#anyway evidence i would become an echo and hang out with this guy in the fungus room

[kelocitta]

Day 31: Ancients “I did not have the will to depart, nor the desire. Why did they always search for an escape, as if we were imprisoned? What offering from the void could usurp the gift of life already given?” Ending on a piece about my new favorite Echo

[barzzal]

when the ball drops

summary: out of all the times you wanted to bail, for once you were certainly glad you didn’t ditch this year’s new year’s eve party.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: language, parties, drinking, flirty banters + a smitten mat (set in a pandemic free au)

↳ genre: fluff, meeting a total stranger, early 2000’s romantic/comedy typa thing (what i think at least)

↳ length: imagine; 5.9k

↳ masterlist: the barn

note: this is an entry for @hockeynetwork’s winter fic exchange and i was matched as @bqstqnbruin’s secret santa! i genuinely hope you get to enjoy this, boo!! i wanna thank a few mutuals, @tkachukme @calgarycanuck @pizzarandomness (esp @thirteenisles !!) for helping me out so i could get thru with writing this imagine! you guys are so nice i truly appreciate all of you. happy holidays & happy new year, everyone! 💕 (gif used: mine)

Every year you swear to yourself that you would spend the New Year’s at home, eating a peaceful dinner by yourself and maybe enjoy a good bottle of wine whilst you spend the whole night watching The Holiday. But just like all the other years you have spent alone since you’ve moved to New York, you end up breaking that same promise, pretty much with the help of your two best friends Emma and Katie.

Now, instead of being curled up in your living room, wearing your favourite knitted sweater and away from all the New Year chaos happening all at once in the very best place to celebrate such a festive occasion, here you are, getting your second glass of vodka tonic as you wait for the goddamn ball to drop.

The local bar has always been crowded especially during this time of the year. You and your friends already made it an annual thing which is probably the reason why despite the yearning you have for the idea of spending it all alone, you couldn’t find enough courage to ditch them and disappear even just for one night. 

“Where are the girls?” Gavin, the owner of the bar whom you’ve already befriended due to the amount of times you and the girls spent helping him close up was busily wiping the counter when you sat in your usual seat.

You casually motioned your hand to where you left Emma and Katie, dancing with men they’d most certainly end up kissing once the clock strikes twelve. 

“Alone again? You’ve got to blow off some steam, y/n.” He greets you with a concerned look exuding from his virile exterior. You idly shake your head, giving him a tight smile to reassure him that you were doing okay. 

“It’s not that big a deal.” is the usual thing you say to people when your being ‘alone’ on the holidays becomes in question. “Besides, I’m a big girl, Gavs.” You proudly announce, leaning against the bar with your palm resting underneath your chin. 

“I know you’re a ‘big girl’.” He rolls his eyes before his gaze trails off to your friends and then landing onto a couple of young lads from across the room. “I’m just saying, loosen up. Meet people. It feels nice to have someone holding you close at night so don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

A snort bursts from you as soon as you hear the words leave Gavin’s mouth. Who would have known a guy as tough-looking as him would be too much of a softy underneath? 

“What?” He holds his guard as he continues making your drink. The liquid swirling around a few ice cubes and a shot of liquor. 

“Nothing, nothing. I just– I didn’t think you were one of those people.” You say, clearing your voice once you’ve finally gathered yourself. “You know, the sappy romantics.”

Gavin looks at you, giving you an ‘Oh, please.’ look. “No, ‘cause that’s where you’re wrong.” He protests. “I’ve always been this soft, “sappy romantic” kinda guy. You just choose to see me the way you see me; a typical macho man who hands you good drinks.” He pauses, finishing off with the last touches of your drink. “But you know what? That’s fine. ‘Cause that’s how I know you’re just like me.” He then slides the cold drink towards you. 

“What do you mean?” You were intrigued to be fair. You already had your head tilted to the side trying to piece something that could justify what he just said.

“That.” He looks at you, index finger circling before your eyes to make his argument even more compelling. “You act like a strong independent woman, which by the way you still are,– but you have to admit that you do want someone who’s gonna want to spend his New Year’s watching that dumb old movie of yours.” He says with a grin before he pours another customer a shot of tequila. 

You were sure you wanted to just shrug it off, but somehow, you can’t help but think of how his words hit you in the subtlest way. Each word bearing an insane amount of possibilities of him being right all along. 

But what’d he know anyway? It’s not like he knew you better than anyone else. Maybe it’s just his way with words. Or maybe he’s just that good. After all, that’s basically the reason why he’s running a goddamn bar, right?

𖥸

It wasn’t Mat’s first time spending New Year’s away from his family but if he only had a choice, he’d certainly take the next plane with no question. However, given how the team’s fight for the Cup is going stronger than the last season, he couldn’t bring himself to risk going away and missing out on his usual routines. So, for the past couple of weeks he’d let himself be stuck with Beauvillier throughout the holidays. 

Now, for the sake of festivities, the two decided it’d be best to come out to the city and have fun welcoming the New Year along with some good friends that were surprisingly available at the last minute. That being said, the local bar was already the third one they’ve gone to having started the drinking binge earlier than intended. 

“Happy New Fucking Year, Motherfuckers!” The loudest and perhaps, the drunkest man cheered at the center of the dance floor, holding up his drink carelessly as he danced to the mind numbing EDM coming off from the DJ’s booth. 

“Way to get wasted. Am I right?” Dan says as he stands to gather everyone and clink their beer mugs for the nth time. 

“Somebody’s definitely gonna miss the ball drop.” Tito snides, referring to the drunken man cheering tirelessly. Mat shakes his head and idly laughs. Their glasses meet halfway, causing some of the beer to spill over the table. The loud music and cheers echoed in Mathew’s ears, finding the whole scene a little too overwhelming despite how he liked to loosen up with bottomless drinks coming his way. 

Somehow, he was thankful that he needed a second to breathe which only meant having to take his eyes off of the same guys he hangs with on and off the ice. Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to see someone so beautiful yet seemingly out of place when his gaze landed onto that one girl sitting by the bar all by herself at what seems to be the loudest pub in the city. 

“God, she’s pretty.” The words unknowingly slip off his tongue, making him realize he’s announced his thoughts out for the group just enough to make their brows quirk at the now out-of-reach Mathew.

“What?” Anthony leans closer to him so as to give himself a view of what Mat had his eyes peeled for. 

“That girl by the bar, she’s— she’s really pretty.” Mathew says, completely sure that he has never said anything true in his life. Much to his surprise, the boys gathered around and turned their heads towards the girl sitting by the bar. 

“So? Go and talk to her, man.” Anthony casually proposes with a nudge, urging him to go after her. 

Mathew immediately lets out a foolish scoff and chooses to gulp a large amount of liquor from his mug. 

“Yeah, just go for it. What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Tyson chides, looking at the girl who has utterly made their night a little more interesting. That being said, being stuck with the three biggest blokes wasn’t that too interesting to begin with. 

“Oh, worst thing? She could hear me!” Mat runs a hand through his hair, incapable of taking his eyes off of her even just for a second. 

“You know if you don’t, I will.” Tyson puts his beer down and acts as if to make the move Mathew was too hesitant to do himself in order to boost his mate.

“Fuck off. Fine. Hold my beer.” Mat rolls his eyes and shoves Tyson his mug before gathering himself by straightening creases off his suit along with a few sharp breaths to ease out the nervousness he’d been feeling.

You watch the teeny tiny leaf of mint swirl around the whirl of liquor you’ve successfully made, ignoring all the background noise, still evidently fixated on the words Gavin has left you with earlier. Has it really been that long since you allowed yourself to be fully vulnerable around someone? 

A sad smile escapes your lips, one that made the man that was now towering all over you wonder what could have possibly caused such melancholy on the most beautiful girl he has seen all throughout the city. That’s a rather heavy way to put it but that doesn't mean he was lying. He did find you really pretty. Maybe even a little too much and too out of his league.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts.

“Hi.” He says, gray eyes illuminated by the strobe lights hitting your direction. You give him a tight smile, acknowledging his presence and frankly even the boldness he had to strike up a conversation. 

“I just wanted to ask if what you’re drinking is any good.” Mat subconsciously reprimands himself for coming up with what is yet to be the lamest thing he’s ever told a girl. 

Great. Now, you’re asking her if a vodka tonic is good? As if it could get any better? He thinks to himself. So, to compensate and reduce further damage, he plays it off by laughing quite sheepishly as he absent-mindedly massages his nape.

Noticing what the man was doing, you let out a shy laugh too, biting your lower lip as you find his foolish attempt of hitting on you quite adorable.

“Wow. You’re really good at this.” You tease, now giving away a playful smile, poking at his middle school pick up line. 

Mathew chuckles. His doe eyes shy and alienated by the confidence he certainly knew he had not until a few seconds ago when he met yours. “I swear I’m better than this.” He tries again, this time earning himself a soft giggle from you.

Atta boy, Mat. 

“I’m Mat by the way. Mathew Barzal.” 

He reaches out his hand which you gladly took. It was calloused and rough around the edges whilst Mat found yours completely fitting in his. Your eyes meet halfway as you both shook each other’s hands. Fingers lingering quite longer than it should be.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“So, you’re telling me you haven’t had a tonic before?” You ask him, hands now all to yourselves. Mat leans against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter, unable to suppress the embarrassment now dawning on him upon remembering his little set back.

“I’m sort of a vodka tonic connoisseur.” He kids in an attempt to redeem himself. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You look at him, shaking your head at how unbelievably gorgeous this man is. “Fine. It wasn’t. I’ll give you that.” 

“So,” He takes a deep breath before taking one of the empty seats beside you. “I– I can’t help but wonder, I mean– if it’s not too forward of me, how come you’re drinking alone on New Year’s?” 

You take a sip off of your drink and faintly shake your head, dismissing his query. “Hmm. Actually, no.” 

Mathew muttered an “oh.” at the thought of hearing what he thinks you’re about to say next. To his surprise, and frankly feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his chest, you motion towards your best girls, Emma and Katie who were now obviously way too fond of the guys they just met.

“See those girls?” 

Mathew nods, the answer to his question now becoming much clearer and put together. An answer that absolutely went along with his cards well. 

“Those are two of the most important persons in my life going at it at a New Year’s Eve Party.” 

“Would it be wrong to ask why aren’t you ‘going at it’ like how they’re doing it now?”

Is he always this formal? You think, lips curving to a grin. 

“What?” He asks when he sees the expression (he can’t quite put a finger on) on your face.

“Nah. I’m all good. I mean, not that I don’t want to. I just–” You pause. Unsure of whether telling him the truth would do your case any better. What’s there to lose anyway? He’s just some guy you’re bound to meet at the bar. It’s not like you didn’t anticipate a scenario like this from happening, right?

“Just take me as someone who isn’t really fond of big parties,” he then cuts you off and finishes your sentence, “But still go anyways.” 

“Exactly.” 

Gavin pops in for a bit, handing Mathew a bottle of beer he was certain of not ordering. He looks at him puzzled. A silent question that Gavin answered with a wink before getting back to tending to his alcohol induced customers. 

Apparently, it’s on the house.

“How come you’re here chatting with me when your friends are all the way there?” You motion towards a curly haired man and the other boys across the room. One was even smiling at you but you just opted on giving him a nod before turning your head back towards Mathew.

“Well, I didn’t like the idea of having you celebrate the New Year’s alone.” He honestly says. But since you were the kind of person who wasn’t the best at taking any type of compliment nor flirty exchanges like a normal person would, you roll your eyes and be the blunt person you were always known for. “Oh. I thought you saw a girl sitting alone at the bar and saw that as an opening.” 

To be fair, Mat wasn’t really intimidated by your remark. In fact, he actually liked how straight forward you were with him. You didn’t look at him the way he’s gotten used to whenever he comes up and introduces himself to other girls; something that only made him more interested in you. He can’t help but want to know what exactly is going on in your mind. Not the creepy kind, of course. Just the one where he’d rather spend the New Year’s getting to know a total stranger than getting insanely pissed with the same men he’s spent most of his days with.

“That too.” He admits, taking a sip off his beer without breaking his eyes off you. 

There was a sheer silence for a moment. The kind that Mat knew was much deafening than the booming sound of the usual dreadful New Year’s Eve Party. “So tell me,” Mat regains himself, catching your attention once again. “What would you rather be doing tonight? You know, if you hadn’t had to come out here.” 

He watches your lips quirk thinking about what it was that you actually wanted to do tonight. Then again, you only had one thing in mind. 

“I kinda wanted to spend it alone for the past three years.” 

“That long? How come?”

“Well, you know, for some peace and quiet. Maybe watch a movie or two.”

Like what he has been doing since the moment he’d gone to talk to you, he watches you run your fingers around the rim of your cold drink. Evidently immersed in your own thoughts from trying to piece out the real reason behind your grave wanting to spend the occasion alone. 

Turning the tables, you ask the same question back, “What about you? I mean, other than getting shit faced, what would you rather be doing?” 

Mathew takes a deep breath trying to suppress the longing he’s felt for the past few weeks. He just misses his family so much that he couldn’t help but wonder how they’re doing even if he’s constantly kept in touch with them hours before he’d gone out with the boys. 

“I’ll be with my folks. You know, all that usual family stuff.” He answers you shortly. 

You didn’t think much of what he’s told you so you just tell him the very thing that crossed your mind. “You know, it’s amazing how two people who didn’t even want to be here find each other just so they could bitch about not wanting to be here a little bit more.”

The two of you share a good laugh, utterly and undeniably enjoying each other’s company. It didn’t feel weird having to talk to a total stranger, let alone let them have bits and pieces of yourself that only enables them to put together an image of you that isn’t even as close to who you really are. Regardless of that notion, there was something about how Mathew connected with you, and how you connected with him. 

It was far from being the movie type of thing, but you have to admit, the remainder of the time you two have spent talking over a half empty bottle of beer and a glass of vodka tonic has definitely made the two of you feel this unexplainable wanting of having to learn more about each other. That being said, when all drinks were drunk till its last drop, Mathew couldn’t help himself from wanting to spend a bit more time with you. Maybe, even the whole night if you’d only let him. 

“D’you want to get out of here?” He shoots his shot as quickly as he could, afraid that losing even just a second would mean losing a night of spontaneity with you. 

You have long waited for a reason to miss the annual party. And if that meant having to wait three years just so you could stumble upon a tall and fairly handsome man that was going to save you from a dreadful evening, nothing would’ve felt as right as this if it weren’t for the push Mat had stored in his piercing eyes and mischievous grin. 

You didn’t have to give it much thought. After spending a whole hour exchanging little trivias of yourselves, Mat finally had it easy in making a riveting case. You sigh in defeat as you fish out a few cash from your purse and slide it into your tab. 

Excitement now exuding from Mathew, he bobs his brows up and down whilst he watches you roll your eyes once again for the hundredth time tonight. “I’m gonna hate you for this.” You tell him as you get off the bar stool.

Mat hurriedly signals Tito for his coat to which he was able to catch the moment he had tossed it towards his way. He then gets yours that was placed on the back of your seat before finally following you out towards the door.

“I highly doubt that.” 

𖥸

Mathew draped your coat over your shoulders, helping you to slip into it. You politely say your thanks and hold your purse close, your gloves gripping onto the leather as the two of you stroll the streets of New York, the winter breeze brushing on your cheeks with every stride you make. 

“So,” You begin, putting both of your hands inside your coat pockets. “Where are you taking me, Mat?” 

He tries to think for a second. The thought of not having a concrete plan for the night finally dawns on him. He clicks his tongue and breathes in the familiar scent of the city. Mathew looks around the block and spots the good old food truck he and the boys once tried when they were out for an away game with the Rangers. 

“How about New York’s finest burrito?” He points to where the truck was parked, clueless to how his sudden movement placed him inches closer to you. You didn’t notice it until you looked at him for his eyes were still pinned to where the truck was at. 

Mat’s eyes were pretty. That’s a known fact. But what you didn’t realize was how astonishing they are not until you got this close. You took in the sight sitting before you as fast as you could while he was still preoccupied like a five-year-old kid seeing an ice-cream truck pass by the neighborhood. Your eyes linger from his well structured brows, his unbelievably long lashes, down to the tip of his nose and his rosy cheeks before finally settling down to his cherry plump lips. All of which were more than enough to send butterflies in your stomach. 

“O-Okay.” You agree. Mathew takes you by the hand before you can even say a word. Thank the gods for letting you live in a city that seems to never stop the hustle to still have open food trucks good for a quick bite at this time of the night close into New Year’s.

“Hey, bud. Two sixes to go, please.” Mathew says politely once he knocks on the window. 

“You’ve got to try this, I swear.” He looks back at you with the same warm smile beaming on his face.

“Unless you want a proper meal? I mean, there’s a diner down the–” You immediately cut him off and take out your purse, offering to pay for it instead. “No! It’s fine, really. I’m a bit hungry myself.” 

After spending the whole time waiting for the wrapped snack, arguing on who would be paying, you let Mathew have this one for now even if you didn’t like others paying for what you can pay yourself.

You take a good look at your watch and see that you only have about an hour left till midnight. An idea pops in your head, making you gasp at the thought. Mathew looks at you with a half-eaten burrito in his hand, his brows all furrowed as if to ask a piece of your mind. 

“Come on, I know where we should go.” 

𖥸

Mathew never thought he’d found himself standing on a rooftop of a random building overlooking the Empire State during one of the coldest times in the city. The things that has only kept him sane was the girl who was still holding his hand, the city lights that have always left him in awe, and of course, the well heated rooftop.

There have been a few exchanges that are quite notable over the time you’ve spent with Mathew. He’s told you about the usual night outs he and the boys have for leisure, the family he had back in Coquitlam, how much he misses his mom and his sister, and how much love he has for hockey that he ended up doing the thing he loved most for a career. 

Him, on the one hand, pretty much learned the same stuff about you. Well, almost, for he has yet to ask you the one thing that has been bugging him off all night. 

You were telling him how this was your safe haven in the city and how much you loved going here every time you felt like needing to take a deep breath and step back from the world when he asked you a simple question. One that’s absolutely left you surprised (and a little bit impressed) that he still even remembered it at this point. 

“What’s the movie about? You know, the one you’ve been wanting to see tonight.” He asks, both of his hands inside his pockets to keep warm. 

The two of you sat on the bench facing thousands of lights illuminating the whole city. You look at him for a second, biting your lip as you contest with yourself, the thought of Mat being the kind of douché that would shit around women and their romantic comedy films comes rushing to you like a cold December breeze. 

“Alright, why do you want to know?” You pass the ball back to his court. To which Mat shortly answers with a level-headed sigh. “I kinda get the feeling it has something to do with the three-year thing.” 

“You’re nosy.” You kiddingly say, earning a chuckle from him. 

“You’ve spent the whole night walking with me and I can barely even feel my legs anymore, y/n. Trust me, between you and me, you know you’re the nosy one.” The two of you share a small laugh, your voices are the only sound that can be heard besides the sleepless city acting as a white noise to you and Mathew’s little bubble. 

“Fine. And you’re a fucking athlete, so don’t even start.” 

You playfully give him a nudge on the shoulder when he starts mimicking what you say. Mat stops immediately and looks at you with the same doe eyes glinting under the security lights that the rooftop had. He then patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts, breathing in all of New York as he lets himself drown in your presence. 

You didn’t know how but there was this unspeakable comfort you feel around Mat. Sure, he was just a total stranger you’ve met a few hours ago, but no one, not even the guy who dumped you after your five-date rule, was able to connect with you at the same level as Mathew did. 

“It’s not that I want to see it so bad. I’ve watched it for like– a reasonable amount before it became my comfort movie. Plus, it’s literally called The Holiday. Why wouldn’t you want to see it during the holiday?”

You tell him a bit more of how you’ve come into liking it, stalling him from the real reason why you wanted to celebrate the New Year’s alone. But you know, that even after all the circles you’re willing to go through just to keep Mat at bay, you’re bound to lose all your strings and resort to telling him in the end. You just hope you wouldn’t be making the same mistake you’ve made three years ago. 

You told Mathew about your on and off childhood sweetheart Claude who has always kept you high and dry throughout the years of being together. (That is if you were in fact together.) He was the constant reminder that you will never be the kind of person someone would want to stick around with.

You and him go a long way. You both ended up going to the same university because he just had to have you around and that he couldn’t afford not being with you even just for a second. He said that he couldn’t take the thought of having to see you only on the holidays so as the dumb kid you once were, your feet followed his everywhere he’d gone.

That cycle went on and on until you finally had the courage to leave everything behind and move to New York. Months as a new kid in the city, you were scared, of course. You spent your days hanging around your apartment, doing all sorts of crap you can even think of just so you wouldn’t have to leave your flat. Although, meeting Emma and Katie was the biggest push you needed to finally let yourself let loose. Long story short, at the first New Year’s Eve Party you’ve ever gone to after moving in the city, the person you least expected to see was the very first one to come out of Gavin's bar. Claude.

Just like what a normal person would do, the two of you sat down and caught up. Pretty much the same thing you’ve gone with Mathew. Although only a lot less chit chat and a lot more kissing.

Claude told you his real intentions. He said that he wanted to start something with you for real. Of course, you had let him but you have made the biggest mistake of telling him about your five-date rule.

Lo and behold, Claude did stick around for the fifth date. That being said, he had stayed only for the fifth date. You saw him sneaking out of your flat so early in the morning, leaving you nothing but a voicemail that said his foolish reasons and insincere apologies. Since then, after a lot of major hook ups here and there, you’ve never let yourself become as vulnerable and stupid as you once were with the biggest douche you’ve ever met.

“It’s crazy, I know. You can laugh about it.” You say when Mat hasn’t spoken for a few seconds. 

He takes a glance at you, a tight smile on his face. “I don’t think it’s crazy. That man is crazy. And also, a big prick. Classic dick move.” He tells you before he turns his eyes back to the city.

“Well, yeah. That’s me. That’s the holiday story.” 

“A crappy one, of course.” You add. 

Mat shakes his head no. He didn’t know why exactly but all he wanted to do at that moment, a few seconds before New Year’s, was to give you something,– even just a memory you could look back on. That that story isn’t going to be the one you’d be remembering for the next holidays. He wanted his to be something that’ll make your three-year-old crappy story long gone and forgotten. That his version would be the one that’s stuck.

“Definitely not this one.” 

As the clock strikes twelve, cheers erupted throughout New York along with fireworks shooting into the city’s midnight sky. The first thing you see upon looking back were the same kind eyes of the man whom you have randomly met at the party you dreaded most. Only this time, drowning you little by little as it becomes iridescent under the thousands of lights covering New York City.

You were frozen to your seat as Mat’s face inch closer to yours. You feel his breath against your cold skin as if it was lulling you to sleep. His hands find its way to your face, cupping both of your cheeks rather gently as he finally paints a new memory you’d be carrying for the rest of your holidays. 

“Happy New Year.” He greets you, almost like a faint whisper whilst the two of you gasp for breath. You blink a few times just to process what had just happened and digest how unbelievably good that kiss was. 

Mathew’s hands were still on your cheeks. You held them close so he’d know you weren’t ready to let go. You take a deep breath, gathering enough courage to ask him an unusual way of greeting someone a Happy New Year. 

“Will you walk me to my car?”

𖥸

You have both of your hands tucked inside your coat pockets as you walked the street leading to where you left your car. Mat was just telling you about the game happening next Thursday against the Bruins and how it would mean a lot to him if you’d come and see him play. 

“To be fair, the Bruins are good.” You commented, a playful smirk plastered on your face rather teasingly. 

Mathew lets out a snort as he rolls his eyes, chuckling at the thought of you dissing on his team the moment you had the chance. “Hey, both teams are good.” 

“It’s just the matter of who’s better.” You finish his sentence, yet again working your way with a clever remark. Mat hums, not necessarily agreeing with your sentiment. 

“So will you come?” He asks again just so he could hear you say yes. You take a deep breath, not letting yourself think too much of the said invitation. If you’re going, you’re going as a friend. Actually, you weren’t even sure if you could even call yourself such a label.

You nod your head yes to which had become the reason of Mathew’s glee. The two of you walked side by side in peace, basking in the comfort of each other’s presence. 

Once the rush of excitement about you coming to one of his games starts to wear down, Mathew begins to feel the weight of walking befall on him as it grows quicker with each step he takes. With his brows meeting halfway, he looks at you, eyes evident with confusion. 

“Where did you park your car exactly? I feel like we’re walking straight to Long Island.” He chortles, scratching his temple quite adorably.

You bit your lower lip as you looked up at him. Mathew’s physique towering over yours. “I uh– I took a cab to the party. My car’s actually parked outside my apartment.” You admit with a shy laugh.

Mat’s mouth went agape upon hearing you confess; awkward silence envelops the two of you with every second spent not talking to one another. Not long after, he decides to break the ice, undeniably impressed at how he’d never seen it coming.

Clever. He thinks, incapable of stopping his gut from swirling. His smile widens when he sees you looking at him; unfazed and perhaps, enamoured. 

𖥸

Mat did walk you to your car. The two of you exchange your thank you’s; utterly grateful for what has to be the best New Year’s you had in years. 

You wanted to ask him for one last cup of coffee because the last thing you wanted him to do was leave. But after all the things you’ve gone through with the man within such a short amount of time (and frankly, even a tedious walk) you still failed to muster enough courage to stop him from doing so. 

Once you see him get in the lone cab that miraculously passed by your neighborhood at such an ungodly hour, you close the door behind and head straight to your flat. 

You get home to the sight of your weighted blanket spread over your couch along with a couple of pillows that seems to be the best place to bury yourself in after a tiresome night out. Things were just as they were left hours ago; prepped for a much awaited movie night. As planned, you quickly get out of your winter clothes, head for a quick shower, before finally slipping into some comfortable nightwear.

You were just finishing up putting the bowl of popcorn and a bottle of Chardonnay on top of the coffee table when a buzz coming from the intercom catches your attention.

Once your hands were free, you quickly made your way towards the box, a bit irked at the thought of Katie and Emma ruining your long-overdue New Year agenda upon remembering how she’d told you to let her in the building just in case Katie gets a little too overboard. 

“Emma, I’m about to watch Jude Fucking Law. Just come up!” You hurriedly say, turning your head back to the screen which already had the movie on pause. 

However, instead of Katie’s whiny and drunken voice, what you heard was the same familiar chuckle that had been cruising your mind all night. 

“You know, I don’t think I mentioned that I haven’t watched The Holiday. Is Jude Fucking Law any good?” He asks. A mental image of how his eyes crinkle when he laughs comes to mind upon hearing his voice. 

Once again, pretty much like how you’ve spent the whole evening with Mathew, a wide smile lets loose as you press the black button. “Come on up.”

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

It’s Just a Movie: Part 15 (Poly!Lost Boys x reader) fic

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: angst, depression, blood mention

Word Count: 2081

(( This chapter is mainly just exposition cause I actually want to finish this story and not lose mojo for it!! Hope you guys enjoy!! ))

Nightly visits to the boardwalk never seemed to get boring, even if it’s what you had been doing for months. With the boys, your boys, you could never be bored. Time passed like grains of sand in an hourglass, each day slipping out of your fingers and down to the bottom. As the summer months got closer, the less you felt like going home. 

Of course, you had your days, and your phases. Something would happen, usually small, and you’d find yourself reaching for your phone. You had stopped bringing it with you to the boardwalk, finding that you couldn’t take it out on the boardwalk and it wasn’t like you could use it much anyways. And sometimes that was it. You’d remind yourself that you hadn’t brought it with you, that you had no use for it, and that was it. But not always. There were days, days that didn’t start occurring until after you’d been there for over three months, where that realization would encircle your heart like a cruel fist. It’d squeeze, and you would suddenly feel out of place. Wrong. Lost. 

Those moments racked through you, and there was hardly much you could do to stop the aftermath the first time it happened. Sobs would escape your mouth before you could stop them, and the boys had been just as taken aback as you were. They had, unfortunately, seen you cry before. But that had been from their own actions. Your sudden break, sudden sorrow, had been confusing to all of them. Though, of course, there were a couple of them who were more vocal than the others. You were lucky that you hadn’t left the cave yet. You had cried for nearly hours, with the boys trying in various ways to get you to stop until they finally just let you let it out.

When you were finally able to explain, you found that they understood more than you thought they would. It was then that you reminded yourself that they were lost too.

You had been lying in your bed with David besides you. They were taking turns trying to cheer you up before, but there was something about the blonde that comforted you just a tad bit more than the others. Perhaps it was that he wasn’t telling you it was going to get better. Or trying to make you laugh. Or trying to cheer you up at all. He was simply there, smoking in your room no matter if you asked him not to. You were laying your head on his chest, which was silent under your ear. After an hour of silence, David decided to speak.

“We all went through, well, something similar.” He said suddenly, and you lifted your head. Confusion was evident on your face, and you said an audible, 

“Huh?” David blew the smoke towards the ceiling and shook his head, gesturing to you.

“Your- whatever it was. I guess your denial stage is over.” He said, and you sat up. Denial? For some reason, David was the best at flaring your temper, and his words did exactly that. You had been dating all of them for two months at that point, and David knew what anger looked like on your face fairly well by then.

“Denial?” You echoed, and you watched as the blonde took another drag. In the past months that you’d been dating them, you’d learned to read all of them fairly well too, and you could tell David wished he hadn’t said anything. As annoying as he could be, you found that he just liked getting on your nerves. Not getting into actual fights. He sat up as well, but he leaned back against the mountain of pillows that the boys had collected for you.

“Denial. You were telling yourself that this wasn’t really happening. That you weren’t really staying here.” He said, and you couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to bring this up again. You scoffed, shaking your head as you moved away from him. Now, some things made sense. Why he’d dropped the topic so many months before. He knew you couldn’t control it, and he chose to chalk up your reluctance as denial. You couldn’t believe him, and you had half a mind to tell him to get out before he was reaching for your hand. “I’m saying this because we went through it too, y/n. We all had to mourn our old lives.” He said, and you stared at him in a whirlwind of confusion and anger. But there was something about what he’d said that struck you. It never occurred to you that the boys had anything to leave behind. Sure, you had read the prequel script, but there wasn’t anything solid. Anything that had made it to the screen. You shook your head.

“But I’m not- I’m not like you. I’m not a vampire. And I’m not- We don’t know if I’m staying forever.” You said, and he stared at you. You watched the way his eyes changed. How just the tiniest bit of disappointment had crept into them. In the two months since you’d started dating, David had become more affectionate. You weren’t surprised when he reached out to cup your cheek, and you let him. Even if your anger was still brewing. 

“I know.” You could tell that he wanted to say more. Hell, it was rare that he was ever this quiet, and now you almost wished that he would monologue at you. But, whatever he wanted to say, it seemed he had decided you weren’t ready for it yet. Or that he didn’t want the fight that would follow it. Instead, he held out his arms and said, “C’mere.” It was a small command, and you narrowed your eyes at him before you sighed and gave in. You crawled back into his arms, tucking your head under his chin as his arms wrapped around you. Neither of you spoke of the topic anymore, even if his words had caused a new flurry of thoughts inside your head. 

You’d been depressed for a few weeks afterwards. Angry and irritable. And, sometimes, just the tad bit resentful of the four. But, you quickly reminded yourself that this wasn’t their fault, and those feelings dissolved as time moved on and the wound began to heal. There were other moments when the wound would reopen, just as painful and wrenching as the first time that you realized you may be stuck there for good, but those times became fewer and farther in-between until the approaching summer brought on a whole new wave of something else. Excitement. Anxiety. Doubt. 

And the closer it got, the more difficult it became to ignore your situation. It was finally a week in late March that you asked David what he had in mind for when you met Star, and it had taken all of the boys by surprise. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been planning for the summer, but none of them had dared to discuss any plans that involved factoring you into it. And when you asked, you couldn’t help but notice how it had pleased your boyfriends. Even if they did their best to hide it, though some were better than others. It was growing increasingly difficult to pay attention to David’s ideas when Paul kept kissing down your neck, and Marko wasn’t helping either. He was holding your hand, and if you dared to look in his direction then he would take that as an opportunity to lean in and steal a quick press of your lips. And if you didn’t? Well, he would simply nuzzle your cheek instead. Finally, after a glare from David, you had settled to sit in Dwayne’s lap. Even then, the brunette kept squeezing your waist every so often, and you swore that you could feel him smiling, just ever so slightly, into your hair.

By the time June arrived, acceptance was inevitable. It was officially summer, and there you were. Still in sunny Santa Carla. Not that you got to see the sun that often. But you had been in their world for seven months, and your world seemed like a thing of the past. And as your nerves for the upcoming events grew, you could hardly spare a thought for your home. 

There was no clear indicator as to when the Emersons would arrive, and you didn’t have the internet to research. The best you could do once summer arrived was wait. You weren’t the only one that this was proving difficult for, and certain boys seemed ready to pull their hair out when a hint of what was to arrive finally came. Max, no matter how well the boys hid you, had asked if the boys had started seeing anyone. He assured that he hadn’t actually seen you, but he’d said he could rather smell you. Apparently, a feminine scent was hanging off of all of them. The boys did their best to dodge the topic, and dodge mentioning you. The five of you were worrying about how you were going to cover your tracks when you finally caught sight of a curly haired brunette just at the turn of the month. 

The five of you had been on the boardwalk together, going on one of your weekly group dates. Dwayne had his arm around you, even if Paul was trying his best to snatch you out from under him. Your breath had hitched when you saw her. You had to admit. She was gorgeous, even if the sight of her made you feel like you were going to faint. Or throw up. Or both. It was Dwayne that called your name before he asked,

“You okay?” And you quickly looked up at the brunette. You looked ahead, pointing with your eyes, at the barefooted and red lipped girl floating through the crowd. When the others saw her, it sobered any fun that they’d been having. It was time. You’d all been discussing it for literal months, and now it was time to put that plan into action. You reached out for the boy besides you, your hand tangling into Pauls’, and you gave it a hard squeeze. The thought repeated in your mind. It was time. 

You didn’t know if it was anxiety or adrenaline, but the night seemed to pass by in a blur. You remembered David approaching her, the drive back to the cave, and now you were sitting on the couch with the girl, Star, sitting besides you. You felt a similar feeling as to the first time you met the boys. Disbelief. Surprise. A strange feeling that this couldn’t be real, even if the past seven months made it obvious that it was. 

You didn’t expect to get along with her, but it came as a welcome surprise. Stars face had a way of lighting up as she laughed, and it was helped with how much Paul joked with her from his spot on the wall. Both you and Dwayne smiled, Dwayne’s arm wrapped around the back of your seat on the couch. Marko stood besides David’s chair, egging Paul’s joke on further while David sat in his chair, smoked, and laughed at their banter. You were having a good time, even if what was going to happen soon itched at the back of your mind. Even if you knew the events of the future, it was hard to imagine, at least right now, that Star would be alright with betraying them. Even if you had just met, you had to admit that she fit into the group almost a little too well. And you tried to not let jealousy crowd your thoughts, even if it was David's flirting that had gotten her to come to the cave. You reminded yourself that she ended up with Michael. Whatever she thought of your boys now, it'd change the second she saw Michael. If not the second she turned.

When David finally offered her the bottle, you almost felt bad. Almost wanted to stop it. You even went as far as flicking your gaze to David's. But you couldn’t change what needed to be done. Not when she was the one who reeled in Michael. Not when Max was starting to become suspicious. Not when the boys' lives were at stake. That's exactly what David's eyes told you. So, you watched as Star drank the blood.

[savagetrickster]

Sweet Poison (NSFW) | BNHA

Inspired by @bnhabookclub​‘s weekly nsfw prompt in the discord. <3

Prompt: “I’m going to fuck you in front of a mirror so you can watch.”

AU/Trope/Scenario: Coincidental Relationship + (my own) Dance school AU

*coincidental relationship (in this case) = a sexual relationship happening from chance despite being very unlikely

Themes/warnings: 18+, aged-up, explicit content (!), daddy kink, voyeurism, oral sex, mirror sex, dance studio sex, degradation, swearing

.

If anyone could match her temper and brashness, it would be Bakugou Katsuki. 

But that doesn’t mean she got along with him. 

It had always been a funny thing for people who grew up with them. 

Ever since they were as little as kindergartners in a tots’ dance school, she had always been the person who stood against him whenever he was mean to Izuku. 

She was constantly frowning upon on how he treated the other boy and never understood why Izuku would ever want to hang around with someone like him. 

Though ironically, it was common to hear their peers commenting about how similar she and Bakugou were.

Dominating.

Hot-headed.

Loud.

Two powerful frictions were what they were. Always rubbing off each other the wrong way.

A stare any longer than a second could become an unwavering match of death glares.

Brushing past each other along the hallway of the same famous dance school they were unfortunate enough to end up in could make even oblivious idiots shiver to the dangerous aura both emitted at the mere brief contact.

A word from one could trigger the other to demand a ‘shut up’ and escalate it to a shouting match colored with so much vulgarity that anyone who heard them would probably need to cleanse their ears, be it with soap or holy water.

They had always rubbed off each other the wrong way, but this was the craziest they’d been.

Who knew that one day this endless rivalry would eventually bring them before a fogged mirror.

.

She couldn’t really tell how it happened or even why it happened. 

An international dance competition she had signed up for was all that she had in mind and staying back at the dance school to practice had been how she spent her nights. 

And for the past few nights, her hardwork was executed in a room the administration officer had left unlocked so that she could use it after she was done with her part-time job.

It had never really crossed her mind, or more like she just didn’t care to know that any other students would be taking part in this competition until she arrived at the school on her third night to find the room lighted and occupied.

By none other than Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Something about him always infuriated her without fail, with a blooming annoyance and irritation which would always make her particularly unforgiving.

It was probably the years after years of conflict that caused this to be built into her system. 

Furious clenches between her eyebrows and snarls on her lips were the default face she made around him.

But somehow for reasons she could not comprehend, a strange click in her happened while she argued for the room and he spatted a ‘fuck off’ at her.

Her eyes just had to wander and notice the weirdest things about him while she was fuming. 

She’d never really seen him in this state before - maybe she did but just didn’t bother because, in her eyes, he was always the young annoying brat she knew since little and wanted nothing to do with him.

But tonight was different. Being up close and spitting fire at him alone made noticing...anatomical things about him inevitable. 

Without his usual oversized tee or singlets, his sweaty sculpted body rippled to every movement. 

It was hard to miss the prominent waves of clenches ripping down the taut muscles down his chiseled six-packs to the V-line disappearing below the stretchy waistline of his black sweatpants. 

Under his tightened jaw jarring out at her, the noticeable bops of his Adam’s apple were distracting as they exchanged spats of demanding, awful words.

Being in a sports bra and a pair of fitting shorts, she didn’t miss the way his angry red eyes ran over her a couple of times.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe that was why her knees and her palms were pressed into the cool, wooden floor of the dance studio, with her naked arched back accentuating her equally naked ass.

Wanting this but not at all at the same time.

Aroused but angry.

Relishing but spiteful.

Brimming with moans within her rapidly expanding chest but adamantly refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing a single one of them.

Her eyes burning into the gray bricked wall and her teeth biting down on her lower lips, pushing back any moans or whimpers threatening to respond to the two long, thick fingers inside her weeping cunt.

She could feel his red eyes boring into her, enjoying her struggle to keep herself from making a sound. 

Waiting for her to lose her footing and beg him. 

Knowing with smugness that he was good. Damn good at what he was doing. 

...That even someone who was as intense and stubborn as him would eventually bow down to him once he gained the upper hand, even if it meant needing to shove his cock into her some time soon.

“Feeling good, ain’t ya?” There was a smirk evident in his smug voice. “Admit it, bitch, your fucking pussy is literally soaking me.” 

She refused to open her mouth, knowing something would escape if she did. 

An actual smirk curled his lips at her silence, tad amused at her loud, tattered breathing.

“Oh wait, what the fuck am I doing anyway?” Bakugou eyed her with an anticipating calculated glint, “Why should I care if you feel good? You don’t deserve anything from me.”  

His fingers slipped out, splatters of her slick arousal flickering across the floor. A whine nearly escaped her at the emptiness between her folds.

Clad loosely within his sweatpants, his thigh muscles clenched as he moved to stand on his feet.

“...St-Stop.”

Bakugou paused, his knee he knelt on hovering over the floor as he glanced over with dancing eyes.

“Stop?”

Tongue darting out to lick his fingers clean, Bakugou resisted a groan at the taste in his mouth.

Fuck, how can someone like her taste this...nice?

His eyes lingered on her sopping cunt hungrily as he planted himself behind her ass to marvel at his work.  

“...you can’t just leave something half done, bastard.’ Her thighs under her shook. 

Leave it to this girl to remain stubborn. 

His lips curled wider.

That was something he liked yet hated about her. His feelings toward her had always been an enigma since...forever. 

She was intriguing but grated on his nerves. And he was sure that was what she felt about him too. 

Seeing her succumb to him had always been a dirty little wet dream he always thought about.

“Yes I can,” A scoff blew through his lips, “and I just fucking did. So deal with it, bitch.”

Today felt like the day to let it all play out. 

He made his move to step away, eyes fixed and breath bated for her reaction.

“No wait, please-” 

A pleading whimper she fought so hard to hold back interrupted her before she could stop herself. 

His Adam’s apple bopped with an elaborate, deep gulp at the broken sound drifting to his ears.

Shit, that sounded so... 

Bakugou shuddered to the chill running down his body, down to the tightening pressure in his pants.

Was she finally giving in?

“Please?” His lips parted to a grin. “Please what? Speak up, where did all that bitchiness go?” 

Oh, he was definitely still infuriating as always but fuck, she really needed him. Right now. Even if it meant giving in. 

Her toes curled. “Don’t go. St-Stay with me.”

Shaky exhale at the sweet crack in her weak, quiet voice, red eyes glimmered with a dangerous keen look, sharpening with an almost feral edge.

Tongue licking his bottom lip sensually, Bakugou tilted his head back and rolled it to his right shoulder in a condescending, lazy manner.

“And you think I’ll oblige to that?” A chuckle huffed out of his mouth as his hands hung heavily in his pockets.  “Beg me like a little bitch then.” 

An annoyed sigh sifted through her gritted teeth, feeling herself wavering.

And she did.

“Ple...Please fuck me,” Her heated walls quivered with impatience and overwhelming needs. 

It was too much.

He was driving her nuts.

She was driving herself nuts.

Everything felt so fucked up tonight, but she didn’t even want to give a damn anymore.

“I-I’ll be your bitch for today.” Her words gasped out of her in a whimpering plea.

A coat of silence echoed after her words.

“Fine.” Amusement cracked the grin on his face wider. “But you gotta call me Daddy. Now, let me hear it.”

Another sigh of annoyance blew through her mouth.

“Da…” Her lips trembled with hesitation.“...Daddy.”

“Good, but I’m not gonna do all the work here.” His eyes glinted. “Sit on your ass and spread your legs, I wanna watch you prep yourself for me.”

Bakugou toed his shoes off and kicked aside before moving to sit against the mirrored wall.

Back slouching against the cool surface, his eyes followed her movement with raw hunger. Meticulous to every detail of her body moving with her.

Her breasts shifting and lightly jiggling to her turning body, their nipples perking at him. 

The spread of her legs widening before him as she settled on her butt.

The red blush adorning her cheeks as her hand gingerly reached down to her leaking cunt, prying open her folds with shaky fingers. 

What hit him the hardest was the quiet, wavering look in her eyes he’d never thought he would ever see on her face, as if she was feeling...shy around him.

He couldn’t quite believe his own eyes. Shyness and her just did not fit but it was there.

Bizarre, indeed.

...that she could actually feel shy around him. 

A guy she bared her teeth at, almost every time she saw him. Like she would rather set herself on fire than have anything to do with him.

Fuck, something about this foreign side of her was so...sexy. He had to fight himself not to palm his erecting cock poking up against his pants.

To add to the sight, the soft moans leaving her parted lips and the soft, wet squelches made by her fingers were killing him. 

His red eyes looked even redder with heat and carnal hunger as he watched her reach her other hand up to cup her breast, tugging and rolling her nipple between her fingers.

Familiarity evident in her actions. 

Shit. Was this something she’d done a lot alone?

Bakugou stared hard, too caught up by her to realize that his harsh, raspy breathing was giving his arousal away.

Obvious enough to make her smirk.

Lifting her eyes from her working fingers inside her cunt, she met his gaze and felt a strong urge to tease him. 

While she was feeling kinda strange and shy about performing her usual masturbation technique for him, she was still her. 

A little reign of control was something she could at least do while being submissive to that grinning hot asshole.

“...Are you enjoying my little show, Daddy?” She spoke through her pants. “Do you see how ready I am for you?”

The smirk on her face grew.

Her fingers burrowed inside her slipped out to pry her folds open for his fixated eyes. “Look at how much I’m producing.” 

Through her slit, her arousal leaked and spilled over the wooden floor, growing the small puddle under her.

His widened eyes stared back at her, his muscles running down his body rippling and clenching hastily to his harsh breathing. 

The choked grunt he was pushing down slipped out of his grasp as a soft whimpering moan, cracking through heavy puffs of his exhale.

“...you little bitch.” 

Bakugou sprang forward and planted himself between her legs, arms tensing around her thighs to pull her further apart. 

A responsive sharp gasp rushed down to his ears.

His face was down quickly on her weeping slit, his tongue giving her clit a roll before jamming itself between her folds.

Lapping and gulping down her fluid like a thirsty person, a low moan hummed against her as he felt her fingers dig into his hair with a tug.

Watching him from above her rapidly heaving breasts, her eyes glazed over with heat as she watched him taste her with fervor. 

Her breath grew louder by the seconds.

“Li-Liking the taste?” Her hand ran over his hair, soft blond locks sifting through her fingers as she caressed his head with soft tugs. 

Pulling away slightly, a snort huffed against her cleaned slit as his lips hovered with a smirk. 

“Nah, I like it better fucking you with my cock.” 

Her breath hitched. “...You can do it now, you know.” She bit her lower lip at the thought.

There was a pause after her words. Like he was mulling over something.

“Very well, get in front of the mirror.” Warm breath of chuckles tickled her skin. 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?” 

“If I’m going to do it,” A crooked smirk curled his lips, growling his words hoarsely. “I’m going to fuck you in front of a mirror so you can watch.”

Clenching taut muscle on his back moved with him as he retreated from her parted legs to settle in a kneel on his knees.

This time, it was her time to laugh.

“Never took you for such a kinky bastard.” She got up and slipped past him to the mirror anyway. 

“So...” Her hands planted on the mirrored wall as she adjusted her position till her ass was stuck out. “...like this?”

She glanced down at herself and turned her head to gauge his response to her stance-

“I’m fucking sure I’m not the only one.” 

Her action came to a halt with a shiver as his warm breath shuddered across her shoulder, feeling his warmth radiate over her back like a coat as he appeared behind her.

“Look at you, already getting it correct.” 

His lips pressed to her ear.

“Someone’s excited to feel my cock in her slutty pussy eh,” His words ended in a taunting hiss. “...kinky bitch?” 

His arms snapped around her waist, one flying down to cup the conjunction between her thighs with his large hand, immediately greeted by a sharp gasp from her. 

The sculpted curls of his bicep rippled to his movement as he shifted her further away from the wall. 

To the point that she had to lean her weight on her arms probed against the mirrored wall- her fingers splayed and digging into the surface to support herself. 

In this position, her back was arched, accentuating her ass even more. The folds between the widened gap of her thighs stretched out right before his aching, swollen cock ready in his hand.

“I have to give it to you though,” He slathered himself between her stretched folds teasingly, “You’ve done a good job prepping yourself.” 

His eyes prodding hers through their reflection drank the sight of her parting lips at his action, the helpless sob feeding the heat within his grip.

“Won’t you look at that.” 

A whistle blew through his lips the moment his glance slipped down to admire how thoroughly coated his length was in her slick fluid- 

“...So fucking wet for my cock.” -with a hum of satisfaction in his chest.

His red eyes rose to meet her dazed ones again, his hand pausing to prod her with his cock. 

That and a stretching grin on his face was his only warning before his hip rutted forward, burrowing his whole length into her in one powerful shove.

She jerked forward from the force with a loud cry, her chest heaving and falling hastily in a drawling breathless moan at the abrupt, dramatic stretch of her cervix.

“...Fuck, your tight little cunt is as bitchy as you.” A strangled grunt rumbled in the chest pressed against her back.

Eyes rolling back in ecstasy, she felt him pull himself back, the vein on his thick, generous girth rubbing deliciously against her melting, throbbing walls as he drew himself to his tip.

A delirious whimper accompanying his movement as she relished in the sinfully sweet friction inside her.

But was quickly interrupted with a sharp cry spiking through her when he slammed back in.

And that started his relentless, powerful pace in her. 

Forcing tumbling moans out of her as his powerful thrusts hammered into with strong, rough prods. 

His heated red eyes watching her greedily through their reflection as his cock shot inside her at every thrust of his hip. 

The muscle curling on his arms clenched and ripped across his skin, along with his rippling body as he hiked her leg up by the crook of his elbow. 

His eyes drifted down to where he could see his balls slapping against her folds, his cock disappearing between them in a plundering speed.

The splutters of their mixed fluids from his fierce ruts were clearly visible. 

And when he returned his eyes to her face, shit - what he saw nearly made him lose the reign over his own building release.

With the sultry moans dragging through her panting, parted lips, the hazy heat through her fluttering blinks reflected back at him. 

Somewhere between the heat of each thrust, they had shifted closer to the mirror, close enough for her nipples to brush across the cool surface at every furious bounce of her breasts.

“Gro-Growing addicted to my cock?” Bakugou managed through his tattered breathing.

She responded to him with trembling whimpers.

“...Clearly.” He remarked mockingly.

Chest pressed flush against her back, his hand slipped up to cup her throat and tilted her head back till the side of her head met his smirking lips.

“Don’t come begging me for more after this,” His low, husky voice breathed into her ear, “...unless you’re ready to permanently call me Daddy, got it?”

Her eyes clenched close at his words. 

Oh, fuck. 

Along with those stirring words, his cock continued to pound through her between her struggle to form coherent thoughts. 

All they did to her was push her closer to the edge.

Her brain felt so heavy and slow, too saturated and hazy in the fast-approaching heat of her orgasm. 

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“I-I’m...”

White flashes met her eyes with every rut the thick, bulging girth pushed into her, straining her walls with wide stretches again and again. 

This was it.

His smirk widened. “You what?” 

She just can’t hold it anymore.

“I...can’t-” 

A loud sob wrecking through her throat as her pulsing walls clamped down harshly over his plunging cock, flooding her insides with rich juice of her arousal.

The choked moan dragging through his breathing mingled with her tattered voice.

“Shit,” Bakugou tried to speak, “...you sneaky little slut.” 

The tight muscles of his broad back and down to his taut ass rippled and clenched vigorously to his furious thrusts. 

The pleasure squeezing his painfully swollen cock was urging him to let go as he continued working his cock through her greedy clutching walls. 

“...D-Don’t you dare cum inside me.” Her words fell out of her as she tried to fight through the moans leaving her.

Her weak whimpering moans escaped her one after another in a hasty fashion as her body rocked fast along with his. 

A shaky snort left Bakugou.

“...Don’t be so fucking obvious,” he panted over her shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “you don’t deserve any of that.”

With that, his movement inside her grew faster. The need for his own release evident in the desperate, wild snaps of his hip, her butt cheeks jiggling to the slams against them.

Until-

“...Shit.”

With a loud throaty grunt, he tore himself out of her at the nick of time, bursting his load all over her the moment his cock was freed. 

Staggering on her quivering legs, she turned to watch him throw his head back with a long growl shredding through his throat as he sprayed ropes and ropes of his seeds from his cock. 

Her breathing was shaky and heavy as his pumping hand splattered his thick warm cum onto her.

She fixed her heated eyes on him, absorbing the sight of the agonizing pleasure showing on his face greedily into her memory.

Knowing this was probably the last time she would ever see it.

They had always rubbed off each other the wrong way, but this was the craziest they’d been.

But that doesn’t mean she didn’t like it.

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Four: And the Rest is Silence

And this is it: the final chapter! It’s been insane, but this is the only fanfiction I've ever finished before, and it wouldn’t have happened without all the support. Thank you so much!! I didn’t think anyone would read this, but seeing everyone’s reactions to each chapter has kept me going :D

I’m sorry for the essay, but I’m aware I didn’t post anything about this in the AIB tag. Yes, there will be a sequel!

I need to read the manga properly before writing it, so I don’t know when the sequel will start. But in the meantime, there’ll be a series of Chishiya one-shots of his perspective, and there’ll even be scenes that weren’t in this fic, plus an original game!

For the full fanfic, you can find it here on AO3. 

I’ll also be creating a master list, and I'll post the literature references after this for those who wanted them <3

Once again, thank you so much!! And I hope you enjoy this last chapter. 

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By the time Kuina found us again, it was already late afternoon, and even though our visas had extended by ten days after the Witch Hunt game, there was something about the setting of the sun that felt foreboding.

We lit up the furniture shop with candles and changed into the clean clothes we’d collected. Seeing Chishiya wearing ordinary clothes felt strange. Aside from when we’d crossed paths in the Tag game, the entire time I’d known him he’d been wearing swim shorts and flip flops.

Now, he emerged from the bathroom wearing grey sweatpants and a variegated blue cardigan that suited him perfectly. When his eyes flickered to mine, I realised I’d been staring, and distracted myself with preparing dinner instead. It wasn’t much, especially since all I had was canned goods and a camping stove, but the vegetable stew kept us warm while we curled up in our makeshift living room. As evening turned to night, however, it became obvious that something was missing.

There are no games.

Kuina chewed on her lip, looking out of the window. ‘What d’you think will happen when our visas run out?’

‘It probably has something to do with the Ten of Hearts,’ I told her. ‘Maybe there’s no need for games anymore, since we’ve got all the numbered cards.’

It didn’t bode well for us. If there were no games by the time our visas ran out, there was no chance of us getting out of the Borderlands. At least not alive.

As the night wore on, Kuina was the first to go upstairs. Covering her yawn with her hand, she waved goodnight and winked at me. I tried not to blush. Not that it made a difference, anyway. Chishiya was busying himself over a scrap of paper, and barely reacted when I smushed up by his side.

I frowned at the paper in his hand. ‘Isn’t that...’

‘Ah.’ He held it out so I could see it. ‘I took it from the tagger’s pocket.’ It was a drawing of a circle with squiggly lines, clearly a rushed sketch of something. In the middle of a line, the pen had stabbed a hole straight through.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I have an idea,’ he said, but never elaborated.

Fighting the onset of sleep, I leaned my head against his shoulder, paying no mind to the way he tensed beneath me. The fabric of his cardigan was soft as down and made for a perfect pillow. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘And if I don’t want to?’

I pushed my face into the fabric, pretending to settle in for the night. ‘Then I’ll just stay here and annoy you until your visa runs out.’

‘I have a feeling that won’t happen any time soon,’ he said, looking out the window.

And that was when I noticed it too. Midnight had passed by only a few minutes ago, yet there were no lasers. Did that mean the Borderlands were at a standstill? Were we stuck here permanently now? I wasn’t aware of how silent I had become, lost in my own thoughts, until Chishiya spoke up.

‘I believe it’s a map.’

My eyes slid to the drawing again. ‘And that hole in the paper, do you think that’s where the others are? The dealers, I mean.’

He shifted uncomfortably and I sat upright, conscious that I might have been unintentionally hurting or bothering him. Looking at the map properly, the lines could represent different interlocking pathways. If the marked place was a hideout of some kind, it couldn’t be in the open streets; there was too big a risk that a player might stumble upon it by accident.

So where...?

As soon as the idea came to mind, the words slipped out of my mouth. ‘The subway....’

He hummed in agreement. ‘I went to the nearest subway station this morning to check it against the real map. It’s a loose fit, but it works.’

I thought back to the second tagger – the crying woman – and how she’d been forced to participate in the game, donning an explosive collar. ‘Maybe if we find the place, we’ll get some answers.’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But I’m curious to see if anything changes within the next few days.’

‘Do you think we’ll hear something soon?’ I asked, yawning into my hand.

‘I believe we will.’ He gave me that same half-smile I had grown so used to. ‘But right now, I think you should go to sleep.’

Chishiya didn’t complain when I crawled into his bed. Like the night before, he kept his distance, but I could’ve sworn at times, when my sleeping became lighter throughout the night, I could feel fingers lightly touching my hair, only to pull back the moment I stirred. Over the next few days, it became the norm, and every night I would curl up on my side of the bed, slipping into calm dreams under the blue light of the window.

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

Despite the sunshine washing over the grey of the city, the stairs leading into Minami-Aoyama station descended into darkness. We’d checked and double-checked the drawing against the official subway map several times, but the idea of entering an abandoned station to uncover who knows what wasn’t inviting.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Kuina asked for the third time.

I looked at the route map hanging over the station entrance, my eyes tracing the shape of the lines. ‘Positive.’

Folding her arms, Kuina went first. I waited for Chishiya to take a small torch from his pocket before following behind. The station was truly submerged in blackness, and if not for Chishiya’s torch, we would have easily become lost. He shone the beam at the paper in his hand, then held it up against each train line.

‘This way,’ he said, and walked towards the edge of the platform.

We hopped down onto the gravel below, using the metal tracks to guide us further into the tunnels. It was disconcerting to see the subway so empty, but with Kuina and Chishiya here, I felt safe somehow.

Several minutes in, Chishiya stopped abruptly, and I almost walked into him. If he reacted at all, I couldn’t see to tell. But he seemed more focused on something else, as he pointed the torch at a door that had been busted open.

‘That must be it.’ Kuina’s voice echoed.  

Without hesitation, Chishiya disappeared through the door, leaving Kuina and I in the darkness.

Chishiya?!

I panicked, arms waving as I tried to find something to hold onto. I heard Kuina hiss as we stumbled into each other and bumped elbows. Feeling around for the door frame, we managed to make our way inside, where Chishiya held his torch at us from further away.

‘Hey!’ Kuina snapped. ‘Don’t do that again! You’re the only one with a light here.’

‘Walk faster then,’ he said, waiting impatiently as we jogged over.

He shone the beam in the opposite direction, where it bounced off something. It was still too dark to tell just what, but as we walked forwards, everything became clearer. A structure lay ahead, with tunnels and walkways all leading into a giant room. Overhead, wires were strung across the ceiling, all feeding into the same place. We entered through one of the tunnels, and my heart jumped.

Televisions. They stared, black and empty, in rows and columns up the walls. But what was even more surprising was the setup right in front of us. It was an office, with papers, pen pots and coffee-stained mugs strewn about on desks. It would have looked like any other workplace, if not for the bodies draped in chairs and across the floor.

‘What... is this?’ I crouched to inspect the body of a man in a suit. Judging from its state, he had only died recently, but more importantly, there was a singed hole running through his head. He had been killed by a laser. ‘They’re not the ones in charge of the games.’

Chishiya closely inspected a desk. ‘Evidently not,’ he said, picking up a folded piece of paper and passing it to me. It was filled with numbers, some ticked off. Whoever it had belonged to was keeping track of their visa.

They’re playing games too, I thought. Or at least, they were.

‘So, these guys were the dealers.’ Kuina gingerly held up a sheet of paper with scribbles all over it. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be odds. ‘They were betting on us,’ she said.  

A shiver ran along my skin. Of course, they had been watching us this whole time, that was expected. But to place bets on our survival was a whole other story. If the dealers were playing too, there must’ve been a separate system for them to extend their days. Perhaps how many people survived each game had some kind of impact on their visas.

A finger lightly brushed the back of my arm and Chishiya appeared beside me. ‘Momoka’s friend,’ I said, ‘she died right after she told everyone she was a dealer. And the taggers died because we won. I have a feeling their visas depended on whether or not we cleared each game... or maybe how many people didn’t make it.’

From his expression, I knew he had been thinking the same thing. ‘It doesn’t explain why they’re all dead now.’

I glanced around at the stiffened bodies slumped around us. ‘Actually, I have a bad feeling about that too.’

At that moment, a tap of footsteps echoed from the entrance. Chishiya instantly turned off his torch and tugged me into one of the tunnels. Kuina joined us and we hid, waiting. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and two torchlights waved through the darkness. I kept my eyes trained on the tunnel opposite as the footsteps paused.

‘Where is this place?’  

‘Who knows?’

With a sigh, I relaxed instantly.

Those two.

It had only been a few days since I had made peace with Arisu and Usagi, but I was glad to see them again. Arisu was cleaned up, his wounds well on the way to healing, while Usagi stared in amazement at the television screens around us.

Chishiya grazed past me as he moved out from under the shadows. ‘You actually found this place,’ he said. ‘As expected from someone I have high hopes for.’  

‘We meet again,’ Kuina said, walking around the desks to lean against the wall.

Arisu and Usagi’s eyes scanned the two of them before stopping at me. They looked visibly confused, probably wondering what I was doing with them after I’d told them I wasn’t involved in Chishiya’s setup. In an attempt at diffusing the awkwardness, I smiled and waved.

‘You guys,’ Usagi whispered. Her voice bordered on distrust, not that anyone could blame her.

I couldn’t tell whether Chishiya was trying to make things better or worse when he held up the full deck of cards and smiled. ‘Thanks to you guys, I have all the playing cards with me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Arisu only looked at him cynically. ‘How did you discover this place?’

Chishiya rooted in his pocket and pulled out the drawing. ‘It took me some time to realise this is actually a map. The route map of the subway.’ He sauntered around the desks. ‘As for what happens when we collect the cards... I thought I would know the answer if I came here.’ His eyes jumped to mine. ‘But there’s something else we discovered instead.’

‘They’re not the gamemasters,’ Arisu said, eyes fixed on the bodies around us.

I stepped over a hand strewn across the floor. ‘カードを集めたので、殺された.’ Because we collected the cards, they were all killed. I struggled for a moment, trying to think of the right words. ‘There must be someone above them.���

Chishiya translated, and Usagi turned to me with worry. ‘But who?’

‘Who knows?’ Chishiya shrugged. ‘They might be aliens... or even God.’

The idea didn’t sound as strange as it should have done. We were in a world where lasers appeared from the sky, and death games were the norm. Even when I first arrived here, I’d wondered whether this was a form of judgement. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

Suddenly, the screens burst into life and white light flooded the room. I jumped, flocking to Chishiya and Kuina’s side.

Have we been caught?

Music reverberated all around us, and the screens displayed all four card suits, along with a message I couldn’t read. It didn’t matter though, as the voice that rang through the speakers was one I remembered well. My stomach dropped.

‘Congratulations to all players!’

The screens blurred until Mira’s wild eyes and subdued smile came into focus. It was now obvious why the Ten of Hearts had taken place at the Beach at the very moment things had fallen apart.

She must’ve been feeding information back, I thought. But back to where?

‘How interesting,’ Chishiya said. Seeking stability, I slipped a hand into his pocket. There was a slight hesitation before his fingers laced around mine.

Mira’s voice shook with a quiet excitement. ‘With the exception of the face cards, you’ve all cleared the numbered games and emerged as victors. It’s a sweet victory, gained by sacrificing so many lives.’ Her expression turned wistful as she stood. ‘I wonder, how many of your comrades have died. Try remembering those who were shot dead with guns.’

A single screen switched to show footage from a miscellaneous game. A group were stood, clutching their guns as they inspected the scatter of bodies across the ground.

They’ve been recording us.

‘And that girl you burned alive.’

A second display opened up, revealing several players watching on as a girl, engulfed in flames, struggled and clawed at her skin and clothes. I held my breath, Niragi’s animalistic cries ringing through my memory.

‘Those struck by lasers, and those that drowned.’

My eyes widened, and I gripped Chishiya’s hand as the inside of the furniture store appeared on-screen. The fractured image of myself flinched, quivering with shock, as the first man and Green Shirt leapt from their seats, only to crumple to the ground, lasers piercing them where they stood.

Chishiya’s fingers squeezed mine, and I gasped, blinking away the image. He must’ve seen it too.

‘Those who’s heads were blown off,’ Mira continued, dreamily. ‘Those comrades of yours, the despair you’ve felt so far, and those dying moments you’ll never forget.’

The screen changed once more, and from the corner of my eye, Arisu winced. Following his gaze, I recognized his partner from the Tag game, his neck exploding around a collar.

I’m so sorry....

Meanwhile, Mira’s expression shifted into pure, childlike delight. ‘Everyone... I’m so touched!’ She held her hand over her heart. ‘All of you players, we’d like to give you a present.’

We?

Chishiya tensed slightly. He had noticed it too. If Mira wasn’t the only gamemaster, just who were the others?

Although Mira couldn’t hear us, Kuina mumbled, ‘Are you returning us to the real world?’

It seemed too good to be true, and sure enough, it was. Mira clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘There will be new games! Let’s play more games together and fight for the face cards this time!’

Aside from Chishiya, everyone sank with disappointment and fear. Just how much more would we have to deal with before we could go home? If we were competing for the face cards, did that mean there were only twelve more games in total, or would there be repeat cards like there were for the numbered ones?

Kuina groaned. ‘New games? You’re kidding.’

‘I don’t dislike the idea,’ Chishiya murmured.

I looked at him, curious. ‘What do you mean?’

His expression was guarded, but before he could reply, Mira’s voice cut in again. ‘The next stage will commence tomorrow at noon. Everyone, let’s have fun together!’

All at once, the screens shut down, leaving us all in the darkness once more. Everything was quiet as we came to terms with what had just happened. It was Arisu who first suggested that we get out of here. Him and Usagi disappeared back through the tunnel, and with one glance at Chishiya and I, Kuina followed.

My fingers were still interlaced with his, hidden within the warmth of his pocket. He was watching me, waiting.

‘These games,’ I said. ‘They’re going to be harder than the others.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Probably.’

‘About what you said before...’ I began. ‘Do you remember that time on the rooftop of the Beach, when I asked you if you were okay, and you told me it shouldn’t matter to me.’

I could see him thinking back. ‘I remember.’

‘What I said then still stands. You might not care about your own life, and I can’t stop you from taking part in these new games.’ I bit my lip, unable to face him as my eyes began tearing up. ‘Perhaps this is selfish of me, but you need to survive. And if you can’t do it for yourself, then....’

He sighed. ‘You cry too much.’ When I looked up, his lips were curled into that same, familiar smile, only this time, there was nothing cruel or condescending there. ‘We should find the others.’

Wiping my eyes with the edge of my sleeve, I finally let go of his hand, following him back out and through the tunnels. As we climbed the steps of the station, emerging into daylight, a series of loud bangs resounded throughout the city. The others were peering up at the skyscrapers towering over us, and the fireworks that burst like flowers against the sunlight.

‘Let’s make a new deal,’ Chishiya said, idly watching the display. ‘I’ll survive, if you return the favour.’

I looked to him, admiring the way his hair shifted in the breeze, and how the reflection of the fireworks danced in his dark eyes.

Let’s go home together.

‘It’s a deal.’

[drakewalkerfantasy]

The Last Goodbye (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: The second goodbye of two friends doesn’t hurt any less. The first goodbye of two lovers does hurt even more. The issue is he doesn’t want to leave, and she doesn’t want him to leave either. But will they admit it to each other? Or will they pretend that it’s okay and that he must to follow his dreams even though it hurts them both as hell.

Words: 2944

Rating: PG

Warning: a lot of heartache / memory of death / loss

Authors notes: Dear anon, thank you so much for the request. I really hope you will enjoy this. I’m not particularly happy how I wrote Tatum’s POV, but I just couldn’t think of anything else even after multiple times rereading this. Sorry if this is not what you expected.

A/N 2: Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve, I really want to improve my writing and make it even better. Also sorry for all the mistakes in my writing I hope at least it readable (couldn’t ask my husband to proofread)

Tatum stood outside Claire’s door listening to the person on another side of the phone call he just received. His heart thumped rapidly, while the words finally sank in, echoing in his head with persistent consistency. He never thought that these words, the words he wanted to hear for months now will become a burden and he will need to deal with the consequences of his earlier rush decision. The one he made even before he saw Claire... before his old, buried feelings resurfaced with a new-founded strength... before their first kiss and the last... and before he knew that she is in danger not only from some paparazzi, but in actual danger and all he could think of now was that he needed to protect her at all cost. Not to run to another part of the planet like a coward far away from her, but to stay by her side like a man.

Distantly, he could still hear Winston speaking. Heard him vaguely, describing the opportunity he will get with the transfer, but all he could think was Claire and the taste of her lips. The unforgettable taste of the peach lemonade on a summer's day. And all he could wish for was to stay only to keep her safe.

“...Are you taking me off Claire’s security detail?” Tatum finally managed to squeeze through the overexcited chattering of Winston. “No, sir. That’s... I mean...,” tried to say Tatum, but Winston interrupted him every time when he tried to say more than a couple of words. God... thought Tatum closing his eyes in irritation. This guy speaks even faster than Claire, and I thought she is a chatty one. The small momentary smile appeared on his face before quickly disappearing, when he thought of the girl he didn't want to say goodbye to... The memory of their last goodbye flashes in front of his eyes, drowning out the chatter for a while.

He steps closer to her. Her hands in his, his head bent down and he presses his lips just to the corner of her's, lingering there for a moment longer. And he knows that it’s goodbye. Wanting to be brave enough and kiss her fully. But knowing that if he would do that they both would pay the price and he wasn’t brave enough to risk her happiness. He used it all just to come here... he risked it all just to see her for the last time. So instead he hugs her firmly as if he knows that he will never come back..

The red lilies still in his hand waiting to be laid on his mother’s grave. The white roses placed on the grave of Claire’s dad. And his hands wrapped tightly around her waist, watching at two graves next to them. Two lives that were lost and he has no illusions that this will be any different. Her face is buried in the crook of his neck, feeling how she crumbled in his arms, and her body shook with tears. Wishing to be brave enough to stay. Wishing to keep the promise, he never made.

“That’s great. Thank you,” said Tatum absentmindedly pulled back from the memory, knowing that there is no point to argue. Hoping that Claire will be able to change their mind, if she will want him to stay... that’s it... thought Tatum, if she would want him to stay. 

He sighed, pressing his forehead to the wooden door before softly tapping at it and entering her bedroom with a heavy heart, feeling as if it would break in half from a single sight of Claire. So instead he lowers his gaze at the floor, not able to meet hers, knowing that she would see straight through his stoic facade in a matter of seconds.

“Come to say goodbye?” said Claire, and he could hear the hurt and pain in her voice, that she desperately tried to hide, but it was so evident in her eyes that he couldn’t miss it, when he looked up.

“How did you...?” asked Tatum, the shock clearly written on his face, while his heart skipped a beat.

“If you don't want me to hear your private phone calls, don’t take them right outside,” Claire said, averting his piercing gaze.

“It wasn’t private. I had no idea Winston was planning a reassignment for me,” confessed Tatum. It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t a truth, at least not the whole one. He should have told her before, should have confessed how desperately, the first two weeks, he wanted to go back. He hated it here at first, but then... but then that damn almost a kiss, the slightest press of her lips to the corner of his, after he walked her back to the State Dinner at Dionne’s Estate, and he knew that he was a goner. And he also knew that the look of pain, and loss, and fear would have broken him. The fear he saw before, five years ago. The fear of losing him as she did her father... the same as he did his mom.

“Do you think someone found out about us?” The question breaks through his thoughts making him snap to reality.

“As far as I’m aware, no one knows,” said he, musing if that is why they were sending him away, but quickly shaking this thought off. She doesn’t know about the reassignment request, reminds he himself. And he knows despite everything that he deserved the promotion. The issue is... he doesn’t want it anymore. The silence hangs between them, after he finally speaks, confessing that he requested it a month ago, and it hurt as hell, when he looked into her eyes, the moment after confession.

“Are you that unhappy as my head of security?” asked Claire, the hurt in her eyes deepens even more, making them look like pools of dark chocolate with shots of aged intoxicating whiskey.

“I’m not unhappy, Claire. I filed that request back when I was first assigned here, back when all I could think about was returning to the military career I’d worked so hard for.” sighed Tatum, wondering when was the exact moment when his dreams have changed, when the young boy finally grew up leaving behind his dream. Wondering when he realised that this is exactly the place where he wants to be. His eyes meeting Claire’s looking how realisation downs on her and her eyes softens, becoming a tiny shade lighter than they were before, but her words aren’t what he expected to hear and they are a complete opposite from what he wanted to say.

“And this is your chance to do that. To follow in your mom’s footsteps...,” she murmured stepping closer to him. Her eyes locked with his, mesmerising him, captivating, and he wants to scream... to tell her that this is not what he wants... not what he wishes for. At least not anymore... not after he walked into her life again. Not after she stormed into his, attacking him with the damn crown, making him pin her to the ground losing himself into her deep chocolate eyes. But he cannot say a word. His head bends slightly giving her a nod, as if admitting the lie she just said. Not a lie... but the truth, that just stopped to be it, unbeknown to her.

And instead of refuting her words, he just confirms what she feared. “They’re offering me a promotion. A big one. I didn’t expect it.”

“I guess people just don’t say ‘no’ to that sorta thing, huh?” she said. Her voice slightly cracked, but she smiled anyway even though he could catch the glimpses of glistening tears welling at the corners of her eyes, while she looked to the ground. Making him feel all the pain and all the loss she felt.

“Just a month ago this news would’ve meant everything to me. But now...”

“Now?” asked Claire. Her eyes met his, and he could swear that he could hear how her breath hitched from the intensity of his gaze and from the hope he wasn’t ready to give her.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” after a moment of silence admitted Tatum, knowing that here was no way he could hide it from her.

He could feel how his heart ached looking at Claire across the room, too far away and not too far enough to miss how her body stiffened. Knowing that she wanted to cross the room and to kiss him hard... fiercely. The same way he wanted to kiss her.

His gaze dropping to her mouth, noting how her teeth dig into her bottom lip, not missing the slightest shake in its curve, but in the midst of this, missing the most important message her eyes send him... that just like him not wanting to leave her, she didn’t want him to leave either. Both restraining themselves from saying what they really wanted.

“You should go. I want you to go,” whispered Claire in a barely audible whisper, and he could swear that he felt how his heart broke and the sound of shattering pieces deafened him with pain. She wants him to go, he thought. His fists clenching, and despite how badly it hurted he still forced himself to smile softly and to ask her the next question, as no matter what, he still cares for her deeply.

“What about you?”

“The rest of the security team will keep me safe,” she shrugged, stepping a bit closer, slowly closing the distance between them.

“CoCo...,” he muttered, also taking a step in her direction, their gazes locked, not able to look away, while he continued to speak. “I hate the thought of letting you down,” he tries again, hoping that she will ask him to stay, that she wants him to stay. Hurting so much, that he misses another glimpse of pain flashing in her eyes covered by determination just a split second later.

“You’ll only let me down if you abandon your dream career for me,” said Claire, taking another step closer.

“So... you’re saying I should go?” whispered he, another step closer to her.

“Yes. You should be keeping thousands of people safe, not just one... me,” whispered Claire. Her eyes stinging with tears, but she blinked them away. Her gaze holds his, while he finally takes a deep breath and nods, as if admitting defeat.

“Then this really is goodbye,” said Tatum, taking the last step closer to her. His heart thumping loudly, and his fingertips brushing against hers.

“Right now?” blurted Claire, and he could feel how her hands started to shake against his, just slightly, but enough for him to feel it.

“The reassignment is effective immediately. Winston’s already sent someone to cover my shift,” admitted Tatum, the pain aching in him. And he would want to look away, but he cannot force himself to do that. His eyes locked with hers, feeling enchanted by her, mesmerised. Feeling that he cannot resist her anymore... needing to kiss her for the last time.

Their hearts heavy, taking that last tiny step toward each other. Trying not to imagine anyone else standing guard outside Claire’s door... not wanting to imagine anyone else.

Feeling how his breath hitches, when Claire put her hands on his shoulder, drawing him into a kiss. He doesn’t resist, his arms circling her tightly as if holding for the dear life, not wanting to let her go.

And he kisses her softly despite the firmness of his grip. His lips flutter against Claire’s, and he pauses, raising a hand to stroke her cheek, the three little words ready to leave his lips, but he pushes them back, knowing that they would hurt them both even more.

“Just... don’t forget me,” said Claire. Her voice came rough and raw... and desperate. And he fears that she will ask him something else he cannot give her or promise, but she doesn't.

“Never did, never will,” whispered Tatum against her lips. His voice like a gentle caresses to her shredded soul... like a soft whisper of meadows on a windy day. His way to say I love you, when the words are failing him.

And he kisses her with all the passion of a man who knows he’ll never see her again. His tongue sliding against hers, trying to memorise every single thing about her. Her taste, her scent, her touch. Kissing her fierce and sloppy, hard and rough. The way it would hurt and bruise her soft lips. The way it will make her remember him and never forget. The selfish kiss of a man who dies. The last kiss of the man who lives. And he could feel the taste of salt blossoming across their tongues, the mix of his and hers. Not able to tell for certain which of them shed the first tear.

Claire’s arms wrap around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, while he squeezes her lower back desperately, pressing her body as close as possible.

Finally, he pulls away, trailing his hands along her sides as he reluctantly releases her. Trying to memorise her every curve. To remember her every dip. His heart aching knowing that this is goodbye. Not knowing if he would ever come back or will he be brought in a metal casket with honours... but it isn’t a death he is afraid of... oh no... the fear that he has... the one that he desperately tried to push back from the moment he got off his phone call was the fear that something will happen with her and he wouldn’t be here to protect her. The same way as he wasn’t there during her first attack near the lake.

Finally Tatum takes a step back. His stoic expression belying the sadness Claire sees in his eyes. The sadness and fear, but in the midst of this she still misses the most important message in his eyes: he doesn’t want to leave her...

“Well... I guess I should be going. Paperwork to file and all that,” finally said Tatum with a sigh, reluctantly walking to the door, when he turns to her for the last time, watching how the last drop of tear falling from her eyelashes.

“Yeah. I’ll... see you around,” finally whispered Claire.

He opens his mouth to respond... wanting to tell her that it's unlikely, but he closes it before resolutely walking out of her room without another glance... knowing that if he will look back, he may never leave. His heart aching, and his pulse thumping loudly.

And he does not look back as the sight of her standing like that is achingly familiar and he knows that the single look at her will hurt as nothing else did. He saw her like that, all these five years ago. Him walking away, while she stood at his mother’s grave, looking at him with the teary smile, watching him to walk away from her life as he was doing now. Hoping against the hope that he will be lucky again. Her hands wrapped around her waist, wishing it didn't hurt so much this time. But it did hurt the hell even more.

The next day, it didn’t hurt any less. His every movement was followed by the memory of her tears and the pain he saw in her eyes the second before turning to leave her bedroom. So opposite of the picture of her hidden in the depth of his duffel bag, the one that will accompany him wherever he will be sent. The chocolate eyes with the wrinkles of laugh around them and the teasing smile forever captured on the white paper, so opposite from tears and pain in her eyes that will be ached in his memory.

He numbly took his duffel bag checking his carefully hidden treasure before walking to meet with his commanding officer in Dean’s office. His thoughts solely on Claire, while he listened to his orders. The tears in her eyes and the shake in her fingers. The way she looked at him. And the way she kissed him, while he kissed her in return. The soft caresses of their lips before turning into inferno.

He hoped, while on his way to Vancross's private airport, that when the reality will settle down it will hurt a little bit less and that he will be okay... that she will be okay. But it still hurt the same. And he knew that no matter how long time will pass it still will hurt the same, no less… probably even more.

His heart thumping loudly, singing a sad melody, while the image of her following his every move throughout the airport. Her eyes, the colour of the warm coffee and childhood memories. Her soft lips, that always taste like a peach lemonade on a hot summer day. Her smile, the one that warms him every time, whenever it reaches her eyes. And her voice, the telltale melody of her emotions storming inside of her. The one way of telling how she really feels. And the one that he can hear even now calling for him, with the notes of panic and hope colouring it.

His steps falter just slightly, while he walks to the gate, reliving the events of the past month. Their first meeting and their goodbye... their first kiss and their last... their scandal and their escape. And the way she didn’t wanted him to get hurt, same way as he would do anything to keep her safe.

He shakes his head, when he hears her again calling for him in desperation, piercing through his fogged mind, reaching out for him. And he is almost sure that he hears things, until he hears his name called for a third time.

“Tatum wait!” He hears, and he stops dead, slowly turning to face Claire.

Tagging: @choices-bound​​​​ @jamespotterthefirst​​​​ @mercury84choices​​​​ @k2624​​​​ @thefrenchiemama​ @choicesreal​​​​ @starrystarrytrouble​​​​ @boneandfur​​​​ @walkerswhiskeygirl​​​​ @sophxwithers​​​​ @ramseysrookiex​ @suitfer

[shinyatiny]

Flower Crown - yungi

Chapter four: A new face

_____________________________

Three days passed by quicker than Mingi would have desired. For three days he's been covered up in woolly covers, gawking at the ceiling with wide eyes. Midway through his self-isolation, the fact that he has to attend the festival had settled into his mind. Just the thought of himself struggling against all those courageous fighters made him feel ill to the stomach. There's no way he could fight those guys and succeed. He wasn't a skilled fighter, he was a magic specialist. In the worst-case scenario, he'd get his ass whooped or get injured, and either of those scenarios doesn't sound good to Mingi, at all.

He had no idea how much time was left because he hadn't come out of his chambers for days. Maybe the guards would barge into his room at any minute and drag him out of bed. With a muffled grumble, Mingi freed himself out of the pile of blankets around his body and went to his wardrobe, opening the double doors and peeking inside. As one would guess, he hadn't changed his clothes for at least three days. He smelled, he smelled really bad and he was conscious of that.

Stretching for a towel that was situated on the highest shelf, he tossed it atop his shoulder and unbuckled the silver belt around his pants. Now would be a good time to take a warm, relaxing bath. Especially before the chaos that was about to unravel. Not caring to close the closet doors, Mingi made his way out of his room and wandered to the nearest bathroom. A few servants gave the elf prince several concerned glimpses regarding his condition, but Mingi overlooked them and fastened his pace.

Once he had arrived at the bathroom, he slid through the door and locked it behind him. Flicking the switch on, the azure fairy lanterns brightened the formerly gloomy bathroom. Mingi stared at the lights for a hot second with a smile on his lips before looking around the bathroom. The bathtub was in the corner, shampoo bottles and a petite, yellow rubber duck on the edge. There was also a small shelf next to the bathtub with some towels and other necessary stuff on top of it.

°❀°

After taking a fresh bath, Mingi covered his body in a warm towel and glanced at the mirror before stepping out of the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and began to walk back to his quarters to change into his attire for the day. The corridors were calmer now and he didn't have to rush back to his room. He presumably would have slipped and injured himself if he had run.

And when more servants began to speed through the corridors, he did.

He slipped and collapsed.

Roughly three servants halted in their tracks and turned to look at Mingi who just face-planted straight to the floor, a sharp groan leaving his lips at the collision. One of the observing servants offered their hand for Mingi to take, but the young elf decided to take a brave face and decline the offer. He stood up from his awkward position and scraped his nape in discomfort, a red tint appearing on his cheeks. "Hi." Mingi blurted out, glancing at his feet with pursed lips. Before the servant could respond, Mingi had vanished.

"Oh my god, that was extremely embarrassing," Mingi whined to himself as he jerked the door to his room open and hid inside. He slid down against the door and hid his head between his knees, chuckling to himself because of his awkwardness. The towel around his hips had nearly fallen, so he adjusted it as he stood up again. As he got an extra towel to dry his hair, the door to his room unlocked with a loud creak. Mingi turned around in panic, fists darting to the cloth around his hips to hold it in place. "Who-"

His heart stopped beating for a second when he recognized it was one of the guards, standing tall in the doorway with a spear in his hand. "Excuse me for barging in so abruptly, but I have come to get you, prince Mingi. Your father's orders." The guard spoke sternly, nearing the young elf. Mingi had never noticed this particular guard, and he was instantly intrigued by what kind of a person he was. He looked young, extremely young for a guard. His fiery red hair was vibrant and it made him look like a real soldier. "Prince Mingi?" The guard tilted his head to the side, curly strands of hair hanging down his forehead.

The named elf took a step back, glaring at the guard with narrowed eyes. "Can you at least let me change first?" Mingi answered smoothly, a sigh leaving his lips when the guard nodded in approval. "Thank you." He stated, relieved. But after ten minutes, the guard hadn't left the room. Mingi lifted an eyebrow, staring at the guard in confusion. "Are you just going to stand there and watch as I change? You're not here to enjoy the show, are you? So leave, I'll come when I'm ready." He rolled his eyes, an evident grin dancing on his lips. The guard squinted at Mingi, turning around without saying a word, and fled the room.

The young elf breathed in vexation, slopping back on his mattress. He had no ambition to attend the festivities anymore but his father kept neglecting him. Why does he have to prove himself? Why does he have to do it to prove his clan's capability to the other clans? Is it so challenging to find a more experienced warrior to fight in his place? There was no point for Mingi to join the fighting festival. He'd just embarrass himself, his father, and the rest of the clans. What would happen if he lost?

"Why do I have to do this?" Mingi whined, burying his face in his cushion, letting his body relax against the soft bedding. He knew he had to go, but his silky sheets were making him sleepy all over again. He was also aware of the fact that the guard was waiting for him behind the door and if Mingi took longer than ten minutes to change, the guard would barge in once again to check on him. With a groan, he heaved himself up and walked to his closet, eyeing all the piles of fabric on the shelves. "I know my father wants me to change into something traditional, but do I have to wear all those necklaces with bones hanging from them?" He whispered to himself, feeling one of his shirts with his fingers, humming.

A few years ago, Mingi wore his clothes to Lenaia and he got yelled at by his father because he was supposed to wear something more "traditional" like his father always said. But the bones and weird symbols weren't his styles, and they would certainly not pique any interest in anyone. Since then, Mingi has obeyed his father's orders and has worn different bone necklaces and weird armor at the festival.

But today was different, Mingi was the representative of the Iris clan and he had to look exemplary. The chief's opinion wasn't important right now, the only thing Mingi wanted was to look good in front of the other clans. So he decided to wear whatever pleased his eye today. Although his closet was quite full of clothes, he was able to pick an outfit for the festival.

Mingi chose to wear an oversized white shirt with golden buttons and elegantly laced sleeves. He tucked the silky shirt under some black leather pants and buckled his favorite silver belt on. For shoes, he decided to go with plain black ones. This was nothing like the traditional outfit, and it would unquestionably get people's attention, but that's what he was there for; for attention. His father used him for image, nothing else. The plan was to attack with everything he possessed and come out as the victor. Mingi was nearly convinced he would lose. On purpose or not.

After added five minutes of attempting to pick the most suitable necklace, he selected a basic golden chain. It was something he regularly had on and he fancied it quite a bit. Seonghwa had given the piece of jewelry on Mingi's birthday last year and he was delighted to accept such a present from his friend. As his outfit was coming together excellently, he reached for the earring on his desk only to find it gone. With a faint gasp, Mingi browsed frantically throughout the chamber but had no success in locating the earring.

He touched his ear in discomfort, perching down on his bed with a thud. "But I just received it from Seonghwa..." He muttered to himself, his delicate fingers moving towards his golden markings, exploring the swirls and twists beneath the silky shirt. The earring reminded him of his mother, it had already become one of Mingi's most cherished items. There was no way he'd lose the piece of jewelry just like that. "Did I forget it in the bathroom?!" He said, eyes wide with realization, instantly standing up and throwing the door open.

As he opened the door, a squeal echoed in the corridors. It was a servant who had dropped her basket of fresh, unworn clothes on the floor after the door had knocked her. She glanced at the prince and then at the basket, a panicked expression settling on her features. Just as she was about to apologize and bend, Mingi lifted his hand to stop her from executing her plan. "Please, don't. It was my mistake." He beamed, picking up the basket and returning it to her. "I opened the door without considering twice about the servants who rush through the corridors. So apologies for that, Miss."

The girl stared at Mingi in wonder, finding it difficult to accept how distinct Mingi happened to be from his father. He presented the girl with a nonchalant grin and gave her the remainder of the now-dirtied clothes. "I — It's fine, don't bug about it." She replied bashfully, taking the clothes from Mingi's hand. "I was in your way anyways..." She smiled shyly, taking a step back so Mingi could step out into the hallway.

He sighed, shaking his head with a smile on his lips. "Unfortunately I have to disagree, Miss. I was the one who opened the door in the first place, so allow me to at least take these now-dirty clothes to the bathroom." He quirked up an eyebrow, eyeing the basket in the girl's hands. "It's the least I can do."

For a moment, Mingi had completely overlooked the red-haired guard who was standing close to the doorway, eyeing him up and down. When Mingi finally noticed the young guard, his eyes opened wide in embarrassment. The guard narrowed his eyes and pointed at his wrist as if to show Mingi he didn't have much time. The young servant tightened her grip on the basket full of fresh clothes and glimpsed at Mingi and the guard with pursed lips. "Excuse me... but I can deliver this to the bathroom." She spoke quietly, gaining the prince's attention.

Mingi shook his head, declining her sweet offer. "I was on my way to the bathroom anyways. You can go back wherever you came from." He smiled, taking the basket from the girl's pale hand. "This fine young man can escort you back if you'd like." He smirked, pushing the red-haired guard towards the girl. The said guard, halted in his steps, turning to look at Mingi with a confused look which the prince straight-up ignored. "Alright, I'll be on my way then."

Before he could turn around, the guard had grabbed Mingi's forearm and tugged him towards himself with more strength than he originally wanted to use. Mingi's eyes went wide and he shoved the guard away from him with a muted hiss. "Let go of me." He muttered, already sensing the warm tingles scattering from his arm to the remainder of his body. "I know you're new and all, but you should understand it's not relevant to grab someone solely like that." He spat, caressing the markings on his arm.

The guard froze in place, letting go of Mingi's arm immediately. The anguishing silence went on for another minute, the only thing making noise being the hasty footsteps of other servants. Until Mingi's loud sigh broke that silence, it was painfully silent. He gave the servant girl an apologizing look before taking the basket from her and dragging the guard towards the bathroom with him. The burning sensation in his arm hadn't gone away yet and it clouded his mind, made him almost lose his balance as he walked. He glanced at the guard, rolling his eyes at the neutral expression he wore.

Mingi let go of the guard's hand when they reached the bathroom and opened the door, balancing the basket with his other hand. The wooden basket hung on his shoulder, making it hard for him to open the heavy door. "Could you help me with the door?" He huffed, giving up. The other nodded his head briefly before pushing the door open. "Thank you. Now, I have something to say to you...?" He trailed, looking at the guard with a questioning look. "What's your name?"

"Jongho." The guard answered without breaking a sweat, straightening his back whilst Mingi asked him some questions. "My name is Jongho, sir." He said. The way Jongho spoke formally made Mingi want to roll his eyes and sigh as loudly as he could. He hated the fact that servants had to "worship" their "masters". It wasn't fair to the servants and the names made Mingi feel like he was a king or something. Jongho noticed Mingi's crestfallen expression, cocking his head to the left. "Prince Mingi? Is there something wrong?"

"Drop the formalities, Jongho. Just call me Mingi." The blonde remarked, entering the bathroom with Jongho. "I never liked to be called the 'prince', it makes me feel sick to my stomach for some reason. Feels like I'm putting myself before everyone else, and it makes me feel worshiped, I don't like it." He explained, leaning against the counter. Jongho blinked twice before nodding slowly, scratching the back of his neck with a shy smile.

"But-"

"Come on, you can do it."

"P—Mingi," Jongho said awkwardly, stuttering with his words. "Are you sure I can call you that? Won't it be too awkward?" He added, anxiously looking for an answer in Mingi's eyes. The prince let out a breathy laugh, placing a hand on Jongho's shoulder like some old friends.

"Don't worry about it. We're basically best friends already, right?" Mingi laughed, nudging the other's shoulder. "Anyway, I have some questions." He said, taking the hand away from Jongho's shoulder. "Based on your reaction earlier, it seems as if you have no idea what markings are. That means you're either not an elf or you've lived under a rock your whole life. I think the first one is the case here, don't you think so too?"

As if getting hit by a frying pan, Jongho froze before Mingi, visible panic in his expression. The way he stopped functioning completely made even Mingi worried for a second. "I — what are you talking about?" Jongho laughed nervously, his grip around his spear tightening further. "Are you implying I'm not an elf?" He said, his other hand gripping the brown shirt he was wearing. "But I am."

Mingi raised his eyebrows, nodding while a sly smirk played on his lips. Jongho gulped under Mingi's judging gaze, eyes finding the floor. "Of course, I believe you. Oh, and out of curiosity, where's your Iris located? And what about your markings? Mine is on my forearm; in the same exact place you grabbed onto." He said, sitting on the marble counter, arms crossed. "Jongho, I can see through your hoax. I don't mind the fact that you aren't an elf, but lying like this isn't smart either, so spit it out."

"I'm am an elf."

"That's the best joke of this century."

"I-"

"Lying won't get you anywhere, Jongho."

Jongho raised his chin to look into Mingi's chocolate brown eyes, finding it a bit awkward that Mingi knew precisely what he was about to say. He didn't mind the idea of Mingi knowing about his true identity, but if he were to tell anyone else about it, it would certainly stir the pot a little bit. "Fine." Jongho sighed, putting more weight on the spear, almost leaning against the wooden object. "You guessed it, I'm not an elf." He raised his hand in the air as if he was surrendering. Biting his tongue, Jongho examined Mingi's neutral, almost disappointed expression for a few seconds before speaking again. "You seem disappointed,  Mingi ." This was the first time he had ever used the prince's name like this and it made things a little awkward, at least for Jongho.

The blonde let out a snort, shutting his eyes before speaking. "And you act like I hadn't figured that out already, Jongho." The way the red head's name slipped through his lips was almost cunning as if he was playing with the name on purpose. Jongho observed as Mingi hopped down the counter and made his way towards the bathtub, picking up a shampoo bottle, examining the label out of boredom. "Then what are you? You clearly aren't a fae because I don't see any shimmering wings on you. Plus you're more muscular than I am and faes are usually tiny and delicate, they're smaller than elves, maybe even smaller than humans."

Jongho sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose in utter frustration. The way Mingi talked made him somewhat annoyed, if not irritated even. "No, I'm obviously not a fae. You think a fae would be as big as me?" He snorted in unbelief, raising a questioning eyebrow at Mingi. "I'm a berserker, Mingi. You're familiar with berserkers, correct? You know, the fierce, powerful species of warriors? The species that are known for not using their brain?" He explained nonchalantly as if he were speaking to a five-year-old boy.

The said "five-year-old boy" blinked at Jongho, mouth open in disbelief as if he had just heard about someone's passing. His pointy ears perked up, proving he was attentively paying attention to every single word. A berserker in an elf village? That's something Mingi never imagined would occur, not now, not ever, nor has he seen a berserker before. He definitely thought berserkers would be larger than this, like the ones in his books. "You're a goddamn berserker?!" Mingi replied, eyes wide like huge plates. "I understood berserkers were this big," he said, raising his hand above his head. "and you definitely aren't. Damn, even I'm taller than you, Jongho." He continued with a low chuckle, disregarding the annoyed scowls he got from the younger. "How the hell were you able to get work from here?"

Jongho hummed with pursed lips, turning his head to the side as he considered for an answer. Mingi watched as the other's red curls fell down his forehead, formulating a definite picture of Jongho in Mingi's mind. Jongho was admittedly attractive, that Mingi couldn't dismiss, and the red, fiery hair made the entire masterpiece intact. Even in metal armor, Mingi was able to distinguish Jongho's sturdy build and his exquisite characteristics.

Jongho noticed Mingi gazing and coughed, attempting to gain the other's attention. Mingi blinked twice and panicked a tad bit before grinning widely, rubbing his nape. The guard rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. "I got in through someone I know, but you don't have to worry about that, Mingi." He explained hastily, not granting Mingi an answer. "I know being a berserker inside an elf community might not be the safest of ideas, but no individual has discerned yet, besides you of course. I believed my facade was flawless, but I suppose it was not."

"First of all," Mingi said, pointing a finger at Jongho's chest plate, adding pressure to the finger. "No elf is built like this, mister berserker. You have more muscle than everyone in the village combined, and that's a lot of muscle. Look at me for instance, you could presumably break all my limbs just by grazing them with your pinkie." He snorted, tapping the other's shoulder. "I mean, how the hell wasn't my father capable of recognizing you from the other guards? Sort of questionable if you ask me, but you assured me I don't need to worry about it, so I'll drop the topic for now. I know my father doesn't prefer to wait and we've wasted plenty of time in this darned bathroom. I got what I craved for anyways." He said, hand finding its way to his pocket, pulling the shiny piece of jewelry out.

"What's that?" Jongho lifted an eyebrow, staring at the earring Mingi was holding in his grasp. The golden star was peeking through Mingi's fingers, the chain a little messy from remaining in his pocket for so long. "Is that a family heirloom of some kind? Looks important." He spoke, detaching his back from the wall, walking to the door. Mingi hummed, letting the earring dangle on his fingers. "You know, you don't need to fight if you don't fancy to, Mingi. You appeared stressed when I reached your chamber, it's like you disliked the fact you had to go."

"Oh please, I never desired this in the first place, Jongho. My father's been pulling my strings from the very beginning. It's not like I can do anything concerning it." Mingi breathed, reaching for his ear with the earring and placing it in its rightful place. "But you're right, I don't want to fight, in fact, I want to leave this village and live somewhere else. But I can't. I presume my father intends on wedding me off to a woman from another clan, but I don't want to live my life like that. I want to live freely for as long as I can without being tied down to someone."

"Mingi-"

"And I don't want to settle down with anyone yet."

"Listen-"

"Do you understand, Jongho? I wish to explore the enchanted woodlands without a care in the world." Mingi babbled, disregarding the guard nonchalantly. "I don't even know if I-"

"Goddamn it, Mingi. Let me speak will you?" Jongho exploded, hitting the floor with his wooden staff. Mingi froze like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes fixating on the younger. The said guard sighed and tightened the grip on his spear, lifting a brow at the blonde. "Why do you speak so much? Gosh." He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't do anything regarding your problem. If you say you don't have a choice but to attend the festival, then I can't help you. And as you just stated, let's not keep your father waiting any longer, I don't want him to hit you or anything of the like. Also, sorry for talking to you so informally, it still feels a bit improper of me to call you merely by your first name."

"I-" Mingi struggled, mouth hanging open as he thought of an answer. "It's perfectly fine, I understand your concern, but it's fine, truly. I hope you're not uneasy about me calling you by your name. I simply don't like to shove my title into each conversation I have, so using first names is the most beneficial for me."

"And I appreciate you being so thoughtful of others, Mingi. I haven't seen someone similar to you in ages." Jongho nodded with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now, shall we go meet your father?"

"Please, I don't deserve such compliments from you." Mingi beamed back, throwing an arm around Jongho's shoulder. The younger gave him a troubled look but accepted it nevertheless. "Let's go meet my old man."

°❀°

The chief was impatiently waiting for the pair, tapping the floor with his foot. The atmosphere around him was cloudy and dark which caused some of the servants to grow fearful of him. When he finally acknowledged the two figures strolling towards him, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Only after he realized what Mingi was wearing did his smile fade into oblivion. "Son." He stated coldly, eyeing his son up and down. "I thought I was very clear about the dress code. You seem to have forgotten about my orders."

Jongho glanced at the blonde, examining Mingi's carefree expression in confusion. The said elf quirked up an eyebrow, lazily grinning at his father like he didn't worry at all. "Oh, your orders were quite clear, I just didn't feel like following them, that's all," Mingi stated, stopping in front of his father. He stood in front of the younger berserker, keeping him behind for good measure. "You see, I'm there for attention, nothing else. I'm aware of the fact that I won't succeed even if I tried my goddamn hardest out there, and so are you. I have no clue why you concluded it would be an excellent plan to put your son, who isn't able to fight at all by the way, out there to compete. It just doesn't make any sense to me."

A visible crease appeared between the elder's brows, a grim expression forming on his face. Mingi had definitely hit a line there. "I think you know exactly why I want you to fight at the festival, Mingi." He stated, stepping forwards. "I've thought about this for months and came to the conclusion that it would be a perfect opportunity to prove what our clan is capable of. I'm sure you understand-"

"And you'd put me out there even though you know I'll get hurt and injured? You'd risk your own son for fame?" Mingi cocked his head to the left, disappointment written all over his face, but when Jongho looked closer it was as if the blonde knew exactly how this would go. "Heavens, father. You're the parent of the year. I swear I'll leave this godforsaken village after the festival." He sighed, grabbing Jongho's arm so they could leave his father alone. The berserker gasped at the sudden skin contact but didn't say anything about it, trailing behind Mingi as they made their way somewhere else.

"Mingi!" His father yelled from behind, making the young berserker grimace at the raspy voice of his boss. "Come back here this instant! I wasn't ready with you!"

Mingi chuckled to himself, fastening his pace, tightening his grasp on Jongho's hand. "Ignore him, he knows I'm right." He said with a wide grin, glancing at Jongho over his broad shoulder. "Also, do you know where I have to go so I can prepare for the battles? No one ever informed me and I never bothered to investigate either," He laughed.

"Of course," The berserker smiled. "I can take you there."

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (6)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.2k warnings: Brock continues to be the biggest asshole on the planet, the angst begins, that long-distance longing gets a little closer 🌹series masterlist 🌹

A few weeks had passed since you’d found Bucky in your living room in the early hours of the morning, hunched over your very expensive furniture and catching droplets of blood before they stained the satin finish. You’d taken every excuse you could get to check on his wounds, to rewrap them and try to sooth the stinging pain of open cuts anyway, and Bucky was more than happy to oblige.

You’d scrunch your nose at him from across the room, eyes darting down to the pink bandages circling at his knuckles that had been white the day before and you’d quickly turn down the hall to your library, a silent order to follow. Bucky never wasted a second, excusing himself from the meetings that proved to be useless outside of gossip on Rumlow’s business meetings downtown past 2am.

He’d find you waiting on your couch, the first aid kit already unpacked as if you’d prepared for him ahead of time and you’d wordlessly gesture to the spot beside you. The scowl on your face as you unwrapped the bandages and found he’d been careless with applying the anti-bacterial cream you’d given him was enough to make his stomach flutter.

Bucky knew how to take care of his wounds. He was more than capable of tending to his own injuries, but he so preferred the way your hands would cup the undersides of his as you’d closely inspect the damage, how you’d run the tips of your fingers over the half-healed scars with a delicacy he hadn’t known in years, how you’d mutter sweetly under your breath about how stupid he’d been.

He’d flash you a smile until the concern and the frustration slowly drained away with every passing glance and you were only left with a grin of your own and a slight nervous laugh as you’d swat at his shoulder in an effort make him stop looking at you like you were hanging the damn stars in the sky and not just twisting a cloth bandage around his broken knuckles.

If that was what it took for you to hold his hands in your own, to feel you so close, to have any excuse just to be near you like this, he’d beat his fists to a damn wall.

The light pink scarring on his hands were taking longer than normal to heal and maybe if he wasn’t blatantly disregarding your instructions to change the bandages frequently and apply the anti-bacterial cream like he usually did, he would have been good as new a week or so earlier.

There was just something about you going out of your way to take care of him that pushed away any regard for himself out the window. He’d happily deal with a slight stinging and soreness a little longer if it meant you being that close to him again.

Because the thing was, his time was limited with you.

It was easy to forget that he wasn’t actually James Karpov, that this wasn’t his life, but he was damn good at his job and he had been spending months gathering evidence behind the scenes and, well, Fury was impressed.

It was a rarity within the Bureau to see the Director crack a smile, but when Bucky handed him the dozens of scanned photocopies of files he’d made from Rumlow’s office, the left corner of his mouth twitched. Thanks to the duplicate key Sam provided, Bucky was able to obtain years’ worth of back channeled shipment logs and crew listings undetected. It was the most they’d had on Hydra since their inception in the 1940’s.

But it was the intel you unknowingly provided that helped to piece the evidence together into a cohesive picture, strung together with pretty red string.  

Bucky didn’t have to purposefully pry with you or word his questions with a precision that required Natasha and Steve’s help to develop weeks ahead of time like he’d done in previous assignments. No-- you’d become so comfortable with him on Sunday afternoons and late nights curled up in the library that you willingly offered details on your husband without provocation.

Never direct, because you didn’t like talking about your husband much -- especially with Bucky -- but you’d roll your eyes and tell him how Rumlow was coercing you into attending an expensive dinner with the Mayor on Thursday. You told him about how your husband slammed the door coming home late on a Tuesday night and Bucky was able to connect that to the missing crate from the Cerberus shipment from the logs he’d scanned. You’d smile when Bucky snuck his way into the library with carefully steps and slid between the crack in the door, only to tell him Rumlow’s been out on business all day and he wasn’t expected to be home until the morning.

It wasn’t enough to bring him to trial, but it was progress. Fury wasn’t taking any chances when it came to Rumlow’s elite defense team so everything they obtained on the guy had to be concrete, had to be overwhelming and eliminate any traces of doubt.

It meant Bucky would continue under the name James Karpov for a little while longer, and though he’d never tell the Director, it was a relief. It meant more time with you, uninterrupted, untouched by his lies and manipulation. He’d hold onto it as long as he could, because the uncertainty of how you’d handle his deceit when this was over was starting to eat at him.

***

With a heavy sigh, Bucky glanced around the layout of the Lernaean, Hydra’s club that doubled as a front for their shady underground criminal enterprise.

It was loud, the bass of the speakers blaring into his ear and pounding deep into his chest, as neon lights flashed above the dance floor. Bucky wondered if it just might be worse than standing quietly in the corner of Rumlow’s kitchen as he bragged about his latest feminine conquest. 

This was part of the job, though. He’d caught sight of two college aged kids carrying out a drug deal in the back corner of the club, not being as subtle as they thought they were as the flash of bright red powder caught his eye.

Cerberus wasn’t ready for market. It was killing users at a far higher rate than it was keeping them addicted, but it was still managing to get on the streets. Bucky had pushed past one of them, swiped the drug from their pocket without them noticing and emptied it into the dirt outside.

By the end of his shift, Bucky was almost certain he was going to have a raging headache by the morning. He started to make his way to the exit when he felt a vibration coming from his back pocket. Narrowing his eyes, knowing only a few people could have this number, he pulled the phone from his pocket. His team knew better than to reach out to him unexpectedly, but when your name flashed on the screen, the panic still caught him off guard.

Bucky pushed his way out of the club to the back-alley exit, shoving aside intoxicated twenty-somethings and high school kids who never should have been allowed inside, and the rush of fresh air hit him like a wall. Glancing down the street to find no one in sight, he brought the phone to his ear, heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

There was a gasp on the other end, like you thought he might not answer. “James?”

Your voice broke as you said his name. A sniffle. Then, a sharp intake of breath that sounded near painful.

Jesus. You were crying.

“Are you okay? What happened?” His voice was firmer than he ever meant to be with you, but the sound of your voice twisted and aching and laced with fresh tears was enough to rip straight through him. He shoved his free hand into his pocket in search of his keys, warm metal to the tips of his fingers. “Y/n, talk to me. Where are you?”

You didn’t respond but he could hear you trying to muffle the sob that collapsed into your lungs. When you tried to answer his question, he could only barely make out what you were saying through the faint gasps for breath and the gut-wrenching cries stealing your voice. Something about Rumlow, maybe Peter, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I’m on my way, alright?” Bucky said as calm as he could manage despite the rage boiling in his veins. He didn’t even know what Rumlow had done but he was ready to kill him. “Where’s--”

“Not here,” you mumbled before he could ask where your husband was.

His chest was tight. It was on fire. “You in the library?”

You hummed a response.

“Give me ten minutes, okay? I’m on my way.”

You didn’t say anything, but he stayed on the line with you.

As he jumped into his car and threw it into reverse.

As he drove twenty over the speed limit through back country roads, swerving around traffic, blowing past stop signs.

As he raced up the driveway as fast as his legs would carry him and through the front door.

Just listening to your breathing through the crackling tone of the speaker, your muffled attempts to silence the tears before they choked you, the sniffles as you brushed your hand over your nose.

It tore Bucky apart.

***

T W O  H O U R S  E A R L I E R

You were only a few pages to the end of The Handmaid’s Tale when the doorbell rang. It was an unfamiliar sound, a high-pitched tone echoing up into the atrium and spilling into the hallways. And perhaps, for a moment, it didn’t seem so odd, because what would be so surprising about someone stopping by for a visit or a neighborhood kid selling cookies or a UPS driving dropping off a package or a canvasser for a local politician running for office?

But then you realized who you were. And who you lived with.

You didn’t get visitors. Your home was not one that people just came up to the front door. There were gates and security guards and there wasn’t a single neighbor for miles.

The doorbell didn’t just... ring.

Slowly, you set your book down, binding open and page saved by the surface of the coffee table, as you stood to your feet. You made your way out of the library and down the hall, cautious steps carrying you. It rang out again and your pace increased.  

By the time the bell rang for a third time, you were at the front door, staring at it like it was something out of the twilight zone. Brock’s men had never been the type to wait for permission before entering your home. They learned well from their leader, you supposed. They didn’t carry the kind of patience or human decency to seek your consent.

Then, a rushed knocking broke out on the other side of the door and it startled you enough to fall back a few paces in shock. You huffed a fallen hair from your eyes, pushing aside the anxiety churning in your stomach and reached for the knob.

The door only opened a sliver, a short beam of sunlight peering into the room before a figure shoved their way inside and left you stumbling away from the frame, knob still clenched tight in your hand.

“I thought you’d never answer!”

Peter pushed his way past you and your eyes shot wide at the sight of him; ruffled hair, rosy cheeks, the new jacket you’d bought him bunched up by his collar, in your home… the home of your husband, of Hydra.

Peter was grinning ear to ear, taking in the decorations and the extravagance of the mansion as he shrugged off his coat. The entirety of his apartment in Queens could have fit within the living room alone and Peter was looking around as if it was the Taj Mahal, picking up various expensive vases and memorabilia, inspecting it before setting it back down. A circle of dust sat under the slight disparity of where he placed them back on the surfaces. They hadn’t been moved in years.

“Peter,” you choked out, throat dry, “what are you doing here?”

“It’s been years since I’ve been to visit you, Y/n! It’s almost like you’re purposefully keeping me away from this place,” he teased, laughing and smiling because Peter never expected anything but the best of you. It never once crossed his mind that you would be lying to him about who Brock really was, what he’s done, and how your marriage had become a publicity stunt, a political move to obtain your inheritance.

He never considered the truth behind his lighthearted joke.

“Peter,” you urged again, tense, teeth gritted, “why are you here?”

“Brock invited me,” he replied casually over his shoulder and your whole body tensed up. Peter picked up a glass cigar tray Brock received as a gift from the Mayor last year, looking it over with pursed lips and a genuine fascination before he placed it back on the end table.

Meanwhile, your hand was still gripped to the doorknob and you were sure your fingers were locked in place, the metal warping under your hold. You might break the whole damn door from its hinges.

Peter turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “Did he not tell you?”

You tried to part your lips to tell him ‘no,’ that Brock invited him for a reason and springing it on you last minute like this couldn’t mean anything good. You wanted to warn him to leave before it was too late, before Brock dragged him into this world of darkness and monsters but there wasn’t a chance before you heard heavy footsteps echoing down the hall and into the living room.

“There you are, Parker!”

Hairs raised on your neck, on your arms, as you turned to find Brock walking into the room with a smile on his face you hadn’t seen in months, not since he’d been informed of the profit margins Cerberus was expected to generate. It was unsettling, foreign, and you felt bile rising in your stomach as he crossed the room and pulled Peter in for a hug.

“It’s been years,” Brock said, eyeing you as his smile turned to something colder, a dark expression in his eyes, before he slid the mask back on and faced Peter. “Feels like Y/n’s been hoarding you all to herself, doesn’t it?”

Peter laughed a bit, though you could tell it was forced. He didn’t understand the implication, but he was a smart kid. “Yeah, seems like it.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you’ve finally made the trip out to our home. We certainly have enough space,” Brock said, gesturing to the living room.

With a hand on Peter���s back, he led him further inside the house, pushing him along and you couldn’t move. It felt like Brock was leading him to a pit in the backyard only to hand him a shovel. You wanted to scream.

“Been trying to get out here for a while,” Peter replied. “Always told Y/n I could come to her, too, but she insists on meeting me in Queens.”

Brock shook his head, a tsk on his tongue. “Every Sunday, too? She’s always been a selfless one, hasn’t she?”

Your heart was in your throat, stomach plummeting as Peter only nodded, smiling back at you. He narrowed his eyes though, smile fading as he noticed your hands clenched at your sides, nails puncturing into your palms as released your grip from the doorknob, teeth grinding, breath uneven. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.

Peter was perceptive, but you’d learned how to hide things from him over the years. It wasn’t as easy when the very man you’d been protecting him from for years had his hand on Peter’s shoulder and a look in his eye that left you feeling sick to your stomach. You couldn’t hold the same composure when your nightmare was playing out in front of you.

What scared you the most was you didn’t even know how Brock found out about your Sunday trips to see Peter or when he learned about them. It wouldn’t be outside of his reach to hire someone to follow you. Maybe someone overheard you talking to him on the phone the night before or maybe one of the dozens of drivers you rotated through let it slip.

It didn’t matter, because now he knew. Now, Peter was in your home and Brock had an arm over his shoulders, and he was planning something.

You didn’t dare let yourself wonder if he knew about the time you’d spent with James, too.

“Dinner should be ready in a few,” Brock said, gesturing to the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry for spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Always,” Peter chimed back, though he glanced over at you, still uncertain.

You only nodded at him, encouraging him forward because what else was there to do?

You followed them into the kitchen as you were met with a sudden influx of oregano and basil and homemade tomato sauce that looked to be on the stove for hours. Peter asked Brock if he’d made it himself and you scoffed. Brock shot you a glare before confirming that, yes, he found the time to cook on occasion, though you knew for a fact that he’d never once laid a hand on that stove. You could spot Clara’s apron sticking out of the drawer where she’d put it away hastily.

“Take a seat,” Brock said, pulling out a chair for Peter across the table from his usual spot.

You slid in next to Peter, despite your place setting sitting on the right of Brock. You grabbed the dish and utensils from across the table and dragged them to you, staring at Brock with a glare that could have burned holes into his head.

“Smells amazing,” Peter commented. He was always a polite kid. He turned to you again because your silence was uncharacteristic and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Your heart clenched when you realized he was checking on you; this protective habit the two of you had for each other.

You pushed out a smile, forced, and it didn’t come near your eyes but it was enough to put him at ease for a moment longer.

The dinner passed by in agonizing pace. After Brock served the table, something he’d never once done before, he and Peter ate nearly two full servings before you managed to take in a few bites. Even the bites you could stand to swallow were impossibly small and despite the intoxicating fragrance of Italian kitchens, you tasted bile on your tongue with every bite.

Brock and Peter were laughing about something you couldn’t quite hear. Brock swatted Peter’s arm from across the table like they were old friends, as if there hadn’t been three years of dead silence between them. It was only after the boys’ plates were clean and you snuck to the counter to dispose of the rest of your meal in Tupperware you didn’t expect to return to later, that Brock focused in on what he’d been planning for the entire evening.

“So, Pete,” Brock started, leaning back into his chair with a glass of red wine in his hand. He downed it in one gulp. “How have things been with you and May down in Queens? You managing alright?”

“Brock,” you warned but he waved you off. Peter tapped your forearm with a soft smile as you sat back into your seat.

“No, it’s alright,” he told you before turning to Brock. “It’s been okay. Tougher since we lost Uncle Ben because Aunt May’s been picking up extra shifts and I… I do what I can. Y/n helps out a lot. More than she should.”

Peter glances over at you nervously, like he was unsure if he should have mentioned that last part, about how you spend money to buy him his books and new coats and sneakers and pay for every Sunday outing together, but that’s not what you're worried about.

“She’s a generous one, isn’t she?” Brock said, smile on his face though his teeth were clenched behind it. He leaned forward, setting the empty glass on the table and your heart skipped a beat. You’ve seen him do that before – in business meetings when he went in for the kill.

You tried to say something, but Brock was too fast for that and you were paralyzed.

“How would you like to make five-hundred a week?”

Peter’s eyes bolted wide, jaw dropping, and you swore, you might have cracked the glass in your hand, the wine nearly spilling up over the top.

“Brock, stop.” Your voice was too quiet, too tense. You didn’t even know if he heard you.

“Wow, that’s—uh, wow,” Peter stumbled around his words. He raked his fingers through his hair nervously. “What would I be doing?”

Brock shrugged, as if he hadn’t meticulously planned this. “I have some packages I need delivered on your side of town and who better to navigate the area than a local? My only condition is that you’re discrete and you leave the packages as is. What’s inside is confidential.”

“Brock,” you tried again, but paid you no mind. You dug your nails into your thigh.

“And this is for the club?” Peter asked.

Brock nodded. “What do you say, kid? You want to step up around the house? I’m sure it would take a lot of pressure off your aunt’s shoulders. I know you want that, don’t you?”

In the shared look between your cousin, who was more like a brother than you ever knew, and the man who had become the source of every demon in your life, you found your voice again.

“Absolutely not.”

Peter turned to you, shocked. “What! Come on, Y/n. You know how much I’ve been wanting to help Aunt May with the bills and –”

“I’ll help her,” you offered tensely, ignoring Brock’s comment under his breath claiming it was his money you were handing over anyway. Peter started to object and you tried again, “I’ll ask the Marselli’s or Neftali down at Café Ramos if they need help. We’ll find you a job if you want one, Peter. Not this, okay? We’ll find something else.”

“Not for five-hundred a week on a high schooler’s schedule,” Peter argued. He was calm in his wording, gentle, because while he didn’t understand the reason behind your objections, he knew you were upset and he never wanted to hurt you.

At a loss, you turned to your husband. He was sprawled out over the chair next to him, arm laying across the back, legs crossed. He was chewing on the ice from his glass. The left side of his mouth curved knowingly and it made your stomach ache.

“Brock,” you reasoned, begged, “please. Can we just talk for a second?”

There was a short moment of silence and for a second, you though he might have an ounce of the compassion he’d shown in the two years you’d been together before he pulled the carpet out from under you. He’d been kind then. You’d loved him once. You always wondered if it was all an act or if maybe, somewhere, there was a piece of him that wasn’t as cruel as you imagined.

But instead, a smirk peered up on his lips as he settled back into his chair. “I think Peter is more than capable of making his own decisions, don’t you?”

You bit down hard on your cheek, enough to taste the cooper of blood pooling in your mouth. Swallowing it back, you pushed your chair out from the table. Tears were burning in your eyes and you didn’t dare let Peter see.

You excused yourself, quickly darting out of the room and you could vaguely hear Peter calling your name and Brock’s voice telling him, “don’t worry about her, champ. She’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

There was no relief in the living room. The air was too hot, too stuffy and you were crawling in your skin. You knew where you needed to go, the heaviness of your phone in your pocket a reminder of exactly who you wanted to see, but you wouldn’t abandon Peter; not alone with Brock.

Brushing the tears from your eyes and exhaling a heavy breath, you started to make your way back to the kitchen when the door suddenly swung open. Peter bounded towards you and hugged you tightly.

“Please don’t be angry,” he mumbled into the shoulder of your sweater. “You know how much I want to help Aunt May. This is how I can do it. It’s just delivering some packages a few times a week. We’ll still have our Sundays.”

Is that why he thought you were upset?

Maybe that’s what Brock told him, though you wondered why he bothered keeping Peter in the dark at all about what he’ll be tasked with delivering. There was no convincing Peter out of this and you knew that before Brock had even offered him the job. He was young, incredibly selfless and so willing to do whatever it took to care for the ones he loved that he’d overlook dangerous warning signs without realizing it.

There was nothing you could do.

“Okay,” you conceded, patting his head as he pulled away. It drew a smile back to his face, and for that, at least, you were grateful. “Text me when you get home, alright?”

“You got it,” Peter nodded. He turned back to Brock. “Thanks again, man! I’ll see you next week?”

“I’ll be in touch,” Brock confirmed, leading Peter to the door and opening it for him. Peter turned around and gave a final wave before he jogged out into the darkness, coat bundled up and hands shoved in his pockets.

You didn’t waste a second the very moment the door closed.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” you cried out, slamming your hand against the cadenza and causing several priceless gifts from neighboring crime families to tremor for a moment before they stilled again. Your chest was panting, air hot in your lungs. “I asked one thing of you, Brock. One thing! Keep my family the hell away from your shit!”

Brock stood by the door, unfazed by your sudden outburst and the level at which you were yelling. It wasn’t often you’d confront him like this, preferring passive aggressive taunts and blatant avoidance, so this was something new. A challenge. Brock liked challenges.

“Things have changed since then, baby,” he replied with a shrug.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you huffed, arms folding over your chest as you watched him pace further into the room and pour himself a glass of whiskey.

“You used to be quieter, you know that?” he said, swirling the amber liquid and holding it up to the light before bringing the glass to his lips. You raised an eyebrow, the lingering silence passing over while he savored the burn of the alcohol. He sighed, setting the glass back down. “Something’s different.”

“That doesn’t mean you can use my sixteen-year-old cousin as a bargaining chip!” you yelled, tears stinging in your eyes and you no longer cared if he saw you cry. “He’s a kid, Brock! You’re—you’re going to get him killed running product between the Hydra and Asgardian border!”

“Maybe,” he said and you sucked in a gasp that tore through you like shards of broken glass, “but you sure as hell aren’t going anywhere as long as he’s a part of this.”

“What?” you shook your head, pinching at the bridge of your nose. “You’ve already got me here under threat of blackmail. I didn’t think I’d have to remind you of that. Besides, why would you even care whether I’m here or not? You already have my father’s money. You have no use for me.”

“That’s not true, baby,” Brock cooed, swiftly crossing the room and reaching out to run a hand up your arm but you pulled away, flinching at his touch. He didn’t seem to like that because when he tried again, he wasn’t as gentle in his movement and he grabbed a firm hold of your wrist and yanked you tight to his chest, caging you and he pressed your back against him, wrapping his forearms around your waist.

“Let me go,” you warned, but he ignored you.

“A powerful man needs his queen; a beautiful woman on his arm and a body to warm his bed,” he said as he squeezed you tighter, enough to make it hard to breath. His grip on your wrist started to ache. “Not everyone is from the underworld like I am, baby. Sometimes a man in a suit needs to be reeled in with the promise of a legitimate lucrative business, a family man, and a pretty lady. The American dream. I can’t do that without you.”

You scoffed, trying to wiggle out of his hold but he kept you still, trapped in the arms of a snake. “I’m sure you could manage.”

“Don’t be so ungrateful, baby,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot and sticky against your neck. He released you then and you shoved your way out of him arms, stumbling forward a few paces. You turned back to him with a hardened glare over your features, baring teeth and he said, “don’t I provide you with a comfortable life? I give you the world, Y/n! What more could you possibly want?”

You could think of a few things.

Your job back at Columbia with the friends you lost. The freedom to walk down the street without someone noticing you, connecting you to him and running off in fear or blatantly gossiping about you as you walked past. A blue-eyed man with a kinder smile than you’d known in years.

You’d burn this house and your father’s money to the ground if you could have even an ounce of that life.

Brock straightened his back, grabbing his coat from the rack and shrugged it over his shoulders. “You worry too much. The kid will be fine. As long as he makes his deliveries on time and doesn’t look in the boxes, there’s no reason why anything should have to happen to him.”

Your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding as your husband paid you no attention. He’d threatened Peter without so much as a look in your direction, as casually as anyone would have mentioned there was something missing on the grocery list or reminding themselves to check in with their mother after work. So simple.

He’d done it a thousand times before but it was never against someone you knew, someone you loved.

The anger was quickly swept away by fear, by panic, and you stepped forward under shaking legs. “Brock, wait, please—”

There was no reasoning with him. It was already done, but it didn’t stop you from trying, from begging.

“I have a business meeting downtown. Don’t wait up for me,” Brock said sharply, ignoring your pleas. He closed the door behind him without another word and you filched at the impact. The house was incredibly quiet suddenly, so when your phone buzzed in your pocket, it startled you.

Just got home, it read. Aunt May’s got freshly baked cookies again so I’ll save you a few for next Sunday in case you’re still upset with me. You know I gotta do what I can to help around here. It’ll be fine, Y/n. I promise. Love you.

He’d sent an image along with the text; a selfie of him leaning over the table filled with chocolate chip cookies cooling from the oven with a massive smile on his face and a thumbs up. You could vaguely make out Aunt May’s hand in the background trying to swat him away and suddenly your vision was blurring. It was hard to see. Despite the smile on your face, there were tears in your eyes and your heart was racing and suddenly, your legs felt weak, your head too dizzy and you stumbled down the hall to one the place you felt safe.

You nearly collapsed halfway down the hall when your breath was coming in too fast and the painting on the wall were starting to duplicate and sway. You gripped onto the door knob and threw yourself into the library, holding on to any spare surface you could find until you made it to the couch.

Your breaths were coming in too fast, tears choking you, and with shaking hands, you dialed the number of the one person— the only person— that could take this all away.

Consequences be damned. Rules out of the window.

The phone rang a few times before he answered, your name sweet like honey on his voice, though he was surprised, and you could hardly speak. You muttered out his name and before you knew it, he was on his way to you. No hesitation.

You listened to his breathing on the other end of the phone, his gentle reminders that he was still there, asking for you to hold on a little longer, updates on where he was at. He was worried, that much you could tell from his voice and you could hear the engine of his car roaring as he raced down the street.

Everything was numb.

The front door swung open loud enough for it to echo down the halls. It didn’t faze you. Nothing did anymore.

***

Bucky sprinted down the hall. His heart was in his stomach as he skidded in front of the library. He paused for a second, trying to compose himself before he pushed open the door; try to take a deep breath or still the rushing pace of his frantically beating heart, but when he heard the soft sounds of you sniffling on the other side, he quickly turned the knob and shouldered his way inside.

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, stiff as a board, staring off into the aisles of books. You didn’t even look at him as he stepped closer, too caught up in your trance. Bucky swallowed nervously as he made his way to you.

Wincing with every creak of the floor boards under his steps, he knelt down in front of you, and even then, it was like you were staring right through him. Your eyes were red and puffy, lips parted slightly because it was impossible to breathe through your nose, a glaze over you, and your hands clenching and unclenching at the cushions beneath you.

“Y/n?” he called softly but there was no response.

Still, nothing. It was like you didn’t recognize him at all.

His eyes trailed lower and it was then he noticed the red mark on your wrist; slowly beginning to fade to its natural color, but visible enough that he could make out the shape of a handprint etched around your arm in its grip. Bucky clenched his jaw, exhaling a tense breath his nose and doing his best to hide the rush of adrenaline and anger boiling up into his chest.

He tore his eyes away from the mark and searched for your eyes again, though they remained unfocused.

“Y/n, I’m here,” he tried again, voice a little louder now as he inched closer on his knees. “You’re okay. It’s just me.”

Nothing. Your hands bunched against the seams of the couch cushions until your fingers started to shake.

Bucky sighed as he watched you wrestle in the trance. Slowly, he brought his hands up to sit upon yours, hoping to still the constant ebb and flow of tension there. The touch of it seemed to ignite something in you because the very second his hands laid upon yours, covering the entirety and curling his fingers underneath, you gasped; broken and shaky on the sharp inhale.

Blinking a few times, focusing, and then, when you met his eye, he swore the world might have stopped spinning.

“James?”

Your voice broke on his name, tears quickly returning and he only nodded. Before they could consume you whole again, he pushed himself up onto the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you gently back to him so you weren’t so stiff on the edge of the couch. You fell into him easily.

“I’m here. I’m here,” he soothed, holding you as close as he could manage, your weight resting to his chest, warm to the touch. You sighed into him, sinking further in, curling into the crook of his side.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” Bucky asked hastily, trying to conceal the panic in his voice. He ran his hands along your arms like he was trying to warm you; swift motions along goose bumped skin. He didn’t know why he was doing that because it was warm enough in the room but it had been a long time since Bucky Barnes felt helpless, and you seemed to ease into it, so he didn’t stop.

“He knows,” you choked out and Bucky froze instantly, convinced for a moment that Rumlow knew he’d been spending every Sunday with you for months and sitting beside you in your library for hours on end, or that he might know his real name and what he was really doing here, who he really worked for. It didn’t slip his notice that the concern for his cover came second.

You cleared your throat, sniffling back tears as you turned to him, eyed red and glassy. “Peter was here, James. Brock—he invited him over and I—I don’t know how he found out that I’ve been seeing him every week but he did, and he convinced him to do some kind of job for him but-- but he’s only sixteen, James, he’s sixteen and Brock’s going to get him killed and he has no idea what he’s wrapped up in and—”

“Whoa, hold on,” Bucky cooed, shushing you before your heart started to kick up too fast because your breathing was already heaving in your chest, your words tumbling out faster than you could carry them. You pressed your lips together, taking in a deep breath as Bucky instructed you, guiding it along with a gentle hand on your back.

“Start from the beginning.”

And so you did.

You told him about how you’d found Peter on your doorstep and how you’d been blindsided by your husband inviting him over for dinner. You told him about how Rumlow had put on a charming face and played house for a few hours before he brought up the real reason he’d asked your cousin over to begin with. You told him how you felt your chest tearing open at the table as Rumlow offered this job to Peter, transporting products around Queens on the border of The Asgardians’ territory and how Peter was none the wiser to the illegality of what he agreed to.

“I couldn’t tell him what he was signing on for,” you tried to say in defense, but Bucky understood. He knew the law well enough for that.

“The less he knows, the better,” he agreed. Plausible deniability. It wouldn’t go far but it would be enough to separate him from the other dealers in Hydra’s payroll.

There was a silence for a moment, lingering like thick, uneasy molasses in the air. You closed your eyes, turning away from Bucky.

“He did it to keep me compliant, to keep me trapped here,” you said softly, almost too quiet to hear if he hadn’t been paying such close attention to you.

Bucky had his suspicions, knew that your marriage to Rumlow was essentially a political move, that you’d become collateral in his rise to power, but it was something else entirely when it was coming from you. You didn’t seem surprised, but it didn’t take the hurt out of your words, the grief, the anger.

“I won’t let anything happen to Peter, you hear me?” Bucky said slowly, determined.

A wave of relief, awe, something like adoration filled your eyes and you started to cry again. Throwing yourself back into his arms, clenching at his shirt, Bucky wrapped his arms impossibly tight around your waist and you only seemed to pull yourself closer.

“I’m scared for him,” you cried, and Bucky ran his fingers over your back in soft soothing motions.

“I know,” he whispered. “Nothing is going happen to him, alright? I’ll make sure of it.” He paused, a slight breath before, “do you trust me?”

You stilled, pushing back away from his chest for a moment, just enough so you could meet his eye. Despite the redness, the glisten of tears on your cheeks, his heart still managed to thump a little louder as you reached out and brushed your hand along the side of his face. Fingers tracing over stubble and his wondered if you could hear how loud his heart was racing.

He’d never been this close to you before. Never held you in his arms and he wished desperately that it was under different circumstances but here he was, and here you were, and you fit against him perfectly.

“I’d trust you with my life,” you finally replied, the slightest semblance of a smile pushing at the edges of your lips though it didn’t make it very far. “I trust you with his, too.”

Bucky nodded and you fell back against him, curling up into his side. He tried not to think of all the ways he was lying to you, how little you really knew about him, and hoped that your trust was enough. For now, at least.

“Will you stay for a while?” you asked, voice small like a child’s, like you were nervous he might turn you down, like you didn’t know he thought you hung the moon and the stars and breathed life into his beating heart.

“Of course,” was all he said back because he didn’t trust himself to say much else.

He propped his leg up on the coffee table, grabbed a book off the surface and flipped it open to the page you were on and started reading quietly. You squeezed him tighter at that, nestling in against his chest as the soft vibrations of his voice soothed away the lingering anger and fear your husband had instilled in you.

Lying beside you. A hand tracing delicate patterns on his chest as your eyes fluttered closed. His alternating between flipping the next page and resting gently on the mid of your back, holding you to him just enough to feel the faint thump of your heartbeat in every breath.

He didn’t know if he’d ever move again.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Could you do an Indruck (or OT4 because you got me into the whole pairing :) ) NSFW ghost prompt? Go nuts, I just love your writing and I trust your creative vision.

Here you go! I went with the OT4. And I’m so glad you like that pairing!

The kitchen box is half-unpacked when there’s a knock on the door. Duck figures it’s the take-out he ordered, so he’s surprised to see a tall guy in nice jeans and short-sleeved dress shirt decorated with Jackalopes. Unless the Thai place uses male supermodels as delivery boys, this isn’t his Pad Thai. 

“Uh, hey, what can I do for you?”

“I’m your downstairs neighbor, so I wanted to come up and introduce myself. I hope I’m not interrupting dinner.”

“Nope, still waitin on it. Nice to meet you, name’s Duck.” He holds out his hand and Mr. Gorgeous shakes it. 

“Joseph. Oh, um, here” he produces a small greeting card with a sea monster on it, “welcome to the neighborhood.” His pocket rings, and so he excuses himself, hurrying down the stairs with his phone to his ear. The card contains a gift certificate to the coffee shop on the corner. 

They don’t cross paths again right away. It’s more that Duck will move Joe’s packages into the main hall rather than leave them on a rainy porch, and Joe delivers Pinecone the cat back to him after she slips out the door and down the stairs while Duck wrestles his keys. 

As it warms up, they use the pool around the same time each day (which is how Duck learns Joe’s had top surgery, same as him), and start talking more in the lobby when they see each other. He learns Joseph works for the FBI in the UP, the agreement being he can make X-files jokes as long as Joe gets to make Smokey the Bear references in return. The way Joseph laughs, water streaming down his honest-to-god defined abs as he pulls himself onto the edge of the pool, makes Duck glad he’s never seen a boyfriend coming or going from the other mans apartment. 

Tonight, he’s done helping Joe get all his groceries up the stairs in one go, and decides to go for it. 

“Hey, uh, Joe? You doin’ anythin tomorrow night?”

“No.” He studies Duck’s body language and gives an encouraging smile. 

“In that case; wanna get dinner?”

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

“I think this building is haunted.”

Duck, head still resting on Joe’s chest after jacking him off as thanks for an excellent blowjob, laughs, “That’s some interestin pillow talk you got there.”

“Are you that surprised?”

“No, you fuckin nerd.” He nips his collarbone, shifting so they’re each on their sides, facing one another, “for real though, why do you think we got ghosts runnin’ around?”

“At first I thought I was imagining it, or that I felt like I was being watched because the cases studies I was reading put the suggestion in my head. Then things started moving around the apartment, and now and then I swear I hear people whispering. I tracked the sound one day and it was coming from the wall that looks out onto the street. No one was down there, and if it were the result of an echo or strange acoustics, I’d notice it more.”

“Huh.” Duck pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“Still, I’m not ready to say for certain that it’s haunted. That kind of thing requires concrete evidence that I just don’t have. Sorry, shouldn’t talk shop when I have a, um, guest.” He wiggles back into Duck’s space, kissing him gently, and Duck forgets what they were talking about.

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

He knows Ouija Boards are a dodgy investigation tool at the best of times, but today he came home to find all his laundry folded when he had, much to his chagrin, had to leave it in the bag in a rush to get to work. 

No one has a key to his place. Which means whoever did that had another way in. 

He clears his throat, “If there is a ghost or other supernatural entity in the apartment with me, I wanted to say thank you for putting my clothes away.”

Nothing but his own creeping humiliation, then a slight chill across his face. The planchette moves

U.R. W.E.L.C.O.M.E

“HAH!” He whoops, “I was right! My apartment is haunted. Okay, um, spirit, do you have a name?”

B.A.R.C.L.A.Y

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Barclay. You’ve been spending a lot of time around me.”

Y.E.A.H S.O.R.R.Y

“You don’t need to apologize, I don’t mind it. You’re not malevolent, and if this was your apartment when you died, I can’t very well get mad at you for hanging around. Are you able to become visible?”

YES

“Is there, um, a reason you’ve never materialized around me?”

D.I.D.N.T W.A.N.T T.O S.C.A.R.E Y.O.U

“You won’t, I’m a professional. And I’m curious about the person I’m sharing my home with.”

The planchette trembles, unsure of it’s direction at first. 

S.H.Y

That explanation never occurred to him. 

“That’s alright. If you ever change your mind, know you don’t have to hide on my behalf.”

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

“Barclay, even I can tell that was an invitation to interact with him. What more are you waiting for?” Indrid cocks his head. 

“Maybe he’s just trying to appease me because he’s scared of ghosts?”

“Those ‘paranormal romances’ on his shelf suggest otherwise.” Indrid touches Barclay’s cheek. They’re in the wall, their shared nature meaning they can see, hear, and touch each other without trying, “dearest, you’re clearly fond of him, and he’s eager to meet you.”

Barclay’s beard scratches his palm, “Yeah, I know. I’m just...I like to take things slow and, uh, I guess this is no exception.”

Indrid chuckles, dryly adds “Yes, I recall how long after propositioning you it took for you to practically bang down my door.”

“Okay, hot little art punk who literally asked me if I wanted to see what his tongue piercing felt like on my dick is the exception.” He kisses Indrid’s cheek before drifting away. 

Indrid floats up into his former apartment, now occupied by Duck Newton. He spends most of his days on the couch while Duck is off at work, watching T.V or reading or, increasingly, playing with Pinecone, the only being he’s materialized for in some time. He’s been content to never alert Duck to his existence, but yesterday he overheard him remaining skeptical at the idea of the building being haunted, much to Joseph’s disgruntlement. Indrid’s as well; Barclay isn’t the only one who finds Joseph attractive and charming. 

So he thinks Duck deserves some low-stakes haunting of his own. 

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

Duck’s having a hell of a week. The hinges on his cabinets must be going, because they keep falling open, his router keeps getting unplugged (probably by Pinecone), and no matter how he insulates, there’s a chill in the living room. 

Worst off all, when he pulled the fridge away from the wall to see if it was to blame for the cold spot, it revealed a hole into the wall that is just big enough for Pinecone to get into. Which she did, last night, and will not come out no matter what he tries. 

When he walks into the living room after work, his brain stalls out. The good news is, Pinecone is no longer in the wall. 

The bad news is she’s floating at a fixed point four feet about the floor. 

His cat notices him, mrrps, and lands on the floor. All Joe’s talk of ghosts suddenly feels very real and points at one conclusion.

“Holy shit” he picks up the black and brown ball of fluff, “my cat’s fuckin’ possessed.”

“Not quite” the voice in his ear is quiet, lilting.

“JESUSFUCK.” He spins to face an invisible interloper, Pinecone firmly in his arms. 

A smile, and only a smile, appears a fear inches above his eyeline, “Do you still doubt the building is haunted?”

“Wh--motherfucker, you’re Joe’s ghost and you decided to talk to me? To what, make a point?”

“Yes and no. Yes in that I wanted you to stop doubting my existence. No in that Barclay is the former resident of Josephs’ dwelling. I am a former resident of this one.”

The implications of there being a ghost dedicated to his apartment hit him like a train, “Have you just been hangin around me since I moved in, watchin my every move?”

The smile wavers, “Nono, nothing so alarming. I usually come here when you’re at work, or spend time with Barclay in the spaces between walls and worlds. That’s, ah, not to say I haven’t been in the armchair while you were watching T.V on the couch, but in my defense you have very interesting taste in documentaries.” The ghost notices Duck’s alarm, and the smile fades from view, “I apologize. It was rude of me to be in your space without permission. Space is a much more malleable thing when you’re a ghost, but that is no excuse.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s fuckin creepy.”

Pinecone jumps from his grasp, winds herself in a circle around what must be ghostly legs. 

“But uh, my cat likes you. And she can be skittish. I, uh, worry about her gettin lonely on days when I work late. So you can hang around when I’m out. But other’n that we gotta play by vampire rules; you don’t come into my space unless invited. Deal?”

The smile flickers back into view, “Deal.”

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

Joseph, all too aware of his own perfectionist nature, tries to avoid jealousy. It only ever serves to poison him against others and his own fragile inner being. 

But lord almighty is he jealous that Duck got a verbal, physical visit from his specter, Indrid, while Barclay doesn’t so much as whisper in Joseph’s vicinity.  It had been hard to be envious in the moment, because he was too excited by the news, to the point that he climbed into Ducks lap and started kissing him because all his adrenaline needed an outlet. 

Then Duck had frozen, asking if he thought the ghosts would watch them hook-up. Joseph pointed out that Indrid had promised to only visit when invited and Barclay was polite, so odds were good they were truly alone. He kept the fact that Duck’s suggestion made him instantly hard to himself.

(Duck picked up on it anyway, if the jokes about Ghost and the supremely satisfying make-out session were anything to go by).

He’s making fried rice for dinner, is mid-way through chopping green onions when his phone buzzes. A glance over his shoulder reveals it’s not a work call or an emergency. Suddenly, something cold and strong grips his right hand and there is, without a doubt, a human frame pressed to his back. He can’t move his hand, follows the line of his knife and sees the next chop would have caught his finger.  

“Barclay?”

“Yeah. Sorry I, uh, just didn’t want you cutting a finger off.” The hold on him disappears as that baritone drips down his spine. 

Joseph turns just as Barclay comes into view; he’s taller than Joseph, a rare thing given he’s six-foot, with shaggy brown hair and a short, coppery beard. Full lips and brown eyes round out the face that is straight from Joseph’s fantasies.

“Wow. Um, I mean, thank you for saving me a trip to the emergency room.”

“No problem.”

Drawing on years of training, he tries to keep the other man talking, “Were you just passing through?”

“Kinda. This is gonna sound weird but, uh, I loved cooking when I was alive. Sometimes I like to be close by when you’re cooking so I can get some of the sensations again.”

Joseph steps to the side, gesturing to the cutting board, “Do you...want to help me make dinner? If you can interact with my body, you should be able to prepare veggies no problem.”

Barclay hesitantly steps to the counter, shakes his head when Joseph offers the knife, “I have to dematerialize first. Being visible and being solid take so much energy that I can only do one or the other.”

“Fascinating. Just, um, I hope I get to see your face again.”

Barclay disappears, and a half-second later an invisible hand squeezes his arm, “Think I can manage that.”

Barclay joins him for dinner regularly after that. Duck recovers fairly quickly to Joseph’s spectral assistant, especially when Barclay makes him french onion soup. Joseph suspects Duck is also getting used to ghosts in general, since more than once he’s knocked on the door and walked in to find the ranger conversing with Indrid (though Indrid insists on remaining dematerialized). 

Tonight it’s just him and Barclay, and Joseph is busy sticking his foot in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, that’s a rude question-”

Barclay chuckles, “Not really, it’s kinda the first thing everyone wants to know about ghosts, right? Why we’re here? Short answer is, uh” he sighs, “I had a heart condition but not the time or money to get it checked out. Fucking thing failed me one Sunday morning at that was it. Poor Indrid found me. We had a casual thing going and he had a key to my place. Came to check on me when he heard me hit the ground.”

“Oh Barclay, that sounds awful for you both.”

“Yeah, death isn’t my fave.” Barclay lays down, disappearing so his head can rest properly in Joseph’s lap. The agent feels around until he finds soft hair, petting it as Barclay continues his story.

“At first I thought my unfinished business might have to do with Indrid. But when he died pretty soon after, I kinda figured it was more that when I died, the direction I went was the ‘become a ghost’ one and not, like, the ‘rest in peace’ one.”

“Do you wish you could move on? Because I have access to a lot of classified occult information.”

The head under his hand turns, the direction of the motion suggesting Barclay is looking up at him, “Gotta be honest, lately being a ghost has gotten way more interesting.”

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

It takes two drawers before Duck finds where he put the AAA batteries. The package is already open, and when he gets to the living room his Carbon Monoxide detector is floating, back removed as fresh batteries click into place.

“Damn, ‘Drid, the thing just started beepin about it’s low battery.”

“Such things cannot be delayed. Trust me.”

“....Oh fuck, is that what got you?”

The detector slips back onto it’s wall mount, “Yes. I, I was always so careful, trying to prepare for every possible disaster. When Barclay died I, ah, I found it harder to do daily tasks. One of those was replacing the batteries in this” a plastic tap, “the low-power beep kept bothering me, so I detached it, planning to fix it in the morning. Then the next morning, and the next, and so on. Well, I put it off one too many times. A mundane, pointless death if there ever was one.”

Duck sets the battery package on the table, opening his arms. Cold fingers cling to the back of his shirt as Indrid hugs him. Duck does his best to soothe the ghost, rocking them subtly in a way that works wonders on his living friends. 

“Thank you” spectral eyelashes flutter against his neck as Indrid burrows against him. They say nothing else, staying in the embrace until Pinecone pads over and demands dinner.

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

Duck just means to drop off the books he borrowed from Joe, finds the door unlocked and figures the other man is home, probably cooking or yelling at a bigfoot hunting show.  When he doesn’t see him in the living room, he pokes his head down the hall. 

It takes a moment for his brain to process what he’s seeing. By the time it does, he’s already backing out the door. 

Okay, he just walked in on his sorta-boyfriend getting railed by a ghost, face buried against the bed, moaning while a cock he couldn’t see spread his ass open over and over again. That’s fine, that’s completely fine and not hot at all, he’s just taking his pants off in his living room for unrelated reasons. 

“Ah, Duck?” 

“Fuck!” He looks around, trying to work out where Indrid is and how much he can see.

The couch cushions shift, “I apologize, I thought you were out running errands.”

“S’okay” He pulls his hand out of his boxers, “I, uh, I was just, uh, tryin to, uh…”

The ghost waits patiently for him to come to the truth.

Duck sighs, slumps down on what he’s pretty sure is a free spot, “Walked in on Joe and Barclay.”

“I see. Does it bother you?”

“No. I, uh, kinda got the sense they were into each other, and we ain’t exclusive.”

The smile appears next to him, invisible fingers tracing up his arm “Does it do something else to you?” 

“Indrid, please I already got the weirdest fuckin boner right now.”

“And I am offering to help. I know I often joke about sharing Barclay’s taste in men but…” a light, chilly kiss on his cheek, “I share Joseph’s as well. I would very much like the chance to show you what I mean.” The fingers and lips teasing his skin cease their touches; space to refuse that Duck appreciates. 

“You know what? Fuck it” Duck works his pants the rest of the way off, throws his boxers after them, “get on your knees, sugar, and show me what you mean.”

“Ooh, I get a pet name!” Indrid claps, excited, rests his hands on Duck’s knees after he spreads them. Duck tracks his position by his smile, is unprepared for how strange it feels when it dives between his thighs. He’s used to Joe, all hot breath and enthusiastic precision. This is like the time an ex tried using an ice cube but way, way better, the chill heightening the sensations rather than numbing them. 

It’s also teasing, and he grunts, tipping his hips up, “‘Drid, please.”

“Patience, sweetheart, I haven’t done anything like this in years, I intend to take my time.”  A playful tongue drags up his dick. 

“Sugar, I’ll let you do this every day for a week, figure out how to give a ghost a fuckin hand job, anythin, but if I don’t cum soon I’m gonna combust. So get that cute little mouth where it belongs and suck my dick.”

The smile sharpens, “Make me.”

He threads his fingers into Indrid’s hair, shoving him forward. The ghost moans, tongue working across his folds in rapid swipes. Curious, he tugs on the soft strands and a messy purr vibrates up his dick.

“Someone like it rough?”

He feels the responding nod. Tightens his grip, “Then fuckin suck it like I told you too, sugar.”

Cold lips envelope his dick, Indrid moaning as he sucks. One hand rubs what his mouth can’t attend to, but the other leaves Duck’s knee right before Indrid’s whimpers grow shorter.

“That’s it, get off while I fuck your face, fuck, Joe’s really onto somethin with this paranormal shit, you’re so good sugar, fuckme that’s good. C’mon” he jerks his hips, orgasm building mercifully fast, “make me cum, like that, right fuckin there ohfuck.” He cums, feet scuffing on the rug. Indrid’s moan turns to a gasp as he pulls away, cum making a damp spot on the ground. 

Duck pets his hair, “Sure showed me.”

Indrid snickers, turns to press his face to kiss his palm.

“‘Drid? You, uh, you don’t have to, but could I see you? All of you?”

His hands cradle air as a man forms before him; lanky and bony, hair dyed silver with black roots showing, pierced ears and lip, tattoos coating the arms that stick out from a white tank-top. He bites his lip, awaiting judgement as Duck sinks off the couch to sit with him. 

“Not gonna lie, sugar, mighty peeved you kept usin my pens and didn’t even let me see this face everyday as payment.”

Indrid blinks, then laughs, loud and relieved, “I’m glad you approve; I am not everyone’s type.”

“Sure as hell are mine.” Duck puts his hand through his knee, frowns, “wish I could hold you and see you at the same time. Be that as it may, know you’re always runnin cold. You, uh, wanna join me for a little afternoon nap?”

“Of course” he fades away, and takes Ducks’ hand.

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

Duck’s never seen Joe this excited which, given that they went to a “Cryptids in Film” exhibit last weekend, is saying something. 

“Ready?” His boyfriend tightens the strap-on harness, sporting Duck’s favorite of his dicks. 

“You know it, darlin.”

Joe climbs onto the bed, makes a suave roll onto his back and pats his thighs, “Then come here. I want to see as much of you as possible while I fuck you.”

“You’re the boss, handsome.” He sinks down with a groan, slowly rocking his hips to get warmed up. 

Joe gropes his ass, growling, “Lord, look at this. Your ass is incredible, Duck, just like the rest of you.”

He dips down to kiss him in reply, messing up that dark hair and leaving a hickey on his collarbone. A chill runs up his spine and he shudders; two days ago, after the two ghosts and two humans hashed out who was dating who and what that meant, Joe admitted to a fantasy in which he and Duck were rudely interrupted by two horny paranormal entities. 

Duck kisses the corner of his mouth, grinds down with a whine, “c’mon Joe, know you can go harder than that.”

“The angle isn’t to my advantage.”

“Well then” purrs a voice from their right, “let’s remedy that.”

Duck’s pulled sideways, the momentum enough to reverse their positions and pop the toy loose.

“Now, pet, you are going to start fucking him again, and I’m going to fuck you to insure the pace is the perfect one for my dear Duck.”

The strap-on slides back in, Duck arching when it does. Joe’s hips snap forward, propelled by something other than the strength of his muscles. 

“AHlord, Indrid, yes. Is, is that good?” His blue eyes focus on Duck, who pulls him down into a kiss, panting as Indrid uses Joe to fuck him hard and fast. Then Joe’s head whips up and sideways, an invisible cock forcing it’s way into his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Fuck, that’s it babe, get me hard so I can fuck you when Indrid’s had his fill.”

“That may take some time. Never fear, I have other plans for my pet.” 

Joe squeaks, and Duck watches the muscles of his ass flex in new ways as black silicone appears and retreats from view over and over. From under him, Duck has a singularly good view of his lips stretching to accommodate Barclay, who’s busy demanding he look him in the eye when he takes his cock. He runs a loving hand up Joe’s chest, strokes the cheek not bulging with the head of a thick cock. 

“Fuck that’s hot.” His body agrees, but in spite of his boyfriends’ joint efforts and the obscene view making him wetter by the second, his orgasm eludes him. 

“J-joe, ‘Drid, please I, I’m real fuckin close but I need more pressure or, fuck, or friction or somethingfuck, hell fuckin yeah that’s it.” He pumps his hips, Barclay having freed Joe to bury his face in Ducks’ neck and put strip of the harness holding the toy where Duck can rub off on it. 

“That’s it, like that Joe, ‘Drid, fuckfuckfuckfuck” He gasps, eyes rolling back in his head as the orgasm shoots through him. It’s perfect, made more so by the knowledge that Indrid will let him bask in the aftershocks. 

Joe, however, is in for something very different. Duck is still getting his vision back when the harness takes an unceremonious flight off the bed. As he sits up, the plug takes the same journey, and he knows Joe will insist on cleaning it even more thoroughly than usual now that it’s been on the rug. 

His boyfriend is on his knees, lowering with incremental bursts of effort and jerks of his hips. When he stops with a moan, it looks as though his ass is hovering in mid-air. Phantom indentations press into his hips. 

“Very good pet” Indrid’s voice is turning breathy, “no, lean back so Barclay can fuck you raw while I make short work of this tight” Joe jolts up as Indrid bucks his hips, “little” another jolt, “ass” a final jolt before Joe tips backwards, opening his legs. 

Duck watches, mesmerized, as Joe is spread open, feet lifting off the blanket as more indents appear beneath his knees. The agent, usually so articulate, does nothing but moan at the invisible intrusion. 

“Fuckin-A, I’ll never get tired of this babe, you’re fucking dripping for me and it’s so fucking hot, how much of a fucking needy, dirty guy you are.”

Joe reaches one hand forward, trying to run his fingers up Barclay’s chest. The other extends towards Duck, and the ranger crawls so he can take it, kissing it as the indents of Indrid’s arms wrap around Joe’s lower belly. 

“I’d hold tight, dearest.”

“Why-”

Duck’s answer comes in the form of a yelp from Joe. To anyone else, it would look like the agent is trying and failing to wrestle the air. His back arches, making every sinful line of his body tense, while his hands claw at the bed and Duck’s arm and his legs bounce uselessly in the air. 

Duck peers around, careful not to bonk his head into Barclay. From here Joe is on full display, both holes stretching and twitching to take what they’re given. He wishes it was easier for him to get hard again; all he can think about is sitting on Joe’s face while the others fuck him like this, catch this sobbing moans in his skin while he’s reduced to nothing but a plaything for the paranormal. 

“Damn, darlin, you’re takin it like a champ. Maybe next time I’ll film it for ya, so you can see how fuckin hot you look getting fucked to pieces on some ghost dick.”

A louder sob of pleasure, and as he goes to soothe him with kisses Barclay grunts, “Don’t you fucking pull away, don’t care if you just came you’re fucking taking it all.”

“Do hurry up with him, Barclay. Ah, perfect, thank you.” With that, the forces bouncing Joe in the air come only from beneath him, Indrid pumping mercilessly into his ass and punching little “ah, aah, ahnns” out of him. He’s so blissed out that Duck can’t help himself, steadies his face in his hands so he can kiss him while Indrid cums with a high cry. 

There’s an “oof” as Indrid rolls Joe’s head into Duck’s lap. A hand turns Duck by his chin so he can get a kiss before Indrid becomes visible. Barclay appears at Joe’s feet, does his best to lay parallel to him and then disappears.

“You always did like to spoon immediately after.” Indrid says fondly, drifting to sit beside Duck. 

“Mhmmm” comes the rumbly reply.

“You okay, darlin?” Duck brushes the hair from Joe’s face as blue eyes flutter open. 

“Never better. Oh!” He sits up abruptly, Duck is more used to his boyfriend’s post-orgasm bursts of inspiration than the other two and thus doesn’t jump in surprise, “I found a potentially useful book at work the other day…”

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

“So, uh, how long do we have?” Barclay brushes lint from his shirt, stepping outside the chalk pattern on the floor somewhat hesitantly. 

“As long as the candle burns. Which is why I bought one that can stay lit for at least ten hours.” He offers his hand and his fully visible, touchable boyfriend takes it. Indrid, having more trust in occult processes, practically leapt over the chalk a moment ago to kiss him and Duck. Joseph draws Barclay into his arms, “which is all to say: we have plenty of time for date night.”

[maysbanks]

hold out. (jj maybank)

here it is, the second part to hypersonic missiles ! the response to the first part was absolutely amazing, the support & love in this fandom is incredible & i just wanna say a huge thank you to all of you that take the time to like, reblog & comment, every single one means so much !! gotta admit im not loving this as in it's not my best work and kinda all over the place & half way through writing this i almost scrapped the whole thing to rewrite the full series with an oc bc writing as the reader was starting to get to me lol. but alas here it is & as always i hope u enjoy x

warning: swearing, drug use, underage drinking, violence etc 

summary: after accidentally inserting herself into a treasure hunt with four teenagers, one of which could be considered her 'friend with benefits', y/n grubbs is left to deal with the complications and misfortunes that come along with it - including her ever-growing feelings for said 'friend with benefits'. 

( gif isn't mine! please let me know if it's yours so i can credit you. )

If someone had told you a week before that you would lose your father, get your house raided by two men you had never seen before in your life, make friends with a group of teenagers, embark on a two hundred year old treasure hunt with said teenagers, and be hanging out with JJ Maybank every day and willingly, all in the space of one week; you'd have laughed in their face, asked them what drugs they were on and could you have some, and then laugh in their face again.

But alas, there you were. You still couldn't quite believe it, especially the JJ part. You'd had worries at first, like would the gang really want you involved, did they secretly hate having you around, were they just being nice and letting you in on this because your dad had died? All the doubts swirled in your mind, running around like clock-work, just ticking away constantly in the back of your head. Surprisingly, JJ had been the one you'd gone to about them.

"I just feel guilty," you'd said. It was after a day of riding around in John B's boat and using fancy hotels' WiFi, and 'borrowing' a drone from JJ's dads old workplace. His eyebrows furrowed when he looked at you, confused. "I mean, you guys have been friends for like, forever. And then I just show up and you conveniently find out about John B's dad and the treasure hunt on the same day when I'm there, and it's just like - I don't belong with you guys, it's your thing and I'm just kinda, here." 

"You're part of this just as much as we all are," he'd told you, matter of fact. His body was angled to face you as you sat outside John B's self-proclaimed Chateau, a freshly rolled blunt being passed back and forth between the pair of you. "You need to stop doubting yourself, man. You're apart of us now." 

The words had warmed your heart, an instant smile being spread on your lips as you looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. Underneath the setting sun, he looked almost angelic; his golden hair blowing in the slight breeze, tanned skin exposed due to the heat. You had pretended not to notice the tense of the muscles in his arms whenever your fingers brushed when you passed the juul between yourselves. 

"You're too kind to me, Maybank," you'd grinned, boot-clad foot nudging his knee gently. "If I didn't know you so well I'd have thought you'd have ulterior motives."

"Who says I haven't?" He'd smirked back. You'd just smiled, teeth biting down on the plump skin of your bottom lip before you'd looked away from his burning gaze and focused your attention on anything, anywhere but JJ fucking Maybank.

You got along with the gang amazingly, you couldn't doubt that. Pope was the smartest guy you'd met, sweet and funny and passionate and so certain of what he wanted to do in life. Kiara, or Kie, as you'd come to call her, was very environmentally involved, almost too cool for the guys, you thought. She cared so much about so many things, and she had a great taste in music too. John B was a bit like you, you supposed. Fatherless, on the hunt for answers, things like that - but other than that he was a great guy, the makeshift leader of the little group, a little lost in life, but that was to be understood.

And then there was JJ. You felt most comfortable around the blonde, but that was kinda a given too, due to the fact you'd seen each other in your most vulnerable states that came with having sex rather regularly, something the other members of the gang didn't share. He was a spit-fire, always ready to throw a punch and fire threats at those who deserved it, head-strong and stubborn. But he was more so caring, God he cared so much for his friends, you'd discovered. He would do just about anything for them, whatever position that put him in. JJ put the gang before himself, always. You'd noticed all different types of things about JJ especially, little things you had never taken the time to notice before.

These little discoveries probably came from watching him too much, you'd thought one night. It was a bit of a problem, though you never mentioned it. The unspoken rule amongst the group was No Pogue on Pogue Macking, which basically meant everyone was off limits to each other. You understood the rule, Kie having been the only girl before you'd arrived on the scene amongst three guys, and after becoming apart of the gang you had no choice but to respect it - which also meant that JJ was off limits. But was he technically off limits when you'd already been there, so far past the line on macking with each other?

There was some sort of agreement between the two of you, that in order to make this work; your friendship with the Pogues, the hunt for the Merchant's treasure, that nothing could happen. You'd spoken briefly about it that first day, outside the lighthouse beside the Twinkie (John B's van, you'd learned had a nickname), we're cool, right? Pretend we haven't seen each other naked, conversation. It had been cut short, but it still happened. And the pair of you never mentioned it after that, a few off-handed comments here and there from JJ, but nothing specific. So you assumed yours and JJ's hook ups were off the table, and you had no idea why that had come to bother you so damn much.

On the day following your talk with JJ on John B's porch, he'd invited you to come along with him and Pope as they delivered groceries for Pope's dad, Heyward. You had almost said no, because really, you could probably do with a break from the Maybank boy, all the time spent with him was doing no favours for your little situation of Fighting Attraction While Hunting For Gold. That's what you were putting it down to in your mind anyway, too much time spent with the person you're sleeping with can begin to mess with anyone's head, and hey, maybe it was the fact that you were grieving and JJ was familiar - but you couldn't be doing with all these thoughts anymore.

Despite the angel on your shoulder urging you to turn his offer down, you'd said yes. But that was little to do with JJ and more to do with your mom and your current home situation, which was unbearable, to say the least. Your mother was barely speaking to you, as if she was scared of letting something slip if she did. In return, you shut her out, too. Told her lame excuses and empty lies when you were heading out with the gang, lying through your teeth when she'd asked where you were or where you were going.

Lana Grubbs wasn't a stupid woman, though, and you knew she knew you were up to something. But she hadn't mentioned anything outright yet, and so you hadn't said anything either. The hole your father had left was huge and gaping, evident in both your lives. You hadn't spoken about it yet, and you weren't intending to until she could be completely honest with you. You didn't want to hear anymore lies, and you were already on the path to discovering the full truth. On your own.

Her words echoed in your mind every time you left the house, voice small and gentle as she never failed to say the same thing. "Just be careful." You'd always look over your shoulder, and she'd never look back at you. She hadn't looked at you much at all since your dad had died.

It was after a certain drop-off of groceries, you'd joined JJ in his delivery whilst Pope had docked the boat and gone off to deliver his own, yours and JJ's strides matching as you walked the seemingly never-ending drive of the abnormally large house that loomed over you. The Kook part of the island never ceased to intimidate you, no matter how much you didn't want it to. There was something about it, the people that lived amongst it, that unsettled you whenever you entered it. Figure Eight wasn't somewhere you usually visited other than an odd job you'd picked up, and you were reminded why of that fact as you walked alongside JJ.

"Just think," he breathed, all starry eyed and parted lips as he gazed around the pair of you. "This could all be ours soon."

You snorted, bumping his side with your own. "Don't be melodramatic, JJ,"

"I'm serious!" JJ protested. His sea blue eyes caught yours when he turned his head to look at you head-on. The intensity of his stare almost made you stop in your spot, but you managed to carry on, gulping when his eyes continued to hold yours. "I'm sticking to my earlier statement, right, we're going to move here, and out-rich all these fuckin' Kooks."

"Out-rich?" You raised an eyebrow, lips quirking. "Your grammar is so adequate, Maybank."

"It's a word," JJ insisted, nudging your side with the point of his elbow. "Who the fuck uses words like adequate these days, anyway? I don't even think Mrs. Humphrey knows what that word means."

You laughed at the mention of your shared English teacher, the grey-haired, short, spectacle wearing woman immediately entering your mind. JJ grinned when he heard your laugh, dimples winking in his cheeks.

"Mrs. Humphrey can't even spell Wednesday," you giggled, JJ chuckling along with you as he nodded. "It's a wonder how that woman has been working there for like, eighteen years or something."

Your steps faltered as you neared the door to the house, pace slowing as you both basked in the time spent with each other, though neither of you would admit it. "She was probably a good teacher at first," JJ said thoughtfully, shuffling the groceries in his hands. (You tried not to notice the way his arms looked when he did that, muscles clenching and on full show with his cut-off tank.) "I bet each year another brain cell of hers just like, dies."

"Wouldn't surprise me," you nodded. "Mine would attempting to teach classes full of teenagers," rather dramatically, you shuddered. "Especially if one of those teenagers was JJ Maybank."

"Hey!" JJ shouted, though his grin proved that he found your jab amusing. You laughed along with him, bumping his side once more as you finally landed at the door, watching as he turned to you, expression trying to be serious and failing, rather horribly. "You better watch yourself, Grubbs. I'm serious here, I can be a pretty scary guy if need be, y'know."

You didn't doubt that, of course. You'd seen JJ in action with your own two eyes, you knew what he was capable of. But somehow, stood with you there, on the doorstep of some filthy rich Kook's mansion, groceries in hand, blonde hair shining golden in the sun, sun-kissed skin exposed to your wandering eyes, grin on pink lips; you couldn't imagine JJ Maybank hurting a fly.

"Trust me, I know." You'd said just as he knocked on the door, shooting you one last toothy grin before the door was opened and he was pulled into a conversation with the woman who'd answered it, talking about all things from the weather to the next semester at school. You watched him all the while, smile growing on your lips without your knowledge as you took him in, seemingly in his element as he sweet-talked the middle-aged woman inside the house. When he turned to you suddenly, you startled, broken from your thoughts and caught red-handed staring at him like some freak. He grinned, tongue wetting his pink lips at the same time you internally groaned.

"I was just saying, the groceries," he trailed off as he pointed to the bags in your hands in which you'd forgotten were even there. You let out an 'oh' as you quickly passed the groceries over to the waiting woman, shooting her an apologetic smile as she looked at you knowingly. JJ nodded his head in your direction, speaking once more to the woman, "New guys, huh?"

You glared at him as the woman laughed, perfectly manicured hand reaching beside her and grabbing hold of her purse, pulling a note out with her slender fingers. She held the note out to JJ, who immediately tried to turn it down, insisting there was no need, but the woman was unrelenting - sending a pointed look your way as she told him, "For your troubles, sweetie."

JJ picked the note from her hands, a gracious smile being sent to her as he nodded. "It's been a long day," he sighed heavily and your jaw almost dropped as you resisted the urge to reach out and slap his arm. What a fucker. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Ramirez. I really appreciate it."

The woman, Mrs. Ramirez, as you learned, nodded and waved a hand. "No bother, sweetie," she told him before turning her eyes back to you. You forced a smile as she simply eyed you up and down, before sending an obviously forced one of her own. "And thank you." She said curtly, and you were ready to give her a piece of your mind before JJ was grabbing your arm and dragging you in the direction of where you'd come from, shouting one last thank you over his shoulder as he walked you back towards the boat.

It was when you were a safe distance away that you shook your arm from his hold only to slap him gently on his own as you glowered, glare smouldering as he laughed, throwing his head back as he stumbled beside you.

"You're such an ass," you huffed as you tried to ignore his chuckling, speeding your steps. "I mean, she literally just tipped you a hundred dollars for showing up and smiling, I'm sure if I had a third leg down there I would have got the same treatment too."

"Are you jealous?" JJ asked, having to jog slightly to keep up your hurried pace. His smile was huge and infectious, and you made a point not to meet his stare when he landed next to you in fear of breaking your fake annoyed stance. "Maybe if you weren't too busy checking me out then you could have talked to her, and y'know, make a small fortune yourself."

You scoffed, whirling around and halting him in place. He almost stumbled into you, and you stepped back when his hands landed on your arms to steady himself, shaking his grip off almost immediately. "I wasn't checking you out," you told him, matter of fact.

JJ grinned and ran a hand through his hair as he replied, "Sure you were," he shrugged. You crossed your arms over your chest and glared, biting down on your tongue as you resisted your own smile as he motioned to his body from head to toe. "Not that I can blame you, I mean look at me."

"I've looked, JJ," your voice was low when you said it, a knowing tone to your words. "I've looked, and I've seen it all, in case you forgot."

A low chuckle slipped past his lips. "How could I ever forget?" He asked rhetorically, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as you tried not to follow the action with your eyes, and failed, miserably. "Trust me, that image is forever dented in my brain. I think of it, sometimes. Just randomly."

You rolled your eyes. And he's back, _you thought. _He never left, a voice at the back of your head piped up. You ignored them both. "C'mon," you said, already turning on your heel and starting off in the direction of where Pope had docked the boat. "Let's go get these deliveries finished."

The pair of you said nothing more for the rest of the duration of the short walk back, and when the boat was in your sights JJ was off running, more than likely eager to show off his one hundred dollar tip to Pope, as you idled, watching his back as he ran. When you finally landed in the boat, it was silent. You immediately picked up on the tension, heavy in the small space, and shot JJ a confused glance when he looked back at you.

Slowly, you made your way towards where the two boys were up at the front of the boat, Pope situated at the wheel. The dark skinned boy was staring straight ahead, refusing to meet either yours or JJ's eyes. When you looked to the latter, he subtly shrugged a shoulder, letting you know that he had no clue himself what was going on with his best friend.

"Pope?" You questioned softly. "What's wrong?" When there was no answer, you shared another glance with JJ, his concern shining in his blue eyes. You tilted your head as you went to ask him again, but when you did, your eyes caught on to the colour crimson that was slowly streaming down the side of his face. You gasped and JJ startled, chest bumping your shoulder as he tugged the cap from Pope's head, revealing the injury near the top of his head.

"Jesus!" JJ exclaimed when he caught sight of the wound, Pope swatting at his hands that held his hat, pulling it back down once JJ had let go. "What happened?"

"Rafe and Topper jumped me," Pope's voice was slightly wobbly as he informed you both, a tear sliding down his cheek as he recounted, "They said no Pogues on their side of the island."

Your blood began to boil just as JJ demanded, "What are you gonna do?" His own jaw clenched in anger as he looked at his best friend, beaten and bruised in front of him from the hands of some entitled selfish pricks that thought they were better than everyone because they had more money in their pockets. Rafe Cameron was a name that never failed to make you queasy at just the mention of it, and his little gang of followers including Topper Thorton were just as unbearable.

"I have something in mind." Pope spoke, voice and stance determined. And something he did, as he drove to Topper's new boat - and promptly swam over and removed the plug from it, causing the new model to sink into the water as you and JJ watched from Heyward's boat, keeping an eye out for anyone that may have spotted your trio.

And though it was bad, and you knew you probably shouldn't have taken part in such an activity, nor prompted Pope to either; you couldn't deny the rush it gave you as you watched Topper Thorton's boat begin to sink, and maybe it was the fact that you knew that Topper was a Grade A Asshole and deserved it, or maybe it was Pope's own unsure but excitable adrenaline that mixed with your own, or maybe it was just the fact that JJ wrapped his arm around your shoulder without a care in the world as he shouted his support to his friend, squeezing you to his side almost unknowingly, like it was some kind of instinct.

You thought, yeah, it probably was, as you immediately felt the loss of it when he moved to grab Pope in a hug. And then you thought, well shit.

There was a mutual share of disappointment when the gang had found just about absolutely nothing when you'd taken Pope's fathers boat out the next morning, drone ready and in hand to go hunt for the gold, where John B Routledge had marked down on the map it having been.

Granted, the Royal Merchant was there. It was just missing the one thing they were after - the gold was nowhere in sight, and the journey had been a complete waste of time. You thought it to be too good to be true, of course it had to be. Four hundred million in gold and you were expected to find it? There was no way, you thought bitterly as JJ steered the gang back to land, not one of you daring to speak as the disappointment crashed over you all in huge waves.

You'd departed with the guys not long after that, after promising Kie that you would accompany her to the annual summer movie night, making your way towards home. The bitter frustration ate away at your insides, you were mad, angry - fucking infuriated, each step the gang got closer to finding the gold, it was as if someone was stood in your path and shoving you all back another ten.

Had your dad really died for this? This seemingly never-ending hunt for promised gold that, for all you knew, could be complete and utter bullshit. You didn't understand it at first, when the pieces began to slot together, but it was like every time the chase got harder it made you want it even more; and then you understood your fathers fascination and Big John Routledge's obsession. This gold meant everything to you and the gang, and you knew, John B especially, would never give up on this chase.

"Hey, sweetheart," your mother called when you entered the house. The front door was still broken, only the screen in place, and was leaning against the wall as you maneuvered past it. Lana was sat at the couch, and when you walked in she'd shoved a box away from her, the lid laying haphazardly over the top. "I wasn't expecting you home so early."

You shot her a small and forced smile, shuffling your bag from your shoulder and onto the floor, landing with a soft thud. "Hey mom," you greeted back, noting her teary eyes and flushed cheeks. "What're you doing?"

When you arrived at the back of the couch, looking over her shoulder, you immediately recognised the box - Family Photos! _written atop _the cardboard.

"I was just looking through some old pictures," she told you, sniffling as she attempted to smile at you. "Just wanted to see his face again."

You nodded, your throat tightening at the mention of your dad. Reaching a hand up and wiping away her tears, she looked at you questioning, "Where have you been?"

"Just out," you said, bluntly and unconvincing. "Doing a few jobs here and there, y'know. Nothing exciting."

Lana hummed, quirking an eyebrow at you. "Mr. Phelps told me that he seen you with that Maybank kid the other day," she informed, your face falling for a millisecond as her words sunk in. She looked at you, tear-stained face and serious gaze, lips pulled to a thin line. "I told you to stay from those guys, Y/N."

"I was helping him deliver groceries, mom," you deadpanned - which wasn't exactly a lie, if that's when Mr. Phelps had spotted you. Most of your time spent with the gang was mainly off the land and away from prying eyes, whether that be on a boat or the Chateau, so you knew that was the safest bet of when you'd been spotted. "For Heyward's. It's not like I'm hanging out with him on purpose."

Lie, lie, lie. It was becoming alarmingly easy to lie straight through your teeth, and to your mother nonetheless, but you couldn't dare tell her anything, and why should you, when she hadn't told you anything? It took two to Tango, you thought.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," your mother reminded, and you let out a sigh as you nodded, faked closed-mouth smile on your lips. "I'm serious, Y/N, please just be careful out there."

"Always am," you promised (bull-fucking-shit). You turned on your heel, heading towards your room as you called over your shoulder, "I got invited out tonight, by the way. To the movie thing on the North Side. Is it alright if I go, please?"

You waited at your door, hearing your mother sigh from the couch. "Yes, you can go." You smiled, this one more real than all the rest, and thanked her gently. She didn't look back at you though, and the familiar unspoken tension was back with vengeance. You couldn't wait to get out of it.

The movie night was a welcome distraction from your frustrations with the treasure hunt, the haunting memories of your dad, and the tension with your mom. It was only you, Kie, Pope and JJ that attended - John B having seemingly disappeared for the day, none of the gang having heard from him. You'd managed to leave the house with relatively no questioning from your mom, and met JJ a little way down the block.

("Woah, keep two feet away from me please," you'd joked, halting in your tracks as you spotted him standing there. He'd furrowed his brows at you, frown etched on his face. "My cover's been blown, everyone knows about us!

He just looked even more confused, eyes squinting down at you as you raised a hand and layed it across your forehead dramatically. "What'd you mean?" He questioned, eyes darting around, seemingly searching for answers in the air around you both. "What, do people know we sleep together or something?"

You'd rolled your eyes, shoving him gently when you were close enough, beginning to walk away. "No, you doof," you chuckled. "Mr. Phelps ratted me out to my mom, told her that he saw us together the other day. I had to tell her that we were just delivering groceries for Pope's dad."

"Ah," JJ nodded, shooting you a mischievous grin. "We better go into hiding then, I'm thinking... log cabin in the mountains, all fur sheets and deer heads on the walls, ooh a hot tub too."

You laughed, "Trying to whisk me away there, Maybank?"

You were joking, but his eyes were surprisingly serious as he looked at you. "Always, Grubbs.")

The field was already packed full of people by the time the four of you arrived, groups of people scattered around, idle chatter filling the air. It was being held on the Kook side of the island, and your eyes swooped over the people, most of them being Kook's themselves, expensive clothing and an aura that just screamed, I'm better than you. It made you feel uneasy, but you tried not to think about it as Kiara led you through the crowds.

"I'm so glad they're still doing this," she tells you all, sighing happily. The faces of the guys revealed they were not nearly as happy to be there as she was, while you were simply just glad to be out of your house once again. "Keep calm, carry on. Back to normal, OBX life, y'know?" She stopped once she found a decent spot, turning to the three of you. "Aren't you guys glad I made you come?"

"Ecstatic." Pope deadpanned, sarcastic lull to his tone.

"My couch was pretty comfy." JJ piped up.

"I'm just happy to be out the house, I guess." You said.

You were aware why the guys were so uncertain about being there; it wasn't so long ago that Pope was sinking Topper Thorton's boat, you and JJ accompanying, and now you were all on his side of the island. Not only that, but you knew that if Topper was to discover that it was Pope who'd done his boat in, it wouldn't just be Topper that confronted him - it would be the full Happy Days Gang. Nothing was ever a fair game when it came to Kooks.

Kiara excused herself to go buy soda's from the conession stand, and you shifted as you seated yourself on the blanket you'd bought, having opted out of bringing a chair. You sat in front of JJ, his legs touching your back.

"What's wrong with you guys?" You turned your head when Pope and JJ began to whisper, the former's panicked eyes landing on you as you frowned at the pair.

"Topper and Rafe are on my ass," Pope revealed. "They know I sunk Topper's boat."

You sighed heavily, muttering a shit as JJ grabbed his friend by the arm, focusing his attention towards him. "They can't prove it, okay. Just deny, deny, deny."

Pope nodded along, muttering along with him as you watched the pair, before your eyes moved to Kie that arrived back, her eyes narrowing as she seated herself beside Pope. "Just saw Rafe," she informed, your blood running cold. You could practically feel JJ tense from behind you. "He said, and I quote, 'Tell your boy we know what he did'. What is that?"

"Um, where is he?" JJ questioned, his tone of voice revealing his hidden anxiety.

"Right there." Kiara nodded her head, right in the direction of where Rafe Cameron and his goons sat, as you, Pope and JJ whipped around, Pope practically turning his full body in their direction. You groaned as JJ desperately urged him to turn back round, and away from their taunting eyes.

"The whole death squad!" Pope exclaimed, anxiety riding off of him in waves.

"Don't stare, bro," JJ urged, hand wrapping around Pope's shoulders. You tuned out the rest of the blonde's words as he informed you all that he'd be coming out swinging if they were to corner him, and you felt dread build as you heard his last words. "If that doesn't work, I got this right here." He patted his bag.

"JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here," Kie practically begged. "JJ, there are kids!"

You focused your attention straight ahead of you as the guys continued to argue; Pope simply telling Kie that it might go down to her line of questioning, her brown eyes darting back and forth between you all. You refused to meet her eyes, however, and were glad when the large screen ahead of you suddenly lit up. "Oh, look," you exclaimed, laughing nervously. "The movie's starting."

And it was left at that - JJ whispering deny, deny, deny to Pope once more before you all turned your attention to the screen, trying to block out the intruding thoughts of having the knowledge that the gang of Kooks were staring you down, awaiting your next move like a predator would its pray.

All was going fine - the movie was good, everyone's attention on the black and white screen. You tried not to think about Rafe and Topper, or the gold or your dad, and definitely not the feel of JJ's legs either side of you, trapping you into his hold. You let yourself believe that everything would be okay, and then Pope had revealed he needed a piss, and everything had gone to shit.

JJ had accompanied him, and the two had set off behind the screen, hidden away from Rafe's watchful eyes. They hadn't done a good enough job to be discreet though, and you immediately took notice of Rafe, Topper and Kelce making their way towards the opposite side of the screen. You swore, catching Kie's attention as she questioned, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Looks like that piss break just got a lot more complicated," you said, and realisation dawned on her face. It didn't take the pair of you long to locate the guys, all in various forms of fighting, as you and Kie screamed at them to stop. You grabbed Rafe's arm mid-swing, his fist raised and ready to send a hit to JJ's face from where Kelce had hold of him. "Stop it, you dick!"

You let out a scream as you were sent flying back from his shove, Rafe's blue eyes wild and crazed as he glared down at you. "Stay out of this, Grubbs!" He barked, and without a moments hesitation sent a fist hurling towards JJ's cheek.

Kiara had jumped on Topper's back from the small distance away from you, and you took a moment to ready yourself before hurtling towards Rafe from your crouched position, tackling him to the ground from his knees, effectively stopping his blows. He seemed stunned for a second, staring dazed up at you before he promptly threw you off of him, shoving you to the ground without a care. "Don't fucking touch me," he growled down at you, and you groaned slightly as the wind was knocked from you.

You heard JJ from somewhere above you, shouting insults at Rafe and repeating your name over and over. You lifted yourself from the ground just as Topper puts Pope in a headlock, his tight grip causing the dark skinned boys breath to leave him in choked gasps. You shoved at Rafe's back once more, sending him stumbling forward before he whipped around, hand reaching out and grabbing you by the face, tugging you so you stood nose-to-nose with him.

"I said," he ground out darkly, eyes boring into yours. "Don't fucking touch me."

You were beginning to fear what would come next before a sudden glow caught your eye from the side, the movie screen lighting up in harsh flames. Rafe dropped you, your hands moving to rub over the imprint he'd left, as you looked towards where Kie stood, JJ lighter in hand. Screams of terror echoed from the other side, as people began to flee, and it didn't take long for the three Kooks on your side to follow, sprinting quickly from the scene. Fucking cowards, you thought.

JJ's hands were on you before you could even blink, eyes earnest and worried as they looked over you, your cheeks red from the earlier grip Rafe had on you. "You good?" He asked you, slightly out of breath. You nodded, repeating the question to him. He smiled lightly. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good."

The night had ended promptly there, Kie dropping you off at your respected houses. You'd bid them all a good night, and as quietly as possible made your way into your home, not wanting your mother to see the marks imprinted on your face from Rafe's fingers. Luckily, she'd already been in bed, and it didn't take long for you to crawl into yours, thoughts of the day and a certain blonde running through your mind.

The next morning you'd met the gang (save for John B, who was still seemingly missing) at the Heyward's store; your morning had been spent desperately trying to hide the red marks that Rafe's fingers had left from your mom before she could notice and ground you in your room for the rest of your life. It had a been a success for the most part, and she asked no questions as you left the house, though you took note of her uncertain expression as you bid your goodbyes.

"Have you heard from John B?" You asked Kiara who was working closest to you. You had realised the brunette boy was missing from the group upon your arrival, and you couldn't help the worries in your mind at where he could be or what could have happened to him.

"No, nothing. Have you?" She returned the question, brown eyes meeting yours as you shook your head no, a short sigh falling from her lips. "Neither have the guys. What're you thinking?" Kiara eyed you, gaze suddenly sullen. "Do you think something's happened?"

"I don't know, Kie," you told her because honestly, you didn't. John B had a target on his back, that much was for sure. Son of Big John, once owner of the proclaimed death compass. Your mind thought back to the two men that had raised your home, and chased the guys on more than one occasion, and you couldn't help but think the worst. "I'm sure he's fine, though."

Kiara nodded, though she looked anything but sure. "Yeah, you're probably right." The pair of you continued on with your respected work, JJ's and Pope's voice trailing from somewhere in the store as they talked. "You're working Midsummers, right?"

You groaned, nodding. Kiara laughed at your sour expression. "Oh yeah, second year running. To be honest, I'm surprised they let me work it after last year, my customer service must be better than my right hand hook," you joked, chuckle escaping your lips as you thought back to the Midsummer's party the year before. Your dad had gotten you the gig, because he was a weasel like that - always talking people into getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was the gas bill to be paid, and his face just didn't fit the portfolio to be serving Kook's their drinks at their fancy party, and so it had left left to you to do just that.

The night had ended with Dean Kipp on his ass after his hand had fallen on your ass, and you'd been let off with a warning as the guy clutched his bloody nose and called you everything ranging from psycho bitch to slutty pogue. Your surprise was immense when you were offered a job again this year, and a large amount of the reason you'd said yes was just so you could see the look on his face when he saw you.

"He totally deserved that," Kiara remarked, grinning. You smiled back, the pair of you sharing a laugh as you returned to your work.

For a second, you let your worries wash away as you were pulled into a conversation with the gang, your spirts high for the first time in a while. You were happy, you realised. What had started off as being the worst period of your life was slowly turning into the best, the gang and treasure hunt a blessing in disguise. The four of you shared laughs and joked back and forth as you worked, and you found yourself to be perfectly content.

All that came crashing down when Pope's father entered the shop, police officer trailing behind him. "Hey, Pope! There's someone here to see you."

You stopped dead-on, the rest of the gang halting in their movements as you all stared towards the officer you recognised as Shoupe. "Evening, officer." Pope greeted, gulping.

"I have an arrear warrant for felony destruction of property," Deputy Shoupe approached your group, handing the said warrant to Pope's dad. From beside you, JJ tensed, and when you turned to look at him, his blue eyes glanced down at you, freshly beaten face pulled into an anxious grimace as his jaw clenched. Shoupe had gotten remarkably closer, hands reaching for the handcuffs placed on his belt. "Hands where I can see 'em."

Pope glanced desperately towards JJ, who shook his head quickly, his words, though unspoken, clear as day. Deny, deny, deny. But denying wasn't going to get Pope out of handcuffs, you decided as you stepped forward, tone pleading as you demanded, "Stop, you can't just do this!"

"Out of my way please, Miss Grubbs," Shoupe dismissed you, sounding almost bored as he shoved past you, beginning to handcuff Pope who can do nothing but allow it to happen, his anxious eyes focusing on one spot as reality began to sink in.

"What did he do, Shoupe?" Mr. Heyward questioned in disbelief, watching as his son was getting arrested in front of his very eyes.

"Take a look at the warrant," the cop said simply as he begun to tug Pope out of the store.

It was chaos. Everyone was shouting, demanding answers and hurling insults. JJ is screaming something about somebody paying him, Kiara is in your ear asking what the hell was going on, Mr. Heyward is hurtling questions towards both his son and Shoupe. Passbyers stared at the scene, whispering to each other as they walked by or stopped to watch. Everything blurred together, and you could do nothing but watch the scene unfold in front of you.

Those fucking assholes, you thought. Topper Thorton came to mind, tan skin and bleached ends, million dollar smile and designer clothes. You remembered his wild gaze as he held Pope in a headlock the night before, close to almost killing him. And yet he was off somewhere doing god knows what, probably shopping for a new boat to replace the one he'd lost, not that he probably cared all that much about it in the first place. Rafe Cameron's eyes entered your mind next, and you felt a shudder run through you as you remembered them boring into yours as he held your face frighteningly tight and close to his own.

JJ's voice was suddenly breaking through your stream of thoughts - "It wasn't him!" He was calling out, eyes directed on Shoupe who paused and turned toward him, Pope's face disbelieving from behind him. "It was me."

It sunk in then what JJ was trying to do, and you whirled around from his left, quickly shaking your head as you muttered, "JJ." He ignored you however, and stepped forward towards where the officer was standing, Pope still in his arms.

"He tried to talk me out of it," JJ continued. "But I was mad because he had just been beaten up, I was sick of those assholes from Figure Eight that I lost my shit." He was stood directly in front of Shoupe, almost boot-to-boot. You couldn't see his face from where you were, and you were almost thankful for the fact as you heard him direct his words to Pope, "I can't let you take the fall for what I did. You've got too much to lose."

"JJ, what are you doing?" Pope demanded. His face was confused, just as much in shock as the rest of you. For a second, his eyes leave JJ's and land on yours, a shaky breath leaving your lips as his eyes were practically pleading.

"I'm telling the truth, for once in my goddamn life, I'm gonna tell the truth," JJ announced loudly. "I took his old man's boat, too."

"What the hell?" Mr. Heyward questioned, though nobody paid him any mind. Your gaze was too focused on the unfolding scene of JJ Maybank taking the fall for something he most definitely do, and you could do nothing but watch it happen.

Your heart finally shattered when JJ's last words entered your ears, "He's a good kid. You know where I'm from."

He only looked back once as he was put into the handcuffs that previously held Pope, and that wasn't until he was shoved in the back of the police car and the door was slammed behind him. You walked closer towards it, hand on Pope's back as he watched his best friend get arrested for something he'd done, and you both knew it. When JJ glanced up and out of the window, bruised face clear behind the glass, his sea blue eyes caught yours and then he smiled.

The fucker.

You could only watch helplessly as the police car was driven away and out of sight, Pope throwing his cap down in a fit of anger as he stormed off, his dad calling after him, Kie landing to your right. The dark haired girl wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you to her side gently.

"JJ'll be alright," she told you, voice confident though her face read anything but as she glanced in the direction the car had been driven off. "He always is."

But what, a voice in the back in your head nagged at you, if this time he wasn't?

And then it dawned on you: you actually really, generally, sincerely and whole-heartedly cared about JJ Maybank.

(And the thought scared you more than you would ever like to admit.)

& to the lovely people that asked to be tagged in this, love you all x @ponyboys-sunsets @mysticsthinking @danicarosaline

[hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little]

Voicemail: Part 3

Hawks x reader 

A/n: I swear I am alive, I'm just getting my shit together for college. Anyways have my half-assed attempt at a story plot. I stopped here because I'm going through sad hours and that was really going to affect the rest of the story if I continued, I mean it still might be i’m not sure. No clue how gently I feel like being to everyone's feelings for the last chapter (don’t worry I make myself suffer too).

Part 1

Part 2

-Part 3-

Part 4

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“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

Hawks may not have been in the facility anymore, but he could still hear the words through the speaker. After all feathers weren’t the only thing he inherited from the avian species. In-fact, a lot of predatory bird-like qualities were passed down to him, none of which were proving to be any aid.

Endeavor exited the facility talking to some of the other heroes who were caring for the two children. He looked towards the clouds watching the desperate hero who was barely able to flap his wings in a steady momentum to keep him airborne. Twitching here and there causing his flow to stutter. Feathers puffed up clearly agitated, but some others sharpened to a dangerous level. It was truly a pitiful sight. From the looks of it, Hawks was nowhere near ready to calm down. Hands were shaking while switching from clenching to unclenching, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Nail marks were indented in the palms of his gloves. Anxiety and agony evidently overriding every morsel of reason that survived up to this point.  His eyes never stopped searching, gaze switching from place to place as light-speed. Endeavor could practically taste the burning red rage sourly seething through Hawks every movement. But, nothing Endeavor could say would bring Hawks from his agitated state. He had to let it fly its course. Only then would Endeavor be able to pull him back to one of the agencies where they could recuperate. 

Lucky for the heroes, they had detained all the henchmen left to guard the facility. They might be able to strangle some information out of them. But, it was kinda strange that the main man would leave them there knowing that the heroes were en-route. However, as Rumi noted, leaving those men there perfectly diverted their attention from the escaping vehicle. A smart move on the abductors part. 

The League was pretty pissed about the whole shebang. Torturing the earlier captured men in a more gruesome manner out of pure rage. In doing so, one of them squeaked about some sort of airport. Oh, now those two were in even deeper shit. Dabi was nice enough to inform Hawks about this new information though. Calling him over for a nice group beating. 

“That’s all I know swea- ack” 

Smack!

Blood splattered the ground, painting over old splotches littering the place. 

Crack! 

One of many bones to be shattered but the blunt head of the bat.

“I’ll ask this one for time- What fucking airport?”

Silence. 

Crack!

“Hawks, the guys’ gonna be dead before you get an answer, or at least a feasible one,” Dabi grunted. 

“Fucking hell,” Hawks cursed, slinging the blood dripping bat to the side of the room with an echoing thud as the wood teetered from end to end until it settled. Hands shooting to clench his golden locks in an iron grip. He squatted to the floor, head hanging low, trying to fight the urges of a predator whose prey sits before them utterly helpless. 

A scarred hand grabbed Hawks’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Hawks shifted his head slightly, just enough so that he could eye Dabi's own eyes from the side. So many emotions swirled within those baby blue pools of fire. Remorse, agitation, worry, and so much more, all together forming a dangerous poison. A poison which would make poor souls scream in agony for death. Something Keigo would be glad to provide. 

Now the two might now get along most of the time, but when facing a common goal, they are not a pair to be trifled with. 

The men in the chairs started struggles in the ropes that tied them to the splintering chair. Pulling hopelessly with all their might, but to no avail. Dabi and Hawks shifted their eyes to the bastards in front of them. 

The hand, not on Hawks’ shoulder, was raised to the man's face level, resting inches away. Smoke began flaring from Dabi’s scared palm, small blue flames flickered around the heel as it heated up. The heat alone was enough to singe the man’s facial hair. Terror welled in the man’s expression as the hand was brought closer, making him whimper.

“Let's try this again.”

Horrid fumes of burnt flesh swirled throughout the air. The man was a tough one to crack, Dabi knew he would come around, he just needed a little encouragement. They got the information they wanted him. Hawks had pity on the bastard, taking a feather, slitting his throat with one quick slash. The other man could do nothing but watch as his comrade bleed out.  

“Don’t worry pal, my boss has plans for you.”

No matter how much he tried to scream all that would come out was muffled sludge blocked by the gag. Dabi, patted his ashy hand on the man’s head before walking towards the door with Hawks following on his heels. The man’s thrashing only increased as he door slammed closed, leaving him with the freshly fried corpse of the other one.

“What’s the plan from here?” Dabi asked.

“If they wanted to sneak on the plane unnoticed, they would have to do it at night, when no one else could potentially spot them.”

“It's a private jet though.”

“Yes, but the guys said it was being held with other private jets.”

“Whatever, your dumbass logic gives me a headache sometimes.”

Twice popped out around the corner where they were talking.

“Please don’t screw each other in the lobby.”

“Twice, what the hell. I would rather set myself on fire.”

Hawks gave Dabi an offended glare. Dabi in return rolled his eyes, walking away from Hawks. 

“Just hurry up. Go get your boy scout in line and save her already”

“Who said I was doing this as a hero?”

Dabi halted, back facing Hawks. A smirk tugged at the corners of his charred lips as his eyes darkened. 

“You don’t have the balls to fly that far from the nest bud. Your stupid heroes commission the only things you truly value in society.”

Hawks glared, but held his tongue. Dabi glared back with just as much hatred taking a couple of steps back towards the winged hero. 

“That damned heroes commission seems to be the only thing you seem to stay faithful to.”

“What the Hell does that mean?” Hawks squawked.

“It means you are more likely to leave her for the vultures before ignoring your duties to those shitholes. Oh, wait a second, that's exactly what you did.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really now? So let me get this straight, you didn’t push her away, become a complete asshole to her because of them. Hawks at the end of the day all that matters in that brainwashed head of yours is that shitty organisation.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, let's pretend that it wasn’t the commission pulling the strings. In that case, you are a really shitty person. I mean, you ARE the reason they're in this mess to begin with.” Hawks’ blood ran cold, Dabi gave an exasperated chuckle “What makes you think she even wants YOUR help?” 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh how you harm me with your words.” Dabi mocked 

“Who’s fucking side are you on? Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Let’s be clear about one thing, birdbrain, just because I want her safe doesn’t mean i’m on your side. You fucked up. And that guilt is only because you feel responsible for her kidnapping, it isn’t because you’re disgusted with all the shit you put her through. So listen when I say-”

“No, you listen here, asshole. Do you honestly think I can't see the damage I did? I am not making an excuse for my behavior, looking back I can see how fucked up I was towards her. I was blessed with an angel, I had never in my life been genuinely cared about. I had never been so committed to someone, so attached to another person. Someone who felt the exact way as I did. It was terrifying.” Hawks paused face falling downwards, scrunching up to fight away the tears building up. “I didn’t have the balls to face her as time went on, so I did what I did best, I put up a front and moved forward. Avoiding our relationship, avoiding her, just because I was scared of commitment. I never bothered to think about the effects it might have had on her. I’m a real douche for doing it and I know it.”

“Shame what it took for you to figure that out.” 

There was nothing sympathetic in Dabi’s tone, no, it was as sour as biting into a ripe bitter melon. Hawks said nothing, he was right after all.

“Go home Keigo. You're not welcome here right now.”

Dabi watched as Hawks turned and walked to the door. Waiting till he was about to close the door on his way out to let out one final stab.

“Oh and Keigo,” Hawks paused “when she’s safe, hope she realizes you’re not worth it.”

SLAM!

Dabi was pretty sure Hawks broke some of the hinges when he shut it behind him.

“Bastard,” He muttered, clearly not into Hawks’ delinquent behavior. Dabi stomped off to the bar to talk to the others about what to do next.

What the actual fuck, Hawks thought as he took off into the dusk set skies. Yes, he knows he screwed this up, Dabi didn’t need to rub it in anymore.

Taking out his phone, Hawks shot a text to Rumi informing her of the newly found information. It was always kind of surprising that no other hero ever questioned where all his exclusive information came from, but oh well. Hawks went straight for the place, not giving anyone time to regroup and set out a plan. It didn’t do much good last time and he wasn’t willing to risk it again. He had an hour or so before the moon set in place, if he was lucky he would make it there before anyone else did. 

Wings soared through the clouds as he scanned the area below, searching for the facility. His sights locked onto a large gated perimeter, surrounding multiple runways connected to a couple of buildings housing the aircrafts. It was one of the many private airports in Tokyo, a place where the rich kept their collection of aircrafts. Hawks descended to a large window in the center of the middle building in the facility. The place seemed to be more of a showcase then anything, some of the jets looked like there were fresh out of manufacturing. 

The place looked empty, no sign of any life in the facility. If it wasn’t for his abnormal vision he would be able to see anything in the pitch black room. No gates or doors were open,  no runway lights shined behind him, no unusual vehicles were in sight. So either he beat everyone here, or he’s got the wrong place. 

He was about to take back off into the sky when he spotted a jet that matched the description the man gave him. A sleek black metal covering, twelve square windows spaced evenly on each side of the jet’s middle, matte silver nose, blood red paint rimming the edges of the wings. It was big enough to carry a small army. The jet seemed a little out of place next to all the smaller, more compact aircraft.

It was clear the jet had yet to be tampered with. They must be waiting till the moon was at its highest to hide their escape. If that was the case they would be there for another hour or so meaning Hawks could have a look around the place. Maybe sabotage the plane enough that it might not function properly. 

Using a feather Hawks carves out a circle into the glass, just big enough that he could fight through and not get stuck. The tricky part was putting the glass back into place so that the bastards weren’t suspicious of the giant whole in the window. But, he managed to do it with only a couple of close calls.

Though he was alone, Hawks still had to be careful nonetheless. Fingers felt around the side of his goggles in search of the night vision button. However, a glowing group of infrared blobs that only grew bigger by the second appeared in his sights. With great haste Hawks hide in the cramped empty space behind one of the two stairwells one either side of the balcony of the window. The tight squeeze forced his wings to fold into uncomfortable positions against the base of his back. 

It stopped right outside the giant corridors leading out to the building runway. While his the blurriness of the image made it hard to fully make out he counted seven or nine of the now van sized blobs. The one in the middle was to first to make any sort of move, a panel sliding to the side as figures exited the vehicle. Others to the right and left followed suit. All filing out into the open, crowding to the center one. Though all the bodies it was he could barely make out a body hauled out onto the ground next to boxes gathered for the other vans. His attention was so zeroed in on the limp body that he didn’t notice the dozen or so figures heading for the corridor. 

CREEEEAAAAK!!

The heavy metal scraped against the asphalt as it was forcefully pried open by the figures. They didn’t fully peel the doors back though, only enough so that a couple of men could head in. About six men entered the dark area, flashlights swinging around in search of anything intruder. Hawks scrunched farther into the wall, missing the beams of the one of them by millimetres allowing him to go unnoticed by the men. The continued their inspection, not very thoroughly Hawks noted, until they each gave a thumbs up signally to the others nothing was out of place.

“All clear,” One of them yelled out behind.

All six men then approach the designated aircraft. Hawks wanted to bang his head on the wall from his own stupidity, since he chose the staircase opposite of the plane. 

He let out a quiet hiss of frustration; “dammit.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he started trying to devise a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak some feathers inside to take them out. So he did just that, sending one feather for each man and one extra just in case. 

The men had clearly let their guard drop as they focused on their tasks. He had no problem maneuvering the feathers around them as they worked. Two men were in the cockpit, two in the carriage, one taking storage in the backroom, and the last of the six was making his way to the single bathroom of the aircraft.

The man made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his pants before pulling out a phone and doing some unspeakable things that made Hawks want to vomit in his tiny corner. The poor guy had no clue that he was going to be the first to go, Hawks literally caught the bastard with his pants down. A mental note was made to just leave the dagger in his chest, after everything he just witnessed with that feather there was no way he wanted it back in his plumage. 

One down, five to go and next up was the storage guy. A feather hovered right above the back of the guy as he checked off boxes on his clipboard. Moving forward, but still sticking to the wall in order to give the feather a better angle to slash his neck. However, the bright colors contrasted with the white wall, catching the attention of the man.

“What the fuc-”

Swish

It sliced through the air, not giving the man any time to process the situation. Hands instinctively flew to his throat in a pathetic attempt to stop the life escaping him. Bright red blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers, leaking down his front as he wobbled on his feet. The harsh thud of a body crashing to the floor never sounded through the air as the feather slipped down the back of his shirt to guide him quietly to the ground. Once he was laid out noiselessly on the now red stained ground the feather took off to regroup. 

They all stayed as flat as paper against the slick interior of the plane, making sure never to be in the line of sight. Three feathers arrived at their next destination, the passenger section. The two men were just goofing off. Neglecting their assigned duties in favor of gossiping like highschool girls. Hawks could help the twitching of his upper lip, sharp canines baring each time the muscles spasmed. Sexist comments were slurred back and forth between them as they talked about his dove. Feral instincts screamed at him torture them till they were pleading for death. But, he needed to keep his composure or else risk getting caught and that was not something he could really afford right now. 

The feathers slithered down the aisle when the assholes turned their backs to one another. One feather took off to lock the cockpit hatch from the outside, making the two on the inside unable to interrupt Hawks. Both the men were facing the side wall of the aircraft making it easy to string two feathers into position to swoop up and dispose of them just like like the now rotting corpse in the storage compartment. 

Swish

Hawks really wished he could have prolonged their suffering, but he had more important matters to worry about, unlike those sexist bastards. Oh well, he would just have to be sure to spit on their corpses later. 

The last two in the cockpit worked to get the carrier up and running. Hawks could hear them from the two feathers locking inside with them as they ran their diagnostics. Just as the feathers were about to capture their lives the roaring of an engine coming to life sounded throughout the facility. Blinding bright headlights buzzed on pointing to the corridors as if asking to be let out. 

CREEEEAAAAK

Hawks peered over the corner of the wall hiding him, he saw more men pulling the door fully apart to make way for the giant aircraft. With all the new lighting Hawks had to turn off the night vision mode on his goggles so he could see. Through the orange tint of his lenses he could spot [y/n]’s limp body laying on her side facing him through the legs of the surrounding guards. Her whole body looked as though they just threw her to the asphalt from the van door.  A grimy brown sack covered her head that hung to the floor slightly supported by the shoulder on the ground unnaturally scrunched up by her neck. He could see the raw skin surrounding the bonds tightly wired around her bare wrists. What really unnerved him was the slow unsteady half-rise of her chest every so often. He doesn’t know if it was due to the bag covering her airway or the utterly traumatized state of her body, but it wasn’t hard to tell her lungs were starting to give way. There was no way in Hell she would make it through the plane ride. She needed medical attention and she needed it fast.

The shifting of wheels brought Hawks out of his panic as the aircraft propellers spun around in place,  making the plane go forward ever so slightly. It stopped one it was centered with the doors in the front of the facility. If he slashed his feathers upon them it would surely arm the onlookers. Eyes once again shifted to the body of his dove.

Helpless. He couldn’t make a move without stirring up their attention. And if they threatened her, there wasn’t even a sliver of a chance he would make it in time. 

TING

The sound echoed out from his pocket. The phone vibrated letting out another sound to alert him of a notification. 

Hawks’ heart dropped to the ground as everything around him moved in slow motion. Heads took their time spinning in his direction when in reality they snapped his way in milliseconds. 

He didn’t have time to look at his phone as bullets flew his way. Faster than ever, he took to the air, dodging the oncoming hellfire. Since all was turning to shit, the two cockpit feathers slashed the hell out of the men inside with zero mercy whatsoever. Using some spare feathers he sent them lashing at the tires preventing their second escape. He’d rather be plucked for everything he was worth before letting them get away again, especially not when they were so close.

His earpiece rang to life as he wound through the air. 

“What the fuck is happening” a harsh feminine voice that sounded like Rumi screamed from the other side.

“Shit hit the fan, send help.”

That was all he could say before getting nailed in the right shoulder. Wings stuttered in shock, but adrenaline pushed them to keep flapping. 

“Hawks!” She called.

He could barely hear her through the blazing bullets piercing through the air.

“Heading….. Minutes…… Endeavor…… Way.”

Static cut out sentences leaving him with only a couple of words from the other line. He didn’t have time to decode the meaning though.

In the midst of frantic maneuvering a blast of fire hit the window behind him sending him flying forward as a bullet lodged itself in his right thigh.

“Friendly fire!” He screamed behind him. 

Now shit was really hitting the fan, Hawks thought to himself as he looped through the new hole created by none other than Endeavor. He made his way to the top of the building, the roof partially deflecting some of the ammunition flying at light speed. A new wave of confidence gassed his system with the brigade of heroes quickly approaching from behind.

“I know I annoy you, but do ya really need to fry me right now?”

Endeavor only grunted as he landed next to the winged hero, Rumi was soon to join them. The bullets had ceased to pierce the air for a moment, Hawks could hear the head guy yelling at his underlines like an abusive dog owner. Naturally they tried to retreat to their vehicles, but found the tires were lacerated enough that they were rendered useless. The yell turned into hushed whispers. 

All heroes crowded up onto the roof, hastily devising a plan that would hopefully let them safely extract the beaten girl. Time was ticking fast as two beautiful lives were draining from the mother's body every wasted second. They needed to make a move and they needed to do it now. 

“Fuck plans”

“Hawks don’t be rash” 

Endeavor could get fucked by fire for all Hawks cared. He was going in sending flocks of lethal feathers to shred them while he used the remaining feathers to take to the sky. 

It only escalated from there on. Quirks were activated from both ends, but the heroes had to be careful, they may have the upper hand power wise, but the enemies had a hostage. Hawks could see his dove start to stir among all the commotion, but his attention was quickly redirected as a first sent him flying into a wall.

In the midst of the battle one of the lackey’s managed to discreetly snag [y/n] and a couple of the packages into a small aircraft. All which were messily tossed into the back of the cargo compartment before jumping in the control seat. All engines were a go and it was off to the runway from there, splattering some of his comrades into the pavement on the way. Hawks wasn’t having it though, redirecting all of the feathers slashing around to chase the jet as it wobbled in the sky.

“Your feathers are going to do jackshit, GO!” Rumi encouraged, no longer holding back. 

That was all he needed to hear, as he darted to the air, targeting with pinpoint accuracy.  The door of the storage holder on the side of the jet cracked open. Opening more and more as the pilot tried to steady the plane in the sky. The jet lagged in the sky as it swerved to the side making package after package plummet out. Hawks was tailing the jet, but the pilot kept taking sharp turns to try and lose him. 

Hawks spotted [y/n’s body starting to slip to the edge of the open door. One final turn from the unsteady jet was all it took to send her descending into the air. Hawks immediately dove after her, wings tucking flat to increase his speed, arms stretching out towards her, hands ready to snatch her at the first given chance. 

The ground was approaching uncomfortable fast. [Y/n] was just out of his reach, fingertips brushing against her own. 

His wings gave one last flutter against his back, pushing him just far enough to reach her forearm. Hawks latch his hand onto her arm hauling her into his arms before spreading his scarlet wings in an attempt to catch in the air. A hiss passed his lips as the opposing velocity strained the muscles at the base of his wings. 

Just before the hit the ground Hawks caught his bearings, letting them at least land somewhat safely. He stumbled on the turf, the hand that wasn’t holding [y/n] shot out to the ground where he keeled making sure to not fall over onto her. They landed a mile or so from the gates of the airport. 

BOOM!

Hawks watched as sparks erupted from an explosion a little ways from them. Looks like the poor bastard couldn’t fly after all.

His breath was heaving, the adrenaline of the situation still pumping through his body. Lifting his hand from the ground he untied the rope holding the sack over her head, pulling it off, freeing her beaten face. Scarce breaths passed through her cracked lips. 

Hawks was quick to let the rest know he had her. Endeavor let out a sigh of relief through the otherside of the line. Rumi yelled with happiness. When asking about her condition, he was hesitant to say anything, only saying that he was rushing her to urgent care immediately. 

Weakly she stirred in his arms, whimpering as her bound wrist rubbed the harsh unforgiving rope peeling her already raw skin. Hawks plucked a feather, slashing her wrist and ankle constraints, finally setting her aching limbs free. Tears welled in his eyes, partly because she was now in his arms once again and partly because she was suffering in his arms.

“Shhhhh, baby bird, I’m gonna get you some help okay?” 

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but he wasn’t going to bother waiting for a reply. Wings spread behind him once more, screaming at him from pure agonizing torture they had already suffered. Limbs burned, fire setting every vein ablaze with even the slightest of moments. 

All it took once one more heart wrenching soft cry passing her lips to get the adrenaline rushing again. No wound or pain could hold him down as he flapped his wings aggressively through the thin air. He kept staggering up to the clouds and low to the ground. It was definitely not his smoothest flight, but it was doing the job. She was held securely in a tight embrace against his chest. One of his hands gently caressed her cheek with the thumb in an attempt to pass her his wordless love. 

Some of the feathers started to give from those once giant eyes. Every feather lost was another piece of [y/n] drifting to the light of eternal rest. She was a rose that was slowly shedding its abused petals, wilting from the mortal world. 

Hawks could see the hospital in his sights, in his moment of overwhelming relief he almost hit the ground, but luckily he was able to bring them both up just in time. 

White doors slammed over as a body crashed onto the hospital lobby tile. The receptionist rushed over to the counter spotting the hero, wings clings around his front to cushion their landing. Looking at the lady in scrubs he lifted one of his wings revealing the beaten woman he cradled to his chest. The lady screamed for help as doctors and nurses flooded the room. A stretcher was brought in as [y/n] was carted into one of the back rooms, nurses flocking the stretcher trying to assess her state. 

A separate stretcher was brought in for him. A light smile graced his face as he watched them take care of her while they hauled him onto the cart. One of the nurses was trying to ask him questions, but he paid them no mind, only watching his dove.

The smile quickly faded as he saw more doctors dash to her room, panicked expressions present on each of their faces. He tried to stay awake, he tried to hear what was going on, but the last thing he heard was a doctor yelling one word that echoed in his ears even as he lost touch with reality.

“CLEAR!”

Then everything went black.

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Also I want to thank you all for reading this, it makes me so happy. I literally cried at all the love you all gave the first chapter. I wish I was kidding I actually cried.

TAGS:

@assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest @moonpawss @regularkacchan @austriasmariazelle @murkyrosewrite @hawksexual @imuziawi

[zukoskataraa]

a request i got a long time ago! sorry this took soooo long, hope you guys like it!

prompt #19: i’ve missed this

“Will you be home for Christmas break?” Zuko asks his girlfriend, Katara - who he was currently facetiming, as he lays down on his bed and places his laptop on his stomach.

“I’m not sure yet.” Katara replies, not bothering to look up at Zuko as she was busy writing down notes. 

“Oh.” Zuko says, disappointment evident in his voice. Katara looks at Zuko, for the second time during their ongoing 38-minute facetime call, and gives him a sincere look.

“Hey, I don’t wanna say yes when I’m not sure yet, because you’ll get your hopes up. And then you’d be disappointed if I can’t actually be there. Finals are next week and I still have some projects to work on over the break. Sorry, Zuko.” Katara says, and Zuko shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. I understand, Kat. I just… I miss you. So bad.” Zuko says, and Katara giggles.

“Aw, well aren’t you cute? I miss you too. A lot.” Katara says and Zuko smiles.

“I miss you more. Anyway, I don’t wanna take up too much of your time. I know you’re still busy, and I shouldn’t have called.” Zuko says.

“Hey, no. Don’t worry about it, baby.” Katara says, and Zuko’s cheeks turn a shade of light pink at the pet name. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m always happy to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Kat. I gotta go, I have to go out and buy some food. Study hard, but don’t forget to rest, okay? Talk to you later, future doctor.” Zuko smiles, winking. Katara blushes.

“Will do, Zuko. Bye.” She blows him a kiss and ends the call. Zuko sighs, thinking about Katara. They had been in a relationship since they were freshmen in college, and fast forwards five years later, where Zuko was in his fifth year of architecture - he failed two subjects last year - and Katara had graduated with nursing as her pre-med, and was currently in her first year of medicine, and got into her dream medical school which was across the country.

Zuko was happy for Katara, he didn’t want to hold her back from her dreams. He knew that she always wanted to become a doctor, and he would let her pursue her dreams, even if it meant having a long distance relationship. The first few months were hard, with them having different timezones - thus not being able to talk to each other properly. But once they got used to it, they would talk whenever they could, which meant just staying on call while Katara studied and wrote notes, or when Zuko had plates to finish. It had been five months since the couple saw each other in person, and Zuko was hoping that he could see Katara during Christmas break. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Or so, Zuko thought.

-

A week had passed by since Katara told Zuko that she might not make it home for the break, but nothing had changed between the two. They still talked, but Katara could tell that Zuko was feeling down.

“So, it’s the last day of your finals tomorrow, right?” Zuko asks, writing down some important details from the article he was reading. Katara hums.

“Technically, later. Since it’s already Friday here. But yeah, I have physiology in the morning and parasitology in the afternoon.” Katara says, her voice tired.

“You should focus on studying.” Zuko says. He didn’t mean to sound cold, but that’s how it sounded like to Katara.

“Zuko, are you mad?” She asks as she stops writing down her notes. Zuko looks at her, eyes wide.

“W-What? No. I’m not. Sorry. I’ve just been swamped with a lot of research and homework. I didn’t mean to sound angry.” Zuko says. The both of them have had sleepless nights the past week, with Katara studying for finals, and Zuko writing papers. The amount of caffeine the two had consumed the past few days was, in simple terms, a lot.

“It’s okay. Sorry if I jumped to conclusions.” Katara says. “I should go.”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry again, Kat.” Zuko says. “Make sure to rest, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.” Zuko says, his voice filled with love.

“Will do, Zuko. Love you.” She blows him a kiss and Zuko smiles.

“Love you too, Kat. Bye.” He ends the call, cursing to himself.

Katara sighs, groaning. She was tired of studying, and as much as she wanted to sleep, she still had to finish reviewing. She grabs her phone and calls Sokka, her brother and Zuko’s best friend.

“HEY SIS WHAT’S UP?” Sokka answers on the first ring, his voice a little too loud, making Katara flinch and laugh.

“Hey, Sokka.” She stifles a yawn, and Sokka grunts.

“Isn’t it like 2am there? You should get some rest kiddo.” Sokka says and Katara sighs.

“I’m only one year younger than you. And yeah, I’ll sleep after um, you know the plan, right?” Katara says, grabbing the airplane ticker inside her planner, and Sokka snorts.

“Of course! It’s gonna be the sweetest thing ever. I just don’t know why you just won’t tell him. Why does it have to be a surprise?” Sokka asks and Katara shrugs, even though she knows he can’t see her.

“I-I don’t know. I just want to see how he’d react. Like you know in movies where when the guy surprises the girl at the airport? The girl cries and runs to him and all that?”

“Katara, this isn’t a movie. But, I understand where you’re coming from. I’m actually excited to see the look on Zuko’s face. And I’m excited to see you as well, I guess.” Sokka says and Katara laughs.

“Gee, thanks Sokka. I feel the love.” Katara says and yawns.

“You need to sleep now, kiddo. Call me later when your exams are over, okay?” Sokka says.

“Yeah. Sure thing. I gotta go. Bye.” Katara hangs up, yawning. She smiles as she fiddles with the plane ticket in her hands, and places it back in her planner. She couldn’t wait for Sunday.

-

“How were your exams? You aced them, right?” Zuko asks, smiling. Katara giggles as she sets her phone on her desk and places her bag on the floor.

“They were difficult. But, I hope I passed.” Katara says and Zuko shakes his head.

“I know you passed! It’s you after all, Kat.” Zuko says and Katara smiles.

“Aw, thanks. I hope those sleepless nights paid off. Now I can rest and sleep all day. Well, aside from the paper I have to pass when the break is over. But other than that, I’m free!” Katara says and Zuko chuckles.

“You definitely deserve a break. I envy you, actually. I still have to pass this paper that’s due tomorrow, as well as 5 plates, which I’m not yet done with. Well, I finished four of them. The last one, I’m almost done with. Ah, sorry for rambling.” Zuko says, embarrassed and Katara giggles.

“No, it’s alright. Your rambling is always cute.” She says and Zuko blushes. “Oh, I have to call Sokka. Talk to you later?” She asks, and Zuko nods.

“Yes, yeah. Bye, Kat.” Zuko smiles and Katara’s heart melts.

“Bye, Zuko.” She blows him a kiss and ends the call. She calls Sokka, who answers right away.

“Hey, Kat!” A different voice answers.

“Suki!” Katara squeals.

“Yup! Sokka is in the bathroom, so I picked up instead.” Suki explains.

“I can’t wait to see you on Sunday!” Katara says and Suki laughs.

“Same here. It’s been so long! We are definitely hanging out when you’re here. I’m not letting Zuko keep you all to himself.” Suki jokes and Katara giggles.

“Hey, Suki, who are you talking to?” Sokka asks in the background.

“Katara.” She tells Sokka. “I’m handing you over to Sokka now.” Suki tells Katara.

“Hey, sis.” Sokka says, sitting down beside Suki.

“Hey. Sunday okay? 10am, you pick me up at the airport, then we go to Zuko’s place.” Katara says. That was the plan, she hadn’t thought of anything else, because complicated plans weren’t needed.

“We can’t hang out before going to Zuko’s place?” Sokka asks and Katara laughs.

“We can hang out the next day, I promise.” Katara says.

“I’m taking you up on your promise.” Sokka replies and Katara giggles.

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, I gotta go. See you on Sunday! Bye.” Katara hangs up, sighing. 

She grabs her suitcase and starts to pack her clothes and essentials. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to pack too much stuff, considering she’d only be there for two and a half weeks. When it’s 6pm, Katara is almost done packing, aside from the things she still needed to use before leaving, like her laptop and charger. She gets up and goes to the bathroom, and runs the water in the bath. A warm bath after a stressful week was what she needed. She grabs her phone and opens her playlist, the smooth sound echoing in the bathroom. She takes off her clothes and sighs as she sinks down in the tub, the water easing her muscles. She smiles, thinking of Zuko.

-

“We’re almost there. Are you ready?” Sokka asks Katara, who was smiling brightly.

“Definitely! Thanks again for doing this, Sokka.” Katara says. Suki smiles as she continues to cling onto Katara.

“Don’t mention it, sis.” Sokka says.

“Don’t leaveeeee” Suki says, hugging Katara even tighter and Katara laughs.

“We’ll see each other again tomorrow, Suki.” Katara says, hugging Suki back.

“We’re here.” Sokka says as he slowly pulls up in front of Zuko’s apartment. Katara sighs, biting her lip.

“You can let go now, Suki.” Katara says and Suki does as she’s told, and Katara gets out of the car. Sokka and Suki follow her, and Sokka gets Katara’s suitcase in the trunk. Katara looks at Sokka and Suki, shaking her hands in nervousness. “What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he hates me for lying to him? I should just go home.” Katara says and Suki takes Katara’s hands in hers. 

“Kat, relax. Deep breaths. He’s gonna be ecstatic that you’re here, I promise.” Suki assures her best friend. Katara looks at her and nods. 

“Go on, Kat. Give him the surprise of his life.” Sokka says. Katara nods as she walks up to the door. Sokka is standing by the car and Suki is hiding at the side, her phone recording the whole thing. Katara takes a deep breath and knocks three times on the door, biting her lip. A few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Zuko, his hair disheveled, bags under his eyes. Katara looks into his eyes and smiles, and Zuko widens his eyes, taking the time to process what he was seeing.

“Katara?” He asks, and she nods, smiling. “Oh my god.” He says and in an instant, Katara is in Zuko’s arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, heads buried in each other’s necks. Zuko can’t help but get slightly emotional. They pull away a minute later, and Zuko carefully puts Katara back on the ground. Zuko’s thumb caresses her cheek, and she smiles.

“Hey, don’t cry.” Katara says, leaning up to wipe away a tear on Zuko’s cheek. Zuko chuckles, sniffling.

“Sorry. I just… I can’t believe you’re here.” He says as he engulfs Katara in another hug, burying his face into her hair. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.” He whispers and Katara smiles.

“I’ve missed you too, Zuko. More than you know.” She pulls away and leans up to give Zuko a quick peck on the lips. She tiptoes and whispers into his ear, “There’s more of that later, but we have to get rid of our guests first.” She winks and Zuko chuckles.

“Affirmative.” He replies and takes Katara’s hand in his. Suki comes out from hiding, smiling.

“See! I told you he’d be ecstatic.” Suki says and Katara laughs.

“Of course I’d be ecstatic. I finally got to see my girl after 5 months.” Zuko says and Katara blushes. Sokka walks up to them, Katara’s suitcase in hand, as well as her bag.

“Here you go Kat.” Sokka says. “Nice to see you, Zuko.”

“Dude, we saw each other yesterday.” Zuko laughs and Sokka chuckles.

“That we did. Anyway, me and Suki should get going. See you guys tomorrow.” Sokka says and Suki waves goodbye at the couple. Zuko grabs Katara’s suitcase and hauls it into the apartment. Katara closes the door, and Zuko sits on the couch. Katara walks up to him and sits on his lap, straddling him. Zuko raises his eyebrows, amused, and chuckles as he puts his hands on her thighs.

“You should have told me you were coming home. I would have thrown you a surprise party or something.” Zuko says and Katara giggles.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Katara says, wrapping her hands around Zuko’s neck. “Were you surprised?” She asks and Zuko nods. 

“Yup. How long have you known that you could come home for the break?” Zuko asks, his thumbs tracing small circles on Katara’s thighs. 

“Uh, when you first brought up the topic.” Katara says, biting her lip. Zuko looks at her, surprised. “I thought that I might accidentally say it whenever we talked because of how tired I was. Like it might slip out of something.” Katara explains and Zuko chuckles.

“Well, I’m glad to have you here, back in my arms.” Zuko says, smirking. He leans close to her, his face inches from hers. The was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, and Katara’s breath hitches in her throat. “And I know you’re tired. I am too, but just to be clear, we won’t be getting much rest today.” He says as he crashes his lips into hers, and Katara gasps at the sudden contact. Today would be a long day.

-

masterlist | AO3

[matildashoney]

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Eleven

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @cock-a-doodely-doo, @ihearthemcallingforyou​, @goldenfeelin​, @detroitkiwis​, @wherearethewatermelons​

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

this chapter contains themes of sexual content please read with caution.

author’s note: there are no words to describe what a despicable time this is in the world, right now. i know this is a trying time, and i am posting this chapter early to hopefully give you space from the negativitiy if you want one. take care of yourself. i love you. i’m here for you. i see you. here is a page of links for you to sign petitions, learn, and donate. i encourge everyone to educate themselves. thank you for reading.

Going out was fine in the beginning.

Talia and Mylie were sat in the chairs opposite Amelie, their drinks nursed in their hands, talking about their boyfriends and their lives and their jobs. Her phone is vibrating every so often, likely from Harry, but they’ve already given her flack for not going out with her friends enough – even though she sees her best friend nearly five times a week – and always being attached to his hip when they’re together – which makes sense when he’s out of the country about six months a year – and it’s made her too anxious to excuse herself to check it. Harry would understand when she explained it.

“Can you tell me what you two are staring at or are you just going to keep looking past me like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Getting a weird vibe from this guy that’s been staring at you all night,” Mylie says, squinting to try and get a better glance at who it was. “Don’t know, maybe I’m seeing things.”

“Anyways,” Talia interrupts, trying to break the underlying tension that is hovering above their table and causing all three girls to draw circles around their glasses, “How’s Harry? You two alright? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Amelie smiles, her lips tingling with the mixture of tequila and the sensation of Harry’s lips on hers. “Harry and I are good. Love that man, I do.” Her teeth clink against the rim of the glass, taking the rest of the drink smoothly down her throat and standing. “Want another?”

“One for me,” Mylie smiles, sliding her glass towards Amelie. “Want me to come?”

“Not that crowded,” Amelie shrugs, taking a deep breath and gathering all her anxiety into her stomach. “I can do it.”

You can do it. Ask for a drink, wait for it, leave. Two minutes max. You can do this. Harry would be really proud of you for going out and being able to do it. You can do it.

Amelie walks to the wooden bar, slightly less crowded than it had been an hour and a half ago when they arrived, Talia and Mylie’s attention turned towards their own conversation. Her arms lean on the sticky counter as she waits, the bartender walking away to make her drinks, her hand reaching into her pocket to grab her phone and message him back, to tell him that everything was going alright. Amelie’s mind is elsewhere, clouded with tequila and rum and the drink that the bartender made when they walked in.

Until a hand lingers a bit too long on her lower back and a breath hits the back of her neck.

Amelie’s muscles immediately tense, dropping her phone on the counter and her head turning over her shoulder, all of the oxygen knocking out of her lungs at the sight in front of her.

“Look at you,” Jack slurs, his hand brushing the curls hanging over Amelie’s shoulder behind her back. “Get rid of that boyfriend of yours, finally?”

Amelie gulps, shaking her head, her hands reaching for her phone, fingers shaking, her eyes drawing out a path that would take her to her friends and they could leave. Her thumb is too sweaty to swipe across her screen, and every breath that she takes seems to be weighted and never make it into her lungs.

“Doubt that he’d ever leave you alone when you’re out. Always has to ‘ave an eye on you,” he mumbles, drawing his fingertip along her arm, chuckling darkly when she shrugs him away. “Must not be here, then.”

“Leave me alone, Jack,” Amelie spits, her tone echoing the fear that is welling tears in her eyes. Harry’s contact was the first on her screen, a few swipes and there would be a message to get him to her.

He steps impossibly closer, their chests touching, his breath hitting her face. His height is much shorter than she remembers, her fingers tapping anxiously against the bar as her eyes try to make contact with her friends or anyone that could see that the situation was uncomfortable.

And before Amelie could realise what was happening, Jack was leaning in to kiss her, his breath hot on her mouth, her head turning quickly as he grabbed her forearm, his lips hard and rough against her cheek. Her lips parted as she squeaked, her hand pressed against his chest, pushing him away. Her vision fades into flashing stars and her cheeks heat, all of the blood rushing to her head.

He stumbles backwards, fumbling into the security guard. His eyes fade into darkness that Amelie doesn’t recognise and there is this pit in her stomach that is making her want to be sick. Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to picture herself anywhere but where she is, anticipating his hand on her jaw and forcing her to kiss him like he likely would have, until one of the bartenders walks towards her, gently setting her hand on her shoulder and nodding towards the security guard, eyeing the situation.

Amelie is barely able to make out the words that are being said to her, only the thoughts about getting outside, to the fresh air, to the one setting where her lungs could get oxygen and feel full. Talia and Mylie nearly run over to her, grabbing her hands and her phone and bringing her outside, their concerned voices making her head feel like it’s going to implode at any given moment. Her hands are shaking as she messily scrambles to call the only person that would understand her, that would help her.

His phone barely reaches a second ring, his breathing slightly heavy through the receiver. His voice is rasped and worried as if the air was knocked out of his lungs the moment she called.

“Harry?” Amelie hiccups, her throat tight and tears falling down her cheeks.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” Harry whispers, his legs swinging over the edge of their mattress and reaching for the nearest trainers.

“’m out and ‘m scared,” she mutters, her breathing shaky as she walks further away from Mylie and Talia and beneath a light, her phone tight against her cheek, her body pressed against the brick wall. “Need to come home, Harry. I need you. I want to come home.”

“Mon ange, ce qui se passe?”

“’m sorry ‘m calling so late,” she chokes, trying to catch her breath.

“Hey, hey, j'ai besoin que tu respires pour moi,” he soothes, his voice calming and talking her through. His fingers brush through his hair, drying the sweat that gathered there. His voice is tense, hating that he’s not there to talk her through her panic attack, to squeeze her hand and remind her that he’s there because he’s sure that she’s near the point where she might go unconscious because of how heavy she’s breathing. “Don’t have to apologise to me. ‘m always here. Can you tell me where you are?”

“’m at some bar,” she says shakily, drying her eyes and trying to see anything she recognised around her. “Haven’t been to this one before, I don’t think. Mylie and Talia wanted to try it.”

Harry is starting to get nervous. He knows her. He is sure that she wouldn’t have called unless something was really wrong. That’s when he knows. He is sure that he knows what was making her feel uncomfortable, or who rather, and the thought alone makes him livid and his fists grip the duvet.

“Can I come and get you? Would that be that alright?” Harry questions nervously, a quiet hum in agreement all that was needed. He walks downstairs, mumbling that he would be right there, his hands reaching for a sweatshirt to toss over his torso to avoid meeting the bitter air. “Getting in the car, now,” he says, his fingers tugging at his roots and bringing it to a knot on the top of his head, the length becoming a burden with the knots and the strands sticking to his forehead. “’m gon’a stay on the phone until we’re together, alright?”

“Okay.”

And the line goes silent for a minute, Mylie and Talia walking over with their boyfriends and talking to Amelie, yet every thought in her head is spinning and she wishes that Harry would talk more to take her mind away from the feeling of his lips on her cheek and the harsh grasp that he had on her arm. His touch stung, cold and bruising, much like a wasp stinging the centre of someone’s chest. Her breathing is shaky, coming in pants, and Harry’s about to swear at every stoplight that he hits on his way to her.

Twenty minutes is twenty minutes too long.

His thumb drums dramatically against the steering wheel, his eyes scanning over the outside terraces of restaurants and bars and the nightclubs scattered in between. “Can you tell me what happened? Can you tell me why you want to leave?” Harry’s fingertips tap against the screen, using the directions to her location to guide him. Hearing her take a breath; Harry isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, even though that’s what he has to do. “Do you want to wait until we’re together?”

Amelie sucks in a breath. “Had fun at first,” she says very slowly, the alcohol evident in her voice, “and all ‘f us were dancing, drinking. Mylie and I wanted more, and it didn’t look like the line for the bar was too crowded, and it was me that offered to go. Felt someone touch m’ back but didn’t know who. Turned around and it was, you know.” Her voice goes silent. “He leaned in and said something ‘bout you, he smelt like booze,” she whispers. “’m not even sure what happened but ‘e went in to kiss me and I pushed ‘im away. I was really uncomfortable, Harry.” He can hear her start to cry, again. All Harry wants is to be holding Amelie in his arms, comforting her. “That’s not, I just. He isn’t supposed to do that.”

“No,” Harry breathes, trying to subdue his anger. He is furious. Only with Amelie’s luck would Jack be there the one night that she decided to go out without him. Jack was the reason Amelie only went out with Jenny or Harry, to begin with. Harry should’ve been there, with her, protecting her. Guilt rises into his chest, his throat, and he thinks he might be sick. “He isn’t supposed to do that. That’s wrong. This isn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

Amelie nods her head, oblivious to the fact that Harry can’t outright see her.

His chest heaves with a staggered breath as his tires roll to the nearest parking space, the sight of her making him want to collapse. Her eyes are hooded, and her cheeks are puffy. He could only imagine how hard she’s been crying. He can imagine that she’s nearly gone unconscious, by now. “Can see you, baby. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Amelie mutters, ending their call and turning slightly to where the slamming sound was coming from, Harry’s body coming into view as his feet pound against the pavement running towards her.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, immediately wrapping his arms around her head and pulling her into his arms, his lips touching her hair, his hands holding her tightly into him. “Are you alright?” Amelie grips onto his sweatshirt, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to only think about his breathing and his scent and his heartbeat that is beating in her hears with her head against his chest.

“Harry, we didn’t even know it was him,” Mylie rushes over, her hands tucked into her pockets, her heart breaking at the sight. Amelie always appeared so beyond the thing with Jack – not that they really knew what happened other than a messy breakup – but this put everything in an entirely new perspective. “Thought it was someone just watching us because of you two, honestly.”

Harry doesn’t want to blame Amelie’s friends. His frustration, his anger, his guilt, is begging him to blame someone other than himself. “Not your fault.” His hands gently brushing through Amelie’s curls and trying to soothe her. “Have they kicked him out?”

“Think so.”

“I’m going to go in there and talk to someone,” Harry says, his hands gently dropping from around Amelie’s torso and causing her to panic.

“Harry,” Amelie whispers dryly, barely lifting her head from his chest and squeezing his hips, “Harry, no.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry sighs, returning his hands to her hair and kissing her hairline, “you’re okay.” His cheek rests on her head, his eyes meeting the worried eyes of her friends, “Don’t worry, I’ve got her.” He kisses her hair, squeezing her shoulders and whispering, “Can I take you home? Can we go home?”

Amelie nods against his chest, grabbing his hand and interlocking her fingers with his, her body walking one step ahead to make the distance between where she once was. Harry opens the car door for her, kissing her temple and wiping the tears on her cheeks before moving back.

“Can you kiss me?”

“Course,” Harry smiles softly, disheartened by the trepidation in her voice. Her cheek turns to him, a tear wiped by her thumb as he whispers, “On your cheek?”

“Mhm.”

Harry’s heart sinks to his stomach. His lips gently touch her cheek, kissing away a tear that betrays her and falls against his mouth. He kisses her jaw, her cheek, her temple, making his way to her mouth to kiss her deeply, longingly. Her hand grabs his as he’s about to walk around and get into the car, her eyes flicking between his lips and his eyes. He kisses her, giving her reign, allowing her to mould her lips in whichever way she wants against his.

Harry has to take a breath, guilt washing over him in the worst way. He could’ve been there. He knows that she hates going out without him or Jenny. He knows that she doesn’t feel safe that way, that her anxiety is too overwhelming and makes her feel that way. Harry knows that Amelie wanted to prove that she was making progress more so to herself than anyone else, and she would have been so excited to tell him that she went to the bar all by herself and the night went great.

Until it didn’t.

“Have about twenty minutes until we get home,” Harry says, easing onto the street and beginning their journey home. “Glad you called me. Thank you for calling.”

“Had no idea what to do,” Amelie whispers dumbfounded, the alcohol still swirling in her brain. “Kept trying to press on your contact but m’hand was shaking and I couldn’t get it.”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, kissing her knuckles and squeezing her hand, the volume on the music silent. “Everything’s alright now. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Did I wake you?” she wonders, wet eyelashes pressed on her cheeks, her lips pursing together as the red tint of her lipstick begins to fade away. “Didn’t mean to.” Her hand reaches for the water settled in the console for her, taking a heavy sip and letting the cool liquid smooth down her throat.

Harry snorts, shaking his head and pressing a hard kiss to her hand. “Didn’t wake me, angel.”

“Oh no.”

His chuckle vibrates his chest, his heart warm as a smile tugs longingly at the corners of her lips. “Don’t think you want to know what I was doing.”

“Well, I mean, now yeah, since you’ve teased it, I want to know. Especially, since now, we’re together at a bright,” Amelie says, staring at the time on her phone and waiting a few seconds for the digits to process in her brain, “two in the morning.”

“Look, sometimes, things get a little, hard, and you have to do some things,” Harry begins, his lips curved in the cheesiest smile, a hard laugh bellowing from his chest as Amelie slips beneath the seatbelt and further into the seat, her hand covering her eyes. “You asked!”

“Oh my god.”

“Thinking of you, if that helps any.”

“No,” she says, biting her bottom lip to suppress a laugh itching at her throat, her cheeks flushed with his confession. “No, Harry, it really doesn’t.” Harry turns to stare at her, quirking his eyebrow suggestively and nodding his head. “Okay, a teensy bit.”

Harry and Amelie talk quietly about nonsense the rest of the way home, trying to distract from the sexual tension and the lingering conversation waiting to be had eventually. Her thighs were held tightly together, her hand and her phone between her legs, his hand holding hers on his thigh and away from the tent in his jeans.

Harry’s hand lingers on Amelie’s lower back as they walk inside, his hands gently holding her hips to make sure that she wouldn’t stumble going to their bedroom upstairs, her knees slightly shaky and her words drawn together as the alcohol begins to wear through her system.

Amelie’s eyes flicker to the alarm on the wall near their bedroom door. Harry nods towards the ensuite, his lips pursed together as her fingertips begin to take her clothes and toss everything into the laundry bin, taking her favourite robe from behind the door and wrapping it tightly around her torso. Harry waits for the three beeps before following her, frowning as she harshly takes a washcloth and begins rubbing at her cheek.

And Harry knows why.

“Baby,” Harry whispers, making eye contact in the mirror before setting his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing her muscles and kissing her hair. “Gentle with yourself.”

“Can feel it on my skin,” Amelie whispers, her eyes welling with tears at the thought. “Want it to go away.”

“Can I do it? I’ll take it all off.” Harry waits for Amelie to nod, his hands holding her hips and lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her thighs spread slightly for him to stand between. “Love the way you do your makeup, you know. Always makes your eyes so bright.”

His hands gently wipe away the tears and the foundation and the running mascara, revealing her bare cheeks and supple lips and soft eyes, begging to be peppered with kisses. He kisses her cheek, his breathing choking in his throat as he waits to see how her reaction will go. Her cheek leans into his hand, her lips turning to meet his and her hands holding his shoulders, the kisses languid and sloppy and sweet.

“Come on,” Harry breathes, circling his hands around her waist and gently setting her on the ground, walking around her and turning on the water. “Know you better than anyone and the only way for you to avoid a hangover is a shower and a good night’s rest.”

Amelie wonders, hooking the robe near the shower door and stepping under the warm water, her hair wet and clinging to her skin beneath the pour. Her eyes meet his through the glass wall, her arms folding in front of her chest. “Coming in?”

“Don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Harry sighs, scratching the back of his head. He wanted nothing more than to be in the shower with her, to be touching her – even innocently – and telling her that he loves her. He wants to tell her now more than ever.

“Harry, ‘s just a shower.”

His fingers tuck between his teeth, biting at the skin nervously. He shrugs, nodding and pushing his jeans down his legs and slipping his shirt over his head. “Alright, alright.”

“Not even briefs?” she giggles, her fingertips gently massaging her shampoo into her hair, all of her movements drawn out with the lingering alcohol in her veins.

“Go on,” he laughs, stepping inside the shower, squeezing her shoulders and nudging her to turn under the water, his body slightly stepped to the side, “turn around and let me rinse out your hair. Gon’a got soap in your eyes if you keep opening them to talk to me.”

“Takin’ care ‘f me,” Amelie smirks, wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him into her, puckering her lips and tilting her head back to inch her lips towards his.

“Always will,” Harry says assuredly, kissing the corner of her lips and gently squeezing out the water in her curls. “Could literally ask me to give you the clothes on my back and you’d have them.” His hands reach for her sponge, gently running the soap and water on the material and coasting it along her skin, kissing her neck and she leans into his touch.

Her voice is quiet, the water running over her skin as his hands gently rub into her shoulders, the muscles that tightened with the anxiety and the panic slowly loosening enough to allow her to have a night’s rest and to reconvene in the morning. His touched her hairline, allowing her to lay against his chest and have the water wash over their connected skin. “Have you seen anyone since we went on, you know.”

“On a break.”

Amelie nods, “That.”

“Haven’t seen anyone but your beautiful face every day,” Harry smiles softly, his thumb dragging along her cheek and his lips pecking her temple, his hands reaching to turn off the water and grab a towel from the rack nearest to them. “You’re it. Always.”

Amelie walks onto the rug first, holding onto Harry’s hand and wrapping the towel tightly around her torso her feet pressing into the fibres to dry and avoid slipping on the damp tile. Her hands reach for his warm sweatshirt on the counter, her hands rummaging around the drawer in their wardrobe for her favourite pair of silk shorts and pulling the material up her thighs.

Her voice is quiet as Harry gets dressed behind her, the cotton briefs clinging to his hips, his hair dried in a towel as she tucks the sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and walks to the bedframe, sorting her side of the bed and opening up the duvet for him to climb into.

“Cosy in that?” Harry asks, turning off the bathroom light and shutting the door, all of the lamps slowly beginning to turn over and the room becoming bright only by the moonlight shining through the thin curtains.

Harry’s fingers are about to shut his light when Amelie whispers, “Dumbest thing I’ve ever done was talk about that break.”

“Didn’t really give you much of a choice,” Harry sighs, turning to look at Amelie and sitting his back against the headboard.

“Have a choice, now,” she says, swinging her thigh over his waist, and straddling him, her fingertips coasting along his chest, her lips peppering kisses from his jaw to his neck.

“Hey,” he whispers, his head tilting slightly to allow her lips to make suckling marks on his neck. Harry was Amelie’s, undoubtedly and unabashedly. “Doll, we shouldn’t.”

“Baby.”

“Don’t want the first time we make love to be when you’re drunk, Ames. Don’t want you to regret that,” Harry gulps, his hands holding her thighs, gripping onto her lightly and feeling her skin under his fingertips.

“Could never regret you,” Amelie confesses, gently bringing her lips to hover over his, hot breaths panted over his mouth. “Kiss me, then. Not a fake kiss. Kiss me like you love me.” Her words are interrupted by hiccups, and Harry couldn’t find her more attractive – freshly showered, holding onto him, kissing him, wanting to profess how she feels; that’s more than he’s gotten in nearly a month. Her eyes meet his with all sincerity. “’ve been, dreamin’ about this.”

Harry’s thumb lightly pulls her bottom lip, “Have you? Missed these lips.”

Amelie kisses his fingertip, “Mhm.”

His fingers brush her hair away from her face, his hands cupping her jaw sweetly and kissing her cheek. “Are you sure?”

Her hands wrap around his wrists, having his hands firm on her face and unable to move. “Mhm.”

“Ames.” His voice is barely above a whisper, mouth inching towards her wet lips, the slight flush of pink on the flesh making his stomach flip with butterflies. His mouth is longing to be on hers.

“Je t’aime,” Amelie says, a smile tugging at her lips as Harry’s eyes move away from her lips and meet her stare, surprise and love overwhelming his emotions and features, “and I want you to kiss me.”

“Je t’aime,” Harry grins, brushing his nose against hers and lightly pressing a kiss to her lips. “Could listen to you say that for the rest of m’life.”

“And you will.”

Harry’s lips crash onto Amelie’s, their mouths messily colliding, their rhythm slowly building from sloppy to sweet, perfect alignment and steady intake of breaths as their tongue taste the lingering mint and tequila that is between their lips. Harry moans into her mouth, soaking in the way her fingers slowly inch into his hair and scratch at the nape of his neck, his hands holding her thighs and her back, their arms tightly around each other, barely giving space for their lungs to intake any oxygen.

Amelie’s kiss is begging for something more, desperate for Harry to take away whatever is lingering in her brain. Maybe it’s the anxiety. Maybe it’s the underlying doubt that they won’t work out a second time around. Maybe it’s the memory of someone else’s lips on her skin that she never wants to feel again. Harry answers it all with his lips on hers, kissing her cheeks and her mouth and her jaw and her cupid’s bow, leaving a bright red mark on the cut of her jaw below her ear and whispering his love for her.

Harry’s kiss is longing, aching for more of Amelie. His hair longed to be tugged by her, his neck marked by her teeth, his skin scratched by her nails, his sensed overwhelmed by her scent. He wanted all of her immersed in him, to be in her skin and knowing her. He wanted to erase the memories of anyone that’s ever hurt that, that’s ever made her feel like she deserves less than every star in the sky. His lips are slightly harder against hers when a tear slips down her cheek, needing her to feel his love deeper than the surface.

Her hand trails down his chest, lingering over where their thighs meet. “Have to give you a cut on tequila, Amelie Fay,” Harry chuckles dryly, gently moving her hand and bringing her fingers back to his hair. “Can’t resist you when you come home when you’re like this.”

“That’s what I love,” Amelie smiles, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. Her lips touch right below his ear, gently marking his skin.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, gently sliding further into the duvet and bringing the covers over Amelie’s back, tucking their bodies together and his hands settling over the curves of her bum and trailing up her spine.

“Knowing that you have that control shows that you really love me,” she whispers against his skin, gently kissing over his jawline and making her way to the corner of his lips. “That’s good, you know, because, I love you.”

His eyes well with tears. Harry needed Amelie to say that more than he thought. “I love you. God, I love you. Don’t leave me, ever again,” he croaks, his fingers tangling in her hair and gently coaxing her to meet his glossy stare. “Need you, angel.”

“Need you,” Amelie murmurs, her thumbs gently wiping the tears from beneath his eyes. Her heart is thumping so loudly in her chest that it can be heard in her eardrums, a bass drum kicking a new beat. All that she wants is to have Harry’s lips on hers. “I love you. Je t’aime.”

“I love you. I’ll love you to the ends of the Earth. Do you hear me?” Harry breathes, his lips realigning with hers and making a home on the mouth that knows his so perfectly.

Her voice is hushed against his lips, barely breaking apart their kiss and the moonlight fanning over their bodies in the middle of the mattress. His hands are planted on her hips, firm and steady. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never, Ames. I never will.”

Harry can only pray that Amelie will feel the same in the morning.

~

“Oh mon Dieu. Oh mon Dieu. Oh mon Dieu.”

Harry could hear the panic in her voice. He’s only heard the stress and anxiety in her voice like this a few times, namely when they’re arguing, and there is a twisting in his stomach that is telling him that whatever is going to happen isn’t going to be good. He stirs, slowly prying his eyes open and blinking to focus his vision, the clock on his phone reading 06:28.

They’ve only been asleep for four hours, and Harry knows that Amelie’s had a nightmare that she didn’t wake up from.

Amelie’s hands were covering her face, her hair slightly matted from sweat and his fingers and the way he was tangled in her hair as they kissed. And the way the whole scene is panning out, it’s as if there is no recollection of the night before, her hands running over her body, ensuring that there are clothes covering her skin and the stickiness is only from the closeness of their bodies throughout the night. Amelie reaches to take Harry’s hand away from her hips, her knees pulling to her chest and her fingertips pushing against her temples.

And the panic attack is in action, full force, without a sign of hesitation or hindrance. Harry can see it happening.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Amelie mumbles under her breath, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that she swears Harry could hear it from beside her. “Harry, I need you to let go of me.”

“’ey,” Harry murmurs, the rasp in his voice coating every word with exhaustion, “tell me why you’re panicking. Can tell me, I’m right here. ‘s only a nightmare, you’re safe.”

“I, I.” Like that, every word in Amelie’s vocabulary is beginning to disappear. All she can see is the balcony and the promise of fresh air and the slight possibility of her heart to quit beating against her ribs in a way that would make it implode and rupture. “Let go, please.”

Harry immediately loosens his grip. He can see her making a mental path to the balcony and his heart falls to the pit of his stomach. He reaches for a pair sweatpants that are strewn on the chair near the vanity, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and yanking them onto his hips. “Jus’ le’ me turn the alarm off. One minute.” Harry walks to the bedroom door, clicking the buttons to turn the alarm to the setting that wouldn’t blare a horn when she opens the door. “Doll.”

Harry’s eyes follow Amelie as she rushes outside, satin shorts on her hips, her knuckles turning white as she holds onto the railing for dear life, as if moving would make the entire world turn upside down and she would be the first to fall. On the corner of the horizon, the sunrise is beginning to show promise of the new day, the dew clinging to her skin and slight breeze of the morning chill hitting her cheeks. Her thighs are covered in goosebumps, but there is nothing she can feel besides the heat of her blood pressure in her cheeks. He rubs his eyes, trying to gather all of his words and thoughts and wake himself enough to at least know why she’s panicking.

“Oh mon Dieu, je t'ai appelé. Je n'aurais pas dû appeler,” she murmurs, her words slurring together in a string of sound. “Qu'est-ce que je fais, bordel?” Heaving breaths, her chest is tight, the overwhelming weight on her lungs suffocating her.

Oh my god, I called you. I shouldn’t have called. What the fuck am I doing?

Harry takes a second to try and grasp what she’s saying. He can’t comprehend what she’s saying that quickly and that jumbled. “Say it again. Slower, please.”

“This is,” she says quietly, pausing to think but every word and thought is scrambled and making her head hurt. “Can’t breathe.”

“Ames,” Harry says calmly, taking a breath and standing beside her against the railing. He is well aware that she doesn’t like to be touched during a panic attack, that’ll it’ll cause her to hide away and never speak, but she has to see him, “slow down. Talk to me. Called me at the bar, last night, remember? Came home with you. Only us, here.”

“Can see everything,” Amelie whimpers, her fingertips curling around her hair, her nails scratching her scalp, her eyes squeezing shut. “Had a nightmare and it wasn’t you touching me. Can’t make it stop.” Harry’s eyes are fixated on her, his body seeming too close even though he is far away. “Don’t want to see it, again.” Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and Harry is sure that she’ll pass out at any moment if she doesn’t take a breath. He sighs as she turns away, laying her palms flat against the bench that decorated the space beneath the lingering window – the bench that she chose nearly a week after she moved in.

“Know that, baby,” Harry breathes, leaning his back against the balcony and watching her every movement, careful to not overwhelm or scare her. His voice is soft and soothing, all of his words chosen very carefully and particularly. “Want to take it all away from you.”

“But you can’t, Harry,” Amelie says desperately, taking a seat on the bench, her fingertips digging into her knees, her eyes set on the flowers beneath the balcony and in the garden. All of her hope is drained from her voice. “He’s never going to go away.”

“Amelie, that’s not true. Don’t start thinking backwards, now.”

“Do you think I did something to want to be this way? Is that why you said the things you did? Do you think that?” Her voice cracks between sobs, her chest shaking beneath the tears and the unsteady breathing. Her eyes can barely open with how heavy the tears are. “Harry, I don’t know why I’m like this. This wasn’t my choice.”

“Mon ange, écoutez-moi,” Harry whispers, his stomach twisted into knots and a sob lodged in his throat. He should’ve never said the things he did. Never. “Know that this wasn’t your fault, none of it. Have nothing to say for m’self other than ‘m a proper arsehole.” He takes a step forward, their feet barely touching. “Have had a lot of time for reflection and learning over the last month, you know. Understand a lot more, now. Don’t have to forgive me, but I am sorry, Amelie. I’m so sorry.”

Her fingernails scratch at her bare skin, leaving crescent marks in her flesh. “Jack told me I was going to be alone. He told me and I didn’t believe him,” Amelie sniffles, her teeth biting at her bottom lip and tearing at the skin. Her tongue swipes over the flesh, taking the blood that trickles from the cut. “You’re going to hate me like everyone else. You are. Only a matter of time.”

“You think that I’m going hate you,” he sighs, taking a seat from the corner of the balcony and bringing it towards the bench, his knees knocking with hers and his fingers set on his thighs, nervous to take her hands. “You think that I could hate the love of my life.” Harry’s eyes meet Amelie’s when she lifts her head – he knew that would bring her attention to him. His heart falls into his stomach, taking in the tears staining her cheeks and the bright red circling her eyes. “I’ll never hate you.”

“Can’t believe you,” she mumbles, taking the sleeve of her sweatshirt and wiping her skin roughly, scratching at her cheeks and heaving a staggered breath into the fabric. “Anxiety, it ruins everything. Depression, it ruins everything. Me, I ruin everything.”

“No, you don’t ruin everything.”

“Our holiday was ruined by me.”

Harry’s lungs collapse in his chest. “Our holiday was not ruined by your anxiety. Us staying inside an extra day or two and leaving two days early didn’t affect our holiday in the slightest.” His hands hesitantly reach for hers, his throat swallowing a cry when her hands retract further into her sleeves. “Could have gone home the very next day with you and it wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

Having a spiral on holiday effectively ruins it, Harry.

“Can you listen to me fo’ a second? One minute, that’s all.” Amelie nods silently. “Haven’t felt this much guilt in a long time, and I am sorry. There were so many opportunities to make the conversations and the behaviours that were triggering to you stop, and I didn’t take them. Overstepped a boundary that you had and that was wrong.” Harry’s thumbs gently wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. “Had every sign that you needed me, that you were having anxiety, that your depression was there, and I did nothing. That’s all my fault. Not yours. Have every right to be mad at me, to not forgive me.” His heart squeezes so tight in his chest at the thought of her never forgiving him that he thinks he might break into sobs. “Don’t have to forgive me, that’s okay. Need you to know that I know what I did, I’m sorry, and I’ll never do it, again.”

I forgive you. I forgive you and I love you. That’s what Amelie wants to say. “Je n'aurais pas dû te laisser tomber amoureux de moi. I’m sorry I don’t communicate, and I tend to react on my emotions. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you. Je suis désolé de ne pas suffire. Tu mérites mieux.”

“Don’t say that, Ames,” Harry whispers, aggressively wiping away the tears that fall down his cheeks and itch his skin. “Couldn’t have stopped me from falling in love with you if you tried and you are more than enough to me. All I want is you, you and me. Don’t you dare say that.” His eyes are welling over with tears, desperately wishing that they could go back to last night, where they were smiling and kissing and promising to be together, that they love each other and always will.

“Harry, you’re going to fall out of love with me. One day you’re not going to want me,” Amelie says, her jaw clenched as she wipes her eyes and stands on her feet, avoiding Harry’s reach for her hand and stepping towards the balcony railing, her eyes meeting the bare colours of the flowers in the garden.

“That’s not true, angel. I swear on my life. I swear to God. I love you,” Harry cries, pushing his body from the chair and sliding it away, disheartened by the way her shoulders tense at the words and her jaw tenses. “I love you.”

And despite the way Amelie refuses to turn around and utter the three words that Harry so desperately wants to hear, Harry knows that Amelie loves him, that she’s in love with him. He has to believe that, otherwise, all of his defences and will to let the words her anxiety is spewing from her lips pass without regard will disappear and he will break. But she needs him, right now, and he refuses to abandon her. Harry refuses to let Amelie slip through his fingers, again.

“But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our–”

Harry knows that Amelie’s anxiety can make her second guess everything, to make her overthink and believe in the falsities that have been told to her time and time again. Her thoughts make a façade making her believe that she is undeserving of the love in her life, and all the kindness that encompasses her. Her heart wrenches and twists and squeezes against her ribs, hiding away from saying the three words that she desperately wanted to, making an exterior that would guard anyone against ever touching her soul and her emotions and love, that would protect her in the least convincing way. All that Amelie’s gone through to be where she is, to make the art she creates, to love the way she loves, to treat others way she does, is played into the thoughts that make her question all of behaviours and reactions and relationships.

Anxiety makes her mistake the love in her life with hate for herself, and Harry refuses to let that happen again.

“Finish the quote, baby,” Harry says, standing behind Amelie and sucking in a deep breath. “But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our–”

“From our love,” Amelie whispers, releasing her grasp on the railing and taking a step backwards, returning to her seat on the bench. Her head is pounding and there is a heat creeping onto her cheeks, her blood pressure raising under the sporadic breaths leaving her chest.

“Tell me you love me, angel. Need you to tell me that you love me, baby. You have to remember that feeling,” Harry says slightly louder, slightly more abrasive, taking another step away from her to allow her to move without touching him, “and unless you say that you don’t love me, you’re not moving, you’re not leaving me.”

“Don’t shout at me.” Harry wasn’t shouting. Not yet, at least. He can feel himself getting ready to yell, though. He is ready to yell at the thoughts in Amelie’s brain that make her second guess everything she does, that make her feel like she’s not worthy to be loved by him, that make her feel like she isn’t enough.

“Fine,” Harry’s voice is bitter as he resumes sitting in the chair set in the middle of the balcony, his arms folded in front of his chest. “That’s fine.” He stares at her blankly, his emotions unable to be portrayed on his face. “Guess we’ll stay here all fucking day.”

This is where it ends, her anxiety says. This is where he falls out of love with you. This is where he kicks you out onto the streets and makes you go to your parents’ house, where you have to move out in a week and find a place to live and somehow pretend that you aren’t in love with him and have to settle for someone and marry them just because they like you enough. This is why you ended up with Jack. This is why bad things happen. This is why. This is.

“Um,” Amelie chokes out, tears beginning run along her cheeks, her skin burning with the heat of her blood pressure, “you know, I can go. I’ll leave. I’m sorry. I should go. I’m so fucking sorry. I ruin everything. I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t want you to hate me. I’m sorry.” Her head is pounding so deeply in her temples that she has to squeeze her eyes shut, the tears falling onto her bare thighs, and she swears that if she makes one sudden movement, her mind will go unconscious.

Harry leans forward in the chair, sliding slightly forwards and leaning over his knees, their legs barely touching. “Did I not just tell you that you’re not leaving until you say you don’t love me.” He heaves a sigh, standing on his feet and walking to the railing, defeat etched into his features and sadness echoed in his words. “Tú devez arrêter de faire cela. Tú dois arrêter de me faire ça. ’m begging you to stop running away. You’re saying all of these things and insisting that you have to leave. Arrête de parler de partir et parle moi!” Harry shouts, slamming his hand into the metal bannister, his knuckles white as he clutches onto the rail, his body turned away from hers as she clings to the edge of the bench overlooking the garden, every muscle in her body frozen and unable to move. “Arrête de nous faire ça et dis moi ce qui ne va pas.”

You have to stop doing this. You have to stop doing this to me. Quit talking about leaving and talk to me! Stop doing this to us and tell me what’s wrong.

Say something, her brain screams. Say something before he hates you.

And quiet washes over them.

Harry swallows a sob, turning around and walking to Amelie, his feet carrying him over to the bench, his body uncomfortably kneeling against the concrete, his hands holding her thighs, making her feel his touch, making her know that he is there. “Je sais que tu m'aimes.”

Amelie’s eyes barely meet his, tears streaming and the light eyes that Harry knows are washed out, blurred, dim. Her hands shake against his, her chest rising and falling much too rapidly. All of this, every tear and shaky breath and unsteady hand is a make of anxiety and a nightmare and a toxic relationship. Harry wants to take it all away.

That’s the thing that Harry doesn’t understand. All of Amelie’s boundaries have disappeared with him. All of the guards to protect her heart and her brain and her soul. All of the measures to ensure that she never fell in love, that she never gave herself the opportunity to broken.

Harry has made all of that disappear, and that is what is so terrifying.

He has made her fall so in love that she would impulsively make any decision to see him, to touch him, to kiss him, to be with him because he said the three words that she needs to hear. He makes her feel so sure of herself, that she doesn’t think twice about it. He makes her feel like she is everything and anything, that she can do everything and anything.

That is the scariest thing; there is someone that makes you feel so loved, that you feel like you can do anything. Love is that powerful.

“Tú ne savez pas que,” Amelie whispers, desperately trying to break the intensity that is building between them. Telling Harry that she’s in love with him would prove her point, that the love that they have has broken every boundary she has ever set for herself, that she has ever set to protect herself. “Je vais tout foutre en l'air. Je vais te faire me détester.”

“Listen to me, baby, please,” Harry pleads, grabbing her hands and interlocking her fingers with his, squeezing and kissing her skin. “There’s nothing you could do to mess with you and me, that could fuck us over. Could never hate you, Amelie, ever. Have to believe me on that.”

One day you’re going to hate me. One day it’s going to happen. I am so afraid of that day. I don’t want you to hate me.

“Regarde-moi dans les yeux et dis-moi que tu ne m'aimes pas,” Harry retorts, secure in his judgement and every word that is rolling of his lips.

Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t love me.

Harry is angry with Amelie – angry that the anxiety is winning and that all those thoughts are going to change the way she sees herself, the way she sees him, the way she sees their relationship. Harry is angry with himself – angry that he hasn’t done enough to make sure that all those thoughts are gone, that they are deep enough in her worries that they’re never a second glance, that they’ve almost disappeared from the atmosphere. Harry is just fucking angry. “Have to say that, because that’s the only thing that could ever screw this up, fuck this up. That’s the only thing that could ever make me hate you.”

“Can’t do that,” Amelie mutters, sucking in a heavy breath and willing her eyes to meet his. Harry’s features portray his exhaustion, now, and her heart aches knowing that she’s caused this. She loves him. Amelie never wants him to feel this way. Harry moves only slightly, his arms gently coaxing around her waist and slowly encouraging her to stand. He wraps his arms around her, only tight enough to ensure that her knees wouldn’t give out, his face leaning away to stare at her. He can feel the sobs being held in her chest, the tightness in her breath, the shakiness as she clutches onto his back. “You know I can’t say that.”

“Pour une fois, s'il te plaît, arrête de te battre contre mon amour pour toi.”

For once, please, stop fighting against my love for you.

Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper compared to her rasped tone, thick with tears and regret and anxiety. “’s not that simple, Harry.” Harry releases her when she takes hold on the railing, his hands holding the metal beside her body, uneasy with how shaky she is against and frightened that she might fall. “Don’t deserve for you to love me, like this.”

“Tell me why. Tell me why you aren’t allowed to be in love. Tell me why I can’t love you.”

“Can’t,” Amelie murmurs, sucking in a heavy breath and turning around, tucking her arms in front of her chest and facing Harry, his eyes meeting hers and his arms tightening closer by her sides, holding her between him and the metal railing. “Can’t have a love like this.”

Harry is frustrated, his breathing heavy, his body adjusting the weight in his legs and making his eyes meet level with hers. “’m asking, no, begging, you, do not shut me out. One of your rules is to never leave someone that needs you. Guess what? I need you. Anxiety makes you think that no one needs you. Depression makes you think that no one needs you. I need you, Amelie. I fucking need you.”

“Harry.”

His cheeks stained with tears, his eyes glossed over and etched with pain. “Have all of me with you, and you promised that you wouldn’t leave me, that you need me.” Harry is desperate for Amelie, now. “On that day you scared me nearly to death because you wouldn’t answer m’calls or m’texts, remember, you told me you would never leave me. On the phone last night, when you were plastered and petrified to come home, our home, alone, you said you needed me. On our bed, last night, when we were kissing and touching, when you were clinging to me and squeezed me and kissed me, you said you always wanted us together. Can’t have you say goodbye to me this way, not when you promised.” Harry’s eyes are etched with pain and fear. He is afraid of what she is going to tell him, more so, what her anxiety is telling her to say. “Tell me this isn’t goodbye, fo’ fuck’s sake. I’m begging you, now, Ames.”

“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Amelie says quietly, her heart breaking watching the emotions move through his body. “I need you; I do. I need you, Harry. I’m not fighting you anymore. I’m sorry. I’m scared, I’m really scared. I’m sorry. Je t’aime. I’m sorry for everything. Je t’aime.”

Harry wraps his arms around her waist, his face tucked into her neck, tears wetting her skin, his hands squeezing her hips, gripping her sweatshirt in his fists. His grip is telling her that he’s there, telling him that she’s there. “Don’t fucking scare me like that ever again. Makin’ me think you can’t love me anymore.”

“Okay,” Amelie agrees quietly, untangling her arms from her chest, circling around his shoulders, her fingertips finding the baby curls at his neck, her face falling to his neck and her lips breathing out a sob. “’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Don’t,” Harry says flatly, his hands squeezing her torso, her chest tucked tightly against his, physically melting into his touch.

“Harry, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she cries, shaking her head against him, holding him tighter. “’m sorry.” Harry waits to say anything, knowing that she isn’t quite finished. “Gotta get better. Give me time.”

“J'attendrai avec tu,” he whispers, gently ghosting his fingers along her skin, reaching to take her cheeks in his hands and slowly bringing her to face him. “I love you. You’re not doing this alone.”

I’ll wait with you.

Harry takes a breath, gathering his emotions and steadying his breathing, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones and drying the stray tears that stained her skin. “Je suis désolé, je n'ai pas pu le voir. Couldn’t see that things were getting bad.” His chest is so tight, his lungs could implode. He could apologise. He could make things right. He could fix this. “Wasn’t there for you like I should have been. I’m sorry. Going to be different, now, I promise.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t see it.

“Je ne voulais pas être un fardeau, that’s why I didn’t tell you,” she mutters, gently kissing his palm, her eyes glossy as she stares at him. “Going to talk to you from now on, I promise.”

I didn’t want to be a burden.

“’ey, you are never a burden,” Harry assures her, his lips touching her forehead, her nose, her chin comfortingly. “Could do nothing to make me not love you or be in love with you. Quite literally, you are everything to me.” All of Harry’s love pours through his words. “Only thing I need in this fucking life is you. Only you.”

“I,” Amelie breathes, squeezing her eyes and blinking away her tears, having a moment to gather her courage, the three words she has to say stuck in her throat. “I love you.”

Harry chastely touches his lips to hers, his heart breaking as he feels the tears stain his cheeks. He savours in the way she tastes, the way she kisses him with so much passion he knows her heart is his without having to say a word. His thumbs brush her cheeks, his lips repeatedly kissing hers for comfort, for love, for reassurance.

Harry doesn’t know what’s going to happen when his mouth leaves hers. He doesn’t know what she’s going to say and how she’s going to react. He doesn’t know anything other than his love for her, and the love that she has for him.

Harry remembers the quote that Amelie marked from their favourite novel, the one that reminded her of him, the reminded her of how she felt about loving him. All of it, every ounce of love that he has for her, all of the thoughts and dreams and feelings for her, everything makes sense.

They were meant to love each other.

Kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, Harry lets his lips linger on her hairline, his arms around her shoulders, bringing her into his chest and holding her tightly. Her hands are squeezing his torso, her face tucked into his neck and sucking in deep breaths, steadying her shaking and trying to process all the thoughts in her head.

“Can feel you thinking,” Harry whispers, his mouth on her hair, his eyes taking in the way the sun is beginning to rise over the mountains far off in the distance and the birds are beginning to sing their morning song.

“Thinking about Finch and Violet, and the Jovian-Plutonian Effect and the Moon,” Amelie tells, her fingertips drawing on his skin and her lips parting with the heavy breaths reaching her lungs. Her cheeks are starting to feel cooler, her blood pressure slowly lessening and her head beginning to feel less achy. “Think we were made to love each other, somehow. Don’t know how that happened, but I’d like to think we were.”

Harry grins, his arms loosening around her shoulders and his hands cupping her cheeks, his mouth tilting into a kiss and soaking in the way her lips so perfectly mould to his. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.” His words are rushed over, needing to have her kiss, the sensation intoxicating and enticing. All that Harry wants is to share his love with her so intimately. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime,” Amelie breathes, squeezing his hips and gently sponging kisses along his jaw, making a light path to his ear. “Fais-moi l'amour.”

His head tilts to meet her lips, his hands gently coasting along her figure and wrapping under her thighs, encouraging her to settle on his hips, her legs tightly circled around his waist and her arms squeezing his shoulders, the balcony door quietly shutting as they messily walk towards the bed, as their breathing hitched together as their mouths entangle in longing and loving kisses. His heart is thumping against his ribs, nearly extending through his lungs and radiating through his fingertips. Her skin is glowing beneath the rising sun, his fingertips trailing over her cheeks and tucking beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling the material over her head and tossing it onto the ground. Her fingers shove the waistband of his sweats down his legs, their movements wanting and hurried.

“Missed this,” Harry breathes, light kisses feathering across her chest, suckling over the moon tattooed on her sternum, his hands dragging her silk shorts down her legs and laying a kiss on her calves as he slinks over her naked body. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,” Amelie whimpers, a moan echoing around their bedroom as Harry’s fingertips gently taste her arousal, his thumb rubbing circles over the bundle of nerves between her spread thighs, her fingers wrapped in his hair as their kiss becomes more passionate and heavy with the wetness on their skin. “Entrez en moi.”

Harry nearly groans at the thought, “Might not take me that long since all ‘ve been using only m’hand for nearly a month.” His weight is supported on his forearms, his hand tugging at his cock, heavy in his hands, his thumb dragging her arousal over his throbbing tip and teasing her heat. “God, ‘ve missed being this close to you. J'ai manqué de faire l'amour avec toi.”

Harry and Amelie gasp in unison as his cock gently eases into her core, her warmth swallowing him, her velvet walls taking all of him inch by inch, her thighs around his waist and her muscles soft under his touch. His hips are flush against her pelvis, thrusting and grinding into her, his thumb drawing patterns on her nerves as her fingernails scratch at his back, dragging along his spine and breathing as his cock reaches her hilt, sponging against the sweetest spot inside of her. “Harry.”

“Love you,” Harry moans, his lips suckling on her throat and marking her skin with a bright magenta bruise. His pelvis grinds with the arch of her hips, her heels digging into his bum and bringing his cock as intimately inside her warmth as physically possible. Her arousal sounds around the bedroom as he thrusts into her, the wetness on their thighs and their sheets and their moans encouraging the sweet love. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you,” Amelie whispers, a tear falling down her cheek with the pleasure and the orgasm growing so deliciously in her stomach, squeezing his cock tightly inside and feeling as though the emotions and the love and pleasure is bringing her face to face with heaven. Harry was heaven. “Want you always.”

“Have me,” Harry grunts, his thumb pressing to her bundle of nerves and groaning into her neck as her orgasm spills around him, milking his orgasm inside her warmth and squeezing him deeper, her thighs shaking around his hips. His mouth presses kisses into her cheeks as their orgasms wash over their bodies, her glossy eyes meeting his as he whispers, “you fucking have me.”

~

All of Harry’s thoughts are jumbled and in disarray as the café comes into view. Amelie’s mural is painted on the concrete wall opposite of where his car is parked, and his forehead rests against the steering wheel for a moment, trying to centre his thoughts and not make any unreasonable decisions. He isn’t quite sure what made him turn down the wrong street and go in the opposite direction of the café that he and his girlfriend – that feels so good to think and say – get their coffee and breakfast from.

Maybe it’s the anger. Maybe it’s the hurt for Amelie.

Harry was lying beside Amelie in their bed, brushing his fingers through her curls, his lips touching her hairline as she sleeps soundly in his warmth. His skin was sticky, sweat covering his forehead and his hair slightly damp, his chest slowly rising and falling with his breathing. He finally was where he wanted to be, with his favourite person, speckled purple bruises appearing across her skin. He was taking in the sight, the way her skin shone brightly under the sun and the quiet hum of her breathing was making his heart beat faster.

And then before Harry could fully process what he was thinking, anger was the only emotion speaking to him, overwhelming his thoughts, thinking about the beautiful woman tucked in his arms. He kissed her forehead, tucked the comforter tighter around her naked body, his fingers tightened the string of the loose-fitting shorts around his waist and shoved his feet into the trainers near their bedroom door, walking quietly out of their house. Harry didn’t want to worry Amelie. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

Until Harry was doing something stupid.

“Harry! How are you, mate? Saw Amelie the other day,” Jack smiles devilishly, and Harry’s fists clench together. Amelie described that smile, the one that is a stroke of mischievous and malicious, and Harry could see why his features would make her nervous on sight. “Lookin’ better than ever, isn’t she?”

“You and I need to talk outside,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his keys tucked in his back pocket, his wallet and phone abandoned in his car. “Now.”

“Don’t think we do, Harry.”

“Jack, I swear to God,” Harry grunts, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in front of his chest. He’s taller than Jack, a bit more built muscularly, but there is a tone behind every word that comes out of his mouth that is threatening.

“Be right back,” Jack mentions, two or three younger workers staring awkwardly and shockingly at the interaction happening. Harry walks outside first, barely holding the door for Jack to follow suit.

Harry walks around to the mural, standing a few feet away from Jack and creating their distance. Jack takes one wrong move and Harry is ready to knock him straight in the jaw and never look back. One for Amelie. One for Harry. “Alright,” Harry spits, pursing his lips together as his jaw tightens, the intensity lingering in the foggy January air swelling over. “Firstly, I’m not your mate, I will never be your mate. Secondly, how the fuck did you know Amelie would be at that bar, last night? Do you fucking follow her or summat?” Jack opens his mouth with a smirk, Harry’s hand immediately waving his answer off. “Don’t fucking answer that.”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Jack shrugs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it, moving to stand against the mural and setting the nicotine between his teeth. “That was just a coincidence. Good coincidence for me, but a coincidence nonetheless.”

“Wipe that fucking smirk off your face,” Harry growls, his bottom lip pinched painfully between his fingertips, his eyes a deep shade of green that would be unrecognisable to anyone that stared at him. “I swear to God, Jack, if you ever say anything to Amelie, again, if you go to see her, if you blink towards her, if you even breathe near her, I will not hesitate to break your fuckin’ jaw.”

Jack chuckles, flicking the ash and taking a drag, blowing the smoke directly outside of Harry’s vision. “Do you ever stop to ask yourself why she always comes here? Out of all the bakeries and cafés and coffee shops, Amelie keeps coming back here. Why is that?”

“Hasn’t come here in six months,” Harry retorts, laughing at his insinuation. Amelie’s gone to The Beachwood nearly every day since they moved in together in August. His mind is well aware that his words are meant to get a rise, and it’s scary how much it’s working on Harry’s temper. “Don’t feel fucking flattered. She liked the coffee and your mother, you fuckin’ prick.”

“Did you ever think it could be because Amy misses me?” Jack teases, pursing his lips and shrugging his shoulders, the cigarette burning with a sizzle under his fingertips. “Maybe, I treated her better.”

Harry is seething, his cheeks puffed out with panted breaths and tears pricking his eyes with how angry he is. “Don’t fucking call her that. After all you did to her,” Harry scoffs, shaking his head and twisting his heel in the pavement. “Left me, her boyfriend, to be the one to change everything. You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“Could think of a few things we did together.”

“Jack, you’re fuckin’ treading on the thinnest ice.” Harry walks closer to Jack, laughing as the cigarette falls to the ground and smashes under his trainer, their chests barely missing each other, his breathing erratic as the anger builds inside of him. His fists are clenched, and his knuckles are white, and there is sudden gratitude for putting all his rings on his hand before leaving their house. Harry wanted it to hurt if anything were to happen. “One more thing is said, and it’s a promise that you’re done.”

“Harry, tell me, do you think it’s because I gave it to Amy better than you?” Jack taunts, his arms crossed in front of his chest as Harry’s fist begin to slink further up his body. His words make Harry want to vomit. “Bet Amelie thinks of me.”

And everything goes into darkness.

Harry swings, punching him swiftly in the jaw and the nose, shaking out his knuckles, his rings twisted on his fingers, the taunting boy planted on the tarmac, his back pressed against the mural on the wall as his mother comes barrelling outside. Jack struggles to stand, his nose bleeding heavily and an imprint of Harry’s rose ring on his cheek.

“Harry,” his mother gasps, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth at the sight of her son stumbling to stand on his feet, “what’s happened? I don’t like the look of this.”

Harry doesn’t know when he began crying, but there are tears on his cheeks and his breathing is erratic and there is a heaviness in his chest that could only be relieved by the girl sleeping beneath their duvet. His throat gulps a cry as he gathers his voice, the dark smile on Jack’s lips making his anger worsen. “Tell her what you did to Amelie. God knows you’ll live your life pretending it never happened, but you hurt her.” His voice is barely above a shout, the humming traffic and busy streets barely drawing attention to the two men fighting behind a café and an older woman trying to understand the reason. Harry refused to tell what happened – that wasn’t his story to tell – but he would make sure that someone told the truth. “Fuckin’ broke her down to bits.” Harry’s cheeks stained with tears, thinking about how broken his girlfriend was telling him what happened for the very first time. He’ll never erase the images of her face and the fear in her eyes when she told him what happened. “Amelie made me promise that I’d never tell anyone, but you should know that he did unspeakable things. He isn’t allowed near her, ever again.”

Harry looks at Sarah with a despaired expression on his features, a worried line written in his forehead, his lips pulled into a tight line and a nod acknowledging the end of their conversation. Her eyes travel between the two boys, fighting over malicious behaviours and abuse. “What have you done, Jack?” Her heart aches for the boy staring at her son, hatred in his eyes and a tear falling down his cheek.

Harry stalks away before their conversation can meet his ears, his fist clenching and unclenching to bring the feeling back. He angrily climbs into his car, locking the doors and taking in the sight in the mirror. His hair is falling out of the knot on his head, his knuckles red and bruised and bleeding, his rings scratching at the cuts made there.

Go home. Go home to your girl. Go home and love her.

Harry reaches for his phone, eyeing the five missed calls on his screen. His fingertip goes to click on Amelie’s contact, another call breaking through. He answers, bringing his phone to his ear as the engine in his car turns over and his head lays back against the headrest, his mind fully blank and his eyes seeing flashing colours.

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, “baby, I know where you are. Come home to me.”

Harry is sure that she’s only woken up a few minutes ago, the slight distance and rasp in her tone telling him so. “He deserved to have someone smack his face in,” Harry grits, hissing at the feeling of his thumb rubbing over his cut knuckle. “Fucking cunt.”

“Did you do something?”

“Yeah.” Harry can hear Amelie sigh disappointingly through the speaker. “Don’t know what he was saying to me, though, Ames. He deserved it.”

“You’re right,” Amelie agrees, breathing into the speaker and pausing to collect her thoughts, “and he does deserve that. But I’m here and I don’t want you getting hurt or in trouble.” Her silence is deafening to Harry. “Come home.”

“Don’t even know how I got here,” Harry breathes, looking at the café and the way the street is suddenly silent. “Honestly, I going to get us breakfast, and I looked up.”

“It’s okay,” Amelie breathes, her tone softening with her words, sensing the anxiety that is overwhelming Harry and trying to calm him. “You’re okay.”

Harry settles into his seat, shifting the gear and beginning to drive, his hand wiping away a tear and trying to gain composure of his emotions. “Coming home, now.”

“Good.”

Harry is seemingly mindless the entirety of the twenty-minute drive. All of his movements are done without intention, the directions and the attention and the calculated motions all felt without emotion and thought in his brain. His heart is heavy, aware that his actions might have caused harm to the only person that he cares about. He should’ve thought his actions through. He should’ve been more aware. Harry was just angry.

Going over all of the apologies in his head as he walks inside, Harry chokes out a breath as Amelie wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing her into his chest and holding him tightly, his hand barely able to reach and shut the door behind them as he melts into her embrace. “Hey, baby.” His lips touch her neck as she hugs him tighter. “God, it feels good to have you in m’arms, again.”

“I love you,” Amelie says, gently coaxing Harry’s face out of her neck.

“Feels better to hear you say that,” Harry sighs, kissing her sweetly and squeezing his arms tighter around her waist. “I love you more.”

“Come on,” she smiles, kissing his cheek and interlocking their fingers, squeezing his hand, her eyes trying to avoid the cuts and scrapes covering his knuckles. “I’ll make you a coffee.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot to handle in the kitchen,” he teases, tossing his phone and wallet and keys onto the side table and following her into the kitchen, his heart swelling as he takes in her minimal appearance – the vintage shirt that she wore on their first date and a simple pair of cotton panties on her hips – and the comfortability that she has with him. That’s all Harry wants.

“Considering I’m making lunch, right now, I don’t think it’s all too much to handle,” Amelie giggles, wiggling her eyebrows and rolling her eyes as Harry tucks his arm around her waist, clinging to her as she pours him a mug and walks towards the toasty press that his mother bought for the holidays.

“Lunch, hm? How fancy of you,” Harry hums, releasing her and moving to sit on the freshly painted stool near the island, amused at the way there was always a sense of fear whenever Amelie was in the kitchen.

Amelie turns over her shoulder with a pointed stare, her eyes squinting at Harry as his lips tug into a smirk and hide a laugh. “Don’t just stand there if you know I’m going to ruin it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, love.” Harry sets the mug on the counter and uses the tongs to pull the toasty out of the press. “How do you burn everything?”

“Good question,” she says, sipping quietly from her straw and staring at her boyfriend as he walks around her to clean the mess she’s made of their lunch. “Have to have you cook for a reason.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest, his hand over her tummy, frustratedly unplugging the machine and bringing out the menu for delivery. “Fuck it, I’m ordering pizza. This is hopeless.”

“Have to clean your hand, Harry,” Amelie whispers, her fingertips running over the bruised and distressed skin, dried blood accumulated across his knuckles.

Harry shakes his head, kissing her hair and taking Amelie’s phone to ring the restaurant. His eyes widen as she takes the phone from his hands, setting it on the opposite side of the counter. “’s fine, angel.”

“Baby.”

Harry and Amelie stare at each other for a minute or two, silently arguing over who would win this argument. Her arms wrap around his waist, her cheek lying against his chest, her fingers gripping his waist in a tight hug, silently hoping that he’ll give in to her. She doesn’t want to know what was said to him, but she has to. Harry needs to hear that it isn’t true, that whatever thoughts were put in his head aren’t real. There wasn’t anyone to say that to her, and she refuses to let him ruin their relationship. Harry is everything to Amelie, and there isn’t anyone that’s going to get in the way of that.

He silently kisses her hair, squeezing her hip and telling her that she can lead the way. Hand in hand, they walk into their bedroom and to the bathroom, Harry sitting on the toilet and leaving his hand over the counter for Amelie to clean and bandage the right way. Her silence is overwhelming, and Harry wonders if she’s angry with him.

“Tell me what Jack said to you.”

His chin lifts from his chest, “Doesn’t matter,”

“Harry,” Amelie sighs, tears pricking her eyes as Harry winces with the sting of the peroxide, “tell me. That’s the only way I can tell you that he is wrong.”

He thinks for a moment and tears well in his eyes as he thinks about all that was said to him. “Coughed up saying you miss him and miss being with him,” Harry whispers, a tear falling down his cheek in betrayal. “Fuck.”

“Harry, baby,” she says, her thumb gently wiping his cheeks, her fingertips ghosting over his bruised knuckles.

“Can’t stop seeing you, fucking sixteen and abused by this prick, and he has the audacity to say those things to me,” he whimpers, stealing his hand away and covering his face, his elbows on his knees, his mouth covered by the heels of his hands. “Can’t stop seeing it. Need it to stop.”

Amelie’s cheeks flush with a heat of anger. “Bébé, bisous, s’il vous plait. Je t'aime. Putain, je t'aime. J'ai besoin qu'on oublie toutes ces choses qu'il a dites. Je veux l'oublier.” Her gentle voice is hurried and melodic, her hands prying away his from his face and bringing his eyes to meet hers. “Bisous. S'il vous plaît.”

Baby, kiss me. I love you. I fucking love you. I need us to forget all those things he said. I want to forget it. Kiss me. Please.

Harry’s hands grasp Amelie’s cheeks, their lips melting to each other and their tongues tasting the salty tears falling onto their skin. Her fingers grip onto his shirt, her thighs straddling his waist and her eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his hands roam across her figure. “Je ne te ferais jamais de mal, tu le sais, n'est-ce pas? J'ai besoin de savoir que tu le sais.” Harry stands, holding his arms under her and walking into their bedroom, their lips melted into a rhythm as they kiss and share their unspoken love, taking away all that was ever said against them. All that there is in this moment is Harry and Amelie.

I would never hurt you, you know that, right? I need to know that you know that.

“Oui, je sais.”

Harry lays Amelie gently on their unmade mattress, gently kissing along her jaw and neck, his hands lifting her shirt to kiss the pudge at her hips. “Need to kiss where he hurt,” he whispers against her skin, his mouth trailing wet kisses on her inner thighs and the tattoos that cover her legs. “Need to erase all that hurt from you.”

“Can’t you realise that you have? Made me see that I’m so much more than what happened,” Amelie whimpers, her thumbs running over his lips as his chest lays against her, her legs wrapped around his waist and his forearms beside her head to carry his weight. Kissing over his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, she says, “I love you. I do.”

“Love you,” Harry murmurs against her lips, soaking in the way her warmth encompasses him, “Love you to the planets that haven’t even discovered yet and wherever the hell you are. Would go to the ends of the Earth for you.”

“Know you would,” Amelie smiles, gently nudging their bodies forward and her fingertips prying her shirt away from her torso, leaving her skin naked and bare to Harry’s eyes. “Don’t you think I’d meet you halfway?”

“Know you would.” Harry smiles, kissing Amelie’s belly as his fingertips tug the cotton down her thighs and her fingers pull his shirt over his head messily. All of their kisses are messy, and their teeth are gnashing, and lips are being bitten in the sweetest way, the way that means they love each other so deeply and unconditionally that there is nothing else in the world that matters except their way their hands are touching each other.

And then Amelie’s phone starts vibrating.

Harry groans, his hands squeezing Amelie’s hips and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips to try and persuade her. “Don’t want to answer it.” His breath is hot against her mouth, intoxicating and making her want to ignore the call. “Ignore it.”

“Harry,” Amelie whines, “Could be Jenny in labour.”

“Fine.” Harry reaches for Amelie’s phone, swinging his leg over her thighs and settling on the edge of the mattress, his hand reaching out to make her wait as she goes to grab her shirt. “Don’t get dressed, yet.”

His fingertip slides on the bottom of the screen, their best friend’s voice echoing through the speaker and making a smile come to Amelie’s features. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, her cheek lying against his bare back as she snuggles into him. “Don’t care if you two are in the middle of doing it,” Jenny says, breathing heavily and groaning as a contraction begins to wash over her. “Have to get to the hospital because I’m in labour.”

Harry’s eyes roll at the way Amelie smirks at him, her fingertips tickling his tummy as he squeezes her hands. “Ha.”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes, “Alright. We’ll be there soon.”

“Told you,” Amelie giggles as Harry hangs up the phone, laying on her back and tugging at his hand as his head turns over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers. “Better make this fast.”

Harry cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows rising and his eyes blinking rapidly to ensure that he really heard her correctly. “Doll.”

“Baby.”

Harry stares at Amelie in awe. Her smile is spread across her lips and her eyes are narrow as she desperately tries to persuade him to bury beneath the comforter with her, to have his skin melting into hers, to kiss her and pretend that they are the only thing in the universe that matters. His heart is pounding so heavily in his chest because she is the only thing in the universe that matters to him. Amelie is everything – all the colours, the stars, the sun and the moon, the songs and lyrics and melodies, the art and literature and the good and the bad. Amelie is all of that and more.

“I love you.”

Amelie grins, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him sweetly. “I love you. Always.”

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (16)

Surprisingly, Lee wraps his head around the idea of reincarnation from another world the easiest.

“It’s like when children at the Orphanage are adopted.” He explains blithely. “The parents who take them away give them new names, so you can’t ask to visit or see how Shinpachi is doing anymore, but the person who was known as Shinpachi still exists. He just has a new life with a new name somewhere far away.”

There’s a moment of contemplative and slightly horrified silence.

“Huh.” She says. “I-I guess it is kinda like that. I am Mayu, I just...remember being someone else before that. Somewhere very, very different.”

“Mayu—” Her mother pinches the bridge of her nose. “How-how do you know that this—this other world even exists?”

Well, she’d known they’d need proof to believe her, one way or another. Hopefully this will be complex enough that it should suffice.

She takes a deep breath.

«It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the will of the fight, risin’ up to the challenge of our rival. And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, and he’s watching us all with the eeeeeyyyyyyeee—of the tiger.»

Naruto grins. “Hey, it’s the singy thing!”

Lee gives a little round of applause. “You have a very nice voice, Mayu-chan!”

She tries not to blush and fails miserably.

Gai-sensei nods. “A most youthful tune, Mayu-chan. But do the sounds have any meaning?”

“Wait just a moment.”

All eyes turn to her father, whose head is hanging down, hair bracketing his eyes.

“Those sounds...aren’t they...”

She feels a drop of sweat slide down the back of her neck. Otou-san is the second son of a samurai clan after all; it’s no surprise that he can recognize a foreign language just by hear—

“They’re the noises you used to make when you were a little baby!!” Her father yells, pointing a dramatic finger at her.

“NO!!” She yells back, cheeks aflame. “Well, actually, yes, they kinda were, but they weren’t just baby noises!!”

Okaa-san gasps, pressing a hand to her cheek. “Dear, I can’t believe I couldn’t remember! You were so sweet, Mayu-chan, always going ‘aa dun uda’sta oo’.”

“That’s because I was trying to say «I don’t understand you»!” She groans, covering her eyes. “I didn’t understand this language back then! I just wanted to know what was going on!”

“Hey, hey, Mayu’s Tou-san,” Naruto says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What was Mayu’s first word?”

Her father exhales and strokes his chin while looking off into the distance with a nostalgic twinkle in his eye. “Well, let’s see. She would’ve been about twenty months old or so—”

“IS NOW REALLY THE TIME FOR THIS STORY?!” She cuts in desperately. “I’m trying to prove the existence of another world by showing that I know a language that no one in this world has ever heard of and is far too insane for anyone with a brain to have made up!”

“Insane?” Says Lee, tilting his head in confusion.

“English is the pirate of languages.” She mutters darkly. “It goes around and beats up other languages and steals their words.”

“Is there anything about your past life that’s not related to pirates?!” Okaa-san asks, exasperation evident in her tone.

“I like pirates.” She says, hurt.

Her mother shoots her an unamused look. “Ketsugi Mayu...”

She holds up her hands in surrender. “Pirates were kinda mythical in my past life by the time I was alive. There were historical ones, but people romanticized them a lot. Like ninja.”

“What?! How dare they, that’s really rude, believe it!” Naruto fumes, crossing his arms. “...Kaa-san, what’s rom-an-ti-sized mean anyway?”

“It means they make up stories about them to make them seem...nicer.” Okaa-san explains. “Usually by pretending they aren’t as violent as they really are.”

“Oh.” Naruto thinks about this. “That’s dumb. Ninja are already cool, they don’t need to be nice.”

“Pirates are cooler.” She says.

“They are not—”

“Don’t start.” Her mother says in her scary week-long-ban-from-cooking voice.

“Yes Okaa-san.” They chorus.

“But wait.” Lee’s now frowning. “If the only ninja are historical, then how did countries in your past life defend themselves?”

“With armies of soldiers. Normal ones.” She replies. “ Though those might be replaced by flying robot drones by now. There used to be ninja in Japan—may still be even if only in name—but there wasn’t anything like chakra in my past life, so we developed technologically to fight each other instead. Now the world’s kinda in a stalemate peace because we’ve developed so far that the planet will become unable to support human life if we ever go all out.”

Lee stares at her, then drops his head, fists trembling in his lap.

Gai-sensei presses a hand to his shoulder. “Lee.”

She grows alarmed as tears begin to drip off of her friend’s face. Oh shit, she hadn’t meant to insult his dream. “Hey, Lee—”

“Mayu-chan.” His voice is surprisingly steady. “Did you mean everything you said? You aren’t making anything up?”

She hesitates but shakes her head, mouth twisting in consternation. “Yes. I did mean it. Lee, I’m sorry—”

Suddenly his arms shoot up in the air, fists still clenched. When he raises his head, his tears are sliding around a wide and dazzling grin.

“There’s a world of ninja without chakra.” He whispers, tone awed. “They don’t need chakra to become strong. To become ninja.”

Gai-sensei beams back and ruffles Lee’s hair into a haystack. “Of course! A youthful spirit and the willingness to work hard are what truly make a ninja!”

“And our Lee has that in spades.” Okaa-san says fondly, smoothing some of the now-haystack back into place. “You’ll be a fine ninja, I’m sure of it.”

Lee sniffs noisily. “Gai-sensei, Chie-oba-san...!”

“Yeah!” Naruto throws his arm over Lee’s shoulders. “An’ then you an’ me an’ Mayu-chan are gonna be on a kickass ninja team together, believe it!”

“I’m gonna be a pirate.” She interjects staunchly.

Naruto pouts at her for a moment, before he brightens again. “Fine then! Sakura-chan can be our third teammate, and Mayu’ll be the pirate mascot!”

“Sakura-chan?” Lee cries eagerly.

“Pirate mascot?!” She echoes indignantly.

Naruto sticks his tongue out at her triumphantly while her father and Gai-sensei turn away to muffle what sounds suspiciously like laughter.

She folds her arms and scowls at the stair in front of her while her mother pats her head consolingly.

Otou-san manages to get his chuckles under control enough to place a hand upon her and Lee’s shoulders. “We’ll always be very proud of you all, whether you’re a pirate mascot—” He fails to hide his snickering under her disapproving gaze, “—or a ninja. We just want you to be happy.”

“Jirou-oji-san!” Lee sniffs, eyes refilling with tears.

It takes another five minutes to get Lee and Gai-sensei to stop crying and hugging everyone in reach.

This is only exacerbated by the fact that her parents lose all rational sense and begin blushing and stuttering helplessly when they’re caught in Gai-sensei’s embrace.

Once everyone’s calmed down a bit, Naruto turns to her again. “So if this world was a story in your past life, does that mean you know the future, or any super cool jutsus?”

“No.” She says. “Because I never read that comic. I only ever read One Piece and argued with idiots who tried to say that that comic was better, which it obviously wasn’t.”

Her mother rolls her eyes at her as she lies, “I don’t even remember what that series was called, or any of the characters from it.”

Naruto narrows his eyes at her. “Then how’d you know you were here?” He fires back.

She stares at him as placidly as possible. He’s her best friend in this world—practically her brother in all but name. Lee is too, and Gai-sensei may as well be a third parent by this point.

She’s afraid of dying again, but she thinks that if it were for this family right here, her family, she’d face it with the kind of smile that only a D could muster.

She refuses to sentence Naruto to a miserable life of second-guessing and unearned guilt over things that he couldn’t possibly control.

Not this time.

Usopp, Nami and Robin give her the conviction to make this lie believable.

“The Hokage Monument.” She tells them smoothly. “It was in the background of almost every panel that idiots who liked the comic would try to show me. I didn’t remember where I recognized it from until I was about four years old though.”

Naruto doesn’t quite look convinced at first, but his expression becomes more accepting as he mulls it over.

Lee, bless him, just nods along trustingly.

Okaa-san tilts her head and stares at her with unnerving scrutiny.

Otou-san touches her mother’s arm, an eyebrow raised in concern, only for his wife to shake her head almost absent-mindedly.

Gai-sensei’s nose twitches.

She holds her breath.

His face breaks out into his usual beam. “I see! So the Will of Fire blazes strongly even in other worlds!”

She exhales, sending a mental thank you to the Rational Trio. “Yes. Any other questions?”

“Did you have a family in your past life?” Lee asks.

She flinches.

“Ah.” Lee’s smile is sad and understanding. “It’s okay if you didn’t—”

“I know it is.” She cuts in, grin feeling stilted. “It’s just—they weren’t anything to special. My Dad was a businessman and pretty strict. My Mum was a housewife and very spiritual. Kinda boring overall.”

Lee nods again, though he looks a little confused.

Okaa-san and Otou-san look...hurt.

She wants to hug them, but there’s a little part of her that whispers that doing so would be a betrayal. She forces herself to turn to a nicer topic.

“I did have a little brother, Harp.” She smiles to herself. “He’s a good kid, you guys would’ve loved him. He’s wizard at doing presentations and performances and things like that, really makes it easy to understand and believe what he’s saying, you know? He’s gonna be a famous actor when he grows up, or a politician, some really great speaker once—”

She freezes. “Shit.”

“Language!” Okaa-san says, but she barely hears her, knuckles white as her nails dig into her knees.

“I didn’t make a will.” She rasps. “I never made—and now they’ll get it all. They’ll take everything, and he’ll still be trapped.”

“Who will take everything?” Otou-san says, steely-eyed and serious. “Mayu, was someone you were related to threatening your family?”

She shakes her head. “Not—not threatening, exactly. S’just.” She makes an abortive movement with her hands. “Living with Mum and Dad was...not good. For me or Harp. They never got on with each other, and both of them were disappointed in us in their own way—anyway.”

“No, why were they disappointed?” Okaa-san says, eyes blazing. “I want to know what they thought was wrong with my little girl.”

“Okaa-san—” She tries to say, flattery and embarrassment warring inside her.

“Nothing’s wrong with Mayu-chan!” Lee interrupts, little chest puffed out. “She’s fine the way she is!”

“Lee—”

“Except that she does curry too spicy.” Naruto cuts in. “And argues with the Academy teachers a lot. But that’s not disappointing, believe it!”

She’s torn between the overwhelming desire to kick him in the shins and give him a great big hug.

Gai-sensei gives what, for him, counts as a discrete cough. “While I’m sure we can agree that Mayu-chan is one of the farthest things from disappointing there is, I believe you were in the process of explaining your dilemma?”

“Right.” She tries to will her cheeks to stop burning.

“Well, I had some money saved up so I could try to get Harp out—hire a good lawyer and see if, while Mum and Dad’s divorce was finalized, I could win custody so he’d get to live with me.”

“What’s divorce?” Lee asks.

“It’s when two people who are married decide they don’t want to be married anymore.” She explains. “So they go to a court of law to make it so they officially aren’t, and each person gets part of what they both owned.”

Naruto gasps, like the idea is somehow shocking to him. To be fair to him, the adults look equally scandalized, so she guesses that’s not exactly a common practice here. “You can do that?! But why? I thought married people were supposed to love each other forever.”

“Usually they do.” She says wearily. “But sometimes people fall out of love, or one person is hurt by the other, or both misunderstand the person they got married to. Dad thought a woman like my Mum would be very business-focused like he wanted. Mum thought a man like my Dad would be very spiritually enlightened like she wanted.”

Naruto looks confused but considering, so she moves on.

“Anyway, I had a lot of money saved up, but because I died without leaving anything that said how I wanted it to be used, Mum and Dad will take all of it, or at least argue over who should get the most of it in the divorce.” She clenches her fists. “And Harp’ll never see a penny.”

“Mayu-chan.” Naruto’s voice wavers slightly. “Did you not love your parents?”

For an awful moment, she’s struck by the paralyzing urge to say “No”.

Then the horror and guilt settle in her gut again like undercooked food and make her feel like she’s going to choke on bile.

“Wh—of course I loved them!” She sputters indignantly. “They were my Mum and Dad. You’ve got to love your Mum and Dad.”

“It’s okay if you didn’t!” Naruto holds up his hands placatingly. “They just don’t sound very nice! You said that they said you were a disappointment! And you didn’t want your little brother to be with them!”

He and Lee are staring at her wide-eyed, as if waiting for her to snap at them again. The same way Naruto and Kiba look around Sakura these days.

She takes a deep breath and tries to make her voice softer, gentler. “I’m sorry for yelling. It’s just, sometimes, you can love someone and know when they’re not very good at something, or in a position that they and other people aren’t happy they’re in. I did love my Mum and Dad, but they are the last people in that world I’d trust with a kid. It wasn’t their fault, but I thought if I could get Harp out, let him grow up happy—”

She shakes her head, worrying the scar on her lower lip.

She’d promised him she’d get him out.

She’d promised.

“How old were you?” Her father asks, voice low. “When...?”

She can’t bring herself to look at him, but he sounds weary down to his very bones.

“I was twenty years old.” She says to the stair in front of her.

“Is that.” Her mother hesitates for a moment. “Is that an old age to die at? Among the people of that world.”

She makes a face. “Nah. I’d been an adult for two years in the eyes of the law, but most people in my past life could expect to live until their lates eighties or nineties before dying of natural causes.”

She hears Gai-sensei whisper “late eighties or nineties” to himself in a tone filled with something like wonder.

It’s that wonder which spurs her to look up and say, “In fact, if you manage to live to your hundredth birthday, the Queen sends you a card wishing you a happy birthday and congratulating you. I had a friend whose great grandma got one.”

Only Gai-sensei looks as amazed by this information as she’d hoped they’d all be. Lee’s trying to muster up the same enthusiasm as their teacher, but he can’t quite. Naruto looks more confused than anything.

Otou-san and Okaa-san are just staring at her like they don’t recognize her.

It hurts too much to hold their gaze.

“How’d you die?” Naruto asks. “Were you fighting a bad guy?”

She rubs the back of her neck. “Not really. A man broke into the flat. I grabbed a knife. He freaked out and his gun went off. He said it was an accident.”

She hisses the last word with all the venom it deserves.

She doesn’t understand anymore why the One Piece anime tried to censor Belle-mere’s death by changing it from a headshot to a bullet to the chest.

A headshot is quick and painless, at least.

She’s so caught up in her own memories that she doesn’t hear her father’s question. “Pardon?”

“What was your name?” Otou-san’s voice is soft and understanding, even though his eyes are pitying.

“...The girl who died was called Tamara Kaur. Her friends called her Tammy or Tim-Tam for short.” She says, a mournful grin on her face. “My name is Ketsugi Mayu. I’ll be in your care, if you’ll have me.”

The quiet that follows this statement, half joke and half plea, is enough to make whatever hopes she was still desperately clinging to crumble like a sandcastle in the face of the tide.

There aren’t many more questions after that.

Aside from the pointed conversation that began with “so if the person Naruto mentioned really was a comic character, then who was the home invader?” and ended with her exasperated mother asking “What do you mean, you ‘accidentally created divinity’?”

She winces. “Kinda that? I just, I was praying to them for normal stuff, and then that day I prayed for help with cutting the lamb and ended up with an entire meal I didn’t remember cooking.”

Okaa-san stares at her for a long moment before burying her head in her hands. She makes a noise Mayu thinks might be a sob.

Otou-san pats her back awkwardly and shoots her what she thinks is meant to be a reassuring smile. “Your Kaa-san’s fine. She just...needs a moment.”

“So it was Sanji?” Naruto whispers to her.

She nods rapidly.

Naruto’s face splits into a grin so wide his eyes almost close. “Awesome.”

“I know.” She whispers back, hardly able to keep from smiling herself.

Okaa-san sends her to turn off all the taps and hang her clothes back up upstairs.

She supposes she has wasted enough water for one day.

She blinks in the mid-afternoon sun when she opens the door to her bedroom, ignoring the masks that are all but pressed against the shut window more out of habit at this point.

She feels too drained to even feel alarmed by their proximity to her home. Talking about her Mum and Dad always did that to her, even when she was in the same world as them.

A phantom hunger pang pierces her stomach.

She shudders at the memory. Oh Luffy, she hopes Harp got out quickly, that he didn’t have to grow up on meals that were either pigswill or denied to him entirely.

He’d be...what, eighteen, nineteen by now?

Reading about Sanji and the adventures of the Straw Hats used to help her get through those punishments.

She sends a prayer to them now that Harp didn’t have to learn how to do that himself.

Otou-san, Okaa-san, and Gai-sensei are discussing something in low, serious voices when she comes back downstairs.

They quiet down for a bit when she steps between Lee and Naruto to get to the kitchen.

When she returns to the hallway, Gai-sensei pats her shoulder with a little too much force, shooting her a megawatt beam and a thumbs up.

“Do not worry, Jirou-san, Chie-san! I am certain that there will be no cause for concern for yourselves or Mayu-chan!”

Otou-san heaves a sigh. “We have every faith in you. It’s just—”

Okaa-san lays a hand on Gai-sensei’s arm. “Please, Gai.”

He solemnly takes her hand in one of his own, reaching out to grab her father’s arm with the other. “Everything will be as it always is. I swear it to you.”

The adults’ eyes seem to glisten as they stare at each other.

She glances at Naruto and Lee, eyebrow raised.

Naruto gives a quizzical shrug. Lee’s almost vibrating as he stares at their parents, eyes wide.

She hates to break up the moment, but there’s an elephant in the room that needs addressing.

She coughs a little. “Um, Okaa-sama, Otou-sama?”

Her parents look over at her, shoulders stiffening.

She worries the scar on her lower lip. “I, ah, just wanted to say, that if you need some time to-to process what I’ve told you, and you don’t want me a-around for it, I can get out of the house, go somewhere else for as long as you need me to—”

Otou-san and Okaa-san stare at her, expressions of pure horror on their faces.

Shit, has she really overstepped by that much? “O-or if you don’t want me to come back, I could always try to find o-other living arrangements for myself—”

“YOU FOOL!”

The slap to the back of her head isn’t nearly as painful as most of the blows she’s weathered during training, but the sheer surprise of the attack has her clutching it and looking up in bewilderment.

Gai-sensei looks madder than she’s ever seen him.

“...Or I could leave the village entirely?” She meekly suggests, unsure of what to say to appease her teacher’s anger.

“And when did anyone ever say they wanted you to leave?!” Gai-sensei booms.

What?

She blinks in confusion. “But I’m not who you thought I was, I have—”

“Are you Ketsugi Mayu?” Her mother asks, voice drier than an over-baked cake.

“Yes—”

“And do you enjoying cooking and feeding people?” Okaa-san walks towards her and leans down.

“Well, yes, but—”

“And you have an obsession with pirates that leads you to act without thinking a lot?” Her mother reaches out and grabs her cheeks.

“It’s not an obsession—” She feebly tries to argue through pursed lips.

“Then you are my daughter.” Okaa-san says. “And you are going to stay right here where I can see you, and we are going to lay down some ground rules about contacting strange deities, do you hear me young lady?!”

She’s so alarmed by the sight of angry tears gathering in her mother’s eyes that she just nods her head as best as she can in this grip.

Okaa-san lets out a little sob and then she’s being enveloped in a crushing hug by both of her parents.

Otou-san murmurs, “Our family stays together, damn what anyone may think. Even if we have enemies on all sides, the Ketsugi clan will weather any blows. Didn’t we already tell you that?”

Then she feels Lee and Naruto’s little arms squeezing her from behind, and the gentle weight that means Gai-sensei has joined the hug too.

“Please don’t go Mayu.” Naruto says, sounding small and scared. “Please.”

She can’t help it when she starts bawling like a little kid again.

[inadaydream99]

Hello honey, can I request a SKZ reaction to their crush that always give 'em a lot of attention starts suddenly paying more attention to other member. Thanks in advance ^^

Hey! Thanks for requesting 😁 I decided to make some of these fluffy and some a little more angst, just to have a little more variety in the reactions ☺️ I hope you enjoy this!

Chan

Chan had been acting off with you all day, looking sulky and generally annoyed about something. But you couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be.

You decide that you should just ask him, wanting to make him happy again because there was nothing you hated more than seeing him sad.

“Have I suddenly become boring to you?” Chan asks, his question substituting an actual answer to your question.

“Where would you get that idea from?” You respond with a light laugh. You found it really endearing that this was the reason for his sulking, a weight off your shoulders knowing his mood can be easily fixed.

“It’s just, you’ve been spending a lot more time with Changbin and not really been paying me any attention.” Chan finally confesses, his expression changing from a childish pout to one of genuine upset.

“Changbin asked me to help him with a surprise he had planned for Felix, how could I not agree to help. Anyway, you should know you’re my favourite person ever, I think I’ve made that very clear the whole time we’ve been friends.” You explain, placing your hand comfortingly on Chans shoulder. A smile finds its way back onto his face, his posture perking up at the realisation that he has nothing to worry about.

“Don’t get so jealous and moody with me next time you feel this way.” You tease which earns you a slap on the arm in responce in attempt for chan to hide his blush, only making you laugh louder.

“Yeah alright, so what was Changbin’s surprise?” Chan asks, intrigued by his friends secrets as he takes your hand in his.

Woojin

“I will not settle for anything less than your undivided attention.” Woojin flatly states, his deadpan expression alerting you of his jealously.

Woojin didn’t want to admit his jealousy of you spending a lot of time with the other members, but he was. After all, he had been harbouring a little crush on you for a while and so he wanted to be around you as much as he could.

“But I-”

“No but’s, you’ve been spending too much time studying with Seungmin. I want some time with you.” Woojin cuts you off, sensing your weak excuses on the tip of your tongue. You sigh in defeat knowing too well that he always gets his own way.

“Fine. But after this I really do need to study.” You compromise as you fall back onto the sofa in the space next to Woojin.

“Of course.” Woojin smiles widely as he pulls you into his arms. You snuggle into his side, enjoying the warm cuddle as a deep sigh of content escapes your lips.

Minho

You had always found Minho a complicated person. You never knew where you stood with him, but it’s one of your favourite things about your friendship. That’s why you always spend time together. You admired his harsh and truthful personality.

Over the time of your friendship, Minho began to develop feelings for you. He didn’t want to but the more you spent time together, the deeper his feelings got.

“Ignore me, I dare you.” Minho narrows his eyes as he harshly spits his words at you. You look up at him from your book with wide eyes, shock evident in your expression from his sudden outburst.

“I’m not ignoring you Minho. I’m reading.” You state, lifting your book a little to draw attention to it.

“That’s not what I mean. I was referring to you not paying me any attention. You’ve been constantly hanging out with Jisung.” Minho rolls his eyes prompting you to close your book and turn your full attention to him.

“I mean, why would you choose him over me? He’s annoying.” Minho continues, his defensive body language causing you to smirk.

“Are you jealous?” You tease, raising a brow in amusement.

“Absolutely not.” He scoffs in responce, his arms folded as he looks away.

“Uhuh sure, so you don’t want to go for dinner tonight then?” You continue to tease knowing full well that Minho definitely would want to.

“No.” Minho bluntly responds, still refusing to look at you.

“Ok then, I’ll just ask Jisung.” You shrug, playing off that you are unaffected.

“No! I mean, no. I’ll go with you.” Minho finally cracks as he turns to face you again, this time with a softer expression and a slight pink tint to his cheeks. You just smugly smile up at him, both of you knowing that you got the better of him this time.

Changbin

“Well, that really hurts.” Changbin feigns offence as he enters the kitchen to see you laughing. Jeongin has been telling you an embarrassing story about Changbin which left you struggling to breath from finding it completely hilarious.

“I’m sorry but it’s just too funny.” You say through laughter, wiping your tears away.

“Thanks Jeongin. You know that I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of (Y/N).” Changbin scolds the younger boy, annoyed by his cheeky antics.

“I’m sorry, it’s just (Y/N) asked.” Jeongin becomes reserved before leaving the room apologetically.

“Don’t look so mad, something similar happened to me.” You try to console your friend.

“That’s not why I’m mad anymore. I’m more annoyed that you’ve been going to the other guys to hang out rather than me.” Changbin states, his tone harsh as he moves towards you.

“Oh, I didn’t realise. You should have said.” You respond quietly, feeling timid from the guilt of neglecting Changbin.

Hyunjin

“Ah! My knee!” Hyunjin dramatically makes a scene, flailing his arms as he falls to the floor.

The reason for his random behaviour? He was attention seeking because you haven’t been paying him as much attention recently and it was making him jealous.

You watch him in amusement for a moment, chuckling at his very obvious attempt to get your attention as he continues to make a meal out of pretending to get hurt.

“Hyunjin are you ok!” You play along, rushing over and kneeling at his side as he lays on the floor holding his knee. An exaggerated whine echo’s the room in responce.

“What can I do to make it better?” You question and you try to refrain from laughing at his over the top expressions.

“Well, I think the only way to make things better is for a lot of cuddling and maybe watching a few movies.” Hyunjin frantically nods his head as he reveals his true reasons from his antics.

“Ok, only because it will make you feel better.” You smile down at him, petting his head as he smiles up at you.

“This is nice, we should do this more often.” Hyunjin whispers to you after the first movie comes to an end. You look up at him and nod your head in agreement before moving back to place you head on his chest, his arms wrapped around you securely as you cuddle together.

Jisung

When Jisung is jealous he whines. He doesn’t want you giving anyone else more attention than you give him because he reveales in getting a reaction.

“Hey, I’m standing right here!” He waves his arms about while he complains. He wanted your attention but he entered the room to see you engrossed in conversation with Woojin, again.

“Yeah, we know.” Woojin answers with a roll of his eyes. You laugh as Jisung stomps over to where you are sat and immediately envelops you in a tight hug.

“Ouch, I cant breathe.” You whine as you struggle out of his hold, only to be pulled in even tighter.

“I can’t watch this, I’m going.” Woojin sighs as he gets up and leaves the room.

“Finally, I have you all to myself.” Jisung triumphantly cheers, freeing you so you can turn to face him.

“Stop being a jealous attention seeker.” You chuckle as you take in his pleased face.

“That’s never gonna happen.” Jisung laughs along with you as you sigh deeply at his responce.

Felix

“I’m definitely not bothered.” Felix scoffs as you confront him about his harsh attitude towards everyone.

It all started when you began paying him less attention. It hurt Fleix’s feelings seeing the person he has developed a huge crush on suddenly start paying more attention to his friends.

“You definitely are. Why else would you sass Changbin like that when he only asked you to pass him a spoon.” You deadpan with your arms folded across your chest.

“Alright! Maybe I am, but it’s your fault. I feel like you aren’t interested in me anymore.” Felix becomes quieter with each word, the admittance of his feelings making him feel defeated.

“Just because I have other friends doesn’t mean I’m less interested in you. I didn’t even realise you felt this way.” You reply with glazed over eyes, feeling sad from not realising how you made Felix feel.

“I’m sorry.” You stutter out, trying to hold back the tears.

“It’s ok, I’m sorry too.” Felix pulls you into a hug, feeling equally as bad for upsetting you. He felt a lot better knowing you hadn’t been neglecting him intentionally and promised himself that next time he would tell you before making assumptions.

Seungmin

“It’s your loss.” Seungmin sasses as he turns away from you.

“What on earth Seungmin! Just because I was hanging out with Chan doesn’t mean you have the right to act all jealous.” You shout after him, following him down the hall as he walks away from you.

“But it does. It hurt to see you practically fall at his feet when I’ve been here the whole time!” Seungmin shouts at you.

The room falls deadly silent as you take in his words. You had no idea he felt that way about you and, although his confession was in a moment of anger, it made you feel warm inside, your face turning a deep shade of red.

“Incase you didn’t notice, I like you too dummy.” You laugh as Seungmin’s nervous expression turns into a wide smile.

Jeongin

“Give me attention or I’ll die!” Jeongin exclaims, holding onto your arm in an attempt to stop you from leaving.

“But I have plans. I need to go or I’ll be late.” You tell him for the 100th time as you struggle to get free.

“Well cancel them. I think it’s more important to spend time with me. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” Jeongin mumbles as you finally get your arm out of his grip.

Noticing his timid voice you glance up at him from looking at your arm. A pang of guilt shoots through you as you see his solumn expression and realise that he’s right, you haven’t spent time together for a while.

“Ok, I’ll cancel my arrangements and we can go out instead.” You sigh as you give in to Jeongin.

“Yay!” Jeongin cheers, his sad face instantly changing to an elated one at getting what he wanted.

[malereader-inserts]

Under Your Nose

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: BAU team & Psycho!Male!Reader Summary: It’s taking them days, if not weeks, to find this smart killer. Even though it’s right under their noses. Word Count: 1,914 Request: “Can I request a Psycho!Reader with the Criminal Minds team, please thank youuu (hope you are having a good day!)” A/n: Call me a weirdo, but these are so good to write about

Tapping.

It’s the one thing that was slowly driving Spencer insane, then it’s abruptly stopped as you looked at him.

“You alright Spence?”

You softly gazed at him, he looks up from his notebook and his writing, Your sweet as honey voice stops his mind from thinking as you innocently sip from ou hot chocolate. It’s almost as if he short circuit just fuses out as you looked at him concerned, you reach out to him but pausing.

“Stuck on a case, you know how it is,” Spencer says, with a tight smile as you nod and recoiling your arm away from him.

“Understandable,” You nod, shrugging your shoulders, “You and the team always figure it out, I believe in you. I mean you are the genius?”

There was a slight venom upon the last word though you were fully aware that Spencer was too distracted to take note of your tone as you lift the mug up to your lips, the glare held longer than usual as Spencer looks over to you across the table that separates you from strangling him - the urge and you know he’s not armed, shame you two are in public space.

“I guess...” Spencer stutters over his words as you raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “I’ve known psychopaths before this one is just too good...”

“Oh?”

“One per cent of the world population are psychopaths, unable to feel emotion correctly and are profoundly selfish,” Spencer started to rant as you slowly nodded, not caring for another of his lecture - he’ll be called back into work soon, you’ve got his schedule down to a tee.

“Spencer?” You called out to him, interrupting his lecture, five minutes in as you point to his buzzing phone on the table, “Looks like you have to go.”

“Oh,” His shoulders deflate as you placed the mug on the table, “I guess I have to, will you-?”

“I’ll be fine, Spencer, I’m a big boy,” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks flush red, you wonder how quickly you could make him blush if you pointed a knife towards him, “Go, catch this psychopath, tell the team I say hi.”

“Of course, yes,” He nods, closing his notebook and sliding it to his bag, “Garcia would love to see you again.”

“I know.”

There was an unsettling feeling in Spencer’s stomach when you said that as you looked up at him as he stood up with a straight back. There was a glint in your eyes but he questions it not as he just nods and awkwardly takes his departure.

You breath easy as you watch him rush back to work, you leaned your hand back down on the table and started to tap. 

Eyes slowly becoming disinterest as you watch Spencer disappear into the crowd.

Garcia meets you at a bar, she rewards herself with a break on a Friday night knowing full well she’ll be back in work to help solve the case. JJ and Emily are by her side and they’re feeling the tension in their shoulders

But, upon your smile both charming and welcoming they come to their senses to drop their guard with you. You motion to the drink of alcohol you’ve bought them.

“One drink, on me,” There was a cheery tone and they fall for it, “You guys need it, really, you do!”

Not that you cared about their welfare, you rather get the drunk as quickly as possible but alas, you have their trust and it’s fun to wave food in front a starving man, so oblivious and yet so obvious.

“How’s work?”

“Quit,” You shrugged, “Hate being tied down, you know? I’m taking a break for a bit.”

“How will you be...?” JJ asked, sipping on her beer, head already spinning- she wonders have you drugged her glass but you cannot because you’re the sweetest person she knows.

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’ll be fine,” You shrugged your shoulders, waving your hand, “Come on, go enjoy your night!”

That night to drive the girls back to Garcia’s place, too out of it to notice how you stole their money. You unloaded their guns and took the bullets from them. Knocking on the living room door as the girls groaned and looked at you.

“Here, I brought some water for all of you, can’t have you going into work hungover,” You bring them the water, “Well, I best be off, tomorrow will be a great day.”

“Ugh!” Emily groans, her head spinning, she shouldn’t have drunk so much though she can’t even remember how much she drank.

You really took the pleasure in getting them drunk, you felt no remorse in doing so, there was no motive and no gain just all risk. A little fun game to keep you entertained before you go exploring the night for another victim to keep your thirst of murder manageable.

“Say, before I leave, have you checked the victim’s house properly?” You asked, a tentative tone to your voice as you tilted your head, intimidating that three trained FBI gets scared of you, “You might have missed something.”

When they come into work the next day and follow your advice, they find more evidence, which you put there the night you left them plastered. They don’t question how much you know about the case despite being confidential and to you, you sit back watching they play so oblivious as you play too obvious.

There was a knock on your apartment door.

You looked up from your book, it’s been days since you last heard of the team. The classical music on the vinyl on blast as it calms your senses, though the buzz caffeine leaves you aching to fulfil the need to do something.

However, when you open the door you see Morgan looking exhausted and with Hotch.

“What can I do for you guys?” You questioned, “Where’s Rossi?”

“Just your company,” Morgan says, you nodded and let them in.

“He’s drinking away alone in his home,” Hotch answers the second question of yours as you take the answer, shame you didn’t get to see him.

Your apartment is clean, nothing out of the ordinary and nothing to spark curiosity in Hotch, as the two men ventures into your apartment. You paused the vinyl and swapping it for something more tasteful such as Queen and lowering the volume.

“The girls send their wishes for taking care of them,” Morgan says, missing how you grin at yourself in the mirror and fixing your hair even though it was barely a noticeable change.

Self-absorbed in your actions and in yourself, the two profilers miss because you were too good and everyone gets a little vain.

“Well, that’s what friends do,” You shrugged as venom drips from your words before clearing your throat, “Still working on that case?”

As you recall it’s been three weeks since Spencer came meeting you at the coffee shop, it has been their longest investigation yet and it’s sweet as you thought it could be.

“I don’t know how our unsub is doing it, there is no pattern, no link, he’s doing it for fun. A murderer, a psychopathic murderer.”

The term "murderer" was now reserved for psychopaths. There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of sleep over it.

There are others who have made it a whole new hobby, look at them the wrong way and they attacked with lethal force, which is where you stood now, sort of. That last group are the only ones considered murderers now. 

The term applies to you as much as it does to a wolf or a bear. Killing in self-defence is just a given. Killing for resources is a grey area. Killing for fun, well, it is a hobby.

“Anything I can help with?”

“If you can catch this sick son of a bitch, then, go ahead,” Morgan seethes in your armchair.

You flash him a smirk, enchanting as your eyes sparkle, “Now, now, Morgan. I’m not a genie.”

The team stood in front of the whiteboard looking at maps, the pictures of the victims and the information, but nothing comes out of it.

Garcia’s fingers are starting to cramp and ache, hoping for a break as the team starts getting headaches.

“Hey, hey,” Your voice echos in the debriefing room, the telephone hadn’t even rung, so they were all surprised to hear your voice.

“Not now, (Y/n)...” Rossi rubs his forehead, stressed.

“Aw, still going over that case, I’m bored!” You shouted down the phone as Rossi press the end call button, “Tsk, weren’t you taught manners, Rossi? It’s rude to hang up.”

“What the-”

There was a chuckle on your side of the call, “Anyway, as I was saying, I’m bored and I’ve been watching you stare at the same thing for the past two hours.”

“What do you mean-?” Hotch asked, roughly.

“The cameras been hacked,” Garcia says frantically from her seat at the round table.

“Whoops,” Your voice calls out and suddenly they can hear people in the background, “Come find me, will you? Come find me and entertain me.”

“Listen (Y/N)-” Morgan almost shouts at you, his was getting inpatient with your vague answers, “We’re busy and if you’re interfering.”

“Me interfering? Oh, yes, I am because this is my case. Shame, I could have this pretty girl fall to her death,” There was a whimper on your side of the phone and then the realisation hits them, “Or this sweet innocent man drown.”

“It’s been you,” Spencer gasped.

“Yes, yes, I thought we got over this,” They could hear you roll your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” Emily asked, leaning on the table to get closer to the telephone which was stationed in the middle of the table.

“Because I am a proud man? I enjoy my hobbies?” You questioned, “Funny, these two aren’t much of a screamed unlike the others, bless, victim two was a screamer until she annoyed me too much and you know strangled her.”

JJ looked at the board to see the cause of death matched up, nodding to the team about your affirmation.

“And victim five was loud too, you know, begging is very satisfactory. It’s almost a big win, but when they get too much, oh my god, you just have to take a knife to the throat, you get what I mean?”

JJ once again nodded, seeing how victim five matches your violent description of murder and death, then another whimper could be heard from your side of the phone.

“The longer you’re listening, the less time you get to save these poor unfortunate souls,” You hummed, “Well, it’s nice to catch up with you, maybe I’ll call again-”

“NO-!” Hotch exclaimed but you hung up as he looked sternly at Garcia who looked lost in her search.

“That sick son of a bitch!” Morgan seethes and hisses, “Right under our noses, and he’s gloating about it.”

“He is a psychopath, Morgan,” Spencer reaffirmed, hurt that you weren’t being truthful to him or the team, “He does this out of pleasure.”

You looked at the time on your watch, before making a dash for it, the two of your next victims fall to their demise as you departure to building unseen. Now, this is definitely a cure for your boredom.