#but his slow dawning realisation (and horror) when he realises who it is he's talking to...

[chronicowboy]

ryan guzman does a lot of good work but the sheer skill of his facial journey in what next when abby says buck's name is ASTOUNDING

[plantgirlpops]

Blinking rapidly at the onslaught of information that was being directed at her, Poppy stared at the stranger in bewilderment, flustered at the vast array of curse words that seemed to also be directed at her. Currently propped up on her elbows, she felt foolish and small, forcing her to push herself up onto her feet, ignoring the grassy stains that covered her legs. Once at full height, she frowned, still not a patch on the man in front of her. He looked like he could be the Next Big Thing, quite literally, and she found herself wondering if Netflix were commissioning a sequel to their original movie Tall Girl. She was pretty sure he could be a shoo-in for the lead role, at any rate. 

Poppy felt overwhelmed and confused, waving a hand at him in a gesture for him to stop – or slow down, at the very least. She wondered if this was how others usually felt when she talked; she wasn’t exactly accustomed to people who talked as fast or as much as her. She eyed the book he was holding, a blush creeping its way up her neck, embarrassment encompassing her as she realised she’d left it behind her. After breezing her way through the first Percy Jackson book, she’d hurried along to A Novel Idea to thank Simon for his recommendation. Poppy had told the man how disappointed she was to be nearing the end of the first one that he’d convinced her to buy the second one there and then. If only she hadn’t been so stupid to have left it behind her. 

“Aw nuts, I’m such an idiot,” Poppy groaned, reaching forward to take her book back.  

She felt silly for a number of reasons, but guilt washed over her at the realisation that she’d insulted the man before her when all he’d been doing was offering her a kindness. She’d been so wrapped up in herself that she’d tossed aside basic manners and subjected this sweet stranger to a side of herself that she didn’t quite recognise. 

“I’m really sorry for being so dastardly, I really don’t think you’re a tree at all!” she insisted, offering him an apologetic smile. She hoped he wouldn’t think poorly of her, particularly after going to such trouble to return her book. She couldn’t imagine the time it must have taken out of his day for him to set off after her, eager to return her belongings. A modern-day Clark Kent, he was. Her hero! 

Just as she was all but ready to vocalise that to the man, her brow furrowed with realisation as his earlier words caught up to her. He’d been talking at such a rapid pace, quick wit dripping from his tongue, that she’d completely glossed over the latter end of his statement. Her heart dropped in her chest, fear catching ahold of her as it all slowly dawned on her. 

“Wait- hold on, did you say an ambulance?!” she gasped, her eyes wide with abject horror. Her skin crawled as she, once again, noted her own impudence. How could she have had such an oversight, to not have noticed that a friend of hers could be in trouble? 

Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her shorts, anxious for a means to stop the tremble in her hands. 

“Is Simon okay? Is he hurt? Oh jeepers, what have I done?!”

“You know you could come stay with me, right?” Wardo asked, flashing his sister a look across the table.

His heart sank as he watched Cecily immediately retreat into herself, arms crossing over her chest as she hunched her shoulders and looked anywhere but him. He hadn’t meant to make her feel so guilty, but there was only so much he could take when hearing about how miserable she was still being under their father’s roof - well, she would say father, Wardo thought ‘sperm donor’ was more of an apt term - before he was ready to snap. He wanted to take her away from there, always eager to let her know that even though his apartment was a cramped, one-bedroom closet at the best of times, he’d be willing to take the sofa if it meant her escaping Josten.

“Or not,” he said after too long had passed without Cecily being able to meet his eyes. He tried to bite back the annoyance he felt when she lifted her gaze and gave him a meek smile.

“I should go,” she told him. This time, he let her, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop her. Not that that was an easy thing for him to admit. There were days when Wardo was so convinced God himself wouldn’t be able to stop him doing half the things he wanted to if it meant ensuring the wellbeing of the people he cared about. Some days he knew when to suffer a loss though, so he stood up and wrapped his sister in a tight hug before she eventually left him on his own.

“Simon, I’ll square up here,” he said, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. Because these days Wardo did actually pay for his coffee. Well. Sometimes. Most of the time. Only ever at A Novel Idea because getting a ban from his favourite bookstore would put a dampener on his day, especially since he hadn’t come across the hot barista yet that Ivy had been banging on about.

“One sec, Wardo, I just need to - excuse me! You forgot your other book!” Simon called, looking as frazzled as always. Wardo blinked, taking in the look of distress on the man’s face as he began wielding a paperback in the air, waving it around as if the girl who’d just left the shop would be able to miraculously hear him through brick and mortar. Taking pity on the man, Wardo reached out to clap Simon’s shoulder, reminding him that he was there. When the man spun around, he held out his free hand.

“Easy, Si. I’ll go after her with it,” Wardo offered, acting like a beacon of pure kindness. The way Simon’s face lit up with a smile almost made him feel guilty, because he knew that the other man had already forgotten that he still needed to charge Wardo for his coffee, too busy nodding and pushing the book into his hands. But like, he had offered and he was doing a public service and surely Billy would want to be the kind of business owner that would rather have books in the hands of New York citizens over money in his till. It was remarkably easy for Wardo to convince himself of that.

“Would you, Wardo? Oh my gosh, you’re a lifesaver!” Simon babbled. Wardo pressed a hand against his chest, where his heart would be if he was normal and not an insane person.

“It’s literally not a problem, Simon. You just relax and I’ll get it to her,” he said, sort of remembering what the girl looked like but more interested in just getting out of the shop with ten dollars still in his pocket and a new reputation as an upstanding customer of A Novel Idea. He gave Simon a two-fingered salute and waltzed out the door, very little haste as he walked down the street, vaguely following in the direction he thought the woman might have gone but not really caring anyway. He flicked through the book and snorted out a derisive laugh. Look, he wasn’t pretentious enough to outright hate Percy Jackson - he would have ate that shit up as a kid - but it was so obviously a recommendation from Simon that he had to find the man’s predictability at least a little bit funny.

He eventually found his way to the park, assuming the woman’s trail had gone cold. Ah well, he’d tried, and he’d tell Simon just that. Or maybe he’d lie and say he’d actually tracked her down and given her the book and she’d been overjoyed and called him her saviour or something equally heroic. He had no doubts about Simon believing him.

With time to kill now, he grabbed a bagel from one of the stands, waiting until the cream cheese was melting on the bread before he made a whole song and dance about leaving his wallet at home. The disgruntled street vendor just shoved it in his direction and told him to take it, fuck off, and never show his face again. In that order. Wardo bid him a cheery goodbye then continued through the park, tipping his head back to enjoy the unusual November warmth. Winters had been way harsher than this when he’d been on the streets, which he didn’t think was very fair. Homelessness might have been more of a laugh if the sun peeked out like this every once in a while.

Interrupted by a plaintive little complaint coming from somewhere down by his feet, Wardo glanced down. He didn’t really believe in luck nor fate, but if the universe wanted to provide him with the exact girl from the bookstore that he’d been looking for planted right next to him, he figured he would take it.

“Huh,” he said, mildly impressed by whatever karmic justice had brought this one on. At least he wouldn’t have to lie to Simon now.

Tilting his head to the side as she rambled though, he soon realised that the tree she’d been previously referring to had actually been himself. He’d been called worse. Plus, the way she was babbling on, clearly embarrassed, was pretty funny. He couldn’t help the wide grin that split across his face.

“Holy shit, calm down,” he laughed. “Who says I’m not a tree? Like one of those dickhead trees from The Wizard of Oz. Don’t worry, I won’t start throwing apples at you or anything. Just this.” He held the book out to her. “You forgot this at A Novel Idea and they had to call an ambulance for Simon, he felt so bad. Like on the brink of death. They think he’ll make it though!”

[sunder-soul]

The Last of Your Rules

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.    

Part 1 ★ Part 2 ★ Part 3 ☆ Part 4         

Summary: Reader figures out a set of rules to survive navigating their FWB relationship with Tom Riddle, which goes great until he starts breaking them one by one. Wordcount: 3.2k Content warning: explicit sex, language.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.   

You resolve to avoid him for a bit and let whatever he’s clearly going through blow over – but your plan is immediately compromised the following Monday.

“We will be brewing our next project in pairs!” Slughorn says loudly, clapping his hands with a wide grin. “Your partners will be assigned randomly, so please take your seats!”

Everyone falls silent at once, the excitement palpable. You wink at Opal next to you, hoping that she’ll be your partner as Slughorn waves his wand and sends tiny little slips of parchment whizzing across the room onto your desks. You seize yours at once, unrolling it only to see –

Tom Riddle.

You blink. The memory of the kiss immediately comes back to you, and excitement stirs in your chest at the chance to talk to him outside of your meetings, at the hours you’d need to spend together in class for the potion –

You catch your train of thought and horror dawns on you at its implication.

No… have I… did I…

The class is moving around and chattering excitedly to their partners as you quietly slip up to the front of the room.

“Everything alright?” Slughorn asked jovially.

“Yes, sir,” you say quickly, “only – I was wondering if I might change partners, sir.”

“Oh?” Slughorn’s brows raise. “Who are you paired with?”

You hold out the parchment, and Slughorn unrolls it. He looks even more surprised when he sees the name. “You��� wish to change partners?” he asks slowly.

You nod.

“Tom’s a capable lad,” Slughorn says seriously, frowning, “a very capable lad. In fact, I couldn’t have picked a better partner for you myself.”

“Please, sir,” you press, trying not to sound desperate. “Is it possible to change?”

Slughorn pauses for a moment longer, and then leans back against his desk. “Yes of course,” he says, waving a hand and nodding. “If you really want.”

“I do,” you say immediately.

“Langley!” Slughorn calls, beckoning the boy forward.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the red-haired boy leaps from his seat and hurries forward. Langley is an idiot, but at that moment he’s a hell of a lot better than Riddle.

“Who’s your partner, Langley?” Slughorn asks him.

“Chester, sir,” Langley replies quickly.

“Tell Chester that he’s with Riddle,” Slughorn says busily, “you’re being reassigned.”

Langley glances at you curiously but with unmistakeable glee. “Yes, sir,” he says with a barely concealed smile.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and turn back to your seat – only to find Riddle’s piercing gaze fixed on you from the back of the room. You hesitate automatically, and have to physically wrench your eyes off of him as you hurry away, trying to ignore the feeling of his lingering gaze for the rest of the class.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

That evening in the library whilst you’re bent over your Potions notes, Riddle suddenly yanks back the seat opposite you and sits down. “Did you ask Slughorn to change partners?” he demands colourlessly.

You try to hide your surprise – he never sits with you in public. “Yes, of course I did,” you say calmly.

“Why?” he asks sharply.

You quirk a brow. “Are you joking?”

“No, I am not,” he says mechanically, lacing his fingers together and giving you a very cool look.

“Riddle,” you say dryly, leaning towards him. “That assignment would require that we spend hours together working on that potion, I didn’t think that would be a particularly good idea.”

“Why not?” he asks at once, eyes not leaving yours.

You scoff and lean back. “Don’t be obtuse.”

His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. “Because of our arrangement?”

“Exactly,” you mutter.

Riddle’s expression is unmoved. “What exactly did you expect would happen?” he asks flatly.

You sigh, frustrated. “Listen, I’m not trying to imply that we’d bloody fall in love or anything,” you mutter, seizing your quill again, “but it’s still just a stupid idea.”

Riddle is silent, and after a long moment you glance at him. He’s just as composed as before, but there’s a strange tension to his posture. “Riddle,” you say carefully, “are you… alright?”

It’s as if you had snapped your fingers in front of his face; Riddle stands at once. “Yes,” he says coldly. “See you in class.”

He’s gone before you can even say goodbye. You stare after him, utterly bemused. He’s such a nutcase sometimes…

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Tonight, 9pm.

You stare at the note in shock, your head telling you, screaming at you that the smart thing to do is to crumple it in your hand and ignore him.

But…

You refold the note and nod as you pick up your quill again, knowing without checking that his eyes are on you.

He’s already there when you arrive. Riddle’s fingers curl around the strap of your bag and pull it off your shoulder the second you get the door shut, tugging up your jumper and dropping it carelessly to the ground. His fingers dance across your blouse and the buttons spontaneously spring apart one after the next as he walks you back against the wall, and seconds later he’s unclasping your bra with deft fingers. Riddle’s expression is hungry. It makes you nervous in a very good way.

Riddle picks you up again and you wrap your legs around his hips at once. He presses his mouth to your collarbone, trailing downwards and leaving burning electricity behind, and then his lips gently close around your nipple and you gasp. Riddle’s eyes flash up to yours at the sound, and you watch, hypnotised, as his lips tease you there, staring mesmerised at the dark waves of his hair above his burning eyes, at the fine angles of his brows, his lips, his eyes, his mouth on your skin –

Riddle lifts his head and you pull him into a kiss, hungry for him, too. The intensity is almost comforting, far away from that dangerous slowness.

When you’re done, Riddle doesn’t even hesitate once his uniform is back to its usual immaculate tidiness. “Goodnight,” he nods politely, leaving at once.

Back to normal, then, you think as you wander back to the common room. That’s a relief.

But that night in your bed, the memory of the way he’d kissed you comes back again, that slowness, that softness, that hot, gentle pressure…

Warmth spreads through your chest and you frown deeply, rolling over and punching your pillow into place.

That needs to stop. There’s no way you can catch feelings for Tom Riddle.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Today, 12:15.

You slide the note into your pocket, thoughts whirring. It’s hardly the first time he’s suggested you meet during the day, but with the past week you’d had, things were decidedly getting weirder.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

You bite Riddle’s shoulder hard as pleasure overcomes you, listening to it overcoming him too, your body slick with sweat and your mind blank with nothing but the sound of his breath, tense and sharp through his nose. His hands are against your face, turning you to him and kissing you again, and you’re delirious, kissing him back without even thinking, your arms tightening around his neck and pulling him closer. You’re still hungry for him like your appetite can never be sated, your legs wrapped around his hips where he still has you pinned against the wall. His hands hold you to him firmly, his lips moving against yours in that slow, dangerous way –

You realise what you’re doing very suddenly, pulling back at once. You stare at each other, and you feel a surreal exhilaration like you’re teetering at the edge of a cliff.

“I should go,” you whisper, not moving.  

Riddle nods slightly, not looking away. He doesn’t move either.

You can’t stop yourself. Your eyes drop to his lips again and then back up as quickly as you can – but not fast enough to escape his notice. Riddle’s eyes flicker and he slowly leans in again, stopping right before your lips, watching you like a hawk.

It’s a bad idea.

It’s a very bad idea.

Breaking the rules is already making some very confusing things stir in your chest, but... Riddle’s lips are kiss-swollen and slick, his hair tousled from where you’d been carding your fingers through it, his dark eyes hooded and burning. You’ve never wanted him more.

Fuck it...

You close the final inch and kiss him hungrily, and his hand comes up to your jaw and pulls you closer, slow and hot in that way that made heat curl in you stomach. You sigh, your arms tightening around his neck as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper.

“Riddle,” you murmur after what felt like an eternity, pulling back, “I… really do have to go.”

Riddle’s eyes dart between yours, and then he nods curtly and lets you down.

He leaves without a word and you’re still nearly late to Herbology.

So that’s Rule One and Two just completely in shambles, you think, shaking your head as you speed towards the Greenhouses. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

The confusion only triples in Potions that very afternoon.

Tonight, 8pm.

You gape at the note.

Riddle wants to meet twice in the same day? This is getting ridiculous. The weird behaviour, the frequent meetings, the dangerous feelings growing tenaciously in your chest… It makes you all the more certain that something very weird is going on, and there is absolutely no way you’re going to meet him.

“Have you been listening?”

You jump, hastily looking around at Langley. “Huh?”

“Are you going to…” he gestures at the ingredients in front of you that you’re supposed to be preparing.

“Oh right,” you mutter, slipping the note into your pocket and seizing your silver knife, slicing the Deadlyius mushrooms into thin slivers at lightning speed.

“Langley,” you say through gritted teeth, “if you add moonstone powder to the potion at this stage, you’ll make the entire cauldron melt.”

“Oh,” he frowns, putting down the moonstone. “But… the instructions say –”

“To mix it fourteen times counter-clockwise, and then add the moonstone.”

“Oh,’ he says again, reaching for the ladle.

You seize his wrist. “Counter-clockwise, Langley.”

“Oh.”

You manage to stop Langley from utterly ruining your potion before the bell rings, and you leave it simmering in the backroom for you to resume on Monday.

“Good God,” you mutter to Opal as you leave, dragging your hands down your face, “Langley is absolutely hopeless.”

“No sympathy,” she scoffs, “you could have been with Tom Riddle, and you chose to give that up.”

You don’t reply, glaring stonily at the floor. She can’t know that being with Riddle would be a hundred times worse for an entirely different reason.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Saturday morning breaks over the Castle with a light snowfall and an icy chill in the air that puts a spring in your step, but your good mood is threatened half-way through lunch.

“Excuse my interruption.”

You look around from your conversation with Felicia and Opal to find Riddle with an intimidatingly composed expression on his face, his hands clasped tidily behind him. Your friends start giggling again, whispering to each other behind their hands – which both you and Riddle ignore.

“Yes?” you say slowly.

“Could I speak with you a moment, please?” he asks politely, stepping to the side and gesturing to the door. Felicia and Opal erupt into even louder giggles as your brows shoot up.

“Er… sure,” you say slowly, standing and follow him from the Hall, viscerally aware of the many pairs of curious eyes watching you go.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Riddle steps swiftly towards the dungeons and down the stairs, and you follow him down to the broom closet where you usually meet. He wrenches the door open and stands aside, glancing down the corridor with a tense expression.

“Riddle, what –”

“After you,” he interrupts coolly, indicating through the door.

You hesitate, suddenly rather intimidated. Slowly you step past him, and Riddle shuts the door smartly behind him.

“What’s going –” you begin.

“Where were you last night?” Riddle interrupts again, tone sharp.

You stare. “…What?”

“Last night, I asked you to meet me,” he snaps.

“I didn’t want to,” you frown.

Riddle glares at you intensely. “You didn’t want to,” he repeats contemptuously.

“Is there a problem?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why didn’t you want to?” he demands, stepping closer.

“Geez Riddle, I’m not obligated to have sex with you whenever you want,” you snap.

Riddle falters, his brow furrowing at once. “That’s not –”

“I know you rather famously have very little interest in my life, but I do actually have one you know, I can’t be on your goddamn beck and call whenever you want to let off steam,” you continue angrily, gesturing in frustration.

Riddle looks extraordinarily taken aback. “I didn’t mean –”

“You’ve been acting weird for ages, what the hell is going on?” you interrupt, glaring at him.

Riddle blinks, and then his expression becomes impossibly composed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says coolly, standing up straighter.

“Oh? Don’t you?” you narrow your eyes, stepping closer.

He doesn’t crack, his eyes impervious as they flick between yours.

“I’m going to go back to lunch,” you breathe, “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait,” he says sharply, catching your arm as you try to pass him.

“What?” you snap, turning to him.

Riddle hesitates. Suddenly you realise exactly how close you are, feeling the tension shift, seeing his eyes drop to your lips –

You both lean in at the same time, your hands immediately tangling into his hair as you kiss him hard and he pulls you close. He’s ravenous again, insatiable, the most demanding you’d ever seen him, and all too soon he has you on the brink, pushed up against the wall of the closet with hard thrusts making you dizzy with pleasure, his lips covering yours as you finish like he’s consuming the moans he’s drawing from you – but when the waves of pleasure fade, the kiss does not.

Riddle’s hands slide up your hips, kissing you slowly as you breathe hard, as your eyes finally open and you draw away. Riddle stares at you, and you at him.

Suddenly, it clicks.

“This… isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?” you say quietly.

Riddle freezes. A long, tense silence passes. “What do you mean?” he asks coolly.

“Is that why you’ve been asking me to meet you so much?” you ask carefully, watching him. “Is this not filling your appetite like it used to?”

His expression is taut, his hands unmoving on your body and his eyes slightly wide. After a very long pause, he finally speaks. “No,” he breathes. “It’s not.”

“Maybe this isn’t what you need, then,” you say quietly.

His brow furrows again.

“We should stop this,” you say carefully.

“No,” Riddle repeats sharply, very quickly.

You don’t bother trying to hide your surprise at the intensity of his response. Riddle’s jaw tenses and he leans in again, his lips pressing hard against yours, but you push him away by his shoulders. He exhales in frustration, glaring at you.

“What we’re doing won’t make you feel better, Riddle,” you say slowly. “It’ll always leave you hungry.”

“Why?” he snaps, looking irritated. “It didn’t used to.”

“Maybe it used to be enough.”

“Why do I still want it, then?” he breathes, leaning in aggressively. “Why do I want…” he trails off, something working in his jaw in the way that usually means something’s really frustrating him.

Oh.

Oh I see.

“Riddle,” you begin cautiously, “have you… ever…”

“What?” he demands, eyes narrowing.

You let your head fall back on the wall. “Have you ever been in love?”

Riddle reacts like you’ve electrocuted him, drawing back sharply and staring at you with open hostility.

“I don’t think you’re in love with me, don’t worry,” you say quickly. “I just mean… this is sort of a cheap imitation of that,” you gesture between the two of you. “Maybe you should think about looking for something… real.”

Riddle looks at you suspiciously, but with something undeniably (and reluctantly) curious. “What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

“It’s different when you’re in love.”

“Different how?” he demands at once.

“Have you ever been touched like that?” you cock your head.

Riddle hesitates, looking strangely… nervous? “Like what?” he says quietly, watching you warily.

It’s a bad idea.

It’s a very bad idea.

You reach your hand up to his face as slowly as you dare and very gently let your fingers trace up the curve of his cheek, his warm, soft skin just barely textured with the faintest pull of stubble, before you reach up further. You softly brush his hair to the side of his forehead and let your fingers push through it slightly. He has lovely hair – well, all of him is lovely, but his hair in particular, thick and soft and dark. You’d always liked touching it, though this is different, of course. This isn’t fiery and filled with desire, intense and hungry. This is reverence, feather-light like he’s something precious that would break if you touch too firmly.

Riddle’s eyes are fixed on yours, and as you meet his gaze again something you don’t care to name stirs in your chest. You gently place your palm against his cheek and lean in, hesitating at the last second, wondering exactly how bad an idea it is. Riddle’s expression hasn’t changed, his eyes flicking between yours. You blink slowly, gaze dropping to his lips, and then you push forward and close the last millimetres between you, kissing him very, very softly.

The dangerous feeling immediately swells up inside you, coursing even stronger when Riddle takes a long breath and lifts his hand to your face too, holding you to him as his lips move gently on yours. You wrap your legs tighter around him but the kiss stays slow, warm, gentle, dangerous –

You reluctantly draw away, but only just. It’s very hard to ignore how fast your heart is beating as you met Riddle’s gaze, dark and burning. “Like that,” you whisper, cheeks aflame.

A long silence falls as he stares at you, as you stare back, trapped beneath his gaze.

“Why is it different?” Riddle asks quietly.

You swallow nervously, knowing that you need to get out of this situation as fast as possible before your inconvenient feelings become completely unignorable. “I…” you whisper, unable to answer. “I don’t…”

Riddle blinks, his brows drawing together slightly, and to your horror he slowly starts to lean in again –

“I need to go,” you say hastily, looking down and breaking his gaze. “I – I have to do extra prep for Potions. Bloody Langley screwed ours up so bad.”

There’s a very painful silence.

“I see,” Riddle says mechanically, before letting you down.

You’d never felt awkward whilst tidying up before, but you certainly do then.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you mutter to him, escaping out the door as fast as you can. Your cheeks are still warm and your heart is still pounding, so you beeline straight for the dorm to hide until your stupid reaction fades. If you come back from seeing Riddle looking like that, Opal and Felicia would never let you hear the last of it.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Part 1 ★ Part 2 ★ Part 3 ☆ Part 4      

@the-almond-dinger 💕 

[thesolferino]

⤷ note: apologies for losing your request, anon, but thank you for requesting! this is my first time writing a full fic in second person, so bear with me, and i hope this is what you were looking for <3

The Great American Bake Off

pairing: corpse husband x gn!reader

word count: 3.6k

genre: fluff

summary: you’ve been jealous of rae and her closeness with your boyfriend since the dawn of time, but things change and friendships are made once she comes over for one hell of a cooking video.

Corpse, among many other things, was a man many wished to have.

It’s the truth; even if he didn’t have a YouTube channel through which millions kept up with everything from horror stories to Among Us gameplays, people would still turn heads and whisper whenever he spoke - that attention more than multiplied when he started blowing up and his social media presence grew.

With growth come numbers, and there are always people behind said numbers. Through them, Corpse makes wonderful friends - through them, you had met him, too. All the way back, during his horror narration days, you had grown to like him - really, who wouldn’t?

A DM you once sent after a few drinks, when you claimed to your friends you’d get the “deep-voiced man of your dreams” you often talked about and they, in turn, challenged you to message him, was nothing short of a joke and the idea of him responding was merely a pipe dream. What you hadn’t expected, however, was a response, which wrecked your brain at noon the next day, where your head throbbed with embarrassment, guilt, pride, happiness, a melt of hatred and gratefulness for your friends, panic and the remains of alcohol that tugged at every part of your skull.

It had turned out to be more than a great idea, though, because for the next few weeks you were constantly talking. You learned so much more than he let on in videos, and during late night calls you found out everything from his favorite clothing brand to his favorite color to his thoughts about his own mortality and then back to his favorite cereal. Audio calls and short voice messages turned into hours long FaceTimes that led you from friends to something more. And after a year or so of dating, you packed your bags and made it to sunny San Diego, ready to lay in his arms and sweat bullets.

Safe to say Corpse’s social media presence had its good sides. However, with all good things come bad things too, and you weren’t sure if the bad things were bad at all or you were simply too jealous.

Corpse made wonderful friends thanks to his YouTube channel. He met people he could confide in, meet, people he could talk to about his worst problems, people who would listen - he met people he could have fun with, with who he could forget all about the real world and his own issues, and simply laugh his heart away, play games until the late hours of the night.

If he had to name his closest ones, they would have to be Dave, Loey, maybe Mykie, possibly Jack, and Rae. And that is exactly where the root of the problem stood.

Rae is beautiful, and everyone who denies it must be either dumb or blind. She’s drop dead gorgeous, and funny, and kind, and smart, in a way that made you want to rip your hair out. You wanted to hate her so bad, because the jealousy ate away at you like a damn disease, but you couldn’t, because she was perfect Rae, and as much as you hated the fact she seemed to be perfect inside out, you just couldn’t hate her as her. It was impossible, you concluded.

You convinced yourself you weren’t jealous every time you heard him yelling or laughing at her from his office room - or at least you attempted to do so. Your lunch would turn sour and end up forgotten because you’d be way too focused on listening in on what he was doing and trying to make out what she was saying to even eat at the same pace you previously were. Jealousy ate away at you, no matter if you admitted it to yourself or not.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Corpse, of course. On one late night when you couldn’t sleep and neither could he, as per usual, you turned on a random comedy that you half-heartedly paid attention to, his fingers combing through the knots in your hair peacefully and the slow pace of the movie lulling you to sleep slowly. That is, before his phone rang and lit the mostly dark room. You managed to sneak a glance at the notification before he had, and the familiar bitterness seeped between your ribs as always upon seeing the name displayed at the top of the message, more than awake now.

You visibly stiffened when he laughed at the message and typed something back, shifting your head in his lap as some subconscious attempt at getting him to pay attention to you instead. He put his phone down and you huffed, eyes locked on the TV screen as you pretended to be extremely absorbed in the movie even though you weren’t quite sure of the difference between the protagonist and antagonist anymore. His hands didn’t return to your hair, and that somehow made you even more annoyed.

“What’s up?” Corpse quietly spoke up, barely over the volume over the already quiet movie.

“Nothing.” You said, quicker than you wanted to, and you bit your tongue in cringe when you realised it was an awful lie. Corpse seemed to think the same.

“That’s bullshit. Seriously, what’s wrong?” He asked, and was met with pure silence. In reality, you were hoping he’d simply never realise you were somewhat jealous, because you knew you were being stupid and unreasonable, but you couldn’t help wanting him all to yourself. Admitting it out loud made it so much more real, and so much more embarrassing that you would rather bury yourself alive than admit to being jealous of Rae, of all people.

After a few seconds of silence, save the laughter of characters on screen, he spoke again.

“Are you jealous?” The hint of a teasing tone in his voice made you want to rip your hair out of your skull. Was it really that damn hard to believe that yes, you were jealous of an extremely close friend of his? Was it a crime?

The clenching of your jaw seemed to give Corpse enough of a response, and his hands returned to running themselves through your hair as he giggled to himself. 

“What’s so damn funny?” You borderline spat, causing his movements to halt for a second before continuing with even louder laughter.

“I don’t know, just the idea of you being jealous of Rae is so funny. I’ve noticed the way you roll your eyes whenever I text her in front of you. You’re not exactly sneaky, you know?” His words made blood rush straight to your face, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. How long has he known this for?

“Sorry. I don’t…” you exhaled and attempted to smile. “I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m so jealous nowadays. I don’t even know why.”

“There’s enough of me to share with everyone, no worries baby.” he replied, teasing tone still yet to dissipate as you slap his knee in mock offense and he starts wheezing.

“Absolutely not! Fucking excuse you, I’m not sharing with anyone!” you gaped at him as he kept laughing.

That was the end of it - or at least Corpse thought so. Needless to say, he was wrong.

Your mood would instantly turn sour whenever he’d laugh at one of her messages, and you attempted to push down every eye roll whenever he’d sit on his phone, between your legs, back turned to you so you could see everything, and open Rae’s DMs again. Sometimes you managed, sometimes you couldn’t help it, but you did your best to do it whenever he wasn’t looking. Because you truly knew you were being unreasonable, especially whenever you have to relay situations like how he had to postpone a date one time because Rae asked him to play Rust for a bit longer and you almost ripped all your hair out of your skull in frustration back to your best friend who just turned Rae and Corpse into the villains in the situation because that’s what best friends are supposed to do.

Not like he was going out of his way to talk to her a concerning amount, they mostly talked in groupchats and on streams and that was only a few times weekly, but it did absolutely nothing to calm the green monster growing stronger in you every day, fed by every laugh she got out of him.

The green monster fucking loved it when Corpse excitedly announced to you that he’s finally meeting his friends for the first time, and by friends meaning Rae, Sykkuno and Karl. You, however… were far from impressed.

He paced around the room in excitement, a mix of obvious anxiety and joy evident on his face, and he fiddled with the strings of his hoodie with shaky hands as he very proudly announced that he would be the second tallest person in the room through a blinding, pearly grin, and seeing him so electrified couldn’t help but make you shut your jealous thoughts up, even if just for a little bit, and mirror his grin back to him.

What did, however, make you as anxious as him was when he announced they’d a) be coming to your shared apartment and b) making a cooking video - it sent you into a panicked mom mode as you dusted every corner of every room and vacuumed everything from the kitchen to the balcony and Corpse did nothing but record you as you anxiously rambled and laugh at you from his place on your bed.

When the dreaded Saturday finally came, and the first person to arrive, Sykkuno, rang your doorbell, you squeezed Corpse’s hand to stop him from nervously toying with his rings and opened the door, and you greeted the man like he was your own brother and not a person you’d seen probably a total of three times through the computer screen and someone who’s seen you maybe two times, from the pictures Corpse sent him, in your best attempt to make both of them more comfortable. It actually kind of worked - turns out Sykkuno is a pretty affectionate guy, too, and a conversation started as soon as he stepped in. Corpse gave you a look when you pulled away from Sykkuno’s half-hug, and you almost laughed out loud at the irony when his phone lit up with a notification from Rae announcing she was almost there at that exact moment.

She had kept true to her word; ten minutes or so later, another ring was heard and you gestured to Corpse to open it this time as you gave Sykkuno his cup of water and resisted any and every urge to roll your eyes or do something otherwise bitchy and stupid. Corpse did as told, and you watched them hug and listened to Rae squeal in excitement through the open door of the living room and decided to plaster a smile on your face for as long as you could muster before you remove yourself from the situation when they start filming.

Unfortunately for you, the first person she locked eyes with was exactly you, and they lit up an even prettier brown (if that was even possible) as she beelined to you and you barely got a greeting out before she engulfed you in a large hug, arms wrapping around your neck as she swayed both of you side to side.

“Oh my God, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Rae cheered into your ear before she finally pulled back, before shooting an infectious grin at you that you couldn’t help but return back.

“All good things, I hope.” you chuckled as she moved to greeting Sykkuno, and nodded her head with an enthusiastic giggle of her own. You eyed Corpse for a second who simply leaned against the door frame, watching the whole thing unfold with somewhat of a proud smile on his face, before Rae turned back to you and your attention was on her again.

“Of course! Corpse is very much a simp for you, you know that?” She said and both you and Corpse laughed, especially him, who nodded his head in agreement as she sat back down, still beaming at you.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that.” you respond before turning back to Corpse. “Where’s Karl at?”

“He’ll be here in half an hour or so, he only landed recently.” he said. You nodded and moved to sit on a nearby chair to leave space for the guests on the couch.

Karl ended up arriving in twenty minutes and apprised everyone of the information that “his taxi driver is a psycho that, apparently, doesn’t fear stop signs or the police” before setting up the camera in your kitchen and tried his best to attach lapel mics on everybody (admittedly, it took way longer than it should’ve, but he eventually managed and that counted as a win in his book). You reluctantly agreed to be the judge of the finished product when they’re done cooking, and Karl was there for the purposes of being a cameraman and making jokes off screen so he agreed too, albeit way more enthusiastically than you.

The two of you sat behind the camera as the three of them lined up, Corpse wearing a mask and his signature eyepatch (that he didn’t really need, but those two did their job in preserving his privacy) and introduced what they were doing. Corpse was obviously very anxious, hands fidgeting constantly and shivering like a dog after a bath despite the hoodie he was wearing in 100 degree weather because of the shower of sweat that was now drying on his body, and that was partly why you were there, supportive smiles, encouraging cheers and all.

They were making Mexican ground beef tacos, and despite knowing Corpse can barely make a sandwich without setting at least two dishes on fire, you still cheered him on proudly and repeated he was part Mexican himself roughly 5 times a minute, claiming he was going to kill it.

“Kill it? More like kill one of us- CORPSE watch what you’re doing with that fucking knife! You’re proving my point!” Rae yelled at him as he giggled in delight, watching the woman gape at him in pure horror and Sykkuno watch his movements completely entranced as he played with the knife in his hands.

“You’re just mad that he’s going to make tacos fifty times better than you.” you said to Rae, chewing down on some M&Ms that Karl and you shared (both of you decided on a genius plan - you’re going to eat the whole bag before they’re done with cooking so you can claim you’re full and therefore can’t eat the atrocity that will most likely be the tacos).

“Don’t gas me up like that, Y/N, you are well aware I’m shit at cooking. Expect absolutely nothing from me.” he replied over the sizzling of the meat on the pan, throwing a whole spoonful of chili powder into it, earning loud yelling and scolding from your side and loud laughter from Rae.

“HALF A TEASPOON! Half a teaspoon, how have you not remembered this already?! We’ve made tacos a million times now, oh my God, you’re actually stupid.” you yelled at him, arms flailing in the direction of the seasoning to emphasise your ‘half a teaspoon’ point as Rae doubled over in laughter and Sykkuno looked into the pan with a concerned and somewhat afraid look. Just as he peeked in, the overwhelming smell of chili powder started biting away at his eyes, and he jumped away with a yelp.

“Jesus, Corpse!” he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes with his forearm as the whole room burst into laughter and Corpse suspiciously inspected his beef.

“What were you saying about your ‘Mexican king’, Y/N?” Rae asked, pulling out a few tortillas and putting them on the table. You huffed, grabbing another handful of M&Ms.

“Giving him up to God. He’s the only one who can help, at this point.” you said. She giggled in response and Corpse let out some sort of protesting sound and waved his knife around in complaint. “I don’t know who this man is. He broke into my kitchen and now I’m here.”

“Hey, I pay half of your rent!” he said, and you were about to reply but Rae dropped her meat into a pan full of overheated oil, and a loud hiss and some sort of a scream overtook the room as a cloud of steam shot into the air and she frantically looked around for the wooden spoon so the meat wouldn’t stick to the pan. You simply sat and laughed, eating the candy like it was popcorn and you were watching a shitty cooking show - it wasn’t that far from reality, really.

“Um, I just realised I don’t make many tacos, actually.” she said as she helplessly stirred the meat, turning to you with pleading eyes. “What seasoning even goes into this? Y/N, will you help me? Let’s team up against Corpse!”

You tilted your head in thought, but before you could even speak, Corpse spoke up.

“That’s not fucking fair, that’s-that’s against the rules.” he turned to you. “You won’t betray me, right?”

You laughed at him, adjusting in your seat. “I gave up on you ever since you added, like, 3 kilos of seasoning into the meat for no reason.” then you turned to Rae. “Sure, let’s do it, babe.”

Their loud yelling immediately started mixing, Rae’s cheers contrasting Corpse’s protesting. She stuck her tongue out at him meanwhile Corpse shot her the middle finger, and she turned back to you with a grin.

“Alright, what do I put in?”

Roughly twenty unnecessary and extremely long minutes later, the tacos were done, two each for each of them. Rae’s looked the best - probably because you guided her through the whole thing - next to Sykkuno’s, whose you were genuinely intrigued to try. While Corpse was arguing with Rae, he burned roughly half of his already ruined beef, and Karl made the very nice observation that it looked like a bird shat in a tortilla, which you proclaimed as the highlight of the video.

Since you and Karl claimed you were full, the three of them simply swapped tacos between each other as to be unbiased, and the two of you watched in amused suspense. You were actually quite interested to see what the end results were - you were first anxious and quite annoyed you even had to participate in the first place, because it meant losing your mind from jealousy, watching Corpse and Rae giggle and act all domestic while cooking, but jealousy simply dissipated somewhere half through the video as you watched the three argue if cheddar cheese belonged on tacos or not and Rae laugh at every stupid joke you cracked. Now, you sat, fully immersed as you stared at Sykkuno’s face; the poor guy ended up with the misfortune of having to try Corpse’s taco first.

“Zoom in, zoom in!” you whispered into Karl’s ear who complied and zoomed into Sykkuno’s face. He bit into the taco, chewing for a second before his face twisted in disgust and you began wheezing when he grabbed a tissue and spit it out, immediately grabbing his glass of water. Rae laughed at him as well, mouth full of his one, which she claimed she actually liked but it wasn’t as good as the “Y/NRae-co” as she proudly called it. Corpse silently ate Rae’s taco and refused to give a review on it because he was upset he got defeated, but the fact that he scarfed down the whole thing in a minute or so was enough of a review.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.” Corpse exclaimed when he saw Sykkuno’s bite in the tissue, grabbing the second taco he made and biting down on it. The whole room burst into laughter when he roughly swallowed, tears obvious in the one eye that showed, because of the overly spicy beef.

“What are you motherfuckers laughing at? It’s not that bad, I stand by tacorpse.”

“Tacorpse is actually genius. The one good thing you came up with during the entirety of this video.” Rae said and Corpse mumbled a fuck you in response.

“Well, I think we can all agree that me and Y/N’s taco was clearly the best.” she said, clasping her hands together.

“I actually think mine was better.” Sykkuno said, to which she pushed his plate out of the frame.

“Nobody asked you anything.”

“Don’t bully Sykkuno, I’ll fucking kick you out.”

“Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure Y/N would kick you out before they’d let you kick me!” Rae said, accusingly pointing her taco in Corpse’s direction.

“Alright, let’s wrap up the video.” Karl laughed behind the camera, and the three of them all turned to properly face it and end the video.

“Thank you all so much for watching, this has been an… interesting video, to say the least. Uh, thank you to Karl for filming this whole disaster, thank you to Corpse,” Rae gestured in his direction, “for lending us his kitchen, thank you to Sykkuno for probably getting us more views on this video, and also a big thank you to Y/N, Corpse’s better half for making this video way more interesting and helping me make probably, like, the best taco I’ve ever made.” she grinned and you shoved a peace sign in front of the camera.

“If you liked this video, check out Sykkuno and Corpse’s channels, they will be linked down below, and please click like and subscribe to support the channel! Again, thank you all for watching, see you later, bye!” she finished, and with that, Karl turned the camera off.

Silence engulfed the room. You sighed.

“Alright, who’s gonna clean this shit up?”

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

Like Dusk And Dawn | Tsukishima Kei/Reader

Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Reader, Ukai Keishin, Sawamura Daichi

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Reader

Warnings: Angst to fluff, TW(hints of self-harm, suicidal ideation, depression) read at your own discretion.

Word Count:  2273

Summary:  As the day shifts into night, so do you. A change so smooth and noticeable when you pay attention, and so sudden when you don’t. Your head was always wracked with the fear and doubt; your boyfriend, Tsukishima Kei, never seemed to help the situation either.

A/N: I wrote this a little while ago and didn’t really think much of it, but now reading back on it I actually cried. Thank you @satan-ruler-of-hells for basically Beta’ing for this (sowwy I made you cry bb)

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As the day shifts into night, so do you. A change so smooth and noticeable when you pay attention, and so sudden when you don’t. Your head was always wracked with the fear and doubt; your boyfriend, Tsukishima Kei, never seemed to help the situation either. Behind closed doors he could wash away your worries for the night, but when he was in person, he acted as though you didn’t exist, ego bloating at the compliments of other women.

Your body shook as you moved closer to the gym doors, gently knocking. You silently cursed yourself when you realised that they probably couldn’t hear you over the noises inside and proceeded to push the door open slowly, “excuse me.” Your voice is so soft that even the wind managed to triumph over you.

Tsukishima caught sight of you, expression not changing, only briefly switching to annoyance as he missed a receive.

“Can I help you?” The coach stepped in front of you, you’d heard Tsukishima mention his name, Ukai. 

“I need to speak to Tsukishima.” You swallowed hard, not sure if he even managed to hear you, that thought confirmed by the confusion on his face. “Tsukishima…” you slowly pointed at the blond and Ukai followed your line of sight and nodded with a smirk on his lips.

“Oi, Tsukishima, you have another love confession,” your heart strings tugged. You’d always assumed that he had at least told his team about you, but it only confirmed that he didn’t. Worry washed over you. He grinned at Yamaguchi, who almost looked jealous, jogging over to you. Closing the door behind him.

“What is it, Y/N?” He checked the windows over his shoulder before allowing himself to look worried.

Tears pricked in your eyes as you stepped back away from him, “another love confession?” You asked. You couldn’t help the pain it caused you; how were you ever going to compete with all the women? Kei ran his hand through his hair and rolled his eyes.

“Is that really what you want to talk about right now?” His voice is so cold that you shudder, nodding and trying to keep looking him in the eyes. “Fine, we’ll talk about that.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Some girls told me they liked me. There, did that make you feel better?” Harsh words. Maybe he was just trying to make sure no one heard him lose his cool.

You shook your head and he looked off into the distance.

“I just wanted to know why you don’t show me affection in public.” You clenched your fists hard until you were sure you'd broken the skin, shifting them and silently repeating the process.

There was that glare he was known for. It wasn’t special for you; you didn’t want it to be. You wanted the boy you’d fallen in love with, but each time it felt like he was slipping away from you with no hope to get him back. You weren’t any better. Each time he managed to break a wall, you’d be secretly building it back up.

“This shit again?” He growled.

“It would really mean a lot to me if you wou-”

“I already do all that shit for you behind closed doors, why do you need to make it so public?” He shifted his weight. Guilt settled in his stomach when you pulled back away from him.

Something changed on your face and his eyes grew wide. Your fists were still clenched but your body relaxed, a fire seething behind your eyes. “Because I shouldn’t have to listen to the way girls talk about you like your free game; and then you act like you aren’t even taken by me. You don’t even look at me.” Your body was still shaking, you felt so sick, but you knew you needed to face him. “Because I deserve to feel loved and not just like a broken toy.” You had to stop yourself from yelling.

“I’m not taken by anybody.” He turned to face you fully. You stared into his eyes, searching for a hint of sympathy that you’d see on those dark nights.

There was nothing.

“So, what am I to you?”

“You’re just what you said, a broken toy I can play with until I get bored.” He didn’t mean it. It felt like venom on his tongue the moment that it came out but he couldn’t stop it. “Did you actually think you were special?” Another wave of guilt and he glared harder against it. “Did you ever think I could love someone like you?” One final stab and the tears poured wordlessly down your cheeks.

He knew just how to hurt you. Every single time.

You didn’t step back away from him, neither of you moved; you were still searching for the remorse that you needed to be convinced he did still care; he was waiting for the fight back that you’d normally give him to show him you hadn’t given up.

It didn’t come.

“I guess, I thought you did.” Your voice was so soft again, shaking with a thousand emotions. Kei turned his back to you, not caring that the gym door was now open and his teammates stared at him. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone this time.”

He stopped, hoping you were going to come back to him.

Instead, your head dropped low, letting the tears pour down onto you. Overwhelming numbness filled you. You could barely walk away from him. You just wanted to break down right there, but you had enough dignity left.

You didn’t see him staring after you, longing for you to turn around.

He ran his hands through his hair, biting back the tears that formed in the corner of his eyes. Everyone stared at him in shock as he nestled back into a glare.

________________________

True to your word, you left him alone.

No longer did you look at him with that intense love in your eyes that always worried him; he watched as you buried yourself deeper behind a mask. His team had said they’d never seen a girl bounce back so quickly from what looked like a devastating time, they called you strong. But he could see right through your little act. When the eyes weren’t on you, your face was empty, lacking true emotion. You hid yourself deeper down inside yourself.

The thoughts that wracked your brain kept him awake, for months he’d been worried about you tipping over the edge, he knew you’d been close before and even then he’d had to force you back.

Some days he’d managed to walk home a few metres behind you. Your eyes lingered a little too long, body moved just a little too slow, and there was a worrying smile that tugged at your lips when you crossed almost a little too late. But the car always stopped, and you seemed dissatisfied.

Today wasn’t any different. You’d walked to school with some girls; you were laughing, but it was so empty. You lingered a little too long in the road and the car honked at you, yet you didn’t jump, just sighed and followed them with the same smile.

“Tsukki!” A voice called out to him and he zoned back into what he was doing. He jumped to block the ball, but fell just short and cursed himself. The entire game he’d been out of focus, he was lucky it was only a practice match, or this slip-up could have cost him the game.

“Don’t mind, don’t mind.” Daichi patted the boy on the back, trying to gauge his emotions with a simple smile.

It wasn’t until the third time that he failed to block did he start to feel the rage boil inside of him, his movements so frantic that it almost scared the members of Nekoma. After that, he was quickly swapped out.

Tsukishima stormed out of the gym, slamming the door shut behind him. He wanted to scream, cry and punch something all at the same time. But the thing he wanted the most was to be able to see you. To talk to you. To say sorry for being a jerk. He wanted to hold you in his arms one more time, he’d kiss you a thousand times over and over until you were begging him to stop. He’d gloat and show you off to everyone. He’d put you up on that pedestal that you deserved to be on.

The door opened behind him and he lifted his head to yell, until his eyes landed on your figure, frozen.

“What is going on with you-” Ukai called out to the boy, worry dripped from his tongue. He stopped in his tracks as you stared at Tsukki, some fear danced on your face as you took a deep breath and faced him slowly. Ukai didn’t let the door close, he’d seen a scene almost too similar a few months ago and he wasn’t going to let either party walk away hurt this time.

“Ke-” You started to say, but quickly stopped yourself, “Tsukki.” He was watching you carefully; it managed to put you on edge. There was a wave of relief as you spoke to him, your voice as angelic as ever.

“L/N…” he spoke so softly that he wasn’t sure you’d heard him. “What are you doing here?” It was late after school had finished, it wasn’t like you had any club to go to, so why were you here of all places?

You paused, lips in a tight seal. That wave of sadness smashed through your eyes. How were they always so open and yet no one ever dared to look deep enough to see the horrors of your soul? “I… I don’t know.” You admitted, scratching your neck. “I just decided to come here, I guess. I wasn’t really thinking, I can go-” you started to walk away from him, the only thing stopping you was his desperate voice calling out to you. It tugged at your heart.

“Wait!” He sounded like he was in so much pain; every movement seemed to be more painful than the last, he could finally see you again and he’d never felt so much joy. You didn’t turn back to face him, your fists clenched again. Anyone could see you were fighting back tears. “Stay.” He pleaded with you.

The wind blew your hair away from your neck, revealing a few deep scars that made him want to drag you into his arms. “Why? I’ll just end up distracting you, or pissing you off again.” Your voice was shaking now, even as you tried to remain steady.

“Because I need you.” Admitting it almost felt like a deep burn. A betrayal to himself and everything he stood for; it was worth it when you almost turned to go back to him.

“What?”

“I need you, Y/N, do you want me to scream it?” You didn’t respond and he took that as confirmation. “Fine…” he grumbled, and took a deep breath. “I need you, and I miss you! I just want you back and I want to make things better.” It was working, whatever it was, it was working and you weren’t running. “I want to kiss you. And hug you. I want to show you off to everyone and anyone. I want to hold your hands and eat your shitty lunches-” you choked back a laugh, “- I’ll parade you around on my shoulders and make sure every girl and guy knows you are mine!” This was the part he’d hated rehearsing in the mirror. “Because… I-”

You cut him off, turning around with tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t move any closer towards him, that anxious feeling pulled at you, warning you to stay back. He watched the hesitation in your eye before you took a step towards him.

There you lingered, one foot closer to him. He doesn’t mean it, your thoughts pulled you back to your senses, bringing your foot backwards. His heart shattered at the sight.

“Please…” he begged, falling onto his knees. In front of him, you broke down one barrier at a time, vicious tears slipped out of you silently. You didn’t care if their eyes were watching you as that strong exterior you’d spent the last few months building up came crashing down in front of them. You needed to hear it. You felt so weak.

“Do you mean it?” You stood in front of him like a small child, shuffling closer to him even as your mind fought to make you stay back.

Tsukki didn’t move, only kneeling in front of you until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder, he looked up at Ukai who knowingly smiled at him. Some shared understanding flowed between the two before Tsukki finally stood up, taking strides towards you.

He wrapped you in his arms, your head planted against his chest, listening as his heart picked up speed, pounding almost too much. He leant down his own head, craning his neck just to kiss the top of your head. If he hadn’t of been holding you, you would have crumbled. “I mean it,” he whispered.

After a few minutes of crying in his arms, you finally pulled away to look him in the eyes. There was something much sweeter in them than before, so apologetic and sympathetic for the pain he’d knowingly caused you.

He leant down further until his mouth was close to your ear, “I love you, F/N.”

“I love you, too, Kei.”

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[reyeslonestar]

I can’t face the world without you

Available on Ao3

a little (long) follow up to this fic. I hope you enjoy

TK x Carlos, Angst with a Happy Ending (yay), Coma, Proposal

tw, mention of a panic attack and cardiac arrest

1.9k words

TK sits in the uncomfortable hospital chair that he’s claimed as his own for the past week, tapping his fingers absently against the velvet box he’s holding in his hands. It’s the ring box that came out of Carlos’ uniform pocket when they’d had to cut the blood stained clothing off on the operating table - the final straw that broke the camel’s back of TK’s emotional capacity on the day that Carlos was shot. There's another box in his pocket - the ring inside the one that TK bought a few weeks ago. The one that he was going to offer to Carlos that Friday night after they'd crawled into bed, holding each other close as they revelled in the wonder of each other’s company.

They should be fiancés by now.

Instead, he’s watching the unnaturally silent stillness of the man he loves most in the world; the slow rhythm of the heart rate monitor a soundtrack to the fear in his head that he might never get the chance to ask that question, or to ever hear it returned.

Because Carlos has been in a coma for 8 days. And while the doctors are hopeful, TK knows there’s no certainty that he will wake up.

TK nearly had a panic attack when they told him Carlos went into cardiac arrest on the operating table, the fluids Tommy gave him in the ambulance not quite enough to counter the amount of blood he lost in the field. He was in a critical condition for some time, but the surgeons managed to pull him through the surgery and he was moved onto a ward in an induced coma. They eased off the anaesthetic the next morning, and from then it’s just been a waiting game.

TK refused to leave the hospital for the first three days, sleeping fitfully on the unforgiving plastic chair pulled up against the side of Carlos’ bed, his head pillowed against his boyfriend’s side - the side without all the bandages and the stitches that are holding Carlos’ organs and tissue in place.

On the fourth night Owen was adamant for TK to go home, have a shower, and sleep in a proper bed, and it was a testament to TK’s exhaustion that he couldn’t bring himself to argue. However, after waking in a cold sweat at 3am from the horror of having to helplessly watch Carlos bleed out in front of him over and over, this time without Tommy and Nancy and the ambulance supplies there to save him, TK had ordered an uber and snuck back through the hospital corridors in the early hours, trembling with relief to see Carlos alive and breathing, even if only thanks to various plastic tubes criss crossing his body, and even though the sight of him so unnervingly motionless burnt a sour taste down the back of TK’s throat.

Carlos’ parents have been here every day, too, coming by the room to sit quietly on the other side of Carlos’ bed, and each time the nurses wheeled Carlos away for scans and tests, Andrea and TK would sit together in silence, gripping tightly onto each other’s hands for support. There were a lot of tests in the first couple days, and scans to try and gauge his brain activity, to know when he’d wake up and what kind of state he’d be in. Apparently the results were hopeful, indicating everything looked to be normal for the circumstances, and that Carlos would be back with them soon.

But Carlos still hasn’t woken up. And TK is losing the fight against imagining the worst.

Grace and Judd had stopped by the night before - the whole 126 have been in and out of the hospital over the last week to visit and lend their support. Carlos became part of their family when he became part of TK’s and TK knows they’re missing him just as he is. Judd had pulled him into a tight hug, whispering that Carlos was strong, that he’d pull through, before planting a kiss on the top of his head, ruffling his hair as they’d parted. Grace’s hug had been softer, but no less loving, and they’d both sat by Carlos’ side for a time while Judd took Andrea and Gabriel to get some more coffee from the hospital cafe.

He’d felt her eyes on the way he’d been fiddling with the ring box, the same way he has been ever since he found it.

“You know I wanted to propose that night?” he’d said suddenly, voice scratching with the first words he'd willingly volunteered in days. “Nothing extravagant, just- in a way that was us,” he’d added, volume diminished to a hushed whisper on the last word.

Grace had squeezed his arm gently. “So did he,” she’d said quietly, and TK had just stared at her, unable to put anything into words. She’d shrugged slightly. “He was going to make you dinner that night and propose then. He wanted it to be special, but like you say, in a way that was you.”

Tk has felt too numb with fear to cry since he broke down on that first night, but he’d been pretty damn close then.

“I can’t lose him,” he’d whispered, barely loud enough to hear himself, but Grace had heard him anyway.

“I know, honey, I know,” she’d told him. “The same way I know he’s fighting to come right back to you.”

As much as TK wants to believe her words, as the hours creep late into Carlos’ ninth night in this bed, he’s wondering if maybe Carlos has fought all he can. Maybe his strength finally gave out and the beeping machines next to him is the only thing keeping that chest steadily rising and falling.

Tucking his chair as close to the bed as he can, TK draws Carlos’ hand to his lips as he rests his head against the bedcovers, settling in for another night of interrupted sleep.

“I need you back, Carlos,” he whispers, holding back the tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks. “I dont- I can’t face the world without you.”

-

Tk wakes to the feeling of a gentle hand stroking through his hair with slow movements. He blinks slowly and looks up to see warm brown eyes smiling at him.

“Hi,” Carlos whispers, his voice a hoarse and grating sound from a week's disuse.

It’s the most wonderful sound TK has ever heard.

He cries Carlos’ name brokenly, launching himself at Carlos' neck to hold him close. He can feel Carlos chuckling slightly under his chest even as he pulls TK closer and he closes his eyes to soak in this feeling.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into Carlos’ neck and Carlos holds him even tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Carlos whisper, and he pulls back abruptly.

“No,” he says firmly, wiping away the tears that have slipped down his face. “No, you have nothing to apologise for.” He stands up, shifting into action. “Let me get you some water and then we need to get your doctor, get you checked out-”

Carlos’ hand tugging on his interrupts him. “I love you,” Carlos says, voice still scratchy and rough, but he’s smiling at TK, who sits heavily back into his chair.

“I love you too,” he says, squeezing Carlos’ hand painfully. “I love you so much and I thought I was going to lose you and-” he stops and takes a breath, halting the runaway train of his fear in its tracks. “I’m just so happy to see you again,” he finishes with a whisper.

“I’m here,” Carlos says. “And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

-

TK hovers by Carlos’ bed for the next few hours, only stepping far enough away to allow the doctors and nurses to check Carlos over, run tests and eventually remove the various apparatus that have helped keep him alive. Gabriel and Andrea are a teary mess when they see their son sitting up, breathing, talking, alive, and TK can’t blame them. He feels like he’s been holding his body up through sheer stress and worry, and now he knows Carlos is going to be okay, he’s ready to collapse with relief.

At long last, though, the hospital staff retreat and Carlos’ parents head to the cafe to leave Carlos and TK alone once more and TK doesn’t miss the way Carlos sighs with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Do you need something? I can get you something to eat, or drink, or if you need to sleep-”

“I just want you,” Carlos interrupts gently. “I want to ask you something.”

There's something in his voice that makes TK sit up straighter and he frowns slightly. “What’s up?”

“When I woke up- you were holding a box,” Carlos starts, and TK, realising what he’s referring to, pulls the two ring boxes from his pocket and holds up the one from Carlos’ uniform so Carlos can see it. He nods, taking it from TK’s fingers and studying it as he carries on, “I had a whole dinner planned, you know? I was going to cook for us, lay the table out on the terrace and then after we’d eaten I was going to get down on one knee, and ask you. I definitely didn’t plan for this to happen but-” He opens the box carefully, turning it so the ring faces TK and takes a deep breath.

“I love you, TK. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up every morning and know that the love of my life is lying next to me. I want to have a family with you, and make every house we live in into our home. I want to make you dinner whenever we feel like it and spend half our day off in bed even though one in the afternoon is outrageously late for a lie in.” TK chuckles slightly at the dig at his unwillingness to get up in the mornings and Carlos smiles, so bright and warm.

“I didn’t know I could love anyone like this until I met you.” Carlos continues, “You’ve filled my life with so much happiness and I want to try and make you as happy as I can for as long as I can, so - Tyler Kennedy Strand, will you marry me?”

TK smiles tearfully as he ruefully holds up his own box, laughing slightly as he sees realisation dawn on Carlos’ face. “Beat me to it, didn’t you?” he jokes, opening the box to look at the simple platinum band set with diamonds inside. “I’m afraid I didn't plan a dinner, or a big speech. All I knew was that I wanted to ask you, because I want all those things, too. You’re my family and you’re also my home. You’re the best thing in my life- Carlos, you nearly died and I-” he pauses, swallowing back the shadow of choking fear that threatens to mute him. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re everything to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don’t want to go another day without asking you to marry me. So yes, Carlos Reyes, I will marry you, but only if you marry me first.”

Carlos laughs through the tears welling in his eyes, pulling TK in by the wrist to kiss him, whispering “I love you” against his lips. When they pull back, he gently threads the ring onto TK’s left hand, his own hand trembling when TK returns the gesture. TK brings Carlos’ hand up to his lips in a mirror of the last night of Carlos’ coma and kisses the ring, warm lips against cool metal.

“I love you,” TK says quietly. “And I can’t wait to love you for the rest of our lives.”

[stargazing-enby]

In Need of Assistance

A collab with @april-thelightfury115! 😍 I had a lot of fun with this collab, and this was also a great way of combating writer’s block 💪🏼 we hope you enjoy!

Drarry | 2k words | General Audiences | Eighth Year, Getting Together, Spiders, Arachnophobia, Fluff, Truth or Dare | Read on AO3 

“AHHHH!” 

Harry and Ron exchanged a confused look as a yell from the bathroom interrupted their sleepy morning shuffles. Eighth year was in full swing, lessons began at the crack of dawn, and no-one was happy about it this morning. But that didn’t mean it was worth screaming about. 

A second later, a half-shaven Malfoy stumbled out of the bathroom, hair flying in every direction as he panted. Wild eyes finding everyone’s confused attention on him, he paused, quickly smoothing a hand down his rucked shirt.

“Um…” he stumbled, visibly taking a breath. “Blaise, I’m in need of some assistance.” 

The Italian sighed.

“Can’t you just… vanish it or something?”

“Vanish what?” Ron asked, suspiciously.

“Nothing that concerns you, Weasley,” Zabini muttered in a bored tone.

“Blaise, I mean it."

“Fiiiine, keep your hair on, I’m coming.” After hauling himself off his bed, Zabini strolled past the practically twitching Malfoy into the bathroom, re-emerging a few seconds later looking just as bored and refined as ever. Only his tightly curled fist—that Malfoy vehemently avoided with comically wide eyes—suggested anything was wrong. Before Harry could ask what the hell was going on, Zabini had opened a window, stuck his hand out, shaken it, and was closing it again. 

“There. Done. Finish getting ready," he commanded. To Harry’s surprise, for once in his life, Malfoy did what he was told without comment, practically scurrying back into the bathroom.

What in the…?

“What was that about?” Harry asked. But of course, Zabini merely donned his robes, ignoring him entirely. 

“What was in your hand?” Ron demanded. But still, the Italian simply grabbed his bag and breezed out of the dorm. Arrogant bastard.

Exchanging a final look of utter bewilderment with him as the sound of running water joined the periodic sighs and curses that always commentated the dorm’s morning routine, Ron shrugged, donning his robes and leaving Harry no choice but to do the same. Apparently, Malfoy screaming in the morning was just another oddity he was going to have to get used to now he was rooming with the Slytherins.

*

He held the handle tightly, edging the door open inch by inch, determined to make as little noise as possible as he entered the dorm way past curfew. 

Old habits die hard, Harry thought to himself with a wry smile. A long Potions lesson had left him in dire need of some tea at Hagrid’s, and then the cool night air had been too nice to resist. Before he’d known it, he’d been staring at the stars for a few hours. Only the looming threat of McGonagall’s wrath in Transfiguration in the morning had forced him back into the castle.

Bypassing his bed for the bathroom, the snores of his dorm-mates sent a yawn shivering through him. Bed definitely sounded like a good idea…

“Are you going in there?”

Harry wheeled around, coming face to face with a silhouetted figure sat cross legged on the bed. 

“Jeez, Malfoy! What are you doing, trying to kill me?!” he whispered, trying to slow his racing heart. 

“If I was trying to kill you, you’d be dead, believe me,” Malfoy bit back. Harry just rolled his eyes, the pressure in his bladder reminding him of more important things.

“Whatever, Malfoy. Go to sleep before you terrify someone else.” 

“Wait!” The sound of Malfoy’s feet hitting the floor reached his ears. “I—Um—Are you going into the bathroom?” 

Harry frowned.

“No, you see, this is actually a secret door to an alternate universe where I own a bakery and I’m late opening it, so if you’ll excuse me." 

“Oh fuck off, Potter," Malfoy spat.

"Gladly."

But as he pushed the door open, an honest to god squeak came from behind him. Incredulous, Harry turned back to the pointy git, studying him. One of his feet was mounted over the other, avoiding the cold stone of the bedroom, and he was shaking slightly. No—he was doubled over like he was in pain. Harry squinted. 

“Malfoy, why are you awake?”

Malfoy tried, and failed, to seem nonchalant. 

“N—No reason.” 

Harry huffed. 

“Look, I’m exhausted. If you don’t want me to know, go wake Zabini up and ask him again to deal with whatever—”

“I—I can’t. He has an Ancient Runes exam in the morning.” 

“Well, then. Whatever’s in there isn’t worse than a Basilisk, is it?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Malfoy grimaced. When Harry glared at him, he muttered, “Okay, fine. It’s not. You’ll be fine. Probably.”

“Good enough,” Harry said. He opened the bathroom door, but looked back at Malfoy, who hadn’t moved and was looking at him intently. “Malfoy.”

“What?”

“You’re staring. It’s weird.”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah. Don’t mind me.”

“Fucking hell,” Harry grumbled, but decided to ignore the Slytherin and go pee regardless. Malfoy was old enough and ugly enough to take care of himself.

Despite his efforts, Harry couldn’t stop himself from staring around as he did his business. There weren’t any ghosts around; no strange voices hissing behind the walls, no Boggarts crawling in the corners. The most exciting things he could spot were the annoying, constant dripping of their wonky tap, and a small spider chilling on the ceiling right above his head. 

Unless…

Nah, that couldn’t be it. Could it? It did sort of make sense, what with Zabini carrying something in his fist that one morning and throwing it out the window… But the idea of Malfoy being scared—no, terrified—of spiders was... absurd. Hilarious. Interesting.

When he walked back into the bedroom, Malfoy was still exactly where he’d left him. Harry smirked to himself, leaving the bathroom door ajar and walking past him without a word. Waiting to see what Malfoy would do.

“Did you—” Malfoy murmured after a moment of silence, just as Harry sat on his bed. “Did you... see anything?”

“I did, actually,” Harry said casually as he untied his shoes. “There was this ginormous dump that someone had left there, floating endlessly in the deep waters of the toilet—”

“I’m serious!”

“Oh, and there was also a tiny spider somewhere around there.”

“It wasn’t—! It wasn’t tiny,” Malfoy grumbled, raising his nose in the air. “It was… moderately intimidating.” 

Harry bit his lip so as to stifle a chuckle.

“Just go pee, Malfoy. It’s not going to kill you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It didn’t kill me.”

“You’re Harry bloody Potter, it doesn’t count.”

“Malfoy…”

“You know I have a point!”

Harry sighed. “Do you want me to get rid of it?”

“You… would?” Malfoy said, tone shifting to an almost pleading one. How long he must’ve been lying awake trying not to pee himself, only Merlin knew.

“If it’s going to shut you up…” 

“Yes. Yes. Most certainly it will. Please—?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry got back to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, followed at a cautious distance by a visibly distressed Malfoy.

While he climbed the toilet, Harry murmured, “I always used to sleep with several of these over my head, you know. They mostly leave people alone. And even when they don’t, their bites don’t hurt that much.” 

When he climbed back down, spider in hand, Malfoy was staring at him from the threshold in a mixture of awe and horror.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t, then,” Harry shrugged. “How come you’re so scared of them, anyway?”

“It’s called being sensible, Potter. Anyone smart or without a deathwish would want to keep their distance around them.”

“And by keeping the distance, I assume you mean screaming to the top of your lungs?”

“That was different! The fucker was right in front of my face when I leaned into the mirror.”

The spider, still in his fisted hand, crawled around in his palm, making him shiver slightly. He might not mind spiders, but the sensation wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“You’re impossible,” Harry concluded with a shake of his head. “I’ll get rid of this one. You go… pee, or whatever. We’ll talk in the morning.”

*

He was about to follow a very grumpy Ron down the stairs to the Common Room when a hand grasped his wrist and pulled him back into their dorm.

“Good morning to you too,” Harry said, too sleepy to sneer back at Malfoy when he caught sight of his expression.

“You’re not going to tell him about last night, are you?” Malfoy pointed his chin toward the stairs as he talked. “Because if you do, I swear to Salazar, Potter, I will turn the rest of your school year into a living hell.”

“Sure, sure.” Harry yawned. “Look, I’ve had enough terrible years already. I’m not about to do anything that could disrupt the shaky peace of our dorm. Relax, okay?”

Malfoy leaned forward, giving him a glare that he was sure was meant to be intimidating. “You’d better.”

“Mate, why are you—oh.”

Harry watched with increasing horror as Ron’s expression changed into one of realisation, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red as he took note of the way Malfoy was leaning over him—the way he was pressed against the bedroom wall. Fuck, why the hell had Malfoy cornered him against the bedroom wall?!

“Er—I’ll—I’ll wait in the Great Hall, then. Leave you two to…” He gestured vaguely. “Yeah.”

“Ron, it’s not—!” Harry started, pushing Malfoy away from him and running for the door. But Ron was already out of sight. He leaned against the doorframe, cursing silently. 

“What the fuck?” said Malfoy from behind him.

“Congratulations,” Harry muttered, slowly turning around. “Ron still doesn’t know you’re terrified of spiders. He simply thinks you were about to snog me senseless!”

“What?! Why in Merlin’s name would he think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you had me pressed against the bloody wall?!”

“I didn’t—!” Malfoy started, cheeks aflame, but gave up with a huff when Harry raised his eyebrows at him. “Look, let’s just—let’s just go get breakfast. And you”—he pointed an accusatory finger at Harry—“had better convince the Weasel that we were arguing over something completely heterosexual and absolutely not spider-related. Is that clear?” 

“Whatever, Malfoy.” Harry turned to leave, letting a small smile slip now that the Slytherin couldn’t see him. Gosh, Malfoy was so funny when he was flustered it was almost endearing. “Come on.”

*

“Mate, you can’t be serious.”

Harry felt Malfoy’s groan in his very soul as they walked out of the Potions ingredients cupboard. 

“It’s the third time this month!” Ron hissed as they made their way back to their cauldron. “And we’re in the middle of class! You know I love you, Harry, but this is getting out of hand.”

“Zabini wasn’t around to help him,” Harry muttered. “You know, if you really did love me, you’d believe me when I tell you that—”

“Ah, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley!” Slughorn chirped. “I take it you’re finished with your potion, since you’re having such a fun time in my class! You won’t mind if I give it a sip, will you?”

All eyes on him, Harry muttered an excuse and gave Ron a death glare.

*

“So, Harry,” a very tipsy Hannah said, wiggling her eyebrows, “what will it be? Truth or dare?”

Why did I agree to this again? Was the only answer his scattered thoughts supplied.

“Er—dare,” he blurted after a moment.

Hannah’s eyebrow wiggling increased exponentially. 

“How about you give your boyfriend a snog, then?” A chorus of giggles exploded around them. “I think we’ve all been wondering what you two get up to in the cupboards.”

“He—Malfoy’s not—” Harry spluttered, but his words caught in his throat when he saw the state Draco was in: pink from throat to ears, mouth slightly parted. Eyes filled with dread, but keen on straying from Harry’s gaze down to his lips. He’d clearly had one drink too many. 

A push on his back made him topple forward, and, as several people cheered, Harry crawled toward Draco, unable to remember or care why his sober self would think this was a terrible idea. 

“Potter,” Draco breathed, a hand grasping Harry’s waist. Half-lidded eyes falling on his lips again. Harry’s breath hitched.

“We can—I mean, we don’t have to—”

“Potter.”

A pull at his hip; a fist clenched around his jumper. Urgent.

“Okay.”

Draco’s hands slid against his scalp and into his hair, making him shiver. 

“Thanks,” Draco murmured against his lips. “For… you know. Your assistance.”

“You’re w—”

Draco’s lips parted and caught Harry’s lower one in a kiss. The last thing Harry noticed before the last of his coherent thoughts left him with a low moan was Ron’s half-frustrated, half-victorious cry of, “I knew it!” 

[romiithebirdie]

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 2

Present day.

Inko Midoriya entered her apartment, softly closing the front door behind her after dropping her shopping bags in the hallway. A harsh breeze slapped her bare arms and she shivered, quickly removing her shoes and padding into the living room to close the window that she hadn't realised she'd left open.

Cheerful music rang out in the direction of the kitchen and she immediately followed the sound up towards one of her kitchen worktops. Within seconds, Inko slid her arm across the space and picked up the mobile device with a questioning frown.

UNKNOWN CALLER

Timidly, she pressed the Answer button and slowly put it to her ear;

"Midoriya Residence, may I ask who's calling?"

Her response came from an intangible grunt followed by loud rustling, like the caller was fumbling through plastic liners. She sighed, "Hello?"

"Y-yeah," the audio was fuzzy, almost like they had a bad signal connection from wherever they were calling from. "I'm looking for an Inko Midoriya."

"Speaking."

"I see."

Inko huffed, switching her phone into her other free hand; "So? Is there something you needed or-"

"You were his wife, right?"

And her instinct to slam the phone down at that moment faltered and she immediately was hit with old painful memories.

"E-Excuse me?" her voice was hushed, like she'd been winded by those words alone.

"Your husband. Hisashi Midoriya."

"Who is this?"

"Just somebody who wanted to talk."

"My husband hasn't lived here," since he disappeared, "for a while. I'm sorry if you were trying to reach him, I can't help you."

With that brief explanation, she immediately ended the call and dropped it on the table top. With a stifled gasp, she clamped a hand over her mouth and leaned over one of the kitchen chairs as if she were in pain.

Emotional pain.

She really needed Izuku right now…

UNKNOWN CALLER buzzed across her phone screen for the second time and a shiver ran from the back of her neck all the way down to her spine. Was someone trying to pull a sick prank or something? She had no clue.

Reluctantly, she pressed Answer once again and whispered an anxious, "Hello?"

"You know you cry way too much, right? Same old Inko."

Crying?

She gingerly touched her cheek and immediately felt the wetness. Then it dawned on her what this person had just said and her breath hitched in her throat.

"Who is this?" she repeated, firmer this time while brushing the back of her arm against her face. Somebody had been watching her, the problem was she had no idea where. "Listen," her voice was jittery yet she ignored it, "I don't know how you got my number or where you've seen me but if you don't stop right now, I will be calling the authorities."

"Call them," the voice cackled gruffly on the other side of the line, "besides, who said anything about having seen you? You shouldn't leave your window open when you leave the house."

The window.

It had been open when she'd returned home from her errand.

She lowered the phone from her ear, heart racing against her chest while her ears picked up every tiny sound coming from the floorboards, thumps against the walls from the neighbours and a slow ticking sound coming from the kitchen clock.

The front door was only along the hallway. Almost taunting her with the reflective rays of the sunshine outside.

Tick, tick, tick.

It felt like she was stuck in slow-motion, her legs trembling violently under the assumption there might be an intruder hiding somewhere in her home right now…

"You've gone quiet."

Was that this person's plan? To lure her outside?

"I-I…" Inko choked on her own words.

"Don't you like talking to me?"

No. I really don't.

"I like talking to you."

Inko closed her eyes and bit her lip before shaking her head.

"After all, we're practically family."

                                                .-.-.-.-.

"You serious, Deku?" came the sneer of a young boy with spiky ash-blond hair. Behind him stood two other boys around the same age as they towered over a smaller boy with messy green locks. "You really think a weakling like you can do a fucking thing against the three of us?"

"He was crying, Kacchan!" the green-haired boy pleaded, wiping furiously at his tear-stained cheeks. "You can't keep acting like a bully; it's wrong!"

"The hell did you just say to me?!"

It was the wrong choice of words.

Something Izuku had quickly learned when dealing with Katsuki Bakugou, a boy that used to be his friend. However, when Izuku confided to the other child about the secret that greatly upset his parents, he was met with complete scorn and eventually became the class outcast.

Defenseless Izuku, the freak that saw dead people and nobody wanted to be friends with.

However, Katsuki's bullying tendencies halted after one of his friends, Tsubasa, vanished without a trace. The fiery boy grew more withdrawn and unsure, keeping Izuku at a great distance rather than choosing to torment him.

Katsuki Bakugou eventually moved away from Musutafu to live with his grandparents after a gruesome event that deeply traumatised him;

Early one morning, the remains of Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou were found along the coastal side of Dagobah Beach. The media kept a lot of the details brief due to the case's sheer horrifying nature.

Masaru Bakugou was found with his throat slit and hands cut off while Mitsuki Bakugou was covered in various stab wounds with her tongue removed. The forensics and autopsies had ruled out that they had been dead for quite some time due to the fact that their corpses were spread with heavy decay.

Izuku only remembered fragments of the dreadful news; his father being more reserved while his mother broke down over discovering their demise. From what he remembered, his mother and Auntie Mitsuki had met in Junior High and had remained friends in their adult life.

Despite Katsuki's ill-treatment of him, Izuku still found himself feeling concerned for the louder boy. Sadly, Izuku never got a chance to try and rekindle his friendship with the youngest Bakugou due to him immediately being sent away.

It was something that Izuku still found himself longing for many years later in his teenage years…

"Hi, everybody. My name is Izuku Midoriya and I'm visiting today to talk about things that have affected me since I was very young."

And I'd rather be anywhere else than here right now…

Izuku forced himself to smile, despite the overwhelming feeling of nerves tugging away at his chest that made him feel more like a wooden puppet than an actual person at this point. It was pretty on point, he'd been rehearsing his greeting for a while now anyway...

"Thank you, Midoriya, please take your seat," one of the group therapy leaders smiled, sitting forward while hunched over her thick clipboard in an extremely awkward manner. Izuku bared his teeth in another forced grin before sitting back down on his plastic chair, trying to ignore the burn of embarrassment scorching his freckled cheeks.

While various names chorused amongst each other, Izuku chose to tune out. His emerald green eyes focused completely on a particular spot on the floor tiles as voices blended into one incoherent fuzzy noise. Almost sounding like television static.

Therapy had been his mother's idea. Izuku hadn't been thrilled at the proposition but he knew how much it would mean to her if he tried it out. That was several months ago.

They had attempted medication and counselling in the past too, thus why Izuku was understandably growing more and more tired with it. It was the same old story to him.

While he had grown up seeing things that would be… odd to most, the idea for counselling had nothing to do with the invisible people that clung to him in desperation. They still talked to him, though Izuku often found himself tuning out more nowadays.

Maybe he was just crazy?

That would explain why his mother was always sad and his father cut them off years ago.

Perhaps it was the stress of dealing with a problem child?

Izuku shook his head, chiding himself internally for even daring to consider such a ludicrous possibility;

Both of his parents loved him.

His mother was still grieving her husband's disappearance, it had nothing to do with Izuku's quirky little ability to see dead people…

"Get a grip, Izuku," he muttered to himself.

"Uh, is everything alright over there, young man?" one of the counsellors blinked, everybody's attention solely on the greenette as he flushed in humiliation.

Add talking to yourself to that pile of issues too, Izuku thought miserably to himself while the group therapy session came to end. The second that the adults dismissed the teens, Izuku snatched up his bag and bolted for the exit door like his life depended on it. Luckily, it was a short ride on the bullet train back to the city of Musutafu's Tattooin Station and then a ten minute walk back to his apartment complex.

As he made his way along his neighbourhood street, he noticed a large number of people crowding around the apartment blocks, some people were filming while police were running around and taping the area off to the civilians.

What in the…

While he craned his neck to try and see what was happening, his shoulder bumped against another member of the public and they made a short, restrained grunt as they were pushed to the side.

"S-Sorry, are you-" Izuku froze, emerald orbs meeting an intense crimson that sparked an old feeling of anxiousness and bad nostalgia.

"It's fine," the guy muttered, lowering his head before turning on his heel and striding in the opposite direction of the scene.

That was odd, Izuku frowned, watching the guy disappear amongst the sea of people flocking around the teen while using their phones to record.

Paramedics dressed in green appeared from the stairwell of the apartment complex and rushed across the lawn, pushing a stretcher on wheels. Izuku carefully pushed his way towards the front of the crowd and immediately froze in complete horror.

On the stretcher was his mother.

Thick gauze and towels were drenched in red that could only have been blood and she had an oxygen mask over her face. Izuku's vision suddenly swam and he clung to the nearest stranger, gasping for breath.

Police, paramedics and people were surrounding the entire vicinity. Realisation smacked Izuku as hard as a blunt object striking him across the face.

Holy shit. Who had done this?

His mother was being taken away on a stretcher covered in blood. He honestly didn't understand what was currently happening. Why was this happening?

The last that Izuku saw of his kind, gentle mother before the paramedics closed the ambulance doors were three random letters that had been carved into her arm;

A.F.O

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 13

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 3.5k

warnings: foul language, implied sexual assault, mentions of trauma and mental illness

description: Yang Jeongin, the only living witness of the Miroh Heights Murders, is finally awake, casting a new shadow of possibilities onto the entire investigation. Han Jisung knows deep down there’s only one place left to go,  and takes his chances with a familiar blond detective -- but they find that where chances are given, lives may be taken away.

watch the trailer here!

13| give and take.

They say when you have a close brush with death, you see your life flash before your eyes.

Jeongin supposed there was some truth to that. One moment he had been squinting at the golden-haired boy in the darkness; the next he had found himself collapsed against the forest floor. The sky had spun above him like a broken kaleidoscope, until the unbearably hot throbbing in his head had finally forced his eyes shut. He had felt the strength seeping from his limbs, like blood being drained from livestock, and had let the numbness wash over him like an icy tidal wave.

That was when Jeongin’s life had flashed behind his closed eyelids — choppy flashes of memories and people’s voices, warped and dizzying. 

“Life in prison?” Jeongin’s own voice sounded tinny in his ears, and his father gave him a sad smile on the other side of the plexiglass. “B-but all you did was—”

“A man lost his life because of me,” his father spoke slowly, eyes steady on Jeongin’s distraught face. Slow, steady, careful. Kind. That was how Jeongin had always known his father — a gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly — yet now he was sitting across from him in an inmate’s uniform, handcuffs locked tight around his wrists. 

“But he—he hurt Mum first,” Jeongin whispered, barely able to push the words out of his throat. “He—you said he—”

“He did.” His father’s face had darkened, his normally soft jaw clenched. “I...lost it, and what happened to him was what that bastard deserved — but nothing changes the fact that I...killed him.” He let out a deep, weary sigh, and Jeongin was suddenly struck by how much older his father looked. “He got his punishment for his sins one way, and now I’m paying for mine. It’s as simple as that, my boy.”

The buzzer sounded and the door behind him clicked open, a stone-faced officer stepping into the room as his father stood. “Take good care of your mother, would you?”

“Dad, if—” Jeongin’s shaking voice made his father turn back around. The question was odd, but it had been burning at the back of his mind since the beginning of the visit. “If you—had the chance to go back. Would you still have...done it?”

Silence fell between father and son like a curtain. His father inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows before meeting his son’s eyes again. “I don’t doubt it,” he finally replied, voice soft. “What could I do? It was for someone I loved.”

From then on, Jeongin’s mother had spent the better years of her life working whatever job she could find, and the two of them lived off minimum wage and money sent by estranged relatives — until the poor woman had finally fallen ill. No one would hire a sickly old woman — especially not one that had been involved in a sexual assault case, all those years ago.

That was why Jeongin worked with four different delivery companies at a time; that was what he could never bring himself to tell Hyunjin or you. Work four jobs, graduate, and make proper money to pay his mother’s hospital bills, to dig himself out of the poverty he’d known his entire life. Yang Jeongin’s one-way, masterplan. Until…

The coma.

He had become almost comfortably numb, like a body submerged in the middle of a pond — yet occasionally, something would pull him above the surface, even if just for a brief moment. A voice, a pressure, a light. It was almost always Hyunjin, the soft-hearted barista talking to him about his day as if Jeongin had simply sat down to chat in Glow Cafe, not rendered immobile and unresponsive by a concussion. Sometimes, though, the older boy would be crying, silent sobs shaking his lean frame until he was so exhausted he’d fall asleep by Jeongin’s side. And Jeongin wanted nothing more than to reach out to reassure him, to pull his friend into a hug, but he couldn’t will his body to move no matter how hard he tried.

Until now.

An incessant high-pitched beeping was growing louder and louder, the tips of his fingers prickling. Jeongin’s heartbeat surged into his temples, pounding against his eardrums like fists demanding entry. The darkness behind his eyelids was shifting, pinpricks of light poking their way in — and like a breath of air had been knocked straight into his lungs, Jeongin felt his entire body lurch forward and his eyes shot open.

For several seconds he could only take deep, gasping breaths, obsessed with just the feeling of it all, vaguely registering the inhaler pressed against his mouth. His eyes were still adjusting, flashes of white light and black stars painting his blurry vision. There were shouts from all around him, a deep rumbling as everything seemed to shake.

It was as if the entire sky was falling above him, he thought vaguely.

He blinked, hard, and his vision finally focused, the incongruous voices and sounds growing clearer. The incessant beeping had been the heart monitor by his cot, keeping in time with his gasping breathing. And the yelling was coming from none other than Hwang Hyunjin, whose dark hazel eyes were wide with disbelief and already brimming with tears of shock.

“J-Jeongin? He’s — he’s awake,” the taller boy nearly tripped getting to his feet, yanking aside the curtains and disappearing from Jeongin’s sight. “He’s awake!”

Jeongin winced, a throbbing pressure beginning to press at his skull. His fingers twitched twice and he flexed them gingerly. Suddenly remembering, his hands weakly scrabbled for his pockets, desperately feeling for a familiar metal box but coming back empty. 

His Walkman was gone.

The deep rumbling passed by him again and he realised it was the sound of carts full of medical equipment speeding across the halls — like there had been yet another emergency. Jeongin could only make out some of what the hospital staff were saying as they rushed past.

“Stab wound to the chest...brought her in...no sight of him.”

Jagged fragments of his memory were coming back to him, the empty feeling in his chest beginning to fill with a sinking sense of dread. The strange boy. A dismembered corpse.

What on earth happened while I was out?

━━━━━━━━ 

Run.

Jisung’s feet slammed into the pavement, puddles splashing cold rainwater onto his bloodstained jeans.

“He’s a runner, that’s what he is.”

His chest was burning, ribs feeling as if they were closing in on his lungs. He could still feel your warm body pressed against his, widened eyes fluttering shut as he could only watch in horror. With strength Jisung didn’t know he had left, he had carried you in his arms and bolted into the alley just as the police had turned into the diner’s back lot. The hospital was only a block away. He had burst into the lobby, nearly collapsing as he shouted for someone, anyone to help — and nearby, stunned doctors had loaded you onto an empty gurney before whisking you into the emergency room. Once they returned, Jisung was long gone.

“You ran away from her, too, yeah?”

The gang’s taunting voices echoed in his head, the sky rumbling above him — just like how his father’s voice had always rumbled, shaking the thin walls of his childhood home. And now, Jisung was ten years old all over again, clutching his camcorder in his bloodstained hands.

There had been a fine layer of dust coating the dented metal when Jisung had seized it from his dorm closet. Just touching the metal made his hands slippery with cold sweat, but he forced himself to grip it harder, counting the memory cards before he took off. Running, one last time.

“Try running now, Han.”

He wasn’t running away.

If he wanted to reverse the horrible things he’d done, there was only one place left to go.

“Han Jisung, always running away.”

“Not this time,” Jisung breathed through gritted teeth, almost welcoming the way the falling rain burned at his eyes and nostrils. “Not anymore.”

━━━━━━━━

Bang Chan didn’t realize how long he had been pacing the room until his feet began to ache in protest.

The detective hadn’t left the police precinct since Woojin had called him over, the pair pulling out files and chasing leads from dawn till dusk. Kim Seungmin had popped in for several hours before he had been called back to the law office. The moon had come and gone, until telltale sirens sounded not long after noon, and Woojin was called onto the scene of yet another emergency.

Another hour or so had passed since then, and Chan was replaying the same conversation with the police chief over and over in his head.

“I didn’t want to believe it, Chan, but from the beginning I had this—this feeling—”

“A hunch,” Chan finished, and when the police chief looked hesitant, Chan continued, “is almost always based on something more concrete, whether you know it or not. Something familiar, or strange. We’ve hit all the dead ends; a hunch is one of the better things we can hope for right now.”

Woojin exhaled, then spoke slowly. “The victims’ backgrounds, how they’ve all had pasts connected to abuse, or adultery. Not to mention the modus operandi that stood out the most — you remember the fire, and numerous counts of brute force.”

“I thought something was familiar, too,” Seungmin had interjected, his brow furrowing. “I studied this...case back in law school — a shotgun marriage, their young son growing up in an abusive household, until one day —”

“The house went up in flames,” Woojin finished, nodding. “It’s the same case, the most infamous amongst domestic abuse cases in Miroh Heights. The names were withheld for privacy reasons. Though the case was closed over a decade ago...the accuracy of the final verdict, and the true events that transpired that night, are still unknown.”

“Victims of cold cases often reappear as suspicious persons,” Chan muttered. “It’s a reach, but if you look at the similarities...”

“We’ve been blindsided this entire time,” Seungmin said slowly, his fingers raking through his hair. “Not a substance abuser, quite possibly not a cold-blooded killer.” He looked up at Woojin, whose brow was furrowed in deep thought. “So if your hunch is correct, then—”

“This is the aftereffect of a cold domestic violence case from over a decade ago,” the young police chief said firmly, eyes flickering up to Chan. “And we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

Something had been pricking at the back of the detective’s head since Woojin had begun talking — no, far before he had even arrived at the police station. Chan had always been known for having a quick mind; it was one of the things that separated him from other, more mediocre detectives in his field — but this time, something was blocking him from reaching the final conclusion. He didn’t lack evidence; there were no flaws in his logic. It was the horrible feeling of familiarity that made him choke, that forced him to hesitate. Because he knew this case, he had seen it before.

“And it’s not a reach, Detective,” Woojin continued, voice gentle but eyes firm. “Because I believe you know the story yourself.”

Seungmin turned towards Chan, eyes questioning. The detective shook his empty coffee cup in his hands, eyes skirting over the countless case files and papers they had been sifting through for hours.

“The perpetrator is—”

A blond boy burst into the dimly lit room, breathing so hard Chan thought he was about to have a stroke. It didn’t take longer than a second for the detective to recognise him.

“Han Jisung,” Chan finished the flashback aloud, the name hanging in the tense air. His eyes scanned the shaking boy from head to toe, a cold feeling running down his spine. He wasn’t even trying to hide the blood soaking his clothes and skin, Chan thought numbly. This was his friend, someone he’d always looked at like a little brother—but he had seen, solved too many of these cases not to recognise the stricken look on Jisung’s pale face.

This was the shell of a man who had just lost everything.

“What brings you here?” Chan asked, watching him carefully. The same tousled golden hair, he noted, pushing down a pang in his chest; the same boyish round cheeks, although there was a smattering of bruises and cuts across them now. 

“You told me I—I could talk to you or Woojin. Anytime.” Jisung’s voice faltered, wiping at his face as if to clear away some of the muck, but the dried blood on his palms only smeared more across his jaw. He looked like a lost dog, a stray that had turned up on the nearest warm doorstep and was watching him with almost apologetic, apprehensive eyes.

Chan set down his notebook, nodding slowly. “That I did,” he finally replied, glancing back up at the younger boy before pulling out two chairs. “Woojin got called to a scene, though. You okay if I listen for now?”

Jisung felt a flood of indescribable emotions wash over him. The same twist in his gut he had felt back at the 3rd Eye, when the Chan had pulled him close and asked if he was okay. 

I’ll listen. 

That was more than anyone had ever offered him since the incident thirteen years ago. The therapists, the police, the social workers — all they had ever wanted was for him to listen to them, to heed their advice and bury his past behind him.

Other than you, of course. The memory of your fading eyes burning into his own shook him back to the present. 

“I think you know, Chan,” Jisung said softly, marking the way the detective was warily scanning the blood covering him from head to toe; the dishevelled look Jisung must have had on his face.

“I have a hunch,” was the detective’s reply. He sounded as if he were repeating someone else’s words, but his voice was steady as it had ever been. “But you’re going to need to help me on this one, kiddo.”

Jisung met the older boy’s eyes — Chan’s always tired but unfailingly kind eyes, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that was what made him such a meticulous detective, respected by criminals and citizens alike — never jumping to conclusions, always seeing a problem out till the end. The detective’s gaze dropped to the silver camcorder in Jisung’s hands. 

“You used to carry that around everywhere you went, I remember. Never showed anyone what you’d film, though.”

“Do you have...anything that can play memory cards?” Jisung swallowed a painful lump in his throat. “I need to—show you. Now.”

Wordlessly, Chan moved his laptop over on the table, and made the younger boy take a seat next to him.

Jisung had always thought his past was something to be kept buried — below the ashes of his childhood home, or six feet under his mother’s grave, or bottled deep within his chest. That no one would ever truly know — would want to know — what had happened that day, let alone what had been happening for the years leading up to that day. And yet, for the second time in two days, he was sat next to someone who, to his surprise, didn’t make him want to run. Someone he was willing to take the risk of revealing the darkest parts of himself with. 

For the next hour, Chan watched the footage in silence, from the very first Christmas to the day Jisung’s father’s mistress had pressed burning cigarettes into his bare skin. From the fateful day their entire home was brought to the ground with alcohol and fire at the hands of a ten year old boy, and to the choppy records from the years that followed. Jisung had taped his encounters with the incompetent officers and dismissive social workers at the police station, and the mandatory therapy sessions they had subjected him to. He had taped the kidnapping, and his years at the children’s home with Minho. 

He had not taped any of the killings.

Chan sat through it all, reliving Jisung’s nightmares the way the younger boy had every night for the past thirteen years, an ugly childhood told through the fisheye lens of an old camcorder. By the time the last tape had finished, the detective had not moved, but Jisung knew him well enough to catch the tension in his jaw, the shaken look in his normally bright eyes. 

“You were the cold case,” Chan finally said, a long exhale leaving his now-dry lips. “From thirteen years ago. The one they couldn’t solve, and swept under the rug.”

Jisung didn’t respond, too busy forcing every inch of his body to remain still — to not stand and sprint out of the room, out of the police station he had been avoiding his entire life.

“Why are you telling me this?” The detective asked, turning his body to face the younger boy.

“Because I—I killed—all those people,” Jisung wove his hand towards the files Chan had splayed onto the desk, the headshots of victims lying at the very top. The words were heavier than weights in his mouth, and and the truth of it all tasted more bitter than poison. “And then I—I couldn’t stop. I sound insane, I know I do. I know I p-probably am. They were—flashes at first. Triggers, seizures that went too far. And soon it became like--like an impulse, until I started blacking out completely—” Jisung’s breathing caught up to him and he choked, but he managed to force the last words out. “And today, I...hurt...y/n.” He saw the alarm flash across Chan’s eyes. “The last person who made me hope...made me want to hope that life was worth living, after all.”

He sounded insane.

He sounded like a serial killer trying to make excuses for something inexcusable.

He sounded like a monster.

“You sound like you’ve been through a lot.” Chan’s voice made Jisung look up from his shoes. The soft look in his eyes was back, and though a bit of the blood had drained from his face, the warmth in his voice had never left. “Thank you. For telling me.”

That was the final blow.

“S-stop. Don’t—say that,” Jisung could feel his voice breaking, the tears burning at his throat. “Chan, you have to turn me in, make them give me the death penalty, I-I—”

“Han Jisung.” The detective’s voice was stern, his normally gentle eyes narrowed. “You turned yourself in. The case from thirteen years ago needs to be reopened, and all the factors reinvestigated to be fairly taken into account. You do not deserve the death penalty.”

Jisung was shaking his head numbly, lips unable to form protests as the detective continued, a blazing look in his eyes Jisung had never seen before. “You’re not gonna be a martyr now, you hear? Han Jisung, you’ve been hurt by everyone else your whole damn life. I’m not about to let you hurt yourself.”

There it was again. That feeling of unfamiliar warmth aching deep in his chest, like an old bruise being pressed into. Before Jisung could speak, a slow, sarcastic clapping echoing through the room made both of them raise their heads and turn in alarm.

Prosecutor Kang pushed the door aside, eyebrows raised in amusement and mock sympathy. 

“What are—you can’t—” Chan leapt up from his seat, but Kang only looked more amused as he looked over his shoulder at the open doorway, where a huddle of prosecutors and police officers alike were gathered with expressions of horror. Seungmin was among them, his face white.

“You all heard him, didn’t you? Detain the murderer.” Kang smiled triumphantly as the officers surrounded Jisung, seizing his arms so roughly he felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. 

Chan looked livid, eyes darting wildly between the officers and Prosecutor Kang. “Let him go. Keep him in the precinct until Woojin comes back, Kang,” he protested, but the older prosecutor only sneered.

“Detective Bang, aren’t you overstepping your boundaries? Wait for Kim Woojin? Don’t forget—” Kang took a step closer to Chan, eyes narrowing. “Personal relations with the perpetrator cannot participate in the investigation.”

Chan felt his gut twist, scanning the whitened expressions on the surrounding staff’s faces. How much had they seen, overheard? Kang watched the detective’s eyes flicker momentarily, and laughed.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’d say it’s time the prosecution did its part.” He shot a meaningful glance at Seungmin, who had been glaring between Jisung, Chan, and Kang with his fists clenched. Kang clicked his tongue, sighing. “Kim Seungmin, Kim Seungmin — I can’t believe I have to do your dirty work.”

Chan’s mind was reeling, all options coming back blank. This was the District 9 Precinct, and as a homicidal detective, he had no power over Woojin’s men. In fact, after what Kang had said, Chan wasn’t even sure if Woojin had power over Woojin’s men anymore. You fucked up, Bang. You fucked up bad.

Chan risked a glance at Jisung’s face and immediately regretted it. What he saw had no traces of anger, no more hate, no signs of struggle. His eyes were wide and dark, as if the boy had shut down completely. Kang scoffed at the detective’s sudden silence, turning on his heel and motioning towards the officers. 

Chan could only watch helplessly as Jisung was dragged out of the room like a limp doll, his once-rounded cheeks still shining with blood and fresh tears.

[alma37]

I checked on AO3 and, a year ago today [02/02/20, for those of you who are a few hours behind France], I started posting for a deliciously wicked fandom, Dracula 2020.

So, to mark the occasion, I decided to post here (on AO3 later today), a little one-shot I thought about a few days ago. I wanted to put it in one of my wip, but it didn’t quite fit. I still liked the idea, though, and I needed to write it.

This is also kind of a gift for @hopipollahorror and @lady-of-the-wolves, my steadiest supporters of late. Thank you, girls, I am not sure I would have started writing again without your support.

For @thebeautyofdisorder, I know you had a rough year and I wish you a great 2021. We have so many tastes in common, It seems I continuously reblog from you. I am well aware it won’t make your troubles disappear, but I hope this little piece will make you forget them for 5 minutes (and that it won’t be perceived as further punishment or what’s the phrase? Cruel and unusual punishment!😉) .

For my other mutuals, I know we don’t talk much, if at all, but I am glad you came to see and stayed.

And, of course, for all my followers, occasional readers and everyone else who took the time to come and check my little nothing of a blog, leave comments, reblogs and likes. Thank you guys.

And now, i leave you with a small piece I had great fun to write. As usual.

I apologise for the long-ish introduction.

*************

This is a Dragatha, sometimes in the future (theirs, not ours; perhaps it is our present, in fact, who knows?). Dracula turned Agatha into a vampire. A long time before this fic.

Some sort of enemies with benefits.

And it actually answers to this prompt. I think.

Title : A [h]arrowing evening

Fandom : Dracula TV 2020

Relationship : Agatha x Dracula

Rate : I’d say T or light M

Words : I don’t know, I didn’t count, go check on AO3 when it’s posted!

- Come on, Agatha. Just admit it : you like me!

The former nun turned vampire, Dracula's most fervent opponent, was backed up against the wall, a small wooden arrow in her hand. Why did she decide to come and see him in his own apartment, she’ll never know. Her nemesis was crowding her, a triumphant smile on his face. She defended herself.

- Stop being so arrogant, Count. I don't like you.

- Oh but I think you do. Very much so.

His growing smirk, his roving hands and, mostly his acumen were too much for her. Suddenly blinded by years of pent up rage and frustration, she drove the arrow into his chest with ferocious intent. The small stake slid under his ribs upwards towards his heart.

For a moment, they stayed still face to face, Dracula's smile slowly fading, morphing into an expression of utter stupefaction, as his eyes fell on the weapon thrust into his thorax. Annoyed, Agatha pushed him backwards. To her absolute consternation, he stumbled with a groan, then bent over, his hand reaching blindly for the small piece of wood. His face was now wearing an expression of agony before his legs started to give out under him. With horror, Agatha watched him slowly falling to his knees before his upper body followed suit and he went down like a dead weight. By chance or instinct, he fell to his side, only just avoiding the stake from driving through his heart. Once on the floor, he started writhing in pain, barely able to hold his screams. Finally, Agatha understood : the arrow must have stopped short of piercing the heart, but was probably touching it if his convulsions were any indication.

After a moment of indecision, Agatha grabbed his shoulders to hold him flat on his back then straddled him.

- Stop squirming. You'll only succeed in piercing your heart yourself.

- As if you didn't intend to do it!" Her victim hissed through his pain.

Agatha opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, before she finally replied, surprised with herself :

- I... don't know.

His face was deformed by the unusual pain he was in. She supposed he probably hadn't felt this bad in centuries. Serves him right, but... His strained voice made her jumped out of her thoughts.

- Whatever you intend to do, Agatha, please do it now. It is unbearable.

At his begging tone, the younger vampire froze for a long time, undecided : finish him off, like she promised herself a long time ago, as it was a chance she certainly wouldn't have again, or remove the arrow and stop the bleeding, against all her principles?

Her nemesis was in a state of anguish she had never seen him before. He was shaking so hard, trying to control his body.

But he wasn't begging anymore, just waiting for her decision. She could see in his eyes the torture he was enduring. He still didn't utter another sound.

And she realised that, as much as she thought she hated him, she couldn't bring herself to just end his life, as lifeless as it was.

He was not only a unique creature, he was also the only one who understood her and she realised with a shock that she came to care about him in a way that prevented her from driving the small arrow all the way through his heart. She actually liked their fighting : it was invigorating and, yes, fun. They hadn't really tried to kill each other for years now. His half-hearted attempts to get rid of her, lately, was his way of flirting, she supposed. And apparently, she thought in dismay, became hers too.

But the biggest blow came when she finally realised she actually wanted to tame him somehow or maybe convince him to redeem himself in some ways, which was barely thinkable, much less doable. She just wanted him. Full stop. And annihilating him forever didn't suit her purpose anymore.

- Whenever you want, darling." The count groaned through gritted teeth, his brow drained in sweat.

At last, Agatha came to a decision and, instead of doing what her conscience was telling her, she chose to follow her heart : she wrapped her hand around the piece of arrow that stuck out from his chest and pulled it out without warning.

She was thrown out from his lap by his violent recoil as he screamed out of his lungs in pain. Agatha, not deterred, scrabbled back to him and pinched the wound to stop the bleeding. That last part was easy, as Dracula had promptly passed out.

When she understood he wasn't going to wake up any time soon, she put him to bed and took a book, while keeping watch over him, berating herself all night long for her weakness.

At dawn, the older vampire slowly emerged from unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, he looked around as if searching for something - or someone. When he found her watching over her book, he started asking in a rough voice : "What..." He cleared his throat several times before trying again :

- What happened?

Agatha lifted an eyebrow.

- Don't you remember?

Dracula began shaking his head :

- I don't... I seem to remember flirting with you and... Ah!" His face cleared. "Yes! You tried to kill me.

Agatha shrugged.

- And I would have succeeded this time.

Dracula straightened up with a groan. Agatha, taking pity on him, piled up a few pillows behind his back and helped him get a more comfortable position on the bed. When she tried to sit back on her armchair, the Count held on to her hand, so she was either obliged to sit on the bed or tried to shake his grip. She chose the easy path and sat next to him.

- So why didn't you finish me off?You had me at your mercy, you could have cleared this world of my evil presence.

Agatha didn't look at him but rather at their joined hands.

- I.. I don't know.

- You would have missed me!

Agatha snapped back.

- Don't be ridiculous!

Dracula smiled his devilish smile.

- You, Agatha van Helsing, like me!

- I most certainly do not!" Agatha protested, outraged. She tried to remove her hand from his, but he was holding fast.

- Well, I wouldn't blame you, you know. I am probably... Definitely head over heels in love with you after last night's little demonstration.

Agatha finally pulled her hand out of his, and stood up, shaking her head.

- You are a...

- monster?

-... beast! And obviously better. So I am leaving. Goodbye, Count Dracula.

Dracula reached for her once more :

- No, wait!

Agatha sighed, annoyed :

- What?

- You could at least kiss it better.

The former nun was about to will him to hell but something in his apparent casualness made her change her mind. She came back to sit on the bed and, after barely an hesitation, she straddled him. She felt him tensed momentarily, probably a reminder of the previous night. But he relaxed when she gently unbuttoned his shirt. She glanced at him and smiled when she saw his look of intense concentration turned towards her. She bent over and she licked the disappearing scar under his ribs. She felt his entire body shudder with pleasure, which made her smile grow larger. She had cleaned him the previous night, so there was no blood to tempt her. His all body was temptation enough. She nibbled at the scar then soothed it with her lips and tongue. Her nemesis had grown rigid from repressed desire. She finally moved from the scar to make her way upwards with slow, languorous and arousing kisses.

The first time he tried to touch her, she took his hands and flattened them back on the bed. The second time, she just held onto them.

The third time, she felt his eagerness wouldn't be denied, so she deftly evaded his grasp before he could close in on her. She moved swiftly out of the bed and put some distance between them, so that he could not reach her fast enough.

- And that's about all the kisses you'll ever have from me. Get a rest, Count Dracula. I will come and check on you tonight.

Without waiting for an answer, she left him in a state of obvious arousal, but laughing at her cunning.

- I can't wait." He called after her. He couldn't resist having the last word. Agatha shook her head in disbelief, but she was smiling.

*********************

Soooo, what did you think? (If it’s bad, please don’t tell me! 😉)

Anyway, I just really really wanted her to stab him at close range and truly physically HURT him (like Zoe, in TDC, but more purposely, if you know what I mean).

For the arrow, I imagine she has a small-ish one, like those used for a crossbow, except it is completely made of wood, even the tip. Something like that...

But, well, you know me : I always prefer a happy (-ish) ending. Reality’s sad enough. We don’t need it into fiction. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it.

If you really liked it, give me a shout and I’ll post the little follow-up I just had an idea of. Which is more on the comedy side (as in funny).

[bullyingbatman]

raw fettuccine

AO3

“I cannot believe,” Roy says, as they walk through the double doors, “That we are doing recon. In an Olive Garden.” Jason shoots him a glare as Kori greets the waitress, asking for a table for three, please. “What kind of criminals do business in an Olive Garden?”

“The kind that are going to overhear you if you keep yelling about it,” Jason says. “Be quiet.” 

The waitress tells them to wait here just a moment while she clears them a table, and Kori turns to face them again.

“Jason is right, Roy, even if the criminals overhear us, there are members of the public here who would be quite alarmed to learn they are dining with criminals.”

Jason snorted. “They’re clearly not from Gotham, then,” he comments, his eyes catching on the jars of dried pasta decorating the foyer. Casually, he reaches out and grabs a roll of fettuccine, popping it in his mouth.

Kori goes still. Roy’s mouth drops open, his face twisting up in horror. Jason rolls his eyes.

“What?” he asks, around a mouthful of cronch. 

“Jason. Jaybird. Buddy. Light of my life. What are you doing?” Roy’s voice may be even more horrified than his face, if that’s even possible.

“I’m eating the fettuccine, Roy,” Jason says, because what does it look like he’s doing? 

Roy makes a strangled noise. Kori’s mouth is twitching like she wants to smile.

“I don’t believe I am familiar with this custom,” she says.

“That’s because it isn’t one!” Roy cries, agitated. 

“Yes, it is,” Jason replies, swallowing the raw, dry fettuccine with a wince. It’s not a pleasant taste, or even texture, but the tedious chewing is a good way to pass the time– he figures that’s why people do this, anyway. “That’s the whole reason they have the jars, Roy, it’s not just for decoration.”

The waitress returns and leads them to a table, pausing their conversation as she hands out menus and takes their drink orders. Roy still looks shaken, which, “Really, Harper? It’s just fettuccine.”

“Raw fettuccine! Out of the decorative jars! At Olive Garden!”

“Perhaps it is a regional custom?” Kori suggests. “Perhaps it’s something people in Gotham do.”

Roy shakes his head. “Dick never did that when we went to OG with the Titans,” he points out. Which– what? 

“Yes he does,” Jason said, slow and confused. “He’s the one who told me that it was a thing in the first place. It was when he went through that phase of trying to be a decent brother after ignoring me, so he and Babs took me to Olive Garden, and–” He cuts himself off, seeing that Roy’s horror has morphed into pure, unadulterated glee, and Kori’s twitching mouth has been hidden behind a hand as she stifles laughter. Realisation dawns on him, and he feels the rage, embarrassment, and betrayal that can only come from knowing that you’ve been pranked by a sibling.

“That bastard!” he snarls, and his two teammates lose it. 

“Oh my god,” Roy wheezes. “Holy shit, Jaybird, that’s amazing.”

“I am quite surprised you believed him,” Kori adds, voice shaking with mirth. 

“I didn’t, at first!” Jason cries, frustrated. “I told him he was full of shit, but Babs backed me up, and what the fuck, I trusted her–”

As his two teammates lose it at his expense, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and angrily types in the number, putting it on speakerphone. Roy’s eyes light up, and he quiets as it rings. Kori spots someone– presumably the waitress– over Jason’s shoulder and shakes her head, holding up her hand in a gesture asking for a minute.

Dick picks up the phone.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Dick,” Jason grinds out.

“Jason?” Dick sounds confused. “Why are you calling me? How’d you even get this number?” His voice takes on an alarmed tone. “Are you in trouble? Do you need help?” “Raw. Fettuccine.” Jason’s voice is low and dangerous, and honestly not too far off from what would be an impressive Batman growl.

“What?” 

“You told me that people ate the raw fettuccine in the jars at Olive Garden.” 

The silence coming from Dick’s end is incredibly confused. “I– Wait, are you talking about that time Babs and I took you there for dinner?”

“You told me that people ate the dried pasta, Dick.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dick sounds amused. “We did do that, didn’t we?” He lets out what sounds like an amused sigh. “So, did you really just call to reminisce about awkward hangouts? Not that I mind, but it’s not really our style, you know.”

“That was not the only time I went to Olive Garden, Dick.”

And that’s when Dick gets it, and bursts into laughter. “Oh my god–” he wheezes. “Jason. Jason. Tell me you haven’t been doing that all this time. Holy shit.”

Roy is laughing again, and Kori has that smirk on her face.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know any better! I was just a street kid, and then you, my big brother who grew up in a mansion, tells me, ‘this is what people do’, and I, wanting to seem like an authentic metropolitan diner, would always grab the fettuccine. Like, mm, yeah, a little peckish, let me just get myself a snack!”

“Oh my god,” Roy whispers, and Jason can see stars in his eyes. He feels so angry. 

“I can’t fucking believe it, I can’t fucking believe you did that,” he snarls. “And I can’t believe, literally, I’m finding this out in front of Roy fucking Harper.” 

Dick loses it. Jason has half a mind to hang up on him. “Oh my god, Jay, I’m so fucking sorry, I had no idea you still even remembered that. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Yeah, Jason’s done with this conversation. “I fucking hate you,” he snarls. “And Babs. I trusted her. She betrayed me.”

“I’ll–” Dick wheezes– “I’ll let her know. Bye, Jason.”

“Fuck off,” Jason snarls, and hangs up.

“This is the best day of my life,” Roy says, wiping tears from my eyes. “Holy shit. I need to, like, send Dick a fruit basket or some shit, thank him for this gift.” 

Jason glares at him. “Oh, fuck off, Harper.” 

“Boys,” Kori says, catching their attention. “Our mark is here.”

Right. They’re here on a job. Though Jason has no idea how he’s going to get through this night, with the taste of raw fucking fettuccine and betrayal on his tongue.

[radiorenjun]

Lavender Antics

→ Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

→ Summary: Shooting in a drama with him was your absolute nightmare. Working with your enemy and pretending that you were love interests has been the most frustrating experience of your life. Though, after saying your farewells, the scent of lavender never leaves.

→ Genre:enemies to lovers au, idol au, romance, angst, slowburn, comedy.

→ Chapter: 6, 7, 8

→ A/N: YEP I CREATED A NEW DIVIDER. IM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T UPDATED IN FOREVER OMG

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Wait, back up. Back up, you did what?!" Kiyeon exclaimed, a look of complete disgust spread across her expression. "Let me get this straight," Jaehwa snickered, trying not to bawl out laughing in front of you to prevent you from sending an assassin to beat her up afterwards.

You hid your face against the soft fabric of your pillows, face red in embarrassment and shame as the distant sinister laughter of your group leader deafen your ears from the speakers of your phone, along with the soft chatters among your group members.

"Y/N L/N, main dancer and vocalist of the Mythical Refrain, our little Y/n who constantly looks away and shakes her head with disgust at our bullshit, was suppose to give Han Jisung an innocent peck on the lips-" Jaehwa snorted midway before your leader, Cheonsa, came into the screen over her shoulder.

"But ended out in a full blown heated make out session on camera, swapping spit in front of all the cast?! That's beyond priceless, I can't even-" Cheonsa bawled out laughing, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes as Haneul just shook her head in disappointment in the background.

"Damn, y/n, was he good though? I knew maknae lines are never innocent at heart, I just knew it!" Cheonsa practically choked on her spit midway through laughing, and you internally hope that she chokes and die on the spot so you wouldn't have to endure the teasing even longer.

"Shut up, if anything you're the pervert here!" you shot back, heat striking your cheeks at her words. "It happened at the heat of the moment, I didn't mean for things to go that far!" you hissed angrily, venom lacing your tone. "You still made out with him, did you not?" Jaehwa smirked mischievously.

"Disappointed but not surprised," your maknae tsked softly with a shake of her head. "Shut up! This is coming from the same idiots who dressed up as if it was Halloween when taking their member to the airplane!" you grumbled with an angry frown, pointing an accusatory finger at your phone screen, making sure your members were able to see you.

"That was a fun experience, okay? Besides what happened afterwards?" Jaehwa shrugged, shoving Cheonsa's laughing figure away from the camera, moving the device so that Jaehwa and Kiyeon's face were clear on your screen. You gulped, internally screaming at yourself not to tell them. To say that you moved on with it without an ounce of shame in your veins. To say that you ran away to Hogwarts, never to be seen again.

You gulped, looking at your nails to avoid your friends' curious expressions basically glaring into your soul. "We were told to redo the whole scene tomorrow," you muttered under your breath, hoping that your members couldn't pick up your words from the low pitch of your voice through the mic.

But their unnecessarily loud laughter that peaked through your phone speakers practically make you deaf. You winced at the loud piercing noise, your hand coming up to lower the volume slightly as your members howled back laughing.

You heard their palms banging against the wooden floor of your dorm. "This day just keeps getting better and better!" howled Cheonsa, clapping aggressively in the background as she practically wheezed her lungs out of laughter.

If there was a delete yourself button, now would be a good time to press it.

"Why? Why do you-" Jaehwa wheezed, unable to blurt out the words in her throat since she was laughing like a deformed chicken. You grumbled, rolling your eyes as the recent memory of your manager walking into your trailer with a sympathetic smile and fearful eyes, ready to spill the news to you and be eaten alive by your incredulous expression.

"Our manager said that it was 'too heated' for a soft first kiss between our characters, plus everyone got off character when we started kissing because they didn't think we'd actually do it without arguing first," you grumbled, faceplanting on the pillow with a loud annoyed groan.

"How am I going to face Jisung tomorrow, for fucks sake!" you whined as your members snickered. "Rest in peace, sister." Kiyeon said sympathetically, finding your current situation disgusting with all the kissing deal. "Well there goes my plans of getting our seniors' autograph," your leader sighed.

You gave her an incredulous look through the screen, trying not to pull a horror movie stunt and choking her through the phone screen with your bare hands. "You can kiss those autographs goodbye, Cheonsa. I'm saying this with full admiration when I say, I’m never letting your creepy ass near them,," you shot back defensively.

"As much as I'm offended on how you called your leader a creep, I completely understand if you don't want me getting near your man." Cheonsa's face came up on the screen, giving you an annoying wink that had your blood boiling. "Shut up or I will book a flight back to Korea at this second and roast your laptop on a bonfire!" you threatened weakly.

Your cheeks grew red at her words, your man. You let out a soft scoff, rolling your eyes at the thought. Suddenly, a beautiful image of Han Jisung himself appeared in your line of vision. A slow motion version of his lips slowly spreading into a heart shaped smile, a small soft chuckle being elicited from his throat.

The small memory of the way his fluffy hair would swoosh to different directions from his movements in the morning during breakfast as he sneakily grabs the three slices of cheesecakes on the dessert trays subtly came into your mind.

5:41 AM

You were woken up on the crack of dawn for a small shoot shared between you and Jisung's character. You were on break when you decided to wander around the studio, waving and passing by busy staff members, make up artists and multiple directors.

You suddenly found yourself walking towards the food area, where you were free to munch and snack on whatever they served as long as you were on break and didn't sneak it on set in filming.

You let out a soft wide yawn, clutching your black coat against your body to gain more warmth in the cold breeze. You shuddered at the cold wind that smacked against your body as you walked over to the food area, passing by exhausted staff members on the way.

"I'm seriously not ready for a long distance relationship with my bed," you mumbled to yourself as you opened the door to the food area, poking your head into the room. To your surprise it was empty, though it appears a few staff members had snuck a treat or two but nonetheless you had the place to yourself.

Or so you thought.

As you grabbed yourself a plate and some utensils, you heard soft sounds of footsteps. You jolted in alarm, crouching down to your knees to hide in case your manager comes in to call you in for another scene to shoot. You're definitely not leaving without finding a perfectly good cookie if you were going to step outside in the cold weather.

You crawled across the floor, peaking through the table cloths to see who it was but the trays on the other tables blocked the face of whoever had entered. You assumed it was one of the directors considering they were wearing the same thick black coat they gave specifically for the directors and cast members.

You heard footsteps echoing the room, signifying that the person was walking towards the cake section of the room. You stood up slowly, careful as to not make a noise. You furrowed your brows when you saw the person scurrying around the table with the hood over their head.

Your curiosity got the better of you. You tiptoed slowly towards them, trying not to gain their attention but wanting to find out who it was. Step by step, you slowly came closer to said person eventually standing beside them and poking your head to see what they're doing.

You raised your head up and froze when you realised you were now face to face with none other than Han Jisung, himself, who's eyes widened at the sight of you as you both just froze in place, staring at each other in a good awkward silence.

How ironically cliché.

Jisung took a step back in shock, letting out a startled noise, almost dropping his plate in the process. "Talk about a late delay, Han." you snickered, rolling your eyes at the boy. Jisung scoffed, relaxing his tense muscles as he realised it was just you and not some creepy sasaeng fan.

"Oh, it's you." he stated with a not so amused tone, sighing in relief as he placed his plate on the table cloth beside the trays. "You sound pleased to see me," you teased, giving him a cheeky grin. "What gave you that idea?" he sent you a fake smile, showing his pearly white teeth.

"What are you doing here?" Jisung asked with a raised brow, his fake smile subsiding as he grabbed a fork beside you. "That's my line," you muttered, watching him grab some cookies from the jars. Jisung gave you an incredulous look, shoving a cookie in his mouth.

You giggled at his expression, shrugging simply at him. "Got bored, decided to snack." you smiled sheepishly, grabbing a cookie from his plate and shoving it into our own mouth causing Jisung to retort, trying to pull the cookie out of your mouth. "That's mine you thief!" he whined, causing you to stick your tongue out after you gulp the contents down.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, tilting your head at him as you grabbed a glass and filled it with some milk from the drink section. "I heard from a few staff that there were only three cheesecakes leftover. You know I won't survive a day without a cheesecake as an energy boost," Jisung shrugged, showing you the cheesecakes in his plate.

"Plus, we still have hours and hours of shooting after this. There's no way I could live on without having some creamy goodness in my mouth," Jisung hummed as he started to eat his cheesecakes, savoring it bit by bit. "You make it sound so wrong," you scrunched your face in disgust, your mind going places.

Jisung's eyes widened as they bore into yours. "Hey! That's on you. It's not my fault you have a dirty mind," he tutted, flicking your forehead in the process which elicited a small yelp from you. You pouted, rubbing the sore spot on your forehead as Jisung continued to stare disappointingly at you with chubby cheeks.

For a split second, you basked in his appearance. Taking a moment to look at how fluffy his hair is considering you both shot a scene where your character and his character went on a little morning stroll after waking up. You knew your make up artist didn't make you appear any less messy than Jisung, but you still couldn't comprehend why he looks so wholesome right now.

Fluffy brown hair with strands going in different directions, a simple makeup that gave him the perfect 'bedhead' look, puffy cheeks stuffed with the sugary dessert as he munched on the cookies. The pajamas they had you both wear for the shoot, making you feel as if you were in said kdrama yourself.

"Earth to Y/N!"

You snapped out of your trance at Jisung's concerned tone, blinking rapidly as you tried to comprehend what's going on around you. Jisung's fingers were snapping excessively in front of your face, brows furrowed in concerned as you divert your attention away from his face to his fingers.

"Sorry I spaced out," you grinned sheepishly, avoiding his eyes when you realized you were watching him eat his cheesecake the whole time like a weird pervert. "Dang girl, are you really that tired? You looked as if you were bout to eat me alive" Jisung said with a light laugh, grabbing his fork to shove a piece of his cheesecake into your mouth.

You let out a muffled noise of surprise when you felt the sugary dessert began to overwhelm your taste buds. "Here's a little energy boost," he grinned cheekily, pulling the fork out of your mouth before taking a bite of cheesecake for himself. You chewed as you had come into two realizations.

One. Jisung was using a fork for his cheesecake, this boy never fails to surprise you with how odd he is considering he sang bout Americanos five times when you visited the local cafe near your hotel, thus embarrassing you in public.

Two. He used the same fork that he had used to feed himself. Which lead you to thinking that you just had an indirect kiss with him. Your face becoming even more flustered by the second as you let the thought sink deeper and deeper into your mind.

"Here, have some more. You looked as if you've seen an alien, geez." Jisung poked his fork through the cheesecake and moved his hand closer to your mouth. You shook your head, cupping your mouth dramatically when you saw him coming closer. Taking a step back, you let out an awkward laugh. "No thanks, I'm good."

Jisung raised a brow at you, "really? You always nag how I always steal the last piece, you should be grateful I'm willing to share right now." he chuckled, taking a step forward to aim the fork at your mouth once again. "Say 'ah'!" he cooed, but you simply shook your head and gently pushed his hand away from you.

"I'm good, Jisung. It's not good to have some sugar this early, you know?" you rambled, silently cursing yourself for not accepting the cheesecake for the sake of your own pride and ego. Jisung wasn't buying it but he let's it go with a shrug. "Oh well, more for me then." he said before shoving the fork into his mouth.

"Y/N! Stop spacing out bout Jisung and talk to us, God dammit!"

You blinked, realising you were spacing out again when you realised your members had gathered together in front of the camera, waving at you in concern. "Sorry, what?" you muttered under your breath, your voice almost inaudible for the phone to pick up as you internally slapped yourself for thinking bout Jisung despite the awkward situation you're currently in.

"Stop spacing out bout Jisung, God dammit!" Jaehwa joked, causing you to involuntarily choke on your own spit at her words. "Jaehwa, no." you shook your head vigorously. "Don't make my situation any worse than it already is, for fucks sakes!" you groaned, burying your head into your pillow once again.

They snickered softly, enjoying your suffering for their own entertainment. Sometimes you wished you had debuted with people who don't make you want to roast yourself over the kitchen stove like marshmallow on a stick.

"It'll all be over when you know it. Don't worry, you're not that awkward of a person, so you should be fine." Haneul waved her hand off with a casual shrug. You rolled your eyes. "Shut it, you're still the maknae. You don't understand shit of what the grown ups are talking bout." you teased.

Haneul clicked her tongue in annoyance, sending you a sharp glare. "I'm only 15 months younger than you and you know it!" she hissed in retaliation, threateningly pointing her apple pen directly at you through the screen when you stuck your tongue out.

"Alright, we'll let you get some rest now before Haneul over here flies to Japan to shove her pen up your ass." Cheonsa chuckled nervously, pulling the younger member, who was glaring daggers at you, out of the camera by her shoulders.

"Okay then, I'll call you guys tomorrow, yeah?" you nodded, waving at them as your thumb hovered over the end call button. "Yeah, of course. Say hi to the manager for us, Jeongin, too!" Jaehwa waved back as you let out a giggle. "I will, see you guys later!" you rolled your eyes at them.

"By-" you pressed the end call button before they could finish their sentence, wanting to sleep the stress off of your body before you have to face Jisung the next day. You pulled the covers over your body, closing your eyes with an exhausted sigh.

Hopefully things would be better tomorrow.

You tiptoed your way into the set, as if hundreds of staff members and prop makers weren’t passing by you and greeting you with questionable looks. Now, why were you tiptoeing like a really crappy secret agent in an overly crowded place, you may ask?

Mostly to avoid your co-workers from giving you smug expressions and teasing looks with the memory of the events that had happen the previous day. Your members had wished you luck on your journey to get through this awkward day, wishing that you could just erase the events that had happen so you could go back to stepping into set with pajamas without a care in the world.

As you made your way to the dressing room, to your surprise all of the cast had gotten into costume and are currently shooting their respective scenes, meaning you had less than two or three hours to gather your mentality and ignore the awkward tension in the atmosphere.

Was this what every actor who had to kiss their co-star had to go through?

Yikes, you couldn’t imagine how Lee Dongwook could bare being love interests with the same co-star for two whole dramas. Your eyes widened when you caught Yeoreum walking towards your way, reciting her lines with the her manager. You gulped, walking back slowly as to not catch her attention, not knowing who or what was behind you.

It appears that the universe isn’t on your side today, because apparently you walked too far backwards to bump into your co-star’s back. Jisung let out a grunt as your back bumped against his, causing you to let out a yelp. You turned to shush him, scolding him for almost blowing your cover when you realize who you were talking to.

You and Jisung jumped apart when your eyes met, making sure to at least stand a feet far apart. Jisung cleared his throat as you both tried to mask your shocked expressions. You both avoided making eye contact as you tried to think of something to say to fill in this awkward tension between you two.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jisung coughed, eyes looking everywhere but yours.You gave him a pointed look. “I work here,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at him. “Give me some crap, I’m trying to make this less awkward, you’re not helping here, y/n.” he stuck his tongue out at you.

You huffed in response, adding another moment of awkward silence between you two. It was so awkward you could practically hear crows and crickets in the background, “Where are you going, anyways?” you mumbled, wondering why he wasn’t at his usual spot at the food area, munching away at the desserts and snacks before Youngheum could finish them.

“I was heading back to my trailer to get my script,” Jisung mumbled, running a hair through his messy hair. “Isn’t your trailer that way?” you raised your brow, pointing to the direction behind him. Jisung huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m taking the long way round, got a problem with that?” he spoke hesitantly, eyes finally meeting yours before gulping.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you mumbled, looking down as you lowered your finger to tuck it into the pockets of your hoodie. “What bout you?” Jisung added on, eyes wandering to his dirty white converse. “Trying to get to the dressing room,” you answered with the same hesitantly awkward tone.

“Cool,” Jisung sighed out. You both stood there for another excruciating few seconds before making eye contact. It appears the tension had gotten a little too awkward for the both of you, therefore you both instantly looked away with a loud groan. You both turned back with a bold “fuck it!” coming out of your mouths in unison as you ran off in the other direction.

How were you gonna survive this?

a/n: this was a short chapter. IM SORRY FOR KEEPING YALL WAITING FOR SO LONG. Omg look at that sexy title cover, yeah I'm gonna change that eventually. Anyways, thank you for waiting this long I completely forgot this fic existed.

[fieurbedo]

The Rains

Oh wow do I have some warnings for this one! It's my longest and quite possibly my darkest piece, but I hope you can still enjoy. I cried while writing it and I apologise if reading causes the same effect on you.

Uh,, listen to as the world caves in while you read for extra effect!

Warnings; Blood. Character death. Death of loved ones.

That hit had been the last. The shockwave which followed was enough to make Hizashi stumble and fall back, biting his cheek to prevent himself from yelling out as the chunks of broken brick jabbed into his back and shoulders, knocking his glasses askew and winding him so that all he could do for what felt like an eternity, yet was actually only a few moments, was cough and splutter as he tried to regain his breath. Quiet wheezes were the only sound that left his mouth for the following minutes before he pushed himself into a proper sitting position, spitting a small amount of blood onto the floor as he squinted his eyes to make out anything in the smoke.

There it was. A figure, lying unmoving on the ground other than the weak rising and falling of their chest. They were only meters away. Hizashi's heart skipped a beat as the fact dawned on him - whoever that was, laying there, had taken the brunt of that attack. That, and they most likely felt very alone right now.

The voice hero stumbled to his feet, ignoring the hair which fell into his face as he gripped his side in pain and almost fell again. He shook his head before slowly but surely making his way over to the figure, a slight limp hindering his step. His biggest fear, of course, that it was somebody he cared about there. Not to say that he didn't have any care for passers by or civilians who may have been injured - it's just, it would be so much worse to see somebody he cared about in that state.

"Hey-" He wheezed out, coughing when he first spoke, but he pushed through, "hey, can you get up? Are you alright-?"

A wave of horror washed over him once he got close enough to see through the dust just who it was lying there. Suddenly, the stinging in his side wasn't so painful. Newfound pain took over his chest as he dropped to their side, desperately searching for their hand to take, because lying there on the ground was-

"Oboro! Oboro- talk to me- please talk to me!"

Blood ran from the cloud hero's lips as he coughed, pain racking his body. It was exhausting to simply open his eyes and force them to focus on Hizashi leaning over him; he weakly squeezed his hand, though only able to faintly feel it in his own. His costume itself was practically dripping with warm, crimson blood. Ringing in his ears was the only sound he could properly focus on, Hizashi's voice just seemed so.. Distant. So far away.

"-zashi..-" He choked out, the words burning in his throat despite it usually being such a low effort task, "yo-you're alright..-"

Hizashi wasn't alright. He was bleeding heavily from his own injury in his side - but Oboro wasn't in a good state right now either. Not in any state to be worrying about me. Hizashi nodded, "yeah, I'm okay, Kumo, I'm okay.."

Relief dulled some of Oboro's pain, though he was quickly losing feeling in almost all of his body anyway. He made a struggling effort to intertwine his and Hizashi's fingers. Part of him already knew there was no point in trying to get up because there was next to no chance that it'd work. Even less with Hizashi next to him, who'd obviously stop him getting up so that he wouldn't injure himself more than he already was.

Oboro couldn't make out Hizashi's desperate words anymore. He felt warm tears fall onto his cheek while his own pooled at the corners of his eyes. They dripped down the sides of his face as he blinked, forcing his eyes to open again even though his vision was quickly becoming less and less focused with each passing second. He faintly felt Hizashi's hands search his body to find the source of his bleeding so that he could do his best to slow it down. He choked out the blonde's name again, shaking his head slowly.

They both knew that it was useless, in the end. There wasn't much hope now. Hizashi cupped Oboro's cheeks in his hands, wiping tears and dirt from them as he sobbed dryly, leaning down to rest their foreheads together. Oboro's hand found the back of Hizashi's head, lightly gripping his hair and just feeling his warmth. He was tired. Too tired to be crying, too tired to even process most of what was happening right now.

It was warm. It was warm. And then it was cold.

His hand fell from where it rested on Hizashi's head, falling limply stretched out on the ground. Hizashi lifted his head slightly, looking at the now still figure beneath him. He shook his head, desperately searching for a pulse anywhere he could. His hands soon became coated in the scarlet liquid which soaked the aviator's jacket which Oboro always insisted on wearing;

"no- no! oboro- oboro, please- please!"

The yelling was no use. The sky became thick with almost black clouds as Hizashi continued to sob over the limp form of his partner. His own injury was completely numb by now. All of his pain was. But not the pain in his chest. No, that pain was there, still fresh. His lungs burned with each sob, hugely magnified by the power of his quirk.

He heard an ambulance approaching. He also heard their sirens shatter within seconds of himself being visible from their windscreens. He hadn't even realised how loud he was being.

He sucked in in shaky breaths as he heard the paramedic's heavy boots draw closer, each step increasing the weight on his chest tenfold. He knew what they wanted.

They wanted to help. They wanted to make sure he was alright and patch him up, then he'd be fine and he could get back to his life and multiple jobs - but that wasn't what he wanted. Not anymore.

He thought for a moment about getting up, but stopped. If he did that, he'd be leaving Oboro. That's not what he wanted. He gripped his bloody hand, taking more shallow and shaky breaths as black spots began to form in his own vision, surrounded by a hazy blur. He leaned down to Oboro's ear and began whispering to him, things he'd be unable to hear, but that Hizashi thought would be somewhat comforting for him to hear.

"-and don't worry about me, alright cloudy? I'll be there soon.."

Suddenly, his limbs felt so much heavier. Suddenly, the broken sirens and flashing lights dulled to white noise. He fell to the ground, agony seeping out around him in the form of glistening crimson.

The embrace of darkness came next; a comforting one that he didn't mind so much. He couldn't wait to be in Oboro's arms again.

The rains began.

[inkheart01]

The Crossover conundrum

Or the DOOM x EFTS crossover nobody but I was interested in

Alternative title: Someone builds a dimensional hole puncher and the first one thru is Doomguy

I'll edit when I have enough brainpower to make words do the pretty thing. Bonapitete. Enjoy. Here's my disaster. adios

The day started like any other, though Calle didn’t know whether to call it day, night, dawn or dusk, or everything and anything in between considering she was floating around in a giant warship in some sector of the galaxy that she had no possible way to pronounce. She took pride in knowing that she was the furthest human away from Earth. No, that was a lie. Last she had checked, Jade was on the other side of the ship. But still, the sentiment was valid.

A rough blow to her shin spurred the young woman out of her stupor. She whipped towards the culprit, who was buried half under a giant ring, deep in the guts of the mechanism. Calle didn’t know what it was and didn’t want to.

Jemma pushed herself out from the behemoth, signing for a helping hand before clambering back under, pale face stained with dirt and mousy hair slick from sweat.

Calle reached towards the nearby mess of supply’s, handing Jemma exactly what she had asked for.

Which meant that moments later, she had front row seats to watch as the girl channelled her inner high schooler and rocket out from under the ring, tossing the literal hand with all the strength and speed of a professional pitcher.

And then she came for Calle, going straight for the talkers ankles as she ran, laughing and crying in mad glee.

Almost lost in the cacophony of joy, the machine beeped loudly, once, twice, three times.

Then it screamed.

Bathing the room in a violent red glow, it sprung to life, gears and cogs churning as it wailed, beeping and flashing in a wild symphony of horror.

The two girls sprung to action, Calle slamming the button to the intercom, screaming over the chaos as Jemma lunged towards the beast, twisting knobs and levers in a mad attempt to silence it. Time seemed to drag on ph so slowly as the two battled against the towering ring, desperate to quell it before the ship tore in half from its quakes.

They almost missed the door shuddering open like a camera, an influx of children and aliens pouring into the room and into action.

Jade was still in her flight suit, and Calle briefly realised that she would have to apologise again. The self-proclaimed pilot never got to fly.

Ian raced to help Jemma with the controls alongside Rochelle and Hunter, the towering aliens orange complexion drowned out by the violent red.

The only one who seemed to sink deeper into the glow was Max, who, alongside Hayley and Bayley and Adam, took up defensive positions around the machine, guns drawn and ready for anything that emerged.

The rest, Calle, Jade, Eviee and Maeve rushed to tear into the machine but were forced back by another shudder.

Which meant that the whole of the Lazarus’ VIP crew had first-class access to the portal swirling with a sickening green, and a metal giant emerging.

Towering and frightening, the human emerged from the portal, shotgun at the ready and so impossibly imposing.

Clad in green armour, the man was a sight.

And then he charged. Far too fast for anything human, he barrelled past Jade, past Ian and Adam. Straight for the triplets standing guard.

Calle cried out a warning, unable to help as the siblings leapt aside, followed closely by the man.

And then, almost in slow motion, the door opened again, revealing the tiny shape of Emily, bathed in light. She stood with her bear clutched tight, eyes wide and searching. “Teddy?”

And the man froze, turning to the six-year-old in shock.

Taking the moment of opportunity, Max lunged, all 11feet and 4inches of alien crashing into the man like a freight train.

But the man was quicker, spinning out of the Rashikk’s way. But he didn’t account for the aliens head-tail.

Quick as a whip, the length shot forward, desperately trying to wrap around his armoured neck, but with little luck. And so Max lunged again, dodging the arm blade and pulling the man to the floor with a strength that anyone who had seen a Rashikk fight, would know was a mere fraction of their might.

And anyone who knew Max, also knew that he was just waiting for an opportunity to unleash hell.

And that presented itself in the armoured man on the floor, who, with startling strength, pushed the alien off and lunged for his Shotgun, the weapon having been knocked aside in the calamity.

But Adam was faster, nimble and quick, he scrabbled for the gun, tossing his rifle to Calle who easily slid into his place, gun aimed at the man and finger on the trigger. Adam slid under the man's arm, gun in hand as the warship lurched.

The armoured man slid, unaccustomed to Vivaane’s piloting, or the alarming nimbleness of the Lazarus, and Max took the opportunity to force the man's helmet off and knocking him out in the process.

Hours later, after the crews buzzing had died down, Captain Kalishnamara strode was not the medical wing, intent on finding out what the incident was this time.

But nothing could prepare her for what she saw when the doors opened.

Eight humans flitted around the room, Emily was perched on Max’s bed, bear in her lap as she laughed at her adopted father's antics. Eviee and Jemma, ever the scientists, were drilling into the half armoured man confined to the room, a dark robot at his side, translating. Jade, Rochelle and Ian were watching, transfixed as the Rashikk triplets tried and failed to beat Adams score for the fastest time to take apart and re-assemble a gun.

And then there was the Askiir, Maeve, the one she trusted the least, who was hovering nervously around Eviee. She had nothing against him personally, but when one gas the ability to manipulate emotions, there will always be a slight distrust, at least in her experience, Eviee seemed fine with the lanky bug.

Jade was the first to notice Kalishnamara and snapped to attention seconds before everyone else, bare the two newcomers, and Emily who was using the wrong hand, but no one held that against her, and if they did, the Lazarus fleet was always ready for a hunt.

“At ease. Alright, I’ll keep it simple. Someone’s already given me the incident report and I’ll get around to it when I have the patience”, Eviee made quick work of translating the Rashikk’s odd symphony of clicks and whistles that made up their spoken language. “All I want to know is if there is a body count”

“Not today”, Bayley answered cheekily, earning a laugh from those in the room that could understand, and leaving the last two to Waugh’s for Eviee translation.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way a little longer”, finally moving from the doorway, she stalked towards the newest members of her VIP crew, noting something peculiar in the way they communicated.

Leaning down as not to be overheard, she motioned to Jemma. “You both speak in the language of hands, yet you cannot understand each other without translations. Why is this?”. Though she was still not fluent in Jemma’s hand language, she understood enough of the basics to cobble together a sentence.

‘Different hand language. Different Home’

“I see. Thank you”. The captain rose to her full height, and the man glared, unknowingly annoyed at feeling oddly small not once, nor twice, but three times since coming through the portal. Was this what everyone else felt when he walked past?

Eviee dutifully translated the aliens oddly melodic language, a strange sound to come from creatures so adept at war.

“On behalf of the Crew and Residents, I welcome you aboard the Lazarus” the robot thanked her, introducing himself and the man. Flynn and Vega. Odd names, but who was she to judge. “I am Captain and Fleet Commander Kalishnamara. But you may call me Lisa. It is a nickname, as I am told.

“You will be regarded as VIP guests while aboard, much like everyone in this room. Please, referring from breaking any of my men why we try to get you home. Now, any questions?”

“Just one actually”, Vega spoke up, “how can you understand them?”

It took Lisa an embarrassingly long time to realise that the robot had been talking to Eviee, who was desperately hiding her laughter from the confused Captain. But still, she managed to pull her source up and reveal the thick golden band around her bicep. “Universal translator. It hurt like hell but is incredibly useful. The downside, both speaking parties have to have one to be able to communicate.”

Flynn turned to look towards Emily, who was squealing as Max and Rochelle bickered.

“What’s the diagnosis doc?”

“You want my diagnosis? Your gonna fuckin die!”

“Don’t worry about her”, Eviee waved off the giants concern. “She doesn’t have one. We’re working on an alternative”

At that same moment, Lisa turned towards Max. “I was told that no major injuries were sustained. Why are you in Ned at?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. The beds are just comfortable”

Lisa sighed as she left the room, muttering about needing a drink. Followed by Jade, Calle, Ian and Adam, the rest of the Chaos club, two aliens, a robot and a confused mountain of a man and a six-year-old and her stuffed bear.

The day ended like any other, in that the Days without Incident board was wiped clean, five new reports were written up, and the crew was abuzz. The only new thing being that the armoury was now locked, indefinitely.

[awhilde]

down, down the rabbit hole

pairings: none, but the characters include mingyu. wonwoo, jihoon, jeonghan (from svt) and an oc

genre(s): thriller, gore (tiny bit). a made-in-abyss!au :D

warnings: because of the previously mentioned gore, readers discretion is advised. also swearing!

word count: 4.06k words

synopsis: in which mingyu and his friends allow their naivety and curiosity to drive them forward, dropping them down a 20,000 metre abyss where the abnormal becomes far too evident. stumbling through nature’s phenomenon, the group is forced to experience horrors that sombre their once exhilarating endeavours. will they be able to be decisive when their friend’s life is on the line, and who is this red-eyed creature that promises them sanctuary? 

author’s note: hey guys! unfortunately, this isn’t the genshin au i promised however i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! i believe i published this a while ago on another account but i’m posting it again for content <3 also it was originally a y/n piece so please tell me if there’s a “you” or “your” that i’ve missed in my brief editing!  the genshin au will come out soon :)

mingyu struggled to pinpoint an exact moment in his life which he could blame for his current circumstances.

it was as easy for him to say that sneaking into his good friends wonwoo and jihoon’s room past the stroke of midnight was the cause, as it were to say growing up at his local orphanage was at fault. hell, if the reasoning travelled down this path, it could also be justified that by simply existing he’d cause himself to arrive at his current position. perhaps this was his destiny, every event of his life leading up to this climax, worthless in the grand scheme of fate for every decision he had believed to have made was manipulated for the sole purpose of mingyu in the situation he was in as of present; torn with the constant conflict of emotion he was experiencing.

this was where his life had led him, 20,000 metres deep into a swirling, unforgiving vortex where the abnormal became evident with every blink of the eye, and where it intended to end, it seemed.  

the sky overhead had vanished from sight two layers into the unnatural phenomenon, when the fog by their feet had thickened to a substance that clung moist against every vulnerable patch of skin and surface. mingyu never thought he would come to miss the cloudy skies of his mediocre hometown. where had his thirst for adrenaline gone now? but after a tormenting week treading deeper and deeper into the abyss’ claws, mingyu had yearned for familiarity.

when his stomach gave way on the third layer, mingyu missed most the plain bowl of congee the orphanage served to him every morning despite its lack of taste and colour.

when his eyes started to leak pus and blood, mingyu missed most the shimmering sun, burning on the edge of the horizon every evening despite its glare on his skin.

there was much the boy felt grateful for, oh how he only came to this realisation now, 20,000 metres far from home. his goal to reach the very depth of the abyss slipped from his hands like running water, gathered only by the company his friends provided him. mingyu never felt more grateful that he hadn’t entered alone.

if his naivety had gotten away from him yet again, mingyu shivered at the prospect of descending without the companionship of his three closest friends, wonwoo, jihoon and lyra. he never sourced his complaints outside of his head, for every disaster that he experienced, he knew his friends experienced the same suffering alongside him, comfort in the form of unspoken understanding. mingyu knew he would be able to overcome these mishaps as long as their companionship never left him.  

however, god’s sense of humour must be twisted for the first night of the fifth layer, the last layer of mingyu’s sanity thinned.

“fuck!” jihoon swore. his hand shook in the tangles of his hair, the other hovering over wonwoo’s body as if uncertain. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

mingyu heard jihoon’s cursing as if submerged underwater for his head went static from his own worry. he tipped his backpack upside down in desperation, seeking an item his sub-conscious knew didn’t exist. hadn’t they packed an antidote for this specific reason? but it had been long gone, shattered and spilt over the edge of a crumbling cliff after a desperate struggle of power between a gnarly beast and mingyu’s life. that mistake could possibly cost his friend’s life.

lyre caressed wonwoo’s hair as his head laid like deadweight on her lap, mouth dry against the dense air, chest heaving harsh pants. his eyes, heavily diluted, seemed to stare past her head at empty space and lyre may have lost all hope had it not been for the ghost of determination underlining the furrow of his brows. “wonwoo, i swear you’ll be okay, just hold on a little longer. mingyu’s getting the antidote now, he’s just a little slow. you know how clumsy he can get, just hang on, okay?”

but wonwoo had stopped giving replies ten minutes ago.

her hands, like her voice, trembled under the weight of a moist cloth, aiming to replace the steaming one on his head but fear diverted its path with every shake. doubt threatened to choke her of her words, leaving lyre curled up by the side of the abnormal rainforest, the world never viewed the same again. but she knew, if not marginally, that panic wouldn’t do the situation any more good.

jihoon seemed to have lost all sense of this concept however, as he continued to alternate between standing and pacing the grounds. “there has to be something i’ve forgotten, something that can help. think, jihoon, think!”

wonwoo hissed in pain then, and all three of his friends turned in fright. his arm had swelled to an abnormal size, pulsing liquid under his skin and shaded a dark purple.

“jihoon.” lyre called after the boy had settled, voice wavering. “wasn’t there something we learnt at school? something about the poison of []’s?”

“i know there was something, i know! but i can’t remember it!” jihoon let his words explode from his chest yet he heeds no apology. “damn it, what was it?” his eyes found mingyu across the field, still digging through the contents of their shared bags. “for fuck’s sake, leave the fucking bags, mingyu! they’re worthless right now.”  

mingyu glanced up from his own world of regret and doubt, torment swimming in the pools of his eyes. the situation looked hopeless no matter what angle he portrayed it in. and, this had been his fault. his own carelessness, his naivety had prompted the death of his best friend. why hadn’t he listened to them all when they told him to step back from the pond? what had his mind been doing, telling him to continue his reckless behaviour just for the short lived praise he might have received? he had been pushed to the side when the lone [ ] had arrived at the scene, a creature so foreign and unknown that fear had short-circuited his actions.

he had stood frozen in the line of danger, horror encasing his body in suffocating crystals. it was wonwoo that had moved first, wonwoo who had considered all possible options which led him to sacrifice his own body for mingyu’s, wonwoo that had thrown himself at the creature, mingyu’s life and not his own being the only thing weighing on hid mind.

what had his last words been? the thought dawned on mingyu, like a nostalgic taste on the tip of his tongue. “don’t sulk, you look super dumb?” no, there was something else. something of potential importance, yet it mocked his grasp when he neared the truth. wonwoo’s whines of pain sounded as background noise at the point of his pondering, so familiar and yet gruelling at the pits of his stomach.

“something…” he mumbled, and lyre and jihoon looked up at the sound of his voice. “wonwoo said something before he couldn’t speak, what was it?”

“is this really the time?” jihoon snapped. “this isn’t the time.”

“jihoon, shut up. there was something he said before he became like this. i have a feeling he was trying to tell us how to deal with the situation.”

lyre turned her head from mingyu to the pale boy in her lap, a concentrated look evident in the crease between her eyebrows. mingyu caught the movement from the corner of his eye and clicked his finger at her. “lyre, you were the closest to him at the time. do you remember what it was?”

at the sudden spotlight, her mind blanked. there had been something previously, but the thought taunted and danced around the perimeter of her head as she tried, and failed, to chase it. “his arm, he mentioned something about his arm.” she finally blurted, his voice entering her head.

jihoon practically growled at the words. “well geez, that solves everything, doesn’t it? thanks for wasting our time, mingyu.” both mingyu and lyre took no offense to his harsh words; someone had to be the angry one in the current situation. lyre continued that train of thought, blocking out the noise of jihoon’s ranting, mingyu’s mumbling and wonwoo’s whimpers. she hoped that fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to give her this sliver of hope, thin and feeble in her hands, and that the solution to this dawning terror would be solved with the following revelation. “breaking something… he mentioned breaking something. what was it? a tree branch? true, the antidote of a beast should be found around the region so that its prey may survive from its poison. otherwise, the ecosystem would fail. but which tree? in this rainforest, what tree are we talking about. breaking apart… a bug? another small mammal? no, you wouldn’t break something with flesh, you would break something that’s hard. breaking… like snapping? breaking…”

jihoon continued to pace around you and wonwoo, head spinning in constant agony. there was fault coloured in the pale flush of his cheeks, why didn’t he know how to solve this issue? why didn’t he pull mingyu aside when the monster had first showed itself? and worse, why hadn’t he been the one to risk his life? why had he froze, selfish in the way that he valued his life over his dear friend’s, opting instead to leave someone else to do the harsh deed. why hadn’t he moved and pull wonwoo who laid by his feet out of harm’s way, instead standing still and letting the monster take a fierce chomp out of wonwoo’s arm? there was no doubt that if he had successfully performed the manoeuvre, wonwoo wouldn’t be in the position he was in now.

his feet crunched against a fallen stick as he paced and the noise triggered a thought in lyre’s head, her eyes widening in disbelief as it all clicked together.

“oh my god, his arm.” she murmured.

jihoon goes to quieten her, goes to tell her to stop obsessing over the idea of his arm when a tear slips from her eyes. the sheer terror from the thought evoked strong pulses of emotion to leak from lyre’s eyes like bleeding cyanide, but she pushed through regardless. how selfish would it be to only think of yourself whilst your friend suffered on the brink of death?

she looked jihoon in the eyes and repeated herself. “his arm. he wants us to snap his arm before the poison reaches his brain.”

lyre gave the boys no time to digest this new sliver of information, working instead to tear off a section of your shirt and wrapping it tightly where the poison had evidently stopped on his arm, black and purple, budging skin pressed against the material. in truth, lyre had no idea what she was doing, simply relying on memory and the many shows she’d watched to guide her movements as she tightened the knot.

the still silence broke when mingyu began to protest against the speculation, fearing the consequence of the action, but jihoon had moved to her side without further protest.

“guys, what are you doing? this isn’t right, we’ll just be killing him instead! guys, please stop, don’t think like that, there’ll be another way, please…” mingyu’s words failed to comprehend through his friends’ ears.

jihoon’s hands replaced lyra’s on the fabric and took over the job, eyes empty as he worked. only lyre saw the tremor in his hands as he tore more fabric and secured the separation of skin. his eyes meet the shivering girl’s over wonwoo’s body. “can you do this?”

her intake of breath is loud in the air shared between the two of you. clearly, jihoon had no idea what he was doing either, despite being the token medical friend. despite knowing that it was her idea, lyre shook her head softly.

“i’m going to use the axe that we kept to break his bones. can you help snap the rest?”

his words were gruesome, sickening to its core but wonwoo’s cries answered his question before she was able to, and she nodded seconds after. hesitance could cost wonwoo’s life.

     mingyu stood over the two of them, passing the axe to jihoon with a grimace on his face. “god this is wrong, god this is so, so wrong.” but the transition is smooth as he lets the axe fall into his friend’s hands.

jihoon acknowledged the fact with an incoherent mumble before adjusting his grip on the tool. “mingyu, get me some water. we may not have disinfectants but if we don’t wash it, bacteria will kill him instead.”

the boy’s shadow left the trio. lyra  placed a hand over wonwoo’s eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of what was to come. was he even conscious in the process? what if she had been wrong to think that his last words demanded the loss of a limb. this was by no means a perfectly successful strategy, but as it was all they had, so regardless of any .lingering whips of doubt, she held onto it like a lifeline.

“ready?” jihoon murmured.

the both of them nodded their heads slightly; there was no way they would be completely ready. but lyra’s hands found wonwoo’s biceps and they stayed there, stayed there until the axe swung up into the air, metal glinting in the reflection of the sun before falling from the force of gravity and the aid of jihoon’s strength. stayed there until the axe fell and met his flesh with a sickening thud.

a thud.

a blunt thud.

wonwoo’s shrill screams pierced through the previously tranquil atmosphere of the rainforest. his back lurched forward but mingyu had some sense to hold down his body before the axe had fallen. though mingyu had held down his body, wonwoo didn’t halt thrashing around. his arms pulsed under lyra’s hands and his legs kicked out for an escape.

“oh god.” jihoon exclaimed in horror, white sheet evident against his face. his hands shook and the axe fell to the floor.

underneath where the blade of the axe had fallen, crimson paint blossomed leaving a trail of broken skin and something else twisted. his flesh peaked from under the flabs of his skin, untainted until it was, blood and pus swimming from his arm.

wonwoo couldn’t stop screaming.

it was clear that jihoon had failed to touch the bone.

wonwoo’s eyes felt wet under lyra’s hands and she let out a weak sob.

jihoon froze.

mingyu struggled under wonwoo’s flailing figure.

“give it here!” mingyu was quick to shout, snatching the axe from the ground without a response, forcing jihoon to quickly melt his terror from his skin and throw himself onto wonwoo’s body.  

wonwoo cries were deafening, coarse now from use and the strength in his limbs had weakened, allowing jihoon to hold down his body with more ease despite the weight difference.

mingyu swung without any indication of doing so, hard and fast against the same spot jihoon had attacked. this time, he pulled away with a weak crack. he whimpered at the noise but raised it again.

“oh my god.” lyra whimpered. “oh my god, why did we use a blunt axe?”

but mingyu doesn’t stop. he continued to swing the axe, up and down, letting the momentum aid his strength, letting wonwoo’s protests to stop fuel his stamina. there is a squelch among the splinters, a cry amongst the shouts but mingyu never falters. he doesn’t falter when lyra moved her own hands to help settle the body, avid to stop his movements. he doesn’t stop when wonwoo’s voice crack, soundless screams like the cries of tormenting ghosts whispering regret and fault into his ears. he doesn’t stop when the boy’s eyes roll back into his head, revealing murky white. and he doesn’t stop when wonwoo’s body finally falls slack on the floor, limp and drained of all energy from the continued torture he had undergone.

he only stopped when the arm separates completely from the body, a tattered arm lying lifelessly away from its previously conjoined biceps, adorned with the colour of fresh blood and oozing pus. the wound pulsated with flowing blood.

“water!” mingyu cried. he turned to a shell-shocked jihoon whose eyes had watched without blinking. “get the water, goddamnit!”

perhaps it was his tear-stricken face, or his eyes that reflected a haunted expression due to the fact he axed away at his friend, but jihoon finally moved. he’d leapt to grab their source of water and begun to pour it without thought at the injury.

lyra gasped, taking in the oxygen that your body severely lacked. “stop, you’re wasting it! put the bottle closer!”

truthfully, half of the spent water and rushed and spilt onto the jungle floor, worthless to their current situation. the boy instantly followed after your words, edging nearer to the smell of rotting flesh and decay. the boy felt faint at the scent, more so at the sight. god, there was so much blood.

mingyu rebooted and finally began to move again. “tear off your shirt.”

the girl hesitated at his words.

“tear off your shirt!” he repeated with more intended force.

she was quick to break out of her trance and began to tear long stripes of cotton from her attire, mingyu doing the same. in a clumsy, almost child-like way, the three of you attempt to bandage the leaking wound as best as you can, but the white cloth turns scarlet red as soon as its placed. a hopeless sob escaped your throat. had you just murdered your friend?

the almost lifeless body laid like a corpse on the ground, pale in his complexion and unconscious. he would have been mistaken for dead had it not been for the shallow breaths the three of them heard occasionally. when the sun had fallen, the bleeding had eased. simply for a lack of supple, lyra wondered in half-hearted ponder. she felt lightheaded in the sense that thought ran away from her. she wished for water, but they had used the majority in hopes of washing wonwoo’s wound.

it seemed hopeless all over again.

“oh my. perhaps it’s finally my time to step in.”

lost in her own world of panic, lyra missed the words of a newcomer though it appeared jihoon hadn’t.

“who are you?” jihoon asked, successfully gaining lyra’s and mingyu’s attention away from the body though it lingers on their minds. hostility crept into the boy’s voice as he continued. “what do you want?”

the source of the unfamiliar voice stemmed from a figure hidden within the shadows of the towering trees. none of the three could determine the identity of the creature causing suspicion to raise.

the creature walked from beneath the tree’s shade, a smug-like expression adorning their face. they appeared human-like, sharing similar features with the humans lyra was familiar with. they had normal curly, black hair that tickled the tips of his ears, eyes that curved like crescents and a mouth in which appeared to be in a constant mocking state. they would have come off as human save for the sharp teeth that glimmered in his grin and the red, hungry look in his eyes. “my name is jeonghan.” he explained.

“are you… human?” mingyu wondered.

the thing chuckled as if he found something the boy said humorous. “that’s funny, as if i could possibly downgrade.”

jihoon positioned his boy to protectively angle his body against the strange creature. “what do you want from us?”

jeonghan tilted his head. “why, what does it look like i’m doing?”

“it looks like you’re being a nuisance.” he answered. grabbing at the axe, he placed it between the four of you and the red eyed beast. wonwoo’s blood dripped from the edge of the blade to which jeonghan raised his eyebrows at. “stay back.” but jihoon’s voice betrayed his attitude and cracked under the pressure.

“put the axe down, jihoon.” jeonghan warned, taking a step forward. despite his firm voice, his lips wavered as if to conceal a smile.

“how do you know my name?” the boy replied instead of complying. despite jeonghan stepping closer, jihoon’s threats made no appearance. he had entered the abyss in hopes to solve the lifelong mystery of where it came from, not to fight a mystical creature. nothing in his life had trained him for this

“you two were screaming it so much it was hard to miss. it would be, rather, more shocking if i hadn’t heard it.” jeonghan said, gesturing to lyra and mingyu. “you two should really keep it down, by the way, or you’ll wake stronger beasts than the one you encountered before, you know, the one that bit your friend? and then even i wouldn’t be able to save you from them.” he hesitated and you flinched from his words. “well, maybe i could.”

mingyu took the silence that followed after as an opportunity to speak. “this sounds like you’re here to help us?”

jeonghan shrugged and mingyu noticed that he had been steadily closing the gap between him and the group but he let the thought slide. he were tired, oh so tired from the fear of losing his friend, the adrenaline from contributing to said friend’s loss of a limb and now this, a potential threat. perhaps death called, though it couldn’t be so bad if it promised a peaceful rest.

           “i would simply be delighted to aid you in your…” he glanced around jihoon’s guarding figure to wonwoo’s body. “successful attempt to save your friend.” he finally spoke, words coming out rather slowly. “however, my buddy jihoon here, seems to be opposed against my gracious decision. perhaps you want wonwoo to die, jihoon buddy ol’ pal?”

jihoon looked to be physically in pain, teeth grinding upon each other. his mouth opened to say more but mingyu placed a firm hand on his arm. “we’ll accept.” mingyu said. “please save our friend.” the boy glanced at jihoon and shook his head desperately. “wonwoo doesn’t have time for us to argue.” he offered as explanation and when jihoon sighted wonwoo, he found himself agreeing.

“fine. please help us, jeonghan.” he muttered, hands still tightening on the handle of the axe though he lets his arm drop.

the creature clapped his hands in excitement. “excellent! i knew you would come around, jihoon.”

lyra cut into the conversation before jihoon could take the bait and bite back. “how are you going to save him? what are you going to do?”

the desperateness must have coloured her tone for jeonghan turned to face her. his eyes were haunting when they settled on hers for the first time, seemingly delving deep into her soul and prying deep into her memories. they left no surface unturned, a hurricane in his wake, the smile engraved into the crevices of her mind as he spoke once more. “come back with me and i’ll show you.”

lyra watched as jeonghan turned from her, colour returning into her sight as his figure began to disappear against the backdrop of the rainforest. she heard only her faint breaths and the whistle of perching birds, heads tilted in curiosity as they watched the event that occurred in the world beneath them. her eyes find mingyu’s which have been hardened beyond recognition and the two of you knew that the moment would forever be etched into the wrinkles of their brains. if they were to ever survive this, it would only mean elongated suffering.

there were tears in lyra’s eyes at the prospect of failing their initial endeveurs to explore the hidden depths of the unknown phenomenon. hadn’t they only wanted to explore what the abyss had offer? hadn’t they simply wanted the thrill of adventuring with your childhood friends, seeking out a journey that would be inked in history? and now the reality of the world had sunken into their bones like cement.

the four of them had barely descended past the fifth layer, edging on the boundaries and the concept of returning knocked on your mind like an unwanted friend.

jihoon stood, rustling the wind at the sudden disturbance. he swung wonwoo’s only arm over his shoulder and wordlessly trekked after jeonghan whose back was almost consumed by the forest’s shadows. there was only one option and jihoon knew this, knew this before the rest of his friends did.

mingyu followed after jihoon, zipping up his backpack and tossing it over his shoulder. he offered lyra a hand as he passed her on the floor, which she accepted. an unspoken nod is bounced back between the two, something like determination and acceptance in the gesture.

whatever was in their path of destiny had to be overcome no matter its challenge, for the four of them had descended so far to die only at its fifth layer.

[s-trawberryv-eins]

Daisy

NOT MY GIF

Daisy

Summary: Daisies on the beach, daisies in his bed. She didn’t really have much business whisking him away like that. But thank the gods she did.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, swearing, shitty writing, everything tbh. Gonna fuck ur feels up boo. Please don’t read if you’re under 18. I don’t want to deal with the consequences. 

Bucky x fem!reader

A/N: This is my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​s writing challenge! My prompt was Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey.

Word count: 3725

Reader Insert Masterlist

-

And who I’ve been is with you on these beaches

Your Venice bitch, your die-hard, your weakness

Maybe I could save you from your sins

Sandridge beach seemed like the perfect place to go. She needed the beach, said he did too. He never argued. Part of him thought this trip, holiday, whatever it was, was more for her than for him. It didn’t matter. He watched her a lot. He’d never noticed her before, not really. Not in any way other than the fact that she always smelled like daisies. Not in any way that didn’t require a gun or the room she came from.

Sitting out in the salty air, on something she’d called a Sarong, he swore he could count the amount of words they’d exchanged on two hands.

“Don’t know you very well. Not really. Who are you?”

“Who do you want me to be?”

Silence.

“Here on these beaches, I’m whoever you need me to be.”

-

“We’re kinda similar, don’t you think?” Smiles were sweet and sickly and she’d look at it forever if she could.

“If you think that’s the case, you’re worse off than I thought, Sarge.”

-

“I’m taking him someplace far. It’ll be good for him.”

“How would you know what’s good for him?”

“You’re not the only person he talks to, Stevie.”

So they left. She hadn’t looked back much since.

-

“Stop calling, Stevie. I mean it.” Pointy pink acrylics toss the phone on the bed where it lay abandoned, unwanted and imposing. A hindrance to healing, she’d called it.

“Darling, we’re going to the market.”

“The crowds, I don’t know.”

“You lose your way, just take my hand.”

“You smell like daisies.”

Daisies wherever she went.

-

I’m the board, the lightening, the thunder

Kind of girl who’s gonna make you wonder

Who you are and who you’ve been

“It’s important.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Shut up. Yes, it is.”

“Fine. I’ll humour you. Why is it important?”

“Because it is, Barnes. I see the way you look at yourself. List three things you like about yourself by the end of the day and tomorrow I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Stop acting like it then.”

A promise. To him, to Steve, to herself. But that’s not why she did it. She made the promise because he deserved it. She kept the promise because he deserved it. And maybe she did, too. Because if she could do right by just one person on this god forsaken planet, maybe she’d sleep better at night. But the fear that that notion reduced her actions to nothing more than a way to clear her own name kept her up anyway.

“I can’t do three.”

“One, then. Tell me one thing you like about yourself right now.”

He sucked in a breath and she saw any trace of comfort evaporate from his body. Torment gripped him silently, an image of every horrible thing he’d ever done flashing in his brain. A minute had passed and doubt pushed its way through her mind, trying to find somewhere comfortable to settle and tell her she’s making the man’s life worse.

“The colour of my eyes. I like the colour of my eyes.”

He rolled his eyes at the victory smile that appeared on her face.

“So do I.”

-

She wandered often. He followed, never straying from her side. After several weeks, he’d come to realise that she wandered and then she wandered. It dawned on him one sunny morning that she needed help too. She’d told him that he’d taken her sadness out of context, but he never understood her meaning. He followed anyway, knowing that she’d come back to him later on, when she was ready.

But this time, it was almost dark before she did. The sand beneath her feet grew cold and her heart threatened to stop beating as her breathing grew frantic. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind and despite how hard she wracked her brain she could not for the life in her remember where she’d left the bag with the fresh fruit in for tomorrows breakfast.

“Bucky?”

“Right here.”

And he was. Bag in hand, there he was.

“It’s okay. Don’t ever have to look too far. Right where you are, that’s where I am.”

And for the first time, he led, and she followed.

-

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Yes. Have you?”

“Yes.”

Short and awkward and tight-lipped. Sunglasses pushed up into her sea salt laced hair, lips damp with iced tea and chap stick.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I was an idiot-“

“You’re right, you are an idiot.”

“I’m tryna apologise here.”

“Sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m still adapting and you’re very persistent and you caught me at a bad time.”

“Okay.”

She knew he was waiting for more, but her head was a mess. Half the time she thought this whole thing was a mistake and that none of this was even remotely her business and nobody wanted her or her input.

“It’s hard for me too, you know. I sorta went into this blind, in case you hadn’t realised. I know I’m pushy and I mess up. I’m sorry, too.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke but he raced to stop them. Holding her face in his hands, he took her in. Sunkissed cheeks, the freckles that the sun had brought out dancing across her nose, shining eyes and he just wanted to take the whole morning and throw it somewhere far where she’d never think of it and it couldn’t hurt her. Thumbs brushed the wet marks away and she tilted her head up and oh-

Her kiss tore his heart apart in the sweetest way, and if this was all he’d ever feel he’d happily surrender himself to it. It occurred to him that her lips were far more important than oxygen and he let his lungs burn, not caring for a moment that the pain was increasing with every second of pleasure. Soft and sweet and the taste of peaches and salt and when she pulled away, he felt colder than he ever had.

“Swim with me?”

-

You’re lost at sea

Then I’ll command your boat to me again

Twice he’d tried to leave.

The first time; a few weeks in.

Fear. The thunder came as he slammed the door, the lightening as his bike peeled away in the darkness. The rain came when he returned, angry and guilty and full to the brim with apologies, sodden and dripping. Thunder again at the door, lightening as they fucked each other rough on the carpet, not making it all the way up the stairs.

The second time; an angel had died, and God mourned violently.

“You want to control everything! You’re a control freak!”

“I am trying to help you for crying out LOUD!”

“I don’t want your help! I NEVER asked for it! YOU brought me here. YOU decided you could fix me!”

“YOU’RE NOT BROK-“

“SHUT. UP. YOU DID THIS. I’M DONE.”

As God wept, so did she.

-

He’d returned under the cover of the night, creeping in through his bedroom window despite knowing she’d known of his every move since he left her. She hadn’t tried to hide it. She’d ask him why he came home eventually, but he didn’t know when.

He didn’t know why he came home.

Home?

Is that what this is?

More daisies.

The smell haunted him, only strengthening as he buried his head into his pillow.

Daisies in his pillow.

A girl in his bed.

She’d been in his bed?

Of course she’d been in his bed.

Where else would she go?

“You lose your way, just take my hand.”

Why’d he leave again?

-

It took her two days to speak to him again.

“Spoke to Steve. If you’re serious about leaving, he can come to pick your stuff up tomorrow.” He bled and he bled. He bled until he found the strength to take a stand.

“Tell him to piss off.”

She appreciated the sentiment but conveyed the message to Steve slightly differently.

-

Even in the dark I feel your resistance

You can see my heart burning in the distance

Restless nights or horror filled sleep; the former was preferable, but God were they long. Trained feet took him away, landing outside her door. Then again to her bedside. The bed dipped with the extra weight, but she knew he was there long before he climbed in beside her.

Fingers finding each other in the dark, tracing and just barely touching. The gap closed and his chest was against her back and before he could think his lips were on her neck and the sigh that fell from her lips tore his heart in two. She was good at that.

Her body moved from his and ice bloomed in his chest as the distance grew. As his walls crept back up, she caught his face in her hands, setting his gaze on her before peeling her clothes off. Watching as she peeled off her clothes, he dared not move an inch.

How could when all he could smell was daisies and slick and heat? Drunk off nothing at all, it burned in his blood and threatened to have him on his knees for the rest of time. Even in the dark his adapted eyes could see the chill on her skin from the sudden exposure, the way she made no attempt to hide herself from his view.

Undressing her, undressing him, lips ghosting over his skin, brushing every muscle and scar as he softened and hardened underneath her in equal measure. She took him in her hand and he cursed before pulling her in, his nose buried in her neck and daisies and as he moved to set himself on her lips she sank down, slow and damp, surrounding him and filling herself entirely. The noise that released itself from his throat would forever ring in her ears and she fought for control over her own body.

His hands lay at his side and god they itched to be everywhere else but he wasn’t entirely sure what was allowed and what wasn’t. Of course, she read his mind and worked to banish his resistance as she worked him so sweet that he knew nobody that came before came close.

They’d fucked before, just once. Messy and rough and quick. This was different in every way.

Soft hands on softer skin, hips feather light as she lifted up only to sink back down again earning a string of whispered curses from the soldiers lips. Whimpers and moans and everything hushed and finally, finally he found the courage to move his hands slowly up her thighs, fingers barely touching her skin until she moved at just the right angle and suddenly the grip on her waist was almost bruising as his back arched up and he sounded so perfectly sinful.

Pushing impossibly deeper inside his eyes screwed shut, and he knew it was an action he’d forever regret as he missed the look of pure sin on her face as she hit her high, too busy experiencing his own to watch. He’d cling to the sounds she made in the meantime.

Climbing away with a soft gasp, slick and mess trickling down her thighs, she headed towards the door and his heart began to slip. The sudden thunder of water against tile was too loud in his head and panic rose from the remnants of their shared moment when –

“You coming?”

He’d never been up and in the shower so quickly in his life.

-

They mistook my kindness for weakness

I fucked up, I know that, but Jesus

Can’t a girl just do the best she can?

“When are you coming home? Can we come and visit? It’s been three months.”

“Fine. I’ll see what he’d prefer, he’s kinda…protective over this place. We miss you Stevie, I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“Love you, kid. Both of you.”

-

They’d arrived at noon. Sam, Steve and Natasha. Steve insisted on making lunch; nobody protested. Three months apart made no difference. Old habits quickly resurfaced and she knew Bucky felt at home like this. It showed in the soft crinkles around his blue, blue eyes.

The early afternoon was spent catching up, five bodies huddled in around each other, the girls eager to be close after so long apart. Stories of the others were told fondly, and an entirely foreign homesickness settled in.

“Bucky, can we go to the beach?”

Soft eyes met bright ones, and he knew he couldn’t say no.

Not that he’d ever really wanted to.  

The girl beamed down at him, daisies on her skin and the sun in her smile.

He knew he’d taken too long to answer when he saw Sam smirk out of the corner of his eye.

-

The girls lay on the sand, towels spread out underneath warm skin, as the boys had abandoned them to wander to town. As they winded through the markets, enjoying the late afternoon sun, curiosity seemed to get the best of Sam, despite the warning he’d received from Steve before they arrived.

“So how are things? With you and her?”

“Things are good. It can be a little difficult sometimes, it just being the two of us, but we get through it.”

“Are we really gonna do this man?”

“Drop it.”

“She’s telling Nat as we speak, ya know?”

He’d never win. Truthfully, he wasn’t interested in winning this one. He hadn’t been fighting very hard to begin with.

“It’s good, Sam. It’s all so good.”

“All of it?”

“I’m done. I don’t know how else to say it but she’s it for me, man.”

There was a moment of silence and a look exchanged between Sam and Steve. It didn’t come as a surprise, not really.

He’d tell them one day.

He’d start from the beginning and he’d tell them everything she was.

But not yet.

-

“Since when does Bucky cook?”

“Turns out we were letting him get away with far too much back at the compound. He’s fairly talented.”

Natasha smiled brightly, happy to be beside her friend once more.

“He’s different. Lighter.”

“It took a while. We didn’t talk much at first. But he let me help him. He helps me too, more than he knows I think.”

She didn’t need to say much for Natasha to understand. Reading between the lines and requiring little to no explanation of what she could see. One question rang through her head, however.

“And when you come home? What then?”

A harsh inhale and a furrowed brow and a flash of denial and the girl admitted that she truly and honestly did not know. And her heart was breaking.

-

The frown on her face as she watched her friends drive off triggered a wave of guilt to pour through him like a flash flood. She’d left her home for him; her friends, her family. For him.

“Natasha was asking questions.”

Hm?

“A lot of them.”

Oh. They were talking?

“I couldn’t answer most of them.”

Why wouldn’t she meet his eyes?

“What uh…what kinda stuff?”

“One sorta stuck out. What happens when we go home?”

He didn’t have an answer. He stayed quiet. A mistake, he’d learn.

“I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”

-

An hour had passed and despite the nausea gripping her stomach, she headed back to the house. The sand between her toes was cooler now the sun was gone, and although it wasn’t cold she couldn’t help the chill that she felt in apprehension of seeing him.

Or maybe she wouldn’t see him.

With every passing minute it became harder to decide which she’d prefer.

Maybe he listened when she said not to wait up.

“It’s been almost two hours.”

Relief and dread filled her bones in equal measure when his voice reached her ears.

“I figured you’d be half an hour. You didn’t even take your phone!”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. Needed to clear my head a bit.”

“Did it work?”

A pause.

“No.”

Another pause.

A stretch of silence.

The loudest she’d ever lived through.

“This is it, then?”

So vague. Why did he have to be so vague? There were a thousand possible ‘it’s and her heart begged to know how the next 5 minutes would play out before they did. The pain in her throat rapidly became unbearable and the girl cursed the Gods for having her fall so irrevocobly for the man she promised nothing but help to.

How cruel of her, to offer herself as a guide and a shoulder and a light and then to do something as selfish as love him.

Because she did.

She loved him.

She loved him and-

“I love you.”

And he loved her.

A sob tore from her throat and he was by her side a second later and taking the weight of her body when she couldn’t anymore. Tears fell without pause and her cries rang out and pierced his heart like a sharpened blade.

Hands crept around her body and lifted her from the ground before heading inside the house.

Their home.

Is this home?

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she buried herself within him, desperate to feel the words he uttered so candidly outside. As the door fell shut behind them, she wriggled free from his hold and landed clumsily on her feet. A cloud of uncertainty gathered above them and as she screwed her eyes shut she fought to banish it.

“Say it again, Bucky.”

There was no hesitation; only a peace in his voice that felt foreign.

“I love you.”

“Take me upstairs, Bucky.”

-

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

It was his turn now; to give her what she gave him that night in the dark. And again in the shower afterwards. So as he lay her on the bed, on his bed, he knew he wouldn’t rest until she knew how deeply his love for her ran.

Flicking the light on, he thought back to their last time and made sure to correct every mistake; he wanted to see her this time, to see her properly and entirely and witness everything that she was.

Lips latched onto the flesh of her neck, feather-light kisses and soft flicks of his tongue over the bruises he made, the bruises she’d come to adore as much as she did him. Staying quiet was both useless and entirely unwanted, so the girl didn’t bother catch the whimper that fell from her lips as his hands wandered underneath her dress, fingers grazing the skin of her thighs.

They undressed quickly and seemed to move in sync. She lay on the bed all but encased within the man above her and she savoured it, locking the feeling of him so close into her memory. Pausing his assault on her skin, he took her in; pupils blown and lips swollen, breath heavy and shallow and a crease in her brow that deepened as she whimpered underneath his touch.

His eyes never left her, taking in everything she’d give him as he worked her with his fingers. Slick and warm and trickling with the heat that he pulled from her body, it didn’t take long for her to unravel entirely underneath him and he saw everything. The way she bit her lip to quieten her moans and the way she grabbed herself when his fingertips grazed just the right spot and the way her mouth fell open in silent ecstasy as she hit her high.

Leaving her without a minute to recover he sank himself into her, full and hot. She tried and tried to bring him closer, burying her face in his neck as he brought himself into her time and again. Crying out as her teeth bit down on his skin, he snapped and oh harder, please and he obliged happily because she was so far gone and the noises she made were delicious and all for him.

Sweat slicked bodies gripped each other tightly, closer she begged and his body answered for him. Need clouded his vision and he slowed his movements and how she sang for him. Pressing hot kisses to her fevered skin, he felt her approach and eyes on me baby, please as she tightened, body rigid and the wet heat flowing between them and oh, gods.

Gasping for breath, her grip on the man loosened and she relaxed into the plush pillows that surrounded her body. Eyes met again and it burned her with a warmth that had her losing her breath once more and he didn’t waste a second.

It was unforgiving and filthy and bruising and so wet and she tried to hold on, but when she felt his hips stutter against her own she lost the fight. They gave everything their bodies had, emptying within and around the other with no care for the volume of their moans and whimpers.

He collapsed next to her and sleep beckoned her relentlessly, but-

“Baby, we can’t sleep like this.”

“Mm why not Buck?”

“We’re messy. A shower and then we can sleep in the other bed, okay?”

“Suppose so Buck.”

-

A freshly brewed pot of tea sat on the windowsill next to her as she watched the sun climb higher in its efforts west. Hair in a loose braid, decorated prettily with a daisy she’d picked the day prior. Last night’s lovemaking still evident by the soft glow of her skin and he knew he was looking at everything he’d ever needed.

“Bucky?”

She didn’t look at him, instead kept her gaze fixed on the sand and the sun and the water and the clouds.

“Yeah?”

It was nonchalant, the way she said it. Twirling a bunch of dying daisies between her fingers, gaze still fixed on the horizon.

“Can we go home?”

 -

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?