#and the age and wear roll off of his body until he’s healthy and strong like they are

[vacantgodling]

oh wait that makes me emotional

[waitimcomingtoo]

Open for holiday requests? Well then... ho,ho,ho🎅 Tom’s driving home frantically during holiday season and ends up getting his car stuck in a snowstorm. Reader and her family take him in from the cold and slowly he adjusts for the time being and maybe starts catching feelings???

I love a good hallmark like Xmas movie romance!

Home For The Holidays 

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

“Spencer, look!” Lucas alerted his twin once he heard the knock. “There’s someone outside.”

Spencer got up to the window curiously and looked outside, seeing Tom covered head to toe in snow.

“It’s a monster.” Spencer shrieked as he ducked down from the window.

“It is not a monster.” Lucas rolled his eyes before looking out the window again. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Spencer asked, jumping up next to his twin to look out the window.

“Its a monster.” Lucas gasped. The boys scrambled to the door and flung it open, gasping in unison at the sight of a snow covered Tom.

“Hi. I’m-“

Are you the abdominal snowman?” Lucas asked as he let Tom in the door.

“No, I’m T-“

“Daisy!” Spencer cut him off with a shout. “Come in here!”

“Is there an adult I can speak to?” Tom asked the child as a little girl came into the room.

“Whats going on?” Daisy asked before her eyes landed on Tom. “Woah, is that an abdominal snowman?”

“Yea!” Spencer nodded. “He came right to our door.”

“I saw him out in the snow.” Lucas said proudly.

“Hey kids.” Tom spoke again. “Sorry to bother you, but I really need to talk to an adult. Are your parents home?”

“Did you come from the North Pole?” Spencer asked.

“No, Spencer.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “The abdominal snowman lives in Alaska.”

“I think he lives in Florida.” Lucas added.

“It’s actually abominable and I’m from Europe.” Tom cut in.

“Do you have magic powers?” Lucas asked.

“Yeah. I can use a phone really well. Do you want to see?” Tom tried to bait them into letting him use the phone.

“Wait!” Spencer gasped.

“What?” Daisy asked.

“Stranger danger.” Spencer realized. “We let a stranger into the house.”

“Oh no.” Lucas whined. “My parents are gonna be mad at me.”

“Mine too.” Daisy feared. “We can’t tell them.”

“Get Y/n.” Lucas instructed. “She’ll know what to do.”

“Okay.” Spencer ran out of the room, leaving Tom with the other two kids.

“Is Y/n your age?” Tom asked the children, hoping he wouldn’t have to deal with another child.

“No. Shes my cousin.” Daisy answered. “I think she’s 40. Shes really pretty though.”

“He’s right in here. He doesn’t look like the one in the movie.” Tom heard Spencer’s voice coming back. He came into the room with you, your one hand holding his and your other over your eyes.

“Okay. Can I open my eyes now?” You asked your brother.

“Uh huh.” Spencer said, and you slowly opened your eyes and removed your hand. Tom finally got a good look at you and felt all the air leave his chest.

“Uh, hi.” Tom waved awkwardly at you, taken aback by the beautiful stranger who let him on their house. You, on the other hand, were thinking something entirely different.

“AHHHHH.” You screamed and grabbed the children. “Intruder!”

“Woah woah woah.” Tom tried to calm you down. “The kids let me in.”

“Did you hurt them? Are you guys okay?” You asked as you inspected the children.

“We’re okay.” Lucas nodded, making you kiss his forehead out of relief. You picked Daisy up with one arm and held the boys close to you with your other as you backed away from Tom.

“Who are you and why are you in my house?” You demanded.

“My name is Tom.” Tom started slowly. “I’m so sorry to bother you but my car has broken down and I can’t get any service. Would you mind letting me use your phone?”

“My whole family is inside.” You told him. “Can you give me some sort of proof that you’re not chop us up and turn us into soup?”

“What kind of proof do you need?” Tom chuckled softly.

“Can you take me out to your car to show me that it’s broken down?”

“It’s really cold out here and I parked pretty far. It’s not safe for you to walk all the way out there.” Tom warned you.

“How far did you walk?” You asked, suddenly noticing how tired he looked.

“I’m not sure. You can’t see anything out there.” He shrugged. You chewed your lip and looked down at your siblings and cousin before making a decision.

“Kids, go inside and help grandma with the cooking.” You instructed. “Tell her I said you could have one piece of candy each.”

“Are we in trouble for letting a stranger inside?” Lucas asked fearfully.

“No, honey.” You assured him. “Just don’t do it again, okay? You did the right thing by coming to get me.”

The children smiled in relief before scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with Tom.

“Empty your coat pockets” You demanded, trying to put on a brave face.

“Okay, but why?” Tom wondered as he took the contents of his pockets out.

“In case you have any weapons.” You said like it was obvious.

“There.” Tom said as he put the last of it on the table. “Pockets are empty.”

You eyed him skeptically before walking up to him and putting his hands in his pockets. You patted him down until you were satisfied.

“Okay. I believe you.” You nodded. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Tom.” He shook your hand. “Are those your kids?”

“No.” You smiled. “Those were my brothers and my niece.”

“They’re cute.” Tom complimented. “They look like you.”

“Well, I have tons more in the living room.” You said proudly. “That’s why I have to keep you in here until I know you won’t hurt anyone.”

“How can I gain your trust?”

“Um, I don’t really know.” You realized. “I’ve never interrogated anyone before.”

“How about this.” Tom offered as he pulled off his hat and scarf, revealing his reddened face. “I’ll take off my stuff so you can see I’m just a regular guy.”

Your body language changed when you saw that he was a handsome guy your age. You blushed a little and looked around the room to gather yourself.

“Your skin is freezing.” You sighed as you touched a warm hand to his cold cheek. “How long have you been out there?”

“A while. I can’t feel anything below my neck.”

“You poor thing.” You sighed and rubbed his arms to warm him up. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

“Wait, what about the interrogation?” Tom wondered.

“You passed. Now come on, before you get frostbite.” You laughed as you took his hand and lead him into your living room where your family was. Tom looked around the room, seeing at least 8 children and a bunch of adults. As soon as they saw you, your cousin Clementine ran into your arms for a hug. You scooped her up and held her on your hip as you addressed your family.

“Everyone, this is Tom.” You put your hand on Toms back. “His car broke down and he needs our help.”

“How cute is he!” Your aunt Linda gushed. “Look at those brown eyes.”

“The eyes? Look at that hair. So healthy.” Your Aunt Mary added.

“Nice to meet you Tom. I’m also Tom.” Your grandfather reached forward to shake Toms hand.

“And I’m Gary.” Your other grandfather shook his hand. “Nice handshake. Strong.”

“Thank you sir.” Tom smiled shyly.

“Ah, Y/n, he’s your age.” Your grandmother gasped. “What a cute couple you’d make.”

“Do you want to see my train set?” Your brother Charlie tugged on Toms hand. “I built it myself.”

“I helped.” Your youngest brother, George, told him. “I put the tracks together.”

“I’d love to see it.” Tom smiled at him.

“Can we get you something to eat?” Your uncle Jason asked Tom. “You must be starving.”

“How about a drink? Do you like hot chocolate? I just made some.” Aunt Linda offered.

“Have a seat, dear.” Your mom led Tom to a chair. “You must have been walking for miles.”

“A friend of mine owns the best auto shop in town. I’ll give him a call for you to see about your car.” Your uncle Richard said as he went to get the house phone.

“Thank you, sir. I greatly appreciate that.” Tom nodded in appreciation.

“Did you hear that?” Your mom gasped. “Manners.”

“And that accent.” Aunt Mary winked. “Oh, Y/n, he’s perfect for you.”

“Aunt Mary.” You glared at her. “We just met.”

“Oh, you must be freezing. I’ll get you a sweater.” Your other grandmother moved towards the closet.

“Make Y/n get it.” Your grandma waved her hand in dismissal. “You need to focus on the food.”

“Y/n, would you take Tom to get a fresh set of clothes? He’ll catch his death in this weather.” Your mother asked you.

“Please, don’t let me put you to any trouble.” Tom tried to stop them from going to great lengths for him.

“Nonsense. You’re our guest.” Your mother smiled at him.

“Follow me.” You put Clementine down and took Toms hand, leading him to one of the bedrooms.

“You have such a big family.” Tom commented as you reached the room.

“I know.” You smiled proudly as you got clothes out of the closet. “Every holiday is a huge celebration. It’s the only time we all get to be together.”

“That’s really great that you’re all so close.” Tom smiled as he looked at the family pictures hanging on the wall.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Here.” You handed him clothes. “You can put on anything you find and leave your wet clothes in the bathroom.”

You went to leave the room but Tom grabbed your arm.

“Y/n?” Tom asked.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you letting me in.” Tom smiled warmly.

“And I really appreciate you not chopping my family up and turning us into soup.” You smiled back before leaving the room. You waited a few minutes before coming back in once you assumed Tom was finished changing.

“I found some more sweaters if none of those...” You trailed off when you saw what Tom was wearing.

“What?” Tom asked in confusion as he looked down at the sweater.

“That’s my dads sweater. I haven’t seen it in years.” You smiled softly as you ran your fingers down the material of the sweater.

“It’s so soft.” Tom chuckled as he felt it as well. “He doesn’t wear it anymore?”

“No. He um, he passed away a few years ago.” You admitted, keeping your eyes down.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I can take it off.” Tom immediately went to remove it.

“No, it’s okay.” You stopped him. “It suits you.”

“Tom! Y/n!” Your aunt Linda called from the living room. “Hot chocolate is ready!”

“Come on.” You took his hand. “My aunt makes really good hot chocolate. You’ll love it.”

Tom blushed behind your back as you lead him to the kitchen, feeling intimidated when he saw your entire family sitting down.

“There you two are.” Your mother smiled. “We were just sitting down to eat.”

“You can sit next to me.” You pulled Tom to two empty seats. He pulled your chair out for you, making you smile.

“I wanna sit with Tom.” Daisy whined.

“No, I do.” George pouted.

“You can sit across from me.” Tom told George. “And I’ll sit in the middle of Y/n and Daisy.”

“I called the auto shop.” Your uncle told Tom. “They can’t send anybody out here until the morning. Hope you don’t spending the night here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Tom shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll find a hotel around here.”

“Nonsense. You’ll never make it to a hotel. Plus, we have a perfectly good bed right here.” Your grandpa insisted.

“I don’t want to put you to too much trouble.” Tom told your family. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We’re happy to have you here.” Your other grandpa said.

“Hot chocolate, for you.” Aunt Linda placed two mugs down in front of you and Tom.

“Would you like some potatoes?” Aunt Mary passed him the bowl.

“How about some greens? I put a little brown sugar on them to make them taste good.” Aunt Linda put some on Toms plate.

“You have to try this. It’s my special recipe.” Your grandma put a baked zucchini next to the green beans.

“My wife makes the best stuffing.” Uncle Gary chuckled as he put some on Toms plate. “You’ll want to take some before the kids get it all.”

“Ooo. Make sure you get some cranberry sauce.” Your mother filled the last empty spot on Toms dish.

“Thank you. All of you. I really appreciate your kindness.” Tom smiled fondly at the table, his heart warming with gratitude.

“It’s the holiday season. Kindness is the most important gift you can give.” Your grandpa declared.

“Tom, do you want to play dolls with me after dinner?” Your cousin Ivy asked.

“No, he has to see my train set first.” Charlie spoke up.

“We could put the dolls on the train.” Tom suggested, making all the children grin.

“Did you hear that? He’s a genius.” Lucas said to Spencer.

“How long is Tom gonna stay with us?” Ivy asked her mom.

“Can he stay in my room tonight? I have stars on my ceiling.” Lucas told Tom.

“That sounds really cool, Lucas.” Tom nodded. “You’ll have to show me.”

“Are you and Y/n gonna get married?” Clementine wondered out loud, making you slap your hand to your forehead while Tom laughed.

“We just met, Clementine.” You said shyly as you pushed your food around your plate.

“Do you like pie Tom?” Aunt Linda piped up. “I made apple and cherry.”

“And I made pumpkin.” You leaned towards him to tell him.

“I like pumpkin.” Tom smiled at you, leaning in as well.

“Me too.” You giggled as you bumped shoulders with him.

“Oh look!” Aunt Mary gasped. “You two are under the mistletoe.”

You and Tom looked up and sure enough, a bustle of mistletoe was hanging above your heads. Toms face immediately flushed as he looked at you, but you were busy giving an unamused look to your family.

“Wow.” You said sarcastically. “It’s almost like someone hung mistletoe over the only two empty seats at the table.”

“Maybe it was a coincidence.” Tom squeaked.

“Uh Uh.” You shook your head. “This was no coincidence. My family did this on purpose.”

You punctuated your sentence by standing up and taking the mistletoe down, making your family roll their eyes and huff.

“We’re not gonna kiss.” You declared as you set the mistletoe down on the table. “Not like this.”

Tom perked up at your words, but appeared to be the only one that heard it. He looked around the table for witnesses, but found that your family had given up and started eating. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you slip the mistletoe into your cardigan pocket. Tom eyes you curiously but didn’t say anything as he began to eat his food.

After dinner, Tom helped you clear the table while the kids ran off to play. You couldn’t help but smile at him as he stood next to your grandmother, drying the dishes as she washed them.

“Look at him.” Your grandmother gawked. “He’s helping me wash the dishes.”

“Y/n, if you don’t marry him, I will.” Your mom clicked her tongue, making you roll your eyes.

“Stop it.” You scolded. “No one here marrying him. We don’t even know if he’s single.”

“Well, Tom, are you seeing anyone?” Aunt Mary asked him as she put the dishes away.

“I’m not, no.” Tom answered as he kept his eyes on you. You gave him a coy smile before looking away.

“Then when are you taking Y/n on a date?” Aunt Linda asked, making you gasp.”

“Aunt Linda!” You exclaimed. “That’s enough. Nothings gonna happen between us if you’re all poking around in our business. We’re leaving. Come on, Tom.”

Tom gave an apologetic look to your family as he followed you out of the room. You took his hand and brought him to one of the rooms, presumably the one you were staying in.

“Sorry about that.” You sighed as you shut the door behind you. “They’re always trying to set me up.”

“Has it ever worked before?” Tom asked, a hint of jealousy in his words.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged and flicked your eyes to the ceiling. “You tell me.”

Tom followed your eyes and looked up as well, smiling a little when he saw mistletoe badly taped above your heads.

“Hm.” Tom played coy. “Now, where did that come from?”

“I took it from the dining room.” You laughed. “It’d be a shame to go to waste.”

“You know what?” Tom smirked as he hooked his pinky under your chin, tilting your lips closer to his. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @weirdr-artiest @serendipitous-amor @dummiesshort

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@maybemona @young-romanoff @alexxcorona113 @fancyxparker @lethal-wisdom @xo-spidey @im-still-tryin-to-find-it @big-galaxy-chaos @pandaxnienke @theincredibledeadlyviper  @thestylestour  @officialsimppage @mrvelscaptains @peterspideysstuff @reemusluupin @perspectiveparker @itsemohours @satanswitchings @okkulta @parkerlovebot @sarcasticallywitty15 @mati4188 @geminiparkers @jungkxxkk @friendlyneighborhood-mendes @whatthefuckimbisexual @olixerwxxd @starkbrain @creatorofthegalaxy @far-from-holland @f-hollands @ilovefrogs1000 @itstaskeen @dreamedforu @itmatteredatthetime

[babbushka]

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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

You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.  

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.  

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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

Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run. 

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be –

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.  

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.  

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.  

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I’m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.  

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

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[hchollym]

Spideyflash prompt: the symbiote reproduces asexually and they have to deal with the baby symbiote

Okay, let me start off by saying that I'm sorry this took me so long to write! I love the prompt, but for whatever reason, the story was just not working for me.

I'm still not happy with this, but I finally gave up, so here it is. Sorry :( Thank you for the ask though!

Contains: Symbiote Baby (Asexual Reproduction), Crack(ish), Some Sexual Content, Aged-Up Characters, Fluff

____________

Out of all the crazy situations that Peter has dealt with since becoming Spider-Man, this one is pretty close to being the craziest. If you would have told him 6 months ago that he would be raising a baby symbiote with Flash, then he would have insisted that you get checked out by a doctor.

Yet that is exactly what he’s doing now.

It’s been a bumpy ride since the very beginning. Finding out that the Venom symbiote reproduced asexually and that Flash was going to give birth to a baby symbiote was shocking enough. Hearing Flash insist that they keep the baby and raise it on their own for at least a little while? Now that was enough to make Peter think that he needed to be checked out by a doctor. Because surely he heard that wrong; Flash isn’t that insane.

Turns out, he is.

Peter is apparently in love with a madman.

In all fairness, Flash’s argument made sense. If S.H.I.E.L.D. discovered the baby symbiote, then they would experiment on it (and not necessarily in an ethical or humane way). While it may be a symbiote, it’s also a baby, and Peter wasn’t overly comfortable with that possibility either. Plus, Flash felt a sort of connection with the baby, since he was giving birth to it, in a way, and Peter could respect that too.

And that’s how he ended up being a father to a mini-Venom (thankfully not bonded to a host yet) who they named Junior or ‘J’ for short.

That is not to say that things are suddenly sunshine and rainbows now either. They can’t exactly take this baby for a walk in the park or even to the grocery store, so they are pretty much confined to their apartment, taking turns going out, and every so often having someone they trust babysit so they both can get a break.

And Peter and Flash have learned firsthand that being a parent is exhausting! Peter thought he understood tired, given his lack of sleep as Spider-Man, but this is a whole new level. Nothing can compare to being woken up over and over and over again throughout the night by a crying symbiote. He’s literally fallen asleep standing up several times in the past few days.

Just as Peter and Flash sit down on the couch for a well-deserved cuddle and nap, the wailing of the baby symbiote starts again and seems to echo throughout the apartment. They both sigh and groan.

“I’ll make the bottle while you change him,” Peter finally offers as he forces himself back on his feet. It’s easier for Flash to be the one holding the baby, because Peter has to wear special gloves to make sure that it doesn’t accidentally bond with him. Not that Peter is complaining; he’ll take bottle duty any day over changing a diaper full of smelly, black goo – though at least now the baby symbiote has stopped trying to eat his diapers.

Peter pulls the fish filets out of the freezer, dumping them into the blender with some milk and a bar of chocolate. Then, he blends it all together until it’s a very gross liquid that would have made Peter throw up if his stomach weren’t so strong. It’s weird mix, but it’s full of phenethylamine, which is just what growing symbiotes needs to stay healthy and strong. He pours the mixture into the bottle and turns around to feed J while Flash throws away the biohazardous diaper and washes his hands.

Peter blinks in shock when he realizes that Junior is gone. He panics, frantically looking all around the room before he sees something out of the corner of his eye. He looks up to find Junior sticking to the ceiling above his head, staring at him, and okay, now he gets why people get so freaked out when he does that, because it’s seriously creepy.

“Aww, look. He’s trying to be just like you,” Flash says adoringly, and Peter splutters. He looks up again, and sure enough, the symbiote is holding onto the ceiling in the same position that Peter does when he wall-crawls. He feels a strange warmth rush through him at the realization. He’s actually rather touched, since he can’t help but wonder sometimes if he’s the third wheel in all this, seeing as he has no solid connection to J. This makes him feels a little more involved and important in their lives. It’s still creepy though, so he makes a mental note to stop doing that so often.

The rest of the day passes by uneventfully – thankfully – and when night comes, they place the baby symbiote in the containment unit. It looks like an incubator, just without the holes in it, but it’s perfectly safe and prevents Junior from leaving and accidentally bonding with a host.

With J settled and sleepy, Peter and Flash lay down and turn to face one another in bed. The web-slinger kisses Flash, wrapping an arm around his back and pulling him close. Flash deepens the kiss, pressing up against Peter so their bodies are flush against one another. Peter’s hand drifts down to Flash’s ass, squeezing and massaging it through his boxers. Flash responds by grinding against Peter and making them both moan. They roll their hips together, creating delicious friction, but just as Peter’s hand slips under Flash’s shirt to pull it off, the shrill sound of a cry rings out.

They both sigh, giving themselves a minute for their bodies to calm back down, before getting up to soothe the baby symbiote. It usually goes faster if they both go, but after an hour of unsuccessful attempts to get J back to sleep, they finally give up. Peter carries the containment unit back into their room, placing it on the bed in between them. They both turn towards it, wrapping their arms around it so that their hands are intertwined on top. J instantly quiets down, content to be surrounded by the two of them, and pretty soon, they all start to drift off to sleep.

Peter never would have envisioned this for his life, but he loves it more than he ever thought he would. They may be a weird little family, but they’re his weird little family.

[alolowrites]

Cuddling Through the Seasons

Summary: Fatgum’s cuddles never go out of season

Author’s Note: This is my third story for the @bnhabookclub​’s Hero Camp Bingo event. This was also a request from @bnha-homeroom​ (sorry it took so long!) 

The prompt used was Cuddles and this is my first story for Fatgum. Hopefully I’ll do more stories for this guy because he’s deserves the best. 

Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.6K+

Spring

High in the sky rests the glorious bright sun. It’s golden rays shine through the vibrant pink flowers blooming on every tree, emphasizing their natural beauty. Two birds playfully chase each other in between the branches, their lovely chirps in harmony with the soothing sounds of the gentle stream below—Mother Nature is simply a lady with many hidden talents.

Although the grass maintains a healthy green coat, it too is covered by fresh cherry blossom petals blown off the trees—it adds a beautiful pop to the land. Few people arrive and wander through the peaceful park. Some snap a couple of pictures on their phones, their bodies bent in odd angles to capture that perfect Instagram-worthy shot. Others silently take in the whole scenery with their eyes and save the mental image deep in their memory jar—that’s how you are enjoying today with Taishiro.

Both of you sit under a tree that is different from the others; it’s branches are abundant, and some hang charmingly over the water. A quick wind blows through the park, tugging the delicate petals until one slowly falls to the stream. Everything is serene, almost like an abstract landscape painting on display at an art museum.

Closing your eyes, you sink in deeper into Taishiro’s plump chest. A relaxed sigh escapes his lips as you enjoy your massive pillow. His large arms wrap around you like a snuggly safety belt—they are protective and warm. Your fingers affectionately glide up and down his sweater to the beat of the stream. You hum, “Everything is so beautiful.”

Taishiro leans back on the thick tree trunk and glances at you; he cheekily grins, “That’s ‘cause you’re here, darlin’. The cherry blossoms are a nice touch, though.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re such a cheesy guy, you know that?”

“Yeah, but that’s what you love ‘bout me.”

“That is very true,” you playfully tap his arm, smirking up at him. Another cherry blossom falls and lands on top of your head. Taishiro raises on hand to carefully pluck it off your hair and holds it high against the sunlight. The flower is so soft and just the right shade of pink. He thinks it’s perfect, just like you.

Taishiro shows the sakura petal to you, “Here’s a little present.”

Your heart swells, a tiny blush dusting your cheeks as you reach for the flower. You take a whiff of the sweet aroma and lean back against your living pillow. Squeezing the hero’s hand, you look up to flash him a faint smile, “Thank you.”

You never let go of the cherry blossom petal.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Summer

Far in the distance lies the vast calm sea. Ocean waves creep steadily toward the fine white sand, kissing the land hello before returning outward. Light puffy clouds float along the peaceful cerulean sky, morphing into different images at the hands of your wild imagination. It’s a fun way to pass the time and relax the mind.

You inhale the fresh, natural air—it smells like freedom. The city’s chaotic and bustling streets are an afterthought. The prying eyes of paparazzi and other media hounds are thousands of miles away from your paradise home. The avalanche stress tied with Taishiro’s hero lifestyle vanishes when the two of you step on the warm sand.

“Whatcha’ thinkin’ about, darlin’?” His voice is loud but soothing at the same time. You feel the gigantic teddy bear stand behind you. It wasn’t long until Taishiro traps you into his loving embrace, giving you a quick squeeze. Your toes wiggle into the smooth sand as a sharp wind whistles by; the waves hear it and crash against the shoreline.

“How a place like this,” you nod toward the dancing water, “somehow exists. It’s almost as if I’m dreaming—” You yelp at the slight pinch, and Taishiro roars with laughter. You crane your neck up to glare at him, “What was that for?”

“Well you’re not dreamin’, that’s for sure.” You elbow into his stomach knowing entirely well it did not phase him at all. Taishiro retaliates by hugging you harder, enjoying the delightful squeals ringing into the semi-deserted beach. Other tourists linger around, but the land is so spacious that you barely see them. It’s easy to think you two are alone with all the privacy in the world, an idea that doesn’t exist back at home—a small price to pay while being a pro hero.

In a way, Taishiro is glad this moment is not a dream. It won’t fade away once he wakes up, but will stay in his memory for a long time. Just as you calm down, a mischievous grin crosses the hero’s lips, and his grip tightens around your waist. You had a bad feeling about this and clenched his hands, “Hey…what are you doing—”

“Hold on!”

“Don’t you dare!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he effortlessly carries you in his arms and charges toward the sea that is waiting to greet you both.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Autumn

Bright yellow lanterns glow above the narrow streets, gently swaying back and forth without a care in the world. Luscious pampas grass decorate the roofs, the creamy-white feathery plumes waving hello to everyone passing through the area. A chubby hand reaches upward; the baby is determined to grab the mesmerizing fluffy grass until something else catches their eye.

An elegant pyramid of tsukimi dango neatly sits on a black plate. There are fifteen white dumplings, each perfectly round and white as the precious moon gleaming tonight. A crowd grows around the delicious display, making it nearly impossible to squeeze through the sardine bodies. Fortunately, the group departs when they see Fatgum approaching with his hearty smile, and you follow closely behind—sometimes being a hero has its perks.

Taishiro greets everyone until a middle-aged man freaks out from his stall, “It’s an honor to meet you, Fatgum! Thank you for keeping our streets safe!”

“It’s no problem really—”

“Please take these dumplings! They’re on the house!”

Taishiro gives you a side-glance, and you shrug. Who were you to deny some free food, especially if they are those moon-like dumplings? You grab the plate from the man’s trembling hands and bow. The hero safely guides you away from the crowd and spots an empty grass field. Plopping down, you dramatically groan, “That was so much walking!”

“Sorry, darlin’! Guess I got a lil carried away,” he chuckles while scratching his forehead. Taishiro takes a seat behind you.  

“I think that’s an understatement, but,” you gleefully raise the plate that barely reached his eyes, “we got free dumplings!”

“They do look good,” Taishiro hums and takes one round treat. You plop the tsukimi dango in your mouth, the rice flavor surprisingly strong, yet pleasing to your tastebuds—it’s a chewy delight. The pyramid crumbles in seconds, and you scoot back to rest your head against the gentle giant; out of instinct, he cradles you in his arms.

A chilly air blows by and makes you shiver despite wearing a cashmere sweater. Taishiro notices and shifts his posture to shield you from the cold—a small act that melts your heart every time. You gaze at the luminous moon until your eyes struggle to stay awake; it doesn’t help that Taishiro feels like all toasty like a fleece blanket.  

It definitely was all that walking, and you yawn before dozing off in his arms.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Winter

Snow showers rain down on your quiet neighborhood. The bare tree branches scoff at the fluffy cotton balls falling from the sky; they barely weighed more than a feather. An hour later, the branches are slouching under the heavyweight and weeping for mercy—but the snow never stops.  

A thin white blanket hides the dull, gray streets and vibrant decorations flourish to their heart’s content. Tiny bells chime once Jack Frost blows a chilly wind down the sidewalks. Thick garlands covered in elegant ribbons stretch for miles on some apartment balconies. And others hung colorful Christmas lights that flicker to a very jolly tune.

In a way, the snow ties everything together to bring out the pleasant holiday mood—it’s simply magical. Two pairs of footsteps, one small like a mouse and the other the size of a giant, imprint themselves on the powdery sidewalk. You waddle toward the apartment with arms bundled around yourself; you’re craving for something warm. Any minute longer outside and your legs will permanently turn into icicles.

“O-open t-the do-or, p-please,” you chatter through your teeth while bouncing nonstop. Taishiro chuckles and you glare at him, making his grin widen more. You barge in once he unlocks the door and dust off the snow on your coat. Hasty footsteps rush to the kitchen so you could warm the teapot as quickly as possible.  

Taishiro shakes his head—you quickly get cold. He relaxes on the couch, not bothering to change out of his Santa costume; if anything, the clothes are comfortable and roomy. You wander into the living room and shiver up a storm. A gloved hand beckons for you, “Come over here, darlin’.”  

Shuffling toward the mellow hero, he pulls you on top of him. Without hesitation, his arm wraps around you to keep you steady. One ear sits above his chest, and you focus on the faint sound of his heartbeat. Not even the Santa costume could mask Taishiro’s alluring honeydew scent, which drives you crazy. You contently sigh, “You made so many kids smile today, hun.”

“I’m glad,” he answers while stroking your hair, “Those kids at the hospital deserve all the happiness in the world, ya’ know?”

“Yeah…” A finger lazily draws out imaginary lines along Taishiro’s red velvet coat. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine. Only your charming touches could make him react like this, and he savors them all. You raise your head and squirm closer to the hero’s face. With loving eyes, you whisper, “You make a fantastic Santa Claus.”

“Fantastic enough to get a kiss from Mrs. Claus?”

“Sure,” you giggle and pull down his fake white beard. As you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you decide that you no longer needed that nice hot cup of tea.

Third prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading!

Previous prompt: Betrayal

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

[trillian-anders]

chambers - xix

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3.7k

description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline and fear not quite worn off. Bucky’s fingers in your hair, his forehead against yours. You took a breath after stealing each other’s. A minute to calm down, remember where you were. Your body trembling. You sit against him, arms wrapped around him you bury your face in his neck.

He’s here.

He’s real.

He’s not the Winter Solider.

He’s Bucky.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

You hear metal warping, and both abruptly pull back, Bucky gripping you tight and dragging you across the floor scooting back and away from the side of the open train. But you’re soothed when red tendrils seep in around the edges. Wanda slips in from the top of the train, shutting the metal bit behind her. Bucky rises to jam a metal pipe in between the handles on the side to keep the side of the train closed.

“You guys really took your time.” He scoffs. Wanda breathes heavily, shaking snow out of her hair and turns to you, rushing forward to her knees and hugging you, still on the floor.

“Are you okay?” She pulls back, brushing your hair out of your face. You nod, emotions still high.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She smiles, looking over at Eric, dead on the floor. Her smile falls.

“I checked his mind.” Wanda stands, “He was the mole?” You nod, Bucky walks over to help you from the floor.

“He was trying to get me on a jet,” You swallow, “He told me himself he was working for Zemo.” Wanda stares at him for a moment more before shaking her head, confusion clear on her face.

“We’ve got to go help Sam.” Sam was on the train. Okay. Which means he made it. He’s okay.

But being okay was subjective. Yeah Sam was able to fight, take down the control room with the help from Sharon and a couple other agents, but he was badly bruised. Wheezing. They both were.

A sigh of relief shared as Sam turned to you, he stepped to Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

“Are you guys okay?” Sharon had a cut running down her forehead, blood on her face. You could only imagine the bruising on your own.

“Yeah,” Bucky pulled back from Sam, “You guys look like shit though.”

“You’re one to talk.” Truthfully you were all a little worse for wear. You look to Zemo’s unconscious body.

“Did you get the girls out?” The trafficking victims, you look at Sam who had one swollen eye and blood coming out of his right ear. He nods, that gap-toothed smile less enthusiastic than normal, but relieved, nonetheless. You step over to him and pull him into your chest, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

“We’ve called for an evac,” Sharon started. The train beginning to slow. “They’ll airlift us out of here and take the train to the next stop before taking the contents for evidence.” The relief. The relief of it being over. It was overpowering.

Bucky’s hand found yours, pulling you over to his side. You felt so dizzy. Your hand coming to grab your head.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You look over at him and see double, unable to focus. Unable to…

“She’s going to faint.” Wanda said in a panic. It was the last thing you heard before you sunk under.

.

.

.

The love a parent has for their child is unparalleled.

.

.

.

The place was a a vast wasteland of rock lit up by an eclipsed sun. Vormir. The two tall stone towers high in the air, the rocky climb. He stood at the edge of the water. The daunting task ahead of him sitting wrong in his gut. The hammer weighed heavy in his palm, when he asked Clint what to expect he wasn’t soothed.

“It’s like a graveyard.” He said, “It just reeks of death and despair.”

He wasn’t wrong. How many sacrifices were made on this rock for power? How many threw the one person they loved more than anyone else to their death for the advancement of their own life.

It was depraved.

“Death is there.” Clint said. And as Steve made his way to the top of the mountain, the fog thick around his ankles, he stopped in his tracks.

“Schmidt?” His stomach churned with the sight. The grim reaper, in the flesh, or perhaps lack thereof. Red Skull. Johann Schmidt.

“Captain America… Steve Rogers… son of Sarah Rogers.” An airy haunted voice, “I couldn’t possibly believe that you are here seeking infinite power that I, myself, once sought. Nor would you have the ability to lose the thing you love the most, so I’m asking you now… why are you here?”

“How is this possible?” Steve asked, stepping back. “How are you here?”

“I sought the stones for myself… I was banished to this place to lead those who seek it to the prize I will never, myself, be able to gain.” His eyes drifting to the case in Steve’s hand. “Stones it seems you already have.”

Steve’s jaw clenched; anger bubbled in his stomach. “I’ve come to return the soul stone.”  Red Skull nods,

“And so quickly after it had been taken.” His back turned to Steve, the drift up the mountain. Steve followed warily.

“So what are you supposed to be?” Steve asked, “Death?” The figure stopped, hovering over a flat platform with a steep drop. This is where she fell, Nat. This is where she died. Steve’s throat felt tight. Eyes watery.

“Very astute… drop the stone into the cavern below.” Red Skull spoke to him, “And I will grant you one favor for returning it.” Steve’s eyes flit from the far drop to the figure of the man he’d thought he killed a long time ago.

The villain that took everything away from him. “A favor?” He asked.

“You were always so noble.” The figure spoke evenly, and devoid of emotion, “For this act of service, re-balancing the scales of power, you get a favor from death.”

The case open, the glowing amber stone glaring back at him. “One favor?”

“Just the one.”

“And it could be anything?” Steve asked. The stone grasped, ready to fall back into its rightful place.

“Anything.”

.

.

.

It was strange. This whole thing was strange. It looked like a sunset. A vast emptiness in front of you. Where are you? It’s quiet here. So quiet. A tree to your right, you turn to face a house.

A house you only remember from your memories of it. From Steve’s memories of it. The home he shared with your Mother. Your heart begins to race as the front door opens, and there he is. As if time had been frozen the minute, he left Bucky. The second he left you. His hair perfectly combed, a button down, slacks… a smile.

“Dad?” Your voice echoes in this space.

“My sweet girl.” Shaky and watery. His eyes pooled with tears he takes three long strides to you before pulling you into his chest. Solid. Real. You gasp in shock. Your arms wrapping around him, trembling. “You did such a good job.” A mumble into your hair. He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, looking at you. “Your Mother and I are so proud of you.” A tear rolling down his cheek. “You look so strong, so healthy…”

“Dad, I… what is this?” He looks taken aback for a moment, fingers brushing your hair out of your face, before his jaw clenches and he nods.

“I made a deal,” He swallows. “When taking back the stones…” His eyes move out on the horizon. “Selfish of me… Strange told me I would be giving you away and I just… I couldn’t let go of you entirely.”

“Where are we?” You ask. “How are you here?”

“This is how I’ve been talking to you… or at least trying to.” He takes your hand, bringing you to the porch. “I made a deal with death… my exchange for returning the soul stone… I could…” He shakes his head. “You know, I didn’t even know if Strange had been telling me the truth. I didn’t believe him until I had to physically give you away, like it was the only option left.” His hands clasped in yours as you both sat on the bench. “When I returned the stone,” Looking at you in your eyes, “I took a leap of faith, trusting Strange, I stayed with your Mom. I had you, but when I returned the stones…”

“You asked to be able to talk to me?” You sat back from him, eyes shifting rapidly over the horizon, trying to process. “Did you know Bucky was going to fall? This whole time?” His eyes glaze over almost, like thinking back on a bad memory, a demon of his past. And you know it. That guilt. The soreness that still is with him, even in death. A regret.

“I knew you would be able to save him.” He admits, “When I couldn’t.”  

“So you told me where to go?” You’re putting it together. “You told me what to do… You pushed us together.” It all made sense. Bucky triggered the memories not from his presence on their own, but because that’s how Steve designed it. Steve triggered the memories around Bucky to grow his attention.

“Bucky always loved a damsel in distress.” Steve mused with sorrow. You shake your head, looking down on your joined hands.

“You knew how he would react to me?” The way he’d been so torn. The rough, calloused, way he treated you before. Yet your lips were still tingling from his kiss.

“I knew he would love you.” Steve gave you a little half smile. “You’re so much better than I could have ever imagined you to be, Y/N. I want you to know that.” Your throat was tight, “If I had to make the choice to go back again I would do it in a heartbeat… watching you grow up, giving you my heart, all of it. I would do it all again.” You let out a shaky breath.

“But you didn’t get to stay with him.” It’s more watery than you wanted it to be.

“I didn’t… I didn’t deserve him.” Steve shrugs, “I lived a good life with Peggy. We had a happy life and for a short time we had you. I don’t know if I would have ever taken the leap to…”

“To actually be with him.” He nods. “I… I really love him.” It felt strange coming out of your mouth, it felt strange to say to your father, but it felt right to admit it. He smiles softly at you, hand coming to cup your cheek. His hand real and warm. His thumb brushing a tear off your cheek.

“You’re allowed to love him… I don’t want you to feel guilty for that.”

“I don’t know what to say.” You sniffle. “This whole time I’ve had so many questions for you and this whole mystery and I just…” Your head meets the siding of the house, looking out on that horizon, stretching wide and endless, you look to him. He’s patient. You knew that. He’s waiting for you to gather your thoughts and talk to him in whatever limited time you had left. “What did you want for me? I was nothing before this.”

He sighs, crossing his legs and giving you a strange look. “You weren’t nothing before this.” He shakes his head, “I want you to be happy… everything I’d ever done in my life was for you, you had been and always will be my child.” He smirks, “If you wanna go back to the brewery after this and bartend again then go for it, if you—”

“Want to join the team.” You cut in. “What if I want to join the team?” His eyes soften.

“It’s a difficult job.” He says, “A very self-sacrificing job.”

“I’m fairly good at it.” He laughs.

“You are… and if that’s something you want to do, nothing is stopping you, but it’s difficult and there’s going to be times where you make mistakes that can’t be undone.” And everyone is looking at you. You assume he’s thinking about Tony. The accords. Wanda. “But I don’t doubt that you have what it takes.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever actually found purpose.” You sigh, “I didn’t think I would ever live this long…”

“Don’t lose yourself in it.” A warning, from experience, “Don’t lose yourself in being the person everyone expects you to be.” His fingers brushing your cheek lovingly. “You’re a little too much like me if I’m going to be honest… I didn’t think I would have lived as long as I did either… and I lost myself in that job. I killed myself more than once for it…” His hand cups your cheek once more, “Learn from the mistakes I’ve made and don’t be afraid to take a step back, do you understand?” You nod, leaning into his hand, sinking into his side and letting him pull you into a hug.

“Thank you.” You mumble into his chest. “For everything.”

“I love you so much,” He kisses your hair, “I would have given you more if I could have.”

And then he was gone.

For good this time.

And you’re warm.

So very warm. Tucked into Bucky’s chest on a private plane. The window cover lifted. It was dark outside, you could see the little flashing lights on the wing of the plane. How long had you been out? He was snoring softly, left arm thrown over his eyes in the dim lights of the plane. Your bladder was screaming, and you hadn’t yet processed what you’d just gone through.

All of it.

The kiss.

Zemo.

Eric.

Steve.

You needed to pee.

You shift slightly, Bucky’s arm tightening around you, his gentle snore stopping. His eyes meet yours, sleepy. “Are you okay?” His raspy voice whispers. You nod, his fingers cupping your chin and a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m just gonna go pee.” He nods, releasing you. The little pod seating he helped you out of, pressing a button to open the little side door and you walked to the back of the plane. The flight attendant sitting in a chair on her phone. You gave her a soft smile before entering the bathroom.

You sat in there for a moment, not even just to use the bathroom but just a moment to process. You zoned out a little, being pulled out by a soft knock a few minutes later. “Just a sec.” You wash your hands quickly and step from the bathroom.

Bucky was standing outside the door, concern on his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” You reply. The flight attendant now gone from behind him, “I’m a little hungry though.” It had been almost two days now since you’ve eaten, you realize. He nods,

“Go lay back down, I’ll grab you some food.” You slipped back into the pod, curling up with your back against the wall of the plane, pulling the blanket over you and getting comfortable before Bucky returned with a couple packets of pretzels and shortbread cookies, in his other hand two mini bottles of water. “Small sips.” He cautioned, and you listened even though your mouth was dry.  He adjusted the seat so you weren’t laying down and tugged you into his side. “You scared the shit out of me back there.”

“I know…” You popped a pretzel into your mouth, “I was scared for a minute there.”

“Wanda told us that you were having another memory…” His fingers brushed up and down your side. The quiet hum of the engines in the background, “And that you were okay.”

“It wasn’t another memory.” Your cheek pressed against his shoulder; you look up at him. “I talked to Steve.” He takes a moment to process, mouth opening and closing again.

“What do you mean?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t being completely honest before… I didn’t want to seem crazy, but he used to appear to me.” A small sip of water, “Like a ghost, he was like…”

“Like haunting you?” He asked. You shrug,

“Kind of… like showing me where to go.” You take another small sip. “He made a deal when he returned the stones… he wanted to talk to me.”

“What did he say?” You crunch on another pretzel, burying yourself into his side.

“That he was proud of me… among other things.” Bucky nods, letting out a deep breath. His arms pulling you in close a tight hug against his body. “Are you okay?”

He’d gone through a lot today. It wasn’t just you. You couldn’t get his screams out of your head. They rang between your ears and made you uneasy. He took a sip from your water bottle before speaking, “I’ll be okay.” You look at him expectantly a moment longer and he continues, “When I was in the chair all I could think about was how to get you out of there.” He sighed, “I couldn’t let myself go… I couldn’t… not when I needed to get you out of there, I passed out… woke up on the train. I thought—”

“He wasn’t going to kill me,” You reason. “At least not yet…”

“He hurt you though,” The bruising on your face, “Eric did too.” You groan, squeezing your eyes shut.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

“We didn’t know he was the mole,” Bucky reasoned, “Not at first.”

“I should have listened when you said you had a bad feeling.” The guilt of that, the feeling of stupidity from being tricked.

“No…” He shakes his head, “I think my bad feeling originally was jealousy maybe… protectiveness? I don’t know… You were so helpless back then. I felt like I needed to protect you.” It was quiet for a moment, you felt tired again. His eyes drooping.

“Thank you.” You mumble into his chest. The water bottle lay empty between you, his fingers fumbling with the button to recline you back down your spine cracks as you stretch yourself out.

“For what?” His sleepy voice, low and soft.

“For everything.”

…

“Doctor Strange!” You smile, entering the lab. The brilliant surgeon turned ‘wizard’ as Peter called him was talking with Bruce. “Can I steal you for a minute?” You’d been waiting to talk to him since you’d gotten back to the compound, but he’d been busy up until this point. It appears you guys weren’t the only ones dealing with a big bad villain recently. A scratch above his eyebrow stitched and covered in a butterfly bandage showed that.

“Of course,” He turns to Bruce, “It was nice talking to you old friend.” A gentle handshake and he was moving on, stepping out onto the grass with you, following the well-worn track.

“I think you owe me an explanation.” You say, “Being as though you seem to know how things happen, before they actually happen.”

He laughs, “What would you like me to explain?” It was implied as more of a, where would you like me to start?

“Well you can start with… Did you know that Bucky would fall from the train again?” He looked at you seriously and answered almost as quickly as you asked the question.

“I did.”

“And you knew I would save him?”

“I did.”

“But Steve couldn’t?”

“No.” You look at him incredulously.

“Okay so explain… I was getting memories from a timeline where—”

“Where Steve didn’t go back.” Strange finished, “Steve wasn’t there when Bucky was being tortured, he was in Tanzania, fighting with Sam. Bucky had nothing to focus on to keep him from going back under, so he did.” His hands clasped behind his back. “In every timeline where Steve stayed, where he didn’t go back to have you… Bucky dies on the train. Steve was married to the job first, so it seemed, and it was always his downfall.”

Don’t lose yourself in it.

That’s what he told you.

Don’t lose yourself in it. Not like he did.

“You knew about the soul stone?” Strange nods.

“The problem with being the person who is keeping time, is that I can look into futures, I can see what’s going to happen a million different ways, but in the end if I say anything about them then they won’t happen.” It’s not a risk he can take.

With Thanos.

With Tony.

With Steve.

Now with you.

“And Eric?” You shake your head. “He tricked me… the entire time, just…”

“Not entirely,” Strange started, “His wife did die during the blip, he was blipped away, but when everyone blipped back he sought revenge.”

“So he sought out Zemo… but Wanda didn’t find anything when she searched his mind.”

“It would be safe to say maybe they used some of the same techniques as they did with James on Eric, possibly blocking his memory and making him a little less susceptible to mental interrogation.” You look at him incredulously,

“You have an answer for everything.” He laughs,

“Not everything…”

“So where do we even go from here?” You ask. “What am I supposed to do?” He pats you on the shoulder and you stop yards away from where Bucky and Sam were training. Running an obstacle course in the grass. The warmth of the sun on your skin. Bucky meets your eye and winks before being tripped by Sam on the last leg. An endearing glare. A laugh between competitive friends.

“What are you supposed to do now that no one is giving you direction? That no one is making a path out in front of you?” A trail to follow. You look over at him and he gives you a knowing smirk that made you scoff.

“You make a path of your own.”

[treasurestation]

Jihoon is more than just your best friend's older brother —

You & Jihoon through the years.

Age 6 —

Your knees ground into the sandlot, fingers digging into the grit of the sand. Palms cup, it feels like like velvet on your skin, delicious and empty. You pour it into a bucket, letting it overflow before patting it down gently.

You shift, knees harshly rubbing on the sand. Stinging on your kneecaps.

“I don't really like sand,” A voice says, strange. You don't turn, a swift nod of your head and it continues. Still strange, she tells you, stumbling over words, “I like snow, um, it feels cool, I– I like the cold, I like how it looks too! Bright and um, –”

You tilt your head to the side, shyly. Palms moving over your thighs, sweat forming at the top of your brow, “I, I like snow too,” It's quiet after you tell her that. It's quiet, long enough for you to burn up under the sunlight, stiffen on your legs. Then the crunch of shoes above sand, she kneels in front of you.

A smile, “Really? That's super cool!”

She gestures towards the pail, her hand opened. You nod, uneased. She turns the pail over, her open palm patting at the bottom of it. She looks to you again, smiling even brighter. Her hands move to the rounded sides, lifting up.

The sand stands, before it plummets. Crumbling. Crusty and dry.

It makes you laugh, the way her bottom lip juts out. It's childish, your eyes crinkle. And she's smiling again, but this time you're smiling too, “Maybe we need some water, this–” Her hands gesture to the crumbled sand, “is far too dry,”

You nod, moving to stand. Dusting the sand off of your knees. You stretch your hand out, opened, inviting. It's hopeful.

“I'm [named],” Timid, your pull away quick, eyes searching her face. She smiles, “I'm Youngji,” She holds out her hand, “Want to see my sticker collection? It's pretty cool! I bet, you'd like it!”

You take her palm, your skin sticks to hers.

She's smiling, it makes you wonder if her cheeks are sore. But it makes you smile too. “I just started today, it's real hard making friends, but then!” She holds up one finger, her grip on your hand tightening, “I talked to you! We can be friends now, right? I hope so! I like making friends, we're friends now. I think, I hope?” Her voice is louder now, more confident, more boyant.

You nod, cheeks reddening. You squeeze her hand, “we can be friends...”

Wind blows, and she stares at you, eyes bright. “We'll be the bestest friends!” Your heart swells, it fills. Overflowing, you nod, eyes turning, lips pulling. The bestest friends.

—

It's late, after school. The setting sun shines in through the windows of the entrance. Youngji sits beside you, showing you her collection of stickers. Doraemon, and it makes you feel small beside her, when she shows you her newest addition to her collection.

“Um... My momma doesn't have enough for that one yet,” or the other ones too. You tell her, Youngji nods, comfort in her shoulder when she presses into yours. “It's okay, I save up, I try too at least– money goes fast! Especially for those things,” you smile, head tilting curiously, you point to one of the bigger stickers, “did you buy this on your own?” she shakes her head, looking to you, “um... Well, my brother brought it, but he gave it to me, I wanted to buy it on my own but he said I could have it!” You smile, nodding along.

The entrance door opens, cracking slightly. You and Youngji look, heads turning. “Hey,” She says, her voice getting bored at the sight of a boy. “[name]... this is Jihoon, Jihoon... Is, well, he's a boy who lives in my house, we're not related, I swear!” Youngji is gathering her things, her sticker collection and summer hat, putting them in her backpack gently. “Ok. So tomorrow, you'll wait for me right? By the gates? Or would you rather–” Jihoon's voice cuts hers off, “Mom's waiting,” she grunts, “Um. I was talking.” She looks to him, her eyes rolling.

Your face reddens. Hands tightening at the hem of your shirt, you stare at the slope of his nose. “I– I– I– um...” You stutter. “[name], we don't talk to boys, remember?” Youngji is sighing, “boys don't have Doraemon stickers like me,” Jihoon smiles, it's forced. It makes your stomach drop. “I– hi... Um... I'm– my name is, [name],” His eyes turn to Youngji, leaving you.

“Wait for me, tomorrow, OK? I'll wear this hat again so you can see me OK? Oh, and I'll bring us lunch, cool?” You turn to her, cheeks reddening even more. She'll pointing to her hat, bright yellow. “L– lunch? Okay! I'll, um, wait!” She already walking away, her body still turned to you as she walks backward. “Bye, my best friend.” Jihoon waves, and then they're gone.

Suddenly you can breathe. Like you were holding your breath. Jihoon Jihoon Jihoon — his name repeats itself in your head, and you think, is this what love is?

—

Your mom is cutting sweet potatoes at the table when you ask her.

“Momma,” Her hum is soft, like the rain that patters at the window that evening. You sit across from her, the wooden chair creaking when you sit on it. “Um...” Your forefingers press together, you fidget. “What is, what is love? You know, like real love...” It's quiet for a moment, before she laughs, asking, “May I ask why?~” You sigh, shoulders dropping. “Well. I met someone. Today, before you came to get me at school. It was a boy. And it's Youngji's brother. You remember her, right?” She nods, placing her knife on the cutting board. “Of course, you told me about her.” You smile, “I met her brother. And I was just, wondering. What love was, you know?” You become nervous under her stare despite the tenderness in them.

“I... I think love is, complex,” She says, you stop her, growing shy, “momma... I don't know that word yet...” Warmth comes from her when her hand reaches for yours across the table, “Difficult?” You nod, you know that one. “It's, a strong feeling toward someone, I guess.”

“Um. What if... Is it, like not being able to breathe?” Your head is downcast, eyes unable to meet hers. “It can be, baby. Was he breathtaking?” You shake your head quickly, “Wha– I, I don't know! He was... He was weird! Like he, he...”

She laughs, it comes out in shakes. Her body shakes, and it makes you giggle, when she throws her head back, mouth opening. “I don't know, momma.”

“Love is whatever you want it to be baby~” There is teasing in her voice, but her fingers roll over your knuckles, skin moving over bones, and it settles the churn in your gut.

You decide Jihoon is breathtaking that evening at supper.

When your father is fixing your bed, you linger behind him. “Dad, for lunch tomorrow, can you make me something good, and pretty? And can you buy me strawberry milk? Two?” He stills, a smile on his face when he turns. He nods, “Sure thing,” it makes you smile, legs moving closer toward him, “but first, you need to get rest, okay? And lots of it! So, you can be happy and healthy tomorrow,” you nod, head bouncing, kneeling into your bed. Your father moving the blankets to tuck you in.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, a shout of your mother's name, and the soft creak of her steps on wood. She's there when your father stands, she kneels. “Dream of me, okay?” You nod, teeth showing. Your gut warms, love growing in your heart, gripping at you. “Obviously,” She presses a kiss to your cheek, your father turns the lights off. Moonlight seeping in through translucent curtains. “Goodnight, my baby~” She stands, moving backwards, stepping into your father's hands.

You dream of Youngji and her brother. The thought of him still lingers.

When your father walks you to school, he tells you about the sky – the rising sun and the infinite blue that swallows everything – you listen, staring at the clouds. “It'll rain today, so I'll bring an umbrella for us, okay? Do you want your raincoat?” He asks, voice warm. “Yes, papa,” He squeezes your hand.

As you near your school, “Um, papa? Can we wait at the entrance? I told a friend I would!”

He stills, “only for a bit...” Then he continues, talking about the sky. When he quiets, you begin talking, about school, about what he talks about, about what your mother talks about. Until arguing grows louder, as well as Youngji's voice.

She sounds annoyed, and she looks hurt when you see her. Her hat is still bright, despite the grim look on her face. Your gut twists when you see her brother trailing after her. She's quick when she sees you. Her pace quickening, and when she's close enough, she grips your arm, “you actually waited, thank goodness! You see what I have to deal with?” Her chin lifts to point at Jihoon.

Your breathe is snatched from you. “I– I didn't know you were coming, I–” you're grip on your father's hand tightens. Youngji gives you a funny look, one that goes unnoticed by you as you stare at her brother. Stop staring! He'll think you're– “Hon, I have to go...” Your father kneels, pulling at your hand. He pats your head when you stare hard at his chest. “Hey, don't look like that, you'll get wrinkles,” his thumb moves over your forehead, the creases in your skin, smoothing over. Skin tightening. “I packed your lunch like you said, and this~” He stands suddenly, arms opening, his hand gone from yours. “Youngji!” She smiles, head bobbing up and down. “Nice to meet you, [name] talkes about you all the time~ now... I really have to go,” He says, exaggerating. “Bye mister!” Youngji's waving, her arm hooking in yours.

You stare after him, feeling small. He turns to wave, and you wave bye.

“He... He's nice,” You say, Youngji hums. Before she sighs, “Bye, Jihoon. Have fun at boring middle school!” She's pulling you away, and you keep turning back to stare at him. Hand lifting up, waving. Eyes settling on the curve of his mouth, it lifts.

Jihoon smiles. And you suddenly can't breathe again. Your heart grips at you.

When lunch rolls again, Youngji is squealing. Loud among chatter. “Youngji...” It's threatening, but not enough to stop her from grabbing your arm and dragging you away.

“So! I don't know what you like... Yet! But I asked my mom to help pack things for us, OK? Yummy things!” She's quick on her feet, shifting through bodies, shoulders colliding. You mumble out apologies, head down, face red.

When you near her locker, she changes her shoes quickly, telling you you'll be eating outside. “It's going to rain today,” You say, eyes catching hers. She nods, “I know, but that's later, like after school later.” Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape.

“Let's change your shoes now, which locker is yours?” She questions, voice thick with curiousity. You begin walking. It isn't far from hers, five lockers away.

She tells you it might be fate, you insist it's pure luck.

The grass is green, and cherry blossoms bloom in the schoolyard. It's empty despite the warm weather.

Youngji is shrugging her bag off. Unzipping it while she walks. You look for a nice place to sit. Deciding on a bench near a cherry blossom tree. “Great eye!” She compliments, sweet.

When you sit, she places a small container between you both. A pink lid is peeled off, Gyeran mari is sliced neatly, four slices. She places another container, a purple lid is peeled off again, this time with fruits. White peaches and strawberries – cream atop the strawberries.

“I... I wanted it to be pretty! I even helped make it!” She's smiling, all teeth. You nod, smiling back. Brighter.

“I asked my dad to buy us strawberry milk! I'll show you my lunch now,” You tell her, heartbeating faster. You redden, embarrassment washing over you.

You unzip your backpack, pulling a lunch bag out, your hands grabbing a container from it, fingers pulling the lid off before you place it beside hers. An egg over rice. She ‘ooh’s softly, mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. You bag another container, smaller. Apple slices are there. You then grab the strawberry milk from your bag.

“Tada! A dinner between best friends,” She says, brows rising. “Lunch,” You correct, handing her a strawberry milk. A grin smearing on your face.

Her face falls a bit, it stirs something in your gut. Unease settling in your bones.

“Um... Are, are you okay? I know it's not much but–” You begin before being interrupted. She's staring at you – through you, licking her lips before saying, “I've never really had a best friend, I hope we can be best friends forever.” A moment passes.

“Let's... Let's be best friends forever then.” You hold out your pinky, a smile on your face. “Promise?”

Youngji smiles, her teeth showing, she grips your pinky with hers. Holding on tight. “Promise!”

—

Age 10 –

(You follow Youngji to middle school, holding her hand along the way, whispering in her ear – she's still your best friend when you both drift in different directions.)

“Guess whoo~” She says teasingly. Her hands covering your eyes. You giggle, grabbing one of her wrists, “Oh, I don't know. Maybe, Youngji?” You say, pulling her hand away. You twist, turning to face her in your desk. “Wow! So good!” She smiles, teeth and all. Youngji leans against the desk behind you, her knees pressing into the back of your chair.

“So! My parents...” She trails off, sucking in air through her teeth. “You know how I'm always like ‘you're my best friend, yeah yeah’?” You hum, staring at the nervous expression on her face, “Do you... Maybe... I don't know, want to sleep over?” She asks, her eyes brightening up. “You can meet my parents! They're always like, ‘bring her over, come one, Youngji-yah!’” She clasps her hands together, smiling at you.

“Okay. This weekend?” You ask, head tilting.

She nods, she thrusts her fist in the air, a yay leaving her lips. “Oh my god, our first sleepover! What! This has got to be perfect, I'll make it the best sleepover, I promise!” She's leaving the classroom before you can reply, the door sliding open as she rushes away. You smile after her.

(Jihoon makes your heart full. Overripe in your chest. Fresh and plump, fruit hanging in your ribcage, your heart is achingly sweet.

You see him in the halls, face reddening when his mouth lifts, mouth curving. You don't say anything, he doesn't either, but when you catch his stare, you know – his heart is full too.)

She walks home with you on Friday for the first time, Jihoon trailing after you both, a friend of his tucked by his shoulder — they're loud, voices lingering in your ears.

You grip your handle bars too tight, knuckles bone-white.

“You live in the city side? Lucky~ I live by the lake,” She tells you, whining a bit. She stops, suddenly. “Do you want me to carry that?” She asks, pointing to your bike. You shake your head a bit, “No! No! It's okay–” You redden at her stare, now you're all stopped in the middle of an empty street. “Here,” Jihoon's voice says, smooth in the wind.

He's beside you now, eyes turning, mouth curled.

His hands cover yours over the bike handles, you stare at him, seeing him – your heart plummets, you think he knows, and he does, fingers tightening over yours before you pull away, slipping away from under his.

“I– thank... Thank you.” His chin lifts, he nods. He's walking away, his friend trailing after.

It's silent the walk home, but you can't help stare at the back of his head. Your heart is fresh fruit, hanging in your ribcage, Jihoon's hands pulling it open. Fingers wrapping around your heart – he eats, he knows.

“Mom...” You whine. Hands moving all over, you trail after her in a rush, through the kitchen, to the livingroom, to the door. “Please... They're just waiting for me, I will be gone soon, mom!... Hey don't show them that!” She's showing them a photo album, her hands ushering them to follow her, and they do. Smiling at you when they pass you. You groan, your father's hand landing on your shoulder. He tells you, “let her enjoy for a bit, you hardly bring people over,” You nod.

“Oh! Honey! Make tea, or juice? Would you like anything?” Her hands clasp together loudly, she's smiling, her cheeks red. “I... I'll go get my stuff, you, um, you can wait here, okay?” Your head tilts, your stiff when you walk up the stairs. Mumbling about how your mother never acts like that when your father brings friends over.

When you enter your room, you try to be quick. Folding your clothes neatly, and then stuffing them in a bag.

A knock interrupts you, you turn. Eyes widening at Jihoon. “Hey, I don't know where the bathroom is,” He says, eyes staring at anything but you. He's rubbing his neck, “It... It's down the wall, you have to be careful though. The door gets jammed sometimes.” Your hands subsciously pull together, fingers tightening around one another. You smile, nodding.

He looks to you, catching your eye. Smiling too. Then it's gone. He doesn't move, then he opens his mouth, moving then closing. It becomes tense, and he looks pained. Your smile is gone now, taking a step forward, “Are... Are you okay?”

He stares at you, before closing his eyes. Shut tight, “You can't like me,” He says. It's a demand. The room stills. Quiet. Still. Unmoving. He shakes his head, before stalking off. The bathroom door shuts with a thud.

Something stirs in you, “Oh...” You utter, the quiet becoming unbearable. And the stirring in your gut leaves you uneased, you feel your heart drop. You want to sink into the floor.

(You still sleep over at Youngji's house, you pretend you don't notice Jihoon's stares. You pretend he didn't say what he said.)

—

Age 13 –

Jihoon joins the basketball team, and when Valentine's day rolls around. Love notes and chocolates pail up on top of his desk.

(You don't talk to him much; when you stay over at Youngji's house, he leaves. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, ripping your heart and taking it with him – “Love is whatever you want it to be,” you decide whatever love you have for Jihoon isn't love.)

“I wonder if I'll get any Valentines...” Youngji thinks out loud, stopping in front lf you when she gets closer to you at the school gates. “You will, I'll make sure of it,” You say, arm locking with hers. She smiles, fingers tightening on your coat.

“BTW. I heard a rumor~” She teases, finger poking your cheek. You sigh, “I told you not to use abbreviations outside of text, it doesn't sound right to me, I swear I will–” You glare, voice going hard. “It's about you, actually!” Youngji interrupts, her eyes sparkling. “Oh... Is, is it mean? I don't like when people are mean to me, you know I can't handle–” She laughs, ringing throughout the schoolyard. She stops, leaning close to you, her hand covering her and mouth when she whispers to you, “Yongshik from class A has a crush on you~” she pulls away with a grin on her face. You redden. “Like... Oh, um – like as a joke?” You question.

She pulls toward the school doors, a girl holding it open for you both, you mumble a thanks and she says, “thank you so much.”

You have to think about it, because it doesn't feel right. “I don't know who Yongshik though...” You mumble. Youngji smiles pitifully before a genuine one appears. “Hey, listen. You don't have to accept his feelings. It's okay to reject someone,” It sounds sweet, a little unlike her then she adds. “Better to be the rejecter then to be the rejectee!”

You glare at her, “Cute, Youngji.” You say. She quickly says she has to be early for class, she tugs you into her arms, squeezing tightly before she runs off.

You make a beeline for your locker, ignoring the eyes that seem to follow you. When you near it, a boy stands there. His face brightening up at you, hand opening to wave at you. It makes you still, you wave back awkwardly. You walk slower, until you stand in front of him.

He smiles, and something about his smile makes you feel uneased, like he can see you, through you, like Jihoon – but not really. Jihoon's eyes are starbursts, shining. Glowing. Vast – “Hello, I– I have something to tell you,” He says, and you can feel eyes on your back again. You nod, a feeling of excitement begins to stir in your gut and you don't like it, your heart picks up. He pulls out a letter from the pocket of his uniform jacket, he hands it to you. You make sure to grab the edge of it, avoiding his fingers.

“Thank –” You're interrupted when an arm wraps around your shoulder, tucking you under their side. Your eyes dart to them, and you're surprised it's Jihoon, his smile is different – almost too sweet, sickly sweet. It oozes something you don't recognize.

“Hey, [name], been lookin' everywhere for you,” He says, facing you. You redden under his eyes, mumbling, “I just got here...”

You forget about the boy, and find yourself boiling over, your stomach erupting.

“Um... You'll read it, right?” The boy says, and you jump before nodding quickly, “Of course!” You smile at him and it falls once he leaves, walking to a group of his friends, they clasp their hands on his shoulders.

“Why'd you do that? He might have needed help with homework or something,” You say naively, shrugging his arm off. “Or he could have a crush on you~” He sings softly, going to lean on the locker beside yours. He stares at you, a smile ghosting on his face. “Also, I seriously doubt he'd need help with homework, he's one of the top students.” You ‘ah’ at him, he still stares at you. “Stop staring, it's... It's making me nervous...” You murmur, quiet enough for only him to hear. He leans closer to you, Jihoon smiles, “Nervous, huh? I know I'm too charming,” He teases, brows raising. You glare, but his smile makes you hide yours. He continues, “I get nervous too, when I wall passed a mirror, I always have to stop and stare,” You sigh, face heating up, “Jihoon,” You begin, daringly, “don't get ahead of yourself,” he raises his hands.

The bell rings, shutting your locker, books in your hand, Jihoon takes them from you, “let me walk the reddest girl to class,” it doesn't make sense, but it makes you redden even more. “I, what– wait... Am I really that red?”

(You read the letter from the boy, his name is Yongshik, and he thinks you're smart and pretty and he wants to get to know you – you politely decline, telling him you like someone else. Yongshik's sweet smile is gone when you leave, and he glares at Jihoon.)

Age 14 —

Jihoon's graduation is exactly how he wanted it – quick paced and undemanding. He insists you come –

(You and Jihoon spend more time together than you should have; he tells you we're friends now and yet you can't help but feel like there's something more to your friendship – there is; Jihoon laughs in your ear, quiet, hushed. Only for you to hear. He lets his arm linger over your arm when Youngji runs off to class, leaning too close to you. And whenever – completely by chance, not by him whining to sit beside you – you sit beside him at lunch, he knocks his knee against yours, and leans too close and talks to you, like you're the only there. But still. Jihoon insists you're friends.)

When it's over. He drags you away, – “Stealing me away when no one's looking, clever.” “Please, just... Bear with me.” – his fingers tug at your wrist.

You're led to a bench by the school gates. Where he places his hands on your shoulders and pushes you to sit while he paces. People yell their goodbyes at him, and he waves goodbye back to each one.

“Jihoon, I wanted to ask you something–” Your hands folds over your lap, fingers playing with the hem of your uniform skirt. “Um... Who, who did you give your second button to? I know it's none of my–” He stills, and then his grabbing one of your hands, placing the button in your open palm before he closes it.

And it's quiet, a long deafening silence.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and your eyes widen, face flushing. “Like, as friends?” You ask innocently. And he stammers, “What? No– like, as more than friends. Like in the movies, romance, you know?”

“It...” You trail off. Your heart is beating, overgrowing in your chest, too ripe, too soft. “It's okay.”

When he sits beside you, you don't know what to do. You stiffen, and he places a hand on your hand, rubbing gently.

He places a hand over your closed fist, the one with the button. You face him, and this is the closest you've been to him, probably. You unstiffen when he smiles, fond.

He tells you to close your eyes, and you do. Feeling his warm breath over your face, before soft lips press to yours.

It takes your breath away. The air in your lungs lets out through your nose, and it feels like a secret. The kiss is barely there, light on your lips. But it impacts you so much.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, he's smiling fondly.

“I still remember when you told me not to like you,” You say, and he groans, leaning back. “Don't remember me.” His hand stays over yours, and you place your free hand over his.

You redden. Ribcage open, fruit heart hanging, ripe.

“What... What does this mean? I mean, you're graduating and I'm... I'm not. Not yet.”

“It means, you'll have to come over often,” He tells you, shifting closer to you. You nod, “I'll visit over, Jihoon, so take care of me~”

(Neither you or Jihoon tell Youngji. A part of you falls apart slowly when she asks if you like anyone, you lie. About Jihoon. About everything.)

—

Age 15 –

When you get to high school, you drift from Youngji and grow closer to Jihoon. But she remains a constant; hooking her arm in yours, and pulling you in close.

When you get to high school, you and Jihoon navigate your relationship in gaps of everyone's eyes, where no one can see – he insists it's because you're new to dating, you think of his sister and tell him you're scared of being hated; he doesn't understand.

(He corners you, drags you somewhere eyes won't see – “Are you getting prettied each day?” “... You need glasses.” “You better be joking, [name]!” – presses his hands on your shoulders, holding on like bicycle handles, before his hands run down your arms, meeting your hands, filling the gaps of your fingers with his – “We're like puzzle pieces,” he'd say, through teeth and lips, mumbling, you'd look somewhere else – he stands close, staring at you – “Sometimes I think we're meant to be,” It'd go silent, something will raise over you, you'd open your mouth, moving, but nothing. “Was that too much?” He'd ask, and you'd squeeze his hand, shaking your head – when he kisses you, it's just a press of lips, soft, tender. Barely there. Like a secret, and it's you and Jihoon's secret – “I think we should tell people now... I want to, I hope you understand.” You do. “... Okay. We'll do it.”)

When you get to high school, you and Youngji are the type of friends who never get mad at one another – you were.

(“Hey, Youngji? Can I ask you something...?” You ask, quiet in her room. It's dark, cold. Her feet are on yours, tangled. Her body pressed close for warmth. “Sure, go for it,” Youngji's voice is quiet too, full of something nice. Sweet. “What... What would you say if I were dating someone? Someone you know... Someone close...?” You ask, turning to watch her face. The way it lights up understand the screen of her phone. She gets up quick, turning full at you. “Are you dating someone?!” It echoes in her room, and you're sure it echoes everywhere in her house. “I– I, I am. But you have to promise me you won't get mad, okay?” You hold out your pinky, waiting for her. She's quick to lock it with hers. “Tell me!” She smiles, right at you. “It's... It's Jihoon.” And Then her smile is gone, slowly falling off her face. “My brother Jihoon? That Jihoon?” It's not exactly disgust, just a breath of something odium. You nod, and she pulls her hand away, “Why didn't you tell me?” She asks, and you can see the lines of anger growing on her face. “I... I don't know... We just started dating, and... And he thought it'd be better if we shouldn't,” you tell her, a feeling of guilt swimming in your gut. “Well, what did you think?” She asks, voice hard. “I... I didn't think,” You mumble, head hanging. “Of course you didn't.” She says. “Right.” You say, voice distant; you both go to sleep, backs turned away.)

You walk home with Jihoon that day, after listening to her yelling at him for not telling her, he doesn't yell back, telling her it was his fault – you think it's yours.

Youngji stops linking her arm in yours, and starts hanging out with another girl you both went to middle school with. You hold Jihoon's hand at school, and you feel like you can breath.

(“I'm sorry you and my sister are fighting...” He whispers in your hair, his body on his side, facing you. “I... We shouldn't have told anyone, it's my fault–” His hand is tightening in yours. “It's no one's fault, it was the right thing to do. We should have told people first, that we were together. You wanted people to know and that's okay.” You turn to face him, he sighs. “I... I know, I'm just sorry.” You and Jihoon begin to spend days at your house instead of his, a thick tension between his sister and him – and still, you think it's your fault.)

—

Age 16 –

(Jihoon has one unequivocal truth; he loves you).

“Our anniversary is coming up~” He says, it's lunch and you're studying. His fingers brushing your hair away from your face. You hum, “I know. You said you wanted us to do something,” He hums, moving closer to you, body pressing to your side. “I was thinking... Sky diving!” You look at him, “with what money? We're high school students, Jihoon.” He barks a laugh, quick, loud. “I was joking,” He says, and you hum softly, a sigh leaving your lips. “School's hard,” You whine. “How about, a date? Let me take you out.” It's serious. Because he's staring at you, face void of a smile, but his eyes shine bright, starbursts. “Don't we go on those all the time?” You question, head tilting. “Those aren't dates, we usually just stay in your room and talk,” You ‘oh’ softly, before you become shy, cheeks turning red.

“I've never been on a date.” You say, and it makes him smile. He nods. “Let me take you out.” He repeats, and you're heart flutters.

When your anniversary comes, you panic.

[Jihoon]: might b late, can u come over? sorry baby :(

[name]: its ok, don't worry ^^

“Ma!” You yell, pacing in your room. She busts in, looking panicked, “What did I tell you about yelling?... Honey, you look so pretty!” She's smiling, the lines on her face, fading when her cheeks lift. “It's not too much? Right?”

She walks to you, her hands cupping your cheeks. “You're beautiful,” It's sincere, making you smile too.

“Now go. Be home before 7, or I will come find you myself.”

When you got to his house, your father dropping you off. Youngji answers the door, an awkward silence between you both.

“Hi... Um, is... Is Jihoon here?” It's the first time you've talked to her since last year, and you feel strange under her stare. She nods, moving to let you in. “I'll go get him for you.” She begins to walk away, leaving you to stand awkwardly at the door, staring after her. She stops, abruptly. “Youlookpretty!” Before she's bolting away. You let out a confused noise.

You smile, a weight lifting off of your shoulders. You stare at your shoes, hands coming together at your chest. She comes back first, standing a distance away from you, you begin, “I'm sorry. I should have told you, I was naive, I didn't think–” then you're in her arms, she's squeezing tightly. “I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have gotten so upset.”

You wrap your arms around her, “You don't have to be sorry, you were right to be upset. I should have told you,” She sighs, mumbling something.

“I think I always knew you liked him,” You laugh awkwardly, “was it that obvious?” you ask, and she pulls away, brows raised. “I think so!”

“I'm ready,” Jihoon says, biting the inside of his cheek after. Youngji hums, “Be home at 7!” She says to Jihoon, looking over her shoulder, her hands rubbing your arms, before she goes to open the door. “Have fun, okay?”

(That evening, Jihoon tells you he loves you. Your heart hangs open in your chest, growing ripe.)

Extra!

When you graduate, you move in with Jihoon. A small apartment in the city, he teasingly tell his friends his childhood sweetheart followed him to college. But it was Jihoon who followed you when you told him it was your first option at schools.

Jihoon is serious about your relationship. Despite never being with anyone else, he prays you never want to break up with him.

When arguments occur, he never you going to sleep upset at him. He apologizes first, – even if you're one in the wrong, you own up to your mistakes just as he does. You both always go to bed peaceful with one another.

Jihoon likes grocery shopping. He picking out foods, and trying out new things. If you don't like something, he remembers and tries to avoid it. Especially when his friends give him it for leftovers.

Jihoon is more domestic than he likes to admit, telling everyone you're the domestic one. by

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Fix me, part 8/finale:

Summary: Love is complicated but incredibly beautiful, and if it’s healthy it will help you grow too.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing

Word count: 4000

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) series Masterlist

A/N - heavily inspired by Grey’s anatomy, my own experiences and thoughts, but also by songs: Birdy - Not about angels, Bear’s den - Fortress, Matthew and the atlas - Out of the darkness, Harry Styles - Falling, Kodaline - Wherever you are, Isak Danielson - Love me Wrong, Dove Cameron - Remember me, Tom Odell - Can’t pretend, The XX - Angels, Coldplay - Fix you, Coldplay - The scientist, Elvis Presley - Can’t help falling in love.

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Kakorrhaphiophobia (n.) - the fear of failure

Atelphobia - the fear of not being good enough

She stared ahead blankly, her mind void of thought as well as her heart is void of emotion. Is this what it means to break? To lose your humanity once your heart is broken one too many times? To become numb, lifeless, no care for anything or anyone?

It's a fate she would never wish upon anyone, because when you lose the will to fight, why would you want to live?

For some unexplained reason, she felt like a failure...like she failed Ethan and like she failed the blob inside her that counted on her to nurture it until they’re full grown. She had always feared of not being enough, so what if years of chemotherapy had ruined her ability to bear a healthy child? Would Ethan want her then?

"What do you mean you can't find a heartbeat?!" Ethan, on the other hand, wasn't ready to give up. His soul bleeds, but his heart is strong - it's turned to steel, something his many years on the planet ensued. But it's more than age or experience, it's love in its purest form - for the woman beside him that went mute with the news and for the little clump of cells that bear his DNA inside her. 

It's hard to understand how one could care for something that's not even a fully formed human bring, someone you've never met or held, but he fucking loved Y/N before he met her and he sure as hell loved the child he thought she'd gift him with.

"It could mean one of two things. Y/N, when were you supposed to start your period?" Grayson felt the eerie emptiness in the girl before him and he couldn't help but notice his brother is dancing on the edge of that same cliff as well. 

They look pale, defeated, lost. Even with the hurt his words caused, they still hold their hands together, like Y/N is a tree looking for prosperous land to settle down her wary roots and Ethan had provided the perfect soil for her to rest and feel safe.

For a moment, Grayson expected Y/N to leave Ethan, to hate him. Yet, it would seem they are stronger than ever and he can't help but pray that he has it easier with his soulmate but for their bond to be as strong as their's.

"12 days." Monotone voice had sounded as she laid her head back, staring up at the ceiling. Tears prick at her eyes, but she can't even cry anymore. There's nothing left inside her to make her fight and yes, the touch of Ethan's hand is the only grounding sensation at this point.

"And I'm gonna guess you two go at it like bunnies?" This time he turned to Ethan for an answer. With a roll of his eyes and a reluctant nod, Ethan had realized where he's going with this.

"First possibility is that you will have a miscarriage very soon if the embryo didn't implant properly. But the second one I hope is true is that you just came in too soon. The heart tube doesn't form or start beating before the first month." Finally, Y/N blinks, looking back at Grayson who forced a smile for her benefit. Truth be told, he can't be sure but he has to believe in the positive outcome. For his own sanity, and theirs.

"So what does that mean for us?" Gripping Ethan's hand strongly once more, Y/N found herself choking on tears she wants to let out, feeling an overwhelming rush of emotions wash over her.

"For now? Go home. Rest up, avoid stress and eat well. I'll give you prenatals because I'm hopeful and likely right about the second theory. Just be with each other and enjoy the fact destiny gave you this time together."

As hard as it is to admit it, Grayson is right. Y/N knew that. She could still hold onto the anger and let it harm her and possibly the baby, or she can embrace the miracle of life that included both having the man she loves as a soulmate and having his baby she thought she couldn't have.

Resfeber (n.) - tangled feelings of fear and excitement before a journey begins

And in that moment, her eyes found his and a small smile crept up on her and it had made all the difference in the world. Just one smile she gave eased Ethan's raging heart and overwhelmed mind. She anchored him once again and the fear of losing her suddenly had no meaning. For the first time since he met her, Ethan felt that he can't lose her...until death do us part at its truest form.

They sat in the car and Ethan didn't expect much more than the smile she already gave him. He thought she'd ask to be taken to her apartment and be left alone and yet, before he has a chance to ask, she speaks first.

"I love you." Small as it may be to some, this statement she had showed mercy with had given Ethan strength to keep breathing - for both of them if necessary.

"I don't ever want to be away from you. So, if it's alright with you, I'd like to look for a house together." Is it a dream? An elaborate daydream where their relationship is perfect and he didn't lie to her and she isn't a flight risk?

"I choose to have hope. Before you, I wasn't exactly a person with a positive outlook on life, but I can't hide that you've influenced me and I have hope. Thanks to you." Swallowing thickly to hide the fact that he's completely choked up, at a loss for words, Ethan covers his mouth as a chuckle escapes him and he nods.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'd love nothing more." Deciding not to test fate, he started the car and set it to a route to his own home. There's no chance in hell he'd let her stay at her place now. Not when he finally has her - mind, heart, soul.

"I'm still going to be angry at you from time to time, so expect that." She giggles, as if all the worries of the world have washed away and nothing but love remained. 

Sneaking a peek, Ethan found himself mesmerized for her beauty is enthralling, her body intoxicating, but her heart and mind? It's what keeps him coming back for more. 

Ethan realized that everyone is looking for one thing in their significant other - that one person whose light would make all the darkness we've known worth it.

"I'd expect nothing less, sweetheart. As long as you know I plan to spoil you rotten and that I won't leave you...ever."

With a satisfied smile and a court nod, she looked away and out the window, whispering under her breath.

"You really are the sunshine brother."

Unaware Ethan heard her, she kept her gaze on the people outside the window, but Ethan as perplexed as he is with her statement had felt like he finally found meaning in every horrible thing he had went through in his life. His life was fairly good, but when it got bad it truly went up in flames. She made it worth it.

 All of it.

When he feels her love, it robs him of sadness and doubt and when he feels her pain, he senses he could fight the world if it meant she'd be happy again. There is no greater feeling in the world than to love deeply and be loved as passionately and as strongly as you've imagined.

Once they arrived at the apartment, Ethan took her by surprise as he swept her off her feet, holding her in his arms as she squealed with the unexpected loss of stability only to find herself as safe as she never thought she'd be, right in his embrace.

"What?! Are? You? Doooiiinggg?!" She taped his shoulder before wrapping her arms around him tightly, making sure he can't drop her like he once joked he would and then actually dropped her...on the couch, but it was still an accident and she bounced off it and bruised her hip in the process.

"Practicing for when we get married." Ethan smirked as her face flushed red with the thought of actually wearing a wedding dress and saying her vows. She never truly thought she'd live long enough to find her soulmate, let alone actually love him with every inch of her tortured soul and yet she found him and everything that happened after was beautiful, the unfabricated kind.

"You really want to do that?" Her voice went higher and Ethan knew she was nervous, but the good kind.

"If I don’t put a ring on that finger, someone might beat me to it. I'm well aware I'm not entitled to have you as my wife, lover or even friend just because we're soulmates. I'm always going to do my best to remind you that I am a besotted fool when it comes to you and I actually want nothing more than to wake up next to you for the rest of my days. I lived over a century and I never felt happier than I am with you." There was something about the way his eyes changed, the color deeper and warmer in the sunlight as his gaze conveyed all the love he could never express with words even though he tries daily.

Jaded as she used to be, Y/N couldn't deny destiny was right about this match, about the man sent to her when she found herself closed to love, giving up on the notion altogether.

She took his hand and wrapped both of hers around it with a gentle squeeze, hoping he understands how much his words truly mean, especially when he backs them with actions, only to manage a faint: "Ditto."

Raising his eyebrow in surprise, Ethan couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping him as he leaned into her and pecked her lips.

"Ditto? Really? That's all you got after I poured my heart out?" His deep, low tone had rippled through her heart and mind and wreaked havoc as she struggled to put together a sensible thought.

"Love you?" She squealed, his warm hand sneakily riding up her thigh only making her tremble, losing her ability to even breathe. He's intense. Always has been and even now, after everything, Y/N is learning how to survive him.

Aware of it all, he couldn't do much but capture her luscious, quivering bottom lip, claiming it as his, thinking just how much he loves her lips.

And while they hid in his bed for days to come, watching romcoms and eating popcorn, having time to just relax and be at peace with one another, Ethan had to return to his job after three days while she was officially put on bed-rest by Grayson who declared himself as her gynecologist, a little something she intended to change before the first vaginal examination.

Selcouth (adj.) - unfamiliar, rare, strange yet marvelous

"Wait!" Rubbing her hands as she approached him on her knees trying not to fall with her faux crawl from her side of the bed, Ethan laughed halfheartedly as he winked at her with his smirk setting on his lips once again.

"Already miss me?"

Rolling her eyes, she groaned as she took his hands in hers, rubbing them diligently while his confusion grew.

"Not to be that guy but why are you rubbing your soft, kinda oily hands on mine?"

"They're not oily!" Her defensive tone matched the quick sharpness in her eyes as she looked up at him before sighing.

"It's hand cream. Your hands are your instrument, Ethan, you need to protect them."

And he couldn't stop thinking about that for the rest of the day. The way her hands took time to make sure his were safe, it felt...different, intimate like sex and while it’s all he could ever ask for, Ethan was still adjusting to the feeling of being loved by Y/N. He’s been too used to chasing her for every inch of affection, too used to being the one giving her all the love in the world that he never realized she might have a whole lot of love to give as well and perhaps it’s time he lets her.

"You okay, bro? Y/N's fine?" Grayson placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, worried he might have to jump into caretaker mode in case something happened.

"Yeah, just...You know about that thing when girls put moisturizing cream on their hands and then take yours and rub it into your skin?" Ethan glances at his quiet brother who waited for him to continue, only to realize he was actually asking a question not just stating something.

"No. But continue."

"Y/N did that for me today and I swear I almost cried and I still might." Chuckling, Ethan realized he might sound like a baby but he honestly couldn’t believe he’s finally at a point where his life doesn’t seem bleak anymore. 

He’s a little worried how Grayson might take it – watching him grow old and having a family when in fact, that was Grayson’s greatest wish and losing his twin is his worst fear.

“Please don’t.” Grayson squinted, removing his hand off Ethan’s shoulder. “When you cry, I cry, and I’m in no mood to wipe any tears today, alright?” And while his brother joking words and expressions made Ethan’s day go by much faster, his mind remained on two…well, three things: 

how will Grayson fair without him, 

will he be a good father, 

and is he truly at a time in his life where happy ever after is real.

“Who did you operate on and why?” To say he didn’t quite expect to find Y/N rushing to the door with these kinds of questions would be an understatement of the century, but then again, she was never quite ordinary. If anything, this is what drew him to her – the quirkiness, the ambition and even the crazy glint in her eye she gets whenever surgery is even mentioned which intensifies when she’s actually in the operating room. It’s what every good surgeon has – a passion unparalleled to anything earthly and he admired how her fire burned bright and how her thirst for knowledge seemed unquenchable.

“Now I know you did not just decide to run when you’re supposed to be on bed rest.” Giving her a critical, slightly amused look, Ethan waited for her to roll her eyes at him before kissing her forehead. 

“I didn’t do any surgeries today, I was working in the clinic, but I’ll be sure to tell you every gory detail tomorrow after my triple bypass.” Pecking the tip of her nose, Ethan’s eyes dropped to her robe, noticing a hint of cleavage and he couldn’t help himself, smirking with the sight and the image of perfection hiding underneath.

“Don’t even think about it pal, not until we’re sure the blob is fine.” With a pointed, warning glare, Y/N adjusts her robe swiftly, enjoying Ethan’s groan of despair way too much.

“You really gotta stop calling our baby a blob.” Ethan drapes an arm over her shoulders, a small smile gracing his face – smile of content he long forgot could exist in his heart.

“I will when there’s something more than just a mix of DNA.” She retorted as he knew she would and he realized this would be his life – and he loved the very thought of having these silly little arguments with her even when they’re old and gray, stealing intimate moments while the kids are in the other room, being the embarrassing parents that are so in love with each other that their kids will never settle for anything less but their soulmate as well. 

He wanted that future and he was so incredibly grateful he has a chance to finally rest his head on her chest and just listen to the sound of her beating heart.

Ludic (adj.) - full of fun and high spirits

Within two weeks, Grayson confirmed the pregnancy and for once, Y/N realized life isn’t a bleak collection of painful memories but a beautiful, evolving thing that seemed to make every day a pleasure.

“That’s one strong heartbeat.” Grayson enthusiastic response made all three to cry the happiest tears one could ever shed. Hand in hand, Ethan and Y/N felt like the world was on their side and that even when they face hardships, together they will conquer them all.

The pregnancy wasn’t easy for them, especially when Y/N insisted she continued her internship till the end, pausing on residency for a while after she passed her intern exam. 

Ethan constantly reminded her to take her supplements, to rest up and eat and he often had to carry her to bed because she’d fall asleep on the ride home. He didn’t mind though, he just worried she was working too hard and he was way too happy about her residency break…even if it came at six months of pregnancy. 

If she was being completely honest, Ethan was driving her crazy all the time and sometimes it felt as if he were the one pregnant not her, but she took it all because it was a way he shows how much he loves and cares for her and she never felt so loved and cared for in her life.

He was relieved she didn’t suffer from any morning sickness or heartburn, but her night cravings were so bad he was out driving to the store almost every night and the things she ate were usually too disgusting for Ethan to watch, especially because she really liked everything his vegan ass wanted to freak out over.

“The things we do for those we love, huh bub?” He whispered at the belly, gently running his hand along where he felt the baby kick earlier. 

Ethan loved to stay up longer than Y/N and just talk to the baby, sometimes just about his day or about how he and uncle Gray made headway with the nursery or the really cute father-uncle-son outfits he found shopping online, but those moments where he believed it was just the two of them talking turned into his favorite time of day.

Y/N would hear him some nights, smiling softly into her pillow but she let him believe she was asleep but even he realized more than once she was listening in – truth is, she started snoring in the eight month, not that Ethan minded much. He truly couldn’t sleep from fear of early labor anyway.

Grayson wasn’t very happy when Y/N switched gynecologists at all. She still let him do the ultrasounds but anything else was a big no – no. Not that she could stop him from being in front of the office, yelling reminders for her actual doctor, knocking every ten seconds to ask Y/N if he can come in and most of the time she just laughed it off and Ethan appreciated her more for it. He knew if she could handle his crazy, over-involved brother, she would be able to handle anything – even the tiny Dolan in her belly that would surely drive his momma nuts down the road because Dolan men are rowdy, adventurous, headstrong and incredibly prone to accidents. 

To be fair, Ethan did warn her.

However, when labor did start, it was during one of the worst storms New York ever faced.

“Our whole relationship was a hurricane, why not crown it with a baby during an actual one too?” Y/N teased, showing no signs of worry while Ethan was a hot mess, holding her right hand and Grayson was guiding her through everything, holding her left hand.

Every time Grayson tried to see what’s happening, to make sure everything is going right, Y/N all but crushed his hand and Ethan shouted: “Stay where Y/N’s head is not the babies!”

After an eighteen-hour long labor, Hamza Cameron Dolan arrived, already loved and so, so wanted. Ethan and Grayson wept, trying not to freak out Y/N who held her son at her chest, a look of pure adoration on her face as she tried to remember every inch of Hamza’s little face.

“I think he has your jaw already. No wonder I felt something cut my cervix while he was passing through.” Giggling, she looked at Ethan – the man who had changed her views on love, on soulmates and on what it means to have someone you can count on, someone who will always hold your hand to prevent you from falling. He had taught her what it feels to really be at peace.

“Little mans is holding my finger.” Ethan cried out, making Grayson laugh through tears.

And as years went by, Grayson watched his brother’s happiness grow, his family growing as well. In seven years that passed, Y/N had become a surgeon specializing in oncology patients, though it took her a while considering she had twins three years after Hamza was born.

After a while, Grayson started withering. He truly loved his nieces and nephew, he adored Y/N and there wasn’t even an inkling of jealousy of his brother – the chief of surgery, but he did have longing. He longed for a love of his own, to have his soulmate in his arms and look into her eyes for the first time and have it all make sense.

He wanted that grey streak in his hair, the one that meant his life wasn’t an unstoppable, repeating cycle that drowned him with a people, events and emotions he could easily predict at this point. And he loves his job, always did, but something was missing and he knew it was her.

Sighing, Grayson passed Y/N in the hall, leaving a quick kiss on her cheek before continuing down the hall, realizing he’s almost late for his next appointment.

Going over the list of things he has yet to do for the day, he walked into the examination room, heading straight for the sink to wash his hands before putting on a pair of gloves. If anything, Grayson was always a firm believer in protocol concerning disinfection between patients, writing a book on it about fifty years ago that became a core for future hospital guidelines, ones still in place today.

While he went about his duties, his patient watched him intently – something he’s used to considering he’s a very handsome ‘young’ man in a sensitive part of medicine. He could feel her gaze upon him, but he just couldn’t bother with yet another flirtatious patient. While he’s usually friendly, charming and kind, Grayson tends to be a bit colder with those who want to cross the lines.

“I’m Doctor Dolan and I understand you’re here for a Pap smear?” Turning around, he looked at the patient’s already prepared position – legs spread with a cover still allowing him to see the full image of her vagina and everything he’d need to see to do his job right, however, in seconds, the woman closed her legs and gasped, sitting up frantically and only then did he make direct eye contact – no longer distracted by anything but the undeniable appearance of a silver streak in her hair right before his eyes.

“Oh my God!”

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Tags: @beinscorpio @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes @graydolan12  @zeusgrayson @libradolan @justordinaryjen @pineappledolan @graysavant @livexdolan  @shadowsndaisies @dolans4lyfe @mendesficsxbombay @fxkthatdairy @drewsstarkey 

[jawritter]

A Thousand Years...

Chapter 11

Heart beats fast. Colors and promises. How to be brave. How can I love when I’m afraid to fall. But watching you stand alone. All of my doubt suddenly goes away…..

Summary: A soulmate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master. – Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

A new town, a new job, and a new life, one that you didn’t even expect……

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings will include… Smut, language, unrequited/ requited love, cheating, and possibly more. This is brand new, so I will add to it as I know. Chapters will have warnings of their own if need be….

A/N: So my little cousin was watching breaking dawn in the living room, and I was folding clothes in the guest room… When the credits rolled and this song started, this fic hit me right in the face… I couldn’t escape it.

Fic Based on the Song A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri

Missed it so far or just want more in general? Check out my masterlist!!

*****MASTERLIST*****

****SERIES MASTERLIST*****

You woke up to the smell of coffee filtering through the mostly still dark house, lying alone on the couch where Jensen and yourself had fallen asleep watching TV the night before. You don't remember what time you dozed off, it had to have been late. Jensen had been very quiet all night after Danneel had dropped in for Arrow's blanket and ended up hitting him in the face. He'd said very little at all in fact. Just stared at the TV. 

Neither of you seemed to want to part ways to go to sleep that night, needing to be close to one another, so you just both fell asleep where you were most comfortable.

You wanted to ask him so many questions, the main one being was he okay because even though the silence last night wasn't something that was awkward in any way or even tense, it was concerning. You wanted to know what headspace the man was in, but you didn't want to cross a boundary, and you weren't exactly sure where all the boundaries lie at this point. Everything was so known between the two of you. 

Even though there had been tension and unspoken feelings since the day you'd met, you'd only been whatever this was for two days. 

Sitting up on the couch you look into the kitchen and see Jensen sitting with his laptop open and his head in his hands. Getting up from the couch you make your way into the kitchen slowly, your curiosity getting the better of you. 

Jensen looked up as you approached the table he was sitting at, running his hands down his face, his emerald green eyes piercing yours. He looked tired but better than he had when he'd shown back up at your apartment two days ago. You gave him a tight smile and he sat back in his chair reaching for you. His auburn hair tousled and sticking up in random directions.

You loved the way he looked first thing in the mornings. It was such a contrast to the perfect image of Jensen that most people got to see. Every hair in place and dressed and looking gorgeous in whatever he was wearing. 

This side was even more beautiful to you. It was imperfect, but that's what made it so amazing to you. It meant a lot to you that he felt comfortable around you enough to be himself around you. Like he didn't have to be perfect like everyone expected him to be all the time. 

You make your way into his waiting arms, and he pulls you into a timid kiss before letting you rest your head against his shoulder while he buried himself in your hair. 

"Morning,"  you mumble, just enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, and his perfectly plump lips resting against your forehead. 

"Morning, guess we ended up falling sleeping on the couch last night," he said, with a low chuckle, brushing his hands through your hair, and nuzzling his way into you. You could have stayed like this forever, right here in his arms.

"Yeah, guess so. What's got you up so early?" you ask him, looking up to meet his gaze. Just the closeness of him had your breath hitching in your throat. You wanted to kiss him so badly, to feel his lips pressed against your own, his strong hands firmly against your body.

Jensen sat up and cleared his throat, suddenly stiffening his shoulders.

"I got a phone call from some of my family members informing me that Danneel had taken to Twitter to tell the fans that we are no longer together and that I've moved in with a younger woman just hours after she was told to leave the house. That you and I had been sleeping with each other since you started working at the brewery, and now she was filing for divorce." 

You sat there with your stomach sitting at your feet. 

You weren't really sure why you were shocked at all. What did you think? That she was really going to keep the fact that you'd moved in with Jensen to herself? Still, now it was out in the open...and she’d lied for a good bit of that tweet. You and Jensen hadn’t been sleeping together since you’d met, and you didn’t move in until yesterday. Still, the damage was done. 

Fuck... 

That means your sister-in-law as well as your brother would know by now, and probably your ex and the rest of your family. 

Not that you really cared what they thought. 

You made a mental note that you were going to call Crystal and Jessie later, but now was not the time to do that. Even though they knew now for sure, you weren't ready to talk about this yet when you still were so unclear about what this is.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I was afraid she would do this, but people were going to find out about us anyway because I had no intention of hiding you. I'm not ashamed of you. The only thing that's true is that you're here with me and that she isn't. The rest we both know is bullshit." 

Taking a deep breath to steady your rapidly racing heart rate you stand up and look at him. You could tell he was nervous about your reaction. You had no intention to attack him. You moved into his house knowing eventually this would get out. So you weren't even mad really, but you did need answers to something before you even started to try and talk to people, and answer questions you knew were coming.

“Jensen, I need to ask you... what really happened between the two of you?” 

Jensen cleared his throat and looked down at his lap like he was almost ashamed of what he was about to say.

“Danneel and I, we’ve never had the greatest relationship, at its best, it wasn’t healthy for either of us, and at its worst, it was impossible to even live in the same house as the other. The only reason we survived being married as long as we did was that I worked off in Vancouver, and we only had to see each other on occasion. Around two years ago I came in late from Jared’s, and she blew up in my face, accusing me of sleeping with someone at Jared’s who I didn’t even know. Later that night after I went to bed she came in with one of the kid's baseball bats and hit me hard enough to cause a pretty good bruise. That was when things really started going downhill. Fights, no physical or anything, just so much fighting. Then I caught her with someone she claimed to be working with, she said she did it because she didn’t trust me. I thought I was trapped in that marriage, that she’d never let go, so stupidly I started acting out. Running to bars, coming home late, or not at all. Then you came along. She was convinced we were sleeping together. Then she saw us kiss on the camera, which was not my intention at all you know that, but she left. That was the first time she’d shown her face yesterday.”

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything that he was telling you. 

“So she hit you often?” you ask, treading lightly, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable at all.

“No, the time she hit me with the bat and yesterday were the only times she’s ever laid a hand on me. She did like to say things that got under my skin. My weight, my age, just whatever she could to try and control me.”

You had to take a deep breath to control your anger.

“She isn’t going to fight me over the kids, that was just a threat. She’s just mad. This will blow over Y/N, I promise you that. Everything is going to be fine. It’s just going to be public a little sooner than either of us expected it to be,” he said, reaching for you, pulling you close to him again.

"Jensen... What are we?" you ask him bluntly, and you could tell for a moment it didn't compute by the way he was blinking at you. 

"What do you mean?" 

"What are WE, Jensen? You said all she said wasn't true aside from the fact that I'm here with you, and she isn't. Well, what am I even to you? We've made a mess of this whole thing, whatever the fuck it is. I don't even know what to tell my family when they ask if we're together." 

Standing up from the table Jensen settles both hands on your hips, grounding you from the impending panic attack you were well working yourself up to.

"You’re right. This has been nothing but a confusing, complicated, drama-filled mess, and that's my fault. I'm going to make this very clear right here and now. I've been in love with you from the moment I met you, I went about it wrong, I made mistakes mostly out of fear, but that's over. You're here because I want to be with you, and if you will have me I'm all in. I'm not tiptoeing around anymore trying to keep from offending anyone, or "protecting" anyone. I love you. I know it doesn't make sense, and I know we really don't even know each other, I don't care. I want us to be together. I said I was going to take this slow, but whatever has brought us together isn't going to let that happen. We're being pushed and rushed, and I'm having to do things in days that normally people would have waited months to do. I believe all the hell I've been through, and all the hell you've been through was for the sole purpose of bringing us together. Nothing happened by accident. We're here because we are meant to be here together, and I don't give a fuck who likes it."

Before you even had time to register what was happening Jensen crashes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. Throwing all he had into it. It took you only seconds to react to him. Melting into him like he was what you had always needed. 

Oxygen to a drowning person.

You needed this man. 

He was right. 

Everything you had gone through, all the heartache, all the hurt, it all brought you right here, right to him, and while a lot of people didn't agree with it, you believed fully that you were meant to be together. You were a goner the moment you laid eyes on this gorgeous man. 

Why fight fate?

When the two of you finally broke apart from each other panting like you'd both ran a race, Jensen's hands still settled firmly on your waist, his forehead against yours, you'd made up your mind. If this was going to work, you were done with beating around in a circle about it. 

You loved him. 

You knew it in your bones, and if you were going to be his, then you were going to be his completely.

Taking Jensen by the hand you lace your fingers together and lead him upstairs. He follows you silently, letting you lead him into his room, and close the door behind the two of you.

"Y/N, we don't have to... I mean... I didn't mean that I wanted to..." 

Closing the distance between the two of you, you throw your arms around his neck and silence his worrying by pressing your lips to his. He didn't even hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you as close to him as possible. His tongue invaded your mouth. Gliding over yours like it was just a natural thing for the two of you to do. You let him explore your mouth and have his hand snake their way under the hem of your shirt. Brushing across the skins of your lower back and sides.  

By the time you pulled away and looked at him his eyes had grown darker, clouded with lust, a fire in them that made you weak in your knees. He needs you, just as much as you need him.

"You said you were all in, and we've made mistakes throughout this whole mess. Well, I say it's time we stop dancing around how we feel about each other and do some correcting. Let's fix what we screwed up, right now."

That was all the permission he seemed to need. Picking you up bridal style he carried you across the room as if you weighed nothing, dropping you down on the bed softly before shedding his shirt and climbing on top of you, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your face he brought his lips down to yours gently in a feather-light touch.

That's all it took in order to set your very senses on fire. A need for him like you had never known in your life burned through your veins, consuming you. Everything else seemed so silly at this point. All the fear, all the worrying about what people were going to think, all the uncertainties that seemed to tag along behind you. None of that mattered now. All that matter was Jensen, and the way his tongue felt in your mouth as it glided over yours and the firm grip of his hands on your waist.

His lips trailed to your jawline as his hands traveled slowly to the hem of your shirt. He nipped at your pulse points before looking up at you, his eyes lust blown, but also filled with more love and adoration than you had ever seen. 

Slowly, never breaking eye contact with you he lifted your shirt off of you, and threw it to the floor, before snaking his hand around and unclasping your bra, and throwing it to the ground next to your shirt, taking you in for a moment as his eyes roamed over the newly exposed skin before lowering himself back over you.

"Your so beautiful sweetheart," he whispered to you as he brushed his lips over yours before trailing them down to the valley between your best, moving over to suck at each nipple with just enough pressure to make your back arch into him. His hands trailing down your body as he explored every inch of skin as if it were something precious and fragile. 

Slipping your pants and underwear down in one go he left you completely bare before him. His hands trailing lightly over your hips, and down your thighs, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake as he spread your legs gently, and settled between them, looking up at you for a moment before licking a trail through your already soaking folds. A gasp fell from your lips he worked your bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow fashion before eating at you like a starving man. The coil in your stomach growing tighter and tighter until it snapped, washing waves of pleasure through your body. 

Once you'd finally come back down from you high Jensen was hovering back over you. His lips leaving little kisses on every inch of your face and neck he could reach. His thick length sitting heavily against your inner thigh as he settled himself between your legs, waiting until you made eye contact before sliding through your slick folds and settling completely inside of you in one smooth thrust of his hips. A light moan fell from both of your lips at the feeling of him stretching and filling you.

He kissed you deeply as he gave you a few minutes to adjust to him. So contradictory to the quick, rough pace, that he'd shown you the night of the charity event. This time he set a slow, steady rhythm, driving deep with everything thrust of his hips, keeping your bodies as connected as possible as he practically rutted into you, not really even pulling out all the way before shoving back home, hitting places that you never knew it was possible to reach; driving your body higher and higher. You held onto his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself in reality, but it was no use. Every touch, every taste, every sense was all him. He was all you could feel, and all you could see.  

Jensen burried his head into your shoulder as he became closer to his release. Little moans and pants falling from his lips as he reaches his hand between your bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing harsh circles to match his deep pace, determined to make you fall over the edge you were on with him. 

Your orgasm hit you completely by surprise, taking you so that your hearing faded for a moment and everything went white. Jensen's name fell from your lips like a prayer. You felt the moment that he lost control in one deep, hard thrust, stilling inside of you as he spilled himself into you, your walls milking him for all he had to give you. 

Once you had both recovered, Jensen slowly removed himself from you, getting up after giving you a quick peck on the lips to retreive a damp rag out of the bathroom, cleaning you up before he cleaned up himself and climbing back into the bed, not bothering to redress, pulling you tight to his chest and wrapping his arms around before tangling his legs with yours. 

Not a word was spoken. There was nothing that needed to be said. You just were. Just the two of you. Nothing in between you. Just skin against skin, two hearts beating together as you both just enjoyed being wrapped up in each other’s arms, and for the first time in your life, surrounded in perfect peace.

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

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[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

PART ONE

LOVE OR HATE?

WARNINGS: mild swearing, slight violence

WORD COUNT:2242

When Katie's younger sister comes on the field trip with her, they meet Officer Jake Riley. Instantly there's some kind of hatred forming between her and Jake, but, when both of their worlds go spiralling, they both have to question if it was really hate or a disguised love?

Y/n and Katie had always been extremely close - especially for sisters with a five year age gap. They both lived together - y/n worked as an artist and Katie was a teacher at the local elementary school. That's what landed y/n here, in a hospital waiting room while the whole building was in a 48 hour lockdown. Great. Katie has persuaded y/n to come on a field trip to the hospital with her and the kids, and now she was sat in a chair, playing with the rings on her right hand, bored out of her mind. It had been 20 minutes. She was already bored. This was going to be fun.

Suddenly, Katie rushes up to her, clearly in a flat panic. "Y/n, I've lost Quentin! And his friend, Thomas. I don't know what to do! I can't believe I wasn't looking out for them more, I-" y/n cut her off, "hey, Kates, it'll all be fine, I'll go find the boys. You stay here and keep an eye on everyone else. I won't be long." Y/n stood up and walked out the room.

She eventually made it to the basement floor, walking through a dingy, tiled corridor. "Hey! Put your hands where I can see 'em! Stay 4-6 feet away." She heard a strong, male voice boom behind her. She rolled her eyes and put her hands up, slowly turning around. "Is this really necessary?" She sassed, noticing the gun pointing straight at her heart. The man holding it was handsome, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He had a bit of scruff and was clearly very muscular. "You can't be down here, miss." He continued, holding a dominant tone. She rolled her eyes again - god, cops always assumed anyone they spoke to was some kind of assassin or mass-murderer. "You can drop the gun, cop-boy. I'm just looking for my nephew and his friend. I'm no national threat or anything." He lowered the gun slightly and continued, "1) I decide when it's appropriate to drop the gun, 2) don't insult a cop, or I'll have to cuff you and 3) why is your nephew and his friend in a restricted area of a hospital?" She huffed and dropped her hands to her sides as he took a few steps forward, dropping his gun to his side. "1) 4-6 feet, buddy, 2) is like to see you try and 3) well they're not anywhere else in this building and it's not like any of us are getting out any time soon, is it?" He closed the gap between them and spun y/n around, pushing her into the wall. "I will punch you if you don't let go if me." She said through gritted teeth. He leant down so he could talk into her ear. "Yeah, well I'm still the cop and you're making open threats to me. And these kids must be stupid or something. I'll find them - now is no time to let your kids off their leash." She rolled her eyes and stamped on his foot. He tightened his grip on her wrists, seemingly unphased by y/n's action. "You are in so much trouble - but I'll let it slide, just this once. One puny girl looking for some elementary school kids is the least of my problems right now." He said into her ear again. He released her wrists and took a step back. She stood away and rubbed her wrists.

"We better get going then." Y/n said, continuing marching down the corridor. The guy jogged up to her again. "Hey! There's no 'we' about this! I'm going and that's finial." Y/n spun on her heal to look at him, "look no offence, cop-boy, but I promised my sister I'd find these kids and get them back safely, I don't really care what uniform you're wearing I just want to find my nephew unharmed and healthy, got it?" She stormed off, eventually finding her way into a room where then man with the rats from before sat, two little boys in front of him. "Miss wait i-" the guy continued on until I cut him off, "Quentin! Thomas! Your mum was worried sick!" Y/n said kindly to the boys, she looked up at the guy with the rats, "I hope they weren't troubling you?" He smiled at her and waved her off, "oh no, no. They were perfectly fine." She smiled and crouched down, looking at the boys, "what do we say, boys?" She said with a smile. They both turned to the man and said thank you. Y/n stood up and looked at him, a warm expression on her face, "thank you." He smiled back, "anytime."

She stood up and turned around, ushering the boys out the door. As she went to walk through the guy grabbed her upper arm, "we are not done talking. Meet me back in that hallway in an hour." Y/n raised and eyebrow, "so what you're saying is you'd like to see me again? How flattering ." Before shoving past him, catching up to the boys.

Y/n quickly got fed up with the noise in the waiting room, so she grabbed her sketch-pad and a pencil and headed down to the corridor - hoping to find some quiet. She was 45 minutes early but she didn't really care. Once she got there she slid down the wall, moving her feet up so she could use her thighs as a rest for the lag while she drew. She started to sketch on the pad, letting the pencil take her where it wanted, her imagination going wild. She was pulled out of her trace to someone deliberately clearing their throat. She looked up to see the cop from before towering over her. "Miss-" he stopped as y/n cut in, "y/n." He continued, "miss y/n, mind if I join you?" He said sourly. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" He laughed and slouched against the opposite wall. "No."

Y/b laughed back. "So, Officer-" he cut her off this time. "Riley. Officer Jake Riley." Y/n continued, "right, cop-boy, what is it you so desperately needed to see me for again?" He tone had a slight annoyance in it. "Well, you did insult an cop. And you assaulted me." Y/n waved it off, "pfff, you barely felt it. It was light tread." He shot her a warning look. "So, y/n. Why do you think it's alright to insult a cop?" he said. She thought about it for a second before retorting, "because you're all dicks." He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?" She nodded her head. "Huh, thanks for the information. So, would you like to tell me why me and everyone I work with are suddenly all dicks?" He seemed amused at her statement and her boldness. She sighed and finally answered, "because you don't respect people. You treat us all like sociopaths, or objects." She spat. He chuckled, "I'm beginning I get the feeling you had a bad experience with a cop?" She nodded her head again. "What happened?" He pressed on. She sighed again, debating whether she should tell him the whole story. "Fine. I was in training, fulfilling my childhood dream of helping people. I was with the Officer I trusted most that helped out at the academy. He'd offered to hive me extra training so I took it. We were out of a run when all of a sudden he shoved me into an alleyway, pinning me against the wall. I started choking as his grip got tighter. I managed out a scream and someone heard, the looked into the ally and he shot them, before proceeding to, to, um..." Jake leaned forward a bit, "What did he do, y/n?" She swallow, "he raped me." She said almost silently, but he must've heard because realisation flickered over his features. "You're Y/n Frank, aren't you?" She nodded weakly. All colour seemed to drain from his face. "That was one of my first cases. I was the one who arrested him, but by the time I got there you were already in the ambulance and my partner was the one taking the statement. I'm so sorry." He said, his voice full of pity. "I don't need your pity. Anyway, after that I couldn't stand to wear the same uniform he had, so I dropped out with only one month to go until I would have been a cop. Then I decided to peruse my dream of art." She made unenthusiastic jazz hands as if to make it sound magical.

Y/n stood up. "Are we done now? Can I go?" Jake nodded. She walked off without another word.

————————————————————————

Over the days y/n could see Jake and Katie growing closer, both spending their free time together. When the lockdown was extended Jake came straight to y/n, who was laying on her front on her makeshift bed, sketching. "Hey, trouble, can I speak to you for a second?" Jake said commandingly. Y/n rolled her eyes. "That want a question, was it?" He shook his head. She sighed and got up, putting her pad under the bed. "Follow me." He said sternly. He lead her down to the corridor. Once there he turned to face her, "look, I'm running low on men. Like, really low. There's seven cops with side and over 400 citizens." Y/n shrugged, not bothering to make eye-contact with him. "Then just get done more send over." He sighed. "We can't - no one in and no one out." Y/n finally looked up. "Okayyy, so what do you want me to do about it?" His expression was completely serious, it was actually kind of scary. "I want you to help me, become my deputy. You've have complete training all you need is a gun and a vest, both of which I can get for you." Y/n rolled her eyes, "look, cop-boy. I dropped out for a reason. I don't want to do it and I shouldn't have too. And what do you need cops for, exactly? It's a virus, not a war." He sighed again, "look, y/n, please. Just do one patrol and decide from there. You haven't left the building. It's awful out there - robberies, murders, gang violence. I could really use the help." Y/n thought for a moment. "Fine. One patrol. That's it." He nodded. "Okay then, when do we leave?"

————————————————————————

A few hours later y/n found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Jake's squad car, in a bullet-proof vest and holding a gun. God. How her life has changed in less than a week. She'd give nothing more than to be in the spare room at home - which she used as her studio - music blaring in her headphone and paintbrush in hand. Jake was right, it was a mess out here. There were dead bodies littering the streets, windows of shops and houses broken and cars left abandoned and wrecked on the roadsides. They suddenly heard the rumble of motorbikes, the noise surrounding them. "Crap." Jake muttered. Panic shot through her. "Jake, what's happening?" He cursed again. "Gang members. Meth heads. Normally the unpredictable ones." Oh god. This wasn't good. Jake pulled the car to a stop, hoping they would all ride past.

Unfortunately for them, the gang decided to attack someone. Jake barrels out the car pulling out his and and running to stand in-front of the old woman. Y/n followed closely behind, as much as she hated the idea of being a cop now, she had very strong reasons in the first place and always felt the need to protect those around her. The motorcyclists swarmed around them, creating a cloud of dust that engulfed them. The dust cleared for a second and Jake took a shot, just missing one of the 5 men. Y/n lined up her shit with one riding towards her, taking a careful shot and hitting him in the heart. His lifeless body toppled off the bike, landing with a thud on the grass. When the others noticed, they were quick to leave, clearly phased by death. "Few, that was a close one." Y/n said in relief. Jake helped the woman across the road, sending her in her way. He motioned to y/n with his hand and she jogged over to the car.

As she climbed in and out her helmet at her feet, Jake let out a strange laugh. "H-how are you so good with a gun? You haven't shot one for what - 3 years?" He looked at her, mesmerised. "I don't know. I was always good at stuff like that, darts, archery at camp, anything with a target I guess." She shrugged. "Jeez you would have made one hell of a cop." He said almost to himself, starting the engine back up.

[shushmal]

A fluffy Mushishi AU commissioned by @magnustesla​!! Thank you so much lovely!!! Read on Ao3!

It’s raining.

It’s always raining near the coast here, quick storms that blow in from the sea and surrounding the mountaintops for a few hours before the sun breaks and the land is left quenched. The valley by the ocean is lush with greenery, glad to weather the wind for the chance of fresh life. The kounonagare flows close to the surface here, and with it comes the midorimono.

Kakashi chews absently on the end of the tobacco stick, his breath a string of smoke in the air, his coat draped over his head and luggage to provide a little more shelter the gingko tree does not. He can feel it growing at its back, its drenched leaves happily catching the rain.

The mountaintop is aglow with mushi, undulating and lighting up in the fog, dancing amongst the raindrops. He watches as they move, cataloging each type and wishing that his paper could withstand the wet, his damp fingers itching to draw as he observes.

He watches so intently that he’s almost startled when a shape manifests along the mountain path, slowly making its way towards him. It takes form into a man under a wide umbrella, stepping carefully through the fog and moving steadily. As he gets closer, he looks up from under the dripping brim and smiles.

For a moment, Kakashi can’t breathe.

“I thought you might be here,” Iruka says by way of greeting. “You always bring the rains with you.”

“Ah, is that the reason?” Kakashi smirks, quickly ducking under Iruka’s umbrella when he lifts it in invitation. “I thought it was the spring and the mushi that made it so wet here.” Iruka hands over the umbrella pole, freeing his hands to reach up and smooth away the damp hair from Kakashi’s face. Kakashi swats at him, scowling. “Don’t mother me like your wayward duckling,” he huffs despite the way his skin tingles everywhere Iruka touches.

Iruka smacks his hand away, his smile turning down into a scowl.

“I’ll do as I please, thank you very much,” Iruka snaps, and Kakashi submits himself to Iruka’s touch, his lips twitching up into a traitorous smile as Iruka busies himself brushing back Kakashi’s flyaway hair to get a good look at his face. “Don’t pout, you’re an adult.”

“Then you should treat me like one,” Kakashi says, absolutely not pouting.

“I will when you start acting like one,” Iruka snips back just as easy. His fingers linger just under Kakashi’s left eye. “I see you’ve gone and lost another prosthetic.”

Kakashi turns his face away and brushes his hair back over the empty socket. “I didn’t lose it, per se…”

“I see,” Iruka says with a knowing look. “Well, I think we’ve stood out in the rain quite long enough.”

He presses himself into Kakashi’s side and hooks their arms together as he begins to lead Kakashi back the way he came, the rain a steady beat to their steps. Kakashi lowers the umbrella over the both of them and lets Iruka guide him down the mountain.

The silence between them is comfortable, and Kakashi takes the time to look at his companion, cataloging the changes the same as he would a new species of mushi: Iruka’s hair is two inches longer than the last time he visited, he has a faint sunburn and a faint scattering of new freckles on his nose, and the yukata he wears is new, likely replacing the well patched one he used to wear before. The fabric is a deep, warm green, soft against Kakashi where their arms are linked together. It looks good on Iruka’s golden brown skin.

“You look well,” Kakashi says softly, leaning a little closer into Iruka’s space.

Iruka doesn’t even look at him, but Kakashi still catches the small smile near the corner of Iruka’s lips. “And you look like you haven’t eaten in several days.”

Pouting again, Kakashi averts his gaze again, quickly taking to watching the forest around them as they slowly make their way towards the village, a few hours’ trip in dry weather that's stretched longer by the softened dirt and bulging rivers that they carefully pick their way around, unhurried, their arms linked together between them.

It’s midday by the time they reach the mountain shrine, and the rain has begun to pound harder against the thatched umbrella.

“Shall we rest a bit?” Iruka says, already leading him down the slick stone stairs towards the shrine’s roof.

Kakashi follows along unprotesting and gratefully ducks below the awning, propping the umbrella up against the torii gates before he pulls the mushishi box off his back. He waits until Iruka has clapped his hands and bowed his head, sending a quick prayer of thanks, before they sit on the dry step before the shrine, pressed close, side-by-side, their knees brushing.

Hesitating only for a moment, Kakashi lets his arm rest around Iruka’s back, bracing them together, Iruka’s warmth seeping through the thin fabric of Kakashi shirt.

Iruka smiles at him from the corner of his eye and says nothing.

For a while, they sit in silence, listening to the rain on the ceramic tiles of the roof, and the quiet life of the trees. Around them, the mushi are still dancing, glowing like fireflies in the grey rain.

“This is a healthy place,” Kakashi remarks, watching the mugura at their feet waving freely in the cracks of the stone.

“So you say every time,” Iruka says, bumping their shoulders together. He pulls a bento into his lap and offers Kakashi a haphazardly shaped onigiri.

Kakashi takes it with a teasing smirk. “I see your cooking skills haven’t improved.”

Predictably, Iruka turns red and glares at him. “I’ll have you know Naruto made them.” He doesn’t take it when Kakashi immediately tries to hand it back. “Oh hush, he just shaped them, they’re perfectly fine.”

It’s been so long since Kakashi has last shared a meal with Iruka, maybe a year or even more. And even if it’s just a small meal of cool rice and plum, Kakashi is thankful for it, glad to be able to watch as Iruka eats quickly, like he always has since he was a child and unsure when his next meal would come to him. And still Iruka pushes a second and then a third helping onto Kakashi, impatiently waiting for him to eat it until he’s satisfied.

“I’m not actually starving, you know,” Kakashi says, just to irritate him.

Iruka huffs. “Well you look like a strong wind will take you right off the mountain.”

“Hmmm, I suppose you’re right.”

“Glad you agree,” Iruka says, rolling his eyes. He leans just slightly more into Kakashi’s side, a pleasant, warm weight. “Are you…” he starts, fidgeting. “How long will you be around?”

Kakashi hums, tilts his head towards Iruka like he’s thinking about it. “A while I suppose.”

“Will you be staying nearby?”

“Maa, is that an invitation, sensei?” Kakashi asks, teasing and wistful at the same time. He ducks his head closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the blush on Iruka’s cheeks when he turns away.

“It…” Iruka starts and sighs. He straightens his shoulder and meets Kakashi’s gaze. He's beautiful. “It is.”

Leaning in the last few inches, Kakashi catches Iruka in a kiss, sealing their lips together with a pleased hum, happily breathing him in when Iruka gasps into it. This is familiar, the joy that curls up in Kakashi’s chest like a well fed house-cat as he tilts his head just so, exchanging slow, inviting kisses. Iruka’s fingers brush Kakashi’s jaw, cold and electrifying, and Kakashi kisses him a little deeper, tasting the smile on Iruka’s lips.

He only pulls away a bare inch to breathe, resting his forehead to Iruka’s. His arms have somehow found a way around Iruka’s waist, holding him close, relishing the feel of Iruka’s hands cupping his face.

“You don’t have to ask every time,” he murmurs. The pounding of the rain almost drowns out his words.

“Just in case,” Iruka says, ever pragmatic, and Kakashi kisses him again.

“The answer’s always yes,” he says and Iruka smiles.

They sit together for a time, curled up and waiting as the rain softens its fall, until they can pick up their things once again and make their way home. It’s near pitch dark when they make it to the seaside village, the surf loud in the darkness, but the village dotted with glowing windows.

“Where’s Naruto?” Kakashi asks as they step into Iruka’s darkened home, the fire in the hearth only cooling embers.

“Knowing him, he’ll be on the shore,” Iruka says casually as he flicks water from his hair. “Stay there, I’ll bring you a towel.”

Kakashi watches him carefully as he goes. “Are you concerned?” he calls, pulling off his boots and setting them in line with Iruka’s sandals before unloading the box on the raised floor with care, its innards clinking together.

“No,” Iruka says as he returns in a fresh yukata, the old, patched blue one. Kakashi catches the sleeve of it, feeling the familiar aged softness as Iruka throws a thin cotton towel over his head and gives him a thorough drying. “He’s adamant that he’s just visiting.”

“And is he being visited in return?”

Iruka steps back and chuckles as Kakshi’s hair flips up, defying gravity. Kakashi pulls him a little closer, ducking his head so Iruka can rake his fingers through his hair to tame it.

“He asked me not to worry,” Iruka admits.

“Then don’t,” Kakashi says just as easily, pressing a warm kiss just behind Iruka’s ear. He can remember Naruto as a child, his hair green and his body transparent from living so many years in the suiko until it had taken him to sea to die. It had been Iruka that’d fished him from the ocean when Kakashi had been unable to save him, and it had been Iruka that had sat with the boy until he’d awoken again with golden hair and blue eyes. “I’ll check with him.”

“Thank you,” Iruka murmurs. He tugs Kakashi a little closer by his belt, until they’re chest to chest and Iruka has to tilt his head back to meet Kakashi’s eye. “Come to bed?”

And Kakashi hasn’t felt so warm in all his life, as he feels here in Iruka’s home, in Iruka’s arms. “I would have thought you’d want to see the presents I brought for your collection, sensei,” Kakashi murmurs, wrapping Iruka in his arms and pressing a biting kiss to his jaw.

“Mushi nonsense tomorrow,” Iruka says, turning his head to catch Kakashi’s lips. “Bed now.”

Unable to resist, Kakashi scoops Iruka up, his yukata slipping open as his legs wrap around Kakashi’s hips, his skin against wet clothes and he moans right into Kakashi’s ear. Kakashi stumbles past the hearth and into the adjacent room until his toes touch the edge of the futon and Kakashi goes to his knees, laying Iruka across it and pulling open his yukata the rest of the way until he is bare beneath him, all warm flesh and beautiful.

“I missed you,” Kakashi breathes when Iruka’s hands slip past the hem of his shirt, pushing it up over his belly and chest. He sits up only long enough to pull the damp fabric over his head before Iruka pulls him back down.

“Missed you too.” Iruka kisses him, arches his back when Kakashi takes him in hand with a gentle, firm grasp. “Kakashi.”

They go slow, mapping each other like unexplored lands, feeling all the new scars and muscles and touches between them, and revisiting the well known parts again. Iruka still gasps when Kakashi bites at his collar, and Kakashi still groans when Iruka thumbs at his nipples. They touch and taste and drink their fill of each other, and Kakashi could live here forever in this moment, between Iruka’s thighs or beneath Iruka’s body or thrusting deep into him, clinging to each other, kissing with teeth and tongue and breath.

In the morning, he’ll gift Iruka with a green sake cup and an empty shell, a book written by a cursed hand, any number of things that Iruka can add to his collection that grows in his shed. And Iruka will wonder how long Kakashi will stay this time before the road calls him away again.

But for tonight, after he’s cleaned the mess on Iruka’s belly and thighs, Kakashi lets himself just rest, laid out across Iruka’s side. Iruka hums, pleased, when Kakashi throws a leg over his and rests his head on Iruka’s shoulder. They curl tightly together, and Kakashi’s feet poke out from under the covers.

“You need a bigger futon, sensei.”

Iruka laughs. “I actually have one, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be here tonight.”

“Too big to sleep in without me?”

“Yes,” Iruka murmurs, his fingers gently running through Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi tries and fails to not feel pleased about it, and hides his smile against Iruka’s neck. Iruka shakes with a gentle, breathy laugh despite himself. “Welcome home, Kakashi.”

Kakashi’s smile only grows. “I’m home, Iruka.”

[oncexinxmyxdreams]

OC Profile

Claire Teague (The Real Ghostbusters.)

Bio

Name: Claire Rose Teague.

Age: 23 years old. (She and Peter met a month before her birthday so to be exact, she’s introduced at 22. Peter’s about nine months older than her.)  

Ethnicity: Caucasian with family roots in Irish, French and Welsh.

Species: Human.

Height: 5'7". She’s 7 inches shorter than Peter. 

Weight: 145 pounds.

Hair color: Strawberry Blonde.

Hair style: Mid-back with feathered layers and no bangs.

Eye color: Cornflower blue. 

Birthday: July 3rd, 1959.

Gender: Female.

Sexual Orientation: Straight.

Powers (if any): No...unless count how fast she can type.

Distinguishing features (if any): Round shape of face with a small, slender nose, and defined cupid bow lips. Peter thinks she’s a combination of actresses he likes: Marilyn Monroe, Grace Kelly, Jessica Lange and Michelle Pfeiffer.   

Blood Type: O+

Clothing

Day to day outfit: Vintage sundresses with espadrilles. Rolled cuffed jeans and simple button up shirts with her favorite black Keds. Likes patterns that are checkered and plaid. 

Pajamas/What they wear to bed: A couple of long silky nightgowns and warm flowery pattern long tops and bottoms.

Formal Clothes: A couple of pretty black dresses.

Work/School uniform: Blouses with pleated skirts with high heels. Chic for the 80's.

Other (glasses, jewelry, etc): Simple pierced ears. Has a dangle necklace that has one ballet slipper and one tap shoe. (Peter got it for her.)

Health

Physical Illnesses: No. 

Mental Illnesses or disorders:  PCOS( Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.) 

Medications?: Medicine for PCOS to regulate menstrual cycle which is ultimately a birth control.

Addictions (Drugs, alcohol?): No.

General Health: Fairly healthy. Body shape is an hourglass figure: 42-32-41 measurements. Depending on clothes, goes between a size 12 or size 14 so curved but not overweight. Does have a high threshold for pain which helped her with dancing.  

Life/Preferences:

Likes: The Wild West, dancing, writing, babies/kids and vintage clothes. Likes seeing a Yankees game now and then.

Dislikes: Cheating, skipping meals, divas, greasy hair and painful shoes. Claire and Peter discover they both share a strong dislike of skipping showers.

Career: Starts off as a secretary until she’s fired. Later becomes a personal assistant where she’s overworked and stressed. 

Hobbies/Talents: Journaling, thrift shopping and reading classic American literature. Talented in tap and ballet. 

Habits (good or bad): Taps fingers when nervous.

Family: Her parents are named Arnold and Ruth Teague. Claire and Ruth have a deep bond. One sister named Caroline Teague who’s five years older. (They used to be close as kids, but now have vastly different viewpoints that put them at odds.) Best of all, her daughter Laurie; a total surprise, but a wonderful one that Claire thought would never happen. 

Friends: Rebekah Wood and Eileen Romero. Rebekah and Claire became best friends in high school while bonding over musicals. When Rebekah moved to New York for college, she encouraged Claire to come with her when she graduated the following year. Rebekah becomes an advertiser and marries her college sweetheart before she moves to California for his job. Eileen met Claire in first grade and loved playing catch and kickball with each other. In seventh grade, Eileen’s family moved to Washington, but she and Claire communicated with letters, calls and summer visits. Later on, Eileen works with her husband as a florist and has two kids.  

Romantic/Love Interest(s): Peter Venkman. (Dated a coworker named John Puckett who was similar to Peter only for Claire to question why she liked John.)

Pets: Her cat named Rocket. He's a Korat breed and got his name because Claire adopted him shortly after The Moon Landing of 1969.

Social Status: Middle class.  

Favorite Food: Potato Salad. There's plenty other meals she loves though.

Favorite Color: Cyan Blue.

Favorite genre of music: 70's Pop.

Favorite movie genre: Westerns with musicals in second place. Her favorite movie is Calamity Jane. (Her first crush was Robert Redford from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.)

Favorite Animal: Cats.

Degree of Education: Graduate from Brooklyn College with B.A. in Journalism and Creative Writing.

What language(s) can they speak?: Besides English, she can speak French and Spanish. 

Can they cook?: Yep. Most recipes are from her mom.

Personality

Positive Traits: Curious, ethical, compassionate, diligent, thrifty and good humored. (She’s not easily offended by Peter’s cynical/sarcastic humor.)   

Negative Traits: Overloads herself with work; worries about being a disappointment; dislikes dragging others into her problems; represses her feelings however, being with Peter has helped her with this situation.  

Archetype: The Caregiver (like Sam in Lord of the Rings: Kind, caring, but don’t underestimate the bravery or determination.)  

Way they interact with others: Always polite, but guarded. She has to understand the other person decently enough before she opens up. Depending on the person, sometimes she'll feel comfortable chatting right away; that's how she met Ray. 

Way of speaking: Not sure about this...I’ll just say if she was in the series, I could see Jessica Lange voicing her, at least back in the 1980s when she was young. Have written somewhere that when Claire’s singing Peter kids that she sings like Michelle Pfeiffer from Grease 2.   

Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert. Definitely an ISFJ according to Meyers-Briggs. Though Meyers-Briggs pairings should be taken with a grain of salt, it just so happens to be natural partner to ESTP...that'd be Peter. ;) 

Backstory 

Claire was born in Muncie, Indiana, but lived in Kokomo since she was a toddler. Despite coming off as a girly-girl, she loved playing sports with neighborhood kids. For 10 years, she took ballet and tap lessons which she enjoyed even if it meant blistered feet, shin splints and sprains. (One of the reasons she’s developed a high pain tolerance.) Sadly though her dream of dancing professionally came to an end with health issues and her father berated her for being a quitter. In high school, Claire tried to find other activities: photography, tennis and electric guitar that lasted for only two lessons. She was one of the dancers in school’s production of Oklahoma!, but eventually, found her strength in writing and worked for the school newspaper. It led her to Brooklyn College along with one of her best friends and earning two bachelors in Creative Writing and Journalism. Not long after she graduates her life changes at a different college: Columbia University. 

Claire only went to Columbia to bring Ray a book he was looking for back when they met in a public library. She instantly catches Peter’s eye-he did see her earlier in the day at a restaurant, but thought she was with a date-and she’s a little curious about him. She volunteers to be a test subject for him, but figures out he’s cheating. (If you’ve seen the movie, you know what she’s testing and how Peter’s cheating.) She hoped that was the last of Peter Venkman, but upon a chance meeting the next day and having a little heart-to-heart, she decides to give him another chance. Peter actually does keep his word on being honest with the test, even if it means the electric shocks. From there, it all leads up to a friendship where they discover they have things in common like Dewey LaMort books, favorite shows and eating. How long will that friendship last though when Peter’s physical attraction to her only blossoms into romance and Claire wonders if the right guy is the least she expected? 

Life Goals

Claire would be happy with three things: having a providing and enjoyable career in creative writing; having a happy marriage with her dream guy and being a mom. Half of the time, with it being the 1980s, Claire meets a couple of people who tell her she can’t be a working woman and have a family. Even more is from her sister, who thinks Claire’s dreams are all stupid: Caroline doesn’t think Claire will succeed with her degrees and considers being a mom as weak. (Caroline is always competitive with anyone, especially women and would rather kick them down than help build them up. Everyone is lower than her. Sadly that’s a trait from her father and how rude he treats his wife.) Claire is encouraged by one of her close friends, Eileen, who’s married and has kids, that she can have it all when she’s with the right person.

Heartbreakingly to Claire, one of these dreams is likely not to happen. Due to having PCOS, as one of her insensitive doctors told her it'd be “impossible" to conceive. Though Claire knows she can still be happy without all her desires, she’s crushed by the thought. She loves kids and is good with them. Though if she had been told by a smarter doctor, she would’ve known that getting pregnant is difficult, but not impossible. Thankfully, she’s proved wrong with her daughter, but it all comes to a tragic end for Claire. No huge reveal of how, but she is killed and that’s where the Peter’s (and Laurie’s) new life really begins...    

[get-your-fics]

Duality - Chapter Twelve

Summary: Your life as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was pretty simple, actually. Well, as simple as things can get in Gotham. But it gets a lot more complicated when you meet Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome’s twin brother.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader, Jeremiah Valeska x reader, Jerome Valeska x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stalking, mentions of abuse

CHAPTER ELEVEN

You swore it had been sunny before you crossed the bridge to Arkham Asylum. But the second your town car pulled up to the wrought iron gate, the sun disappeared behind gray, dreary clouds, and the air had a distinct tension to it, like a storm could strike at any moment. The cold nipped at your skin as you climbed out of the car, a chill running through you as you took in the massive, aging structure in front of you. It was like the mental institution had its own weather system attached to it.

Inside the intimidating building was even worse. It was all stained, linoleum tile and fluorescent lights that made everyone’s skin look sickly and sallow. As you approached the front desk, you could hear screams and manic laughter echoing down the hallways.

A very bored woman looked up from her crossword at you. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotone.

You cleared your throat. “Yes. I’m here to visit Jerome Valeska.”

She rolled her eyes before turning to a dated computer. Her nails clacked on the keys, and the blue light emanating from the screen reflected in her cat eye glasses. “Jerome Valeska is under strict lockdown and is not allowed to have visitors at this time.”

Your heart sunk. You were expecting something like that to happen. “Please?” you begged. “I really need to talk to him.”

“Check back another time.” She didn’t even look at you as she went back to her crossword.

You tapped your fingers against the desk, chewing on your bottom lip. You needed to think of some way to get this woman to let you see Jerome. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your brain, and you fished your wallet out of your coat pocket. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be willing to look the other way?” You took out a hundred dollar bill and slid it across the desk to her.

She glanced up at the cash and then at you. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m just following orders.” She crossed her legs and looked back at her crossword.

You clenched your jaw and took out another hundred. You knew you looked desperate, but you didn’t care. “How about now?” You stacked the bill on top of the other one.

That caught her attention. She pocketed the cash. “I’ll see what I can do.” She pushed her rolling chair back and waddled out of the room.

You stayed standing at the desk, your eyes glued to the clock mounted on the wall. Your ears filled with the sound of the second hand ticking around the clock’s face. You counted five minutes and twenty-eight seconds by the time the woman returned. “Right this way, ma’am.”

You followed her down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. She stopped in front of a heavy, metal door where a guard was standing watch. “Please empty your pockets of all your belongings,” the guard instructed you.

You did as he said, and after you had taken off your jewelry and placed it in a Ziploc bag, he swung the door open. “Please do not touch or get too close to the patient.”

You nodded before stepping inside. Immediately, you took in your surroundings.  Two walls were made up of metal bars, one of brick, and the last consisted of large windows overlooking the bay, Gotham City in the distance. Your eyes landed on Jerome sitting at a table in the middle of the room dressed in a black and white striped jumpsuit. His hands were cuffed to the table, and his feet were in shackles connected to the cement floor.

He looked up at you when he heard you come in. “(Y/N).” His lips curled into a devious smirk. “What a surprise. I was hoping I would be seeing you again soon.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Hi, Jerome.” You tentatively walked toward him and took the empty chair across from him. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, pretty good so far. Greenwood has only threatened to cook my intestines and eat them twice, and only one person has shat themselves today,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry.” You looked down at your trembling hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, doll.” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand. “You could say anything to me with that pretty face of yours and I would forgive you instantly.” You looked down, hoping to hide the heat creeping its way to your cheeks. “You look even cuter when you blush.”

“How’s treatment going?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

He quirked a brow. “The only form of treatment around here is poking us with a cattle prod.”

Your eyes widened. “I knew it was a bad idea for them to put you in here. It can’t be any good for your health.” You pressed your hands flat against the cool, metal table and leaned forward. “Do you want me to talk to someone for you?”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating off of the metal bars. “Don’t waste your pretty money on me, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can do. Besides, I fit in great here.”

You gave him a once over. You had expected a sickly looking boy with bags under his eyes, disheveled hair, and pale skin pulled tight over bones. What you got instead was quite the opposite. His red hair was groomed, and you could make out a strong physique underneath his uniform. His cheeks were ruddy, and the crystal blue of his eyes shone bright in the light streaming through the windows.

“Well, all things considered, you look... healthy,” you stumbled over your words.

“It’s okay, darling. You can say handsome.” He winked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. “Believe it or not, this place treats me better than my sweet mother ever did. I get three meals a day and eight hours of sleep a night.”

You exhaled. “Jerome, I know you’re mad at the world, but murdering your mother wasn’t the solution.”

His smile faltered for a second, and his eyes lost all light they had held previously. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he leaned forward on his elbows, “how badly did your father beat you? Did he break empty bottles of whiskey over your head when you refused to get him more? Did he come into your room in the middle of the night and kick you for not washing the dishes?”

Your body went stiff. “Why... why would you ask me that?” you stammered.

“Because I want to know all the things that keep you up at night.” He tilted his head to the side, and you shivered under his intense gaze. “I want to know all the secrets you kept from everyone.”

You folded your hands and rested them in your lap. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Everyone else might believe that, doll, but you can’t fool me.” He grinned. “Where’s daddy dearest now?”

“I don’t know. Last I heard he was in Pennsylvania, but that was years ago.” You scratched the back of your neck.

“Have you ever thought about killing him, peaches?” His eyes were wild. “Can’t you see it now? You and I, hunting down your father and making him bleed for what he did to you? Torturing him the same way he tortured you all those years?”

You felt that familiar pit in your stomach, and you shook your head. “That’s insane, Jerome. If you keep saying things like that, you’ll be stuck here till the day you die.”

“Oh, honey. They can’t keep me here forever. I plan on breaking out of here as soon as the perfect opportunity comes along.” He leaned forward. “Why did you come and visit me, princess?”

You furrowed your brow. “Because I thought you would listen to me. You need to change, Jerome.”

“Really? That’s the answer you’re going with?” He cackled, and your skin started to crawl. “You wanna know what I think, sweet cheeks? I think, not only do you understand me better than anyone, but I understand you better than anyone else, too. You’ve got this darkness inside of you, and it’s drawn to me.” His grin grew wider. “I wonder what it would take to bring it out.”

“Stop it, Jerome.” Your voice was surprisingly firm and steady. “We’re not victims anymore. We make our own choices now.”

His smile slowly slipped from his face, and the look in his blue eyes softened. “Touch me, (Y/N).” He reached his hand as far as he could towards you, his palm upturned. “You’re the only thing that keeps me sane in here. The thought of you gets me through the day.”

You stared at his freckled hand for a long time before sliding your hand forward on the metal table. Your skin made contact with his, sending tingles straight down your spine. His hand was cold, and his long fingers intertwined with yours. You held your breath, waiting for something to happen, for him to hurt you. But nothing came. He merely offered you a small smile.

“Are you scared of me, (Y/N)?” His voice was quiet. “Or are you scared of yourself?”

Before you could answer, the door swung open, and you retracted your hand. “Your time’s up,” the guard said in a gruff, demanding tone.

“Okay.” You stood up and pulled your coat tight around you.

“(Y/N), please come back.” Jerome’s eyes followed you as you scampered towards the door. “Promise me you’ll come visit me again.”

“I promise, Jerome,” you said before the guard pushed you out of the room. “I promise.”

And you did. Over the course of the next year, you visited Jerome multiple times under the guise of helping him. But you never knew if you were the one changing Jerome or if he was the one changing you, and everyday the hopeless feeling in your gut grew stronger.

Until, one day, you turned on the news and saw an image of seven bodies laying in puddles of blood wearing straight jackets with red spray paint on them spelling out a single word: MANIAX!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

[alarawriting]

Inktober #2: Mindless

The patient was sitting on the table, dressed in a hospital gown, looking deeply irritated. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I wanted to go to Five Guys,” he said. “Why didn’t you take me to Five Guys?”

The woman with him – close to the same age, late 20’s or early 30’s – sighed. She sounded exasperated. “Greg, we have talked about this. You’re here because—”

“You know, there’s a great sale on fishing gear at Walmart. I could be at Walmart right now buying fishing gear.”

“You don’t even fish!”

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Dr. Park. What brings you here today?”

“Nothing!” Greg Landers, my patient, said. He was a white guy with brown hair and stubble on his face, medium build, and looked overall reasonably healthy. “I’m fine! I just want to go to Five Guys. Or you know, Charles Schwab is a great place to open up your 401K. They’ve got a satisfaction guarantee. You won’t see that at every investment firm!”

“He’s been like this for days,” the woman with him said. “He won’t go to work, he won’t do chores around the house… he eats, but he spends the whole time complaining that it’s not some restaurant he wants to go to. Mostly Five Guys. Greg doesn’t even like burgers that much.”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced, Ms.--?”

“Oh, I’m Nicole Landers. I’m Greg’s wife.” I’d figured it was something like that.

“So tell me about Greg’s online activities. Do you know what he’s been doing lately?”

“Playing Hell War!” Greg said eagerly. “It doesn’t cost any money to play! I want to know if I have what it takes to beat the Lords of Hell!”

Nicole sighed again. “Two weeks ago you were telling me that Hell War was a cheap cash grab and that it’s impossible to win without spending your entire paycheck on in-app purchases. Also you’ve never liked mobile games.”

“Has he played any VR games recently?”

“Are we done here? I am really jonesing for some Five Guys. And then we can go over to Walmart!”

“Oh, yeah,” Nicole said. “We both play Fimbulwinter – that’s a survival game about a post-apocalyptic world plunged into eternal winter – and La Vie en Verte, that’s virtual gardening. He also plays Beyond the Blue Event Horizon, that’s a space game, but I’m not into that so much.”

Time to be politic. “Do you think he might ever have played a… well, a porn sim? Or been on a site for pirating games?”

“You know, I think I want my next car to be a Hyundai Annunciator. Those cars are slick. And they handle like anything, even in bad weather! And the mileage before recharge, wow. Amazing batteries on those guys!”

To my surprise, Nicole laughed. “Oh, yeah, Greg does porn sims. He’s bi and genderfluid, so he likes to go online in a female avatar and have sex with dudes. Not really my thing, but he lets me watch if I want.” My shock must have shown on my face. “What? It’s the 21st century, you think I’m one of those women who clutches pearls and has the vapors if my husband plays porn games? I can’t be a man for him and I’m too straight to want him when he’s wearing femmy clothes, but the porn sim can give him those things without him exposing himself to diseases or other risks by going with real people.”

While Nicole was explaining this, Greg told us what upcoming movies he thought were going to be “really awesome”, repeated his request for Five Guys, tried to explain the plot of Hell War in five-word sentences that were plainly marketing material, and talked about the lawnmower he wanted. Nicole rolled her eyes as he finished. “Greg, we live in an apartment. We don’t even have a lawn!”

“We could go to Century 21 and shop for a house! I know their agents will put us first.”

“And why would we want to do that?”

“So we can have a lawn! The Home Depot sells the best grass seed—”

He went on like this, but I stopped listening. “I don’t need to check anything else, Nicole. I’m sorry. Your husband’s become a zombie.”

“A what?” Nicole looked horrified. Belatedly I realized that just because she played VR games and was open-minded about her husband’s porn habit didn’t mean she was IT-savvy enough to know what I was talking about.

“Sorry, that’s not the medical term for them. He’s still alive, and physically he’s fine. But mentally, his consciousness isn’t operating his body. His brain’s been hijacked by an information virus.”

“An information virus? And what’s that got to do with zombies?”

“An information virus is like a computer virus for people. And we call people infected with this type ‘zombies’ because they’re not actually conscious.”

Nicole looked at Greg, who was animatedly explaining why TGIFriday was the best sit-down restaurant, ever, but Five Guys was in a league of its own. “He looks pretty conscious to me.”

“Ask yourself, Nicole, when Greg is normally conscious, does he spend his entire time sounding like a series of poorly mastered YouTube commercials?”

“No, that’s why I brought him here!”

“Right. The human brain can do an amazing lot of stuff without being conscious of it. You ever set out to drive a certain way, but part of it goes the way you usually do to a different destination, and you find that without paying attention you’ve somehow managed to drive halfway to the place you usually go rather than the place you’re trying to get to?”

“I hardly ever drive. We have self-driving cars.”

I controlled the impulse to sigh. That one was the best explanation. “Ok, well, if you think about how you type on a keyboard – when you start, you’re awkward and you’re hunting and pecking. But it gets to the level of muscle memory and you can just do it, without having to consciously think about it. Or mastering the controls for a new game.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“I wanna go home and watch CSI: Racial Justice Unit! That is the best show on television today. You know it won an Emmy last year, right?”

“Greg’s brain has been hijacked by an information virus that compels him to advertise for maybe up to 40 different brands that he’s aware of. He probably caught the virus on a porn site; that or an illegal pirated game site, those are usually the biggest vectors. Some of those brands might be aware that the advertisers they’re working with are engaged in really shady practices like this, but most think they’re paying for ‘brand ambassadors’ who’ve voluntarily chosen to talk up the brand to their family and friends. The virus lets him do anything you can do without being conscious, and it turns out, that’s a lot more than people think it is. But right now he has no sense of rational judgement, his normal levels of compassion and empathy are almost entirely turned off, and he has no awareness that everything he says is an advertisement.”

“So – what can we do? Is it curable? Is he suffering? Oh, God, is he trapped inside his own mind while his body is running around spouting ads?”

“No. The real Greg, his actual consciousness, isn’t awake – that’s kind of what happens when people aren’t conscious. And yes, it’s very curable. I’m going to have him sit in this booth with a VR headset on and watch a detoxification protocol, and that should do the trick.”

“It won’t hurt him, will it?”

“No, not at all. It just nullifies the virus and wakes him up.”

“Ok. Let’s do that then.”

“Mr. Landers!” I interrupted his monologue about the Hyundai Annunciator. “Can you sit in this chair and put on this headset, please?”

“But I’m really hungry. I want Five Guys.”

“I think Nicole would be happy to take you to Five Guys after you watch this short VRdeo. Isn’t that right, Nicole?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.” From her expression I could tell she would rather swallow a live earthworm, but anything to get him to sit down and watch.

“Well, okay. Long as I can have Five Guys after.” Greg sat down in the chair, I put the headset on him, and for ten minutes, that was that. I talked to Nicole about the importance of strong antivirals on the VR headset, not just relying on your network firewall, and maybe running a quick one-minute detox scan after ending a game.

The timer beeped, and I removed Greg’s headset. “How do you feel, Greg?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess, but I still want to go get Five Guys. Hey, Nickie, you promised, can we leave now?”

My eyebrows went up. “That’s… unusual.”

“It didn’t work?” Nicole was clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

“It didn’t, but calm down. This just means I have to go to the next level and do a manual treatment. That’s going to take a while, but I’m really curious as to how this particular bug survived the detox, so I tell you what; if you can wait, I have, I think, three more patients on the schedule for today, and then we can do Greg’s treatment.” Normally I’d ask them to make a second appointment for a thing like this, but my detox VRdeo was brand new, just updated yesterday. I wanted to see what kind of bug could get through a brand new scan, and I didn’t want to wait until next week or whenever my calendar was clear enough for a half hour session.

“I… guess we can wait…”

“Well, if we’re not doing anything, then how about we go to Five Guys?”

“Just take him,” I said. “It might shut him up for a little while, and it’s not likely to do him any harm.”

“But Greg doesn’t even like burgers.”

“Greg Landers the human man with a unique intelligence and personality doesn’t like burgers. Greg the Zombie, the cookie-cutter advertising goon, does. Unless he’s got allergies or sensitivities and can’t eat burgers—”

“No, he just doesn’t like them.” Nicole looked at her feet. “I… guess I could take him. When do we have to be back?”

I gave her my best estimate of how long it was going to take to get through the last three patients, and then as I walked them to the door I let the receptionist know to expect them back.

***

Once they were back, I sat Greg down with an interactive VRdeo that I’d be running with him, and then sat down and put on my own headset.

The information viruses work by directly injecting “code” from the brain’s “operating system” through either the optic or auditory channels, or both, but you don’t perceive them as code. You perceive them as something else. I don’t know what Greg saw – for everyone it’s different – but for me, it was very brief flashes of something I could barely see, something dark and full of wrongness, accompanied by a very brief flash of panic and horror. My brain knows when something’s trying to invade it from the outside. But my headset had the newest antivirals on it and the best, most sophisticated dedicated firewall, so for me the code injection attempts were just that, attempts.

The VRdeo that was running was highly interactive, keyed to produce full sensorium response – a perfect breeding ground for a zombie virus. Greg’s viruses couldn’t resist the opportunity to replicate and invade someone else. But that was not happening today. As the viruses struck out at me, my security grappled with them, analyzed them, and fed me images that in turn I could feed back to Greg that would neutralize that particular virus.

When we were finished, I once again asked him, “How do you feel, Greg?”

He was looking around in bewilderment. “This… is a doctor’s office? How the hell did I even get here? Did I pass out or something, Nickie?”

“Oh, thank God!” Nicole said.

“Looks like that did the trick,” I said. “Make sure you run antivirals, like I said. Good ones, don’t skimp on the cost. If you’ve got the money to game, you’ve got the money to protect yourself while gaming.”

“Thank you, Doctor, you’re a wonder—”

“What the hell is going on? What was wrong with me?”

I let Nicole explain to her husband as they walked out the door, and I locked up for the night. It’d been a long day, and I was hungry. I could really go for some Five Guys.

[chinatea]

Ian/BG, abo, Christmas bonus. (Part 1, Part 2)

AN: Well, it’s my birthday td, so I’m posting this as a gift to myself, i guess. Yay.

Jiyeon loves making love in the morning when there is little urgency to the process.

On most days, they wake up, almost synchronized - one of those magical mate things that they don’t tell you about - wash up and have a light breakfast before crawling back to bed for snogging. Ian would scent him and nuzzle his mark, purring to comfort him.

His alpha is happy, and the thought - more of a tangible sensation than a thought - would make his omega croon, silly and gleeful.

Today, however, is Christmas Eve and even if they’ve got plans, neither of them can say no to a lazy, slow-paced sex. Ian ruts into him until his knot swells, the omega’s heat clamping hard around his cock, locking it in until his alpha is trapped, low purrs seeping under his skin.

Ah, the purrs. Jiyeon loves how deep they can get, reverberating through his system, what with the way they’re pressed so intimately close. They share a few sweet nothings, voices reduced to whisper. Ian nuzzles his nose and smiles into his mouth, licking his way in - they kiss for a while, waiting for Ian’s swollen knot to subside.

The knotting itself rarely lasts long, but even his walls are loose enough for Ian to pull out, Jiyeon can’t let him go just yet. The craving is real, like an itch under his skin, and he is still learning how to deal with that. Having some quality time in the morning helps though - makes his prissy omega shut up for a while, so he can concentrate on doing things that are not Ian.

“How much time do we have?” Jiyeon murmurs, nose buried in the pillow that smells like them. It comforts him.

Ian lays a kiss on his shoulder, palm stroking down his side before resting in the dip of his waist.

“An hour or so,” he says. “We still need to drive to your dad’s first.”

Right. To pick up the twins. And then, they’re off to Busan because someone thought it would be a great idea to surprise good ol’ Jeons with a visit. Whomever said it, Jiyeon wants to kick them. And since Ian is the only one around, he kicks Ian - as in his arm flails around weakly, missing by a long shot.

Ian churtles, the line of his throat exposed for Jiyeon to stare at in longing. Sometimes he wishes he could mark him there, the way Ian did him, piercing his scent gland to leave a long-lasting testimony of their love. But stupid nature deprived him of the pleasure, so he has to settle for short-term ones, peppering Ian’s neck - and any place that strikes his fancy really - with cheeky love bites.

(Like someone strapped Ian to a beehive. Beautiful.)

Diminie and Christian are waiting for them, bags packed and rolled out, in the Parks mansion when they arrive.

It feels nice to be back home, surrounded by his loved ones, and see that nothing has really changed.

Diminie still hasn’t moved out, four years now into his marriage. He and his mate live separately, but some mates do nowadays. It’s a new thing, like giving each other space and everything, which Jiyeon still finds hard to wrap his head around - like, Ian can have his space when they’re both dead, maybe - but Di and their dad have always been close, as close as one can without making things too weird.

At times, Diminie can be a bit of an oddball.

He’s fragile and bubbly, very omega, very opposite of his twin, yet unlike Chris and Jiyeon (he doesn’t even know what he’s going to have for breakfast tomorrow, let alone who he’s going to be ten years from now), Di had it all mapped out in his mind since the age of two, or something. Diminie just knew things. By 16, he’d have his own little bakery; by 18, he’d marry his best friend and by 20, he’d have their first pup. And that’s barely scraping the list.

People who stick to their lists terrify Jiyeon sometimes, they really do.

At least, Christian takes more after him. In fact, he takes after Jiyeon a little too much, hence their bickering over the darndest things. Yet Jiyeon gets him better than anyone, how fragile Chris really is underneath all that swagger.

Diminie’s separation, taking a mate, had hit him hard. He felt abandoned and betrayed by his own twin, even if Diminie hadn’t gone anywhere physically, but he moved on from them - eager to start his own family, to be his own person while Chris still had no idea how to be something other than one half of the whole.

When Christian signed up for a dance school in the States, it was clear that his decision was not up for discussion. He needed to get away, learn how to stand on his own two feet and Jiyeon, all differences put aside, stood by him and persuaded their dad to let the boy go.

It’s been five years since then. Barely a day since Christian finally came him, just in time for Christmas.

Jiyeon is rapt to have him back. Somewhat relieved, too. Jiyeon hugs him first, the tightest hug he could squeeze out of himself.

“I missed you, pup,” he says in half voice, a tight clump in his throat as he swallows, a tiny bit emotional.

“Hyung,” Christian mumbles, nuzzling in sheepishly. For a moment, he reminds Jiyeon of the itty-bitty kid he used to be, sneaking into his bed at night with a book of fairy tales. So tiny and adorable and needy.

Jiyeon ruffles his hair, a fond smile on his lips. That is, until his eyes flicker down to take in the ugliest sweater he’s ever seen in his life. He feels attacked, all of a sudden, by his own blood.

A green strip of crocheted deers attempting to dab? He doesn’t find it witty, not one bit.  

“You’re not wearing this joke of a sweater to Busan,” he puts his foot down, as any older brother working in fashion would, a saccharine smile on his lips and a dangerous edge to his voice. Now that the warm family reunion is over with, it’s time to whoop Christian’s ass into shape.

“Hyung!” Christian hisses, not missing a beat. A pouty duckling beak rearing up. “You can’t tell me what to wear anymore.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jiyeon says, sickly sweet, arms crossed over his chest. Ready to pounce, all guns blazing.

(It’s fucking on.)

(One very disgruntled and de-sweatered Christian later.)

“Yannie, there is someone I’d like you to meet before we go,” Jiyeon says, an impish spark in his eyes. He’s bubbling with delight, rocking on the balls of his feet as he marvels at his mate’s confounded face.

“Oh?” Ian asks, an almost untraceable chagrin in his voice, well-masked, only Jiyeon knows him like the back of his hand by now. It vexes Ian immeasurably to be out of the loop on even the smallest things. Who is that someone he’s supposed to meet? Why hasn’t he been warned ahead of time? Preferably many weeks in advance, so Ian could prepare accordingly.

As much as Jiyeon enjoys keeping Ian in the dark for his personal amusement, he doesn’t think he can sit on this secret any longer - else he blows up.

He nods at Diminie who flits towards the door to usher Christian in, a wicker basket in his arms. Ocean blue ribbons are twined around the handle, meeting on top in a fancy bow. Jiyeon was very particular about the bow, as he’s particular about most things packaging - devil is in the details, after all.

“I know it’s a bit early, but Merry Christmas, baby,” Jiyeon chimes, rising on his tippy toes to plant a big smooch on Ian’s cheek before nudging him excitedly towards his ‘present’.

Ian takes a few cautious steps forward. One might say he appears to be a touch frazzled as he peeks in, almost wary, a happy surprised gasp parting his lips at the sight of a mastiff puppy nestled under a quilt blanket. He is the coziest thing, with floppy ears and stubby paws, a healthy luster to his bluish grey fur. A drowsy whine escapes the pup as Ian flicks its ear gently, petting along the chubby snout.

“Is it...really mine?” Ian asks, the way a five-year old would ask his parents if he can keep the snail he found outside as a pet - like, he’d feed it his grandma’s favourite potted azaleas and everything.

Adorable.

Jiyeon wants to snap a picture of that face, frame it and hang it over their bedroom nest for posterity.

“All yours, love, to bring home and spoil rotten,” Jiyeon beams. “But not too much unless you want me to get jealous, alpha.”

Ian levels him with the most intense look, the kind of look that belongs in their bedroom when all the layers of propriety are dissolved and emotions are bare. Ian, one arm hooked around his waist, snaps their bodies together, taking over his mouth in one hell of a kiss. It’s raw and voracious and it leaves all three omega siblings stunned.

A strong alpha presence unfurls in the room. It’s potent. And Jiyeon has a mind to cancel the whole thing and drag Ian somewhere private for an intimate conversation on manners.

“Get a hold of yourselves, christ,” Christian’s voice pierces through the haze. “And quit stinking up the room. You’re scaring the little one.”

Jiyeon sighs into the kiss, pulling back reluctantly to rest his cheek against Ian’s shoulder, learning how to breathe again. He feels bad when he sees the pup, wide awake and whimpering slightly, ears flattened against his head in submission.

“I think you should scent him,” he says to Ian. “Let him know you’re not danger.”

“Yeah,” Ian says, suddenly unsure. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

The alpha picks up the pup into his arms and everything falls into place. Ian looks beyond smitten already and it warms Jiyeon’s heart to see his mate so endeared and happy. They’ve come a long way, he thinks then, they truly have.

“We’re not really going to Busan, are we,” Jiyeon remarks as he stifles a yawn.

It’s been an hour into their trip and he feels too cozy and sleepy to give a damn about Ian’s schemes. As long as they arrive somewhere. For now, Jiyeon is happily cocooning inside his alpha’s coat where his woodsy scent is the thickest.

“You’ll see,” Ian replies with a brief glance at him, reaching out with one hand to fiddle with the collar of his coat, as if it’s going to make him more comfy. The alpha just likes to fuss around him and it’s not the worst thing ever, Jiyeon doesn’t think. The perks of being in love.

Jiyeon peers into the rear view mirror to find his brothers determinedly avoiding eye contact. Diminie has his nose tucked into a pocket-sized book - another obnoxiously sappy porn novel, from the looks of it, that he seems to inhale in dozens every year - while Christian is having an angry staring contest with his phone, probably still miffed about the sweater.

They’re obviously in on the secret.

“Where are we going, huh?” Jiyeon demands, his attention back on Ian. It can’t be revenge for the puppy surprise - he’s clearly been planning it for a while now, just like Jiyeon did.

His tiny fist pokes through the coat to bonk Ian on the knee. Three times. Each one weaker than the last. His palm rests on top of it for a moment, as if contemplating its next move, before digging into the meat of Ian’s thigh, thick and firm in his grip - Jiyeon’s mind is immediately sidetracked.

“No molesting the driver,” Ian chastises, a hand clasping over his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles before stuffing it back into his coat. “And as I’ve said, you’ll see.”

Somewhere along the way, he’d nodded off and when he opens his eyes, it’s to the fresh sight of pines and snow and a cozy little porch.

A picture perfect Middle of Nowhere.

Ian kills the car’s engine and wades out, still coat-less, and Jiyeon just wants to bury deeper into his layers because he hates cold. And watching Ian plod through mounds of snow in a thin cardigan makes him feel the chills.

The twins are just as reckless, spilling out of the car with giggly enthusiasm. Well, Christian - less giggly, but determined, as he rolls a heap of snow into a ball and crashes it on top of Diminie’s cape. The other squeals and skitters away behind the car, most likely to plan his revenge.

Both of them seem to be having the time of their lives, being five-year-olds again. While Jiyeon would sell his soul for a glass of mulled wine and a warm compress to cuddle with in bed.

Ian reappears, opening the door and letting Jiyeon feel the nasty bite for real now. The omega puffs his cheeks out and looks at Ian, all prickly, who busies himself with undoing his safety belt.

“I’m not going,” he whines, just to be petty. It’s probably much warmer inside the cabin, but there is quite a bit of snow and a minus degree weather between him and the cabin, so he’ll pass, for now.

Ian sighs and gathers Jiyeon into his arms, supporting under his butt as the other does his best job to hold on, hands weaving around Ian’s neck.

Much better.

It’s warm inside and smells like Christmas chicken with herbs and spices.

“Ho-ho-ho, naughties,” a voice booms and soon enough Junghwan pops out, weilding a spatula, unkempt Santa beard draped around his chest like a necklace.

“Oh, hello, hottie.”

Junghwan wiggles his eyebrows at Christian when he spots him, and the other huffs, picking up both his and Diminie’s bags, making a bit of a show of it, too - he’s an omega who can pull his weight around and needs no big tough alpha to save him kind of act - and stalking away up the stairs.

“Oh well,” the alpha shrugs, unperturbed, “the night is young.”

He faces Diminie who returns his smile sheepishly. Junghwan’s gaze softens, no trace of the raunchiness from before. Still playful, though. It’s a rare sight on him.

“Hey, Mr. Cupcake, wanna help me out in the kitchen?”

Diminie giggles, sweater paws covering his mouth. He lets Junghwan help him get rid of the extra snow hiding in the folds of his coat, patting them away. Jiyeon can’t help but notice from the side how gentle the alpha is with his brother, respectful, too. There is so much more to him than meets the eye. He wishes Christian would maybe give him a little chance to prove himself.

“Are you with me, pup?” Ian’s voice snaps him back to his alpha.

“Always with you, alpha,” Jiyeon simpers, interlacing their fingers as Ian leads them into the next room, very instagram-worthy, with a fireplace, million of throw pillows and a glass wall overlooking the frozen lake by their cabin - it’s started snowing just now and Jiyeon already feels a little bit magical.

But also hungry. Plenty hungry.

“So, what’s this little winter nest of yours, mhm?” he asks, inspecting a few knick-knacks over the fireplace.

“Ours,” Ian corrects him. “My Christmas gift to us.”

Ian has spent too much time with their dad, Jiyeon thinks as he inspects the new digs, a winter chalet in Gangwondo with a promise of the outdoor hot springs - Jiyeon has yet to see it, too weighed down by all the chicken in his stomach.

Damn Junghwan and his prowess in the kitchen. That man is a keeper - too bad Christian is too damn stubborn, just like Jiyeon is, only Jiyeon is clever stubborn while Christian is stupid stubborn, spending most of the night on his phone or upstairs with a book or whatever.

Like, Jiyeon is mighty tempted to waddle over yonder and give him a piece of his mind, but maybe later - he’s too cozy, snuggled up next to Ian, the alpha’s arm thrown over shoulder. He feels bliss. He is bliss.

The ambiance is nice, too. The crackling of firewood, the blizzard outside, hushed voices from the kitchen where Junghwan and Diminie are putting the christmas cake through its paces. He guesses it can’t be helped that those two have gotten so chummy - food is their passion, something they pursue professionally and honestly, it seems, at last, that Diminie has found an informed listener for his spiritual quest to bake the perfect cupcake, so good for him.

“You know what I was thinking about when I saw you rocking the little pup in your arms?” Jiyeon speaks up into the comfortable silence between them.

“What were you thinking about, love?” Ian hums, pressing a sweet kiss onto the crown of his head.

Jiyeon smiles to himself, savouring those thoughts. Although saying them out loud makes him feel a touch self-conscious and silly.

“It made me think about you holding our own little pup in your arms, scenting him to sleep,” he says with a sigh. God, he’s so not ready to even venture there, but.

“You did?” Ian asks, carefully.

“Yeah,” Jiyeon says. “I mean, I’m not suggesting or...god no. I’m more than happy with just the two of us. I’m selfish and ideally want you all to myself at all times, but...I didn’t hate that thought, you know, as much as I thought I would. It was nice. Sort of.”

“It’s okay, pup. One day we’ll talk about it, okay?”

“Yeah?” Jiyeon glances up, drowning in Ian’s gaze.

“Yeah.”

Always fucking drowning. Like one does in quicksand. Or in love.

(“I want you to know you make me the happiest man, Ji.”)

----

Some extras (as per tradition).

- Ian and BG will have their first kid, an omega, in mid-thirties (around ten years into their marriage, btw) and then a year later, alpha twins.

- Diminie has a mate and two-year-old omega pup which Diminie had at 20, just like he wanted. And he doesn’t intend to stop there.

- Diminie owns several bakeries around Seoul, the first one he started at 16 (sponsored by his dad, ofc). He’s a pastry genius, his cupcakes already became a household name in Korea, now spreading all over the world.

- Christian had a few boyfriends in the States, but nothing too serious because he knew one day he was going to go back and, hence, break it off. He’s currently single and not looking for relationship.

- Tattoo, same age as BG, is also single. Still waiting for the One, because he’s romantic like that, and while he waits, he’s figured he might as well have a little fun with every pretty omega batting their eyelashes his way. He’s like, the opposite of Ian.

- Tattoo is a self-taught chef. Has his own place in Busan, with two Michelin stars he was awarded just recently. Plans to open a new place in Seoul, soon.

- True to his persona name, this Tattoo has two full arm sleeves. A bit risque for a chef in Korea, I suppose, but still a big hit with both the patrons and one-timers in his restaurant. Most of them are, unsurprisingly, omegas.

- Also, in this AU, BG has naturally wavy hair which he used to straighten out all the time. Ian had no idea until they’ve gotten married, but once he did, he got floored with major uwus and suggested (begged) BG leave his precious hair alone. (BG, Diminie and Tat are the wavy hair squad.)

- You might have noticed that Seagull is not really featured here. That’s because I haven’t yet come up with a story for him. I might in the future though, if I decide to continue with this universe.

- Also, I borrowed some worldbuilding details from my other abo au, specifically about marking. In short, only omegas get marked by their alphas. Marks are not permanent and fade away with time. Also, a mark can be overpowered by another mark made by the alpha of a more dominant status.

[the-inspector-jones]

The House is on Fire

If the house is on fire

You gonna run for the door

Yasha was afraid. It's an uncommon feeling. She lives strictly by the rule of going into battle with a healthy amount of fire in her soul, balanced by the tiniest kernel of fear. Fear kept your emotions sharp. It brought your reactions to the surface. It even seemed to help her Rage.

But right now, she knows she's in trouble because she isn't afraid. She is resigned. It's far more deadly than fear. The dead inside her. The shadows. She hadn't felt this way since losing her. Not since she was a child and forced into the battle ring.

The calm that has overwhelmed her senses was not pain or anguish or anger. It was just emptiness. And she cannot find a way to escape it. Not even here, standing beside these people, the ones she keeps coming back to. The first people she's come back to since...

"Yasha!" Beau called again. Her body reacted, sent her into action at the sound of her name. She whirled fast and lethal, taking down three gnolls before she'd even taken a new breath. But it felt like nothing.

Later, as they cleaned up and settled in, she found herself alone in a small, damp bed staring at the ceiling. She knew why she was broken, why she had fallen apart. The knowing just didn't help. Instead, she felt it welling up inside of her again; the desire to follow him, to leave, to search. She was fighting it for all she was worth; Yasha was very much done with leaving people behind. But that tick in her heart and the tug in her abdomen was only ignorable for so long.

If the door is on fire

You gonna kneel on the floor

Beauregard played the long game — most of her bravado was real. She’d earned it the hard way, through tough fights and gained knowledge, through expertly contained emotions and a genuine personality of not giving a fuck. At the same time, though, it was important to her that had her share of heartbreak that weighed her down in the quiet hours. She didn't think about it, didn't let it render her incapable of speech or action. Still, she'd been hurt.

The way Beau thought about it, it hardly mattered how tough you were or how easily you brushed off emotions and slights; she was human. She had feelings. People fucked with them more often than she let on. Her father, as a starting point, but that was hardly original. It was harder when her chosen companions found ways to stab beneath her carefully crafted armour and candour.

Caleb, for example, had found the way to wound her more than once. By being himself. By not trusting her. She knew his game, understood his motivators; she shared quite a bit of his mistrust and scepticism. It didn’t make it hurt less when he didn’t choose them back, when he backpedalled on the Nein or created reasons for screwing them over out of self-preservation alone. The day she’d finally snapped at him still rang in her mind at night when she was tossing and turning her way through a restless night’s sleep.

Jester never meant to hurt her; she was full of smiles and kind words, compliments that Beau was positive she didn’t deserve. And sometimes, without her meaning to, a tiny sliver of this positivity would needle its way beneath Beau’s skin and cause her pain. For the rest of the day, she’d wonder—unintentionally—if she’d responded to Jester’s affection the right way. If she’d been kind enough to others to deserve the love of the blue teifling.

Molly, when he’d been around, had been the least complicated of all of her newfound family; when he meant to hurt you, he showed it. When he didn’t, he explained himself and apologized without asking for anything in return. She hadn’t appreciated this enough about him at the time, and now he was gone. The transparency of Mollymauk was a rare gift. She missed it immensely.

Breaks in action were not her friend; she’d never admitted that to anyone, least of all herself, but it’s why she could always be counted on to escort Jester to another bakery or sneak Caleb into another library. She needed to keep moving, even if the goal was just cake.

Today, though, she also needed solitude. Her mind was playing tricks on her; she took her staff with her and told Fjord she’d meet him at the docks; confusingly, he did not question her. She took her cloak and headed to the roof. It wasn’t peaceful, not the way the ocean had been, but it was high and it was solitary. It took her ages to calm her mind enough to even consider that she might have lost her way. It wasn’t exactly meditation; she wasn’t foolish enough to think it was a good idea to try that again.

An hour passed as she watched the sun drift across the sky. The clay tiles beneath her grew warm and the heat of the day necessitated removing her cloak. She’d soon have to go down if she wanted to catch up with the group before they headed off. Noon, Fjord had arbitrarily decided.

Well trained reflexes had her crouching and ready to fight the moment she felt the shift in the air behind her.

“Hey,” Yasha’s soft voice muttered.

“One day I’m going to accidentally kill you,” Beau grumbled, settling back onto her bottom.

“I was about to say, ‘it’s me’, but you didn’t give me the chance. I should wear a bell,” Yasha replied, the lightness in her voice both teasing and accusatory.

Beau turned to study her face, but there was no point. Some people probably found it possible to read emotion on the Aasimar’s face, but that certainly didn’t include Beau, who found it hard enough to discern what people were feeling when they were blatantly yelling at her. Yasha frowned when she noticed Beau’s gaze.

“Fjord sent me. He said you had decided not to go to with them this morning. Seemed worried.”

“I’m fine,” Beau said quickly.

Yasha’s small smile returned. “Why do you do that? You are a very bad liar,” she teased, unmistakable this time.

Beau couldn’t help but return the grin. “Fine, but I’m not going to talk about it.” Yasha nodded and settled down beside Beau, her hulking form impossibly graceful on the clay tiles. Her stole was missing, an uncommon occurrence that made sense in the warm sun. Her hair was also braided down one side of her neck, the dreadlocks and tattered ends looped into an asymmetrical mass that reminded her pleasantly of tangled kelp. Beau lifted an eyebrow at the style, somehow sensing she didn’t even need to ask.

“Jester,” Yasha laughed, tugging on the braid, almost seeming self-conscious. “She found out I haven’t been sleeping all that well and… well, apparently we now have sleepovers.”

Beau laughed. “That is very Jester-like. Not sleeping?” “Not talking about it,” Yasha returned, arching an eyebrow back at Beau, who didn’t take the bait. She wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed back at the horizon.

For long moments, they sat this way. Quiet and lost in their independent thoughts.

“Do you…” Beau began. “Do you regret it?”

“I have many regrets,” Yasha whispered. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

That was what Beau had been afraid of. Specifics were not her strong suit.

“You know,” Beau repeated, gesturing vaguely between them. “Given what you...you told… I know they weren’t supposed to say anything but--”

“Relax,” Yasha implored, reaching out a hand and placing it lightly on Beau’s shoulder. “If I’d wanted a secret, I wouldn’t have told anyone. Least of all Jester. She’s too enamoured by you to really keep anything from you.” A spark of annoyance blazed through Beau; the implication that Jester wasn’t trustworthy wasn’t fair, not coming from Yasha. She shook it off but Yasha cleared her throat. “Beauregard, I didn’t mean—” “It’s fine,” Beau said gruffly. “I don’t,” Yasha continued. “I don’t regret it. I’m… the story is complicated. I lose people.” “We all lose people.” “We don’t all dismiss that as easily as you,” Yasha murmured, withdrawing her hand.

Beau bristled. The anger was back; at Yasha, sure, but it was more complicated than that. “Are you leaving then?” Beau hissed.

“What? No. Why would I—”

“That’s why you came to find me, isn’t it? So you can leave. What, do you need me to hold onto something for you?”

“Beauregard, you are really going to have to stop this if we are going to remain friends,” Yasha said starkly. Beau glared; it was the most direct Yasha had been with her in weeks.

“Stop what,” Beau seethed. “Believing everyone is going to leave you because you’re you.”

You get down low enough

You learn to love the flame

Yasha knew what she had said. And she knew what was going to happen when she said it. She didn’t for one moment regret it. She’d sought out Beau the moment she realized she was most likely on her own. She hadn’t actually spoken to Fjord, instead had watched the group depart from the inn that morning, lacking their troublesome monk. She’d waited until nearly noon to interfere with Beau’s solitude.

The reckless spark that she felt heading up onto the roof brought her untold joy; feeling, at long last, after weeks of absent fear, absent sadness. Reckless anger was exactly what she needed.

Beau wound up in a very obvious way. Obvious, perhaps, because Yasha was so used to fighting side by side with her. She had certainly never seemed predictable while fighting countless foes. Yasha saw the direction of the punches, of the whirling kick, before Beau even left her crouch, but she did not duck. Did not flinch. She merely held her ground, her arms flying up to her face protectively.

The flurry of blows still caught her in the collar bone, then her stomach, the kick pulling her legs from beneath her body so that she landed flat on her back and found she was staring up at Beau, whose face had gone almost purple in her instant fury.

“Hit me back,” she grimaced.

“No,” Yasha replied, rolling out from under Beau and standing up.

Beau spiralled left and was on her feet again a moment later, arms up and at the ready. “Hit. Me. Back. It’s been coming for weeks.” “No, it hasn’t,” Yasha shrugged. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Since I told them about...about her.” “Her name, Yasha.” Beau’s hands had suddenly fallen to her sides in an instant. Her pain was etched into her face. Yasha knew better than to believe Beau’s facade of strength and carelessness. The woman was hurt. Hurt by Yasha’s past hurts by secrets unintentionally kept between them. When Yasha had first noticed, there had been no guilt associated with the recognition. It wasn’t her place; they were not in a relationship, the sex was not promising anything more, and Beauregard was hardly one to judge others for being reserved and secretive.

“Yasha, say her name,” Beau repeated, watching the waffling on her face.

“I don’t need to,” Yasha whispered, her fists clenched by her sides. “I don’t need to because I am never without her.”

“You should have just told me to back off!” Beau yelled. “I didn’t need to be so… forward. We could have just…”

Yasha laughed, the cruelness of the sound surprising her. “Just what, Beauregard? Just fucked? Would that have worked with me, like it did with Keg? Would you have just let me use you and turn around? Are you really that callous?”

“You know I am,” Beau seethed.

“I know you like people to think you are.”

I've been loving you forever

But I never knew your name

So Yasha knew. Out of all the possibilities in front of her, Yasha knowing her secret had not entered into her musings. She wasn’t prepared.

“You seem surprised,” Yasha said, stepping towards her in the most gentle way she could possibly move. “But I don’t know why you would be. You’re stubborn and sometimes a bit careless, sure, but you wear your heart on your sleeve, Beauregard. Anyone who’s known you for five minutes knows that.” She advanced again but Beau crossed her arms tightly across her chest and scowled at the roof tiles.

“And I’ve known you a lot longer than five minutes,” Yasha concluded, reaching out to Beau and tucking a rogue piece of hair behind her ear. Her hand rested across Beau’s cheek and stayed there.

Beau’s heart stuttered and her chest ached; the feelings decided it for her. She jerked her head away from Yasha and began a careful retreat toward the window used to climb onto the roof. The sigh that followed her from Yasha was gentle, nearly silent, but definitely weary.

“Where are you going, Beau?” she asked gently.

“To meet up with the others,” Beau returned, gesturing to the sky above her before dropping down to the balcony. “It’s almost noon.”

More graceful than she should have been, as always, Yasha’s legs appeared beside Beau’s head as she sat on the roof. “So we’re just going to leave this conversation halfway through. Again.”

“There is no halfway, Yasha. It’s fine. I love you, you don’t love me. I’ll get over it. I’ll move on. Forgive me for the next few months. You’re fucking hot and I’m bad at controlling my face. There. Done. Happy?”

“You’re so quick to assume I don’t love you,” Yasha said sadly.

Beau ignored her and retreated into the inn, the window of the bedroom that she’d been sharing with Jester still ajar. She was quickly followed, but she didn’t pause in her attempt to escape. Suddenly, a hand shot out, gripping her upper arm. She tried to evade the grasp, succeeding at the last second only by whirling away.

“You made it clear you didn’t want this,” Beau accused. “I get why now. It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I made things complicated.”

“They were always going to be complicated, but that doesn’t mean I don’t…” Yasha broke off and scrubbed at her face with her hands.

Quicker than breathing, Beauregard found herself thrown back against the wall, crushed up against it in fact; her skin was still so warm from sitting in the sun, and Yasha was not. When her hands rested on Beau’s exposed stomach, a violent shiver went through her. The kiss that followed was violent and perfect, lacking any restraint.

“I can love more than one person. I…” Yasha rested her head against Beau’s. “I’ll always love her. I think I loved Molly, though I had no idea what to do with that. You don’t have to stop feeling just because sometimes it hurts. I learned that a long time ago. It’s not safe, Beau. It’s not...strong. It’s just lonely.”

Beau cleared her throat. “I don’t want you to forget her.”

“I can’t. She’s here,” Yasha murmured, pulling Beau’s hand onto her chest. “But there’s room in there for more. Just be patient with me.”

“I swear I’ve been trying,” Beau insisted.

Yasha smiled sadly and leaned forward again. Without hesitating any further, she lifted Beau’s not-insubstantial weight like she was made of feathers, was carrying her more gently than Beau had ever been handled until her back hit the soft wool of the bed.

“They’ll leave without us,” Beau protested weakly.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Yasha whispered in her ear.