#and yet every moment I’m in the profane city I’m like ‘and where the FUCK is the architect’

[silverhalla]

something extremely funny about watching the first warden die TWICE and rook just going :/

[julisthings]

Noise 🎧

Carmen Berzatto x fem(reader)

Part 1!

Plot: You’re an up and coming chef who just moved to Chicago for culinary school. As you search for work while completing school, you stumble upon an old Italian sandwich shop.

Warnings: Excessive Profanity, mentions of smoking and anxiety

Themes: eventual smut, slow burn, mentor/mentee dynamic

Author’s Note: Lmk if you enjoy this and if you’re interested in more :D.

*Tick, Tick, Tick*

The train clammers along its tracks everywhere you go, the sounds are thunderous but calming to the soul. Many people may say cities like Chicago are too busy to live in, but the chaos and bustle is where you thrive. The streets are busy, the lights are constantly gleaming, and best of all the food is amazing. This couldn’t be a more perfect place to be, Chicago was where it was at.

As the pulse of the city continues to beat within itself, the bills rack up. Student tuition ain’t going to pay itself so you find yourself in a desperate need of work. You’ve been applying to numerous places but no dice. Dejected, you walk home from a failed job interview, but as you walk heavily in your interview attire you see a sign on a small sandwich shop saying “ Help Wanted”. Curious, you step into the shop seeing what this opportunity may offer.

The moment you walk in, you hear chaos in the kitchen. Yelling from the front to the back of the shop. The shop itself is quite shabby, not the cleanest but it has its charm. You walk up to the register to see a tall dude with a beard yelling profanities and crude remarks as all hell breaks loose.

*Ding Ding*

“Uh hi! I saw you guys were offering employing opportunities, is there anyone I could possibly talk to about it?”

The guy, mid fight, stops and looks at you confused. He looks at the front window then yells to the back of the shop.

“HEY CUZ! SOMEONE’S LOOKING TO TALK ABOUT YOUR BITCH ASS HELP WANTED SIGN!”

You hear a voice come from the back.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, WE NEED THE HELP RICHIE.”

…

*pots clamoring*

“ Fuck- I’LL TALK TO THEM IN A BIT JUST TELL THEM TO WAIT”

The tall guy looks back at you with slight annoyance from the interaction but he keeps his best to stay calm to you.

“Just sit tight sweetheart, that asshole will probably take a while. “

He points at the menu

“ Want to order something in the meantime?”

You look at the menu and see that there’s a new menu item with “NEW” in bold.

“Uh… I’ll just take the new braised meat sandwich.”

After you order your sandwich, you wait by the seats at the front of the store. Amongst all the chaos, the view outside is nice. You pop in your ear buds and once you get your sandwich you just stare out the window and eat.

The shop seemed to be having a slow day, only one person came in every other 20 minutes. Poor dudes. The owner seems to be dealing with other shit so you decided to give the sandwich a chance. As you grasp the crisp yet pillowy bread, the crackle of the exterior creates a beautiful melody to the ear.

*crunch*

You bite down.

Holy. shit. The first bite into the sandwich was pure magic. The meat was tender, braised to the perfect temperature with great aromatics. The vegetables pair perfectly to the salty savory flavor of the meat. Such complex flavors in one sandwich. Who would’ve thought a place like this would have something this special.

*CRASH*

You’ve waited for almost an hour at this point. You get about halfway through the sandwich before you hear a distant voice getting closer. A man with wavy golden brown hair appears looking stressed out of his mind. He argues with the tall dude with the beard for a bit before seeing you by the front.

*tap tap tap*

You hear footsteps behind you.

(C)“ Hey, uhm are you the person asking about employment?”

You turn around, face to face with piercing blue eyes. You take your earphones out.

“Oh, uh yes! I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you“. *reaches out hand*

He shakes it firmly. His eyes look into your soul, they blaze with a determination and firmness but there’s a strange beauty behind their bluish clarity. Their borderline disconcerting and beautiful.

(C)“Yes, hi. My name is Carmen Berzatto but my friends call me Carmy. I’m uh the owner of this place and it’s really great that you’ve got an interest here.”

His eyes linger, along with an air that lasts a beat too long.

(C)“ Shit uh… Please! Come with me so we can talk about this further. “

He guides you towards the back of the kitchen. As you make your way through the kitchen you hear

“Corner!”

You whirl to the side as a tall burley man with a beanie comes through with a tray of bread. You try your best following Carmen as he keeps moving forward, you lag behind a bit. He says

(C)“Right, so uhm do you have a resume or anything?”

You look at him and remember you have your bag.

“Ah yes yes of course.”

You hand him your resume and as he grabs it he peruses through your credentials. As you look around in the meantime, amongst the chaos there’s a homey feeling about this place. You can see and smell the history of the place. Not only with the food, but a teeny bit of mold you see in the corner of the ceiling. As you recoil a bit from seeing that you find yourself face to face with an office door.

*Creak*

Close to smacking your head on the sudden change, you feel a rough callused hand gently cover your head.

(C)“Careful. There’s a dip”

You enter the office and Carmen sits down, putting your resume to the side.

(C)“ Sooo… what kind of positions are you interested in.”

“Ideally would like to work my way up from a line cook to a sous chef. Big dreams for such little time haha.”

His eyes light up a bit. Your charm has intrigued him.

(C) “Ha, ok. Driven I see. Well you’ve got some great heat in some kitchens. Good stuff on here. New Orleans, Vegas, Italy. Not a Chicago native huh?”

“ Yeah no I’ve just started settling. Already love it though.”

The sides of his mouth rise slightly.

*Tick, Tick, Tick*

(C)“ Ok, so what are you doing here? “

“Hm?”

He leans back on his chair

(C) “ You’re experienced, if not overqualified to work here. So why are you here and not at a Michelin?”

You stare at him unsure how to answer at first. You decide to just tell the truth.

“ I need a job. I have talent but you can’t ride on that forever. Got lucky in the past with it but I’m going to culinary school to get more refined. “

His face is hard to read. It gets you a bit more anxious.

“ Look I’ve got student loans to pay off and I just got here so rent ain’t cheap. Im not picky. A job is a job, so I’ll treat it like any other place. “

You can see a spark of excitement in Carmen’s eyes

(C) “ just like a Michelin?”

“ For sure. ”

Carmen looks at you for a second and then looks at your resume. You can see his deep lines from all the furrowing he does with his brows. He sets it down

(C) “ We’re family here. If I say yes I gotta know if you’re a team player or not. Even if people get on your fucking nerves I gotta know if you’ll keep a cool head. “

You nod. Carmen sees this and shows a small smile and nods his head.

(C) “ Ok. I think you got potential.”

You beam

(C) “ Get here at 6am sharp for prep. You got that chef?”

You smile widely

“ Yes chef!”

[rcksmith]

Attention — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “Hiiiiii would you be able to do 48 and 56 from the smut prompts for Five! Tyyyyy 🥺🥺”

“Hiii could I request 48 + 56 from the smut prompts with five”

Smut Prompts:

48. “I only want to please you.”

56. “Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope it got close to what you guys wanted. ❤️ As soft prompts, I chose not to make a heavy smut, because I think that's what the requests wanted. Basically it's a more tranquil smut.

Guys, I really understand who doesn't feel comfortable reading or writing Five's smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: smut explicit and fluff too.

— — — — —

While the night outside bathed the city streets with a midnight lunar glow, Five kept hunched over notebooks, pencils, a mug with coffee and the lamp on. He was in those equations for hours and, truth be told, you were starting to get bored.

Not that it was a surprise Five to spend hours immersed in their mathematics of probabilities, submerged in a world of numbers that you didn't understand at all. Usually, you accompanied him with a book, without saying anything, just reading while he did his math. It was cozy that dynamic, sometimes he looked at you just to make sure you were comfortable, that you were there, and you felt peaceful just for his company.

But that day... well, you were restless. You watched Five pass the equations onto the table, scribbling numbers on the wood as he pulled his coffee mug down for another sip.

You used those moments to observe all the details of him, from his silky black hair, smooth skin, strong jaw and eyes that were always fierce. The long fingers caught your eye even more, and you held your breath for a second when the same fingers squeezed the pencil.

You were an idiot for Five. It was true. You remembered perfectly the moments when those fingers already made you feel so good, sinking into you so deep that you were unable to suppress the moans.

You felt slightly needy all day, getting excited about small, ridiculous things. As it was now, just by watching those long fingers squeeze the pencil.

Five and you had recently engaged in a kind of relationship. You two didn't have a label yet, but you knew that Five already had an attachment and possession over you, so him couldn't even tolerate the idea of ​​you with someone else.

“Five” You called, your voice slightly slurred, trying not to show how needy you were.

He did not answer, immersed in his own thoughts. And then you appealed to... well, plan B.

You sat on the bed, looked at the pants in your pajamas and decided to remove them completely, putting them aside while opening some buttons on your shirt and showing the pulp of your breasts, covered by the lacy black bra. Your legs were now completely bare, your hips covered by the piece of black panties, with the hem of her shirt not covering much of your ass.

“What are you doing?” Then Five's voice came, without him taking his eyes off the equations, demonstrating that he had noticed your sudden lack of clothes.

Plan B was fulfilling its purpose...

“What?” You made a fool of yourself, just to get his attention.

And him did it. Five took his eyes to your direction, falling down your body before returning to your eyes.

“Your clothes.” He nodded “Put them back.” Then he turned to the front again.

That bastard...

You blinked a few times, looking at him while trying not to be consumed by the feeling of insecurity.

“Why?” You asked, dragging yourself to the edge of the bed, closer to Five. “It's not an invitation, I'm just hot.” What a great lie.

“Put on shorts then.”

This guy...

“Can't I stay like this?”

“No.”

“Why?”

So you've reached the peak of Five's tiny patience. He turned to you, his eyes slightly flashed with small irritation, his jaw clenched as if he were controlling himself to not do something.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

But if he wanted to discourage you with that, the reaction was the opposite. You grinned, your cheeks taking on a ruddy hue, your heart pounding, the feminine vanity bulging inside you. In those moments, when Five looked at you as if you were the most superb creature on earth, you felt powerful, desired, sexy. And that gave you the courage to take attitudes absent from shyness.

You stood up, the smile still on your face, your heart racing in chest. Five kept the eagle eyes on you, watching you sit on his lap, each leg next to his hips.

“Y/n...” his voice was a clear warning, but his hands involuntarily went to your waist.

That simple moment was able to bring vibrations in your belly, already wetting your panties. You held a sigh, brushing the black hair on the back of his neck with your fingers.

“I only want to please you.” You delivered the game quietly, making Five let out a loud breath when your words were combined with the movement of your hips.

He should have stopped you, but if there was anything in the world where Five had a weakness, it was you. He was addicted, unable to refuse anything about you.

Then Five gave himself the luxury of enjoying your wet panties against his pelvis, your mouth tracing kisses through him neck that was now as hot as summer. The feeling that it was having you in his lap was indescribable, him body pulsed under you, already ordering something that Five knew very well what it was.

The tightness in your waist became stronger, and the long, long hands went down to the hem of your shirt, reaching inside and squeezing yours thighs.

You blew out a loud breath, pressing your lips against Five's neck as his hands continued to rise, completely invading your shirt, until it reached yours breasts.

The cold palms against your hot breasts aroused a euphoric sensation in you, and a broken moan escaped when Five closed his hands, massaging the nipples of yours breasts, making you squirm in his lap and rub your hips whit his pelvis.

“You want this?” His voice was low, hoarse, slightly profane.

“Y-yes” You sighed loudly, bringing your mouth to his and whimpering there when Five tightened yours breasts and moved her hips against yours. “Fi ... five!”

“I will give you what you want.”

Then his hands left you, going to own belt, opening quickly and lowering his pants enough for the pulsating, hot member to jump out.

But Five didn’t give you time to enjoy the view, or enjoy the sensation of feeling that part of his body. No, he held the base of the cock with one hand while he pulled your panties away with the other, entering inside you. You clasped your hands on his shoulders, seeking help.

“Five!” You were unable to control a groan, but he stuck his mouth to yours, drowning out your groan and his himself.

“Shii. You don't want them to know what we were doing, do you?” His voice was still provocative, making your belly flutter, destroying any chance you had of being able to resist it.

Five's hands went to your waist again, pulling you upward before you came down hard against him. His cock went deep, reaching every corner, being squeezed by yours aching walls.

He groaned, or it was you, or it was both. But you didn't have time to get used to it, Five pulled you up and down brutally and quickly, making you put up with everything he gave you.

And you take it anything.

“F-fi-five” You moaned in his mouth, putting your arms against his neck and burying your face there, trying to stifle your groans while he was taking you so badly.

Five brought one hand to you collarbone, pulling the cloth of shirt aside and exposing you bare shoulder. He put his lips there to muffle his own sounds, pulling you with his hands closer, sticking your body with his, pressing his mouth to your skin when you started to move in rhythm, going up and down hard too.

Their bodies clashed, the air was muffled, the room became hot, their skins began to sweat. You started to feel a thread about to burst, lifting you high, about to push you into an endless void. Five turned his mouth to yours, putting an arm around your waist to pull you down and up harder, and the other hand went to the back of your neck, pressing his fingers to the strands of your hair while forcing you to keep your mouth against his mouth.

You were so close. Your moans became more broken, needy, and you felt Five's rhythm start to stutter, his grip to tighten. Mouths were now only an inch apart, feeling each other's moans on their own lips.

That's when you noticed Five. His eyes spilled from that serious, wild look he always had, his mouth ajar against yours, his black hair clinging to his forehead. He looked like a god, and the crash was too much for you.

You came intensely, in an orgasm that trembling your legs, and your hands tightened more in Five, your core squeezing him cock inside you, making Five swear loudly and sink deep once more, pouring all the hot cum into you, in yours walls tight.

You were both panting, bodys coming down from the top, muscles relaxing. Yours thighs were on fire, but it was a very small price to pay for such a good fuck.

You let out a small laugh, which was accompanied by Five. He removed some sweaty strands from your face, sealing his lips in you, a quick kiss before relaxing in the chair completely.

“Was that what you were looking for?” His voice was smug, boastful again, with a touch of arrogance and mischief.

You laughed again, nodding as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Was better.”

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker, Episode 138

I think it is easy to forget that literally every episode that aired in the year of Our Common Era, 2021, has taken place over the span of *Spurt voice* eleven days. Well. It has. And, indeed, the last seven episodes have covered roughly two days.

The reason this is only about wizard NPCs is because they serve as a sort of audience surrogate in that they are nerds who don't go outside, vs. D&D PCs who see more shit in two to eleven days than most people would see in a lifetime; case in point, Essek's current state of shock. This is also making it very hard to check in with the other wizards. But also this is not about accuracy, even though I am usually right about everything. This is about...honestly I'm not sure, other than wizards.

What I'm trying to say is:

Caleb Widogast is a PC, not an NPC, and is not included in these strange statistics*.

Currently sidelined: Pumat Sol, Oremid Hass, Ludinus Da'leth, Astrid Beck, E_dwulf Grieve

Obligatory self-indulgent Vess Derogna song parody: Tomb....takers, killed you in your room, they’ll end the world soon but hey/you cult wizard, lost in a blizzard, whatever you’ve done, well, murdered, you’ll stay

Trent Ikithon: I am 100% serious that while I have made Narrative Sense In Actual Play Media in the rock on which I will cast my Temple of the Gods, if the final boss is Trent riding on Uk'otoa...I won't be mad. Like does it seem tonally off? Yes; Critical Role is not humorless high fantasy by any means** but they are not actively trying to seem like something that should be airbrushed on a van, usually. But will it be pretty awesome? Yeah.

Trent on the other hand is pretty fucking mad, presumably, because Caleb continues to leave him on read and also picked up a little something called Mind Blank, which is actually useful and not in fact No Thoughts Head Empty. With that said I don't think it's increased; I think we're just at a steady simmer.

Conclusion: 7/10.

Essek Thelyss: Okay I am a dabbler in both cosmic horror and mathematics; I enjoy many elements of both but am an expert in neither. But if I may drop the jokes for a second, how incredible is it that in this alien setting of a city that is an unwitting and unwilling amalgam of consciousnesses, with all the trappings of classic cosmic horror, two people decided to take a scientific risk with things seen as forbidden or foreign by their respective cultures...and won.

I don't know what will befall Essek and he's clearly still having a pretty rough time of it, even though unlike Caduceus I don't think he was brought to the brink of profanity again, yet; but no matter what happens at least he'll have the nat 20 of instant long rest. No matter what happens...he was right about dunamancy. Fucking ironic how much potential the dynasty is wasting, really.

With that said he does have a red eye now even though all he (and, to be fair, Fjord, Veth, and Caduceus as well) did was fight off an eldritch abomination without rolling what must have been like a 20 Wisdom save DC. Like, he (and Fjord, Veth, and Caduceus) do not deserve this. You think this man has a positive wisdom score? In this economy? (actually, he might, I say, looking at Caleb 'Wisdom Ostensibly 16' Widogast).

Conclusion: keeping him at 8/10. It's funny because he is fully on an emotional roller coaster but it's averaging out to about an 8/10 each time; it's just that he's constantly beset by horrors beyond imagination and really terrible rolls but also incredible validation of his beliefs that had so long been ignored. The man's mental state is basically a sine wave, which interestingly enough is itself influencing his mental state.***

Yussa Errenis: The Prodigal Most Interesting Man in Exandria returneth! Wensforth, play Freedom! 836 PD. You know, he should probably feel a little bit of shame, because he should know better, but also he probably does not. Anyway please enjoy the lines I had for Yussa while he was trapped in Cognouza that I did not ultimately use:

aha no don’t get your consciousness sucked into an ancient city you’re so sexy

Here am I floating in an ancient and terrible world-devouring city/far out in the planes/Threshold crests are blue and there’s nothing I can do

Making bad choices and joining the voices it’s...YUSSA ERRENIS

Conclusion: I'm going to say 6/10 but rapidly decreasing. Also Wensforth has had several days to clean the tower...maybe he just won't tell Yussa? He probably will though.

Allura Vyesoren: she's going to facepalm so long that Kima starts timing it, isn't she. She's going to get a series of messages like "hey so the Mighty Nein seem to be doing well! they freed me from the city which sucked me in like some spicy ramen when I did an astral projection...also something happened in my tower?" She's going to just stare out the window for a long moment. She is going to ask herself, much as I have many a time, what the fuck is in the water in Wildemount.

Conclusion: 3/10. Hey, at least she got some news on the Mighty Nein and the city!

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: consider: after over 35 years, give or take, in your own perception of time, trapped in a gem, you finally come across some people. Consider that one of them apparently can't resist a big shiny wizard trap. Now consider that this guy went into your +1 Demiplane of Wizard Murdering AND got his mind fully schlorped by Aeorians and yet you are still, inconceivably, stuck in this fucking gem. This is where he draws the line? At a teensy little bodily possession? What the fuck dude.

Conclusion: I'm pretty sure he's already a few large handfuls of iron filings short of a component pouch (which is to say, full up on the batshit) already but this cannot be helping.

*this will be the first but probably not the last cosmic horror and/or math joke because I actually forgot to make cat jokes last night, so thoroughly did the Nein demolish Cree. Speaking of Cree's fate...call that a Furrier Transform.

**high fantasy is a complicated distinction and the wikipedia page includes Discworld which does not seem right to me; it also includes the Belgariad, a series for which I have great fondness having inhaled the first three books while sick in bed as a fourteen year old and having reread several times, but which is explicitly written by a guy who was like what if I made something as formulaic as possible but also literally everyone is either super sarcastic or a huge moron but anyway imo High Fantasy is actually frequently fucking hilarious and a sign of the skill of the creator(s) is whether it's hilarious by accident or on purpose.

***something something Heisenberg uncertainty principle. I had a joke here but it got very convoluted and that is actually not a pun although if you understand why it could be a pun, good work.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23​ for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it. 

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues.  Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place. 

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

                                                    ~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back.   A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove​, @geeksareunique​, @cailoleaf​, @simonsbluee​ , @hereforsmutandfluff​, @starxtt​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @staygold-bebold​, @marvelschriss​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Book I - Part 7

The Lunch - Small Thank You’s

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You and Chris get to know each other better over a flirty friendly lunch.

Warnings: Fluff, spinkle of Angst, Profanity, phonetic spelling of words said in a Boston accent because I needed a laugh

Notes: Hey loves! Hope you all are well! It’s been a while— praying I didn’t forget how to write too bad and y’all enjoy this installment lol. Little FYI: I’m basing the reader’s music off of that of Banks and SZA. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

The GPS said the drive from the museum to the restaurant would be… well, you were distracted from that bit of information. Not that it would matter. Chris keeps making turns against the suggested route, citing that this was “his city” and that he’s a “real Boston boy”.

What you do know is that the talking and laughing with Chris made the car ride seem all too short. Pointing out familiar streets and landmarks, he lit up telling you his childhood stories laced within the city. Pardon, his city. The glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice sent tiny sparks up your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.

Chris tried to guess where you had the two of you going for lunch. You, however, wouldn’t give in to his guesses. Eventually, you arrive at a market of sorts, a culture clash of small businesses and patrons. It’s in an area Chris is familiar with, but he never thought much of coming to.

“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” Chris inquires, not seeing a food establishment from his spot in the driver’s seat.

You puff out your jaw, squint your eyes, and proceed with your best ‘Godfather’-like impersonation as you tell Chris,“I thought you would’ve learned to stop asking me questions by now, hm.”

“That... was horrible.” Chris’ deadpan causes you to giggle in response.

“I know! Now c’mon; I’m starved!” You draw out as you reach to let yourself out of the car.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Chris stops you with a gentle hand on your arm. You questioningly look over your shoulder at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Settling back into your seat with a huff of delighted shock, you realize what he’s doing.

Chris jogs to your door, the returning drizzle giving him a sense of urgency. He opens the door for you then offers his upturned, open hand for you to choose to take. You hesitate for a millisecond before obliging, delicately placing your smaller hand in his large palm.

You’re unsure of the last time anyone was this... chivalrous to you. Trying not to dwell on it too long, you give him a soft-spoken ‘thank you’. Chris responds with an equally soft ‘of course’. You both find it difficult to meet each other's eyes, missing the shy smile the other is sporting.

“Lead the way,” Chris gently prompts with a hand extended in the market's direction.

Mildly busy, the market is livened by business people, college students, housewives and househusbands alike. Store fronts of small businesses ranging from sustainable fashion to high-end housewares line the long cobble stone path, accented by fairy lights for added whimsy. Chris curiously takes in the sights from beneath a low baseball cap and hoodie. He’s sure to not let his eyes linger too long for fear of locking with anyone.

Meanwhile, you’re walking with purpose, leaving a distracted Chris behind. He catches up when he notices you turn a corner in his periphery. When he follows the path you took, he finds you by a green, white, and red beaded archway.

You pause and look up at Chris, a playful grin on your lips that makes his heart skip a beat. He’s looking down at you, brows raised with utter anticipation. You think this might be your favorite expression on him. You pull back and step through the beaded entrance, Chris following suit closely behind you.

“Woah…” It was almost as if that small act of stepping over the threshold transported you both to Sicily. The faint notes of Italian standards play in the background as Chris gawks at the charming restaurant.

The mostly occupied dining area is quaint, housing about 10 tables max, including a couple of booths. The walls are decorated with floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves of libations from Italy. The alcohol display is interrupted by creeping vert vines that add that little bit of spice to the space.

As a waiter walked by, Chris breathed in deeply, the warm aroma of marinara sauce, freshly baked bread and Italian spices filled his nose and lungs.

“How’d you manage to find the one Italian restaurant in the greater Boston area I’ve never been to, much less heard of?”

“Hmmm… must not be as much of a Boston boy as you think,” you say with a wink, and Chris scoffs through his lopsided smirk.

“There she is!” a bellowing voice familiar to you draws yours and Chris’ attention away from each other. Chris looks on as the short, husky man pulls you in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. “It’s been too long! Mi sei mancata la faccia!”

“Charlie, you know I have no idea what you’re saying, but I like the way you say it!” You share a laugh with your Uber driver-turned-friend. “And what do you mean ‘it’s been too long’! I was just here last week.”

“5 days ago to be exact. 5 days since you, ya castmates… most importantly ya directah,” Charlie stresses lustfully in his strong Boston accent, “have swarmed Ma’s restaurant. Whassup with that, huh?”

“The real question here is what’s up with your crush on Sonya, huh?” you tease him. Charlie’s smitteness with your director has not gone unnoticed.You can practically see the hearts forming in his eyes at this moment.

“I doan know what ya tawkin about.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Enough abowut it! Let’s get ya seated and you can tell me who’s ya new friend,” Charlie says, motioning to Chris.

When you’re seated in a corner booth by a rainy window, you introduce the two men.“ This is Chris, my, uh…um…” You hadn’t really thought about what to call your relationship with Chris. It’s been… rocky up until this point, and while you’ve been friendly, you’re certainly not friends. Not yet, at least.

Chris notices and understands your hesitance, a small part of him hoping it’s because you don’t want to friend-zone him. “It’s alright, don’t worry your pretty, little head about it,” he teases you, earning him an eye roll. “We’re… acquaintances, right?”

“Right! Acquaintances… I guess?” It didn’t feel right, a little too impersonal, but you’ll roll with it for now.

“‘Acquaintances’?” Charlie sizes Chris up, a comical sight considering the dramatically different statues of the two men. He tilts his head and squints at Chris’ face, his expression melting from intimidation to inquisition. Chris tenses, knowing the look he’s being given all to well. “Been here before, Chris? You look mighty familiah…”

“Umm… no... I don’t… don’t believe so,” Chris answers almost timidly. The avoidant gaze into the plastic covered menu, the heated cheeks that shone the same color as a tomato— you know that look all too well. You decide to do what you hoped someone would do for you.

“He’s just got one of those faces! But um, I’m ready to order if you are?” you try to deflect. Charlie doesn’t think much of it and takes down your meal decisions, but that small act means the world to Chris. He mouths ‘thank you’ from across the booth, and you smile and tip your head in a slight nod, sure he would’ve done the same for you.

You order your usual, spaghetti with vegan meatballs, and a glass of the house white wine. Chris has what you’re having except he’s ordered a “tonic”, which you learned the hard way the other night is Bostonian for soda. Charlie is back promptly with your drinks and breadsticks and ensures that your food will arrive shortly with a small smirk on his face that you don’t think too much of.

It’s quiet at your table for quite some time. Both you and Chris take small sips from your glasses, nibble at the garlic-y bread, look out the window and around the restaurant. As you do so, you run through a list of conversation starters in your head but you’ve deemed them all too dumb, too boring or too invasive. Why the hell do I care so much? You glance up at Chris and wonder if he’s going through the same irrational inner turmoil you are. Maybe he’s not, or maybe he’s overcome his when he finally breaks the silence.

“So, um… how long have you been a vegan?”

“Um… how long have we been shooting this movie? My character— she’s very, uh… power to the people— and plants,” You chuckle out. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try myself. Go a little method,” you say with a shrug.

Chris waves his breadstick at you as he asks, “You believe in all that method stuff?”

“I don’t know… I’m really new to this whole acting thing, but I guess I just like the idea of really connecting with this character in every way I can. She reminds me so much of myself at that age.”

“How so?” Chris presses on.

“She’s… sure. She’s sure of herself… of her judgements and decisions. She’s sure of her hand in her own success. And that breeds this really un-fuck-with-able confidence in her that if I had an ounce of, it’d be over for you hoes,” you end with a slow nod and look off into the distance.

Chris laughs at your dramatics, but it dawns on him what you’ve shared. “Wait… you’re telling me that’s not you now? I mean, I know I’ve only known you a short time, but you seem pretty un-fuck-with-ably confident to me.”

“Ha! Guess I’m a better actress than I thought,” you mutter. Chris knows it’s meant to be a joke, but watching as you fiddled with the rings on your finger, his chest tightened. A look of sympathy must’ve shown on his face, because you start to wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Did I just overshare? God, I thought I outgrew that.

To save you from your minor embarrassment is Charlie with the same smirk from earlier. He gently places the order in the center of your table, and you finally understand what his face was trying to give away earlier.

“We’re, uh… runnin’ low on plates...” is Charlie’s half-baked explanation. “Buon appetito!” he offers before hastily leaving.

Sat between you and Chris was the meal you ordered, yes, but on the single largest plate you think you’ve ever seen. One plate of spaghetti for two people— two practical strangers— to share. The embarrassment just won’t stop, will it?

Elbow perched on the table, your hand acts as a visor of sorts on your forehead as you massage away the headache forming at your temple. You can’t see Chris, just hear him chuckling and breathing out an “oh man…” under his breath. His fork comes into view as he twirls the pasta onto it. You peek under your hand up at him.

“What? Not gonna just look at it!” Chris insists. “Now, let’s see what this vegan meatball is about… DAMN! That tastes legit!” You giggled at his enthusiasm and felt your tension melt away.

You began to dig in as well. It was fine, normal even, for a few moments. You could almost forget you’re sharing one big ass plate of pasta with one of Hollywood’s most sought after stars at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Yep, very normal. As long as I keep from oversharing the rest of this afternoon, everything should be fine… you thought to yourself.

“Tell me… how are you liking Boston?” Chris asks.

“It’s fine.”

“‘Fine’?! Just fine.”

“It’s great Chris, no need to get your panties in a twist. But, ya know… It’s just not…”

“Home? Yeah, I get that. Where’s home for you?”

“Um… well I guess home has never been a single place for me. It’s with people I love, as cheesy as that sounds. Home is where my heart is…” you trail off as you remember you shouldn’t share too much.

“And your heart is with family, friends… a boyfriend…?” Chris slips in.

“What is this? 20 questions?” You quip as you sip on your white wine.

“Maybe... if you want. You can ask me something.”

“Hmm… Ok…” You ponder over what to ask him as you twirl your pasta around your fork. “What is… mm no. How about… nah, wait.” Chris huffs impatiently as he awaits your first question. “Ok! I got it!”

“Alright, lay it on me.” Your breath hitches at his word choice and you hope doesn’t notice. Why’d he have to say it like that?! You clear your throat and ask your question.

“What’s your favorite song of mine?”

“Really? That’s your question? So conceited…”

You giggle before explaining, “Well, I only ask ‘cos a little Scottie told me he saw you, and I quote, ‘full on rocking out’ to one of my songs. I’m just curious which one it was.” You sip on your straw and peer up at Chris, watching for his reaction.

Chris groans, covering his face while sinking down the booth seat. You can’t hear too much of what he's saying behind his hands and over your laughter, but it sounds like he’s cursing Scott’s name. When he finally restores some gumption, he places his hands on his napkin, eyes fixated on his fingertips picking at the dampened corners. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you try your best to bite back your amusement to not further Chris’s obvious embarrassment.

“Ok…” Chris sighs out, “ I’ll admit it! I’m man enough to own up to it,” he shrugs. “Yes, I was ‘full on rocking out’ to your music. You’re amazing at what you do.”

Your face heats up, not expecting the compliment. You don’t know what to say. It’s not like you’ve never heard it before. In fact you’ve heard it a lot the past couple of years, you’d thought you’d become numb to it. Yet, for some reason, sitting across from Chris, his eyes looking tenderly into yours, the compliment you’ve heard a million times before just… hits different. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You clear your throat and break eye contact with Chris. “You still haven’t answered my question, though...”

“Right! Hold on…” Chris says as he fishes his phone from his front pocket. He scrolls through his music app to find the playlist he’s made of his favorite songs of yours. Your cheeks burn even more intensely as you watch. “‘Gemini Feed’ is my favorite to dance to; hands down! But I also really love ‘Drew Barrymore’; it’s fun… but sad, ya know? What am I saying; of course you know; it’s your song!”

You giggle in somewhat disbelief of watching Chris motherfucking Evans geek out over your songs!

“Well… this is a rare opportunity I have, to talk to the artist herself, that is. So, I have to ask, how did that song come about? From personal experience, I suppose?”

“Yeah… um, gosh. You want the full or abridged version of the story?”

“Full! Are you kidding me?!”

“Ok, ok! Well, it was right before my album was set to come out, and my boyfriend-at-the-time dumped me,” you laugh lightly at the now-funny memory. “After weeks of heated arguments and projecting his career insecurities on to me, he picked his final fight with me about how I was “acting too famous for him” and just ended things.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah... It completely caught me off guard. I couldn’t think straight in the studio that day, so I ended the session earlier and went to a party, per my best friend-slash-manager’s coercion. She’s a bad influence.”

“I like her style! Did the party help?” Chris asked.

“Well, it was on the higher-end of house parties, and I just wasn’t used to being around such an expensive lifestyle yet. But guess who was there because why wouldn’t he be?,” you exhale and roll your eyes as you reminisce.

Chris leaned in with intrigue. “The Ex?”

“Mm-hm. In my standard walk-in-the-party-scan of the room, I spot him. I should've known because that party was very much his scene, but what I wouldn't have guessed is that he'd be there with some other woman.”

“What?!”

You nod your head as you proceed to spill the tea to Chris. “This dude is there with another woman, after being out of a relationship for all of 8 hours. I think the worst part is that she looked nothing like me. Like, imagine the complete opposite of me to the hottest power, that was who was hanging all over that idiot.”

“He is a total idiot for letting you go.” You don’t know what to say to Chris’ statement and quite honestly forgot where you were, what you were talking about… “What happened next?”

“Right! We locked eyes for a moment and there wasn’t anything from him. No emotion at all. Like, he didn’t care that our relationship just ended. But then I had the thought that maybe we’d been over for a while and I had just been too distracted to realize and accept the party was over.”

“Jimi peeped what was up and got me out of there. I hoped that we could go home so that I could cry on her shoulder all night. Instead, she dragged me to a real house party. I so badly wanted to pity myself, but the energy there was too infectious to not enjoy; it felt like a 90s movie!”

“The next day, I went through my crazy ass camera roll, and I couldn’t help but... smile… and laugh! Then I thought about him, and how stupid he made me feel, and I don’t know… I kinda put all these weird, conflicting emotions into this one song, and felt better afterwards. Like I was turning a page.”

Chris didn’t immediately say anything, taking in the very personal story you shared. The somewhat unfortunate event that fueled his favorite lyrics. He looked at you carefully and quietly. However kind he looked in this moment, it didn't matter much to the creeping thoughts in your mind.

The silence made you self-conscious. You took inventory of your physical, how your face was hot, how your chest felt tight. Your left hand had somehow migrated into Chris’ right hand in the middle of the table. “I, uh— my bad…” you start as you take back your hand.

Chris quickly grabs your hand before it gets too far. “Thank you for sharing that story with me... and your music with the world. Your confidence in your vulnerability is really fucking inspiring. Thank you. Seriously, thank you,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze for emphasis. He’s looking at you with a boyish smile and tilted head that makes you break down and smile at him, too.

“Thank you,” you return, just barely above a whisper.

——————————————————————————

You and Chris spent the rest of your time at L'amore Della Madre exchanging stories of love lost and life wins, sharing loud laughs and silent signs of admiration. To anyone on the outside looking in, it may have seemed like two had known each other longer than you actually have.

“I gotta say, I don’t like this,” Charlie whispers to you. He pulled you aside for a moment to say your goodbyes, while Chris waited for you outside. “Mostly becahse it was supposed to be my jahb to set you up with a nice Italian boy, but you’ve brought your own,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, no! It’s not like that! Chris and I aren’t— wait… how’d you know he’s part Italian?“

“I have my sources… which may be the wait staff who are big fans of the guy. Here this is from them,” Charlie hands you a to-go box.”It’s tiramisu… for two,” he winks.

“Oh my god! I told you, we--”

“Will thank me at your wedding!” Charlie says as he waves you out of the door to the sidewalk where Chris is waiting.

“Wedding? Who’s getting married?” Chris asks.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. “Nobody. Want dessert?”

You and Chris small talk and walk and eat tiramisu on your way to the car. It was nice. It was normal. It felt… real. You didn’t realize how much you needed and missed small, yet meaningful moments like this until right now.

The pair of you stop in front of a pet shop window and watch the puppies play together for a moment. You pointed out a pair of snuggled up puppies to Chris. “Hey, they kinda look like us!”

Chris chuckles when he looks, “They do!” A chocolate brown puppy and a tannish-white one lie peacefully in one another’s presence without a care for the world on the other side of the glass. The tannish-white one starts to lick and nudge at the chocolate brown one, eliciting what you made out to be a sleepy smile from the brown pup. You don’t know why, but witnessing such intimacy causes you and Chris to straighten, fidgeting and giggling nervously.

“I had fun today.”

“As did I. You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you joke.

“Uh… thanks?” He answers reluctantly, causing you to giggle. “Maybe we could… hang out again sometime…?”

“Maybe we could.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” There’s a beat of silence as you and Chris hold each other’s gaze. “So… you wanna take my number down?” you prompt him.

“Right! Right. Yeah, I should probably do that…” Chris stammers as he pulls out his phone. You take it from him, replacing it with your phone. You put in your number along with taking a silly picture for your contact, and he does the same.

Chris laughs at your shared child-like humor, and you revel in the moment. It was nice. It was normal. It was the first time you’d felt unmistakably connected with someone without feeling anxious of their motives or what the world thought of it in a very long time.

Time moved slowly when you were with Chris, it seemed to good to real life. But just like that, a flash snaps you and Chris out of your daze and back to reality.

You both look in the direction of the camera flash to find a young woman trying to pretend she didn’t just take a picture of the two of you. Chris turns back to you but doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead his head is hung low as he says “I really… hate that shit.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Chris looks up to your face, your gaze steady in the general direction of the perpetrator. “Makes me feel like an animal in a cage.” You say.

This is why Chris doesn’t mind celebrity companionship. You get it. You understand this strange aspect of his life that not many other people truly do. You also get the value of normalcy and privacy… and leaving when the party’s over.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say coldly and walk in the direction of the car.

Chris was baffled, to say the least. This was usually the part where you talk about how “fans” will cross invisible boundaries just because they know your face and name. However, you seemed uninterested in trauma bonding.

You were already buckled in when Chris caught up to you in the car. The energy the entire drive to your sister’s brownstone was… off. Nothing like it was earlier in the day. A simple flash changed your mood, and Chris was aching for it to go back to before. But no joke, or crank of the radio volume seemed to work.

When Chris pulls up to the curb, you immediately hop out, mumbling a final thank you to him.

“Hey,” Chris grabs your wrist gently, halting you, “You get kinda used to it. Ya know... after a while,” he says hoping you’d find comfort in his words.

You look down at where his hand was wrapped around your wrist. “Yeah… that’s what I'm afraid of... but thanks anyway.” Taking back your wrist from Chris, you turn to walk to the front door.

Chris is calling after you. He doesn't want to be emotionally intrusive, but he hopes you'll give him a chance to understand you. Help you. Comfort you. If only she'd turn around. You can't bear to look back at Chris. It will only remind you of everything good today, and why you can't have it.

Part 8 coming soon! What’d you think?

[penaltbox]

no promises - cole caufield

here’s a little fic that i’m actually pretty proud of and i owe so much credit to @puckyess​ for always helping me get these ideas rolling. if you like it let me know! feedback and reblogs are much appreciated!

word count: ~5.9k

__

The image of the gold chain he always wore dances behind your closed eyelids for the third night in a row. You swear you can hear his ragged breath in your ear, his mumbled profanities mingling with the gasps you let out when he checks to make sure you’re still okay, and the brief mentions of something gone wrong during the game. It’s like he’s right there, pushing you both closer to a release of emotions that you played no part in aggravating. You’re ready to lose it when you shoot up in bed, your phone lit up on the side table next to you with a notification. You take a deep breath and steady yourself, not even realizing that you’d fallen asleep. You rub your hand over your face and grab the device to check who was contacting you at such a late hour. You had a feeling you knew who…

‘Speak of the devil’, you thought as you unlocked your screen and tapped on his message. You realize then that it’s just past one o’clock in the morning and you connect the dots that he’d probably just gotten back from their trip to Ohio State. 

‘come over’

Never a please. Never a ‘would you like to’. Never a doubt that you wouldn’t do exactly what he asked of you.

And you had yet to prove him wrong. You slip out from under your covers quickly, grabbing some clothes and sneaking into your bathroom with your fingers crossed that your roommate wouldn’t hear you. You shower quickly and shave, slipping on the lace underwear that he’d probably hardly notice and some comfy clothes before brushing your teeth and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Your roommate asks, head peeking over the back of the couch as you jump in surprise. She was rarely up late, but of course, some west coast hockey game had kept her up well past her bedtime on that night of all times. You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed the TV still on when you walked out.

“Uhm, nowhere,” you lie, knowing she’ll see right through you, “I’ll be back tonight though.”

She sighs and turns back around, “you know he’s just going to hurt you.”

And that… that was probably true, but it’s something you refuse to think about in that moment. Instead, you slip your shoes on and grab your keys, heading out just as suddenly as his request had come in. You made a half-hearted mental note that this needed to be the last time you did this.

__

You hate how quickly you get to his place but you can’t help it. It’s like second nature at this point and you could get there on autopilot if needed. Some nights it felt just like that but tonight you had a weird buzzing under your skin. It wasn’t like you were doing this for the first time or anything. Far from it, in fact. You try to brush the feeling off as nerves and stop two doors down from his actual apartment, sending him a text that you’d arrived, just like he always asked you to do. 

It takes a few minutes but his head pops out of the door suddenly and he smirks, “about time.”

You roll your eyes playfully and walk towards him, leaning in to kiss his cheek before making your way towards his bedroom. Brock barely spares you a glance from the couch, focusing his eyes on the TV as he watches the replay of the game your roommate had caught earlier. You blush and turn towards Cole’s room, but manage to catch Brock telling Cole to keep it down in a less than pleased voice. 

You ignore it and make your way into Cole’s room, peeking out the window at the city below that was much quieter than you were used to with it being such a late hour. 

“Miss me?” He calls from behind you, catching your attention.

You turn and find him still donning the smirk he’d formed when he first saw you that night, “wouldn’t you love to know.”

He scoffs a little and you watch his demeanor start to shift. Cole never called because he wanted to see you. No, it was more that he needed you to be there. Cole had a short temper ever since getting to Wisconsin. He found himself easily agitated and regularly frustrated at how his game had gone from smooth and easy with the NTDP to always struggling with the Badgers. 

And then one night he met you. He didn’t mean to start hooking up with you but you knew enough about hockey that he could talk about what went wrong if he wanted to, but you also knew when you just let him have his turn to get his frustrations out. His mouth turns down in a scowl as he locks his bedroom door and closes the gap between you two. His stare is constant and you feel your cheeks heat up almost instantly. He had control over you that you’d never given up to anyone and it made for addictingly good sex. 

“This last game sucked,” he mumbles, backing you against the wall and resting a hand on your hip. He’s so close you can feel his warm breaths as he seems to disconnect from the world suddenly. 

He goes silent but you don’t need any other explanation. You’d watched the game and saw he got his shit rocked on a couple different occasions. You would bet there was a bruise somewhere under his clothes that you’d be finding in no time. 

He presses his lips roughly against yours as his free hand comes around your waist, holding you tight against him. His hand slides up from your hip and slips under your shirt until he gets up to your bra… or where it should be. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling back and lifting your battered Wisconsin crew neck over your head, “no bra? I love it.”

Your heart stalls a little at the l-word, not expecting him to say that. You don’t get time to react though as he kisses you again, slower this time, and angles you over towards the bed. He lets you fall back on it and you smile, reaching a hand out for him. He takes it, giving you a grin back that makes the buzzing under your skin worsen. 

Cole was always different once he got you in his room. He didn’t say much when you got there or left, but when it was just the two of you? He was all hands on. He was vocal; he checked in on you, he praised you, and he always made sure you finished. But he never looked at you when he did. 

He’s quick to shed his own clothes and tug your joggers off, wasting no time as his lips found as much skin as they could. He left a couple marks, but not anywhere they’d be visible. You did your best to keep up, gripping his shoulders as you rolled your hips up against his. 

He’s settled into you and creating a pace before he says another word, his tone strained as he says, “can’t believe that goal didn’t count. Fuck that ref. We hardly got enough chances on net. Shit, I’m getting close, baby.”

“Just a little longer,” you squeak, digging your nails into his back as the pet name rolled through your thoughts. He never called you by name during sex. It was a red flag that stood tall but you still ignored it every time it happened. 

You could feel every failed play in the way he moved. You knew there were missed shots and poor passes that resulted in them losing. You watch the wheels turn in his head as he holds you down just a little harder, blunt nails digging into your skin. His left bites the skin above your collarbone and you know it’ll leave a mark but it still pulls an obscene noise from your lips. 

He presses his forehead into the crook of your neck, lips melting against your warm skin. He slips a hand down to help you along and it works much faster than you expected. You hated how he knew what would make your body react fastest as you tumble to your end. You try to catch your breath below him, knowing the hold he had on your hip would leave bruises. It usually did. He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling for a couple minutes when he’s done. 

He looks over at you, the corner of his lips just slightly pulled up, “are you good?”

“I’m good,” you laugh, still a little out of breath, “just don’t make me stand up right this second. My legs feel like jello.”

“Deal,” he laughs, letting his hand slide over, hooking your pinkies together in the small space between the two of you. 

Once you finally feel up for it you slide out of his warm bed, grabbing your clothes and sliding them back on. Cole pulls sweatpants on and waits until you’re ready before walking you out. He stops at his own door first though and leans down, giving you a much more gentle kiss than the first that night. He lets you both linger, arms wrapped around each other, and leans his forehead on yours when he finally separates his mouth from yours. 

“I’ll see you next time?” He asks, but you both know the answer. 

“Yeah, of course.”

His demeanor turns back to friendly versus affectionate as he walks you to the front door. You notice that Brock is no longer taking up space on the couch and you feel embarrassed when you think of what he must have heard. 

Cole tells you goodbye, but there’s no hug and definitely no kiss this time around. He watches until you get safely into the elevator and leaves you with a nod of his head. You really wondered why you stuck around but when you remember the last kiss he’d given you, you can’t help but press your fingers to your lips as the buzzing under your skin heightens again. 

—

You watch the time tick down off the clock, wincing when you watch Cole smash his stick off the wall at the buzzer. They’d gotten destroyed by Minnesota and you already knew what type of mood he was in. The announcers make comments on the bad attitudes the Badgers were toting, mentioning multiple things they’d done wrong that night. You mute them but leave the feed running just in case they interviewed someone you’d want to hear from. 

It was a home game so there was no flight to wait for but you had a good feeling you’d be getting a text in an hour or two so you moved from the couch to your bathroom, not wanting to make him wait with how he was acting already. 

As soon as you wrap the fluffy towel around your body and tap the screen you see three messages waiting from Cole and one from a number you didn’t have saved. You frown and open it quickly, tapping the unknown number first. 

‘Hey it’s Brock. Sorry if this is weird but the doors unlocked and I’m gone for the night so deal with my brother please and thanks’

You laugh a little, knowing he must be way more worked up than you expected. ‘What a shit show this is going to be’, you think to yourself. You skim Cole’s messages next that range from ‘come over’ to ‘I’m dead serious get over here’. You’re about to type out a response when his contact pops up on your screen. He’d never called before. 

“Hello?” You answer, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Why are you ignoring me? Get over here,” He grits out, sounding so tense your jaw drops a little. 

You sigh, tucking the phone between your shoulder and cheek as you hurry to your room to grab clothes, “I am, I promise. I was just in the shower.”

“We don’t make promises, remember? The front door is open when you get here.”

You’re about to tell him you knew that but the line goes dead, leaving you to stare at the blank screen in your hand. You’re baffled at the attitude he was projecting onto you but you get your things together anyways and finish getting ready. ‘

You don’t hurry to his place this time, knowing he was on edge either way, but you still get there in under 20 minutes from when he’d called. You bite your lip as you try the door handle, finding it unlocked just like both Caufield boys had said. You take a deep breath and walk in, locking the door behind you

“Cole?” you call out, looking around the small space. He’s not in the kitchen or living room so you head down the hall. His room is dark, leaving you confused, but then you hear the shower. You tap on the door and peek your head in, “Cole?”

His head pops out from around the corner, a frown so prominent his forehead was creasing. It eases off his face a little when he locks eyes on you as he calls for you, “will you come here? Get in with me.”

Your face heats quickly. You’d never done something so intimate with him and you were wondering if it was really the best idea. Your skin starts to get that all-too-familiar buzz under it now and you were starting to think it was permanent around him. 

“Are you sure? I just took one and I don’t mind waiting in your room until you’re done.”

He sighs, pouting a little, “please.”

You really wished you had more willpower in that moment but when it came to him you just didn’t. You nod and make your way into the small room, striping your clothes off as he watched. It makes you feel so much more exposed than usual but somehow it’s not uncomfortable. You push him back gently as you go to step in, smiling a little.

“You better make room if you want me in here,” you tease, putting your hair up in a bun to keep it dry.

Cole smirks and pulls you into him, eyes still scanning your body, “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

You snort at that and roll your eyes, “we both know that’s a lie. You’re the one who calls the shots around here.”

He’s silent for a moment before he smirks and leans down, kissing you hard. He bites gently on your bottom lip, much to your surprise, and lets a hand trail down the side of your thigh. He looks like he’s up to no good when he pulls back, making you let out a little laugh. You knew when you were in trouble with him. 

“Let’s see what it’s like in the shower. I bet you sound amazing in here,” he says, his tone low enough to make you shiver a bit. You didn’t hate the idea. You were pretty sure anywhere the two of you chose would be worth your time, but the bathroom was… well lit. He’d see every inch of you and you were pretty sure he hadn’t yet.

“Are you sure?” you check in, half hoping he’ll change his mind for some reason. 

“Yeah I’m sure. I think it’ll be fun,” he nods, but stops when he notices your hesitation, “unless you’re not cool with it?”

“No! I’m okay with it! I just was thinking we’ve never really done anything with so much, you know, light and stuff,” you blush, looking down at your feet then and feeling a little silly for your admission. 

Cole reaches out to tilt your chin back up towards him, “I’ll let you call this shot.”

And you agree. You end up losing your footing a couple times, he has to hold your waist almost always, and you can’t help but laugh at the awful noises that are being made at an awful volume in the tiled area. It’s simultaneously the worst yet most fun sex the two of you had dealt with yet. It takes longer than normal to finish for you both so you’re exhausted by the time you both lean on each other to catch your breath. 

“Wonder what time it is by now,” you mumble, cheek pressed against his chest as you hug his waist tight. 

He looks down and leans to kiss your forehead so gently you can’t breathe suddenly, “probably pretty late. Did you just want to spend the night?”

You sigh and try to step away but his arms hold you tightly in place. You give him a look, trying to remind him that you both know better than to even think about doing that. This was still just a hookup. Or at least it was supposed to be. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you sigh, leaning your cheek back onto his chest to listen to his heartbeat rather than catching his stare. 

“You’re right,” he agrees, but he doesn’t sound very convincing. 

He carefully slips from your arms and out of the shower, grabbing his own towel before searching for an extra for you. He shuts the shower off and wraps the towel tightly around you, giving you another forehead kiss. He was really pushing boundaries for the night and you were struggling to keep saying no. 

You both dress in silence, but it’s far from awkward. You can see the tension is gone in his shoulders and he just looks exhausted now. You’re still determined to leave and keep things casual, but if you weren’t, you’d have him wrapped in your arms in his bed while you played with his hair. Luckily, or maybe not, you’d never know that was struggling not to think of the same thing. 

He catches you by surprise yet again that night when he kisses you at the front door. He usually played it cool and acted unattached in any of the common spaces but tonight was much different. You had so many thoughts in your head from the way he was treating you and you knew you needed to go. 

A quick goodbye and one more fast kiss, or you wouldn’t leave, and you were walking a little quicker than usual to the elevator. Maybe it was time to start telling him no. You laugh at your own thoughts immediately. You were way too gone for him to ever do that.

—

‘Let me know when you land and I’ll get ready’

You stare at the words that you’d texted, wondering if you blacked out when you sent them. You can’t take it back, unfortunately, and you’re left with the gnawing feeling that you shouldn’t have done it. Cole was always the one to ask you over. 

“You sent him what?” Your roommate asks, her eyes wide as she leans over your shoulder to read it, “oh my god, are you in love with him or something?”

“What? No!” You yell back, but truthfully you weren’t sure about that, “I just figured I’d check in with him first? I don’t know, I guess I just thought I’d get the ball rolling earlier today.”

Your face feels hot to the touch as you press your hand against your cheek. You know you must look like a lost puppy because your roommate wraps her arms around you immediately, rubbing your back soothingly. 

“Just be careful, okay? I know you have fun when you’re with him, but boys suck. You can’t trust him.”

You swallow hard and nod, knowing she was telling the truth. You nod as a silent agreement and tell yourself you need to start pulling away. It’s not that you want to. You always enjoy being with Cole. It’s more that you need to. 

Cole turns his phone on once the flight lands. A few messages popping up right away. He’s about to ignore them all when he sees your name ding on the screen right before he can lock it. He feels a little tug in his chest as he reads the words you’d sent him. He tries to shrug the feeling off but the smack on his shoulder grounds him more than anything. 

Brock stares at him, an almost knowing look on his face, “is that who I think it is? I thought you were the one who always reached out first.”

“I mean, I usually am. This is a first,” Cole says, looking back down at the message that has his face quickly turning up in a smile. 

“You know this isn’t a good idea,” Brock mumbles as he gives his little brother a side eye, “when are you going to stop playing with her emotions and make a decision? Because it sure looks like you’re getting your own feelings involved at this point, too.”

“I’m sure she just sent it because she knows by now. We practically have a routine at this point so she’s really not out of line or anything,” Cole justifies, starting to type out a message right away.

Brock laughs a little before standing to get off the plane, “just don’t come crying to me when things go wrong because you two wouldn’t talk about things and one of you ends up heartbroken. Or both of you.”

Cole sighs and tries to shake off the words from his brother because honestly, he knew what Brock was saying was the truth. He’d always said he wasn’t going to get into anything serious because everything until the NHL was just a short-term stay. He hadn’t listened to that rule in high school though and so far he was having a hard time listening to it at college as well. Despite the advice from his brother he texts you back, wanting to just go with what made him feel good. 

‘Don’t be late’

He throws a winking emoji on at the end, quickly softening the formerly demanding message. You nearly choke on your own breath when it comes in on your phone. You’d spent the last half hour pacing your apartment and overthinking the worst case scenarios that could come from your choice to text him first. You’re surprised that he’s so casual about it, if you’re being honest, but you chalk it up to it being a routine thing that you guys did after his games. It’s all you need to hear though and you finish getting ready while trying not to think too hard about what it meant that you were both showing a desire to be together. 

Cole barely drops his backpack down in his room when his phone lights up. He smiles subconsciously and opens your message as he’s walking back towards the front door. Brock happens to be walking in the opposite direction and gives Cole a solid shove on his shoulder, mumbling something about how soft Cole was getting. He ignores the comment and pulls the front door open quickly, looking over at you.

“Well look who it is. Get over here,” he says, directing his smile at you.

You blush when you see how happy he looks and it makes your stomach flutter. That couldn’t be a good sign, but you can’t help it. You walk over and lean in, testing to see where the boundaries were that day. He leans down easily, kissing you gently, and making your brain go haywire. He’d never done that in the common space. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and giving a little squeeze as he takes the familiar path to his room. You were pretty sure you could walk the apartment with your eyes closed by now and you mark another little red flag in your head. They were tallying up faster and faster lately.

“You split the series, huh?” you ask, needing to break the silence with something to stop your thoughts from scrambling any longer.

Cole grins back at you, “yeah, they were decent so I’m glad we got that first win yesterday. Is that what it takes to get you to text first? A split?”

You can hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you blush, leaning your forehead on his arm, “stop, I thought you were back already. I didn’t mean to text early.”

He laughs, kissing your forehead and shutting the door behind him, “it’s okay. I didn’t mind it. We do kind of have that routine by now.”

“Yeah, we kind of do, huh? I just didn’t want to step over any lines with it,” you mumble, looking down where your hands are still connected.

“You didn’t,” he says quietly, grabbing your other hand and putting them on the back of his neck so he can wrap his arms around your waist, “don’t be afraid to do it again.”

You can’t form any words, opting to give him a little nod as your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck instead. He kisses you then and it takes your breath away. It feels like more than the ones you’d had before and maybe that was from his confession that he didn’t mind hearing from you whenever you pleased, but it’s a lot. In fact, the whole night is a lot.

He takes his time once he lays you down, picking you apart and finding every soft spot on your body. It isn’t rushed and aggressive like the hook ups usually were and you both were well aware of what you were doing. You even take a chance, tracing a bruise on his side with kisses to see if he’d let you. Usually he took charge and did things his way, but he lets you do what you want, making him whine and squirm like you’d never seen. You’re both exhausted by the time you’re done. You’d spent time, and for once, a lot of emotion on each other that wasn’t how things used to be. He pulls you against his chest after as he gently dances his fingers up and down your back.

“Same thing next weekend?” he jokes, getting a laugh out of you instantly. The sound makes the tug in his chest come back and he tries to push it away.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you say and pretend to think about it, “what if I have other plans or you guys win both games?”

“Why don’t you text first again and we’ll see what happens?” 

You bite your lip and start to sit up, knowing you needed to leave before you got too tired or lost your willpower to tell him no. Cole frowns immediately and you catch the look right away, teasing him, “you aren’t so tough after all, are you, Caufield?” 

“Just stay,” he says, his tone low enough to make your stomach flip as he catches your wrist, “you already broke your rules once today. Do it again.”

You toss the idea around in your head, knowing this would go much farther than it should. It would step over so many lines, but your composure wasn’t very good around him anymore. You nod, leaning down to kiss him before settling back against his chest. He wraps his arms around you and kisses your temple. You hate how happy you feel with him as you remember all the red flags he’d given you in the past. You close your eyes and just try to relax. Next time you’d discuss what was going on. That was one promise you wanted to keep for yourself.

__

You and Cole go silent for the rest of the week after spending the night, but that was normal. You two didn’t talk any other time and you didn’t reach out unless it was after a game to sleep together. Still it manages to nag at you and you kick yourself. You caught feelings. You should have known better and cut things off weeks ago when you’d first started to get butterflies. Now it was too late and you knew you needed to have the ‘what is this’ talk with him sooner rather than later. You couldn’t keep wasting your time on someone who wasn’t going to stick around. You manage to make it through the week without reaching out to him, saving the interaction in case they lost their games that weekend and you’d inevitably hear from him then. 

Except they win.

Except he texts you immediately after the game with a message you’d never gotten from him.

‘Can we talk tonight?’

Your heart hammers in your chest as you read the four words over and over and over again. They’re burned into your memory by the time you look up, realizing your eyes had begun to tear up. You knew you needed to talk but you weren’t ready for the request to come from him. You send back a thumbs up emoji, not knowing how to string together any words that would make sense. You go on autopilot after that as you play through every possible situation that could come from this. 

Realistically it could either go really well or really poorly. He could say he also had feelings for you and that he wanted to make things work. Or, the worst option, he could tell you he didn’t have any feelings and he was done hooking up for good. You run through both options until your mind goes static and you have to force yourself out of the shower that’s run cold from being in it so long. You go through the motions of getting yourself to his place and sending the ‘here’ message that was customary at this point.

When he opens the door he doesn’t give you a smile, but waves you over. Neither of you go for a kiss and the air feels heavy around you both. It does nothing to calm your nerves or the churning in your stomach. You knew you weren’t there for a hookup that night, that much was obvious. It’s Brock standing in the living room that surprises you most. You catch his gaze and the soft, almost apologetic, smile he gives you sends you into overdrive. What the hell was going on?

With a hand on the small of your back, Cole ushers you towards the one room that usually offered privacy and relief, but this time it looked like a death sentence prison cell. His hand feels hot on your back and not in the good way that it used to. You lean against his desk when you get in there, immediately crossing your arms across your chest to get away from him. He shuts the doors softly and shoves his hands in his pockets as he stands in front of you. He still has his game suit on, minus the jacket, and you let yourself look. He looks ridiculously handsome and you commit the image to memory, having a feeling this was the one and only time you’d be getting that view. 

“Would you just tell me already?” you whisper, knowing that the worst was coming. 

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, nodding, “I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t. It’s exactly why I’ve always said we can’t make promises to each other.”

You frown at him, “so then don’t. It’s literally that simple.”

“It’s not though,” he says with a little laugh, “I already made my promises to someone else.”

Your blood runs cold at that and you realize you hadn’t thought of one very awful possibility of why he wanted to talk. He had someone else already. Your throat feels so tight that it’s hard to breathe and you try to suck in a deep breath that doesn’t help at all. You shake your head and tighten your arms more across your chest, praying it helps hold your heart together for just a little longer. 

“Who is she?”

He hangs his head like this entire thing isn’t his own fault, “we were together in high school and now we go to separate schools. I didn’t want to hold her back but I don’t know how to let her go either.”

“So you’re a cheater,” you spit out, tears falling fast before you can even try and hold them back, “you’re cheating on her and I’m the other girl. What the fuck is wrong with you, Cole?”

“It’s not cheating!” he tries to justify, holding his hands up and stepping closer to you, “we’re not official right now.”

You push him back, hand firm on his chest to give yourself space, “fuck you. You’re as official as you can be and you still slept with me for the last four months. You knew what you were doing and you didn’t care. You didn’t have her here so you found a good substitute. That’s awesome, thanks for fucking up my life and emotions in the process.”

“Stop, I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I’m being honest right now.”

“Honest?” you raise your voice, well aware that Brock could probably hear everything at this point, “you call this honest? You’re a liar and a cheater, Cole Caufield! I can’t believe I let you play me for this long.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I swear I didn’t mean for this to be the way it is,” he says, practically pleading at this point. 

You shake your head, bottom lip wobbling as much as your voice, “you broke my heart. Are you happy with that? Was everything a joke to you? Sleeping together, forehead kisses, holding hands, spending the night? Or did you just picture her the whole time and I was just a stand in?”

“No,” he mumbles, trying to reach for you, but you smack his hand away and start to back yourself towards his door, “I swear it was real with you. I didn’t mean to take it so far but I started to like you, too.”

“You are unbelievable. I can’t believe I let you in so easily. I hate you.”

He swallows around a lump that appears in his throat suddenly. This wasn’t at all how he’d planned things. They were never supposed to go this far with you, but he couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t but now he had to. He had no options anymore and he would probably lose everyone in the process. 

“I promise I will hate you for the rest of my life,” you whisper, cheeks wet with tears despite your best efforts to try and rid yourself of them before you left. He didn’t deserve to know how much he was breaking you.

You rip open his door and all but run out of the apartment. Brock catches your gaze from the living room as you open their front door. Immediately his heart breaks a little. He knew the entire time and never saved you from this. He was just as guilty as his brother was. Cole stays frozen in place where you’d left him in his room, heart hurting despite everything. He’d let you keep your promise about hating him. That was one he deserved to carry with him.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 7

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There is violence in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: *chants* BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF. *sings* they're ain't no big thing just show them a little swing. Beneficial Cucumber. Author's notes are spoilers without context at this point... Y'all-

My beta, @miscmarvelwritings . We make the best duo. I am her dumb of ass and she is my gay. I love her.

Tony was elbow-deep in a robot when I came out of the elevator, Peter holding up the spare part needed, hovering next to the engineer. Without preamble, I was directed to help and dutifully fulfilled Tony's requests. Nothing indicated that my evening stunt ever happened besides Pete's faint blush; I might as well have written it off to the tank top hugging the upper part of my body in all the right places.

I was disappointed, I won't lie to myself - I expected Tony to tease me at least a little bit, snark something vaguely lewd and move on. But the engineer was quiet today, eerily so, almost to the point where it seemed he was ignoring me on purpose. My pride didn't let me begin any of our usual banter so I frowned in silence, making the appearance of a very focused person. Bolts and screws - most interesting things in the world!

As usual, I clocked out first around eleven thirty, leaving Pete and Tony some time to discuss their secret science stuff. Usually I would be exhausted by this point which left little to no room for jealousy but that night, emotions hit me like a freight train and it took me every ounce of my willpower to head out to Bruce's for the inevitable "I'm disappointed in you/Fuck safely" round of brainwashing.

My brain kept returning to the downwards tilt of Tony's mouth and the somber mood around him. I hated seeing him so...unhappy and tense.

The moment I set step in Bruce's lab, I saw the man's back hunched over a tube, I felt the same energy coming from him. What a fucking day! The sigh that left my mouth was resigned. "Bruce?"

A couple of seconds passed before he turned. He attempted a smile but it didn't reach his eyes at all. "Hi, Princess."

I cocked my head in defeat. "If this is the part where you lecture me, let's get over it. Or even better, you say nothing and we carry on," I pursed my lips, inspecting my nails in favour of actually facing the scientist.

I heard the click-clack of his instruments being placed on the table and the soft taps of his shoes against the tiled floor. His arms reached around my shoulders before I could even attempt to pull away, one of his broad palms tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not mad, baby girl," He told me quietly.

I felt some of the tension dissipate, wrapped my arms around him, coming to a realization the man was all but melting into me.

"Just stay safe, alright? I don't want you to get hurt," With the same quiet tone, Bruce gently shushed my worries away. "If something is wrong, you can come to me. You know that, right?" He sounded painfully hopeful as he withdrew just enough to capture my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye.

Something about the look in his eyes made my heart ache. I didn't have the heart to refuse, nor did I want to, so I nodded. Promptly, I was embraced yet again, his lips resting on the crown of my head, both of us swaying gently.

I've never wanted to cry so badly in my entire life.

"I'm a fuckin' mess, Bwucie, you haven't got a clue what you've gotten yourself into," I settled for a round of self-deprication instead. Bitter as it was, it was the barenaked truth.

"Then you're a beautiful mess," I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. So I smiled, too, obscured by his lab coat.

As much as I didn't want to leave the embrace, like, ever, I had to get home before one o'clock - before mother went to bed, zonked out on Valium and Ambien from the endless supply closet courtesy of my dad. "M'hafta go home," I mumbled.

Bruce sighed deeply. "I'll grab one of Tony's cars and drive you," He went over to remove his lab coat as I gaped. "I'm a forty-five year old man, I can drive." He chuckled humorlessly.

"Tony won't mind?" I asked the first question that popped into my mind to attempt dispelling the awkward moment.

"Trust me, he won't mind at all," Bruce mumbled darkly. I wondered what's up with that but the immediate future for me was already planned out: I was really looking forward to going home, crawling into bed with my clothes on and having a good old fashioned cry.

We made quick work of locating a set of keys and peeling out of the garage in Tony's shiny Audi R8, tires squealing on the wet pavement. It had stopped raining sometime during my robot building but the city was still filled with puddles. I could smell the moist, decaying leaves through the tiny gap of the window, the city was drowning in autumn like I was drowning in my own cluelessness.

The adrenaline rush, the weight of Tony's foul mood, the grief and pleading that radiated off Bruce mixed into a horrendous cocktail of misery and pain. Too much pain for my little, weak, dumb heart to handle. And all these people out in the streets, dressed to the nines despite the disgusting weather - laughing, hugging and drunkenly giggling, it was like salt on my wounds, rubbing it in how much of a good time they were having.

"This your house?" Bruce pointed at the black, high gate of the entrance to my garage.

"Yeah, it's a bit much," I nodded absentmindedly, seeing Bruce's eyes bulge at the sheer size of my estate. My mother wouldn't settle for any less than the best so having a monstrously huge (for NYC) home was what she got. Dad just signed the checks.

Bruce hummed.

I made a face, reaching for his warm hand and giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, Bwucie," Smiling at him, I used up the last of my good mood to show the gratitude he deserved.

He pulled me into a tight hug right over the middle console. It wasn't comfortable by any means with the numerous buttons and switches poking at the soft of my stomach but there was nowhere else I'd rather be than in his arms during that moment. The breaths that left me felt like they were punched out of my chest cavity by steel-toed boots.

"Good night, Princess. Sweet dreams." He kissed my cheek, lingering just a tiny bit.

I did the same, rubbing softly against his stubble and giggling at the ticklish sensation. "Night night, Bwucie."

I waved at him again as I unlocked my front gates and watched him speed off from behind it, obscured by the shadows of the decorative trees growing right behind the fence.

Bruce's face had morphed into something akin to torment or suffering the moment I disappeared from his immediate eyesight and it baffled me to no extent. I ransacked my brain left and right, searching for a reason I might have inadvertently caused him to feel that way but found none. The only logical reason was that he was just lonely. He didn't have many friends from what I gathered and if judging by the proud tone in which he spoke of Will-Mr Davies today, he desperately needed some other company than his teammates. I wish I could have helped.

Mother was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house so a beeline for my bed was successful. The ugly, loud, dry-heaving sobs weren't in any shape or form attractive or acceptable to show to anybody but me so when they forced their way out of me, the pillow keeping me company. I cried as for everything that was happening to me as much as I sobbed because of the self-pity I was indulging in.

It was pathetic, really. My mother would scoff and my father... Well, he'd offer me to 'cheer up, throw a party, do normal teenager stuff'. The bottle of wine I kept in my closet was empty in no time: I justified that as a single lady in a big city, I was entitled to relax once in a while.

Who was I lying to? I downed a bottle in twenty minutes just so I could fall asleep and begone from all this bullshit for a while.

On Monday, I anonymously submitted the documents pertaining to Thompson's behaviour to the school board and to a local newspaper that was known to dabble in socialite gossip. Next day, an investigation was promptly launched and important-looking people started to appear in the hallways, going in and out of the principal's office. Flash was pulled out of class by two police officers: at this point, half the student population was unashamedly filming it on their smartphones, me included. With grim satisfaction, I sent the video directly to the group chat with an added message of "so long, fucker".

Steve didn't even remark on my profanity, just sent a thumbs up.

It really fuckin' blew up the next morning. The news was plastered across every paper, every social media site - "Midtown Principal's son arrested for grand theft auto and assault", "Midtown Principal Being Investigated for obstruction of education" and other ridiculous headlines that had me, Bucky and Natasha in shit-fits.

Flash returned to school on Wednesday accessorized with a pretty ankle monitor and a sullen frown. During lunch, he sat only with two of his closest minions instead of the chatty group he was usually seen with. Everybody avoided him like the bubonic plague, even teachers ignored him.

With the final bell, me and Pete went on to look for Happy outside the school territory.

I was spending nearly every evening at the tower either in Tony's or Bruce's lab or sandwiched between Wanda and Bucky on the couch, gossiping while TV shows mutely played in the background. I had found a second friend in the face of Winter Soldier who, much like me, spent a lot of his days occupied by the internet or in a general state of confusion. Bucky was charming, funny and very flamboyant. I enjoyed the no-nonsense attitude and zero fucks that he gave the world in general.

The moment I stepped on the other side of the gate, I immediately knew something was wrong. Peter squirmed uncomfortably beside me, looking frantically in every direction, trying to spot Happy's car in vain.

"Ay, Parker," The familiar obnoxious voice of Peter's bully reached our ears. "You wanna tell me how you got your grubby little hands on that file?"

Thompson had brought back up with him, the idiot that he was. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the fence while five older boys surrounded us in a tight circle.

"Leave us alone, Flash, you're already in trouble," Peter tried reasoning with the bully meanwhile I... I was searching for a cleaner, dryer spot to dump my $1500 bag onto in preparation for the inevitable. I was no stranger to swinging my arm - as a frequent house party guest, I've had to fend off enough unwelcome advances. I've been told I have a mean, mean right hook.

"Bold of you to assume Peter would actually steal something," I stated in a bored tone once my bag was out of the way and Pete was standing securely behind me. I wasn't afraid of Flash, mostly because I knew he'd step back for the fear of retaliation from my family was usually too much.

"Oh, look at that, the weirdo is talking," Thompson mocked, getting up and standing right in front of my face. "You know, I don't get why the likes of you have to go to school with us, normal people. See, Peter here might be a little wimp but at least he won't shoot up the whole school one day because his daddy didn't love him enough," Thompson decided to test his luck. To finish his epic tirade with a flourish, he spat on the ground next to me.

I snorted. "Wow, that's an awful lot of smart words for someone as dumb as a doorknob," I shook my head in disdain. "Look, either you go now or I'll sue you so far up your ass, you'll be sucking dick in prison just to get something to fill your stomach with." And wow, that comeback was really, really good. I was proud of myself.

I saw pure rage mar Thompson's already ugly face into something demonic and ducked at the last moment, feeling the blunt sting of his knuckles connect with my left cheekbone. Reflectively I swung, too, decking him straight in the nose with all the rage and despair that was burning deeply inside of me at that time.

I heard gasps all around me as the students whispered, shouted and cheered at Thompson's confused form hitting the ground. He held his face and his palms were stained a deep crimson; I felt something warm on my face, copper in my mouth.

"Does anybody want some of that, too?" My tone was icy. I shrugged off the hand that landed on my shoulder, glaring down one of the boys who came with Thompson.

"Shit, cops, RUN!" One of the students suddenly shouted and just like that, both me and Flash were surrounded only by a handful of students who had filmed the entire incident on camera. God bless technology!

"Uh, I think you're bleeding," Pete timidly remarked from behind me, hand still awkwardly outstretched towards me. He cast a guilty look to the side where Happy was running towards us, phone held to his ear, no doubt already on the line with Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Shit, fuck, SHIT. I didn't plan for this!

The police officers called an ambulance for Flash and took my statement while I was holding my bleeding nose up to the sky, much to the officer's dismay. Happy had passed the officer his mobile phone and I briefly heard Tony's voice saying that I will be taken care of in the tower's medical suite - and let's face it, no cop will go against Iron Man's charm and wit.

As an eighteen year old, I could refuse the on-site medical assistance that the city provided and my parents weren't required so I was let go after my statement was taken and my injuries photographed.

Not that the photoshoot really was required. Multiple people had the incident on video, from multiple angles. It was an open and close case. I called my mother in the elevator (she didn't answer) and left her a voice message with the bare facts of the situation and my current whereabouts.

Seeing the whole team assembled in the living room, some nervously twitching, some anxiously pacing, I couldn't help but let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh my god, guys, I'm not in a coma, stop acting like I'm in a coma!"

Bucky was the first to approach me, carefully hugging me and steering me towards Bruce. He looked a bit rough, green-ish? I guess. But the first aid kit was already on the table and Stephen Strange was hovering nearby.

"You decked the sucker real good, doll," Bucky's Brooklyn accent made his speech less intelligible but he definitely got all the cookie points for the heat and the passion.

"Ditto. Should've kicked him in the balls, too," Natasha smirked and Steve mirrored her smirk with a darker twist.

"I'm going to sue him so darn far up his ass," Tony seethed, looking absolutely livid.

"Don't worry, mother's got it handled," I obediently laid down on the couch, staring up at Bruce's wide eyes and Stephen's focused face.

"You are fearless and fierce, dear lady," Thor boomed from somewhere.

All of this was making me... Emotional. I just punched a piece of human garbage, it was not a big deal, okay? He had it coming. I chuckled uncomfortably, wincing when Bruce began dabbing at the dried blood on my face with a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol. "Petey, you alright?" I asked, worried about the sudden onset of silence from the usually chatty boy. He mumbled something. "Speak up, I can't hear shit with all the ringing in my ears."

That earned me a worried look from doctor Strange and a frown from Bruce.

"I should've protected you-I mean-it's not that you can't do it yourself, or because you're a girl, it's just-I," he suddenly stopped.

"Go ahead, kid," Tony urged him with unmistakable kindness in his voice.

"You see, I'm-I'm actually Spider-Man and I'm afraid to accidentally kill someone, 'cause I'm really strong." Pete blurted out.

I had to replay his words several times in my head to get to the gist of what he was actually saying. Shy little Peter? Spider-Man? So that's why he was such a fucking pacifist? I mean, it made perfect sense if he really was strong enough to lift cars and hold together collapsing bridges like I'd seen on YouTube.

"Huh," I stated after a brief pause. "I guess I did double the work today, dumped out some trash and prevented a potential murder. I'm on a roll and I deserve chocolate cake," I rambled to distract myself from the incoming dull headache and the sting of the alcohol against the split skin of my cheek.

Strange chuckled, looking, possibly, the happiest I've ever seen him. Bruce giggled too. A tiny bit.

"Friday, order the biggest, most expensive chocolate cake that can be delivered in... Two hours," Tony immediately spoke up.

"Cake," I mumbled happily, a strange drowsiness overcoming me, making my eyelids droop. "Hey-mmm, doc?" I slurred, seeing Stephen's face fall. "M'think m'concussed, f'king 'ell!" The snort that left his mouth was absolutely hilarious; I started giggling, too, startling Banner into action.

He picked up his phone, saying something I didn't understand at all.

"Y'kno," I had this totally bright idea I absolutely NEEDED to share with everyone. "Y'kinda look like the guy... Wha's'is name... Bendy-snap Crum-ble-sticks? No, wait," Snorts and giggles began to resonate through the room as the amount of Doctor Stranges suddenly multiplied by two. He was a WIZARD, that was so cool! "I think... Mmm, yes... Benadryl-Claritin? No-no-no, 'das meds," Woah, a lot of people were there and they were suddenly all laughing. I wondered what was so funny. It was hard to think with so many people laughing; my temples were pulsating uncomfortably. "Wait, I know, I know!" There were wheezing noises now, noises that distinctively reminded me of Tony and Wanda and Bucky. "Bubble-butt Coitus-snack!" I triumphantly exclaimed, finally happy to have gotten it right.

The laughter turned into truly demonic cackling, surrounding me, they were so loud I almost managed to get fully afraid. And then, I passed the fuck out.

TAGLIST IS OPEN Y'ALL.

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem

[threeletterslife]

[Finale] 02 | Ignis Fatuus

→ part 1 | part 2

→ summary: Who knew six grown men plus stupid Jeon Jungkook were so whiny? You're out here in a fucking zombie apocalypse for God's sake. They need to grow the fuck up. And while all of you are waiting for the zombies to eat your brains, why don't you play a nice game of rated-R never have I ever?

→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | NC-17

→ genre: 60% crack, 40% angst | apocalypse!au

→ warnings: profanity, depictions of blood, gore and death, sexual innuendos, crude humor

→ wordcount: 6.8k

cr.

You wake with your entire body feeling like it's blazing in a pit of fire. The moment you open your eyes, you wince, the harsh sunlight pouring through the window and chasing away every shadow in the room. It feels like you're in a dream. Everything is so hazy. Colored weirdly. But the excruciating pain in your body screams otherwise. This is reality.

Immediately, Jungkook rushes to your side.

"You're awake! Thank god," he cries. Gingerly, he takes your hands in his and squeezes. "We're all going to get you to the hospital."

You're not in the state to argue, barely even being able to lift your head to nod at his words. If you were in the right state, you would've pointed out the obvious logical flaw in the plan. Risk seven lives for one? Really? But then again, you're in no place to argue. Coherent thoughts are rare now. You can barely remember the date or the month or the year. It all seems like such useless information when you think you're spiraling down to death.

"We need to get her out of bed," Yoongi says, crossing his arm as he leans against the door frame. He glances at you worriedly before biting the inside of his cheek. "And we should leave now so we don't arrive there at night."

The others peek in behind Yoongi, giving you concerned looks while clutching makeshift weapons, which were really dense household objects.

"Here, I'll piggyback her," Jungkook says. "You good with that?" he whispers to you to confirm.

With a delirious smile, you mumble your answer.

Jungkook returns a meek smile before helping you out of bed and hoisting you on his back. "Comfortable?" he grunts as he shifts his hold on your legs

"Mmm," you manage to hum. You're starting to feel tired again, head limp to the side as your eyelids threaten to flutter shut.

"That's it... try to sleep," Seokjin says, reaching over to pat your back. With his other hand, he grasps his favorite fry pan (his choice of weapon) that had gotten sweaty around the handle already.

"Shouldn't we try to keep her awake?" Hoseok counters.

"Too late now," Jimin points out.

You've fallen asleep again. Though it's not a very deep sleep, it helps you forget the overwhelming pain for just a few minutes more.

"I-I don't know," Namjoon says. He nervously carries Jungkook's baseball bat, awkwardly holding it out in front of him—as if he were carrying a repulsive slug and not wielding a weapon. "I don't know if we should let her sleep or keep her awake."

"But you're the only one with enough medical knowledge to determine that!" Taehyung sighs.

"Sometimes, it's just common sense," Namjoon snaps rather crossly. "But even that can't save us now."

The men look helplessly at you sleeping on Jungkook's back.

"We need to stop wasting time," Hoseok finally sighs after the long silence. "We'll be fine, all right. We'll do exactly as planned."

"Wait, we had a plan??" Taehyung asks incredulously.

"Oh, god."

The walk is arduous. The dirt road is much better to travel by vehicle; otherwise, the dust flies up and around everywhere and gets in everyone's shoes and lungs. The group hasn't even reached the city yet, but everyone's irritated already.

You're dipping in and out of consciousness, sometimes being awoken when Jungkook takes a heavier step or when a shock of pain travels across your body. Every time you wake, you wish you'd never opened your eyes.

Your friends are always silent, their eyes trailed straight in front of them. Yoongi occasionally looks at the GPS on his phone, but other than that, the mood is solemn. Too solemn.

Jungkook trails behind the group, obviously being slowed down by the extra weight he's carrying on his back. No one mentions his lagging pace.

But once you catch a weary glimpse of the towering buildings starting to come into perspective, you realize the group is starting to head into the city.

"We need to be very careful," Hoseok warns. "I don't see any of those freaks right now, but—"

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING, DUDE?" Jimin shrieks in a high-pitched scream. "THERE'S LIKE TWENTY OF THEM RIGHT THERE!"

The moment he points, a cluster of the brain-dead monsters all turn their heads around to stare at the eight of you. They begin to limp towards the group.

"Great," Seokjin rolls his eyes. "If they didn't know we were here before, they know now."

"No time for sarcasm," Jungkook grunts, adjusting your legs so you don't slide off of his back. "We need to get the hell away!"

"And stay quiet!" Taehyung puts his finger to his lips, staring down Jimin, who's shivering in fear already.

"Okay, okay!"

And everyone sprints off.

The zombies groan in vast numbers, dragging their decaying bodies toward you in hopes of sinking their rotting teeth into your flesh. The team uses the buildings and the shadows to its advantage, dodging in and out of the light to confuse the dull monsters. But staying inside for months without much moving had obliterated everyone's stamina.

Jungkook's sweating so much that you're starting to slide off of his back, slowing him down. The others are panting, out of breath and struggling to continue running for their lives.

"W-We," Namjoon gasps, "h-have to s-stop!"

"A-And what?" Yoongi wheezes. "D-DIE??"

Namjoon lets out a disgruntled noise, but Taehyung interrupts his next words, whispers urgently, "There! We can hide there!"

Sure enough, there's a dark corner that Taehyung's pointing to that looks relatively safe. Everyone quickly looks at each other, gauging expressions, silently calculating the possibility of what had the higher possibility of survival—running or hiding. And with everyone physically exhausted—Jungkook especially struggling—the latter is deemed as the smarter choice. Quickly, the eight of you file into the dark corner, Taehyung leading the way.

The moment the group is out of sight from the zombies, Jungkook lets you slide off of his back. He collapses on the group, panting quietly and letting you lean against his arm. The others stand absolutely still, wiping sweat off their brows but not daring to move their feet.

Ten minutes later, the hoard of zombies begins to limp near the dark corner in which you're hiding. It seems like they'll pass by, too dumb to comprehend where their meals had gone. They don't exactly have the brain capacity to suspect that the humans had, indeed, outsmarted them and had hidden away.

"Just look at 'em, those idiots," Taehyung mutters underneath his breath.

"S-Shut up, Tae." Jimin shakes in fear, biting at his nails. The poor man looks just about ready to cry. "Don't say that. Don't even talk. Just don't, dude."

There's a reason why Jimin never stepped out of the house again after the initial outbreak. He's visibly terrified. And even so, he can't tear his eyes away from watching those monsters, slowly but surely making their way past the dark corner.

"Just a few more steps..." Jungkook whispers to you.

You don't know what he means.

"Just a few more steps and we'll be safe..." he says. "Just a few more—"

"Will you shush??" Jimin shrieks.

The moment he raises his voice, the color drains from his cheeks. Big mistake.

The last few zombies who had been trailing near the back of the hoard pause. They look around. Then, they start to limp towards the dark corner.

Everyone scrambles up, hearts beating wildly in your chests. Jungkook tries to help you on his back again, but when his knees almost give out, Seokjin has to volunteer to carry you instead, much to Jungkook's protests. But with a silent look from Seokjin, Jungkook begrudgingly takes the frying pan from the older man and lets you go.

"Fuck, Jimin, you really had to be that loud?" Jungkook sighs.

Jimin's absolutely frozen, eyes looking back and forth between the group and the zombies that are starting to limp towards them to investigate the signs of life. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he stutters, gripping his t-shirt and shaking his head in disbelief.

Taehyung sighs. "It's okay. We'll just need to run before they get closer," Taehyung quickly says. "Everyone on my count of three, okay?"

No one dares to speak another work, all opting to nod instead.

"One... two..." Taehyung says. He pauses and swallows before whispering: "Three."

And then he's off, running. The zombies roar in surprise. But Taehyung's too fast for them, the other members of the group right behind him and dodging the zombie's grasping mutilated hands. All except—

"Jimin!" Namjoon gasps quietly. "Wait, I swear, he was right behind me but—"

But there's barely time to stop. Seokjin stumbles when Jimin's pleading shrieks and screams echo throughout the dilapidated city. He quickly regains his balance, gripping your legs tighter before sprinting even faster to catch up to Taehyung. Hoseok's covering his ears, while tears stream down Namjoon's face. Jungkook is biting his lip so hard, he's drawing blood. Yoongi's pale as a ghost. Even Taehyung looks shaken, brows furrowing. But he grits his teeth and continues running.

There's no time to mourn, to time to stop. Everything is a blur.

Minutes of running full speed. Minutes of silent tears. Minutes after Jimin's death.

Finally, the group slows down to a normal walking pace when Taehyung points out that the zombies aren't chasing after them anymore.

By this time, you're silently crying—because you're in physical pain or because of Jimin's death—you're not really sure. Jungkook walks by Seokjin, stealing a couple of worried glances at you. But everyone is worried at this state.

"No more wrong moves," Hoseok mumbles. "No more freezing. No more yelling. No more of anything drastic. I don't want to lose another person."

Everyone nods in agreement. And the walk in silence commences.

"Four more hours," Yoongi says. "Just four more left."

It does little to uplift the plummeting spirits.

When the road turns twisty, Taehyung orders everyone to line up behind him, single-file. He'll check to see if the coast is clear. Cautiously, he checks around the bend to see any threats, but turn after turn, there's nothing waiting for the group. After a while, Taehyung gets more and more careless, walking straight around the curve without even checking if the coast was clear beforehand. The rest of the group starts to relax a bit more. It doesn't quite look like there are zombies around in this area of the city.

You're getting more and more delirious by the second, barely able to see what's ahead of you. You've already mistaken Seokjin for Jungkook twice, and Jungkook still doesn't quite know if you fully comprehend that Jimin.... that Jimin's gone.

Namjoons fiddles with the baseball bat and Hoseok just fidgets nervously—never feeling safe out in the open like this.

And the next time Taehyung turns a corner without looking, a zombie jumps out at him. "Oh shit!" he yells. The two of them tumble to the ground, Taehyung wrestling for his life and screaming out vulgar profanities. The rest of the group freezes—still behind the safety of the wall and not yet visible to whatever monsters that were around the corner.

"Go!" Taehyung screams. "There's more coming to get me!"

Not for one second does he look genuinely scared. But everyone else is.

"Go!" Taehyung yells again when he sees the members hesitate, shell-shocked and pained. "I'm serious! I'll be okay!"

He won't be. Not with all the other zombies coming for his neck. But the others aren't left with a choice—it's either run and leave Tae behind... or everyone dies.

Jungkook doesn't have to say it out loud, but his wide eyes shaped with pain, sorrow and regret speak volumes. Taehyung answers him with a wild grin. Everyone else isn't able to meet his eyes as he fights for the last few minutes of his life. And the group runs away again, forced to abandon yet another member.

None of them stops running. It's like an endless workout—except, when you stop, you don't risk getting less of a calorie burn, you risk death. It's tortuous, really. Especially when you realize that you're a burden. Seokjin has to stop running for a few seconds to take in big gulps of air. He looks almost too tired to move on. Unable to fathom another member giving in to death, Hoseok commands Seokjin: "Hey, I'll carry her."

Hoseok's grip on you is strong but unsure at the same time. He's scared that he'll make you feel uncomfortable (more uncomfortable than you already are, given the wrecked circumstances), and consequently, he's making himself feel worried sick too.

The running presumes.

Everyone is too afraid to stop.

Jungkook gives you worried glances from time to time, but he doesn't offer to take you back. Probably because he can't risk it.

Morale is low, but at least the pain tolerance is high. Everything is a hazy blur to you; it's hard to make up your emotions and comprehend your own feelings through the dull pain. Everyone else is too high on adrenaline to digest the happenings. But you wonder when the pain will finally hit.

It feels like a fever dream. That's what it is. Unspeakable tragedies unfolding before you in rapid succession, leaving you no time to react. So you stay limp.

Finally, after who knows how long, Yoongi orders everyone to stop running. The six of you find refuge in another dark corner that comes right before a wider street.

"Three..." Yoongi pants. "T-Three more... h-hours," he manages to say in between hard breaths. Sweat drips from his hair to his forehead but that's obviously the least of his worries now.

"We're going to have to be more careful," Hoseok says, shifting you on his back but never letting you go.

"Well, what do you think we've been trying to do this whole time??" Namjoon says in an irritated voice. The stress, the pressure, the situation is finally getting to him.

"We can't fight now, Joon," Hoseok answers, shaking his head.

It takes a crisis to get to know one; Hoseok's somehow matured since the last life-and-death disaster.

"You're right. You're right, Hoseok," Namjoon sighs, running his hands through his wet hair. "I'm sorry... I'm just—"

"It's all right," Seokjin says, patting his friend's back. "It's okay. We'll get through."

Jungkook nods. "It's only three more hours."

"There's a wide street just around the corner," Yoongi says. "I don't know if it's gonna work to our advantage, though. Wide streets are theoretically safer than narrow streets... But we're going to feel more out in the open."

"At this point, we can only hope that everything's going to our advantage," Namjoon says. "May I look at the map?" Yoongi hands Namjoon his phone wordlessly. Namjoon studies the map as he always tends to study his binder of med school notes. "I see..." he mumbles to himself. His hands fumble around the small Nokia device, fingers sweaty and shaking as he zooms in and out of the map.

"Sorry to say, but studying the map's not going to increase our survival chances," Jungkook sighs. "I think we should keep on going. That's what we've been doing, right? We just have to keep on going."

"Right..." Namjoon sighs. "Sorry—you're right. Sorr—"

Just as he's about to hand Yoongi his device back, the phone slips from his hand. In slow-motion, everyone watches in horror as the phone plummets to the ground. It makes a loud, echoing clatter when it finally hits the cement.

Immediately, Jungkook acts. "We gotta get in that building!" He points to one near the dark corner. "If any zombies were nearby—"

It doesn't become an if when the horrifying groans of the zombies begin to grow near.

Hoseok's shaking; consequently, so are you.

"How will we know that the building's safe inside??" Yoongi says. He doesn't mean to be rude or to burst anyone's bubble, but it's a chilling possibility that the building isn't safe at all.

"We won't," Seokjin quickly says. "But I'd rather take a chance." He bends down and picks up Yoongi's seemingly unbreakable phone and begins to run towards the building with everyone else at his heels.

By now, the zombies are visible to the six of you, which means they can see you as well. There are about fifteen of them (give or take five), and they grow louder and louder when they realize they're going to have a rich feast. The excitement makes them quick. Before you know it, they're hot on your tracks.

Jungkook's the first one to reach the door to the building. Carefully, he tugs on the door handle. Nothing. It won't even budge. Sweat begins to accumulate on his neck as a form of slow panic.

"Fuck! It won't open!" he hisses.

Seokjin shoves him to the side. He tries to open the door. "Damn, it's wedged shut!"

"What do we do?" Namjoon says, his voice shaky. He keeps glancing back at the zombies starting to close in on the group. "Shit, what do we do??"

"Oh, move aside!" Yoongi shrieks. He grabs the door handle with two hands, places a foothold on the wall next to the door and pulls. The door pops open. A wave of relief passes through his face. "Hurry!"

The zombies are closing in quickly. They're almost an arm's reach away.

Hoseok falls into the building first, carrying you to safety. Yoongi's next and then Seokjin, who clutches onto Yoongi's phone as if it's his lifeline (and not his frying pan). Jungkook manages to wack a few zombies away with the frying pan, but when one almost grabs his leg, he throws away his efforts and leaps into the building. Namjoon isn't so lucky. He's the last one trying to get in, but a monster grabs his arm, making him drop the baseball bat. Another grabs his leg. They begin to grasp onto his limbs with their withered, decaying hands. Namjoon tries to scream, but he must have remembered that the zombies are sound sensitive. The louder he is, the more he'll be ripped apart to pieces to share. But the tears brim around his eyes when he realizes he won't ever make it. There are too many to fight off... He looks away.

Hoseok's the one who has to close the door on him.

The next minutes that follow (that feel like hours) are the worst. Everyone can hear the tearing of flesh, the disastrous chomping of organs... It becomes too much. Everyone blocks their ears. Except you. You're forced to sit through it. Unable to react and too pained to really feel anything. The zombies try to hit their heads against the door, but they're too stupid to actually open it. And as quickly as they had come, they leave, figuring that one human out of what had originally been six was enough for now.

Again, the group is devastated. But everyone's too tired to cry.

Hoseok had let you down from his back and you're wearing Jungkook's sweater, but you're still whimpering, though you had no idea that sound was you in the beginning. You shiver when the others are sweating and red in the face. You can barely see ahead of you either.

"She's getting worse," Jungkook says, biting his lip.

"Great. Just great," Hoseok sighs. "No one here knows anything about medicine now."

"...Well, there's always Google," Yoongi says, looking unsure himself. "I mean, if the hospital has a good connection..." He trails off, unable to finish his sentence. "Anyways, I don't hear the zombies anymore. I think we should leave. I'll carry Y/N this time."

"We still have three more hours left," Seokjin says. "Yoongi's right. We should go before it gets too dark."

No one can argue with that.

Maybe the bad luck had run out—after killing off nearly half of the group, misfortune takes pity on the rest of you. Or maybe the ones who were left were careful enough; they've learned from the others' mistakes. Nothing particularly noteworthy happens from the journey out of the building to the hospital. It's a silent journey too. One where there's more silent communicating (with eyes and gestures) than words.

Your cheeks are wet from the sweat on Yoongi's neck, but they look more like the remnants of the tears that had never fallen from your eyes.

Three hours becomes two. Then one... And soon, zero.

The five of you stand in front of the hospital, a bit off to the side to observe the surroundings before even thinking of coming close.

Yoongi curses under his breath after he observes the scene. "There's no way we'll get in there unscathed."

He's right. There are zombies limping about the vicinity—all in medical scrubs and patient gowns. There's something coldly chilling about that sight. It doesn't settle right within anyone.

You're starting to slip past Yoongi's grip and he grunts quietly as he hoists you up again. "Any ideas?" he sighs.

"Yeah," Jungkook answers. "First off, I'll take Y/N." There's a silent switch before you're back on Jungkook's back again. "Second... um, no, I don't have any ideas."

"Just great," Hoseok sighs. "We came all the way here and..." he trails off, afraid to finish what he had started.

"What are we going to do?" Seokjin says. He looks between the group and the hoard of zombies. "We can't just... go back."

"That'd be even crazier," Yoongi scoffs. He wipes the sweat from his neck and pockets his phone. "We lost three friends today to come this far. Do you want to lose three more of us to get back?"

No one answers.

"We have to remain positive," Jungkook says. He bites his lip again, the skin beginning to tear as a result of his constant state of anxiousness. "For Y/N, at least."

"It's never going to work," Hoseok says bluntly.

Seokjin frowns. "Staying positive?"

"No, no," Hoseok sighs. "I mean, we're never going to be able to get inside the hospital... Unless... Well, unless..."

"Unless?" Yoongi questions, raising his eyebrows.

"Unless..." Hoseok is slow, thinking through and through before he speaks. "Unless I distract them," he finally concludes. "You guys can go in while I lead them the other way."

"No..." Jungkook breathes. "You can't do that."

"Hoseok..." Yoongi shakes his head.

"Buddy, it's not time to be a hero now," Seokjin adds to the looks of disapproval.

You have no idea what's going on—too far gone to tell, but the tone of their voices is enough for you to know that the group is sad. The sadness weighs you down too.

"It was nice knowing you guys, really," Hoseok says. He shrugs, but his hands shake in fear. Quickly, he hides them behind his back so no one sees. "But I think it's time that I did some of the dirty work around here."

No one's quick enough to stop him. Before anyone else can react, he runs. He runs toward the crowd of monsters. Immediately, Hoseok captures their attention, and they groan as they begin to follow him away.

The group waits, horrified, scared, worried.

Hoseok never looks back.

And soon, he disappears. Along with the zombies.

There isn't time to waste. Everyone runs toward the hospital, sure that there were no zombies around now. And once inside, you all collapse, nearly on top of each other too.

"Selfless bastard," Yoongi wheezes, tears running down his face.

"If Namjoon were alive, he would've said that was such an oxymoron," Jungkook scoffs, wiping his wet eyes with the back of his hand. "Always the intelligent fool."

"And then Jimin and Taehyung would've told him to shut up," Seokjin says, crying silently. "God, it's all too much to take in..."

Jungkook looks to you, wiping the sweat from your forehead with his sleeve. "It's okay... We're here... We're finally here. Everything went wrong, but we're here now. We're here..."

But it didn't matter whether the group 'was here' when no one knew what to do.

"We don't even know if it's safe to roam around about like this..." Seokjin says. He sighs deeply, looking between you and the empty, blood-splattered halls of the hospital.

"Here," Jungkook whispers, trying to lift the mood. He hands Seokjin his frying pan, to which Seokjin politely declines, shaking his head.

"You wield it better as a weapon than I ever could," he says, giving Jungkook a small smile. "Besides, Y/N's counting on you to help her."

You never ever wanted to become a burden like this.

Jungkook nods silently, taking the frying pan back in his hands and gripping it tightly.

"I-I.... haven't exactly been in a hospital in a while," Yoongi says. "And I especially have no idea how to treat a TSS patient..." He looks at you and bites the inside of his cheek in deep contemplation. "You know what? We'll take our chances. We'll go into a random room, find refuge—again—and look some stuff up... Maybe we'll... manage to get antibiotics? I don't know."

It's not exactly a solid plan, but it's better than staying collapsed on the floor and waiting for disaster to strike once more.

Yoongi stands up, brushing off his pants and stretching his back. "We'll go in that room." He points.

Jungkook helps you on his back again. He trails behind Yoongi and Seokjin, gripping the frying pan and looking from side to side for any threats. He sees none, thankfully.

"We'll go inside first," Seokjin says.

"Just in case...?" Jungkook says.

"Just in case," Yoongi answers.

"You sure you don't want your frying pan back?" Jungkook asks the talented chef one last time.

Seokjin shakes his head. "You might need it more than I do."

There are a million different arguments Jungkook can make, but he stays silent.

"Ready?" Yoongi whispers to Seokjin.

"R-Ready," he replies. They give each other a small smile before they turn the knob of the door.

Jungkook holds his breath when they step in. For seconds, it's silent, and it's peaceful. Jungkook closes his eyes in sheer happiness. Safety. It feels so attainable now.

Yoongi and Seokjin look around the room, small smiles spreading across their faces. Yoongi turns around. "Hey, I think it's saf—"

A zombie leaps out and gashes his neck before he can finish.

Jungkook screams silently, mouth wide open in horror.

The monsters had been hiding. Two more of them leap out, attacking Yoongi and Seokjin with decaying teeth and mangled limbs.

Jungkook begins to step away, still aware that the door was wide open. But he can't move any closer to shut it. Not with you on his back. It's too risky. Tears prickle his eyes.

Yoongi's the first one down. He stops moving and becomes a lump on the floor. Seokjin turns to face Jungkook, eyes wet and face bleeding. Before he falls dead to the ground, he manages to close the open door. Red blood splatters subsequently on the window. Like it was straight out of a horror film. The zombies in the room don't suspect another two beings outside in the hospital halls and they immediately quiet down.

The world spins for Jungkook.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

He can't stop repeating it in his head.

Oh my god. No other words. He couldn't express the pure trepidation and guilt in words anyway.

He doesn't even know if you're still conscious. He almost breaks down right then and there. The tears have blurred his vision significantly, and he can't even hear anything except the incessant ringing in his ears.

I'm... I'm the only one left.

The thought sends chills down Jungkook's spine.

But he's reminded of what he's here to do when you begin to stir lightly on his back.

God. You're still alive. And as long as he's alive, you're going to live. Jungkook squeezes your leg in reassurance (more to reassure himself than you, really) and grits his teeth. He's going to do this. He's going to get you to safety. He's going to stay strong.

He looks at the frying pan in his hands. Seokjin's frying pan.

He fights back the tears. He can't think of the others now. He needs to focus. He's going to do this.

He runs.

Silently.

Quickly.

His heels never touch the ground. Light on his feet, blending into the wind, Jungkook runs. He doesn't exactly know where—he wishes things will work out in the end. And he wishes you were conscious enough to form a plan. He always admired how you could craft one in a crisis. But now you're basically gone, unable to communicate with him. He's on his own.

Jungkook comes across a large cabinet with a lock on it. Possibly a medicine cabinet. Why else would it be locked?

Keeping you on his back, Jungkook fumbles with the lock, trying to figure out how to get it open. He comes up with an idea in two seconds. Maybe panic does help the gears in his brain. He slams the frying pan against the lock so hard that the shatter of it echoes throughout the hospital.

Fuck.

Of course that would've been loud. But no matter now. The lock had broken. Now he has to take whatever looks helpful and run.

He flings the cabinet doors open, hoisting you up on his back again because you'd started to slip off. He grips the frying pan with one hand and begins to shove pills bottles into his pockets. He would've gotten away with more when he hears a sickening groan.

Jungkook whirls around, immediately shielding you away from the danger. You whimper just a little bit. He wants to comfort you; he wants to hug you. But he can't.

It's a zombie.

Its eyes are empty, but Jungkook can tell it only wants one thing: death. It bids death on Jungkook and you. But Jungkook won't allow it.

The monster's sickeningly close to him, and it's trying to back Jungkook into the corner that the medicine cabinet is in. He'll be stuck if the monster takes another step closer. He reacts immediately, flinging the frying pan in the zombie's face. It lets out a deafening shriek—one that sends chills all over Jungkook's body. But he can't freeze. Not now.

With agile speed and what's left of his grace, Jungkook leaps over the zombie writhing on the floor. He feels sharp pain somewhere—he can't discern where. But it doesn't matter. He's too fixated on getting you to safety. Without anymore thinking, he runs.

He runs and runs and runs. Away from the zombie, away from the problems, away from all the deaths of his friends today. He runs away with you.

When he thinks he can't go any further, he slams himself into a room, hoping, wishing that there was nothing inside. His misfortune had run out. The room is empty, safe.

Nearly crying tears of joy, Jungkook lets you down carefully on the hospital bed and dumps the pill bottles out of his pocket and sets them next to you. Then just for a few seconds, he cries.

He cries out of relief, out of genuine sadness, out of fear, out of an overwhelming sense of gladness. He cries even harder when you slowly but surely move your warm hand to encompass his.

That's when he notices the blood.

That's when he notices he'd been bitten. It had bitten him. That had been the searing pain that he had felt earlier. Jungkook backs away from you, disgusted and horrified with himself.

The thoughts follow in chronological order.

He'll drop dead soon—he doesn't know when, but he does know he can't in front of you.

When he wakes, he'll be undead.

Then... then... he'll try to attack you—if... if you're still alive by then.

He can't allow it.

Jungkook knows he has to leave.

But... He looks at you. You're dipping in and out of consciousness.

"I have to go, Y/N..." He can't recognize his own voice. It's too shaky, too unsure and laced with too much anxiety to be his own.

You stir, eyes fluttering open. You plead silently for him to stay.

"I-I... I can't, Y/N. I want to but I can't."

"P-Please..." you whisper so quietly that Jungkook barely hears you.

"I'm sorry." Jungkook shakes his head, wiping the last of his tears with his unbitten hand. He hides the other away from view. "I can't stay with you, Y/N," he says more surely. "I have to leave."

Then, you say the most coherent thing you've spoken all day. "St-Stay with m-me... I-I'm... I'll d-die... anyway."

Carefully, Jungkook steps closer to you. So close your foreheads touch. He hugs you. And the action is interlaced with so much love, so much care and consideration that you can't protest when he begins to step away. It's too soon.

You wish you could've been in his arms for longer. You wish you could die in his arms.

But Jungkook knows... He knows that once you're in his arms for too long, he'll never be able to find the strength to let you go. And that'd be a disaster for everybody.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again.

You don't want him to leave.

But Jungkook doesn't want you to see him turned. He doesn't want to be the one who turns you too. He can't stand being in the same room as you, knowing that he's become a threat. He has to leave.

It makes sense.

Both of you are going to die anyway.

You reach for him, but his back is turned to you. And without another look, Jungkook bites his lip before walking out of the room. He shuts the door behind him and begins to weep against it, sliding down to the floor in a weak, defeated lump.

"J-Jungkook—"

You reach for him again, tumbling out of the bed as a result. The bottles of pills clatter to the floor. You don't care. You drag yourself against the door with the last of your strength. The world spins with you. And you feel so weak...

Jungkook rests his head against the door. His hand begins to throb with excruciating pain. He doesn't want to wake up... He feels too weak to finish the thought.

You cry against the door, tears running down your face. Your hands try to reach the door handle, to open it, to reach Jungkook, but it physically hurts to do so. Everything hurts. The world is on fire.

Jungkook's world is just the same.

An uncomfortable flame is eating him from the inside. He wants the pain to end. He wants everything to end.

And it does.

Finally, finally, his wishes come true. He falls dead, head lolling to the side.

And you're long gone as well.

✽

✽

✽

✽

✽

✽

You gasp awake.

You've awakened in hell.

Well, not exactly.

Your whole body feels as if it's on fire, but you're not in the hospital. You're not dirty nor are you bloody. You're in Yoongi's room, in bed.

But now the covers are on the ground because you'd had a fit in your dreams.

A dream.

A fucking fever dream.

That's what it had been.

Well, a nightmare, really.

A painful foreshadowing, maybe.

A vivid recollection of your worst fear.

Your head spins, and you fight the urge to throw up.

Outside the confines of Yoongi's room, you can hear the other men getting ready to leave. Your heart drops.

No.

You're not going to let them leave with you.

You refuse to become a burden, to become some sort of torch they pass along with great care, sacrificing their lives to keep you safe.

They'll all die because of you.

And you can't allow that.

Maybe if you run away—

Maybe they'll forget about you and no one will get hurt because of you.

You try to move, try to lift yourself on your feet, but it turns out to be a big mistake. You stumble, unable to balance yourself, and you fall off the bed, hitting the ground.

The thump! is loud enough for Jungkook and Namjoon to rush into the room.

"No! No! Go away! No!" you're shrieking, squeezing your eyes shut and gluing yourself to the floor, refusing to move.

They're taken aback.

"Y/N, Y/N..." Jungkook soothes you, dropping to his knees and trying to help you up to the bed again. After struggling for a bit, you let him carry you—when it becomes clear that he's not going to force you out of the room.

"You'll be fine," Jungkook whispers. He strokes your hair, holding your hands with tears brimming in his eyes. It reminds you too much of your dream. You want to look away, but you can't. "Y-You'll... Y/N, you'll be fine."

Jungkook and Namjoon exchange knowing, painful looks. Even in your barely conscious state, you suddenly understand.

You realize then that you'll die here. And the others have accepted it.

It hurts to think that they're giving up on you. But at the same time, you'd rather they give up than risk their lives to save you.

Jungkook continues to hold you in his arms, rocking you back and forth. "I'm sorry," he keeps repeating. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

When Namjoon opens the door to the room, the others spill in. They tell you their parting words. But you can barely comprehend them. Relief floods through you, however. It makes you feel better that they're okay—that they're alive.

And soon, it's just you and Jungkook. Alone in the room. Just like your dream.

He won't stop apologizing. You manage to shake your head, attempting to give him a smile. It comes out forced. "No... I-It wasn't... It wasn't y-your f-fau...lt." You pause to take deep breaths. "Y-You..." you reach out to take Jungkook's other hand. It relieves you to see no blood. "You d-did... good."

The tears dribble down to the tip of his chin, and they fall down when he manages to smile back at you. "Y-You m-mean... You mean I did well."

You're half-crying, half-laughing, just like he is. Everything becomes less painful like this. It's better to go this way than to be separated by a door. It's better than what you had imagined.

"You did well, Y/N. You did so well," Jungkook repeats over and over again. He holds you in his arms tighter than ever.

You've always wanted to die in his arms.

You lose consciousness feeling safe and happy.

"You're never going to beat me," Jungkook snorts, swinging his baseball bat over his head.

You laugh, shoving the boy aside. "Watch me, then."

"Gladly."

It's baseball day. You and your seven other friends have gathered outside in the warm sunlight, ready to play ball as you and Jungkook had always hoped. Although it's a significantly modified (cough, simplified) version of baseball, it doesn't matter to you. There are no monsters, no blood, no death—just happiness.

Seokjin's polishing his frying pan off to the side, Jimin's wiping the dust off of his officer badge, Namjoon's studying from his binder, Taehyung's video-chatting with his dogs (don't ask), Hoseok's stirring up his best business plans and Yoongi's dozed off while standing.

It's perfect. A perfect world.

"I'll pitch," Jungkook tells you, tipping his baseball cap at you before giving you a handsome grin. "Careful, though. I'm not going easy on you."

You grin right back. "You don't have to. But if you want to keep your ego intact, I'll go easy on you."

"No need to," Jungkook laughs. "Just don't come crying to me when I beat your ass."

You snort. "I don't know, Jungkook, sounds a bit like you're dragging this on so you won't have to cry over an embarrassing loss."

"Oh, really? Okay, then. I'm going to pitch right now."

"Do it, then."

"I'm going to!"

He does, hurling the ball with all of his might but also with calculated precision.

The world around you blurs. All you can see is the ball hurtling towards you. And though you're not very imaginative, you envision the ball to be that sexist baseball coach you had years back; you envision the ball to be an ugly, aggressive zombie; you envision the ball to be death, unhappiness and regret.

You scream like a warrior going into battle when you hit the ball. The angle is just right, the strength is perfectly calculated. The ball flies up in the air—no doubt, a home run. You don't even have to run the bases to see that.

Jungkook's grinning—almost as if he expected you to make such a spectacular hit. He looks at you with adoration, with pride, with love. "That's my girl."

"I know! I'm amazing!" You grin too.

The world has never felt this perfect.

—part 1 | part 2

—masterlist

[whataboutmyfries]

Life is a highway (1)

AAAAAA so I’ve been working on this fic for a while now procrastination who? and I’ve finally finished!!! this is a two part fic (it got a little out of hand) 

This one is for all the beautiful people on the SW discord :) thanks for being awesome! 

Characters are the blessings bestowed on us by the incredible @lumosinlove I hope you like this one :)))

Part two here!!!

~

“Okay love, see you soon!”

Finn hung up, sighing. He looked over at Leo, his blonde hair falling onto his forehead and curling against the couch where he’d leaned his head on it. He was staring at the ceiling, toying with the snapback on his head. 

“I miss him.” 

Finn dropped his head onto the blond’s lap, sighing.

“Me too.” 

Leo stroked his fingers through Finn’s hair, biting his lip. Logan was back home in Rimouski visiting and he’d already been gone a week. Surely that was waaay too long to be visiting family. 

Right?

Leo was going out of his mind, and though he didn’t admit it, he knew Finn was too. They called at least twice every day but it just wasn’t enough. So they’d taken to wearing Logan’s clothes, Finn fitting almost perfectly into Logan’s hoodies while Leo had taken to wearing that goddamn snapback everywhere he went. 

Finn sighed loudly, snapping Leo back into the present. 

“I miss his face.” 

Leo chuckled at that wishing he could just be there with his Tremzy. He knew it was stupid and clingy and sappy, but he’d been away too long. 

But what if….he could? Leo grabbed for his phone, excitement making his eyes sparkle and his fingers shake. He barely even noticed as Finn swore in his lap.

“Shit, Nut! What the hell!”

Leo waved his hand, not even looking up from the screen as he gestured at Finn.

“I think….I might have the solution to our problem….”

Finn’s eyes widened as he looked over at Leo’s phone screen. 

“Wait. Are you actually saying what I think you’re saying?”

Leo was grinning wide enough for it to hurt as he bounced in his seat, unable to control his excitement. 

“ROAD TRIP!!!”

It took Leo all of an hour to plan it all and start packing their bags. It was an eleven-hour drive and if they started today, they could get there by tomorrow evening. Logan was staying at his family’s for another week, so they would return in another five days. 

“Finn! Love, could you go down to the store and get us snacks for the road? We can stop along the way for meals but we’re gonna need a lot of snacks.”

Finn just smiled, dropping a kiss onto Leo’s hair before grabbing the keys. 

By the time Finn returned, Leo had both their bags packed and stacked by the door. 

“Nutty, can you give me a hand with the groceries please?” 

Leo rushed into the living room and gaped at the redhead standing in the doorway. As it was, Finn had returned with two bags spilling over with apples and muffins and popcorn and protein bars. Leo chuckled, taking the bags from a very red-faced Finn, dumping them on top of their suitcases. 

“Ready?”

Finn grinned, turning his cap backwards. “Let’s go see our boy.”

~

They decided to take shifts on driving so neither one would be too tired at the end of the day.  

Leo took first shift, the two of them driving and laughing at nothing and everything, the roof down, the wind in their hair and music playing softly in the background. This was bliss. 

Finn was halfway into a packet of chips when ‘Life is a highway’ started playing on the radio. Finn all but squealed, turning up the radio as far as it would go.  

Leo whipped his head around, his hand already halfway to the volume button. 

“Fish! The roof’s down!”

Finn beamed, pulling Leo’s hand away from the radio and lacing their fingers together. 

Life is a highway

“Nut, the road’s completely empty! Sing with me!”

I wanna ride it all night long

Leo hesitated, but gave in, holding Finn’s hand tighter, tipping his head back laughing. 

If you’re going my way, well, I wanna drive it all night long. 

And as they laughed and sang and drove Leo’s heart clenched, his brain automatically memorising every second of the moment. The way Finn’s eyes crinkled when he sang, the way he danced in his seat, flaming red hair mussed up from the wind. 

Through all these cities and all these towns 

Leo raised their intertwined hands to his lips, pressing his lips to Finn’s fist, smiling against the warm skin. 

It’s in my blood and it’s all around 

Finn giggled, throwing his arms up in the air, tipping his head back to the dusky sky. 

I love you now like I loved you then 

You’re in my blood I’m not a lonely man.

~

Leo yawned, scrubbing a hand over his face as he pulled the car over, off the road into flat, rolling grassland. 

He killed the engine, stretching his stiff muscles. He looked over to see Finn sleeping, his fingers lose around Leo’s 

Leo smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Finn’s brow, groaning when his back cracked like a stack of loose pebbles. 

Leo extracted himself from the driver’s seat, pulling out the blankets and pillows from the boot as quietly as he could, pulling down the seats and making a nest for them to sleep in. 

Leo looked around, satisfied with his handiwork, leaning back to wake Finn. He didn’t have to go far though, as he tried to duck out of the car his head hit the top of the car with a resounding thud, a barked stream of profanities following not long after.

“Huh? Wha— Leo?” Fin startled awake, his head whipping around to find the source of the noise.

“Hush, fishy, it’s just me. Sorry I woke you.” Leo winced a little, rubbing harder at his head. “I hit my head.” 

Finn chuckled absentmindedly, rubbing at his eyes while he fumbled for the door handle. 

“Nutty, wha—” Finn was barely coherent, stumbling a little when he walked to the back. 

His jaw went slack when he took in the backseat. Leo had made it as comfortable as he could, blankets and pillows and clothes turning the car into the cosiest looking bedroom. In the soft, yellow light of the car, it looked downright magical. Leo had even gone so far as to bring Finn’s own pillow and blanket.

“Peanut…..I— thank you.” Finn’s eyes shone with love and adoration as he threw his arms around Leo, pulling him as close as he could. 

Leo smiled, kissing the top of Finn’s head. “Anything for you mon petit poisson.”

Finn grumbled into his chest, shaking his head against Leo’s warm sweater. “Fucking french” 

Leo just laughed, ruffling the shock of red hair. 

They stood there for a good minute before Leo broke the silence.

“Harz, are you just doing this cause you’re cold?” 

Finn pulled away, looking up at him sheepishly, his nose tinged red from the chill 

“So cold.”

Leo tried and failed to hide his smile, shoving Finn playfully into the car before he walked over to their bags. 

“Get in you overgrown baby. I’ll put these in the front and then we can go to bed.”

Finn chuckled from behind him. “Well, it was a little cause you did this for us too!”

Leo shook his head fondly, dumping the bags into the two front seats, making sure to carry their wallets with him to the back. 

Finn had already settled himself into their little den, curled up in the corner with a pile of blankets on him, staring out of the sunroof in awe. 

“Leo, babe, come look.”

Bewildered, Leo crawled into the car, closing the boot behind him. He snuggled up to Finn, head in his lap.

“Look at what fishy?”

Finn just pointed at the roof, his eyes bright with childlike wonder as he stared at the sky. 

Leo followed Finn’s finger, a little gasp escaping him when he finally saw it. A glorious expanse of inky black, shot through with enormous clusters of stars. Deep grey clouds floated across the constellations, the occasional bat flapping across the black sky. 

It was…..magic. That was all Leo could think to say. It was magic and wonder and cosmic magnificence and it made Leo feel insignificant yet so safe all at once.  Leo curled an arm around Finn’s waist pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“I love you mon cheri”

Finn smiled sweetly, silver lining his eyes as he leaned down to get closer to Leo, wrapping himself tightly around the blond. 

Leo’s throat closed up, his chest filling up with an emotion he couldn’t quite describe. Finn’s arms around him were everything. It wasn’t anything special, but it felt like the only thing keeping him from floating into empty space. 

So Leo pulled Finn close, kissing the top of his head while they fell asleep under the stars. 

[itsapapisongo]

animam agere*

Pairing: JohnTen

Genre: Angst (sort of) | Fluff

Tropes: Character Death | Established Relationship | Non-Idol AU

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Character death, profanity

Summary: In a single blink, a normal day turns to tragedy. With a snap, everything turns to ashes.

Notes: * To have one’s last breath. | Once again, as it often happens, the despicable fiend known as Writer’s Block as arrived at my doorstep. Since I’ve been listening to Infinity War’s and Endgame’s soundtrack and planning on writing something involving the Infinity Stones and loss, I thought writing about the Decimation—or the Snap, if you prefer—was an interesting way to practice the Art of Angst. 

Warning: This is completely unedited mess. ‘Nuff said.

“WHERE’S THE bottle opener thingie?”

Johnny closed his eyes and sighed, but he couldn’t quite conceal the small smile that spread across his face. He shook his head gently, chuckled, then turned to his boyfriend. Ten stood in their apartment’s small kitchen and titled his head in a this shouldn’t be this hard yet it is sort of way. A bottle of wine was in his left hand, the right gently placed on his waist as he read the label then glanced over his shoulder, toward the counter, as if whatever he was looking had magically appeared there. He bore a look of confusion in his face that Johnny found both adorable and amusing.

“You mean the corkscrew?”

Ten frowned, glanced at the bottle, then back at his boyfriend. “That’s what it’s called?” He asked, his voice laced with disgust. “Cockscrew?”

“Cork—“ Johnny enunciated slowly. “—screw.”

“Whoever named it that needs a swift kick in the ass.”

“Without them we wouldn’t be able to enjoy wine, though.” Johnny shrugged as he walked over and joined Ten in the kitchen. “So be thankful for it having a name.”

“Yeah, but ‘bottle opener’ works just fine.”

“It sure does.”

Ten clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, giving his back to Johnny. Though he did this quickly, Johnny caught a glimpse of that half-smile his boyfriend often had whenever he was being playful.

“So, Mr. I-Know-Big-Words . . .“ Ten placed the bottle on the counter and leaned on it, tilting his head to the side. “Where’s the damn bottle opener?”

“It’s in one of the drawers.” Johnny idly gestured towards the counter’s drawers behind Ten’s lower back. “Don’t know which one but it’s in there.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Cool,” Ten exclaimed, clapping loudly. He leaned forward then, though he didn’t need to, stood on his tiptoes to gently peck Johnny’s lips. “Look for it then.”

“You do know that you’re abusing your power?” Johnny stood there, smiling and not entirely surprised. “You can’t do that every time you don’t wanna do something.”

“You wanna bet, Chicago?” Ten raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Johnny blinked and opened his mouth to respond but relented, smiling so wide that his eyes were crinkled and barely visible. He looked away, unable to contain his laughter, shaking his head and rubbing his forehead. He opened the drawer, found the corkscrew—pardon, bottle opener—and proceeded to open the bottle. He could hear Ten chuckling behind him then heard the faint but distinctive sound of phone’s camera.

“You look so whipped,” Ten said, his voice dripping with smugness. “Oh, wait—you are whipped.”

Johnny threw his head back, groaning then laughing. He glared at Ten for a second before softening and chuckling, eyes crinkled, smile wide. Ten leaned in, kissed him in the cheek, slapped his thigh, and took the bottle away as soon as it was uncorked. Before he could protest, Ten was pouring the wine on two glasses. When their eyes met, his boyfriend winked and blew him a kiss.

What little shit, he thought as clenched his jaw and bit his lower lip. His boyfriend sure knew that smirks and kisses often won him over. He know how to abuse his power well.

AN HOUR or so later, the bottle was empty. They had opened another—Ten had reluctantly done the favor—and sat on the living room, not quite watching TV yet not quite ignoring it. They were too involved in a whispered conversation to care about the drama flick Johnny had insisted they watched. Tom Hank was putting on a damn good show and that for the most part was going to waste.

It had been a while since they had found time to just unwind—to be in each other’s arms or kiss or tease each other—because with Johnny working long days at the studio and Ten interning at the art gallery they rarely conceded these days. But these moments mattered and they were meant to be cherished and they had promised each other that they would do whatever it took to enjoy them. These moments were rare and neither of them was about to let them slip through their fingers.

The relationship had started behind everyone’s back—with only Kun and Yuta being in the know—and they had taken steps to solidify what had started as a leap of faith into the unknown. Having been pretty certain about his sexuality then suddenly feeling like he was still learning about himself, for Johnny it was uncharted territory. For Ten, on the other hand, who knew what he liked and disliked since puberty, this wasn’t exactly new but it wasn’t exactly something he had experienced in. Flings were nothing when compared to a committed relationship.

Almost a year had passed since their first date. Neither regretted their midnight escapades. Neither regretted holding hands in public, passing it off as friends being friendly and indulging in “skinship”. They knew who they were, where they stood, and who they loved. Once, during their fifth date, when a woman on a nearby table gave them a judgmental look and harrumphed at them, Ten smiled and waved at her. Through gritted teeth, he mumbled, “fuck this, fuck that, fuck it, and fuck the rest.”

And so they did. Why lose time and wallow in pity when you knew who you were, when you had embraced who you were? Love is love is love is love. That’s all that mattered.

FUCK THIS, fuck that, fuck it, and fuck the rest.

“Why?” Johnny asked, doing his best not to look at the woman without feeling a mix of annoyance and delight.

“Because I love you,” Ten whispered, shrugging. “That’s why.”

“Oh.”

His boyfriend shrugged again, unfazed. “You feel me?”

“I feel you.” He chuckled sheepishly. When Ten reached out and intertwined his hand with his, Johnny couldn’t help but feel loved. “I just feel you.”

“Good to hear, Chicago.” Ten half-smiled, caressing Johnny’s chin.

TEN HAD laid his head on Johnny’s lap, his body sprawled across the couch. He was on his phone when he spoke up, a worried tone in his voice.

“New York is a mess,” he whispered.

“I mean it’s a big city and—“

“Not like that, you himbo.” Ten sat straight and showed him a video of Central Park. A figure clad in metal tones of red and iron fought a giant brute. A good chunk of the park was made a disaster in a matter of seconds. The video ended abruptly as though the phone had fallen to the ground. “Mark had mentioned a good part of Manhattan had to be evacuated but, shit, I thought he was exaggerating.”

Johnny frowned. Manhattan evacuated? Aliens in New York? It wasn’t exactly strange but it was surprising. Still after six years had since the Battle of New York, it was oddly and eerily surprising. Since then everything had drastically changed—the world had expanded and everyone was forced, one way or another, to forget what they knew yet ignored two truths: humanity wasn’t alone in the universe and something or someone out there was certainly watching.

“Is Mark okay?”

Ten shrugged, though the gesture was small. “He hasn’t responded in the group chat since, wow, almost six hours.”

“Should we worry?”

“I don’t—“ Ten paused, unsure. “Maybe. Let me just call him.”

Johnny nodded, offered a thumbs-up, and stood up. He took the empty wine bottle and walked to the kitchen, humming a tune that was familiar yet eluded him. He left the bottle on the sink, washed his hands, and opened the refrigerator. Something to eat would be nice, balance the alcohol high, keep things flowing, so he pulled a small cheese tray Taeil had given him the day prior. He glanced over his shoulder, saw that Ten was making the call, sheepishly opened the tray and popped in a grape.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his mouth full, “want a grape?”

“Yeah, sure,” his boyfriend replied, though it was clear he was distracted. He perked up, disgust in his voice. “Wait—did you just offer me grapes?”

“Oh, right.” Johnny nodded. “Fruits are a big no-no.”

“You better wash your teeth. I’m not kissing you with—shit, Mark, are you okay?” Ten stood up so fast he felt nauseous. “I just saw something online. New York’s a fucking mess. Where are you?”

A strings of impatient ‘uh-huh’s and worried ‘okay’s echoed in the apartment’s living room. His pacing was faint but Johnny could still hear it. For about a minute, there was silence. Though Ten had stopped moving, Johnny could hear his breathing. He heard in his boyfriend’s voice relief as he assumed that Mark told him he was safe, probably away from all the danger and the destruction that had been unleashed mere blocks from where Mark had been.

“Call me back as soon as you get to the airport.” Ten sighed. “Well, fuck, at the very least text me.”

Johnny popped in another grape, frowning. “Everything okay?”

Ten nodded, but it was an apprehensive nod. The kind of gesture that said yeah, for now. He raised a finger that said one second, nodded again, then hung up. He sighed and looked ashen but definitely relieved as he threw his phone on the couch.

“He’s getting on a flight back to Seoul.” Ten rubbed his left temple with his thumb. “Says it’s best if he enjoys the rest of his vacations here.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Better here than the super dangerous capital of the world.”

Johnny nodded. He reached for something on the tray and offered it. “Cheese?”

Ten scoffed. He walked to the small coffee table between the couch and the TV and picked up his glass and the second bottle of wine. “No, wine,” he said. “Now pour me another glass.”

“As you wish.” Johnny winked, taking the bottle. He popped in the piece of cheese his boyfriend had neglected and munched on it, humming that familiar yet elusive tune again. As he poured the wine, Ten held his glass and bit his lower lip. “Bottoms up.”

“And tops down.” Ten nodded, winked, and took a sip.

Johnny turned, smiling, feeling a bit better. A frowning Ten required cheering up. And he was up for the challenge of turning that frown upside down and what better way than to—

Something fell—glass shattered on the ground, wine splashing behind it—and Johnny whirled, worried and ready to help. Ten was frowning, his entire face contorted with confusion and uncertainty. Johnny blinked and saw that Ten’s right hand, up to his forearm, was gone . . . but that couldn’t be—or could it? Where there was once fingers was replaced by empty space and—were those ashes or was it dust? Ten looked up, the frown replaced by fear, sudden, real, overwhelming.

“Johnny?” He asked, his voice trembling. “What is—“

“Ten?” Johnny reached out for his left arm but it crumbled into dust—no, ashes—in his own palm. He tried to grasp him by his forearm but only managed end up with handful of ashes. “What is—no, no, what the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t—” Ten gasped.

Johnny reached out and pulled him close, felt his weight against his chest for a second—felt his breath, felt his warmth—until he didn’t anymore. He closed his eyes and was washed, head to toe, in ashes. He was grasping at nothing but air and a cloud of grayish-brown ashes. Johnny stood there, eyes closed, trembling, unsure of what had happened. 

He felt numb as though someone had thrown cold water over him; his legs gave out and he collapsed, his back and head sliding against the small space between the counter and refrigerator. He could only hear his breathing, uneven and loud, and the faint rumbling of thunder outside. The thunder echoed like the dull roar of a beast that had been awakened.

“I feel you,” Johnny whispered between sobs and sniffs. “I feel you, Chittaphon, I feel you.” He hugged himself, hyperventilating. “I only feel you.”

All he could think of was the look of terror in Ten’s face.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 8

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí, Su She | Su Minshan, Madam Jin, Jin Zixuan, Wen Qing

Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers, Protective Lan WangJi, Protective Lán Qǐrén, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Bad Parent Yú Zǐyuān, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: Lan Qiren wakes them to let them know of Wen Qing's arrival and her desire to ensure Wei Wuxian's meridians are healing.

Notes: See end.

Warnings: Reference to poisoning, infanticide, assassination, and chronic illness in this chapter.

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

AO3 link

----------

Wangji woke, warm and comfortable, to the sound of shufu’s throat clearing, and sat up to find he had fallen asleep with Wei Ying curled close, both the Jiang siblings also asleep, Jiang Wanyin curled at the foot of the bed, Jiang Yanli seated on a chair, but with her upper body on the bed, one arm around Wei Ying.

He had the wherewithal to be careful extricating himself from Wei Ying so as not to disturb his much-needed sleep, and stood to bow to his uncle.

“Shufu, Wangji apologizes for his conduct.”

“No need,” Lan Qiren replied, looking uncomfortable. “Last night was fraught for you all.”

Jiang Wanyin was the next to stir at the conversation, and he also greeted shufu politely before moving to gently wake Jiang Yanli.

“Wen-zongzhu has arrived,” Lan Qiren informed them. “His niece would like to assess Wei Wuxian’s recovery. I did not… inform them of the stress that he has faced.”

“The healer said his meridians seemed unharmed,” Wangji said, troubled.

Shufu favored him with a gentle look, one likely meant to calm, but it raised his anxiety over Wei Ying’s condition.

“Likely they are correct,” he said. “But Wen Qing is the foremost medical cultivator and would be able to assess him with more expertise.”

Wangji felt frozen, uncertain as to whether he should wake Wei Ying, but Jiang Yanli decided the matter for him. She murmured softly to him, tousled his hair gently, easing it out of the braid she’d put it in the night before.

Wei Ying looked beautifully disheveled when he did sit up, eyes half-lidded as he murmured questioningly at his sworn sister, his words barely recognizable—something unsurprising after the late night.

When he saw shufu, he jerked awake more fully, attempting a bow that unbalanced him and would have sent him off the bed, had Jiang Wanyin not grabbed his arm.

“None of that, Wei Wuxian. Wen-daifu wishes to check on your progress while her uncle discusses trade matters with myself and Xichen. Aside from that, a day of rest is in order for you all. We are investigating matters.”

“Lan-xiansheng, do you know if Wen Ning came with?” Wei Ying asked, sounding hesitant. 

Though Wei Ying had befriended him at the competition at Nightless City, Wangji knew he hadn’t been able to see the boy since, with Wen Qionglin’s weak constitution. They had exchanged letters, prior to the incident at the Lotus Pier discussion conference. Wei Ying had not written, or at least sent, letters since his arrival at the Cloud Recesses, though.

“He was not fit to travel,” shufu told him softly. “But you can ask after him with Wen-daifu.”

Wei Ying nodded, disappointed. 

Shufu excused himself to see to Wen-zongzhu, letting them know Wen Qing would be by shortly. 

Wen Qionglin’s illness was well-known, the injury suffered when Wen-furen and her newborn, Wen Chao, were poisoned. Their firstborn, Wen Xu, had died under mysterious circumstances that had also left Wen-furen weak to the point of often being bedridden, and so Wen-zongzhu had called upon his cousins in a medical branch of the clan to attend her second pregnancy personally. 

As it had turned out, the firstborn had been murdered, Wen-furen’s illness the result of poison. Unfortunately, it was only discovered when Wen-furen, her newborn, and Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing’s parents were dead, little Wen Qionglin, barely a toddler at the time, himself poisoned. Wen Qing had been lucky, at a lesson at the time and thus untouched. 

It had obviously been foul play, and an investigation revealed that a secondary branch of the family had been behind it, seeking to usurp the sect leader through assassinating his heirs in infancy. 

After having the ringleaders executed for high treason, Wen Ruohan had exiled every man, woman, and child from that branch of the clan to Dongying. It had been considered mercy, as he could have instead determined justice could only be served through miezu. He had announced that he did not believe justice would be served by executing or enslaving children for the non-crime of being born to a family and did not believe creating more orphans by executing only the adults would be just, either. The alternative of exile had been graciously accepted by the secondary branch. 

He had never remarried, nor sought to have more children, instead taking the orphaned Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin into his household, naming the former his heir and ensuring her sibling received the best care available.

Wen Qionglin’s illness left him often bedridden and weak like his aunt had been, though he was quite kind and soft-spoken, and painfully shy. Wei Ying had met him on a rare day when he was feeling better and practicing archery, having gotten lost in the area around the tournament. He had given him tips and encouraged him to enter the tournament, at least to show his skill in the segment that involved stationary targets.

With his coaxing, the boy had scored several bullseyes in front of the crowd, increasing his standing among his peers despite his illness. Where previously the cultivation world had looked upon Wen Qionglin with pity, it was now impressed that someone with such a difficult chronic illness had become an accomplished archer. 

“I am sure Wen Qionglin would enjoy hearing from you again,” Wangji said softly. “Perhaps his sister can bring him a letter if you wish to write him before she leaves.”

Wei Ying nodded again, frowning slightly. 

“I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Wei Wuxian,” someone said from the hallway, and Wen Qing entered the room a moment later. “You’ve been ill. A-Ning understands.”

That elicited a deeper frown from Wei Ying.

“I haven’t been sick,” he objected. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Maybe not physically, but I’ve been receiving regular updates from the healers here. You suffered a traumatic event, and it injured your mind. Illness comes in different forms.”

Wei Ying looked away, frowning—it seemed he hadn’t considered his struggles an illness, despite being treated by healers in the Cloud Recesses.

“Honestly, Wei Wuxian… A-Ning really understands. He misses your letters, but Lan-zongzhu and the healers have kept me apprised, so he knows you’ve had difficulty. Stop being so fucking hard on yourself.”

If Wangji hadn’t met her at several points during his life, her profanity might have surprised him, but instead he was simply glad it made Wei Ying smile.

“Ah, Wen Qing, your bedside manner is refreshing,” he said lightly, and she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

“I overheard that there have been… issues,” she said after a moment.

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched, a slight tremor running through him at the reminder.

“Some asshole put lotuses in his quarters, and then ours,” Jiang Wanyin supplied. “On purpose.”

“That’s why A-Xian is in the infirmary,” Jiang Yanli added softly. “He was ill when he saw them.”

“And smelled them,” Wei Ying said, his voice catching.

“The healers were concerned about his meridians and… the possibility of qi deviation,” Wangji said, nearly choking on the last part.

He kept his eyes on Wei Ying so as to stave off the image of him bleeding from his eyes and nose and ears and mouth in the mud.

Wen Qing looked almost murderous for a brief moment before her face smoothed.

“They induced a flashback, I’m assuming, to what occurred,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice level and calm. “Not surprising.”

“Seeing lotuses on clothing and ornaments, and in food, too,” Jiang Yanli offered. “A-Cheng intends to go through Wei Ying’s belongings to remove anything including the lotus.”

“A-Jie and I ordered clothing from Caiyi to be delivered when it’s complete, so he won’t have to see lotuses on our robes.”

Wei Ying looked surprised, gratitude and denial warring on his face. His eyes flitted to Jiang Wanyin’s crown, and Wangji’s followed. Instead of his typical silver lotus with amethyst stones that announced his station as Jiang sect heir, he was now wearing a simple unadorned jade guan. Jiang Yanli, who typically wore a lotus hairpin, had replaced it with a golden peony, clearly a courting gift from Jin Zixuan.

“You didn’t have to, A-Cheng. It’s stupid, just—”

“Is your fear of dogs stupid?” Wen Qing cut in brusquely. 

He flinched, and her voice gentled. She sat beside the bed in the chair vacated by Jiang Yanli. 

“Wei Wuxian, you’ve been through a trauma, just as you were when you were on the streets after your parents died. It’s not stupid. It’s your brain seeking to protect you.”

“But they’re just flowers,” Wei Wuxian muttered. 

“They remind you of fighting for your life, just as dogs do,” she said. “It’s a natural survival response, whether it’s rational or not.”

Wei Ying looked frustrated but nodded. 

“I know you hate it,” Wen Qing told him. “Maybe it’s a trauma that can be worked through. Same with dogs. The mind healers can help you when you’re ready, but it’s not easy work.”

She reached forward slowly and patted his shoulder, clearly giving him time to acclimate. Wangji knew he also hated that he sometimes panicked if he was touched without warning, as well. They all wished it was easy for him to go back to being relatively carefree. 

“I don’t need to use my needles to check your meridians for any disruption or damage,” Wen Qing said, breaking an uncomfortable silence that had fallen among them. “I may need to if you need treatment, but I’ll let you know, okay?”

Wei Ying simply nodded again in acknowledgement, and Wangji realized with a little bit of horror that he had grown accustomed to his quiet. He longed for the chatter and noise that had once accompanied him, but he had spent so much time locked in his own head in the last year, it would probably take more to break him of the habit. 

“Lie back and relax,” she ordered gently. “And tell me what you’ve been up to of late, so I can let A-Ning know.”

Once Wei Ying was situated, he spoke hesitantly, starting with Wangji writing him a song and feeling like a fog had lifted.

“I don’t really remember a lot before that,” he said. “It was like I was under… underwater.”

His voice broke at the word a little, as though he realized the implication of that word after what he’d suffered at the hands of Madam Yu, and Wen Qing’s movement checking his meridians hesitated slightly before she continued.  

At first it was just information, but by the time he reached their outing to Caiyi, the details were leaking in to make it a story. The purchase of Tang became a rescue, with perhaps unconscious undertones of Wei Ying’s own—unconscious because he didn’t seem aware of it, though the Jiang siblings exchanged heavy looks. 

He largely skimmed meeting Madam Jin, only commenting that she wanted to let him know she had dissolved her sworn sisterhood. He was taking her request for confidentiality seriously—Wangji didn’t know if he had told his siblings, even, though it was possible Jiang Yanli knew from Jin Zixuan. 

Wen Qing finished her examination before he was finished, but let him keep going, smiling when she learned of their betrothal, of his ribbon, of the swearing of brotherhood to make true in the eyes of the cultivation world what was already true in the hearts of Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Ying. 

She sobered when he recounted returning to his rooms after having his sister’s newly-reformulated soup, and finding the lotuses inside. 

“And then A-Cheng went to their quarters later,” Wei Ying started, then stopped, his jaw tightening, his breathing quickened with distress.

“I heard what occurred,” Wen Qing said softly. “You have many people who wish to protect you, Wei Wuxian. Let them.”

“Is he… are his meridians okay?” Jiang Yanli asked, the words bursting from her as though she was no longer able to wait. 

Wen Qing nodded. 

“His pathways and meridians are much better than they were last I examined them. There is no lasting damage.”

The last time she had examined him had been shortly before they had undocked from Lotus Pier on the way to Gusu, but she was careful in her wording. 

“You had a panic attack last night,” she added. “Obviously staying calm and feeling safe is important moving forward, but your meridians and qi were not disrupted.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying murmured. 

“Take it easy today, though. Doctor’s orders. You didn’t have a qi deviation, but panic attacks take a lot out of you.”

“I—I should greet Wen-zongzhu and thank him, though,” Wei Ying said as he sat up, sounding stressed at the very idea. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Nope. You don’t need the stress of having to greet anyone—you’ve had enough of that lately. My uncle understands, and you’re not expected to do anything but focus on your recovery.”

When he looked like he might argue she frowned at him. 

“Wei Wuxian, you aren’t to concern yourself with whatever idea of propriety you’ve got in your head you need to observe. It’s largely a bunch of bullshit, anyway. If you want to do anything, take a bit of time and write A-Ning a letter. He really wished he could come see you.”

That got a little smile from Wei Ying, likely happy that his friend wanted to hear from him. Wangji resolved to let him use his desk in the jingshi if he was uncomfortable returning to his quarters yet—chaperoned, of course.

“You need to return to a healthier weight,” Wen Qing said as she left. “I’ll arrange for breakfast to be sent.”

They took turns behind the screen dressing in the clothing retrieved the night before. Jiang Yanli insisted on combing Wei Ying’s hair, refreshing the citrus scent in it, before she tied his ribbon and arranged his crown with the gentian guan, his red ribbon, and the jade plum blossom hairstick.

The delivery of breakfast was accompanied by Jin Zixuan, who had brought his own tray to join them, and he was welcomed without fanfare in a way that implied he’d been accepted by Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying. Likely, his honorable and kind conduct yesterday at both the banquet and after the lotus incident had helped matters.

Wangji hoped the day would be quieter and less stressful than the preceding one.

----------

灭族 (mièzú) is “family extermination” and was used as a collective punishment. There’s a lot of interesting meta on this in the fandom, regarding the extermination of the Wens not as genocide, but as an idea of retributive justice. There’s a wikipedia page on the nine familial exterminations; the children under a certain age would usually have been enslaved rather than killed, but not always (like, it isn’t light reading). There have been similar ideas of collective punishment in some Western cultures, as well. Famously, the Nazis used Sippenhaft.

I wanted to explore what might have prevented Wen Ruohan from becoming a megalomaniac at least briefly, and decided on this scenario. Tragedy changed him. I’m largely going with novel canon for this (not that it really matters since it’s a no war AU).

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part IV

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,696

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“Has he done this before?” Ned asked, referring to Cersei’s wounded cheek.

“My brother would have killed him.” She answered.

”Your brother or your lover?”

“Jaime and I shared a womb. We came into this world together, we belong together. Do you love your children?”

“With all my heart.”

“No more than I love mine.” She confidently said.

“And they are all Jaime’s, except for Y/N.”

“The hair gives her away. I used to have resentment against her. Being the only creation that we brought to the world. Y/N was the only time we really gave it a try. A man who didn’t give a fuck for me. He never loved me but he loves her.” The Lannister woman held a neutral tone.

“When the King returns I will tell him the truth. You must be gone by then. Take the rest of your children and go.”

“You should have climbed those steps. When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.” Lord Eddard Stark discovered the secret Lord Arryn died for. It wasn’t his territory anymore.

“I should have spent more time with you. Show you how to be a man. You can learn a big deal from Y/N. I was never meant to be a father. Everyone out!” Cersei looked suspiciously at Ned, Joffrey left the room retaining the tears, not processing what was happening.

“Except you, thanks the gods for blessing me with a daughter like you.” You held his hand tightening the grip. “The girl, Daenerys. You and Ned were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother. worthless. No one would tell me no but the two of you. You are much alike. So honorable. She changed my mind. Let her live. Stop it if it’s not too late.”

“We will.”

“And my son, help him. Make him better than me. Help your brother. He’s not ready. Give him your council to make wise choices.” You nodded sobbing.

“I shall always remember this strength you gave.”

“It comes from yourself. Now give me a moment with this fool. And Y/N, don’t be scared even in the face of danger.”

“His grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Princess Y/N convinced him. Whatever arrangements you made, unmade them. At once.” Your father’s best friend declared.

“I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead by now.” You scowled.

“But if it’s not the case stop sending sell swords or assassins to do the job. Also if it’s possible send other birds to abort the mission. That’s a command, Lord Varys.”

“Yes, my princess.” This Targaryen girl will survive.

You once more found little Arya with his dancing teacher, you approached while she was off guard earning a slight hit on your arm.

“I didn’t see you there.” The small one exclaimed.

“We don’t need eyes to see what’s around us, boy.” Syrio reminded her.

“I’m sorry about your father, Y/N.” You sat on the stairs. “I miss Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon so much. Unlike Sansa, I prefer the North.”

“I met Jon. He seemed to be a good brother, better than Joffrey that’s for sure.”

“He gave me a sword. I named it Needle. I don’t have it here, I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Do you have any bastard siblings?”

“Plenty of them. But it is highly unlikely we’ll ever meet.” You squinted, thinking about the possibility.

“Wish I had a sister like you, mine hates me.”

“I don’t think you hate each other. You just have different opinions, different preferences. You share more than blood. I see a lot of potencial in you. You cannot use someone else’s fire. You can only use your own. And in order to do that, you must first be willing to believe that you have it.” She closed her eyes and proceeded with her classes.

This was crazy. Your mother locked you in your room. The King was dead. Everything was out of place.

“What‘s going on? Why you locked me up?” You shouted to Cersei. She frantically sighed.

“It was a precaution. We don’t know where your loyalty stands, Y/N. Your brother is the King now. Your friend’s father conspired to dethrone him and seize it from himself.”

“That’s insanity...-“

“The little bird was on her room. I haven’t seen the other.” Sandor entered with the redhead.

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

“We have guards looking for her. She won’t be able to hide forever.”

“Princess, what’s happening?” She anxiously asked. After your mother explained what her lord father allegedly did, she made her write a message to his older brother Robb, asking him to come to King’s Landing and swear fealty to Joffrey. You also learned from Lord Baelish that Renly and Loras flee the city before they took the Lord of Winterfell as a prisoner.

“My father would never do that! He is not a traitor” She spat once you two were alone.

“I know, my lady. It must be a misunderstanding.” You said trying to calm her nerves.

“Where do they took him?”

“To the dungeons, I suppose. Things are going to clarify.” The pretty little dove was completely bewildered, same as you.

That very night you went undercover to see the alleged offender.

“Lord Eddard. I brought you some water. Are you okay?” Holding a torchlight, you removed your hood kneeling to give him the canteen.

“Thanks for visiting me. I’m worried about my daughters. You know where they are?”

“We haven’t found Arya, we‘re still on the search. Sansa is alright, she’s under custody. I will protect her.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Treason, my lord? I don’t think that makes sense. Why would you say my brother is not the rightful heir?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You are a clever young princess, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”

“About what?”

“I didn't know if it was appropriate to tell you.” He took another big gulp. “You are the only highborn child Robert had. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are your uncle Jaime’s bastards. Your mother confessed it to me the other day. They tried to kill Bran cause he saw them. Don’t say a word, not even mention it or you might face the same fate. Though you are the princess is better to be careful with your family.” He was speaking the truth. Deep down you’ve always suspected it, however it was hard to assimilate.

“Y-yes, I won’t say anything to anyone.” You promised. “If you bend the knee and say he is the one true heir to the crown, you might live.”

“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say. You have a gentle heart, don’t let the wrong people take advantage of it.” The late hand cautioned.

You were in the Thorne Room. Your mother called Ser Barristan, he stepped forward facing the new King. A huge crowd was there. You stood beside the Stark girl.

“You served the Realm good and faithfully. Every man and woman in the seven kingdoms owns you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look with pride at your many years of service.” The lioness said.

“Your Grace, the king's guards is a sworn brotherhood. Only death realizes us for our sacred trust.” He replied.

“You let my father died. You are too old to protect anybody.” The boy on the throne yelled.

“The council has determined Ser Jaime Lannister as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Jaime wasn’t even here, that was stupid.

“A man who profane his blade against the king he swore to defend.”

“Careful, Ser.”

“I am a knight. I shall die a knight! Here boy, melted it out and add it to the others.” He threw his sword and left the room.

“If anyone else has other matters to set before his grace, let him speak now or go ford and told his silence.” The northerner squeezed your hand before speaking.

“Your grace.”

“Lady Sansa of the House Stark.”

“Do you have some business with the king and the council, Sansa?”

“I do. As it pleases your grace I ask mercy for my father. Lord Eddard Stark who was hand of the King.”

“Treason is...-“ Pycelle interrupted her.

“Let her speak. I want to hear what she says.” Joffrey declared.

“Thank you, your grace.” You didn’t peel away your glance off her.

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Baelish inquired.

“No, my lords, I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was king Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!” He was clearly nervous, how could she not be? You wanted to intervene and help but you remained silence, it wasn’t the place.

“He said I wasn’t the king. Why would he say that?”

“He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn’t himself otherwise he never would have said it.”

“A child’s faith... such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom often comes from the mouths of babes.” Lord Varys commented.

“Treason is treason!” The old maester repeated.

“Anything else?”

“If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness your grace.” She pleaded.

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father needs to confess and say that I am the king or there will be no mercy for him.”

“He will.” You hope so too.

“Mother, please.” She walked passed ignoring you.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You are Queen Regent. You know the consequences.”

“Joffrey, have mercy. If you order to have his head you’ll bring war here. The North will fight you. Thousands and thousands of innocent people will die. You can prevent it.”

“You won’t tell me what to do, little sister.” He immediately dismissed you.

[that-good-trash]

Burn Away With Me 2

Shoto Todoroki x reader / Dabi x reader????

Warnings: mentions of death, profanity, kidnap, Angst,

Word count: 6,315

Part 1

Summary: Kidnap and murder usually go hand in hand but not like this. The world thinks your dead and you have to watch them mourn you like a princess locked away in a tower. Except princes don’t look for dead girls. You might just have to rely on the villain who took you.  

Comment: Sorry I haven’t been posting but I’m back. This took longer than I thought and there will be a third part. I’ve decided to make this a series while I work on other fic ideas. Which if any of you have any suggestions or ideas I totally need inspiration for more one shots and series’s. I hope you all enjoy. 

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You were dead.

At least that’s what everyone thought, was told, had ‘witnessed’. In a way you were dead because having to watch the world exist without you, killed you. Watching Shoto in interviews and reading article about him made you wish you had actually died since he was lifeless. You had agreed to this so you were an accessary to his misery. The one thing you always promised was to never abandon him, to always love him. You had failed to keep that promise. You were now causing him pain and couldn’t even apologize for it.

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

After your Hollywood murder, your vanishing act, you had woken up in an unfamiliar place that smelled damp and musty, like mildew under week old wet carpet. It was toxic to your nose which had become a little sensitive from living a modern clean life. You were wearing a jacket that wasn’t yours that smelled faintly of burning charcoal and cigarettes. While lifting the overly long sleeves you had become aware that you lacked any chest covering. You were naked besides the jacket and silk panties you wore under it. It wasn’t like you had time to pack, hell you actually hadn’t expected to ever wake up again. Trusting a villain was dicey, it could backfire terribly and you couldn’t figure out yet if it had. You were alive. That wasn’t for sure a good thing. The room you were in had a bed, which you were laying in, the sheets were stained and slightly charred in places. There was a single window and two doors, one leading into a closet, the other you didn’t know where. An old suitcase sat in the corner and you didn’t really want to know what was in it. Outside the door you could hear the sound of talking, it was staticky meaning it was coming from a TV or radio. You had gotten off the bed hugging the long black coat against your body as you made your way to the door. Fear flooded your veins. You had no idea what Dabi’s plan had been. While you slept the news of your death spread across all media. You weren’t even aware of this. You were thinking that this was a kidnap ransom thing. As the knob turned you could hear the voices a little more clearly. It was a TV, the light shining down the short hallway. You walked toward it before feeling your heart stop. Across the bottom of the screen was your name, your real name and hero name. It was the words that followed that made your legs give out. Now on your knees with shaking shoulders you read the headline, hear the news caster.

[ L/n F/n – Hero Name, was found murdered in her shared home.]

“Her fiancé Todoroki Shoto cannot be reached at this time but we mourn his lose.” You read the words and listen to the tail end of his sentence piecing together what had happened. The image changed from the inside of the news room to a helicopter view, footage taken hours ago. Your shared home had been surrounded by police vehicle’s and you watch Shoto rush out of his car and directly into the house. A sob escapes as you watch the police and pro heroes look down and away. You couldn’t hear anything other than the helicopter but you could imagine he was screaming your name. What was left behind? That’s when you became all too aware of a throbbing pain in your left hand. Looking down at your hand you scream, your ring finger is missing. How the hell hadn’t you realized this to begin with. There were so many pieces missing to this fucked up puzzle. How the hell did you get here? Where the hell was here? Where was Dabi and better yet your god damn finger? These questions invaded your mind as you watched the screen continue to show pictures of you with claims of death. You weren’t dead and if you were this was one hell of an afterlife. Purgatory was a shitty back alley apartment.

“When we, the public, were informed of L/n’s death everyone wanted to hear what the Todoroki family had to say, specifically Endeavor. His interview shows his conflicted emotions and many are quick to blame grief for his lack of emotion.”

You watch the interview and listen to your future father in laws words. He didn’t care. You had stopped crying as you watched him speak on your behalf. How dare he claim to know what you wanted. If you weren’t aware of the real mastermind, you’d think he tried to have you killed. How could someone be so heartless. You had spent so much time trying to prove you were worthy of Shoto even though your lover told you that you were more than enough. The social pressure Endeavor put on you was suffocating and you were really starting to realize that just by watching some shitty interview he did for publicity. Your hands were clenched into fist despite the pain in your left hand. You stood up a little too fast and fell backward. You never hit the floor, instead a hot hand caught you. You sighed in relief before staring into your kidnapper’s eyes. You weren’t weak or none confrontational. Your eyes burned with fury, your lips twitching with words brewing behind them.

“You son of a bitch, You bastard.”

“Woah, no reason to bring my mom into this, though I will say you’d be right about my father.” He was so smug as he held up his hands in defense against your hissed insults. He had expected tears and fear not an enraged hurricane. “Now calm down, what’s got you so pissed?”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” Your eyes were bulging out and your breathing was unsteady. Your eyebrows knit together as you glared him down with hell fire behind your eyes. You looked like a savage. Like a crazed lunatic. Instead of looking scared or remorseful he just backup against the tattered couch. His arms crossed and he lifted a brow. His smirk told you that he found this entertaining.

“Um, you seem pretty alive to me doll. You can’t believe everything you hear on TV.” He laughed at his own joke, or maybe the pathetic chaotic state you were in. As you heaved your chest in exasperation. You realized that you’d made a huge mistake. You killed yourself off on your own accord, you should have fought back then maybe you’d be in Shoto’s arms and not on every news station. If you had been kidnapped people would be looking for you but they aren’t. No one is looking for you. In an instant all anger subsided. You were tired, in pain, scared, pissed, lonely, dispirited, you were dead. Your shoulders slumped with no fight lingering. You let the wall catch you before sliding down it. Your head fell heavy into your hands before settling between your bend legs. You weren’t looking at him, but Dabi did seem a tad guilty. He pushed off the couch walking toward you. He dropped down, squatting in front of you. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, you slap his hand away looking at him with feral eyes that had tears bottled in them. A sigh escaped as he stood up, he could hear the TV mention your name. He watched people on the screen hold candles standing along a dark street. This was live. He yanked you off the ground and pulled you out of the apartment making sure he covered you with a scarf he snatched from the rickety coat rack. You didn’t know where he was taking you but when you ended up on the roof of this building you panicked. Was he going to actually kill you? Maybe that would be better for you. Instead you feel your face yanked toward a specific location. This building was old and crumbling but it was tall. It seemed to be taller than plenty of the buildings near it. As you looked off squinting you saw lights in the distance.

“What are you trying to show me?”

“Shh.” You were pissed. What the hell was his problem. Frustrated you cross your arms feeling the cold breeze and get a little less mad and grow shy after remembering again your lack of coverage. You go to ask if you can return to the apartment but he points and you follow. The city lights disappear and in a Disney moment the sky seems to light up. You watch from the ground miles away lights move like waves and from the tops of buildings lanterns fade into the sky. You watched in awe.

“They are mourning the loss of a true hero, you.”

He’s not looking at you but instead watching the lights. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he doesn’t look at you as you collapse to the cold dirty roof ground. You scream into the illuminated darkness. It’s painful, like a wolf crying out for its mate after receiving a fatal wound. A howl of sorrow and agony. Was Shoto watching these lights mourning you as well? Your knees pressed into the harsh concrete beneath you cutting into them. Dabi stood next to your broken shaking form, his hands sat inside his pant pockets. He was watching the sky letting you fall apart. He had been in a similar situation before, having to mourn his own death.

It felt like hours had passed by the time you ran out of tears. Your knees hurt from the embedded concrete, your hands were shaking and your fingertips had the slightest tint of purple. You were cold, practically naked, empty, and alone. No one knew you were alive besides the person who killed you. The sky was no longer lit up and you wondered if this was goodbye. If this was how your life as a hero ended. You didn’t get a huge battle like All Might at Kamino, or Sir Nighteye’s battle with Overhaul. You didn’t get to retire or die in a heroic way, instead people would remember you as the hero who died in her home, murdered by some mystery villain. You knew in a week you’d be old news and everyone would be talking about this in the future like it was a part of Shoto’s tragic backstory. You stood up before almost falling directly back down. You catch yourself by grabbing onto Dabi. He winks at you which you react to with disgust. He nods toward the door and you walk toward it leading the way. You think for a moment that running off the side of the building would be a good escape plan. He knows what you’re thinking as he links your arm with his own and pulls you along back into the building and eventually into the hellscape of an apartment. You yank yourself free before walking to the couch and falling back onto it with a huff. You were pouting because he had caught onto your plan, because you had to be here in this disgusting shithole.

“This place is gross.” Dabi raises a brow before laughing, his laughter echoes throughout the small room.

“Sorry this isn’t a five-star hotel princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be a luxury hotel; it just has to be livable. The TV looks like it’s from the 80’s and the carpet feels damp. This couch smells like you set it on fire and it’s still burning. The bed room has various stains in various places. I haven’t even seen the bathroom but I imagine it’s even worse, oh god I can’t live here.” You weren’t prissy or someone with high standards, this place was just literal hell and since you were dead it was even worse. You could imagine that Dabi wasn’t going to let you leave whenever you wanted so having to be stuck in this place was going to drive you insane.

“I think you sound be more concerned with clothing than housing. You have a roof and a bed; you have no clothes.” Dabi made a very good point that you forgot in your depression over the living situation. You throw your head back letting out another frustrated sob.

“Fuck, you should have just killed me.” You thought you ran out of tears and yet some slid down your cheek. You were frustrated and wanted nothing more than to curl up against your fiancé while he comforts you but you couldn’t do that.

“This isn’t forever. My plan just needs to go accordingly and you should be free to go. Think of this as summer camp or a stake out mission.” You looked at Dabi skeptically. He stared back lacking any intension to deceive you.

“Tomorrow night I’ll bring you by some clothes. If you really hate this place so much, I’ll let you clean and decorate it. Give me a list of shit you need tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. Your stuck with me and when I’m not here you are going to be under house arrest. You don’t get to leave and if I find out you tried; I’ll show you exactly why you shouldn’t disobey me.” His eyes darkened at the end. He wasn’t the smug Dabi but one who truly would turn you into ash. Minutes ago, you would have chosen to be burn alive rather than have this as your life but that was quick to change with the hope that you would actually be released. Dabi wasn’t all that bad, scary kind of but not bad. Clothes were a blessing you couldn’t wait for. The ability to make this place livable also enticed you. He really knew how to get you to stop whining. A smile spread across your face and Dabi raised a brow. He expected a thank you, he shouldn’t have.

“You’re still a fucking asshole who kidnapped and ‘murdered’ me so don’t go thinking I like you or want to rely on you. The idea of being burned alive is almost tempting when compared to living here with you as my only company.” All this was still served with your smile. You stood up and let the coat tail spin behind you as you walked off to the bedroom. “I’m a size [Y/size], don’t forget that.”

The door shut leaving Dabi alone in the living room. His head falls backward and a chuckle escapes passed his lips. “Damn, what a weird girl. Can see why you like her little bro.”

His hands dip back into his pockets as he leaves the apartment. Once on the street below the dirty building he looks up toward your window. It’s hidden away in the alley. You are looking out it hoping for a view but there isn’t one. He knows how miserable you are but also knows you’re a fighter who will survive. He lights up a cigarette as he disappears into the night. You are left sitting on a dusty windowsill thinking about your would-be husband, your almost widow. You wonder what he was doing, how he was doing. Were his friends with him? A single tear slips down your cheek and onto the window sill mixing into the dusk leaving a dirty mark. A melancholy laugh puffs passed your lips. You close yours eyes remembering the first time the two of you met. Remembering how falling in love happened slowly then all at once.

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Shoto Todoroki was an emotionless teenager when you met him. You were older than him by a year and met him by complete accident. You both attended UA and he got lost ending up near one of your classes. He ran into you as you rushed to deliver paperwork to the office. More like you ran into him. Instead of swooning over the mismatched eyes and hair like most girls did you pushed passed him. “Sorry gotta go, next time watch where you’re going.”

You had found him outside your classroom afterschool waiting for you. You were confused as he looked at you with about as much emotion as a wall. Hell, you’d seen walls with more emotion. He was like a red and white brick. Your fellow classmates walked around you, some whispering questions amongst each other. You were as confused as they were.

“Um why are you here?”

“You ran into me.” You raised a brow at his blunt accusation. You thought back to earlier and indeed you ran into him. You should have apologized seriously earlier but now you were curious. He waited out here just to tell you that.

“Earlier I was walking down this hallway and you ran into me, then you proceeded to tell me to watch where I was going when you were the one who should have watched herself.” A child, a first year, a stranger was scolding you. A normal person would apologize or defend themselves. You weren’t normal. Instead you laughed at him. He didn’t like that but his irritation subsided into concern. What had he said that was so funny? This seemed like a very serious topic, had he told it like a joke? “Why are you laughing?”

“You seriously waited out here, outside my classroom, just to scold me. Man, you are taking justice pretty seriously, that or I offended your pride as a man. Is it that one? Did I make you feel less of a man because I pushed you while blaming you for my own neglectfulness?” Shoto couldn’t believe how you spoke to him. His cheeks actually heated up from embarrassment and that never happened. People didn’t usually speak to or toward him like this. It was, different? You patted his head when he didn’t speak but just stood there like an old windows computer trying to start up.

“See yah.”

“Wait.” You stopped behind him and turned around. He was facing you with conflicting emotions. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have training, why?” You were put off slightly by his change in attitude.

“Can I watch.” Okay that sounded stalkerish. “I have a classmate who likes to collect information on people’s quirks. You’re from class 2A so I assume you have a unique or powerful quirk. I think he’d like to watch and I have to write a report on quirk studies so…”

Bullshit, it was all bullshit, you knew it he knew it. The janitor that passed awkwardly knew it. This boy would die of embarrassment if you brought it up. A sigh slips out and you can’t say no because you are already late and at least this would give you an excuse to give your teacher. “Sure.”

After getting changed you found four underclassmen staring at you. It was uncomfortable and almost comedic. You never really brought attention to yourself, actually class 2A never really attracted too much attention. The dual hair colored boy stood next to a green haired boy who seemed really excited to see you. The other two consisted of a taller blue haired boy with glasses and a shorter round cheeked brunette. You actually realized you knew all four of them. A grin spread across your face as you pointed at them.

“You guys are from class 1A. I watched you guys at the sports festival and I watched you guys at the school festival. Oh man you are Midoriya Izuku, you’re Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, and that makes you Todoroki Shoto. They all looked amazed that you knew their names. Hell, it was hard to not when everyone talked about the class of villain fighting heroes. They were famous and you had mocked the class heartthrob. It made you laugh because you had classmates that found him hot with his cold demeanor and mysterious scar. When you looked at him you saw a socially awkward kid.

“You’re L/n F/n! Your quirk is so cool! I read about it in a book Mr. Aizawa had about former students. I would love to be able to see it in action! Would that be okay?” He was enthusiastic and you couldn’t say no. You also needed to get to training because you were even more late now. After a nod they all followed you to the training grounds. Other students looked at you and laughed at your entourage. They made teasing comments while others swooned over Shoto. You rolled your eyes. Training mattered more than some dumb boy. Little did you know how wrong you were at that moment. Running into him that afternoon started a domino effect. He had watched you never looking away as you fought. You were mesmerizing. He hadn’t heard a word said by his friends. It was cliché but he was captivated by you.

After that day Shoto found himself following you a lot. He would meet you after class and watch you train or go with you to the library. It was awkward to you but kind of cute. He opened up to you about his past and you didn’t cry. Instead you smiled and held his hands. You told him that he was strong and that his past would never define his future. He had fallen deeper and deeper in love with you, who seemed so far out of his league. Little did he know that he filled your thoughts. You always wondered what he was doing or thinking. You learned to make soba so the two of you could eat while watching the sunset. He missed being around you when you were at your work studies but he supported you behind the scenes. Eventually the two of you were inseparable, until graduation. You stood amongst your fellow classmates laughing and smiling, beaming with pride that you had made it. Everyone had flowers and gifts except you. You turned when someone had called your name. It was Shoto standing facing you, he had a bouquet of your favorite flowers with red streaked across his cheeks. He said something but you couldn’t hear over the crowds. As you walked closer you tried to hear him better. You kept yelling that you couldn’t hear so he mouthed it slowly and you realized what he said; I love you. Your heart stopped and all of a sudden no one else mattered. The loud crowd disappeared leaving just you and Todoroki. Your legs kicked off the ground flinging yourself the distance tackling him into a hug. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He cried against your shoulder because he hadn’t known love like this. Your love was something he gained and his trust was something you had fought for. He loved you and you loved him and that was all the mattered. That time felt so far away but in reality, it was only 3 ½ years ago. You’d been with him for 3 ½ years and engaged for six months. It wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything, except you did trade it. You traded it for some shitty apartment and a death sentence. You were truly the villain of this story.  

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It took Dabi two days to ‘find/steal’ the things on your shopping list. He brought you a haul of ‘crap’ and clothing of various sizes. You were miserable but this was one thing that made you smile through the depression. Cleaning supplies gave you something to occupy your time. A small chipped table for the eating nook next to the tiny kitchen, a dresser with mismatched paint and broken drawers. A clean set of blankets, sheets, and towels found a home on the bed and in the closet in the hallway. It wasn’t perfect but you were excited to put them where you wanted. It was like an interior design show for the less fortunate. Dabi sat on the couch with a bottle of bourbon while watching people play hero on the TV. You cleaned around him. He wrinkled his nose when you poured carpet cleaner everywhere. The apartment smelled of bleach and lemon by the time you finished. He was actually impressed, a smirk spread across his face as you flopped down on the couch. The large blanket he got you covered the dirty stains on it. He looked you over, noticing how you looked good in the wore torn jeans and oversized t-shirt he got you. It was casual and he liked it. He imagined from what you had come from that you wore a lot of blouses and skirts rather than this.

“You did a good job. I’d give the place two stars.” You hit him with the towel sitting on your shoulder. He laughed noticing your eye roll. “I gotta leave for a few days. While I’m gone you better behave and maybe I’ll bring you a treat.”

“Fuck you.” He had gotten used to your foul mouth and wondered how such an energetic snarky girl ended up with tight ass Shoto who only showed emotions like confusion and anger. He pushed off the couch. He needed to go back to the league and knew he couldn’t involve you in it. You were dead and it needed to stay that way. The league would use you for a different goal and he couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed his coat throwing it over his shoulder along with a wink and kiss to you. You blinked with an annoyed face before catching the kiss throwing it to the ground grinding it under your foot. His laugh could be heard even after the door closed behind him. You were once again alone which changed your demeanor from aggressive to weary. Your eye lids drooped and your shoulders fell. Your legs found themselves pulled onto the couch with your arms wrapped around them. You watched the news hearing segments talking about Deku saving three people from a fire and Red Riot helping catch a bank robber. You smiled happy for them. You never resented them, instead you rooted for your fellow heroes. They were saving the day while you scrubbed strange stains out of ancient carpet.

“As you all know we recently lost hero/name and it’s been hard to cope. This Saturday is her funeral. It is not an open viewing but we were informed that citizens are allowed to place mementos and grieve afterward outside the building. We are also being told to remind people to let hero Shoto grieve and not to bother him if you see him in public.”

Whatever was said afterword you didn’t hear because you were processing the new information. You were going to be buried, this makes it even more real. Chest tightening you stumbled off the couch reaching for the remote. Silence surrounds you as the TV clicks off. The room in spinning and you feel as if you are actually in a small box being buried. You cover your ears begging the world to stop spinning and for the voices to stop. You hear your friends giving eulogy’s, you hear crying and whispers of disappointment. You were a hero how did you lose. The ground hit you, wait no, you hit the ground. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing into the carpet, you could taste the chemicals you had used earlier. At the moment you didn’t care, not about the taste or about anything else. You had a request for Dabi that you knew wouldn’t fly well. You wanted to attend your own funeral.

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A week after your ‘murder’ came your funeral. There were strict rules enforced by Dabi, you weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for obvious reasons. This rule prevented you from going but you got to watch it. After begging for some kind of way to be there Dabi returned with a laptop that had shaky footage. You didn’t know who was recording it and knew better than to ask. The footage wasn’t perfect but it gave you what you wanted. Dabi offered to leave you alone but you didn’t want to be alone. The sounds of sniffling were caught coming from many guests. The building was gorgeous. Huge with marble walls and columns near the entrance. It felt like you were at a Greek wedding not a funeral. Everyone was adorned in black. You didn’t recognize the people near the camera person. The camera angle moved and you gasped, walking down the aisle leading toward the end of the room where you assumed a casket laid were your friends. You had friends from your own classes but these weren’t them. These were the friends you made through Shoto. Midoriya walked, his hand holding tightly onto Uraraka’s, she was crying. You smiled sadly at her through the screen. They were an adorable couple who you always rooted for. Now they were finding comfort in each other mourning you. Following behind them was Kirishima with Bakugou, Bakugou looked good in a suit but his red eyes made the red around them stand out more. You felt bad since you knew how much he hated feeling or looking weak. Kirishima was smiling but it held pain. There were many other classmates following behind but the camera turned to watch people gather around the front doors. Your hands flew over your mouth and Dabi had to catch the laptop before it fell from your lap. He placed it on the coffee table angling it so you could watch without dropping it. He wanted to scoff at your pain because he couldn’t understand why you would be sad. This was all a game, a show put on for the media. No one really cared for others this much, or maybe they did, Dabi just knew that he didn’t understand why the dead felt bad for the living.

“Please let him through.” Tenya was signaling people to move away from Shoto. Once the crowds dispersed you could see him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, his eyes bloodshot with black holes surrounding them. His cheeks were hollowing, and the rest of him looked thinner. He hadn’t been eating. His hair wasn’t styled and seemed messier, longer. His skin was dull and lifeless, like his eyes. He walked like he had no idea where he was going. Tenya held his shoulder walking with him like a guide. Had Tenya been watching over him for you? You hope someone was, you hope someone will intervene and stop his self-destruction. The camera follows as close as it can and you don’t know how much you can watch. In the front, stood rows of chairs for close family and friends. Your mother was wiping her eyes with her head against your fathers’ shoulder. They looked at the casket that you knew was empty. The camera watched Shoto tap their shoulders. They stood up and hugged him. He was apologizing to them; they didn’t take the apology. Your parents were always fond of him. They wouldn’t blame him. Shoto sat down away from them, Natsuo and Fuyumi sat next to him. Natsuo was rubbing his sisters’ shoulder as she sobbed into her handkerchief. The seat next to them was empty, reserved for Endeavor, for someone who wouldn’t show up. Natsuo had told you before that Endeavor didn’t do funerals, he even missed his own sons. You were actually glad that he wasn’t there, he didn’t deserve to be there. Dabi noticed your change from a forlorn stare to one filled with scorn. He knew you had been thinking about Endeavor, he knew because he had felt he same thing. He had been in the same situation watching people cry over him while the person that caused it was MIA. He watched the footage continue and could feel you stiffen up as people got up to speak. Speech after speech drained you of tears and life. You looked like you were actually dying as you watched Shoto stand behind the mic.

“I don’t want to talk much. I could stand here and tell you every tiny detail about F/n that I love, that I miss. I could tell you about her but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this and only this. I will not sleep, I will not eat, I will not rest till the killer is caught. No one even cares that this was a murder. She isn’t dead, she was murdered and while the rest of you cry and live your comfy lives, I’ll be out there taking down her killer.”

A sentimental speech is what you expected but received a promise of revenge. People gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. It was tasteless to people but to you it meant he fell right into Dabi’s clutches. Dabi was smiling with knowing eyes. He already knew this would happen. He knew all along and you couldn’t be mad because apart of you hoped this would get you back in his arms faster. The rest of the funeral went by without much problem. You watched the casket be lowered into a hole and buried with goodbyes and bundles of flowers. Shoto was the only one left besides the camera man. He put the camera down walking over to Shoto. You gasped as the winged hero put a hand on Shoto’s back apologizing for his lose. Shoto didn’t react while Hawks picked up the camera and turned it off. You watched the black screen feeling your hands shake, you slowly turn to Dabi.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” You did was answers. You needed to know why the number 2 hero of Japan, Endeavors subordinate, was doing Dabi a favor. You had heard about heroes helping villains and selling secrets but this was to close to home. What the hell was happening. “Please Dabi, tell me what’s happening. Why was Hawks there? Why was he recording for you?”

“We all have secrets doll. I can’t tell you to much but I can tell you he owed me a favor and this was how he was repaying me. I needed to see your funeral as well to make sure my plan was actually working. It is and Shoto seems to be playing the game as intended. Soon enough you’ll be trading your stained walls in for your old egg shell white ones. Your pumpkin will turn back into a carriage sweetheart and while your dancing with the prince, I’ll have the kings head on a stick.” You knew he wanted Endeavor but you finally started piecing together exactly how he was going to do it. He was going to use Shoto to kill him or capture him. Either way Shoto was now a pawn on the same board as you. Dabi was playing the game against a cheater, someone who wouldn’t lose easily. Endeavor was not an easy man to break. This was going to be harder than manipulating your husband and you knew that.

“I want to help.”

“You already have. You being dead gives Shoto reason to kill. To go against his hero code. As long as you stay dead and he seeks revenge all goes well. I get what I deserve.” His phone beeps and he’s leaving you. The laptop goes with him, you don’t mind because there isn’t anything you can do on it anyway. You walk to the window watching his figure disappear into the foggy street. What an ugly night. You went to bed and curled up with a book Dabi had brought you.

Elsewhere Shoto stood in the darkness of an alley behind his fathers’ agency. Hawks walked by talking on the phone with someone not noticing the boy’s presence. Shoto waited and slipped into the building before the door closed. He couldn’t be caught using the codes or else they’d know it was him. He knew how to avoid the cameras, how to maneuver the building without getting caught. He found himself outside the large office he had been in plenty of times. To think it would be his father’s final resting place, it was perfect justice. He went to push the door open but hesitated when he heard him talking to someone.

“I offered her money, I offered her positions outside the country, Hell I had other heroes try to seduce her but nothing worked. She was hell bent on staying with Shoto. I couldn’t allow her to ruin his chances at being the number 1 hero. He needed to focus and if he were to marry it should be to someone with a quirk that complimented his. I needed her out of the picture and to think someone else took care of it before we had too.” Shoto knew his father was shitty, manipulative, abusive and so many other fucked up things but this was something else. This was beyond shitty and abusive. This was evil and a power trip. His father may not have killed you but he was going to get what he deserved for playing a part in it. The door opened under his touch and when he walked in his father turned a huge smirk across his face.

“Oh Shoto, I was just going to call you.” He put his phone down and Shoto was able to make out the name of the contact he had just been talking to, Hawks. He thought back to the funeral and pieced together theories. Hawks had a part in this and he was going to find out exactly what happened to you. His arm encases itself in fire the other arm freezing the exits. He stares at his still smirking father. “This isn’t a friendly visit. You’re going to tell me you killed Y/n and then I’m going to decide if I should kill you now or slowly torture you first.”    

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[simplybakugou]

Forever with You

↝ It all started with his love for meat buns… now Kirishima reminisced on the time you first met to help him find the courage to propose to you.

BINGO SPACE: Engaged

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!kirishima x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; FLUFF (just a lot of cuteness :)) ⋆ WORD COUNT: 3021

A/N: here’s another bingo piece for the @bnhabookclub​ event! it was my first time writing for kirishima so please let me know what you think! thank you to @sugacookiies​ for requesting kiri for this prompt (love you xin!) credit to @eraserhead-transparents​ for kiri cap!

FULL BINGO MASTERLIST

✐posted 08.02.2020✐

“At least give me a hint?” You asked, peering up at Kirishima with hope laced in your eyes.

Kirishima shook his head as you both continued walking down the path. “Nope, no can do. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

You crossed your arms begrudgingly over your chest. “It’s not fair. What if you’re leading me to my death?”

Kirishima chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulders. “Come on! You know I’d never let anyone hurt you!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re Red Riot for a reason,” you said, wrapping your own arm around his waist as you leaned into him. That morning you woke up and got ready like you did every other morning only for your boyfriend disrupted your plans as he entered your apartment unannounced and whisked you away, claiming he had somewhere he wanted to take you. No matter the amount of questions you had for him, you followed him anyways and here you were, still walking down the street as he led you to wherever this mystery destination was.

“Alright, we’re here!” Kirishima exclaimed.

You rose a brow in confusion, dazily blinking at the sight before you. “What’s this?”

“What do you mean? It’s a park!” Kirishima said, stating the obvious. He walked over past the front gate of the park, sitting down on one of the wooden benches. He patted the space beside him and you sat down, still bewildered about why he had taken you there in the first place.

“Eiji, I’m still so confused,” you said after a few minutes as he just sat and watched the families playing in the area along with those who were working out and doing other physical activities.

“Do you know what this place used to be?” Kirishima asked, still looking off into the distance as he watched with a smile at the numerous kids running around and playing amongst each other.

You shrugged. The park was in Musutafu where you and Kirishima spent a good amount of your adolescence in back in your respective high schools. As time progressed you both strayed away from the city, pursuing your career and Kirishima becoming a pro hero. But since you and Kirishima were dating, you eventually moved back to Musutafu with him although you lived separate from one another for the time being.

“How could you not recognize this place? This is where your cafe used to be!” Kirishima said.

“Really? That was here?” You asked in astonishment. “It’s been so long since that place closed down I forgot where it was. And this whole place looks completely different.”

“Yeah, I passed by here a few days ago and that was when I realized.” Kirishima looked down with a smile on his face. “That cafe meant a lot to me… it’s where we first met.”

You grinned along with him. “Even though I hated that place sometimes at least that shithole gave me you.”

Kirishima laughed at your words, his nerves calming slightly thanks to you. He felt beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck and his forehead, taking his mind off the crucial task he wanted to fulfill in a matter of minutes as he listened to the sound your voice as your reminisced on the time you met the love of your life.

***

Back when Kirishima was in U.A., he would find himself stopping by a cafe which was on the way to his school that sold the best meat buns. In his first year he would go almost every afternoon after school just for one meat bun but sometime in his second year, he saw an unfamiliar face behind the counter. It was a girl who seemed to be around his age. She seemed laidback, conversing with customers when needed but overall was detached. Above all else, she was absolutely beautiful to the point where Kirishima nearly choked on his own breath at the sight of her.

Quite evidently that girl was you, a teenager who was helping her father run his cafe after school. Although you didn’t want to be there on most days, some customers made your experience worthwhile. 

And then there were some that made you feel absolutely enraged.

“Give me your number, I won’t hurt ya,” the sleazy man said as he continued to attempt to flirt with the young girl who was quite obviously uncomfortable with his harassing.

“Please leave me alone,” the girl said in a low voice, trying to evade eye contact with the creep.

“Come on, I know you want me,” the man said as he slid his disgusting hand towards the young girl’s bottom.

At that moment, Kirishima had walked into the shop after a long and productive day at school. He was ready to step in but was stopped by your voice as you tossed a used coffee filter at the man’s head. “She doesn’t wanna talk to you, you dumb fuck,” you spat in disgust.

The girl managed to get away in time, quickly thanking you as she sped out the door. The man, who was now covered in coffee grounds reached out to grab you from over the counter until Kirishima stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, forcefully bringing it down to his side. “Hey, man, why don’t you just leave before you make things worse for yourself?”

The man shoved Kirishima’s hold from his wrist as he stepped backwards, making his way out. He made sure to give you a piece of his mind, spilling out profane words from his mouth as he left. You simply rolled your eyes, flipping him off before turning to Kirishima. “Thanks for that. I deal with enough assholes like him so it’s nice to have some help.”

Kirishima chuckled. “No problem!”

Since that day, the bubbling feeling in Kirishima’s chest grew the more he saw you. From the first time he saw you, in which he was a bit hesitant to speak to you since the encounter with the sleaze, your conversations with Kirishima only expanded the more you saw him. You were assertive, a trait Kirishima admired, and weren’t afraid to speak your mind. But at the same time you were chill and Kirishima couldn’t help but blush everytime you knew his order by heart with a wide grin on your face.

For the rest of his time at U.A. High, Kirishima continued this routine of visiting the cafe initially for its meat buns but in reality he was satisfied everytime he saw your face.

Sooner rather than later, Kirishima eventually graduated and he left Musutafu to finally pursue his pro hero career. Each day passed and you frowned at the end of your shifts when you realized Kirishima hadn’t shown up that day. Eventually you grew accustomed to his lack of visits and didn’t bother to peer over your shoulder everytime the door opened. 

It wasn’t that Kirishima purposefully left without saying goodbye, rather he wasn’t given a break to breathe since he graduated. From being recruited by various agencies to being given a sidekick position, Kirishima was constantly busy. Slowly yet surely he climbed the ranks as the years passed and had managed to obtain a spot in the top ten heroes. 

And with this passing time, your life was progressing as well. After graduating from high school, your father gave ownership of the cafe to you as he finally retired. Although you knew you wouldn’t maintain the cafe forever, you still found a way to love the little shop on the corner of the street regardless of the amount of annoying customers you dealt with daily, 

You weren’t surprised in the least to see Kirishima’s face constantly wherever you went. You were well aware of his reputation as one of the promising students and upcoming heroes when he was at U.A. so you couldn’t help but smile everytime he was on the news. Even some of your regulars caught onto your little crush as the TV in the cafe would only play anything and everything Red Riot related.

And then that faithful day came, the door swinging open as the bell above the doorframe rang. A sigh escaped your lips as you wiped another coffee cup dry. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.”

“Aw, guess I was too late. I came by to see you again,” an all too familiar voice said with a light chuckle.

You twisted your head around, gasping internally as Kirishima waved shyly to you. You nearly dropped the cup in your hands but managed to catch it in time. “Y-You! You’re back?!”

Kirishima stepped forward, leaning his forearms on the counter. “Yeah, I’m in town so I thought I’d stop by my favorite place for some of your meat buns.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you crouched down in front of the display case that luckily had one meat bun left. You put it in a bag and slid it over to him. “Guess I can’t say no when Red Riot’s the one asking me for some meat buns.”

Kirishima laughed, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly. “Nah, it’s not like that! I’m Red Riot to most people but I’m just Kirishima with you.”

And for the next few days Kirishima continued to stop by your cafe, deciding to pop in after closing time since people would crowd around him when the place was open. Your adoration for him only grew as he did for you. He was a genuine person, one who hadn’t changed despite the years that had gone by and the reputation he had created for himself. He truly was an amazing person.

But to your disappointment, his visits decreased once again until he stopped showing up. You knew you couldn’t be mad at him, understanding that he had a demanding job, one which he couldn’t predict when he would be busy or not. And yet you couldn’t ignore the deep despondency you felt when you realized you wouldn’t see his toothy grin and that those blazing crimson eyes again for a while.

Just like it had before, time passed and sooner than later, a year had gone by. 

Kirishima was finally in Musutafu again and he walked down the street with a jig in his step, anticipating the expression on your face for when you would see him again. But he stopped dead in his footsteps, disbelief written all over his face as he saw the front doors of the cafe had been boarded up, signs littered all over the windows. “CLOSED DOWN FOR BUSINESS” was written on the signs and Kirishima felt his heart nearly sink to his feet.

He couldn’t believe it, not wanting to believe that he was too late. He couldn’t help but think that if he were more considerate towards you and let you know when he would be leaving and showing up then he might have made it in time, he might have gotten closer to you so that he could keep in touch.

But it was too late. It seemed that Kirishima would never see you again... or so he thought.

“Kirishima?” Kirishima whipped his head around to the source of the sound, an invisible weight lifting off his shoulders once he saw your figure approaching him.

Small snowflakes began falling gently from the sky as Kirishima let out a breath of air. He couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you looked, your face snug under the fabric of your scarf wrapped around your neck to keep warm from the frigidness outside.

“What happened to this place?” Kirishima asked, gesturing to the closed down cafe.

You let out a sigh, glaring at him. “You know, if you showed up moreoften then you wouldn’t be out of the loop.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been busy with work but I should’ve stopped by more than I did,” Kirishima admitted.

You smiled softly. “It’s alright, I was just joking. I know you’re busy kicking ass out there. But some company bought out the place and the rest of the shops down this road for some construction. Apparently they’re putting something else here. It was a shit ton of money so obviously I wasn’t gonna turn it down.”

“I see,” Kirishima mumbled, glancing over at the building. So many memories flooded his mind of the times he spent at this little cafe, all being bright and making his high school days a little more bearable compared to all of the chaos he faced at U.A. It made him dejected to see he wouldn’t have an excuse to see you anymore.

Or maybe he could change that now…

“Your number,” he sputtered out, extending his arm with him phone in hand to you. “Can I have your number?”

You blinked confusedly at him. “Uh sure!” You took the phone in your hand and punched in your name and your number and waved at him. “Well, I’ve gotta go. I need to sign some papers to officially sell this place.”

He took his phone back, smiling sheepishly at you before parting his lips to say one more thing to you. “I wanna take you out... to make up for all the times I left without saying anything.”

You smirked at the him, patting his shoulder as you walked past him, turning your head slightly to reply. “I’ll hold you to it, hero.”

***

“Can’t believe they turned that plaza into this beautiful park,” you said, leaning onto your boyfriend’s arm.

Kirishima tensed under your touch, his left hand dropping beside the bench to grab a plastic bag that he had left in preparation for the outing. He picked it up and placed it on his lap, pulling a sealed meat bun out from the bag.

You eyed the delicious food in delight, your stomach practically growling at the sight. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I got it from the market we used to go to. Their meat buns are so good.”

You scoffed, snatching the delectable bun from your boyfriend’s hands. “Nothing compares to my meat buns.”

Kirishima let out a laugh. “You’re not wrong there.”

He watched you in fondness as you ripped open the plastic and took a big bite out of the bun. He rose a finger to your lips, wiping away a stray piece of dough from the corner of your lips. Even while devouring food you were gorgeous.

Kirishima reached into the bag once more, gripping the velvet box in his fist. He turned his head to you as you continued to eat. “I used to go to that cafe everyday in my freshman year for some meat buns and I just remember thinking this place can’t get any better. And then you showed up and you gave me another reason to visit everyday.”

You smiled, wiping your mouth with the remaining bun in your hand. Kirishima rose a finger to your lips when you attempted to say something. “Wait, just… let me say this.”

You nodded slowly, slightly perplexed by what he was attempting to do. Kirishima looked down at the box which was out of your view. “I always thought that you were one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. And then that day when you stuck up for that poor girl who was being harassed by that creep? That was the day I knew I liked you, ‘cause you were a badass. I always thought heroes who were manly were cool… but you were the coolest. You’ve always spoken up for the things you believed in and it’s something I’ve always admired and loved about you.”

Kirishima looked back up at you, smiling with his cheeks tinting a light pink hue. “And then after all those years I finally got your number and the more time I spent with you, the faster I fell for you. And now after the years we’ve been together, I can’t help but want to be with you forever.”

You smiled from his sweet words, the chewed up meat bun filling your cheeks as you were completely oblivious to what he was attempting to do. “Eiji, you’re being so fucking cute right now.”

Kirishima laughed, his nerves quickly diminishing. “You idiot, I’m trying to say that I want to marry you.”

He pulled out the box with one swift movement, flicking the lid open to reveal a silver band with a ginormous diamond resting on top of it. Your eyes widened as you dropped the half-eaten bun to the floor. You began choking on the meat bun that was in your mouth, coughing profusely from the shock.

Kirishima rubbed your back, making sure that you were alright. “Are you okay?!”

Your coughs ceased as you were covering your mouth and you felt a wet substance hit your fingertips. Tear after tear emerged from your eyes as you began crying uncontrollably. Kirishima was dumbfounded as he dropped the velvet box to his lap. Maybe he shouldn’t have proposed so soon… maybe you weren’t ready… 

“I’m sorry… you don’t have to say yes. I was probably getting ahead of myself,” Kirishima muttered, gloom evident in his tone.

You peered up at him through wet lashes and wrapped your arms around him. You held onto him for a moment before you pulled away, kissing him harshly. He was left disoriented, not understanding what was going on. Again you pulled away, his cheeks cupped in your hands as you laughed through your tears. “Why would you even think I’d say anything but ‘yes?’ Of course I want to marry you, Eijirou!”

Kirishima’s face broke out into a grin as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for another kiss as he felt your tears wetting his face. He thought he couldn’t be happier with the time he had spent with you but in that moment he was the happiest he had ever been. He was now engaged to the love of his life, and he couldn’t believe it.

It all started with his love for meat buns… now he could look forward to his new life forever with you.

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[kaaras-adaar]

Every Heartbeat

Characters: Kaaras Adaar, Aith, Stenn, Taali Pre-Inquisition (Kaaras 25 years old)  Warning: Contains profanity, character death, adult themes, alcohol mentions

He didn’t even have time to grieve as she lay there, the gore covering her body. An axe, and a big one. It didn’t matter how powerful the woman had been, she was no match for multiple assailants. No match for a fucking ambush! An ambush which could have very well been avoided. But this was what happened when the majority of a group voted, wasn’t it? And when Kaaras didn’t have the last say in such orders.

 Never again.

 He’d already told himself that this was it. It was over. How could he possibly continue to work for people such as the Ralshokra when they were so rash in their thinking, in their strategies? This was what happened when money was more valuable than a person’s life! And not just any person, but his trainer, his mentor, the woman he’d been training with for years now! Over ten years! And now she was gone within the blink of an eye. How easily a life could be taken…

 It was a miracle that he was alive himself, and he’d managed to take a few men out, but when it came down to it, Kaaras didn’t really blame the enemy—especially when they knew no better than to see Saarebas as a savage oxwoman who would kill any man who crossed her path. She looked the part, yes, but she was like a second mother to him. She had been there for him when his father had died, when he could not look his mother in the eye after it all happened. She’d never just been a mentor to him, but family. And there was another one to add to the damn list! Another name on his fucking hands. This would have never have happened if he’d put his damn foot down harder! If he’d been calling the shots. If he’d stood up and made his point clearer. Of course… he turned to self blame. Kaaras always did.

 He warned them! He warned them that the mission was dangerous. And yet, to a mercenary, nothing was dangerous provided the coin was enough payment. And they’d been given such a large sum upfront that of course Taali wouldn’t deny it. Greedy. Fucking greedy! No coin, no riches, was ever worth someone’s life!

 Shaking, Kaaras panted as he marched his way back to the meeting point. The mission was done, they’d get their coin, but at what cost? If he knew that this would have been the outcome, he’d have never agreed to take the job. Alas… time was something he knew he could never turn back. It was too late, Saarebas was dead, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

 But there was something he could do to make damn sure that this would never happen again…

 Pushing the door open, the young mage moved over to their captain, and eyes were fiery red, not just because that’s the colour they were, but they were angry, burning, and perhaps even tear-stung. He’d not even been able to retrieve her body yet, not in the mix of everything.

 “Are you happy now?” he barked. “A valuable part of this team has been killed! That didn’t have to happen, and you all know damn well that it could have been prevented!” To say he was furious was a damn well understatement. The young qunari was deeply upset and disturbed by the outcome.

  Taali stood up, the woman taller than him—although it didn’t take much for any qunari to be taller than Kaaras. He was the runt of the littler, even if he was a good build and a strong mage.

 “Calm down, Adaar, you got your coin.” She shoved the little bag into his hands, and it was immediately tossed onto the floor, clinking with a heavy thud, just to signify the amount that was within. An easy job never got heavy coin.

 Kaaras seethed. “I don’t want your coin! I want Saarebas alive and well!” Which very well wasn’t going to happen, and he knew that. It didn’t stop the words from spewing out of his mouth, thick with daggers in her direction. Because, yes, it was her fault that this happened. Bad orders were made, and as the captain of this mercenary band, she had to take responsibility of the lives within.

 What was there of the group moved a little uneasily at the scuffle that was going on between the two. Taali’s eyes moved to the elf that had joined up with Kaaras, his adopted sister of sorts. But when she went to put a hand to his arm, he just threw it off. Temperamental mage, he was. He’d always been hot-headed, and she knew that the moment they started working together, but Kaaras’ heart had always been in the right place. In her eyes… that wasn’t always a good thing. It got in the way of their work. Such as now.

 She clicked her tongue in a scoff. “Look, Kaaras, you knew the risks of being a mercenary when you joined Saarebas and her company before coming here. I don’t know how they do things in Ferelden, but the Marches are different.  A lot more people here, too, and a lot more bad people. A lot more coin and a hellova lot more competition. We got the job done–,”

 “Is that all you care about? That you got some fucking coin!?” Kaaras’ voice was strained, disbelief cracking through. He couldn’t believe it. He knew that things were different up north, he also knew that mercenary life wasn’t always the most ethical in nature, but this was drawing a line.

 He drew a heavy breath, hands balling into fists as he tried to keep his temper down to a minimum. It was to no avail. He didn’t like being angry, in fact, he hated it. He feared his anger turned him into a monster, like so many people had said about him, even when calm. He was a qunari, he was a savage. He thought that the humans of Ferelden had just been cruel, but this… this made him worry that perhaps what they said about his kind was in fact true. And that shattered his heart.

 He’d worked so hard to not be that image, to be a kindhearted individual, giving and compassionate. And now, what stood before him was the opposite. She cared for nothing but her coin. Even her people were expendable. It didn’t matter so long as her pockets were heavy and her sword was strapped to her back. It made him sick to the stomach.

 “One of your people died today, Taali, and you… you can’t show at least a little bit of sympathy?” Why was he even bothering with it? He’d seen it before. People died in companies every day, just as bandits did. And honestly, he was starting to feel like that’s exactly what this company was. A group of thugs. The only difference was that they got paid, whereas bandits simply raided for the sake of it. Perhaps that was even worse.

 He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t stay… Not when it was clearly alright that people died so long as they got a little coin in their purse. That wasn’t what he stood for, and it never would be. Kaaras simply wasn’t the type. He became a mercenary to help his mother survive, so he and Aith could grow up and provide for themselves and they could keep a place they could call home. He knew it wasn’t easy work, and he knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t work like this and feel proud of himself anymore. He felt no more than a common thug, and that went against everything he believed in.

  Taali shook her head and gruffly sighed. “What do you want me to do, Adaar? Sing a song for her? That’s not my thing, and it’s not gonna bring her back either. We move on and we do the next job. If you want a eulogy, then talk to Stenn.” She threw her thumb over her shoulder.

 “Hey, have some respect!” the small elf snapped from beside Kaaras. She could already tell that Kaaras was at breaking point, and Taali wasn’t making it any better with her quips. She wasn’t going to sit by and let her speak about Saarebas like that. That was her friend, too. She may deal with her grieving a little differently than Kaaras, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset that the woman had died.

 This was just getting tiring. “Stenn, I’m done, can you please deal with your boyfriend?” She gave a huff and sat herself back down, eyeing the coin that was on the floor from where Kaaras had thrown it, but Aith saw her and snatched it up, shoving it into her pocket. Smart girl. Kaaras, in his own tiff, probably would have just left it there. At least someone in the damn family knew how things were. Took an ex Dalish to as well. Balls, Kaaras could be so dumb sometimes.

  Stenn had been sitting at the table within the room they were all in. Currently, the older qunari male was nursing a tankard of ale. It was around about now that he’d usually be writing his next ballad after a job well done. Unfortunately, he didn’t like the outcome of this one, but he also had been on Taali’s side for this mission. Sometimes, people were lost, and there wasn’t much to be done about it.

 Alas, he cared deeply for Kaaras, and had for the last year. The young man had been… troublesome when he’d come to them, moody, drinking, guarded. Incredibly guarded. It took patience with Kaaras, patience that Stenn had, and he’d fallen for the young lad. Still, it was times like this that he was reminded that Kaaras absolutely wore his heart on his sleeve, and at times it was… irrational.

 Standing, he gestured for Kaaras to follow him, taking his hand carefully. “Come with me, we’ll take a walk outside, get some fresh air.” His smile was gentle, tender, and he saw Kaaras’ eyes flicker back to Taali. He knew that the Vashoth needed time away from the situation to settle.

 “C’mon.” It was a soft, encouraging order, and his hand moved to Kaaras’ back, quietly ushering him out of the door. When there was no argument from the blonde, the corners of his eyes creased in a smile, the warm, city air hitting his skin when they stepped outside.

 Kaaras took a deep breath, and there were tears in his eyes now, the shock of Saarebas’ death finally starting to settle in. He swallowed thickly, and desperately tried not to let the tears slip down his cheeks, looking away from his lover. If there was someone other than Aith, surely it was Stenn who would agree with him.

 “I’m sorry…” he murmured, putting a hand to his face and trying to wipe away the tears from his glazed eyes. They continued to come, though.

  Stenn shook his head, frowning. “Oh, Kaaras, don’t apologise.” He took the man’s hand and lowered it, only to see Kaaras lower his head and close his eyes, the tears being forced from his eyes. He pulled him into a careful embrace, and then he felt the smaller man’s sobs shake through his body.

 Losing someone was never easy. Taali didn’t have a lot of sympathy, no, and she could have dealt with the situation better. But Stenn had to agree that they got their coin and the job was done. It had its losses, yes, but… they all knew the risks—including Kaaras.

 Pulling him tight, Stenn moved his hands over Kaaras’ back, cooing to him softly. “I’m sorry, Kaaras. Taali should not be so rough, but you know her. She’s a ‘get the job done’ kind of woman. It’s nothing against you.”

 Kaaras’ eyes clenched shut against the warmth of the other man’s chest and he pressed his face into the crook of his neck before he withdrew, tear stained eyes looking at the older man. “Don’t… don’t stick up for her. She knows what she is doing. She just doesn’t care.”

 “That’s not true, Kaaras.” He put his hand to the man’s stubble-covered cheek, eyes caring and soft.

 “Bullshit. You saw her just as well as I did back there. She didn’t even bat an eye at knowing someone died.” Kaaras wiped his face down and pushed the tears back. Not here, not like this. He would mourn when he could, but he wasn’t about to bring Stenn down with it, too.

 “Maker’s breath, I… She’s still back there, Stenn. I… I have to get her body. I have to burn it.”

 The Ferelden tradition, Stenn knew. Burning the bodies so they did not catch the Taint of the Blight. “What Taali said back there… about me saying some words. I can if you wish, Kaaras, I don’t mind.”

 Kaaras shook his head, sniffing softly. “No… it’s… it’s alright.” He looked back up at the older man and offered him a sad smile. “It’s something Aith and I should do alone. Just… wait for me, please? I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.” And he was still furious about Taali, but there was little he could do about that now. At least, she was out of his sight.

  Stenn nodded, and he planted a kiss on the mage’s forehead. “I will wait up for you.”

 With a soft sigh, Kaaras licked his lips and pulled his shoulders back, putting a brave face on. He needed to go and collect Aith, and then they’d travel back to where he’d moved Saarebas’ body. He should have carried it back with him, but it had been too risky. Now, the woman’s corpse sat alone, bloodied and gory. He’d at least do right by her, by saying a final goodbye and burning what remained.

*****

 It was late by the time Kaaras got back in, and the tavern they were staying in had all but died down. There were some common folk who were still drinking, and Kaaras could smell the alcohol in his nostrils. It took every ounce of his strength in such a state of mind to just continue walking up the stairs. He desperately wanted a drink, but all his hard work would be for nothing. He couldn’t lose that tonight, too.

 The smell of ash and burning was against his clothes. The scent of death, blood and gore. He needed a bath, urgently, and he wanted to be alone. He wanted to be back in Ferelden, home and away from this place. He wanted to be away from the Ralshokra and the city. Fuck, he hated the city so much! It was smoggy and reeked of plague illness and death, as well as drunkards. He missed the smell of hay and grass, the farm back home. But every day he was away from Ferelden was more coin he earned for his mother so she could still keep that farm.

 Tugging his collar undone, the Vashoth pushed the door open to see Stenn laying on the bed, quill and a pot of ink there. He was writing a tale, he assumed. But even right now, Kaaras couldn’t deal with listening to such sweet and symbolic words. He was tired, so tired, and his eyes stung from what felt like a fountain of never ending tears, the salt drying on his lashes.

 At the sight of his lover, Stenn leant up, putting his quill aside. “Did everything go alright?” he asked. “Do you wish to speak of it?”

 Kaaras just shook his head. “It’s done… that’s… that’s all that matters right now.” He made his way over to the small desk inside the tiny room, the boards beneath him creaking as he did so. It wasn’t quite over, though. Kaaras had had time to think when he and Aith were there with what remained of Saarebas. They did more than just think, too.  

 He couldn’t be here anymore. He couldn’t work with the Ralshokra anymore. It hadn’t been the first time his ethical conscious had prodded him and he’d felt uneasy doing a job. Things were different in Ferelden, with Saarebas leading them. The jobs they did still meant hard work, but they weren’t… like this. Breaking the law wasn’t something Kaaras enjoyed doing, even if it was for coin. And while not all jobs were like that, he knew, there was still enough to make him feel uneasy, and unhappy. He wanted to be proud of his work, and here, he simply couldn’t.

 Sensing the tension within the other man, Stenn pushed himself up from the bed and approached the younger qunari. “Kaaras, I know you’re going through the mourning stages, but–,”

 “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Stenn blinked, trying to analyse the look across his lover’s face as one of confusion spread across his own.

 “I… I can’t work with this company.” Kaaras swallowed thickly and folded his arms against his chest, his expression stern, but still hurting. The sound of his voice was more trying to convince himself than anyone else.

  Stenn felt his brows furrow. Because Saarebas had died? Was it all because of that? “Kaaras, you’re grieving–,”

 “No.” The Vashoth shook his head. “It’s not that, Stenn. It’s… it’s the way this company runs itself. Someone died today, someone close, and a part of this team, and Taali just shrugs it off like we mean nothing! Like life itself means nothing!”

 His hands slapped back down to his sides. “You’ve been here longer than I have. Don’t you see how that’s not alright? It wouldn’t have mattered if it were someone else, and it’s not just because Saarebas was my mentor,” although that was pretty serious, considering, “I am here to make a difference, to try and better this world. How am I doing that when people are dying?”

  Stenn shook his head, putting a hand to Kaaras’ shoulder. “Bad things happen, Kaaras, you can’t save everyone. You know this,” he explained. “You’re upset, and you are hurting, and I understand that, but please take a moment to listen to yourself. What you are saying. You’d give up your work here, because something bad happened? Because we lost one man.”

 One man? That woman was his family! And Stenn was…

 Kaaras’ brows arched as he watched the expression form across his lover’s visage. How did Stenn not understand, because what he was saying was simply that he was upset because someone died. That someone wasn’t just a someone to him! And that someone could have been any other man or woman in this company and he’d still feel the same! And they should be mourning! People weren’t just items that got slashed to pieces every damn day, they were people!. Real, living people!

 “And you’d stay? Knowing that your captain is a heartless, greedy, coin mongering bitch?” he asked.

 The expression on Stenn’s face hardened at the name calling. “Kaaras, that’s uncalled for.”

 “No, you sticking up for her is uncalled for!” He shook his head in disbelief. “Because that’s what she is. She doesn’t care for anything other than her coin! And perhaps it’s unfair for me to call her a bitch, but you stand there and tell me she isn’t. Because every mission we go on, she’s always been up her arse over it. She doesn’t listen, she doesn’t care who gets injured, so long as the job is done. I will not stand by when coin becomes more important than people’s wellbeing!”

 The older man’s frown didn’t disappear. “This is how we’ve always done it in the Ralshokra, Kaaras, and when you joined, you knew what was at stake. I am sorry that Saarebas didn’t make it, but you are acting like a child.”

 Kaaras’ ears pricked back and his jaw grew tight. So he was a child because he cared? Because he didn’t want to be part of a group that was fine with their members dying off so long as a job got done and coin went in their pockets?

 To say he was disappointed was quite the understatement. He was pissed off and hurt, and even more, he felt betrayed that Stenn could stand there and call him a child for his compassion. He knew that his temper could get the better of him at times; he also knew that his moods made him hard to be around. But he would never take back the fact that he cared about people more than the weight of his coin purse.

 Stubborn til the end, he stood his ground. “I have made my choice, Stenn. I’m leaving tonight. Aith and I, and a few others who have agreed with me.” Which was why he’d taken so long to get back tonight. He’d spoken to a few of the other members of the company, and they agreed that they could no longer take part in the group’s activity.

 A few others? Stenn’s expression turned to concern, but he was just as stubborn. Kaaras was still young, and highly emotional. He had gotten better now that he was off the hooch, but even then, the man was exceptionally emotional at times. He’d come back, surely. Once the morning came around, all of this would blow over. Kaaras, after all, needed the coin, despite his caring nature. He was also (usually) a reasonable man.

 “Kaaras, I can’t stop you from leaving, but please sleep on this. What you are saying is… unreasonable.” He chose his words carefully, not to stir the other up again. “Taali may not be the most tender of leaders, but you can’t deny that she does get the job done, and that that work has made you wealthy in your stay here. What do you expect? For her to beg for you and the others to come back? Begging is not in her nature.”

 “No,” Kaaras stated calmly, but still blunt in tone. “I don’t expect anything, Stenn. I already said I have made my decision. We are leaving come morn, and you are welcome to come with us.” Part of him wanted to beg that the older man would come with him. Was he foolish to expect his lover to follow him? Perhaps. But this was not his choice to make. He’d already made his, and he was leaving. If Stenn wanted to stay (and he hoped he did not), then there was little he could do.

 What was he saying? Stenn took a breath and tried to make sense of it all. Damnit, the man was stubborn! But he couldn’t just up and leave. Unlike Kaaras, this was his life, and it had been for years now. He couldn’t just stand there and give it all up because Kaaras was being stubborn and throwing a tantrum.

 Putting a hand to his forehead, he looked back at the ruby eyes. They were clearly waiting for an answer. Stenn had none. For once in his life, he didn’t know what to say. No poem or ballad could get him out of this.

 Kaaras saw it, though, and he felt his chest clench tight before his heart fell to his very bowels. “You don’t need to say it,” he commented, “your silence and hesitation is enough.” Stenn wanted to stay.

 When Kaaras turned to grab his things, Stenn pulled his arm back. “Wait, Kaaras, please reconsider.”

 “There is nothing to reconsider. It’s done… We’re… we’re done.” And it burned to say it, and his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces as the words escaped his mouth. The anger from his expression was gone, morphed into something else. But he couldn’t stay here, and if Stenn couldn’t come then that was it. The both of them were simply too hung in their ways.

 “Don’t do this, Kaaras. We can work something out. Let me talk to Taali for you, she might listen to me, I’ve known her longer,” he tried to explain. Damnit, the man didn’t have to leave! And yet, it seemed that this had been something Kaaras had been considering for quite some time. Maybe this was just the thing that pushed him off the precipice.

 “And what? Have her ignore you, or worse, lie to you? Nothing will change, Stenn. You said it yourself, you’ve known her longer. Look me in the eyes and tell me that it will change, that she will change.” When the other man said nothing, Kaaras just nodded. That was his answer once more, Stenn couldn’t tell him anything else, nor could he convince him that things would be different. He needed out.

 “Taali and I are too different, and that—that’s fine. I’m not asking for her to roll over, and I’m not about to mutiny against her. This is her company, Stenn. Not mine. But I can no longer work for her, and that is my choice. Just as it is yours to stay here.”

 There was silence between them for a moment, and Stenn tried to think of something he could say that would make Kaaras change his mind. Nothing came, though…    

 “I’ll write to you… We can meet up, catch up with one another.”

 That only stung more. Kaaras couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it to himself and he couldn’t do it to Stenn. If he’d not cried all the tears his body was capable of producing when they burned Saarebas, then he’d be crying this second. But he also didn’t want to, he didn’t want to make Stenn feel guilty, he didn’t want to manipulate him, he didn’t want any of this! But he had to do something.

 Closing his trunk, he stood back up and turned to the man he’d almost said he loved on so many occasions, and the words still lingered there at the tip of his very tongue. They wanted to come out so badly, he wanted to tell the man that he loved him. If he said it now, though… that was only cruel. Cruel to the both of them.

 “Thank you,” he said instead, his eyes raw and tired, but honest. “For everything you ever did for me, Stenn. You helped me more than anyone in this world has, and I will never forget that.” Before he broke down there and then, he opened the door and made his way out of the room as quickly as he could. If Stenn tried to stop him, he didn’t know what he’d do, and he couldn’t afford it right now.

 He was wrong, there were still tears there, and they were quick to blur his vision as he made his way down the stairs. When he got outside, he pressed his back to the wooden wall and sunk to the floor in a crouch, his hands covering his face. Why’d he do it? Why’d he say goodbye? Fuck, he didn’t even say goodbye! But he couldn’t stay here anymore, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t work like this, and it wasn’t just him either. He had to look after his sister. If Taali ended up putting her on a mission and she got herself killed… He’d never forgive himself. The only reason Aith was here was because of him.

 This was the right choice. He knew it, Aith knew it, and the others who agreed knew it, too. Taali was restless, brash in thinking and eventually she’d get everyone killed, including herself! And as much as it hurt to do what he just did, he could no longer stay. And it was clear that Stenn couldn’t go with him.

 Drawing his scarf up around his face, he wiped his eyes with it, the scent of the other man still clinging to it from their time shared together. There was nothing he could do now, though, but move forward.

 Taking a deep and controlled breath, he pushed himself back up, swallowing and wiping his face. He’d not forget the nights spent of passion with him, the soft words and even softer kisses. He’d not forget the nightmares and shakes he suffered, sweating while detoxing from alcohol and feeling utterly useless while Stenn encouraged and supported him every step of the way.

 He had become a better man because of Stenn, and he would never, ever stop thanking him for that. But he also had to keep being that better person, and staying here… he could not achieve that. It didn’t matter how much his heart ached right now, from two losses this night, he had a family to protect, to care for and look after, and that included himself.  

 Gathering himself, he took his trunk and headed towards the meeting spot they’d previously spoken of. It would be empty now, but he couldn’t return to the tavern. He’d wait for morning to come, and a new day would dawn. A new life for him also. It hurt now, but in due time, Kaaras knew that the pain would make him stronger, and that it was time to run his own life.