t just be a release of pressure but help let go of the irrational worry he has. But it never does. It eats away at him, taunting him with the idea that Eddie might get hurt again, but this time Buck won’t be there to help him.

(God, they really should talk.)

He still doesn’t bring it up. Instead, Buck sets aside his apprehension and tries not to indulge in the panicked voice in his subconscious. He’s been getting better at it.

At least he was.

All it took was 15- no, 16 minutes now- of radio silence for Buck’s heart to start pounding against his chest in rapid succession. For the nervousness to shoot through his veins, thrumming all the way down to the tips of fingers as they twitch with a numbing unease. He treads through the halls keeping his head on a swivel, alert and attentive to trying to find his best friend in the sea of patients and doctors. Eddie’s probably somewhere in the hospital helping out the staff; he is a medic after all. Yet despite any amount of reasoning Buck tries to apply, the sickening feeling in his stomach doesn’t seem to dissipate. It’s been 16 minutes, and he hasn’t had any luck. He’s even circled the floor twice just to be sure, but still, nothing.

He’s considering doing another lap when he hears it- the distant noise of someone banging on metal coming from behind the elevator doors. The sound is so faint, paired with the loud frenzy of the rest of the hospital floor, that Buck almost doesn’t hear it.

He rushes to the doors, pressing his ear flushed against it. He can hear someone yelling, but the voice is too muffled to make out what they’re saying.

“Eddie?” He calls out, no doubt getting a couple odd looks from the passing medical staff, but he pays them no mind. He bangs on the doors a couple times before yelling again louder, “Eddie! It’s Buck- can you hear me?”

There’s a beat of silence before the pounding continues again, this time with much more force in response. Buck doesn’t waste any time before he digs his fingers between the doors, using everything he has to pry them apart. The muscles in his shoulders and arms strain, but the creaking of metal offers enough motive to keep him going. Even if it’s not Eddie, it still means someone’s trapped down there.

(A selfish part of him still hopes, though.)

Once the doors are opened wide enough for him, Buck drops to his stomach to peer down into the elevator currently caught between two floors. Even with the little light he does have, he sees a curled-up shadow crouched in the corner below him, “Eddie?”

The person shifts, “Buck?”

There’s nothing more Buck wants than to revel in the relief he feels when he finally hears Eddie’s voice, but it quickly scatters when he notices the trembling panic coated in his tone.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures with as much steadiness he can force out and just hopes that Eddie doesn’t hear the way his voice shakes out the words. “Are you okay?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I-I can’t breathe.”

Buck’s mind starts to spin, panicking on what to do now. The gap in between the doors isn’t that big, so it’s not like he can slip down there with Eddie or pull him out either. He has enough sensibility to grab at his radio to at least let Bobby aware of his status, “Cap, I found Eddie. He’s trapped in an elevator stuck between the 7th and 6th floors.”

A few seconds pass before he hears Bobby’s voice on the other end, “Okay, we’re working on getting the hospital’s backup generator working. Stay with him until we can get it back online, then we’ll head up to you.”

Eddie lets out a strangled noise at his words. The twinge of panic in Buck’s stomach only coils tighter when he realizes how Eddie’s breathing seems to pick up, now coming out in quick hallow shivers.

‘He’s having a panic attack.’ Buck realizes.

It takes less than a couple seconds after for Buck to murmur a hasty “copy that” into his radio before he readjusts his focus back to his friend.

He’s not unfamiliar with panic attacks, his or Eddie’s, most of which being the results of nightmares that seem to linger when dusk settles. During the last few months, Buck has lost count of the nights that either one of them has woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and in the midst of alarm and fear, craving a recognizable magnetism of being held. A silent want to be assured protection and comforted.

It’s sick now. How there’s nothing more Buck desires than to provide that same security now, but the small two-foot gap between the elevator doors draws out to what feels like miles of distance.

Even though he can’t crawl down there with him, Buck finds himself reaching into the elevator shaft as far as he can, “Eddie, can you grab onto my hand for me?” Listen- he knows what he’s doing isn’t entirely safe, sticking his arm into an elevator that hasn’t been secure yet. But the sound of Eddie’s breath coming out in nothing but shaky huffs is more than enough to make him forgo any logic.

From within the enclosure of the elevator, he feels Eddie grasp his hand with an iron grip, the distress trembling at his fingers.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here, alright?” Buck presses the conviction through his tone, his best attempt to override his own uncertainty. “Do you think you can try and take some deep breaths?”

Buck can faintly make out the silhouette of Eddie nodding, “Y-Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I can try.”

“We can do them together,” Buck offers. He takes a deep breath himself, and from below him, he hears Eddie take one too. Unconsciously, Buck starts to tighten his hold in tandem with their breathing, squeezing his hand on an inhale, loosening his grasp on the exhale. He hadn’t really realized he’s doing it until after a couple breaths, Eddie starts doing it too. And with each squeeze, his grasp slowly becomes more determined and less shaky. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually sync up for the tremor in Eddie’s hands to fade.

A couple more moments pass, and his breathing begins to steady more.

“How you doing down there, Eds?”

“Can you…”, he clears his throat, an attempt to hide how wrecked he sounds. “Can you talk to me?- About anything, it doesn’t matter.”

Buck rattles his brain for something, anything to talk about before he remembers the nature documentary he had watched several nights prior, “Did you know toucans are born blind?”

He hears Eddie laugh; it comes out breathless and nervous, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, “Really?”

“Yeah, ironically enough, they also aren’t great at flying either. They usually hop from one branch to another to get where they want to go.”

“Tell me more?” He asks, his voice quiet.

Buck smiles and keeps going, rambling about birds for a while. He doesn’t really know for how long, and at some point, he loses his awareness of what he’s saying, more focused on Eddie than anything else. Faintly, he wonders if his arm is getting tired by now.

“You know, Chris has been learning about biomes and ecosystems in school…he’d love to hear all this stuff.”

“You can tell him all about it after work.” He reassures.

Eddie’s hand twitches in his palm. “How much longer?” Buck can hear the dread creeping back into his tone.

“I…”

Not too long. He wants to promise, but the words get caught in his throat. There are a lot of things Buck can do- lying to Eddie isn’t one of them. “I-I don’t know.” He finally admits, the shame dripping down from him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Eddie laughs, yet this time there’s no shred of humor in his voice, “I’m not sure if I can last any longer down here, Buck.” God, he sounds on the verge of tears.

“What can I do?” Fuck, at this point, Buck would do anything. Hell, he’d pull the damn elevator up himself if he had to. Whatever it would take to get Eddie back on safe ground.

“Just-” A pained noise escapes him, “Please don’t leave.”

Buck swears his heart fucking shatters. “Hey.” Even though he can’t see exactly where Eddie is, he does his best to look him in the eye before he squeezes his hand, “I’m not leaving your side, okay?”

The first thing Buck’s fire instructor had said during his training at the academy was never make a promise you can’t keep. Buck knows how important promises are to people, especially in states of emergencies. In the middle of chaos, those two words are all anyone needs to cling to. So that’s why, when Eddie looks at him, with what little light there is provided catching the edges of his watery eyes laced in fear and worry, Buck doesn’t hesitate to grip his hand as tight as he can. To hold on and look at Eddie with all the conviction and certainty he has and tell him,

“I promise.”

[clairdelunelove]

Closer Than We Seem

kyoutani kentarou x f!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, comfort, romance, mutual pining 

warnings: cursing, implied past physical abuse, mentions of physical/verbal harassment 

synopsis: college!kyoutani demanded to know the source of the obnoxious arguing that kept him awake throughout the night. The thin walls barely filtered out the yelling and he had a 7:00 a.m. class in the morning. Venturing out to immediately put an end to it, kyou stumbles upon a person with a past that changes both their lives- and romance ensues. 

a.n: 5.0k words of some kyoutani content! enjoy!

He was sick of it.

Amber eyes, bloodshot around the edges, shifted to glance at the digital clock seated on the nightstand. The dark plastic is well worn as the illuminated screen is covered in cracks. Undoubtedly, the piece of technology was victim to his annoyed clobbering whenever the alarm went off.

Smothering a plush pillow over his ears, the blonde fervently attempts to block the commotion. His fingers press tightly against the only source of comfort that keeps his sanity at bay. A raised vein etched across his jawline as his teeth grind together and he forces out a grunt. 

2:25

“It’s been two damn hours.” 

Kyoutani’s gravelly voice is barely heard over the yelling in the next room. Disgruntled, he removes the pillow from his face and tosses it beside him with a roll of his eyes. The part-time college student is openly miffed by the lack of peaceful sleep he could be getting. He, quite honestly, didn’t appreciate showing up to morning classes with eye-bags as dark as the eyeliner that he meticulously lined his eyes with. Over the past four months, adequate rest is a miracle for him to discover each day. 

“And they’re still arguing,” Kyoutani rambles on while using the bottom of his hand to hammer the pillow onto the mattress, “who the fuck argues that long?” 

Scrunching his thin eyebrows, he tries to comprehend the mere logic behind quarrelling in the middle of the night, especially on a school night. By all means, Kyoutani isn’t a saint amongst sinners but in a couple hours the blond has a chemistry quiz, a subject he’s gloriously failing, and sleep was needed. 

Another frustrated shout rips through the popcorn textured walls which doesn’t muffle the noise due to the poor insulation covering. The voice is distinctly a male’s and it takes all of Kyoutani’s willpower not to roar back to assert his dominance. Instead, his fingertips rake through his cropped hair while letting out a grumble. 

His eyelids feel like weights are strapped to them, progressively drooping shut, as his vision becomes blurry. A rare silence drifts through his cramped dorm room. The place resembles a battle zone with clothes tossed to the bed, papers scattered over the desk, and empty protein bar wrappers cascaded on the floor. Yet, Kyoutani adored the small freedom he finally had at the university dorms. 

The silence lulls him to close his bloodshot eyes, a deep exhale flares out his pointed nose, and a relief floods through him. He might actually get some rest for once. 

“Get out!” 

At the obnoxious yell from the neighboring room, the blond is far too annoyed to logically comprehend his actions before his bruised knuckles are knocking at the wall. The numbness of rapping at the wall is barely registered over how livid Kyoutani is at the intrusion to his sleep. 

“Shut up!” 

He throws in the bellow for good measure and stops his onslaught of assault on the wall. It seems awkward scolding the wall and his hand slowly drops to his lap. His sharp eyes track the movement of his fingers, dimly noting that he needs to trim the cracked edges. Perhaps his unpolished fingertips are the reason for his missed spikes on the volleyball court lately. 

A solid thump resonates back to him, to which Kyoutani dumbly blinks at. Hairs at the back of his neck stand and he can literally feel the heat leave his ears as his blood boils. The college student’s temper has simmered down since high school but hearing the other person’s unperturbed knock ticked him off. It was almost like they were taunting him. 

“Oh that’s it,” he mumbles and kicks away the blanket that interlaced his figure. 

Stretching across the small room, his legs move on its own accord and he reaches to twist the knob of the door. Using the expanse of his muscular shoulder, he pushes the wooden structure open in hopes of confronting the rowdy student that resided next to his dorm room. 

Permanent frown plastered on his pale lips, the blond urges to dramatize the expression. He crosses his arms after knocking on the neighboring door and the action displays his athletic build as a result of years of sports. The irate appearance was perfected as a scare tactic that he used to his advantage in varying situations. Petrifying the student next door wasn’t excluded out of the list.

“Could you shut your mouth? You’re being too damn loud, man--”

Kyoutani allowed himself to commit a double take before hastily shutting his own mouth, only for it to part as a sharp inhale almost made him sputter. His onslaught of vulgarity, a script he’d previously rehearsed plenty of times, fell lost on his tongue as he eyes the female in front of him. 

You’re unfairly pretty. 

It pains him that the first thought that races within his mind is a compliment when your mascara is smudged at the edges. Your frizzy hair is at a disarray, strands sticking up even when it’s pulled into a ponytail. The hoodie that you’re wearing is far too large as the end hits above your midthigh and his thoughts short circuit when he drags his gaze upward to see that you’re already giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” your voice pitches higher at the sudden appearance of the male, “were we being too loud?” 

“N-no? I mean yes,” Kyoutani sputters the first words and finishes his reasoning with a pathetic remark, “chemistry.” 

Your face lights up, visibly amused with his lack of speech at the moment while understandingly nodding, “you have a chemistry test?” 

“Yeah.”

“And you need to get some sleep before it?”

“Yeah.”

His responses are pitiful- even he knew- but there was only so much he could verbally say when focusing on the way your lips curved up when smiling. Plus, perhaps he was delusional with the lack of sleep, but your curiosity seemed to dip to his lean physique.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes follow the blond’s movement of leaning against the doorframe, “we’ll try to keep it down so you can get some rest.” 

His brain disconnects with the small ounce of logic he carries when your sleeve sweeps across your nose to sniffle and he recognizes the dried tears that stain your face. Kyoutani isn't the best at handling emotions or being touchy-feely but he’s not ignorant.

“You good?” He asks while cautiously taking a step forward.

His defensive instincts, honed by years of avoiding other people, raise at the wary glint in your eyes. The blond’s inquisition is answered with a meek nod of your head and your nose scrunches to halt your sobs. Upon closer inspection, the sleeves on your hoodie is drenched in what he infers are tears.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground, neither welcoming him or pushing his intrusiveness away. He’s aware of the slight shake of your body and his golden eyes widen at how unnerved you were behaving. 

“My bad,” Kyoutani falters as his own doubts consume him, “I didn’t mean to make you cry-” 

“Who’s at the door, (Y/n)?”

The new voice, startling you with the sudden shout, comes from within the room. Distinctly, it’s the same tone that was hollering while Kyoutani was trying to sleep. The blond’s keen on how you were shifting your weight to each foot and the fidgeting only increased when footsteps resounded on the creaking floorboards. 

“Oh,” you squeak as your evasive gaze connects with his, “my dorm room neighbor.” 

Pulling your hands away from your face, a naive expression is plastered on when a male comes up behind you. The stranger is shorter and less lean than Kyoutani is. Yet, when the male captures your stare, you’re reeling back by fiddling with your fingers behind your back. 

The unpleasant male, brunet but his darker roots were peeking out, regards Kyoutani with a sniff, “can we help you?” 

Something about the male irked the blond and a frown tugs at his lips. He predicted that the guy was your boyfriend or had some type of connection with you. Being in university led to freedoms such as relationships. Although Kyoutani was a stranger to such involvement, he knew the attachment or void others were attempting to fill during these years.

“Yeah, you can,” the blond responds with a miffed scowl, “noise complaint.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence when the brunet eyes Kyoutani with an agitated glower. It’s painstakingly silent. He’s surely showcasing his superiority within the uneasy situation. Though, the volleyball player is grateful for his decision of wearing a tattered, sleeveless shirt because the other male loosened into an apprehensive gaze. 

“She wasn’t listening to me, so,” the other male jut a thumb towards you and shrugs his shoulders, “sorry, dude.”

Raising a sharp brow, Kyoutani’s expression is dubious when noting how the blame is placed on you when the other male was clearly the only one hollering beforehand. It clicks that the uneasy flickering within your eyes is due to the other male and disgust engulfs him. 

His fist clenches, displeasure rolling off of him in waves before speaking up, “I’m pretty sure I just heard your loudass screeching. Just keep it down.” 

The brunet clams up at the jest, forehead wrinkling just enough to cause worry that lines would permanently stay there. Kyoutani watches the way the other male’s jaw tightens before he’s storming off. The blond regards the other’s lack of positivity with a roll of his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath. 

A whisper, faint but lingering in the silent air, leaves your lips, “thanks.” 

“Nah,” his amber eyes flicker to yours, “don’t need to thank me. ‘Ts about time someone put him in his place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“I could,” Kyoutani pauses to toe at the floorboards and the cheap tile chips at the touch, “if you’d let me.” 

The words tumble out of his mouth before it can be filtered and the result has him reeling back. His cheeks are warm, probably matching with his reddened ears. The invitation is annoyingly corny and the staleness makes him want to hurl. 

“Sounds like a deal.” 

Your response has his attention locked onto you again and he’s internally thankful that he’s not the only one embarrassed by his impromptu. Thumbing at the sleeves of your sweater, a lopsided grin etches across your face and the blond freezes up. His mind is functioning as quickly as a bullet train but his expression only stares back at you with a stupidly blank look. 

Your giggle snaps him out of his stupor before putting him into a daze over how charming the noise sounds. An entertained peek casts over him as you tuck your hair away from your face.

“I guess I’ll see you around-”

“Kentarou,” he discloses with a respectful yet hurried bow of his head, “Kyoutani Kentarou.” 

“(Y/n)(L/n). Call me (Y/n),” you mention before begrudgingly edging the door closed, “and good luck on your chemistry test, Kentarou.”

The next day, it irritates him that he can only conjure up an image of your smile when he should be solving for Planck’s constant.

-

“Whatcha doing there?” 

Keys dangling in his grasp, he halts at the front of his dorm room door. It’s unwelcomely cold today and the brisk wind has his fingers alike to popsicles. The blond’s tried to fight off the chill with his customary varsity jacket and black beanie. Ideally he didn’t toss on the hat because he couldn’t bother with styling his hair- of course not. 

You’re situated on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest while balancing a notebook atop of your makeshift desk. The lined paper has quick notes jotted down, highlighted words, and doodled diagrams that Kyoutani is able to discreetly peer at. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at him when your study habits are exactly what he’d picture they would be. 

“Studying,” your eyes never leave your paper as you respond to him. 

Uncapping a pastel highlighter, you exaggerate the action by underlining a phrase written in your notebook and raising a brow at him. The incredulous look on your face only comes off as sarcastic as Kyoutani rolls his dark eyes at your mockery. A grin curls on your lips while raising your shoe to nudge the side of his boot. He’s recognized each one of quirks, including your friendly banter.

“No shit Sherlock,” the blond pulls his hand away from the door and tucks the keys into his pocket, “coulda sworn you were sleeping.”

Crouching on par with you, he extends a finger to poke at your cheek and indicates the dark bags underneath your eyes. It’s lighthearted payback for the attitude he received just a second ago yet there’s a concerned glint in his stare. The darkness that surrounds your eyes is apparent even with the dab of concealer you managed to slap on in the morning and an embarrassed hand covers half of your face. 

“Kyou!” 

The threat isn’t laced with malice but the jab at his shoulder sure proves that humiliation is a strong consequence of emotion. He lets out a groan while gingerly rubbing the ache that emits from the bundle of muscle you punched. 

Childishly sticking out your tongue at his dramatics, you declare, “that’s what you get.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He pauses and then recognizes that the position you’re in is one that seemed too familiar. Your gaze flutters back to the flimsy notebook, aware of how perceptive Kyoutani was when it involved the wellbeing of yours. 

Inviting the blond to warm up to you was certainly a gradual process but you did not regret it. Shy smiles transformed into late night talks over the phone. The two of you had a special yet uncharted compassion for each other that had bloomed over the last two months. 

“What,” the words taste like venom in his mouth and he desperately wants to spit it out, “he locked you out again?” 

You feign interest in your notes, physiology facts are sprawled onto the margins, while avoiding Kyoutani’s heated gaze. His hand balls into a fist, dull fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He knows that you won’t answer the seemingly obvious question even when you’re slumped on the floor in a feeble heap and it tugs at his heart.

Unfortunately, when Kyoutani faces displeasure he’s only adept to outwardly show his emotions. Ever since he was born, it was a rule to allow oneself to be impassioned about hobbies, beliefs, and avocations. The blond applied the rule to showcasing his appreciation to the people he deemed as special, as per usual. Except, he didn’t have the best grasp on handling his intense emotions. 

“He’s always treating you like shit,” the next part comes out like a scoff that rages within him, “and you’re always falling for it.” 

The weight of the words felt like a blow to your face, leaving a stinging sensation that resonated within you. The confrontation shook you to the core. Not once has the male ever blamed you for your boyfriend’s inconsideration. 

Kyoutani’s chapped lips form around the syllables of the offense and he automatically knows that he just messed up. Curses sling together within his mind as he pitifully watches your reaction. A silent wince morphs upon your delicate face. You’re recoiling away from him, shrinking yourself into the crevice of the wall. His fingertips reach for you, the action is subconscious, and the next words spill out of his mouth like an off brand remedy. 

“Listen, (Y/n), I didn’t mean it like that-” 

“No,” you speak up with newfound acrimony, “that’s exactly what you meant.” 

Lifting your head up, your narrowed eyes connect with Kyoutani’s wide ones. A part of you desperately wishes to become agitated with the blond. Envy grips a hold of you at the thought that he’s able to live his life freely without the burden of an overbearing significant other. By all means, he had all the attributes to attest your relationship- or lack thereof. 

Your furrowed expression mellows.

Yet, his comment awakens a self reflection that you’ve casted away to maintain some dignity. Your boyfriend’s attitude toward you equated to virtually nothing. Countless nights of arguing, getting locked out, and being pushed aside were bouts of normalcy to you. It was your responsibility to get the respect that you deserved. Cutting out toxicity, even if the future frightened you, was an initial step. 

The golden hue outlining Kyoutani’s eyes, intense in many cases, recast into a softened stare. He’s mindful of the gears shifting in your head and the tremble of your bottom lip settles it. Unknowingly, you just received a life changing message with his chiding. The doors of independence and freedom swing open. An exhale passes through your lips. 

Crouching closer to you, the blond compels your attention with a tilt of his head, “sorry.” 

The apology is gruff, likely the result of his avoidance toward wrongdoings, but the intent is clearly there. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gestures toward your fragile stance with a shifty gaze. Your cowering behavior scared him immensely. It wasn’t often someone else was willing to interact with his loner self. He can’t mess this up even when his pride is screaming at him to bicker.

“It’s not your fault,” you shake your head in reassurance, “I know that it’s mine.” 

Unintentionally, your demeanor frees open with his genuine apology and you can’t help but be soothed at the gentle prod in his scrutiny. He appreciates that you’re able to acknowledge his opposition because the male wasn’t planning on taking his comment back. The truth may hurt but it’ll ultimately improve your mentality in the long run. 

Perching on the heels of his feet, he repositions himself to improve comfort. His arms are draped over his knees and the jacket bunches at the ends due to his movement. The blond is close, alarmingly near your face, and an aromatic whiff of dry cedar invades your senses. 

“You’re just,” his confession smoothly slips out, “too good for him.”

The side of his face rests against his forearm while he awaits your response. He’s content when your eyes light up, gleaming in reverence, at his blunt compliment. Lips tugging upward, your lopsided grin is all he has to witness as he hops to his feet. His palm pats at the faded denim of his jeans before offering his free hand to you. 

“C’mon,” he easily pulls you to your feet in a quick motion, “you can hangout in my dorm room, I guess.” 

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’?” 

Kyoutani catches your teasing eye roll while organizing your school materials that are cluttered on the floor. He’s nimble, stacking your books into a pile and swinging your backpack over his wiry shoulder. 

“I mean, let’s go.” 

With the grace of a dancer, the blond balances the items while fetching his keys and unlocking the door. He nudges it open and steps aside to let you enter first. Certainly the male must’ve picked up the chivalrous acts in a sappy movie or television show because your heart thumps against your chest. It’s absurd in reality. A person helping another is ordinariness yet you feel like you’re flying when he looks at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” the gratitude is a whisper as you tug your sweater tighter to your body and eagerly slide past him.

“Don’t mention it.” 

The room is comfortably warm, easing away the shivers that racked throughout you while seated in the middle of the dorm hallway. Its surprisingly tidy, which also comes across as a shock to Kyoutani because the scrunch of his nose indicates that he’s accustomed to a messy room. However, upon closer inspection, you note that the blond is the one readily cleaning because he scoots aside a stray snack bag with his elbow. An embarrassed pout conforms to his face when he hears your amused giggle.

Gently placing your stuff on the desk, he notices your awkward stance in the middle of the room and gestures to either his bed or desk chair. You respectfully, minus the internal debate you had, settle on the chair and only then does Kyoutani move over to lounge on his bed. It’s eerily silent despite how comfortable you both are with each other. 

Indefinitely, he flops onto the mattress, much like a child would, and folds his hands behind his head to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. A couple months beforehand he would’ve despised being locked up in his dorm room without having anything to do. Now, however, his nerves were bouncing off the walls.

Peering over to your rigid position, he takes your fiddling fingers and shy demeanor with scrutiny. Not once in his life did he think he’d actually invite a person into his sacred place. Yet, when his gaze locks with yours and you return a coy smile- he’s praying that this won’t be the last time.

“So, I only let you in because I don’t get this chemistry problem-”

“Kyou!”

-

Treading backward, a sense of urgency rushes through you as you narrowly avoid the aggressive hands. It’s bewildering that he’s willing to physically confront you in public. The dorm hallway was bound to have university students frequent the place and prying eyes were not on your current wishlist. 

“What are you doing? I told you that we’re over!” 

The incredulous question goes over his head as he refuses to outrightly answer or perhaps he just didn’t wish to. Before this incident, you attempted to just force in a power nap before your next class that was situated across campus. Your ex boyfriend, however, had other plans as he lingered by your dorm room while you were unaware of the unwanted surprise. 

The unruly male is clearly tipsy and his wandering hands are not in your favor as he lunges for you once more. Thankfully, you sidestep away while your shoulder bumps against the wooden frame of a door. Your blood turns to ice.

“Come here and give me a kiss, babe,” your ex boyfriend garbles. 

The stench of alcohol overwhelms your sobriety and a part of you yearns for the familiar scent of dry cedar musk. You longed for the latter of the aromas to engulf you in a reassuring embrace but grabby hands motioned for you again. A slight tug at your cardigan fuels the hatred that ignites within you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, inwardly loathing how you managed to date such a pathetic excuse of a person. 

Your hands defensively jab at your ex boyfriend’s chest, “get away from me!” 

“Bitch!”

The sudden force propels him backward, giving you an inch of breathing room, before he’s barreling towards you again. His furrowed brows and snarl illustrate that you’ve unlocked danger. Sweat trickled down your temples, gathering at your hairline and your tongue sweeps across your chapped lips. The thrashing of your heart is the only sensation you’re aware of at the moment. Eyes fixated on his response, you don’t dare to blink. Your ex boyfriend raises a hand, a sign you’ve been introduced to before, and you instinctively flinch at the action.

A lean figure abruptly steps in front of you to provide protection from the physical onslaught. Dry cedar breaches your uneven inhales but you’re holding onto that scent like it was a lifeline. He was your salvation. 

Landing a hit on Kyoutani’s sturdy chest, your ex boyfriend promptly pulls away with a confused glance, “get outta the way, man-” 

“Didn’t you hear her,” the blond barks out and shoves him, “get the fuck away.” 

Waves of animosity radiate off of Kyoutani, a scene that you’ve never witnessed in your encounters with him. He’s absolutely livid. His teeth gnash together while his hands are clenched at his sides. The veins on his brow protrude as a result of his creased forehead. Kyoutani’s damp in perspiration from his hurried movement, a deduction you’ve assumed. 

The male is clad in exercise attire, probably coming back from a run, and his dri fit shirt conforms to his physique. His pullover and snug joggers were clear indicators that Kyoutani was in excellent physical shape, causing a wary stare from your ex boyfriend. 

If the muscles rippling off of Kyoutani’s body isn’t a fright factor then his black, rimmed eyes are intimidatingly adequate. Yet, your ex boyfriend has intelligence compared to a newborn so he still lurches forward to attack Kyoutani. The blond dodges, grasps your ex boyfriend’s wrist, and twists it behind the other’s back. His defensive response is swift- almost alarmingly so that you wonder if Kyoutani ever brawled before. 

“Seriously, cut the shit,” the blond warns, “leave (Y/n) alone.”

When your ex boyfriend utters a curse embedded within your name, the blond pulls the seized wrist tighter and a sickening crack echoes. Your hand flies up to your lips. Yowling in pain, your ex boyfriend’s mouth instinctively shuts to avoid further punishment. 

“‘Ts alright,” Kyoutani rolls his eyes at the other’s dramatic behavior, “I didn’t break it. Yet.” 

Your ex boyfriend’s eyes widen, irises dilated at the gruesome image conjured up in his mind, and pitifully begs, “I-I’ll leave you alone! Please. I’ll do anything! Jesus Christ, (Y/n), who is this guy?” 

Turning his cheek, your ex-boyfriend gets a glimpse of Kyoutani’s face and the recognition dawns on him. He’s seen the aggressive blond before. Months ago, when your ex boyfriend was hollering at your lack of intimacy and the other’s lined eyes glared at him to surrender. One side of the blond’s lips raise, a snarky smirk directed towards the other male. Triumphant reigns within Kyoutani. 

“Her new boyfriend.” 

Raising a freshly cut eyebrow, Kyoutani incites a victorious expression as your ex boyfriend’s eyes are downcast at the message. The blond sneers. A sense of satisfaction, you suppose that’s the rare emotion, floods within you at your offender’s misfortune. You toss Kyoutani a grateful smile and he’s left faltering. He blinks- once, twice, three times- before regaining his intimidating demeanor.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Kyoutani shoves the other male forward when acknowledging the lack of resistance, “or I swear I’ll invert your ribcage.” 

Your ex boyfriend doesn’t need to be reminded, sprinting off with his tail tucked between his legs and stumbling on his uncoordinated strides. You and Kyoutani regard the pathetic male with a deplorable frown. Then, the blond is tugging you close while burying his face into the crook of your neck. You don’t mind the sweat that gathers onto him and instead delve into comfort. A giggle resounds to reach him and he lets in a shaky inhale. He was indebted to the pure luck of running back to you. The thought of you getting injured or reliving the trauma you’ve initially faced was heartbreaking. 

“Kyou,” your nickname to him was like a secret prayer you voiced, “I love you.”

He’s steadfast, a physique of strength and warmth, giving you a perfect invitation to cling onto. Respect, loyalty, and adoration were qualities that you didn’t have to force out of him. Violence, in any form, were taboos that he never crossed. The blond is undoubtedly the beginning of your journey towards self-love. 

“I love you too.” 

The genuine moment lingers on when your teasing nature resumes upon hearing Kyoutani’s forthright confession. Your hand comes up to trace his jawline, collecting perspiration that hasn’t dried up quite yet. He’s still cradling you, fingers protectively pressed against your waist. The sentiment is seldom, yet welcomed, and Kyoutani’s drawing you closer. He’s earnest. Scrunching up your nose, you jokingly flick at his forehead and he’s grumbling at your childishness. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gone out running,” you motion toward his frazzled state. 

“Phone died.” 

He fishes out his phone from his back pocket. Sure enough, your reflection is illuminated on the dark screen and you nod in acknowledgement. Your head dips to lay on the junction of Kyoutani’s chest. Allowing yourself to get swept up in his embrace is habitual, the addiction smothering an unmistakable itch inside you. 

He’s silent before remarking, “I got us takeout though.” 

Golden eyes don’t miss your gleaming ones and you’re beaming at the mention of food. Raising your head, the narrow stare he’s given causes him to motion to the forgotten bag that’s placed on the floor. Boxed cuisine was cast aside when Kyoutani saw the trouble you were caught up in. 

“What’d you get?” 

“Pizza,” he pauses, “and mozzarella sticks since you liked that stuff.” 

“You’re the best.”

Lifting on your tiptoes, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek and you emit a carefree giggle. His ears burn crimson yet the presumptuous grin on his face brings butterflies in your stomach. Fingers pressing into the sides of your cheeks, he responds with a chaste, insistent kiss on your lips and hums in covert satisfaction. 

It’s dizzying. Your mind is flooded with images of Kyoutani- his appeal in usual clothing, each line of muscle on his physique, and the carnal desire that swirls in his gaze when he pulls away. Your knees are putty as you’re rooted to your spot. The observant fixation is all you need to recognize when he’s aware of his effect on you and he raises a smug brow. 

“Your room or mine?” 

His question is in the form of a drawl, mostly uttered to raise impatience, but it only adds to the adoration you have for him. Your rooms are, quite literally, twenty feet apart. 

Taking a step forward, the blond grasps the large takeout bag while slipping your hand into his free one. His thumb drags across your skin and you’re shivering at his tenderness. Kyoutani proudly rakes his gaze over you, openly compliant and completely in love, before slowly chuckling. 

“Not that it matters, I guess.”

[darthkruge]

Hi! I've seen that in your recent post you've been trying to make characters more gender neutral which I think is awesome! I'm gonna try and make my request gender neutral as well! I was wondering if you could do a criminal minds imagine (I'll let you choose the character that you wanna write it for cus I love Morgan, Hotch, and Reid equally) where the reader was taken by the unsub but they found her right before the unsub tried to (tw) k!ll the reader. If possible can the end be kinda fluffy♡

Spencer Reid x Reader ~ Maybe

Summary: The classic kidnapping fic where the reader is taken by the unsub and Spencer finds them. Fluffy, comfort-filled ending <3

Warnings: Angst, language, violence, blood, guns, knives, torture, near-death experience, kidnapping in general, (happy ending I promise)

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Hey!! I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me for taking so long to get to this!! And thank you for making your request gender neutral, too! That’s so thoughtful and sweet! And I decided to go with Spencer, although I also love them all. And yes the end will definitely be fluffy, as the angst with a happy/fluffy ending is basically my brand at this part. Thank you for requesting and, again, I’m so sorry for making you wait, I hope you like this!

You woke up and could only register pain. Well, pain and cold. Mind numbing, cuts to your bones, pierces your brain, cold. You tried to look around and get a sense of your surroundings but it was so dark; you could barely make out the shadows in the room, let alone any defining details.  

Judging by the old, dirty smell, you guessed you were in a barn or shed somewhere. You had no idea where; the asshole must have knocked you out. You’d been working the case for weeks. The team thought they found some DNA and were tailing the guy, but it didn’t pan out and, since then, the trail had basically been cold. But then you finally figured out what number to trace, cracked his encoded router, and got a license plate and ID. George Craig. On your way to tell the team, he had messed with your car and was able to jump you. Fuck, you hated him. 

Even so, you refused to give up. You had faith in your team and, most of all, you had faith in Spencer. Your brilliant, gorgeous boyfriend. You loved him more than anything and there was no one in the world you’d want on the case more than him. You knew the team was already looking for you, as it was only 10am when he got you and it was probably at least 7pm now, judging by the temperature and darkness. 

You tried to move your arms but your shoulders screamed in protest. You felt the chains around your legs and the handcuffs binding you to a pole above you. Judging from the pain, your shoulder was almost definitely dislocated. You were sitting at an awkward angle and could already feel your joints tightening. The frigid air definitely wasn’t helping, making your muscles contract and body stiff. 

“Hello, Agent L/N”

Your entire body stilled at that moment, sheer panic running through your veins. Stay calm, Y/N, stay calm. You tried to will air into your lungs, forcing deep breaths even though the terror was screaming at you to close up. You knew this man fed on fear and, thus, your best chance of survival was to pretend you were unphased. Even so, the logic felt severely discomforting with him standing above you, knife and gun in hand. 

“George. What the fuck do you want from me?” Your voice was venomous, the pure hate for him clearly pictured on your face. You decided that if an emotion was going to show, you preferred hate to fear. 

“My, my, my, look at you! I thought you were supposed to be smart. Or is that trait left for your boyfriend. Agent Reid, was it?”

Your blood ran cold. “Leave him out of this.”

“Ohhh, looks like I’ve hit a nerve, haven’t I?” The man had a horrifying smirk on his face, clearly enjoying your struggle. 

You glared at him. “You never answered my question”

“Oh, yes!” George chuckled, “What the fuck do you want from me?” He said, mimicking your voice mockingly. “To kill you, of course. To take you away from Spencer, from the team. To make them feel the pain of losing someone, just like I lost-” 

He trailed off and you saw his eyes burn with anger. And under that anger, you knew there was pain. Even so, you couldn’t feel bad for this man, regardless of who he’d lost. You knew that at the slightest hint of your empathy, he’d take advantage of it and kill you on the spot. 

“You know what? Death would be too easy for you. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to put you out of your misery. Then, and only then, will I shoot you. I will watch the blood run out of the bullet hole and smile, knowing the pain I caused you and your precious team.”

You wanted to cry, the fear pulling at you. Once again, you pushed it down and channeled your rage. Rage because you were in this situation. Rage because this man had ended so many lives. Rage because you were powerless right now. Rage because holy fuck your shoulder hurt. Gathering the fury, you spat at him. 

George’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he brought his leg up and slammed it into your chest. You heaved, the wind knocked out of you. Before you could grasp the air you so desperately needed, George kicked you again. And again. And again. You could feel the bruises forming, your ribs throbbing painfully.

He pulled his fist up and pummeled it into your cheek. Your left cheekbone busted open on impact and your lip split as he backhanded the other side of your face. He slammed the butt of his gun into your temple and your vision swayed, body crumpling as far in on itself as it could, given the restraints. 

He kicked at your legs repeatedly, both of them twisting at painful angles. You felt yourself start to black out, the pain unbearable. Every inch of your skin was ablaze, every muscle felt like it had been sledgehammered. Your bones ached, your body numb from his onslaught, the freezing cold, and the restrictive bonds you’d been in for hours. 

Finally, he took a moment to stop. He looked at you, at your barely conscious and recognizable state. You were beaten to a pulp, your face and body bloodied and broken. You could feel yourself wanting to give in but forced yourself to stay. For yourself, for Spencer, for the team. For that future you always talked about with him. For the house you were saving for, for the dogs and cats and animals you might one day get. For the family you might decide to have. For the idea of peace, you fought. 

George picked up the gun and pointed it at your head. A shot rang free and you braced yourself, a single tear running down your cheek as you realized you would never see your love again. Your ears rang and you felt like time had slowed. You knew the bullet would hit you. Until-

“Y/N, Y/N!” Your name was being called, the gentle yet panicked voice cutting through the ringing in your head. You tentatively opened your eyes and saw George’s body on the floor, blood oozing out of him. You slowly moved your eyes around, trying to take in your surroundings. 

Everything was overwhelming. Nothing was registering properly in your brain. It was just sounds filtering in an out, vision flickering. You felt like you were floating through the ringing in your ears. Tears ran down your cheeks as you shook. You didn’t know why you were shaking. The cold. The shock, you reasoned. Both seemed likely. It was like there was an overwhelming sense of calm. Your body was shutting down. Somehow, this gave you understanding. 

You felt the handcuffs around your wrists release and your arms dropped limply. You knew you should feel pain from your dislocated shoulder but, instead, you just let your eyes closed and felt your body fall. The last thing you remembered was coming into contact with a Kevlar vest, messy brown hair, and a familiar sense of warmth. 

When you awoke, you felt yourself being gently jostled. Your eyes slowly opened and you took in him. Spencer was looking at you, concern evident on his features.

“Hi.” You said, voice hoarse. 

“Hi, angel. Let’s get you inside, alright?”

You nodded, allowing him to help support your weight as you stepped out of the car. You leaned heavily into him, your legs badly injured. Spencer wrapped his arm snug around your waist as the two of you slowly but surely made it into your shared apartment. 

He helped you sit on the couch before moving to join you. 

“I’m surprised they let you take me home. I thought I’d wake up in a hospital, for sure.”

“They did take you there, love. You were at the hospital for a few hours but you were in and out of consciousness. You’ll heal, don’t worry. A few broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, severe bruising, sprains on your legs and ankles.”

“Plus a busted face” You add drily.

 Spencer wasn’t amused by your attempt at sarcasm. Instead, he just pushed your hair behind your ear and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should have gotten there sooner, I should have been with you! If I was there, if I was quicker-”

“Spencer, please don’t blame yourself for this! No one could have known. Besides, you saved me. And I’m not just talking about that in the literal sense. When he was beating me, when I was broken down, I thought of you.  I thought of our future, our dream. Holding onto that is the only reason I didn’t give up.”

Spencer’s eyes were filled with tears as he went to gently cup your face. He couldn’t find the words to express the love and relief he felt. “I’m just glad you’re back in my arms” 

You moved to hug him but winced. Even though the doctors had patched you up pretty well, the soreness and pain lingered and probably would continue like that for at least the next couple of days. 

“Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go to bed. I think you’ll feel better once you lay down, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You followed him into the room, holding his hand the entire time. Spencer noticed but didn’t mind, he knew you were just looking for comfort, exceedingly normal for what you’d just gone through. 

You laid down, settling against the pillows and fluffy blankets Spencer had prepared for you. 

“Do you need anything, baby?”

“Water?”

“Of course.” He smiled at you before moving to get up but you quickly grabbed his hand, panic overtaking you at the thought of being alone. You looked at him helplessly, hoping your gaze would convey the words that died on your tongue. 

Spencer nodded knowingly. He helped you out of bed, pulling you along with him as the two of you went to the kitchen. He wordlessly got you the drink, making sure to keep touching you the entire way. Finally, you made it back and the both of you crawled into bed. You laid on your uninjured shoulder, placing your cheek on Spencer’s chest. His arm came around you, holding you to him and drawing soothing circles into your skin. 

You closed your eyes and were immediately sent back to the shed. You tensed, pulling back. Spencer caught on and looked deeply into your eyes. “You’re safe now, Y/N. He can’t get to you anymore.”

“I know. Rationally, I know. But my brain won’t shut off. It’s like, whenever I’m not actively thinking about something else or looking at something else or hearing something else, it just comes back. Spence, I can’t- I can’t sleep. I just, I’m sure it’ll come back to me tonight.” Your voice broke, tears spilling onto your cheeks. “I don’t think I can handle reliving it and I’m so fucking exhausted. But I can’t rest because I can’t escape the nightmares.”

Spencer wanted so badly to comfort you but didn’t know what he could do. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t take the pain away. He wished he could put the trauma onto himself but, unfortunately, he was powerless. Thus, he offered understanding. He gave validation. He gave kindness and pure, nonjudgmental love. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m here for you and I know that doesn’t do much right now but I am. I’ll be here when the nightmares come and I’ll be here when the flashbacks try and drag you under. I’ll be here when the trauma starts to fade but suddenly reappears and I’ll be here 20 years from now, when the memory will still be real and painful but not all-consuming. I’ll be here forever, I’ll be here always. Please, tell me what to do to help you.” Spencer begged, hoping beyond all hope that there was something he could do to ease your suffering.

“Read to me?”

“Wha- what?”

“Read to me.” You repeated, more assured this time. “I’m thinking that if I can hear your voice, maybe it’ll drown out my brain. Or something. I don’t know. I just want to hear your voice, it’s soothing. Please?”

Spencer was taken aback. He didn’t think something so simple could help you. He didn’t know his sheer presence brought you that much serenity. “Yeah, of course. Of course! Yeah, any preference?”

“Not really. Whatever’s here?”

“Okay, love.” Spencer picked up his current read and began in the middle. You felt the rumble of his chest, the vibrations of his voice and felt more at ease. The anxiety was still there, the panic never far away. And yet, curled into him, his breath tickling your ear, his body warming yours, it suddenly felt alright. Like maybe you hadn’t gone through some life-altering trauma. Or maybe you had but your life wasn’t over because of it. Maybe you’d heal. Maybe, if you could find a moment of peace now, you’d find more later. Maybe? Yeah, You thought. You could work with maybe.

--

i just made a taglist so if you want to join, go ahead!

tags: 

@saltybreaddream

[buglife]

Quirrel finally snaps. Royalty au. (He deserves it)

In Which Quirrel Has Enough :O

The morning started off just like any other. Waking up next to Ghost was always wonderful for Quirrel, especially in the big comfy nest gifted from Deepnest. It was like sinking into softness itself, something he and his spouse both appreciated, and there was plenty of room for cuddles. He yawned, stretching a little and turning to nuzzle his spouse to wake them.

“Morning, love.” He whispered, trying to gently wake them.

Usually they would be awake instantly and nuzzling back. Quirrel wasn’t sure if they actually slept now, having taken over the aspect of dreams. Even if they didn’t, they still made sure to be in bed every night to be with Quirrel, and stayed there until morning.

But today...they blearily blinked awake and didn’t nuzzle back right away. He instantly knew something was the matter.

“Dear, what is the matter? Are you alright?” He touched the side of their head and rubbed it in an effort to comfort them.

“Tired….” Came the soft quiet voice in the back of his head. Ghost had a measure of telepathy, but it was something they only did with friends and family. They tended to use sign language everywhere else, afraid of frightening their subjects. The Pale King had it as well, but used his to intimidate and issue orders. Ghost was doing everything in their power to be the complete opposite of their sire, even if it meant limiting their communication. Quirrel was trying his best to convince them otherwise, that their subjects loved them, but it’s taking a while to actually make Ghost believe it.

“You look tired. What where you doing last night?”

Ghost’s mental voice dissolved into a murmur of numbers and figures and laws hundreds of years old. The feeling Quirrel got along with it was an even measure of frustration, bafflement, and an extreme sense of mind numbing exhaustion.  

“You were trying to rewrite the tax code last night, weren’t you?”

Ghost sank further into the pillows with a wheeze.

“You know I could have helped you, you silly thing.”

They sank further and didn’t look him in the eyes. He sighed and patted them gently, thinking about the situation to himself. For a long time, Ghost pretty much did everything, leaving Quirrel with the task of planning the rebuilding efforts once they took the throne officially. Ghost was the sole ruler, and the weight and pressure of that all had started to weigh down on them. Sure, they had their friends and allies to help them, but some things you just have to do yourself. Now that he was a king himself (something he still had trouble believing some days until he looks at the ring on his finger), he felt like he needed to do more to help his partner.

“Today, you are going to take the day off.”

They turned their head to look at Quirrel, a look of mild panic on their blank mask. Before they could ‘say’ anything, Quirrel beat them to the punch.

“Look at yourself dear. You are beyond exhausted. You haven’t had anytime for yourself in so long, you need a break. I’m your spouse, your equal now, let me help you take some of the load off yourself, please?”

“But...court? The new code…” They were too tired to properly argue, but Quirrel could feel their worry leak through their words.

“I can do them for once. It can’t be harder than what I usually do.” He thought of his duties, how much traveling he does to other parts of the kingdom to keep up good relations with their neighbors. Some ambassadors were pricks, to be frank. They seemed to enjoy trying to get a rise out of the Scholar King, but Quirrel used his wit to go toe to toe with them. It was fencing, but with words, a subtle dance where each tried to pick out weaknesses and use them to their advantage. Talking to the actual rulers though, was a lot more pleasant. In fact, he’s due to have a meeting with Herrah soon. Hornet would demand he spar with her, but she at least was completely honest with her desires. He thinks Herrah gets a kick out of watching her daughter beat the hell out of a King. She was at least kind enough afterwards to patch up his wounds.

Surely, sitting in a building and talking to the public won’t be that harder than having to actually fight someone every-time he needs to do his job.

Ghost gave them an incredulous look, and then sighed and nodded.

“Excellent, shall I make a pillow fort for you?”

They nodded excitedly, and Quirrel took all the extra pillows from the cabinets to add to the pile. After some time stacking and slinging blankets around, he had made a pillow fort that passed his personal inspection. Ghost retreated inside, and then promptly fell asleep, which vindicated his feeling that Ghost was too damn tired to do anything today. He made sure to put a note on the door for people not to disturb them and made his way through the palace.

It was not the White Palace, that one never came back from the realm of dreams. Ghost had told him that it was for the best, as no sane ruler would have that many buzzsaws. Quirrel inclined to believe them and not ask further questions. Instead, a new one was built, and it couldn’t quite consider it a ‘palace’. It was more of a government building and a place to house the knights of the kingdom. It was a hell of a lot more modest than the White Palace, but it was still nice. The citizens insisted after all and Ghost did not say no to them.

Quirrel would have to admit that the top floor where they both lived was really nice. Their friends and family had gotten their own rooms too, for them to live in or just stay in when visiting. Once Ghost had gotten their deserved family, they refused to be apart from them and was more than happy to have visitors around.

Quirrel made his way down to the ground floor, where court was held. It was just a simple room, decorated in shell wood and tapestries to give it a more calm feeling. A part of the room was dedicated to chairs and benches where petitioners could sit and wait their turn. There was a section where the workers would sit, such as the recorder and paperwork keeper, and next to that, was the thrones, sitting a bit higher than everyone else. Quirrel wasn’t too sure if it was required or not to have the thrones elevated, but just shrugged and went along with it.

Usually Ghost held court with at least two of the new knights of Hallownest keeping guard. In reality, Ghost really didn’t need guarding, but they appreciated some wranglers to deal with the public and the emotional support. It seemed today it was Tiso and Cloth.

“Heya Quirrel.” Tiso gave Quirrel a funny look. “Where’s the Squib?”

“I made them take a day off. They are in their pillow fort at the moment, resting.” He internally snickered. Tiso never stopped calling Ghost ‘Squib’, which would cause nobles to have a conniption whenever they heard it. If they complained, Tiso invoked ‘big brother rights’ and that was that.

“Good, they work too hard.” Cloth adjusted her club over her shoulder. “So you’re holding court today? By yourself?”

Quirrel nodded. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, I will have to do it sooner or later. Why not now?”

Tiso and Cloth shared a look. They looked...apprehensive.

“Just be prepared, you get a mixed bag of people. Some are rather um…”

“Super fucking stupid. And spoiled.” Tiso finished for Cloth, gesturing to the still closed doors.

“They can’t be that stupid!” Quirrel took his seat on his throne (which is still completely unbelievable to him). There were two, the other was for Ghost, built side by side. There used to be just one, but well, now there was a need for two. At least they were comfy. For a moment he did want Ghost to be here by his side, but he was firm in the believe that his poor spouse was in dire need of a break. So, he will endure.

“They can and they are. Don’t get me wrong, most folks that come in are really nice, but you get a few every-time that cause trouble. We’ll be here to help you out, no worry.” Cloth gently patted Quirrel on the head. Cloth the Strong was the title given to her after she was knighted, and he was glad to have her here.

“Yeah if you want us to throw them out the windows, just say so.” Tiso of course, didn’t give too fucks. They couldn’t call him Tiso the Ant Who Doesn’t Give Two Fucks, so instead he became Tiso the Daring.

“Thanks guys.” Quirrel felt a little emboldened by the support of his friends. “Go ahead and open the doors, we’ll get set up and I think we can start court for the day.” Tiso flashed a thumbs up, opening the doors to let the various workers of the court come in to take their positions. Once settled, he nodded, and the first petitioner was called in. Quirrel sat up straight, making himself as approachable as he possibly could. He was a pillbug after all, they are usually considered cute, so it wasn’t like he had to try hard.

He smiled at the beetle who walked in and stood before him.

“Hello there, my friend, what can the court do for you today?”

The beetle took a breath before speaking. “I’m petitioning the court to ban nails entirely.”

Quirrel boggled as his brain ground to a halt, did he really hear what he just heard? It took him a moment for him to be able to speak properly.

“Ma’am, we use nails to protect the people and for individuals to defend themselves. Why in the world do you want to ban nails?”

She tutted “Well my little Perler keeps trying to pick up other people’s nails and he could get hurt! It’s dangerous to have those around anyone, let alone children!”

“Well then, if we do ban nails, how else would you expect the royal guard to defend you from threats? How do you expect travelers to protect themselves when alone? How do you expect the average citizen to defend themselves should they be attacked?” Quirrel tried to use logic, but to no avail.

She looked Quirrel straight in the eyes. “That’s for you to figure out, right?”

Quirrel sighed.

---

It was official, he wanted to be anywhere but here. He kept glancing at the ornamental hourglass in the hall, watching the grains of sand fall one single piece at a time. It was like the sand wasn’t draining at all, that he was trapped in this one moment forever. This was officially torture.

Sure, a few legitimate bugs came in with reasonable requests. Asking for information to form a legal town militia? Sure go down the hall and to the left and there’s a bug to help you with that. Asking for funds to renovate an empty building for printmaking? That’s reasonable, we need all the books we can get. Asking for a possible sliding scale tax model for citizens based on income? Thank you for that idea, we will look into it when we can. Hell, some little kid somehow managed to make their way inside and asked Quirrel if he could make it illegal to deny dessert. He said he’d discuss it with his spouse but most likely they’d agree to make it a law. The kid left, skipping in glee and Quirrel felt himself smiling. He mused a bit of a possible ‘kids only’ court session just so they all can hear whatever these kids could come up with. It would be a welcome break, maybe a holiday? He’ll talk to Ghost later about it.

However, for every reasonable bug, came three that was dumber than a bag of hammers.

“I propose a tax cut for my business because making gold plated luxury monocles are essential to society.”

“Those Deepnest beast-folk are poisoning our society and corrupting our children! I request that they be deported entirely!”

“I’d like to propose a debate on lowering the age of consent.” (Quirrel had that one hauled off by the guard for questioning).

“I want this book banned because the author argued against the noble class and it hurt my feelings.”

On and on, it steadily got worse as the more opulent members of society came out to air their ‘concerns’. He had started to just dismiss them when they came at him with ridiculous requests, only prompting them to start whining. And boy, could they whine. He could feel his antenna vibrate under his hood with the shrill pitch of entitlement. He did his best to be polite, to gently let these people down. But they just kept coming, and coming.

When the next noble asked for him to tear down the local children’s playground because he wanted to build a second business there, Quirrel snapped.

“ENOUGH!”

He stood up from his throne, staring down at the weevil before him.

“No, I will not tear down a source of enrichment and enjoyment for our citizen’s children to satisfy your selfish desires!”  Quirrel’s words were tense as he hissed them through clenched mandibles.

The weevil, that before was so bold, now cowered. Quirrel was someone who was rare to anger, that had a sense of calm and warmth that made most folks comfortable. But here, he had a dangerous aura about him, eyes glinting with chaos and the sense that he probably caused some destruction on purpose before. Here was a scientist, raised by Monomon the Teacher, a being known for her inability to take shit and being able to dish it back twice as bad. That was a terrible mix indeed.

Tiso and Cloth looked at each other, and then stepped back. Quirrel will let them know if he needs them, and they want to see what goes down.

“I want everyone, who’s court petition would only benefit themselves, to leave. This is not a place to fulfill your want for power and riches. This is a place to hear the concerns to the citizen and to help them with said concerns. This is a place for anyone, rich or poor, big or small, to bring awareness to how we, the court, can care for them.”

He glanced down at the weevil who was still cowering, and narrowed his eyes.

The weevil, had a smidgen of bravery to comment. “Okay, my liege, we can just come back later and ask Sov-”

“You will NOT, bother my spouse with your wretched and idiotic statements!” Oh, he was angry now. Children being told no asks another parent for a different answer, but not an adult. He could scarcely believe it. He has seen selfishness before, but not to this degree. “ESPECIALLY since you think you are above the happiness and joy of all the children in the city! And let me tell you, if you asked my spouse that question, you’d earn yourself a stint in the dungeon to rethink your priorities. They love children a hell of a lot more than arrogant pricks like you. Now get the hell out of my sight!”

The weevil booked it, a sizable portion of nobles scurrying after. It didn’t take long for the room to nearly clear out completely, leaving only a handful of bugs. As Quirrel took a deep breath to calm down, a spike of fear shot through his heart. He had lost his cool, here, in front of his subjects. Were they going to be afraid of him? Would they be afraid to come to court now and bring up legitimate problems?

He took a second look to see that most of them were in various fits of laughter.

He sighed in relief and slumped back in his throne.

Tiso leaned down to whisper “Nice one, nerd, I think you scared them off for a while.”

“Here’s hoping.” Quirrel sighed in return and rubbed his eyes. Once composed, he sat up again, and called the next petitioner to him with a smile.

“How can I help you, my friend?”

“Yeah um.” The ladybug looked back at the door where the group of nobles had fled. He recognized her to actually be one of the nobles that had stayed. “I propose a request to strip nobles of their titles should they prove that they do not have the best interests of the citizens in mind.”

Quirrel grinned. “You know what, that is a fine idea!”

---

Being a king was exhausting. Quirrel barely dragged himself up to his bedroom, the day had turned to night and finally, all the work was done. All he wanted to do was not have to think at all for the rest of the night. How the hell did Ghost manage this every day? Especially before when it was just them doing most of everything? Quirrel now had a better appreciation for what his spouse does, and is still determined to lighten their load and share the burden equally.

He barely made it in the room before he was snatched up by Ghost, who was instantly purring and nuzzling his face. “Ah! Ghost!” He couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a little better as the love of his spouse seeped into him. It was wonderful. “Hello to you too, my darling.”

Ghost chuffed and gave one last head bonk, and carried him to the still stable pillow fort. They crawled inside, dragging them within where a few lumaflies fluttered about to provide light. It was warm and cozy, and Quirrel sank into their arms with a sigh. Ghost snuggled up, making them comfortable in their little nest. “Today was...interesting.”

Ghost touched their mask to his and felt the quiet voice in the back of his head. “Yes. Tiso told me when his shift ended.”

Quirrel groaned. “Did he now?”

Ghost nuzzled him affectionately. “He told me you handled court splendidly.”

“I don’t know, I lost my cool. I should have been able to deal with it all like an adult, not by loosing my temper like a child.”

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.” Ghost leaned back, pulling Quirrel down with them so they can sink into the various pillows. “I am also sure you have just endeared yourself to our subjects doing that.”

“Are they always that bad?” He asked, sighing. He snuggled up to Ghost, who rested their head on his. “The nobles?”

“Yes. But that just gives us some...amusement.”

“Amusement? I felt like someone was digging into my brain with a pickaxe!”

“Think about it. The opportunity for pranks. Like how father and your mother took them out during the coronation ball. It was splendid.” They chirped softly in laughter. Quirrel couldn't help but smile at that. Indeed, that was absolutely hilarious. Especially when Oro punted those stuck nobles out of the door and sent them flying. He could deal with a bit of a headache here and there to see that sort of thing again.

“You know what?” He said, grabbing a blanket and pulling it up around the both of them. Ghost sighed sleepily and Quirrel knew he won’t be far behind.

“What?”

“I could get used to this.”

Ghost was both delighted, and terrified.

[markimoofan75]

Mark’s Hell

The silence of the large room is broken by heavy panting.  It’s an echoing chamber that should be full.  It should have been a place where you could believe in the future of a colony.  Instead it is empty and cold.  It is quickly becoming a tomb for one man.  His mind is a whirl of questions.  How did this happen?  Why is it empty?  Where is the Captain?  Nothing about what happened made any sense to him.  This whole trip had been a cluster fuck but now Mark is alone with no answers and no way to get out.  

He bangs on the door hoping it will open.  His hands sting and burn as he screams.  There has to be someone right?  This ship is too big to be empty.  His mind goes numb and he starts to see blood on the door.  His voice is thrashed but he can’t stop.  His legs buckle and he slips down on his hands and knees.  The pooling of blood on the concrete brings the only colors to the room.  The floor is cold and the walls reflective but empty.  Panting Mark lays flat.   

After some time of slipping away in his mind Mark sits up and he feels the stiffness in his bones.  The room is dimmed and his eyes won’t focus.  He almost can’t remember where he is and then he sees the ceiling.  

“What?”  He can see twinkling stars and it hits him like a ton of bricks.  He is inside the Warp Core room.  How did he get here?  He turns to look at the warp core and nothing is there.  He stares, his face draining of blood.  He feels a deep sickness in the pit of his stomach.  He might have puked if he hadn’t seen the small wire on the platform and it kicked his mind in gear.  The Warp core was here.  Did the Captain destroy it?  If it was destroyed what the fuck is he going to do?!  

He flops back onto the floor with a thud.  Feeling like a huge elephant was on his chest staring at the stars.  This was a fucking disaster.  There was no way he was getting out of this room.  Looking toward the door he sees the bloody hand prints and sighs.  

“I guess I tried that.  Why would the Captain do this?”  Silence descended on him like a blanket and he tried to breathe slowly.  There is nothing to be done.  This is the place he will fucking die. That is the last thought as he fell asleep.  

In space you don’t have a good internal clock this far out.  The cryo sleep messes with that and when you don’t have a sun around it’s even worse.  So when Mark woke up he couldn’t tell how long he had been there.  He has no watch and his instrument panel on his wrist has no computer to communicate with.  That was the last straw and the screaming began.  Jumping up and punching the door felt good because at least there was pain.  He was surrounded by silence.  He could feel the small strings of sanity straining.  Wouldn’t it feel good to let go.  No one would know.  He could just slip away and everything would be over.  Mark can’t take any more disasters.  He lays down feeling the blackness slip over him.  Before he died he smiled for the last time for quite a while.

The real bitch was when he opened his eyes.  He was in the same fucking room.  It was so confusing for a moment Mark forgot to be afraid.  He laughed.  The kind of laugh that can be heard through walls.  The kind that gets you in your own private room for the rest of your life. It felt good but if he didn’t stop he would slip into a dark place.  

His hand flew up smacking himself hard on the cheek.  His eyes teared up and he stopped immediately.  It felt like someone else was controlling him.  He took another look around and still saw no one.  Maybe it was just the warm familiar embrace of madness.  Then a thought hit him again he had brushed aside before.  Why was he still here?  He remembers death.  How is that possible here?  There is no warp core to facilitate it and no worm hole because he didn’t see its aura out the roof.  

  “Why?''   He had assumed before it was the worm hole or maybe a combo of warp core and worm hole.  His logical brain locked on that and he started pacing.  What is facilitating his respawn?  Was there something bigger that was controlling this place?  He never believed in a higher power.  It was a way for people to justify their shitty thoughts and actions.  It was a certainty he would die here again because of the lack of food and water.  He had no way of getting any or anything else to help him.   This room had only been meant for the warp core.  No cabinets, no cubby holes, and no secret hatches.  If he wanted to survive he needed to think.  It seemed impossible.  He went to the one electric wire he saw and reached for it.  When it shocked him he only had a second to think FUCK before dying again.

A small voice whispered “Don’t give up” and his eyes popped open.  Who the fuck was that?  No one was here.  However, a small blue flicker of light against the wall drew him in.  When he touched it he felt his hand being swallowed up but no pain.  His hand touched something solid and when he grabbed it he teleported away.  Hearing a scream next to his face his eyes flashed open.  He was in a kitchen holding on to a spatula.  The screaming continued and it finally occurred to Mark he wasn’t hallucinating.  He looked at the small grandmother next to him and apologized.  Then dropping the spatula he walked out of the room.  It took a minute but he got to the apartment hallway.  Staring at the red door he walked out of he cried.  He just cried until he heard sirens.  Running down the hallway he pushed open the emergency door just as the elevator opened.  The cops didn’t see him and that was his only saving grace.  He ran down the 5 flights of stairs as if he had wings.  Once out into the alley he stopped to pant.  

Nothing looked familiar at all.  He waited until he could walk slowly then he just casually walked out of the alley to the street.  Turning right he strolled off as the sirens behind him wailed.  This was a miracle.  Since he had woken up twice in the warp core he wasn’t sure if he died here he would make it out again.  It was important to make himself ready for life again.  He just kept walking feeling a warm breeze on his face and the sun on his back.  He was getting strange looks because of his coveralls.  A new wardrobe was necessary.  How the fuck would he do that without money?  Nothing here was helpful.  Besides, this didn’t look like the earth he came from so long ago.  

“Look at this asshole.”  The voice was gruff and low making all the hairs on Mark stand up.  He kept walking.  Bullies are a part of life.  The best way is to not deal with them at all.  

“Deaf too?  What a shame.”  The pain that followed was massive.  Blood was running down the back of his head.  He reached back to touch it and his finger entered a rather large hole.  That was the last thing he felt before the cold concrete of the warp core room.

Screaming was all he did for a while.  Until he remembered how he got out.  He searched all the walls for the blue light and found nothing.  Staring at the ceiling he wonders just how many times he would die here before the universe ended.  He had already figured the warp core was more powerful than he knew.  With all the shit that went down on the ship he knew that eventually everything would end.  How long that will take is a mystery.  An image popped into his head of a big vortex of blue light.  He had thought since he couldn’t see it out the hole at the top of the ceiling it wasn’t here.  But the vortex he saw when opening the ship door was massive.  Much bigger than the ship.   This room had been built like a smoke stack several stories high.  Maybe if the worm hole was lower down it only made slight contact with the warp core.  He had never seen where the warp core door was in the worm hole.  Was there a chance contact would happen again?  He needed to be ready because if he ever got out he needed a plan to get out of here permanently.

Mark had nothing else to do so he let his brain roam.  The only way to get out of here was either the worm hole or the warp core.  He didn’t have easy access to one but he might be able to make the other.  That sounded absurd of course.  The lady from the USA had said this tech took thousands of years to make.  That must be bullshit.  It wasn’t a complicated design but the inside was what he never got to look at.  What was inside the individual pillars?  Something had to conduct the energy in a way that made it a beam.  It wasn’t just the crystal right?  He remembered the crystal emitted a ball of light around it.  He never got to run very many tests on the core.  THey had been rushing every step of lift off from earth.  Everything was falling apart there. Everyone wanted a new life so no one was asking questions.  The ship worked and the warp core seemed stable. 

Mark didn’t count days but he did count times he died.  He remembered all of them and tried to keep a log. There were so many deaths he just stopped logging why he died and just marking that it happened.  His brain was so used to death it got kinda scary.  Sleep was not something he did anymore.  He just went until he died.  His need to get out and find the Captain was all he could think about.  The longer time went on the angrier he was getting.  How on earth did the Captain break everything?  They were never a part of building or inspecting the ship.  They came on last minute giving the whole project a boost of celebrity.  It gave the colonists confidence.  Mark was proud he got to be the lead engineer.  He doesn’t remember the Captain looking over the ship until the day of launch. Finding the warp core was a miracle and how easy it worked was a relief.  So how did the Captain know enough to sabotage?  Mark was not fully involved in much except making sure the ship would work.  There is always a chance the Captain poked around when he was not aware.  Lady had said it was the Captain though.  Mark had to get out and save the Colonists.  

He got out a few times and managed to get some supplies.  He also drew up a blueprint from memory.  It was a very long process.  If he didn’t jump out often enough he died from lack of water.  He was lucky enough to grab a couple buckets one time so he at least wasn’t really messing the room up.  When he hit one hundred deaths Mark sat down looking at the partially built warp core.  It was coming together so slowly.  He had managed to live several years outside of this hell hole.  Mark almost forgot what would happen if he died.  Then he fell down the fucking stairs.  When he woke up in the warp core room he cried.  It was like part of his mind had slipped.  He couldn’t remember feeling sad or a build up of emotion.  He just burst out in tears.  He cried on his hands and knees for hours.  He had almost felt safe.  

That is what hurt the most over what felt like millenia.  He was never safe. He never had roots or friends or lovers.  He was fighting against time and this was pure agony.  There was no hope.  He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled.  

One time when he was out he thought he caught sight of the captain on the street.  He ran after the figure shouting and didn’t even see the bus that hit him.  Feeling a searing heat and then waking up in the room again was so fucking painful.  The hope that had been in his heart made it that much more crushing when he came back here.  That time he just laid on the floor until he died.  His eyes were open but he had slipped far far away.  The dreams of madness were comforting.  He felt like they were his only friends.  

The warp core was inching along so fucking slowly.  It was hard to see the progress but it was there.  He had a long jump and got the rest of the supplies he needed.  Once back he worked non stop until he passed out.  He woke up in a puddle of pee and realized he had no other clothes.  Crying again he just sat there.  How was this even possible to finish?  He had no crystal so how on earth could he get this thing started.  Progress stopped then.  He wouldn’t be able to do anything without a crystal.  Sitting with his head in his hands he had the first thought of giving up.  Not just waiting passively for death but actively seeking it.  It was a scary moment.  He could imagine a nice length of rope but nothing to hang it on.  That stopped him cold.  Why should he give up like that?  He had almost completed this warp core.  From memory but even that was fading.  If he never got his hands on a crystal none of this mattered. 

The last death before salvation was from spilling his small amount of water on the cable he was repairing.  When he woke up he almost expected his hair to be standing on end.  Everytime he died he came back like a carbon copy of the first time he was here.  He didn’t understand why that was but he was grateful.  One of a handful of mercys he had here.  

 Mark had the weirdest feeling of growing old without the visual of growing old.  He didn’t have a mirror too often.  If he hadn’t been let out he would have slipped into madness.  That was the only thing keeping him going besides the need to get back to the Captain.  He had been thinking about the whole situation and with all the things that went wrong how could it not be their fault.  An anger had been growing inside for so long.  He couldn’t think about it too much.  He had a job to do and a goal in mind.  Get out by warp core.  

If only the Captain was here.  Sometimes he was so lonely he would have given anything to talk with the Captain.  He always liked to just bounce his thoughts off someone else.  It helped him think and figure out the right path.  This time he had to do it alone.  That was the worst pain of all.  He didn’t know how much human contact meant until he had none.  He came close to contact when he was out in the multiverse.  He seemed to be close to a similar universe which gave him the equipment needed for his work.  

Although honestly Mark wishes he had the means to buy what he needed instead of stealing it.  The first few times he tried getting a job but without documentation of your life you don’t get those.  He tried pan handling too because it looked like that would work.  His clothes were strange and he looked a little crazy.    He didn’t know why but the people avoided him.  It was as if some part of their lizard brain warned them against someone that felt wrong.  That of course made it even harder to have contact.  After a while he just ignored everyone else.  He existed in back alleys and dumpsters scrounging for his parts.  Time was something he had but he never knew how much.  

The fear of never getting to the captain was so strong that Mark couldn’t think.  His brain could not process the possibility he won’t ever see them again.  The war going on in his head was between two questions. If he did see them what would he do?  Can he forgive the Captain?  That was a whole other question.  He didn’t know exactly what happened but from his interaction with the alien Lady this is all the Captain’s fault.  He just can’t wrap his brain around why??  That was the question he thought about most often.  He had spent time with the captain and thought he knew them well.  However, how did this alien know something he didn't know?  It had to do with the worm hole and time loops.  They were what was popping him in and out of this universe.  Mark was not sure exactly how that was possible but with all the looping they did and the strange experiences with different versions of people they knew it was obvious.  Did the Captain know about the warp core before they boarded the ship?  Did they purposely sabotage everything and destroy the warp core for some purpose?  Mark tried not to dwell because it took up time and often led down the path of dissociation and death.  

The last time Mark came back he started to realize he was almost done with the warp core.  He didn’t have a crystal but he can test the electronics he installed and see if he can still create the juice to make it work.  He went to his journal to record yet another death when he saw just how many marks there were.  He was on the last page.  He sat down hard, knocking some of the wind out of himself.  His chest was tight and his eyes filled with tears.  He couldn’t breathe.  How long had he been building and jumping?  He got to the first page of the book and started counting.  He stopped when he hit 300 and almost threw up.  His brain had been avoiding seeing this truth.  He had been here well over a human’s normal life span.  He had been here so much more he had only counted a quarter of the way through the journal.  

He couldn’t think any more. The vastness of that time he had spent here felt like a sledgehammer to the chest.  He laid back staring up into the hole at the top of the room.  It was still black and he cried.  He let all of that pent up pain out.  Mark laid on that floor, his tears soaking his hair and ears. He was staring at the stars that usually filled him with joy and wonder.  He was among them and he should be proud and happy to be taking the first human colony out to a new world.  Space is something he has had a passion for all his life.  He became an engineer just to get here while the Earth was falling apart.  It was not only a dream but a need so that humanity would go on.  

Now all he could do was stare at the cold space outside.  He couldn’t get out and he was in his own personal hell.  The pain was an ache in his whole body and he just couldn’t take it.  He waited for the inevitable death and even welcomed it this time.  Maybe when he came back he wouldn’t remember what he knew.  Sometimes he didn’t remember things and that was a blessing.

When Mark came back this time it wasn’t with pain it was with rage.  He still marked his journal as it was a deep habit.  He just threw all that pain at the Captain in his mind.  Fixation was taking over and his need to finish the warp core was a drive.  He was going to make sure the Captain didn’t do this again and then he would save everyone.  

Mark was surprised one day as he was testing the warp core to see a shadow of the Captain fall across the floor.  The captain wasn’t fully there yet and Mark grabbed a fire extinguisher so he could be ready to take control.  The Captain was just staring in the room at nothing and not moving.  Mark watched and then said “Hi Captain.”  As their head turned he struck hard feeling a satisfying smack of metal against skin.  As the Captain fell Mark actually felt hope fill him again.  Maybe he would be able to get through this.  It was all up to him to fix everything and he was going to finally be the hero.

Grabbing his pliers he went to the waking Captain and kneeled down.

“Sorry about that. Couldn’t afford to let you make another mistake.”

Mark ripped the worm crystal out of the palm of the Captain’s glove and sparks flew but Mark was way too focused to notice.  The rage was back.

“Funny thing to say after an eternity of second chances.”

The Captain reached for the crystal and Mark grabbed their hand looking them in the eye.

“Don’t”  It was a command and the Captain’s eyes widened.

“You don’t have to keep trying anymore. There’s no time anyway. Another thing I never thought I would be saying again. But I’m going to fix the damage you caused. I had a long time rebuilding this machine you broke.  A long time over too many lives. But I know now this thing does more than just make worm holes. Distance and time are the same things from different perspectives.  That’s all these universes are, different points of view.  And this machine didn’t just bridge a tunnel through our universe, it was bridging all of them. And you destroyed it.”

Mark put the crystal in as he talked to the captain watching from the floor.  He was putting in coordinates and an arrival date he wanted.  He would go back to just the right place and fix everything.  His excitement grew but his disgust at the Captain was building.

“I can’t undo what you’ve done. Not here anyway. Or at least not now. But if I could go back, if I could try again. If I could stop you before any of this even started. Maybe I could save everyone”

Mark was so intent on talking to the Captain and was not paying attention to the warp core.  It said “Paradox detected”  Mark turns to look at the warp core in confusion.  What the fuck was this machine talking about.  It had never talked to him before.  “What the hell does that mean?” He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and turns toward the Captain only to receive a handful of sand from nowhere.  His eyes sting and he madly tries to wipe it away because if the captain gets away this may never end and he is desperate to escape.  

“Was that sand?  Who throws sand?”  Mark is getting enough out to see and reaches for the Captain as their hand is headed for the crystal again.  He grabs it screaming at the Captain

“Captain no you’ll destroy everything.. again! “

As the warp core was booting up it said “Target arrival date not guaranteed”  This was not something Mark heard his whole being was fixed on stopping the Captain and saving everyone.

As the beam shot out of the top of the warp core and was forming it’s worm hole Mark began to float towards it and grabbed the Captain’s hand

“Ahh Captain, Captain Don’t let go Don’t let go!”

As Mark is being pulled by his feet he realizes that he needs the Captain to let go.

“Wait, let me go. Captain please I can fix this.  Look I don’t know what you did, maybe you didn’t mean to but I have to stop you.  I have to! God I wish I had thought of a fake hand or something. Please, this is it. This is the end of everything. Everyone that ever existed is going to get wiped out unless you let me go! Captain please, I have to keep trying.  I have to!”

Mark doesn’t know how to get the Captain to believe him.  He can’t stay here.  He just can’t do it again.  He has to get out.  Looking at the Captain he is hoping with everything inside him.  This can’t be the end of everything. Hanging here in a moment, waiting for someone else to decide his fate and the fate of the universe.

[adventure-with-loki]

[Thank him for the chat and leave with the groom]

🖐️ pause this is a part of a choose your own adventure. If you just found this you can start from the beginning here.

Written By: @donaweasley

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader (Bride)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: a dash of anxiety

Dizzy with the shots, with the sudden anxiety rising in the pit of your belly, and with the lucrative offer made by this charming stranger, your mind took a little too long to make a decision. Before you could call the shot, your fiancé was already there, standing at your booth with an expression that made your body go numb.

To say that he was anxious, or that his anger was contorting his face, would be an understatement. He seemed to have lost his vocabulary, for all he could manage was an unhappy look and an open-arm gesture to accentuate the questions on his features.

“I-I...” You weren’t doing very well at defending yourself, but lucky for you, your new friend seemed to have a knack for rolling words smoothly off his tongue.

“If I may interject,” Loki stood up with a smile, “it was actually my foolish idea to have a chat with your bride when I should have been taking her to you.”

You had no idea what was going on. One moment, this man - a complete stranger - pops up in front of you, the next moment he drags you to a booth to have drinks with you and listen to whatever load your heart had to pour out, and then he offers you a chance to run away with you, and now? Now he’s taking your blame on himself?

What are his intentions?

Your logical side finally seemed to kick in, even if it was with a stagger, and you almost began doubting your recent actions when your fiancé’s voice pulled you out of your reverie.

“I’ve never met you before,” he was talking to the raven-haired stranger. “Nor did she mention you. Who are you?”

“That’s disappointing, (Y/N)!” Loki looked at you with feigned hurt, “You never mentioned me? Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Loki, and I’m a friend of your would-be bride. Do you mind if I call myself your friend, darling?” He looked towards you with a smirk.

Your groom ignored Loki’s extended hand, and instead placed his hands on his hips with a scoff. This wasn’t going well; you could easily guess the next question that would be shot at you.

“Is it true?”

You stared at your would-be husband for a couple of seconds before licking your lips, and trying your best to lie through your teeth.

“Yes. Yes, he is...a friend of mine.”

God! Hope it was convincing enough.

You knew it was far from being convincing. You had never been a good liar.

Your fiancé turned towards Loki again, but this time he had that weird look that one has when they’re trying to recall something but it keeps giving them the slip. “Do I know you?”

Loki chuckled. “Oh, dear mortal, decide. Once you’re saying that you never saw or heard of me, and now you’re asking me if you know me? Shall I order a shot for you? Definitely helps to clear the mind.”

The other person was, needless to say, not amused. “I think I’ve seen you somewhere. Somewhere...not so good. Wait! Aren’t you the one who tried to invade New York? (Y/N), what are you doing with him? He’s dangerous!”

Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. You had been spending time, emptying your heart out with that Loki?

Loki didn’t seem to be bothered by it but rather entertained. “That was years ago. Don’t you keep yourself informed? I work with the Avengers now. Your mighty heroes! Isn’t it impolite to address your saviour like the way you did?”

The frown and the tight-knit brows on your would-be’s face told you that he was nowhere close to being impressed.

“How do you know him?” And he was back at interrogating you.

For a nice man like him, he sure had a lot of inquisitiveness. You reasoned that you would have probably reacted the same way had it been him leaving you at the altar, only to be found drowning shots with an attractive stranger. At least he had the decency to avoid creating a scene. You’d have probably drawn all eyes to your family drama.

“I...We met through...work.” You nodded vigorously as if that would attest your statement.

“Through work?”

“Yep!” You popped the ‘p’.

“How-How does your work end up having one of the Avengers as your clients?”

Shit! I’ve messed it up.

“It’s um...it’s complicated. It’s not exactly through work, but more like en route to work. You see, it was-”

“Darling,” Loki’s drawl cut off your terrible attempt at a lie, “weren’t you saying that you were getting late? That you had somewhere important to go to? I’m sure this lovely man will be able to catch up with the rest of your story later.”

Dumbfounded again, you simply stared at him. Was Loki still referring to eloping with him? If he was, then…

Your mind was calculating umpteen scenarios all at once. Should you go with Loki, you’d have to either come up with a super-brilliant excuse to escape the eyes of your groom or make a dash for the doorway right in front of him.

Even in a situation like that your brain had the audacity to compare yourself with Julia Roberts from “Runaway Bride”!

And if you did run away with Loki, what then? You hardly knew him. Where would you go from there? You may be able to flee from the wedding but will you ever be able to flee from the haunting guilt of how you left a good man at the altar?

“(Y/N)?”

“Huh?” Your groom’s voice startled you.

“Are you okay?” A concerned look had washed away all the anger from his face, and for a moment you were reminded of how handsome he was. At that instant, the massive curtains of your anxiety suddenly dropped, and you remembered that this man, who you were trying to ditch, was the very person who made you feel comfortable, who was eager to listen to all your problems even though you preferred to keep them locked away in your chest.

Maybe it was time to let some of those out.

“May I talk to you for a second?” You gently tugged at his elbow to distance yourselves from Loki.

It was difficult, almost nauseous, to spill your long-suppressed feelings out. Okay, you may not have told him every thought that had crossed your mind over the past few days, and especially today, but it was a good start. Maybe opening yourself up a little more might allow you to get more comfortable with him, and maybe someday, you would feel all those sparks that you had been coveting.

He was disappointed, needless to say, but he was happy that you at least felt comfortable enough to share your fears with him.

“I promise to be a good husband,” he gently cupped your cheek.

“I thought this was supposed to be a part of your vow,” you gave a soft laugh.

“It was but...a vow is a vow, whether I make it at the altar or at a bar!”

You both laughed at this. It felt good. It felt...right? You couldn’t be sure of it yet.

“I’m sorry,” you downcast eyes refused to meet his gaze as guilt finally washed over you.

“It’s alright. Maybe you needed this...to make sure that you’re not making a mistake.”

You smiled, but somewhere deep down your heart you couldn’t reassure you.

Taking your fiancé’s arm, you walked towards the booth where Loki was toying with a shot glass, seemingly patiently.

“Ah! The lovebirds have returned!” He beamed at the two of you.

“Thank you for taking care of my bride,” your groom extended his hand towards Loki. “I hope she has already invited you to the wedding!”

You did not allow him the chance to reply.

“Thank you, Loki. Thank you!”

With a rustle, you stepped forward and hugged him. It was supposed to be an innocent, grateful hug, but it quickened your heartbeat when you realised that it felt...right?

No, it can’t be! How…?

Before Loki could feel the thunder beating out of your chest, you abruptly pulled yourself away from him. It took you a moment before you could look at his face. When you finally did, you were met with a knowing smile.

Shit!

Loki shot you a smirk, “She has invited me indeed.”

Blood shot up your face at his words, and you quickly pulled your veil to cover as much of your face as it could without looking suspicious.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to be at the wedding,” Loki continued, “but if you need any favour, you know where to find me.”

Shooting you a knee-weakening smile, he took his jacket from the chair, and waltzed out of the bar, leaving you to your wildly running thoughts, and to discover a neatly-folded note in the sweaty palms of your hand.

When did it…? How…?

You shot a furtive glance at your fiancé. He was busy texting. Maybe he was informing the worried people out there that he had found you. Opening the note discreetly, you found a string of digits written in the most beautiful hand that you have ever seen.

His phone number!

Your breath quickened, especially when you thought back about the hug and how, even in that brief moment, it ignited a spark in you, as if you were meant to fit together. That spark that you had seeked for so long, and you finally found it but...with a man who you barely knew?

And here was another man who was willing to forgive all your actions, who was willing to be the best husband ever for you. But there was no spark here. Not yet.

Your mind may have been spiraling but you knew you needed to make a decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your choices:

Walk away with your groom and stand at the altar to take your vows (Chapter coming soon, comment below if you want to be tagged when this chapter is released.)

Find a way to contact Loki (Chapter coming soon, comment below if you want to be tagged when this chapter is released.)

[procrastinatorimagines]

Okay Part 7

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Matt Casey x Halstead!Reader

Warning/s: fire, attempted murder

Word Count: 3,033

Summary: After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007 // @louiselikeswriting // @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na // @sesamepancakes​

By the time you woke up your head was pounding and your mouth was dry, your ankles and wrists chafing against the ropes that tied you to a beam in the room you were in, where ever that was. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but as your eyes slowly focused in on your surroundings you noticed a small window on the opposite side of the room you were in, the night sky partially visible through a crack in the newspaper that had been used to cover it up.

This was bad, very bad, you thought, panicking as you tried to desperately to free yourself from your restraints, which actually seemed to do more harm than good. Taking a very shaky breath you tried to focus, breathing in and out of your nose slowly...

This had happened before, it had all happened exactly like this before. Only, this time, you weren’t alone in the dark.

When your vision began to focus and the roaring in your ears subsided slightly, you saw a figure out the corner of your eyes, looking to see Lily. Your breath immediately caught in your throat; she was as pale as a ghost, eyes red and face wet with tears and snot. 

“Lily,” you whispered, drawing her eyes to you from where they had been fixed in the distance. She looked to you, shaking uncontrollably, but you saw it then, something in her eyes. Hope? Did she think you were going to help her? 

You were, you were supposed to help her, that’s why you came here in the first place. Breath Y/N, you told yourself, focus, think, you needed to stay under control for her sake. “Hey Lily, where’s Paul? Where’s your dad?” You asked her as calmly as you could, not wanting to alarm her anymore than she was, if that was even possible.

She opened her mouth to reply when the door to the basement banged open, making you both jump as a man stormed down the stairs. He was erratic, mumbling to himself as he waved around a gun, pacing as he reached the bottom of the stairs and ignoring you both completely. 

“No supposed to happen like this... all her fault...” you caught him say, “all your fault, all Jennifer’s fault!” He aimed the gun at Lily, raising his voice as she flinched back as far as she could while restrained. 

“Hey!” You snapped at him, unsure of where such a steady and powerful voice came from inside of you as Paul jumped, apparently only just realising that you were also in the room. “Do not point that gun at her,” you demanded, catching him off guard as he looked between the weapon and his daughter, a moment’s pause gone as quickly as it came as he turned it to you instead. Far from ideal, but the better alternative.

“Listen to me, I’m a firefighter, okay and my brother Jay he’s a cop, he could help-” you began, rambling slightly, not really thinking about what you were saying as you tried to convince him to put the gun down.

Mention Jay seemed to be a bad idea, you realised it the second the words were out of your mouth, Paul’s grip tightening on the gun as he eyes flared with panic. “Cop, cop, no, no cops...” he repeated, very much appearing to have had some kind of mental break. Could he even be reasoned with?

Looking around as he began pacing again, more on edge than before, you noticed the canisters of kerosene along the wall by the stairs; he was going to burn this place down, with you and Lily in it.

“Shut up! Just shut up and let me think!” Paul yelled at a still crying Lily, and outburst that only made her cry harder.

“That’s enough, she’s a kid for god’s sake, your kid,” you tried, grating your teeth and hating how powerless you felt. You’d failed her hadn’t you? 

“We were happy before she came, she isn’t even mine, she ruined everything...” he told you, his logic making absolutely no sense to you. Still, you had to try and get on his level if you had any chance of de-escalating the situation. You’d learned that much from Jay at least.

“Okay, but how is that Lily’s fault? She did do anything, you don’t have to do this, it’s not too late,” you took a shaky breath as his eyes flicked towards the cannisters, only half listening to what you were saying. His mind had been made up when he lit that first fire, maybe even before then, it was like reasoning with a brick wall.

“Yes, yes it is,” he said with way too much conviction.

“No, wait, let’s talk about this,” you tried desperately, pulling on your restraints in vain as he wandered towards the cannisters, gun now slack at his side. 

That was when you caught it, a sharp pain in your hand as you winced, moving your hands slower to feel a now wet nail sticking out of the beam you were tied to. Your hand was bleeding, but you could barely feel it, shifting slightly so that the nail was rubbing against your restraints. Stall, a voice in your head screamed, stall.

“Talk? So you can buy time until your boyfriend can come save you?” Paul laughed in a vaguely unhinged sort of way, thankfully not noticing the confusion on your face as he continued, “is that who you were calling? Because it didn’t say - what was that name? Jay? - on your phone screen.”

You schooled your features as much as you could before he could turn around and wait for your answer. Matt. You’d called Matt. He’d know, he’d know you were in trouble, right? You hoped he would, he had to suspect you wouldn’t have gone straight home, and that that call was strange. 

Stall. You worked through the aching in your wrist, the nail catching your flesh more than once as you powered through, working the rope with everything you had.

“No, I mean, yes, my boyfriend, but he has nothing to do with this, I swear-” you hoped that sounded convincing. You’d already made the mistake of mentioning your cop brother, but if you told him you’d had a fire captain o nthe other end of the line you didn’t know how he’d react. You had to put all your faith in Casey right now, hoping to hear sirens at any moment.

“Daddy...” Lily sobbed, voice small and strained, raw from the crying as she tried to get her dad to look at her, but even when he glanced in her direction, he never met her eye. Your heart was breaking even more than you thought was possibly, stabbing pains shooting through you like the nail in your hand, but you persevered, your sheer anger and stubborn determination numbing the pain and quietening your own panic and fear.

“I have to do this, have to do this now,” he seemed to decide, nodding to himself as he put the gun in his waist band, your eyes draw to him as you worked at the rope, you were so, so close... But not close enough.

Paul took a couple of cannisters at a time, opening the caps and dumping them all over the floor, your feet jerking back as the strong smelling liquid splashed near you. “No, no, please you don’t have to do this,” you begged him.

“It’s done, I’ll finally have justice,” Paul said, your nostrils flaring in rage as you tugged harder at the ropes, your blood on them making them harder to keep steady.  Bastard, you growled to yourself

Paul turned without another word, taking the final cannister and pouring it up the stairs behind him. He took a packet of matches out of his pocket once he reached the top, the first attempt at striking it snapping the match.

Your mind was tugging you back to that other basement then, your senses slipping there too as your vision doubled and the all too familiar smell of kerosene filled your lungs. You’d cheated death once, and now he was coming to collect...

“Daddy please!” Lily cried out, cutting through you like a knife, hauling you back to the present as you willed yourself to focus, scrunching your hand into a fist. You dug your nails into the large cut on your palm, the pain keeping you tethered to reality as the second match flared to life. 

Then, well, then everything happened so fast you could barely process it. Your hands snapped free of the ropes just as the match fell from Paul’s finger tips, the top of the stairs lighting immediately as you clamoured towards Lily, ignoring the pain as you forced her restraints free. 

You looked to the already fast approaching fire as Lily stood, grabbing your leg with her arm and hugging you tightly. You didn’t have long, you knew, the poorly ventilated room already filling with smoke. 

There was only one this for it, you realised, what Casey would probably call your Halstead instinct kicking is as you threw off your jacket. “Lily, Lily look at me,” you said hurriedly, crouching down and wrapping her in it so it was over as much of her body and head as you could make it, her terrified eyes meeting yours. “I’m going to pick you up okay? Whatever you do, keep your head in my shoulder and do not let go, okay?”

She nodded quickly, sensing the urgency as you drew her into your arms, her small ones wrapping around you. There were no good option, but Lily had the best chance this way, and she mattered more. 

Here goes everything, you allowed yourself a split second to prepare yourself, and then you ran.

The stairs were still standing, for now, but they wouldn’t be for long, the fire dancing down the railing and walls as you pushed yourself, step by step, you ran up the stairs. 

Paul hadn’t bothered to shut the basement door, why would he? So you bolted for it with everything you had, you body absolutely screaming at you in fear and pain as you maintained an iron grip on the child in your arms.

And then you were out on the otherside, stumbling but forcing yourself to keep steady as you oriented yourself, the fire still all around you. You put Lily down quickly, patting her down as well as yourself, making sure you weren’t on fire. 

You needed a door, or a window, you didn’t really care. Taking Lily’s hand you looked to her. “We’re going to run, okay?” She nodded, taking your hand with a vice like grip.

A noise to your left drew your attention, making your way down the hall, barely staying up right as the burning in your legs flared up your body. You looked down as you felt your feet nearly slip on a substance, more accelerant?

This had taken place over a matter of seconds, a minute at most, and Paul was still here. You found him in the main hall, pouring the final drops of a kerosene by the entrance. There was a moment, when your eyes locked, both of you realised the other one was right in front of you before either of you sprung into action. 

You’d dropped Lily’s hand at the same time as Paul had dropped the cannister, his hand reaching back for the gun you knew was in the back of his waistband. He was fast, but damn if you weren’t faster. 

The fire had reached up from the basement and into the hall, you wouldn’t have long before it connected with the kerosene currently soaking your shoes, and then this place would go up like an inferno. 

Paul had just pulled out his gun, drawing it around his side, when you reached him, catching his wrist before he could point it and slamming his hand back into the wall. He shoved you back, definitely having the upper hand in terms of strength. “You shouldn’t be here, this is all wrong,” he told you, taking a swing at you with his gun still in hand.

You ducked, the swing wide and uncontrolled as you threw a sharp punch in his gut, building on your momentum and his loss of balance to aim another tap into his throat, kicking him back straight afterwards into the opposite wall. 

“That might be the first thing we agree on,” you snarled, moving quickly as he tried to hit you again, his gun hand twisting around, a suprised cry of pain escaping his lips as you expertly flung him over your shoulder, wrist so twisted he lost his grip on the gun. 

Sure, he was stronger, but you were a Halstead. 

He hit his head on the wooden floor and went down, Lily’s cry drawing your attention as you noticed the smoke filling the hall. 

You kicked the gun away and released Paul, who didn’t appear to be getting up any time soon, rushing back to Lily and yanking her arm, dragging her away from where the fire was fast approaching you.

That’s when you heard it, that glorious sound that made you feel like your chest was cracking open in relief. Sirens. There were sirens approaching. 

Pulling Lily forward you both scrambled towards the exit, the fire reaching the kerosene on the hallway rug as it flared to life with new found direction, hungry to consume everything in it’s path. 

The front door was right there, you could make it. Throwing open the front door you practically pushed Lily out, nearly tripping as her feet met the concete, breath in fresh air. 

Police cars were coming down the street, as well as fire engines and an amulance. 51. 51 was here, and so was your brother you guessed. 

Fresh air hit your face as you took a breath of freedom, and then you paused. Something tugging at you deep inside. Looking back over your shoulder you saw Paul, still lying on the floor as the fire quickly approached, devouring everything in its path. 

It would be too late, you knew, by the time 51 had arrived and put on their gear, the fire would have consumed him. The fire that he’d let consume the lives of two other innocent people, the fire he’d tried to turn on his daughter repeatedly, the fire he’d tried to use to end you, too. 

Every fibre of your being was screaming at you to leave him, but you knew, you knew you couldn’t. So you ran back into the burning building, hearing Lily scream as you reached Paul, grabbing him under his shoulders and hauling his with as much strength as you could manage. 

You’d gotten him outside onto the porch as truck pulled up, Stella barely stopping, let alone putting it in park, before Casey jumped out the door, barrelling towards you with a sense of pure urgency,

“Y/N!” He yelled, practically crashing into you as you dropped Paul, who was just beginning to stir. His hands found your upper arms, looking you over and breathing heavily.

“I’m okay,” you tried to tell him, your breath ragged as he led you away from the burning house, two other firefighters and a paramedic coming to take Paul, along with three officers. 

“I was so worried, I thought...” he trailed off, unlistening, one hand going to the side of your head, still worried. 

“Casey... Matt, I’m fine, I’m alive,” you grabbed the hand on your face, giving it a squeeze as you saw relief wash through him. 

“Y/N!” A small voice called, Lily rushing towards you both and she wrapped you in a big hug, buring her face in you as Casey took a step back.

“I’m okay Lily, we’re both okay,” you knelt down, ignoring the pain in your legs as you wrapped her in a big hug, picking her up as Foster signaled you to bring her over to treat. 

Boden was already giving orders to truck, seeing that Casey was too preoccupied as he followed you and Lily to ambo 61, the air getting clearer as you passed the small girl over to your friend. Foster gave your hand a squeeze, nodding to you as you nodded back. 

As soon as she was out of your arms you nearly collapsed, Casey steadying you as you sit on the edge of the ambulance, signalling Sylvie to come check on you.

“Oh my god Y/N,” she gasped, grabbing her med back.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, but she shook her head.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said with an authority you weren’t going to argue with as exhaustion washed over you.

“How is she?” Casey asked Sylvie, eyes not leaving you.

“She needs to get to med, she has a potential concussion, serious burns on her legs and she definitely needs stiches on these,” Syvlie said, wrapping up your hands as you winced, coming down from the addrenaline that must have kicked in as you started to feel everything.

Casey opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted. “I’m riding with her,” a voice cut in, Jay, appearing at your side. Casey took a respectful step back as Jay gave you a hug so tight you couldn’t breath, “I’ll let Will know you’re coming in, god Y/N, we were so worried, what the hell were you thinking?” Jay breathed.

“Sorry, I’ll try not to get kidnapped... again,” you replied, but he didn’t seem to appreciate your attempt at humour. 

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Casey told you with a smile, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to walk away.

“Hey Casey,” you called, pausing in his steps as he looked back at you, “we got him.”

Casey smiled, eyes full of pride, “you got him Y/N,” he told you, nodding to you before heading back to truck, something unsaid hanging in the air. 

Sylvie made you get into the ambo, Jay by your side the whole ride. 

You’d got him, Lily was safe, it was finally over.

[monaownsmyass]

Going Out Of My Mind In My Mind

Requested fic by anon. (If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: My First Two Loves

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre: Fluff but make it angsty

Rating: PG13

Warning: Mild homophobic comments

Word Count: 3,611

A/N: Ava is in love with her best friend. She gets lost in her own thoughts while contemplating if she should reach out to MC. Firstly, I wanna say I’m so sorry to the anon that requested this if they wanted a more light-hearted fluff fic lmfao. If you did, please send me another ask lol. Secondly, I wanna apologise to my fellow wlw for including a little homophobia. It’s not that harsh or mean, but it’s there. I thought including it would better portray a realistic encounter of what it’s like to be a wlw accepting her sexuality and exploring her feelings.

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 @jjlover01 @soft-for-drake @dopeyouth @alexroyard @satrinadia @toalltheboysididntlove @mypegasifly @queen-arabella-of-cordonia (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics and if you only want to be tagged for certain pairings.)

The first time I realised I was in love with my best friend was... well, I'm not sure if I'm being honest.

But damn, if that's not the most generic, cliché plot ever for every sapphic film and story ever, I'm not sure what is. However, there was always some truth to fiction and I was no exception.

That was my life. Generic and cliché. Popular high school captain of the cheerleaders who lived in the suburbs and came from a middle-class family that has dated the school's famous golden-boy quarterback.

For far too long, everything was normal. Too normal. Painfully normal.

That is, of course, until I started realising I had feelings for my best friend that was very much into guys. As I've mentioned, I couldn't pint-point an exact date or incident but like a hurricane, it was sudden even though there were warnings signs and it was just as destructive, uprooting and destroying everything I thought I once knew, a force to be reckoned with.

It was utter chaos in a seeming perfect picture but for the first time in my life, I felt alive.

Emma Price was my hurricane. Whether that was a good or bad thing, that was up for debate. All I knew was that I wanted her in my life and didn't care if it wasn't the best idea or if it would hurt me. I just wanted her to be with me.

I think that's the funniest thing about finally having a genuine, heart-wrenching, crush on someone. Even the smartest people get dumb, the most cautious are reckless and the logical becomes irrational. Everything that made sense doesn't anymore because why the hell are you doing things you normally wouldn't do for someone that doesn't even like you back?

I learnt that first-hand and I wished someone would've warned me before that. Not like I would've believed it but at least it would be playing at the back of my mind. An echo in the distance, a nagging voice.

I did the stupidest stuff once I was certain I was in love with Emma. I knew I was in love with her but I was in denial and did things I regretted. Dating other people, trying to make her jealous, downplaying my feelings when I saw her with Mason or Noah. Pushing her away and avoiding her instead of talking to her...

It's different, falling for your best friend. Feelings and signals are mixed, emotions are at a high and everything is just one confusing mess of a relationship that was once simple and innocent.

And now, here I was, laying on my bed, staring at my phone as if it would magically tell me the right thing to do if I looked long enough. It didn't, of course. I sighed, wondering if I should shoot Emma a text. It's been some time since we just talked for fun and I missed her sorely.

Procrastinating, I swiped through my home page. My eyes caught sight of a certain app that I opened ever so often whenever I was missing my best friend.

~*~*~

"Come on! Just download it!"

I scrunched my nose up. "Give me one good reason why."

"Because you’re the best friend in the whole world and you'll do anything I say because you love me?" she said jokingly while batting her eyelashes at me but my heart started racing.

I was acutely aware of her hand on my thigh and the way she leaned into me. My breath hitched at her nearness even though we've been closer before.

That was something else about having a crush on your best friend. Suddenly, everything felt like too much. Every word, every touch, every damn single thing was overwhelming and honestly? It was exhausting. Not only is it emotionally tiring, you go into this weird phase of wanting to savour everything they do and you can't help but wonder why you didn't appreciate these small moments before. You can't help but feel as if you've wasted them all.

If she could sense me stiffen, she didn't show it 'cuz she just went on. "Also, it's about a cartoon cat that eats to save the world! What's not to love?"

"That sounds ridiculous, Em," I laughed. "What's the game called?"

"Dopey Cat!"

"Oh god," I groaned. "That makes it sounds much worse."

"Or much better!" She nudged me and I felt a jolt go up my arm. I always wondered if these simple touches felt the same to her. "Do it"

"Alright, alright!" I giggled and surrendered. "Only 'cuz I'm such a great friend."

"Yes! And like I said," Emma leaned in and my heart dropped to my stomach. "The best."

She gave me a slow, soft peck on my cheek and rested her head on my shoulder, clinging onto my arm and leaving me a flustered mess.

~*~*~

I thought about that moment often. More often then I'd like to admit. Every time I did, the same thoughts would always come to mind.

What would've happened if I kiss her? What if I just turned my head right before her lips touched my skin? Would she have kissed me back? Would she push me away? Maybe she'd say she felt the same way about me.

But that didn't happen, so all I could do was wonder.

And wonder I did.

Being in my room like this, doing nothing, it really did make my mind go everywhere. I've dreamed and cried and laughed and screamed and doing nothing was suddenly the most taxing thing I've ever done. Doing nothing when you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back was the most dangerous thing 'cuz they’re already always on your mind but when you're doing nothing, your thoughts just spirals down an endless pit of possibilities that'll never happen and ultimately, you get hurt.

But knowing this, I still let my thoughts spiral anyway. How could I not when the joy and peace I got from imaging a world where her and I were together was worth the pain and heartbreak?

'Cuz figment of my imagination or reality, it didn't matter, she was worth it.

I've imagine us on dates, having picnics, watching movies, going on road trips, sleeping over, laughing over nothing, at the park, at the beach, in a field, in our rooms.

I've thought about us dancing in the living room at 12 a.m., huddled in bundles of blankets on a cold night, singing along to our song while making breakfast, staying up under the night sky and talking about everything and nothing until sunrise, being able to introduce her as my girlfriend and kissing her whenever I felt like.

I've dreamt about us so much as a couple that I've accidentally mistaken reality for fiction but like I've said, there's always some truth to fiction.

~*~*~

"Congrats on being co-captains, guys!" Iris wished us enthusiastically, practically jumping up and down.

"Seriously, you guys totally deserve it," Toni agreed.

"Thank you!" Emma said.

"You two are the best duo! Our cheer squad is gonna rule with you both leading us!"

"Thanks," I said and pulled Emma in for a side hug, feeling goosebumps from the contact. "We do make a pretty great couple."

I immediately froze when I realised what I said and mentally kicked myself. 

God, that was so stupid! Why was I so careless? I should watch what I say!

That wasn't the first time I've done it and I was sure it wasn't the last, but just like how Emma was always the only one to mess up my constant, she was the one difference between all the other times and this time.

She had never heard me refer to ourselves as a couple but while I was beating myself up, Emma handled the situation coolly. She slid her hand in mine and squeezed which did nothing to calm my wrecked nerves.

"We definitely sure would! She the sweetest, more caring person in the world and I'd be so lucky to call her mine." She leaned into me and gave me a nudge but all I could do was stare at her, eyes wide and brows raised.

Her deep brown eyes locked onto mine and I swear I could feel the spark between our gaze. And what was that I saw in her eyes? Longing? A hint? I wasn't sure but I could've sworn there was something else I couldn't quite decipher. Then again, I didn't really trust my thoughts. If it could make me believe we were actually a couple, why would I ever trust it in this situation? How could I?

I'm not sure how long we were staring at each other 'cuz to me, it felt timeless. We only broke apart when we heard someone making a retching sound.

"Gross! Go get a room," Lauren said as she walked towards us. "No one wants to see two lesbos in action."

I felt her hand fall out of mine and suddenly, I felt very vulnerable.

"You don't have to be rude!" Iris defended.

"Yeah, Lauren, no one asked," Toni agreed.

Emma spoke up. "Go away, Lauren. No one wants you here." She said it in an almost tired manner. She was done with putting up with her and it showed.

"Aw, protecting your lesbian lover? Cute," Lauren rolled her eyes and walked away. "Whatever, later, losers!"

"Don't listen to her," Toni said after Lauren left.

But how could I not?

"Hey, Ava?"

I could hear the sweet voice of best friend calling out to me but it was distant.

Everything was. I didn't feel like I was in my body. All my senses were numb and I felt nothing. Nothing except the raging white heat within me. I was having an out of body experience in the worst way possible and for a moment, I didn't feel human.

~*~*~

Then Ava was definitely different from Now Ava. Then Ava wanted to cry and run as far as she could. But she couldn't. She was paralysed with fear and embarrassment. Now Ava would've just laughed and called Lauren pathetic. Maybe even give her a nice slap across the face if she felt like it. But Now Ava wasn't Then Ava, so why dwell on the past?

The thing is, I didn't want to. But like that dull throb at the back of your skull after a concussion, I just couldn't ignore it. You tell everyone you're fine, and for the most part, you are. But that annoying sensation, constantly reminding you aren't, that you just couldn't forget. That was that moment with Lauren.

Her words played in my mind on repeat for the first week after hearing it. Months later that voice was softer and less frequent, but it was still there.

A lot happened in those months. The biggest of all? I finally accepted that I was gay. No, not gay, a lesbian.

That word Lauren had spoken with a jeer, the word she used to insult me, the word that was meant to humiliate me, I was that word.

That wasn't the only time I heard it used that way but it was the first time it was used against me. Lauren's words was a constant reminder in my mind that being a lesbian was an embarrassment, that I was an embarrassment.

Then Ava would feel a chill run up her spine when she heard that word even though it wasn't directed to her. And when it finally was, her soul left her body but of course, that would've been too easy. Her soul leaving her body would've been the easy way out. So instead, she was forced back into reality and had to find a way to deal with it.

Now Ava knew it wasn't a bad thing. Of course she did, she was one, after all. So why did Lauren's words still haunt her?

I still had to remind myself that it was okay. It wasn't gross or immoral or whatever nonsense they put into my mind about girls liking other girls. And every time I did, the madder I got. At everyone that has ever said anything about it and at myself.

Because how dare they tell me how to feel?

And how dare I listen to them when I knew it wasn't true?

I was at peace with it now. I was at peace with being a lesbian. But being at peace wasn't the same as embracing it, owning it. And I'm not sure if I ever will, but I hope I do.

I wasn't out to anyone, and god, I've never felt so suffocated in my life. I couldn't even tell Emma 'cuz I was afraid of how she'd react. Or worse, that she'd assume I have a crush on her. And the worst part, that it was true. That I couldn't even deny it.

Not being able to tell your best friend whom you've always told everything to made me feel like shit. It ate away at me every time I was near her and whenever we were talking. I always wanted to bring it up but I never found out how. Maybe I will soon, but not now.

Emma had always been understanding. Even when she didn't get it, she would try. She wasn't quick to judge nor did she so easily jump to conclusions but I couldn't help but think that maybe, she wouldn't be so understanding. 'Cuz that's what you do when you overthink. You worry about things that you shouldn't and you create false scenarios and you just, can't, stop.

Which was exactly what I was doing right now.

I sighed, catching myself before I could spiral any further and rolled onto my side, staring out of the window with my phone abandoned on the bed.

It started drizzling and it was getting pretty cold. I moved to get under my comforter and wrapped the sheets around me.

And once again, I closed my eyes as my mind began to wander.

If only Emma was by my side...

~*~*~

"Oh my god! Ava! Stop!" she would giggle as I showered her in kisses.

"Nu-uh!" I'd respond and wrap her up in my arms, still kissing her wherever I could reach as we rolled around on my bed, playing.

She'd try to escape but since I'm stronger than her, it's useless. She's trapped in my embrace and eventually, she'd give in and hug me back.

We'd laughed about silly inside jokes as we let our hands linger over each other's bodies, not wanting to let go.

I'd pull her tight and she'd rest her head against my chest as the rain outside got heavier.

I'd shower her in compliments and she'd blush. We'd talk about life, our hopes and dreams and ambitions. Our plans and future together.

"Would you still be with me?" I'd ask her.

"Forever and always, baby," she'd reply and give me a reassuring kiss.

We'd waste away the rest of the day together and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

~*~*~

But that was just fantasy. She's not here and I'm not ready. Not ready to come out to Emma, let alone confront her about my feelings for her.

I took a deep breath before opening my eyes, as if I were physically preparing myself to come back to reality. I glanced at my phone screen that was opened at her chat. I picked my phone up and got ready to type but I hesitated.

Should I do this?

I didn't have much of a choice though, 'cuz my phone rang and lo and behold, my best friend, my crush, the girl I fell in love with, appeared as the caller ID.

My heart sank but my stomach filled with butterflies. This conflicting emotion wasn't a rare occurrence ever since I fell for my best friend but that didn't mean I was used to it. Fear and excitement coexisted where it shouldn't which only left me with a familiar uneasy feeling.

I only stopped for a moment before hitting the 'accept call' button.

"Hi!" I heard that cheery voice of hers ring from the other side of the phone and I could feel my insides warm.

Hey, yourself." I smiled. "What's up, Em?"

"Nothing much, I just feel like we haven't talked that much." She paused for a while before adding shyly, "And I miss you."

The warmth spread to my cheeks. "I really missed you too."

I heard her giggle and god, was it the most adorable sound ever. "Good to know. What have you been up to?"

Figuring out my sexuality and pining over you.

"Nothing much, just the usual." Liar. "What about you?"

"Just been thinking about you," she said casually and my heart fluttered.

I cleared my throat. "Any interesting stories lately?"

I heard another heavenly laugh. "Too many!"

She jumped right into it, not stopping once and honestly, I never wanted her to. Her voice in my ear was a comfort and I held onto it for as long as I could.

We talked and laughed for hours and I didn't even notice until I glanced at the clock on my wall. Time passed too quickly whenever I was with her, I always felt like it wasn't enough. It never was.

But then again, an infinite lifetime with her would still feel too short. 

"And then, Mack ran out of the house with our dad chasing her in only his towel and shower cap with his back scrubber!" she laughed unrestrained, not holding it back and lighting up the entire world with it.

"Oh my god!" I laughed along with her. "How did she even pull that off? I can't believe I missed that!"

"See? This is why you should come over more often!"

I didn't know how to respond but it was fine because she started speaking again.

"Wow, I didn't realise the time! I should probably head to bed."

"Yeah, me too," feeling disappointed that she was gonna hang up soon even though I let out a yawn. "But I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"For sure! Good night, Ava."

"Night, Em."

"..."

"..."

"Are you still there?" she asked me.

"Uh, yeah?" I replied. "Put down the phone."

"No, you!" She giggled.

I smiled from hearing it. "You!"

"Ugh, fine! Bye."

"Okay, bye bye."

"..."

"..."

"Hello?"

"Emma," I breath out in a light chuckle. "Go sleep."

"Okay! Okay, for good this time, bye."

"Bye," I laughed and before I could stop myself, I added, "I love you."

And I shot up, frozen in place. It wasn't what I say, it was the way I did. Soft and vulnerable and definitely not just a friend proclaiming her platonic love to her best friend.

I heard Emma suck in a sharp breath as if she caught onto it too, and the line went dead silent.

"Ava-"

I heard her whisper but I pulled my phone away from me as if it was poison eating away at my flesh and hit the 'end call' button, tossing it beside me. I didn't hear her finish her sentence and I wasn't sure if I could handle it if I did.

Shit!

I hit my palm against my face and slid it down, groaning. How was I gonna face her tomorrow?

Just then, I heard my phone go off. The ringtone I had set just for Emma played and I swear I felt my heart stop.

Nervously, I glanced down at my phone to see the notification that popped up.

'I love you too <3'

Warmth spread through my body and I let out an involuntary grin. I fell back onto the bed with my arm covering across my face.

I glanced back at the message and made a high-pitched squeal that I never in a million years thought would come out of my mouth. Leave it to Emma to make me do things I normally wouldn't.

My heart raced in my chest.

She may not have meant it the way I have but it didn't matter because hearing her tell me she loved me was all I needed.

That was another thing about having a crush on your best friend; the I love you's were up for interpretation.

I placed the phone on my chest and let my arms sprawl out on the bed. Whatever sleepiness I had left my body, there was no way I could go to bed now.

So instead, I let my mind roam but this time, willingly. I let my thoughts free fall through a million different possibilities as the night turned to day. 

I watched the sun rise.

And I smiled.

Because falling in love with my best friend was messy and complicated and heart-shattering. But it was also full of excitement and exhilaration and anticipation.

It was rollercoaster of emotions, full of ups and downs and twist and turns and even loops, but that's what made it thrilling. And for the first time in my normal life, I had something to keep me on my toes.

And I wouldn't have changed a thing.

Was my best friend also in love with me? I didn't know. Would I ever know? Maybe, maybe not. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little curious to know how she feels, be it good or bad. Maybe someday I'll ask her. Maybe I'll get to hold her. Maybe she'll never speak to me again.

But until then, all I had were the stories I've made up in my mind.

(More fics!)

[colorseeingchick]

Extremities

Summary: A fire alarm kicks you and your classmates outside in the middle of a chilly winter- and all your luck has just about run out. But in the midst of the icy situation, your best friend Kuroo manages to warm your heart. 

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, “unrequited” pining

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: based off something that my good friend used to do in high school, but upon further reflection, was probably MAD sus to everyone else. Anyways hope y’all like it hehe. <3

Why is it that people only manage to start chemical fires in the winter? The blaring of the fire alarm rings in your ears as you carefully hop in the deep footsteps pressed into the snow beneath you- trying very hard to ensure that the snow doesn’t accidentally hit your socks or sink into the soles of your sneakers. The cold was already seeping into your exposed skin, slowly pricking and biting at your arms and cheeks. 

Of all the times for a fire alarm, it just had to be during gym. While everyone else had their winter uniforms on, you were stuck in your gym shirt and shorts.  Just your luck. You bury your hands into your underarms, attempting to cling onto any remaining warmth your body could generate.

If you were going to be stuck out here, might as well be with any friend you could find. Looking for Yaku amidst the herd of tall 3rd years felt like a lost cause, so instead, you look for the beheaded giant that you call your best friend. Finding him never really seemed to be a problem for you. He stuck out for a variety of reasons, but at the moment, his wack hair was the most prominent. 

You hop in footsteps as you make your way towards the spikes of raven black hair, weaving through the other students. Once you’re finally by him, you tug on his sleeve as a form of acknowledgement. He responds by looking at you and smirking (it was supposed to be a smile, but with Kuroo it always ended up looking like a smirk.) 

Before you can say anything you hear a teacher say, “We could be out here for anywhere between 10 to 20 minutes class, so try and hold out until then,” while slipping mittens onto her stiff fingers. 

“Yaku says most of the team is on the other side of the building with him. So I think it’s just gonna be us over here,” Kuroo types away at his phone while informing you. 

You shiver and nod, the skin on the back of your neck begins to tingle as another gush of wind blows in your direction. You let out a deep breath, focusing on the crystallizing vapor that appears like smoke in front of your mouth- trying to distract yourself from the aggravating cold. 

I really struck out in terms of luck, huh. You feel the cold start to climb your exposed legs, making your skin feel hypersensitive. You tried to move around in circles, doing an awkward lil shuffle, to try and keep the cold away.

“Are you waddling in a circle because you wanna be a penguin, or because you enjoy looking dumb?” Kuroo’s snarky voice pulls you out of your own head. 

“Bold of you to assume penguins don’t enjoy looking dumb,” you retort, rolling your eyes. 

“Well yeah, when they do it it’s cute,” he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Are you saying I’m not cute? You don’t ask it. Not out loud. 

“Listen, it’s not my fault there was a fire right when I was in the gym.”

“Aren’t we required to bring our track jackets to gym though?”

“I left it in my locker because I thought I would get too hot…” you know how it sounded as it left your mouth. 

“So you didn’t listen to instructions?”

“...”

“This is your fault then.” 

You scoff, visibly annoyed, which only causes Kuroo’s smirk to widen. That, of course, pisses you off more. He’s right, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. 

“What class were you in? Chemistry?” you change the subject, still slowly waddling while hugging yourself. 

“Yeah. The fire was from our room.” 

“What even happened?” 

“Someone didn’t clean their beaker correctly so there were remnants of previous chemicals. When we were doing our experiments today, it just so happened to be the wrong combination- so it started the fire.”  

“Don’t be shy, Kuroo. You can tell me you’re the one who started the fire, I won’t judge too hard,” you tease. 

“Tsk, please. I may be an idiot but I’m not that irresponsible…” the faintest of pouts pulls at his lips. 

You hum softly, and quietly say, “I know.” Considering everything that Kuroo was- clumsy and irresponsible wasn’t him. He was one of the most chaotic people you knew- only outdone by Bokuto- but he always took good care of the people around him. You usually witnessed this firsthand as the manager for your school’s volleyball team, watching him in all his captaining glory. He kept it together when they couldn’t. And he definitely kept it together when you couldn’t. Kuroo may not have been clumsy, but you definitely were. 

While you’re lost in your own head, Kuroo hears his name being called out. “Oi, Y/N, I’ll be right back. One of my lab members is calling me over. Don’t freeze to death in that time” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You dismiss him. 

But now in this moment alone with no annoying cat to distract you, the cold starts to overtake you at a faster pace. 

Dizzy from walking in circles, you attempt to shuffle side to side. You did little to pay attention to where you were going, though. Without realizing, you misstep, tripping over your own shoe, left foot digging into a fresh pile of snow when trying to catch yourself- the soft white fluff encasing everything below your ankle. 

Shit. 

The cold that had been nipping at your exterior had suddenly soaked your entire shoe and sock through- permeating through your skin and now racking your entire body with an aggressive wave of iciness. 

********************************4ish minutes later***************************************

Kuroo doesn’t know about this catastrophe on his walk back over. Instead, he’s internally planning on how to continue your teasing banter, his demeanor annoying (it was supposed to be a playful one, but with Kuroo it always just ended up being annoying). 

“Oya, did the cold freeze you stiff or what.” 

Any patience and energy you had left has frozen over.

“I’m fine,” you deadpan. 

Kuroo pauses. ...Oh no, he thinks.

If Bokuto has his emo mode, you have your moody mode. It’s a lot less predictable in comparison to Bokuto, but just as easy to remedy. A little bit of attention or a nice distraction usually does the trick.

“You’re cold,” Kuroo blatantly states.

 “I'm not.” Lie of the century and a dumb answer. But on instinct, you just felt like arguing. 

“I can see you shaking.” You’re indeed shaking like a leaf. 

“Then there’s something wrong with your eyes then...go see an eye doctor or something.” l a m e comeback- but your brain is now freezing up, too. You don’t want to agree with him. If you do, he’d probably just lecture you for not following directions and tell you to own up to it rather than sulk. He would be absolutely correct in saying so, but you really don’t care for logic right now. 

Kuroo huffs, taking a broad step into your little waddle circle and grabbing your shoulders to turn you around so you’re facing him. You shuffle back a bit at the sudden closeness, not that it did much to create distance between you two. It’s at that moment that you also realize the wind is no longer hitting your face- Kuroo’s blocking off the breeze with his back.

“Give me your hands.” Kuroo gently grabs your wrists, which were tucked under your arms. He pulls your hands up to his chest level and then proceeds to wrap his hands around your fingers. 

“Kuroo wh-what are you--” 

“Warming your extremities.”

“Hah?” 

“Your extremities, your fingers.”

“My… what?” 

“When you get cold, most of the heat in your body centralizes to your core to keep your internal organs warm. So that means the extremities of your body, such as your fingers and toes, get the coldest the fastest. They become prone to frostbite as a result and…”

Everything Kuroo says made perfect sense. Probably. You couldn’t really tell because everything also happened to be going in one ear and out the other. Even the sudden bout of irritation you had felt had suddenly disappeared. You can’t focus on anything but his hands. 

They’re markedly bigger than yours. Your fingers feel so tiny in his grasp. They’re calloused from all the volleyball. His grip is strong, unmoving, but it isn’t crushing or tight. Above all, they radiate warmth. Your stiff and numb fingers regain feeling, soothed by the heat of your best friend’s hands. 

You want nothing more than to look at them. You want to just see his hands wrapped around your fingers. But there was no way you were going to let Kuroo in on the fact that the physical contact stole every bit of attention you had. So instead, you just opt to blankly stare at him, pretending to listen to him nerd out. 

“... it’s the most effective way to mitigate the most harmful effects of the cold. We learned all this in biology, don’t you remember?” 

Still completely clueless about what Kuroo's saying, you just hum in agreement. 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t listen to a word I said did you.” He squeezes your fingers slightly to refocus your mind on him speaking, rather than… whatever you were daydreaming about. 

“Oh- uh… yeah. Sorry for spacing out…” you turn your face away from him. Spacing out was a usual occurrence for you, but for some reason when Kuroo brought attention to it this time, it had you feeling a lot more embarrassed. 

He scoffs a little bit, but his voice softens as he says, “You can space out, that’s fine, no need to feel weird about it, y/n.” He squeezes your fingers again while gently stroking the pad of your pointer finger with his thumb. Flustered as it makes you, it's also very calming. Calming enough that you’re able to make stable eye contact again. 

“I’m sorry for getting moody with you, Kuroo…” you murmur, sheepishly gazing up at him. 

His eyes are unreadable. “You don’t have to apologize for everything, y/n. It makes me feel a little weird... Just, like- say thank you instead.” 

You cock your head to the side, confused by his comment. 

He takes a deep breath, the condensation thick in front of his mouth. “You saying sorry all the time, it makes it seem like you think you’re a bother or something. You’re not.” This is getting too serious for his liking. A heart to heart in the middle of a fire drill? Not happening. He has to lighten it up. “ So...instead of putting yourself down, just praise me instead. Trust me, I love every ego boost I can get.” His signature Cheshire grin slowly emerges, prompting you to roll your eyes. “So don’t say, ‘sorry I wasn’t paying attention in biology 2 years ago-’ say, ‘thank you for re-educating me like the great tutor you are, Kuroo-kun~~’” 

He was a great tutor. He’s been helping you with science for 3 years. 

“Or! Or- ‘sorry for letting a volleyball smash into your face,’ you can say, ‘I’m thankful I didn’t damage your gorgeous face-’”

That incident was completely accidental but hilarious anyways. 

 Kuroo’s nonsensical yet insightful rambling continues, and it helps the embarrassment dissipate from within your chest, amusement taking its place.

“Oi! You narcissistic cat.” Kuroo stops his rambling and just stares at you. “Thanks for being there for me… and putting up with me no matter how emotional I can be..” 

Kuroo’s face twists into a smile (yes- a smile! Not a smirk this time) filled with genuine happiness. “No problem. Anything for you.”

Anything, huh. 

“Do you not feel cold anymore?” Kuroo quickly realizes his hands are still enclosed around your fingers, now gently resting against his chest. 

To be honest, your upper body feels like its on fire. Your face is hot and your heart is pounding like you had run 5 miles. By contrast, your lower body is frozen solid. Your skin is probably extremely cracked, and its stinging. Your feet are also blocks of ice, the revolting feeling of soaked sock ever-present. The two extreme sensations leave you feeling really uncomfortable. But your hands don’t feel hot, though. There was just the perfect amount of warmth- a tingly sensation buzzing through them and faintly running up to your heart.

“Uh, not as much. My feet are messed up but my upper body isn’t as bad.”

“Your feet? You mean your legs?” “No, my feet.”

“Heh? I get your legs- ‘cause of your shorts. But what happened to your feet? I thought you were stepping in other footsteps to avoid getting snow in them.”

“I was but uh I- kinda tripped and stepped right into the snow.” 

“...” 

A snort. “Dumbass. How do you even trip over your own feet?”

“...oh shut up, nerd.”

The beeps of a loudspeaker cut off your banter, indicating you could all go back inside. 

“Finally!” You sigh in relief. Although you would never admit it, a part of you didn’t wanna go back in yet. Which is stupid because HELLO you’re gonna get frostbite at this point. But you really didn’t wanna pull your hands away from Kuroo. Not yet.

Physical contact had always been pretty limited to slaps on the backs during the good games and pats on the shoulders during the bad. This type of closeness was a first, but was it also going to be the last?

Regardless, you knew it would be sus if you, the person who was now essentially a walking ice cube, lingered outside longer than literally anyone else. 

So you pull your hands out of his strong, warm, welcoming hold. 

“I’m gonna go pour some hot water on my legs and change my shoes… I’ll see you during practice, yeah?” 

Before he could respond, you turn around and hop away in the deepest footprints you can find.

You don’t seem as off as you were earlier, but now you were acting weird in a different way. Kuroo stands there for a second, but once he realizes that he can’t figure you out, he just sighs. Clueless as ever, he shrugs, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and then heads in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you situate yourself in the bathroom and wipe down your legs with a towel soaked in hot water, you let the series of events finally sink into your slowly dethawing head. You aren’t sure if your face is warm to fight the cold or because of embarrassment. 

Pleasant as it was, you knew you couldn’t dwell on the things that just happened with Kuroo. Not for too long, at least. He was one of your closest friends- but just that. So you would have to freeze away whatever wack feelings that were dancing in your chest. It would be better that way for now. 

That’s what you’re gonna tell yourself, at least.

[scribbles97]

Cahelium and Stone

@gumnut-logic​ wrote this wonderful bit of fic for us but seems to have forgotten how to not leave a fic on a cliff hanger :P 

So of course I could not simply ignore the implications of said fic, so I went ahead and added to it. 

Thank you Nutty for letting me play with your ideas! 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It wasn’t like Virgil to flee when a family member was in hospital. The middle brother having both the most patience and the most medical knowledge of them all would always be the first to take vigil at a bedside. It was impossible to count how many days his brother has sat by a bedside, either waiting or entertaining another.

He was never first to leave. It was rare for him to even consider leaving before the patient was stabilised unless they had a job to do. 

So to be ordered back to Thunderbird Two just minutes after landing in Auckland and flown  home in tense, deadly silence, was nothing like normal. 

To say it freaked Gordon out was an understatement. 

Especially considering just who was in that hospital bed. 

The fact that his older brother hadn’t even protested when Grandma insisted on repeating the medscan on his head spoke volumes. 

Gordon had been shooed off with that look only Grandma had perfected, sent away to shower and change. Grandma would set Virgil straight, she always did. 

Except, the next time Gordon found his brother it was on the floor of the hangar, arms and legs limp like a ragdoll as his eyes stared blankly at a familiar green panel. 

He doesn’t have to look up to Two to know just which panel it was. 

The panel from the wing that had collided with Thunderbird Shadow. 

***

Gordon was by far the least quiet of his brothers, and also the least subtle. 

Despite the pounding rush of blood in his ears and the screaming guilt in his head, he had still heard his younger brother coming. He knew exactly what conversation was to follow, could have probably planned it out in his head if he had been so inclined. 

Except, after the rush of so many emotions just moments ago, numbness had taken over. Physically and mentally exhausted from a day of rescues and disaster, his entire body had gone into protective mode and shut itself down. 

There wasn’t even the energy to tear his eyes away from that dent. 

“She’s fine V.” 

Still he couldn’t draw his eyes away. 

Gordon sighed as he sat down next to him, kicking the panel out of sight with a clank and a shower of paint flecks. 

“Couple of bruises, a bum leg, and a mild concussion, nothing that any of us hasn’t had before.”

Except he had caused it, that hadn’t happened before. 

“Come on bro, this isn’t your fault. You’re the last person Kayo’s gonna blame for this.” 

He was the first person she should blame. Everyone had questioned him after he’d caught his face on that bit of metal that had been sticking out where it shouldn’t have been. A couple of steristrips and a quick med scan had been enough to convince them that he was fine, fit to continue the rescue. It was just a cut after all. 

Maybe he’d missed something. 

“Should’da let you fly home.”

Gordon scoffed, shaking his head  with a grin, “What, so I could ding up both your girls and then suffer a slow, painful, death by both yours and Kayo’s hands? I’m good thanks.” 

He knew it was meant as a joke. 

“V, be grateful it was you flying. Nobody else would have recovered Two quick enough to grab Shadow out of the sky like that.”

It hadn’t been quick enough though, she’d still hit the side of the cliff, crumpled between the weight of Two and the solid rock face. All he’d saved her from was a watery demise. 

“Eos and John both said that the gust came out of nowhere, it was a freak accident, a random result of mother nature and the start of the hurricane.”

“She could have died.” Was all he could force past his lips. 

“She didn’t though.” Gordon persisted, ever the optimist, “Because you pulled her out of that dive into the water.”

A hand squeezed hard on his aching shoulder, feeling finally coming back with a vengeance as he realised just how much of himself was starting to ache. 

“Everyone else saw the same as me bro, you saving your fiancee’s ass. Let me tell you, if you don’t get that into your head, I’m gonna tell her what you’re thinking and let her kick your ass for me.”

His brother’s elbow was lumpy against Virgil’s ribs as he grinned some more and added, “And I will take great pleasure in watching.” 

The little question was still in the back of his mind though, still needling against his greatest fear of the moment. 

“I could have killed her.” 

“Virgil Tracy, you couldn’t kill me if you damn tried. You even hesitate to try and punch me when we’re training.”

Aching muscles damned, he immediately sat straighter, eyes widening at the voice from Gordon’s wrist. 

“Told ya I would.” Gordon grinned, “Your funeral, Virg.”

“Kay, I-- you-- wha--”

Her hologram appeared above his younger brother’s wrist. The image may have been small but the anger she radiated was enough to fill him with fear. 

“Where the hell are you?” 

He swallowed, feeling as small as the image in front of him. 

Visibly she seemed fine, a minor cut on her cheek, a swelling bruise blending with her hairline. She hadn’t had her helmet on at the time, the rush to clear the area before the hurricane hit more of a necessity. There had been nothing to protect her if her ship had hit the water below. 

“The hangar at home.” Gordon filled in for him as the silence stretched on. 

Her glare hardened, as cold as ice. 

“I’m sorry.” He forced out, pursing his lips as he watched her, “Kay I--”

“That had better be an apology for not being here.”

He couldn’t lie to her, it wasn’t in his nature. In that moment though there were several things he was sorry for, and Kay probably knew exactly what he meant. 

Looking across to Gordon, Virgil swallowed, “Gords, will you--” 

His younger brother was already standing, a hand held out to help him up, “Alan’s already prepped Tracy Two. Don’t worry Kayo, we’ll make sure he’s delivered direct to your door at no extra charge.” 

That earned them both a slight smile before she looked back to him, “Virgil? I’m okay, thanks to you.”

His chest tightened, a lump swelling in his throat blocking off any words that he might have tired to respond with. Instead he simply nodded, mute, trying to ignore the cut on her cheek. 

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” She prompted softly. 

Straightening, he glanced to Gordon before clearing his throat. There was nowhere else he would rather be, nowhere else he should have been. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He confirmed. 

Her smile was softer, the anger fizzled out as she nodded back to him. 

“I love you, Virgil tracy.” 

He snorted softly, scratching the back of his head as his next breath came easier. Both knew there was no need for him to respond, that the only reason that he wasn’t already there was out of how much love he held for her. 

Still, he said it anyway. 

“I love you too Kay.”

[cialbi]

Boy with Hope: Lavender - Chapter Two

Summary: Severely depressed and addicted to alcohol, you had given up entirely on life. Your passion was gone, your friends had left you and you found yourself completely alone. As you closed your eyes for the last time, the smell of lavender wafted through your nose and a boy with purple wings appeared above you.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Fantasy

Pairings: Angel Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: Language, Depression, Alcoholism, Future Smut

Word Count: 2105

⤎Previous

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You did it. 

You're dead.

You're dead, you're dead, you died, you're dead. 

That was the only explanation, because seriously, gorgeous men with beautiful smiles don't just appear in your room, cook you breakfast and heal you with their magic hands. And they most certainly don't sprout enormous, sparkly purple wings from their backs. That shit only happens in romantic fantasy movies and you're movie genre was most certainly a mix of angst and horror. Magical stuff doesn't happen in those kinds of movies.

Yes, being dead was the only logical explanation.

This is what you wanted right? To be dead. 

Life had been so dark, the pain so unbearable, you could barely walk through it each day. Everything you did was to alleviate some of the anguish: the drinking, the drugs, but it was never enough. You had needed peace. Now, finally, for once in your life you had gotten what you wanted--you should be happy!--so you didn't understand why, instead, you felt so... empty.

"I can't believe it..." You whispered, clutching your arm for some kind of support. "I actually did it, I actually--"

"Wait, no!" Hoseok started, grabbing your arms with his big, warm hands. "That's not what I--"

"And this--" You angled your face to meet his eyes. "This must be my punishment!"

The orange-haired man searched your face frantically for some kind of answer to what you meant. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

Laughing shakily, your expression fell blank. "You know, my punishment. In Hell."

Hoseok's head cocked to the side as he observed you, curiously waiting for you to provide some kind of followup to your statement. When you gave none, he huffed, trying to hide his exasperation. "I don't think I understand Y/N. How is sending an angel to help you a form of punishment from Hell?"

"No you see, that's just it!" You huffed back, prying his hands off of your arms and thrusting them back and away from you. "You say you're here to help me, and maybe, maybe, that's true. But sooner or later, you're gonna realize."

Hoseok sat back, leaning against his elbows. "Realize?"

"That I'm unhelpable." Your voice dropped so low it was barely a whisper as you averted your stare to your hands clasped in your lap. "Just like everyone else did."

A silence fell across the room of your tiny apartment, the air growing thick with a tense energy that dropped low on both your shoulders. Hoseok's sparkly eyes narrowed to slits as he watched you closely. You could hear the soft breathing blow through your noses as you busied your gaze on the silver cross that rose and fell with each movement of the angel's chest.

Slowly, Hoseok broke the silence. "Y/N. I guarantee you're still very much alive." The serious tone mixed with the stern stare he fixed you with had you looking up to meet his face. His expression was soft and smooth, but his eyes twinkled with sincerity. Considering his next words, he continued. "But you should know, it was very difficult to bring you back after all those pills you swallowed. I tried to take away the pains of the aftermath, but it looks like it's going to take much more time for the effects to completely go away." He paused again. "And then there's still the withdrawal period. That, I can't take away."

Oh. 

Withdrawal. 

You were so caught up in the action that you hadn't even stopped to think about that. 

According to Hoseok, you had been asleep for two days, and usually withdrawal can kick in within thirty minutes of sobriety, especially for someone who had become so reliant as you had. Symptoms are usually worse at night--something to do with your brain getting sleepy--but with just the mention of withdrawal you could feel some of them begin to rear their ugly heads. Muscle pains, racing heart beat, the sweats...

You'd become painfully conscious of them now.

As if sensing your awareness, Hoseok sighed. "You're going to have to go through them without my magic, even the hallucinations... I'm sorry. But--" He flashed you a beautiful, reassuring smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. "--you don't have to go through it alone."

A new realization dawned on you. You hadn't considered that either. That all of this was just a-- "Hallucination..."

Hoseok blinked. "What?"

You laughed a little, suddenly feeling stupid for believing any of this magical nonsense. "This is all just some fucked up hallucination. Those floating lights weren't real, those wings weren't real. You're not real."

"That's not--"

"Man. I really did a number on my brain this time. I mean, I can't believe I fell for it! Angels? Hah! What is my mind going to mess me up with next?" You yammered.

"Y/N, please just---"

"Hahaha, oh my god. I've been talking to a hallucination this entire time!” The speed of your voice was picking up as you went on, the words meshing together in an incoherent babble. “I guess I've had hallucinations before, but they've never talked to me. I must be going crazy.” Your eyelids became extremely wide. “That's it, I'm crazy! I'm totally and completely cray--"

"Ok! Let me just stop you there!" Hoseok interjected strongly, placing a firm hand on your knee and bringing you out of your downward spiral. You immediately snapped your attention to him, the look on his face making you gulp. It was dead serious, lips pursed into a thin line and ivory skin so smooth that not a laugh-line nor dimple was visible. "Let's get something straight.” He held up one finger next to his cheek. “One. You're not dead. Two.” He added a second digit. “You're not crazy... don't ever say you're crazy in front of me again. And three." He held up three fingers, this time in front of your face. "This is not a hallucination. Me... this..." Placing a hand on your shoulder, he looked you square in the eye, the silver chains around his wrists dipping cool against your skin. "Is real."

For a few moments you both just sat there, staring at each other for the thousandth time in one morning. It was like he had you in a trance with those deep chocolate eyes, so it took all you had in you to tear your gaze away and lean back up against the wall to steady yourself. You felt completely thrown off by his sudden change in character and it was making you feel a little woozy.

When you didn't say anything, Hoseok took your chin gently between his fingers and moved you to look at him again. The sunny smile was back on his lips. "Hey. It's going to be ok Y/N. We're going to get you through this together."

The withdrawal symptoms were more present now, and your body had begun to grow hot and cold at the same time. Little beads of sweat began to pool around your forehead and your muscles groaned in dehydration. Maybe it was from all the adrenaline you exhausted while trying to get away earlier, but you were suddenly very burnt out. And still very much in denial.

"You're not real. And I can't get through this. I don't want to get through this." Your head lulled from side to side against the white brick of your wall as you said that. You really didn't. Sobering up took a lot of discipline and work--you just wanted the easy way out and you knew exactly what you needed to get there. So with a voice barely audible, you declared. "I need a drink."

Like, you really, really, needed one.

Hoseok rubbed your shoulder in soothing circles. "Yes. I am. And no. You don't." the angel assured, then snorted softly, running a hand through his sunshine colored locks. "Man, when he said you were stubborn..."

You ignored him, the rapid thumping of your heart distracting you from anything outside of yourself. You needed to quench these symptoms, to dull the noise. You needed to be numb again, and there was only one way to do that. 

“I’m sorry but, I just can’t.” You said weakly. 

“Hm?” Hoseok hummed, lowering his arms to rest on each of his knees. “Can’t what?”

“I can’t do it.” 

‘I can’t stay sober.’

Swallowing thickly, you pushed yourself from off the wall, first into a sitting position, and then, with Hoseok watching curiously, you forced yourself into a standing position, legs spread in the shape of a V atop the bed.

His eyes widened, realizing what you were about to do. "No, Y/N. Please! Don't!"

But it was too late.

With as much energy as you could muster, you lept over him, dodging as he made a dive to stop you, and landing on the floor, just barely keeping your balance. Your bummed knee howled in pain at the impact but you ignored it. Hallucination or not, nothing was going to get in your way. Nothing, no person, no angel, was going to stop you.

Looking over your shoulder, you stuck your tongue out at Hoseok. "Don't touch me, featherbutt! And don't try to stop me either!"

"Y/N, wait! I need to tell you--"

But you didn't waste time for him to finish. You turned on your heel and made a break for the front door, still dressed in your soiled clothes from two days ago and completely barefoot. The adrenaline was beginning to pump through your veins again, giving you that extra boost as you swung the door open and raced down the hall of your apartment complex. Your knee hurt like fucking hell, but you willed yourself to disregard the pain and keep pressing forward.

Glancing triumphantly behind you--haha! Sucker--oh shit!-- you caught a glimpse of an orange head before you collided into something firm and warm, sending you flying back onto your butt.

You winced, clenching your eyes shut at the new pain in your backside. "Goddammit!"

"Woah there. Language." A deep voice bellowed from above.

Cracking an eye open, you made a note to send your steeliest of glares at the person standing over you, but instead, you gasped. There was another good looking man with jet-black hair towering over you, a cigarette clamped between his lips and a long stream of smoke blowing from the dull orange light at the end. His face was young looking, which mixed in a shocking manner to the maturity of his profound, onyx eyes. 

Goodness, he was painfully handsome.

And scary.

He was wearing a black cashmere sweater underneath a black blazer, bottomed off with loose-fit black jeans and a thick silver chain that looped through his belt. But what really caught you off guard was the array of silver jewelry glittering around his body, or, more specifically the detailed silver cross that refracted the light around his neck.

It was identical to Hoseok's.

"Oh great, there are more of you?" You glowered under your breath.

"Yoongi hyung quick! Catch her!" Hoseok called, slowing into a steady jog as he tried to catch up to you.

The man took the cigarette between his lithe, ringed fingers and flicked it off to the side, giving a heavy sigh as he fixed his eyes on you. His expression was suddenly very focused and alert, and you found yourself feeling like prey all over again. "Now where might you be going in such a hurry, princess?"

Scooching away from him, you picked yourself up off the ground and started a slow walk backwards, turning your head every few seconds to see Hoseok inching closer and closer. You didn't have the stamina to take on two of them in this state, hell, you wouldn't have had the stamina regardless, and by now your knee was throbbing in an angry rage. You had to find an opening somewhere between the two of them.

The blacked-haired man made the first move, lunging forward with his arms outstretched, attempting to restrain you but you just barely slid past him. In comparison to Hoseok, he was much shorter, which made it easier to weasel your way around his grasp. He cursed rather colorfully by your evasion and you couldn't help the victorious smirk that pulled on your lips as you continued your stampede down the hall.

And he scolded you about language.

"Fuck Hoseok, she's fast!" You heard him yell from behind you. "She's not even wearing shoes!"

"Quick hyung, after her!" Hoseok's voice replied.

Hearing their words only fueled your speed, racing down the winding staircase that led out into the alleyway and where a few steps ahead laid the mainroad. You could hear the clatter of their footsteps from above as they raced to keep up with you, and by the sound of it they hadn't quite made it to the staircase yet. You paused for a moment to catch your breath, gathering what was left of your bearings as you turned to look down the alleyway. There's a liquor store just around the corner, about three minutes by foot; somewhere you frequented on especially hard days and you most certainly considered this to be one of them.

"Y/N wait! Please!" Hoseok's voice came again, this time from the landing of your apartment complex.

But you didn't wait.

You ran.

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Next⤏

A/N

Again, completely unedited!

I hope you enjoyed this next part, the story's just heating up! I wonder if I should make the chapters longer....