#but I do want to see them address that hurt with some rational rage

[candied-cae]

It had been a blisteringly bright day and as the sun began to sink into the water's edge on the horizon, the Revenge was turning around a series of massive rocks. The plan was to take a scenic route back to the Republic of Pirates and pick up the left-behind members of the crew and the other ship. They'd been spending the last few weeks scoring against various ships to really test how raiding on the Revenge compared before he'd be stocking it up with the rest of his leather-clad killers. That had been the plan of course. But now, as the Revenge was being rammed into by another pirate ship which seems to have been skulking around the side at just the right moment, the plan has changed slightly.

What had just been a boring, quiet day falling into a boring, quiet evening has, all at once, turned bone achingly loud. The sound erupts as the boats' sides scrap against one another and the force of the abrupt collision knocks nearly everyone on both off of their feet. As the members currently on the Revenge stand up on deck, they look to the rivaling ship to get a look at who would really dare to do such a thing to a craft waving Blackbeard's flag, intensionally or not. And when they see the passengers upon the other, they realize all too quickly just how planned it really was.

Oluwande, Pete, Wee John, Buttons, Roach, and the Swede stand opposite them, furious glares are trained on Edward. There are a few unfamiliar faces going with them as well, seems they joined with another crew and convinced them to aid in staking their revenge. Though no one spotted Stede anywhere. That is, no one spotted him until he was sweeping down from the platform on the middle mast.

He boards the Revenge in a flurry. Slipping down a rope from the assailing ship and landing steadily on his feet, just yards in front of the pirate he was searching to confront. He had his sword drawn in hand, yet did not have it aimed. There’s a beat of silence between them as they find each other's eyes. In Stede’s, there was what he’d call a fool's hope peaking through his taut expression. In Ed’s, there’s a boiling rage just under the surface screaming over any thoughts he might have of softness.

“Is there anything left of Ed in you?” Stede asks carefully, trying not to let his shred of optimism get too close to the open flame before him.

“Not one bit,” Blackbeard answers back, head just slightly cocked to the side as he pulls his own weapon from its place in his hip.

A shuttering breath escapes Stede's lungs in response. A break in his composure for just a moment as he was faced with the ugly truth. He'd longed to have been wrong, he wanted so badly for there to be a fighting chance. But it seems the stories from his men were right, he's lost his Ed. For good. He rolls back his shoulders, stands a little straighter, and steadies his resolve.

He knows what he came here to do if all hope had been gone.

”Alright." he hollowly accepts before lifting his blade, readying himself for what was about to begin," Then, for my crew you left for dead, for my Lucius you threw to the sea, for my Frenchie and Jim you stole, and for my Ed you killed, I will end it. I will not allow you to continue to hurt.”

That last line was meant for two intentions. Stede would not allow the person before him to keep hurting the people he loved. And he would also not allow Ed to continue to be hurt. If this is what it really came down to, he would wish no better end than to do it himself. Hoping beyond reason that either Ed might come back before they did something they couldn't undo or that perhaps Ed might be freed in death from all the horrors his life had wrought.

“Is that a tear?” The blackened pirate mocks as Stede’s eyes indeed glimmer with them.

He blinks them away and sets his expression again,” You’ve got a point, Blackbeard. I’ll morn Edward tomorrow. Tonight I’ll avenge him.”

And with a swiftness fueled by blinding love and burning hate, they charge together, and the ringing of their sword fight begins.

More OFMD Fics

[xxbangchansidedishxx]

Chan X Hyunjin- Fucktoy

Plot: Chan has some fun with his little toy when the others aren’t home.

Tw:Chains, Rough, Degrading, Pet names, Choking, Overstim, Exhibition, scissors.

“Look at you kitten. All tied up for me unable to touch yourself.”

Chan stood looking at the desperate boy beneath him.

His hands and legs were chained to the bed making him unable to move far enough to give himself the pleasure that he so desperately needed and the cold metal dug painfully into his skin making him groan every time Chan toyed with them.

His legs were parted showing off his cock that was straining against the material of his jeans. At this point it was painful.

“P- please Chan. Please touch me.”

The younger whimpered as the thrashed about desperate to get out of the restraints and just feel some friction.

The sight was almost enough to make Chan cum on the spot. He was truly pathetic and all his to use.

A dark chuckle left his lips as he kneeled between the boy attaching his lips to his sensitive neck.

While his mouth sloppily made out with Hyunjin’s neck, leaving trails of dark bruises his other hand began to palm at his cock causing the boy to throw back his head in pleasure.

“Ugh fuck Chan p-please take them off it hurts.”

He moaned motioning to his tight trousers.

“I thought I told you how to address me slut.”

Chan raised his hand slapping the brunette harshly around the face causing him to whimper.

“M- master please take them off.”

He asked again this time using the appropriate name.

The older hovered above him taking in his squirming desperate form and caressing his face with his large hand.

“I don’t think I will kitten, but how about we cut open that pretty shirt of yours hm?.”

His eyes were dark as he reached for the pair of scissors on the bedside table and began to cut the shirt right down the middle so that the boys torso was exposed.

“Look at you, so needy for your master. Such a fucking whore for me.”

The orange haired man leaned down to press wet kisses along his chest before taking one of his sensitive buds into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

“F- fuck Master it feels so good.”

Hyunjin squirmed beneath him letting the pleasure consume his body, almost forgetting about the pain of his leaking cock pressing up against the restraint of his clothes.

As Chan swirled his tongue around one nipple he used his other hand to flick and tease the other. The noises the younger man were making only encouraged him to tease him even more.

“Does my messy little kitten want Masters cock hm? Want me filling that tight little hole and making you drip with my cum?”

The boy just whimpered in response.

The lack of words frustrated Chan so he grabbed the youngers hair roughly pulling him up to meet his eyes.

“Fucking beg for it slut. Tell me how much you want it.”

Hyunjin blushed red, for a second avoiding his Masters gaze. But at this point all his lust clouded over any rational thinking.

“Please Master need you so fucking bad. Want you filling me up please I’ll be such a good kitty.”

Chan smirked as he unbuckled his belt before removing the clothes from his bottom half. His veiny cock stood proudly and Hyunjin’s hole clenched at the thought of being filled up.

He unchained the younger before stripping him from his clothing and guiding him onto his lap.

“Let’s put that mouth to good work shall we hm?”

Chan brought two fingers to the boys plump lips before pushing them inside. Hyunjin messily sucked on them costing them with saliva. Chan took advantage of this moment running his fingers along his tongue and making spit run down the youngers chin. Fuck it was a pretty sight.

After a while of this he removed his fingers before rubbing them against Hyunjin’s puckered entrance. Slowly back and fourth teasing the boy before he pressed in earning a strangled cry.

“Mmh these are only my fingers kitty, my cock will make you feel so much better, save your voice for then.”

He thrusted them in and out before removing them when the boy was stretched enough. He was already panting and on the verge of release.

The elder lined his cock up before grabbing the boys slim waist and pushing him down so that his entire length was inside him.

He didn’t even let him adjust before he began to slam into him.

“Ah ah ah fuck Master s so good.”

He blabbered as he bounced on his leaders cock.

Chan wrapped a hand around his neck squeezing tightly only adding to the pleasure.

“You like that hm kitten? My thick cock filling your tight little hole so well. I bet you can feel every fucking vein. Such a fucking cockslut you can never get enough. Tell me who you belong to.”

The words were almost enough to send the boy over edge. Tears streamed down his fucked out face as Chan repeatedly hit his prostate.

“Fuck fuck more so good fuck. I belong to you m master nngh.”

He couldn’t even think straight all he could do was blabber about how good Chan was making him feel. One of his hands flew up to wrap around the elders, tightening the grip around his neck. He felt himself begin to get light headed and his eyes rolled to the back of his head In pleasure.

“You like when master chokes you hm? Such a filthy fucking slut. Imagine if the others saw you like this. Bouncing on my cock. Fuck you are so warm around master. Taking me so well.”

Hyunjin could feel that he was close, that familiar knot began to form in his stomach as tears rolled down his face. Chan could tell by the way he clenched around his length.

“You better not fucking cum. I’m not finished with you.”

Chan’s voice was threatening and he picked up his pace thrusting harshly into the whimpering boys prostate.

“M master I can’t hold it fuck I- I nngh.”

With that Hyunjin shot his load all over his abdomen but he didn’t get to come down from his high. Chan continued to slam into him this time with pure rage.

“I told you to not fucking cum kitten. You know what happens when you don’t obey master.”

The younger screamed out in overstimulation as his cock twitched and his prostate ached from the pleasure until he felt Chan cum inside him before pulling out his cock.

“On your fucking knees ass up.”

Chan reached on the floor next to them picking up a selection of items.

First a Polaroid camera which he used to take pictures of his cum leaking down Hyunjin’s thighs. Next a butt plug. He used his fingers to push his cum back into the boys hole then he inserted the plug to ensure that none could escape.

“M master what are you doing.”

Hyunjin’s eyes were full of fear. He knew how extreme his masters punishments could be but he was ashamed to admit he enjoyed them as much as he did.

“Ssh kitty you will see.”

He began to wrap his body in rope, his legs tied together and his arms tightly behind his back. After doing this he opened the bedroom door before picking the boy up and placing him in the hallway.

“Chan what if someone comes back?”

Hyunjin was completely naked just lay in their hallway, a member could walk in at any second.

“Then you are just going to have to deal with it aren’t you. I bet you’d love for them all to watch your squirming little body as you cum over and over again. So pathetic.”

Chan disappeared back into their room to grab a vibrator which he set to the highest setting before pressing it against Hyunjin’s twitching cock.

“Nngh master fuck it feels too good fuck it’s too much.”

His entire body shook as another orgasm was forced out of him from the vibrating toy.

Chan stood watching his twitching form as he took photographs of the boy, exited to show him what a fucked out little whore he looked like.

“P-Please master I’ll be a good Mmh fuck good kitty ugh f feels too good. I I’m cumming again oh my- nngh.”

He was so exposed and there for everybody to see.

Orgasm after orgasm washed over him as he sobbed in pleasure.

“Oh look at the time kitty. What are we gonna do? The boys should be back any second now.”

Hyunjin couldn’t even process what was being said. He just continued to blabber in overstimulation.

That was when the door opened.

The other members were used to overhearing Chan’s punishments for the long haired boy but nothing could prepare them for the sight of Hyunjin tied up, a vibrator attached to his pink cock, tears streaming down his face and his body shaking.

“Oh my god.”

Changbin stood there with lust in his eyes, taking in the scene before him. He could feel his own length begin to grow and he knew the others felt the same.

“I don’t think he’s leaned his lesson. How about you come and help me punish my needy little whore and teach him how to behave.”

None of the boys could turn down the offer.

Chan reached out to turn off the vibrator causing Hyunjin to pant out to try and catch his breath, before picking him up and carrying him to the bedroom with the boys following behind them.

It was time for another 7 rounds.

[eliemo]

Face Down

Summary: Virgil remembers how he was treated and realizes, for the first time, that he didn’t deserve what he went through. 

TW: Flashback, descriptions of past abuse, violence, past gaslighting, mental breakdowns, crying, swearing, threats, blood and injuries

Sympathetic Light and Dark sides

Masterpost

Virgil had thought he was going to die. 

He remembered when the thought popped into his head, sudden and frantic, screaming at him to get away. It hadn’t been the first time he’d had the thought, but it had been the first time it came from the rational part of his brain, not the panicking part. 

Which had been horrifying, especially considering the fact that he was fairly certain Sides couldn’t die. Not completely, anyway. 

But it had been one of Wrath’s beatings (those were always the worst), and it hadn’t stopped. 

He supposed it made sense. Virgil tried not to think about it too much anymore, but Wrath was the manifestation of the deepest parts of Thomas’s anger, the rage he would never give power to, because that wasn’t Thomas. 

He had carried out a majority of Virgil’s more extreme punishments for longer than he could remember. 

Which was...fine. It had been fine. It made sense after all, Virgil needed to learn his lesson. The pain was always warranted, always given when he needed to do better, when he’d made a mistake. 

Except…

Except it had been different that time. It should have been eye opening, should have been a red flag, but all he’d done was ignore it. He’d forgotten it, shoving it to the back of his mind until it was nothing but a distant blue, identical to all the other memories he wished he could forget. 

He’d been on the ground, face down, gagging against the coppery taste in his mouth, trembling and gasping in a pathetic heap. Everything hurt, his clothes drenched in what could have been sweat or blood, the room spinning violently, voices far away and distorted.

He’d long ago lost the strength to raise his hands up to protect his face, and he could barely see through the blood dripping into his eyes. He was almost positive his nose was broken, along with at least a couple of his ribs. 

It had all been...unfortunately routine as far as punishments went, albeit a bit more intense than usual. The only difference was that it wouldn’t stop. Wrath had just kept going and going, until Virgil was completely convinced the other side was determined to kill him this time. 

He’d been terrified, of course, he always was when they hurt him no matter how often it happened. But this time he remembered being...confused. He hadn’t understood why it was happening. 

He was always hit for a reason. Small mistakes, like stumbling, moving too slow, stuttering or taking too long to answer when he was asked a simple question, were met with smaller punishments- slaps, kicks, shoves, a punch or two, occasionally chasing him out of the kitchen when he went to get food. Just enough to remind him of his place, to keep him scared enough to do his job efficiently. 

Things like making a mess, dropping something, making a loud noise, breaking or damaging something were met with...more severe punishments. And while he obviously didn’t like it, he knew better than to complain. 

He knew it was pathetic how often he messed something up, so he knew how important punishing him was. But this time...he’d had no idea what he’d done. 

It had been first thing in the morning- he hadn’t even had a chance to open his mouth yet. And he’d been extra careful lately, still a bit sore from the last beating Wrath had put him through. 

So as guilty as it made him feel to admit it, he had no idea what he could have done to warrant this. 

Wrath’s beating had come to a stop without warning, and suddenly Virgil was gasping against the pressure of a boot against his neck, keeping him down. 

“What the fuck did you just say, Anxiety?” 

Virgil had always been nothing but Anxiety to him- to all of them. Years spent together, and they had never bothered to even show interest in his name. (In his dreams, the nightmares that left him waking up to his own screams, they always called him Virgil. Always taking away as much power as they could)  

Janus and Remus knew his name- but at the time Virgil thought it was only a reward for them never having to raise a hand against him. 

He should have known better. He shouldn’t have been so gullible and stupid. 

And apparently he’d spoken without realizing, terrified questions forcing themselves to the surface without his permission, and Virgil could feel Wrath’s anger only grow, and quickly scrambled to take it back. 

“I- I’m- I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I--” 

“Shut up! Just shut up! God, do you ever stop talking?” 

Virgil obeyed, biting his bloodied lip to keep from whimpering when Wrath’s boot was replaced with a knee digging painfully into his back. 

He couldn’t see them from where he’d been pinned down on his stomach, but he knew the Others were there, crowded around and watching like it was entertainment. 

He could hear them laughing. Why were they laughing? Weren’t they supposed to be mad? What was so funny? 

Why did they always seem so excited when he made a mistake? 

“Don’t ever ask me that,” Wrath hissed, and Virgil bit back another cry of pain, knowing it would just make him angrier. “Don’t you ever ask me what you did wrong, do you understand? Do you know how stupid you sound?” 

“I...s-sorry--” 

A hand twisted into his hair, yanking hard enough for Virgil to see stars, choking on his own desperate words. 

“I don’t know what you did, Anxiety, but does it even matter? I don’t need a reason, you’ve always done something, haven’t you? You deserve this- you always deserve it, and I don’t owe you a fucking explanation. You’re lucky we put up with you at all.” 

Virgil tried to nod, squeezing his eyes shut against the humiliation and the pain, but the motion proved impossible with the way Wrath was holding him down, and he didn’t dare try to talk again. 

“Do you understand that?” Wrath asked, suddenly speaking like he was addressing a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Nobody needs a reason to hate you Anxiety, it’s not our fault you’re like this. And I sure as hell don’t need an excuse to remind you exactly what you deserve.” 

The hand in his hair tightened, and this time Virgil couldn’t help but cry out, eyes flying open in alarm. He thought he heard someone snicker. 

“Do you understand?” Wrath demanded again, a heavy weight on Virgil’s back. “Tell me that you understand!” 

 But Virgil couldn’t form a response, throat tight and mouth flooding with his own blood and spit, ears still ringing with Wrath’s demands that he stay silent. 

And then another voice was calling, somewhere from the other side of the room, but Virgil couldn’t focus enough to make out who it was. 

“Remus is coming. Get him out of here.” 

Virgil barely had time to process that, the terror that came with the thought of another side seeing him like this, seeing how weak and pathetic he was, another excuse to hurt him even worse. He didn’t think he could handle much more. 

(Looking back on it, Virgil would have given anything for Remus to walk in on time)

The weight on his back was gone, and Virgil was suddenly being lifted off the ground, one hand under his arm, another grabbing at his hoodie and yanking him forward. 

He gasped in pain as Wrath threw him haphazardly over his shoulder and began walking to the stairs. 

“N-no...please, I--” 

“Shut up, Anxiety.” 

Virgil did as he was told, only able to silently hope his constant trembling wasn’t obnoxious enough to warrant another strike, forcing himself not to whimper when any of his injuries were jostled by Wrath’s less than careful movements. 

Virgil tried not to think about how this was the most physical contact outside of any violence that he’d had in years. 

It took him a moment to realize Wrath had brought him to his room, only really comprehending where he was when he was unceremoniously dumped on the floor, crying out against the wave of blinding pain. 

“Stop whining,” Wrath snarled, and Virgil cringed, waiting for another blow. “You know you deserve this. If anyone tries to say you don’t, they’re lying. And if you believe them you’re even stupider than I thought.” 

And with that he was gone, sinking out of the dark room without another word, leaving Virgil a shaking, bloody mess on the floor. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there. He couldn’t remember- everything fuzzy and faded with time and pain. 

He did, however, remember with perfect clarity the terror that had shot through him at the sudden knocking on his bedroom door. 

He tried to calm himself down, tried to remind himself that no one ever knocked when they planned on hurting him. If they were angry, they would just barge in without warning. 

“Anxiety?” It took him a moment to recognize Morality’s voice, deceptively sweet as ever, and he curled up tighter to muffle any sound. “You in there, kiddo? I think Thomas wants us for a video if you can make it.” 

And Morality sounded so...nice. He always seemed so kind, so genuinely caring. Virgil had been warned, of course, that none of the kindness extended to him was real. It was a trap, a twisted trick, and if Virgil fell for it he’d be hurt worse than ever before. He was safest where he was. 

But that day, half-conscious and bleeding all over his bedroom floor, Virgil had thought about calling out. For the first time, he’d considered asking for help. 

Because the beating had finally stopped, but the pain had only gotten worse. He honestly wasn’t sure he could clean himself up like he usually did. He didn’t even know if he’d be able to stand. 

Obviously, Morality wouldn’t want to help him when he saw the kind of beating Virgil had deserved. He’d probably only get ridiculed and scolded when the other side saw what kind of injuries had been needed to put Virgil back in his place. 

But Virgil would take yells and taunts over slowly bleeding out on the floor. And he could come up with some kind of excuse. He could say he fell down the stairs, and that he just needed help making it to the bathroom to wash up. 

And he almost managed to do it, taking in a shaky breath when Morality knocked softly again. 

But he couldn’t. Because no matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how desperately he wanted someone to care just a little, he knew nobody would. He was so tired of being terrified, but there wasn’t any other choice. 

And he really didn’t think he could handle any more pain. Especially not from someone he hadn’t gotten a chance to see angry yet. He wouldn’t know what to expect. 

So Virgil had closed his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the silence to come, and Morality had eventually relented. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he’d called, sounding almost disappointed. “I know you’re busy.” 

(Virgil would do anything to go back and change it. He’d give anything to convince his past self to give in and call out, to scream and cry and beg for help. Because if Patton had heard him, if Patton had seen what the others did to Virgil, it all could have been over so much sooner)

It had taken Virgil all night to find the strength to pull himself off the floor to make it to his bed, and when he didn’t leave his room for nearly three days, no one seemed to notice. If they did, he doubted they cared. 

If Wrath hadn’t stormed into his room and demanded Virgil washed the blood off his face or he’d get it twice as bad, he might have forgotten he existed at all, content with letting himself waste away. 

-

Virgil had no idea when he’d started crying but here he was, leaned against the side of his bed, a hand pressed tightly over his mouth while tears rolled down his cheeks. 

He didn’t get it. He didn’t know why he’d let himself sit here almost all night, staring blankly at the floor, consumed by a memory he’d tried so hard not to think about for so long. 

He’d pretty much forgotten about it completely, letting it blend in with the rest of the non-stop fear and pain he was put through. It shouldn’t be a big deal anymore. It was over. 

But Virgil wanted to scream. He wanted to kick his bed frame until his foot split open, he wanted to throw his lamp on the ground and watch the bulb shatter into a hundred jagged pieces that could tear his skin open with a single touch. He wanted to yell and bite his skin, tear into his own flesh with his teeth until he couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t feel the hurt in his chest trying to suffocate him. 

Because...because it wasn’t like all the other times. It was so much different- so much worse- and he’d just been too stupid to realize. 

He’d thought he’d deserved it. Every time, no matter how bad it had gotten, he’d really, truly believed it was for the best. He’d understood, even through his pleading for the pain to stop. 

There had always been something, some reason or excuse for why he needed to be punished. He’d been too loud, too disrespectful, too annoying, always an obnoxious nuisance everyone wished would just go away. 

He was clumsy, he knocked things over or forgot where certain dishes went. He stumbled over his words or occasionally tripped if he moved too fast. 

They were normal things. He’d seen everyone make small mistakes like that before and had never once gotten angry, never once felt the need or want to hurt them to make them better. 

But Virgil had to be hurt. He would always be less than everyone else, always weak and evil and pathetic, so he deserved it. It wasn’t something he should question, it was just the way things were. And he’d believed it, every time. 

Even after things had gotten better, even after the light sides had constantly shown him otherwise and Janus and Remus had proved to him over and over again that they would never, he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. 

But that time…

That time he hadn’t done anything. He’d done nothing. He’d been awake all of five minutes and it had been one of the few times he’d thought they were genuinely trying to kill him.

And they...Wrath hadn’t even denied it. He hadn’t had a reason to punish Virgil, and he hadn’t even bothered to come up with one. He just hated him. He just wanted Virgil to die. 

And he’d known...he’d known Virgil wouldn’t fight it. He knew he would just lay there and take it, convinced after years of conditioning that no matter what, he deserved it. He deserved to be scared and hurting. 

Virgil suddenly wondered how many other beatings he’d gotten for no reason at all. How many times they had tormented him just because they’d wanted to, trusting Virgil to come up with the reason all on his own. 

And he always had, because that was what he'd been taught to do. Lock onto the smallest mistake and expect the worst. And even now, even when deep down he knew he was safe, he couldn’t stop. 

It was never about punishment. It was never about helping Thomas. It had all been for entertainment. 

It wasn’t...fair. It wasn’t fair. 

God, what was wrong with him? Why was he so stupid? His whole life he’d let them do what they wanted, let them hurt him, manipulate him, twist his mind until he thought that it was normal. They’d had him convinced that the people he now loved more than anything in the world would do the same without a second thought. 

They’d barely treated him like a person. They’d practically brainwashed him into believing Anxiety was lesser, that he didn't deserve things like safety, or privacy, or sometimes even food. They’d gotten him to believe he didn’t deserve to be loved. To be happy. 

And Virgil had never tried to do anything about it. Not once. 

Because...because it had never crossed his mind. He’d never let himself believe that anyone could be so cruel. He didn’t know, even after all this time, why they hated him so much. 

Maybe it was to take back the power Thomas refused to give those parts of himself. Or maybe Virgil really was that irritating. Maybe they just found it funny. 

He’d never know. He’d never know and that...somehow that was so much worse. Suddenly, he wished he could go back to believing he deserved it. 

He hated this. He hated this. 

This time, he didn’t fight against the angry, impulsive thoughts that popped into his head, desperate for any kind of relief from the swarm of emotions he couldn’t even begin to sift through. 

Virgil pushed himself back, kicking out against the metal bed frame as hard as he could, letting his crying morph to ragged sobs against the vicious combination of pain and panic. 

He felt pathetic as he kicked out again, slamming the top of his socked foot onto the edge of his bed. He felt small, and weak, and scared. Everything he didn’t have to be anymore. 

But he’d never actually stopped. He couldn’t. He wondered if he would ever be able to. 

He curled forward, sinking his teeth into his sleeve and finally letting himself scream, a muffled, pathetic noise that sounded more like broken wailing than anything else. 

He didn’t care. For once, he didn’t think twice about it. He just let himself fall apart, let himself feel the hurt and anger, screaming and sobbing wordlessly into his arm, free hand tugging ruthlessly at his hair. 

Just like Wrath had always done to get his attention. 

He barely registered the frantic knocking at his door, everything completely drowned out by his own cries and ragged breathing. 

“Kiddo?” It was Patton’s voice calling to him from the hallway, faint and panicked. “Can I come in? Virgil?” 

Virgil almost wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation, how everything had come full circle. He could call out this time, no longer afraid of Patton wanting to hurt him. But once again, he couldn’t find the strength to speak. 

Thankfully things were different now, and Virgil managed to raise a shaky hand to unlock the door for Patton, courtesy of the special lock Roman had conjured up for him after the unfortunate misunderstanding they’d had over Virgil’s need for privacy. 

“Oh, honey.” There were footsteps, quick and soft, and suddenly Patton was kneeling beside him, close but not yet touching. “I’m here, I’m right here. Can you hear me, kiddo?” 

Virgil didn’t respond, just curled further in on himself and shut his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to try and muffle his sobs anymore. 

“Virgil--” a hand grazed his shoulder, and Virgil flinched back before he could stop himself. “Ok! Ok, I won’t touch you, kiddo. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” 

Virgil forced himself to breathe, pulling his knees up to his chest and digging his nails into his scalp, wishing he could just get Wrath’s voice out of his head. He wanted to forget, wanted to block out the laughter that always came with his pain…

Laughter. Someone had always been laughing. It had always just been entertainment to them. 

“I-I didn’t--” God, he could barely talk. He just wanted everything to stop. “I d-didn’t do an-anything I didn’t do anything--” 

“I know,” Patton said, even as Virgil furiously shook his head. “I know you didn’t, baby, it’s ok--” 

“No it’s not!” He hadn’t meant to shout, he’d never meant to shout at Patton- at any of them, but it felt like he was barely even here. Everything was too much. “I- I didn’t- they always...Pat I- I could have just opened th-the door!” 

He could barely breathe, chest aching with each ragged sob, but he couldn’t seem to stop, everything spilling out all at once. 

“Kiddo--” 

“Y-you were right there. You...you were right outside the door and I didn’t...I let it- I...I hadn’t even done anything and he--” 

“Patton? Is he alright?” 

That was Logan’s voice, more footsteps making their way to the open door, and Virgil quickly fell back into a fit of uncontrollable sobs, hoping it was enough to block everything else out. 

“What happened?” Roman was there too, all of them clearly woken up by the commotion from his room. 

Virgil wanted the floor to swallow him up, to disappear forever until everyone forgot he existed. He wanted to sob and scream until he could never speak again. 

He wanted to forget everything that had happened and just be ok. He wanted to stop being so scared. 

“I’m trying to calm him down,” Patton said quietly. “I think he just had a bad dream.” 

Virgil shook his head, breaths nothing more than hiccuping wheezes, pressing his head against his knees, refusing to see the looks of pity and confusion. 

“It- it wasn’t...I wasn’t dreaming. It...it was- y-you were right there. I th-thought I was- I was dying and you were...I-I wasn’t ignoring you, I just c-couldn’t--” 

“Virgil,” Logan said, calm and steady as ever. “You need to slow down. Try and take some deep breaths to--” 

“No, I- I...R-Remus almost saw, they- they had to take me to my room and Pat...Patton was right outside. It- it hurt so b-bad and I...I was so scared.”   

“Oh, god.” Patton sounded so small, but Virgil knew the moral side suddenly understood what he meant. “Virgil, I--” 

“I thought I was going to die.” Virgil took a shuddering breath, the admission leaving him dizzy. “I thought...I-I wanted to ask for help so bad.” 

This time, Virgil didn’t pull away when Patton reached for him. He fell into his embrace, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, clutching at the other side’s pajama shirt like a lifeline. 

“It’s ok,” he heard Roman say somewhere behind him. “It’s ok, Virge.” 

“It’s not. It- it’s not...I-I never did anything. It- it was never a punishment they...they just hated me. They just liked h-hurting me and I don’t- I don’t know why. It’s not...i-it’s not--” 

“It’s not fair,” Logan finished for him, when Virgil couldn’t seem to form the words. “You should never have been treated like that. And as hard as it is, recognizing the abuse for what it was is an important step.” 

Virgil just tightened his hold on Patton, choking on his own sobs as they just grew louder and louder while he made no effort to quiet them. 

He didn’t want to keep taking these steps, he didn’t want to have to recover. He wanted it to be over. He didn’t want to do this anymore. 

“I’m so stupid.” It was muffled by Patton’s shirt, but he felt the moral side tighten his hold. “I’m so fucking stupid!” 

“You aren’t--” 

“Yes I am! All the- all the shit they said to me and I never...I never...why couldn’t I have just asked for help?” 

There was another hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles in between his shoulders, the movement slow and precise. 

“Because you had been gaslighted and meticulously conditioned your entire life,” Logan said carefully. “You believed we would hurt you just as badly, if not worse. You had no reason to think otherwise.” 

Virgil didn’t respond, suddenly too light headed to think straight, focusing instead on Patton’s steady breaths in his ear, gasping in between desperate sobs. 

After a moment Logan spoke up again, quieter than before. “Could you two get him some water, please? Perhaps an extra blanket?” 

At first, Virgil thought he was talking to Roman or Patton, who Virgil currently had no intention of letting go of. 

But then there was shuffling by the doorway, and Virgil glanced up just enough to see two familiar, blurry figures watching from just outside. 

Janus nodded, grabbing Remus by the arm to guide him down the hallway, and Virgil’s heart sank when he caught a glimpse of the look on the Duke’s face.

He wondered how much they had heard, if Remus had realized just how close he’d come to catching the others in the act. If he realized how careful they’d been to make sure he never saw. 

Judging from the panic and regret he saw in Remus’s eyes as he was practically dragged away from the room, he probably did. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it right now, not when it felt like the whole world was crashing down around him. 

“I’m tired, Pat,” he muttered, voice still trembling and weak. “I’m tired, I’m so fucking tired.” 

“I know, baby. I know. But you’re safe with us.” 

Virgil let out a humorless laugh, the sound more like a pitiful whine, his soaked face pressed against Patton’s collarbone. “I get why he didn’t- he didn’t kill me. This is...god, this is so much worse.” 

He felt Patton freeze against him, Logan’s hand on his back abruptly stopping its soothing motions. He heard Roman take in a shaky, panicked breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, an old habit he still hadn’t been able to grow out of. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Stormcloud,” Roman said, and Patton began gently rocking him back and forth, Logan continuing to rub his back as quickly as he’d stopped. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

He held on tight, squeezing his eyes shut. “I just...I don’t...I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be better.” 

There wasn’t a response, but Virgil knew there wasn’t much that could console him right now. Not when everything was spinning, voices of the past too loud to make out much of anything else. 

But they held him, letting him cry and fall apart in their arms, wrapping him in a blanket and helping him drink water when Janus and Remus returned, careful to give them space. 

He appreciated it, though Virgil hoped one day he could have a relationship with Janus and Remus where he felt comfortable having them with him when he was vulnerable. 

They’d get there. It was just one more thing to work on. 

For now...for now he didn’t want to think about the future. He didn’t want to think about how he’d probably wake up terrified, paranoid and jumpy, expecting anger and resentment for waking everyone up. 

He didn’t want to think about how it might never stop. How he might never get better. How he could be like this forever. 

He would dwell on all of that later, whether he wanted to or not. And he could already tell his nightmares would get bad again, memory after painful memory replaying over and over again in his head. 

But he’d see it in a new light, a much darker motive behind the treatment. He wished it made it better to know he really hadn’t deserved it. It didn’t- it made it so, so much worse. 

For now, he let himself melt into Patton’s arms, shuddering and gasping, frantically trying to copy the other’s breathing before he passed out. 

The others had been wrong. The light side’s kindness wasn’t a lie, it was the only real thing he’d ever known. And he knew, no matter how bad it got, that his family would hold him together for as long as he needed.

 Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222  @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 @basilthefourth @snowtrashowl @thefingergunsgirl @trashtm @stubbornness-and-spite @kieraelieson @alias290 @darkch1ld @craz-ewaters @damy-02 @frogdog145 @gattonero17 @madamedraconis @stoicpanther @@love-to-read02 @that-spider-fan-over-there @thatoneloudowl @rich-flower-17 @demigodbookdragon @i-gobymanynames @wyvern-tales @spoopyseason66 @gaylotusthatexists @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @that-one-fander @alias290 @yalltookmyurlideas @theantisocialghost @dark-strange-daughter @joylessnightsky @nova-galexa @luckymasie @stayarmy321 @starsinger @unhygienic-andy-the-anon @deathdarknessdevils @d-rizzle83 @spoonfullofcrofters @darkch1ld @sarcasmremovedsoul @bananabread123443 @alpacadraws @nonbinaryemonugget @espepspes @awesome-and-unique-username @starshinemoonglow @honeybonesvirgil

[teawaffles]

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 7, Part 2

“Mr William James Moriarty?”

Having been politely addressed by his full name, William responded with a gentle smile. It could even be called divine: strangely, the sight of it quietened Kevin’s tumultuous heart.

However, there was still the matter of the live bullet. In place of Kevin, who was yet unable to organise his thoughts, Andy frowned.

“William. Why are you here?”

“That isn’t the right question to ask, now is it? Rather, how did I find out that this terrible sight was entirely of your making? — I think that’s an appropriate question.”

“This is, all made up……?”

Kevin absorbed those words, and then called out to Andy.

“What’s the meaning of this!? Was this all contrived by you!?”

But Andy shoved him aside, as if he found his presence galling.

“Poppycock! This young man doesn’t know what he’s saying! You used that gun to murder Helena — that’s the undeniable truth!”

“Guh……”

Kevin groaned. Andy’s words had cut to the quick, and the resultant guilt instantly plunged him into despondency. But as he hung his head, William asked him a question.

“Mr Kevin. How did that gun come to be in your possession?”

“What’s this? You’re an outsider, so don’t butt in.”

“Lord Andy, please stop talking for a moment. Well then, Mr Kevin: what’s your answer?”

At William’s dignified voice, even Andy, who’d been about to make a complaint, fell silent. Kevin’s gaze landed on his revolver in the old man’s hand.

“That…… It was given to me for use during the game. At the time, I thought it was a toy. After that, I got embroiled in a fight and lost it, then picked it up again.”

Then, William posed him another question.

“When you picked it up, how did you know it was yours?”

“Huh? You didn’t have to ask that: the gun has a card with a number attached to it.”

“I see. So you knew from the number on the card.”

William looked at the number 8 written on it.

“In that case, if a malicious third party were to take that card off your revolver and tie it onto a real gun, would you have noticed that?”

“……Huh?”

At that significant remark, Kevin looked at the gun once again. He shook his head.

“No, it would be impossible for me. I wouldn’t have noticed. After all, that toy looks exactly like the real thing.”

“That’s right — and Lord Andy used that fact to switch your gun with a real one.”

“Wha……!?”

His deduction had left Kevin speechless. Right away, Andy refuted the idea.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“The reason has been eloquently illustrated by the bargain you tried to strike earlier. You wanted to drive Mr Kevin to ruin by falsely accusing him of the murder of his child — and on top of that, you wanted to steal the profits from his business.”

“W-What malarkey is this?!”

William ignored his howls of rage, and continued.

“You probably drew up this scheme when we proposed this game. Because it uses guns that look just like the real thing, you could stage an accident in which one accidentally fires live ammunition. Moreover, the toy guns are marked using cards tied with string — making it easy to swap one for a real gun.”

Kevin paled.

“Then, was Lord Andy aiming for me to lose my gun?”

“Indeed. You thought that you’d lost it of your own accord, Mr Kevin, but that’s not the case: at some point, Lord Andy deliberately knocked into you, or did something similar in order to get you to drop it. After which, you found Miss Helena — perhaps Lord Andy found her beforehand, and led you to stumble across her. Then, he got you to shoot her. After that, he blamed you for the murder in order to sow guilt, such that you would act exactly as he wished. That’s the entirety of his plan.”

“…………”

Yet again, Kevin was speechless at that horrific scheme William had so eloquently described. However, Andy — who was now under suspicion — clenched his fists as he trembled all over.

“Kevin-kun, don’t listen to him. Everything he said is no more than speculation. It might sound like I did it, but there’s no proof, none at all.”

“——Then allow me to make my statement.”

Suddenly, a cheerful voice could be heard addressing them from above. Then, a man jumped down from a tree beside them.

He landed gracefully on his feet, and bowed politely to the three men at the scene. From his blindfold, Kevin realised who he was.

“……Mr Herder?”

“Indeed. For today’s game, I have been entrusted with the duties of both explaining the game and refereeing it. My name is Von Herder. I hope you may pardon me for startling you with my sudden intrusion.”

After introducing himself once again, Herder turned to face Andy.

“Well then, I have an important report to make with regards to the matter you’ve been discussing thus far…… After Lord Andy got separated from Mr Kevin, he picked up the dropped gun, untied the cord, and retied it onto a real gun he had concealed on his person — that, I personally witnessed. That may come across as a contradiction, seeing as I’m blind, but I’d appreciate it if you could let that slide.”

“Although he took on the role of referee, I asked him to pay particular attention to both of your movements,” William added.

“Hold on — this Herder guy is one of your men, isn’t he? Then he could very well be spouting lies to match your story.”

Andy was quick to raise his objections, and Herder cocked his head as if he were troubled.

“Right where it hurts, huh. So you’re saying that a testimony from one’s own circle is inadmissible. Moreover, when the guns were being handed out, we can’t rule out the possibility that pure bad luck resulted in a real one being mixed in with the others.”

“That’s right. So your statement can’t be used as evidence.”

Andy cracked a victorious grin, but Herder continued.

“However — from what I recall, Lord Andy: when you swapped the guns, you put Mr Kevin’s revolver in your breast pocket. If you were to leave it concealed in the undergrowth, there was a risk it would be found, which is why you kept it just in case. Well, if you had left my precious item on the ground like that, you would be guilty in a different sense.”

“………!”

Instantly, Andy’s face tensed up. If what Herder said was true, that meant he had another toy gun hidden on his person. That, would be physical evidence that the guns had been swapped.

Although he’d tried to proclaim his innocence, Herder’s observation left him no choice but to give up. Exasperated, Andy groaned.

“I should’ve been more careful……. Did you see through my plan from the start?”

William nodded openly.

“We specifically furnished a game that would aid you in laying a trap for Mr Kevin. In short, Lord Andy: this game was a stage to prove your malice.”

A stage to prove his malice. Upon hearing that, Kevin thought back to the “plan” Albert had spoken of at the start.

“Even without this game, you would’ve found some other way of coming for these two members of the Curtis family, now wouldn’t you?” Herder added.

“Two? So it wasn't just me they were after — but Helena too?”

Kevin looked at the girl in the distance. She still lay crumpled on the ground. He’d been worried for her safety for some time now; but for some reason, William and Herder just calmly stood where they were, with no sign of concern for her. Perhaps they had taken the rational approach, inferring that it was already too late — or maybe there was another design at work…….

For a moment, Kevin detected a sense of incongruity in their attitudes. But William spoke up, and his attention shot back to the conversation.

“Mr Kevin’s ruin, and Miss Helena’s death. The conspiracy to bring about these two ends has continued since the attack on the department store the other day.”

“Since that incident?”

“Yes: Lord Andy hired men to raid the store.”

Then, William raised two fingers.

“He had two objectives. The first, was to damage the store’s reputation by staging a disaster there.”

Kevin readily agreed with that view: ever since that catastrophe, customers had kept their distance, and he’d even been forced to close up shop as a result. As for the second objective, Helena, who’d been caught up in the incident, had given him a hint about that.

Sensing that Kevin had also come to that conclusion, William waved his fingers as he continued.

“Next, his other objective was to kill Miss Helena. In all likelihood, it was due to his involvement in her father’s disappearance — in fact, she holds an important piece of information regarding that case.”

“Eh!?”

Yet again, an astonishing fact had been brought to light, and Kevin found himself sinking deeper and deeper into confusion.

“That case…… Lord Andy was involved? What’s more, Helena knew?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you really think I did all that?”

Again, Andy’s face turned red with rage, but William paid him no mind.

“From the time he first met you and your business partner, Lord Andy wanted to destroy you both, and take away your profits if he could. He first set his sights on Helena’s father; Lord Andy probably thought that if he were to vanish, then you, Mr Kevin, would also withdraw from the scene due to your timidity. However, you took him by surprise when you resolved to continue the business. Hence, in order to bring about your ruin with certainty, Lord Andy resorted to this act of violence.”

“Shut your gob! You’ve just been saying whatever you pleased! This is nothing more than speculation! If you’re going to spout all this nonsense, then bring out the evidence!”

Andy stamped his feet as he yelled.

Certainly, as he’d protested, they had no way of presenting evidence for this missing person’s case — because the girl who was supposed to be their key witness, had had her life cut short right over there.

However, William glanced at the fallen girl, and spoke in a serene voice.

“Understood. Well then, let us have her make her entrance.”

[my-bated-breath]

On an Immensely Popular Post

Disclaimer: What I’m writing here may not be completely accurate -- like most works of art, literature, and even STEM tend to be -- and as a new fan of ATLA, a few of the metas I publish may be obsolete or unintentionally insensitive. That being said, I like to believe that I can contribute something valuable to this fandom. In all my (real) metas, I wish to be as objective as possible and not rely on my biases, fanon, or common “knowledge” that may just be misconceptions. If anyone reading this finds something to be false or contrived, I am always welcome to constructive criticism. What I am not welcome to is senseless hate or bashing.

My first experiences with the ATLA fandom begun a long, long time ago, but the most recent and powerful revival of my love for ATLA started with me actually watching the show and soon after, with me falling into the endless abyss of ATLA metas on Tumblr. Sifting through the well-written analyses and the emotion-based rants had taught me a lot about critical thinking and the power of influence, so now I’d like to present a meta that critiques an extremely popular post with over 60,000 notes. And since it’s so popular, this is the part where I must make yet another disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I hold nothing against lesbians4sokka (whose name has now been changed to comradekatara). They have the right to share what they want, but since this particular post has become so influential that it’s still being reblogged regularly to this day, I believe it is within my right to criticize it - emphasis on “criticize,” which is different from “hate.”

Now that that’s out of the way, let us begin:

Lesbians4sokka/comradekatara covers 3 main subjects in their post, which I will quote/summarize below:

(1) Ma/iko: “...the entire foundation of mai and zuko’s relationship was built on how miserable they were together, and how they would just sit there and hate the world together— letting their misery fester as they enabled each other’s depression— and I think that’s really unfortunate because they would work so well as friends if they weren’t trying to make their dumpster fire of a relationship work.”

(2) Zutara: “similarly, what makes zuko and katara’s dynamic so compelling is that they share the same flaws, only as opposed to mai’s apathy and misery, it’s katara’s rage and guilt that zuko identifies with. they both share trauma over having lost their mothers, and both in a similar way (sacrificing themselves for them) and they both cope with their grief through rage, often misplaced… katara and zuko have a deep & profound friendship, but if they were to be in a relationship, they would only bring out the absolute worst in each other thru enabling each other’s rage and emotion-driven decision making.”

(3) Z/uk/ka: this pairing makes for a healthy and wholesome relationship because throughout the boiling rock, we see that “sokka and zuko make an excellent team, as they balance each other perfectly. sokka thinks big picture, and plans ahead, but zuko will charge into situations.” They inspire each other, they trust each other unconditionally, they become more open and supportive of each other, they share a lot of common interests and narrative parallels, and in general, just make each other happy (which could work both platonically and romantically).

As for my response: I’m sure many of you are expecting me to start to save the “best for last.” That assumption would be incorrect because I actually have the least to say about point 3.

I agree that Z/uk/ka can be a good relationship. Their dynamic is funny, playful, supportive, etc. etc. (there are so many positive adjectives I could use to describe their dynamic, the list could go on forever). And they could make a great couple.

…

What, did you expect more from me? That’s it, I’m done.

I’m not here to attack Z/uk/ka as a ship, because while I can never actively ship it (I’m a sad, narrow-minded exclusive shipper, always had been and always will be) I can objectively appreciate them as one. It’s points 1 and 2 I’m more concerned about.

Now, since we’ve already begun working backward, I’ll begin my critiques on point 2: I could write extensively about the parallels between Zuko and Katara, including but not limited to shared pain and a few shared flaws - and just a few, because their weaknesses diverge in many important places. However, since I’m trying to write as objectively as possible and since Zuko-Katara parallels have already been discussed to death, my analysis will focus elsewhere.

However, something from comradekatara’s post that I would first like to address is this-

[Zuko and Katara] both cope with their grief through rage, often misplaced. in the southern raiders, they both act deeply insensitively towards sokka by acting as if his grief over his mother’s death is somehow less valid simply because he is a lot quieter in his coping mechanisms and doesn’t project his rage & guilt onto everyone else.

- or rather, the idea that Zuko and Katara’s shared pain causes them to act insensitively towards Sokka (and though the post does not mention it, Aang as well).

(Note: these points have already been covered by countless metas before mine, so you can skip/skim this section to read a newer argument in the next section.)

Even ignoring the fact that the Southern Raiders had many out of character moments, Katara’s insensitivity towards Sokka is first and foremost a reaction against his insensitivity towards her.

_____

Dialogue from Season 3, Episode 16 “The Southern Raiders”:

Aang: Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

Katara: [Shakes her head in dismay.] Ugh, I knew you wouldn't understand. [Begins to walk away.]

Aang: Wait! Stop! I do understand. You're feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?

Zuko: She needs this, Aang. This is about getting closure and justice.

Aang: I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge.

Katara: [Angrily.] Fine, maybe it is! Maybe that's what I need! Maybe that's what he deserves!

Aang: Katara, you sound like Jet.

Katara: It's not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster.

Sokka: Katara, she was my mother, too, but I think Aang might be right.

Katara: Then you didn't love her the way I did!

Sokka: [Hurt] Katara!

_____

While I believe that Aang’s principles of forgiveness are morally sound, the way he pushes his beliefs onto Katara undermines much of her grief. At first, Aang tries to relate to Katara’s experiences by comparing them to his own, but there is a forceful connotation to his dialogue that suggests that Aang considers himself to be the moral authority compared to Katara. Hence, Aang judges Katara (“I think it’s about getting revenge”) without trying to reach out and understand her, forgoing the empathetic common ground in favor of taking on the moral high ground.

Thus, when Sokka tells Katara, “she was my mother, too, but I think Aang might be right,” Sokka is not only saying that Katara should choose forgiveness, he is implying that Aang is the ultimate moral authority on this matter and that Katara should accept that. Moreover, similarly to Aang, Sokka’s opening line, “she was my mother, too,” had the potential to establish common ground between himself and Katara, but the added “but…” places Sokka on the moral high ground against her instead. Of course, when we remember that just two lines ago Aang equates Katara to Jet, Sokka agreeing with Aang seems even more thoughtless and unsympathetic.

So when Katara lashes out against Sokka, ostensibly “acting as if his grief over his mother’s death is somehow less valid simply because he is a lot quieter in his coping mechanisms and doesn’t project his rage & guilt onto everyone else,” it is important to note that Sokka undermines Katara’s louder, more visible way of grieving as well (though that discounts that for most of the show, Katara only uses her grief over her mother’s death to sympathize with others).

Moreover, Katara’s line, “then you didn't love her the way I did!” is hurtful, yes, but it is not necessarily equivalent to “you didn’t love her as much as I did.” Katara’s love for her mother is different from Sokka’s because her pain over her death is different -- after Kya’s passing, Katara had to carry the emotional burden of becoming a pseudo-mother to Sokka (see Sokka and Toph’s conversation in “The Runaway”), a burden that did not cease after she joined the GAang (see the entirety of “The Desert”). To Katara, Kya was not only her mother, but the representation of the childhood she lost and the sacrifice made to protect her life. Sokka simply does not have that same relationship with Kya.

I do not mean to say that Sokka and Aang unfairly taking on the moral authority in this situation means that this authority instead belongs to Katara (and Zuko) - “The Southern Raiders” is filled with questionable moments from all parties involved. However, TSR is an episode that delves into Katara (and Zuko)’s relationship with a mother’s sacrifice, so how Zuko and Katara respond to this specific trauma from their past does not dictate how they respond to painful circumstances in the present/future. Let’s see how this is true.

Sozin’s Comet, Part 1: The Phoenix King

No doubt Zuko and Katara felt some form of frustration upon Aang’s disappearance, so let’s see how they “[enabled] each other’s rage and emotion-driven decision making”:

Here, Katara and Zuko make a decision together that turns out to be calm, rational, and not at all emotionally-driven despite their mutual frustration and worry towards Aang.

Sozin’s Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters

Zuko holds immense pain and self-loathing over betraying Iroh, yet Zuko and Katara’s conversation does not enable/exacerbate negativity from any party involved (since Zuko often translates his grief into anger, and Katara was evidently angry at Zuko’s betrayal). Instead, their conversation is open, encouraging, and constructive.

(Note: this is where the review of points made by previous metas ends.)

Hence, to say that “[Zuko and Katara] would only bring out the absolute worst in each other [through] enabling each other’s rage and emotion-driven decision making” -  when we are given in-canon examples of the opposite being true - would be a sweeping and inaccurate generalization.

But for the sake of argument let’s say that, hypothetically, Zuko and Katara’s relationship would fail because they only bring out the worst in each other. And here’s where the argument falls apart for me - Is the argument here that Zuko and Katara have an incredibly meaningful friendship yet somehow this “friendship” causes them to enable each other, thus encouraging each other’s worst flaws and regressing each other’s growth? Is a healthy friendship - much less a “deep and profound” one - not one where two individuals can learn from each other in positive ways and balance each other’s shortcomings?

Or is it something different we’re saying here? Are we saying that two individuals can have a “deep and profound” friendship and yet the moment their relationship shifts from platonic to romantic, they are terrible for each other?

While many significant platonic bonds are stunted when they become romantic, I still believe it to be common sense that some of the best romantic relationships stem from a platonic foundation. But since much of “common sense” on the internet sees that “sense” is nonsensical and “common” is a nicer way to refer to mob mentality, I have done my research to show how Zuko and Katara could have been an excellent case of a friends-to-lovers relationship.

An excerpt from my meta, “Research Shows that Zutara Would Have Been the Ideal Friends to Lovers Dynamic.” (give it a read if you want to see references to relationship-research and an overanalysis on diction/tone)

The reason why Zutara is framed as a “toxic and unhealthy” relationship is that their romance would be a classic example of the enemies-to-lovers trope, a trope which modern media has not been particularly kind to. However, when executed correctly, enemies-to-lovers can produce a healthy and loving relationship, frequently relying on friendship as an intermediate between the “enemy” and “lover” stages in the most well-executed versions of this trope. Meanwhile, the trope of friends-to-lovers is just as popular as enemies-to-lovers, though the specific dynamic required between two individuals to achieve this transition is not well-known. Recognizing this, Laura K. Guerrero and Paul A. Mongeau, both of whom are involved in relationship-related research as professors at Arizona State University, wrote a research paper on how friendships may transition into romantic relationships…

According to Guerrero and Mongeau, “...scholars have argued that intimacy is located in different types of interactions, ranging from sexual activity and physical contact to warm, cozy interactions that can occur between friends, family members, and lovers…” Guerrero and Mongeau then reference a relationship model where the initial stages (i.e. perceiving similarities, achieving rapport, and inducing self-disclosure) reflect platonic/romantic intimacy through communication while the latter stages (i.e. role-taking, achieving interpersonal role fit, and achieving dyadic crystallization) often see both individuals as achieving a higher level of intimacy that involves more self-awareness.

In the rest of my research-based meta I demonstrate how Zuko and Katara’s platonic interactions in the show fit into the stages of communicative intimacy (i.e. perceiving similarities, achieving rapport, and inducing self-disclosure) that Guerrero and Mongeau describe as being mutual between friendships and romances. As such, crossing the line between friends and more-than-friends most likely would not cause a dramatic shift in the Zutara dynamic since much of Zuko and Katara’s platonic intimacy easily translates into romantic intimacy. I’ll end off with another excerpt from my meta.

Excerpt from “Research Shows that Zutara Would Have Been the Ideal Friends to Lovers Dynamic.”

“...it would be remiss to simply dismiss the Zutara dynamic as one that would instantly become toxic should they pursue a romantic relationship.”

With that little thought in mind, let’s move onto point 3: an exploration of friendship, romance, and why toxicity is not exclusive to the latter.

Let’s start with what I agree with:

“The entire foundation of mai and zuko’s relationship was built on how miserable they were together, and how they would just sit there and hate the world together— letting their misery fester as they enabled each other’s depression...”

I’m not sure how necessary it is for me to elaborate on this point given that it’s already been accepted by comradekatara and perhaps 60,000+ other users on Tumblr (a gross exaggeration but this remains unimportant), but in her essay, “Zuko, Mai, and the Nature of True Intimacy,” Araeph contributes more nuance to the concept of Ma/iko and mutual misery, stating that,

Unfortunately for [Zuko and Mai’s] relationship, Mai is and will always be a pessimist—a character trait, not a character flaw, in her. The key difference lies in how Mai and Zuko use their negative feelings. When Zuko sinks into negativity, he gives up on any actions that will materially change his world for the better; Mai, on the other hand, can remain negative even at the height of her character development, and it does not impede her ability to act.

So while Mai enables Zuko’s depression, Zuko does not necessarily do the same for Mai. Nonetheless, throughout their relationship for the first half of season 3, neither of them communicate constructively or push each other to grow as people.

This may be the third disclaimer I’m making, but I first want to say I have nothing against Mai. However, I do have something against the idea that “[Mai and Zuko] would work so well as friends if they weren’t trying to make their dumpster fire of a relationship work.”

Their relationship is a dumpster fire, yes, but will the flames cease simply if the amount of intimacy in the relationship changes?

comradekatara state themselves that their entire romantic relationship is quite depressing - they are only able to connect through empty physical intimacy and mutual hatred of the world. Without that, there is little left for them to bond over. Once Zuko overcomes his conflicting morality and inaction from the first half of season 3, he becomes someone who is strongly guided by his principles and beliefs. However, for the entirety of the series, Mai is characterized by her moral apathy. To cite from Araeph again,

It is moral intimacy that is the last and worst omission for Mai and Zuko… Zuko’s struggle to find and follow his principles is the most central aspect of his character, yet it is a struggle Mai neither understands nor respects…

Lack of moral intimacy (not sharing the same core beliefs) is something that applies to both platonic and romantic bonds. Thus, just as transitioning from a meaningful friendship to a romance does not inherently create toxicity in a relationship, switching from a romance that exacerbates one (or both, depending on how you interpret it) party’s misery does not necessarily erase the preexisting negativity in a relationship - perhaps some of it may subside, sure, but as long both parties continue to fail at communicating and understanding each other, even their friendship seems bleak at best. In this case, Mai and Zuko may work well as conditional friends, or in other words, friends who are only friends when they have something to mutually be miserable over. And this tiptoes the line of speculation, but they could be a formidable political team. But unless the Ma/iko dynamic shifts drastically in the lovers-to-friends transition, I’m not sure if there’s much potential in a friendship between them.

In conclusion, there is a lot I don’t agree with from comradekatara’s post, but if there’s one takeaway I want to impart onto everyone who’s read this far, it’s this: crossing and uncrossing the line between platonic and romantic bonds is not always a transformative experience for the relationship, and the nature of human relationships is a complex spectrum -- not a light switch that can only be set between healthy and unhealthy.

Thank you all for reading!

[klbwriting]

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 7

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader - its almost here you guys, getting so close

Summary: after a confrontation with the Darkling a discussion needs to happen

Note: so I went ahead and put in the first of four songs that inspired this fic.  ‘Summertime’ by My Chemical Romance, give it a listen if you haven’t it is a masterpiece

Tags: @mcntsee​

              Kaz had never seen the Darkling before and he was surprised now that the man who had created the fold, lived for hundreds of years, barely looked a day over 25.  He glanced over at Jesper and Y/N, watching her get down from the horse and start walking towards the Darkling.  He panicked for a moment, getting off his own horse and handing the reins to Jesper. He pulled out his cane, not sure what he could do with it against a man who was considered the most powerful Grisha in existence, but he would go down fighting to protect Y/N.

              “What were you thinking Y/N?  Running off with these two?” Aleksander asked, motioning a dismissive hand to the Dregs.  Kaz glared. He looked to Y/N and saw her looking at him.  When their eyes met she shook her head and he knew what she meant.  Now that she had spilled her secrets to him he could see more in her eyes.  She wasn’t hiding herself from him anymore and right now she was clearly telling him to not start a fight, that she didn’t want to have to take on the Darkling now.

              “Aleksander, I couldn’t stay anymore in your shadow. Not when we both know that with the parem I would be more powerful than you.  I want your throne,” she said, lying through her teeth.  Kaz could see the obvious falsehood there, but apparently the Darkling didn’t know her as much as he thought.

              “Is that why you stole it?  The only useable vial of parem we had?” he asked.  Kaz froze.  So she hadn’t told him everything.  He looked over at her and watched her as she stared at Aleksander.

              “I couldn’t let you have it, not why I needed it,” she said.  “Leave now or I will use it.  I’ve already taken it.”  She was lying, Kaz had seen first hand when parem did to Grisha, there was no one she had taken it before they left.  He just hoped the Darkling believed her lie.  Aleksander scowled.

              “So this is it, another betrayal by a trusted friend? Well, you may have taken the parem but your friends haven’t,” he said, gearing up to perform the cut against Kaz.  

              “No!” Y/N screamed, reaching out with both hands and closing her fists.  Aleksander stopped, falling to his knees and groaning in pain.

              “What…is this…how…” he stammered out as she constricted his airwaves and his heart.  Kaz looked at her, seeing the desperation in her eyes, but he also saw the vengeance beneath it.  She wanted to kill the Darkling, make him suffer for everything he’d taken from her and for a minute Kaz was going to let her do it.  Then he remembered the look on her face when she talked about how many died at her hand, how much the pain wrecked her.  Aleksander had once been her friend, could she really handle killing another friend and not break entirely.  Kaz didn’t want to find out.

              “ Y/N!” he yelled, running over to her.  “Stop, send him away, as far as your winds can take him, but don’t kill him.  You’ll lose yourself more if you do.”  What was he saying?  Kaz Brekker didn’t care who got hurt.  Saints or whoever, damn this woman for what she was doing to him.  

              Once the Darkling was unconscious Y/N finally stopped. Kaz was right, she couldn’t kill more people she once cared about, it would take another piece of her soul and she didn’t know how much was left at this point.  She mustered up all the Squallor ability she could and sent Aleksander away, making sure that the wind would set him down softly.  When he was gone she turned to the other two.  Kaz looked relieved and Jesper was shocked.

              “How can you do you more than one thing?” he asked. “Did the parem really do that to you?”

              “I lied about the parem, I didn’t drink it.  I took the vial, and I smashed it right after we left the prison.  No one is taking the parem as long as we keep Kuwei away from the Second Army.  I’ve always been able to do multiple Grisha skills, but my Inferni skills were the strongest so I chose to train in that and hide the rest,” she explained.  Jesper nodded and smiled.  

              “Well, looks like we have a valuable weapon in our midst,” he said.   Y/N rolled her eyes, hating that she was once again being relegated to a tool for these guys.

              “No,” Kaz said softly.  “She’s not a weapon, she’s our friend and we need to get her to the resistance and help them.”   Y/N couldn’t hide her surprise at him.  She was sure once he knew that she had kept one last secret from him he would be furious, instead he was planning to help them.  She knew it could have been a lie, something to get them moving again, get her out of their hair quicker, but it didn’t seem like it.  

              “Kaz can I talk to you alone for a minute?” she asked, needing to sort out some things with him before she kept going.  He looked aggravated at the delay but nodded. Jesper took his cue and walked the horses to a nearby stream to drink.  “Look we have to at least address some part of this, whatever this is.”  She motioned between them and he scowled.  She knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but she had to make him.  They at least needed to establish some form of trust between them, something solid that they could stand and fight together one.  In Ketterdam Kaz and his group fought together as Dregs, but Y/N wasn’t one of them, she needed to establish something else with Kaz to make this work.

              “What do you want me to say?  I said you were our friend,” he snapped, not looking her in the eye.   Y/N sighed, looking at the ground.

              “Alright we are friends.  But you know there’s more to it, I know you feel it,” she said.

                Kaz hated all of this right now.  This whole conversation was making him want to leave her here and just travel on without her.  He would get his crew and get the hell out of Ravka, let her face the Darkling on her own.  Dammit he knew he couldn’t do that.  This woman made him soft for her and he wanted to rage against it, but what use was it?

              “Why in the hell would you want anything more with a crippled bastard anyway?” he asked, feeling his self-loathing seeping from his pores.  He could keep up his façade in front of anyone, pretend to be more than he was, criminal mastermind, leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel, but for some reason she broke down that defense and here he was that sad boy that lost his brother and was still searching for a way to be whole again. He saw her reach a hand out before stopping and clenching her fist.

              “Kaz Brekker, you are single handedly the most amazing man I have ever met.  Capable of the most intense torture yet still willing to dance with me, you don’t let anything stop you from getting what you want.  You sir, are a criminal king in a blood soaked crown and personally I have never wanted to be anything more than a queen standing next to you,” she said. Kaz looked at her seeing that her face was flushed red, embarrassed to have gotten so honest with him.  He quirked his mouth into a smirk and she groaned. “Dammit, why can I never just keep my mouth shut around you.”  

              “O please don’t, I love to hear you heaping praise on me.  I like that bit about the crown,” he said, smirking more.  She glared at him and folded her arms across her chest.  “I’m not sure I’m ready for a queen, not in the way you would want me to be…”

              “Kaz I want you exactly the way you are.  Whoever you want to be I will want you,” she said. He could hear that she meant it. He didn’t have to fix himself or be more than he was with her.  “You could never touch me again and I will be fine, you never have to smile if you don’t want.  I’ve felt your hand and seen your smile and I will keep that memory fresh in my mind forever.”  

              “I had my gloves on when I touched you,” he said softly.  She smiled at him.

              “I’m alright with that.  I’m alright with you.”

              “I don’t know if I’m ready for a queen still, but as soon as I am you’re the first person I’m going to find,” he said.  He meant it, his heart was making a room for her to live there and once it was ready he would get a bloody crown to match his and give it to her.  He lifted up his gloved hand and put it against her lips.  “I promise.”  He felt her lips kiss his gloved finger and pulled away.  He took a deep breath, surprised that nothing had happened, no images of death or feelings of disgust.  She kissed his finger and he had just walked away to get Jesper and the horses.  

                As evening fell they decided to make camp near a stream. The group filled their canteens and built a small fire, eating some rations and donning their coats as the weather was starting to get colder as they moved further north.   Y/N built a small item out of her vest pocket and focused. Soon her guitar was in her lap and she was strumming it.

              “How did you do that?” Jesper asked as he took a seat next to her.  Kaz sat down on the other side of her, giving Jesper a look that said not to get too close. Y/N almost laughed.  He had been jealous the whole ride here, clearly wanting to hit Jesper with his cane again.  She knew it must irk him that others could get so close to her and he couldn’t.  She hoped the smile she gave him, one he almost returned, made him feel better.  

              “I just focus on the material and will to be smaller or bigger, I’m not sure how it works honestly,” she said, strumming a little.

              “You going to play us something?” Jesper asked. Y/N thought for a minute, trying to pull a song out of her head that they might know, but she couldn’t think of one. Then she got an idea.

              “I wrote a song a little while back, something I used to sing with Alina when I would visit her followers to give them messages,” she said.  I think it applies now, to all of us.”  She started the cords, stumbling at first as she tried to remember the exact notes she played before.  Once it came back she found a good rhythm.

“When the lights go out, will you take me with you And carry all this broken bone Through six years down in crowded rooms And highways I call home?”

           She could see Kaz listening intently, leaning forward to see her fingers move and hear her voice more.  She wasn’t a master singer she knew but no one had ever complained about her voice and seeing the look on his face she knew he liked it. Jesper bopped his head to the music she made and she smiled at him before looking back at Kaz as she sang.

“If you stay, I would even wait all night Or until my heart explodes How long until we find our way In the dark and out of harm? You can run away with me Anytime you want”

           She finished the song and found that Jesper had laid down during the singing and was fast asleep.  She chuckled and shrunk her guitar, putting it back in her pocket. She moved to put out the fire when Kaz waved his hand at her.

           “Not yet,” he said softly, looking at her. She nodded and moved to cover up Jesper before laying down herself, watching Kaz in the firelight.  His features were more pronounced like this, his edges sharp, eyes deep with depths she had just barely began to swim in.  She knew she shouldn’t take his words to heart, that she didn’t fully know that he could be believed.  He was an excellent liar, had duped almost everyone he had ever met, but she wanted to believe him so she did.  She would live this lie with him for as long as he let her.  Let him destroy her, she would die with a smile on her face.  

           “I love you Kaz Brekker” she whispered softly, not caring if he heard her.  He didn’t move so she assumed he hadn’t and she rolled over to fall asleep.

           Kaz watched the fire and heard ever word she whispered to him.  He felt the last piece of resistance waver and flee from his heart.  He heard her breathing steady beside him and knew she was asleep.  He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, testing again to see if the revulsion arose. When it didn’t, he actually smiled.

           “I love you too Y/N.”

[aspenroman]

and i saw sparks (jaque x mc)

Summary: MC struggles to pick up the pieces after her catastrophic fight with Jaque.

Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2515

A/N: I caved and bought VIP and binged Ms. Match. I adored it, it was so fucking funny but I wish there was more angst. This is my continuation of Chapter 12 and 13 but with more sadness. Inspired by the song “sparks” by coldplay. bold and italicized words are lyrics from the song

did i drive you away? i know what you’ll say

MC can’t focus on anything besides the rushing of blood in her ears. Her entire nervous system is overwhelmed by everything going on, especially the betrayal by Jaque. Her dad has disappeared, run off somewhere and instead of being able to chase after him, she’s stuck here with her, in a dumb argument.

“You threw Veronica, my dad, me, and your own integrity under the bus tonight, Jaque. You can’t talk your way out of this one,” MC screams.

Jaque rolls her eyes, “You backed me into a corner! I had no choice! No good choice! Veronica likes your dad! A lot! Richard was the only one who might be able to win against that connection.”

you’ll say, “sing one we know”

“Veronica could be happy with my dad. That’s what she asked us to find her. Love. I can’t believe you forgot what this is all about.”

Jaque laughs, her annoyingly beautiful face contorting into a sneer, “No, you forgot what this is all about.”

She began to pace as she spoke, practically spinning in place as she huffs. MC watches on, her fists clenched.

“When does what I want get to matter? When do I get to live my dreams? Why do I have to fight you for the position of my dreams?” Jaque shouts, her voice cracking at the end with emotion.

i promise you this, i’ll always look out for you

Deep down, MC feels sympathy for her. But the twinge of sympathy is buried by overflowing anger and hurt. She pushes any kind feelings aside, focusing instead on her rage.

“You’re insane,” MC breathes.

i say “oh”, i say “oh”

Jaque turns on her, laughing bitterly, “Insane? I’m insane? What’s insane is that you managed to blunder your way to the finale. I spent a decade earning my position, you’re lucky I brought you to the gala. I’m the only reason you’re here.”

“Lucky? I don’t feel very lucky to have met you right now,” MC shakes her head, “I really thought you were more than...more than this. I thought you were more than the woman I met forever ago. I thought you had morals, I thought you had a heart, I thought...”

“You thought what?” Jaque’s voice lowers from a shout, but her tone is still strained with frustration.

my heart is yours, it’s you that i hold on to

“I thought you loved me, the same way I love you,” MC smiles weakly, but her eyes water.

Jaque doesn’t meet her eyes. MC takes a step forward and Jaque steps back.

“Well, you thought wrong. It was always about the competition, love was never in the equation,” Jaque says tersely, “what we had wasn’t love. It was lust.”

yeah that’s what i do

“You’re telling me you took me to meet your mom just so Richard could get those flowers? You’re telling me all those times you showed up unannounced, all those secret glances and touches were fake? All a part of some elaborate plan?” MC questions.

“Yeah,” Jaque still doesn’t meet her eyes, “and you played right into my plans. I barely had to lift a finger, you were too busy falling to realize I was never going to catch you.”

MC freezes, the words finally sinking in. She can feel the gazes of hundreds of people on her, watching her heart shatter into billions of pieces. Some sadistic part of her hopes that the fragments manage to hurt Jaque, but MC knows that’s not really how this works. She knows she gave her heart to someone who was never really hers.

It makes sense now. All the dancing around labels, all the sneaking around in favor of “not breaking the rules”. All the things Jaque spew about her family, in an effort to get MC to trust her. Jaque was right about one thing, she had more experience professionally. And in that moment, it seemed to MC that Jaque used every technique to get MC to think they were perfect matches.

i say “oh”, i cry “oh”

MC can’t get her brain to form words, all she can concentrate on is not falling completely apart. Her eyes sting, but she doesn’t look up, she can’t. Instead, she trains her gaze on the road a few feet away. She doesn’t say anything as she goes, she just starts in one direction.

Jaque yells after her, but the words don’t even phase her. In fact, MC can’t even remember what she said. She walks for miles, away from the gaudy life of the rich Upstate New Yorkers and back toward where she thinks the city is. It takes almost an hour before she spots a cab and manages to flag it down. It’s a miracle she even finds one, and she gets in and mumbles her address.

She hugs herself in the back of the cab, eyes staring unseeingly out the window. Soon enough, the bright lights of the city that never sleeps come into view. She thinks it should be a comfort, but it doesn’t help. When MC finally gets to her place, she pays the fare and stumbles up into her apartment.

As soon as the door is unlocked, she walks inside and slams it behind her. MC barely manages to lock it before her legs give out and she crumbles to the ground. Her chest heaves for breath, her throat closing up as she panics. Tears stream down her cheeks, unable to control herself anymore. Her nails dig into her palms, trying desperately to calm herself down.

yeah, i saw sparks

She’s had panic attacks before, more so in the past few months because of the matchmaking business. Although then she had Jaque to call up and now she has no one. She can’t rationalize how Jaque would be willing to call her at 2am, to hold her through breakdowns, and not care an ounce about her.

yeah, i saw sparks

MC tries to intellectualize her feelings, tries to calm herself down the way Jaque taught her to, but nothing works. Nothing works because everything reminds her of Jaque and Jaque is the one causing her this pain. Her heart aches and for a second, she thinks she might be dying as her chest tightens. A pain from behind her sternum makes it hard to breathe and she loses her breath, before it releases in a big sob. 

She’s not okay.

---

Maggie tries to come over the next day, but MC can’t face her. She ignores Maggie’s desperate knocking, pretending that she’s asleep and turns her phone off completely. The rest of the weekend passes in a daze, MC unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and dwell in her feelings.

When Monday rolls around, MC knows it’s time to pull herself together. She doesn’t know how she will, but she has to. 

“No competition is worth this,” she murmurs to herself as she pulls on her favorite blouse and a pair of dress pants. She fixes her hair in the bathroom mirror, putting on makeup to cover the bags underneath her eyes. Her eyes are still swollen and a bit red, but she tries not to draw attention to them.

She finally turns her phone on as she enters the building, her phone vibrating with a billion messages. Most are from Maggie, while some are surprisingly from Jaque. MC doesn’t even bother reading them as she sees the text from Veronica, summoning her to her office.

and i saw sparks

MC knocks on the office door and after a second, she enters. Unsurprisingly, Jaque is already there, engaged in deep conversation with Veronica. They both turn to her as she enters.

“Where have you been?” Veronica speaks, “I’ve been trying to contact you all weekend.”

“Family stuff, won’t happen again,” MC lies, forcing on a smile.

“Good,” Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose, “onto more pressing matters, we’ve had an unexpected request from-”

Veronica keeps talking, but MC tunes her out. Instead, she keeps her eyes glued to the space behind Veronica’s head. MC can feel Jaque’s intense gaze on her, but she refuses to look at her. She doesn’t think she can bear it right now.

“Dismissed,” Veronica finishes and MC nods, swiftly leaving the room. She walks briskly down the hall and into her office. 

Sunlight streams through her windows. Without hesitation, MC slams the blinds closed, plunging the room into darkness. She closes and locks her office door before settling into her chair. The room feels colder somehow, without the presence of either Maggie or Jaque.

MC takes a shaky breath, resting her elbows on the table. She closes her eyes, putting her head between her hands. The darkness of the room brings her comfort. She doesn’t know how much time she spends like that, before she finally pulls herself together.

Turning on her computer, she searches the database for the person Veronica was talking about. MC missed most of the debriefing, but luckily the system had already assigned the client to her and Jaque. She spends some time going through the man’s profile, making notes in a separate document. 

Hours pass like that, MC hunched over her computer and trying to make sense of this “unmatchable” person and finding people who might like him. She has spreadsheet after spreadsheet, trying to do things the analytical way. Jaque’s way, her brain reminds her and it stirs up a bitter feeling.

“I can’t fucking do this,” MC mumbles, standing up from her chair. She can’t matchmake when her own love life is in shambles, when every piece of advice she used and gave to other people made her blind. How can she give advice out, when no one loves her? She has no prospects anymore, it’s pathetic. 

MC paces back and forth, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and she freezes.

yeah, i saw sparks

“I know you’re in there,” Jaque’s voice rings out, “everyone else already went home. It’s almost seven.”

MC glances at her phone, to see Jaque’s words are true. She doesn’t even feel hungry, even though she hasn’t eaten today. She just feels empty. Without saying anything, MC sits down in front of the door, resting her back against it.

“Can you unlock the door? Can we talk, please?” Jaque pleads.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” MC says plainly, her voice hoarse still from their screaming match.

“I get it,” Jaque’s voice is softer and MC can hear her sit down on the other side of the door, “just give me five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

“Okay,” MC concedes, closing her eyes.

“I lied on Friday, okay? I was angry and I took it out on you. Veronica’s been like...like family to me. I thought that maybe if her and Richard could get back together, it would be like fixing my parents’ divorce. And I... I was jealous. You’re a really good matchmaker, like really good. And, it’s scary,” Jaque tells her.

“This competition isn’t worth it,” MC ignores most of her statement, “you can have the CEO spot. I’m quitting anyways.”

“What?” Jaque says.

“If I can’t even keep my personal life from falling apart, I shouldn’t be a matchmaker,” MC’s voice cracks, “everything I’ve told my clients, I followed and it didn’t work out. I shouldn’t be here.”

“You should be here, you deserve to be here, are you...are you crying?” Jaque’s voice is surprisingly gentle.

“No,” MC sniffles, tears running down her cheeks.

“Please, just open the door MC, let me explain,” Jaque murmurs, “please baby.”

MC rubs at her eyes, taking in a shaky breath as she stands up and reluctantly unlocks the door. She takes a step back. The door gently swings open, light from the hall flooding into the room.

Jaque is silhouetted by the light, and MC hates how effortlessly put together she seems. Still, when Jaque takes a step forward, MC sees the tears in her eyes.

sing it out

Jaque takes one look at her and then breaks out into sobs. Alarmed, MC’s eyes widen as Jaque’s shoulders shake. She takes a hesitant step forward before wrapping her arms around her. Jaque leans into the embrace.

“I lied, okay? I lied,” Jaque says through sobs, “I love you, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life and I thought that if I just pushed you away I could win. But I can’t, I can’t deny what you make me feel. This competition isn’t worth losing you, nothing is worth losing you. You’re...you’re my match, MC. As soon as you left on Friday, I ran after you. I got into the first cab and made my way to your apartment. But I couldn’t even take a step inside, I’m a coward, okay? I...I thought pushing you away would solve my problems. But that’s not how this work, love isn’t something you can hide. Fuck the competition, fuck the CEO role, fuck everything. None of that means anything to me, if I can’t have you.”

Jaque clings to her, her fingertips digging into MC’s shoulder blades. MC is content with letting Jaque hurt her, if only to feel her in her arms one last time. 

“You really hurt me, Jaque, one apology won’t fix that,” MC says.

“I know, but would it help if we have makeup sex?” Jaque jokes before sniffling.

“You’re on thin ice,” MC rolls her eyes.

“...That wasn’t a no,” Jaque tells her.

MC pulls back, hitting her on the arm. Jaque yelps before a soft smile breaks out on her face.

“Just please stay here, even if you don’t want to take me back, that’s okay. Just please stay with the company, with Veronica, with-, with me,” Jaque says to her, eyes sparkling.

MC mulls it over before she nods, “Okay.”

“Can I kiss you, please?” Jaque says desperately.

MC rolls her eyes again before grabbing onto Jaque’s collar and pulling her close. Their lips meet, the taste of mint toothpaste mixing with the salt from their tears. It’s a slow, gentle kiss and MC is the first one to break it.

“Did you just brush your teeth?” MC murmurs.

Jaque grins, “Maybe.”

MC lets out a quiet laugh, “You’re a dork.”

“But I’m your dork,” Jaque says.

“You act like I forgive you already, one kiss won’t change that,” MC tells her honestly.

“I know, but it doesn’t hurt,” Jaque smiles before kissing her again.

When they finally pull away to breathe, Jaque grins at her. MC smiles up at her, a half-smile but it’s the most she can muster. The hurt from Jaque’s words won’t fade overnight and they’re far from being official, but MC feels a little less shaky about where they’re at. Maybe it would be good to take things slow, try and approach things like a normal couple would-

“Is it time for makeup sex?” Jaque whispers.

Or not.

[whitesparrows97]

Cat’s Cradle – Part 3

Pairing: Cat Hybrid!Yoongi x Human!Reader/Min Yoongi x Reader (slight Namjoon x Reader)

Warnings: This whole series contains angst und explicit sexual content. Also I’m sorry but Namjoon is kind of a dick in this story.

Word Count: 4.9K

Note: Thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying this story so far! I appreciate any kind of feedback, no matter how small! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

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Still half asleep Yoongi trotted blindly into the kitchen with his eyes half closed. As if by themselves his fingers found the button on the coffee machine and he took a deep breath as he inhaled the aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee. Seo-yeon had already left for work a few hours ago and Yoongi had used the time to make up for the lost sleep of the night. Fridays were always his days off, which he mostly used to sleep in. Even though he was almost always woken by the noises you made when you were getting ready for work. Every time he had to stifle a smile when he noticed how you tried to be as quiet as possible. It hurt him all the more when he remembered that everything had been different this morning. 

To say that he felt guilty was an understatement. He still saw your painful expression before you had turned around and stormed out of the room. He had tried not to let anything show in front of Seo-yeon, but she seemed to have been in her own world so far that she didn’t realize Yoongi’s shift of feelings. When he had heard the apartment door fall into the lock, he had had to suppress the urge to run after you. He was too worried that you were still out in the middle of the night. But you probably went to Namjoon to work in peace. He grimaced when he thought that you would probably work less if you were with Namjoon. You were probably busy with other things all night. That’s why Yoongi hoped the presentation went well. 

The ringing of the doorbell made him pause for a moment before he opened the door with a coffee cup in one hand. He was quite astonished when he saw your best friend standing in front of it completely out of breath. He was just about to explain that you weren’t there, but at work, when she unceremoniously pushed past him.

“Is she here?” she asked breathlessly and jogged to your room, where she looked in once and with hanging shoulders realized that this was not the case. 

“If you mean Y/N, she’s at work,” Yoongi said unimpressed as he closed the apartment door again and sat down back in the kitchen at the dining table. 

“She’s not,” she contradicted Yoongi and immediately his heart dropped. 

With a loud thump he put the cup down on the table. Alarmed, he looked at your best friend. “Why isn’t she at work? Where is she then?” In his head he imagined scenarios that you had been in a car accident. Or that you were mugged on the way to your car at night.

She dropped herself across the table from him in the seat where you normally sat. In desperation, she propped her head in her hands and stared at the pattern of the table’s wooden top. “Ellie,” Yoongi addressed her directly now and his heart was beating painfully in his chest. A nervous nausea had settled in his stomach and he felt like he was going to throw up with worry at any moment.

Ellie gave a sigh and let her hands sink. Her face reflected the worry and the thousand thoughts that were probably running through her head. Yoongi was sure that he had a similar expression on his face. “I have no idea where she is right now. Jin called me a few hours ago and told me that Y/N was fired.”

“Fired?!” he interrupted her with wide open eyes. Oh God, he was just hoping it had nothing to do with the presentation you had to give this morning.

Ellie nodded. “Jin said she was in a super weird mood, so he decided to call me. He’s a little worried…”

Yoongi paused for a moment. “Worried?” Ellie played with her fingers, dodging Yoongi’s questioning gaze before it dawned on him. “You don’t think something happened to her, right?”

Ellie looked like she was going to burst into tears any moment as she shook her head and her bangs fell on her face. “I don’t know. She’s not answering her phone or responding to my messages.“

Yoongi fished his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and dialed your phone number. With every further beep, he became more and more impatient and worried. Frustrated, he ended the call and put the phone on the table in front of him. “She’s not answering,” he stated the obvious and stared at the rectangular device in front of him. “Maybe she’s at Namjoon’s?” the idea came to him and immediately his hands reached for the phone again. It took him a few moments to find his number in the chat history between you and Yoongi. You had sent him Namjoon’s number in case of emergency a few months ago and Yoongi never felt the need to save it.

With shaky fingers he dialed the number while he wrapped his bushy tail around the middle of his body. He had the feeling that the room had suddenly become several degrees colder. His eyes fell on Ellie, who gestured to him to put the call on speaker. He took the phone off his ear and complied with her request. Yoongi almost wanted to hang up again before finally a crackling could be heard and a few seconds later Namjoon was on the phone.

“Yes?” he only asked and sounded strangely strained. He breathed loudly into the speaker of the phone and Yoongi had to make an effort not to grimace at the tone of the other man’s voice. 

“Namjoon,” Yoongi greeted him coolly. “Is Y/N with you?”

It was quiet for a moment, and Ellie and Yoongi already feared that Namjoon had hung up, but then Namjoon denied Yoongi’s question. “Why don’t you call her and ask her where she is? I’m busy.”

Yoongi had to suppress an eye roll as he strengthened the grip around his cell phone. He wanted to crawl through the wire and punch him in the face. How could he care so little about where his girlfriend was? “She doesn’t answer the phone,” Yoongi told him between clenched teeth.

“Oh, poor boy,” Namjoon said and his voice dripped with irony, “isn’t your mistress answering the phone?”

Yoongi clenched his free hand into a fist and had to concentrate to stay calm. Insulting Namjoon wouldn’t do anyone any good at this moment. “Namjoon, I’m serious. You know her, when things happen that upset her, she sometimes can’t handle it. Have you heard about her job?”

They heard Namjoon sigh on the phone before a second sound came in. A laugh. Or rather a giggle. Yoongi felt like someone had punched him in the stomach when he identified the laugh as a woman’s laugh and he was sure it wasn’t you. He would identify your laughter among tens of thousands.

“Stop talking on the phone and come back here, Joonie,” the unknown woman said now and before Yoongi could hold back, a hissing sound had come out between his teeth. His sharp teeth drilled painfully into his lower lip as he tried to suppress the glaring white rage.

“You know Yoongi, that’s not my problem.” That was it, with that sentence the connection was suddenly cut. Only the beeping of the disconnected call was heard in the kitchen before Yoongi angrily threw it on the table. Ellie flinched, her shoulders were slumped and she made herself as small as possible. Yoongi felt a brief moment of guilt. He knew how some people reacted to hybrids, especially when they were angry. He tried to control his anger but he felt as if the white heat was taking up any space in his head. There was no more room for rational thought. “That son of a bitch,” Yoongi spat and hit the table with his fist. “I’ll kill him the next time I see him.”

Ellie looked at him with big eyes and somewhat embarrassed he pulled his fist from the table back to his thigh. Only now did he notice that the hairs on his tail had agitatedly pointed upwards and it had doubled in volume. It took all his willpower to relax his fist and he tried to straighten the hairs on his tail. He had not intended to get so upset. A wave of scent swept over to him and he had to pull himself together not to hiss at Ellie. She was afraid of him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he calmed down a bit. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Ellie looked at him with a thankful smile. “The combination of hating that asshole and worrying about Y/N is not a good mix for me.” He pushed out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. Immediately, his posture relaxed a little more.

“You’re just worried, Yoongi,” Ellie reassured him and made him understand that she didn’t hold it against him. For a moment, they only looked at each other. “Do you think she knows he’s cheating on her?” she addressed the obvious.

Yoongi thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest, I don’t know how things are between them right now. We haven’t spoken to each other that much the last few days,” he admitted a little ashamed.

“Oh, is it still about that stupid fight you had?”

Surprised, Yoongi looked up. “How do you know about that?”

Ellie laughed softly. “We’re best friends, of course she tells me about it when her favorite hybrid and her had a fight.”

Yoongi couldn’t help it, it was like a reflex when your best friend uttered her words that his feline ears stood up and he looked at Ellie attentively; hoping for more phrases you had to say about him. He didn’t even notice that he was excitedly swaying the tip of his tail back and forth. But Ellie seemed to notice very well and she had to hold back a laugh. A breath later, however, her smile gave way to another worried expression.

“I’m really worried, Yoongi. We agreed years ago that she shouldn’t ignore our calls and messages and text us when she needs time alone.”

Yoongi nodded. “It’s not like her not to answer at all.”

“What happened between you two anyway? She never told me what the fight was about.”

Yoongi started answering before he was interrupted by the doorbell. With superhuman speed he jumped up from his seat and was at the door a second later. But his excitement disappeared as fast as it had come when he saw that it wasn’t you standing at the door. 

“Hey,” Seokjin greeted him who was holding a small box in his hands which he pressed against his chest.

“Come in,” Yoongi said, not trying to hide his disappointment in his voice. He joined Ellie at the dining table and with a touch of jealousy Yoongi saw how Seokjin embraced Ellie’s hand and squeezed it gently. He became more than aware of how much he missed you. Your touching, your laughter, the looks you gave him, which he would recall every night before going to bed. He had had to do without all that for the last few days. And the only one he could really be angry with was himself.

“What’s that?” Ellie tore him out of his crushing thoughts and pointed to the box Seokjin had left on the table.

“Her things,” Seokjin started to explain and with a side glance that Yoongi couldn’t interpret, the other one went on, “she put everything in the box and just threw it into the trash.”

Ellie’s surprised exclamation was barely noticed by Yoongi as he glanced at a photo. With careful fingers he grabbed the picture frame and gently stroked over the broken glass and the crack that went right between you two. “Yoongi,” Seokjin said and he looked up. His eyes burned and he suppressed a sniff. “What happened between you two? She said that you hate her but when I see you like this, I think the opposite is true.”

Seokjin’s words took the hybrid by surprise and he looked at the man in disbelief. Ellie next to him sighed. “Are you still into her?”

Yoongi let himself sink back into his seat and he felt his cheeks getting hot as he ran his finger across the wood of the frame. Defiantly, he just shrugged his shoulders. “Yoongi,” Ellie said again and the hybrid looked up. “You have to talk to her and tell her that.”

He shook his head vehemently. “Can’t,” he said curtly. Without looking up he carefully put the picture frame back into the box.

“Why not? It can’t get any worse between the two of you.”

He knew she was right. Yet her words did not hurt less. “And I’m not so sure she would reject you.” Those words made Yoongi’s head shoot up.

“I don’t think so either, as much as she talks about you,” Seokjin agreed and Yoongi would like to hug the two of them. He was surprised himself since he hardly ever showed his soft side. You were the exception. He had never had to hide from you and you had always accepted him as he was.

“For that, she would need to answer,” Yoongi said with a sigh and as if on command, he heard a noise in the staircase at the same time. His sensitive feline ears reacted first before his human ears also heard the key in the lock. He jumped up and the chair he had pushed back with force fell to the floor with a loud noise. Yoongi didn’t care but fixed his gaze on the small piece of hallway that was visible through the kitchen door.

He felt the weight that lay on his shoulders being lifted with a sudden tug as his eyes fell on you. Even from a distance he could see how exhausted you were and he saw your reddened eyes staring at him in perplexity for a moment. Your eyes fell on the other two guests and for a moment you were too surprised to make a sound. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked as you joined the three in the kitchen. Your gaze fell on the familiar cardboard box while you came to a halt next to Seokjin and Ellie. 

“Is everything okay?” Ellie asked anxiously, who had also gotten up from her seat, though not as tempestuous as Yoongi. 

You pushed out a bitter laugh. “Of course everything’s okay. Although I lost my job after embarrassing myself in front of three men and then having to endure disgusting comments about me. Why shouldn’t I feel great?” you asked and your voice dripped with irony. You reached into the box and briefly lifted the picture frame before you let it fall back with a loud clink. “Why did you bring this, Seokjin? I don’t need it anymore.”

Your words cut into Yoongi’s heart and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Without another word or even an explanation of where you’d been for the past few hours, you turned on your heel and were about to go to your room before Ellie held you back. 

“Were you at Namjoon’s?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t want to overwhelm you with the confession that your boyfriend was cheating on you, in addition to everything you had to go through today. 

Slowly you turned to the three of them and if you didn’t know any better, you would almost call the expression on Ellie’s and Seokjin’s faces fearful. With a dry laugh you answered, “I was.”

You didn’t have to say anything else. The looks of the others spoke volumes. Your gaze fell on Yoongi, who was still standing at the table, frozen over your dismissive behavior. The chair was still lying on the floor behind him but he couldn’t bring himself to put it back up. Not if he fixed you with his gaze so that for a split second there was uncertainty in your facial features.

“Yoongi, by the way, you don’t need to look for a new apartment,” you said after you had regained your composure. “I’m moving out. Can’t afford this place without having a job,” you explained and this time you really went to your room. Seokjin, Ellie and Yoongi stayed behind in shock. Speechless and nobody dared to say anything when the last thing they heard from you was your bedroom door, which fell loudly into the lock. Yoongi looked into the box one last time and saw how the glass of the picture frame was finally shattered and lay scattered in the box. He would have to throw the frame away because some things were simply irreparable.

_______________________

Three days had passed since you lost your job. Three days in which you were desperately looking for a new shared apartment, hoping to get away from Yoongi as soon as possible. You couldn’t bear to see him any longer, knowing that your friendship was finally over. You were just happy that Yoongi seemed to have a little bit of decency left and that he hadn’t invited his girlfriend to your apartment for the last few days. You would probably have a fit if you had to listen to them having sex one more time. 

On the other hand, you had never felt such a strong sense of indifference as you did at this moment. When you weren’t out looking at apartments, you were lying in your bed, with dozens of blankets piled on top of you, because you didn’t feel like you were getting really warm. You were haunted by the sayings of the two men during the presentation and the subsequent conversation with your boss and you simply couldn’t motivate yourself to look for a new job and write applications. Maybe the one man was right and you were not made for this industry.

With a sigh you turned to the other side. You looked at the room door and inevitably wondered what Yoongi was doing. It was Monday and you had noticed with surprise that he hadn’t gone to work that morning. That was strange, he never missed a day of work unless he was really really sick. Ellie had said goodbye to you on Friday and promised that you could always call her if you wanted to talk. In one short sentence you had explained to her that your phone was broken and that you had to save up for a new one. But you didn’t tell her the reason why your phone was broken. 

After you surprised Namjoon in his office and the surprise was bigger than you thought (for everyone involved), you threw your phone into the parking lot of his office building out of anger. At that moment it had felt good to let the anger out at least a little bit, but that moment of joy was short. Not even a few seconds later you had cursed yourself as you picked up the remains of your phone from the floor. 

That didn’t make the whole apartment hunting thing any easier. You had to give Yoongi’s phone number to which they were supposed to contact you if you were accepted. Yoongi accepted it with a shrug. He was probably as happy as you if you left as soon as possible. That’s why it made you even more insecure that no one had contacted you yet. You could have sworn that you had gotten along very well with the two guys in the small but very central apartment you had visited on Saturday morning. You were a bit disappointed that you apparently weren’t even good enough to find a shared flat.

Enough of feeling sorry for yourself, you pulled yourself together and headed for the kitchen. You forced yourself to eat at least one meal a day. But you wanted to immediately turn around when you saw Yoongi, who must have had the same idea as you. His feline ears were the only thing that showed you that he had noticed you. Wordlessly you moved around each other, always careful not to get too close to each other. “Hasn’t anyone called yet?” you asked casually as you grabbed some fruit from the fridge.

Yoongi froze beside you in his movement and the knife with which he had just cut vegetables fell out of his hand. He shook his head and wordlessly reached for the knife again. You watched him for a moment as he carefully and almost over-cautiously cut the vegetables and frowned. “Funny, I actually got along quite well with those two. Will you let me know if either of them calls?”

Yoongi froze again, but this time his reaction was even stronger. His tail stopped completely and you saw how he turned his ears slightly to the side. The sound that came from his chest surprised you and you flinched slightly when you heard the low growling.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t optimal right now. But I can’t find a place otherwise,” you apologized. Your heart was heavy and you felt guilty that you couldn’t even manage a simple apartment. “You know what, I’ll just call him. Then I’ll ask and maybe I can convince him that it is urgent,” you suggested. 

Without asking, you reached for Yoongi’s cell phone, which was on the dining room table. When you turned your back to him, you missed the horrified look the hybrid cast at you. “I gave you the number. Did you save it in your contacts? Ah, here it is,” you talked more to yourself than to Yoongi when you dialed the number. After the third ring, he picked up.

“Hey, Sam,” you greeted him and tried your best to sound especially euphoric. “This is Y/N, I was there on Saturday for the apartment tour.”

“Oh, yes, Y/N,” he replied, almost sounding disappointed. Your heart sank when you imagined that he must be uncomfortable about having to give you a rejection over the phone.

“I just wanted to check if you had already decided who you were going to pick.” There was a moment of silence and all you could hear was the static on the phone. “Are you still there?” you asked. 

“Uh, yes, I am!” Phew, at least he didn’t hang up on you. “Funny you ask. I called right away on Saturday afternoon and told your friend you could have the room.”

You look surprised. “Oh really? I’m so glad! When can I–”

“However, your friend said you weren’t looking for a room anymore, so we already promised the room to someone else.”

Now it was your turn to be silent on the phone. 

“We’re really sorry, there must have been a misunderstanding, but we can’t cancel the other one now. I hope you understand that, Y/N,” he apologized and sounded seriously sad about it. 

“No problem, but thanks anyway,” you said goodbye and hung up. You stared incredulously at the display of the mobile phone before turning 180 degrees. Your gaze fell on the back which Yoongi had turned towards you. Yoongi, who meticulously inspected the fish he was preparing. 

“Yoongi,” you addressed him, but he didn’t bat an eyelash. There was no doubt that he had overheard the conversation. Angrily you bridged the few steps and turned him towards you at the shoulder with a firm grip. “What’s going on?”

He started to turn back, but you held his upper arm firmly. His eyes glided briefly to where you had clawed your fingers into his shirt before he looked at you. “What do you mean?”

You snorted contemptuously. “Stop it! You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Slowly but surely, Yoongi was driving you crazy. He wanted you to move out and was visibly irritated that it took you so long. But on the other hand, he kept you from getting a room. Did he want you to end up on the street? Yoongi had the nerve to shrug his shoulders and that was the last straw. “What’s wrong with you?! I’m really trying my best to avoid bothering you as much as possible and find a place to live as soon as possible. But you’re not making it easy for me with these kinds of actions.”

Still no answer. He was looking down at the floor and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he had a guilty conscience. 

“Next time I get a positive answer, let me know immediately. So I can finally get out of here,” you said in conclusion. You put the fruit back in the fridge, or rather threw it back; you had lost your appetite. You were almost out the door when you heard Yoongi say “No” in a low voice.

Immediately, you turned around and stood before him again in the blink of an eye. “What do you mean no?”

He raised his head slowly and looked at you. “No, I’m going to tell every other guy who’s interested the same thing I told that jerk you just called.”

You didn’t know how to react. Whether to laugh or pull your hair out. Somehow you felt like crying. “What’s wrong with you, Yoongi?” you asked quietly and you felt your eyes start to burn. “I know I screwed up and said things I shouldn’t have said. But I’m already trying to get out of your life as soon as possible.”

“I don’t want that,” Yoongi said as softly as you did and you had trouble understanding him at all.

“What don’t you want?” you asked confused.

“That you’re moving out!” he exclaimed in frustration and threw up his arms. “I don’t want you to move out, I want you to stay here.”

“Yoongi, I can’t afford this place on my own–”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted you, obviously in a rage. “I want you to live here with me. I’ve been an ass these last few days and I know I can never make it up to you, but I don’t want us to part ways like this. Shit, I don’t ever want us to part ways. You know what I mean?” His monologue was over and he looked at you with his chest rising fast. 

“I… don’t quite understand.” 

Yoongi looked at you desperately, and you felt a lump in your throat as you saw the tears rolling down Yoongi’s cheeks. Reflexively, you raised your hands and embraced his face while your thumbs wiped away the tears. The reaction was immediate. No sooner had your fingers touched his skin than he leaned towards your touch and his eyes fluttered shut. 

One of his hands leapt up and lay over yours, fearing you would let go of him again. When he opened his eyes again, there was so much sadness and despair in them that it almost tore your heart apart. “I miss you.” Those three words were all you needed to hear before you passed the last few inches and wrapped your arms around Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t hesitate for a second, wrapping his arms around your little body. His bushy tail also wrapped around the middle of your body and pulled you closer.

You ran your fingers through his blond curls and a grin spread across your face as he started purring. The sound was deep and you felt the vibration of his chest against yours. “God, I missed you so much,” you mumbled and felt the need to pull him even closer to you, even though it was impossible.

“Uh-huh,” the blond muttered, and a second later you felt his nose against your neck. You suppressed a shiver as he pressed it against your sensitive flesh. “You no longer smell of me,” he whispered and his hot breath hit your skin. Yoongi moved down your throat to your neck and you had to suppress a moan when you suddenly felt his soft lips on your skin. You knew that his actions had no sexual intent whatsoever. It was his animalistic side that took over and he just wanted his owner to smell of him again. 

Yet it seemed as if your body had forgotten that part as you tried to pull yourself together and hold back the arousal that was spreading in your abdomen. Yoongi rubbed his forehead and nose at various points of your throat and neck before he took a short sniff and hummed contentedly. “Much better,” he muttered and put his head back on your shoulder. 

For a moment you stayed like this before you tried to detach yourself. Yoongi protested briefly by pressing you tightly, but gave in a little later. For a moment, you looked deeply into each other’s eyes before Yoongi asked: “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

You nodded with more than gratitude. The last few days, you had paid less attention to your physical health. A balanced dinner made your stomach growl and Yoongi laughed when he heard the sound. Immediately, he went back to work and prepared the ingredients. You helped him a little and it felt good to stand next to him in the kitchen again and talk about everything. The last few days the thought came to your mind not only once that it might never be the same between you again. However, all those fears seemed to be unfounded when Yoongi lightly nudged your shoulder with his and gave you a grin. Your heart fluttered at the sight and you quickly turned your gaze back to the worktop. Okay, maybe something had changed…

_______________________

Tag list:

@flowersgirl02​ @lovelikeyouwant @yoongisabby​ 

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 5

Hello readers :) Just one chapter tonight but it's just shy of 4k words so hopefully it will do fine :)

so... bit of angst coming. Apologies there is a bit of fluff too but not what you hope. Please don't hate Elias. He is my secret weapon to bring our two idiots together. So just be nice to him.

Fun facts: 1. I adore Roald Dahl like our trio. 2. The scene at Luskentyre with the dark clouds and the savage rain. Been there done that. Luckily I saw it in the sun as well. 3. I hug standing stones. I am a serial hugger. Hugged the ones at Callanish and have a few photos of me hugging stones in Orkney as well.

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

A week had passed.

Rowan opened the bookshop on time as usual. Switched on the lights and the computer and went to the back and dragged to the counter the bulky box containing the orders that had arrived the previous night.

Once he cracked the box open he realised Aelin’s was at the top, staring at him. He sighed, took the book and sat on the stool behind his counter. For a whole week he hated himself for what he said to her. He had definitely gone too far and he had to find a way to apologise and make it up to her for his dreadful behaviour.

Gently he flipped the book in his hands and read a couple of random pages and smiled. He was positive she was going to love the last book in the series and a part of him was quite eager to discuss the book with her.

He had read the series a long time ago and loved it. Flipping through the pages he found some of the lines he loved and a tenuous smile appeared on his face at the thought that Aelin reminded him so much the female main character in the book. 

Both of them had fire in them.

He hadn’t seen her in a week and Maeve told him that she hadn’t been at the coffee shop either.

His aunt’s words still haunted him. She is just as lost as you are.

What could have happened to her? She always appeared to him as full of life and quite energetic, but he guessed that might be a mask she would wear for stranger, for people who were not close to her. He wanted to meet the real Aelin, problems at all. He thought pondered on his aunt’s words. What if she really was the key to get out of the funk he had been stuck for a while? What if he could help her as well? He admitted that he wanted to be his friend and he was going to prove it to her.

Deep down though he knew he had another reason, a bit more selfish. He found her attractive. More than that. The first day in the shop she had taken his breath away. And she loved books probably just as much as he did. Something that Lyria… no. He was not going there. 

He closed his eyes and tried to picture Aelin. Her funny attempts to use Gaelic gave him fuzzy feelings. 

He had spent a week mulling and thinking about her. He could not stop doing that. She had made him feel again. But the idea terrified him. He had committed completely to a woman once. He gave her all of him, his love, trust, respect and heart. And she destroyed everything. He sighed and put the book on the shelf behind him where he kept all the orders to be collected. He had to find a way to tell her her book was here. In his anger he forgot to take her phone number or address and now he was stuck. He only had to hope that she would remember and pop in in the shop. If he could see her one more time and apologise…

He was busy unpacking when the bell rang and a dark-haired man entered the shop.

“Good morning, can I help you?”

The man looked at him and smiled “Yes, definitely. I am looking for a book. Something on Callanish.” He explained looking around the shop with interest “It’s for a woman. It’s a present. She is new here and I would like to give her a welcome to the islands present. She just visited Callanish for the first time and she loved it.”

Rowan felt sick for a moment. Was that guy talking about Aelin? Because the description sounded very similar. Sadness hit him. So she was doing fine after all. She did not need him.

“I have a nice selection. Ranging form the usual tourist guide to something more fascinating and historical.” And he showed the guy the books. The stranger took one of the bigger ones. One of his favourites.

“That is a great one.” He added pointing at the one the guy was holding in his hands “It has info about the archeological excavations, theories about its use and it connects to the mythology as well. It’s quite complete. Your friend will love it.”

The man smiled again and kept the book.

“Can I just have a look around?”

Rowan nodded keeping an eye on the man. Could it be that he was talking about Aelin? He did his best to convince himself that it was just a coincidence. It had to be. But sadness struck anyway. He had planned to  get that book for Aelin. He was positive she would have adored it. And now chances were another man was going to give it to her.

The man came back with a second book. A colouring book of the Hebrides “I have a feeling Aelin will love them.”

Rowan stopped. His world froze. And his heart was beating furiously in his chest.

“She is a lucky woman.” Rowan forced himself to say. “Would you like me to wrap them since it’s a present.”

“That would be amazing if it’s not too much trouble.”

Rowan took a deep breath and steadied his hands.

“You have a great place here. And I love your Roald Dahl display.”

Those words stung. That was one of the first things Aelin had said to him.

“Big fan.” Was all that Rowan managed ignoring the roaring fury rising in him. At his stupidity. His bad temper. That could have been him if only he had been able to control himself and be nice for once in his life.

“When I was little I was obsessed with James and the Giant Peach.” The man continued while Rowan was working on wrapping the books. He had a feeling that Aelin was a big fan of Matilda.

“Here we go.” Rowan passed the present to the man.

The stranger paid and left the shop.

Rowan sat in silence for a while then stood, turned the sign of the shop to closed, switched off the lights, locked the door and went home.

All of a sudden he did not feel in the mood anymore to deal with people.

He grabbed his car and drove in silence until he reached his favourite spot on the islands. He went to the Butt of Lewis, sat on the edge of the cliff and admired the sea raging against the cliffs, mirroring perfectly his current mood.

Aelin had taken a day off from exploring. She had driven a lot the previous days and she needed a break from here car. She had gone back to Luskentyre, however this time she was not so lucky with the weather. An horrible storm had hit once there. And still, the place was stunning. The dark clouds heavy with rain seemed to enhance the blues and green of the water. A strange light had embraced the bay and the sand appeared even whiter. Then the rain hit and she thought she had never seen a rainstorm so brutal. She had stayed in the car and waited it out. Being Scotland, the weather was very changeable and ten minutes later the sun was out and the most amazing rainbow arched across the beach. Not a single one of her photo did any justice to the beauty in front of her.

She was now wandering around Stornoway and convinced herself to go to Rowan’s shop. It had been a week and her book should have arrived. The last one had ended in an epic cliffhanger and now she needed to know. It was a matter of life or death.

She turned the corner and a strange feeling overcame her when she noticed the lights off. At the entrance door a sign said Dùinte and underneath Closed in English. It was almost noon, how was it possible it was closed? Rowan was punctual to a fault. Was he sick? She wished she had his mobile number to get in touch with him. 

She was worried. 

But most of all she realised she missed him. Yes, they barely knew each other and they didn’t have the best of the beginnings, but still…

She sighed and walked away.

In that instant Elias texted her. She had caved in the end and texted him. They had started chatting. That morning he had told her that he was in town and they agreed to meet.

He was waiting for her at the parking near the ferry terminal. She tucked her sadness away and walked toward the terminal.

She had debated every day since she gave Elias her number if she had done the right thing. 

She clearly felt something for Rowan. What it was, she still wasn’t sure. And although he had been grumpy and they fought, something about him resonated within her. As if his soul somehow called out to hers. 

The rational part of her quickly rejected the idea as the twisted and unachievable idea of love that her books had given her over the years.

Human’s relationships were nothing but pain. 

For a moment she argued to herself that for some inexplicable reason his soul had somehow resonated with Rowan’s. That if they were in a book instead, someone would have pointed out that the pining was due to them being soulmates.

A minute later after that thought she snorted loudly.

They were everything but. They weren’t even friends. 

What about enemies to lovers? She snorted again and closed the distance to where Elias was waiting for her.

There were more chances of Rowan strangling her than them becoming friends.

All that mental gymnastics to convince herself that texting Elias was good. That she was not betraying Rowan.

But at the same time she felt a horrible person. She had no idea what she wanted from Elias. She was not ready yet to commit again. But still, she didn’t want to mislead him. He seemed such a nice guy. Hurting was the last thing she wanted to do to him.

Aelin finally arrived at the car park and saw him. He was as tall as Rowan. He was standing beside his car. Sunglasses on his head, dark shorts, a light blue polo shirt hugged his upper body nicely and she could not force her gaze away from him. He was stunning.

But he is not Rowan a voice said in her head and she told it to shut up.

“Hello.” He waved at her and she noticed his bright smile and his two dimples make their appearance. She had forgotten his smile.

“Hey.” She said joining him near his car “Nice car by the way. Being an engineer must pay really well.” She joked and hoped she hadn’t gone too far as her usual.

“Love a woman with a good taste in cars. It’s a Tesla. Cost me a kidney but this baby it’s worth it.”

“Of course you get a Tesla. You are an environmental engineer so an electric car makes sense. If you were a book character you’d be considered perfectly in character.”

Elias laughed loudly at the joke. Then he opened the door, and grabbed something from the car “For you. A welcome to the islands gift.”

Aelin took the present and froze when she noticed the sticker on top. The present came from Rowan’s bookshop. All of a sudden she forgot how to breath. At least she did manage to hide her shaky hands from Elias.

She opened the present and squealed in delight when she noticed the book about Callanish and underneath a colouring book. She put the second on the roof of the car and opened the first one. Inside the dust jacket she noticed a small note. That, definitely did not belong there. The calligraphy was neat Your book is here. I guess you want to know what happens after the cliffhanger. Then at the bottom of the note I am sorry. R.

How did he know that Elias was giving her the book? A wave of panic hit her.

Sneakily she hid the note from Elias and pretended to browse the book, but her mind kept going back to Rowan’s message. Her heart was hammering in her chest, so much that it almost hurt. The words I am sorry resonating in her head like an echo.

“Glad you loved the books. I forgot there was a nice bookshop in town. I got it from there. The one about Callanish came with a recommendation from the owner.” Aelin felt like crying. She was just picturing Rowan helping Elias pick the book for her. Why was she feeling like that for a man who had clearly told her that she meant nothing to him? Why was she caring so much?

Had Lysandra been there she would have told her to drop the grumpy guy and take the nice one. 

She stretched and gave Elias a little peck on the cheek “Thank you. They are perfect. Now I just need some pencils for the colouring book.”

“That, we can fix easily.” Elias went around the car and opened the other door for her “Hop in.”

Aelin looked at him puzzled “I thought we were staying in town.”

“No way, there is still so much for you to see.”

“I am in a Tesla.” She commented ecstatic and noticed Elias grinning. “I don’t have car. In London it’s a nightmare. Traffic is horrendous and parking near my house is just non existent. Luckily the tube takes me to work easily.”

“On the islands the only traffic jam you experience is cattle, sheep and the annoying tourists driving motorhomes where they shouldn’t and going at a slow pace because they have to take a photo of every single piece of grass.”

Aelin laughed “I got stuck in the middle of a flock of sheep the other day. I was along the Golden Road.”

“Well, that was your baptism of fire and you passed it.”

Half an hour later they were crossing a bridge. Elias explained to her that they were heading for Great Bernera. As soon as they cleared the bridge he pulled over and parked the car at the small picnic area. She got out and stood immobile for a moment to take in the beauty of the landscape.all around her. Then Elias grabbed her hand and he pulled toward the left. She looked up and she noticed some standing stones and she felt giddy.

“Come on.”

They climbed the short path and they reached the stones.

Aelin went to hug them and she made Elias laugh out loud “that is a very unusual reaction.” Then he took his  phone and took a photo “Now I can bribe you until eternity.”

Aelin dismissed him with a rude gesture and kept hugging the stone.

“You are hugging Callanish VIII.”

Aelin gasped in surprise.

“This place is quite peculiar. It is a semi circle and not a full circle and according to the archaeologists it was never a full circle. No one knows what it was for. However, according to the local folklore, due to its strange configuration and location, on a calm winter day when the sun is low a strange experience might occur. If you walk between the tall stone and the water a double shadow is cast on the stone. One shadow is produced by the sun and the other by the sun’s reflection on the water.” He explained, his gaze fixed on the horizon. 

“I tried plenty of times but no luck.”

He walked behind her and tugged her to his chest, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Elias then took her hand and pointed “There,” he said “over there you have Callanish. The main site.”

She leaned against his hard chest and took comfort in the nice feeling.

“That is so awesome.”

“I am pretty sure your book will have a part about these stones.” His breath was gentle against her ear and she shivered in pleasure at the feeling.

“Let’s go. We haven’t reached our final destination yet.” He moved away and for a brief second she missed the warmth of his body against hers.

They got back in the car and they drove for a bit longer. The road was narrow but Elias drove with the experience of a local and she felt pretty safe. 

They finally reached a parking area and she was ready to get out again.

“The islands are quite amazing for their historical sites.” He started, offering his hand to her.

She took it and he smiled tenderly. His thumb gently brushing the top of her hand.

“Are you ready for a visit to the iron age?”

They walked in silence for a short stretch along the wall of a cemetery and then she noticed the Iron Age house. Elias paid the pound to get into the house, but she was more interested in the stunning beach she had spotted at the end of the path. Once out of the house she took running toward the beach and Elias followed until he grabbed at her waist “You ungrateful witch. I am showing you an historical site and all you care is the beach.”

Aelin laughed and turned to him, their faces dangerously close “Sorry, but the beach looks soooooo amazing”

Elias let her go and playfully pushed her away “Go. Have fun.”

She smiled at him and walked toward the beach, removed her shoes and walked in the water. That had become her ritual.

Bosta beach was another gem. A hidden one, it looked like.

Elias joined her in the water and stood beside her, their arms touching “When I was young, my brother and I used to come here and kayak. See the islands in front of us?” He pointed and Aelin nodded “That is little Bernera. The only way to get there is by boat. On the the side there is a beach that is something out of this world. Untouched. Pristine. With waters of colours so bright that they might not be real.”

She turned to him and looked at Elias in the eyes. And they were bright, full of joy

“You have a childish streak.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“No, that came out wrong. What I meant is that you seem to tackle life with the same joy a kid does. The way you hugged the stone, or how you run just now or your face when you saw the books. It’s contagious.” With a hand he caressed her face.

She should pull away and break that contact, but she couldn’t because she realised she missed it. So in the end she leaned into his touch, basking in the feeling of his hand on her cheek.

“Tha thu bóidheach…” he whispered “You are beautiful.” He repeated in English.

Aelin broke the contact and went to sit down on the sand. She needed a moment to collect herself. To unravel the set of conflicted emotions battling inside her.

In front of her there was Elias. A wonderful man who seemed quite keen to be in her company. Who was intelligent and fascinating and sweet. A man capable of making her heart race madly. He was perfect. He was handsome. Unbelievably so. And then there was Rowan. Who was… maddening. They were nothing and no chance of their status changing anytime soon.

She sighed.

Elias sat beside her “did I do something wrong?” His blue eyes fixed on her “What I said and did… sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Aelin shook her head. He was considerate and with his face mere centimetres from hers she realised she just wanted to kiss him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she explained and wondered if it was the time to open up to someone else. But Maeve’s word replayed in her head. You can help each other. He is stuck too. She wanted to open up to Rowan. According to Maeve he was suffering for something too. She wanted him to open up to her. She knew it felt wrong. She could not open up to Elias. That was something that belonged to Rowan. Of that she was sure.

“I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Are you seriously telling me that in the whole of London there is not a single man who’d consider himself lucky to have you?��

“I can be a handful.”

“My brother has three kids under the age of ten. I can handle handful. Believe me.”

Aelin laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder “And why a guy like you is single?”

“The missus had a side thing with her boss. They eloped. She got pregnant and now she lives the grand life in Edinburgh with the money she got from the divorce and got stuck with the kid. He was rich. Filthy rich and she just wiped him clean.”

“And you were married to her?”

“Oh yeah. I was young and stupid. We lasted two years.”

“Probably you didn’t earn enough big bucks.”

Elias laughed genuinely “Aye, I was a poor nobody compared to her second husband.”

“Her loss,” Aelin added.

He tuned his head surprised by that remark. His face inched closer and hesitated for a second, then finally kissed her

Aelin resisted him for a moment, but then she melted in the kiss. His lips were soft. The kiss started gentle but then it got harder and she could feel need seeping from it.

His hands went to her back and slowly pushed her on the sand on her back. Aelin run her hands in his hair and pulled him closer.

She nibbled his lower lip and the sound he made awoke something at her core. His hands slid to her sides and he traced the length of her body. She closed her eyes and froze. A pair of green eyes appeared in her vision. Rowan’s face floated in front of her and she froze. She sat up quickly.

“Not on the beach near a tourist attraction.” She stood and patted the sand away from her clothes using it as an excuse to put some distance between them. 

Slowly she gathered the courage to look at him and she saw hurt in his blue eyes.

“You are right. Being arrested for sex in public is not in my today’s plan.” And the dimples came back.

“I am sorry I…” she fumbled.

He got closer and kissed tenderly on her lips “No need to apologise.” Then he patted her hair. “You are covered in sand.”

In silence they walked back to the car and even on the journey home she struggled to say more than a few words. She held her book on her legs and kept thinking at the message inside and how she will face Rowan the next day.

“I can drop you off at your place.”

“No, the car park is fine. It’s a nice evening. I don’t mind the stroll.”

“Ok, mo charaid.”

Aelin leaned forward and kissed him “Thank you for the books and for today. I had so much fun.”

“Me too,” he kissed her back.

Aelin broke the kiss and left the car. He got out and leaned on the roof “Text me.”

“I will do, mo charaid”

Elias laughed “you are so sexy when you try to speak Gaelic.”

Aelin blew him a kiss and walked away.

When she was almost home she leaned against the small wall separating the road from the marina and looked toward the town. To the spot where Rowan’s shop was.

And wondered what he was doing.

Wondered if he missed her as well.

[silkylious]

Funny Way of Saying I Love You (Dabi x Reader)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader Warnings: angst(i have an addiction i swear), fluff Prompts: #9 “That’s a funny way of saying ‘I love you’” and  #16 “When have I ever let you down, babe? Okay, don’t answer that”

A/N: Thank you for the request! im taking my time writing these since im physically incapable of writing drabbles. I hope you like this!!

Shutting the door behind you, a soothing dusk breeze fluttered your hair as you moved farther away from your daily hell. Your boss had made it a point to be a pain in the ass today, well, more so than usual. Working overtime on a Friday evening wasn’t what you’d hoped to be doing but you couldn’t exactly complain, it wasn’t like you had anything planned and the promise of an extra paycheck didn’t sound displeasing. Rubbing your temples to ease the headache (courtesy of your boss’s incessant bitching), you walked on autopilot to your apartment, you couldn’t wait to treat yourself to a bubble bath and maybe even some wine. Little did you know that your plans would be thoroughly ruined by a certain scarred villain.

You made the decision to pass by a nearby convenient store that wasn’t too far from your residence to cop some snacks. Filtering through the brands of alcohol, you grimaced at the overpriced tags of the various red wine brands, you settled for some cheap liquor with a sigh. It ain’t much but it should do the trick. After paying for what little stuff you’d fetched, you continued on your trek to your humble flat. The sun had completely vanished from the sky, a lingering crimson bleeding into a rich indigo. Your thoughts were so spellbound by the beautiful sight, that you just barely heard a strained grunt from your left. Blinking back into reality, you halted in your steps right next to a comically shady alleyway. Just like in those horror movies. You snorted at the thought, briefly comparing yourself to that one character who always dies first in movies. Though your internal jesting was cut short when the same sound propagated through the alleyway again, this time much more haggard, closely followed by violent coughing. Against your better judgment, you treaded forward cautiously. Why were you doing this? You weren’t sure. Maybe it was the unfulfilled dream loitering in the back of your mind resurfacing after many years of suppression, but you couldn’t not help someone out in a time of need.

The deeper you ventured into the alleyway, the louder your rationality shouted, begging you to turn around and book it to your apartment complex. You were stopped in your steps when an aggressive cough broke the quiet, the sound now impossibly closer and blood splattered all over the ground before your feet. Your eyes followed the vermilion trail, skinny legs covered in bloodied up, skin-tight jeans came into view, you were met with familiar scarred features. His eyes were struggling to stay open, though at the sight of you he forced his lids apart, flashing you a bloody, half-pained smirk, red liquid running down his scarred tissue.

You blinked. Dabi blinked. You blinked again and then-

“What the shit, Dabi! Are you okay?!”

You dropped to your knees next to his limp body propped up against the shaggy wall. He gave a humorless chuckle, more blood oozing out of the corners of his lips. Dabi hummed when your hands touched his fucked up face, your quirk already pacifying most of his pain. It wasn’t a healing quirk, you were simply able to transfer emotions, feelings and sensations (to and fro) with skin on skin contact. You didn’t want him knocking the fuck out from sheer pain (heaven knows there is no way you were going to lug this human heater home), so you had to ease him a little before tending to his injuries. Your body twitched as the hurt from Dabi’s body merged into your own.

“I’ve seen better days, sweetheart,”

“You don’t say.” The words came out harsh, reprimanding. Dabi winced, from the pain or from your tone, he wasn’t sure.

The plastic bag that had been temporarily abandoned came in handy, you sorrowfully used the liquor to clean the large gashes on his abdomen (not wanting to risk an infection on the way to your complex), wrapping them up securely with scraps of his shirt. So much for a relaxing bath and liquor. You heaved him up on semi-steady knees and took a different, more desolate route back home. The last thing you’d want right now is for authorities to see you walking an injured Dabi, one of the most wanted villains in the current climate, home. He leaned most of his weight on your shoulder, his shit-eating grin told you he was doing it on purpose. You couldn’t find it in you to retaliate as you usually would, too worried to come up with any snarky comments.

This had become way too much of a ritual for your comfort. You’d find him bleeding by your doorstep at ungodly hours, silently asking for shelter. Each and every time, you’d patch him up, provide him with food and your company. You’d grown attached to the scar faced male, and even if you disdained his line of work, you’d respected his life and independence (as independent as someone who crashes on your couch near daily can be). For the past couple months, his tasks had been getting progressively more and more dangerous. Your heart couldn’t help but clench each time you saw him beaten and bruised. You knew it was risky letting these feelings develop, Dabi had made it quite clear that your relationship was nothing beyond physical, with a level of mutual respect and trust.

But this was the worst condition you’d ever seen him in after one of his missions. Not too dissimilar to the first time you met; bloody, bruised and half-conscious, truly a sight to pity. You’d noiselessly knelt down, pressed your hand onto his cheek, he hadn’t even been able to flinch at your touch, too disoriented to react properly. Though in mere moments, he began feeling the pain ebb away; the injuries were still there, he just couldn’t feel them, he equated the numbing sensation to painkillers and drugs. His eyelids parted, revealing gorgeous teal irises. Full of ethereal beauty, despite being unfocused. You had to actively shun your quirk from relaying your attraction to him as you soothed his pain, his staples and marred skin a stark contrast to your soft fingers. That night you gave him a place to stay while he was on the run, you didn’t know why, but you did. Just this one time you’d said. One time became two times. Two times became countless and the rest is history.

The apartment door was slammed open, you were beyond irate. The more you thought about him, his situation, your situation, the more you felt the urge to knock shit over and scream bloody murder. Turquoise hues followed you with contempt – and mild amusement ­– but mostly contempt. Dabi took his usual spot on your worn-out couch, while you stomped your way into the bathroom to get a first aid kit. With your absence, Dabi was left to his own thoughts running amuck. Dabi wasn’t oblivious. He knew what your silence meant, knew what the look of unbridled worry in your eyes implied. Yet he didn’t want to address the less than subtle growing feelings you have for him. Attachment in his line of work was a surefire way to get hurt, he figured that if he kept whatever relationship you guys had physical, he wouldn’t have any issues to fuss over. But he couldn’t lie to himself, Dabi was conscious of the budding adoration in his heart from the moment you helped him out that first time, in that filthy alley. God, he needed a cigarette.

Much to his pleasure, you came back before his mind could implode in on itself. You sat beside him on the couch, leaving more space between you than usual. Without saying a word, your hands undid his makeshift bandages, slowly but surely patching him up an inch at a time. It honestly felt like a routine at this point. That prompted a sour taste in your mouth, you couldn’t stand how careless he’d been recently, and it was eating you up inside. But you didn’t dare voice your concerns, not wanting another aimless argument with him. If silence would save you another headache inducing fight, then silence it was–

“So, you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

Or not.

“Shut. Up.” You weren’t in the mood for his quips today. Fatigue from work, babysitting a villain and dealing with unrequited feelings severely fouling your otherwise warm attitude. You were just on the brink of throwing caution to the wind and letting loose all the muffled feelings you have for him. One more comment and your composure would shatter. Conveniently – or not so conveniently, he seemed to be in a talkative mood tonight.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” The question was redundant, he knew exactly what was up with you, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Your quietness was killing him. He had to say something. He should have chosen his words a little more wisely though.

“What’s up with me?! Are you being fucking serious right now?! I come home and almost every day find you bleeding on my doorstep. Almost every day I give your reckless ass a place to stay, only for you to go and get yourself hurt again!” Pent up rage exploded from within you, an amalgamation of emotions gushing out of your pores. His eyes blew wide, not only because he had never seen you this angry, but because of the surge of emotions flooding him. In your fury filled stupor, you’d let go of the tight rein you had on your quirk. With a hand still touching his bruised forearm, you began unintentionally bleeding your feelings into him. Rage, sorrow and worry were just a few of the many emotions that rocked his being. But one stood out among the rest, outshining the others with blinding ferocity. And it honestly scared him, how powerful it was, zapping through his body. He figured you had feelings for him, that much was obvious, but he didn’t think they were that strong. Your breathtaking emotions awakened something in him too, pulling it out of the depths of where he tried to hide it, push it down in hopes of abolishing it.

It was too much to handle this, he kept coming back for help when he could easily seek any of his colleagues out, the implication that you meant something to him was so elating yet so damaging. It kept you stuck in place, barred from shutting him out or walking away. You couldn’t keep hanging onto the hope that he might reciprocate your love. It was harming you, no matter how sensuous he was in bed, no matter how gently he held onto you afterwards, he would never call you his lover. He made that crystal fucking clear. You had to put a stop to this. You leveled your shaky voice as much as your vocal cords would allow, barely whispering.

“Get the hell out, Dabi. I don’t wanna see you here again.”

The emotions sifting through him mellowed out, no longer was rage at the forefront. Pain, hurt and heartbreak ravaged him. But that one emotion was still there, despite him being a gaping asshole, it was still present. He smirked.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘I love you,’ doll.”

“Wha–“ Before you could question his response, he swiftly captured your lips in his own to shut you up. It was a quick, firm peck, but its aftermath amused him greatly. The look of bewilderment on your face was damn priceless. You were, again, transferring your feelings to him. Adoration, confusion, the overwhelming urge to pimp smack him; it was all too entertaining for him. His vibrant teals settled upon your hand still gripping his arm. No fabric to separate them. Your own eyes followed suit. Oh. You immediately stopped your quirk, redacting your palm in the process for good measure. Dabi delighted in the bashful look that overtook your face, his own growing soft. He had trouble accepting his own feelings, but after experiencing yours, he would, at the very least, try for you. Awkward silence ensued. You both knew it was his turn to talk, to finally let out the unsaid words you’d been longing for.

“(name), I… I wanna do this right, take you out on dates and shit,” He cleared his throat. “If you’d let me.”

Your answer came in the form of a crushing hug. Your love was pouring into him again, this time of your own accord. You held onto each other, his hands biting into your skin, your own carding through his dark locks. You didn’t need words. Figuratively and literally. He felt everything in bright, flashing colors, he never wanted this moment to end. But it did. His phone rang.

Clear annoyance shined in both of your eyes. With a heavy sigh, he left your embrace, getting up to answer the call.

Another mission.

With the very recent revelations both of you had come to, the idea of him going on missions carried a lot more weight than it used to. Now in front of your apartment door, he put on his shoes, ready to head out to the League’s hideout. Dabi turned around, breath hitching when he saw you standing there frowning, eyes tearful. For some reason, you had a gut feeling this mission wouldn’t be so easy. You didn’t want him to go. And it was showing.

“C’mon, baby doll. Don’t give me that look. I’ll be back, I promise,” When you didn’t even crack a smile at the nickname he sighed. “When have I ever let you down, babe?” He quickly backtracked. “Okay, don’t answer that,”

You managed a small giggle, shaking your head. You approached him slowly, silently wrapping your arms around him. You relished in his quickening heartbeat. Pulling back, you placed your hands on his clothed shoulders. You edged forward, puckering your lips against his own, the point of contact allowing you to relay your inner turmoil to him. Your hands itched towards his face, fiddling gingerly with the multiple staples aligning his cheeks. “Come back, okay? I love you.”

Breath caught in his throat, Dabi tried to push the words setting him aflame through his lips, but he couldn’t. This was happening too fast; it was giving him whiplash. He didn’t know how to say those words yet, so he opted for calling out to you.

“(name)…”

Without even using your power, the conflict in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you pushed your forehead to rest against his. His love burned through you, so intense, so like him. With a tiny tug at your lips, you lulled the raging storm in his mind. “Shh, Dabi. I know.”

With a parting peck, he was out the door. He didn’t know what was to come out of this mission, but he did know that he now had one more reason to come out alive.

[teaplease1717]

Story: Ashes of Love and War

Chapter: 13 / ?

Couple: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo (TodoMomo)

Rating: M (for language and violence)

Betas: @flourchildwrites​ (Link)  & C’s Melody (Link) 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638800/chapters/71473683

Thank you everyone who still reads and follows this story! I have this arc done, but will be posting it slowly - think once a month (maybe a little faster depending on my schedule).

Anyways, in regards to this chapter, it’s a bit different. It will be from Momo’s pov again. It was originally supposed to be part of chapter 12, but then got too long and I needed time to think about the conversation with Aizawa so I decided to make this section its own chapter. But you can think of it as chapter 12.5.

Also, please don’t judge my strategizing and war planning too harshly.

XXXXXXXX

Momo followed automatically after Tokoyami and Todoroki downstairs. It was still dark outside.

A strange quiet had fallen over the orphanage after the attack. Men sat in a stupor in the courtyard as the able-bodied walked amongst them, checking for injuries in whispered voices.

In the far corner of the yard, carcasses of the stymphalian had been stacked for burning. Next to the pile, in a single file line, the shapes of unmoving men lay on the courtyard ground, ready for their burial ceremonies.

Momo dropped her gaze and tried not to count the dead. It wouldn’t do any good to think about it. All she could do was pray their souls were judged worthy of paradise in Elysium.

Tokoyami led them down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Aizawa was already there, standing over a table covered with a map of the island. He didn’t look up as they entered.

Momo studied him in the dim lighting of the room. The flames in the tripods flickered, casting dark shadows over his face, but Momo couldn’t read his expression. Whatever worry and exhaustion he had shown in Eri’s room was carefully concealed again.

The kitchen door opened behind her, and Asui entered with Fukukado.

The pirate captain’s arm hung in a sling. Momo noticed that Fukukado had cleaned the blood off of her face, but despite the remaining blush of battle, she looked gray.

“Causality count?” Aizawa asked in a clipped voice, finally looking up and meeting Fukukado’s narrowed gaze.

“Six dead. Two missing,” she said tightly. Her dark green eyes had lost all playfulness. She looked tired and stressed. “Half of my remaining men have serious wounds, and a quarter of those might not make it through the night.”

Aizawa’s lips thinned. For a moment, he was silent as if he were contemplating something; then he reached into his chiton.

“Asui collected what she could of the medicine from the stockroom.” His expression was grim as he pulled out a small leather bag. “There’s not much. We were only able to recover three bottles of Eri’s elixir,” he said, pulling the tinctures out and setting them on the table.

The statement fell on the room as heavy as if it were the night sky, and they were the titan Atlas. Momo’s legs buckled under her. She knew it had been bad but somehow she had hoped…

But, three. Only three? She covered her mouth with her hand and drew in a deep breath. That wouldn't be nearly enough to heal everyone. She shivered and wrapped her other arm around her stomach.

Next to her, Momo felt Todoroki shift closer.

Aizawa continued. “We’ll ration it amongst the critically injured. It should be enough to keep them hanging on long enough for us to make more once Eri is better.”

Fukukado’s expression flickered. “And when will that be? What’s her condition?”

Aizawa was silent for a moment. “In a week or two, when she’s sweated out the poison,” he said finally. Then he turned and looked at Momo. “For now, we’ll have to give them what we have. Yaoyorozu, there’s one barrel of alcohol left.” He laid his hand on something beside him, and for the first time, she noticed the lone wooden barrel. “Use it to help numb their pain and get them sleeping for now.”

Momo swallowed thickly and nodded.

“That leaves us to other pressing matters,” Aizawa continued.

He leaned forward and pressed his knuckles against the table. He stared down between his hands, and his expression rippled for a split second before he regained his composure. He straightened and stared around the room.

“We are out of food.” Momo sucked in a sharp breath. “It appears the stymphalian somehow found our food and wine storage.”

“But how?” Asui asked, pressing her finger to her chin. Her eyebrows pulled down. “We always make sure to secure the door and the stymphalian don’t have hands to remove the wood. How would they have been able to get in?”

“I don’t know, but they did,” Aizawa said. “I have a few of Fukukado’s men doing inventory now, but from the initial count, the most we have left is a week’s worth—if we ration. That doesn’t leave us a lot of time. The best option would be to take the pirate boat and retreat, but with so many hurt and the possibility that we could be attacked at sea, that is no longer a viable option either.”

Aizawa paused and took a breath; his nostrils flared. “I believe it’s obvious now that this was a coordinated attack to smoke us out. And, as much as I hate to play into those creatures’ plan, the only way out of this, for any of us, will be to counterattack. And quickly,” he said tightly. “We need to strike them when they’re not expecting it and before they get more power to retaliate.”

Momo’s stomach curled in dread. From the corner of her eye, Momo watched as Tokoyami went over to Asui’s side and put his hand on her shoulder. Asui reached up and squeezed it briefly.

Momo swallowed, pretending not to notice. The room felt cold, even though the night was still warm. Her arms tightened over her stomach.

“But what if they planned for it?” she asked quietly. “Like how they had planned to steal Eri tonight?”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, and Momo realized he hadn’t told anyone else yet.

Tokoyami looked up at her. “What do you mean—steal Eri?”

Momo shifted as everyone looked at her.

“The one pulling the strings,” Aizawa said slowly like the words were acid, “has told the stymphalian that if they eat Eri they will turn back into humans.”

“What?” Fukukado’s eyes widened. “How do you know this?”

Aizawa hesitated for a moment; Momo could see him roll his jaw. “When this first started a little over a month ago, a crow with purple and green plumage landed on the island and told the stymphalian that whoever ate the intestines of a half-monster with silver hair would turn back into a human.”

Momo’s eyes widened. That must have happened about the same time as when their boat sank. It couldn’t be, could it?

She brought her hand up to touch her throat.

“So you think a god is involved? Why didn’t you disclose this,” Tokoyami demanded.

Aizawa’s eyes flashed. “Would that have changed anything?”

Tokoyami didn’t answer. The truth was it wouldn’t have. They were indebted to Aizawa and had no way to leave the island even if they had wanted to.

“But—a god? I’ve never heard of gods using monsters...” Fukukado said.

“Just because they don’t doesn’t mean they can’t,” Todoroki said evenly.

Tokoyami’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed on Todoroki. “Do we even have enough power to fight against them all? Even without a god helping, we are at a disadvantage.” Tokoyami’s statement was to the room, but his eyes remained narrowed on Todoroki.

The demigod’s expression was a mask. His face was neutral as if the information didn’t change anything.

“That’s true,” Asui said quickly. “Don’t you think they are trying so hard because they have a plan to defeat us?”

Aizawa’s expression was hard. “It’s risky, but I think we can pull it off. Hado went to get additional help from some sympathizers and our own patron.”

Momo looked around the room; it was the first time she realized the aurai was gone.

“The stymphalian’s benefactor has stayed out of the fray—for now. But we don’t know how long that will last,” Aizawa said in a low voice. He was studying the room carefully. “We need to strike before the stymphalian realize we have others coming or before their patron steps in.”

“But can we do it by ourselves?” Asui asked.

Aizawa rolled his jaw. “Ideally, we’d wait for Hado to return with help, but we don’t have time. We can’t afford to suffer another attack.” He took a deep breath and looked around the room, his black eyes hard and unyielding. “We’ll have to wage an offensive tomorrow—before dusk.”

He looked down at the map and pointed at a space off the island where the pirate boat was docked. “We’ll put all the injured that can still walk and the children in Fukukado’s ship. The rest of us will break into two groups.” He dragged his finger across the map to point at the rocky northern part of the island. “Todoroki, Tokoyami, Asui, and I will attack the main lair. Fukukado, you and your men will be our back-up, helping to guard this place but also nimble enough to come to our aid if need be.”

Aizawa looked up, and his expression was intent. “We need this to be quick and decisive. There is no second shot.”

“What about me?” Momo asked, stepping forward. “Should I be in your group or Fukukado’s?”

“Yaoyorozu?” Aizawa paused and looked at her. “Your shoulder is still hurt. You'll go with the children and injured to the ship.”

It felt like she’d been slapped. Her stomach dropped, and Momo swallowed but forced herself to straighten as she met his dark gaze. “It’s a minor injury. I can still fight.”

“Your job will be to act as the healer and to look after the men,” Aizawa said sternly.

Basically, to stay in a woman’s role.

Momo drew a short breath and felt rebellious rage burn across her chest, but she pushed the anger away. Her fingers curled into fists at her side.

They couldn’t have an argument here. Not now. They needed to stay unified. She gave a small, resigned nod, and it seemed to satisfy Aizawa enough. He turned to address the rest of the room.

“For now, Todoroki, help Fukukado and me move the injured inside. Asui, you and Tokoyami start preparing beds for them; we have some spare sheets in the closet. You know where they are. Yaoyorozu, get the men as comfortable as possible. Divide up the three vials of medicine the best you can. As for the morning patrol, I will take it.” He paused and studied them for a moment. Then he turned and folded up the map. “That is all for now but not for tonight.”

With that, Aizawa adjourned the meeting and swept out of the room with Fukukado and Asui. Todoroki hesitated. Momo could feel his eyes watching her closely, but she refused to acknowledge him.

She was angry. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean she didn’t have people she wanted to protect.

After a moment, Todoroki left, and Momo stood alone with Tokoyami.

Tokoyami seemed uncomfortable. It was the first time they had been alone together since their argument over a week ago. And she was surprised that he had stayed. A small part of her was grateful for his presence—it meant that he still cared. But even that didn't overshadow the feeling of being left behind, like useless baggage.

She trembled.

“You’re angry,” Tokoyami said after a moment, looking at her.

Momo was tempted to roll her eyes but ignored the urge.

“Yes.” She turned and walked over to the kitchen table and stared down at the three remaining vials Aizawa had left. The silver liquid glittered. “The strategy for tomorrow is too risky. I understand but-but—" Her hands curled into fists. "How could Aizawa just decide that I should be swept aside to tend to the wounded? I’m a strong fighter. I can help!”

“It wasn’t Aizawa,” Tokoyami said, his voice soft.

Momo looked sharply at him. “What?”

Tokoyami swallowed visibly. Then he straightened and met her eyes. “When I was down here earlier, I asked Aizawa to consider the option of keeping you with the injured.”

Momo stared at him, mouth open. Her mind faltered.

How?

Why?

Did Tokoyami think her unreliable because she had been growing closer to Todoroki? Was this out of anger? Retaliation?

As if reading her mind, Tokoyami continued quickly. “It wasn’t because of your relationship with Todoroki.”

Momo’s eyes narrowed. “Then why–”

“You're human.”

“So, I'm a liability?” she snapped.

Momo knew it was unfair, but she was so sick of it. She was sick of others making her feel like she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself—Aizawa, Todoroki, and now Tokoyami.

“That's not it! There are just some things a human can't do against overwhelming evil.” Tokoyami moved towards her. “It's going to be a tough battle as it is. Please understand.”

If she wasn't so hurt, a part of Momo knew she would have agreed with him. She had always been a healer. That was her area of expertise, but the fact that he didn’t even consult with her stung.

She pressed her lips together. "But I can fight. You know I can fight. I saved Eri earlier and was holding my own against the stymphalian.”

Tokoyami’s eyes flashed. “What you did earlier was reckless—jumping off the veranda to catch Eri. You could have been seriously hurt. Your skill is adequate against a couple of humans but not against creatures of darkness. And tonight proved it.”

“But what about all those other times?” Her voice shook with rage. “I defended you at the temple, didn’t I? And I chased off Moonfish and held my own—”

“And all those times Todoroki had to save you.” His voice was bitter.

Momo’s lips twisted, and she looked away quickly, her chest constricting. His words weren’t untrue, but they hurt, like knives digging into her heart. It felt like her chest was being hollowed out, and she swallowed thickly.

“You’re always angry at me these days.” She could feel the pressure in her cheeks and eyes. Her fingers tightened into fists until her knuckles turned white. Then she looked up, meeting his eyes. "Don’t you trust me?" she asked softly.

Tokoyami's expression flickered, and he at least had the audacity to look abashed. "I trust you. Of course, I do,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “But these last weeks have been taxing and extenuating circumstances. And when I saw you almost die tonight...” His voice broke slightly, and he swallowed before continuing. “You're human, Yaoyorozu. There are just some things a human can't do. No matter how good of a fighter you are, your flesh is mortal. If you go out there—if you fight—you'll die."

He stepped closer and grasped her shoulder gently. “With Eri sick, if you get hurt, there's no one to heal you. Please understand.” He squeezed her good shoulder tenderly. “I can’t afford to lose you," he said softly, releasing her.

Momo didn’t say anything. She dropped her gaze to the ground. She felt nauseous.

Tokoyami hesitated. He opened his beak as if he were going to say more, then shut it firmly and turned, exiting the kitchen and closing the door behind him.

Momo heard the door click shut and stood there trembling for a few moments. Her chest hurt, as if her heart was in the pit of her stomach.

Tokoyami had said that this was for her own safety, but his words had been hollow. The truth was she had become a nuisance.

She was so weak and pathetic. No wonder he wanted to abandon her. She couldn’t do anything, couldn’t protect anyone. All she ever did was cause problems, and now she was suffering the consequences for her actions.

Momo’s jaw tightened as she struggled not to cry.

If she were more reliable, if she were more likable, then no one would have abandoned her.

Claustrophobia enveloped her, cold and suffocating. She couldn’t stay here. She needed to get out. She felt trapped and useless.

Choking, Momo turned and hurried out of the house.

Her feet carried her out to the edge of the cliffs. The wind whipped around her. The smell of dark magic had lessened, replaced with the sharp tang of blood and burning flesh.

Momo paused, looking out at the sea, and breathed deeply. It felt like the world was caving in around her.

In the back of her mind, Momo realized that she was having a panic attack. She had seen these symptoms in the men and women of Troy over. But she had never...she was made of stronger material than this...

Her eyes started to burn, and Momo wiped her face with the back of her hand. This was so unsightly and nothing that a priestess of Apollo should be. She was the top healer at Apollo’s temple, she wasn’t supposed to break down like this, especially when Tokoyami was only asking her to do her duty as a priestess.

But she felt betrayed, and she hated herself for the feeling.

Tokoyami was only asking what was reasonable, and Momo knew she would have done the same. But it hurt. Fukukado’s men were human too, and Tokoyami didn’t care that they were fighting—just her.

It felt like everything was falling apart between them.

Back in Troy, she had prayed to the gods for Tokoyami’s safety. She had been willing to trade anything, and the gods had answered her wishes. They had sent her Todoroki, and it should have been enough. But she had somehow thought that everything would stay the same between Tokoyami and her. However, the harder she fought, the faster everything seemed to fall apart, like sand slipping between her fingers.

And it was all her fault. Wishes had consequences. The gods never gave anything for free.

Momo drew in a sharp breath and rubbed at her eyes. It seemed all she could do lately was cry.

She was pathetic.

[cake-writes]

Fleeting

Pairing: 1940′s!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: War References, Fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Love is like war: easy to begin, but too hard to stop.

James Buchanan Barnes was weak for a woman in uniform.

He didn’t know what triggered it in him: the novelty of women in the workforce over the past few years, ever since the war began; the fact that pretty girls were such a commodity for deployed soldiers, except on a long-awaited furlough; or the knowledge that he was putting his life on the line for a future with a beautiful dame someday, white picket fence ‘n all. 

Probably a mix of all three.

He’d always had a particular fondness for secretaries, so primed, primped, and dolled up for work and play. By the time he shipped out to Europe, cheesecakes were all the rage: photos of scantily-clad women that he and the other GI’s pinned up to the wall. Rosie the Riveter was a particular favourite amongst the 107th.

But the nurses.

Christ, those beauties – strong, beautiful women who saw more blood and gore than him, radiant flowers in a hellish wasteland. The brutality of war was a horror better left unseen, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for what was right. 

You were, too.

The two of you met in Azzano.

In October of 1943, a large portion of the 107th had either been killed or taken prisoner. Wounded soldiers who made their way back were tended to by your gentle hand, but the imprisoned men rescued in November were in far worse condition, having been experimented upon by the enemy in an act of savagery. 

He was one of them. 

Physically, he wasn’t too bad off. Just a couple of cuts and bruises, nothing to write home about. Predictably, he hammed it up, whined that it hurt and asked, “Gonna kiss it better, sweetheart?” when you were done bandaging him up. You’d heard it all before. Soldiers liked to flirt.

But those eyes. His eyes were the softest blue, almost like a dream.

The kiss he pressed to the back of your hand made your heart flutter in your chest. His skin was calloused and rough against yours, chapped and dry from constant scrubbing.

As for his name:

Bucky, he said it was. Bucky Barnes.

 Over the next few days at camp, he visited you in between his briefings and kept you company during your breaks. In the beginning, you’d been reluctant. It wouldn't do you any good to get attached here, but you did anyway. He bribed you with coffee, which the two of you shared outside the makeshift hospital. Coffee quickly turned to cigarettes and laughter.

Bucky Barnes was a bad influence – a bad influence with a penchant for making you blush. 

There was a certain innocence in the time you spent together. More than once you were forced to take shelter from the rain in the nearby storage tent, just you and him, stifling and sweet all at once. Despite the awful things he'd been through, he always offered you a weary smile and a kind shoulder right when you needed it most.

But time was fleeting, and all too soon, he was granted furlough. Back to London. Back to normality.

A ration of chocolate was his parting gift to you.

Red lipstick on his cheek was yours.

The next time you saw him was in France, on New Year’s Eve. 

There were no festivities, for the small town had been bombed a few days prior and only a handful of structures remained. Your nurses’ station was one of them, a ramshackle setup in one of the few remaining buildings, the safest: three reinforced stories made of stone. 

Everywhere he went, he looked for you. He wasn’t sure why. If he was honest, it was wishful thinking – you’d never see each other again. War had a tendency to end friendships before they could even begin, not to mention lives.

Somehow, he found you anyway. Amidst the death, there you were, a beacon of light in the darkness. Unforgettable.

The smile on your face when he tapped you on the shoulder made his heart warm. Your eyes almost seemed to glow in the moonlight, and for the umpteenth time, he was rendered speechless.

The two of you soon found yourselves on the rooftop, sharing a cigarette like you’d done so many times before. Your soft laughter spilled over the ledge until you peered out at the ashes and rubble below, a harsh reminder of where you were. Europe. Not home. The front lines were just a few clicks up the road, where he’d be headed in the morning.

Time was fleeting. 

At the stroke of midnight, Billie Holiday came on the radio, achingly beautiful in the otherwise silent night. He pulled you up for a dance, slow and sweet, and for a moment everything was right in the world. Just for a moment.

I'll find you in the morning sun And when the night is new I'll be looking at the moon But I'll be seeing you 

He caught another glimpse of you in early March of 1944. 

Spring had arrived in Monte Cassino. The flowers were just starting to peek through the melting snow, but the battle raged on. 

He'd been heading out of town on the back of a truck full of his fellow soldiers, but the moment he saw you in the crowd, he jumped up and shouted your name loud as hell. Copped a few looks from it from Steve and the boys, but he didn’t care.

You heard him plain as day, but you didn’t spot him until after a small bundle of letters landed on the ground in front of you. When you looked up, you found him waving with a grin on his face so contagious, you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Letters. He’d written you letters. 

He just hadn’t known where to send them.

There was one for every week you’d been apart. Eleven letters. Eleven ways to show he cared, and with each one you fell for him just a little more. He wrote to you about his travels, about the things that got him through it all: a field of wildflowers, one of which he’d dried and placed inside the envelope; a quiet farm in Italy, seemingly untouched by the war; Valentine’s Day spent in a cold, wintery trench, made tolerable only by how much he wished you were with him, keeping him warm.

By some miracle, he’d given you an address on the off-chance you wanted to write to him, too. By some other miracle, you did. Whenever he received one, his fingers traced your curly script.

Dear Sergeant.

Dear James.

Dear Bucky.

The one constant was that you always signed your letters with love.

It wasn’t until the 5th of June that you saw each other again, when you opened the door to a bouquet of flowers.

You’d been relieved of your duties for a week – furlough, in a way. London wasn’t bustling like you expected it to be, but bombed and weary. So were your fellow nurses, a handful of whom you’d met before. The all-female dormitory should have allowed you to decompress, but you couldn’t relax at all knowing what was happening to the world.

The moment you saw those soft blue eyes peeking over the bouquet, however, your worries ceased to exist. 

For the first time, he was able to take you on a proper date. The sweet scent of your shampoo helped him forget that he’d be heading back out in the morning, to yet another Hydra facility. It was his duty to serve, but what he really wanted was to serve you.

He couldn’t entertain that thought knowing that he might not come back. 

He did anyway.

You were sure that the movie was enjoyable, but all you could focus on was the warm, heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders. If only you’d met in peacetime, then maybe your blossoming relationship would have a fighting chance of survival. As it was, there was no guarantee that either of you would make it through.

You couldn’t let yourself hope. 

You did anyway.

All the tension fell away after the movie, when he took your hand and laced your fingers together, like it was the most natural thing in the world. In some way, it was.

Although you couldn’t have walked any slower on the way back to your doorstep, time was fleeting and all too soon, it was time to say goodbye. The two of you could hear the other nurses giggling as they peered out the windows, waiting for what you both desperately wanted, a kiss – but he was a gentleman.

He knew how unlikely it would be for him to survive Normandy, so he let you go.

 In the morning, you woke far too early in hopes that you’d be able to see him off. The trucks were already on their way out of town by the time you got outside – noisy, just like your heartbeat in your ears as you anxiously searched for him amongst the other soldiers. 

The gleam of a brightly-coloured shield was what caught your attention, and there he was sitting next to it amidst a heated discussion with the rest of his team. At your shout of his name, his eyes swept over the crowd until he spotted you right in front, waving. You quickly tossed him a gift, a little something wrapped in a delicate floral handkerchief.

He caught it easily. You had impeccable aim.

What he found hidden inside the fabric was a ration of chocolate just like the first time he’d said goodbye, along with a little note in familiar script: 

You come back to me, Bucky Barnes.

And he did. 

August 25th. The waning edge of summer. The weather was lovely, bright and sunny to match the jovial mood throughout the encampment. Paris had been liberated at last – a small victory, but a victory nonetheless and one step closer to ending the war.

In your hands was a bag of bread, which fell to the ground when you saw him there, standing right in front of you like nothing had changed. Before you could even react, his lips were hot on yours, a searing brand of love and passion and months of pent-up adoration. 

James Buchanan Barnes took your breath away.

“I love you,” he told you over and over again, pressing kisses to your face, your cheeks, your forehead – as if he could never kiss you enough. “Love you too damn much, sweetheart.” 

In between his kisses and your happy tears, you couldn’t help but smile. 

It didn’t matter that time was fleeting. 

You loved him, too.

References, if you’re a history nerd like me:

Battle of Azzano (not real), October-November 1943 (x)

Battle of Monte Cassino (real), January-May 1944 (x)

D-Day/Normandy Landings (real), June 6, 1944 (x)

Liberation of Paris (real), August 25, 1944 (x)

[sapphicunicorn]

[MonHun] Raging Flames and Dancing Swords - 1,731 words

It's been three days of chasing a single Glavenus. Tavia's tired, hungry, and wants a bath. She wants to go back to her own solo hunts but she also really wants her cut of the reward. All she has to do is cut off the tail. Simple, right?

More exploration of Tavia and Ryiel, my girls I've been building since Tri/4. Have some action! (The villages of Aquarin and Sleat don't exist, I made them up, but the Hinmerun Mountains exist in the Schrade Region!)

Part 1 of 3 (parts 2 & 3 will be posted on AO3 & FFnet and linked here!)

Tavia threw fresh twigs into the coals of last night’s fire and stoked the embers. Smoke mixed with the early morning mist, tickling her eyes and nose. Her stomach rolled with hunger after yesterday’s hike. They’d thrown up their tents and fell over with exhaustion before they could decide an order for the nightly watch.

Thankfully today was the last day of the hunt.

[Read on ao3 || ffnet || under the cut]

The party had followed the Glavenus for two days, trading blows and cautiously letting it escape across the mountain forests, chasing it further from the nearby village. It was exhausted, the spines along its back broken, a substantial gash in its side where their gunlancer broke through thick plates. All the party had to do was follow the line of broken trees and blood, pushing it from its desperate meals until it settled into a well hidden nest.

The party leader sent a letter for a guild rep yesterday. If everything went according to plan, they could load up the corpse and collect their handsome reward before the sun set.

Tavia just had to slice off the tail. Simple.

She stirred up the fire until it swallowed the twigs, lively and warm, before settling down to her rations. She missed Guild-sanctioned camps and the fully stocked canteen. Starting her morning without eggs and a hot drink was no morning she wanted to face, but here she was, the first of the party to rise.

Clouds speckled the lilac sky, distant birds making themselves known with noisy clarity. Tavia swatted at the bugs that whined around her ears and took another bite of her rations.

Tavia hated nature. She hated dry salted meat. But today was the last day.

Behind her, a tent flap ruffled and the gunlancer stepped out, fully armored except his helmet, and stretched his arms wide. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air, he groaned as his bones popped and ran his hands through his short gray hair.

“Ah, just when I think I’m getting too old for this, we get a view like that.” He nodded towards the horizon, the hilltops and trees covered with mist and haloed by the rising sun.

“I’d trade it for a sturdy roof over my head,” Tavia said. Two days of traveling and fighting and she still didn’t know her team by name; no one seemed offended that when she did address them, it was by their weapon. “Give me a rundown tavern with watery ale and lice in the beds over this outdoor living any day.”

“You city-dwellers are all the same. You’d trade your freedom for those walls, eh?”

Tavia spit a chunk of gristle into the fire; it spit and hissed like an angry cat. “Maybe not that far, but walls are better than wide open spaces. Anything can show up in a spot like this.”

“That’s why we sit watch.” He frowned, his eyes searching around their paltry campsite. “Speaking of, where’s Royse?”

Tavia shrugged, not entirely sure which member had last watch. Did she even take a shift? A hazy part of her remembered leaning against a tree, her knife across her lap and her long sword on the ground beside her. Did someone switch with her? She barely remembered crawling out of her tent. She only remembered hunger.

“Beats me,” Tavia said. “We seem to have made it through the night, though. Unless this is all some ugly nightmare.”

The gunlancer looked up suddenly and Tavia held her breath, strained her ears. Did a predator sneak up? No. Somewhere in the distance was the clatter of cart wheels and hooves, and the raspy singing of felynes.

The gunlancer smiled, his lined face suddenly youthful. “Nah, it’s a dream come true. I’ll get the rest of ‘em up.”

He disappeared into the other two tents and it wasn’t long before the other members of the party stumbled out. The party leader—a gunner as old, but not as gray, as the gunlancer—rubbed his bald head as he sucked on a strip of jerky. The hammer user—a woman with biceps bigger than Tavia’s—sat across the fire and began to rebraid her hair.

The Guild cart was pulled by a small team of anteka; three energetic felynes bounced in the back, their paws waving wildly as their song came to an end. Beside the cart, dressed in blinding white and red, the Guild representative walked with her nose in a book. If it was anyone else, Tavia would claim it was impossible to hike and read at the same—but this was Ryiel. For her, it was expected.

Ryiel glanced up and waved with a smile. Tavia’s heart fluttered, her ration nearly stuck in her throat. Coming up the hillside, Ryiel looked like a dream. Her uniform was spotless, cap still straight on her head, not a single golden thread on her capelet snagged after hiking. Her dark skin was dewey, her black eyes sparkling as she tucked one of her microbraids behind her ear.

Meanwhile Tavia was in her underclothes, sweat baked into the fibers from two days of fighting, her milky skin crusted with mud, greasy red hair stuck to her head. She smelled like a Congalala’s backside.

Not exactly the way she wanted to meet Ryiel again, but if Tavia was being honest, she didn’t expect to ever see Ryiel out in the wilderness. Tavia had found her plenty of times inside Dundorma or small towns, and Tavia often spent too much time searching for her only to find her bent over reports and books. More than twice, Tavia enticed Ryiel out of her bookish den for dinner and drinks.

But Tavia was intentionally dressed up for those occasions. She did her best to seduce the Guild girl who was known for her meticulous reporting, her always tidy appearance. What would Ryiel think of her now?

The leader stepped forward to greet the Guild representative. She traded her small book with a large leather-bound journal from her rucksack and opened to a marked page.

“This is the party of Emil, Royse, and Tavia, led by Marco, correct?” Ryiel asked. Her soft voice sent chills down Tavia’s spine.

“That’s us, ma’am,” the bald leader, Marco, said. “We’ve got the Glavenus a few miles west from here.”

“Already dead?”

“We’re putting it down today and hope to deliver the tail to the village chief.”

Ryiel consulted her journal again. “‘The village of Aquarin requests the removal of one Glavenus endangering the vicinity. Reward requirements include hunting the aforementioned monster and presenting the tail at the village; the hunter, hunting party, or Guild may choose what to do with the corpse,’” she read. “Is someone claiming the body?”

“I am,” said the hammer user. “Got a blacksmith willing to make me some new armor if I bring it in.”

No one discussed the specifics with Tavia. Thankfully she wasn’t shopping for new weapons or armor. She just wanted the money.

Ryiel pulled a pencil from under her cap and made a few marks in the journal. She smiled with satisfaction at Marco. “Excellent. Should I wait here until you’re finished?”

“It should be safe enough,” Marco said. “We’ve been trying to push it away from the village so I can’t see it doubling back this way.”

“I can stay behind if things go wrong,” the gunlancer said.

“Emil, come on, you know—”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” Ryiel said with a wicked smile. She motioned to the felynes still bouncing in the cart. “Don’t worry about us. Focus on your hunt and we’ll approach when you’re ready to load up.”

Marco looked over the party, his apprehension plain on his face.

Tavia knew from experience that Guild representatives weren’t pushovers; while some hunters traded the field for paper, other Guild reps were washouts from training, people who couldn’t make the leap from greenhorn to officially licensed. Everyone who worked within the Guild had some sort of weapons training.

And Tavia happened to know a bit more about Ryiel’s experience than she wanted to share.

“Let’s just get it done,” the hammer user said. “My feet hurt and I’m ready to soak in a hot bath.”

“Seconded,” said Tavia. She stood and stretched out her back. “It’s probably slept less than we have and it’s definitely lost more blood than us. Should be an easy target.”

“Alright, alright,” Marco sighed. He went towards his tent. “Let’s suit up and get moving.”

The gunlancer—what was his name, Emil?—was the only one in armor and was already tearing down his tent. The hammer user—her name must have been Royse—jumped up, her green hair now in a single braid, and entered her tent to dress. After Emil rolled up his tent, he offered to collect some firewood for Ryiel, in case the hunt went longer than expected, and disappeared into the forest.

It was just Tavia and Ryiel near the fire.

Tavia’s palms itched to reach out and stroke Ryiel’s face, but her hands were filthy, blood and dirt caked under her nails. And maybe Ryiel wouldn’t appreciate the touch, anyway. They were still new to each other. In Ryiel’s own words they weren’t official . . . yet.

Ryiel offered a dazzling grin that sent Tavia’s heart racing. “I hoped it was you,” she said quietly. She kept her distance from Tavia but it wasn’t cold, just professional. For a quick moment it looked like she wanted to lean into Tavia—and then she was gone, turning away towards the cart and unhooking the anteka. The felynes crawled off the cart and circled the fire.

“It’s good to see you, Ryiel,” Tavia said. That was safe enough. “I didn’t know you came out on the field.”

“I go wherever the Guild needs me. You wouldn’t know it by looking, but I actually know my way around the Hinmerun Mountains very well.”

“Am I going to hear the story behind that one?” Tavia asked. She loved to listen to Ryiel talk about herself, but Tavia still didn’t know where she came from or how she came to the Guild. Tavia had already spilled her simple story; hers was boring, easy. Ryiel made her beginnings seem mysterious.

Ryiel winked, a finger held up in front of her lips. “Maybe one day. You better get dressed for battle first. Happy hunting today.”

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Not Killing Him

Orion Crown sat in his big, mean-looking SUV in the old parking lot. The dry heat of Vegas had ripped up the asphalt here over the past years, leaving it pockmarked and littered with potholes. His own car and one other vehicle in the lot were the only ones parked there, immobile, like silent steel corpses, cooling in the shadow of some abandoned warehouse.

The thick windows shielded him from the noise of traffic in the distance, so Orion sat in a weirdly muffled silence. Staring at the entrance of the derelict warehouse with its crooked, ajar doors. He felt sick to his stomach because he had slept little more than a few hours per night and his forehead was burning up.

He picked up his phone from the passenger seat, snatching it from where it was resting next to a loaded semi-automatic pistol. He thumbed through the display, checking his recent direct messages on your social media platform of choice.

Orion Crown, social media darling and super-giant of the statusphere. He flipped through business proposal messages from other influencers, something marginally important from his YouTube video editor, and an array of annoyed passive-aggressive texts from his producer-slash-partner. He let the list slide to a stop, with this finger hovering over the display. Hovering just over the message from “The Glass King” with the preview field only saying that it contained a GIF.

The internet star dithered. He could refuse to walk into that warehouse and refuse to use that gun. His career and life would be over, though.

The alternative was sucking it up, gripping the cold metal of the pistol in his palm, walking in there, and blasting away. Didn’t matter who it was. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

Even though seeing the message’s contents disturbed him every time he reviewed it, his thumb descended in slow motion. Like time almost ground to a halt, like the universe was trying to stop him from watching it again.

He tapped the message and it flicked onto full display on his screen.

The animated GIF flashed with disturbing imagery, all of it cut so quickly and abruptly that it became impossible to take it all in. Words and symbols displayed for fractions of seconds so that the mind could not really grasp what it read, and video footage that may or may not contain clipped recordings of overt violence. Violence he, himself, had authored.

The glare of his phone reflected in Orion’s glassy eyes, pupils dilating with dread and disassociation. Knowing that he recognized some of the things presented here so subliminally and viscerally, feeling guilt even though he had always rationalized the terrible things he had done in the past.

How was anybody better? How could anybody be better?

I am not a bad person, Orion thought. Nobody is.

After watching the animated GIF loop countless times, glued to the phone’s display as if bound in a trance, he put the phone back down onto the passenger seat, a hand’s breadth away from the gun. He barely registered the words that followed far down below the window of animation.

The threats. The instructions.

The sentences that had brought him to the locker where he obtained the gun. The address of this warehouse. And his mission, to kill anybody he saw inside this place.

Why didn’t this “Glass King” person just ask for money? Why this? How did the Glass King even get that footage? It had been destroyed long ago.

None of it made any sense.

No matter how many times he mulled it over, Orion Crown—born with the more unglamorous name of Kyle Howard—his sense of self-preservation, greed, and existential dread always won out. Always looped him back to doing as he was told as long as it served his own purposes. To get this over with, and walk away, and never let anybody know of his dirty secrets.

If the Glass King put any of that out—if they aired out any of Orion Crown’s dirty laundry—then he would be out of the game. Done. Probably also in prison.

Orion looked over to the gun. Stared at it, taking in every hard and unforgiving edge and angle of its sleek industrial design.

He had before, and he pondered it again, now: to just pick it up and stick the nuzzle right into his own mouth. Pull the trigger and end it right now.

But his vanity and pride, masked with religious guilt and eclipsed by copious amounts of doublethink, led him to believe that this was the only way.

He grabbed the gun and weighed it in his hand. Orion licked his lips and they felt funny. Not chapped, but uneven. Slimy. He bit his lip and chewed without realizing it, while his gaze swept up and down the crumbling building of this damned warehouse.

In one fluid motion, he got out of his car, slammed the door shut, and walked towards the entrance of the warehouse. The heat outside his car, even here in the shade—combined with the inexplicable fever he was running—made his head swim as if he had been drinking nonstop for the past day and night.

He gripped that pistol in his fist like his life depended on it. And as far as Orion was concerned, it did.

The rusted hinges on the big metal double doors squealed and he cringed at the sound of it, freezing in place. His heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears. Eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sign of anybody in there. Whoever had parked the other car had to be in here, and Orion’s job was to gun them down.

Something heavy, like a brick hitting a pile of rubble, echoed through the decrepit and dingy halls.

Orion’s hand jerked and he pointed the gun out in front of himself, aiming at every dark corner and little thing he could perceive. With nobody in sight, the adrenaline pumped through his body, suffusing him with a quiet rage and driving the sweat to erupt from his pores, clouding his senses and sapping his reason.

He sidled through the entrance and crept through the abandoned place, twitching at any possible sound he thought he heard and any shadow he saw in the corner of his eyes, expecting someone, anybody, to jump out at him.

Something chugged and sputtered, causing him to freeze once more. He continued sneaking on when he recognized those sounds to be coming from a gas-powered generator, hidden somewhere deeper within the warehouse’s bowels.

He kind of hoped that someone would jump out at him from a blind spot. Thinking it would be much easier to pull the trigger if it felt like self defense.

Instead, he found a large, wide, pillared hall, awaiting him at the end of a long twisting and turning through claustrophobia-inducing corridors.

Someone had arranged seven door frames in a perfect circle, bolted down with plywood feet to support their weight, sawdust and power tools littering the dirty floors, and that distinct smell of freshly cut wood hanging in the air.

Each door frame held a door, closed and looking far too new to fit into this warehouse. An array of four construction site spotlights illuminated the doors from their center, connected to a tangle of bright orange power cord extensions, leading his sweeping gaze to the generator he had been hearing chug away all this time.

The doors were just standing there, out in the open, connected to no walls. Leading nowhere.

Orion gripped the pistol in both hands, holding it outstretched far in front of himself. He had never fired a gun before in his life. Without realizing it, he both wanted the thing to be as far away as possible from himself, but also wanted to use it and for things to be over fast.

But nobody was here. Right?

Wrong.

Arriving in the center of the seven doors, he blinked and inspected a small pile of objects heaped up in between the four spotlights.

A bunch of broken smartphones, a black wig, a small cracked hand mirror, a pile of about twenty credit cards that had been sloppily cut in half, a bunch of different keys that looked far too old to fit the locks on the doors here, and all of the objects rested on top of a local city map that someone had drawn all over with a black magic marker.

A pebble crunched underneath a boot. But not Orion’s shoe. He swiveled, almost getting dizzy at his own speed as he pointed the gun at the source of the noise.

Standing only steps away from the other person, he held the pistol out and swallowed. No matter how many times he had tried to mentally prepare for this moment, he hesitated and his index finger trembled instead of squeezing around the trigger.

Nobody jumping out at him. Just standing there.

She stared into the barrel of his gun for a split second and then met his gaze. A woman in her twenties, dressed like a man. Or—at second glance—androgynous, like she was in some sort of getup for a rock or punk band from the 1990s. Clad in a ratty leather jacket and dark jeans; covered in studs on her clothing, a chain hanging from her belt, and spikes protruding from a choker around her neck; way too much makeup on her face; and a poorly-cut hair-do of shaved sides and long top that could constitute as a fashion crime.

More distracting, however, was the hand she held in her hand. Orion did a double take on that before he fully absorbed what he saw there. A waxen hand with candlewicks sticking out from the fingertips, gripped firmly in her slender hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked Orion. She squinted at him.

He squeezed the trigger. It didn’t work. The fucking gun refused to work.

Orion turned it over and looked at it and realized that it had a safety setting which he had forgotten to take care of before walking into the building.

Clink. Snap.

The woman flicked a lighter on and guided it to the waxen hand in her hand and he had flicked the safety and pointed the gun at her and the next thing Orion knew, his wrists hurt. And so did his neck. And his lower back.

Chafing against exposed skin, coarse rope and the smell of burnt candles still filled his nostrils. He began thrashing but found that his limbs did not obey his instinct to struggle against his bonds because of how tightly he was tied down. He scraped his skin against something like rough rock or rusty metal behind him.

Blinking and fighting the fever back down, the taste of iron clung to his tongue. His vision blurred here and there and reality caught back up to him with disjointed delay. She had tied him to something in sight of the circle of seven doors.

The woman crouched in front of one of the doors, her back turned to him.

With a loud PLOP, she opened something in her hands and whatever she was doing, it resulted in the door being splattered with something dark and red.

Hoarse, the words croaked out of his throat and left him sounding more like a toad. “Hey,” Orion emitted. “Let me go!”

The woman whispered something and it dawned on him that it was no response to him.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re gonna get into so much trouble if you don’t let me go,” he said. But it really was just pathetic pleading, masquerading as feeble threats. “Police’ll be all over your ass, lady.”

She continued whispering and splashed more of the dark crimson liquid over the next door, to its left.

Something crunched. It drew both Orion’s attention, and that of the woman. They both stared at the thing crawling into the large hall, emerging from the corridors he had entered from. The way they paused, paralyzed with disbelief—and the failure of the human mind’s capability to process what they were looking at—took in the thing moving along the floor.

It looked like a pile of trash, like someone had kicked over a garbage can and the contents of four weeks of refuse had spilled out over the ground. With a stench to match. But parts of it looked fleshy, or sponge-like. Wobbling but staying whole, like a block of jello. Other bits, like stalks, or tentacles, tiny and too many to count, coiling and recoiling and almost like they were looking in every direction, but seeing without any discernible eyes.

Death and evil incarnate, crawling over the filthy floors. Hungry, but slow. Creeping. Part of the world’s abandoned things, coalesced and fused into something awful, something trapped in between the realm of the living and the realm of non-existence; a vessel to something worse, something spawned in the darkest recesses and the deepest abyss of human sin. Crawling, and more than one. Another pile of living muck and vomit-inducing presence followed. And another. And another.

Rejects.

They headed towards the seven doors with painful slowness. But one of them began veering away from the rest, inching closer towards Orion.

Thwuck. Shlack. Scrape.

Orion wanted to throw up. He started wriggling, thrashing, fighting against his bonds, but none of it helped. He looked back at the woman in desperation.

She breathed through her teeth, “Shit.”

Haste colored her every movement now and she haphazardly sprayed more liquid onto the doors. One by one. She whispered all the while, though the whispers had made way to hectic chanting. Orion had no chance in understanding it, for the words sounded nothing like any language he had ever heard before.

Almost matching the sounds made by the Rejects, creeping forth.

Scrape. Flesh. Shlef. Thwuck.

The Reject crawled closer. Ever closer to him.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, first blurring his sight a little, and then a lot. Orion had no time or space to realize how that might have been better, he only felt the deep-rooted dread in his stomach. The certainty of death by this abomination, crawling up to him. Only an arm’s length away from his kicking feet.

The stench intensified as the thing got closer, robbing him of any speech, making him wretch.

Images of the GIF on his phone flashed in his mind. The violence he had inflicted, captured on camera—his own recordings, not meant for public consumption—sent to him by the Glass King.

Just like these monsters had been sent by the Glass King.

Orion screamed for help.

A figure in a long black duster emerged from the corridors, standing still at the edge of the large hall, staring at the seven doors. Orion screamed for help from him, now. But within just a few beats of his heart, pounding so hard that it wanted to burst from his chest, he knew deep down that this man was the master of the Rejects.

No—this man was the Glass King, and he cared nothing for Orion’s plight. Hell, he probably enjoyed it. Orion sensed that just much malice from the presence of his man, and his imagination ran wild in response to the evil emanating from his body, hitting his entire being like a truck.

“Will you even be you when you return from that place? If you return from the house?” asked the man, directing his words at the woman by the doors.

Cold and uncaring about Orion, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs. Because something cold and wet and slimy slapped against the bottom of his shoe. And slithered up it, tugging at shoe laces, wrapping around the leg of his pants by his ankle, and applying pressure. Pulling itself upwards.

Onto him.

The woman never stopped chanting, flinging blood at those doors and then sticking something white and misshapen into the keyhole of one of the brass knobs, exposed by the glaring cone of light from one of the spots. She stopped chanting.

“You can’t stop change. Everything changes. That’s all you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?” she shouted. Anger making her voice tremble. Also something insecure. Or fear.

She ripped the door open and ran through it and slammed it shut behind her, but she didn’t emerge from the other side.

Just gone. Vanished into thin air.

Orion had neither eyes nor mind for this phenomenon, however. He only felt the many tiny tendrils of trash touching, feeling, finding their way up his limbs. A path of disgusting discovery, exploring his body like an alien creature trying to figure out human anatomy, but in reality just so depraved and sinister that it pretended to be doing so when it fed on his festering dread and despair.

Was this what it was like to be helpless? To be used, and chewed out?

To cry for help, but be ignored?

He had no capacity left for clean, deep thoughts. Only terror filled his being. The Reject crawled up over him, exerting the weight of a full-grown person, pinning him down and amplifying his sense of helplessness.

Some part of him expected to feel tiny teeth from tiny mouths chewing away at him, but the slithering and worming motions only reflected the darkness in his own heart, mirroring the corruption that had always haunted him. His screaming died down, petering out into a hoarse unintelligible something that transformed into whimpering.

The man in the duster—the Glass King—clicked his tongue but ignored Orion, approaching the seven doors.

“You didn’t answer my question, Kimmy. You fear the answer, or you’d say it out loud,” muttered the Glass King.

Orion expected the sensation of cold metal to be cutting his flesh, but the wet something was more like saliva dispersed from tongues, oozing across his skin. He expected for those rubber bands and spongy stalks to wrap around his neck and choke the life out of him, but they only squeezed a little bit. Just enough to be uncomfortable, and just enough for the Reject to enjoy it.

It breathed on him. The Reject engulfed him, not killing him.

The man in the duster turned on his heels.

Eyes wide open, stricken with unnatural knowing accumulated from a thousand lives and a deep-seated and all-devouring madness—staring into Orion’s eyes. The Glass King’s stare reached deep inside, prying away at his secrets like a lunatic ripping away at the fabric padding lining the walls of a forgotten cell, for those crazy eyes had seen the same GIF as he had. Knew what he knew. Knew his every dirty secret.

Much worse was the grin plastered across his face. Toothy, sadistic, and stretched far too wide to look fun or what was natural for that human face.

“Oh, Kyle, my boy,” said the Glass King, with the grin never wiping itself off his face. “You had one job and you bungled it. But no worries, I still have use for you. Your name, your reputation—your face. Enough mojo there for me to milk for a far greater purpose. Good on you for at least coming here, huh?”

The Glass King took a few steps closer towards Orion. Neared. Menace echoing with each step of his boots thumping against the dirty floor.

Orion wasn’t even whimpering anymore. Before a sheet of paper with something cold and wet and fleshy clinging to its underside had fully crept up the side of his face and covered it—before he closed his eyes and lost sight—he wanted to protest.

But he had no words.

Some part of him, matched only by his urge to vomit, knew he deserved this. Every second of it.

The Reject breathed on him, hot and damp and unpleasant. It almost entirely engulfed him, satisfied with the almost.

Not killing him.

—Submitted by Wratts

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: your days are numbered; jon moxley

Notes:

So... I started writing what I thought was gonna be a feral!alpha Mox universe.. and surprise, surprise... I wrapped it up in 3 titles. But.. But.. I’m seriously considering actually writing the entire thing at some point. But I don’t know just yet. It’s one of those wild hairs / brain itches I can’t seem to get rid of, tbh. Anyway, this is part 1 there are two others that go with this. I’m gonna try to post them all close together, we shall see.

{ wanna send in one of these? here’s how | masterlist of fake fic titles  }

Summary:

It was the one thing he never thought he’d find.. Her.. Now he has to figure out a way to get her away from Shawn Spears. But once he has her all to himself, how will everything work out? Can he show her he’s not like the rest?

Pairing:

Jon Moxley x OFC, Grace

Warnings:

Mentions of violence, heavy alphaxomega implications, feral alpha.

The sweet and slightly tangy scent was back again and it had Mox tensing all over, pacing the hallway and clenching then unclenching his fists. He’d never felt more like a caged animal than he did this very moment.

Mox didn’t fucking like it. Oh, he liked the comfort knowing that he did have a mate and that he finally knew where she was and she was close.. It was the feeling like a caged animal that Mox couldn’t stand, that had him seething.

He’d been trying to shove it out all day but he’d yet to actually succeed. Trying to follow the scent trail to find her was futile, he always seemed to get wherever she’d been as she’d just left the area.

Oh, he had his suspicions about who she was. And even more suspicions about why she was kept so scarce, dangled just within his reach. These suspicions were confirmed almost the second the scent started to get really strong and Mox’s mouth began to water as fangs pricked at his gums, threatening to puncture through skin.

His cock was so hard it fucking hurt to breathe.

Mox knew exactly what this meant and he knew exactly why if he were to try and follow his nose again, he’d just miss her, again.

And frankly?

It was really starting to bring forth Mox’s inner animal. And Mox wasn’t in the mood to reign it in either.

Someone was staring at him, he could feel their eyes.

He turned and the scent of her got so fucking strong. He sniffed the air and bit back a groan as his eyes met hers. She kept staring, biting her lip and fidgeting. He picked right up on the unease in her scent and he felt that Alpha kicking in, taking over. Whoever had her uneasy was going to have hell to pay at his hands. He stopped himself, took a deep breath and tried to rationalize what was going on right now, all the while, staring right at her. He was honestly afraid to look away, afraid he’d look back and she’d be gone again.

… fuck… i’m done for… i’d kill for her.. Mine… all mine…

He took a step forward, intending to make his way over to her side, his rightful place, but Shawn Spears stepped between them and stared him down, arms folded over his chest.

“The fuck do you think you’re about to do, huh?” Shawn chuckled and shook his head. Behind him, he felt her tense up, felt her tugging at his hand.

“Not now.” Shawn’s words were sharp when he addressed Mox’s omega and Mox saw the way she flinched. He growled quietly, shoving himself against the guy. “I’m about to talk to her. Somethin you apparently don’t fuckin know how to do. My question to you, man is..” he shoved at Shawn again, “who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Keepin her from me.”

“Keeping her… From you. That’s rich, considering she’s mine.”

Mox’s eyes happened to settle on her and he shook his head, snorting as if he refused to accept what Shawn was saying. Which he did, with every fiber of his being. He couldn’t help but notice the way she seemed tense around Shawn. Almost like she didn’t want to be near the guy, let alone, be trotted out like arm candy or a trophy.

The thought of it sickened him.

The thought of it had him wanting to rip Shawn Spears limb from limb. If she weren’t standing there, he most likely would have.

His Omega was the only tether keeping Shawn Spears tied to this mortal plane. But just as soon as she’s somewhere safe, bet your entire ass, Mox found himself thinking, I’m gonna fuck you up. They’re gonna need special qualifications to identify the body down at the morgue when I’m done with you.

He never said a word, just calmly shoved at Shawn again. Shawn shoved back, not even bothering to move her out of harms way. It fell to Mox to do or say something to get her the fuck away from the fight that was about to take place.

“Hey, uh Blondie?”

She seemed to both perk up and tense at being directly spoken to by him. It really gave Mox a clear picture about how shit worked between Shawn and Mox’s kept Omega. The thought only made Mox clench his fists tighter. His reasons for snapping were growing more and more and his reasons to stay calm, while greater, were shrinking with each second that passed.

He got the sense about his Omega.. She was the shy sort. Timid, probably easily spooked. And it didn’t take an idiot to guess how Shawn might have picked right up on that fact and somehow worked his way in, used it to his advantage.

And that only further fuelled the rage within.

All Grace could do was tense up and watch the growing confrontation in concern. When Mox addressed her, she shifted her gaze to him and swallowed hard, trying to get her mouth and brain to work together.

… say something… She coaxed herself, but it didn’t work. She was still caught in the grips of her shock that she had a true Alpha, he was here and from the way he acted and the heavy notes of concern and desire his scent held, what Shawn claimed -that she wouldn’t be wanted, was a blatant lie, most likely cooked up by the man to keep her from waiting it out and trying to hope against hope that her true Alpha presented himself.

Knowing that, she just found herself disgusted with what was going on currently. All she wanted was to go to Mox, to be with him. To give herself over to him completely without hesitation.

She tried to push past Shawn, to go to Mox, but Shawn reached out, grabbing for her hand, jerking her right back behind him. He turned and eyed her, glaring. “You belong to me. You better remember that.”

“ I don’t belong to anyone.” Grace attempted to be assertive, but Shawn laughed and then mumbled in a lower tone, “You will, soon enough.”

“The hell I will.” Grace answered, shrinking away from him when he stepped closer. The only reason she even agreed to this stupid gimmick in the first place is the higher ups not wanting unmated Omegas roaming wild and free in the back, playing havoc on the unmated Alphas and causing chaos.

If she’d known Mox was her true Alpha, - or that he’d even have been a little interested in the whole concept of a bond like he apparently was come to find out, she never would have just agreed to valet Shawn.

If she could turn back the clock.. Knowing what she was aware of now, she never would have even given Shawn a second glance because Mox was quite literally everything she’d ever hoped for in an Alpha and then some. She locked eyes with Mox and Mox nodded to the side of where they all stood, trying to get her to move.

She tried to but Shawn, being the slippery eel he was known for, moved her right in front of him, smirking just as soon as Mox immediately stepped back just to keep himself from hurting his Omega. Shawn gave a dark chuckle at the action and scoffed. “I thought you were reckless, Mox. I thought you didn’t give a fuck about anyone but you. Don’t tell me you’re gonna go weak now, hmm? This is gonna be easier than I thought.”

Mox growled, stepping right back up. The movement put him right against her which was good, it meant he could get hands on her, get her out of the way and make one hundred percent certain that she was safe and remained safe.

Mox glanced down at the blonde Omega nestled between himself and Shawn and he boldly reached down, grabbing hold of her hips, pulling her closer to himself, glaring at Shawn the whole time, daring the other Alpha to do something.

Shawn stepped closer, every intention of doing the same thing, but Mox was quicker and he carefully plucked his Omega from between the two, raising to full height, smirking at Shawn as he did so. A quiet growl came from both males and Mox leaned in a little.

“Know what, Spears? I think I’m just gonna take her. I mean, she’s mine anyway. And you treat her like shit. She’s shakin she’s so goddamn scared of you.”

“It’s this.. The fighting.. That’s not helping…” Grace spoke up at last, even though her voice was almost a whisper. The whole confrontation was making her uncomfortable, the fact was only slightly mitigated by Mox staying close and providing her with just a little calm. “Definitely him though.. The way I know he’s gonna get angry later.” it slipped out before she could stop it, sealing Shawn Spears’ fate.

Shawn’s place in Grace’s life was reaching a speedy expiration. His days as her so called Alpha were numbered. If Mox had his way about how things played out, it was all going to end tonight.

Tully showed up before the fight could really even get started, whispering to Shawn. When Shawn tried to shove through Mox to grab her, Mox shoved him down onto the floor, leaning over Shawn, hauling him up by the collars of his vest, sneering in his face. “You ain’t gonna lay a hand on her. Ya not even gonna fuckin look at her. I’ll fuckin kill ya. Get lost you little bitch.” Mox let him fall back to the floor and Shawn sprang up, hitting Mox in the head from behind when he turned and he was more focused on Grace than he was on Shawn and any attempt at retaliation he might make.

Mox leaned into her, cupping her cheeks, staring down into her eyes. “Ya gonna be okay.”

Grace managed a nod and clung to Mox to stay on her feet when Shawn crashed into the two from behind. Mox growled quietly, whispered into her ear, “My changin room.. It’s down the hall. Get ya ass in there. I won’t be a second tops.”

“Mox, no..”

“Go, damn it. I’m gonna fuckin rip his head off. I don’t want you out here in the middle.”

His tone was firm enough to send a coating of slick rushing down her inner thighs and after a second, she was finally tapped on the shoulder by Riho, who grabbed hold of her wrist and muttered quietly about needing to get her out of harms way, whisking her off and away down the hall.

Mox whirled around and grabbed a chair in one fluid motion. The chair met Shawn’s head and Shawn grabbed at it next, trying to shove it into Mox’s midsection. The fight was just reaching that point of out of control when Cody ran down the hall, with some of the others, quick to break the two up.

“I want him in that ring! Tonight! He’s tryin to take my Omega.”

“You want me, Spears? You fuckin got me. And you won’t even be alive to breathe on her when I’m through with you.”

“So, you two are getting a match tonight. To settle this. Until then, Mox, Grace stays with you.” Cody spoke up, looking from one man to the other. Mox nodded, smirking at Shawn, reaching out to give the man one last good shove. “Works for me, boss. I’ll see you tonight, sunshine.” Mox snarled at Spears before stalking off, heading in the direction of his changing room… He had to make sure Grace was okay. If that asshole had done anything to her and Mox found out, then tonight, Mox was going to make doubly sure he ended Shawn Spears.

Shawn Spears’ days were numbered. He was quite literally, a dead man walking.

[euphorianyx]

Daddy Issues [Sunset] -32-

Pairing: JungKook & Reader Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst Summary: A top student, marks always high. College was not a dream for her…Except she didn’t have enough money. Her parents never earned much so they literally took care of themselves. Her boss acting like a dick towards her she quit her job. Even though she had no idea what she let herself into this was her only option.

Other Chapters

“Do you really think they are married for two months?”

Ji Hyo shook her head in disapproval as she dug her burgundy painted nails in her palm. Even though she was in a classic pastel Dior, her expression overshadowed her elegance.

“Can we find a way to prove that?”

Jimin fixed his sharp gaze on your locked hands.

“No... If I know JungKook he would leave no trace...”

JiHyo bit down her lip, all raged. 

“We need to find something. If not this one there must be something else.”

Jimin rolled his eyes at JiHyo as he found her being in flames annoying.

“We will find something eventually”

Jimin said to calm her down so he would not get angry. He already had something in mind but he had no intention to let JiHyo know yet. She pushed her hair and threw a last dark stare at your side before she left the room with Jimin following behind.

“I have to meet someone so I will get going.”

Before he could turn around JiHyo pulled Jimin closer by the neck of his whole black Armani fit and gave him a deep kiss. When she pulled away Jimin had a pleasant smirk.

“I will see you tomorrow.”

Then he casually hopped in his black Audi A8. When he got the contract he got your old address from there and he also knew you had a beautiful sister. Jimin made his way towards the old neighborhood that he has never been before. 

Jimin found the street and building without losing much time. He parked the car and started to wait for your sister and it did not take very long because she had her work shift by afternoon.

When he noticed her walking Jimin drove carefully and slowed down while passing her by. Laila seemed cautious at first when someone stopped by her side and she took two steps back. Jimin gently smiled inside the car as he spoke with a sweet voice.

“Sorry I did not want to bother you...”

Laila did not say anything and kept a poker face so he went on.

“I just want to have some coffee. Could you tell me if there is a place nearby?”

Laila was undecided for a mere second but she knew better than to show it so she answered coolly.

“Turn right then make a left follow that street then take the third right again. There is a small café. You can have your coffee there.”

Jimin thanked with another dazzling smile that increased her heartbeat then drove away. Laila was trying to pull herself together though it did not really work. She took a few deep breathes while walking to the very same café to work her shift. 

When Laila arrived she noticed Jimin sitting by the window with a white cup in front of him as he checked his phone. She watched him took a sip from his drink then realized she was staring at him like a freak so she moved towards the new client. She took the order and was about to turn around when Jimin called out.

“Check please”

Laila walked by the cash point to receive the check then kept her head down when she went to Jimin. Though he already noticed her when she handed the black leather box. 

“Ahhh you...”

Laila only gave a small smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were working here?”

Laila was still dead serious when she spoke.

“Why should I? I mean, you are a complete stranger.”

Jimin nodded wearing a big smile.

“Right... Well, let's not be strangers then.”

Surprised Laila arched an eyebrow while smiling.

“Only if you start...”

Jimin’s grin turned into a wicked one.

“Jimin and I excuse you for a drink.”

Laila shrugged at his words.

“Laila but sorry someone like me needs to fulfill their duty unlike you so if you want to talk wait for...eight hours.”

Jimin pursed his lips.

“Wow, that hurt but maybe we could change your opinion about me later.”

Laila was all flustered when she turned back to her job. Jimin could be patient when it came to his target so he willingly spent those hours sitting there. When Laila finally got rid of her dark green apron she walked towards Jimin.

“Honestly...I don’t know if you are crazy or dedicated.”

Laila was genuinely surprised by someone waiting just to talk to her. That guy’s delicate face with captivating fiery gaze completely got her off guard. Jimin opened the door for her as he softly spoke.

“I prefer the second option. Can I take you somewhere for dinner?”

She thought for a moment then shyly nodded. They took Jimin’s car and he drove away in the darkness. Laila had no idea why she accepted or how she dared to do such a thing she felt her heart beating faster. 

However, as they chat with Jimin, Laila let her guard down and stopped keeping track of where they were going. Though she felt the need to ask, Jimin just told her it was a surprise. When he stopped in front of an iron door Laila was surprised. Jimin opened her door with a smile and held his hand for her. Laila’s hand was shaking when she put it on his.

All of a sudden Jimin pulled her closer and turned her around. His arms wrapped around her Jimin whispered with a low voice.

“Life lesson beautiful... Sometimes it's better to stay strangers with people.”

Then he grabbed Laila by the arm and dragged her inside his house. Jimin walked her within the awkward stare of his maid. She was about to say something but Jimin cut her off before she could speak.

“Prepare something to eat...And a drink. I hope I don’t need to remind we do not speak about this?”

She nodded with wide eyes and disappeared. Seeing the maid almost scared of Jimin Laila stuttered.

“What will you do to me?”

Jimin let out a chuckle.

“You will just be my guest until your dear sister does the things I tell her.”

With that Jimin pushed her on the chair and tied her hands behind her. When he kneeled to tie her feet Laila tried to kick him in somewhere that would hurt but Jimin was prepared. Eyes dark he hissed angrily.

“Do not make me do things that I don’t want to, hmm?”

He tied her ankles rather tight. When Jimin got up he pushed his hair back.

“Now be a nice girl...”

Then he grabbed Laila’s phone and found her mother’s number from the contacts.

“Tell her you are covering for someone else’s shift at work and if you try to get help I will deal with you before anyone sets foot in here, understand?”

Tears falling from her eyes Laila obediently nodded. When her mother answered she wanted to scream but Jimin was hovering over like a predator. Laila kept the talk short and tried her best so Jimin was satisfied. He petted Laila’s hair.

“Good girl...”

Then Jimin texted Y/N as if he was Laila. It was simple yet effective.

“Can you call me? I need to talk to you.”

When you saw her text you knew something was up. Giving a warm kiss to JungKook you pulled away from him slowly.

“It’s Laila I think something is wrong.”

JungKook arched an eyebrow as he caressed your cheek.

“What is it?”

You shook your head but JungKook could sense how worried you were.

“I don’t know just let me talk to her.”

JungKook nodded but kept holding your hand.

“Give me her number...”

You were not sure to do that. It was your family matter and JungKook already had too much burden on his shoulders so you shook your head but JungKook did not let you go. His eyes were already dark while his fingers tighten around your wrist.

“Tell me just in case...”

You not accepting would only make it worse so you gave him Laila’s number. While you walked away to talk with her JungKook already grabbed his phone.

“I need you to check the location of a number for me.”

When Laila answered the video chat you saw her all tied up on a chair. Freaking out you tried your best not to scream or anything. Before you could say something different than her name Jimin turned the camera to himself.

“Hi Y/N... How did you find my dear guest?”

You tried not to curse at Jimin while you grit your teeth.

“More like your hostage?”

Jimin shook his head with a disgusting wide smile.

“Well that's not very polite now, is it? She will be perfectly safe...Only if you do the things I ask from you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

“What do you want?”

Your voice was harsh and cold and you did not even try to control that. Though Jimin was speaking so softly that it made you even angrier than you already were.

“I just want you to tell the truth. To everyone...”

When what he said finally hit you, you closed your eyes for a brief second.

“You want me to admit the contract was real.”

Jimin squinted his eyes with a devilish spark in them.

“I almost forgot how smart you were. Though let me remind you of one thing. If you tell JungKook I will not be kind to my guest. Now say goodbye to Laila...I will contact you so don’t try to call me.”

Laila had tape on her mouth but her eyes were enough to understand how scared she was. When the screen went blank again you took were frozen. You did not even realize you were chewing your lip almost to the point it would bleed. Admitting the contract was real and you were his slave meant throwing JungKook into flames. Though if you did not do it Jimin was sure to hurt Laila. She was your sister, your friend, your precious one.

Trying to keep a cool head and think rationally you weighted your options. You could say nothing to JungKook and do what Jimin wanted. Though the more you thought about it the more confusing it became. Somehow, dealing with someone like Jimin by yourself did not make sense. Making up your mind you walked out of the room.

When you saw JungKook sitting down by the large leather sofa, you gulped. His eyes were already on you and he could tell something bad was going on from a mile away. JungKook heard your little sigh as you stopped in front of him.

“So?”

His soft voice filled your ears while he held his hand out for you to come closer.

“Jimin...He...He has Laila.”

Then the tears overwhelmed your eyes. You lost the strength in your body and let go so it fell next to him as if your soul left it.

“JungKook.”

He wrapped his strong arms around you and caressed your back. You buried your head to his firm chest. You did not even realize how mad JungKook was until he asked with that venomous low voice.

“He wanted you to admit the contract, didn’t he?”

The only thing you could do was simply nodding. You finally pulled away when JungKook softly called your name.

“Y/N...I won’t let anything happen to Laila, okay?”

You nodded then JungKook left you to grab his phone while wearing a cold and dangerous stare. After he found out Jimin kept Laila at his house, he called YugYeom which he answered right away.

“I need you to meet me...And come prepared.”

YugYeom let out a chuckle.

“Sure I never miss the fun though who is it?”

JungKook answered with no sign of emotion in his voice.

“Park Jimin.”

When JungKook walked back in he found you with your head between your hands. He gently lifted your head up.

“Listen to me Y/N. I need you to stay calm and do the things I say...”

Dressed up in black casual clothes you called Jimin. Before he answered he showed the screen to Laila then your voice filled his ears.

“Jimin... I know you told me not to call but...”

Jimin spoke rather coldly.

“Yeah, you should have waited for my instructions.”

You did not try to seem cool or anything. Instead, you let him know you were panicking.

“Listen I started a drama with JungKook so he would not try to do something with this.”

Jimin let a chuckle out.

“Nice move but you are not coming here.”

You were stuttering at this point.

“I am alone... I will call the reporters and explain everything by the morning. Let me stay with her till then.”

Jimin did not answer you. He had to think if he should let you be there. He knew you were JungKook’s weakness so if the contract plan failed he could use you instead. 

You were a total mess but JungKook seemed all cool with his midnight black trousers and a long jacket. His leather gloves were in contrast to his ivory white shirt. He was rather calm and collected which did not fail to surprise you. You saw him and Yugyeom filling the baggage with any sort of gun and bullets.

Your worries grew but he did manage to calm you down with a simple hug and it will be okay. Because if JungKook said those words he meant it. JungKook set the GPS of the car to his house and buckled your seatbelt. You thought he was going to leave but you realized the black shiny metal in his hand. You shook your head not to take the gun but JungKook had this intimidating stern gaze.

“Y/N I am not sending you unarmed. If he tries to do anything just use it, alright?”

You nodded and JungKook gave you a deep lingering kiss.

“I will protect you no matter what, I promise.”

He said to reassure you. With that, you drove off to the dark streets. While you were on your way to his house Jimin started a video call. When he saw you driving alone he smiled widely. 

“Pretty thing... You actually thought this would convince me? If I feel anything sketchy this baby on your dear sister blows...”

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