#and almost died drowned by his own blood

[turnleftonlastlaughtlan]

SPOILERS ARCANE SEASON 2 ACT 2

The irony for me is strong when :

vik: asks jayce not to make weapons with hextech

jayce : makes weapons with hextech

vik : asks him to destroy the hexcore so that he can die in peace like a normal man

jayce : fuses the hexcore with viktor’s body and makes MORE weapons

…

jayce : kills the hexcore WITH vik using the weapons he should have never made in the first place.

my dear boy you listen a way too late and only in half, i suggest a visit to the otolaryngologist

[celiime]

thinking about how life with satoru would be if he had survived. how there’s just something about living with gojo, something so domestic, something so…heartwarming. especially after the war has ended.

living in heaven.

your eyes softened, fingers softly trailing down the side of his face as your thumb smoothed over the scar by his eye—delicately, as if you were afraid to break this god sleeping infront of you—only an addition to the multitude of other scars on his features.

for a moment back there, you thought you had lost him, you thought you wouldn’t be able to see him again—that you would have to wake up in this bed alone, without him.

“i don’t…” for the first time since you’ve known her, shoko ieiri—your former classmate—seemed hesitant to speak, as if her breath was lodged in her throat, “don’t think i can guarantee you anything.”

at those words, though you knew you’d hear something similar to that, your breath hitched, eyes immediately drifting to land on the sight of your husband—torso separated from his lower half (you already threw up at the sight earlier)—gaze blurred by tears.

it wasn’t fair. what did she mean she can’t guarantee anything? does she mean that you won’t get him back?

despite your inner turmoil, the anguish tearing apart all the muscles in your chest—atrial, ventricular, and all the other muscles that you could distinctly feel being torn apart right this second—going all the way up to your throat, wanting to tear its way out—to demolish everything in its path. to avenge what should’ve been.

you think you could feel your body almost giving out.

you only nodded your head, gaze drifting to the floor tiles, the smell of antiseptic and everything unpleasant wafting into your nose, drowning out all your senses, “i trust you.” and you did, you trusted her.

she had always been trustworthy, doing her best, and you knew she wouldn’t let herself rest as long as gojo was on that table.

as much as he was—no, is—your husband, he was —is—also her best friend.

the woman infront of you—still upholding her composed features—bit down on her lip, a small sigh escaping her after a few seconds of silence, “in case anything happens…” in case he died right on that table, in case she couldn’t save him, “do you want to have a few words with him?”

shoko was never one for sentiment, she never really thought of saying her goodbyes to her loved ones as the first thing when she sees them on the table.

however, she knew you. she knew that you needed this, and she would keep you content—as she had promised gojo.

a few minutes passed, that ended up with you sitting beside him, on a chair that dug so persistently onto your side, your hip bone persisted—yet the pain was soon dismissed by the one in your chest, the ache stronger than any pain or dull ache in your side.

your hands, marred with scars and blood, trembled as you placed your hand in his own—fuck, it was so cold—weakly intertwining your fingers within his own, ignoring the shudder going through your body as soon as you held his hand fully.

your breaths quickened, shoulders trembling as you stared down at him, wanting nothing more than to rip out your own heart and replace it with his own.

to give him a beating heart once more.

despite your best efforts, a sob slipped from your lips, not bearing the sight of him laying so lifelessly before you. no sign of a smile or a playful glint in those eyes of his that—much to your dismay? relief?—were still wide open.

you have full faith in shoko, you really do. however, you just can’t help it, you can’t help the fear that crawls to your heart, suffocating you. but most of all, you can’t help the guilt you feel, the regret, the shame.

why didn’t you say goodbye? why did you allow yourself so foolishly to think that gojo is invincible? fuck—you still remember your last—no, don’t think like that—interaction with him.

“wish me luck!” your husband chirped, that wide beam never departing from his lips as he stood proudly in front of you, never hunching his tall stature despite the weight on it.

you quirked an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on your own lips, “do you really need luck, ‘toru? Is my faith not enough?” you managed to utter out, despite the concern and fear residing in the depth of your heart.

at your words, a small chuckle left his lips, eyes softening—the edges of his lips softening into a smile full of fondness, “nah, you’re right. you’re my good luck charm.” he placed a hefty palm on your head, a small snicker escaping him as your glare directed up at him as soon as you felt him messing up your hair.

“though—“ his voice was quick to interrupt the serene moment, a teasing lilt to his voice—that, maybe if you had focused enough, had an edge to it, one that carried doubt, worry, and…fear?

(you think so, you just couldn’t catch onto it before it dissipated from his tone.)

“shouldn’t a wife wish her husband a farewell when he’s heading into such a tough battle? you know! to smother him with worry and kisses?” he inquired, a teasing smile on his lips, “maybe wish him a goodbye if you’re so gracious! who knows if i’ll make it back?” he pouted, finding the time to insert in his theatrics even when uttering such words.

you should’ve put some consideration into his words, should’ve took them to heart—but you didn’t. you didn’t. because why would he be serious if his words were spoken so playfully? when you know that he’s the strongest? when you were so sure that he was sure that he would also make it out alive? he had to be, right?

you huffed out a playful scoff, shaking your head fondly, “you’re being dramatic. you’re going to see me later, anyways. no need for farewells, ‘toru!” you hated farewells, he knew that.

you flashed him a bright smile, hoping it would express the love you had for him despite how you seemed to turn down his request. “we’ll both see eachother later.”

were you?

were his words really genuine?

…

maybe they were. you should’ve taken them seriously. now you’re paying the consequences, the consequences of not being perceptive enough—oh, how your heart aches for your husband.

“maybe wish him a goodbye if you’re so gracious! who knows if i’ll make it back?”

another sob ripped out of your lips as you held his hand tighter, the tips of his fingers turning a faint purple from how tight you gripped onto his hand. “please—“ you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so weak, so defeated, “i’ll say goo—goodbye! anything you want, i’ll—i’ll give you anything you want. please—“

he would’ve cooed at you, had he seen you this mess of tears, snot, and cracking tone.

oh, your baby.

“at least—“ you lowered your forehead to rest upon his chest, shoulders caving in once you realized the absence of a heartbeat, “at least wake up for a few seconds so i could say goodbye, so you would die assured!”

you wanted to hear the sound of his heartbeat, the sound of his faint breaths, the sound of his lashes fluttering as he blinked. you wanted to listen to anything and everything as long as it indicated that he’s still with you.

you desperately prayed that day, drowning in your own tears and snot as you begged and pleaded for shoko to succeed.

to spare you the loss of a beloved.

shoko is indeed a gift to the world, a woman who deserves all worthy praise.

your eyes drifted downwards to your husband, his eyes fluttering open in an attempt to open them, before scrunching them shut as soon as the rays of light seeping through the windows struck them. he huffed out a low groan—a sound that had your heart jumping in ecstasy, even though it normally wouldn’t—reaching one long arm out and wrapping it around your waist.

a small giggle fled from your lips as soon as you felt him burying his head in your chest at an attempt to escape the light.

“what’re you laughing about, huh? you’re so evil.” he huffed, seeking comfort in the warmth of your chest. “you left the curtains open so your poor husband could suffer in the morning!”

yet, despite his protests—the sound of your giggle was enough to alleviate his mood. enough to make him silently thank the stars that he got so lucky to live another day to be able to wake up next to you.

he doesn’t know what would’ve become of him if there happened to be an afterlife, doesn’t know how he would’ve fared with the realization that he’s left you all alone.

he’s thankful he doesn’t get to discover if there is an afterlife or not. hems thankful that he never died on that operation table. he’s thankful for so many things and the most important one being—

his eyes drifted over your face, watching the way your lips quirked up into a smile as you tried to suppress another upcoming giggle, a prominent dimple appearing on your cheek, eyes almost scrunched shut in the enjoyment coursing through your body.

you.

your expression was a stark contrast to the that day, the day when he woke up, the tears long gone from your eyes, voice no longer hoarse.

“you’re so dramatic, ‘toru.” you fondly rolled your eyes, burying your hand in his hair and running it through it—internally cooing at the pleased breath that leaves his lips—

you can’t believe you would’ve had to live without this had the universe decided to torture you. had the worst case scenario happened.

“you know i’d never purposefully set you up like that.” you hummed, a disappointed sound leaving your lips as he drew away from your touch.

his heart melted, almost folding and going right back into your embrace.

his little wife was so smitten with him. he could melt right in his spot.

instead, he placed a hand on the back of your head, gently tugging it towards his chest—heart aching with the need to hold you close to him, to give you a feeling of a shield protecting you, to be gentle with you and grant you everything you want.

his poor baby. he can’t imagine the worry you must’ve been in. his heart aches with both fondness and sorrow as he remembers the state you were in.

“let’s sleep some more..” he mumbled, already feeling his eyelids start to flutter shut; the feeling of you in his arms both intoxicating and comforting, inducing sleep.

“baby, we slept for 14 hours??”

“shhhh…might as well complete the whole 24, you know i’m tired!”

“tired from sleeping, maybe.”

“mean! you know i need my beauty sleep! you can clearly tell who doesn’t get their beauty sleep here…”

huh?!

“what the—you take that back!”

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Favorite Season 6 fics

So these used to be called "Fic recs for my BFF", but unfortunately I was unable to sway her to buddie, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ these are just for me now (and you guys too I guess 😅)

Season 6

🔥Curl Up in My Heart and Let Me Keep You by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Animal Transformation | 10K | Teen): When an orange tabby cat starts hanging around the Diaz house, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. The little guy's cute and cuddly, and seems to always know when Eddie's having a bad time. Weird how the cat's never around when Buck is, though.

🔥let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): “It’s just that—I died,” Buck continues, voice unsteady enough that Eddie wonders if this is the first time he’s acknowledged that out loud. “I died, and there’s so much more. There’s so much more I want to do, things I don’t even know I want to do yet, and I almost had the chance to have and live them taken away. I don’t want to die and regret missing out on everything else, Eddie.” “So let’s make a list,” Eddie says. “Let’s do them.” or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

🔥like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): The kid with blood pouring down his shins is not so far from the dog lonely enough that he thinks breaking his housetraining is worth it for the ten minutes of berating that come with it, the ten minutes of undivided, if reluctant, attention. Buck thinks, sometimes, that at least he wasn’t the kind of puppy that gets put in a sack and drowned at birth. He wasn’t always unwanted. And he isn’t anymore. or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

🔥Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): "Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. — Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together. (Part 1 of homeward bound)

🔥find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date. “Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.” Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out. — the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

🔥Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-S6, Getting Together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

🔥 Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

🔥 Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

🔥 where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (or: Buck can see that people become transparent when they're about to die) (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

🔥 Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): "I've been wondering…" Maddie pauses, watches Buck make a face like he's bracing to be smacked. "What happened with Eddie? You two were dancing around it for so long, and then… what, it just didn't work out? Was the date really that bad?" She's expecting another wince, or even for him to duck out of the conversation entirely, but instead Buck is staring at her like she's grown a second head. "Maddie. I've never been on a date with Eddie." Or: the poker game was a date. It takes Buck a while to catch on, though.

🔥 situations, circumstances, miscommunications ( i just may like some explanations ) by heartbeatdiaz / @lonelychicago (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | Teen): "You didn't know?" Eddie asks, calmer but not less confused. He frowns. "How could you not know?" "You never said anything?" Buck tilts his head to the side. "We were dating?” “I guess not,” Eddie sighs. His heart is beating a little faster, an unpleasant buzz beneath his skin as he all but chokes on a feeling he can’t quite name— it could be hurt or disappointment or maybe a mix of both. In that moment, he knows three things very clearly. 1. Buck is going to be the death of him. 2. He is in love with the most dense, most oblivious man on planet Earth. 3. He is too gay and, honestly, too old for this shit.

🔥listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee/ @theladyyavilee (Presumed Dead | 41K | Teen): The thing is – and Eddie should have known this, has been taught this cruel lesson over and over and over again – the thing is most of the time the worst day of your life will start like just any other day. A million small moments, so familiar and mundane you almost don’t even notice them slipping by - until you would give anything to go back and get just one more. (You can’t.) — Or the one where Buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and Eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone

🔥Eddie Diaz vs The Feelings by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Season 6, Sexuality Crisis, Demisexual Eddie | 62K | Explicit): Eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. AKA demisexual!Eddie figures out he’s demi and finds the happily ever after he’s been longing for

🔥tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): "Think I can get a hug from my best man on my wedding day?" he asks, quietly hopeful in a way that makes Eddie want to tear off his skin. "Sure," Chris replies with a shrug, turning to throw Eddie a cheeky grin. "Dad, Buck needs a hug." Two things happen at once then: Eddie has to plaster on a smile authentic enough to convince the one person on this planet that knows him inside out—except he doesn't really have to fake his smile, not at first, because of number two—he sees groom-Buck for the first time. And groom-Buck is every bit as beautiful as Eddie might have imagined him over the years. For a moment, Eddie falls into the greatest betrayal his brain has ever laid out for him, imagining that he might have got to see Buck like this for the first time from the other end of the aisle— (OR: eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia)

🔥 Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6, Amnesia AU | 40K | Teen): After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

🔥 but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

🔥 a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-S6, Eddie Coming Out | 117K | Explicit): Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

AUs

🔥Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU, Post-S4E13: Suspicion | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

🔥 Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

🔥like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): He completely pulls the charger from the wall as he fumbles to put in his passcode. He doesn’t know who to call first. Everyone is busy, carrying on with their lives and Buck is stuck here in the loft with the terrifying ghost of his childhood like an omen. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the Crooked Smiled Man now standing in the dark entrance way to his bathroom. He swallows around the taste of blood in his mouth, hands shaking, useless as his list of contacts blur beneath the burn of tears. Eddie Eddie Eddie. He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from, but it’s sudden and sharp and excruciating. Eddie is the first name at the top of his list, his most recent calls and texts, and he doesn’t hesitate to hit the call button. [or buck can see ghosts au]

🔥All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

🔥 Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 50K | Explicit): Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

🔥 let it pour out of your soul series by Rianne/ @rianneeyre (Magical Realism AU, Witch Eddie | 3 works | 71K | Complete):

collectively unconsciously composed (S4E6: Jinx | 46K | Explicit): Or: in which the author re-watched Buck Begins and Jinx and thought: what if this was gayer and had actual magic?

that systematic drug (PWP | 5K | Explicit): Eddie’s mouth goes dry when he opens the door and sees Buck. He’s clean-shaven and with his hair carefully styled back, smiling at Eddie sweetly and a little teasingly. Buck is wearing his dark jeans and his light blue v-neck polo shirt, the one that’s tight enough that it shows off the bulge of his biceps and the definition of his pecs and abs. Eddie knows this shirt. Buck's favourite, because he knows he looks good in it.

something binding us together (Established Buddie | 20K | Teen): Or: Eddie plans a long-avoided visit to his parents, discovers some things about his magic, and begins to build his family a home in LA's witching community.

[train-wrecc]

Waiting. Lee Eun-Hyeok.

(This picture was all I could find y'all 😭 +from Safari)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: The use of "Oppa" (I know some people don't like it or think it's cringey so here's your warning.) Unrequited love? Mentions of blood.

summary: Lee Eun-Hyeok's return.

pairing: Lee Eun-Hyeok x Fem!Reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had felt like an eternity since you had been able to meet his dark brown eyes with those of your own. They looked exactly the same, dark brown, yet they weren't your Lee Eun-hyeok's. They were the brown eyes of a stranger.

He stood in front of you appearing as the same man you had been waiting for, longing for, surviving for. His shoulders no longer held the weight of the world on them, which that you were grateful for. To those who didn't know him, his eyes had always lacked a warmth to them; but to you there had once been a small tinge of lightness in them. Now, they truly held nothing but indifference.

As you took in every inch of him, desperate to familiarize yourself with the sight of him once again, he stood looking at you. He wasn't analyzing your every move like he used to, he was simply looking at you. Nothing more and nothing less.

Your arms itched to wrap themselves around him but you refrained from doing so. The air felt tense, not much could be heard aside from your slight uneven breaths. He turned to walk away, "Are you really leaving me again?" His steps slowed to a stop. From his reaction alone you first thought he didn't recognize you.

His back stayed facing you, "Lee Eun-Hyeok, you've been alive all this time, and not once did you try to look for me?" He couldn't even turn to face you. "Why would I?" You could feel the tears begging to spill from your eyes, but you blinked them away. "Because you love me. You love me like I love you." You reached for his hand but stopped midway fearing that he would pull away.

Just how you feared he'd pull away from your touch you feared his response to your words. "Because I waited for you and I lived for you, I almost died searching for just a glimpse of you..." You quietly let out, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "I never asked you to do any of that." He finally turned toward you. His face was void of emotion, "Do you know the way to the stadium?" His eyes once again met yours, and you looked away not being able to gaze into their emptiness.

"Why are you being like this?"

"So, you don't know how to get to the stadium?" This time you turned your back towards him, trying to catch your breath, because each word he said continued to feel like a punch to the gut, another finger around your throat.

A stray tear stained your cheek, your hand flying up to quickly swipe it away. You faced him once again, "Is that all you care about, huh? The stadium?" You let out a dry laugh. "No," and for a second you had hope, "I don't care about anything, just curious." There he went shredding every ounce of it. 

It broke you out of your trance for a second, turning to look at the bus your brother Cha Hyun-Su was trapped in. You were overwhelmed and not sure what to do, various emotions drowning you. "Help me get Hyun-Su out." You nodded to the bus, not wanting to speak of your feelings for him any longer.

"No, this is his test." He said taking a seat on some steps. You huffed, irritation flooding you. It was as if you were speaking to a wall.  "Yah! Lee Eun-Hyeok do something!" You yelled at him. He simply stared at you blankly. "He's a neo-human. He can get himself out."

"What if he can't? I just found him again, please, Lee Eun-Hyeok..." You whispered shakily, sniffling. "Then I guess you're both useless to me." You didn't ever think you'd hear Eun-Hyeok say something like that to you. The last words he'd said were a promise of love and that he would return to you.

Now he sat in front of you not because he had returned to you, but by chance, because he didn't willingly seek you out. "Don't say that. Stop being like this!" You cried out. "I waited all this time for you, just for you to— to what? Hate me? You said you loved me! You promised me you'd come back and you never did! And now you're— you're acting like this!" You gave up on trying to match his nonchalance, you couldn't take it, couldn't stand the sight of his lips in that straight emotionless line. From his unfurrowed brows to his dry eyes, they all led you to the conclusion that he didn't care.

"I don't hate you, and I don't love you." You couldn't even feel your nails digging into the palm of your hands leaving deep crescent marks.

When did he stop loving you? Why did he stop loving you? You didn't want to know. You just wanted to feel his warm embrace around you. What he should've done when he first saw you. Yet here he was calling you useless, another finger tightening around your throat. You weren't sure when you had started crying but there was no stopping the tears now.

You wanted him to see that he was hurting you, you wanted him to stop. Maybe he could see it in your eyes, your desperation to see a glimpse of the Eun-Hyeok you knew because his next words were "I'm not the Eun-Hyeok you remember." Not even flinching at the sight of your tears.

He used to kiss those same tears away, and now he was the cause of them, the fuel that aided them.

"I'm a neohuman, the next step in human evolution."

"I don't care, Hyeok!" He almost flinched at the memory of your nickname for him. Almost.

"I don't care if you're a neohuman or a monster, all I care about is you! But you don't care about me, you don't love..." you didn't finish your sentence, you couldn't. You could no longer hold your body up, falling to the rough tar of the street. You felt a warm liquid against the skin of your knees due to the fall. That pain was nothing compared to the wound to your heart.

Your chest felt as if it was on fire. "Why are you doing this to me?" You sobbed, your hands coming up to cover your eyes.

"Oppa..." you cried for Hyun-Su. Suddenly Eun-Hyeok was crouched beside you as shards of the bus burst through the air. You uncovered your eyes, tears still falling as you looked at Eun-Hyeok.

"If you got hurt he would never agree to help me." You bit your lip to hold in the sob.

You looked past him to see Hyun-Su standing in front of the remains of the bus. His brown eyes made you cry harder. He was back. Eun-Hyeok stood up, as Hyun-Su made his way toward the both of you.

Once he stood in front of you he pulled you to your feet, before his arms tightly embraced you. "Oppa...you're back." You couldn't help but cry, causing him to gently rub your back in an attempt to calm you. "It's okay." Another attempt to soothe you. You hugged him tighter, begging the ache in your heart to go away. He slightly pulled away as your breathing evened out, but tears still raced down your cheeks. He wiped the tears, "I'm sorry." Escaping his lips.

It felt as if he was apologizing for letting dark Hyun-Su take over but also for Eun-Hyoek's actions.

"It's okay, Hyun-Su." You struggled to put a smile on. Eun-Hyeok began walking off toward the way he assumed the stadium was. You squeezed Hyun-Su's hand, "Thank you for coming back to me." You gently said before letting go. You caught up to Eun-Hyeok, grabbing his wrist to stop him. "I'm not letting you leave again. You can hurt me all you want, I don't care how much more pain I have to go through or how long I have to wait for you, I'll wait." You sniffled.

He turned to face you, "I have my memories, but I don't have any emotions." It felt as if this was his way of  apologizing. "That's how it is for us, and we learn fast." He pulled your hand off his own wrist. "If you're fast learners, you can learn emotions. I'll love you... love you until you learn to love me again." You said in an even voice. He remained silent, turning to walk off again.

Another tear slipped from your red eyes. Grabbing his wrist once again you turned, pulling him in the opposite direction, the correct way to the stadium. Your hand clasped his tightly not allowing him to let go. As you reached Hyun-Su your other hand finding his as you continued to make your way to the stadium. Hyun-Su threw a glare at Eun-Hyeok, infuriated that your tears were his cause.

Hyun-Su squeezed your hand in his pulling you more towards him, "You shouldn't wait for him, he doesn't deserve it." He said as if Eun-Hyeok wasn't even there. If it weren't for your hand tightly gripping his cold one, you'd forget he was even there. "I know, but I—I still love him." You stuttered and glanced at Eun-Hyeok whose sharp eyes never strayed from looking in front of him.

You turned resting your head on Hyun-Su's shoulder, "You don't know how much I missed you, Oppa." Eun-Hyeok's eyes cautiously glanced your way as you weren't looking.

"Me too," Hyun-Su replied glancing toward you, placing a kiss to your forehead. A small smile painted your lips. It was your first genuine smile since he had returned. Lee Eun-Hyeok gazed ahead once again, not wanting to stare at your smile for too long. Something about it caused a stir deep within him.

You had grown used to waiting, almost numb to the feeling. You had waited for Lee Eun-Hyeok, for your brother Cha Hyun-Su, if you had to wait a little longer to truly be united with the man you loved then that is what you will do. You refused to believe that the Eun-Hyeok you love was no longer within the man beside you. You knew deep within him he was there somewhere. Although Eun-Hyeok had crushed all your hope, the return of your Hyun-Su reignited it. You had Hyun-Su now, and that would be enough.

You will ignore the ache in your heart and wait for Lee Eun-Hyeok's return. You will gaze into his dark brown cold eyes with the warmth of your own. Meet his emotionless face with your own filled with desperation, love, any other emotion you could muster. You will love this shell of a man that used to be your Eun-Hyeok. Because it's all you could do.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A/N: Is this my first post in like over a year? Yes… 😭😭 Did I write this at like 4am after I finished watching season 3? Yes.

Also I was v disappointed with Lee Eun Hyeoks return or how it was written I guess, like why was he more loving toward Cha Hyun Su than his sister? 😭😭

+Also where are all the sweet home fics? I’ve read like all of them already 😭

[raythekiller]

Can We have a Creepypasta Reader who gets hurt and how Creepypasta males & Female’s react please? Make sure to eat and drink some water (●’◡’●)ﾉ

🗒 ❛ Reader Gets Hurt ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie, Clockwork, Nina The Killer, Kate The Chaser, Jane The Killer

#Notes: this is the most people I've ever written for holy shit

pronouns used: they/them

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

One of the only moments he shows genuine concern about you, even if in his own twisted or weird way. Focuses more on finding out how you got hurt than trying to help, absolutely ready to murder someone in case they were the one to injure you. There's just an anger in his voice and expression that is difficult to shake off. Will bring you to EJ and tell him "You fucking better take good care of them," in a low and menacing voice. Calls you an idiot and tells you to be more careful after, and although he sounds mad, the way he ruffles your hair affectionately says different.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

Honestly, thinks you're kidding at first and laughs at it. When he notices you're actually, genuinely hurt, he panics. He died a long time ago, so now he doesn't have a good understanding of what's fatal for a human and what isn't, so he might honest to god consider the fact you might die even if it's a minor scratch. Will try to patch up the wound, failing miserably and just bringing you to EJ instead. Probably hugs you after, more so to bring comfort to himself rather than to you. He just got scared for a second, okay?

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

He can't feel pain, so he doesn't have a good understanding of how much something might hurt. He just assumes the slightest of wounds must hurt like hell for normal people, so he's immediately freaking out, asking you if you're okay. He actually knows basic first aid, since it's one of the musts for being a proxy, but doesn't trust himself to not hurt you further by accident, so he's another one who'll rush you to EJ. Will be super clingy with you after, mumbling about how glad he is that you're okay.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

As a previous med student, his first concern is making sure you're physically okay. Focusing on that helps him calm down his nerves, since he's honestly panicking a little. Will patch you up in complete silence, to the point where it's a bit awkward, only to whisper a low "What happened to you?" once he's done, almost like he's scared of the answer you might have. Hugs you gently after you explain, careful as to not touch the wound, letting out a relieved sigh.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Similar to Jeff, his mind will immediately jump to the thought that someone deliberately hurt you, which makes his blood boil. Will be very loud and aggressive when asking what happened, making your breath hitch at the sudden protectiveness he doesn't normally show. Let's out a sigh once you explain it was an accident, calling you stupid before going to grab something so he can fix you up, his hands surprisingly gentle. It's a shockingly tender moment.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

Gets worried, but not as much as the others. He's not one to think the worst about a situation, so he just concludes you probably tripped and fell or something, so he doesn't really question you any further. It's up to you if you tell him what happened or not. He's always gentle when handling you, but now you find his touch almost ghost-like as he fixes you up, then asking if you feel any better or would like to see EJ for a better inspection. A forehead kiss after he's done in definitely in order.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Clockwork

Doesn't even try to hide it, she's freaking out. Will grab your wound to take a closer look as she frantically asks "What happened? What did you do? Did someone do this? Does it hurt?", her mind is just racing and she doesn't know what to make of the situation. Terrible at patching you up, but does it anyway, she's not letting anyone else go near you when you're hurt and vulnerable. Kisses your cheek once she's done and tells you to be more careful.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Nina The Killer

Her face is literally split open, I don't think she'd be too worried about some minor injury. Just kind of coos at you something along the lines of "Aww, baby got hurt?" and offers to kiss it better. You'll have to tell her if it genuinely hurts, or else she's not going to take it too seriously. Like most of the others, will take you to EJ if you're actually in pain, sitting besides you and stroking your back and hair gently the entire time.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Kate The Chaser

Doesn't express much of a reaction, either. That doesn't mean she isn't concerned, she just can't express her emotions properly. Will calmly inspect the injury and, if it's out of her first aid abilities, will bring you to EJ. It's the most vocal anyone's ever seen her, asking him if it's too serious and if you're going to be okay. Holds your hand gently as he patches you up, caressing the back of your hand with her thumb.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jane The Killer

Behaves like a mom. Will coo at you lightly while going "Oh, your poor thing. Come here", taking a hold of your wound and gently cleaning and addressing it, to the point you can barely feel her touch on your skin. Once she's done, she kisses your forehead softly, her black lipstick leaving a mark on your skin.

[jnkgrnde]

— closer, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — in which, clarisse la rue can’t get enough of you, no matter how much you set her off. loosely based off of closer by RM. (media from princemick !)

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of poseidon)

authors note — first pjo fic.. kinda nervous 🫣 here’s my new years gift for the lack of posting 😭

clarisse la rue.

whether you feared her, hated her, were intimidated by her, you knew her name if you resided in camp half-blood. she was the infamous daughter of ares, god of war. if she didn’t scare you by her demeanor alone, then she had that status and her electric spear to back it up.

and then there was you.

you were a poseidon kid, claimed early, then got thrown into the poseidon cabin to fend for yourself. it felt lonesome at times, but getting along with people like luke and annabeth helped. it was also nice having a cabin to yourself, free to decorate it however you liked!

people thought you were pretty chill, a little scary with how you come along with your powers and whatnot, but overall you were a fun person to be around.

except when you were around clarisse. you definitely got under her skin, whether she liked it or not (she was starting to).

you were quick with your comebacks whenever she had something to say, which got snickers from her siblings around her, you were good with a blade, good in war games, good in almost everything she was.

did it get to her? yes. but did she find it attractive? also yes.

you could hold your own and your friends if it came down to it, and as a daughter of ares, she found that attractive.

that was all up until percy jackson came.

did you know you had siblings somewhere? yes, but you didn’t expect one to actually make it here, much less alive, but here we were. you were a couple years older than percy you found out. his mom had died on his way here with grover, another friend of yours. all he really wanted to do was find out who his father was and why all this was happening.

you felt protective of him, and that meant feeling protective of him against clarisse.

he didn’t know but you could tell he was a son of poseidon, your brother. you felt inclined to guide him until he found his way around and got used to what his life was now.

flash forward to the day after he arrived. he was already gaining some popularity around camp because of his encounter with the minotaur. in the morning you met up with him and luke, telling him about how the day after was capture the flag day.

you were walking until a familiar brunette came into view, knocking into percy. you snapped your head towards her just as she pushed him into the dirt. “hey, clarisse, back up.” you stepped closer to her. she looked at you, and for a moment your heart skipped a beat.

when had she been so pretty?

you two ‘glared’ (admired) at eachother for a moment before she turned to percy. “so this is the kid who killed the minotaur?” you looked at percy and he locked eyes for a quick second before looking back at clarisse. he looked scared but used to it, like he’d been bullied all his life.

“you want attention around here, dummy? you better be ready for it when it comes.” she jumped at him to scare him, then left laughing, not before making eye contact with you once more.

“well, she seems nice.” percy commented. “don’t worry about her. she just has this image to keep up. she’ll leave you alone soon, i’m sure.” you told him.

did you know that? no, but you didn’t want him to have to deal with anything yet.

“why don’t people mess with you?” percy asked you and luke. “they know better. best swordsman in over a century and she can drown people if she wanted.” luke explained with a smirk.

it was later in the day. the sun was still up, it was warm out, and the smell of the strawberry fields graced you. you were practing with your main weapon of choice. grunts rang in the air as you practiced on your dummy.

it was empty, which was just what you needed to blow off some steam. at least, it was empty until clarisse walked over. “you’re doing it wrong.” you didn’t face her, choosing to ignore her. you continued until a hand gripped your wrist.

“you ignoring me now?” just you ignoring her started her off wrong. she wanted you to pay attention to her. “do you need something?” you hissed at her. “i was talking to you. your forms off.” “mkay. thanks.” you went to go back to the dummy before she placed a hand on your waist to turn you back around. “you realize that could get you killed right?” she scolded. you stared at each other until she realized where her hand was and took it off like you were a hot pan burning her.

you mulled over the interaction; your waist felt tingly- you felt tingly. she was just so pretty and she was starting to make you nervous, but you had to do something.

“you willing to correct it then? since you feel like you need to comment on it.” you remarked.

this is what got her going.

you always having something quick to say, getting under her skin but in the right way.

she smirked, canines showing a little. it had your heart racing.

she went over to the dummy with a dagger that was on standby, and showed you a technique she used. “like that.” she moved to go behind you and gripped your waist again. “what are you doing?”

“relax, i’m moving you into a stance.” she told you.

was she half lying? well, sorta kinda. she was moving you, but she just wanted to be closer to you.

she adjusted your stance, then moved back and allowed you to practice. “just like that.” she told you.

“why are you helping me?” clarisse shrugged. “got bored.” “you sure you just didn’t wanna be near me?” you jokingly asked.

“maybe i did, maybe i didn’t.”

she did. she just wanted to be closer to you.

[bucketsofmonsters]

Deep Water - Part 5

cw: the ocean, begrudging kissing done for practical reasons, discussions of drowning, blood, malnourishment, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 3k

read on ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Simon wretched. He wretched in front of them and it burned his throat and stung his ego as he emptied his stomachs of human food in front of his human and your awful little friend.

Finn had brought him this. Maybe if you'd brought him food it wouldn't make him feel this awful.

Probably not, but maybe.

He didn't like being brought food by this man anyway. It felt too much like courting. 

He would preen at the idea of you bringing him food if he weren't currently emptying his stomachs in uncomfortably shallow water

Shallow water he bore for you. Not for him. Stupid little man.

He hated that he needed him. Needed him to bring him fish and these horrible toxins they’d decided to try. 

“Probably not bread then,” he heard you say and he shook his head

No. No more of this bread. Not if he had anything to say about it, thank you very much.

“Okay,” your stupid little human said, still looking nervous. As he should be. If you hadn’t stood between them, he’d be dead. Even in the state he was in, he could lure him right in past the rocky shore and into deeper waters. 

But he wouldn’t, for reasons he didn’t like to think about, his stomachs turning again as he did. 

The two of you exchanged words once more, ones he hadn’t been paying attention to, before the stupid human left again. 

You sat on the shore beside him and he pulled himself out of the water next to you. 

His gills ached a little as he shifted so frequently from water to air but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to lay beside you. 

You stared out at the sea, eyes a little distant and yet still warm. Even when they weren’t looking at him.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel jealous, not when he got to look at you like this. Even if that look wasn't directed at him. 

You spoke softly and contemplatively when you did. “They were together. Finn and Isobel. She was my sister, I don’t know if I ever told you about her.”

He shook his head, wishing he knew more of you. Wishing you’d share more of yourself with him.

But he couldn’t really blame you, what had he told you of himself?

“She’s smart,” he said, contented at the fact that Finn had apparently already been rejected by one of your own. 

“Smart?”

“You said were. He is not a suitable mate.”

You shifted on the rocks, something he’d come to realize you did when you’d been made uncomfortable, usually by him. He could rarely understand why, despite how frequently it happened. This was one of those times and he waited, patiently, for you to make it clear to him what he had done. 

“She never left him. They were together until she died.”

“Oh.” A horrible sense of dread overwhelmed him. “How?”

“She drowned,” you said, picking up a rock and throwing it out into the water. 

He was glad you weren’t looking at him, eyes locked into the horizon as you spoke. He was certain the worry was written across every feature on his face. 

Did he do that? He didn't know. That felt worse almost, that someone so dear to you could have been so insignificant to him that he may have killed her without even knowing

“Simon?” you asked, words fading in past the intense, buzzing panic. 

He wasn't sure how he felt when you called him that. A foreign, half-remembered name. You'd seemed displeased the first time he’d told it to you but you continued to use it so it couldn’t have been that bad. 

He’d caught himself calling himself that in his own mind, of late. It was easy to when your voice was the only thing that filled his head. 

He wished he had a name like you did, one he’d been given at birth so that when you said it it felt as if you were speaking him, like you could pour his essence out of your mouth with the affection he often heard in your voice. 

As he focused once again he saw the horrible human, holding a fish this time. He looked worried too and Simon wanted to snap at him for the look. How dare he pity him, he wasn’t to be pitied. He could swallow him up, could fix this problem easily, all on his own. 

And then your panicked eyes under choppy water filled his vision. 

He lowered his head, violence seeping out of him, sufficiently cowed, and took the fish. 

They’d been dead a while and he took no satisfaction in sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. 

Eating above the water was messy. The blood clung to his jaw, dripping down his face as he tore a chunk out of the creature.

If he weren’t so hungry he might’ve cared. 

A ravenous force took him until all he was left with was stubborn meat stuck on bones. 

Only then did he look at you. You looked disgusted with him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He shied away from your gaze, tears welling up in his eyes. 

It felt like everything he did was wrong, displeased you and made you look at him like that. 

He slid wordlessly back into the water, not emerging onto the shore until all the blood had seeped into the water.

The concern was back on your face when he returned. 

“Was that okay?” you prompted him gently as he stared up at you. “You feel a little better now?”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours. 

A soft sigh escaped you, lips barely parting to let it leave you. He wanted to feel it, the gentle air passing over his skin, the soft lips he’d felt against his before. 

“Good,” you said, and your smile reached your eyes. 

It didn’t take long for you to depart, leaving to sleep far away from him. 

He did his best to rest and then he did what he’s begun doing most days, he milled about in the water, lonely and near the shore.

He felt an intense panic when he didn’t have eyes on you. If he could get his hands on you, cold and vulnerable in open waters, so could someone else. 

He wondered what he’d do if someone pulled Finn under. He liked to think he’d be noble and protect him, save someone so dear to you. Or at least that he’d turn and choose to let him go, allow him to be dragged under.

He knew that in all likelihood, he would freeze. He found himself doing that a lot lately. It seemed to come alongside the panic more often than not. 

Later, you came to the shore with your soft eyes and he did what he always did. He fought down overwhelming urges to pull you under, to drown you and feast, to protect you as his mate, to beg you to hunt for him as his body became more and more convinced he had lost the ability to do it himself, to do any number of things you’d despise him for wanting. 

He lay on the shore, frozen, until he felt his mind come back to him. 

The fish had helped, he thought. It didn’t take quite as long for the urges to leave him. 

You came bearing more of them. 

Well, you didn’t. Finn did. But he could pretend, think that maybe he was just carrying them to the shore, that really they were from you. 

He knew that they weren’t but he was no stranger to trying to read intention into the things you did. 

It was so easy to slip into, to pretend every action was a secret message of adoration, just like his were for you. 

But they weren’t and when he allowed himself to pretend all he’d done was hurt you, so he needed to be done with that now. 

If you wanted something from him, you’d tell him. 

If you felt something for him, you’d tell him. 

But you hadn’t, and that was fine. He wouldn’t push. 

But he couldn’t quite stop himself from pretending. Surely it was fine, so long as he didn’t act on it. 

Finn dropped the fish on the shore and Simon dove for them. 

It was unseemly but he couldn’t help it. The hunger had left a steady ache inside him and he would take any chance at relief. 

The basket held a few fish, five or six of them strewn inside. 

It was enough to be full. He could’ve cried at the sight. 

But he had more important things to be doing and so instead, he grabbed the basked firmly and slid back into the water, dragging them under. 

He flipped the basket as he immersed himself in the water so the fish wouldn’t escape him and rise to the surface, holding them protectively to his chest. 

He’d wanted to tear into them on the shore but he’d seen your face the last time. He could not see it again, the revulsion that had painted itself there. 

So instead, no longer dissuaded by your presence, he devoured them.

Blood clouded the water as he ate, swallowing mouthfuls of flesh one after the other.

It wasn’t the safest way to eat, could surely attract attention from other hungry creatures, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d done as much caring as he was capable of. 

When he was done, he returned to the two of you. 

Some of the foam lining the gentle waves ran red, stained by remnants of blood washing to shore. 

You both had the decency not to comment on it, though he watched your eyes flick down and then quickly back up. 

He wondered if you’d begrudge him this too. Your food wasn’t quite as messy as his was, was further from the creatures you ate, even when you ate meat just as he did. 

He’d seen it before, basically unrecognizable, no blood pooling or ripping out bones as you ate. A more seemly affair. 

Finn’s eyes lingered longer on the red, something quietly sad in his eyes, before they darted up to Simon. 

As you sat, fawning over Simon and ensuring he had enough to eat, he found it difficult to bask in your attention the way he wanted, that gaze remaining steadily on him. 

He tried not to notice Finn as often as he could. He brought about feelings that were better avoided, especially in front of you. 

Currently, that was difficult, due to the fact that he was staring Simon down, some horrible thought forming behind his eyes. 

“What’s it like?” he blurted out, cutting you off in a way that made Simon want to snarl at him. “Being under the water like that?” He sounded eager.

“Horrible,” you said with a little huff, your words turning bitter. 

He did not begrudge you for the harshness of your words. He would move to land if he could, to prove to you he held no loyalty for the ocean. 

“No,” Finn tried to clarify. “Not just swimming, actually being able to stay down there, to breathe it and live it.”

“I know,” you insisted. “I’ve been down there. It’s awful.”

Finn’s eyes flicked between the two of you like he was trying to decipher something. “How do you… please tell me you're human. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

You reeled back a little at his words, like the thought of you being like him had never occurred to you. He supposed maybe it hadn’t, maybe the possibility of what things would be like if you were the same hadn’t haunted you as it did him. 

“No,” you said with a swift, decisive shake of your head. “Nothing like that. He just does this strange thing where you can breathe underwater. It’s happened a few times now. It’s awful, I don’t recommend it.”

Your unfavorable words did nothing to snuff out the excitement blooming across his face. “Could you do that to me?”

Simon’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “I’d have to kiss you.”

“Oh. Well, it wouldn’t mean anything, it’s just practical.” 

A spike of panic shot through him at the thought that you believed the same about the kiss you had shared with him. That second one that changed his life.

It was practical, he supposed. At least the first one, underwater with panic in your eyes. The second couldn’t be. He couldn’t make sense of it, refused to accept it. 

But this one could be, he supposed.

He turned to you, unsure what he was looking for. 

You seemed just as uncertain as he felt. You spent a while searching for words, mulling them over, before settling on, “It hurts like hell.”

He was quick to reassure you both that it was fine and he didn’t mind. Simon didn’t much care what he minded. 

But then you sighed, slow and resigned, and gave him a look that if he was reading your expression right, which he’d discovered he often wasn’t, was saying ‘please.’

And he couldn’t disappoint you. 

With a huff and a frustrated look directed at you, he grabbed Finn’s hand and began yanking him back into the water. 

Of course, it would have been easier to simply lure him in, but he had a feeling you would not have approved of that.

So instead he yanked him, slowly but surely, into deeper waters. 

The brush of his lips, however brief, revealed rough lips, not like yours, not soft and sweet and so dear to him.

He did his best to lose the touch in the scramble of pulling him into the water. 

He watched the fight that went on in Finn’s eyes as he tried to convince his brain that he was allowed to breathe, saw the moment of panic when his breath could be held no longer and his body forced him to inhale a heavy breath. 

He knew it was wrong to feel a little swell of satisfaction now that he knew that it hurt to suck in water where air should be, and yet he couldn’t quite muster the shame that should follow such a feeling. 

Only as he saw the pain in his eyes did he realize how horrible of a decision this was for Finn. He’d put himself in so much danger, offered himself up to a siren, for what? To be able to see under the waves for a few more minutes? Surely the man could just go for a swim. 

He didn’t know the truth, that he was probably safer with Simon because at least this way, he’d be left alone by other creatures. He didn’t know that his devotion to you kept him from pulling him down and calling it a freak accident. 

All he knew was that he’d put himself in the water with a starving siren. 

Finn left him behind pretty quickly, moving to investigate the floor of the ocean, trying to look at fish before they swiftly swam away, leaving him behind in cloudy water. 

It felt like an uninteresting affair to Simon but Finn seemed to be getting something from it. 

Some amount of time passed, slipping away as Simon distractedly followed the irritating little human around. 

Eventually, after far too long, he appeared to be done. 

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe Simon pulled him to shore without a signal. It was hard to read body language when one was irritated. 

With another burst of satisfaction, he pulled Finn onto the shore and watched him heave water from his lungs, some of the embarrassment from the human food incident sinking away. 

Strange. He’d never thought it embarrassing when you’d done it. Now, watching Finn deposit ocean water onto the sand with wet hacking noises, he thought that it was a shameful affair. 

“That was incredible,” Finn managed to gasp out after a few minutes of heaving.��

It didn’t feel right, that he’d taken him down there. That his lips had touched Finns.

He turned to look at you, sitting beside him on the shore, a sympathetic grimace on your face as you watched Finn. 

And then he leaned in and kissed you. 

Not a practical kiss, with no intent to put you anywhere near the water, but one born of only affection. 

It was a brief thing and when he pulled away, you looked almost panicked. 

His heart sank at the realization he’d messed it up again, done something strange and wrong and made you afraid of him. 

But then the tension began to fade from your body, panic shifting into confusion.

“Why did you do that? Am I going into the water?”

He shook his head, face still inches from yours. “I just needed to. I’m sorry if I was wrong.”

He heard something from Finn and refused to turn and look at him when you were so close. It sounded almost like a cough, but not the painful, wet coughs of breathing air once more. It was a short stunted thing. 

Simon, without turning, announced in response to this strange noise, “You can leave.”

A fit of laughter escaped you at his words, burying your head in your hands as you giggled.

He hadn’t been joking.

That was fine though. He liked it when you laughed, even if it was at him. It was never cruel, always soft and with nothing but shining amusement in your eyes.

He wished he was better at making jokes.

When he tried you just stood and stared and when he did not you laughed.

But then, he was never the best at knowing when to laugh either. There was a kinship in that, at least.

When he thought he might be laughing out of turn too much, he suppressed it. You didn't. He thought maybe your smile was too bright to keep down, that maybe it would hurt you like keeping in your air did.

His heart sank a little as he remembered.

Hurting you. The horrible realization that he'd hurt them all.

Maybe some of them laughed out of turn too. He'd never know.

Maybe your sister had.

He turned to leave. He couldn't stand to be here any longer.

He should tell you. He knew he should. But his jaw felt locked shut and his body felt like it was being pulled away, out of his control. 

And so, like a coward, he fled, the water drowning out the sounds of laughter that he left behind.

[kudossi]

and a yellow moon glowed bright

Years later, when Ivypool herself is only a memory and before she’s completely lost to time, she’ll look over ThunderClan, wherever they might be, and still look for her daughter in every face.

The stories have it wrong already, and the truth will be dust before long. Bristlefrost isn’t alive in their memories. She’s twice-dead, drowned in black, choking water, a light snuffed out too soon. Bristlefrost was the prodigy — the daughter cats dreamed of, the first to find her voice and her paws, the leader of her siblings, the apprentice who did not graduate even earlier than she did because there was no prey in the forest to be found, not because of any failings on her part.

Cats starved, that long winter. Not Bristlefrost. Never her daughter, her clever, resourceful last-born. And she had once occupied this spot, designated for deputies, even though she’d never had an apprentice of her own. Would never have an apprentice of her own, now, even though she deserved it more than anything. Even though she’d deserved to stay deputy, but had given the role over with a smile, no hint of dark ambition in her gaze.

Ivypool steps into the deputy position under a brand-new leader with a whisper instead of a bang, the pounding of blood in her ears the only reminder that cats had been here before — that cats had died here before, and that Bramblestar’s first deputy becoming leader was a fluke, an odd quirk of fate. It hasn’t been done in living memory, nor long before that. Leaders do not usually step down, and when they do, they rarely stay with their Clan, or even within reach of their territory. First deputies do not often become leaders in turn. Usually this event is a bittersweet one, with a body or bodies laid out in the clearing, their eyes closed swiftly to avoid the rigor of after-death, but this is almost-peaceful, with only the murmurs of those who could not easily accept change as detractors.

Ivypool will die long before Squirrelstar. She’s—surprisingly okay with this, but she thinks she’s been at peace with her death since before Hollyleaf had stepped between her and a deathblow from one of the only friends she’d ever had.

(“You were my friend!” Ivypool screams in her worst nightmares, Hollyleaf’s blood dripping from her pelt.

“I was never anyone’s friend,” Hawkfrost murmurs in return, something aching-sad in his voice, Hollyleaf’s lifeless form pinned under his claws. “I was born to what I am. We’re the same, you and I.” He pushes the black cat away from his paws with disgust — not for the body, but for Ivypool herself. Blood bubbles from the horrible wound at the corpse’s throat. “She should have been the one,” he says sometimes, in the ones that shatter her already pieced-together heart. “She died in your place.”

“I know,” Ivypool says, and she does know — she knows it more than anyone else alive.)

“It should have been Hollyleaf,” she says to Squirrelstar, quietly, at the end of one of their dusk meetings.

Sorrow flashes in Squirrelstar’s gaze, but it’s buried as soon as it comes. “It’s you,” she says. “It has always been you.”

It is not a truth — not in the way Ivypool remembers them from her childhood — but it is not a lie, either. Hollyleaf chose her, in the way dying deputies might choose their successor. She is always an echo of another cat burned by starlight. It is a comfort, sometimes. In others, she begs the spirit who’d saved her life for mercy, for clemency, until she runs out of breath.

(“I’ll find her,” whispers a voice Ivypool had almost forgotten, in dreams she forgets as soon as she wakes. “I’ll walk the skies ceaselessly, I promise you.”

But there is no bringing Bristlefrost back, and a part of Ivypool has died with her.)

When Ivypool wakes, her Clanmates breathe around her, steadying her rabbit-quick heart. Fernsong’s tail wraps snugly around her flank, Thriftear curled only one nest behind, and she does not lose her breath at the way Flipclaw’s dark tabby stripes curl over his spine. She hasn’t in a long time, she knows, but the impulse is there, sharp as ice underneath her ribs.

(She’d once thought his brown tabby pelt a punishment from the stars. She loves her son, would give her life for him, but the feeling that StarClan may have meted some punishment down in the shade of his pelt remains long after he’s received his warrior name.

She’d begged Bramblestar to give him a suffix that was as unassumingly kind and silly as her son always was. Instead he’d given him -claw, as if to remind her of her failings. She is not sorry to see his form slip into the elders’ den, bereft of the nine lives he’d once so jealously hoarded.)

[twola]

idk if this is too vague, but arthur/f!reader in the classic trope of, oh my god I can't believe we both almost just died sex? did they both almost drown? Was there a fire? did he save her life? who knows! i feel like arthur would sees the woman he loves almost die and immediately fuck about it

Okay this has been in my asks for WAY too long and it’s such a good one and I wanted to do it justice.

Left Unsaid

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

When he think's he's almost lost you in a run-in with a rival gang, Arthur quickly gets over his nervousness in approaching you.

The bloodcurdling scream jolts him from sleep, making him stumble up from where he was sitting on a rickety chair in the main room of the old cabin. At first, he thinks it's a dream, but when the sound of breaking glass pierces the night, Arthur shoots up; the chair falling to the ground in a clatter as he quickly shakes the vestiges of sleep from his mind.

This abandoned cabin off of Eris Field seemed the perfect place to spend the night instead of making the trek all the way back to Shady Belle tonight - your yawning from behind him on his horse had him chuckling as he made the decision to stay - doing the gentlemanly thing and giving you the bedroom with the old single bed. As much as he’d like to be sharing it with you - he remained externally aloof - proclaiming that he’d sleep on the chair in the main room. He certainly did not dare to ask to share your bed - not now, probably not ever. 

But the rustling and thumping behind the door where you sleep has his heart racing - his hand flies to his revolver as he readies himself to throw his shoulder into the door and shoot whatever it is that is making that noise, but the door bursts open before he gets the chance.

A man stands on the threshold - dirty, and grimy, with a faded gray woolen military uniform and a yellow bandana around his neck.

Of course, goddamn Lemoyne Raiders.

The raider holds up his knife in front of him, and in the din of movement and chaos around them, Arthur can see the liquid sheen over the steel in the man’s hand.

The knife, dripping with blood. The man, seemingly unharmed. The door, slightly ajar, to the bedroom where you slept.

A cold stone settles in Arthur’s gut as he puts the pieces together. In an instant, he snarls, diving toward the man with little regard for his own person, tackling him to the ground and ready to rip him apart with his bare hands for what he’s done to you. As Arthur mounts himself on the man’s chest and begins to strangle him, the movement knocks the oil lantern off the table, crashing to the wooden floor and immediately bursting into flame.

The man’s neck snaps between Arthur’s hands and he immediately leaps up, moving toward the bedroom where you were sleeping.

Another body crashes into him, a Lemoyne Raider dressed like he is straight out of a Civil War battle tackles Arthur to the ground, the two of them tumbling along the floor and breaking through the rickety door to the porch. Arthur rolls backward, unsheathing his hunting knife as he grits his teeth, ready to slice this damn bastard into shreds.

Of course, the wannabe soldier is no match for the hardened outlaw. They sure as hell don’t make them like they used to. Arthur easily dodges a swing of the man’s fist and throws his weight forward. He sinks his knife into the raider’s gut, and immediately shoves him to the ground. He gurgles blood from his mouth as Arthur rushes over him, back toward the house.

The flames burst out the windows as he barrels back toward the door, grabbing at the handle and cursing aloud as it burns him. 

The constriction in his chest has settled into a churning in his gut as he prepared to kick the door in. At this point would he be finding your charred, lifeless body, having bled out on the floor because he couldn’t protect you?

“Arthur-!”

He steps off the porch, not sure if he is lightheaded or hallucinating, but you move toward him, hitching your skirts, blood covering your blouse, your hair wild.

“Jesus-” He crashes into you, having nearly leaped the final few steps, crushing you into his chest, nearly causing you to stumble.

He yanks you back, large hands on your shoulders, and looks you up and down, eyeing the blood patch on your blouse.

“N-not mine.” You breathe, but he does not move his hand from your ribcage. It presses inward, against the wet cotton, splaying across your side as if he did not believe you, checking for where the knife would have marred your flesh.

“Arthur-” You whisper, your hands tight on his biceps, “I’m alright.”

His eyes dart back up to yours, searching, pupils dilated, breathing heavily.

“Ar-”

You’re cut off completely as he pulls you against him and presses his lips desperately against yours, muffling your surprised yelp as his tongue demands entrance into your mouth. After a moment of shock, you melt into his embrace, fingers tightening on his shirt sleeves as you open your mouth to him.

He kisses you like you are the air he breathes. Like you are some kind of salvation… like he thought he almost lost something.

Arthur pulls back, breathing heavily, a flush having taken over his face, “Christ-” he goes to unwind his arms from you, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

It’s his turn to be cut off as your hands immediately travel to the collar of his shirt and you pull him down to your lips to kiss him again, needy as you moan into his mouth.

His arms immediately recircle you, hands moving down from your ribs, down, down to your waist, your hips, your rear. Hooking his arms around the back of your thighs, you’re lifted up, squealing in surprise into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

Continuing to press into each other's mouths, you barely notice him walking the two of you back, further from the flaming cabin, into the woodline, and finally against a tree trunk a safe distance away. He pulls back, panting as you recline against it, his arms tight under your thighs.

He gazes upon your kiss-swollen lips; your heaving chest as you breathe heavily, your pupils blown wide in arousal. Arthur takes the opportunity to roll his hips once, his hardening cock pressing against your cunt, and your eyes flutter closed as a needy, breathy whine escapes your lips.

“Arthur-”

He does it again, maybe for his sake as much as your own, the blood rushing to his groin and filling his cock properly. He grits his teeth as the rolling becomes rutting, your gasps driving him insane.

Before he gets to the point of no return, he slows his hips and leans over to recapture your lips in another kiss. As he pulls his 

“Thinkin’ you was dead back there-” He pushes his lips to yours again, “Christ- I… I never told you-” 

One of his hands leaves your thighs, but you have no fear he’s going to drop you. He buries it in layers of cotton, pulling at your skirts to move them from his way, reaching your bloomers and pressing against your cunt, watching your face intently as you moan, the cotton separating you quickly dampening against his fingers.

He leans in again and groans against your neck. Grabbing the cotton tightly, he yanks until he feels the seams give way, the tearing sound ringing in his ears as he delves within the ruined fabric to your soaking folds. You jolt against him and whine loudly as he slides his fingers along the seam of your body.

Arthur covers your mouth with his own as he sinks his fingers into you, working you open as you clutch desperately at his shoulders.

After you’ve cried out several times in the night, his hand leaves you and you sigh at the loss, he shushes you gently as he works at the buttons of his trousers, finally freeing his cock from his pants after moments of fiddling. His hand returns to your thigh as he adjusts you in his arms. The head of his cock presses gently against the rim of your cunt.

Your hands move from his shoulders to cup his face, your thumb tracing his lower lip gently before he sucks the tip into his mouth, his eyes trained on yours.

He pulses his hips and his cockhead slips inside you. Your brows crinkle with the first vestiges of the ache of penetration, and he leans forward again to press his lips upon your forehead.

“What did you never tell me?” You whisper as he holds you on the cusp of joining, the precipice of sheathing himself into you.

One of his hands leaves your thigh, though you are completely unafraid of falling with your legs wrapped around him and the strength of his other arm. His fingers brush back a strand of your hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear before his rough and calloused palm rests on your cheek.

“You’d have died and I woulda never told you I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock as you clutch at him, and while you remain silent, after a moment, you pull him closer with your legs, nudging his back with your ankles, and he slowly slides himself inside you, inch by inch, until your hips touch and you mewl with the stretch. He hums softly before slowly, gently, rocking his hips, starting a slow rhythm as you get used to him.

His powerful arms keep you suspended against the tree trunk with each roll of his hips, each glide of the inches of him in and out of you, well glossed and hot with your slick.

Arthur’s lips press to yours incessantly, muffling your gasps and whines as he presses into you. After one particularly deep thrust, you throw your head back in ecstasy, bumping against the trunk of the tree.

“Careful there, darlin’,” Arthur slows his hips, and tightening his grip on your thighs, he pulls you away from the tree, you yelp and tighten your legs around his hips. He chuckles softly as he walks you, still joined, a few steps from the tree and slowly lowers the both of you to the ground on a patch of grass. Spreading himself out over you, he buries his head against your neck as he lets go of your thighs, his forearms on either side of your shoulders, rocking his hips into yours again.

The staccato whine of the syllables of his name escapes you as you hook your ankles around each other over his back. Carding your hands through his hair, your fingers interweave between his honeyed strands, his hat long gone in your desperation to join yourselves.

He presses himself up above you as his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing loud and heavy as he pounds you into the ground.

“God-” you cry out as your hands grasp his shirt, “Arthur, yes-”

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, looming over you as he careens toward completion.

You arch your back, your thighs wrapping tighter around him as you begin to babble - “Yes- Arthur… I love you too-”, another gasp as he hits that spot within you, “God - I love you so much-”

That’s it. There it is, stripped bare and bleeding out like an open wound, his heart catching in his chest at your confession, and his amazement leaves him speechless as he thrusts into you once more, holding himself as deep as he can possibly get into you, feeling you pulse and clutch around him, wailing your pleasure into the night. It’s only a moment more before he has the wherewithal to yank himself from you, in the nick of time as he spurts his seed over your cunt, dripping white into the dark curls at the joining of your legs.

He’s gasping, you’re gasping, and he groans as he settles himself to the side of you, barely able to hold himself up with the exertion. Your legs hang open as you pant, flushed from your cheeks down your neck.

One of his large hands spreads out over your chest, against your racing heart, and you turn your head toward him, breathing out through your nose as a smile graces your lips.

“Probably should get outta here before any more stragglers find us.” He says, out of breath as he removes his hand to tuck himself back into his trousers. You nod and sit up, pulling your skirts down over your legs.

“D’ya think…” you trail off as you watch him rebutton his pants before he pushes himself to stand. His hair is ridiculously ruffled from the amount of times you've run your fingers through it.

“Mm?” He holds out his hand to you to help you up. 

You take it, and he pulls you up into his embrace, his hand secure on your lower back.

“Was wondering if we could spend the rest of the night in Rhodes or somewhere instead of heading all the way back to camp…” You ask as you lay a hand on his chest.

He squeezes you closer to him. 

“Sounds mighty nice… certainly wouldn't mind a stay in a hotel room tonight.”

[snvffsoda]

some silly/random headcanons i have for Strade, Ren, and Lawrence!!

i know a lot of people like to think he kidnaps people from the same bar, using the kind of pick up lines, but that wouldn’t be an efficient way to keep the bodies coming, and he knows that, how long until someone catches him dragging an unconscious/unsuspecting person in his car? And makes a call to the police? Strade doesn't take chances, not with the cops, he may be insane, but he's still extremely smart at what he does, he would go out to clubs, late-night parties, concerts, crowded busy areas, anywhere he could slip in and find someone and leave toghther with less caring eyes on him.

has cut his finger while using his power tools and made Ren suck the blood from his finger before, not because he wanted comfort or anything he just wanted to see Ren's sheepish look while he did (Ren enjoyed it too for the blood, albeit nervously)

Strade is a confident, charismatic man, but i still think no matter how hard he tries to hide his sadistic psychotic tendencies, they bleed through him with the way he talks to people, you always get this underlying feeling of unease when he speaks which is why he prefers alcohol to be involved to get his victims, it'd be harder to notice Strade’s eyes staring just a little too long for comfort when you're 4 shots in

always keeps eye contact, almost to an uncomfortable amount, it feels like he doesn't even blink half the time his stare feels like his eyes are always threatening to pierce your skull open and see what's inside from his gaze alone.

Strade is strong, but he's no amazing fighter, if you're fast enough, and have the intent to win, or to kill him i dont think his brute force and heavy swings will do much plus i think he uses a lot of street fighting tactics ie; slamming, grabbing you and pinning you, using weapons instead of just his fist to his own detriment (and that’s what i think got him killed)

really good at texting, he's very descriptive when he texts almost like you're really speaking to him on the phone or in person, he doesn't use a lot of slang or emoticons, Doesn't abbreviate his words like ‘idk’ ‘wyd’ so on, and lots of Periods. Commas, exclamation points! might reply to something funny he sees with a ‘LOL’ in all caps or ‘😂’ but that's it.

really really wants to learn guitar efficiently, but his claws always cut and get caught on the strings when he tries to play so whenever he does try to play he plays with a pick, he doesn't play the best because of it, it was one of the first things he bought with Strade’s money after he died since Strade didn’t want him to get one because it was ‘too noisy’

avid gamer and discord user to an unhealthy amount, and will spam you with messages when you dont hop on the game he's spam inviting you to play with him

sleeps on Strade’s old shirts and pants and coats, anything to where he can get his scent again in his room will sometimes cry himself to sleep thinking about him when laying on them, muttering to himself how sorry he is for letting him die

he remembers and still can understand basic Japanese formalities and such, he's since tried to relearn his native language online, and he did horribly because he forgot almost everything

sassy, when he's stressed, or angry, he can and will be sarcastic and make sly remarks regarding the situation to you, roll his eyes, cross his arms, mutter to himself, just more on the pouty side when it comes to handling his stress

has a collection of old chew toys, he's torn and bitten through with his fangs when his more animalistic tendencies kick in when he's in heat or just needs to keep his mouth busy

has been sent to psychiatric mental hospitals many times before when he was an adolescent by his family he never made friends or spoke much when he was, he did well, and never caused trouble

he’s fallen asleep while in the bath and somehow hasn't drowned himself hundreds of times he can't help it, it reminds him of the river,,

smoking weed helps him sleep through the day, it keeps him in a deep sleep since he's a light sleeper, so he isn't startled awake by his neighbors stomping about during the day

enjoys horror movies like ‘Jacobs Ladder’ and ‘The Jacket’ movies where the protagonist feels as though they are already dead or trapped in their mind, he relates to that feeling when he watches those films

would definitely be the type to go nonverbal when he is high, resorting to nods and shaking his head to get his point across if he's with you and comfortable around you

hates sweet tea and store-bought tea in general, he hates the way they taste and the texture they leave on his tongue, he prefers making tea himself with his plants and the ingredients he grows

[poetslastdeath]

SAFE

———————————————

gn!reader x john price, slightly unhinged and very obsessed reader, they are down BADDDD

———————————————

the air is cold and heavy, whipping around you and biting at your skin sharply as rain pours from the dark sky above.

the only light that shines down on you two is a ray of moonlight and brushes over his cheek, wet and shiny with rain, and your gloved half bloody hands cupping his cheek.

paying no mind to the dead hostiles littering the ground, treating them casually like they are merrily pebbles to kick out of your way. you move forward, prices back presses harder against the stone brick wall, harshly pressing into his gear until he can feel it but pays it no mind.

lips against his, warm and slightly capped, his beard brushing against your face. you bite his lip, almost hoping it draws blood, you would get on your knees and savor every drop of his blood like it was salvation, like you were a broken devotee.

he lets out a noise, small and almost drowned out by the heavy sounds of rain, but you’re close enough to hear it, to savor it desperately. gripping him like he could die any moment.

he almost had. it was a close call, a simple almost harmless misstep, cornered with an empty barrel.

he would have died, he could have died, he could have died, you repeat over and over again maddeningly.

he could’ve if it wasn’t for the shattering of a window and a bullet finding its place right in the head of the hostile before it had even stepped into the room price was in.

you pull back, when he squeezes your waist so tight you think he might break his finger.

“price.” you mumble, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up to look at the dark moon sky only sparkled with stars that looks like flickering flames.

the warm press of a kiss against the skin of his jaw, then his neck. and to the astonishment of anyone else but you, he melts like hot wax in your hands.

he murmurs your name back, it echoes in your ears and you grip him tighter. his hand goes around to grip the back of your head, fingers tangled in wet hair.

your other hand travels down to press against the small of his back, under his soaked shirt and touching clammy skin with leather.

you mumble, “i would have killed them all. ripped out all of their throats for looking at you, thinking about you.” unworthy and yet granted privilege, you are.

his grip tightens, he leans his head down slightly to press and firm kiss to your head, a similar desperation that claws at your ribcage form your chest echoes in his own. he lets out a breathless chuckle, low and deep and half hysterical.

“mad, you are.” he breathes, there’s a certain affection weaved through his words, it sits warm around you. “fuckin hell.” he huffs, almost like he’s talking to himself.

there’s a pause, a moment only filled by the echoes of the night and the haunting sound of gunshots ringing through the empty bloody city even after all that’s left is two desperate bodies pressing against each other over the dead bodies that tried to take them from each other.

“yours.” you mumble, dropping your hand down to trail down his neck to his chest, over his heart. beating, echoing through your own body. “yours.”

if you could, you would drop down to your knees until they are bloodied and bruised, worship dripping off of your lips like honey, a promise. to follow him, forever, to the ends of the earth. you think the earth should thank him, that he wants to keep it clean, to save it. because if he even thought about it, you would burn the world. if only to see the flames reflected in his eyes.

“mine.” he echoes. and with the squeeze of his grip, you melt and all thoughts that aren’t him, the smell of cigar and ashes, the feel of his skin against yours, melt away with you.

yeah, his.

[moutainrusing]

supernatural

729 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Children wouldn’t see it coming. Children were reckless like that. Carefree and careless in an innocent combination of childishness. They had been children. So when their bonfire went out of control, who was to blame?

Sirius blamed himself. Remus died that night. Sirius, James and Peter had managed to escape, but Remus had inhaled too much smoke. His lungs gave out. His lungs stopped working permanently. His body shut down permanently. His lips turned blue, and Sirius had only kissed them once when they were pink. Now he wouldn’t do that ever again.

Remus’s immune system had always been shit. Remus’s parents couldn’t talk to Sirius anymore. Because they blamed him. Why wouldn’t they?

Sirius walked like a ghost of himself. He didn’t sleep. He felt disconnected from his body. He wished he were dead.

With Remus or instead of Remus?

Sometimes he felt Remus. Sometimes he saw Remus. Remus was an actual ghost.

“Hi, Sirius,” Remus smiled. “What’re we up to today?” We. They could’ve been something, if Sirius’s teenage adrenaline hadn’t wanted to set the world aflame.

Remus’s grin was still cheeky, his eyes, pale and translucent, still glinted mischievously; it was almost like he was alive.

At first, Sirius hadn’t acknowledged this sign of insanity. Eventually, he embraced it.

He talked back to the ghost, and they pretended they were alive together. Well, Sirius did. Remus seemed to actually think he was alive. He kept asking if Sirius wanted to go outside with him, why Sirius never left the room, why Sirius was so miserable, if Sirius needed anything from him, which Sirius did. He needed everything. Remus kept rambling about the future, about life, and Sirius wanted to throw something; YOU ARE DEAD! But…

I’ll pretend you’re alive.

No one else could see Remus, and apparently, Remus couldn’t see anyone else either.

James sometimes entered, and he and Remus had no clue that they were both there.

“Who’re you talking to?” They’d ask simultaneously, both concerned.

James was also grieving. He was seeing a grief counsellor. He wanted Sirius to come too, but Sirius preferred Remus. A ghost.

One day, Remus touched him. Sirius flinched back in shock, eyes wide, skin tingling, questions running through his mind incessantly, like a train crashing down an endless mountain. His mouth opened around silent vowels, closed when the consonants wouldn’t come out, like a fish out of water, drowning in air.

“Sorry,” Remus was saying obliviously. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I was trying to respect your personal space, but I thought maybe touch would comfort you? Sorry. I won’t—”

Sirius flung himself into Remus’s arms. The scene shifted.

It was his room, but darker. A black, bruised blue. As if the night sky had swallowed it, glowing eerily. He pulled back and stared at Remus. Remus’s lips were pink again. Remus didn’t seem surprised.

“Want to go outside with me?” Remus suggested easily.

“I—”

Remus pulled Sirius out of the room. The door creaked open, old, worn, mouldy.

The garden was dry, patchy, burnt.

The forest. Where Remus had died. It was… shining. Bright white, like the sun when it was clear, hot, intense.

And the clearing, where the bonfire had been. A fleshy, puckered whale was curled up in it. Remus smiled fondly, pointing, “That’s my parent.”

Sirius stared. What about… Hope and Lyall?

“They’ve wanted to meet you,” Remus continued blindly. As he spoke, soft like a lullaby, the whale awoke. It was possibly huger than a whale. Its face was wide and stretched horizontally, and so were its nostrils, spilling with hair longer and blacker than Sirius’s own. Its skin was a blood-like pink, scarred, scabbed, open wounds, and it was groaning, floundering towards them.

“I love them,” Remus was murmuring, almost hypnotised. Sirius stared.

“Where are we?” He turned to Remus, seeking the safety he always found there.

But Remus didn’t look at him. “Where you’ve always been.”

- - -

LOCAL HEADLINES

TEEN DEATH TOLL RISES TO TWO IN ONE WEEK

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were best friends, roommates at the local boarding school…

James put the paper down, tears splashing onto the faces of his dead best friends. “And they were roommates…” he smiled weakly.

Around the cookie he was munching, his sugar consumption having doubled now that he was grieving two lost friends, Peter emptily echoed, “Oh my God… they were roommates.”

[space-apples]

i buried my teeth in everything good

hi chatters sorry for dying. thanking @dakedo0o @loveroped @angeart and @sunieraes for beta-ing i appreciate you <3

here it is on AO3 x

and if you want to read it here you can do that !!

He’s succeeded his task, and the wind was faintly blowing in his ear, almost sounding like laughter.

He’s succeeded his task, and the sun was just peeking over the mountains. He didn’t even realize he’d gone the whole night without a blink. 

He’s succeeded his task, and the cold air was gnawing against his skin. He could hardly care anymore. 

Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life.

He was drowning now, and felt the familiar sense of life being drained from him before arriving back at the Secret Keeper. He stared at it coldly (everything was cold.)

A skeleton was somewhere in the distance. It was shooting at him, but Scar couldn’t be bothered to care. The arrows buried themselves into his skin, but as he bled and whatever remaining life source once again drained out of him, Scar didn’t recognize the pain as much as he should have. All he really felt was numbness, a fucked up sense of relief. He closed his eyes, exhaling softly, wishing, hoping, praying for release.

If he died now, he would be gone. He would be free. 

Of course the Gods above cared too much about their entertainment to let him go. So when he opened his eyes, the arrows were gone. The only mark left that showed they were ever there were the scars. More to add to the collection, he supposed, bitterly staring up at the Secret Keeper statue. 

Scar wanted to scream at it, to get TNT and blow the stupid thing to dust and rubble. 

He pressed the button once more, wildly, angrily, and cursing so much that a sailor would cringe away. 

Win Secret Life, it said. As always. He did win. As always. 

Pressing the button over and over again wouldn’t do anything, but he did anyway, something in him snapping. Only getting more desperate and upset with each hit as it gave him more and more books. He didn’t care that his hand was getting splintered, that a nasty bruise was starting to form, that he felt it breaking. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything anymore, he couldn’t focus on caring. Scar just wanted to go home. 

He didn’t even realize when he started rapidly hitting the stone instead, putting so much weight and force into his attacks that the button had broken. When he paused long enough to realize, he swore he couldn’t feel himself breathing anymore. The books were splattered around, his hand was bloodied, and his legs crumbled from underneath him. 

Scar prided himself on being resilient, only crying once or twice after a Life Game. But seeing his own blood on a half beaten rock where the button should have been, feeling the cold air biting at his skin, the awareness that he was irrefutably alone, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do anything in order to go home, shattered any resolve he so wished to keep. 

His hands didn’t seem like his as he laid them, shakily, gently, carefully, on pedestal once more. His whole body shook, wracked with impending doom. He was sobbing, he realized, though the tears never seemed real. None of this seemed real. He couldn’t breathe through it, and some sick part of him hoped that it would continue, that his body would finally collapse and allow him to be detached from this world. 

But maybe he deserved this. 

Maybe with how many people he killed, how many people he made suffer, this was his punishment. A permanent loop, a permanent limbo, forever cursed to be alone. 

Maybe that was the reason for his time here; showing that his destiny, his purpose, his fate, was to be on his own. Where he grew up, it wasn’t exactly an option to talk with other people, and perhaps he got too comfortable in Hermitcraft. Last Life should have been his reminder, his push in the right direction, but he wanted the interaction. The comfort of being near someone was too tempting to turn down. Yet the bite of cold he felt constantly growing up in the apocalypse, it was the same he felt on that horrible mountain in Last Life. It was the same he felt now. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how many blankets or campfires he had, just like how he wouldn’t ever be able to be relieved of the crippling isolation that threatened to overflow and drown him. 

He didn’t know when time started to blur even more, he didn’t know when he started to feel so numb that it felt like he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t care for it. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of doing just that. The sun was blaring, it might have stung to look at, yet he just kept staring upward, blankly. There wasn’t much else he could do, anyways. He broke the button. He probably broke his hand too, but he was floating too much to really register it.

He didn’t notice when his legs became anchored to the ground. The hope that the possibility of his opponents (they were friends, they were friends, they were friends) cared enough to come back, to check in on him, was of course foolish. They wouldn’t. It should have bothered him more, and maybe some part of him was uneasy. But a bigger part of him was tired. 

Now, his legs didn’t just feel heavy, they felt like stone. 

And that’s when he noticed he couldn’t sit up. That everything was so much colder. That he was so much more aware of the world. He could make out every grass blade being eaten by grazing animals, the fish wading through the waters, and he didn't even flinch at the desperate snarling of the Undead– the zombies. They were hungry, ravenous, and all he could really do was shift his energy away from it. 

He still felt like he was being stared at, yet he couldn’t detect the stare of the Secret Keeper anymore. It bothered him in the back of his mind. In the dark corners, it felt more than simply wrong. His eyes felt sluggish, but somehow he knew he wouldn’t be able to close them. Now he had to watch, to feel more than the ground below him, the suffocating air around him. It was dark. It was bright. It was hot, but so so so cold. 

All he could do was stare into the sky, watching the sun reach into his peripherals and watch it fade away into a cold night, stars tracing each speck of his vision. It should have been the only thing he saw. He didn’t know how he saw everything. But the statue wasn’t there anymore, it wasn’t watching along beside him. 

He tried to regard it as a good thing. That he didn’t have to feel that prying stare bear into him. But all he could think was that he was now those intrusive, intense, invading eyes. It wasn’t that it was gone, it was that he took its place. He didn’t know if shattering that stupid button was the cause, but he didn’t even mean to break it. He had just wanted to go home.

He can’t even think of how he’d do that now. He barely remembers the faces of his opponents. No, no, they were his friends. Yes, his friends. He couldn’t remember the faces of his friends. They were all muddled and blurry, just like the memories of their time together, hardly resurfacing when he tried to remember. He remembers a boat pole? Bluebells— no, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t frame it correctly, but akin to. A flower of sorts, poisonous to something. He remembers vague things about vexes, though they were just a– a mob with no real significance. He can’t quite... God, why can’t he remember. They were his friends, he said it himself, they were kind and funny and. He wished he could remember more about them other than their bloodshed, than their violence. There were pieces he was missing.

(He misses them. He needs them. He doesn’t know why he’s here, why he’s had to isolate and disconnect from everyone he knew for the sake of Watching. But it isn’t his job to question it, if he could even do such a thing. At least not anymore.)

Time passed on, he knows it’s passed on. There’s little, in this world at least, he doesn’t know at this point. But as far as the people who are gone, the people he killed, he doesn’t know where they are now. How long it’s been for them. He knows there’s not much he can do about it. There’s not much they can do to save him. He thought, he hoped, the numbness was back.

He didn’t know how much he even felt anymore, he wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling. So why, why, is there so much dread in the pits of his stomach. Why is there nausea building in his body, his head throbbing with a migraine. Why did his fear come back all at once, his disquiet of being so utterly alone solitary abandoned abandoned abandoned being seemingly worse than before. It’s not like it ever left, but if it did, it came back stronger than it ever was prior. He didn’t mind being numb, really. He half-heartedly wished for it back. He vaguely realized in his mind he won’t be going home anymore. And this wasn’t at all what he wanted. To be trapped in a never ending loop of pain and pressing buttons was hardly on anyone’s bucket list. He didn't even know what he wanted now, other than to simply rest. 

Though now he figured this was why he was here. Why wouldn’t they want someone already contiguous to not one soul— someone so bloodthirsty— in their grasp. Playing their sick games until he could only regurgitate futile means of escaping. Watching for them. Commanding for them. Succeeding for them. Maybe he should have felt horrified at the prospect, and maybe he did, but if it wasn’t at the forefront, he could hardly be expected to feel anything other than that flooding sense of numbness. Maybe he didn’t want to be here. Maybe he did. It didn’t matter now. He had a job to do. 

He succeeded his task, and it was then he noticed the button on the stone pedestal was back. It was nicer than the old one. Engraved in markings he recognized. It was the traditional Elven designs that coiled around harsh stone, though he could already feel the connection to his identity fading away.

He succeeded his task, and yet when he tried to reach out for it, he couldn’t move his hand anymore.

He succeeded his task, and now he’d be making sure when others came along, they’d succeed too. 

He could vaguely remember that he was Scar, but even that was fading from his mind. Now he was the keeper, the beholder, the Successor of the thing that was here before.

.

. 

. 

.

.

They had no idea how long they were trapped in there. They tried to glance around, and though they could technically see, they couldn’t See, not how they were used to. They didn’t wish for it back. Or perhaps they did. But the harsh transition made it difficult to look around at all.

They knew they were not envious of their replacement— though it was still hard to grasp that they could feel, really feel again. The sensations latched onto them like they'd always been there; like it was coming home— but they couldn’t remember anything to match it, or anything at all. It had been too overwhelming to have so many of them, to notice and detect sensations other than stone and that icy cold that swallowed them whole.

 It had been far too long to even remember their name. They were trying awfully hard as well, to remember the identity they had left behind. Before all the buttons, before all the colored names and hopeless faces showed, before all the cravings of violence just to get a sick taste of what being angry meant. They had a life, surely. 

They looked down at their new body. This one couldn’t have been their old one– Staring into the reflection they remembered the face of their Successor, eyes still red and running rampant on Red Life urges. They weren’t in that world, and yet. They wondered if the bloodshed would ever stop.

 It was rather warm here, they noticed, but for some reason they could still sense that bite of cold they felt as the Keeper. 

They didn’t quite know where they were, but they could hear someone approaching. They almost expected a button to be pressed, for them to make a request. Of course that didn’t happen here, and instead a voice called out. 

Excited, concerned, afraid, afraid, afraid—

“Scar, oh my god.” The person, upon seeing them, ran over much faster than they had expected. And to their own surprise, they recognized their– her– voice. She was hard to forget, really, because admittedly, she was one of their favorites. The Newbie, the first to truly find the End in their domain. (Their old domain. It wasn’t theirs anymore.) One with such promise, such potential. Of course now they’re rather glad she didn’t win. “Scar, where have you been?”

They forgot they were in place of the Successor, they forgot that was even his name. They tried to open their mouth to respond, but it turns out after spending what felt like centuries with their mouth made of literal stone, it was a bit harder to get words out. They were sure it’d be raspy anyway, from the misuse.

They remembered her name now, and vague recollections of Scar’s memories came back from when they Saw him. Her name was Gem. 

Gem frowned at his silence, and Scar– not Scar, they’re not Scar– tensed, worried that they’d already be found out within five seconds. 

“I won’t– I won’t push you into talking, Scar,” she said, to their surprise. She surveyed them with such concern that it made them discern… something. Guilt? Embarrassment? She continued, spurred on by them remaining silent. “It’s just– you’ve been gone for almost, uh, two months now. I think.”

They didn’t have to pretend to shudder at the time frame. 

It had been way longer than just two months.

Honestly, they really did try getting their mouth open to speak, to demand, but all they could manage were raspy grunts. Gem winced, yet kept her relatively calm demeanor. 

“It’s okay, I don’t want to force you.” She reaches over slowly, maybe so that if they wanted to back away, they would. They didn’t. It could have been because moving was so unknown, unfamiliar. Or because they regarded Gem as more than just trustworthy; as safe.

The touch burned before it felt like a regular mortal being was actually holding them. She gently encouraged them to move forward, for them to follow her, a smile now plastered on her face. 

 “Come on, Scar, let’s get you home, yea?” 

Home. 

In their last moments before the Successor took over, they remembered his last thoughts were wistfully praying that he’d be let go. Back to wherever here was, where they could pretend his past was long gone and have fun and play— not dangerous— games. Where they could have just a little company. 

The memory made them feel like something was twisting in their gut, their throat closing up with such a tightness it felt like they were forgetting how to breathe. They didn’t remember what that feeling was. But they needed to get rid of it, and Gem’s words were so warm, such a drastic change from the icy wind clawing at each part of them, threatening to freeze them over. 

Gem’s offer didn’t seem to hold the same malice, but when they tried to see into it, see her intentions, they were swiftly reminded their abilities were no longer with them. The similar sensation in their gut came back, and it screamed and yelled at them to run, to get far away. Logically, though, if they were to run, Gem would most likely catch them a lot easier than they’d like to admit. They were not used to having legs that— more or less— work. And if she wanted to kill them she would have already done so. 

So they nod, following her carefully after she takes her hand off their shoulder. She let go, and it still felt like it was there, still felt like it was burning, still felt like it was there to keep it burning. Gem’s touch wasn’t bad, at least they didn’t think so. They hadn’t had any contact with anyone or anything for so long, and perhaps that was why it felt so sudden. So much. They tried to trail behind her as best they could, only becoming more overwhelmed with each step. 

They’re not familiar with so much of this, so many textures, so many potential people around, so many so many so many—

It wasn’t her fault, really. 

She just kept leading on, adding little comments here and there. It was hard to keep paying attention to her when she wasn’t the only one making noise. Grass crunched from underneath them, water was crashing a little while away, Gem’s armor was rattling against itself with every step, there were probably people in the distance, not bothering to keep their voices down. 

Their vision got blurry after a while, their legs felt like mush. They didn’t think it had been that long, though that didn’t make them feel better. They could barely make out Gem’s face, her antlers being the only thing that they could really see. 

Everything was spinning around them, going too fast. Or it could have been that they were going too slow. It hurt to keep their eyes open, but the worry that if they closed them now, the worry it’ll be like before made them try so very hard to not blink.

And despite their best efforts, they felt the impact of hitting the ground before anything else.

And despite themself, they knew their eyes were rolling back into their head. 

At least it wasn’t everything all at once, but now it was— once again— nothing. 

.

.

.

.

They woke up, not expecting to be able to feel the softness of whatever they were laying on. They were laying down as well, a position they hadn’t been able to be in before. Though they half expected to be frozen like that, it was certainly a lot more comfortable now than it used to be. They didn’t try to move, at least not for a while, unsure they even could. 

They were talking about them. Not them. Well, maybe it was them technically, but it was still about Scar. The Scar they knew.

“—Just overwhelmed, maybe,” a voice— they could recognize once more as Gem— said, most likely contributing to a conversation that had already started. “I don’t know. He’s been gone for months.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m aware, Gem.” 

Grian. That voice belonged to Grian. They didn’t have the same excitement towards the man as maybe some of the Others did. They didn’t want to like Grian, and as much as They tried to make them favor him, they had leaned towards Gem. 

They thought she’d be smart enough to figure it out. Clearly, they had thought wrong.

They still weren’t moving, afraid to even try, and instead waded through the waters of their mind, through every crevice of newfound sensations, newfound thoughts. It still felt they weren’t their own, as if they were still rifling through someone else’s head. 

They couldn’t tell if they still felt like it was burning, and they were once again worried they were back there again because even with however many sensations their body may have been experiencing, it still felt so far away. 

They realized they were shaking. 

Which was good, they thought. Good that they could move, at least. They couldn’t think much of anything else when trying to refocus on Gem and Grian, whose voices had become slightly raised. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffed, inhaling sharply. “I am glad he’s back, I was just— concerned.”

“We all had this after the first Death Game, Gem. Scar shouldn’t feel more violent than, you know, he usually is.”

“But his eyes— even if they weren’t red— they were so empty.”

“Winning a game can be a lot. And Scar was by himself that whole time, even before his, uh, extended hiatus. I think we both know that Scar being alone isn't his favorite thing in the world.” 

“You— Okay, I can see that. I mean I think the Death Games can be a lot for anyone, just on its own. But sure.” She let out a long sigh, as if she hadn’t taken a breath throughout that entire conversation. “I care about him too, Grian. It’s not just you.”

They were both silent for a moment, and for a small second, they thought they had walked away. That was until Grian spoke.

“I know.” His voice was so soft, almost a whisper. “I know. I just— Let’s just make sure to make something fun for when he wakes up. Or at least a cup of water.”

Gem lets out a hum of agreement, and they can’t help but feel that pain in their chest. One that seems bad at first, yet seems to feel more comforting. Even as they hear the door being opened and closed, it remains.

It’s a feeling that, although they barely remembered anything, they know they craved and strived to have it. The feeling of being cared for, of knowing that you’re cared for. 

It was ridiculous, especially as they weren’t even Scar. It was only a matter of time before they found out, before they kicked them right back out for very justifiable reasons. And yet it was hard to deny the temptation of staying, just to feel wanted for even a little while. To have a connection with a real person, a real being. They know it won’t last, as things usually do, but they didn’t see why they couldn't savor this. 

It’s not theirs to savor, they know this. But there’s no one else to provide that connection to them anymore. Even if there was, they don’t remember. It’s frustrating how much they don’t remember, how much they remember about Scar more than they remember about themself. 

They knew they should say something, but the thought of being cast aside was enough to replace the feeling in their chest with a much heavier weight. 

They knew they weren’t Scar, but for now, they could pretend. 

They knew they would be forced to leave eventually, but for now, just for now, they could stay.

[wanderingblindly]

i can only agree with the other anon, your prompt fills are giving me LIFE <3 and if you have the time, could we maybe get a landoscar + 22 or 31 pls? have a lovely evening!

YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD GET RID OF ME!!! YOU REALLY THOUGHT!! UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOUR ALL I CAN'T WORK ON ANY OF MY WIPS BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS IN HELL!!! anyways here's landoscar for "a kiss after a small rejection", looooooosely inspired by Hungary 2024! prompt list here :))

What Can I Say?

The lift is deathly silent, almost like it's frozen. If he couldn't feel it moving under his feet, if he wasn't intently watching the numbers tick upwards towards their end, he would think it was the universe punishing him further – giving him more chances to fail at biting his tongue.

Oscar's standing next to him so stilly that, similarly, Lando wonders if he's turned to stone.

He doesn't even know what to say to him. Clearly he's meant to say something if Oscar chose to sneak into the same lift, if he waited in hospitality for so long that the bulk of the crowd had died down.

The lift ticks by the fifth floor.

He's meant to say congratulations, probably. Definitely. He's definitely meant to say congratulations, meant to drown out the caustic words building on the back of his tongue. It's not that he doesn't want to, but it's hard. Not because it came at the expense of Lando's win – he can get his own wins, those not handed to him by strategy and team orders. But it's the fact that it came after his own public lambasting, a public verbal crucifixion as the team drove nail after nail into his bleeding wrists.

How is he meant to say congratulations when it was written in his own blood?

Oscar doesn't even know that it was, not really. He didn't hear each strike of the hammer unto iron, like it's some tightly kept secret between Lando, the team, and every single fan. But not Oscar.

It hangs in the stagnant air between them: a secret the other doesn't know exists and the looming feeling that they'd both simultaneously played the villain and the victim.

They pass the tenth.

"You could come to mine," Oscar finally mumbles, voice so quiet that Lando nearly misses it. It's not quite an invitation, definitely not a question. Certainly it's not a declaration of want, of desire. It's something more fragile than that.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Lando says; from the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar move – leaning against the wall like speaking took it out of him.

"Oh."

"It's not…" Lando trails off, finally giving up with a sigh; he joins Oscar against the wall, both of them still staring at the ticking numbers. It's a countdown to something.

"A good idea." Oscar repeats for him, tone harsh in it's neutrality.

"What do you really want?"

Oscar crosses his ankles. He uncrosses his ankles. "I dunno, just to like…" He rubs his hand across his face, the way that makes his delicate skin turn pink. "Go back to normal."

Part of Lando's glad that it's not just him, that he isn't alone in the feeling that the air has gone too thin.

"It will," He says, finally turning to look at Oscar – his eyes are a little red, blinking like he's trying to keep more unsavory emotions at bay. "But not right now."

"I won't apologize," Oscar answers, though Lando never asked. He never asked because he never expected it, because he – honestly – never needed it. He doesn't need Oscar's apology just like he doesn't need Oscar's forgiveness, because, at the end of the day, they knew this was a risk.

And it was a risk they took, last year in in Singapore.

"Me neither." Lando says.

The lift hits fifteen. Lando's on twenty, Oscar somewhere above.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Lando continues, standing back up and straightening out his polo. Oscar follows him like a shadow, hands shoved in his pockets.

"We'll be ok." He, again, answers something Lando hadn't asked – something Lando knows.

"I know," Lando agrees, voice soft. Before the doors can open, pulling them apart to go ask what ifs into the dark of their hotel rooms, Lando leans towards Oscar. "Soon." Gently, so gentle it may as well have never happened, Lando presses his lips to Oscar's – as if sealing a promise, a deal.

Oscar doesn't move, just takes what Lando gives him and offers lightly closed eyes in return – as if he wishes it could be more.

They separate just before the door opens.

Lando leaves without a goodnight.

[darkpuppysuit]

PROLOGUE

WARNINGS:  Mainly physical abuse with mental abuse as well.

MATURE 18+ MINORS DNI 

Vague hybrid abuse, DEATH, eventual SMUT, and more if I missed any. Chapter one and future chapters will be a lot longer than the prologue so buckle up buttercup.

There is also a POV change in the future chapters.

Now, onto the beginning of it all.

"How dare you disobey me girl!" He growled, I can't help but flinch but I'm held back by the chains hanging from the ceiling. "Please, I'm sorry I was just, so hungry. I haven't eaten in days. Daddy please." He hits me with the belt again and a small yelp leaves my lips and I fall limp but still conscious and the chains around my wrists twist painfully . "You don't need to be eating all that food, too fat! Why do you think I locked the damn fridge!" He screams only to wave the belt around and pelt me with the end of it leaving behind an instant red welt and I can barely react before he's grabbing me by the jaw his fingers digging into my round cheeks, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"You better be a good girl to your husband because if you act anything like you are right now he will surely do worse than me! I'll make sure he knows how to discipline you the correct way." He waves his hand around the soundproof basement and roughly throws my face towards the ground but again my arms are cuffed to the chains above me so I don't meet the cold concrete below. "I promise I'll treat him like a king daddy just please, stop hitting me I beg you." I whimper as blood, sweat and tears drip from the cut on my lip and across my brow. He huffs smirking to himself, chuckling even, before throwing the belt to the ground and walking towards me unbuttoning his pants.

The next time I come to was early the next morning, I was back in my bedroom upstairs all my cuts I had received the night before cleaned and bandaged. I try to sit up but I'm stopped by the throbbing headache pounding in my skull, I lay back down with a grunt as I cover my eyes from the sunbeam that just flashed me in the eyes.

"God fucking dammit." I groan and slowly sit up, still groaning in annoyance from my pounding head, then of course my alarm for school had to scream bloody fucking murder in my left ear and I jolt upright. "Son of a bitch! I'm so fucking late! Fuck fuck fuck!" I curse under my breath as I scramble to get dressed for school, nothing fancy just the normal black skinny jeans, black band tee, a flannel and a pair of converse.

I yank my bag off the back of my desk chair and run out of my bedroom like a bat out of hell. Making my way through the living room quietly and just when the front door is within arms reach is when my father clears his throat from his chair. "Forgetting something?" He purrs, obviously still hungover from the night before. "O-of course not d-daddy." I choke on the last word turning around quickly to place a kiss on his cheek before practically running through the door, closing it gently and almost running the whole way to school.

I barely get to first period by the skin of my ass, if it wasn't for the couple making out in front of my locker for two minutes longer than necessary, I wouldn't have to sprint before Mrs. Luce closed her door. "Okay class, today we are going to start reading a book called The Graduate..." Her voice was quickly drowned out by my best friend Emily nudging my shoulder with her own. "So did your father bang you up or did you fall into a thorn bush again?" She asks sarcastically while giving her red hair a flip over her shoulder. "I really don't want to do this with you right now Em." I lean over to whisper to her then take out my notebook.

Now, Emily has been my best friend since my mother died in a car accident coming home from her nursing job across town. A truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel causing his truck to hit the side railing and flip completely over crushing her car like a soda can, like it was nothing. But that was eight years ago and I wasn't all that close to my mom like I wanted to be because after she had me she went into a deep depression. She had her good days though and those are the days I will never forget.

Does Emily know that my dad beats me for anything I do that he finds wrong?

Yes.

Does she know what happens after he's done beating me?

No.

I could never burden her with that knowledge because knowing her the police would get involved and fuck, if my dad ever found out that I told her I'd be dead within the hour and thrown over a bridge somewhere. I can't help but shiver at the thought as I glance at her for a second before responding. "Even if I did fall into a thorn bush you'd know it was bullshit within a second." I pop back, she rolls her eyes as the teacher clears her throat and our heads snap back to the front. 

"We graduate this year!" Emily yells into the bustling hallway of our local high school with her arms stretched above her head and lets out a yawn. "Just a few more months and we are outta here!" She beams with a bright boxy smile which is infectious and I smile back at her my eyes squinting. "I think I might go live with my grandparents after graduation. They live out on this eighty acre farm far away from the city and I think being out there will just help me get my fucking shit together." I grumble imagining the life I could of had if I stayed with them after my mother died.

"Then you would live so far away from me!" Emily whined as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a lazy fashion that has her body slumping into mine. "Girl get the fuck off of me! You're so heavy!" I tease and she feigns hurt by clutching her chest with her mouth hung wide open. "How dare you! Are you calling me fat?" I laugh softly and close her mouth for her with my index finger. "Of course not babes, if one of us is fat it's me" I scoff and keep walking towards the exit with her right arm still over my shoulder.

"You are not fat Y/n/ m/n! You are curvy and gorgeous! Don't let what your father or anyone else says to heart because that's how they tear you down to their level and nobody wants that." She pouts jutting out her bottom lip for a dramatic effect and for a bonus she gives her best puppy eyes. "Oh come on you know it was just a joke, I know okay." She lets out a huff of air that has her red curls fall against her freckled cheeks. "I just want you to know you're worthy of real love okay? Don't ever doubt that, please."

As we walk out of the front doors the quarterback of our stupid football team comes barreling towards the stairs pushing past me causing me to fall backwards and hit my head on the last step. "Fuck!" I yell slowly sitting up to touch the back of my  head only to pull it back to reveal a dark crimson liquid sitting on my finger tips. "Holy shit Y/n! Do I need to call an ambulance?" Emily the ever caring friend is kneeling above me, the sun suddenly becomes too bright and I close my eyes only for the black void around me to start spinning. I open my eyes again as I try to focus on her face. "I-I'll be f-fine Emmy. D-don't worry about it." I stutter hard and quickly lose consciousness, the last thing I hear is her yelling for help as she called the emergency services.

I wake up a few times in the ambulance as they asses the damage to the back of my head but other than a few fuzzy faces, muffled voices and a faint beeping noise is all I can hear when I'm not entirely lucid. 

Once I wake up again for the second or maybe third time I'm sitting in a hospital bed with an IV hooked into my arm and a blood pressure cuff sitting on the other. I groan at the blinding lights above me as a nurse walks in and turns them down for me. "Good evening Miss, L/n?" She looks to me from her clip board with a fake smile plastered on her face and I give her a slight nod.

"You've received a concussion and there is a few other scratches and bruises around your neck and arms. Not only that but you seem to be very dehydrated and malnourished, although." She looks over at me again this time from the computer located to the left of my bed and instead of her fake smile from before, her face adorns a disgusted look with her brows knitted together. "You seem to be fine." I roll my eyes at her and scoff.

"Well fuck lady next time just call me fat the first damn time why don't you?" I snap glaring at her with squinted eyes, I jump a little when Emily practically breaks the door down and comes rushing to my side. "Oh my god Y/n! I thought you were dead! You've been out for hours!" She sits on my bed and envelopes me in a hug then leans in close to my ear to whisper. "He's in the waiting room, has been for the last two hours, he looks pissed as all hell. What do you want me to do?" I look up at her with tears in my eyes and I hold them back but I know she can still see the fear behind them.

"Tell him that I'm awake because I have a feeling they're going to tell him anyways." I shoot the nurse one more glare before she walks out of the room taking her cheap perfume smell with her. "Do you want me to stay? We can call your grandparents and you can stay there?" She has always urged me to get the hell out of this town and away from my father as soon as I turned eighteen last summer but I always gave her some sort of excuse to stay. "I thought you said it was too far?" I half joked earning a teary eyed smile from her. "There is no distance that can separate two soul sisters." She gave her signature boxy smile but even that felt forced. 

Just when I was about to speak again my mouth instantly shuts when I smell the alcohol pouring from the man I hate the most, my father. "Hey sugar. How are ya feeling?" He asks sickeningly sweet, laying it on much too thick I wince worried it would give me a toothache. "I'm okay, Emily was quick on her feet, calling the ambulance when she did." I say in a hushed tone and pick at my fingers letting my head hang low staring at the off white blanket draped over my legs.

"That's good to hear, thank you so much." He turns to Emily who has to fix her resting bitch face into a small smile as she tries not to scowl at the horrid thing in front of her. "Of course, just looking out for my soul sister." She briefly looks down at me, winking, before nudging my shoulder with her arm lovingly. "Right." He pauses looking between us before he clears his throat to say something but the doctor comes through the door and he quickly shifts his gears to focus on the man." Hello everyone, I'm assuming you're her father?" He asks in his baritone voice like a cowboy with years of roughing it out in nature for a few years, his voice has a nice gravel tone to it as well.

Please keep me overnight, please please please, I repeat over and over inside my head as the doctor looks over my charts again. The next sentence that comes out of the doctor's mouth confirms my worst fear. "Her concussion isn't as bad as previously thought and she seems to be doing better I don't see any sway in her motions while she sits on the bed so I don't see why you couldn't take her home today. Is that something you want to-" my poor excuse for a dad quickly interrupts him at the thought of taking me home early. "Yes, yes please I just want to get my little girl home." My father speaks pretending to be worried about me, I begin to say something in an act of defiance but the words slip back down my throat when he shoots me a warning glare and I quickly shut my mouth. "Perfect, I'll get the paperwork!" He walks out of the room leaving Emily and I with my shit father.

I don't know what day it is, but what I do know is that I'm starving and my stomach is trying to eat itself alive as it roars out a low growl and my stomach flips when I dry heave because of the nausea swirling around my head. I can't keep a coherent thought long enough to collect myself up off the thin mattress on the cold basement floor the only thing shielding me from the cold wisps of air is a single brown, blood stained sheet.

I hear footsteps to my left and flinch hard and scramble towards the corner of the brick wall behind me and try to make myself as small as possible as he stalks towards me. "You're awake. Good." He pats my head as I stare off at the ground behind him and he takes a deep breathe only to sigh in annoyance. "I'm sorry for all of this. You know ever since your mother died I haven't... well, I haven't been the best father to you." He leans down to my level with his hands on his knees but I don't react too lost in my own headspace, still focusing on the growing wet spot from the pipe above.

That's when I receive a blow to the side of my head and I fall sideways onto the ground with a thud. My vision is blurry and I roll over just enough to see something silver in his hand. "Look at me when I'm talking to you bitch!" He yells, I'm shaking with fear and anger as he continues screaming profanities at me. "This is what I get for letting you go to that public school, boys probably touch you all the time huh?" He spats and I flinch when he raises his hand to me and he chuckles. "Pathetic whore. I bet you're even sleeping with your best friend too. You two seem awfully close to just be friends. Tell me sweetheart, how does she taste?"

It's in full view now and my eyes widen at the sight of a gun in his hand, fear clouding my mind and I need to think and fast if I'm getting out of here alive, I can't do this anymore the beatings with starvation all of it. I stare at it for a moment before I quickly stand on my knees and knock him over his head hits the brick wall while the gun slides across the concrete and I scramble to grab it. 

I stand shakily on my feet with the gun in hand and aim it at the asshole sitting at the ground, he looks up at me after he wipes the blood off with his sleeve, fear evident in his eyes. "Now just, hold on a second Y/n." He puts his hands out in front of him as if that would deflect the bullet that I could release by pulling the trigger.

"Please baby, I just- you remind me so much of your mother I- I couldn't help but try to protect you in any way that I could. Please baby I'm your daddy, I don't want to hurt you." I stare at him, tears streaming down my red cheeks as he tries to use my mother as an excuse for me to not pull the trigger and all I see is red. "Hurt me?" I say softly. "Hurt me?" I scream as my hands and body shake with adrenaline coursing through my veins. "YOU WILL NEVER HURT ME AGAIN!"

*BANG*

*BANG BANG BANG* 

I don't remember talking to the police or walking out to sit on the back of the ambulance or the EMT patching up the gash on my forehead near my hairline. What I do remember is Emily running towards me with my grandparents behind her trailing as close as they can at their old age. "Y/n? Y/N! I heard what happened oh my gods are you okay babydoll?" I look up at her my cheeks wind bitten, my eyes red and puffy from crying. "I did it. I killed him. I murdered my own father." My voice void of all emotion and despite how I look I let go of the breath I was unaware I was holding and put my face in my hands taking a shaky breath.

"I'm free." 

After the police have gotten my statement on what all happened and a timeline for what has been going on for the last eight years, when I get to the part about what my father did after he had nearly beaten me to death on more than one occasion, a state of mind where I couldn't say no or fight him off, Emily looks at me like her whole world just came crashing down into an unyielding forest fire.

She doesn't say anything, she knows talking about the bullshit of it all would only makes things worse, turning to my grandparents I greet them and they give me hugs and positive words before they have me pack a suitcase or two and come out to the farm. Standing behind their old hatchback I turn to my best friend with tears in my eyes and hers too.

"Well, I guess this is it huh? You're really leaving me." She pouts and I giggle at her words on her adorable face as she pulls out her boxy smile. "Don't miss me too much okay? When you finally get your license." I give her a knowing look before she waves her hand in front of her face while rolling her eyes, I reach out and grab her hand swinging it loosely between us.

"Please come and visit? I'd hate to live a life without my soul sister next to me." She chokes out a sob and a sniffle before wiping away her salty tears. "Fine, but, if that horse nips at me again like it did when we were kids. I'm turning it into glue." She playfully nudges my side as we share one last hug as my grandfather tucks the last bag into the trunk.

Time flies while helping my grandparents take care of their eighty acre farm. I'm always outside doing something whether that's helping passer by's and their hybrids (which is still something I have to get used to, hybrids I mean) find the right walking trails or simply taking care of smaller hybrids who have come across the farm because they had been running from the hybrid control van, some don't even make it outside of the city and dark alley's much less all the way out here but the ones that do have a remarkable will to get the hell out of dodge. 

My grandfather passes away four years later and the work that has to be done outside takes a toll on my grandma so I tell her to leave the yard work to me. Once she left it to me to keep everything in order outside everything began to run smoothly again, more hybrids seemed to come in for either a quick meal or to rest and leave by morning. It was never more than maybe two or three hybrid's at a time and I got to learn about them from the ones who weren't too scared to talk to humans, I've almost been bitten three times within the first few weeks of being at the farm, lesson learned. 

"Grandma, you know you can't be up and down like this. You're doctor said to stay in your wheelchair if you have to move around and ask for help when you obviously need it." I scold her and she grumbles in defeat, I've caught her trying to reach the top shelf yet again for the third time today. I set my grandfather's old cowboy hat on the hook next to the door as I take off the leather vest and throw it over the kitchen chair at the table.

"I know dear, you were outside tending to the horses and cows, you already have so much on your plate and I didn't want to disturb you. I know how much you love it out there and don't think I don't notice you keeping an extra eye out for any hybrid in need either." I smile down at her very short stature and reach up to grab what she needed from the top shelf, barely but I got it. "I know I just... with the stories I've heard from the hybrids that have come and gone and the endless medical training I've gotten by stitching some of them up. I feel so sorry for them grandma. They've had a shit hand dealt to them, I just wanna help where I can, if I can."

She looks at me with a small smile on her face and taps my cheek with her cold hands. "You are just like your mother, a heart of gold and a willingness to help anyone who needs it, no matter the cost. One of these days you're gonna find a good man who treats you like the treasure that you are doll, I just hope I'm here to see that day." I scoff at her as I take off my work boots and set them next to the front door. "Grandma, you know I hate it when you talk like that. Now, please will you just sit down and eat dinner with me? I'll make some breakfast for dinner, the way you like, crazy lady."

It's not even a few weeks later that my grandmother is admitted to the hospital, the doctors going through every test they could think of as I sit in the waiting room in my work clothes about ready to bust through those double doors and give those so called doctors a piece of my mind for taking so damn long. A few more minutes pass and I feel a tug at my bell bottom jeans.

I look over my phone to see and little coyote hybrid, she's wearing a pretty pink dress and princess shoes with a small crown on top of her head wrap. "Are you a cowboy?" She asks innocently as she pulls the bottom of my pants crumpled in her small pale hand. I lean down to her level as her owner and what looks to be her mother walk up behind her, I lean in close and whisper in her ear like it's the world's most precious secret.

"I'm something better, a cowgirl." I lean back and watch the little girls expression change from curiosity to confusion. "I thought only boys could do that." She states as her mother reaches for her hand. "Girls can do things just as good, if not better, than boys can you just have to put your whole heart into it and never give up." I give her a little high five as she turns to her owner with bright eyes and a new obsession.

"Johnny! I'm gonna be a cowgirl when I grow up!" She jumps up and down as her mother whispers to me. "Thank you, we took Dove out of her room so she could exercise her little legs a few minutes ago. She's been so drained since her last chemo but seeing and talking to you has brought the light back into her eyes, thank you, so much." I give her a small nod as she shuffles to catch up to her daughter and owner but it's when I see him hold her close and kiss her on the lips, maybe he wasn't just her owner but perhaps a lover?

"Y/n L/n?" I hear a male nurse call out from around the corner, his face is pale and I could tell he doesn't do this regularly. "Yes, that's me. So what's wrong with my grandmother?" I ask and quickly close the app I was just on and the man stays silent and I scoff with a small giggle at the end to deflect the worse. "She's okay, right?" I say slowly as I walk towards the nurse and he chokes on air.

"Spit it out." I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Please, I'm begging you dude." I bring my hands together in front of me and he finally says the words I had been dreading to hear. "Your grandmother passed away a little while ago. The cancer-" I hold my hand up to keep him from uttering another word.

I knew my grandmother was sick but I didn't know she had cancer. "Why type of cancer?" I cross my arms and look up at the man who seems to have sobered up after I snapped at him. "Breast cancer, st-stage four." He stutters and I fall to my knees with my face in my hands bawling as he awkwardly tries to comfort me. 

A few weeks later her funeral is held out by the weeping willow I planted when grandpa had passed away, in four years it's grown quite a bit easily making it the biggest tree out by the small pond out on the back forty acres. I sit there and stare at the cold headstone my tears have long since dried up and all those who had came long gone for about three hours now.

I sniffle and lay the flowers on both of their graves. "You weren't supposed to leave me yet." I let out a sob as I start to cry again. "You were supposed to, see me healthy, and happy with someone I love and who loves me just as much in return. You s-said- y-you sa-" I break out into a full crying meltdown and our new grey mare I've named Dove after the little girl from the hospital starts nudging me with her nose and I can't help but giggle.

"I know Dove, it's just all so sudden. They left me literally everything they had in their name. The house, the trucks, the endless amount of money that came from who knows fucking where. The equipment, the entire eighty acres? It's a lot, how am I supposed to do this all myself?" I ask Dove like she could answer me, she just shakes her head. "I know baby. I'll get it done, no matter what, for them."

For the next three years I do my best to keep the farm up and running. I keep my horse and the neighbors horses in the stable during the winter just around the large hedge separating it from the backyard of the house. I didn't have to but I sold the other two horses to make the workload a little easier on myself and about a quarter of the cattle to keep my head from spinning. I got a few little chickens and put them in the hen house located at the edge of the big empty backyard.

I stand on the wrap around porch one early morning with an energy drink in hand instead of coffee because I have a lot to do before the storm rolls in later tonight. Buckling my spurs into place over my boots and get to walking to the stable where Dove sits in her pen waiting for the morning workload to begin. "Hi sweetheart, ready to get started?" I pat her neck and she chirps with what seems like excitement then she happily shakes her head and I take her bridle and saddle off of the nearby wall with a big smile and get her strapped in before we start with herding the cattle to the feed mill. 

By the end of the day the storm clouds have rolled in and it's slowly starting to rain. I have to quickly close the cattle gate before the calves can high tail it out of there, it's their first big storm I have no doubt they can feel it coming to a start. I put a lock on the gate and run over to Dove and jump onto her back grabbing the straps and pull her to the left when the rain really starts to come down." Come on sweetheart let get the fuck out of here and get you back to your pen." I urge her to go faster when I hear the impending thunder and I catch a glimpse of lightning closer than I would have liked.

Dove is settled in with a weighted blanket and her eye shield on. "Don't worry love Dove, you'll be okay, I wish I could take you inside with me." I rub her nose and down her jaw and neck before a deafening crack of thunder booms over head making me jump two feet into the air, my hair standing on end and I quickly move around trying not to be struck by lightning and lucky for me my hair starts to lay flat on my head again.

"Okay, that's enough for tonight. I'm leaving now." I pull my jacket over my head and start running towards the house, once inside I take my wet jacket off and toe off my boots as I shiver. "Fuck it got cold fast, that has to be a new record." I light the logs in the fireplace and take my soaked pants off, laying them over the gate in front of the fire to dry out so I can wear them in the morning to fix the damage this storm is no doubt going to cause.

Taking a deep breath to relax and unwind I sigh when my stomach growls loudly, the only thing I had today was that energy drink. "Ugh, this whole eating to survive thing is so annoying." I grumble as I haul my big ass off the floor and pick at the fire before walking towards the kitchen and I feel eyes on me and I freeze in front of the sliding glass door leading out to the stable.

Looking out to my left afraid to see a face or glowing eyes staring back at me, lucky for me I only see my reflection against the darkness outside before a bolt of lightning strikes a nearby tree scaring the shit out of me. "Fuck! Calm down Thor this isn't a competition!" I shout softly from the safety of my house when a loud clap of thunder shakes the ground under my feet. "Okay! I'm sorry!" I shrink back into my kitchen scared I could be smited (smoted?) at any given moment. 

After I make breakfast for dinner, which I made a little more than I had originally planned because the storm outside kept distracting me from the task at hand. I look back out at the stable from the window above the sink and catch a glimpse of something or actually, a few somethings, run into the big red barn where Dove is housed and my heart jumps into my throat.

What if they steal my horse? Not to mention the amount of farm equipment located in that barn that will cost an arm and a leg to replace if any of it comes up missing. Then there's my grandparents old trophies and pictures from when grandpa would ride bulls and grandma being a barrel runner.

All those memories that could be destroyed within a matter of minutes if I didn't go out there and find out who or what those shadows are. I growl a few curse words as I jump into my pants and slide my boots on then grab my hat off the hook before throwing my thick jacket over myself and zipping it up. I take a deep breath as I grab the handle to the back door and brave the storm to get to the barn across the way. 

Tag List: @socksfirst1

[i2ycat]

way too late

pairing jake x gn!reader synopsis in which you come to the realisation that you’ve been loving jake all this time way too late genre angst, fluff, friends to ??, hurt w comfort word count 0.7k warnings little mention of blood, kissing with a bloody lip main masterlist

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Jake’s hand softly caresses your face, tears brimming his eyes as he holds his suitcase in the other with a vice grip. It was evident that he didn’t want to leave either, not with how your relationship was starting to blossom so beautifully in the spring.

“Can’t you just stay?” you plead, finally mustering up the courage to reciprocate the intensity of his stare. You could see his face soften even further, brows furrowing and gaze dropping to his feet in an attempt to choke down the impulse to drop everything and run back to your open arms, to where everything would’ve been in its place and nothing else would matter. It would just be you two against the world.

Your heart clenches almost painfully in its place. “Can’t we just go back to where we were?” you continue, even though you know that it is damn near impossible. This was the last page of your shared chapter, ink no longer tracing the lines of his name or the crinkles of his eye smiles; the last paragraph of his current existence—the boy you met in your first year of college, the boy that loved you more than anything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, throat constricting as he continues to stare at the ground.

You bite into your lip harsh enough to draw blood because you were frustrated at the world, at the entire damn universe for presenting you with the one boy who understood everything about you without much toiling and then taking him away the moment you realized just how much you’ve loved him and wanted him in your life.

He didn’t even need to try hard to make you forget all about your problems; just his existence was comfort enough. He was your only safe place as you navigated yourself in this confusing world.

The absurdity of it all made you want to laugh, even through the tears.

“I hate you,” you say.

Jake looks up and searches your eyes for any confirmation, which he obviously doesn’t get because you love him and he knows that you love him more than just any friend would.

He releases his grip on the handle of his suitcase and brings you into a hug. His perfume and warmth engulfed you almost entirely, which made you damn near sob like a baby in the middle of the airport.

Your chokes drowned and died down in Jake’s hoodie as you proceeded to tell him that you hated him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, bringing your face from his shoulder towards his own. “I know you don’t.”

It felt like the world had stopped then and there, much like the first time you met him. You didn’t want to admit it at the time, but you fell in love at first sight with Jake, in his baggy jeans and hoodie, adorning an expression akin to that of a lost puppy. You were the ultimate fool for only realizing that now.

His dewy brown eyes drew you physically closer, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. You could taste the irony of your own blood against Jake’s own lips, but you were not in the right headspace to be caring enough about proper hygiene.

This was your personal euphoria, but in a few hours time, it was just going to be the last line you wrote as you reminisced, so you hurried to savor his cherry-flavored chapstick and commit it to your memory forever.

Everyone else in this space and time was just a part of the flurry of emotions that you felt as you kissed Jake. This was the first time, but you’ve already acknowledged it as the last, even if you didn’t want it to be.

Even through the dull ache in your lungs, you kissed Jake, and only until you'd used up the last of your oxygen did you stop for air.

The two of you panted and huffed, your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms around your waist.

The cold air of the airport brings you back to the reality that Jake will no longer be in your arms like he is right now, so you take the opportunity to finally say what has been on your mind the very moment you met him: “I love you, and I hate that I do.”

“Even when you’re admitting that you love me, you still won’t hold back on the ‘I hate you’ stuff.” his lips crack into a smile. “Well then, I love that I love you, Y/n, more than anything in this entire world.”

© i2ycat 2024