#coming back to tears in my eyes and not knowing why

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 07.1 Duke and (Name)

 07. An explosion of emotions trigger warnings: mentions of past abuse, cursing, shouting, medical + emotional + physical neglect, mentions of wanting to die (name), mentions of anger, spoilers for chapter 7 of nobody's child. Main m.list         series m.list

Duke and you have a complex relationship. When it came to school you always made sure to use your last name, but somehow he still found out you’re technically a Wayne.

He promised to keep it a secret, as long as you would be his lab partner in chemistry, a subject he didn’t need help in. You never understood his reasoning. You never understood his actions, in fact you became confused the closer you two got. At first you thought it might be that he wants to get closer to your family, but then it seemed like he wanted to be your friend. He was interested in you, interested in who you truly are. So slowly you began to trust him, you began to share information you had yet to share with your family. You explained that you never felt like you, that everyone calls you them but that you have yet to tell your family. ‘Why?’ he had asked and your answer shook him to the core.

“I don’t trust them,” you said at first, a simply statement that holds no value but then you continued, “I was attacked in my own home, and Bruce refused to let me press charges because I had to understand the attackers circumstances.”

Duke remembers falling silent, shaking as tears fill your eyes. “When I woke up from that attack I learned that my family is to not be trusted. Not when it comes to safety and health, so who says I can trust them with anything else?” He remembers a chuckle leaving your mouth. He remembers how hollow it sounded. “It doesn’t matter I will get away soon enough.”

That day he learned the truth about the bat family, but the next day he finally learned your truth as well. You had been hunched over the teacher’s toilet as he walked by, the teacher trying to get you to calm down. You were puking your guts out, the teacher spotted him staring from the hallway. “You!” she had shouted. “You are friends with (name) right?” He had nodded without thinking. “Come hold their hair back as I get the nurse!”

He did just that, and that day he learned that you were chronically ill. “Don’t worry,” you had said. “I’m not dying, it’s quite usual for the folks in my family to get chronically ill.” when you said the words ‘my family’ he knew you were talking about your mother’s side. He also knew that you thought those words would comfort him, but they did not. It made him worry, especially with the fact that your father is Batman. Not like you knew, and that made him even more worried. How did the Batman not know that his child is ill?

“Does Mr. Wayne know?” he remembers asking.

“No,” you had said with a grin. “I’m medically emancipated, knowing how to forge a signature is quite handy.”

At the time he had wondered if you were joking, but the more time he had spend with your family without you ever being mentioned the more he realised that you had made the right choice. If he tried to ask about you, they would quickly change the subject. Telling him to not mention you, that you made it clear that you aren’t one of them. But truthfully, it was them that made you an outsider. It was visible to even him, an outsider, that the fault does not lie with you. It lies with them.

The longer he knew you the more he started to resent the Wayne family, with the days that your pain clouded your judgement and you begged for death his anger rose. But when he found that the Wayne family are the bats, he knew exactly what to do.

He would accept the invitation to be adopted by Bruce, to protect you, you might hate him at first. You might believe that he used you, but it will be something he must do. He had spoken to your other friends.

Friends you were arguably closer with, they admitted to him that you were fading away in your journey for freedom. That you need an ally in that cursed manor. And he will be that ally, sure it also means that he will be able to be a vigilante. Something he wants to do with all his heart, but at this point that was just an advantage that came with his need to help you.

You are a victim. A victim of a family that has become so tuned out to trauma inside their own family that they cannot recognise what they’ve done to you.

And when he walked through the manor doors, sure that you were at your work, just to be greeted by you screaming at Jason. It froze Duke death in his steps, but when Jason touched you, something snapped in him.

“Step away from them,” he had said, trying to control his tone, but when he took in the state you were in his control flew away. “before I knock your teeth out.”

Jason had stepped back. ‘Good he can listen,’ Duke had thought, tuning everything out as he turns his full attention to you. “(Name),” he had whispered, trying to place his hands gently on yours to stop your scratching. “I am here, it’s Duke, your lab partner, what can I do for you?” He had never seen you this distressed, he had never known that your pain could do this to you. If he did he would have stepped in sooner. He would have thought of a different plan, but he’s too far in to go back now.

“I need to die,” you had whispered, your eyes snapping to his as his heart broke at your words. “can you kill me?”

You were terrified of death, that’s why you are asking him. At least subconsciously you still knew you wanted to live. “You know I can’t,” he had said as he attempted to carefully brush your hair out of your face. You hate having your hair be touched in this state, but having your hair touched also brought you comfort. And at this point Duke would have done anything if it had meant calming you down. “But I can and I will listen.”

Those words always had a big impact on you, Maria had told him so. But in that moment those words meant everything to you. You were crying, but at least you had stopped scratching your skin off.

‘A win is a win,’ Duke had thought.

“You promise?” You had asked, your voice sounded so small and fragile. Your eyes were unfocused, and Duke feared that you could pass out any second.

“I promise.”

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[yuansie]

even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. slight ooc caleb (i have not read homecoming or wtv that chapter is called BC BLUESTACKS DOES NOT WANT ME TO FINISH LONG AWAITED REVELRY OR WTV THAT CHAPTER IS CALLED IM STUCK ON CH12...), NOT canon compliant oops (no higher being placing a curse on zayne, no experimentation done on mc and caleb bc josephine is a good person this time BYEEEE), reader has neglectful parent(s) in the beginning kind of, mentions/descriptions of crying, mc is female (she doesn't have a name in here either). if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. sfw but make it lowk very angsty but fluffy ish at the same time.

wc. 8.2 k

a/n. live love laugh angst (but with a happy ending) and live love laugh not proof reading and SORRY FOR NOT UPLOADING THIS EARLIERRR uni sucks booty fr !! also, i've come to the decision that i will just make this into a mini series, having about 5-10 chapters maximum !! the ideas keep coming, and i'd like to take a different approach to this prompt/world i've build for this nonmc! reader in an actual caleb series much like my rafayel one! also decided to make it into a mini series bc i cant keep writing and expanding on this and leave yall hanging for longer IOEOIFJAWEOI

YOU’RE EIGHT YEARS OLD WHEN YOU MEET CALEB. it was in the last days of summer, right before the leaves began turning red and yellow and orange. you remember your dad telling you that an older lady moved into the house across from yours, that there two kids living with her: a girl younger than you and a boy your age though a couple months older. he said something about the girl having a special condition but the words went through your ear and out the other because you didn’t care about them; you knew you wouldn’t talk to them anyways.

then, your dad left to go to work and you were all alone.

you were always alone, and you felt that loneliness every second, acutely aware at how it bleeds into your soul and makes you so, so sad. it’s what makes you head to the park two houses down the street and sit at the big, oak tree there. your favorite thing to do is climb it and sit on one of the bigger branches around its middle, feeling as if you could reach the sky and escape these heavy feelings. you blame your dad for making you like this: for making you think that the heavens can help you escape your heavy feelings. he told you once, on a night where he was in charge of tucking you in while your mom worked late at the hospital, that he loves the sky and how it makes him feel like all of his worries are nothing but a speck of dust. he made you think that one day, you could reach the sky and feel what he felt. if you reached out enough, you would be free.

but today you had no energy to do that.

as soon as you reached the oak tree, you sat down and rested your back against the trunk. your eyes watered instantaneously, cold tears dripping down your cheek and to the tip of your chin as you tucked your knees into your chest, your arms holding them in place so they could keep your weeping heart warm. you were so lost in your overflowing sorrow that you didn’t notice a boy running to the tree, not even when he stood three steps away from you.

“why are you crying?”

you snapped your head upwards.

the boy looked surprised, his purple eyes as large as the moon as he stared at you. his back was to the sun, covering him in a golden glow. he didn't say anything as he knelt down, his brows furrowed.

you hiccuped and looked away, angrily staring at your house from where you sat. “go away, stranger.” you see the older boy that lives next door when you avert your gaze from your home. it’s zayne—you recall your mom telling you that you used to have playdates together when you were younger. obviously, you don’t anymore. you don't even speak to one another—perhaps, he thinks being friends with a girl two years younger than him is not worth his time.

you don’t blame him for thinking that; after all, your own parents probably think the same.

before your mind spirals into the inky void that tells you bad things, the boy speaks up. “my name is caleb! now i’m not a stranger, right?” you glance at him from the corner of your eye. caleb grins at you, his smile as bright as the sun. it’s too blinding, you decide, and drop your gaze to the ground. “i guess not…” you mumble.

“so that means we’re friends!” caleb laughs when you quickly look at him again, surprise evident in your features. “now you can tell me why you’re sad!”

you wrack through your brain to come up with an excuse and end up stuttering out, “b-but you don’t know my name!”

“you’re y/n, right?” he laughs again when your jaw drops in comical way, gasping for air in between his next words. “ha! g-gran… talked t-to your… parents!” caleb wheezes, tears in his eyes. “y-your parents told us about you!” once he calms down, caleb lets out a sigh as he sits next to you, nudging your shoulder. “c’mon, you can tell me why you’re so sad now.”

you look back at your house, frowning at how lonely it looked. “i… i don’t think my parents love me.”

“what?”

“i mean,” you rest your head on your knees, your voice now muffled. “they’re never home and they never spend time with me.”

your dad is often away, being the colonel and all, which means he’s gone for months at a time. it wasn’t always like that, but things changed when that forsaken tunnel appeared above the city. your dad was one of the first to answer the call, to fly in the sky to protect the world from wanderers. so it isn’t his fault and neither is it your mom’s that they’re never there. she’s a doctor, a colleague of your next door neighbor's parents.

it is not your fault they are both needed by more people and by more important matters.

caleb’s about to say something when a girl calls out his name, running until she stands in front of you two. you don’t pay attention to her, and instead keep your eyes focused on your house. you wish your parents were home more, that they’d spend more time with you. the girl ends up leaving after she speaks to caleb, who watches her go with a careful eye.

“sorry about that,” he says, scratching his cheek. “gran sent her to tell me it’s time for lunch, but don’t worry! i’ll stay here with you until your parents are back!”

you blink at him, feeling your eyes start to burn. “you’ll stay?”

“mhm!” he smiles, and this time you actually don’t turn away. caleb laughs softly, leaning forwards to wipe away at the tears that fall from your wide eyes. “why are you crying again?”

you didn’t even notice that you had stopped in the first place. “i-i don’t know.” you do know.

it's the first time someone ever stayed with you in a long time.

caleb, surprisingly, calmed you down in a matter of seconds. he stayed with you until the sun began to set, when the blue sky became tinted by orange and pink. he made time go by fast, making you smile and laugh until your cheeks and stomach hurt. and he was surprisingly attentive, noticing immediately the way you perked up when you saw your mom’s car drive down the road and stop in front of your home.

“you ready to go now?” caleb stood up and stuck his hand out, waiting for you to grab it.

“your hand is warm,” you mumble, gripping tightly onto his hand as you lead the way back to your house.

he giggles and nudges your shoulder. “my hand is warm?”

“mhm.” it’s very warm, akin to the blankets you wrap yourself with during the cold days of winter.

and just like that you were at your front door, shyly waving goodbye before going inside. the doorbell rang shortly afterwards, yet before you could open the door, your mom had already done so. you left and headed up the stairs and into your room, telling yourself you’ll eat something after your mom retires for the night.

but that never happens.

because the strangest thing happened afterwards: your mom came up to your room and talked to you, apologizing for making you feel lonely and abandoned.

you know it was caleb’s doing: why else would your mom be like this?

without meaning to, caleb planted a seed in your heart that day.

when you’re ten, you realize that you’ve changed the slightest bit. you’re a little more outspoken, a little more confident in yourself; and your world that was once monochrome is now full of color, full of warmth and life.

you have memories where you’re laughing until your stomach hurts, where you’re learning to love apple and bake apple pies to perfection, where you’re learning to do cartwheels with the little girl while his laughter echoes in the air. it’s all thanks to caleb—he reached out to you, deciding to integrate you into his world. you’re forever thankful that he decided to talk to you two years ago, thankful that he spoke to your parents about your feelings because otherwise you would be stuck in the dark.

caleb has brought light and warmth into your life, and now you are never cold and lonely. he even sticks to you like glue at school, never leaving you alone for a second in the classroom because somehow you always manage to be in the same class as him. sometimes you grow tired of having to keep up with the energetic boy, sometimes the fatigue wearing your bones down and rendering you useless. caleb seems to know when that happens, or maybe he doesn’t. what matters is that he seems to time his golden smile; it is a smile so radiant that it melts away what weighs you down.

and always being with him has made you adopt some of his habits, his attentiveness being the one that shines through the most. it’s what makes you notice your next door neighbor. days of careful glances makes you learn that he’s always reading on the porch of his house or he’ll do the same inside by the window, that he’s never with any other kids his age and that he’s never at the park.

maybe you should talk to him and—

“y/n~” caleb nudges your shoulder. you jerk in surprise and wobble on the tree branch you both sit on, gripping tightly onto the wood while you lean forwards from your lack of balance. the boy yelps and takes a firm hold of your arm, stabilizing you. “you scared me!”

you huff, glaring at him. “you scared me! i could've fallen just now, dimwit.”

he pouts, “but that's your fault! you weren't listening to me.”

“yes i was!”

“oh yeah?” caleb raises an eyebrow. “then what was i saying?” he snickers when you don't reply, gently nudging your shoulders this time because he learns from his mistakes, you know! “see? i was right. you keep staring over there.” he gestures in the general direction of where you keep staring. his finger touches the green leaves of the tree, the tips fading into a yellow color.

autumn is coming. not yet, but it will be there in due time.

you decide to tease him a little. “pft, you’re pointing at the leaves.”

his lips curl into a frown. “you know what i—”

“caleb!”

the eight year old girl comes running up to the tree, huffing as she points up at your best friend. “i-it’s time for dinner!” she tilts her head over at you, beaming. “gran said you can come, sis!”

caleb looks at you, “you coming?”

you smile at the girl before shaking your head, moving towards the tree trunk. “i need to do something,” you grunt, shimmying down whereas he just jumps off the branch and lands with a thud. the girls gasps and you gape at him with wide eyes once your feet hit the ground, “are you okay?”

“a-okay!” he grins, standing up proudly as if he didn’t just scare the living daylight out of you. caleb flexes a boney arm, “i’m strong, after all!”

“yeah, okay hercules.” you chortle, rolling your eyes. “i’ll see you around.”

you watch as he and she wave goodbye at you, caleb hooking their arms together as they disappear into their house afterwards. you notice that there's a tightness in your chest when you see them hold hands or hook their arms together—it happens sometimes, not always. like right now: your chest tightens a little, feeling heavy. you chalk it up to wanting to do that with caleb one day and go your merry way.

your mom is startled when she opens the front door just as you reach out for the doorknob. she holds a container with cake inside. “goodness,” she chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. “you scared me.”

“are you going next door again?” you move to the side so your mom can walk out.

she hums, “i am! i left some—”

“can i come this time?” you usually don't go to the dinners your mom has with zayne’s family every friday, always heading to hers and caleb’s house instead despite your mom’s best efforts in convincing you to join her. you always had an inkling that she wanted you to spend time with the older boy next door.

your mom beams at you so wide that you’re taken aback as she drags you to the li’s front door. did it really mean that much to her that you want to join this time? well, you’re on a mission to get close to zayne so that he can have friends too.

speaking of the devil, the door opens immediately after your mom presses the doorbell, revealing the older boy. his eyes widen the slightest bit when he sees you, though he quickly regains composure, his features relaxing. with a small smile, he greets your mom. “hello, mrs l/n.” he directs his gaze at you next, “hi y/n.”

you blink in surprise. “…hi zayne.” you didn’t expect him to remember you because you don't particularly remember much about him.

he steps aside just as his mom appears from behind, momentary shock melting into a warm smile. “y/n! i’m so happy to see you! will she be joining us?” her eyes flit up to your mom, who nods excitedly.

you’re ushered inside and into a seat not even a second after being welcomed in. “we always have a plate and cutlery out in case you stop by,” mrs li says. a lump forms in your throat and it’s hard to swallow. you feel awful, knowing that every time you chose to stay with caleb, the li family had hope that you’d stop by and eat with them.

still, you somehow manage to smile at the older lady. “i’ll make sure to come with my mom from now on.”

“really?”

you nod. “of course,” holding out your pinkie, mrs li laughs and hooks her own with yours. “i promise.”

mrs li heads into the kitchen with your mom, leaving you and zayne alone at the dining table. he sits in the chair next to you and you fidget in your seat, not sure how to break the stifling silence. what would caleb do in this moment? he’d probably say something stupid or just go ahead and ask to be friends… that’s something only he could do easily, but for you? that’s a challenge.

“you look worried.” zayne says, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

you frown and play with your fingers, “was it that noticeable?”

zayne hums as the two moms come back with pots of food while chatting about your dad. “you aren't doing a good job at being subtle.”

his comment makes you huff through your nose, the corners of your lips curling upwards. caleb says that to you all the time, claiming that you make it is easy for him to read you.

“smiling suits you.”

you stop breathing and stare at the boy with raven hair, slowly blinking while the moms plate the food and continue talking. zayne glances at you again and then looks at his plate, eyebrows furrowed as he picks up a fork and pokes at the carrots, nudging them into a corner. “did i say something wrong?” he mumbles.

he didn't say anything wrong… it’s just that no one has said that to you. not even after your change, even if it was a small one.

not even caleb.

you shake your head, “no.” coughing, your eyes shift to his hands, seeing how he stabs the last carrot on his plate and places it in the corner along with the rest. “you… you still don’t like carrots?” you vaguely recall a memory from when you were about five: you and zayne were eating a plate of oranges when he suddenly spat it out and a chewed piece of carrot was then laying on the table. his mom had cut small pieces of carrot inside his bowl alone with the oranges, trying to trick him into eating them.

zayne’s hazel eyes widen. “you remember?”

with a snort, you answer, “you spit out the carrots every time your mom tried tricking you into eating them. that’s pretty hard to forget, if you’re asking me.”

his ears flush the lightest shade of pink, making you giggle as your fingers wrap around his plate, rotating it. with your other hand, you grab your fork and take his carrots.

“…thank you.”

“i should be thanking you,” you hum, “i love carrots.”

whereas you and caleb are polar opposites and only have a thing in common, you and zayne are not. you’re so alike: reserved and quiet, both sticking to what you deem is the vicinity of your personal bubble. it was easy to befriend him again; by the end of what remained of summer, you had introduced him to caleb and her. it did take a month and a half of convincing, of relentless pleading that convinced zayne to follow you to the park where she and caleb were playing as usual.

caleb and zayne didn't get along well right off the bat, and they always argued. it took you aback in the beginning, not used to seeing caleb argue so… pettishly with someone. much less with zayne. zayne baffles you every time he mutters under his breath about how caleb is ‘so annoying’ because all he does is talk about dinosaurs or is ‘a child’ during friday dinners at his house. well, he is a child, so he’s not wrong there. but with that logic, he should also be calling you a child and yet he doesn’t.

zayne does, however, get along well with her.

you see it in zayne’s attentiveness to the young girl, you see it in the way his voice softens when he speaks to her, and you see it in the way he hangs onto her every word as if it were something sacred.

you also see it in the way his ears sometimes turn the lightest shade of pink when he speaks to her.

when you think about it, they’re both alike in that way.

the sun is in the sky, bright and warm like the boy next to you.

“he’s trying to steal her from me,” grumbles caleb. he swings his legs back and forth while the two of you sit on a tree branch, zayne and the girl sitting underneath on the other side of the tree. she’s teaching him how to braid a crown of flowers, and you can see the small curl of his lips. he’s smiling a shy sort of smile only reserved for her.

“he can’t steal her from you because she isn’t an object.” you tear your eyes away from them and focus on the brooding boy beside you, taking note of how he pinches his brows together and pouts, mumbling something under his breath. while the branches and its leaves provide good shade from the sweltering heat, there is still sunlight that peeks through gaps, and golden specks manage to coat caleb’s figure. “that means you can’t have her either, cal.”

your words have him turning to you quickly, his eyes wide. “i can’t have her?”

“of course not!” your silent admiration of seconds ago dissipates as you scoff, flicking his forehead. he yelps as you continue, “she’s a person! you can’t have people; that’s weird.”

“but that monster is stealing my best friend!”

you frown, blinking once. “zayne isn’t a monster.” but caleb sure seems like one at the moment, you think. a monster of green envy.

“yes he is!”

“zayne is not a monster.” you repeat, irritation beginning to bubble in your chest because caleb wouldn't be saying such things if he didn't have this weird rivalry going on with zayne. “don’t say that about him.”

“why are you defending him anyways?” caleb narrows his eyes at you. “you’re supposed to be my friend—”

friend. best friend. you realize he hasn't ever really called you his best friend because she’s his best friend while you think he's yours. if he doesn't think that of you, then you can’t think that of him… right?

you both whip your heads to the ground, clambering down the tree as zayne calls out both yours and caleb’s name. if his voice hadn’t betrayed the frantic feeling swirling in it, maybe you wouldn’t have this overwhelming sense of dread. when you both round the tree trunk, you see that his face is pale, and he’s holding onto her. she’s trembling, her face paler than zayne’s as if all the color had been drained from her features, and she’s heaving and trembling uncontrollably. the sight makes your stomach drop to the ground as caleb dashes forwards, dropping to his knees while yelling about getting granny josephine to them. you honestly don't remember running to their house, asking josephine to help the little girl—it’s all a blur. all you can remember is how the two boys finally had something in common other than their care for the younger girl: their expression.

they were both horrified.

and you wonder if you looked like them.

your eleventh autumn was just like any other, but this time it was different because of him.

you decided to stay the night after having dinner at zayne’s so he could help you study for your science test on monday. caleb would have been the one helping you, being in the same classes and all, but he was helping her study. while you do love and care about her, you care more about your grades because surely the tests in middle school are harder than the ones in elementary, right?

you’ve been inside zayne’s room before. more often than not, after dinner, you’d end up in there with him while talking about everything and nothing. sometimes you’d both be quiet, content with just being next to each other while reading a book on his bed, and sometimes you both would talk about current hobbies and interests.

“where will you sleep?” zayne’s voice comes from near his bed while you head towards his desk.

“in your bed, duh.” your eyes skim over the surface, chuckling at how tidy it is… until your eyes fall on a haphazardly hidden pieces of paper underneath zayne’s stack of notebooks. weird, you think. zayne likes keeping notebooks, books, and papers separate from each other.

“why would you sleep in bed with me?” he asks.

“we used to sleep in the same bed when we were children.” which is true: your moms have a photo book with evidence in it from your younger days together. “i don’t see why we can’t if we’re still children.”

you hear him huff through his nose. he’s probably pinching it right now. “you’re eleven and i’m thirteen. you’re a child and i’m a teenager.”

“didn’t you say that teenagers are fourteen-year-olds and up the other day?” your fingers wrap around one of the notebook’s spine, carefully lifting it and whatver notebooks are on top and pull the pieces of papers out.

your eyes scan the contents of one of the pages, highlighted words aiding in your understanding of what it is that you’re reading. medical school… majors… he’s looking at colleges.

“well, yes.”

you turn around and hide the papers behind you. “so that means we can share the same bed, right?”

zayne sighs, shaking his head while his lips curl upwards just the slightest bit. “you win this round, miss know-it-all.”

you grin at him and bring the papers out. “you sure i’m a know-it-all?”

the older boy stares at the papers you wave in the air, staying silent as if trying to find the words to explain something to you. you raise your eyebrows. “staying silent makes you look like you were hiding something from me.”

“well… i am. was, i was.” zayne corrects himself and sits down at the edge of his bed, patting the space next to him. you take a seat and eye him. “i’ve been trying to tell you this past summer that… well…” he sighs. “i skipped grades.”

“oh—” you gasp, eyes widening to the size of saucers. “so this means…”

majors.

medical school.

he’s grad—

he exhales slowly. “i’m graduating from high school this year.”

you feel the world go still. you hear your breathing. you feel cold. suddenly, you feel deep and heavy dread wash over you.

after this year, zayne will leave.

your best friend is leaving you.

“why are you crying?” zayne panics, clumsily wiping the tears you didn’t know were falling down your cheeks. the pad of his thumb is a little rough against your skin, but his touch is soft. he’s trying to be gentle, and it makes you feel more gloomy.

“i don’t know,” you mumble, hiccupping as you look down at your hands, watching the tears he doesn’t manage to wipe away fall onto them. “it’s just…” do you tell him? that you don’t want him to leave you alone? sure, caleb is a great friend but you’ve come to realize, since the incident last summer, that she will always be his top priority and—

majors. medical school… her.

“you’re doing this for her, aren’t you?” your voice is quiet.

you love her, you do. she’s like a little sister, and you obviously care for her like they do. but they care more, they love her more. you don’t quite understand the intensity of their love for her. and despite their burning ardor in wanting to be there for her and how it always ends up making you invisible, you can’t bring yourself to ever hate her. she’s innocent, just living her life while the two boys flock to her. she didn’t ask for their attention or love, it’s just that she’s so easy to love.

“…don’t tell her.” zayne’s hands fall from your cheeks and grab onto your hands. his touch is cold, unlike caleb, but it doesn’t make you flinch away from him. you let him take your hands into his, holding them carefully. “please.”

you huff through your nose. “if that’s what you want,” you answer. “it isn’t my place to tell them, anyways.”

it’s quiet, peaceful almost if you weren’t so caught up in the sinking feeling your chest. your heart just sinks and continues to sink in black ink, growing heavy. zayne’s voice timidly calls out your name. “you’re still crying. there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

“i don’t want you to leave.” because if he leaves, you’re afraid that you’ll have to admit the ugly truth you know, deep down, about caleb. it’s a truth that is so clear to everyone, a truth that you see every single time they’re in their own world. a world that pushes you and zayne out like the waves when they leave shore and retreat back into the ocean.

the older buy chuckles, and you look at him through your wet lashes, noting how his hazel eyes flicker with quiet care in them. “i’m not leaving yet.”

“keyword being yet,” you mumble, gripping onto his hands now. “…i’m being dramatic, aren’t i?”

zayne opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “i should be happy that you’re doing something so cool. i mean, skipping basically all of high school and graduating super early? that’s so cool… and i’m here crying like a baby over it.”

“but your reaction is reasonable,” zayne says. “i’d be upset, too, if my best friend told me all of sudden they’d be leaving at the end of the school year.”

best friend. not just friend.

“i’m your best friend?”

“naturally.” zayne responds quickly. “you know me better than anyone, just as i know you better than anyone.”

just like that, your tears stop falling and the sun peeks out from the cloudy sky inside you.

the rest of the night goes smoothly: zayne helped you study for your science test, which you both found boring after an hour because all of the questions were easy, and you spent the rest of your time talking with him. you wanted to know of his plans, what he’s thinking, about what he wants to do after graduating. you both fell asleep in the midst of your conversation, though you wake up at three in the morning because you felt weird. your own body was telling you that you forgot to do your night routine. so when you wake up, all blurry-eyed and dazed, the first thing you can see is your sleeping best friend. after a couple of blinks, your vision clears up and you’re aware that you’re close to him. in fact, you’re close enough to see and count his dark eyelashes. you pout, no way he has prettier eyelashes than i do. the thought goes away as quickly as it had formed in your mind, replaced by the icky realization that you fell asleep without brushing your teeth. so you sit up, gently waking zayne so he could do the same. when he stirs awake and stares at you with squinting eyes, he knows what you mean when all you do is wordlessly point at your mouth despite the sleepy haze of his mind. and just like that, you both silently head to the bathroom and brush your teeth next to each other, quickly going back to his bed and falling asleep once more.

when morning came, you both find yourselves staring at his mom with confusion as she giggles and repeatedly asks how you both slept during breakfast. you think she must have seen something while you both slept, though you decide to let your suspicions go when you bid the li family goodbye and head next door to your house.

mom will probably tell me about it later tonight, you think just as you shove your house keys into the lock. you push the door open and kick your shoes off your feet, sliding them to the side and slipping into your slippers when you step inside. you hear someone running down the street, and right when you’re about to close the door, you hear your name being called out.

“i didn’t see you at all yesterday!” caleb runs up to you, a bright grin plastered on his lips. with his back to the sun, he looks as if he's bathed in gold. “pips missed you, you know? what were you up to that—what’s that?”

you blink once and suddenly he’s in your bubble, burning fingers gingerly touching your eye. you close it on instinct, and he runs his thumb over your eyelid. you can see yourself reflected in his eyes from this close. his warmth seeps into your skin, and you have the urge to lean into his touch. your heart lurches and skips a beat, feeling excited and calm at the same time.

“what’s what?” you cough, taking a step back.

he frowns, his thumb now under your bottom lashes. “your eyes are red and puffy. are you sick or something? you feel oddly hot.”

oh, that’s right. you cried yesterday, and you feel as if your heart is ready to jump out of your chest and into his arms where it wishes it could be.

“i’m fine. it’s just that i watched a sad movie after dinner with zayne,” you sigh, gently pushing his fingers away from your eyes. zayne’s words echo in your head, a quiet reminder that you can't tell caleb because he’d tell her right afterwards.

caleb huffs through his nose, his lips curling into an amused smile. he shakes his head once, his purple irises reflecting the warmth he radiates. “you do cry a lot while watching movies, don’t you?” he leans back and tilts his head at you. “alright.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “alright… what?”

“even though you’re clearly hiding something from me, i believe you.” caleb pinches your cheek, the amusement in his lips softening. “i’ll see you later?”

“yeah…” you say, dazed, but shake your head quickly. “wait, what are we doing?”

caleb laughs, the hand pinching your cheek now covering his mouth, “don’t tell me you forgot that we’re supposed to study for the science test on monday?”

“about that…” you look away from him. “zayne helped me study for it last night.”

his silence has you taking a quick glance at him. caleb seems shocked and his eyebrow twitches, though it disappears and is replaced by something you can’t quite describe. a forced smile of sorts? “he helped you study?” he asks. “then what’s your verdict? will the test be easy or hard?”

you scratch your cheek, thinking. “well… even though he helped me study for a bit, i say the test is going to be very easy.”

“guess that means i won’t study.” caleb shrugs and ruffles your hair, a real smile on his lips now. “talk to you later, short stuff.”

“i am not that short, cal!” ever since he’s grown an exact inch taller than you, he acts like you're a midget now.

you watch as he waves goodbye, walking backwards for a couple steps with a laugh before twisting around and heading down the street. he’s probably heading to the small dessert shop nearby to pick up some of her favorite doughnuts—it’s what he does every saturday morning.

your twelfth autumn marks your first one without zayne.

he left at the end of summer, right as the tips of the green-yellow leaves on your favorite tree began turning a slight orange, barely noticeable. his disappearance had gone unnoticed until yesterday, half way into the fall quarter and midway into october. you’re in the middle of reading a book, one of your dad’s that he let you borrow, on his bed laying on your stomach while caleb helps her do her homework at his desk. he has a singular picture on it that he puts down whenever you're over, but you never ask why he does that.

“where is zayne?” she wondered aloud, tapping her pencil against her chin. “i haven’t seen him around lately.”

“huh,” caleb clicks his tongue in thought. “now that you mention it, neither have i.”

both their eyes land on you, though you don’t bother looking up. with practiced ease, you reply. “i haven’t seen him around.”

“but you go to his house every friday? and he’s your best friend? surely you know something.” she leans forwards in her chair, trying to get a better look at you.

“i go every friday because i made a promise to his mom,” you retort, finally looking up. with a shrug, you continue, “his mom hasn’t said anything about his whereabouts, so i’m just as clueless as you bunch.”

the girl drops it, a smile now on her lips. “your dad is coming home soon, right?”

you blink in surprise. “you remember?” you mentioned it in passing, it was when she and you were watching caleb during basketball tryouts. you told her that your dad would be coming back soon from the fleet, how you were excited to finally see him after so long.

caleb huffs a laugh through his nose, “of course she remembers, short stuff.”

you grimace, rolling onto your side and reach out to grab something in your vicinity, which happens to be a pen on his bedside, and fling it towards him. “you are literally just a couple inches taller than me, cal.” he’s actually a whole head taller than you now, and caleb's growing into his features. his cheeks have started losing their softness, his eyes a little sharper now. he has a natural, boyish charm, something that makes everyone notice him at school.

he loudly laughs, the pen stopping right in front of him before he swats it away. it lands with a clatter against the floor, somewhere in his room. with a huff, you lay on your back. “better work on that aim, short stuff~” he sings, getting up from his desk and heading over to his bed. you look up at him, your lips pursed as he pinches your cheek, purple eyes warm with mirth. his hair falls over his eyes, making its color look deeper. “how else are you going to get into the aerospace academy with me?”

you raise your brows, “you're acting as if you're already in.”

“well—”

the girl hums. “so you both want to leave me.”

just like that, caleb is back at her side and you’re all alone. “i would never leave you, pips.”

“pinkie promise?”

you watch from the corner of your eye how he wears a soft smile as they wrap their pinkies, his touch lingering.

you aren't stupid; in fact, you pride yourself in being so smart and attentive. so, you know that the tightness in your chest is because of caleb, because of the feelings you harbor for him. you aren't stupid, so you already know that caleb can never be yours, that he can never feel that way for you.

because he is hers.

with a sigh, you close your eyes and will yourself to calm your aching heart. you should be used to the ache that settles in your chest when this happens, but here you are.

later that day, right as the sun begins to set, you bid her and granny josephine goodbye. the taste of her apple pie from dinner lingers in your mouth.

“you don’t have to walk me home, cal.” you say, chuckling as you bump shoulders with him. instead of walking across the street, you walk down the sidewalk.

he hums, following you, “just let me be a good friend, short stuff.”

“you just love rubbing it in, don’t you?” you grumble, stepping into the park. your feet take you to the tree until you’re in front of it. you look behind you, raising an eyebrow at caleb. “i’ll stay here for a few minutes, so you can leave if you want.”

“i’ll stay.” at his confirmation, he moves past you, a faint scent of apples lingering in the air along with the sweet, woody smell from the oak tree as he scales up the trunk with ease. “your turn!”

“yeah, yeah.” you huff, rolling your eyes as you climb the tree and make it to the branch caleb chose to sit at. you breathe in and out slowly.

“the tunnel makes the sky look ugly.”

you snort, slightly baffled at the sudden proclamation from the boy. “where did that come from?”

“what?” caleb shrugs with a laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “it does make it look ugly. like, really ugly.”

your quiet giggles get louder, and you throw your head back. “that is the first time i have ever heard anyone say that.” you wheeze, your laughter so strong you wobble on the branch. caleb wraps an arm around you to keep you from falling, his touch making you still instantly.

“you need to be careful,” he says. “one of these days you’re going to end up falling and i’ll fall with you.”

“if i ever fall, it’ll be because of you.” you cough and attempt to shimmy away from him, though his grip slightly tightens, preventing you from getting away.

the brunette absentmindedly taps on your arm with a finger. “i’d never let you fall… you know that.”

he’s saying that because you're his friend, and he is fiercely protective of those he cares about: the people in his inner circle. you are a part of it, you know that, and yet your heart cannot help but to stupidly flutter at the illusion of a hidden meaning behind his words.

“…it’s getting late.” which is true—the oranges and pinks of the sunset are now bleeding into a purple hue. “i should get going now.” you don't wait for him to say anything; you just climb down the trees as quickly and possible and book it to your home.

caleb is not far behind you.

stepping on the first step of your house’s porch, you stop and turn around. you’re eye to eye with caleb.

caleb wears a boyish grin on his lips, something that makes your stomach flip. “i have something for you.”

“oh? and what would that be?” the corners of your lips turn upwards.

“how about you close your eyes?” you shut your eyes, hearing intently to the boy shuffling. you feel a warmth brush against your cheek, trailing over to the back your neck. “give me a second.”

you hold your breath. caleb’s fingers work nimbly, and something cold hangs around your neck. there’s silence for a beat; he’s still close enough for you to hear his breathing until he leans away. “open your eyes.”

they flutter open at his command, and flitter down to see a necklace. there is a cloud with a wispy appearance right at the bottom, and small translucent beads hang from it in white and blue. the chain around your neck is decorated with solid white and blue beads.

“do you like it?” caleb scratches his neck, eyes carefully watching your reaction.

your voice comes out quiet, shy. “i do.”

you hear the smile in his voice. “i’ve been trying to give it to you since your birthday.”

“what?” looking up from the necklace, you blink at him repeatedly. “but my birthday—”

“i know.” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i’ve had it since last year, and… i just didn’t know how to give it to you. i thought now would be a good time.”

i thought now would be a good time.

his words echo in your mind, and you take a deep breath. you also have something you want to give him: it’s sitting in the drawer of your desk, in a small box. “do you… do you want to come inside?”

you’ve never invited anyone inside your house, inside the walls that is your safe space. zayne is the only one who has stepped foot inside, who has made it up the stairs and into your room on more than one occasion. caleb used to bug you about that when you two first met, into the early months of your friendship. he thought it was weird that you were always over at his home while he had never gone inside yours. his complaints stopped when you introduced zayne to them—probably because he didn’t want to be around him despite the desire he had to discover what lays hidden in your home. you like to think that he finally decided to wait until you were ready to show him what’s inside.

caleb’s eyes are wide with surprise. “you want me to go inside?”

“i also have something for you.”

despite the poor lighting of the porch lamp, caleb is still akin to gold. he smiles and you turn around to unlock the front door, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. when you open the door and hold it open for him, caleb is all too quick to walk inside, following you up the stairs into your room after you shut the door. his eyes scan the inside of your room as soon as you turn on the lights, shuffling over to your desk as he stands by the doorframe. the color of your walls are a light blue, strings attached to the ceiling with paper clouds hanging at the end. he realizes there’s glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling after squinting. there’s a book shelf in the corner of your room, right besides your desk. the top shelf has a few trinkets: a small airplane, a blimp, a cap.

he assumes it's your dad’s cap, the one that goes with his uniform.

the second shelf has a couple of books, a stuffed animal in the form of a snowman, and a picture: the last one you took with your parents. last summer, you and your family took a trip to verona. in the picture, your dad has you hoisted onto his shoulders, an arm on your legs to keep you steady while the other is wrapped around your mom. everyone wears a smile, yet yours is the brightest one out of the three. caleb’s chest swells with pride, knowing he did the right thing all those years ago when he found you crying at the big oak tree.

the third shelf has a picture, one where it’s you and him. he remembers when, where and who took the picture. it was on your last day of school, your fifth grade promotion ceremony, and your mom took it. again, your smile is the brightest one. though, upon further inspection, he realizes your picture is different from the one he has on his desk. you’ve decorated it with small stickers, ones of golden and purple swirls that sit on the frame.

then there’s more books. another picture frame—is that zayne? you and zayne as children… oh, well you look at that? another picture frame of you and zayne. a recent picture, it seems, decorated in the same manner as his. he’s not sure when or where or who took this picture—

“think fast!”

caleb blinks and the flying box stills in front of him, floating in the air before it can hit his chest. “uh… why?”

“gotta be on your toes if you want to be in the aerospace academy with me.”

he laughs. “look at you, already acting as if you’re in.”

you shrug. “you do the same.”

“touché.” his eyes look down at the box. with a hum, he grabs and opens it, blinking once. inside sits a necklace, one with a small, silver sun on it with a purple gem in the middle. “…a sun?”

“you remind me of the sun.” you mumble. “you’re warm like it, too.”

caleb beams so wide his cheeks start to hurt, and there's faint blush on his cheeks that spreads to the tips of his ears. “i’m like the sun?”

“mhm.”

“funny… because i got you a cloud because sometimes you’re calm and happy, sometimes you’re gray and gloomy, and there are times when you’re like a storm.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed, and he continues. “tell me when you feel like there’s a storm in you.” he gets closer to you so that he can tap on the necklace that hangs around your neck. “so i can shine the sun on you... i will never hurt you with my warmth.”

it’s a silent promise that he’ll be there for you.

“and if you do?”

“then you can hit me!”

his fingers twitch, his foot taking a step forwards. but there’s a knock on your door before it’s pushed open. both you and caleb watch, confused.

your mom has a night shift and wouldn’t be back until morning.

caleb doesn't see a thing before you’re already leaping forwards into the arms of a man in a black uniform, his cap falling onto the ground. he recognizes the man as the one that holds you on his shoulders in the picture on your bookshelf.

your dad, the colonel of the farspace fleet.

caleb smiles to himself, his hold on the tiny box in his hands slightly tightening. he will be there for you, whenever you're sad or happy or mad.

he will be there.

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[daylighted]

STARRY EYED GIRL / SITUATIONSHIP ! YOUNG DEAN x READER.

drabble.pdf / filed under dean winchester, mini series, situationship, unrequited, good intentions, hurt feelings, cruel words.

. . . "absolutely not."

"why not?"

dean shoves another handful of clothes into his bag, ignoring completely your form tucked away beneath his thick blankets. you're wearing one of his shirts that you took from his bag when his back was turned, the collar of it hanging off of one shoulder. he hasn't spared you a glance, so of course he hasn't noticed it.

would he, anyways? you hoped he would. maybe any other day, any other time, he'd say it looked better on you anyways.

you reach across the foot of space between you and yank the sleeve of his jacket to force him to stand still, if only for a moment, and answer you. "why not?"

"because i said so."

you tug the sleeve again, your face dropping into a deep frown. sometimes, he snuck in and kissed your skin with reverence that didn't belong under the flickering label of something that you two were. sometimes, though, he called you and treated you just like the object you felt like.

dean's eyebrows raise when, finally, his gaze flicks up to meet yours. they go to your chest, first, hopefully just to read the faded lettering on the fabric, or to notice that there was fabric over you at all, and not because the appeal of your body was more than the appeal of your eyes. "that's my shirt."

"no it isn't," you dismissively say, so he stops trying to distract you from the problem at hand. and it was a problem, because he seemed to think that you weren't really anything worthy of at least saying goodbye to. "why can't i come with?"

the sound of dean's zipper on his bag closing is poignant in your mind, even if it's never as final to dean as it is to you. "you wanna make me repeat myself?"

"i've never been here when your dad calls." you pat the blankets draped over you for emphasis, making a broad gesture to you, clearly sprawled in his sheets. "i'm here this time. i want to go."

half of dean's mouth quirks up in something that might be amusement. "i'm not risking your life just so you can get the brownie points of ranking up to passenger princess status."

it stings like a knife between the ribcage, the blade twisting and twisting until it barreled its way into your heart. you feel it stop beating, you think, clenching tightly in on itself one last time.

you could pretend it was because he cared that he didn't want to risk your life. you could pretend that it was something noble, the same way that you pretended he was a prince when he pushed open your window, knowing it would be unlatched for him to, to make you see stars behind your eyes — almost like being beneath the stars with him. you could pretend, and pretend, and pretend, but sometimes the painted pictures of the stars were prettier than the ones in reality.

a lot of the time, dean just didn't care about you like you seemed to about him, no matter how hard you tried.

tears glitter in your eyes, different types of stars than the ones he usually puts there, and the one time you wished he didn't look at you, the mesmerizing green of his unfeeling eyes land on the stardrops as they fall. "don't cry," he sighs, like it's an inconvenience instead of an ache, "don't let me make you cry."

he misreads it. dean always misreads the weight of your heartache like it was something small, and not something that was beginning to consume you like a shadowy nightmare. his thumb swipes beneath your eyes, and his lips meet your forehead in something fleeting — a bandaid over a bone-deep bruise. "i'll be back. you know i'll be back."

he would be. and the worst part was not that truth, but the fact that you'd keep your window unlocked.

dahlia's comments 🜲 making my grand comeback with a scene that has lived in my head for a hot minute pls be gentle if it sucks my HEAD HURTS.

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[obfuscateyummy]

One and One and One Makes Three

hi I am SO sorry this took me ALL week but its over 2,300 words so. The inspiration for the title is from the song Missing Cleveland by Scott Weiland. I appreciate you all! It might be a while before I put out another fic because I have a lot going on in my personal life the next week. BUT we will see. :) Everything medical I know I have learned from medical dramas set in emergency rooms starting Noah Wyle and Google. Mentions pregnancy. Cursing.

The next morning you woke up to your husband’s alarm, and him stirring to turn it off. He noticed your breathing change, meaning you were waking up. “Shh, go back to sleep sweetheart,” he whispered into the back of your neck as he placed a kiss on it. 

“I wish you didn’t have to work today,” you whined.

“I know. I want nothing more than to stay here with you and Lucy,” He rubbed his beard against the back of your neck and he kissed the side of it.

You rolled over as you talked to him, “I’ll come by as soon as my appointment is over. Hopefully, Vegas can get me in.”

He nodded. “Even if we don’t tell anyone, I have to tell Gloria. If anything happens and she doesn’t know-”

“I know,” you said. “I just want to wait.” 

“Why do you want to wait? You were so ready to tell everyone with Lucy?” he asked. 

“Honestly? I want to do one of those cute announcements, with Lucy in a big sister shirt. I think it would be cute,” you said as you laughed. 

Michael shook his head, “For some reason, that was not the answer I was expecting.” He went to kiss you, as his alarm went off for a second time that morning. He reached over and turned it off. He went back to kissing you.

“You have to get ready to go,” you said against his lips.

“I know,” Michael said. He kissed you one more time. “You sure you don’t want to-” his invitation to ask you to shower with him was interrupted by a little knock at your bedroom door, followed by the door swinging open. “Mommy? Daddy?” Lucy said as she walked into your bedroom with tears in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong lovebug?” you asked as Michael helped Lucy into your bed. She got right in between the two of you.

“I have bad dream,” she said.

“It’s okay, Lucy, you’re safe here,” you said as you hugged her close. 

Michael kissed her forehead, “You know Daddy and Mommy would never let anything happen to you.” He turned and looked at the time on his phone. “I gotta get ready for work,” 

Lucy whined as her father got out of bed. “Hey, Mommy is still right here,” you said as the two of you cuddled in bed while Michael took his shower and got ready for the day.

Michael walked out of the bathroom in his scrubs. He went to grab his favorite hoodie and noticed that you and Lucy had fallen back asleep. He slowly exited the room, not to wake you. He got his coffee ready to go. Before he left, he walked back into the bedroom. He leaned over and placed a kiss on your temple. You started to stir in the bed. “Shh, go back to bed, sweetheart. I just wanted to kiss you goodbye. Love you.”

“Hmm. I love you, Robby,” you mumbled in your half-asleep state. 

Michael kissed Lucy’s forehead before exiting the bedroom. He left and headed towards work.

8:00 am on the dot you were on the phone with your OB office.

“Dr. Vegas’ office,” the receptionist said as she answered the phone.

“Hi, my name is Y/n Robinavitch, and I was hoping to get an ultrasound with Dr. Vegas today,” You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Please hold.” The receptionist put you on hold. Less than 30 seconds later they came back on the line, “Yes, Mrs. Robinavitch, it looks like Dr. Vegas is our PMTC location today, does that work for you?” Of course, he’s there today, you thought. “Yeah, that will work great.”

“Okay, can you be there at 11 am?”

“11 am today? Perfect.” You had a time. And it was possible Robby could get away. 

“Great. Dr. Vegas will see you then, have a great day.”

You pulled out your phone to text Robby.

Vegas is at PMTC today. Appointment at 11. Think you can sneak away?

He was quick to text you back

Yeah, I’ll figure out something to tell Dana.

I love you!

You smiled as you texted him back.

I love you too. See you soon.

You made breakfast for yourself and Lucy. Then, you started both getting ready. You made it to the hospital  Once you were back in the ER, Dana spotted you immediately.

“Kid, I thought you were off today!” she said.

“Hi, Aunt Dana!” Lucy said, running up to her.

“Hey, Kiddo is here too!” Dana said as she bent down to Lucy’s level and hugged her. “I thought I heard someone causing chaos out here!” Michael said as he turned the corner.

“Daddy!” Lucy said as she ran up to her father. 

“Hey, lovebug! How are you?” Michael said as he picked Lucy up and carried her back over towards you. 

“Mommy said when we leave here, we can go to the park!” Lucy said. 

“The park? Sounds like too much fun,” Michael said as he looked at you. “Hey sweetheart,” he said to you as he kissed your lips, softly. It was a short kiss. He didn’t kiss you in the ER. Not unless it was a quick kiss in the lounge or at the lockers. He tried to keep your personal relationship out of work.

“Hey Lucy,” Michael said, turning his attention back to his daughter. “Guess who is working here today?” Michael asked.

“TORIA!” Lucy screamed as Javadi walked out of Central 4. 

“Lucy! Hey,” Javadi walked up towards you and Michael.

“Hey Lucy, I bet Victoria would love to hang out with you for a little while,” Michael said, looking at Javadi.

“I-” Victoria looked shocked, “Yeah, uh, I can do that,” she said.

“Yeah!” Lucy said as Michael put her down. 

“If anyone asks, we went to the cafeteria. Tell them to page me,” Michael said as the two of you went towards the elevator.

“Yeah, sure.” She knew she was new, but she was pretty sure you didn’t need the elevator to get to the cafeteria down the hall. 

“Did we just pawn our daughter off on a med student?” You asked.

Michael nodded, “And it probably won’t be the last time we do it. Javadi is great with Lucy, and Lucy gets along with her,” Michael wrapped his arms around you, “and she’s not your mother.” He kissed your forehead.

You let out a giggle as the elevator stopped on OB. Michael and you walked up to the reception desk. 

“Dr. R, Dr. Robby, are you guys on the wrong floor?” The receptionist, Josie, sometimes coved the ER.

“Not today Josie, I’m here for an appointment,” you said.

“Ah are you the 11 o’clock?” she asked eyeing you.

“That would be me,” you said as you turned around and looked at Michael.

“We have a room that just opened up. I’ll bring you back now.” Josie buzzed you and Michael back, and took you to the room. “The nurse will be in shortly.”

“Thanks,” you whispered as Josie shut the door. 

You hopped onto the exam table as Michael took the seat next to it. The nurse came in and took all your vitals. “Dr. Vegas should be right in,” she said as she left the room.

You took a few deep breaths and looked at Michael. He took your hand in his. “Your hands are sweating..” Michael said. He gave you a worried look. He knew what that meant, “Why are you nervous?” 

“You aren’t?” you asked as you looked at him.

Michael shook his head, “I know everything is going to be okay. And there’s no one else in the world I rather go through this with.” You started to blush. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Michael said as he pushed your falling hair off your face.

“You tell me all the time,” you said.

“I just don’t want you to forget it,” he said. He held your hand and leaned in to kiss you, but stopped as Dr. Vegas walked in.

“Ah, my favorite emergency department doctors,” he said as he approached you. “So, what brings you in?”

“Ultrasound…If my math is right, I'm about nine weeks,” you said as Michael gently squeezed your hand. 

“Ah, well, congratulations you two,” he said.

You smiled softly, “Thanks Vegas.”

“Thank you,” Robby said.

“Let’s get you checked out,” Dr. Vegas said.  You pulled up your shirt to expose your stomach. “The gel is going to be cold.”

“I know,” you said as you giggled. 

“Gotta tell everyone,” Vegas said as he put the gel on your stomach. 

You took a deep breath as Michael rubbed the back of your hand. You looked at him and smiled. He smiled back at you.

“Let’s see what we got,” Vegas said. 

Dr. Vegas scanned your stomach. You held Michael’s hand nervously. After a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, the sound of a small heartbeat filled the room. You let out a cry you didn’t know you were holding in. Michael kissed the back of your hand.

“I love that sound,” Michael said.

“Me too,” you said. Suddenly, as Vegas continued to scan, the heartbeat changed. You and Michael looked each other in the eyes. His eyes shifted directly to the ultrasound monitor. You followed his lead. There wasn’t one, there were two.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Twins.”

“I can see that,” he said as the two of you locked eyes again.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you two.” Dr. Vegas said with a chuckle as he wiped the gel off your stomach. “Congratulations. They look great. You are 9 weeks 2 days…”You began to zone out as Vegas continued talking to you, telling you everything you already knew. All the restrictions, how you’d start to show sooner, take prenatal vitamins. “I want to see you in 3 weeks. Josie will get you set up. I’ll be back with some prints of the ultrasound,” Vegas said as you came back to reality.

You nodded. “Yeah, okay.” 

He exited the room. You were still in shock. Not only did you realize you were pregnant later than you should have, you were pregnant with twins.

“Y/n? You good?” Michael said.

You blinked as you looked at him. He saw the tears forming in your eyes. “I’m great,” you said sarcastically as you pulled your shirt back over your stomach. 

“Y/n,” Michael said sternly.

“What?” you asked. He glared at you, and you continued to speak, “I didn’t even know I was pregnant 48 hours ago, and now I found out I am having twins. We’re having fucking twins, Michael. Hell, that’s probably why this shirt is so tight!” You hopped off the exam table and pulled at the shirt you were wearing.

“You’re spiraling,” Michael said, “C’here,” he said as he opened his arms.

You went into his arms and he wrapped you up in a hug. 

“Lucy and twins. One and one and one makes three. We’re gonna have three kids. Michael, what are we going to do?” you said as the tears in your eyes began to fall down your face.

“We are going to figure it out as we go. And it’s probably gonna be chaos. We will probably fuck up a few more times,” he said as you chuckled, “But in the end, it’s all gonna be okay. Because it’s you and me, and our kids, against the world.” He moved your hair that had fallen into your face. He kissed your forehead. You loved the way his beard felt against your forehead. You nuzzled into it. 

“You always know what to say,” you said, finally wrapping your arms around Michael.

“It’s a gift,” he said.

Dr. Vegas came back in, “Here are those ultrasound prints. Y/n, see you back here in 3 weeks. Congratulations again.” “Thank you,” you said. 

You and Michael walked out of the exam room, and stopped at the reception desk to make an appointment for 3 weeks out. 

The two of you got into the elevator and headed back down to the ER.

“After I take Lucy to the park, we are gonna stop at the store, I’ll get her a big sister shirt. We can tell her when you get home. We can have her put it on and take a couple of pictures to make an announcement,” You said looking up at Michael.

“Sounds good. I can not wait,” he said as he bent down to kiss your lips. 

The elevator doors opened and the two of you exited the elevator. You saw Lucy sitting on the nurse's station laughing. Dana and Princess were right there. Who knows which one of the two made her laugh.

“Mommy, Daddy!” Lucy said as she spotted the two of you walking over.

“Hey lovebug,” Michael said, “I have to get back to work. But I will see you as soon as I get home, okay?”

“Okay, daddy. I love you,” Lucy said as she hugged him.

“I love you too. Have fun at the park with mommy,” 

“I will, daddy” Lucy said. Michael looked at you and mouthed “I love you.”

You smiled and mouthed it back.

“Okay, Lucy. Ready to go to the park, lovebug?” you asked.

“Yeah!” Lucy said as you helped her down from the nurse's station. If Michael knew, he’d scold you for sure.

“See you guys,” you said as you exited the ER with your daughter and headed to the park.

Dana smirked as she turned to go find Robby. Once she caught up to him, she wasted no time drilling him.

“So, what’s going on with Y/n?” Dana asked.

“Nothing is going on with my wife,” Michael said.

“Hmm. Sure. Javadi said you were in the cafeteria. I saw you get off the elevator.” Dana said. Michael didn’t say a word. He ran his hands through his hair. “When is she due?” 

“She’s - Did Y/n tell you?” Michael asked.

“No, but you just did.” Dana said as she walked away smirking.

Michael mumbled some curse words under his breath. You were going to get him for this one.

[shuenkio]

⾕ Warming me love - 심재윤

Paring: Older!Jake X M!reader

Synopsis: He can't even forgive himself for not giving you a goodbye kiss in the morning, now he beg for your forgiveness by something else.

Genre: Smut. Cw: cock warming, dirty talk, smau, 18+, big dick Jàke ;)

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

It’s probably just you who thought getting an older boyfriend would fix every issue in your life. You’re not exactly the romantic type, easily overwhelmed by noise, moody like the eldest sibling of a big family, and prone to withdrawing when things feel too much. So you figured—why not find someone who could handle you at your most difficult?

And then, like something out of a cheesy miracle, you met Jake.

He was everything you were quietly searching for. Older, patient, grounded. He had the kind of life you never imagined being part of—cars, a house, money, fame, and a job that most would kill for. It was obvious from the start: this wasn’t a casual thing. This was ride or die. Date to marry.

But all of that—the polished image—was only for the outside world.

Behind closed doors, Jake was a different person. Someone who needed to be cared for. Someone who craved affection like air, needy in the way toddlers are—but worse. As soon as he stepped through the door, stress from work still clinging to him like a second skin, he would come find you. He needed cuddles to fall asleep, soft touches in his hair, someone to baby him through the exhaustion. Most of the time, it wasn’t even about the gestures. Your presence alone was everything to him. You were his calm. His home. The reason he remembered how to breathe.

Even if you didn’t speak, just holding him against your chest, letting his cheek rest against your skin, was enough to make him melt. To satisfy that part of him that no amount of success ever could.

That night, the sky was still cloudy from the day’s overcast, now turning into a quiet, rainy evening. You stayed home, waiting, kind of worried he’d be soaked by the time he got in.

Eventually, the front door clicked open.

And there he was—Jake.

As usual, you greeted him. Asked about his day. Whether he’d eaten. But he didn’t answer. Your brow furrowed immediately. Was something wrong at work? Did you say something? You tried again, but he just stared, silent.

You were about to ask one more time—until he cut you off.

“Do you know how insanely crazy I went today when I realized I forgot to give you a goodbye kiss this morning?”

“…I beg your pardon?” That… didn’t sound right.

“I’m sorry, my love. I wasn’t a good boy today. But can I still have your cuddle? Please? Pwes?”

And just like that, the illusion shattered. It wasn’t about age—it never was. It was about energy, mental space. You sighed in disbelief, eyeing your boyfriend with a flat look as he stood there looking like a guilty puppy.

“Please, baby? Tell me yes,” he whined softly, pulling you closer. “I’ll be a good boy for you. I’ll let you use my cock however you want—just let me touch you. Let me hear your voice.”

“But babe, you touch me every single day. Like… seven days a week, 24 hours a day. Aren’t you ever tired?” you asked, arms folded as you sat together on the couch-bed hybrid, unimpressed.

“Well, yes…” he mumbled. “But who can resist a boyfriend like you? If I could ruin you for anyone else—” He suddenly cut himself off, slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. The shame hit him instantly. His lips had gotten ahead of his brain again.

You didn’t flinch. You just stared, unimpressed by his dramatics. Still, he pushed on.

“I swear, please, trust me—I'm gonna be a good boy this time. You want something back? My cock is yours. Toy with it, abuse it, play with it—I don’t care. Just let me touch you, pwease, M/N.”

And there he went again. Dramatic. Desperate. Fake tears and everything. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his chest, then trailed it downward to where his cock strained under his sweats—rock hard and twitching with need. He kept shifting, unable to bear the pressure.

You sighed again, zoning out for a second, thinking if there was any compromise that didn’t involve you being dragged into his chaotic energy entirely.

That’s when Jake—impatient, fidgety, and horny—suddenly came up with an idea.

“How about this… love… just cockwarming?” he asked hopefully. “I know I don’t deserve to fuck you today, but cockwarming? Say yes, M/N. It’s the only thing I’ll ask for tonight.”

It was an unusual dynamic. The “top” begging the “bottom” for mercy. But here you were. Jake’s hands clapped together in prayer, face desperate, looking more golden retriever than grown man.

You considered for a moment, then sighed, nodding.

Jake didn’t waste a second. His lips crashed against yours, tender and grateful, while his hands roamed your body, peeling away layers with eager urgency. He stripped himself next, yanking off his pants and underwear in one swift move. His cock sprang out—thick, veiny, flushed pink and twitching. The musky scent filled the air, heavy with need, and you could tell how badly he wanted it just by the way it curved, desperate and leaking.

Nine solid inches, crying for you.

“That’s what you do to me, love,” he whispered, voice breathy. “My dick hurts so much… Can I do it?”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He pulled you closer again and lay down, the rain falling softly against the window outside. Jake held his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with the other before slowly pushing inside. Inch by inch, the warmth of your tightness swallowed him up. He let out a broken moan.

“God, this hole…” he choked, voice shaking. “I fucking love you, M/N. You don’t get it—”

Tears welled in his eyes—not real ones, probably, but the feeling was raw. His cock twitched, nestled deep inside, unmoving, just like you’d agreed. The heat, the pressure, the overwhelming feeling of being one—it made him delirious.

You stared out the window, biting down a quiet moan, the cozy light of the room wrapping around you like a blanket. A visible bulge marked where he sat inside you, unmoving but entirely present.

“I know I don’t say it enough,” Jake whispered, breath shaky, “but… I’m dying without you. I need to feel you. I need to hear your moans—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Cockwarming… hmm,” you said thoughtfully. “Feels kinda nice. We should do this more.”

“Love, do you hear yourself? Fuck—stop, that’s my kink—please, I love you so much—”

“Oh, shut up. You’re being ridiculous,” you mumbled, cheeks hot. “I love you. And your… cock.”

“Yes. Yes. That’s all I ask. Love me. And love my cock.”

Jake chuckled against your ear, his lips grazing your skin. He nuzzled into your neck, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before wrapping his arms tighter around you. His cock nestled deeper, hitting a sweet curve inside you without thrusting, and he sighed like it was the first deep breath he’d had all day.

“All mine. My love. Mine.”

A/n: I just randomly added Jake was 9 inches— anyway happy 1 year anniversary to this Tumblr account, I didn't even know until Tumblr remind me just today (even tho I started to posted on 1st May 2024) and happy 837 followers to all m!reader enthusiastic y'all are my motivation 😝 shout out to my ride or die mutual, you're my everything A. and sorry for being busy these week🫠

[joelslittlegirl]

Old!joel miller x fem!reader

Minors dni! 𐙚peepaw brainless smut under the cut

Age gap (reader is 20 something and joel is 61), free use, dubon if u squint, squirting, mentions of the word 'daddy', joels a meanie, breeding

I'm ovulating if u couldn't tell (˶˃⤙˂˶)

If old!joel miller was my husband we'd fuck all day. He has to take viagra every day to keep up with a young thing like me.

Waking up with his dick in me and minutes later he fucks me dumb with it. It's the only time he can fuck me without that little blue pill.

When I make breakfast he takes it along with his other pills for blood pressure and his heart cuz he's a fkng old man. I wear one of his big shirts while making scrambled eggs when he suddenly rams his cock into me, making me almost drop the pan on the floor. I'm going hazy on his cock and grip the counter top and when I finally cream on it, the eggs are burned. His finger picks up my juices and he brings it to his mouth. "Guess my breakfast isn't fucked up after all..."

He's working on his plans to help jackson out with his slutty old man glasses and it turns me on so badly, I start sucking his cock under his desk. It's so warm and heavy in my mouth, and I lick his thick vein slow and deliberate and his hand grabs my hair. "Don't tease me slut, just suck it like a good girl, you are one right?" He says and I nod as he forces his cock down my throat.

It turns me on so much. I'm so thankful to be his personal fucktoy. My panties are always soaked around him. I'm not on birthcontrol so when I'm ovulating, I'm BEGGING for his seed but he doesn't wanna give it to me because "I'm grandpa age, not dad age" as he fucks me dumb. My cunt clenches at his words and he says "fuck that turns you on? Fucking a grandpa? You're such a dirty young thing. Fuck I'm so lucky" i keep begging for his cum and eventually he gives in and fills me up soo good. "Aren't you embarrassed? That everyone will see your swollen belly and know that you fuck such a dirty old man. You're such a fucking whore."

At the new years eve party I wouldn't keep my hands off him. I'd wear a short skirt with no panties and bend in front of him. Even tommy can see my throbbing wet pussy and he gets hard and joel notices and drags me to the toilet where he fucks me so hard, i scream. But joel didn't lock the door, he wanted people to come in and see me cream around an old veiny cock with pigmented spots and grey pubes. All because of that damn pill.

And it's not over. We go back home and as soon as he locks the door he bends me over at the dinner table and fucks me hard again and smacks my ass. He turns me around and rips my dress to get acces to my boobs. I didn't wear a bra either and he sucks my nipples and bites them so hard they start to bleed but it's fine cuz he can do whatever he wants to my body.

As we go to sleep, I sleep in my cute pink top with little bows on it with matching underwear. I'm so tired from all this fucking all day but he isn't. Oh no he took that viagra and will make use of it as much as he can. "Why are you wearing underwear? Thought I said I need acces to you all time. Whenever I want." I was so sleepy but managed to nod and say a soft sorry. "I'll show you how sorry you'll be." He says as he enters his big girthy cock inside me again. He fucked me like a sexdoll. I was just laying there, letting him use me. I couldn't do anything, just be a good girl for him.

His stamina was crazy. "You're 40 years younger than me and can't keep up? You're so useless." He said as he grabbed my one leg and put it over his shoulder, hitting my spot so right I screamed. "Good girl. Cum for me now." He said and my voice broke "i-i can't joel" and he chuckled and rubbed me clit hard and faster "you dumb slut, that's not my name." Tears began to form at my eyes and I came with a heavy cry "D-daddy I'm so sorry." But he didn't stop, no he fucks me like an animal till I squirt and pass out. He still didn't stop. He fucked my unconscious body till he squirted all his load in me. His balls are empty at this point. He pulled out and gave me a kiss on my temple before he laid down next to me.

But before he went to sleep, he grabbed my one leg and entered his cock in me and I softly hummed. I could only sleep like this and he knows it. My pussy squeezes him and he groans. "Fuck are you kidding me?" He says before he starts to trust in me again.

[gettingyourselfwetforme]

gateway drug - bff!harry

hello to everyone! this is my first one-shot on here! i posted a lil something somethin’ on my page that’s about me if you’re interested! please leave any feedback you have <3

warnings: marijuana use, fingering, slight exhibitionism.

word count: 4k+

.

.

“you’ve got to pinch and twist m’love”

“okay if you wanna micromanage me, why don’t you do it yourself.”

“baby you were the one who wanted to learn.”

y/n throws the half rolled joint onto the tray, undoing her work entirely. she wants to learn how to roll, but her fingers just can’t seem to move in the right ways to get the green leaves to stay inside of the pretty pink paper.

harry senses the frustration in y/n’s face and tone. it is a hard thing to learn, and he hates to see her struggle. “do you wanna take a break, petal? i’ve got one rolled already in the bag if y’want to just light that one.” he holds up the sandwich bag half full with weed.

y/n groans and gets up from sitting on the couch. “but that one isn’t pink! i wanted to make it pretty.” she sighs and paces to the kitchen. “i think im just gonna stick to cones. they’re at least a little bit easier than those fucking papers.”

harry turns around and looks at y/n. his mouth cracks into a smile, chuckling softly at her frustration. rolling is something that everyone is bad at at first- it comes with practice and patience. he could remember his first roll, which was a nightmare considering he was doing it in a moving car with all of his mates, and how messy and bad it was.

“you just have to keep practicing, it’s okay. you’ll get it eventually.” he prys his eyes away from y/n, who is chugging a glass of water as if she were a kid coming back from playing outside, and starts to roll the forgotten joint on his own.

harry and y/n were best friends: they met in high school in detention, where harry frequented (more often than he liked to admit), and y/n had been just caught passing notes in class. the poor girl was terrified to be in detention, coming in with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks- harry had provided her with a small pep talk and offered to help her out with her assigned detention duties. soon enough, after vacuuming the entire school and scrubbing some baseboards, the pair had become inseparable.

after harry had fixed the joint up to an acceptable roll, he puts the joint between his lips and stands up, turning to y/n and providing a small head tilt to her as if to say “follow me”. she grabs her now refilled glass of water and follows behind him. He closes the balcony door after she steps out with him, and lights the pink paper with (what y/n would say) a brat green lighter.

y/n’s eyes linger at the look of his lips wrapped around the cardboard filter, enjoying the view she has of him in this light. they’re both sat on the balcony of their shared apartment, with only the light from the sunset highlighting his face.

y/n is one of those types of people where nothing comes above her friendships. not situationships, not work, not school. she has such a strong love and respect for her friends and couldn’t imagine anything being better than that bond. that’s why when she looks at harry, she feels as if her heart could burst, knowing that he chooses to spend time with her and loves her right back.

she was clingy- but so was he. harry had a tendency to develop “friend crushes”. it’s similar to the obsession you get when you have a romantic crush, where you have the desire to know someone inside and out, and become close to them.

the thing about harry’s “friend crush” he has on y/n is that it slowly started becoming a full-blown romantic crush. it was embarrassing for him to think about, but he knew that he never wanted to spend a minute away from y/n when he didn’t have to. it was something he had learned to shove down, knowing that he didn’t even have a chance with her.

harry passes the lit joint to her, catching a glimpse of her staring at him. a small “thanks” leaves her lips at the motion, and inhales the smoke. she lets out a small cough at the tickle in her lungs, looking at harry, who has a smile on his face, holding back a small laugh.

“hey… i’m still new to this. you can’t bully me.” she says, smirking and hitting his shoulder with her own.

“you love it though.” he replies. his lip is turned up in amusement, looking between the joint and y/n.

“aish, just tell me you want it instead of looking at it like a puppy does a treat.” y/n giggles, takes another inhale, before handing it off to him. with a laugh, he takes it from her and takes a few hits.

“i just think you’re a joint hogger.”

.

“okay but katya totally deserved to win all stars 2.”

“was she good? yes! do i think she did better than alaska? no?”

y/n looks at harry with an open mouth and wide eyes (as wide as her eyes could go while being absolutely stoned.) since they finished the joint, they’ve been arguing over who deserved to win each drag race reason, whether or not flip flops are an acceptable shoe choice for anything other than the water, and the new episode of celebrity big brother.

“you’re insane, opinion revoked. you’re literally a man, i don’t know why you thought it mattered anyways.” y/n holds a hand up to his face and turns her head.

“do you forget that 75% of the queens on drag race are men? i think i should get more of an opinion on it than you if that’s the case.” harry defends, pushing her hand down and forcing her to look at him.

“okay well most of them are also GAY and im like, halfway there.” she shrugs, sipping her water and side eyeing harry.

harry lets out a groan at her words. “whatever you say, pretty princess” he says, a dopey smile written on his face that has pretty much been permanent since smoking the joint.

they sit in a comfortable silence, harry’s head now resting on her lap, while she tangles her fingers through his hair. y/n feels good- she thinks. she used to always get paranoid when she smoked, but being with harry makes the paranoia disappear. her mind is cloudy, yet so clear all at once.

“do you ever think about us?”

harry’s voice startles her out of her thoughts for the second time tonight, yet this time makes her heart skip a beat. she lets out a gulp.

“what about us?” she asks.

“just… us as people. as friends. as roommates. just, like, i don’t know… us.” he rambles. “i think we’re good together. i couldn’t imagine being without you, like, ever. i couldn’t imagine having to live my life living in a house that you’re not in, you know?”

y/n’s brain feels like it’s sobering up just a little bit, enough for her to feel like what he just said was a… confession of sorts. they’ve always been strictly platonic- never dabbling or messing with one another. the thoughts have definitely floated around but she never entertained them.

y/n’s silence would be worrisome to harry if he wasn’t on an out-of-this-world high, but instead just continues on. “i just want to be your boy, keep you all to myself. wanna be able to love you in every way. i dunno. just something ive been thinking about”

that’s what makes y/n stop all movement and makes her breath hitch.

what does she even say to that? she has pushed her small crush on him down for years, always just saying it was just because they spent so much time together, or saying that she was just ovulating and was ready to be with anybody.

“yeah… i know what you mean. i do… i couldn’t imagine a life without you either. but eventually you’ll find someone you love more than me in a different way.” she says, mind still putty under the influence of weed. her hands continue dancing through his hair, causing him to let out a small noise of contentment.

he lets out a huff of air. “i don’t think i will.”

.

when y/n wakes up, she feels a heavy weight on her lap. slowly peeling her eyes open, she sees a curly haired boy asleep on her lap. it’s bright, she thinks, realizing that they both totally fell asleep on the balcony last night. it was early morning, they had only been asleep out here for a few hours probably.

she opens her eyes fully, letting out a deep yawn. it’s louder than she expected, causing the man on her lap to stir softly. he lets out a small groan, making y/n aware that he’s awake too.

“mornin’.” harry says, voice hoarse from smoking last night and sleeping. he lifts his head up and places a hand on his back, attempting to sit fully up. “jesus fuck, did i sleep like that all night? my back is gonna be fucked up all week ‘cause of tha’.”

y/n looks at his face, littered with sleep lines and paired with bloodshot eyes. she finds this state of him absolutely adorable. “guess so. the weed hit us too hard. don’t even remember falling asleep.” she mentions, stretching out her limbs and letting another yawn out.

the memories of last night are coming back slowly, them arguing about mindless shit, being all too cuddly with each other, and worst of all…

how he told her he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, and wants to ‘love her in every way’.

maybe she was getting carried away. they were both high last night, and they have had many pointless high conversations. it was probably just one of those things. it’s a weird thing to think about for her though- if he was being for real, what would that mean for them? they date, breakup, then lose eachother? the thought of losing him makes her sick.

y/n’s mind starts wandering into if she actually does have romantic feelings for harry, more than just the small crush she keeps pushing down. they spend almost every non-working minute with the other, and honestly she also couldn’t see herself living with anyone but him.

harry’s large, unringed hand stretches to her and boops her on the temple. “it’s too early for your brain t’be workin’ that hard. can’t have you worrying your pretty little head at…” he checks the time on his phone, “6:32 in the mornin’.”

y/n blinks away her thoughts to focus her eyes on harry. “whatever, i’m still tired and neither of us work today… so i’m going to take my happy ass to my bed. are you coming?” she stands up, turning around to look at a sleepy harry agreeing with a simple nod.

.

y/n has been acting weird. harry picked up on it after their nap, but it’s been lingering for the last couple days. she avoids eye contact with him, cuts conversations short, and even fell asleep without saying goodnight to him. he was pondering what he could have said to her to make her feel bad, but he couldn’t pinpoint it! he tried to relive the last few days, going over every (very few) interactions they had, but still coming up short.

that was until he remembered that they got high the night before the nap.

fuck. when he was high, all of his thoughts just came out. he has no filter, and everything he thinks, he says. what could he have said? what could have caused her to be so dismissive with him? he never thought anything ill of y/n (except for maybe when she forgets to put his keys back after moving his car) and he certainly wouldn’t have said anything to her that wasn’t the truth.

he gets up from his bed to go sit with y/n in the living room, who is currently sitting with her feet tucked under, reading a book.

“do you wanna go outside and smoke with me?” he offers, picking up the lighter and a pre-rolled joint. her eyes look up from the book, catching his own, as she marks her spot in the book and places it down.

she honestly wasn’t even really reading the book anyways. she’s been too busy thinking about her feelings towards harry to focus on anything else.

they walk out to the balcony, shutting the door and sitting down. the sun is setting, but it’s still pretty early for them to be smoking. it’s honestly odd that they’re smoking at all- he doesn’t like smoking more than once a week.

he hands the unlit joint to y/n, alongside the lighter, offering her the first hit. he knew she liked seeing the little paper burn at the top, and it always amused him how much it intrigued her.

“so… what’s going on? it’s the second night this week we’re getting high. it’s very… unlike you.” she says, covering the flame from the breeze in order to get a good light on the joint. she takes the first hit, a small cough building up again.

harry scratches the back of his neck. “that’s what i wanted to ask you about. i feel like you’ve been… distant from me lately. ever since our last smoke sesh. did i say something wrong?” he almost sounds nervous, she thinks, which makes her frown a little.

yeah, she’s been cutting their conversations short and been dry texting for the better half of the week, but it’s all because of him. the weird feeling that arose in her stomach when she thought about him saying that he “wanted to be her boy”, made her question a lot about their relationship. she couldn’t get over it.

“you seriously don’t remember what you said?” she passes the joint over to him.

“no, i really don’t. if it was anything mean or inapp-“ he’s quickly cut off by her own words.

“you told me that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, and ‘love me in every way’. “

well, fuck.

he didn’t think he said something like that.

“uh…” was all he could muster out. he’s shocked at his words, and slightly embarrassed about it. he wants to crawl into a hole to curl up and die thinking about him saying that to her.

they both sit in silence for a few minutes, taking hits off of the joint whilst taking turns. y/n’s mind is running around all of the words he spoke to her that night, while his head is trying decide if he wants to tell the truth.

after finishing the last of the joint, y/n smushes it out in the ash tray and breaks the silence.

“if what you said was true, i wouldn’t mind being your girl.” she turns to look at him with a nervous smile.

“i… i- um…” his brain just won’t work! he’s trying to say something but for some god forsaken reason nothing will come out. he looks away from y/n, trying to gather his words. “i… i do… i do feel that way about you, yes. but don’t feel like you have to say anything about it. you can just pretend that you didn’t hear me. i mean clearly it was meant to be an inside thought, but i don’t think-“

his nervous rambling was cutoff by y/n turning towards him and pressing her lips against his. at first, his eyes go wide, not realizing what was happening, but as soon as he collects himself, he leans into the kiss.

y/n had been thinking about it- she knows that if their romantic relationship didn’t work out, they could never NOT be friends. she honestly doesn’t care if it would be awkward after, there was absolutely no way she could live without harry.

harry is the first to break away from the kiss. he can’t tell if his head is spinning because of the kissing or the weed, but either way, he loves it. the rush of adrenaline he got from getting a kiss from someone he always thought was off limits was addicting. kissing her was addicting, and he’s only done it once.

“you know how they say marijuana is a gateway drug?” he says, causing y/n’s eyebrow to raise.

slightly out of breath, she shrugs. “yeah?”

“well i think my gateway drug is you.”

he pulls her into his lap and puts his lips back on hers, but this time much firmer. she can’t believe what is happening right now. she’s kissing her best friend- the one who helped her get over her last girlfriend, the one who would always come and get her from the bar after a bad night out, and- the one who she never could have ever imagined showing any sort of interest in her.

her mind is all fucked by the dizzying kiss and the weed that was slowly entering her system. she’s straddled on harry’s lap, kissing him with a sense of desperation, and her body feels hot. she knows that they should talk about whatever this is between them before doing anything, but her body just can’t help itself from becoming aroused.

“can i touch you?” harry murmurs between kisses. his hands are on her hips, but he needs to feel her more. feel more of her body under his touch.

y/n lets out a small groan, and leans her head back. the way he sounds almost desperate is just so hot. “fuuuuck, yes please.”

her lips return to his, and his hands are moving around her body. around her thighs, around her back, her shoulders, neck, ass- everywhere on her body. his long fingers grasp and pull at her, and she can’t help but let out a little moan at the feeling when his grasp got a little tighter.

he smirks, lips still on hers, and lets out a small ‘hmm’. he pulls away just enough for him to speak. “fucking freak.”

y/n rolls her eyes. “you’re an asshole, you know that?” she says, smiling and leaning back to look at him. he has a shit-eating grin on his face, almost teasing.

his hands move around her ass, kneading the muscle in his palms. “oh no, i know. but i think you like it.” he states. “and i think there’s something you want from me.”

she looks around at the balconies around them- there’s nobody out here, and it’s dark out, apart from the light coming from their apartment. she’s not exactly an exhibitionist- but she’s so desperate for him to touch her, she’s willing to do anything.

“and what do you think that is?” she replies, a teasing tone in her voice.

his pupils have enlarged, the green iris almost invisible. his hands move from her ass to her hips, and he thumbs gently at her waistband. “i think… you want me to touch you under…” his thumb breaks the waistband of her shorts and fiddles with the top of her panties. “here.”

her breathing hitches at the feeling of his touch so close to where she wants it. “then do it.”

he shakes his head. “nope, i wanna hear you say it.” his voice is deep, and wanting.

listen, she’s not above begging. she may come off as someone whose ego is too big to beg, but if she wants something, she’s gonna try her damndest to get it.

she gulps. “please touch me harry, i want you to touch me and make me feel good.” she says in a small, pleading voice.

his cock twitches at the sound of her begging to touch her, and immediately gives in. his hands push down her shorts all the way, and he brushes his knuckle against her wet panties.

“all this for me? already so wet…” he says, ghosting his fingers across the fabric. his fingers pull her panties to the side, finally exposing herself to him.

her breathing is heavy, and her mind is fuzzy. her hips involuntarily jerk at his touch to her bare clit, and he can’t help but smile. collecting some of her arousal on his fingers, he traces gentle patterns on her clit. a loud moan leaves her lips, and her pussy is so wet, she can hear him playing with her.

“fuck, you hear that? hear how wet you are? hear how desperate you are for me to touch your pussy?” it’s official-he thinks. his favorite sound are the little moans of desperation she’s letting out. she can’t even be bothered to give a sarcastic reply, because he just feels so good touching her.

her hips start rocking back and forth slightly, encouraging his fingers to move faster. the little moans get louder the more friction there is on her clit, and her eyes are screwed shut from pleasure.

“f-fuck, harry, faster, please.” she begs. he lets out a little groan at her words, and it just fuels him to move faster. his fingers tease her entrance, dipping in slightly before pulling them out, focusing on her clit again. he looks up at y/n, seeing her eyes shut and face full of pleasure.

“nuh-uh, look at me. look at me while i rub your clit.” he demands. her eyes shoot open. holy fuck. he’s nasty. and she fucking loves it.

her eyes meet his, her jaw slack. the look in his eyes is nothing but lust. nothing but a need to touch her and make her feel good.

she feels her climax getting closer, and her hips start rocking harder on his hands. “fuck harry, that feels so fucking good, fuck.” her voice moans loudly.

hearing his name come from her mouth in a moan makes his cock throb. “you gonna cum for me? gonna cum all over my fingers? wanna hear you say my name when you cum. wanna hear who makes you feel this good.” he growls in her ear.

the words send her over the edge. she’s trying to keep eye contact with harry but her eyes roll back at the feeling of of her orgasm taking over her body. “i’m coming- i’m coming. harry- oh my god. fuck.” her voice is loud, feeding into his ego.

“oh, good girl… yeah, i want everyone to know who makes you feel like this. fuck, soaking my fucking hand, pet.” he almost moans at the sound of her voice. he gets off on making others feel good.

he rubs her clit, carrying her through her orgasm. before long, her hand meets his and pulls it from her clit. “t-too sensitive, fuck” she mumbles, justifying her actions.

she’s fucked out. the last few months she’s been getting nothing but mediocre lays and subpar orgasms, but honestly she thinks that it’s all led up to this moment. she leans her head on his shoulder, taking a few deep breaths. “you’re too good at that.” she says, finally breathing normally.

he chuckles. “so i’ve heard. how are you feeling baby?” he asks, checking in with her.

she raises her head to look at him. “great. that- was really good.” she responds. her memory is coming back, still hazy from the weed, but much clearer than a few minutes ago, and she breaks the question that they’re both thinking. “so um… what, what does this mean for us?”

harry smiles, his little dimple coming out. he suddenly gets a little shy. he pushes a tendril of hair behind her ear and looks at her flushed face. “if you wanted to, i’d like to take you out on a proper date.” he tries to keep his cool, but he always gets so shy when it comes down to it.

y/n likes what she hears. she’s so glad that they got over this barrier they’ve had the last few days. “i think i would like that very much, mr. styles.” she giggles a little bit with giddiness, nose scrunching up at the look of harry being shy over asking her out.

when she finally gets off of his lap, she looks down at his shorts and smiles.

“you want some help with that?”

[rainydayathogwarts]

the red box - platonic!marauders

summary: when your friends are helping you clean out the belongings you'd gathered from your last relationship, marlene seems to forget the only rule. do not open the red box. wc: 1.2k+ cw: suggestive vibe, mentions/description of sex, inappropriate photos described i acc dont know what possessed me to write this...

“Okay,” You started, looking around the room where your friends had all been gathered around a giant cardboard box, where you’d kept all the belongings you had from your relationship with your ex. “Firstly, I want to thank you all for volunteering to be here today instead of Hogsmeade.” “I’m only here because everyone else volunteered and I didn’t want to be alone.” You shot Sirius an irritated look, but the corners of your mouth tugged up into a smile.

Clearing your throat, you continued your speech “Today is going to be difficult for all of us. I may shed tears, you may come across some not very appropriate things. But the most important thing you need to know is that you cannot open the small red box-” “What small red box?”

“Thanks Marlene, I’m getting there. A small red box is a box that is red, slightly smaller than a shoe box. Don’t open it. Thank you.” “What’s in the red box?” You stared at Remus, feeling betrayed that he was the one to ask the question, because if anyone in the room could mind their own business, even just slightly, it would be him. You sighed. There was no hope for you.

“Photos.” There was a collective gasp around the room, and you put your hands on your hips. Lily giggled, raising her eyebrows at you suggestively. “What, you mean you don’t want us to see you naked?” Sirius suddenly straightened his back, looking much more interested in this charity event than he had been three minutes ago. James furrowed his eyebrows “Why on earth have you kept photos with-” “-You don’t know what the photos are!” But your defensive tone had told them everything there is to know. “Anyway…”

The next half an hour was spent with the six of you going through the big cardboard box, each person in the group pulling out miscellaneous items and asking if you were keeping or throwing it. At the sight of James holding an old, battered hoodie, you mumbled “Oh, keep that.” Every head in the room turned to look at you with equally judgemental looks on their faces. “Love, you’re not keeping your ex’s hoodie.” You stared back at Remus’s disapproving gaze, reaching forward to take the hoodie from James’s hands.

James shook his head, holding it out of your reach. “I wasn’t even going to ask if you wanted to keep this. It has to go.” You tried to hide the pout that was fighting its way onto your face. “It’s comfy. I’m not gonna cry about him or anything.” You reached for the sweater again, but James shook his head, throwing the hoodie into the ‘throw’ pile. You gasped.

Lily put a hand on your back, caressing you softly. “You’ll hate us for it now, but trust me you’ll be thanking us in the long run.” You scoffed, muttering “Sure.” As you looked down in your lap, fiddling with your hands.

“Hey what’s this box?” You glanced up at Marlene, watching as she started taking the lid off a little red box. You screeched, yelling “Don’t open that!” You nearly tackled Marlene as you snatched the box away from her, but it was too late. The lid had skidded over to the other side of the room, and Marlene had already glanced at the images inside. “Oh my god.” She muttered, laughing in surprise, a dark blush on her face. “There was one rule!” you shrieked, your face hot, clutching the box tightly to your chest, one hand covering the images on the top.

“Marlene… What did you see?” You glanced down at the images on the top layer of the box, all moving polaroids, and shut your eyes dreadfully. None of these would you want any of your friends to look at. Marlene swallowed thickly. “The one where you’re-the one with his. The one where you’re…” Marlene made a slurping sound and you groaned horrifically from where you had stood up.

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s an-it’s an insanely hot photo. Almost too sexy.” From the corner of your eye, you saw Sirius and Remus perking up. But they weren’t the ones who yelled out “I want to see it!” No, that was Lily. James looked at his girlfriend with a shocked look on his face.

“I’m not showing it to you!”

“Marlene saw it!”

“I didn’t want Marlene to see it!”

“Oh, so you like her better than me!”

“No- I never said that!”

"Yeah, well you didn't have to say it."

"Lily..." Your best friend stared at you blanking. Sighing, you fished the polaroid from the top of the pile. Lily clapped her hands together excitedly, reaching out to take the image you were holding out to her. She held it close to her chest, as though it was secret. Well, it was, but the theatrics we a bit much. Lily’s eyes widened, and she looked up at you with a wide grin. “If I had a cock right now I’d be rock hard.” She told you, keeping steady eye contact. “Okay, that’s enough.”

“Wait, now I want to see!” Sirius spoke, earning himself a punch in the shoulder from Remus. “Ew, you’re not looking at that.”

“Why not? Lily said it’s hot.”

“Um actually, I said it’s hot!” Cut in Marlene, a look of pride on her face. “Sirius, I’m not about to show you a moving image of me sucking dick.” Sirius gulped thickly, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Why not?” Good question. Why not? You mimicked his movement, shrugging your shoulders. “Well if I show you, we might as well all have a look at all these pictures!” You exaggerated, throwing your arms out in a wild gesture.

“Yeah, okay.” Muttered Remus, holding his hand out to see the photo. Oddly enough, you found yourself taking a couple of steps forward and handing the boy the inappropriate image. “Can I?” You heard James ask Lily, who nodded encouragingly. Remus held the picture in his hand, the two other boys huddling around him to look at it. You finally sat down in between Lily and Marlene again, the group naturally forming a circle again.

“If I were you, I would have this photo framed and hung up in the entrance of my home.” You laughed at Sirius’s words, feeling heat creep up your neck. “It’s just a photo.” “Just a photo?” Remus retorted, smirking at the image in front of him. You cleared your throat shyly.

Yes, to you, it was just a photo. Your ex’s cock was buried deep in your throat, and you had tears running down your cheeks, the smokey makeup around your eyes shiny and smudged. Your lips had curled up slightly into a smile as you laughed lightly, and your ex’s hand had come up to gently hold the side of your head, pulling you off his cock slightly as he thrusted his hips forward, gagging you slightly. You remember the day, not the moment. When you cuddled in bed afterward, and he told you that he had almost cum on the spot.

“Okay, make the most of that because you’re not looking at any of these other photos.” Marlene and Lily scooted closer to you, and you sighed. “I guess you two can see.” You didn’t see them, but you heard Marlene and Lily high five behind your back before leaning forward to take a closer look at the box.

“Oh, this one next!”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello again. I have another idea that occurred to me during class. Does ENA know what a birthday is? It's been so long since I watched the series. If she does know, she's probably never had one for herself (definitely not a good one). What if reader found out and was like "no, you're existence is worth celebrating and I'm glad you are in my life. I'm gonna do something to prove it." I feel like this idea fits more with Series!ENA, but I think BBQ!ENA would also benefit from not having her point of existence for someone be just endless tasks for once. Thoughts on this? Don't worry if you have too many requests to do right now, I just wanted to once again throw my thoughts out there. Please have a good day/night!

It's okay! I love all these ideas ya'll are giving me. I'd like to think she does, but she's never had a good one nor one worth remembering.

But I'll do both girlies justice bc I want them to be happy <3

......

Series!Ena

It's just a normal rainy day, where you and Ena were taking shelter inside your home. You were watching a show on the 32-Bit television while she was staring at your calendar like it was the morning paper.

"[Y/n], it's come to my attention that you have a specific date marked here that is rapidly approaching."

"Um..I have several things marked on that calendar, Ena." You pause the episode to look at her. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that."

"Why, I'm referring to your birthday, of course!" Her feminine voice giggles, before switching back to her more masculine tone. "Got any special plans? Are you ready for the ritualistic songs and rites of gift-exchanges?"

"Erm...ready as I'll ever be, sweetheart."

"That's wonderful! But hmm....what day should my birthday be on this year?" She holds a marker up, looking over several dates with a quizzical expression. "June? October? February 29th? Or maybe---" You see her violently glitch into her sad form. "--nevewr! Because everyone threw my invitations away LAST yeawr!! All that time and effowt...GONE!! Just like I should be!" She slams her head down onto the table and sobs, tears and marker bleeding into the paper.

Once again, you were forced to learn something truly and utterly devastating about your girlfriend: she's never had a good birthday celebration.

Before meeting you, she was vaguely aware of the "tradition". And one random day last year, she declared it to be her birthday, simply because it felt very "birthdayish", and sent out as many invitations as she could.

Nobody else showed up, except Moony and a small hourglass dog that she kept hostage in her pocket dimension--both of whom stayed for merely five minutes before leaving her in front of a burnt turron, depressed beyond measure.

Ena told you offhand that people seemingly laughed at her invitations and rolled their eyes, claiming that her "annoying" existence wasn't worth any kind of celebration......but she acted like it didn't bother her until now.

She assumed it's because she got the day "wrong" and tried aiming for a different one this time, one that both you and her could agree upon.

But given her current wailing and the fact that you'll definitely have to order a new calendar soon....she was feeling pretty hopeless.

Luckily you're quick to come up with an idea, as you hated seeing your girlfriend like this. "Hey, how about we make it for tomorrow? I have something good planned."

"No, just fowget it. I-I'm not in the mood anymowe." She sniffles, looking at you. "M-My existence is worthless-"

"No, it may not mean a lot to some people...but it means a lot to me. More than you could possibly know." You insist, rubbing her back. "I want to celebrate you, Ena, because I love you and I'm so happy that you exist. I'm glad you're part of my life."

"...you're just saying thaaaat."

"No. I'll prove it to you. Let's just mark it down for tomorrow, okay? I promise you won't regret it." You give her a kiss, and for a moment, you see the white half of her face smile. Just barely.

"O...Okay.."

Tomorrow comes, and Ena expects nothing...yet you surprise her with turron, made from a recipe you acquired from a shady stall, decorated with blue and yellow candies and adorned with a pick featuring a popup ad that said "Happy Existence Day, ENA".

Since she's not a big fan of parties, it was just you two spending the day together and her getting calls from the few entities who tolerated her (Moony, Merci, Phindoll, etc.).

It's a great day, and you two end it going out for drinks, where she's switching between her drunk forms while ranting about how much she appreciated you (which is the most you've understood her while she was in that state), and giving you a lot of hugs and slurred words of affirmation.

But you know she means them with all her heart and soul, even if she forgets the next day.

She's so happy that her entire body stays yellow even as you both come home, and she hugs you and sincerely thanks you for proving her wrong.

BBQ!Ena

It started off as a harmless and innocent inquiry, not giving it much thought. "Weird question, Ena...but have you ever celebrated a birthday before?"

"Pfffft, have I ever taken a vacation?" Her Meanie side bluntly sneers back, staring at you as though she gave you a riddle to solve.

"Uh..not that I can-"

"CONGRATS!! You've just answered yourself! Want a gold star for that?!" She goes back to admiring the png of some unidentified organ floating between her hands, trying to determine its market value.

Although her face eventually flickers back to its Salesperson side, who appears a little guilty for her outburst. Her gaze lingers, eyes buzzing with curiosity and....a hint of longing and want.

"Apologies." She suddenly claps her hands, the organ turning into nothing but bloody ooze that dissolves into the soil. "What I meant to say was....no. I'm not familiar with such a tradition. Is the commemoration of one's existence a common practice in your workplace?"

If you're human, this is yet another simple question you could answer. But even if you weren't, you fully knew about birthdays and have celebrated some yourself, or other friends'.

Apparently, Ena doesn't even know what that entails, and/or believed hers was simply not recognized by others since her species isn't well-liked around here.

All her life, she's only ever known how to carry out endless tasks and never doubt the assignment. That was her M.O, and to take some random day off would make her Meanie side break out into a cold sweat.

But ever since that conversation, you've heard her uttering a specific date that seemed important. One that was coming up soon. She spoke of it in various ways: through her business cards she hands to clients who didn't wanna take them in the first place. Through graphs she sketches of your probabilities of success in a job, hidden in plot points. And even through hushed whispers when you're both cuddling, but she refused to elaborate further.

Either something really good or really horrible occurred on that date. It was 50/50 guess, but from what you've gathered, it was the day she broke free of her mannequin husk and formulated her own identity.

It seemed close enough to a birthday, so you rolled with it and began planning something for her behind the scenes (with Froggy's reluctant assistance).

You wanted her to know that you appreciated her existence. Meanie sometimes found it hard to see that, and Salesperson, while she understands and appreciates your appreciation, thinks you're mainly with her for the "business" and "workplace benefits"--so you had to prove both sides of her wrong.

You loved her for her, not for what she was capable of.

When that fated date arrived, you sent her an S.O.S, and she rendezvous at the scene (your house) asap, wondering what the emergency was.

Instead, she finds you and a simple surprise on the table. And for once...this talkative entity has no words.

While you weren't sure if turrons were an ENA's universal favorite, you took a shot in the dark and baked one with fluffy white powder and red candy sprinkles on top, adorning it with a pick that had a star that simply looked cool. It was small, as you didn't wanna risk messing up a big cake.

Froggy criticized your entire baking process, but you were proud of its result, and even prouder when your girlfriend took one bite, and her eyes lit up like the fourth of july.

Not only that, but you also gifted her a laminated photograph of your first assignment with Ena. It stood the test of time, covered in a few scratches here and there. She didn't even know you had a camera.

"Oh, I stole it actually. But I promised to pay them...........woah, are you crying??" You see her static tears getting on the turron, desaturating its vibrant color.

She still hasn't said a word, but she can't stop crying silently and trembling. And it scares you at first. You're convinced that you royally screwed this up and today was actually the worst day of her life--

Until her head floats a little more away from her body than usual to kiss you on the cheek.

Before Meanie takes over and lightly headbutts you. "Now look what you've done, you idiot! Getting me all sappy like this on my Existence Day is gonna cost you!" She snaps, even though she's fighting back a smile and more tears.

".....what's it gonna cost me?"

"C-Calculating........one hug will suffice." Salesperson mutters, sniffling.

"Oh! Alright. You had me worried there." You cradle her head in your arms, petting her hair. "So...I was right. Today's the day you, the love of my life, came into existence. I'm glad you were born, and I'm not listening to anyone--Genie or not--who says you should be punished for that."

Once again, you've managed to silence her, through words this time instead of actions. There's no back sass from Meanie. No business offers or quips from Salesperson.

All she does is close her eyes and allow herself this moment of joy.

You proved a big point: She is worth celebrating, and you made damn sure she knew that this was gonna become a yearly occurrence.

She won't use it as an excuse to slack off of work, but she's always curious as to what surprises you'll have waiting for her next time.

[creamyhoneycookie]

Ok, but what about a yan!reader? Someone who was interested in history and found document of the Beasts back when they were still the virtues. Becoming absolutely obsessed until realizing that they're still alive?!! Even if they've changed, that doesn't mean anything to our dear little yan!reader! They'll love the Beasts all the same!

(Preferably dif scenario's with all three but if I can only do one than shadow milk :3 )

These are going to be a little shorter, but this kept me UP last night thinking. Thankfully, espresso!

CONTENT WARNINGS: Obsession, stalking, predator/prey dynamics, unhealthy relationship dynamics

Regardless of who you fall for, it starts the same: research in a library so old, the statues of grand Witches still have faces. Legends tell of great heroes- a woman so kind and gracious that she grants the wishes of those who come to her, a general who revolutionized the lands he visited, the scholar who created magic itself... All across the darkest seas. It's such a hard journey, but... doesn't love persist?

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn't know what brings this strange cookie to her pagoda, but she does not care. Not until Cloud Haetae Cookie comes to her, reporting- you have no desire, no wish to ask of her- no greedy heart to tear into her heart, but you've spent all day sweeping the grounds, dusting and repairing the pagoda. Even if you're actually very bad at it. Eventually, she descends from her chambers, watching you quietly- she does not expect the adoration in your eyes, she soft flush of your cheeks.

"My Lady... I've journeyed far to join you...! You don't have to worry. I'll help from now on. You've done so much, you can rest- oh, but, I made tea! Won't you join me?"

... Strange. Mystic Flour Cookie isn't sure why... but despite this pure love... something weighs heavily from your words. But she cannot give it a name.

Burning Spice Cookie you find at his army encampment, and he takes you as just one of many followers easily... either you serve him as one more soldier, or you die in these conquests. He does not care. Except... once you arrive, he feels your eyes on him, constantly. Being watched, even when he's alone- it shouldn't unnerve him so, but it does.

And it thrills him. He has always been the hunter, the beast- for something, someone to make him feel like the prey? It's... EXCITING. He throws himself into figuring out who his hunter is- and when it's you? Oh, it's incredible. The dynamic shifts, cat and mouse constantly, and you both know it. This is love! It must be love! No one else can get each other's heart racing like this, and when you have him cornered, crawling into his lap like a lion about to strike, he adores it.

Shadow Milk Cookie isn't sure where you came from. First you were in the town outside the Spire. Then you were at the gates. And then- then you were making your way inside. He's hostile at first, prickly- one bitten, twice shy, you might say. (Nevermind the fact that he bit first, more often and refused to believe Pure Vanilla Cookie when he actually did tell the truth.)

He bullies you, toys with you, puts you through all kinds of tests: but every time you speak the truth:

I really do love you!

... And if he knows lies, he also knows truth. Eventually, he'll have no choice to believe you. ... Aaaaaaat which point, he's delighted, actually! He's terribly lonely, you know. Once he knows that you're the real deal, he'll accept your twisted love with glee; so long as you stay with him, he'll accept it all. ... Even if he gets a little snarky about it sometimes. Like, he already had Candy Apple Cookie, and now there's you? --Please don't kill each other he loves his minions.

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 5

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 10.5k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name being called causes you to pause, your face contorting into confusion. Slowly, you turn your head over your shoulder. A blink. Then another. Until your body fully turns to face the new incomer. 

“Mr. Hayashi?”

“Oh, oh, oh my god. It’s you. It’s really you.” The older man laughs out dryly, relief in his tone. His blue, plaid shirt looks wrinkled, with tears at the bottom. He’s no longer wearing the glasses you’ve become so accustomed to seeing him with. Greying hair tousled as if he just went through some shit. There’s sweat beading at his forehead that he wipes away with the back of his palm, stepping closer. 

From your peripheral vision, Satoru takes a small step forward, body stiffening. 

Mr. Hayashi finally notices him, shakily holding his hands up. “I—I mean no trouble. I swear.”

Satoru doesn’t look at him, instead glancing at you. “Who’s this?”

“He’s the building manager.” You reply, glancing between the two men. Your eyes narrow slightly at Mr. Hayashi’s right hand, the sight of blood staining his fingertips. He hides it behind his back before you can determine whether it’s his blood or not. “What happened?”

“What didn’t?” He huffs a dry chortle out, shaking his head as he looks down at his feet. “It was just supposed to be a normal day, check in on things. But then…then people started getting weird, someone ran into the lobby, then another person, then another, and another. There was…so much…blood. I-I panicked. I ran up here and went looking for you, searched your apartment, but you weren’t there. I thought the worst.”

Searched your apartment? Is that why it was left open? The thought of your building manager searching for you first instead of getting to his own safety fills you with an uncomfortable tension, unsure if you should be flattered or disturbed. Satoru must have the same thought process as you, the pair of you sharing a silent, quick glance at one another. “And you’ve just been…hiding up here?”

Mr. Hayashi nods. “I have. Haven’t been down there in hours. H-How is it?”

“Not good,” Satoru replies. 

Mr. Hayashi’s face crumples at Satoru’s bluntness, the lines on his face deepening with fear and despair. He sways slightly on his feet, as if just hearing the words drains the last bit of strength from his body. You catch yourself instinctively stepping forward, your body betraying the compassion clawing its way up your throat, but you stop yourself short. You don’t know what this man has seen, what he’s done, or what he’s willing to do to survive.

You can’t afford to trust anyone right now. You barely trust this white-haired fool. 

Mr. Hayashi looks up at you, almost pleading. “You’re—you’re leaving, right? You’re getting out of here?”

You hesitate. Satoru doesn’t. “Yeah, we are.”

There’s an unbearable pause. Mr. Hayashi wrings his hands together like a desperate man on the brink of begging. “Please,” he rasps, voice cracking. “Please take me with you.”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Your mind flashes back to yesterday—the blood, the screams, the chaos—and your stomach twists. Taking him with you means another possible liability. Another person to watch over. Another person slowing you down when speed could mean the difference between life and death. Your gaze flicks instinctively to Satoru, who’s watching Mr. Hayashi with a cool, unreadable expression.

“No,” Satoru says flatly.

It hits the air like a gunshot. Mr. Hayashi visibly flinches, shoulders collapsing inward like he’s been physically struck.

“W-Why not? I won’t—I won’t be a burden. I can help! I know the building, I know the streets around here. Please, please, you have to—!”

Satoru’s jaw ticks. He shifts his body subtly, like he’s positioning himself between you and the older man. “No offense, old man, but this isn’t charity work. It’s survival. We barely got enough supplies for two.” His voice is steely, sharp, and final.

But then Mr. Hayashi turns his pleading gaze back to you. You. Not Satoru.

“Y/N, please. I know you. I watched you blossom in this building. I—” his voice cracks again, and this time it sounds real, not manipulative. “Please don’t leave me here.”

The sound of your name on his tongue, so full of desperate hope, makes your heart lurch painfully against your ribs.

You clench your fists tight, nails digging into your palms. The logical part of your brain screams at you to leave him. You owe him nothing. The world is burning, and you can’t carry everyone on your back. But the guilt is a gnawing, bitter thing that eats at your insides. It’s been eating at you. You peer at Satoru again, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Your chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, your heart pounding like war drums against your ribs.

Save him and risk everything?

Or leave him and save yourself?

Either way, you know that whatever you choose, it’s another weight you’ll have to carry. Forever.

The hallway is unbearably still, the low hum of whatever the fuck in the distance the only reminder that you don’t have all the time in the world to decide. Mr. Hayashi stumbles once more, hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. Your body moves without thinking, helping catch his body. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask, eyes roving over him.

“I—y-yes…” he coughs out. 

“Where are you hurt? He’s a doctor, he can help you before we move.”

“Y/N—”

“He’s hurt.” You reiterate, fixing Satoru with a steely gaze. “We need to help him.”

“It was already a risk coming here in the first place. We didn’t agree to bring along stragglers.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“Exactly, not stupid.”

You scoff in disbelief, eyes narrowing at him. “You’re a shitty human being.” Without waiting for another response from him, you assist in lying Mr. Hayashi on his back on the floor. Hands hovering over his body, unsure of where to even start. 

Satoru watches you with that same maddening calm, his jaw locked tight and the muscle in his cheek twitching. You can feel his frustration radiating behind you, but you don’t care. You’re too far gone now. You’ve already made the choice—and even if it was a stupid one, it’s yours to live with. 

“Shitty human being,” he mutters, running a hand down his face as he kneels beside you, eyeing Mr. Hayashi’s form with clinical detachment. “You’re really pulling the moral card right now? You don’t even know what kind of mess we’re walking into. This guy slows us down, we die. You get that, right?”

You ignore him, fingers brushing over Mr. Hayashi’s side, where the blood has bloomed the darkest. You’re no expert, but there’s a tear along the hem of his shirt and dried blood crusting at his ribs. A puncture wound, maybe. Definitely not fresh.

“He’s already lost blood,” you say, voice tight. “We won’t get far if we don’t stabilize him.”

“Oh, great. So we’re not only babysitting, we’re dragging around a half-dead man.” Satoru’s tone is biting, but his hands move with practiced ease. He peels back the fabric, revealing the wound more clearly. “Knife. Small blade. Didn’t hit anything fatal, but if it gets infected, he’s done.”

Mr. Hayashi winces under the touch, but doesn’t cry out. His breathing is shallow and ragged, and the sweat clinging to his temples is fresh. “It—it was someone from the second floor. I think. I tried to stop him, but he just—he just looked at me. Didn’t even speak. Like he wasn’t there.”

You and Satoru exchange another glance. No one says the word. Not yet. But it’s there.

Infected.

“They’re most likely changing faster,” Satoru mutters, eyes flicking up to you. “If he got cut by someone like that—”

“There’s no bite,” you say sharply. “It’s a cut. Nothing else.”

“You sure you wanna bet your life on that?”

You flinch. Not because you doubt yourself, but because the truth is, you don’t know. You can’t know. Not yet.

“Wrap him up,” you say, voice hard. “Give him a chance. You don’t get to decide who lives or dies.”

Satoru’s silence feels like a judgment in itself, but he doesn’t argue again. Instead, he digs into his bag, pulling out gauze and disinfectant like a man resigned to the worst. The scent of antiseptic fills the air, sharp and stinging as he works quickly, hands steady even when the rest of him vibrates with tension. “You’re lucky she’s got a heart,” he tells Mr. Hayashi, not looking up. “Most people don’t anymore.”

Mr. Hayashi gives you a weak, grateful look. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”

You don’t reply. You’re already trying to picture what the next few hours will look like—with him in tow, with Satoru seething at your side, with the threat of another attack hanging over your heads like a noose.

You’ll carry the weight. But you’ll be damned if you let someone die in front of you again without trying first.

Still crouched by Mr. Hayashi’s side, you glance at Satoru, who’s repacking his supplies with a clipped kind of efficiency.

“Ready?” you ask quietly.

He exhales through his nose. “No. But let’s go anyway.”

You help Mr. Hayashi to his feet, his weight leaning against you heavily. Your knees buckle slightly, but you steady yourself, anchoring him with both arms. You can feel Satoru watching again, quiet and unreadable. Then, without another word, the three of you move toward the stairwell, the echo of your footsteps swallowed by the quiet roar of a world that’s already started falling apart.

You’re not sure what comes next. But you’ve already made your choice.

You’ll live with it.

“You can walk, right?” You ask, fixing his arm around your shoulder. 

“No choice.” He grunts out, face scrunched as he begins the descent down. 

It’s hard helping a man twice your size down the stairs, especially when there’s someone else who can assist. But you don’t complain, it was your choice to bring him along, it’s your responsibility to help keep him alive. It’s quiet, only the quiet grunts from Mr. Hayashi filling the air. 

Satoru trails behind the two of you, his footsteps light and deliberate, eyes darting around. You don’t have to look back to feel his silent disapproval—it clings to the air like static. But he says nothing, and in this silence, the weight of your decision settles deeper into your bones. Each step down feels like a negotiation. Mr. Hayashi leans heavier into you the lower you get, and your shoulder aches from the strain, but you grit your teeth and keep going. You feel his breath hitch with every jolt, but he doesn’t complain either. Maybe he knows he’s on borrowed time.

“We’ll need to stop soon,” Satoru murmurs eventually. “You’re slowing down.”

“I’m fine,” you snap, sharper than you mean to be. You’re not. But it doesn’t matter.

“No, you’re not,” he replies, voice cool but not unkind. “You’re shaking.”

Your legs are trembling, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Not when Mr. Hayashi’s still bleeding. Not when the building is too quiet. Not when you know what’s waiting beyond the front doors. Not when you’re still multiple floors up from the ground. 

You swallow hard. “I said I’m fine.”

Satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, but lets it go. For now.

The three of you descend another flight. The emergency lights flicker above, casting the stairwell in an eerie, reddish glow. Mr. Hayashi’s breathing grows more labored with each step. Sweat soaks through his shirt, his limp heavier, and your guilt rises all over again.

You hear it then—something—a metallic rattle from below. A soft, scraping sound. Like nails dragging across concrete.

Satoru halts instantly.

You freeze, too.

Mr. Hayashi’s breath catches.

Satoru’s voice drops to a whisper. “Stay quiet.” Then, slowly, carefully, he starts to descend alone, his hand drifting toward the blade strapped to his person.

You tighten your grip on Mr. Hayashi. Because whatever’s down there… you know it’s not human.

You hold your breath, watching Satoru’s back as he goes down a few more steps, tilting his head down over the railing over the stairs to peer at the floors below. He says nothing for a few seconds, watching the darkness in preparation for any shadows that may pop out of nowhere. He then looks back at you, motioning silently with his head. You get the message, following after him even slower than before. 

“Almost there.” You whisper to Mr. Hayashi, who offers nothing more than a simple, brief nod. You’re not really almost there, but the reassurance would probably do him well. However, he’s probably too focused on not bleeding out, just like you’re too focused on not becoming something’s next meal. 

The stairwell creaks underfoot, the faint echo of your steps like warning bells in the dead stillness. The tension in your body is unbearable, every nerve pulled taut. You descend behind Satoru one slow, careful step at a time, Mr. Hayashi’s weight dragging your pace down even further. You can hear the slick sound of his blood soaking into his pant leg, the faint hiss of his breath through clenched teeth.

Satoru moves ahead like a shadow, silent and sharp. His blade is already in hand now, glinting faintly under the red emergency light. His posture screams readiness—knees slightly bent, shoulders relaxed but alert, eyes scanning the darkness like a predator.

Another faint noise. This time closer.

You freeze, your fingers tightening around Mr. Hayashi’s arm. His grip on your shoulder turns into a desperate claw, breath hitching audibly.

Then—

A soft, wet shuffle. Not from you. Not from Satoru.

Something else is here.

Satoru holds up a hand, palm flat. Stop.

You do.

He shifts down another step, slow, careful. A bead of sweat trails down your neck. Mr. Hayashi is trembling now, his legs barely holding. You can feel it in how he leans harder into you.

Satoru rounds the corner of the last flight and—

He halts.

You can’t see what he’s looking at. But his breath leaves his lungs a little too slowly.

His voice is low, cold:

“…It’s feeding.”

He turns back up to you, gaze deadly serious.

“Whatever you do, don’t make a sound.”

Every joint in your body is trembling even faster than when you drank two 5-Hour Energies, coupled with a Red Bull. Bile threatens to rise in your throat, and you swallow it back down with a hard gulp. The word feeding scares you, sets off every fight-or-flight response in your soul. Except, all you want to do is run. Just don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. Don’t make a sound, not a single sound. 

You repeat this mantra in your head, taking a tiny step one by one behind Satoru. The wet sound of this creature’s feast is new, one that you may never be able to erase from your mind. Biting hard on your lip to hold back a quivering breath, holding back a hot set of tears that pool in your eyes. 

You barely even dare to continue breathing. Each movement feels like you’re dragging your body through quicksand, the air around you so thick with terror it’s nearly suffocating. You can’t spare Mr. Hayashi a glance—not when you’re certain that even the smallest slip-up could end in blood.

Ahead, Satoru is already moving, slow but purposeful. His blade stays low, angled behind his leg to hide the reflection. He doesn’t look back to ensure you’re not too far behind, but you know he’s listening—every fiber of him tuned to you and the creature just feet away.

Another wet, slurping noise reaches your ears, and your stomach flips violently. You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, just to ground yourself, just to breathe without falling apart.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Your foot accidentally brushes against a loose piece of debris.

A tiny clatter.

Your heart stops.

The feeding noises halt instantly.

Silence.

The most horrifying kind of silence.

You can hear the thick drip of blood onto the floor now, slow and steady. You can hear Mr. Hayashi’s ragged breathing. You can hear the low rumble—a barely audible warning sound, like a wolf baring its teeth.

And then—

The sound of something sniffing. Wet, heavy, greedy.

It knows you’re here.

Satoru slowly raises his free hand, a single finger pressed firmly to his lips.

Don’t. Move.

You nod shakily, looking to your left to communicate the same message with Mr. Hayashi. His eyelids droop lower by the second, which only intensifies your internal panicking. Even in the darkened setting, you can see the way his skin pales, his responses growing minimal by the second. You try to nudge him with your shoulder, which only causes him to groan lightly. 

The world freezes. It feels like an eternity that you three have stayed frozen in place, ears perked up for the slightest noise or movement. Satoru’s foot hovers above the step below, just barely pressing down on it. Once again, you mirror his actions, attempting to get Mr. Hayashi to use whatever will he has left to stay quiet and follow. 

However, the movement only makes him grunt again. And you’ve run out of chances. 

Before you can even react, the sound of snarling and footsteps rushing toward your small group is all that encapsulates your senses. You don’t even know if it’s coming from right next to you, running up, or down; all you know is Satoru is clashing with the creature with his knife. 

The suddenness makes you misstep, and you go stumbling down the remaining steps with Mr. Hayashi in tow. Your bodies hit the wall with a big thud and a sharp grunt, the back of your head colliding into the wall. 

Sharp ringing bounces throughout your skull. 

The pain is immediate and blinding, shooting down your spine like a bolt of lightning. The world spins wildly around you, warping and blurring into a sickening swirl of shadows and noise. You blink hard, trying to clear your vision, trying to think, but everything feels distant, like you’re floating outside your own body.

Through the haze, you hear it—the wet, ugly sound of a struggle, the growls and snarls of the creature, the sharp, desperate grunts of Satoru fighting for both your lives. You try to push yourself up, but Mr. Hayashi’s weight pins you down, leaving you vulnerable, trapped. You can feel him breathing—shallow, labored—as he struggles to stay conscious. Or maybe that’s you. You can’t tell anymore.

Somewhere nearby, Satoru curses under his breath, a sound raw and vicious, followed by the crack of something—bone? Blade? Who knows. 

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, forcing yourself back to focus. Move. Move now or die. With a broken gasp, you shove Mr. Hayashi off you as gently as you can, feeling the sickening warmth of blood coating his side, coating your hands. You stagger to your knees, your body screaming in protest.

Your blurred gaze locks onto Satoru—he’s grappling the creature, his knife embedded deep in its side, but it’s not going down without a fight. Its grotesque, twitching body snaps and thrashes like a rabid animal.

You don’t think. You just move.

Hand fumbling for anything, you grab a broken piece of wood lying nearby. A shard of someone’s ruined life. Gripping it tight, you launch yourself toward the creature’s exposed back.

You won’t be useless. You won’t die here.

With every ounce of strength you have left, you drive the shard downward, right onto the creature’s head. 

The contact is a direct hit, blood sloshing and splurting from the open wound. The wood piece is stuck in place from the hit, allowing Satoru to hastily remove his knife from its side. You pull back harshly, the wood lifting. Again, you swing down. The wood splits the creature's head in two. Letting go, it goes down to its knees, falling down the stairs, and next to Mr. Hayashi’s body. 

There’s only a momentary spout of silence from the scene that just erupted before it all spreads like wildfire.

 Groans, grunts, creaking, and clicking noises. 

Satoru grabs your arm, hoisting you along as you practically float down the stairs. 

“Mr. Hayashi!” You call out. 

“We have no time!” Satoru barks out. 

Your heart fractures at the words, every instinct screaming at you to turn back, to help him, but Satoru’s grip is iron around your wrist, dragging you forward. You whip your head around, catching one last glimpse of Mr. Hayashi’s crumpled figure as he weakly tries to reach out, his mouth moving soundlessly.

You choke back a sob, the horror of abandoning yet another person sinking into your bones, burning hotter than the blood pounding in your ears.

Behind you, the sounds swell—more footsteps, more hungry, twisted things stirred from the darkness by the scent of blood and the promise of a fresh kill. The air feels heavier, thicker, suffocating with the weight of what you’ve left behind.

You stumble, but Satoru doesn’t let go, half-carrying, half-dragging you through the building’s rotting stairwells. Every turn feels endless, every second you stay in this place, tightening the noose around your neck. Your throat burns, and you realize you’re muttering under your breath again—

“Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back.”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the panic like a blade. “Focus. Move your damn feet or we’re dead.”

And somehow, you do.

You both scramble down the rest of the stairs, uncaring of the amount of sound you’re making, never looking back. You both push open the door to the lobby, racing out the way you came in. The monsters—creatures—zombies—whatever the hell they are—chase you both with a horrifying amount of speed. 

The light from outside almost blinds you, but nonetheless, you run and run back to his parked car. He unlocks it from a distance with his key fob, and you two hurry in, closing the doors in a slammed rush. As soon as you do, the creatures slam into the windows, giving you front row seats to their red, frenzied eyes. Their wide mouths showcase the teeth that tear through flesh. Banging with their fists and heads, anything to get through the barriers. 

Satoru starts the car, reversing back. The car thumps up as if it rode over something—a body, most likely. 

You don’t even have the strength to react, only squeezing your eyes shut as the tires crunch over whatever is beneath.

The car swerves wildly for a moment, tires screeching against the pavement, before Satoru regains control, flooring it down the cracked asphalt of the abandoned street. The creatures chase after you, some so fast they nearly keep up, slamming their fists against the back windows in a desperate, clawing frenzy.

Your entire body trembles, hands gripping the seat so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Faster, Satoru!” you gasp, voice raw with fear.

“I know!” he growls back, slamming his foot harder on the gas pedal. The car jolts forward, the engine whining in protest.

One by one, they fall behind, until finally—finally—they’re no more than small figures in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the darkness you barely escaped. Breathing heavily, you sag against the seat, chest heaving as you stare at the cracked dashboard, too exhausted to even cry.

Satoru exhales sharply next to you, one hand gripping the wheel, the other slamming the car door lock button again and again, as if it’ll somehow keep the horror at bay. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. Just breathing. Just surviving.

Goosebumps run through the surface of your body, the back of your head feeling tingly from where you knocked it before. You blink and blink, vision blurring then darkening before regaining it. 

You swallow thickly, willing yourself to stay conscious, to stay alert. But everything feels distant—the rumble of the car beneath you, the burning in your lungs, even Satoru’s tight, frantic grip on the wheel.

“Stay with me,” his voice slices through the haze, low and rough. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his gaze flickering over to you and then back to the road. “Don’t you dare pass out on me.”

You nod weakly, not trusting yourself to speak. Your tongue feels heavy, your mouth dry. Every blink feels slower than the last, the black edges of your vision creeping inward.

Satoru curses under his breath and takes a sharp turn onto another road, the tires skidding slightly. He spares another glance at you. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer, alright?”

You hum in response, a faint sound, barely audible. The words “almost there” circle your mind like a chant, the same lie you told Mr. Hayashi.

A lump forms in your throat. You didn’t save him.

You didn’t save him.

Your nails dig into the fabric of the seat, trying to ground yourself, trying to stay here—because if you start thinking about it, you’ll spiral, and if you spiral, you might not come back. You open your mouth to say something—to apologize, to scream, to cry—but all that comes out is a shaky whisper:

“…Where are we going?”

“Away from here,” is all he says before you inevitably lose yourself in the darkness. 

Slowly, your eyes blink open, the sunlight beaming down on you. It takes you a moment to realize you’re reclined in the passenger seat, the sun shining through the windshield. You don’t move, rooted in place for a good moment. You fear that even if you try to move, the onslaught of pain might shoot up your bones again. You’re trying to shake off the haze clouding your mind. The events of the day rush back in flashes—Satoru, the creatures, the blood, the chaos, Mr. Hayashi—and you wince at the memories. Every muscle in your body feels sore, as if you’ve been through hell, and you’re not sure whether your exhaustion is physical or emotional.

Turning your head slightly, you see Satoru in the driver’s seat, his profile tense and unreadable. The silence between you two hangs heavily, thick with everything unsaid. The car is parked somewhere safe, the sounds of the outside world muffled by the thick walls of your own thoughts. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but judging by the angle of the sun, it’s probably late morning, close to lunchtime. 

Damn, you’ve lived a lot of lives already, haven’t you?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to push yourself upright, wincing as the soreness settles deeper into your body. Your throat feels raw, your head a pounding mess of memories and lingering dizziness. “Are we safe?” Your voice cracks, rough from lack of use, and you can hear the shakiness in it as you ask.

Satoru’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes dark and tired, but his tone is firm, reassuring in the way he answers. “For now.”

That’s good enough. 

He hands you a water bottle. “Drink this before you get even more dehydrated. You’ve probably got a concussion, by the way.”

Lazily, you take it, bringing it to your lips and chugging. 

The cool water flows down your throat, soothing the dry ache that’s settled there. It’s refreshing, but it only makes you more aware of how much your body is demanding from you, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off once your adrenaline wears off. You hand the bottle back to him after draining it, your fingers tingling as you do. He takes it, but you can see the way his jaw clenches as he holds it, the tension in his posture never quite disappearing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru nods, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he looks out the windshield, his eyes scanning the world outside as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows at any moment. “How are you feeling now?”

“Like shit.” You mutter, lying back in your seat. Your head lolls to the side, looking out the window. It’s strange how such a nice day can be contradicted by a big blood bath. You almost want to laugh at the circumstances. 

“There’s a gas station not too far, we’ll head there.”

You hum lowly. “For your snacks.”

“And for you.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye. 

“There’s no exact cure for a concussion,” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “But we can get you a shitload of medication to ease it for a bit. Some food, Pedialyte, whatever.”

“Sounds like a five-star plan.”

“It is. Unless you want me to do brain surgery on you with a pocket-knife, though that’s not really my specialty.” He says, shoulders rolling back and forth. 

You hmph back, holding an arm to your stomach as he starts the car up again, slowly rolling forward in order not to upset your sensitive stomach. “Right. Well, only if you’re buying the treatment.”

His lip quirks up in a dry smirk. “Right, I am a gentleman, after all.”

The reassurance, even if laced with his sarcastic humor, eases some of the tightness in your chest. You don’t answer, just keep your gaze tilted out the window, watching the world go past—cracked streets, overgrown sidewalks, the occasional overturned car. It feels a little easier to breathe knowing you have even a scrap of a plan.

Even if everything else still feels like it’s dangling by a thread.

“You holding up okay?” he asks after a beat, his voice a little quieter, a little more careful this time. 

How do you even answer that?

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly in your lap.

“…I’m still here,” you finally say. It’s not much. But for now, it’s enough.

Satoru glances at you briefly, and in that small, flickering look, you can see it. The way he’s holding himself together just as desperately as you are. 

The gas station is only about a ten-minute drive. It’s done in complete silence, however. The streets look familiar to you, memories flashing through your twitcy mind. 

“Stop.”

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. “Wha—”

“Just…stop.” 

Sensing the tired, affirmative tone, he quickly checks around before coming to a stop. Putting the car in park, he turns his body towards you. You say nothing, reaching for the door handle before being promptly stopped. His hand is on your other arm. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He grills, confusion laced with a hint of frustration. “I said we’re going to the gas station.”

“I know, but…but I just—I need to check something.”

“Did you hit your head that damn hard?”

You shake your head weakly, prying his fingers off your arm. “I just need five minutes. Please.”

The way your voice cracks on the last word makes him freeze, jaw tightening. He stares at you for a long second, conflict flashing across his face. Finally, he exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

You nod, too drained to argue.

Without another word, you push open the car door, stepping out onto the uneven asphalt. Your legs feel like they’re made of glass, but you force yourself forward, heart pounding harder with every step you take.

The world feels eerily quiet around you—like even the wind is holding its breath. You spot the intersection up ahead, twisted metal still littering the street.

Your chest tightens unbearably.

There.

The wreckage.

The car.

Exactly where you left it.

You almost can’t breathe as you half-walk, half-stumble toward it, Satoru shadowing your steps, silent but close.

The crumpled remains of your old car sit wedged against a broken streetlight, glass scattered like diamonds around it. You hesitate, staring down at the overturned frame, your hands shaking so badly they feel like they might snap off. 

A little more down, another car stands still, frozen in time. 

“Sayo…” you whisper hoarsely, barely audible.

And then, slowly—terrified—you walk over, crouching down to look underneath.

You don’t know what you were expecting to see. In a perfect world, Sayo would have been there, lying unharmed. Or, you might’ve scared yourself even more by staring at her mangled body. Anything. 

What you didn’t expect to see was nothing, no body, no article of jewelry or clothing left, absolutely nothing. Just a puddle of dried blood that now stains the cement. 

Your breath catches in your throat, a hollow ache ripping through your chest. Nothing. Not even a scrap of her.

You sit there frozen, crouched in the dust and debris, staring at that dark, ugly stain where your teammate should’ve been. “She’s gone,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

Satoru stays a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his jean pockets. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t try to offer any empty condolences of what he can only assume is a personal loss for you.  Maybe he knows there’s nothing he could say that would fix this anyway. The world feels heavier now, the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders until your arms start to tremble. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, blinking furiously against the sting building in your eyes.

You stayed alive.

And Sayo didn’t even get a chance. No one did. 

For a long, breathless moment, you kneel there in the broken silence—until finally, a calloused hand presses against your back. “Come on,” Satoru says quietly. “It’s not safe out here.”

You don’t have the strength to argue. You just close your eyes for one long, aching second—then push yourself up, legs wobbling, and let him steer you back toward the car.

He doesn’t question the moment as you two sit back in your reserved seats, putting the key in the ignition before continuing the intended trek. Your brain runs miles a minute, thoughts swirling. Dread pools in your soul, head tilting against the headrest of the seat. Guilt once again creeps back in, raising a hand to your forehead to smooth out the crinkles of your strained expression. 

You find yourself wanting to laugh again out of pure spite. A worthless sense of living is all you can associate with. Just how a person like you—a person who’s committed more sins than you’d like to admit—is the one breathing instead of someone who actually deserves it is the ultimate question you have. Is it the world’s sick way of getting back at you? Of making you suffer through this guilt with no one to turn to? Well, at least someone you’d want to turn to. All your friends are more than likely dead. Your family. Everyone you could possibly love and care about…gone. 

Damn, this…this is really happening. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging into the palms of your hands until they sting. There’s no waking up from this. No undoing it. The soft rumble of the car beneath you feels detached, distant, like it’s carrying someone else away—someone who still had a future.

You don’t even notice the shallow, erratic way you’re breathing until Satoru’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey,” he says, a little gruff, but not unkind. “You’re not gonna do me much good if you pass out again.”

You huff out a hollow breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “I’m fine,” you lie.

He doesn’t call you on it. He knows better than to try.

Instead, the two of you drive on through the hollowed-out skeleton of what used to be a world worth living in, the gas station inching closer with every second. And all you can think about is how survival doesn’t feel like winning anymore.

It feels like punishment.

He stops right in front, pocketing the key and sighing. “You can stay in here, I’ll be quick.”

“I’m going.”

He gives you a sidelong look, jaw clenching in frustration. “You can barely stand,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“I’m not sitting in the car like some helpless idiot,” you snap back, already forcing the door open despite the deep ache rattling your bones.

Satoru huffs under his breath but doesn’t argue further. Maybe he figures it’s pointless. Or, he understands in a way that words don’t need to explain. Without another word, you both step out into the open, the stale, metallic scent of dried blood and burnt rubber clinging to the air like a curse.

He tightens the strap on his backpack and moves ahead of you, knife glinting at his side, his frame tense and alert. You trail behind him, fists clenching at your sides, ready for whatever the hell is waiting beyond the shattered doors of the gas station. He hands you a tote bag, the blue logo of the Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital printed on it. 

Inside the gas station is deserted. Items left scattered around by people who were probably in a rush to get the hell away from whatever occurred here. There are no working lights, and the sound of chips crunching beneath your feet as you venture further in. Satoru peeks over the other side of the counter to where the attendant would have normally been standing. His face doesn’t change, looking away and moving down the aisles. “Don’t go back there.”

You wouldn’t dare. You’ve seen enough death for today. 

The refrigerators call your name. 

The cool, stale air rushes out as you crack one open, the faint hum of whatever backup generator is left alive filling your ears. Most of the shelves are picked clean—only a few battered bottles of water, some questionable-looking sandwiches, and cans of energy drinks remain. You grab what you can with shaking hands, stuffing bottles into the tote. Your fingers graze over a pack of Pedialyte at the bottom shelf, and without thinking, you yank it too.

From behind you, you hear Satoru rummaging through shelves, the soft clinking of cans and pill bottles being shoved into his bag. No words are exchanged; none are needed. Survival has its own language. You spot a lone protein bar lodged behind a case of toppled soda cans. You lean down to reach for it—

—and the sudden slam of something heavy in the back room sends your heart dropping to your stomach.

Not again. 

Satoru moves quicker than you do, coming over to your aisle in practiced quietness. “Stay here. Don’t move, don’t speak. I’ll tell you when to come out.”

You nod, swallowing the lump of fear clawing up your throat. Your fingers tighten around the tote bag, your body instinctively shrinking smaller, pressing against the refrigerator door for whatever little cover it can give. Satoru slips forward, moving like a shadow between the shelves, his knife already drawn. Every step he takes is measured, deliberate, almost too calm for the circumstances. You watch him until he disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with nothing but the sound of your own blood pounding in your ears.

You grip the bag tighter, forcing yourself to breathe slowly and silently, straining your ears for anything—anything—that might tell you what’s lurking just beyond your sight.

Satoru’s eyes narrow, scanning his surroundings with calculation. He avoids any scattered items of food on the ground to avoid unnecessary noise, stalking closer and closer to the back room. The closer he gets, the heavier the air feels, thick with the metallic scent of blood and something sour—something wrong. His knife is steady in his hand, the grip sure and tight, knuckles paling slightly.

He stops just outside the swinging door leading into the back, angling his body to the side to listen. There’s a faint, irregular shuffling noise—too heavy to be a rat, too erratic to be anything human.

His jaw clenches.

One breath in. One breath out.

Without hesitating, Satoru kicks the door open with the side of his boot, blade raised, ready to strike whatever hell waits for him inside. He reacts quicker than expected. Spotting the shadows in his left periphery. He raises his knife, anticipating hearing the squishy sound of rotting flesh being forcefully stabbed in, one he’s growing more accustomed to. 

However, a dull banging is what resounds. 

A second passes. Then two. And then three. 

Satoru lowers his knife just slightly. Immediately, his eyes widen, lips parting in shock. 

“…Nanami?”

Lo and behold, his two former(?) coworkers stand before him, looking just as frenzied, but ready for a fight as he is. They’re still wearing their scrubs, though they lost their pristine color of blue. Tattered, stained, no longer representing what they were trained for. 

“Satoru?” Nanami breathes out, lowering the metal baseball bat in hand. He pushes his glasses up, hair tousled and breathing heavily. Standing beside him, slightly behind, is Takuma. Holding nothing in his shaky hands except for a broken glass of beer. 

Satoru almost wants to scoff in happy disbelief. Lip moving up into a half-smile. “You…you guys are alive?”

Nanami huffs out a dry, almost humorless laugh, the bat lowering fully to his side. “Barely,” he mutters, voice rough with exhaustion. His eyes flick briefly toward the door behind Satoru, where you still wait anxiously in the other aisle.

Takuma gives a nervous glance around the dim room, wiping his sweaty palms against his pants. “We thought you were dead, Satoru,” he says quietly, voice trembling slightly. “We tried going back to the hospital for you, but…”

Satoru tightens his grip on the knife instinctively, memories flashing behind his eyes. Blood. Screaming. Chaos.

“We can catch up later,” Nanami says, shaking his head as if to ward off the past. His gaze sharpens. “Is it just you?”

Satoru glances back toward your aisle, then returns his eyes to them. “Not just me,” he says simply. “I’m with someone.”

“Human?”

“Damn right.”

“Oh, I’m so happy you’re alive!” Takuma rushes forward, sloppily hugging Satoru like a pair of friends who have just been reunited after ten years apart. 

Satoru stiffens for a second—almost out of instinct—but then he lets out a breathy chuckle and pats Takuma’s back a little roughly. “Alright, alright. Don’t get all emotional on me.”

Takuma laughs wetly, pulling away, his face a mess of relief and lingering fear. “Man, it’s been hell.”

Nanami steps closer too, more reserved but still visibly relieved. “We thought we were the only ones left. We didn’t know if any of the hospital staff made it.”

Satoru’s half-smile falters for a split second before he masks it again, his hand twitching at his side. “Yeah, they didn’t.”

There’s a tense pause, the three men standing in the wrecked gas station, the remnants of their old lives clinging to them like ghosts.

“Well,” Takuma starts, wiping down his clothes with a proud smile. “We have Mr. Gojo here now, our chances of survival are higher, Nanami!” He tosses his poor excuse of a weapon to the side, being the first to head out of the break room.

“We all got this, we all can—”

“Ah!”

The sound of something hitting something—presumably the back of Ino’s head—is all that’s heard before his body slumps to the ground face-forward. Nanami and Satoru stand still, watching the energetic, younger half of their trio knocked down to the ground. 

Their eyes flicker to the right.

There you stand with a bloodied can of beans clutched tightly in your hand, raised defensively. Your chest heaves from the adrenaline, your stance wide, ready to swing again if necessary.

For a moment, no one moves.

Then Satoru runs a hand down his face, exhaling in a long, slow sigh. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “I said stay put.”

Nanami, ever the diplomat, simply blinks at you, deadpan. “Reasonable reaction,” he says, voice dry as sandpaper.

You stare at the two men, wide-eyed, heart pounding against your ribs. “H-He came out of nowhere!” you blurt, still gripping the can like your life depends on it.

Takuma groans from the ground, slowly rolling over onto his side, cradling the back of his head. “W-what happened…?” he whimpers.

“You got beaned,” Satoru says flatly. He finally walks over, gently lowering your arm with the can in it. “It’s okay. They’re friends. Dumbass friends, but friends.”

You glance warily between the two strangers, muscles still tense. “You sure?”

“As sure as I can be in this messed up world,” Satoru says, shooting you a small, crooked smile. “Put the weapon down, Rambo.”

Reluctantly, you lower the can, though you still keep it in your hand. Just in case.

You flinch slightly when the blonde man steps up to you, surveying eyes roaming over you, as if searching for an imperfection. Defensively, you shrink in on yourself, eyes narrowed. 

“This is my best pal, Nanami, or Nanamin, or Kento if you’re really boring. We work together.” Satoru introduces, slinging his arm over the other man’s shoulders. “That there writhing on the floor, Takuma Ino. Resident where we work.”

Nanami barely reacts to Satoru’s arm around him, only offering you a polite but curt nod. His eyes, though sharp, seem less judging and more…calculating. Like he’s sizing you up for survival, not morality. “Pleasure,” he says, though his tone is so dry it’s hard to tell if he means it.

Meanwhile, Takuma lets out another soft groan from the ground, still not fully recovered from your ambush. “H-Hi…” he wheezes weakly, waving a hand without looking up.

Satoru grins, giving Nanami a firm slap on the back before stepping away, hands lazily shoved into his pockets. “Now that all the introductions are done and no one else has a concussion, maybe we can focus on getting what we came here for?”

You nod stiffly, still tense, still unsure if you can really trust these men. But a part of you—the part that’s clinging desperately to the idea that not everyone is lost—whispers that you don’t have much of a choice. 

Nanami must see the doubt in your eyes, because he adds, voice low and steady, “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re just trying to survive. Same as you.”

You swallow thickly, nodding once more, finally lowering the can fully to your side.

Satoru tosses you a wink. “See? We’re all just one big, dysfunctional family now.”

Takuma, still face-down on the floor, groans, “Best family reunion ever…”

The car ride out of the gas station after your raid is a silent one. Still recovering from your concussion, it’s taking everything in you not to snap at the star-struck man sitting up from the backseat, blatantly staring at your pinched side profile. 

You peek. 

Yep, still staring. 

A small scoff exits your mouth, brows furrowing even deeper. 

“I—I just can’t believe I’m…you—you’re really—wow, you’re so much prettier than the TV.”

You don’t reply, eyes trained forward on the road. You would think for someone who just got their shit rocked would be less lively than this. Apparently not. 

“You know, my favorite performance you did was the Championship two years ago! I don’t even really like baseball, but you guys always have the best routines. You’re just so flexible, it’s insane! And I—oh, you smell so good!”

“Quit that.” Nanami gruffs, pushing Ino’s side. 

It doesn’t deter him, however. Finally seeing the star captain of the Yomiuri Giants cheer team right before his eyes, the one he’s always daydreamed of meeting…sitting right in front of him. Life couldn’t be better! 

You don’t have the energy to deal with this. Your head is pounding, your stomach turns uneasily with every word that comes out of his mouth, and the last thing you want is to be reminded of the person you were before everything went to hell.

Satoru, sensing your growing irritation, leans back casually in his seat, arm draped lazily over the wheel. “Oi, Ino. You’re gonna make her jump out the damn car if you don’t shut up.”

“But—but it’s her!” Ino protests like a whiny kid, clutching the back of the driver’s seat dramatically. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing! You can’t blame me for being excited!”

Nanami sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Control yourself. She’s not here to sign autographs.”

You shift uncomfortably, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m not her anymore,” you mutter under your breath, almost wishing they hadn’t recognized you at all.

The weight of it—the life you lost, the people you lost—it settles even heavier on your shoulders.

Satoru glances at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the way your hands tremble slightly in your lap. Without saying anything, he reaches forward and turns up whatever is left of the radio, just enough to drown out Ino’s giddy rambling, a silent show of mercy. And for the first time since leaving the gas station, you feel like maybe you can actually breathe.

Even if just a little.

“You’re not her anymore,” Satoru thinks to himself, glancing briefly at you. But whoever you are now… you’re still alive. And that has to count for something.

For now.

“Where are we heading?” Nanami asks from beside Ino in the backseat, sighing heavily. “There’s not much to go to, we should be indoors before sunset.”

Satoru taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, eyes locked ahead. “There’s an old motel about fifty minutes from here,” he says casually, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Off the highway, tucked behind some trees. I used to pass it on my commute when I lived in Minano. Looked abandoned.”

“Abandoned could mean infested,” Nanami points out flatly.

Satoru smirks without humor. “Yeah, well, everything’s a gamble now, isn’t it?”

You lean your head back against the seat, staring blankly out the window at the decaying world flashing by. Part of you wants to tell them to just find the nearest ditch and let you all rot there. Safer than pretending there’s some place out there untouched. But another, smaller part—the one that’s too stubborn to die—keeps quiet.

“We’ll clear it if we have to,” Satoru adds, glancing quickly at you, then back to the road. “It’s better than spending the night in a damn gas station parking lot.”

Nanami grunts his reluctant agreement.

Ino just smiles brightly, oblivious to the weight crushing the rest of you.

An abandoned motel. Sounds about right.

You nap for the remainder of the ride. You don’t remember falling asleep. One minute you’re watching the cracked pavement blur by, and the next you’re being shaken awake by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Satoru murmurs, voice low, almost careful. “We’re here.”

Your eyes peel open sluggishly, the incoming afternoon sun bleeding orange across the sky, casting eerie shadows over the crumbling building in front of you.

The motel looks worse up close—a lot worse.

Windows shattered, doors either hanging off their hinges or bolted shut with whatever scrap the previous tenants could find. Faded paint peels off the wooden exterior, vines curling hungrily up the walls.

You sit up straighter, blinking the sleep from your eyes. The air is heavy with the scent of damp wood and something metallic lurking underneath. Nanami and Ino are already getting out, stretching stiffly, weapon gripped tight.

Satoru lingers by your side for a moment longer, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod once, though your body screams otherwise. You’re exhausted, sick to your stomach, and mentally fraying at the seams. But what else is new?

You shove the door open and step out into the dying light.

The ground crunches under your shoes—glass, debris, God knows what else.

Nanami’s already surveying the perimeter, and Ino’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like a damn puppy, coming up to your side. 

Satoru comes around the front of the car, twirling the knife lazily between his fingers.

“Alright,” he says, voice deceptively light, “let’s clear us a place to sleep, shall we?”

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, holding the tote in your other hand. If the motel wasn’t infested before… it might be soon. One way or another, tonight would be anything but restful.

“I can carry that for you.” Ino’s voice chirps up, hands hovering above the straps of your backpack and the tote. 

You cast him a glance. “I don’t need a lovesick fool like you helping me.”

Ino physically recoils like you slapped him, hands awkwardly pulling back to his sides. “Ouch,” he mumbles, pouting a little as he kicks a pebble at his foot.

Satoru snorts loudly from a few steps ahead, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “Don’t take it personal, Ino. She’s mean to everyone she likes,” he calls over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes but don’t bother correcting him.

If Ino were smart, he’d learn fast that getting attached to you would be the worst mistake he could make. Nanami, who’s been silently scouting the building’s outer edges, returns to the group. “The doors on the east side are less barricaded. We’ll start there,” he says, jerking his chin toward a crumbling walkway.

Satoru spins his knife once before catching it neatly by the handle.

“Let’s get this over with.”

And without waiting for a response, he strides forward, the rest of you trailing behind into the mouth of the rotting motel.

The entrance groans ominously as Satoru shoves the door open with his shoulder, the hinges protesting with a metallic whine. The inside smells even worse—like mildew, rotted wood, and the faint, stomach-churning tang of decay. You instinctively pull your shirt over your nose, muscles tensing as your eyes adjust to the gloom.

Wallpaper peels in long, curling strips. The carpet is stained beyond recognition. Furniture, if you can even call it that anymore, is overturned and gutted like some desperate animal tore through it.

Satoru moves first, knife gleaming even in the low light, every step calculated and soft. Nanami follows close behind, baseball bat held at the ready.

You take up the rear, feeling Ino nervously hover too close behind you. Every cracked door you pass feels like it’s hiding something. Every faint creak or scuttle in the shadows has your heart hammering against your ribs.

Satoru raises a hand—a silent signal.

You all freeze.

He points to a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall.

The room number, barely clinging to the wall above it, reads 207. A faint shuffle echoes from inside. Without a word, Satoru inches closer, signaling for Nanami to flank the opposite side.

You press yourself against the wall, holding your breath.

The air is so thick with tension you feel like you might choke on it. A beat. Another. Then Satoru kicks the door open.

What greets you isn’t a monster, but something else—

A man.

Disheveled, gaunt, eyes wild and sunken in, brandishing a rusty piece of pipe like a cornered animal.

He shrieks wordlessly and lunges. Satoru is faster. In one clean, brutal movement, he sidesteps and slams the man face-first into the floor, the knife pressed warningly against the side of his neck. The man thrashes weakly, but it’s clear he’s more bark than bite.

“Not infected,” Nanami states flatly, voice void of surprise.

Satoru leans down slightly, voice cold and low. “Then what the hell are you doing here, huh?”

The man whimpers, lips trembling. “H-hiding. Please—please don’t kill me.”

Your stomach churns unpleasantly.

If you hadn’t gotten here first, how long until this guy would’ve turned desperate enough to bash your head in for supplies?

Satoru sighs heavily, straightening and backing off. “Lucky you.”

The man scrambles away from him like a kicked dog, disappearing into the shadows at the far end of the building without a second glance back.

No one speaks for a long moment.

The quiet creeps in again, heavier than before. “Well,” Satoru says at last, sheathing his knife with a soft click. “At least it’s not infested.”

Nanami looks unimpressed. Ino looks like he might faint. You just tighten your grip on your sanity and steel yourself. This motel would be your home for the night. Whether you liked it or not.

“How do we know he won’t come back to try and kill us in our sleep?” You ask out, looking at Satoru. 

Satoru tilts his head slightly, considering the question for a moment. His gaze flickers to the dark hallway behind you, then back to you. His expression is unreadable, though there’s a hint of something—calculated amusement or maybe something darker. “Because,” he says, voice smooth and casual, “if he had any intentions, he’d have already acted. A man like that, desperate and alone, wouldn’t have hesitated to take a swing if he thought he could get away with it.” He shrugs, as if the thought of being attacked in his sleep is more of a nuisance than a legitimate concern.

“You don’t survive this long by being dumb,” he adds. “He’s got no fight left in him. If he does come back, we’ll be ready. And if he doesn’t, well, then we can just go to bed.”

You stare at him, skeptical.

“Not that easy,” Nanami mutters from behind you, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. “But, I suppose it’s better than camping outside and hoping we don’t get surrounded.”

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s not fully convinced, but it’s clear he’s willing to go along with Satoru’s plan. He shoots a glance at Ino, who’s still looking pale but seems to be getting a grip on himself.

“Alright,” you finally say, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts running through your head. “So, we post watches then.”

“Exactly,” Satoru agrees easily, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “I’ll take first, and Nanami can take second. Ino—” He glances over at the younger man, who’s busy trying to wipe away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “You can take third. Sound fair?”

Ino nods quickly, still looking somewhat out of his element. “Got it!”

You’re still on edge, but at least there’s some plan in place. Satoru’s smirk flickers and then fades as he steps past you toward the lobby area. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” he says, his voice dropping in volume as he goes. “We’re not out of this yet.”

You take a deep breath and follow him, your mind still racing. The man who’d been hiding in the room is long gone, but the unease doesn’t leave. If you could trust anything right now, it was that nothing in this place was what it seemed. You could hear the faint hum of a distant generator somewhere in the building, the flickering of lights above your head. It was a temporary shelter, and nothing more.

“Let’s just get through tonight,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

Nanami gives you a look that’s almost approving, like he understands where you’re coming from.

Satoru glances back, pausing just long enough for you to meet his eyes, his expression shifting briefly. “Tomorrow, we move out. Find a more stable safe house, we can’t keep moving every night.”

Tomorrow. The word doesn’t feel real anymore. Nothing feels real. You nod, letting the silence drag you into the night.

After carefully looking through each room on the first floor, you all decide to camp out in the room furthest down the hall on the second floor. Two beds with a dusty TV in front. You claim the bed closest to the window, dropping your things onto it with a huff. The sheets look like they could be cleaner. But it beats having to sleep on the ground. You can only hope and pray no bugs crawl into your ears during the night. 

“Alright, princess gets her own bed and we three can share the other one like a bunch of best buddies.” Satoru claps, setting his bag down. 

“I’m not cuddling you.”

“You say that now, Nanamin.”

Nanami rolls his eyes, moving to dump his things onto the second bed with an exaggerated sigh. “I’d rather sleep standing than anywhere near you two.” His voice is dry, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. 

Ino, however, seems oddly enthusiastic. “I’m okay with the whole ‘sharing’ thing! It’ll be like a sleepover.” His nervous energy still buzzing around him like an annoying fly. “Do we have snacks? I can go check the vending machine downstairs.”

You glance at him, wondering if he’s genuinely this optimistic or just trying to distract himself from the unsettling situation. Either way, his excitement feels out of place here, like a reminder that there are still moments in the world to be happy—even if it’s as small as a vending machine snack.

“Relax, Ino,” Satoru says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ll keep watch, but don’t get too comfortable thinking you’re gonna snack your way through the end of the world.”

Ino makes a disappointed noise but doesn’t protest. Instead, he lies down on the bed, his hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. His gaze flickers from you to Satoru, then back to the far corner of the room, where the faint outlines of shadows play in the dying light of the day.

“So,” he begins, breaking the silence that had settled uncomfortably in the room, “anyone have any stories or something? You know, to help us forget how much the world sucks right now?”

You shoot him a look, unsure if he’s trying to lighten the mood or if he genuinely wants to pass the time. The last thing you want to do is start talking about the old world, but it’s hard to ignore that he’s reaching out for some kind of comfort, even if it’s misguided.

Satoru leans back against the wall, his usual smirk back in place, though it’s a little more tired now. “I’ve got plenty of stories, but none of them are gonna make you feel better. Trust me.”

Nanami shoots him a look from across the room. “Keep it to yourself, Satoru. We don’t need your ‘life wisdom’ right now.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the weight in the air slightly lift. For the first time since entering this damn motel, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. At least for tonight, the world could feel a little more like it was before. Even if it was just for a few hours. As Satoru takes his position by the window, keeping watch for any signs of movement outside, you curl into the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. There’s no telling what tomorrow will bring. But for tonight, you allow yourself a small moment of peace.

Let’s see if you can even get a wink of sleep tonight.

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @dickktektive

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @beabamboo @lovely-maryj @n1vi

@ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5 @ritsatoru @sadmonke

@zoeyflower @topmeyelena @sourairi @jlandersen01 @vamppirez

@ac27dj @aquariusscollection @itzkawaiix @a-trashbag

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 08. A state of dreams

PREV PART trigger warnings: mental + physical + emotional neglect, Reader is in a ‘limbo’ of nightmares, grief, shouting, I am a bit unsure on what trigger warnings suit this chapter so if you think I missed anything pls do say so main m.list        series m.list

Sleep is supposed to keep pain away from you, it’s supposed to give you a break. But your sleep has been haunted by nightmares from the day of the attack to today, your nightmares filled with violence and the Gods are punishing you. Punishing you for not fighting back, that’s what these dreams have to be.

Nightmares that talk about the ‘what if’, the nightmares that kill your soul. You’re stuck in them, you’re stuck in a river of pain and you don’t know how to get out of it. You don’t want to be asleep, you don’t want to sleep.

“Come on, (Nickname),” your mother chuckles as she opens her arms, no she isn’t. “you don’t want to keep me waiting, right?”

You don’t, you want to rush into her embrace, cry as you wish for a better life. Cry as you ask her why Bruce hates you, cry as you beg for a reason why your family doesn’t love you. But you can’t.

You can’t run into her loving embrace, because before you’ll reach her the scene will change, it will be Bruce holding your shoulders in a crushing grip. Asking you why you couldn’t just stay silent, asking you why you just couldn’t be a good doll and stay in the corner to be forgotten. So you’ll make her wait. Just to see her face.

“Baby,” your mother gasps dramatically, putting her hand on her heart. “did mama do something wrong? Is that why you don’t want to give me a hug?”

You shake your head as you ignore the shifting scene, oh how you hate being aware. “I just want to keep looking at you, mama,” you whisper. “you look so beautiful.”

Your mama laughs as she takes you in her arms but then she disappears. Leaving a younger you behind in a hospital gown, a gown that you remember all too well. It was from the hospital you almost died in. It was the last time you remember being comforted by your mama. “You vowed to stay healthy,” younger you whispers in anger. “you broke that vow!”

“I did,” you admit, not even trying to placate them, not even looking them in their eyes. “health isn’t something you can control. We were destined for this, we are destined for pain. But we’ll find our people through that pain.”

“It’s not fair!” younger you shouts, clenching their hospital gown in their hands. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! We did everything right!” Younger you was sobbing, sobbing to the point you could feel their tears in your own hearts. “Why can’t we be happy?!”

You look at the ground, the scene was shifting again. It was the manor, and this time it was Alfred in front of you. His nose flaring as he raises his arm and starts shouting at you, you can’t hear him but it scares you. You feel threatened, you feel unsafe and most of all you feel like you’re in danger. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it wasn’t enough for him. He grabs your shoulders as spit flies from his mouth as he shouts, your heart just becoming numb. “it’s not my fault… I didn’t do anything!”

Exactly, a voice whispers in the back of your head, you were complicate to your own abuse. You kept the key of your own jail for so long, so can you fully blame Alfred?

You close your eyes and shake your head. That voice is wrong, you weren’t complicate in to the neglect that they gave you. It was never your fault, it never will be. You just need to ignore Alfred, both in dream and when you are awake, just because he wants you a certain way doesn’t mean you have to be that way. You know that right? You just need to wake up for now, can you do that for me?

Can you open your beautiful eyes? (Oh, is that Duke you hear or someone else? Is your mother calling for you?)

But for now you will continue to stay in state. A state of grieving what you could have had, a state where in you experience all the fear that you have ever felt once more, a state where you see your mother but barely can remember her face and voice, a state that reminds you of the hell that awaits you once you open your eyes.

But that hell is your story, and you can take it to another road. You’ll try and try, and you’ll fail. Don’t get me wrong. But after all that failure you are bound to learn, and you are bound to grow. So take the hands that hold out to you, you’ll never have to walk this path alone.

NEXT PART Heard my grandpa is the hospital while writingso updates might be slow for a while, or a bit darker and more chaotic. I have also closed the taglist since whenever I add new people in the editor it shows up but not in the post??

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret,

[canarias-stuff]

Reaching You

Sung Jin-Woo X F!Reader

Summary:

“What the hell?!” You cried, more tears falling down. “You said that you would come back soon! So why?!”

“Wait! (Y/n)! I swear I can explain!”

“What happened with the gates?! And the war?!”

You could feel Jin-Woo panicking at your questions, but the dam was broken. You couldn’t stop.

“Why are we sixteen again?! Why do I have to study math again?!”

“...really (y/n)…?”

...

Or a story where you dreams of a world not so different from yours, but you know that you are missing something...no, someone.

(Sung Jin-Woo X F!Reader)

Author's note:

My second story for the fandom.

I started it a while ago, but I didn't know how to end it.^^''

And after struggling a little bit, this is the result.

I hope that you enjoy it!

You were 13 when the dreams started.

At first, they were short – so short you could barely remember the contents, but as the time passed, you felt like you had lived the dream for days instead of just a night. You dreamed of a world that's not so different from the real one, where people you know – family, friends and even some that you don’t know personally – are there.

Maybe you’d been watching too many American shows or playing too many video games, because each time you dreamed about this strange world, it became more vivid, more detailed.

Your dreamworld has a touch of magic and fantasy, and even if you couldn’t always remember the specifics, you were sure that at some point you were fighting against monsters inside what they called ‘gates’. There was also a rank system for those gates and for the people who fought inside them, there were guilds and something called Hunter’s Association, and even if you can’t remember everything, you are sure that you aren’t part of any organization.

One thing that you can remember though, is that something…no, someone is missing from your memories. Well, not actually missing, however there’s someone beside you in your dreams, someone that smiles at you, holds your hands, kisses you and makes you really happy, yet, no matter how hard you try, you can’t recall their face or the sound of their voice when they call your name.

And every time they appeared in your dreams, you’d wake up crying.

Was it stupid to miss someone you could only see in dreams? Someone your own brain had invented?

Yes , that’s what you told yourself. This person was just a figment of your imagination – born from all those novels you read. So why did it hurt so much every time? Why did your chest ache for someone whose face you couldn’t remember?

Once, you told your best friend about your dreams. Your friend laughed and patted you on the back.

“Woah! Did you fall for this mysterious person from your dreams?”

“Of course not!”

You felt embarrassed at the accusation, but if you were embarrassed about your dreams or about the part where you fell in love with someone that doesn't exist, you weren’t sure.

You also commented about your dreams to your family one morning and while your mother and older brother made fun of you, your father frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, you must have loved this person a lot.” Your mother said, while preparing the breakfast.

“Your brain is probably melting after reading so much garbage!” Your irritating older brother laughed.

“If you have free time to read novels (y/n), use it for your studies.”

And really, while your father’s comment was more of a “If you start to get red marks, I will burn all your novels.” warning, you decided that you should do as he said and study more – occupy your brain with numbers, formulas and historical events – because that way, your brain may decide to make you dream about possible questions for a test instead of making you miss someone that you only imagined.

…

“You are going there.”

“...I am…”

“It doesn’t matter what I say, right?”

“I’m sorry, (y/n).”

You sighed, but in the end you looked up to stare at his determined eyes, and smiled.

“You better come back soon.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“I will. It’s a promise.”

And then, he turned around to leave, while all you could do was extend your hand and try – and fail – to hold him for just a little longer.

…

You woke up with an arm extended, grabbing the air. Again.

Since the start of your last year of middle school, the dreams haven't come as frequently as before. But still, at least once a week, you would wake up with your hand outstretched – like you were trying to hold onto something. Or someone. Just like now.

You never told a soul about this, not when you were sure that people – your best friend and family – would make fun of you.

But now that you’ve started high school, you wonder if this is progress. On one hand, you don’t wake up crying as often as before. On the other, you’ve started reaching out for this person. Still trying to grasp that person who never stayed – who probably never came back.

You stared at your arm for a moment before lowering it, a quiet sigh slipping from your lips.

And yet, for some reason, you felt warm. Like someone was still there, holding you.

…

“Have you heard about the rumor?” You heard one of the girls from your class say, from the desk right beside you.

“Oh! About the transfer student from class A?” The girl’s friend said.

“Yep! Someone said that he wears the glove only on his left hand because he has a tattoo there.”

You rolled your eyes at their conversation and kept reading the novel that you just found online. People had been gossiping about a student for almost two weeks now, and even though you hadn’t seen him yet, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. After all, who would want to be the talk of the school just because of their fashion sense?

“Actually, I heard from someone in class A that he is trying to hide a burn mark.”

A burn mark? You frowned, because that was new information.

“A burn mark? So he isn’t a delinquent?”

“I’m not sure, because someone heard a teacher say that he left home when he was still in junior high and came back after two years, but someone could have misheard it.”

“Well, let’s just stay away from him then.”

The other girl sighed, disappointed.

“What a shame, he does have a nice face though.”

And you rolled your eyes, trying to focus again on your novel as the girls shifted to another topic. People sure could be so petty.

…

Sometimes – actually it started just a few days after classes started –, you feel like someone’s watching you. But whenever you look around, there’s no one there, so you brush it off as nothing.

But today is different.

An ant was staring at you. 

A bipedal, human-like, black and blue ant was staring at you.

You tried to ignore it, continuing to eat your sandwich and chat with your best friend, as if the entity – it had to be some kind of ghost, right? – wasn’t there. It walked around you, moving with a strange, purposeful air, as though it was studying you.

And suddenly it fell to its knees and started crying.

“The appearance is slightly different, but this mana flow, this mana flow! There’s no doubt! Our queen is here! Our queen is here!”

You flinched. 

The ant is talking! The humanoid ant is fucking talking!

“Are you okay, (y/n)?” Your friend asked, when she saw you flinch.

“Hum? What?”

Your friend arched an eyebrow.

“You looked…distracted…”

Well, in your defense, it was difficult to keep focus when the ant kept crying…and talking nonsense beside you.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I was just wondering if I should go buy the novel that you recommended the other day.”

“I can just lend it to you!”

“Really? Thanks!” You exclaimed, trying to ignore the ant, that at some point got up and flew somewhere else, yelling something about telling the news to his king.

Ignore it, ignore it.

The weird creature was just a fragment of your imagination.

Yeah, just a fragment of my imagination…

But was it weird that for some reason you felt like you knew it?

…

“Queen.”

“Can you please stop calling me that, Beru?” You grunted, cheeks getting red. “It’s embarrassing!”

“But you are my king’s queen.”

Okay, that was way more embarrassing.

“Call me by my name!” You pleaded.

“How can a mere general call a queen by their name?”

“I’m not a queen so just call me (y/n)!”

“No, I can’t, my queen. I apologize.”

You turned to the man sitting at the sofa, who looked between you and the humanoid ant with an amused expression.

“Do something about it!” You cried, pointing at the giant ant.

“I tried, but he still calls me his king.” The man answered with a small laugh.

“Because you are my king.” The ant interrupted.

“Ugh…You really need to stop watching historical dramas, Beru.” You finally sighed and collapsed at the sofa, next to the amused man who just let out a small laugh and kissed you.

…

The ant was in your dreams this time.

For some reason, the ant called the stranger in your dream his king and you, his queen.

Really, it was embarrassing to be called that – and being kissed so gently –, but at least you got some new information.

The ant’s name was Beru.

“Beru..” You said. “What a weird name.”

…

After your encounter with the humanoid ant – Beru – just a few days ago, you started to notice other black and blue figures around.

Some were near the school gates, soldiers-like figures hidden in the shadows of trees, and others you could see around the neighbourhood, as if they were guarding and protecting the place.

Even if Beru’s figure had scared you a little, for some reason after your last dream, the feeling had gone away, and instead of getting uncomfortable with the shadow-like creatures, you felt strangely…safe.

…

Hah…yeah, safe…

Maybe you were so engrossed in the sense of safety the shadows provided that you completely forgot about reality.

You stared at the hand that was currently grabbing your wrist with a frown on your face. Once, your brother told you that high school was a jungle, where all kinds of species could be seen – football players, cheerleaders, basketball players, etc etc, and considering what was happening now, you agreed with your brother’s words.

These ones were probably the troublemakers/bully types.

“Aren’t you a first year?”

You looked up, (e/c) eyes glaring at the guy who grabbed your wrist and his two followers.

“Oh, you don’t have to look at us like that.” He – the leader (maybe?) – said with a smirk.

Really? How did you end up in this situation? You just went behind school to throw the trash after classes and ended up meeting with these three guys who were already there, up to no good. You didn’t say a word or look at any of them, but they still thought that it was an opportunity to try to pick up a girl.

“Like what?” You said without a hint of fear. “Like I'm seeing trash?”

Okay, maybe your choice of words were really poor considering the situation, but you were angry at the idiots who were trying to force themselves on you, and annoyed that you refused your friend's offer to help you with the trash.

“Hah?!” The leader roared, tightening his grip on your wrist. What did you just say, bitch?!”

“Oh? So you are deaf too?” You said, feigning a surprise expression.

You should have expected some violence.

The leader released your wrist just to push you at the wall by the collar of your shirt, and his followers surrounded you, eyes shining with malice, as if they just cornered a prey.

“I dare you to repeat that!” The leader roared.

You grabbed his wrist with both hands, (e/c) eyes never wavering at the sound of the clear threat

“Are. You. Deaf?”

The moment the guy clenched his other hand into a fist was the moment you twisted his wrist, slipping under his arm. The motion caused the first two buttons of your blouse to pop off – but it was worth it. He had no choice but to let go of your clothes, and in that instant, you threw him over your shoulder.

For a moment, everyone – even you – just stood there, trying to process what had just happened. You never learned how to fight, you didn’t even know that you had the strength to throw a guy twice your weight, but here you were, facing a bully and his followers, who somehow looked even more stunned than you.

However the surprise didn’t last long, and in a blink of an eye, the group had surrounded you again.

“That’s not fair.” You commented, eyeing the three guys walking around you.

“Life is not fair, girly.” One of his minions said with a smirk.

“You say it as if you have lived a long life.”

“This girl really doesn't know when to shut up, no?” Minion number one said.

“My friend said that I can talk for hours as long as I’m talking about my novels.” You continue. You need to buy some time, at least enough time to figure out how to get away from this situation, or until your friend realizes that you were taking too long to just throw the trash.

“Looks like your novels didn’t teach you to not pick up fights that you can’t win.” Number two minion laughed.

“Well, yeah, my novels usually focus more on romance, politics and family issues instead of people trying to pick fights with a girl who’s half their weight. These types of characters aren’t popular anyway.”

A vein popped at the leader’s forehead, and he tried to grab you again.

You don’t know how you did it. One moment, your feet were on the ground, and the next, you were in the air – upside down, hands planted on the top of the leader’s head, your body felt almost weightless. As you came down, you used his back as a stepping stone, pushing off and sending him crashing into his friends – while you landed gracefully on the ground.

You blinked, once more surprised with your fluid movements, as if you had done it all your life.

What the hell?!

“Now you asked for that, bitch!” The leader yelled and charged at you, at the same time as his minions.

Stunned by your own previous movements, you didn’t have time to dodge the sudden attack, all you could do was shut your eyes and brace for the impact. An impact that never came.

Instead, you heard people gasp in surprise and then, the “thud” of something hitting the ground.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, only to be met with the sight of someone’s back.

Your eyes went wide – for a second, the image of the person from your dreams overlapping with the stranger standing in front of you – but you quickly shook your head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. Right now, there were more important things to focus on, like the punks that were…attacking…you…?

You frowned, the three guys were laying on the ground, unconscious…

What just hap–?

“Are you okay?”

Gentle and calm, his voice interrupted your thoughts, but for some reason you felt your chest grow warm.

A gloved hand appeared in your line of sight – The student from the rumors, you couldn’t stop the thought – and you stared at it for a second, before accepting it.

“Thanks for the…”

But the words died in your throat the moment your (e/c) eyes met his. Yeah, you had heard the rumors – that he was handsome – but you hadn't known the details: the dark hair, the beautiful grey eyes and the small smile on his lips.

However…it wasn’t his features that made you lose the capacity to speak, but the sensation of familiarity, as if your brain was trying to remember something…someone…

The student was still holding your hand, so gently…as if you were something precious.

“(Y/n).”

The voice of the mysterious man from your dreams echoed in your mind and a face that you couldn’t remember was starting to take shape.

Your chest tightened and your eyes stung with tears that were ready to fall.

“Hey!” The stranger – Was he really a stranger? – cried, startled, as you collapsed to your knees, free hand clutching the front of your unbuttoned blouse.

Gates. Guilds. Monsters. Dungeons. A war.

“Hey! Are you hurt anywhere?!” He called again, panicking at your lack (or excess?) of reaction.

Dark hair. Grey eyes. A small smile.

His face wasn’t a blur anymore. You could see him clearly now.

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!”

Oh…he sounds younger, but it is still him.

“Y-you are la-late…” You muttered between sobs. “...Jin-Woo!”

You saw him flinch at the same time you felt his hand tighten around yours, but did you care? Not at all. The feelings that had been locked somewhere in your being – lost but not forgotten–, were running wild, and since the boy in front of you was the cause, he should take responsibility for that.

“What the hell?!” You cried, more tears falling down. “You said that you would come back soon! So why?!”

“Wait! (Y/n)! I swear I can explain!”

“What happened with the gates?! And the war?!”

You could feel Jin-Woo panicking at your questions, but the dam was broken. You couldn’t stop.

“Why are we sixteen again?! Why do I have to study math again?!”

“...really (y/n)…?”

You glared at him.

“I’m serious here!” You yelled frustrated, but soon the overwhelming sensation died as you stared at the man – now teenager – that you had always been waiting without knowing. “I really am, Jin-Woo…”

With your free hand, you cupped his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth of your hand.

Jin-Woo...he looked so peaceful, as if the weight he once carried had finally lifted from his shoulders. And now that your memories have returned, you understand why.

In this world, there were no gates, no monsters.

Even if he still had his powers – and you were sure that he did, considering you had seen Beru and his other shadow soldiers around – he was free from the obligations and responsibilities he had once forced upon himself.

Sure, you were kind of angry at him, Jin-Woo had a lot to explain, but at the same time you felt relieved. Relieved that he was back.

“I missed you.” You finally said, a tearful – but still genuine – smile on your lips. “I missed you, Jin-Woo!”

You weren’t really surprised when he let go of your hands and pulled you into an embrace, after all, if he hadn’t, you would have.

“I missed you too, (y/n).” He whispered in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry for being late.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, returning the hug.

“It’s okay.” You said. “It’s okay.”

…

A few minutes later, your best friend found you – with red and puffy eyes – hugging Jin-Woo behind the building with three unconscious bodies scattered around you.

Did she freak out? Yes, she did. But just as you had told Jin-Woo. 

It was okay.

It really was.

Because you had finally reached him.

Ao3 link

Ending notes:

But anyway! I hope that you enjoyed it!^^

I am not sure if the end felt rushed, but the point of the story was the reader to finally remember and reach Jin-Woo instead of him explaning everything. I just wanted to them to meet again in a better world.^^

But, of course I had to make Reader fight a little bit. First, because I wanted to show that with her memories coming back reader could do things that she could do in the past. And second because I wanted Jin-Woo to appear out of nowhere like the "Exchange" scene! hahaha

See you!

P.S: English is not my native language, so sorry for possible grammar mistakes.

[pearl-is-cool]

Soo uhm hiiii!!

my first writing post!!! I'm excited!! I've been in the community a while now but I've never written before so I hope you like it!!! I just got this thought one day so here yah are!

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Baker!Reader (who is kinda just like him)

2000+ words and vague mentions of self harm + a hard past.

xx pearl xx

You're a Baker by trade.

Well, you have a bakery, but you serve coffee and things as well. Nothing fancy, and your speciality is still baking, but it can't hurt.

It's nice work. Tucked away in a little English village, where everyone knows everyone and everything. Community had been something you'd craved for a while, and even if it means practically everyone knows your business, it's worth it. Sweet and peaceful.

When you told your parents about the small shop + flat you'd bought near the coast, they'd almost kicked you out right then. You zoned out a little while they went on, but you caught 'a waste of potential!' And 'that's all you're doing with your life!'

So yes. All in all, it had been a very good investment.

You bake, and you heal, and you go down to the beach. It's always cloudy around here, your nearer Scotland, after all. Even the scars on your arms fade from pink to something tanner.

It's calming. You make friends with the woman who runs the local pub (there's another a bit down left sides road but you wrote off that man when he told you about his podcast.) Her name is Ester and she's in the middle of her 2nd trimester her stomach slightly round. She lets you feel the baby kick one time, and you almost burst into tears right there.

You never thought you'd have this. Peace and quiet and community and friends. Esters husband teaches you how to fix the sink in your flat and gives you a belly laugh when you ring him up to tell them both about how you fixed it on your own.

You keep your flat cleaner (though dishes still occasionally pile up in the sink. You always get to them before it becomes too much though.) You make small talk with the villagers (some of them are still learning to trust you but things are going well!) And make people who drive through on their way to somewhere else coffee and tell them fake stories you make up for fun.

It's quiet and repetitive, and you've never been happier.

...

You have regulars a lot. Most people in the village like a pastry or a quick coffee or tea in the morning before they start work. There's an engine company a few miles back, and sometimes the employees come in for something to eat on a lunch break.

Then you get a new regular.

You've never seen him before, but the other villagers setting down don't turn to look or even glance up. Which is strange because he's wearing goddamn combat boots in the middle of spring for Christ's sake.

You give him a strange look out the corner of your eye, but go on with this random man's coffee he is impatiently tapping his foot on the ground for. You're taking extra long because he said, "Do it quick. I need to be somewhere more important soon." When you asked what he wanted to order.

Ester asks how you stay in business at least twice a month.

Finally you give the man his coffee (it's almost cold) and accept his money. Then next is the man.

You glance up and frown again at the mask covering his face. At the hoodie covering his hair. For a second, you almost wamt to ask why, but then you decide it's none of your business.

"What do you want to order?" You ask politely.

"Coffee. Black." He replies gruffly and slightly muffed from behind the mask.

"Alright. That will be £3:50." Oh, thank God you don't have to chat to this man. You don't hate chatting to the villagers because you know that in the end, it will have a payout (them trusting you), but the people who work at the engine place are... inconvenient.

He hands over 3 pound coins and a 50 pence they clatter onto the counter, and you pour them into the cash register.

He moves away to go sit down at one of the arm chairs in the corner. It's one of Esters spares its brown fake leather, slightly worn but comfy.

You get to making the man's coffee. It's a simple procedure that you've done thousands of times, and you let your mind drift away as you push onto the counter.

He comes up to collect his coffee cup and leaves the shop, and that's the last thiught you give to him for the rest of the day.

...

He comes in the next day and orders the same thing and sits in the same chair as he waits for it.

Exact same interaction

You forget all about him again.

...

He comes in the next day.

...

And the next.

...

And the next.

...

For a full week, he comes in orders, coffee waits, then leaves.

Then he's gone.

You don't think much of it.

...

He comes back again now. For two weeks, he comes in to get a black coffee and then leaves.

By the second week, you see him walking in (unless you're talking to someone, but most of the time, he comes in at what? Like 8? No one can be bothered to get a pastry or something at 8 unless they work at the engine place.) You've already got the coffee going. You think his eyes crinkle slightly when he sees you do it.

Maybe you're imagining it.

...

He doesn't come in on the Monday after.

It's weird you didn't really pay much attention to the hulk of black in the corner, but when he's gone, you feel it like someone left a window open that you can't find to close. A cold wind making you shiver.

Again, you ignore it. Your life here is good right now. You don't need another man to come in, make everything confusing, and mess all of it up again!

...

He's back two months later.

You raise an eyebrow as he walks through the door, limping slightly.

"Should get a crutch for that." You say automatically, turning to start the coffee machine. He visibly starts at you talking to him but relaxes into it.

"Hm." He grunts. "Make me look a bit dumb I think. Too small."

You hum in assent peering up at him. How actually did you not notice how absolutely fucking massive he was? Christ you have been in your own head. You should go for a long walk, try to focus on everything bit your thoughts. That's what got you here in the first place.

You slide the coffee onto the counter and he takes it hesitating for a second before he sits down in the armchair and stays to finish it.

...

This goes on for another week before he dissappears again.

...

You wake up panting at 3 in the morning. Bad dreams are the worst these days. You were probably dumb for thinking they would go away if you'd moved but a girls gotta hope right!?

You rise, shower shove some porridge down your throat state at the dishes and sigh. You have the time and we don't want a repeat of what happened back in the city.

After you've gotten most things sorted around the apartment you decend the stairs and start probably the best time of your day.

You knead bread and zone out lost in the simplicity of it all. The desserts are harder but you've done most of these things so much that it's just muscle memory at this point. It's calming and you feel almost out of your body whilst you do it. But in a good way. In a better way.

It's seven by the time your finished and since you always open at 8 you try out something you've been thinking about for far too long.

Black coffee cake.

Pure coincidence of course.

You don't even think about him once while you do it.

...

He starts coming in 5 months later and now since it's a pattern you've gotten used to it. You see him rounding the corner onto he other side of the street and you make his coffee.

He comes in and you slide it into his palm. He freezes for a second and your lips twitch up.

"Made you one of them every day you were gone." You say as a joke. "Have to pay me back loads."

He blinks and you think he smiles for a second before he ask if he can have a to go box for the cake.

...

He asks your name one day a faint twitch behind the mask as you say it.

He tells you his. Simon. You hadn't considered it for his name before (when did you get this curious about a strangers life? Christ you need to go for a walk) but when you repeate it back to him it slides off your tounge like honey. Like you should have been saying it the whole time before.

Later you bake honey cupcakes with lemon buttercream.

Not a coincidence.

None at all.

...

He comes in again and you hand him his cake to go and the coffee you think you could make in your sleep by now.

"M goin' away for a while now."

"Huh are you? Don't forget me." You say deadpan. Talking with Simon has become less of a chore and more of something you look forward to everyday.

"As if I could." He snorts slightly and your lips twitch.

"Well," you conclude handing him some change. For once he doesn't have the exact amount of money. "Have fun while your gone I suppose."

"Eh. I'll try."

He walks out there the bell ringing clearly and your chest squeezes painfully-

Ah. Well. That's not convenient.

...

While he's gone (you really should have asked him how long he was going away for.) You hire Alices girl from down the road, Sammy. She sweet and serves people with a smile and a swish of her shiny blonde hair. Ester tuts when she comes in and tell hers to eat more.

"Christ's sake girl I can see your collarbones!" She laughs and smiles

"Its all good Ester I'll be fine pinkie promise!"

Ester rolls her eyes and gives you a tub fulled with mashed potatoes and sausages to sneak into her locker.

You melt into it smiling at Ester faintly until she snaps her fingers in front of your face and tell you to get on with it.

...

Esters stomach is rounder now. She says she thinks the baby will come early.

"Just a turn in the wind I think. Little bugger really wants out don't he?" She says one day while you help her shift the furniture in the pub. (She's insistent on the baby being a boy and she is rarley wrong so you accept it. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue the grass is green Ester Green is always right.)

She had refused to go on break while she was pregnant even at her husbands insistence. He was practically crying when she told him she could push some chairs around. She got you in to help though so fairs fair.

She grins at you one day tilting her head slightly.

"How would you feel about bein' Godmother?" She asks out of the blue when your finished.

"Huh?" She shrugs

"Your the closest person here so he wouldn't be brought out his home town and my mams in a nursing home. I know I haven't known you long and you don't have to say yes I know your cramped for space but," She looks at you sharp and attentive. "You've gotten through shit. I don't know what shit and I hope you'll tell me when your ready but I feel you'd teach him things. Good things. How to bake bread and how to get through life even if its a pain in the bloody neck. I trust you."

"Your gonna have to stop swearing so much when you baby arrives." You manage to wheeze out your eyes glazed over choked up.

...

He comes back in February. The eyebrow you raise when he comes back in, you be engraved in stone for its majesty.

"Look what the cat dragged in, eh? Old Simon."

He huffs out a laugh. "Leaves hard to get." Ah, military. That makes more sense.

You used to be good at flirting, you think. Well, at least the boys you tried it on used to fall for it. But you're scared that if you try it again, it might come too easy, and if that's comes too easy, how easy will the rest of it be to pick up again? And you have responsibility now. Don't pick the wrong guys they always tend to stick around longer.

Your a godmother now.

"Hmh. We've got toffees now."

"Alright. Hand it over then." You give him the coffee and drop the toffee into his outstretched palm.

"How much?"

"Free." He narrows his eyes, and you shrug. Sammy brings her little sister here sometimes when they fight too much at home, and you've gradually gathered a collection of sweets to grab and go for free.

Ester stared you dead in the eye for a good minute before sighing and muttering under breath. "Better person than me. Better person than me."

...

"I'm a godmother now." You say one day as an opening

"Huh." He pauses for a few seconds. "You'll make a good one."

You don't talk again, afraid he'll hear the crack in your voice.

...

He comes in every day as normal to make conversation. Whenever he steps through the door and the bell jingles, your heart starts skipping into your chest. You know what it means, of course, and it's really rather annoying. You didn't come here to get a crush you came there to recover for Christ's sake.

You chat at the counter for longer and longer every day until sometimes a customer comes in, and you have to shoo him away or before his coffee gets cold.

On Wednesday, he comes in, and while you're talking about something meaningless, he passes and says.

"Uhm. Thanks. For not yknow. Commenting on the mask and all." You blink at him as he shifts clearly uncomfortable.

You shrug. "Eh. I just don't care." He huffs, and his eyes definitely crinkle this time.

"Glad for it."

"Sure you are. Now go away and drink your coffee before it gets cold. Christ sake." You mutter warmth prickling in your cheeks.

He chuckles (an actual laugh now you're getting somewhere) and slopes off out the door.

...

He comes in on Friday.

"I gotta go away again."

"Do you know? Huh."

"Yep. 3 months this time. Back on May 7th."

"Hmh. I'm glad I won't be wasting my time making your coffee every morning now."

"Cause you've got people linin' at the door for this coffee." Your lips twitch slightly.

"Course. Can't you see them all?"

He rolls his eyes slightly. When he's turning to leave, you manage to choke out a soft "Goodbye."

He falters slightly the only indication he heard you before he leaves not looking back as he does so.

...

May 7th creeps up on you, and before you know it, it's April 30th, and you're arguing with Lottie (Sammys sister). "We can't turn this into a sweet shop." You say for the millionth time. "I don't know how to make sweets."

"You can learn!" She retorts pouting. You run a tongue over your cheek. God, you're soft.

"Tell you what. Since it's your birthday tomorrow, I'll set up a sweet corner. It stays for the day, then it's gone, okay?"

She grins now sweet and gap-toothed and skips away smugly.

...

It does not stay for the day.

In your defence, Lottie has really good puppy eyes!

Ester stares daggers at you.

"You are..." she cuts herself off.

...

May 7th is here, and here comes Simon. Whatever his last name is (you should really ask him that) followed by several too-tall military men. A man with a beard one with a mohawk (God Betty is going to bug him about that) and a pretty one with a moustache.

The pretty one with the moustache comes up to order. Flashing you a smile and asking for 4 black coffees (all of them?! Christ on a stick. Do they forbid having taste in the military or what?!), a slice of carrot cake, coffee cake, caramel shortbread, and a croissant. (Maybe they don't.)

You look for Sammy, but she's balancing plates on her arms, trying to gather all of them up from the group that ate here later.

You huff. God, you need more staff. You hate talking to people, and Simons friends look exactly like they like a chat. You breathe in a sigh and gather the coffee cups, cakes, and the pastry onto a large tray.

You feel nervous all of a sudden. It's just Simon. You try to remind yourself. Just Simon. He tells you dad jokes and complains about people leaving litter on the walking paths.

You pick the tray up and carry it over, settling it down on the table as the men glance up at you with far too much interest.

"So," the one with the mohawk says. "You're the future, Miss Riley, huh?"

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Lakeside Cabin Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning: Y/N Use, swearing, bullying from both Bucky and Y/N

Series Summary: The hate you and Bucky have for each other has gradually increased throughout your time knowing each other. This time, things went too far. Thanks to your arguments, you get sent on a unique consequential mission: You will both live together in a secluded cabin until you're able to come together and settle your differences. You're screwed.

Pt. Summary: You and Bucky spend your first 2 days in the cabin...of course, it's messy.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

No mentions of body type, skin color, or details of reader's appearance.

□□□□□□□

As soon as Fury left the room, Steve was sent in to inform us we need to pack our stuff.

"First thing tomorrow I'm driving you two to the cabin." His eyes shift between the two of us.

"Steve, you have to do something about this." I urge the tall blonde. I gesture between myself and Bucky. "We will literally kill each other. 10 minutes tops. I swear."

Bucky scoffs. "With your mouth? Make it five." He shakes his head in annoyance. A strand of his brown hair falling loose in front of his eyes in the process. He is leaned back against his chair, thick arms tightly folded against his chest.

"You couldn't kill me if you tried. Brains over brawn." I snap back at the older man.

He ignores my glare, instead rolling his eyes. "Doll, let’s not fantasize. You talk like you’re a genius, but I’ve met houseplants with better critical thinking skills. At least they know which direction the sun’s coming from. Meanwhile, you still have to be told which hand is your left hand."

My blood boils. I tightly clench my fists, ready to attack Bucky. I narrow my eyes at the man, praying a lightning bolt strikes him down. Some nerve. "First of all, it was one time! I was shitfaced drunk and seeing like 50 versions of my own hand. That gets confusing. Second of all, that’s rich coming from the guy who types with one finger and calls it ‘tactical efficiency.' I know animals who type better than y-"

Steve cuts me. "Enough. Enough! This is exactly why you're being sent to this safehouse. You two are unbelievable, you know that? This is literally the reason you are going to the safehouse." He glares at us. "You're adults! It's time you start acting like it." Steve's voice is stern, like a pissed off father.

Deep down, I know he's right. Bucky and I should be able to work together without feeling the need to piss the other off. Our stupid fights got us into this situation, but unfortunately, they can't get us out.

We need to come out of this civil.

How though?

What are we supposed to do to calm the anger between us? Make friendship bracelets and have heart-to-hearts? Where do we even begin?

"I don't understand this...rivalry between the two of you." Steve folds his arms.

I avoid his gaze. A feeling of guilt begins to gnaw at the inside of my stomach. Something about Steve's disappointed dad demeanor makes me question my behaviors.

Steve continues. "You're both great at what you do. Why can't you just build each other up instead of trying to tear each other down? This is a team. We need to have each other's backs. It's not fair to the rest of us when stuff like today happens. Someone could've gotten hurt, and you wouldn't be able to help because you're so caught up in each other. Think about us. If someone had been injured while you two were bickering, I guarantee you would've come back feeling horrible. Don't let that happen."

Bucky and I are silent while the words settle in our minds.

I hate that he's right.

-------

The car ride to the safehouse is long. None of us speak as Steve continues down the highway surrounded by forest. I keep my head pressed against he passenger side window, watching as the trees speed by.

The radio crackles as we begin to get further and further from civilization before eventually turning into steady static. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steve turn off the radio before turning his attention back to the road.

After another ten minutes of silence, Steve turns off the highway onto a smaller road. The gravel-covered road crackles as the tires of our car push against it. The car pulls into a large clearing.

Ahead sits a large cabin, a lake visible behind it. The exterior cabin is covered in brown wood that gives off the feeling of Lincoln Logs. Large windows sit on either side of the front door, both covered by curtains. The wooden door is beautifully crafted, with gentle carvings surrounding the small window at the top. The porch is nearly bare, the only things on it being two wooden rocking chairs. The second story of the cabin contains one window, also covered by a curtain on the inside. The roof is a light green color, obviously faded from the sun.

The lawn is overgrown and filled with wildflowers, which stop at the road. Rocks separate the lawn from the road, leaving a small opening for a path to the cabin door. To the far side of the cabin is a small covered car. In the distance, I can see what I think is a fire pit with chairs surrounding it.

Immediately, I spot some of the cameras Fury was talking about. A familiar red dot sits in the corner of the one facing the road we just pulled up through.

They're already watching us.

Steve parks the car, and I immediately get out, ready to stretch my legs. Little rocks from the gravel road push against the bottom of my shoes, adding pressure in weird places. I ignore it, deciding to walk around to the back of the car where my bags are.

Steve pops the trunk open, and I scan over the items. Two boxes of food and necessities are stacked on each other and tucked in the corner, under a few extra blankets. Next to the boxes are our bags and things we brought to do.

I reach into the trunk and pull out my two suitcases and travel backpack. When I turn around, I spot Bucky looking over my luggage with a raised brow.

This morning I woke up late and ended up being twenty minutes late for the car. Both guys were already inside talking when I stuffed my bags inside the trunk.

"We stayin' two weeks or are you planning on making it a year?" Bucky asks while watching me pull on my backpack.

I roll my eyes. "Some of us actually like to change our outfits, Bucky. We don't all wear the same 2 pairs of Henleys and jeans." I snap back without thinking. "It's called style. You might want to try it."

Bucky scoffs, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Style? Doll, if carrying half a department store on your back counts as style, I’ll stick with functional. At least my clothes don’t require a damn instruction manual."

"Fuck yo-"

Steve cuts me off, stepping in the middle of the two of us. "Enough." His voice is stern. He looks back and forth at us. "Remember why you're here. Behave."

Bucky is silent while he grabs his singular bag out of the trunk. He also somehow manages to grab both of the boxes and blankets.

Fucking supersoldiers.

Steve leads us up the path to the cabin entrance. He pulls out a small housekey from his pocket as soon as we get to the door. He unlocks the door and takes a step inside, us following behind.

Sunlight streams into the house from the door. Dust swarms around in the air around the light, sending a tickle up my nose.

This place definitely hasn't been used in a while.

Steve turns on the hallway light, which takes a minute to flicker on.

A deep green rug stretches across the wooden floors. The floorboards underneath groan with age.

To the left, the cabin opens up into a large living room that feels like stepping into another time. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, overflowing with mismatched spines -some worn and cracked, others newer but wedged in haphazardly, like the collection grew too fast to be properly arranged. One of the large windows I saw outside is against the wall. A large, faded floral curtain blocks most of the light from coming in.

On the far wall is a massive stone fireplace, blackened at the mouth from decades of crackling fires. A small stack of wood sits in a woven basket nearby, and a set of iron tools leans beside the hearth, rust-spotted and clearly well-used.

Two large, weathered leather couches face one another in the center of the room, the cushions sunken from use, but still inviting. Between them rests a handmade wooden coffee table -its surface rough and nicked with character, the legs thick and carved with simple swirls. Small side tables, mismatched but cute, flank the couches. On each one sits a tiny lamp with linen shades.

In the corner, nearest the old box TV, a relic from the early 2000s, if not before, sits a lone recliner. The faded fabric is worn along the armrests, and one side sags just slightly more than the other, like it's been very well used. A thick, knitted grey blanket is folded over the back of it, clearly hand-made.

On the opposite side of the entryway is a compact office space, its doorway framed by dark wood molding. Inside, a large, worn mahogany desk sits front and center. Behind it is a battered office chair, the upholstery torn along the edges and stuffing peeking through. The desk itself is surprisingly bare -just a dusty brass lamp with a cracked green glass shade, and a chipped ceramic mug crammed full of pens and pencils.

Another fireplace nestles against the far wall, smaller than the one in the living room but just as old, framed by a simple brick mantel. Above it are several decorative items clearly arranged with a purpose.

Steve leads us past the wide wooden staircase in front of us to the kitchen where Bucky sets down the boxes and blankets on the counter.

The kitchen looks like it was last renovated sometime before color TV was invented. The floor creaks with every step, the faded linoleum peeling at the corners like it’s trying to escape. The counters are scratched-up laminate in a nauseating shade of beige, stained permanently by years of coffee spills and what you can only guess was tomato sauce… hopefully.

The cabinets are all uneven, a mismatched mix of pale wood and dull, chipped paint. One hangs slightly open. The stove is an ancient, avocado-green relic. A dented kettle sits on the back burner like it’s been there for decades, and probably has.

There’s one tiny window above the sink, foggy with age and framed by dusty curtains that might’ve once been floral. Barely any natural light gets in, casting everything in a dim, golden haze. The hum of the fridge fills my ears as soon as I get into the room —loud enough to be annoying but not loud enough to drown out the silence.

A single flickering lightbulb hangs overhead, its yellow glow casting long shadows that make the place feel smaller than it already is. There’s no dishwasher, obviously, and the sink’s faucet drips every few seconds with a metallic plink that quickly becomes infuriating.

It’s cozy in a way. Or at least, it would be -if I didn't have to share it with Bucky.

"There's more food in the pantry and down in the storage cellar." Steve gestures to a closed door. "You guys should be set for the next two weeks. There should be cable and internet, according to Tony, I don't know how well it works up here. If something happens and you need help, there's an emergency button hidden behind the painting above the fireplace in the office. There's more wood outside and an axe in the shed -Not for killing." His eyes narrow at us. "The building should have heat, AC, running water, and electricity. You are not allowed to use the boat or to leave the property unless the trip is approved by Fury. Cameras will be watching. Expect check-in calls every few days. You will also be given tasks to do together as a team. You have to do them. " Steve informs us.

"Can we swim?" I ask curiously.

"Sure. Do whatever you want as long as it leads to you two getting along and not hurting each other." Steve sighs. "Really try to get along, guys, alright? This is for your own benefit."

Doesn't feel like it.

"I've got to get back." Steve says when neither of us replies. He sets the key down on the counter top before beginning to walk towards the door but he stops a few inches shy to look at us once again. "No killing, I'm serious. Goodbye."

Bucky and I say goodbye to the blonde man. We listen to the fading creaking sounds the wood makes under his weight as he walks back to the entrance. The front door shuts with a small click and I immediately turn to Bucky.

"I call the master's suite." I say before he can open his mouth.

"Of course you do." He mutters.

"You snooze, you lose," I say unsympathetically.

"Do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?" Bucky grumbles while sending me an annoyed look.

I grin. "Only for you, Bucky. You're the one special person who brings out the worst in me."

"Aw, I’m flattered. Didn’t realize ruining your mood was my superpower. Should I add it to my resume?" Bucky mocks me.

I narrow my eyes. "A resume? Wow, look at you keeping up with the modern world. What’s next, learning how to use emojis? I mean, it only took you a year to figure out how to answer a phone without hanging up first -color me impressed."

"First of all, we had resumes in the 40s. They aren't that new of an invention. Secondly, yeah, I’m ancient. But at least I didn’t grow up thinking TikTok was a valid news source." He raises an eyebrow. "Pretty sure I’ve fought dictators with more self-awareness than you."

"Do you even know what TikTok is, grandpa? Or did you just hear Sam say it once and decide to be mad about it?" I feel my heart pounding in my chest as my anger builds up. He just won't quit.

To be fair, neither will I.

Whatever.

"I don’t need to know what it is, Y/N. You think I’m wasting my time watching people dance around on the internet?" He crosses his arms, clearly annoyed. "I’ve got better things to do than-" He cuts himself off. His drawn brows slowly pull apart. "We need to stop." He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down.

His words cut through my anger-filled mind, hitting me with a moment of clarity. He's right. We're doing exactly what we were sent here to stop doing.

"You're..." I hesitate to say the word. It physically pains me. "right." I sigh, agreeing with the man. I glance down at my bags, my fingers fidgeting at the strap of my backpack. Part of me wants to keep fighting. Part of me wants to keep digging in my heels and hating everything about this. But another part... the part that’s more exhausted than anything... doesn’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go to sleep. The stress from the past few days and the long trip really took a toll on me.

Instead of getting cocky like I expected, his brows shoot up in surprise. He wasn't expecting me to give in so easily.

"Alright...well, I'm going to go upstairs and find a room -not the master suite." He picks up his suitcase again. He glances down at the two suitcases resting at my feet. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I notice something in his eyes—hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should keep pushing or just... back off. "Do you...do you need help bringing up your stuff?" He asks, his voice low, like he’s not sure if I’ll snap at him for it.

It's my turn to stare at him in shock.

Bucky Barnes...helping me?

That's a first.

I blink, thrown off by the sudden offer. For a second, I just stare at him, my mind working to process what he’s saying.

I open my mouth to refuse, to shoot him down like I always do, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the fact that carrying these damn bags up two flights of stairs doesn’t exactly sound like a fun time. Or maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there's a possibility we don’t always have to be at each other’s throats.

I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m suddenly your best friend."

He nods, his expression unreadable as he walks over to grab my bags without a word. He begins to carry them along with his out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I watch him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation.

And just like that, the argument is over. For now.

--------

The morning light is harsh through the small windows, slicing through the cabin with no regard for the awkward silence hanging in the air. I can feel the weight of two weeks settling over me as I sit up in bed. Bucky’s already awake, of course. He’s always awake early.

If we were at the compound, he'd almost be done training by now. Bucky loves his routines.

I shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy, and see Bucky standing at the counter with a coffee cup in hand. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m not in the mood to acknowledge him either. The moment I reach for the coffee machine, my eyes catch a post-it note stuck to the side of it.

Do not touch the coffee until I’ve had my first cup. – Bucky.

I can feel the annoyance creeping up my neck, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn on the stove, making myself a quick breakfast and deciding to leave him to his rituals. His mornings are the same: precise, silent, and filled with the deep frown that seems to permanently mark his face. I don’t get him. I never will.

Spontaneity makes life fun. I like waking up and not knowing what I'm going to eat for breakfast. It's like a little surprise. I also like going throughout my day, not knowing what I'm going to do or who I'm going to see. It keeps things fun.

I’m finishing my toast when Bucky finally speaks, still not looking at me. “You’re gonna need to take your stuff out of the fridge,” he says, his voice stiff.

I glance over at the fridge, where my eggs and yogurt are squeezed in beside his protein shakes and old cans of tuna. There’s a post-it note on the door now.

Keep your food on your side. – Bucky.

My teeth grind together, and I fight the urge to snap something back.

Civil. I need to be civil.

Instead, I nod curtly. “Noted,” I mutter, picking up my food and bringing it along with me.

I retreat into the living room, eager to get some space. I can hear the sound of Bucky pouring his coffee as I settle down on the couch. There’s something comforting about the chaos of reality TV, the drama, the mindless bickering. I turn on the TV, the familiar blaring voices filling the room.

Bucky appears in the doorway, already scowling.

“Really?” he asks, crossing his arms, his eyes narrow as he watches the screen. “You’re watching this crap?”

Of course, he doesn't like reality TV. I bet the only thing he watches is nature documentaries. And he definitely needs to plan that into his day ahead of time.

I barely glance up, but I can feel his gaze burning into me. “Yeah. What’s the problem?” I reply, trying to act casual while I scroll through the options.

Every once in a while, the TV screen will distort, a sign of the horrible signal out here in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s just... ridiculous. It’s all fake. Why would you waste your time on this?”

I can’t help but smirk. “Well, I find it entertaining,” I say, popping a piece of toast into my mouth. “It’s better than, I don’t know, making everything a drill sergeant routine.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, obviously irritated. “You could be doing something productive.”

“Like what?” I shoot back, but I don’t care enough to engage in the same conversation again. It’s easier to just keep watching the show. At least reality TV drama doesn't involve me.

He mutters something under his breath, something I can’t quite catch. After a moment, he makes his way over to the partially sunken recliner and turns to look at the show. His entire body is stiff, like he’s holding in some rage.

I can tell he’s not going to leave until I acknowledge his discomfort, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I lean back on the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me on the coffee table as I continue watching.

After what feels like an eternity of him seething in silence, Bucky stands up abruptly. “I don’t know how you can watch this trash,” he grumbles, walking toward the kitchen.

We love a passive-aggressive drama queen.

I don’t even look at him, too busy enjoying the ridiculousness of the show. “You’re free to go do whatever you want, Bucky,” I call after him, my voice thick with sarcasm. “If you don’t like it, you can always head out into the woods and have a silent staring contest with the trees. They'll match your vibe perfectly: Silent and broody.”

He doesn’t answer, but I catch the faintest mutter, “Asshole,” as he storms off.

I let out a small, vindictive laugh to myself. That felt good.

Not even five minutes later, there’s a Post-it note stuck to the coffee table.

If you’re going to keep watching that crap, keep the volume down. - Bucky.

I roll my eyes but don’t respond. Instead, I grab the remote and turn up the volume just a little bit louder, letting the voices echo around the cabin.

Later in the afternoon, I’m sprawled out on the couch, now fully invested in the chaos of the show. I’m halfway through the latest episode when I see another post-it note. It’s stuck to the arm of the couch, right by my shoulder.

The noise isn’t the only thing that’s annoying. Can you clean up after yourself once in a while? - Bucky.

I glance around the living room, taking in the few crumbs from my snack and the empty cup I left on the counter. I guess this is his way of saying he doesn’t like the mess. Not that I care. He doesn’t like anything about me. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.

I scribble a quick note on a post-it, sticking it right by his coffee mug on the counter where he’ll see it.

This is my cabin too, right? It’s not like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be here. – Y.

I sit back, satisfied, as I continue watching the reality TV show, ignoring the underlying tension that seems to be building between us.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and something… burnt. Not fire-alarm burnt. Just slightly scorched ego burnt.

Bucky’s already in the kitchen, standing like he’s guarding national secrets in front of the stove. He doesn’t look at me when I shuffle in, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a personal shield. But there’s a note waiting on the counter—of course there is.

It’s stuck to a plate holding two very crispy slices of toast and a sad little smear of jam.

Figured I’d make enough for two. Next time, don’t leave your crumb trail in my peanut butter. – B.

I blink at it. Then at him.

He still doesn’t glance over. Just sips his coffee and stares out the window like it personally offended him.

I grab the plate without a word and pour myself some coffee. The toast crunches like gravel when I bite into it. It’s awful. I eat it anyway.

On my way to grab a napkin, I slap a new post-it down beside the coffee pot.

Your 1943 war ration bread is a health hazard. In other words, if your toast were a contestant on Survivor, it would be voted off the island. 1/10. Jam is communal. Like manners. – Y/N

I can feel him read it, even though he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens like he’s either trying not to laugh… or not to strangle me.

We eat in silence. The tension is weirdly quieter than usual -not the usual storm, more like fog.

Eventually, we somehow both end up in the living room. Once again, I grab the remote and flip on my reality show, volume low but not that low. The familiar theme music plays, overly dramatic and stupid in the best way.

I don’t look at him, but I hear the faintest groan -like his soul is physically trying to leave his body.

“This again?” he mutters.

I shrug. “I don’t complain about your 5 a.m. brooding walks.”

“That’s because I don’t do them with a dramatic soundtrack and drunk contestants.”

I sip my coffee. “You’d be more fun if you picked a favorite.” A grin spreads across my face. "Ooh, we could watch The Bachelorette. See which bachelor you root for."

“I’d rather eat drywall.” He grumbles.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

He doesn’t answer.

I bump the volume up by one notch.

He doesn’t leave the room.

And neither do I.

I’m halfway through an episode of my show when Bucky’s phone starts ringing -some weirdly intense ringtone that sounds like someone smashing a piano.

He looks at the screen and groans. “Of course.”

“What?” I ask, glancing at the man. He flips the phone around so I can see: Nick Fury, Incoming Call.

I sit up straighter. “Don’t answer it in here.” Panic begins to build in my chest. I look like shit. I haven't been productive. I still hate Bucky. Fury's going to kick my ass.

Or send someone to do it for him.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in pajamas and if Fury sees this show playing, he’ll put me on a no-screen list.” My eyes are wide while I stare at Bucky pleadingly.

Too late. Bucky accepts the call. And of course it’s FaceTime.

Fury’s one good eye immediately narrows. “Barnes. Y/N.”

I wave, trying to tuck my blanket higher like it’s a disguise. “Hey, Director. What's up? What do we owe this pleasure?”

“Are you two still breathing?” he asks, deadpan, not answering my question.

I glance at Bucky. “Unfortunately.”

“Funny.” Fury’s sarcasm level is dialed to lethal. “I’d ask if there’s been progress, but judging by the tension I can literally feel through the screen, I’ll skip to the point.”

Bucky folds his arms. “Let me guess—another punishment?”

“It’s a team-building activity,” Fury says, which might be worse. “Since neither of you seems capable of existing in the same room without someone developing a migraine, you’re going to create something together.”

“Like… art?” I ask warily.

Yay. Just what I wanted to spend my afternoon doing.

Fury smirks, and I hate that look. “A birdhouse.”

I blink. “A what?” He can't be serious.

“You heard me. I just sent coordinates to the nearest supply drop location. Go pick it up. Build the damn birdhouse. Together. You’ve got six hours.”

Bucky’s jaw is tight enough to crack concrete. “And if we don’t?”

“You’re here for two weeks,” Fury says. “Every task you fail means another two days added to your stay.”

He ends the call.

Bucky turns slowly toward me. “A birdhouse?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You punch robots for a living. I think you can handle wood glue.”

“Can you handle not talking for five minutes while I read the instructions?” He shoots back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I interrupt your sulking schedule? Edward Cullen, is that you?” I gasp.

He mutters something under his breath and grabs his coat that I barely catch. "Who the fuck is Edward Cullen?"

------

The supply drop is an actual metal case hidden under a tarp by a rock outcropping. Like we’re building a tactical avian bunker. We haul it back to the cabin in silence.

Inside: wood planks, nails, a tiny hammer (which Bucky immediately scoffs at), and one bottle of glue.

Plus a packet labeled: "TEAM MISSION – Document With Photo Proof."

Bucky holds up the hammer. “You use this. I’ll break it in half.”

“You’re not allowed to break anything,” I remind him sweetly. “Or it’s another two days in hell.”

We start sorting pieces. Five minutes in, we’re already fighting over who gets to hold the blueprint.

“No, that’s upside down,” I argue while trying to snatch the blueprint from his hands.

“I know which way is up,” he snaps back, moving the paper out of my reach.

“You’ve been frozen for half your life! You barely know what the internet is!”

His glare could melt steel.

An hour later, the birdhouse is somehow standing, though it leans like it’s avoiding us on purpose. There’s glue all over my fingers and sawdust in Bucky’s hair.

“Picture time,” I say, reaching for my phone.

“We’re not taking a picture next to this thing,” Bucky says. “It looks like a war crime.”

“Then smile like you just committed one.”

He doesn’t smile.

I snap the photo anyway. Us standing stiffly on either side of the crooked birdhouse, not touching, not smiling, and practically vibrating with mutual irritation.

I text it to the number Fury gave us.

“Done,” I say, sitting back with a sigh.

Bucky grunts. “We’ve got twelve more days of this.”

I stare at the birdhouse, tilting even more now. “It’s gonna be a long two weeks.”

------

TAGLIST: @buckysdoll85 @starfly-nicole @vxllys @succulent-momma @amandato300

Pt. 3 soon

[seaborgium-dazies]

Are requests open? I can’t tell cause it says love letter, so if not you can ignore this! Buttttt if they are…

May I have Kirishima, Iida, Todoroki and Midoriya (you can add all them if you want I just like those 4 the best lol) with a reader who was gone for a bit, maybe they were in another country due to family drama or someone died so they’ve been gone for a couple months, and reader surprises them one day without telling them they’re back???

I love you’re writing by the way, so beautiful

Waiting here for you to come back around

Aweeee thank you so much!!! I hope you enjoy this anon! <3 Seeing mha boys after being apart for a while because of family stuff cw: mutual pining; fluff; no established relationship but something better (mutual crushes ayeee) 🌊: deku, iida, kirishima, shoto

Deku:

Deku was deep in thought, analyzing a quirk he saw earlier when he heard a familiar knocking pattern. As soon as he recognized it he bolted to the door. You would've expected the door to be ripped out of it's hinges with the force deku put into his swing.

"Y/N!"

Deku was beaming and upon seeing you standing in front of his door with a sheepish grin he embraced you in an enthusiastic hug.

"Izuku!"

You couldn't help but laugh at the adorable display of just how much he had missed you. That hug of his nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. He seemed to realize the gravity of his actions only after he pulled away.

He scratched his neck as he bashfully explained.

"Sorry ... I've just been a little worried about you, come right in".

So you took him up on his invitation, spending the rest of the evening talking about any and everything. Satiating Izukus curiosity and getting anything heavy off of your chest.

Mid sentence you noticed a tall stack of papers on his desk and you couldn't help but give izuku a questioning look.

"Ah, yes I almost forgot! These are for you; the notes from the classes you missed! I even color coded it after your system to make it easier to catch up-"

In that moment you really had no idea what you had done to deserve such a beautiful and kind soul. Thinking about you even when you were so far away. And going as far as inconveniencing himself every day while not knowing when you would come back. It brought tears to your eyes and a strange warmth to your chest.

Iida:

Iida sighed in frustration as another one of his text messages went through. No answer from you. How irresponsible can one even be?! He massaged his temples before writing out another stern text.

He was so fired up that he was already hearing things. Iida rolled his eyes at himself for imagining the characteristic ping of your phone when it receives a text message. And just as he was about to put his phone down to collect himself he heard another one... Did that come from the hallway?

He swiftly opened the door to his dorm to reveal you standing there with your hand already in a knocking motion. Instead of going through with the knock you reverted to small jazz hands and a meek

"Surprise?"

Iida called out your name and immediately embraced you in a bear hug. But he pulled away after a couple of moments to give you a piece of his mind.

"What are you doing here y/n? And why haven't you been responding to my messages? What were you thinking?! It's extremely reckless and unsafe to do such things!-"

And even though iida went on a detailed lecture about not keeping him in the loop you could see in the pink of his cheeks and the way his hands were gesturing more wildly than usual, that he really just wanted to reprimand you because he missed you so much.

But you knew just how to make it up to him. Mid sentence you pulled one of iidas favorite snacks out of your backpack, this time in a limited edition flavor which was unavailable in japan. That got him to abandon his scolding to marvel at the package you were holding out to him.

He grabbed you by the wrist as he dragged you into his room for you to try the new candy together. You knew that iida would let go of any petty words now since your temporary absence had one upside.

And even though iida blamed his forgiveness on the joy about his favorite candy of all time, in reality he couldn't handle the fact that even when you were in such a difficult situation you remembered what his favorite candy was and even went out of your way just to make him a little happier. His rosy cheeks betrayed him though.

You still weren't in the clear after that because iida demanded that you talk about the situation with him for your own good; so your mental health and school performance won't suffer.

Todoroki:

"It's open"

Shoto's neutral voice made you grin, but opening his dorm door while holding something heavy was kind of a challenge. So mid struggle the door was opened by shoto himself, revealing you with a giant bag of fruit in your arms.

"Y/n?" Shoto's voice betrayed him, the positive surprise apparent. But Shoto took you down a couple pegs as he observed

"You look rough".

Without waiting for an answer he took the heavy bag out of your arms and before you could tell him that they were for him he asked you

"How was travel? When did you get back?"

"Hello to you too Shoto"

You walked into his dorm room before continuing

"Everything was fine, the whole experience was just rather exhausting"

You had been a little anxious because shoto hadn't been messaging you that much while you were away although you knew that it just wasn't his style to text lots. The truth was that he wanted to give you space because he was sure that if you wanted to talk about it you would reach out.

He was more than glad that you were here now and although he enjoyed the souvenir you brought him, it didn't measure up to the joy he felt to see you again. He practically had to restrain himself because his hands were drifting towards yours all the time. So even if he didn't explicitly tell you how much he missed you, it was clear as day.

Kirishima:

Kirishima was biting the inside of his cheek while staring at the message he last sent you. It was left on delivered and he couldn't help but be worried sick. The whole situation you were in worried him to hell and back.

Leaving in a hurry seemed terrible enough but bad cell service and cryptic sad messages? He felt as if he was trapped in the ninth circle of overthinking hell. Did you eat enough? Drink enough? Did you family give you a hard time?

Speaking- or rather thinking- of the devil he heard you calling out his name from outside of his dorm room.

Kirishima opened his door in record time and upon seeing you he opened his arms which such élan it made you wince. You braced yourself for impact but were met with the most gentle bear hug imaginable instead.

As if Kirishima had sensed exactly what you needed you melted into his warm embrace like butter on top of pancakes. He released you out of his grip after what felt like ages, both of you grinning from ear to ear.

He invited you in and after catching up you spotted a little figurine on his desk that you never saw before.

"Oooh who got you this?"

You took the small figurine into your hands. It was a baby chick with a cute pink ribbon and a blue flower on its head - the craftsmanship was insane and it must've been expensive. The thought of some girl gifting this to him made jealousy well up in your chest. But before you could get the wrong ideas he explained,

"Uhm.. It's actually for you... I saw it and it reminded me of you so I just thought I'd get it in case you were feeling bummed after returning."

"Awww wait, really?"

And as Kirishima saw a hot pink blush spreading from your shoulders to the tips of your ears he thanked the heavens that you safely returned to him.

Buy me a coffee? <3

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