#does that make the pit in my stomach vanish completely? no

[the-force-awakens]

here's the thing no one tells you about love, about real love: it's the terrifying, agonizing, healing experience of assuming repeatedly what has happened before in the past with people who have hurt or left you, will happen again, and having your loved ones grab you by the hand and say, as many times as you need to hear it, "not this time, not with me."

[gotham-daydreams]

I absolutely LOVE the ‘Not’ series!

I’ve read a handful of the neglected reader trope (i.e. three) and so far, yours is the most detailed one in terms of how the batfam became yandere. Not to say that the others aren’t good– they’re great! They just don’t really show how and why.

Mostly they just show that the reason for their behavior is because of their guilt for neglecting the reader and their paranoia in finding the reader either dead or tortured (which is a valid reason), it just never convinced me(?) I mean, as far as I know, it’s normal to feel that way when a member of your family just vanishes without so much as a trace.

Which probably explains why I like part 2 so much, because not only did it showcase their own personal reasons as to why they turned out they way they are (borderline obsessive), but it showcased how badly the reader was neglected. I mean– you should’ve seen my face during the tapes part.

I guess I completely underestimated the neglect when I was reading part 1. And although, yes, I am aware of the fact that neglect is neglect, and there shouldn’t be a rate to determine when the neglect is bad enough because it already is bad–no matter how big or small the situation–I didn’t really feel (?? meaning, it didn’t touch me at first) it until reading part 2, where I saw the extent to the emotional abuse they put the reader through. At such a young age too? Jesus.

During the first part, I kept telling myself that this was fine and I’d probably be able to survive this and just be petty to my family if it were to happen, until I continued reading up to part 2. Only then did I realize how much I actually relate to the reader.

I’ve learned how to play the violin, done taekwondo, participated in school sports/events, and studied till my nose bled and I passed out (literally based on true events, was admitted to the hospital and was generally not a good time).

And you know what made all of that suck? I didn’t do it for myself, but for the validation of family (I’m from your stereotypical asian family who’s expectations are high and long enough to reach the moon and back).

And what made all of that even suckier was that there were times where my parents couldn’t even make it to the events, in which made me connect to the reader even more.

I know the feeling of standing up on a stage, desperately looking around the crowd for the two familiar dots which are your parents’ faces, only to be met with stacks of unfamiliar ones. Gosh, especially that heart crushing feeling where you just feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach when you realize they aren’t there to see the work you’ve practiced so hard on, especially when you did it for them.

I felt that exact same feeling for the reader during the part where Bruce saw all the fliers for the performances he failed to attend, and that was the exact moment when you could hear my heart begin to crack. And you can just guess that the rest is just my heart beginning to crack even more.

But anyway, I absolutely love how you wrote everyone’s individual personalities and their personal relations to the reader. I can really tell that it’s well thought out! Looking forward to the confrontation in part 3!!

Thank you so much!!! I'm glad you enjoyed the second part, and were able to connect with the reader! :]

That was also generally the main focus of Part 2, as I did really want to delve into the nitty-gritty of what got the Batfam started on this hell train to yandere land. Though I wasn't able to see that idea out completely as, y'know, I don't really describe how Tim, Damian, Steph, and Babs ended up hopping onto that train.

The portion of the Batfam in the Manor, and coming to terms with how they've collectively neglected the reader in these little, individual parts, is rushed and does kind of just hop to the city and how the reader is currently doing - along with establishing a time period for how long they've been gone. Which that is mostly because the more I wrote - the more laggy tumblr would get, so I made a last minute decision to speed things along (and I also wanted to get Part 2 out as soon as possible).

Regardless, as you've said there are other neglected!reader posts that do at least mention how the Batfam turns yandere, but they don't really go into detail, or mention a 'how', and just mention the 'why'. (Which is okay! They're amazing, and enjoyable reads anyway :]!) So for Part 2, I really wanted to emphasize on those details, and at least show how the seeds of obsession have been planeted.

Again, as you said! Worrying over the reader's well being, and coming to terms with the crushing reality of what you did to someone — albeit mostly unintentionally in most cases — and what that could potentially lead them to do, and what it's already caused them to do- is a valid and understandable reason! I just wanted to show more than that, and almost make it more... personal?

I wanted to show how it wasn't just pure worry and guilt that started them on this path. I wanted to show the planting of the seeds, and later, how these little things will make the Batfam commit to treading down said path.

Like how Bruce starts off as worried and guilt-ridden, only to end up in love with all these small details and character traits he notices from the reader in their notebook — which turns him serious and cements his will and need to find the reader. Or how Dick starts off similarly, but with a bit more panic and disbelief, only to discover just how much personality the reader had, and how lovely of a person they could be through their voice messages to him, which does fuel his guilt - yes, but I think it adds just that little bit more to everything. Or Cass and Jason watching those birthday tapes, and even Tim falling in love with the reader's music (which isn't gone into much detail within Part 2 itself, but is implied a little, I believe).

I feel like their fall feels more personal to the reader in that way. Rather than just have them be worried about the reader's health in some way (physical or mental (which is still a valid concern, of course!!)), they fall in love with pieces of the reader, and notice small details within them that draw the family in. Furthering their need to find the reader.

And I'm glad you enjoyed the characters as well! Even if I am still a little worried that they may be a bit ooc, I did want these small, but personal discoveries, or small glimpses the family had into the reader's life, to be unique in some way. With their interpretations differing, and while their general reaction was the same, their 'drive' is a little different. If not, then a little similar to one another with odd, small parts not quite matching up inbetween. Not to mention that with a whole family that is so similar, and yet so different- it felt fitting to try and aim for that. Though I can't say much about how well that exactly got across, haha!

Besides, again, with their different personalities and everything, it makes sense that their connection or relationship — or lack thereof — to the reader is a bit different for each of them. Which is kind of implied, I suppose, as some did catch a few small things about the reader, while others didn't notice much at all and such, but I'd like to think that it was a nice touch.

Putting further emphasis on the extent of the neglect and such was also intended, of course, and I also think you and other folks finding out such things from the eyes of the Batfam, was a fun way to go about it as well. Since you not only learn more about events that have happened before the series, but also get the Batfam's thoughts on it and how said information impacts them as well. Though who knows, maybe I'm looking too deep into my own writing- but it was fun, I will say that!

Compared to the development of the Batfam as yanderes, I do consider the information about the reader's life both in and outside of the Manor, as icing on the cake, in a way. Since it gives you more of that flavor along side the cake it self, but that probably doesn't make sense. Lol!

Anyway, I really liked this ask, and thanks so much for sharing your feelings, anon! And once again, I'm very glad that you're enjoying the series so far :]

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: grief, abuse references, violence references, child abuse references, implied imprisonment, implied threats, fear of abuse

AO3 link

Chapter 62 - Wylan

There was a raised edge all along the length of Jesper’s mattress, where the fabric was sewn together and turned through. The ridge presumably ran around the mattress’ entire circumference - because otherwise where were the stitches? - but Wylan hadn’t explored any further than the section of it currently gripped so tightly in his hand that it was almost definitely pressing indents into his palms. The floorboards were a tumultuous ocean beneath his feet. He’d never been one for seasickness, but he thought he might be about to develop it. Why could nothing stay still and steady?

Wylan wasn’t sure exactly when it had been that his father caught on to his friendship with Anya, but he knew that it had been a long time before he sent her away. Wylan could only be sure that he’d known for definite after one catastrophic evening, when he was maybe thirteen, but he might have known for longer. The only thing he could hold onto was that his father had never known about him telling Anya the truth about his sight - Ghezen only knew what he would’ve done to her if he had. There had been a knot tied in the pit of Wylan’s stomach for years over that thought; the stupid running of his mouth that might have led to Anya washing up dead in a harbour even younger than she had done. 

Oh Ghezen, he really was going to throw up. 

That evening, when they knew for certain that Jan Van Eck was dangerously aware of their friendship, he’d come home earlier than anyone was expecting. Wylan had been in the Grisha workshop and passed however many blissful minutes, he couldn’t be sure of the exact number, completely unaware that his father was marching through the house searching for his son. If he’d moved faster, been found in any other room of the house, and alone at that, he could’ve kept Anya out of the way.

Their entire relationship, it would seem, was built on Wylan never being quick enough to save her. 

It had been well over an hour afterwards, in fact probably more like three, that Wylan’s bedroom door creaked nervously open; trapped somewhere between haste and hesitation. Wylan had been crouched between the end of his bed and the wall with his knees pressed up against his chest, trying to make himself as small as he could possibly be. He wanted to shrink to the size of a pinhead and crawl beneath the bed or the floorboards, to hide so thoroughly that it seemed to the entire world he had simply vanished. No questions asked, no suspicions raised. Just there one moment, gone the next. When he heard the door, though, he stumbled hurriedly to his feet, straightening the shirt cuffs that he’d been crumpling inside his fists as though two seconds of shaking them out would heal them of creases and folds. It was probably - almost definitely - just a servant bringing him something to eat, but Wylan’s heart rate wasn’t doing a very good job of listening to the logic his brain was trying to offer him. And at any rate, he didn’t want them to see him cry. 

He reached vaguely for his cane, discarded somewhere on his bed, without relenting to turn his head and see where he’d dropped it and instead keeping his eyes slightly unfocused on the edge of the doorframe. Whatever he might have been thinking, he honestly couldn’t have said, he knew that he hadn’t been expecting to see Anya peering nervously round the door. 

“Anya- what-?”

She pressed a finger to her lips and made an almost violent shushing sound as she pushed the door closed behind her. For a moment she stood with her back pressed against it, eyes closed. Wylan watched her chest rise and fall, her breaths deep and full. His fingers wrapped back around his shirt cuffs and began to crush them against his palm again. 

“What did he do to you?”

Anya glanced at him for a moment before she stood up properly from where she’d been leaning and walked a few short steps into the room. 

“I’m fine,” she promised, which was resolutely not an answer. 

“Anya-”

“Look at me,” she tried to smile at him, but her eyes were sad and maybe even a little distant, “I’m fine,”

Wylan shook his head. She could have erased any sign of injury in moments - and he would have told her to.

“Why are you here?”

Anya looked confused - and almost hurt. What the hell was she thinking? This couldn’t end well for anyone, least of all her. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,”

Wylan stared at her. 

“Anya, what did he do?”

“I told you, it’s fine,” she lied again, “But you - here-”

She stepped forwards, raising her hand slightly, and Wylan barely registered what she was saying as he stumbled a pace away from her. 

“Here, let me-” she broke off for a moment, freezing in place.

Her eyes settled on Wylan, stark and patient; fixated. He adjusted his shoulders, matching her gaze even as he pulled his fingers close against his palm and tucked his thumb inside the safe hollow of his fist. 

“You should go,” he whispered. 

“Please let me Heal you,”

He shook his head again. 

“You can’t. You know you can’t; he’ll know that you were here,”

“Wylan-”

She stepped forwards again and Wylan paced backwards until he bumped into his mattress. 

“Wylan, please, at least let me-”

“Get out,”

Anya faltered. She stood in the centre of the room like a player on the stage - not that Wylan remembered ever going to the theatre, though he knew he’d been when he was very little. Her kefta, which had never fit her exactly right, was uneven on her shoulders and he could see the grey wool of her tunic peeking from beneath it. She always wore a slim gold necklace; usually it was kept tucked close out of sight and against her skin but now it was caught on her collar and the tiny pendant was half visible where the chain had been pulled higher. Wylan had only seen the pendant once or twice before, when Anya had been playing with it in nervous habit - usually she hid it away again as soon as she noticed she was doing it, but occasionally she would drop it distractedly outside of her kefta. It was a small gold circle, thin as paper, barely big enough to hold the Ravkan character cautiously engraved into its surface. Wylan had never built up the nerve to ask her what it said; now he’d never know. 

“I’m sorry,” she’d breathed, stepping back slowly, hands half-raised in surrender, “I didn’t-”

“Get out,” he’d repeated, unable to meet her eye. 

A horrible moment hung in the air, stretching for the endless eternity that exists in between each second. Wylan didn’t look up when he heard Anya move, or when he saw her vanish from the corner of her eye. He waited until the door was closed once more, and sank onto the edge of his bed. He remembered letting his cane clatter to the floorboards beneath him, and pressing his palms into the thick seam of his mattress. 

Wylan blinked, trying to bring himself back to the real world. Jesper at his side, the floor solid beneath his shoeless feet. Anya gone. 

“Wylan?”

He could still feel the shadow of Jesper’s palm gently pressed against his cheek, his thumb light over a rope of scar tissue, though they had both since pulled away. I want to be something to you. Wylan breathed. 

He couldn’t really explain why he had tried to kiss Jesper. He knew it had been the wrong thing to do, but… I want to be something to you. Well, he didn��t think that he regretted it. 

Not that that was doing anything for the clenching pain in his stomach, or the bile in his throat, or any of the thousand screams inside his mind. He gripped the side of the mattress even tighter, even though his knuckles had probably already turned white. Jesper shuffled a little closer, and after a moment Wylan felt his hand hesitantly closing over the top of his own. He let it happen, releasing his shoulders downwards and easing his grip as Jesper’s fingers wove in between his. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he whispered. 

He could almost imagine Jesper’s smile. 

“Is it working?”

Wylan released both of his hands from the mattress, and turned over his right to return Jesper’s hold properly. 

“Maybe,” 

Jesper released a small breath in a way that was almost a laugh. 

“Do you want to keep talking?”

“Not really,” Wylan murmured, his eyes still fixed on his own socks. 

He had kicked his shoes off when he pulled his feet onto the bed, and now they were out of his field of vision. One tiny slip up, one unwitting glance across the floor to find them, and he stood to ruin everything he had so tenuously managed to construct between himself and Jesper. It felt like he’d built a city on a rope bridge over a canyon, and kept promising Jesper that they were on solid ground. I want to be something to you. Oh fuck fuck fuck. Now what was he going to do? 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” asked Jesper, gently, his hand still holding Wylan’s safe and steady. 

“I…” Wylan paused, “Yes, please. That would…”

He wasn’t really sure where else that sentence had been intending on carrying him, but he broke it off into a nod and Jesper gently squeezed his fingers before dropping his hand and bouncing up onto his feet. Wylan dared to lift his gaze up towards the source of the sound as Jesper picked up his shoes and gently eased them into his hands, telling Wylan what he was doing as he did it and being kind enough to make it feel casual. Once they were both ready - Wylan back in his shoes and Jesper with his discarded jacket back over his shoulders - they walked out of the Slat and back towards Wylan’s boarding house in mostly silence. Wylan’s mind swam with too many thoughts to keep track of, but always it brought him back to Anya - in the Grisha workshop, smiling her slow smile; in the centre of his room with her necklace caught on her collar, brown eyes sad and distant; an image constructed in his head of a body lying in the shallows, soaking hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes blank and unseeing. What had happened in that house? Maybe it really was as simple as a plague outbreak, Anya taking the first opportunity she found to make a run for it and getting caught in the unforgiving violence of the True Sea. But for some reason Wylan felt like there was something else, and whatever it was he did not trust it. 

Jesper walked upstairs with him and hovered beyond the door whilst Wylan unlocked it; maybe not sure if he should stay or go? Wylan didn’t really want to direct him either way, so he just opened the door and waited a beat to see what Jesper would do. For a moment nothing happened, but then Jesper stepped inside and Wylan followed. 

“Oh, that’s weird,” said Jesper. 

Wylan was standing with one hand against the wall for balance as he undid his shoes, paying less attention than he should have been to the room he’d just stepped into. In the corner of his eye, he could see the shape of Jesper leaning briefly down to collect something from just next to the doormat.

“What?” Wylan asked, still not quite paying attention. 

“You’ve got a letter,”

Jesper’s voice was casual. Wylan’s blood ran cold. 

He spun on his heel, one shoe still on, to see almost everything that could have gone wrong in this exact moment standing three feet away from him. Jesper was holding a creamy white envelope, studying the address side where it must bear Wylan’s name. He was already frowning - it must say Van Eck, Wylan supposed, when everyone in the Barrel called him Hendriks. But it was about to get so much worse. Because Jesper hadn’t turned it over yet. He hadn’t yet seen what Wylan could see. He hadn’t yet seen the red wax seal with a laurel imprint. 

“Who would be writing to you?” Jesper asked, more rhetorically than anything else, and then: “Want me to open it?”

“Jesper put that down,”

Jesper looked up at him in surprise, brow half furrowed. For a brief, blissful moment, Wylan thought that maybe he’d comply and never mention it again. Luck never went Wylan’s way. Jesper turned the envelope over. 

There were several letters from Jan Van Eck hidden beneath Wylan’s mattress. They’d been coming consistently ever since the first, that had prompted him to Brekker’s stupid schemes. Oh Ghezen, what had he done? 

“Wylan…”

“Jesper, please-”

“Wylan, this is from your father,”

“No, it’s nothing, Jesper, I swear-”

Wylan tried to reach and grab the letter from Jesper’s hand, but Jesper pulled backwards and turned it over again; scanning the words as though they might have changed since he last read them

 “Wylan, he knows where you are - Saints - we have to move you, I don’t… you can stay at the Slat, and I’ll-”

“No, Jesper, please-”

Wylan grabbed at the envelope again and this time Jesper glanced at him in surprise, but still held it out of his reach.

“Wylan you can’t stay here, if he-”

“Give it to me,”

“I- here,” Jesper handed the letter over, “But Wylan, how - I mean what does he even-?”

“You should leave,”

Jesper blinked. 

“What?”

“Get out,” Wylan snapped, the letter creasing between his fingers as he tensed. 

Jesper’s expression was stung. 

“Wylan - I didn’t mean-” there was a strange pause and Wylan felt distinctly watched, as though Jesper’s eyes on him had changed from anything usual into a close study, “Just let me take you back to the Slat,” he said, a little hesitantly. Even suspiciously? The rope bridge creaked beneath Wylan’s feet, “You can stay there until we find you somewhere else to go, Kaz can get you somewhere under a fake name, or-”

“I told you to get out,”

“Wylan-”

“Now,”

Wylan could feel his breathing tensing and getting out of control again. He tightened his fist until his nails were digging almost painfully into his palm, and tried to suppress his shivering as he watched Jesper confusedly retreat through the door. He didn’t close it. In fact, he turned back over his shoulder like he might be about to say something else. Wylan slammed the door so it rattled against its hinges, then pressed forehead against the wood and slid slowly towards the ground. The letter crumpled into a ball inside his fist. 

[sandinthemachine]

Chilling Rapture

Part 2 of Deadly Nightshade, a monster!König au.

Part 1

Masterlist

I actually had so much fun finishing this one, my power went out and I had to handwrite it by candlelight until my wifi came back on, hopefully it's strong enough to post this now because the lights keep flickering.

I also have a draft sketch of the map so hopefully that can come soon as well.

For those interested, the songs at the beginning will sometimes be chosen for a little bonus foreshadowing. There's also a Shirley Jackson reference in this one for any classic horror fans out there. Hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: nothing serious yet (lemme know if I missed anything)

Word count: 3,313

There's someone walking over my grave For a sudden shiver is making its way Creeping over me, coursing down my spine And taking over this body of mine I can feel it in the depths of my being A chill of the blood, an ominous feeling -"Walking Over My Grave" by Blackbriar

It is a quiet kind of night.

No. To say it is quiet does not do it nearly the kind of justice it deserves, nor does it stir up the emotions such a night as this has urged forward, deep in the pit of your stomach where your dinner still sits heavily.

Quiet ushers forth a peaceful kind of relaxation wholly unlike the thick black tar rising up your back.

Silent perhaps is closer, only insofar as the word conjures in you the hopeless repetition of the phrase silent as the grave.

You find every warning and caution drifting through your head as you shift in the bed, but where you would expect fear you feel only an anticipation, strangely dissonant with the weariness of your body.

Where are the birds? Where are the whales? Why hasn’t there been a single gust of wind?

The sea, in clear view of the window when the curtains are open, is soundless. How is that even possible? It is as if some strange god has thrown a great smothering blanket over the entire island, trapping each tiny soul in the silence below. Like flies in honey.

You can’t even hear the blood rushing in your ears.

You find yourself staring at the window curtains, their blackness somehow darker than the shadows around them.

With no notion of why or even how, you find your legs swinging over the bed very much of their own accord, carrying you to those curtains, and behind you the soundless void presses in, a great wave bearing you forward, and you think perhaps you could open this window, let it carry you right to the ocean itself and down below, for surely then you’d hear something, even if it was your own splash before you were dragged below.

You brush the thought aside with a quiet resignation. You will open the window, you think. But only to hear the water.

The curtain fabric brushes velvety soft over your fingers as you push them aside, ears perked to hear a shuffling of fabric, a metal scrape of rings over curtain rods, but neither sound ever comes.

You pause at the drawn curtains, staring at what you know to be the window. It is completely indistinguishable from the darkness of the walls and the curtains, such that you find yourself raising a hand, pressing a palm into the cool glass to make sure it’s there. But when you remove your hand it is as if the window once again vanishes, leaving you staring blankly, eyes nearly burning in their hopeless struggle to see.

You feel strangely dizzy all at once, as if gravity is shifting, pulling at the air around your face, warping the flooring beneath your feet, tilting the walls in hopelessly contrived angles you can’t possibly see in this crushing dark. You could be upside down now, walking on the ceiling with no idea. Perhaps there is no ceiling at all and you are stepping straight up the walls and soon you will step off and fall sideways for an eternity and you will never even see the ground flying by you. Or maybe you will keep walking right up into the sky, only all the stars are gone and you’ll never know the cool mist is clouds wrapping around you as you climb for the rest of eternity.

You shake your head.

Why are you here again?

You suddenly get the overwhelmingly primal feeling that something is watching you, something carved from the darkness itself with no need for eyes or ears, stalking up to you, and you will never see or hear it, you’ll only know it’s there the second it reaches through the window and claws sink into your ribs, grabbing at the heart whose frantic beating it senses like a beacon in the night and…

You yank the curtains closed, stumbling backwards. The need to gasp briefly possesses you, but your throat tightens against your will, cutting off even that sound in a mocking kind of rage.

My quiet, a thousand thoughts chant through your head. My quiet, my darkness, my place, mine mine mine.

And you, who are you to break the silence of this night that doesn’t belong to you?

Your heart stuttering and flapping against your chest, you fall back into bed, tucking your legs up against your chest so tightly you feel it in your lungs.

You bury your face in your knees, swallow a sob.

And try desperately to sleep.

You finally shift again, dragging your head upward as a sluggish grey takes over the room, shoving the shadows further and further into the corners. You stare at your bare shins as the light hits them, a single finger tracing delicately over deep blue-black. You hover your hands over the outlines with a detached kind of contemplation, fingers stretching back into place, perfectly aligning with the rounded shapes.

You hadn’t felt it last night.

Best not to think about that, actually. You let your eyes drift back to the window curtains, fitting your lower lip between your teeth as you take in their limp form.

Right now, stained by the leaden rays of another grey dawn, they’re just curtains. Old and decrepit, with a fraying bottom corner and a coffee stain along one edge. Beyond them is a dusty window, and a view to a monotonously dark sea.

Nothing more.

Never anything more.

The walk to the kitchen is uneventful, the shadows thin and cowardly. A persistent chill worms its way up your neck, but even that gives up when you pull a blanket around yourself, tucking it over your head like a fluffy oversized hoodie.

When you were little, you and your mother always used to bundle up like this, huddled on the couch on cold winter nights as you begged your father to hurry up and restart the fire, please, I’ll freeze solid this instant if you don’t.

Be a lot less complaining around here if you did. And he’d grin at your indignant face, winking over at your uncle in the armchair as they both chuckled.

He’d always pull out extra blankets afterwards, though.

With a loud gulp, you pull the blanket tighter around you.

You should write to your uncle. Yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do, you know you packed stamps and envelopes and...

Damn.

You forgot to pack a pen.

It’s fine, that’s an easy enough thing to find.

In any other house, that is. For the more you search, the more you realize just how little this place has. One floor of cramped rooms smelling of dust, dust, and more dust. A tiny office with an empty desk. Even stranger, atop the desk, atop every surface, actually, are no clear patches, no thinner patches of the dusty coating to indicate that anything had ever been on top of them. Did your uncle have any stuff? Or was he really just content with this place as it was?

You begin to wonder if he ever really lived here at all, or if maybe this is some kind of cruel prank the world is playing on you, sending you to this decrepit old cottage on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere with no friends and nothing to-

Elisha. Probably not a friend. Yet. You’d met her once, after all. But maybe friendly enough to give you a pen. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

You try not to dwell on that question as you throw on some warmer layers and shove past the front door.

Immediately you’re greeted by a frenzy of your own coughing as the acrid tang of cigarette smoke floods your lungs.

What the hell?

You spin all around, scanning your yard, but of course the only one here is you. As you walk forward, the smell quickly fades, and you decide that’s a problem for another time. For all you know, it won’t ever happen again, anyway.

Elisha’s house shows no signs of life, so you knock on her neighbor’s door instead. Almost immediately the rickety door swings open to reveal a stout old man glowering at you past a crooked hooked nose.

You stutter out a hello, earning nothing but an eyebrow raise. “I…uh, well, I just moved in down there and, anyway I just came by to ask Elisha for a pen but it doesn’t seem like she’s…home.”

You trail off as he marches past you, right up to shake Elisha’s poor door with a trio of hard knocks. “New one’s here!” he yells out, not even listening for a reply before picking his way back to his own porch, giving you a wide berth. “She’ll be down in a minute.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He pauses in the doorway, regarding you for a moment before giving a quick nod. With that, he disappears back inside.

A little creak pulls your attention back to Elisha’s door just as her head pokes out of it. “Oh, sweetie, what are you doing standing out in the cold?” She gestures frantically. “In, in!”

With nothing better to do, you oblige.

Her cottage is as small as yours, but that’s where the resemblance ends. A warm fire blazes in the fireplace, combining with the soft light of a couple candles to cast the entire living room in a comforting orange glow. There’s no hint of dust to be found, only soft chairs and a couch covered in extra pillows and fuzzy blankets. Dark blues and emerald greens. An oil painting of a salt marsh hangs above the fire place. Peaceful. Full of sunlight. You take a deep breath, sighing. Woodsmoke and vanilla. Fresh coffee. A hint of ocean salt.

She’s watching, you now realize, heat flushing through your cheeks as you glance at the floor. Even the carpet looks soft. “I…I was actually just stopping by to ask if you have a pen.”

She smiles softly. “Of course, dear.” She moves to the counter, deftly plucking one from a hand-painted mug before pausing. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, ma’am.” The carpet is the perfect shade of green.

“You had better stay, then. I just made fresh rolls, I have plenty of extra.” She tucks the pen into her pocket.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t.” There’s a faded spot in front of the fire. Does she have a cat?”

“Really, it would be my pleasure.”

“I have to get b-”

A hand taps on your shoulder and you jump, finally looking up again. Something warm presses against your sternum, and you glance down. Tea. Your fingers curl around it hesitantly, the weight of it somehow unfamiliar in your stiff hands.

Elisha was just talking. You glance up, trying to force a smile. “Sorry?”

She only sighs. “Couldn’t sleep, could ya?”

Your eyes drift back to the mug, taking in the little gold stars painted along the rim. Their edges begin to blur, and you blink, a little too fast, shake your head even faster. The walls feel cramped again.

“Hey, hey.” Bony fingers wrap around yours, gently pulling you forward, and a hand is on your shoulder, guiding you to sit on the couch. You let yourself sink down, barely noticing Elisha walk away until she’s back and a plate of warm food is being placed in your lap. Your eyes are wider now, burning just a little as you look up at her. She’s already turned away, though, swiping a book up from a side table and curling in an armchair to read.

Tentatively your fingers close around a roll, guiding it to your mouth as the smell floods through your brain.

You’re sure Elisha’s cooking is lovely, but you regret to admit the food is gone before you’ve even tasted it, the crumbs cleaned from the plate with careful fingers, the tea drank in great desperate sips and embarrassingly loud swallows.

You smile at the bottom of the mug now, counting the gold constellations dancing along it. There are dozens of little stars stretching across the inky blue, the gold paint twinkling gleefully as you tilt it this way and that. How did someone paint so many so neatly? Did they have a stamp, maybe? A really long brush and a steady hand? When was the last time you painted?

You push the thought away, glancing up at Elisha. She’s on a new book now, eyes wide and focused.

“Who’s the man next door?”

She jumps a little, eyes a bit wild as they focus on you again. “Hm? Oh.” She laughs. “He scare ya? Don’t worry, George is harmless. Just not a morning person. Runs in the family, I guess.” She holds her palm over her mouth to cover a big yawn.

You giggle, and she raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, guess I didn’t see the resemblance.”

She laughs. “What, the eyebrows weren’t a dead giveaway?”

“Everyone here has the same eyebrows.”

She snorts, slapping her palm over her mouth with wide eyes before you both burst out laughing. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” she wheezes between laughs.

“It’s true, though!”

She rubs her eyes, shaking her head with a grin still plastered across her face. “Oh, dear me. You met Martin yet?”

“No.”

“Now there’s a set of eyebrows.”

You quickly lose track of time as the pair of you sit there, her happily describing in detail all the people on the island. And, of course, their eyebrows. The ferryman is Francis (the alliteration makes you smile). He doesn’t live here, but everyone knows him anyway. You learn her brother’s name is John, but that was their father’s name, so everyone calls him Jack. He doesn’t talk much in the mornings, but he sings in the town bar some nights. The man at the general store you met yesterday is Ed. He’s ‘a grouchy old eyesore,’ apparently. But Elisha had smiled as she said it.

Eventually she trails off, her eyes shifting to the window. “It’s probably time you headed back.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion before you realize she’s right. The fire is long dead, and the candles flickered out hours ago. Without their light, it’s easy to see the grey outdoors steadily fading to black once again.

Elisha walks you out the door, hovering on her porch. “You come back here if you need anything, you understand?”

You nod dutifully. “Of course.”

“Oh! Almost left without this.” She fishes the pen out of her pocket, stuffing it into your hands.

“Right, yeah. And…Elisha, thank you…for today.” You gesture vaguely, not sure what else to say, but she only smiles softly, giving you one last nod.

You start down the steps and pause, eyes settling on her brother’s porch. He sits in his rickety old chair, eyes fixed on the distance. Smoking a cigarette.

“Um, Elisha?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Could you tell your brother to be careful when he smokes? I think the wind blew some of it my way this morning, and my lungs can’t really take that.”

She stares at you for a long moment, head tilting slightly. “There wasn’t any wind this morning, dear.”

“Oh.” You swallow, shaking your head. “Never…mind.”

With one last look back at her brother, you head home.

Something feels…off. Your heartbeat picked up as soon as you entered the driveway, and now the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

Your hand hovers over the doorknob, trembling slightly.

You glance back.

Nothing. A little bird hops across the lawn. It freezes, shaking slightly as it looks at you, before flying away with a squawk.

Your hand tightens around the handle, wrist turning very carefully, opening the door.

A bellowing howl echoes across the marsh.

You leap through the door, slamming it behind you. Your hands shake as they grab at the lock, slipping and sliding off it before it finally clicks into place and you back away, stumbling and barely catching yourself.

You rush over to your bag, flinging it to the side as you throw the closet open, fingers curling tightly around the old bat. You flick it upwards, relishing in its comforting weight as you clutch it to your chest.

THUNK.

You leap backwards as something heavy crashes against your bedroom window.

Did the house shake, too? Or was that your imagination?

Did the curtains quiver just now? Or was that you?

A tiny croak sounds through the window, and you gasp, taking a step closer. Another strangled sound breaks the silence, garbled and unintelligible. Your eyes narrow as you press your ears against the wall, the little sounds continuing.

Carefully you pick your way to the door, the bat resting over one shoulder. You open it just a crack, poking your head out. Nothing. You slide out of it sideways, crouching low as you work your way around the house, eyes fixating on every shadow lengthening and waving in the rapidly dimming light.

You turn, the corner, raising up the bat.

A raven lays twitching on the ground below the window.

Your shoulders slouch, letting the weapon drag along the ground. Slowly, you approach the struggling bird, taking in its pitifully flapping wings as it lays on its back, legs kicking uselessly upwards.

“Oh, you poor thing.”

Gingerly you kneel in front of it, laying the bat aside as you gather it into your arms.

A hulking black shadow gallops across the yard, disappearing into the thick bushes with a crash.

You snatch the bat and sprint inside.

The bird doesn’t seem hurt. Its wings stretch and bend fine as they flap weakly against you, and its legs are shaky but not broken. Only its eyes betray it, flickering wildly around as frantic pants shake its entire body. You cradle its limp head, quietly shushing its cries as you hold a glass of water against its beak. It shudders, throwing its head back before swallowing. Gradually its head tilts, and it stretches its neck forward again for another long drink.

“There you go, that’s it,” you soothe, laying it on the floor with the water as you pull down a blanket, tucking it around the bird. It shudders, fluffing up its feathers before settling in, tucking its head under a wing.

You can’t help but smile at that.

With one last glance at the window, you climb into bed, bat still in hand, and try to sleep.

A raucous squawk yanks you from consciousness, followed by a crash.

“What the…oh, no.”

You leap out of bed, dashing into the kitchen to find the raven dragging a shiny pan across the floor.

“Hey, nonono, not yours.”

It squawks belligerently, hopping backwards with a glare.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Fine, then.” You pick your way around the disgruntled bird so you can pull out the can of tomatoes. “Trade?”

The bird tilts its head expectantly, letting the pan’s handle fall to the floor with a twang. You nod and fish out a tomato, dropping to a crouch to proffer it. The little devil eagerly hops forwards, snatching the food from your grasp and ripping it to pieces, spreading tomato guts all over your floor before happily taking a couple more from you.

You straighten again, regarding the bird with a discerning look. “Yeah, I think you’ll be just fine, buddy.”

You slide the jar back onto the counter and open the door with a sweeping gesture, smiling as the bird croaks joyfully, catapulting itself through the doorway and whirling in the air. You skip around the house after it, watching it whirl higher and higher before diving down into the trees and brush of the swamp.

Maybe being here won’t be so bad, after all.

But as you turn to head back inside, your entire body stiffens.

Carved into the dirt beneath your bedroom window…is a single massive footprint.

taglist: @die-prophetin, @fatedeniedhope, @kakashiislut, @lirinchi

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[sunvmars]

you showed me how | b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: jus fluff :)

summary: bucky was never one for love, he wasn’t even sure he was capable of it- not romantically, at least. his life had been a series of fling after fling. but then there’s you.

You nervously adjusted your bracelets as you looked around the bar, trying to find anyone you recognized. Much to your dismay, there was nobody; only pretty girls, drunk men, and loads of people making out.

"Do you want a drink?" a deep, masculine voice asked.

Turning around in your bar stool, you were met with the most handsome face- crystalline, blue eyes complimented by dark brown hair and a jawline that could drop anyone to their knees. A few seconds passed before he broke the silence again.

"I'm so sorry, that was random. You see, my friends over there," he pointed towards a table where two other men sat as he slid onto the seat next to you, "they saw you and they think I need to get to know more people, so I picked the friendliest looking in the room and, well, here we are."

"The friendliest in the room? Considering everyone else is practically dry-humping on the dancefloor, I'm sure that wasn't hard," you replied with a chuckle as you tossed a chip into your mouth.

He laughed back before offering out his hand, "Bucky, and you are?" "(y/n). Pleased to meet you Bucky."

Bucky smiled, "So, about that drink..."

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

A laugh erupted from your throat as you laid a hand on Bucky's forearm, squeezing gently. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as he laughed along with you. You brought your drink to your lips and took another sip as you checked the time on your phone. 12:45 am.

"Shit! I have to get home," you threw your phone into your purse, smiling at Bucky, "I have to feed my dogs."

"Definitely wouldn't wanna forget that," he smiled back, getting up from his stool and pulling out his wallet. He put money on the counter, sliding it towards the bartender.

"Oh, Bucky, I can't let you pay for that. I got at least 4 drinks and I-" "It's okay, you can pay me back," he smirked as your smile fell, "with a date."

The nerves in your stomach vanished as he finished his sentence, the same smile as before appearing on your face, "Deal." The two of you exchanged numbers before parting ways.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The night of your date was about a week after you'd met each other. You'd exchanged texts throughout the week, yet you could still feel anxiety building up in the pit of your stomach. And you were having the hardest time deciding what to wear; there were at least 10 dresses in the 'reject' pile. You finally decided on a plaid, coffee brown, button-up dress with long sleeves completed with a pair of brown combat boots. 6:30 PM rolled around and you checked your final appearance in the mirror once again, grabbed your bag, and left after petting your dogs goodbye.

Meanwhile, Bucky was having a nervous breakdown. pacing back and forth, checking the time every two seconds, constantly making sure his appearance met his standards.

"Buck, can you settle down for just a second?"

Bucky only ignored Steve, continuing his little rant, "What if I say something weird? What if I spill something on her? Or what if-"

"Buck! Will you listen for a second?" Steve grabbed his shoulder, turning him towards him, finally stopping his pacing.

"Finally," Sam scoffed as he brought his mug up to his lips, "I was worried he was gonna stomp a hole into the damn floor."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Sam, scowling slightly. He then returned his attention back to Steve who was shaking his head.

"Buck, she agreed to go out with you. If she didn't want to, she would've said no, or walked away," Steve grinned, moving his hands to grip Bucky's arms, "now, stop making yourself nervous and get outta here. I haven't seen you so much as look at a girl since the 40s, go have fun. I doubt she bites-"

"God, I hope she does! He needs to get laid, maybe he won't be so uptight then," Sam chuckled to himself.

Steve spoke before his more hot-headed friend got the chance to think of a snarky response and soil his mood, "Go. I don't wanna see your face until the end of the night and you've had a successful date," he pushed Bucky out of the front door, straightening up his jacket, "and I mean it." With that, the door was shut in Bucky's face, leaving him standing there. He grumbled to himself before letting his feet carry him to the little coffee stand where you were supposed to meet.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Bucky was the first to arrive so he sat on a nearby park bench and pulled out his phone to play solitaire. A shadow appearing in front of him made him pause before he could finish the game. His eyes looked up from the phone and met yours. He paused for a moment, eyes stuck on you.

After a moment or two, he shoved his phone in his pocket quickly and stood up as you began to speak, "I'm so sorry I'm a few minutes late, I couldn't find anything to wear and I'm definitely overdressed and now I look-"

"Beautiful," a slight smile tugged at his lips, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, "you look...beautiful."

your cheeks began to feel warm as his hand still sat on your face, "Thank you," you smiled and took his hand into yours, "you're not too bad looking yourself."

He allowed himself to chuckle, the nerves beginning to fade, "Wanna walk for a minute and then grab a drink?"

When you nodded, Bucky began to lead you throughout the little flower garden. It was decorated with lanterns, little fountains, birdbaths, and a wishing well in the center of the of it all. Soft music played over the speakers as you walked along the sidewalk.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The two of you talked for a bit as you walked, telling each other about your personal lives and your interests. Bucky, of course, making small things up to try and cover his past. He would tell you if this went anywhere after the date, obviously, but he wasn't one to overshare- especially not on a first date.

"You're pretty funny, Bucky. Bet you get that often though."

He hummed in response, "nope. Quite the opposite, usually. Most times I keep to myself."

"So, I'm the one to open you up, huh?" You walked in front of him and stood there, a smirk on your features as you raised an eyebrow.

He tittered, "seems that way."

"Come on, I want a drink!"

Grabbing his hand, you started to lead him towards the coffee stand. Your eyes scanned the menu on the sign in front of the little white booth. The variety was wide for such a little booth- macaroons, cake pops, puff pastries, sugar cookies, tea, hot chocolate, and coffee, of course.

After taking a moment to make his decision, and allowing you to make yours, Bucky stepped up to the counter of the stand and offered a smile to the worker, "I'll take a small chamomile honey tea. And you?"

Bucky looked down at you, a smile still on his face, as you spoke, "just a hot chocolate and a cream puff, please." Your voice came out lower than anticipated, much to your dismay. He lightly dropped your hand and took his wallet out, grabbing a few dollars and handing them to the worker.

You frowned, reaching to grab his hand before he could hand the cash over, "Hey, you paid last time, let me pay." Your hand was swatted away as he chuckled, sliding the cash on the counter. "I said your way of paying me back was with a date, and here we are, so I'm paying."

"It'll be right out," the worker smiled as she picked the money up and turned away to assemble your order.

"I'm paying for something," you huffed with a fake pout.

"Absolutely not," he grinned, giving a gentle pat to your head, "you've paid me enough by agreeing to be here. I haven't been out of the house for real in ages."

There goes that damned heat in your cheeks again, "ages? Didn't I meet you at a bar?"

"I was dragged there by the two idiots I call my friends."

A laugh came from both of you, only being interrupted by the woman setting your things on the counter, "here you go, you two have a nice night!" She smiled as you both gave a 'you too,' and picked up your items.

Bucky blew on his tea in an attempt to cool it down. You brought the pastry to your lips and took a bite, almost devouring it in a singular bite. A soft moan of satisfaction slipped from between your lips as you took a small sip of your warm drink, washing down the sweetness of the cream. His cheeks were the ones to heat this time as he looked down at you, "Well? How is it?"

"So fucking good," you mumbled.

Taking a sip of his tea, he snickered, "I'm glad."

You finished your pastry and threw the napkin into the nearest trashcan, "so, do you do this often?"

"Do what?"

"Go on dates."

"Oh, no. Not at all. I haven't been on a date in..," Bucky paused, trying to carefully choose his wording, "well, years. I haven't been on a date in years."

The conversation between the two of you continued with mostly small talk. Bucky began to feel more and more comfortable with you, just like you did with him. The later it got, the chillier it began to get, and the harder the wind began to blow. It wasn't until then that you had realized you hadn't brought a jacket. But you didn't wanna ask for his, 'how cliché,' you thought to yourself. However, he took notice of your slightly colder hands and the way your body gave you away by shivering ever so slightly when you bent down to look at the purple Azaleas. His drink was sat on the ground while he took his jacket off, keeping it folded on his arm whilst you admired and spoke of the delicate flowers.

"They're all so pretty!" You stood up, gently releasing the flower from between your finger's gentle grasp, "look, Buck." you turned to face him, only to be met with a jacket being slid onto your shoulders, acting like a shawl.

"I'm not cold, you can have your jacket back."

"Bullshit," he smirked as your body betrayed you again, "but I can take it back if you don't want it."

"Oh, no. I'm keeping it. I was just being nice, I'm fucking freezing!"

"Let's go somewhere warm then-"

"NOT until I look at all of the flowers," you flashed a small grin as he chortled.

"Right, of course. What were you wanting to show me, doll," Bucky bent down to grab his drink when you turned back towards the flowers.

"These Azaleas, I've never seen some of such a beautiful color before. They're lavender and so pigmented yet almost transparent," you turned around yet again and saw Bucky was no longer behind you. He was beside you, a few inches away, looking at the flowers you were pointing to.

"Those are very pretty," mouth slightly agape and eyes now on you as you rambled about how ethereal they were. When you finished talking, he straightened his posture, hand grabbing yours. He began to lead you to a different spot, stopping only a few feet away, and pointing at a patch of dark blue flowers, "those there, those are my favorites."

"What are they?"

"Hyacinths. They have some of the prettiest colors I've ever seen. They're always so admirable,'' lips stretching out into a smile, he looked over at you, "nothing compared to you, though."

"How sweet...and corny," you giggled, giving a little punch to his arm to show you were only joking.

His response was a laugh as smooth as honey, "I mean it. You're absolutely breathtaking, doll. I've never been so captivated by someone before."

Nerves pooled in your stomach again, just as they did earlier, causing you to look down at your shifting feet. A large hand grabbed yours, the other hand reaching up to inch your face back up to look at him.

"C'mon, don't get all shy on me now. I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I? Fuck, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry for-"

"Bucky?"

"..Yes?"

"Please shut up and kiss me already."

"Gladly," he dropped your hand and brought it up to accompany his other one of your cheek.

Bucky leaned down and softly pressed his lips against yours, capturing your lips in his. Seconds felt like minutes as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. You could've sworn you'd never felt a kiss so comforting. When you finally pulled away to get air, you'd allowed your forehead to rest on his, noses barely touching as you smiled at each other.

"Let's get you home. It's getting cold," he said as he grabbed your hand again.

He held your hand the entire way there as you guided him to your house, every so often pointing at lights you thought looked extra pretty tonight. Once you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door and turned back to face him.

He looked down at you, "I had a good time tonight, doll."

"So did I."

With that, he leaned down and kissed you again, a little less soft this time. When the both of you pulled away, you opened the door and started to step in.

"Have a nice rest of your night, doll," contentment laced in his voice.

A grin appeared on your face, "you too," you had your back turned, almost forgetting something, "oh, and Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

Spinning around once again, leaning out of the door and tugging him down by his shirt, you placed a kiss on his cheek, "I'd like to see you again sometime. I still have your jacket, y'know."

With that, you entered your house and shut the door gently, leaving a more than happy Bucky standing there.

"So? How'd it go? You seem relaxed," Sam teased, "oh you sly dog, you did it, didn't you?"

"No."

"What was her name again? (y/n)? (y/n) and Bucky sittin' in a tree-"

Sam was cut off by a shoe thrown by the brunette, only to be chased by him when he continued to sing.

"Sam! Bucky!" Steve rushed over to break up whatever fight was about to occur between his friends, "I'm the only one with any sense here," he sighed.

[angelguk]

jock!jaykay is your favourite boy! yes, this a childhood bestie!au. jaykay is gym rat who likes invading ocs personal space and likes bullying his bestie for being small and weak unlike him. or alternatively the one where jeongguk realises his bestie has giant boobs. listen to best friend by rex orange county. roughly 2k words. this is brain spew. boobie ogling.

You love Jeongguk.

It's a natural thing to say; a platonic affection for him that has steadily grown over the past decade of your intertwined lives. But, you never expected to develop this level of affiliation towards him. It happened by mistake. He’d stumbled into you at the playground in the middle of recess during one lonesome afternoon. Soft brown curls a halo on his round head and his doe eyes sparkling as he mumbled a compliment at the sandcastle you were knee-deep in constructing. You’d taken one glance at the boy, noted how your stature towered over him and then immediately enlisted his assistance in completing the mammoth of the sandcastle you were creating. He’d lit up — bright like the burning sun behind his tiny figure —  jumping in with zero hesitation; small hands quick and sure as he stuffed sand into buckets. He never opposed any of your suggestions, considering them with a timid nod of his head and a tiny sheepish smile that revealed the delightful dips in his cheeks. It was beguiling, how quickly you grew attached to the smart but shy boy who’d wormed his way into your heart. Since then the two of you have been attached at the hip. Everyone knew you in relation to each other. Jeongguk wasn’t Jeongguk unless you were around and the same was for you. You’d spent sleepless nights at his house, huddling under the thick blankets of the fort you’d built in his living room, exchanging horror stories with the aid of a flashlight he’d nicked from his dad’s toolbox. Even his extended families adored you; random aunts and uncles sending cryptic messages via WhatsApp once every blue moon. And he knew yours too —  you’re certain that your mother likes Jeongguk more than she likes you. There was even a designated toothbrush for him perched on your bathroom counter, for days Jeongguk was too lazy to go back to his own home. It was wonderful, having that reassurance in your relationship, a steady rock that you clung to amidst the harsh wild seas of life.

And then puberty hit.

Suddenly, Jeongguk was taller than you. His jaw was more defined, shoulders broadening seemingly overnight. Your sleepovers vanished, Jeongguk preferring to hole himself in his room alone. He wasn’t the only one who felt the effects of your ageing. You never thought Jeongguk had noticed it, the way your body had subtly changed throughout your teenage years, the rapid blossoming of your chest because he always treated you the same. The shit-eating grin and snarky comments that appeared at the beginning of freshman year never subduing. That was until one day, he did notice.

“You stink,” you say. And it’s true. He’s just come from lacrosse practice, your bedroom door kicked wide open and his gym bag dumped on your floor. His smelly socks leak from the opened zipper, wafting through the room with dangerous intent. The smile he shoots in your direction grips your heart, digging deep enough to send a thrill through your system. You swallow hard, gaze ripping from his rosebud lips. It settles on your laptop screen with tangible resignation, the sudden spike in your heart rate not completely lost on you.

“Nice to see you too, bestie,” Jeongguk returns, eagerly padding over to your bed. You hold out a leg to his intruding figure, halting him in his steps. From here you can see the sheen of sweat clinging to his golden skin, the muscles in his arm defined beneath the loose fabric of his practise shirt. There’s a strange heat forming in your gut, and you have to take in a small breath before you can let your gaze falter on his. His honey eyes are warm, the glittering in his gaze drawing you close. Even the damp mussed hair on his head has arranged itself into perfectly defined curls. They tumble into his face, crowning him in an innocence that tugs at your heart. There’s an itch in your fingertips. You wonder whether you're allowed to tuck them aside, away from obscuring his pretty eyes.

“Do not come on my bed smelling like the pits of a sewer, Jeon Jeongguk.” You say that instead, settling your mouth into a firm scowl. He whines in relation, swift hands yanking at the hem of his shirt.

“I showered at school! I don’t smell that much — you’re being over dramatic.” Your mattress dips under the weight of his knee but the foot that smacks into his chest prevents him from crawling any further into your space.

“And yet I can still smell you — not my fault you can’t. You reek, Jeon. Go take another shower before you even think of lying on my sheets.” Your laptop wavers precariously on your lap when Jeongguk clasps his large hands around your calves, gently shoving your foot off his chest. You hadn’t discerned how… Big his hands had gotten.

The corresponding flutter you feel in your tummy the moment that realisation strikes feels like imminent death.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go shower.”  Jeongguk sighs like you’re the one causing him an inconvenience, shifting off your bed. Your mouth is already open, a retort tipping off your tongue. But then he’s hauling his sweat-drenched shirt over his head, the moment so swift and fluid you don’t even note how your heart halts in your chest. It starts a second later before abruptly falling into cardiac arrest because your gaze lands on his chiselled chest. You never truly registered how buff Jeongguk was. You knew he worked out, the insane regime he’d concocted the only thing he could talk about for months on end. Coach had him doing some insane sets at the gym and coupled with his weekly lacrosse practises it rapidly added up. You knew he was somewhat of a brawny guy. But Jeongguk preferred to wear his old baggy sweats around you and didn’t put much effort into his wardrobe for school. If it was black and clean it was going on. The look was effortless, simple and understated like Jeongguk was. So nothing could ever have prepared you for this. Hard lines of muscles forming his abdomen, flexing at the slightest movement as he tosses his shirt to the ground, a tiny ruffle of his curls accompanying the action. He’s glorious, warm skin glowing as if the sun is trapped within it. Perhaps you blink, blinded by the vision before you. An Adonis at the foot of your bed, shorts tugged low enough to reveal the band of his underwear. And, to make matters worse, the sharp-angled lines that direct your gaze right to his crotch.

You don’t think about it. You can’t. Another hard swallow hits your throat as you rise, arm outstretched to whack him hard across the head, the desire spurring in your guts short-circuiting your brain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for.” The pout he hits with you sends a wave of heat to your cheeks. You respond by landing a rough punch to his brawny shoulder.

“Why are you getting naked in my room?” Your voice sounds like an entity outside of your body, head still not comprehending the naked teenage boy in front of you.

“You told me to go shower!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Your house is a five-minute walk away! What made you think I meant in my house?” He catches the next punch you throw at him. There’s a thrill that surges fast when his large hands enclose around your wrists, grip taut. You tumble into his arms with a sharp tug, your chest colliding into his firm one.

“We used to share baths as kids. Why can’t I use your shower?” he murmurs. His voice is soft, wrapping around you promptly, like poison settling in your system. You abhor the tremor sweeps through you.

“Cause that was when we were kids! Look at you now! You’re all — all — all —,” your gaze falters downwards, hitting the rise of his pecs. It doesn’t take much for him to spot the heat that floods your face, a smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards.

“I’m all what?” Jeongguk implores. He flexes one of his pecs for good measure, a tiny laugh floating from his mouth when he spots how fast your eyes flicker from his chest.

“You’re a dickhead,” you retort, ripping your hands from his hold. Jeongguk lets you go, but when you glance up, there's a caution in his eyes that makes your skin prickle. “Go use your bathroom, you dingus. Come back when you don't smell like a garbage can.”

“But why,” Jeongguk whines. “Your bathroom is right there — like right there. It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Get out of my house before I kick you in the balls, Guk.” For some reason, you poke at his chest, fingertip landing right between the dip of his defined pectoral muscles. His hand snatches yours before you can rip them away, head cocking to the side mischievously. You know you’ve fucked up the second that smile hits his lips, the grip on your hand a warning.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Jeon Jeongguk, you stupid bastard, you’ll end up infertile if I hit you the way I want to right now.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.” He tenses his biceps on purpose, feigning a shiver at your empty threat. The quiver in your knees is betraying. “Like I couldn’t body slam you into this bed right now.” It’s like the light clicks in his head the moment the words drift from his tongue. You didn’t even get a chance to protest, a scream lodged in your throat as his arms swiftly enclosing around you, plucking you right off the bed as if you were a feather. He keeps you suspended for a moment, paying no heed to the pounding of your fists on his broad back, his shoulder digging right into your stomach before he flings you right back into the mattress.

“JEONGGUK!” If your laptop is broken you’re going to kill him. It’s as simple as that. He doesn’t give you time for recovery though, brain still whirring when his broad chest smacks into you. “Ow! What is wrong with you? Get off! Get off!”

The bastard giggles, smothering you under the weight of his bulky body, the mattress pressing hard into your back. You prod and pinch and punch until he grows tired of it, snatching up your wild fists with a quick hand. They hit the pillow over your head with a muted thud, arms stretched out as he shuffles over you. The movement has the material of his shorts bunching up at his crotch. You swear you don’t look, gaze shifting to the taut muscles of his stomach. But that’s worse, your thighs clamping together as heat blooms between them. You’re forced to settle on his face, a tiny whine escaping your lip as he traps you beneath him. But then you realise Jeongguk is not staring at your face, his honey eyes locked on the sway of your chest every time you squirm beneath him. You hadn’t thought about the shirt you’d yanked over your head when you’d gotten home today, picking it solely for the sun scorching outside. The heat had leaked into the house, warm enough for you to forgo one of your usual loose sweatshirts. But it’s a low cut, the rounds of your chest on display for all to see. Even when you lurch up, attempting to knee him in the groin, your chest bounces and his eyes follow, rose lips parted in thought. He catches your erratic leg with ease though, pinning you to the sheets effortlessly.

There’s a lot going on in your head, too much to sift through at the moment. But there’s no denying the fast flutter in your cunt, heat rippling through your nerves as you sit in a silence that feels suffocating. When bites his lip, you ignite. It feels like too much, too quick. A crack in the ice barrier between the two of you, the dam of unresolved emotions behind it threatening to break past and down you.

“Jeongguk…” You try, wafting through this sudden tension. He hums, a low sound that echoes deep inside of you. “What are you doing?” It’s innocent enough to allow the situation to dissipate, give the both of you a moment to gather yourself, sweep this under the rug and move on like it never happened.

He cocks his head instead, contemplating with a quick sneak of his tongue along his petal lips, still staring at your chest. “Uh, realising something.” He pauses like he doesn’t want to ask but question floats out like he can’t help himself. “When did your boobs get so huge?”

[theinvisibledreamergirl]

She’s thunderstorms

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Helena Craig) x M!OC (Clay Banner)

Words count: 2.5 k

Warning: 🔞 content/Language

Category: Angst/AU

A.N: Part two of A Triangle of Love Series. Events after the Sweet dreams, TN fic. Helen is the alter ego of Klaw Craig. Feel free to judge me because now that I’m re-reading it… it’s bullshit and I don’t know what to call this. Especially the song it’s not fitting duhhh. Going to log off after posting it. *sighs*

Song: “She’s thunderstorms” - Arctic Monkeys

MASTERLIST

———————————————————————

She’s thunderstorms

Lying on her front, up against the wall

She’s thunderstorms

Bryce Lahela was right.

She’s like a goddess that entered to this building and blessed my life when I made eye contact with her.

Indeed a blessing.

She was the most incredible woman and everyone would take a bow just for her hand and fulfill all the wishes she wanted.

He couldn’t feel his breath in that short moment when they exchanged looks. Did someone pause his heart and his body? Because surely he had multiple questions as his mind drifted into thoughts.

When did she come here? How did she find him? Where did she work before coming here? Is she alone? But if not, who was with her? The hair colour and style had changed too. From the straight dark brown with bangs had gone into long, wavy light ash blonde hair that seemed to make her a different person.

But her face was still like he left it. Her arched brows that made her confident; captivating eyes with determination; full and inviting lips that always gave him chills when she crooked them into a playful smirk; her strong and beautiful jaw that tilted whenever he teased her or touched with such delicacy that made her gasp into pleasure; her long neck… without his necklace. He almost scoffed. Of course she had taken it off. What was he expecting?

Their bodies pining in the wall in ecstasy and hearing her sounds...

I’ve been feeling foolish, you should try it

She came and substituted the peace and quiet for

Acrobatic blood, flow concertina

Cheating heartbeat, rapid fire

Everything.

He wanted to do everything.

Anytime and anywhere.

With her and only her.

When he saw her hand shaking with another one... he felt a pit into his stomach and a familiar feeling came into his brain.

Mine.

She’s thunderstorms

Lying on her front, up against the wall

She’s thunderstorms

Here is your host, sounds as if she’s pretty close

When the heat starts growing horns

She’s thunderstorms

That greatly but destructive feeling called jealousy was in his veins. He wanted to reach out and twirl her around and to whisper to her:

I’m sorry and I really missed you.

Instead he came with slow and confident steps as if his imagination vanished quickly without so noticing and a small professional smile appeared in his face and she seemed to understand it. One more reason why he loves her.

“Ah Clay here you are,” Simon spoke breaking his trip of memory lane. “I want to present you Dr. Helena Craig the surgeon who’s going to replace Edgar for a while. Helen this is Dr. Clay Banner our future cardiothoracic surgeon.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Banner… I have heard a lot about you.” It seemed like a lifetime since he had heard her angelic voice that was a symphony in his ears. He held his tears from falling and coughed to fight the strangle voice that was about to let out.

“A pleasure to meet you too Dr. Craig and I can say the same thing about you.”

Something inside of Helen was igniting.

Her flame.

That old flame which burnt her into many pieces and toyed with her body all of those times sharing with him. She couldn’t say that she didn’t miss him. The real him. The one she fell in love with. His adoring face, his soft hands, his broad shoulders where she leaned on and his assuring voice when she felt insecure.

She had mastered perfectly the art of acting and pretending to be satisfied with everything in her life. Little did those people in the room know how her heart was aching miserably and was shattering from disappointment and hurt from the very same man that was just two feet away.

But a baritone and irritating voice seemed to cut off all of that momentary darkness which in fact she thanked him in silence. “Done with the introductions? Great. We’ve got work to do.” Ethan turned his back and started to write in the whiteboard. “The patient is from Manhattan Presbyterian…”

While Ethan was explaining the symptoms, Helen held a transfixed face to all of the theories of her attending and unexpectedly to other colleagues, she started to ask questions which resulted helpful despite being a surgeon. Sometimes she shared thoughts with Clay and even agreeing with them. It was part of the job after all and Clay couldn’t help but feel proud for his woman.

Correction: his ex.

A past tense that he had to learn from now on. But deep inside of him there was a spark of hope that maybe… maybe things would get back to normal. And maybe she would forgive him.

The team was finally dismissed but only two people stayed. Ethan called Helen before she would leave and that made Clay’s blood boiled because all he wanted was to talk to her right after this meeting. He had to try one last card even though it was useless.

“Dr. Ramsey can we talk for a moment?”

“Is there anything wrong Dr. Banner?”

“No j-just,” he stuttered. “Q-questions about the team in general.”

“We will but after I finish a discussion with Dr. Craig if you don’t mind.”

Fuck you.

“Not at all Sir.” He closed the door reluctantly and sighed in defeat.

“What’s the matter Dr. Ramsey?” She asked although she knew damn well why he had called her.

“What are you doing here?” Ethan clasped his fingers as if to stop whatever his mind was blowing now. His ears were still echoing with her words whispering softly.

Thank you for the distraction. I really needed it.

“Starting my job,” she said innocently and shrugged. “Is it irrelevant?”

“Yes, it is,” he nodded and his feet was carrying him over her; something inevitable that no matter what, he couldn’t stop. “I don’t think all of this is a coincidence.”

“Well lucky for you now you’ll have the most trustworthy person in your team that won’t let you down.”

He scoffed while shaking his head. “I highly doubt your confidence.”

“Just wait and see.”

I’ve already seen you.

After their encounter last night Ethan couldn’t sleep. Many times of trying to change and find the perfect position led to nothing but drinking in the balcony that even his dog Jenner didn’t like it and cooed sadly to his owner. What was this woman doing to him? Why he felt so weak in front of her that immediately wanted to bend her over to his desk and scream his name?

“So,” she crossed her arms behind her waist. “How was I?”

He frowned in confusion and god she thought to herself why he had to be such handsome even in that moment. “Hm?”

“In making you feel surprised.”

“Ah that. Well you’ve clearly exceeded my expectations.”

“Wow. So I rendered you speechless then.”

Giggles were ringing in the walls and for the first time in a while Ethan Ramsey smiled at that. It was something so natural that came from her as other people didn’t get his dry humour but she... she was different. It was like a magnet that more and more you get closer, the more attached you become to her.

She’s been loop-the-looping around my mind

Her motorcycle boots give me this kind of

Acrobatic blood, concertina

Cheating heartbeat, rapid fire

He cleared his throat in purpose of changing the subject. “The reason why I called you,” he put his hand in his front pocket to reveal a tiny and shining object that seemed familiar to her. “Does this belong to you?

“Oh my god yes! This is my earring!” Helen exclaimed shockingly while grazing it with her thumb. Apparently had slipped when she whispered in his ear. “I was looking it all over my room but I couldn’t find it anywhere.” Her gaze now was turned back to him in gratefulness. “Thank you.”

Without thinking she closed their distance by enveloping him into a hug. This caught Ethan off guard but now he returned the hug back and closed his eyes while inhaling her perfume. She did the same too and in that moment both of them felt safe on each other’s arms as if they knew where they belonged. The world around them didn’t exist for a few seconds and both of them despite not saying out loud, they wanted to continue it.

She’s thunderstorms

Lying on her front, up against the wall

She’s thunderstorms

“It’s nothing.” He smiled politely when they separated.

“No this is not nothing. I owe you because this earring was really special to me.” She inhaled slowly while considering an option. Taking some risk wouldn’t hurt her? Right? “What do you say uhm- a drink? In this case I can apologise for yesterday’s… thing.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Sure I have, because to be completely honest Dr. Ramsey… I knew who you were.”

And here he thought that she was just another stranger that thankfully didn’t know him. Now he was feeling raged and betrayed because that meant she wanted to impress him only by her appearance and make a spot here on his team. His authoritative voice came back as if to maintain the last straw of himself.

“You did know who were you talking to?”

“Yeah I did. Now I’m speaking to my attending,” she moved tantalising and confidently just like yesterday. “To my colleague. And,” then tilted her chin while saying. “To a possible friend.”

“For the latter dream on.” He warned her.

She laughed heartedly. “We’ll meet at Donahue’s at 9 PM sharply and don’t be late because I can’t wait more than two minutes.”

His eyebrows narrowed incredulously and crossed his arms to his chest. “I don’t remember accepting your offer. And besides… how do you know my agenda? What if I’m busy?”

“Well I don’t remember taking a no answer from you and I’ve got my sources about your special agenda.” She shrugged innocently. “See you tonight doctor.”

The door was closed but not before throwing a playful wink to him. He let out a laugh while shaking his head in disbelief. This woman was really crazy but it was one of a kind and Ethan Ramsey couldn’t wait to know more about her.

——————————————

Helen wasn’t surprised to see him waiting impatiently in the corner while she was talking with Dr. Ramsey.

What was so important that took them this long? He thought.

Actually that was only five minutes but to him it seemed like five hours already. When she got out he couldn’t help but stare at her not knowing where to start first.

“Helen.”

“Dr. Banner,” the plastered smile didn’t leave her face despite being furious and ready to wipe his ass in front of everyone. “You can go now to Dr. Ramsey. He’s free.”

“Actually, can we talk?” She rolled her eyes. “I won’t make you wait too much. I promise.”

Helen whispered only for the two of them to hear. “You and your promises,” a tackle of her tongue was heard twice. “Aren’t in coherence. I don’t know why should I listen to you. Let me guess- I’m sorry my Helen but I had to step in you to gain my spot here in Edenbrook thanks to my parents who are very powerful and influential people in Boston.”

“I-”

“I’m not finished,” her hardened gaze was evident and he knew he had to stop. “Or how you accepted without so much caring not one but two strange women in your bed while you were fucking drunk. That must’ve been a fruitful threesome huh? Why didn’t you try with a boy too? That would’ve been the cherry on top.” Her words were poisonous and she thought he deserved much worse than these. “Or how your mother has always tried to make me feel miserable in front of everyone when you did absolutely nothing to stop it. Not even moving your finger.”

In an unusual place, when you’re feeling far away

She does what the night does to the day

She was right about everything. He couldn’t disagree with any of the words she said. Helen Craig was rarely found to be wrong.

“I think that our conversation ends here Dr. Banner.”

He grabbed her elbow without thinking twice for his recklessness and made her narrow her eyes in annoyance. “Tonight at Donahue’s bar 9 o’clock and I will explain you everything.”

“Get off me or I’ll scream.” She warned dangerously.

“We both know you can’t.” Clay had no idea where this was leading but he could see the fire into her eyes. “You wouldn’t want people to find out that you had a boyfriend working here huh?”

Look at this prick starting to talk.

“Well well do you need a reminder that my father and my brother can make you beg for your life again?”

The last encounter with the Craig males was one year ago when they found out that this jerk had dumped the most precious thing of their family. Patrick Craig was the first to reach for the drawer to load his gun just in case whereas Brian her brother made sure to find Clay’s location with his advanced knowledge of technology. The end resulted in a bloody and a harsh fight between them and warning the latter to not come any centimeter closer to Helen. And the scar on his neck was still visible after that time.

“That happened once. It can’t happen again,” he grasped her out of his hand. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that he left the ultimatum settled in her hands and keeping it until 9 PM. Helen stayed still like someone had glued her in a position that she couldn’t escape.

She wouldn’t go.

No.

She wouldn’t hear him again and believe his words. But there was such a confidence in his voice that made her scared. Thanks to that she felt the anxiety rising up and panic for what was about to come.

She could easily cancel the plans with Dr. Ramsey and not go to that bar. But when she met him yesterday it felt something different with that share of eye contact.

Despite being half-drunk and exhausted from her flight he had made her forgetting all of her plans and the reason why she came in Boston. It was entirely a new world, a new dimension that she hadn’t explored yet and was eager to find more about this man.

It was unethical but did she care? Not in the slightest. Helen was ambitious and she definitely would possess it. She had to think of a plan how to sabotage this whole thing but how?

The choice she had to make was like a ticking bomb that in one way or another, was going to blast.

She’s thunderstorms

Lying on her front, up against the wall

She’s thunderstorms, thunderstorms, thunderstorms

—————————————————————-

TAGS WILL APPEAR IN A REBLOG!

[ijustwant2write]

Model Wife-Thomas Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @nofckingfighting​)

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND I HAVE ALSO CREATED A PROMPT LIST HERE IF YOU WANT TO TAKE SOMETHING FROM THAT)

Masterlist

Requested by @justsimplyme93​: ‘Hey! How are you? I read the last tommy shelby one you did and i love it. Could you do another arranged marriage with tommy where he still go’s to lizzie and the reader asks to speak with him.’

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Cheating, sex, swearing, arguing slight violence

                                      *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sipping on my tea, I looked around at our guests in the house, all members of the ‘Grace Shelby Institute’. We had to keep up appearances, and although both Tommy and I hated socialising with people who used to turn their noses up at people like us, they were the ones providing the money. Normally, we would keep most events out of the house, but Tommy had pissed me off, and seeing as he was too busy to help organise it, I made all the arrangements; being petty was sometimes the only way I could get back at him.

“Mrs Shelby, what a lovely home you have! And the decor for today is just lovely.” an older, highly posh woman gushed to me.

I smiled.“Thank you. I am quite proud of myself.”

“I have not had the chance to speak with your husband yet. It seems he keeps vanishing into thin air.”

“Yes, he does have a habit of doing that.”

Knowing that there was no point in trying to track down Tommy, I suffered through an awfully dull conversation with the lady, having to disguise my boredom with polite smiles as more women joined us. They were all much older, I had seen a few young women here, all married to very rich men who were twice their own age; I suppose I couldn’t judge, it wasn’t like Tommy and I were actually in love.

“You know Mrs Shelby, I have always wondered how you met a man like Thomas Shelby.” one of the women said.

She was bold to say something like that, especially to me. I refrained from sighing as I started to recite the story Tommy and I made up.

“Well, it seems very cliche, I must say. We met when he was meeting with my father, obviously wanting to unite our businesses. I ended up being in the right place at the right time, we easily fell into a conversation with each other which was unfortunately interrupted by my father. Thomas was very confident to take me out to dinner, right in front of my father may I add! Surprisingly he was a charmer, and I guess we just fell in love along the way.”

The ladies all cooed, some covering their heart with their hand as if it were the most romantic thing they had ever heard. It was all bullshit. We had to make it as vague as possible, make sure that they had nothing more to gossip about. Both Tommy and I had been married before, they were our real loves; and both had been murdered by a rival, but who received more sympathy after they died? And who was called vicious, degrading names when she re-married to a wealthier, more powerful man? People of ‘society’ were disgusting.

“Finn,” I called out as I approached him, luckily escaping the women,“have you seen your brother?”

“Which one?” he smirked.

I smiled back, ruffling up his hair to annoy him.“The one I’m married to.”

He quickly smoothed it back down.“Not sure. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Alright, just keep an eye out for him, yeah?”

Although it wasn’t uncommon for Tommy to disappear (especially to avoid these groups of snobs), he had been gone for a while. He may have been frustrated by my choice of venue, but he would still inform me if he had to leave for business. This made me all the more suspicious.

Leaving the main room, I hastily walked down the halls, leaving the noise behind me. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, wishing that I didn't have an idea of where he could be...and who with. Brushing past staff carrying food and beverages, I made my way upstairs, checking our bedroom first. He was the lowest of low if he was up here; luckily, they hadn’t used this room. Checking through our bedrooms, it was only two doors down from our own when I heard heavy breathing. Taking a deep breath, I gripped onto the handle, bursting in and confirming my suspicions. 

“If you’re almost finished, we have guests waiting for you downstairs.” I stated, averting my gaze away from the scene before me.

Lizzie had been bent over the bed, with her dress pulled up over her hips (how classy), and my husband right behind her. She bolted upright, shimmying her dress back down and pulling her underwear up; even after being caught in the act, she looked smug, head held high as she walked past me. Looking back at Tommy, he had an annoyed expression as he did up his trousers. I didn’t want to speak to him, but he called me back before I had a chance to leave.

“We need to speak about this.” he said.

“We do. But not now, not whilst I am hosting this event for the organisation you created for your dead wife.” I snapped, slamming the door shut behind me.

Luckily I had put a time limit on the event, and this time there was a genuine smile on my face as they all left. That was before I remembered what I had witnessed earlier. It was going to go down much messier than I first anticipated, especially since the tension between us had been building up after I caught them in the act. My footsteps were heavy on the way to Tommy’s office, not even bothering the knock before entering. In his usual spot at his desk, whiskey already poured, there was no reaction from him when he saw the fury in my eyes.

“Glad you’re settled for the evening.” I spat, hands on my hips as I stood opposite him.

“This is about earlier?” he coughed.

“What else would we talk about?”

“I’m guessing it has upset you.”

“Not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

He didn’t reply, instead lighting a cigarette.

“Tommy, I understand that there is that bullshit saying ‘all men have urges that need to be fulfilled’, but it doesn’t mean you can disrespect me in my own home.”

“Your home?”

“Yes, my home. I’m here a lot more than you are anyway. And of all the times to be fucking her, you chose the annual Grace Shelby Institute meet up?”

“Don’t say her name.” he mumbled.

I scoffed.“It’s the only way I can get your attention nowadays.” 

Tommy raised from his chair, still smoking.“Attention? Since when have you ever wanted my attention?”

“We both knew that this marriage wasn’t based off of love, nor were we ever going to fall in love along the way. However, I have been nothing but a model wife to you. I keep up appearances on your behalf, I make up excuses for your disappearances, I also ensure that your reputation isn’t tarnished by people speaking about you behind your back! And if that doesn’t deserve some fucking respect then I don’t know what does! Also, don’t you think I miss the touch of a man? How many times have I come across men that have shamelessly flirted with me whilst you’re not around, and how easy would it have been to sneak away for just a moment to gain some satisfaction?!”

I could feel my face burning up as I ranted, hating that I wasn’t gaining any sort of reaction from him. Was he this blank with Grace? Was he this blank with Lizzie?

“So you’re asking me to stop seeing Lizzie?” 

“I’m not asking you that, because even if I did, you would keep doing it anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I just want respect. I don’t deserve to be humiliated like this.”

“No one knows.”

“Your family does! And even if they didn’t, that means I don’t deserve respect?”

He sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette.“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You said it nevertheless.”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Really Tommy? I want some common fucking decency.”

“Ask and you shall receive.”

I groaned, leaving before I said something I truly regretted. He was acting as if he didn’t give a shit (which he probably didn’t), which only angered me more. Who would want to be stuck in such a place? Letting out an angry scream, I picked up an expensive vase, raising it high above my head before throwing it on the floor with all my might. The pieces glided out across the hardwood floor, some spraying onto my shoes. A few servants rushed in, obviously alarmed by the noise. Instead of apologising, I marched past them, heading up the long stairs and to the bedroom; I would have preferred to grab the leftover bottles of champagne as a nightcap, but exhaustion from my anger would have to do.

Tommy still slept beside me that week, he still ate breakfast with me, sometimes dinner if he wasn't busy. He also tried to have normal, short conversations with me, though even when we glanced at each other, the tension was thick between us. It pissed me off that he was acting normal, and I knew that's why he was doing it...making me even more mad.

"I have a potential business partner coming here today." He informed me over breakfast.

"Why are they coming here?" I asked.

"I couldn't have a meeting elsewhere."

"I thought you said you don't like bringing business home...though come to think of it, you don't really do that either."

"Glad that's settled then."

I assumed that Tommy would want me out of the way when this 'partner' arrived. A good place to go was out to the stables, tend to the horses to take up time. However, I wasn't in the mood for riding or mucking out, instead opting to watch them be trained for racing. Leaning against a fence, I wasn't surprised that my mind was elsewhere, wondering why Tommy was still being so nice to me. We very rarely argued, mostly because neither of us wanted to face the problems at hand, especially when there were more pressing matters to deal with. But after yelling at him like I had, I expected some sort of silent treatment, or even for him to avoid me completely.

"Mrs Shelby?" a butler said from behind me. He continued as I turned around."Mr Shelby's meeting was to commence at twelve, but he is not here at present. However, his business partner has arrived. And..."

"And?"

"And Mr Shelby has asked that you keep him company whilst he is gone. He has assured me he shall be no longer than half an hour."

It was highly unusual for me to meet any of Tommy's associates. This meant that the man couldn't be any sort of threat, he wouldn't expose me like this. Following the butler back inside, I followed him to the parlour, preparing to act as a good host and a good wife.

"I'm sorry that my husband has kept you waiting, he's never been great with time keeping." I said as I walked in, the man having his back towards me.

As he turned around, my eyes widened, as did his.

"Christopher?!" I exclaimed.

"(Y/N)?!" He smiled, rushing towards me.

"Is that really you? What are you doing engaging in business with the Shelby's?"

"My firm is expanding, for some reason Thomas Shelby stepped forward and offered to become partners. I haven't heard about you for years!"

"Neither I about you. Ever since you moved away, we lost contact."

"And now you're the new Mrs Shelby. Bit risky isn't it?"

I laughed."Come sit down, u want to hear everything you have been doing since we last saw each other."

Christopher was a very old friend of mine. We had known each other since we were eighteen, becoming friends after our families were connected through business. We had been young people wanting to rebel, wanting to have fun; we were never in a relationship together, though we would sleep with each other, spend long nights out drinking with our friends. As a lot of my friends went off to get married to higher business men, he was still there, until I selfishly left him behind to marry my husband, the man I truly loved. I had loved Christopher, not so much as someone I wanted to spend my life with, though neither just a friend; it sounded more complicated that it was.

"You know, I always felt slightly bad for marrying and leaving you like that." I admitted.

"Only slightly?" he nudged me.

"It's not my fault I fell in love! We both said that we would never marry each other, it wasn't right."

"No, you are correct. Though, that didn't stop us doing things that couples do."

I giggled."And we did that a lot."

"I'm sure Mr Shelby keeps you busy."

"He would...if he was ever here. Though even if he was..."

"(Y/N)?"

"I've said too much already."

"Have the two of you ever...or haven't rather-"

"No we haven't. And I am telling you this in full secrecy, it must never leave your lips." I pointed a finger at him, becoming serious.

"I promise. I would never do anything to expose you like that."

"Thank you Christopher." I laid my hand on his thigh, thinking nothing of it until he placed his over mine.

Slipping away my hand, I looked away from him, feeling how intense our eye contact was becoming. It was stupid that my heart was beating faster, I was becoming hot under the collar over the tiniest amount of contact.

"I'm assuming your wife knows who you are making a deal with?" I said to start the conversation again.

"There is no Mrs in my life at the moment. I'm afraid work came first and well...there has never been much time."

"Oh Christopher, that's no excuse! Let me guess, you've lost your charm?"

"It's been working on you, hasn't it?"

He got me again. Glancing around, I saw no servants, though I wouldn't be surprised if they were eavesdropping. However, it was Tommy and I that employed them, if they wanted to lose their job, that would he the way to do it. Standing up, I gestured for Christopher to follow.

"We're going on a walk." I announced.

"What about your husband?"

"He will be ages before he gets here. And I'm allowed to show my old friend around the place."

We headed out of the front door, and without saying anything, I guided him down the path that led away from the house.

"(Y/N), I thought you were showing me around your home?" Christopher pointed out.

"I am. We're just starting at the beginning."

"What is that...hut?"

It was a small stone shed, one that would have been used to either keep guns or tools used to maintain the land, keep it tidy. Tommy had another one built closer, initially wanting to knock it down but soon forgetting about it. Now it was empty, the only things remaining being a desk and a chair. It was in front of the trees, slightly hidden by them. You would have to have a sharp eye to spot it, whether you were walking or driving by. Using my shoulder to budge it open, I stepped inside, closing the door after Christopher walked in.

"(Y/N), I'm not stupid, I know why we've come here." He said, staying close by me.

I hesitated to speak, knowing that I hadn't thought this through properly."Christopher... I wouldn't be doing this if-"

"Your husband is Thomas Shelby, this is dangerous for both of us."

"It isn't. He's allowed to go off and do what he wants, because he's Thomas fucking Shelby, and he's a man. Even if he found out about any of this, he wouldn't hurt someone if I asked him not to. He's good to me in that manner."

His hands came up to either side of my face."I'm worried about you, I've never seen you so..."

"Desperate?" I clung onto his jacket, pulling him closer.

"I couldn't believe it was you when you walked in. You're still as beautiful as you were when we were eighteen."

Although he was being a sweetheart and I hadn't received such compliments in a long time, I was inpatient. We both knew where this was headed, and it wasn't going to be as romantic or adventurous as it used to be.

Hungrily kissing me, his arms wrapped around my torso, reaching down to my arse as I pulled off his coat. Pulling away for a moment, he pushed me towards the desk, helping me scramble on top of it. My legs instantly spread as I ruffled up the bottom of my dress, using one hand to grab the back of his neck and kiss him again. I felt his hand slide up my thigh, gasping as he pulled my underwear aside. The sensation filling my body had been badly missed, and I felt myself writhing against his fingers. Leaning back against the wall, I moaned loudly, heavily breathing as I grinded my hips. He slowed down his movements, knowing how much it was frustrating me.

"Christopher..." I struggled to say."Fuck, please...don't stop."

He leaned in to my neck, sloppily missing it as he spoke in between."I loved teasing you like this."

I groaned as he removed his fingers, instantly reaching down to unbuckle his trousers. Before I could take a turn to torture him back, he pulled me off the desk, quickly turning me around and bending me over it. I yelped out in surprise, smiling at the thrill of it all. He tapped my legs apart, moving my skirts out of the way. I felt his skin on mine before he thrusted into me, making me cry out in pleasure. It didn't even matter if anyone could hear us, I hadn't fucked for God knows how long.

He was slow at first, building up the feeling that was in the pit of my stomach. I moaned out his name, reaching back to grab any piece of hm. He had a tight grip on my hips, especially as he started to quicken his pace. The noises escaping his mouth were somehow exciting me, I needed to feel and hear all of this. The pinching of skin from his hold didn't bother me, both of us shouting out each others names along with profanities before he came, but he kept going until I did too. With both of us finished and out of breath, Christopher gently collapsed over me.

"Fuck." I sighed as he pulled out.

Shakily straightening up, I made sure I was dressed correctly, kissing him gently one last time. My body couldn't believe what it had just gone through, and it already wanted more. Before we could say or do anything else, we heard the distant sound of a car, and it could only be headed this way.

"Shit." Christopher stressed, hastily getting dressed.

"It's OK! It'll be OK, Christopher!" I tried to calm him down.

"He's back already!"

"We'll head back and act like nothing happened. I was just walking around with you."

Making sure we both looked normal, we nervously made our way back to the house. My legs were still shaking as he speedily walked, but I said nothing, seeing the stress and fear plastered on his face.

"Ah, Mr Alexander, I see you have met my wife." Tommy was stood in the foyer, unnaturally smiling.

"We actually know each other. We grew up together." I explained, standing beside him.

Then it clicked.

"If you don't mind, I just need a quick word with my wife."

Christopher nodded, politely smiling at both of us before following the butler to Tommy's office. He turned to face me, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

"You invited him on purpose." I said.

"You might want to go lie down for a bit." He didn't say it maliciously, but I was still wary.

"Tommy, please don't hurt him. I initiated it, please don't-"

"I'm not going to do anything to him. He's done what I thought he would do."

"I'm confused. Why would you want him to sleep with me?"

"You said so yourself, why should it just be me doing what I want? You're Mrs fucking Shelby, you've got the power." He started to walk away, leaving me to still think about what he had done.

Still shaky but reeling from the events that unfolded, I ended up smiling."That scheming mother fucker."

[cyan-whump]

Twelve days of Whumpmas, day five: gift giving

I've skipped a couple of days but I do intend to complete them eventually, when I have time... For now here's some more Wynn and Blake, in which I ruin the fluff prompt from today's set while also filling my own prompt. Be warned, this one is dark, and also adults only.

Warnings: noncon, stabbing, blood, implied permanent injury, manipulation, victim blaming, emeto mention

---

Wynn doesn’t plan to say it.

They wake up to Blake’s eyes on them, lingering over their body as he lounges in the chair beside the window, idly folding and unfolding the knife in his right hand. It’s unfamiliar, disconcertingly pretty, blade gleaming iridescent colours, a knife Wynn would assume was a collector’s piece not meant for practical use, in the hands of anyone but Blake.

Their eyes meet his, and he grins. “Come here, babe.”

Wynn’s out of bed before they think about the action, suppressing a shudder as their body autopilot-walks them over to Blake, as he pulls them down into his lap, presses hard and hot against them. The blade of the knife slips beneath their thin cotton pyjamas to lie cold against their stomach, and they tense, breath catching, shrink away on instinct, realising their mistake from the soft groan Blake gives as they inadvertently grind on him. They freeze in place, breath shallow, any movement they could make an invitation to torment of one kind or another.

“Yeah, you feel that?” Blake breathes, lips brushing against their neck, his free hand snaking up the inside of their thigh, pulling them closer still. “You feel what you do to me, lying there making those cute little noises? Were you dreaming about me, beautiful?”

“I…” Wynn’s words catch in their throat. They have to answer. It’s never a rhetorical question, with Blake. “I don’t… know, I don’t remember.” They did dream, they’re sure of that, but the details have vanished, dissolved into nothing. All that’s left is a vague impression of confusion, tension, a pit in their stomach and a tightening band around their chest.

So maybe it was about Blake.

“You don’t?” Blake sounds faintly amused, and Wynn’s heart stutters for a beat, but he seems to accept their answer. “Maybe we should work on that. Get you keeping a diary or something. I wanna know how deep I am inside that head of yours.”

Of course. Of course he does, wants his hands on every part of them, wants to open them up and break them down. They’re shivering despite themself, and they know he feels it. The room is warm, the house is warm, Blake’s body is a furnace, and even the knife is warm now from the touch of their skin, but Wynn is freezing. Frozen.

“Got you a present, sweetheart,” Blake murmurs, skimming the blade across their skin as he lifts up the knife for them to see. It doesn’t cut them, doesn’t even scratch, but Wynn can feel how sharp it is all the same. “I know how much you like rainbows.”

Wynn swallows, their mouth dry. The bitter irony is, they really do think it’s a cool knife. They’d have coveted it if they saw it in any other context, not because they had a use for it but just to watch the colours shifting in the light, feel the curves of the black sculpted metal handle, pretend they were the sort of person who’d someday have to survive in the wilderness or save someone from a disaster and be there with all the right tools on hand. Now all they can think of is how easily the smooth curve of the tip would sink through flesh, how the small row of jagged serrations near the handle would catch and tear. “Wha… what’s the occasion?” they ask, brain falling back on a familiar social script, and realise too late that they sound like they’re trying to snark in the face of death. They wish they were that quick.

Blake chuckles softly. “Three month anniversary, babe.”

Wynn’s blood runs colder still. It’s been three months already? they think, and simultaneously, it’s only been three months?

“So you’re getting a choice today,” Blake goes on, and Wynn’s heart crashes through the floor. Of course they are. Of course he’s playing this game today.

The blade grazes their throat. Blake’s breath is hot against their ear. “This…” He grips their leg tighter and rolls his hips against them, making sure they can feel every inch of him through his jeans. “…or this? Which one’s going inside you, baby?”

Blood rushes in their ears. Wynn feels like throwing up, wonders what would happen if they just leant over and retched onto the carpet in response. Nothing good. Nothing that would get them out of this. He’s still going to make them say it.

They learned that the first day, still aching and dizzy from the beating he’d given them earlier when he came back down into the basement with a kitchen knife and a brutal grin. They have to answer, and begging not the knife isn’t an option. Positive responses only.

By now the rules are clear. If he just wants to hurt them, he hurts them. If he wants to get off, they have to ask for it. Always a choice. The knife, or him. The curling iron in their mouth, or him. The whip and the drill and the handsaw or, or, or…

“I…” Their voice is a croak. They wet their lips. He’s always patient with them when they’re semi-verbal, but they still have to get the words out eventually. Just say it, they tell themself, hands clenching, knuckles going white. I want your cock, Blake. I want you to fuck me. Just say it. All you have to do is say the words and you can shut down while it’s happening...

Their throat constricts. They close their eyes, because sometimes that helps, but they still slam into the same mental block.

His mouth is on their throat again. “Take your time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice crawling over their skin, thick with arousal. “Just tell me what you want.”

He never even tries to hide it that he already knows. Exactly what they’ll say, what they have to say. That’s what I thought, baby, he’d whispered the last time, and the time before, as his belt wrapped round their wrists. You just can’t get enough of me, can you…?

Wynn’s nails dig into their palms.

It’s been three months. It’s never going to be over. This game, they hate this fucking game so much.

“I…”

The words won’t come, and they won’t come, and then they do.

“I want the knife.”

It’s barely a whisper.

Wynn didn’t plan to say it.

Blake goes still, pulls back a little. The blade moves away. Wynn’s limbs are taut, shoulders stiff.

“What was that, babe?”

“I said I want the damn knife!” Wynn almost screams, whipping their head around to face him, and panic rises in their chest even as they speak because they raised their voice, they broke the rules, they’re being inappropriate, but what the hell is appropriate here? What social skills are they supposed to have to equip them for this situation, exactly? “If you – if you’re just – you’re just going to…”

Words desert them, and Blake blinks, once, twice, stunned for a few blessed seconds into silence.

Then he grins, and drives the knife into Wynn’s thigh.

Pain flares through them, red at first then white and searing as he pushes it in deeper, applies pressure and twists. Wynn’s back arches, the scream ripping out of them beyond their control.

Blake stands, bringing Wynn with him, and throws them down onto the bed. They fall without resistance, head reeling, and he’s on them and pain blossoms in their side as the knife sinks in again. And then again. There are a lot of places you can stab a person without killing them, Wynn remembers, and then they lose track of time and space and everything but the burning red and white and his weight on them and their own voice ringing in their ears, dizzying shrieks that eventually fade into helpless whimpers from their strained, raw throat.

Hair clings across their face, damp with sweat and blood, and Blake brushes it out of their eyes with bloody fingers. “Think you can go one more round for me, beautiful?” he says, hoarse and breathless with exertion, and doesn’t wait for a reply before he grabs their t-shirt and rips open the neck, placing the blade against their right shoulder. He pushes it in slowly at first, avid eyes watching their face as their skin parts and blood trickles down to join the rest soaking into the mattress.

Wynn turns their head away, closing their eyes. Blake leans down to kiss a tear from their cheek. “How does getting what you wanted feel?” he whispers, and in one quick motion forces the knife in the rest of the way. Something inside Wynn gives way, some tension they shouldn’t be able to feel suddenly released, and their right hand goes limp.

“F… feels…” Wynn isn’t sure that he expects an answer, but somehow the words are coming now, even though their voice is almost gone. Their mind is sinking into a blurry haze, pain so all-pervasive now that it’s stopped mattering.

“Yeah?” Blake sits back, leaving the knife buried in them. They don’t have to see his face to know how he’s smirking, triumphant.

“…feels okay.”

“…oh?” Blake taps the handle of the knife, making Wynn let out a sharp gasp as nerves flare again. “Think you’re losing too much blood, babe. We’re gonna have to get you patched up soon, but first…” They hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle, and flinch just a little, even distant as they are. Blake laughs. “What, you thought I wasn’t gonna take what I want?”

Yeah, Wynn thinks, as his weight settles onto them again, I knew you were. I always knew.

But I don’t have to ask for it. Not any more.

[goodlucktai]

when the bones are good

@natsumeweek 2021 day 4; sweet/sour

read on ao3

(previous part)

x

Yousuke Takuma looks like he regrets inviting the Natori brothers into his house. They tend to have that effect on people.

“I shouldn’t be reading these,” he says in a very calm tone. “These are the sacred property of your clan. They shouldn’t even have left your property.”

“It’s not like anyone is going to miss them,” Shuuichi replies plainly. “My grandfather still thinks I can’t get past the locks on the storehouse door. Even Takashi can get past those, and he’s eight.”

“Sometimes I just ask Urihime to get me the keys,” Takashi admits. “She doesn’t get along with grandfather so she likes having an excuse to take stuff from him.”

It’s a nice way of saying ‘she fucking hates him’ but Takashi is a nice person. 

The kid is chronically honest. Always has been. He’ll strive to frame it kindly, but the truth is all you’re getting from him. It can be annoying, but mostly it’s pretty funny, and at the end of the day Shuuichi is glad that Takashi doesn’t feel the need to lie or make up stories. Even about the really unbelievable things. He just says what he’s thinking, because he knows it’s the truth, and his big brother will back him up if anyone gives him any trouble.

Shuuichi doesn’t have a lot in his life to be proud of, but he’s proud of that. 

The right people don’t care if a little kid tells ghost stories, anyway. Hinata thinks they’re great. She keeps threatening to write them all down and adapt them into her first screenplay.

Takuma puts his face in his hands. Across the room, Tsukiko giggles, clearly not as focused on her homework as she would like for the rest of them to believe she is. Ginro sets a tray of tea down on the table and gives Shuuichi a stern look for having the audacity to stress her master out so soon after his injury. Chastened, Shuuichi lifts his hands in apology. 

“If you really don’t want to look at them, I’ll put them away,” he says. “But I trust you not to—run off with them and patent them under your name, or whatever it is you think I should think you’re going to do.”

That works a huff of wry laughter out of the man, and he looks up at Shuuichi with a warm expression. It’s the way Shuuichi thinks his dad might have looked at him if he’d been born a proper son.

“Lunch first,” Takuma says, “then we’ll take a look at this paper magic of yours. Though if a couple of little geniuses like yourselves can’t figure it out, I don’t know what you think this old man will be able to do.” 

He adds the last bit with a smile for Takashi, who beams up at him from where he’s been not-so-subtly sneaking Jinbe rice crackers. Jinbe is the most unsettling of Takuma’s three familiars, but he’s also—to Shuuichi’s resignation—Takashi’s complete favorite. It appears to be mutual.

“You’ve kept your promise, haven’t you?” Takuma asks after a moment. “About staying away from those meetings?” 

Shuuichi sighs performatively. “Of course I have. It’s not like I could bring my brother with me, and he’d hardly just stay home. He’s very disobedient.”

Takashi scoffs. “Hinata-neesan says I’m your most redeeming quality.”

“Nowhere in there does she mention ‘obedient,’” Shuuichi replies without missing a beat, and grins when Takashi makes a face at him. 

“Alright, alright,” Takuma says, laughing properly now. “As long as you’re keeping your word, I don’t care about why.” He pushes himself up to his feet, moving a little stiffly, and smiles at his daughter when Tsukiko hurries over to take his arm. “There should be some margherita pizzas in the chest freezer. I bought them on a whim the last time I was at the supermarket. Should we try them?”

Of course they should. Takashi scoops the last of the cookies off the table and piles them neatly in Jinbe’s greedy hands, even though Takuma sighs and makes noises about spoiled shiki. Tsukiko gives the disappearing treats a bit of an odd look, but she seems more fascinated to be in the company of spirits than unnerved.

Shuuichi is beginning to think that his relatives are just bad people. 

“By the way, have you made any progress on,” Takuma starts, and finishes with a nod towards Shuuichi’s arm. 

The lizard is scurrying around in busy little circles, as if it’s feeling restless. Shuuichi covers it with his hand, something that sometimes works in calming it down, like putting a blanket over a bird cage. In this case, it crawls onto his hand instead and resumes scurrying there. Weird little thing.

“I still have no idea what it is,” Shuuichi says ruefully, “but Takashi is trying to teach it tricks.”

Takuma stares at him, and then at his brother. Takashi offers, “It knows ‘roll over’!”

“Go,” Shuuichi’s mentor says firmly, pointing them down the hall. “Kitchen. Lunch. We’ll discuss this later.”

A knock on the door interrupts their noisy exodus, and Takuma frowns. Clearly, he isn’t expecting company. The amiable man’s posture tenses as he gestures for Tsukiko, Shuuichi and Takashi to stay put. Ginro and Benihimo flank him on his way to the front door. 

Exorcists tend to be a paranoid bunch.

But with a dangerous ayakashi on the loose, Shuuichi thinks, with a prickle of unease all his own, maybe it’s better safe than sorry. 

“Urihime, go collect all our scrolls and put them in my bag,” Shuuichi says swiftly. “Sasago, stay right here.”

His shiki both nod, and Urihime disappears. 

Tsukiko is picking up on the atmosphere, even if her eyes aren’t the same as theirs. Even normal humans have a sixth-sense sense for certain things and it’s not to be taken lightly. She shifts nervously, and something in Shuuichi’s chest goes warm when he realizes she’s put her arm around Takashi’s shoulders protectively. 

“Seiji?” Takuma asks. His voice is raised in surprise, carrying from the genkan. “What on earth are you doing here?” 

Relief and dread fight each other in the pit of Shuuichi’s stomach. Dread wins. He’s only encountered Matoba Seiji twice, once at the summit he inadvertently followed Amasaki to, and then again in passing for a few minutes in the woods, but those brief meetings were enough. 

Even normal humans have a sixth-sense for certain things. Usually danger. 

“Tsukiko,” he says casually, “can you and Takashi go get lunch started?” 

To Tsukiko’s eternal credit, she doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Takashi, will you help me? Dad buys so much weird stuff when he goes shopping that it might be hard to find the pizzas.”

Takashi gives Shuuichi a look that says, very clearly, that he knows when he’s being fobbed off. Shuuichi ruffles his hair in a way that ruins the careful work Sumi-san (the only member of the Natori house staff who will still talk to either of them) put in that morning with half a dozen bobby pins. Now it flops into Takashi’s eyes and he makes an outraged sound, reaching up to shove Shuuichi’s hand away. 

“I’ll fill you in later,” Shuuichi says. “Promise.”

That’s enough for Takashi. Mollified, he trails after Tsukiko without argument, and with only one curious look over his shoulder. Jinbe drifts after them watchfully, and probably only partly in hopes of more snacks. Sasago remains at Shuuichi’s side, a stalwart presence that he’s come to depend on. 

It’s Shuuichi’s job to keep the monsters away. Whatever form they might take. 

Takuma looks irritated as he leads Seiji into the sitting room. With a nod of his head, he invites Shuuichi inside, too. The tea tray from before has vanished, a new one sitting in its stead, and Shuuichi notes with some inward amusement that Ginro didn’t lay out any snacks this time. 

“Well, what do you know,” Seiji says, as enigmatic as ever. “Shuuichi-san, I never would have expected to find you here.”

It’s impossible to tell what this guy is actually thinking. 

“Did you come by to check on Takuma-san, too?” Shuuichi asks. He has to work to keep his tone from biting, but he manages it.

“In a sense,” Seiji replies politely. “I was hoping to find out more about the ayakashi that attacked him. Going after it before it hurts anyone else is an exorcist’s job, don’t you think?” 

It’s bait, as clear and obvious as a cricket dangling from some fishing line. If he were still the bitter brat he used to be, maybe Shuuichi would have risen to it fiercely, like a tide, surging and crashing against Seiji’s unchanging stone facade. He would have said, ‘You don’t care about helping people. You called Takuma-san weak. You’re just looking for someone to use.’

Which is all perfectly true, and perfectly justifiable reasons to not want to drink tea with this guy and discuss the differences in their conventions, but it’s not like calling Seiji out would do any good. It probably wouldn’t even be satisfying. He would just gaze at Shuuichi with that stupid cat-that-caught-the-canary expression and make him feel like an idiot for existing.

He gets enough of that at home, thanks. 

“You’re right,” Shuuichi says mildly, with a smile of his own, “that is an exorcist’s job.”

Takuma eventually tells Seiji what he wants to know, clearly having given up on keeping the teenager away from exorcist summits and dangerous ayakashi, but he does afterword his information with warnings to be careful. 

Urihime sets Shuuichi’s bookbag beside him and he nods his thanks. Seiji clocks the two-second interaction with sharp eyes. 

“Look at that! You have a servant?” His eyes follow her when she moves to stand next to Sasago, next to both of Takuma’s shiki along the side of the room, and he whistles. “Two servants. Pretending to be an exorcist on the sly, are we, Shuuichi-san?”

More bait. Another cricket. Shuuichi sips from his teacup. “They belong to my family. I don’t know why they follow me around. They must be bored.”

All of which is true, technically. Takuma’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, but he doesn’t comment. Sasago turns her head very slowly, and her eyes, hidden beneath their blindfold, seem to bore into the side of his head. Urihime is less subtle and outright hisses at him. 

“Hmm, jury seems to be out on that,” Seiji says, and laughs. 

The sitting room door rattles open and Tsukiko peers through. Shuuichi’s fists clench in his lap, because sure enough, Takashi is right behind her, his brown eyes peeking curiously into the room. 

“Sorry, papa, but is your guest staying for lunch, too? Only, I don’t know how many pizzas to put in.”

“No, no, I couldn’t impose,” Seiji says. “I’ll get going and leave you guys to enjoy the rest of your afternoon. It looks as though you were having a pleasant time before I barged in.”

We were, Shuuichi thinks, but he keeps it to himself. He and Takuma stand up to see Seiji out. Seiji pauses when he spots Takashi behind Tsukiko, and his amicable expression takes on an edge that Shuuichi can’t define. He looks more engaged now than he did during the entire conversation with Takuma. 

“Hello again,” Seiji says in a pleasant tone. 

“Excuse me?” Shuuichi interjects loudly. “‘Again’?”

“Hi,” Takashi replies at length. His gaze is fixed on Seiji’s face as though there’s something interesting happening there. Jinbe drifts like a shark behind him, mask pointed towards Seiji suspiciously.

“As I thought, you have good eyes,” Seiji remarks, whatever that’s supposed to mean. He looks across the room at Urihime and Sasago, down at the bag by Shuuichi’s feet, at the lizard mark curled up on his arm, and then finally up at Shuuichi himself. Smiling widely, he adds, “I look forward to seeing what becomes of the Natori clan.”

Takuma escorts him out properly, and Tsukiko goes back to deal with the pizzas. Alone save for a scattering of trusted ayakashi, Shuuichi kneels and beckons his brother over. 

“C’mere, squirt.”

Takashi crosses the room to him. Standing in front of Shuuichi like this, they’re almost eye-to-eye. 

“Have you met that guy before?” Shuuichi asks. 

“Only once. It was when you had classroom duties and Hinata-neesan took me to the 7-Eleven to get chicken nuggets,” Takashi explains. “We met Matoba-san while we were walking. He said he was your friend.”

“I don’t have any friends.” 

Takashi nods very seriously.

“That’s what Hinata-neesan said. She took out her pepper spray and waved it at him. I think Matoba-san thought that was funny, but he said he didn’t mean to upset her, and he left. It was the right thing to do, probably, because he didn’t have any spirits with him, and Urihime was getting annoyed that he was talking to me.”

Shuuichi feels like he’s aged thirty years in the past three minutes. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough that there are spots in his vision when he looks up again. 

“Takashi, listen,” he says, “stay away from him. If he ever approaches you for any reason, tell me about it, okay? Promise?”

He holds out his pinky. Takashi rolls his eyes, much too grown up at eight years old for things like this, but he hooks his finger around Shuuichi’s gamely. 

“Whoever lies has to swallow a thousand needles,” they recite together, and then Shuuichi ruffles Takashi’s hair again just to make him squawk. 

“Sorry about that, boys,” Takuma says when he comes back. 

He pauses in the doorway and his bandaged face creases in a smile to see them rough-housing playfully, Takashi struggling to free himself from Shuuichi’s headlock, the tense atmosphere from before banished like an errant spirit.

“Bring those scrolls with you to the kitchen,” Takuma says warmly, “and I’ll help however I can.”

Seiji can think whatever he wants about Takuma, but the man is clever. By the time Shuuichi and Takashi are ready to leave, packed up with a leftover pizza and some cookies for the road, they’ve puzzled out the array that they were stuck on and Shuuichi managed to make a paperman fly. 

Takuma had looked over the notes he’d taken ruefully. He couldn’t help but absorb some of the practices for himself as he helped the boys study them, and clearly he felt guilty about that. Shuuichi leaned forward across the table and caught his eye. 

I trust you, he wanted to say. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father. But there was absolutely no way Shuuichi could say something like that. Not out loud, with his mouth, where someone might hear him. 

“Clan trade or not, if you’re ever in danger and any of this paper magic could help you, I want you to use it,” he said instead. “No secret is worth keeping if it means you get hurt. Right, Takashi?” 

“Right,” Takashi piped up, his little voice clear and bright in that sunny kitchen. He was watching intently as his paperman wobbled precariously across the table, trying to carry a note to a delighted Tsukiko, and didn’t bother looking up even as he added, “It’s just paper, ojisan.”

“Yeah, ojisan,” Shuuichi teased laughingly. 

Takuma rolled his eyes, but gave in with a smile, as if he couldn’t help but be charmed by their noisy, obtrusive presence in his home. For a second, even though he was clearly the one who had gone out of his way to help them—wasting an entire day working with them on magic he didn’t fully approve of them studying in the first place, an entire day he should have spent recuperating—Takuma looked as though they were the ones who had done him a favor, just by being there. 

“What did Seiji mean when he said you had good eyes?” Shuuichi will remember to ask his brother a little later, when they’re walking home. 

“Oh, I guess because I noticed the weird mark on his face,” Takashi says. 

“Weird mark? What did it look like?”

Takashi hums thoughtfully, glancing around. He trots off the road a little bit to pick up a stick, then crouches in the dirt and starts drawing a strange, crooked symbol. Shuuichi leans over him to watch.

It’s not a symbol he’s ever seen before. Yokai writing, if he had to guess. 

“What does it mean?” he asks the shiki. 

Sasago drifts over and inspects the drawing, her face giving nothing away. 

“‘Something owed,’” she translates after a moment. “I think the closest human word would be ‘debt’.”

“Huh,” Shuuichi says. He offers Takashi a hand and hauls the kid back upright, frowning thoughtfully. “And you said it was on his face?” 

“Yup, above his right eye. Didn’t you see it?” A thread of anxiety works its way into Takashi’s voice that Shuuichi is quick to smother. 

“I didn’t have my glasses on,” he says smoothly, “so I must have missed it. You know your eyes are better than mine.”

Takashi grins up at him, appeased, and they spend the rest of the walk playing with bits of talisman paper. It’s habit by now to keep their pockets stuffed full of scraps. Shuuichi manages to make a couple of them fly, and Takashi claps his hands together in glee every time.

To anyone who might be watching, it probably looks like the wind is catching the scraps and lifting them out of their hands instead of the shaky first steps of magic it really is. There won’t be anything to question about the sight of two brothers, taking their time getting home to a place where no one is waiting for them, laughing and jumping as they try to catch those floating pieces of paper.

[spider6oy]

Magic Sticks || Peter Parker

summary: as y/n is trying to practice her witchcraft, peter can’t help but feel intrigued - leading to him coming to watch her first hand.

peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: witchcraft

word count: 1200-ish

masterlist

You pushed your hair behind your ears. The loose strands had begun to tickle at the skin along your jaw, causing you to lose your concentration on the spell before you. You let out a small breath before raising one of your hands; an averaged sized stick was being gripped tightly in your right palm, another stick in your left. You pursed your lips, using the stick in your right hand to tap at your chin; reading over the words written by one of your ancestors (Elizabeth Y/L/N; a handmaiden during the eighteenth century). Her writing was all swirls and long strokes. Your eyes traced over the fading ink as you readied your hands to begin the spell once more, gripping the sticks even tighter.

You closed your eyes, soon feeling the swell and build-up of power deep within your chest as your body readied itself to perform the simple incantation.

"Like brass to fire, like stick to flame, heed my words, know my- “

“What’re you doing?”

Your eyes immediately shot open at the sound of the voice; whatever type of power that had been coursing through your veins instantly vanishing. Your body twisted and turned as you searched the room for the prime suspect who has disturbed your craft. Your eyes quickly landed on the culprit; narrowing into slits as you glared at the teenage boy stood in the entranceway to the training room.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You questioned sarcastically, waving the sticks in your hands around for added emphasis.

Peter pushed himself off from the doorframe he had been leaning on, keeping his arms crossed as he slowly walked towards you. “Uh, practicing your new super-cool drum solo?” He answered, eyebrows raised in question as his eyes shifted between you and the sticks currently in your possession.

You blinked lazily; questioning how the boy who stood in front of you was both one of the smartest people you had ever met and also one of the dumbest. You shook your head in disappointment as you swivelled back around on your spot on the floor, facing the yellowed piece of parchment once more.

“I’m practicing witchcraft, you dumbass.” You stated, sighing lightly as you shifted the paper closer towards you. “Well, I was before you interrupted me. You’re lucky I didn’t set you on fire by accident,” You pondered on the thought, “I don’t know how I would have explained that to Tony or May.”

Peter walked around you, ignoring your empty threats, as he sat on the ground opposite you. His hand inched towards the aged paper, “Woah, is that the spell?!” He asked; excitement and wonder laced in his tone as his eyes shone in amazement at the not-so-simple piece of paper.

You lightly hit his outstretched hand with one of your sticks, sending him a look of warning. “Don’t touch my spells, Parker.” You pulled the enchantment towards your body – making sure it was out of Peter’s grasp. “It’ll turn your skin to ash.” You said, raising your sticks into the same position from earlier as you once again began to attempt the simple spell.

“Oh my gosh, really?!” Peter questioned.

He sounded. . . excited?

Did he actually want his skin to turn to ash?

“No.” You watched as the glint of awe that had been swirling in his brown irises disappeared, a new look of disappointment flashed across his features. “But I will if you try to touch my spells again.” You threatened, not missing the way Peter rolled his eyes at your statement – he knew you would never actually harm him.

“So. . . what are you trying to do?” Peter queried, eyeing the two sticks you had yet to put down in your hands, “And why do you need those?”

You shook out your shoulders, feeling some form of energy begin to build in the pit of your stomach as you readied yourself to begin the incantation. “I’m trying to create fire, and the sticks are required to do the spell.” You stated before breathing out slowly, raising the sticks into the air.

Peter watched you as you closed your eyes once again. He studied your face intently; watching in adoration as your face soon became a picture of utmost tranquillity. His eyes traced over the smoothness of your brow, the way in which your eyelashes gently rested upon your delicate skin, and the way your lips pouted ever so slightly as you concentrated on completing your spell.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, hiding the lower half of his face behind his folded legs in an attempt to hide the smile that had slipped onto his lips – all he could think about was how truly beautiful you looked in that very moment.

He never wanted to forget it.

"Like brass to fire, like stick to flame, heed my words, know my name. Faster than light, dark corners seek, lick to flame, my vengeance wreak." While the words slipped from between your lips, you continuously tapped the sticks against each other, just as the spell had instructed. Your eyes snapped open quickly, witnessing the sparks that shot from the pieces of wood, making white dots cloud your vision. The sparks soon died down, revealing steady burning red flames, reflecting off of your Y/E/C orbs.

"Holy shit. It worked!" you whispered, slightly startled at what you had just done – not actually thinking you had the capabilities to pull off even a simple spell as this.

“Oh my god!! That was awesome!” Peter shouted, practically jumping up from his place on the floor as he continued to watch the fire burn.

His eyes then flickered from the flames and moved towards you; staring at you with one of the brightest grins you had ever seen (you believed it could rival the sun). “That was honestly one of the coolest things I have ever seen! I had no idea you had the power to do that, Y/N. Can you do anymore spells? Could you show me them? Please?”

You were completely stunned.

Never had somewhere been this interested in your powers before – or even you for that matter.

Your mouth bobbed open and closed as you struggled to find the words to respond. You quickly stifled a cough as you tried to regain a sense of composure; whilst wondering why Peter Parker of all people had made you lose it in the first place.

“Um,” you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, “yeah, I guess. I mean. . . if you really want to?” You muttered, somehow not seeming to look away from Peter – the look on his face becoming oh-so addicting.

His smile seemed to widen even further at your reply (you didn’t think that was possible) and he quickly pushed himself up from his position on the floor - you couldn’t help but notice the eagerness that had begun to seep onto his features.

“Oh, you mean right now?”

“Yes! W-Well only if that’s okay with you, Y/N?” He stuttered, awkwardly scratching at the nape of his neck.

You pushed yourself up from the floor; collecting your sticks and your ancestors spell as you silenced the burning flames with a few words whispered under your breath.

“Yeah that’s fine Parker, just don’t go touching anything in my room.” You stated, heading towards the door to the training room, hearing Peter’s footsteps follow closely behind you. “I will not be held responsible if you lose a finger or get possessed by a Demon, got it?”

“Uh. . . did you say a Demon?!”

[azozzoni]

idk what this is. I just felt like writing something.

*

Jens couldn’t help smiling to himself as he watched Lucas stumble off his skateboard, not at all as graceful as he usually appeared. Mid-afternoon sun shone through the shifting leaves as Jens watched Lucas retrieve his board from where it had rolled away, a chill breeze heralding the end of fall whipping past the back of his neck.

“I thought you said your boyfriend could skate,” Moyo said from beside Jens on the wall.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jens replied, for what had to be the third time in the past week. He knew it had been a mistake to get drunk and tell the guys he wouldn’t mind making out with a guy, that he could understand what Robbe saw in Sander. Maybe it had also been a mistake to befriend the new guy with beautiful blue eyes that Jens found himself thinking about far too often to be platonic.

“You sure?” Moyo asked, making annoying kissing noises in Jens’ ear as Lucas glanced over.

Jens shoved Moyo away, rolling his eyes. So maybe he hadn’t just invited Lucas to be nice. After all, it wasn’t like Lucas had any other friends here, and maybe when Lucas laughed, it made Jens’ stomach flip-flop in a completely ridiculous way.

Fuck. He wasn’t a ten year old girl.

Or maybe he was as he watched Lucas head down a ramp, coming up the other side, catching his eye at the top, a giddy feeling flooding his chest. The board under Lucas’ feet seemed to move on its own, shooting out from underneath him a second later and Lucas went down hard—Jens could hear the smack of the concrete even from his spot on the wall.

“Oh!” He heard Moyo from beside him, the sharp intake of breath from Aaron.

As Moyo laughed, Jens hesitated. A part of him wanted to rush over to Lucas to make sure he was okay. The other part knew exactly what the guys would say if he did.

It was Lucas’ shaky arms pushing himself up that made Jens slide off the wall, sliding down into the pit and reaching for Lucas’ arm.

“You okay?”

Jens swallowed as Lucas looked up at him, blood smeared over his chin, lip split as Lucas ran his tongue tentatively over it.

“I think so,” he said slowly, rubbing his elbow, grimacing.

Hesitating, Jens reached up with his thumb, wiping away some of the blood on Lucas’ chin. He told himself it was to check it was just a scrape, that he hadn’t accidentally knocked out a tooth, but he couldn’t help feeling nervous as Lucas let him, watching him carefully.

Jens didn’t know why he felt this way, why he suddenly cared about touching another guy. If it had been one of his other friends, he would have just propped them upright and gave them a slap on the back.

“Thought you said you skated,” Jens said, pulling his hand back when it was more than clear that it was just a scrape on his chin, and Lucas frowned.

“Sure, on flat surfaces.”

Laughing, Jens shook his head. “What? Were you trying to impress me or something?”

Lucas didn’t reply to that, clearing his throat instead, still rubbing his elbow, not meeting Jens’ gaze. Something swooped into Jens’ stomach, unexpected. Had he been right? Lucas wanted to impress him?

“I think I’m done for today.”

Jens nodded instead of pushing, though he couldn’t stop thinking about it as they returned to Moyo and Aaron perched on the wall.

“You sure your elbow’s okay?” he asked as Lucas held onto it.

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.” Lucas shrugged, dropping his hand as they reached the guys.

“That was impressive, man!” Moyo said, reaching out to slap Lucas’ shoulder. “I haven’t seen anyone go down that hard since Aaron was last on a board.”

Lucas merely forced a smile, as though he wasn’t quite as amused. “I try.” He dug his phone out from his pocket a second later, though. “Shit, I gotta get home before my dad does.”

As Lucas took a step back, Jens didn’t want him to leave, a strange urge to follow him rising.

“I forgot, I told my mom I’d watch my little sister,” he said quickly, grabbing his board off the ground. “I’ll walk with you, Luc.”

Jens didn’t miss the kissy faces Moyo made as he turned away, glad Lucas was already heading for the edge of the park. He caught up to him easily, falling into step and glancing at the blood already drying on his face.

“Will your dad be pissed?” Jens asked as they turned a corner and the park vanished behind them. Lucas, who had been keeping his gaze on the sidewalk, lifted his head finally.

“That I’m late?”

“About the—” Jens nodded at Lucas’ face. He was still pretty, even with a split lip and scrapes all over his chin, and Jens caught himself thinking it, looking away sharply instead. He wasn’t sure what his brain thought was going to happen here—he’d only known Lucas a few weeks, and even if he’d thought about guys in the abstract, the idea of really kissing one hadn’t seemed important until just now.

“Probably not,” Lucas said, shaking his head, touching his lip gingerly. “He’ll just want to know what I was doing, where I was.” He sighed and kicked aside a leaf on the ground as they walked.

“Parents can be so annoying,” Jens agreed. His own mother had long given up on knowing where he was at all times. She still had his sister to corral and that kept her busy.

“Yeah,” Lucas muttered. “It’s just ever since we moved here, he’s, like, trying to make up for everything somehow? Always wants to know what I’m doing, if I’m okay. It’s exhausting.”

Jens didn’t ask what his dad was trying to make up for. He knew Lucas had left his mom in the Netherlands, but they hadn’t talked much about it.

“Just tell him you got in a fight,” he said, more following Lucas than heading for his own house, watching the way Lucas tucked his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket, how he smiled at the suggestion.

“I guess that’s less embarrassing than what really happened.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” Jens assured him. “I’ve fallen plenty of times. We all have.”

“Yeah, but probably not in front of a guy who—” Lucas cut himself off sharply, swallowing visibly, glancing up at the street signs. “Isn’t your house the other way?”

“A guy who what?” Jens asked instead of answering the question, his heart thudding against his ribcage as Lucas hesitated, frowning, running his tongue over the cut in his lip.

“Guys you want to be friends with,” Lucas muttered finally, shrugging, looking away, and Jens got the distinct feeling that hadn’t been what he’d been about to say.

The corner was quiet, a shop across the street, and Lucas was right. Jens’ house was to the left, but Jens didn’t actually have to watch his sister. He’d only said that so he could leave with Lucas, which seemed stupid in retrospect as they stood there, and Jens knew he should at least pretend to go home.

“I could take the long way,” Jens heard himself say, catching a slight smile at the edge of Lucas’ lips as he did.

“What about your sister?”

“She’ll be fine if I’m a few minutes late.”

“Babysitter of the year,” Lucas joked as Jens joined him crossing the street. He did glance over as they reached the other side, though. “You know, you don’t have to walk me all the way home. I’m really fine. I didn’t hit my head or anything. I know where I’m going.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Jens said before he could stop himself, watching the way Lucas’ eyebrows furrowed. Fuck. “I mean, you have only been here a couple weeks. You could still get lost, concussion or no.”

For a second, Lucas frowned, as if unsure whether or not to believe Jens. It was a terrible excuse—the real reason even more ridiculous—that Jens just hadn’t wanted to part ways so soon back at the skate park, that he just wanted a few minutes alone with Lucas. The last few weeks, it seemed as if the guys were always around when Lucas was, that he couldn’t find even a minute to just talk to Lucas without it needing some really weird excuse.

“Do you walk all the new kids home?” Lucas asked finally, turning from Jens and heading forward.

“Nah, you’re special,” Jens said, grimacing to himself as the words came out, and he nudged Lucas with his elbow instead, relieved to see Lucas smile slightly.

God, he was an idiot, he thought as they turned another corner onto a block filled with apartment buildings. He hadn’t been this bad at flirting since Jana, and that had partially been because he was dating her best friend at the time. Not exactly his best moment.

But he was free and clear now. Free and clear and had no idea what he was even trying to do with Lucas.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jens was surprised when they stopped, at least until Lucas nodded at the door to the building.

“This is me,” he said with a shrug. “I should probably at least try to get cleaned up before my dad gets home.”

“Yeah,” Jens agreed, glancing up at the building, shifting his weight, casting for the right thing to say.

“Yeah,” Lucas echoed after a second, not making any moves to head inside.

A cold breeze swept leaves past them on the street as they stood there, and Jens felt himself reaching for Lucas, thumb brushing under the cut on his lip.

“I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he said, raising his gaze to Lucas’, an unfamiliar intensity in the irises as Jens licked his own lips, nervous, unsure, swallowing down the butterflies crammed in his throat.

“I’m sure,” Lucas said, practically whispered, and Jens was close enough to hear, close enough not to stop himself as he leaned in, fingers sliding up to Lucas’ ear as their lips met.

The bubble in his chest burst, a wave of relief as Lucas kissed him back, opened his mouth to the slide of his lips, taste a little coppery from the dried blood, but Jens didn’t even care. This was what he’d been waiting for since that day Lucas had stepped into their classroom and the teacher had sat him right in front of Jens.

They broke away slowly, and Jens opened his eyes, smiling at the blush on Lucas’ cheeks.

“Next time we go to the skate park, you can just watch, yeah?”

A smile spread across Lucas’ face as nodded. “I can do that.”

Nodding, Jens let his hand fall from Lucas’ cheek. “Tell your dad I got you home safe.”

Lucas laughed, stepping away reluctantly, and it made Jens smile. “I think I won’t tell him about this,” he said, stepping up to the door and pausing. “It’s just mine for now.”

Jens couldn’t help grinning as Lucas stepped through the door and it shut behind him. It was just theirs for now, and that was good enough for him.

[ejm513]

HEART OF STONE-CHAPTER ONE-LIGHTWEIGHT

PROLOUGE

~CHAPTER ONE~

~LIGHTWEIGHT~

“What is the status on the Huang gang?” Toph barked, sitting tall and erect behind her large wooden desk. The young, embarrassingly green cadet put a valiant effort into mimicking her stoic stance. No amount of effort could hide his racing blood and his pounding heart. Toph could sense it all. Had she been closer to him she could have even sensed the heat radiating from his cheeks. She could hear his clumsy fingers crinkling a piece of paper as his breath hitched.

It took every ounce of self-control for Toph not to smirk or let out a horrendous snort.

“Poor kid must be quaking in his boots.” She silently mused as she cleared her throat. Her fingers curled around themselves and rested under her chin. Her milky eyes bore him down, and she could only imagine his squirming figure growing tighter as the seconds ticked.

“I’m waiting Officer Chen.” She drawled. The young officer jumped, papers fumbling in his clammy fingers.

“Yes Chief my apologies Chief.” Chen paused, clearing his throat and straightening the papers in his hands.

“They’ve either been very quiet or have gone way underground. We’ve been keeping an eye on them, even having plain clothed officers scout their usual stomping grounds. There’s been a suspicious drop in activity… an alarming drop.”

Toph leaned back in her chair and nodded. She brought her pale, surprisingly dainty fingers to her lips, letting the information settle in her head.

The Huang Gang had, once upon a time, started as a group of misfit benders. They were down on their luck and had resorted to menacing the public to survive. Such activities including robbing, mugging… the usual illegal tom foolery. There was a disturbing darkness to their malice though. It was all tinged with the taste of hatred and vengeance. Even in their early disjointed early days their favorite targets had been fire benders and above all, non benders.

Toph felt her stomach drop. It seemed no matter how hard she, Aang, Zuko or anyone tried the rift between benders and non-benders refused to give way. Toph mercifully had bene able to contain the band of unhinged troublemakers, even as they grew and ever more coordinated.

How she had managed to underestimate them to such an alarming degree Toph would never know. Right under her nose the Huang’s ballooned into the largest, most systematic crime organization in Republic City. Their childish days of malice and menacing had dissented into terrorizing. The horror they inspired reach far and wide, stitching their way into the fabric of every citizens life. They lurked in the shadows, struck with no mercy and vanished with the wind back into the darkness.

Toph could only sigh and marvel at how much of a pain in her ass the Huang’s had become.

“Alarming is right.” Toph conceited, her pretty features screwing with aggravation. “It could mean nothing, but I don’t trust them for one second. They’re up to something and up to something big. Continue to send plain clothed officers under cover. We have to figure out what they’re doing and stop them before they can do it-understood?”

“Yes chief!” Chen barked with a click of his heels and a stiff salute.

“Good. Now one more thing-what time is it?” There was a pause as Chen’s black eyes glanced to the lonely clock hanging on the wall.

A strange piece of décor for a blind woman, he noted.

“It’s 3:30.”

“Oh man!” Toph cried, leaping out of her chair. “I need to go.” Officer Chen hurdled towards the wall, his face twisted with incredulity.

“If I may be permitted, why are you leaving so early?” He asked, gawking at her as she bustled towards the door. “It’s not like you.”

“I promised Avatar Aang and Katara I would come meet their new baby.” She said, whisking past him to reach the doorknob.

“Don’t forget to tell Sargent Suzuki my orders-or else.”

“Punishment?” Chen gulped.

“Big time.” She dead panned, swinging the door open. “Have a good day.” Toph cried in an eerily high, sing-song voice that sent a chill down the young officer’s spine. She left Chen frozen in the office, pale faced and gaping.

“I don’t get paid enough for this…”

Top marched her way through the familiar halls of headquarters. Though she was demure in stature, she cut a striking figure as she strode towards the exit. Her strong, petite frame was covered in a heavy suit. It shined and gleamed in spite of the garish indoor lighting. She kept her coal colored mane twisted in a large, moon shaped bun. Jagged bangs framed her elegant alabaster features. Those features were always hard and stubborn, much like the Earth she wielded with such deadly force.

Combined with her rank, it was no surprise she was given a wide berth. Every soul he passed would greet her with a bow of the head and a curt, “Chief Beifong.”

Toph would return the deference with a short nod, ignoring the pit in her stomach.

It never mattered to how many years she had the lofty position, or how many years she would continue to serve. It never mattered that she had chosen this life-or that she reveled in the simplicity of being known as chief. The extreme deference made Toph’s skin crawl. It was so grand secret that her lives greatest passion was ordering others around and commanding respect. In fact, if Toph had been completely honest with herself, nothing on Earth gave her such a thrill and joy.

And yet….

It was one thing to bark drills at a bunch of children her own age.

It was thing to be called “Sifu Toph”.

“Chief” was another monster entirely.

Had she known she was signing up to a life of distance and cold formality she would have slapped Aang and Zuko upside the head for even suggesting she be Chief Toph Beifong.

They were desperate and she…

No matter. Toph huffed as she reconciled with the notion of another conversation explaining the difference between respect and kow towing.

Two of her closest friends had brought new life into this world, and Toph would be damned if she didn’t get to meet him.

“Leaving already Chief Beifong?” A small voice chirped. Toph moved her head to the sound of the mousey voice. She flashed a grin at the timid girl who manned the receptionist desk.

“Yup. I’m heading over to Air Temple Island.”

“Ooohhh!” The woman squealed. Toph could hear the ear-splitting smile in her voice. She bit her bottom lips, stifling a snicker of her own.

“Are you going to meet the new baby?” She asked.

“I am.” Toph exclaimed, her face splitting into a beam. The secretary sighed a dreamy, doe eyed sigh. Toph could easily imagine her eyes fluttering and a far off look on her face as she imagined a baby of her own.

“I’m so happy for them. Babies are just the most wonderful thing, aren’t they?”

Toph stiffened, her hands clasping behind her back. She twisted and fiddled with them, attempting to ignore her racing heart and the hole in her chest. She prayed her blazing cheeks hadn’t turned a beat red.

“Ah…. Yeah sure. Kids are pretty great.” Toph nodded. She could feel those soft, childish eyes bearing down on her, waiting for her to say something, anything.

“She must be new… great.” Toph groaned, beginning to rock on her heels. The air grew heavy as the secretary continued to beam and Toph rocked on her heels, her milky eyes darting all around the open lobby.

“Do you ever”

“Well would you look at the time! I gotta go home and change before I miss the ferry. I’ll see you tomorrow… uuuhhh….. uhhhh….

“Sakura…”

“Oh right Sakura!! Sorry about that hun.” Toph spun on the palm of her feet and dashed out the door into the sunlight. She left another soul gawking, blinking and utterly baffled in her wake.

“What just happened?”

Toph’s air of authority refused to melt, even in the bright late May sun. Her shoulders remained erect, her head held high and her steps measured. It didn’t matter that the smooth sidewalk threatened to char her bare feet, or that the sun seemed hell bent on boiling her alive in her metal uniform. While she was on the streets the people would know who she was, and that she was always there.

Still… her esteemed position and respect she commanded didn’t mean Toph couldn’t enjoy herself.

Toph released her twirling fingers and hung her arms lose by her side. Her skilled hands naturally went to her hips. Her posture slowly withered as the sun warmed her face. She sucked a deep breath, letting the sweet air fill her lungs.

No matter how much Toph would have wanted to, she could never take in her beloved Republic City. She could never see the buildings creeping towards the sky. She could never witness the people bustling around her, creating new lives for themselves. She couldn’t even view the streets beneath her bare feet or the sapphire sky above her.

Yet the Chief of Police couldn’t help but grin. She may not have been able to see the fruits of her labor; but they were all around her as she moved through the streets she knew so well.

She could hear the voices swirling around her, many of them filled with laughter and airy join despite what hid in the shadows. She could hear horses and carriages clacking down the road, the beasts scent wafting in her nose. She heard the merchants bellowing and children screeching with delight. The sweet scent of flowers and late spring air trickled her nose.

Toph’s lips curled into a triumphant, cocky smirk. The signs of a well fought, well-earned peace was all around her. It didn’t matter she couldn’t see the results of her tireless efforts. She could smell it, she could hear it and she could feel it in the earth beneath her feet.

It was enough to make Toph puff out her chest. The Huang’s be damned. She had help forge a new era of love and peace with her own two hands and no one would take that from her. She let out a contented sigh as she rounded the corner to her apartment. Her heart began to flutter as she opened the door, her stomach flipping and twisting. She felt her cheeks flush as she weaved through the halls, her fingers tingled with anticipation.

“I hope he’s home.” She thought, curling her fingers around the smooth doorknob and twisting it open.

“Hello?” Toph cried, stepping into the doorway. There was beat of silence, making Toph’s chest tight. She held her breath, waiting for the sound she so desperately longed to hear.

“I’m in the bedroom!” A melodic tenor cried. Toph’s heart exploded with sheer bliss, her lips twisting in an ear to ear grin. She dashed towards the bedroom and let the door slam behind her. She could feel her cheeks flushing as her feet pounded on the hard floor.

Toph bounded into the door frame. She slammed her foot hard on the floor, allowing her to take in the outline of the sparse, open bedroom. Her lips curled when she saw a thin figure sitting crossed legged in the middle of a large bed. His shoulders were hunched over what she could only assume was a well-loved sketch book.

“Whatcha doing there Kanto?” She asked. Kanto’s thin lips curled at the corners, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

“Drawing. What else would I be doing?”

“Oh I don’t know.” Toph mused, slinking towards the bed. She took her spot next to him, snaking her arm around his shoulder and pulling him in close. She ran her fingers through his silky, ebony waves. Kanto chuckled, placing his lips against her temple.

“Okay what’s going on? You’re home early and you’re being oddly affectionate.”

“What are you talking about? I’m always loving and affectionate!” Toph retorted, kissing his high cheek bone.

“Uh huh you keep telling yourself that. Now spill-what’s gotten into you?” Kanto questioned.

“There’s nothing to spill Mr. Fancy Pants. It’s a beautiful day, and I finally get to go meet Aang and Katara’s baby.”

Kanto groaned, twisting his frame out of Toph’s arms. His hazel eyes turned back to his sketch, his face twisting with disgust. Toph leaned back, her blood turning cold at his hateful moan.

“Good lord how many does that make-20?!” He exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“Three. They have three!” Toph snapped. She rose her hand and smacked the back of his head. “Don’t be such a smart ass about it.”

“They’re trying to rebuild and entire culture you jack ass” The words staid firmly in her thoughts, though the burned hotter than any flame.

“Yeah well you don’t need to be so violent!” He moaned, holding his smarting skull. Besides three kids is three kids too many if you ask me.” Kanto claimed as he smoothed the back of his head. Toph stood, crossing her arms as she made her way to her closet. With a flick of her wrist and outstretched arms her metal armor flung off, clashing into place. She was left with her black pants and a plain snowy white tank top that clung to her figure.

Despite the thick, moist air Toph was chilled to the bone. The bliss she felt had vanished, being replaced with hallow numbness and a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I guess that’s one way you could look at it.” Toph muttered.

“It’s the only way to look at it!” Kanto cried, throwing his pencil to the bed. “They can and all… I guess but they’re loud and annoying and just plain disgusting. They ruin lives. I don’t understand how they can have so many.”

Toph froze, her finger hovering over her favorite emerald top. Her heart thudded and sputtered. A hard lump formed in her throat. She swallowed that lump along with the shock and awe tearing at her.

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about kids Kanto.” Toph’s thin fingers encased the soft fabric, whipping it off the hanger and slinging it on to her shoulders.

“Well it’s not like I’ve tried to hide it. I just think they’re not worth it. Besides I’m not really the paternal type.” He paused, turning his attention back to Toph. He eyed her with growing suspicion as she wrapped the emerald shirt around her frame.

“And since when do you care? You’re not exactly the maternal type Toph.”

Toph felt her heart fall straight to her stomach. That horrid, cold numbness enveloped her once more.

“I could be…. If I tried”

“No I’m not.” Toph consented, sniching a belt at her waist. “But Aang and Katara are my best friends and I promised I would meet him.”

There was also another, silent reason why she was going. There was a soul who needed her to keep his pieces together and keep him moving forward.

“Yeah yeah I get it. Just don’t get any ideas when you’re over there.” Kanto quipped, his lips grinning and his eyes laughing. “The last thing we need is a screaming gremlin, right?”

Toph’s shoulders went rigid and the air escaped her lungs. She stood motionless; her eyes glued to the closet. Her fingers balled into fist as the wheels in her head began to turn.

Much as she hated to admit it Kanto was right.

He was not the parental type. For all of his kindness, grand gestures and dazzling words he was far from stable. He was as free as the wind, flitting and floating to his next grand adventure with only his sketch book in hand. On the one hand Toph never minded. She was thrilled by the unending collection of stories he brought back with him. She loved the rush of anticipation of his return, or how he would take her hand and trace her fingers against his drawings. This always led to him kissing each knuckle, then her arm, then her neck and lips…

Needless to say, his returns were joyful in more ways than one.

Yet Toph despised Kanto for always flying away. No matter how she shoved her need indepence down his or any mortals throat, no matter how much the idea of a lifelong commitment resembled a ball and chains she still loathed it. She loathed how cold her bed was. She longed for his arms around hers, to feel his heartbeat against her back and his breath against her neck. She despised how he left her with nothing but her thoughts and utter silence. Kanto would never buckle down in one place and find a job that required actual talent or effort. He would never be the kind of man to change diapers in the dead of night or cuddle a wailing child back to sleep. Sleep, he claimed, was vital to the creative process and heaven help anyone who would disrupt his creative process. He would never want to have a child on his lap or a story in his hands.

More to the point, Kanto would never be the kind of man Aang or Zuko were. For all their flaws-and there were many-they had proven to be beautiful and loving fathers.

Though it was hard to admit, Kanto was also right in his assessment of her character. Toph was not the kind of woman to cuddle or sing lullabies. She was never a loving or nurturing person like Katara. Toph was loud, Toph was crude and she was all hard earth and rocky edges. She never had that ache or longing to have a tiny soul of her own to care for. The idea strangled her like a noose her neck. She could never give up her hard-fought independence and freedom-not until she drew her very last gasp of air. Then there was the unavoidable fact her job could steal her life at any moment.

What kind of life would that be for a child-a father was never around and never cared, and a mother who could be taken away at any time, and with a soul too hard to truly love?

No. Children had never been and would never be in the picture for her. Toph would be content with being the fun-loving Aunt who spoiled the children, wreaked havoc, filled their blood with all their sugar their hearts desired and vanish.

And yet… with each passing child her friends had a hole grew in her heart and only got bigger and bigger. It was dark, empty and dead. The only way that vast, frozen hole could begin to heal was if she was holding her friends’ children or heard them laugh. Only then would she feel a spark deep within her soul, something that made her want to never let go of the warmth in her arms. She wanted to be surrounded by that ecstatic, heartwarming laughter. She craved those little hands pawing at her face or their warm weight against her chest.

Toph was only 31, and Kanto was 32. There was still a chance….

Toph shook those thoughts out of her head and buried them deep in the depths of her soul. She mindlessly pulled down the hem of her shirt before turning to face Kanto. Her lips were parted in a tight, waxy smile.

“You got that right fancy pants!” Toph chirped. Kanto beamed back at her, oblivious to the war raging in her head. Toph strode forward slowly, her hips swishing in the sunlight. She took his thin, soft face in her cores. They stared deep into each other’s eyes; one pair a sunny hazel and one pair a clouded emerald. He snaked his arms around her waist and tugged her close to his chest.

“You’re all I ever need Toph.” Kanto breathed, sliding his hands up and down the dip of her waist and her hips. Despite her screaming thoughts and the ever-growing hole in her heart, Toph dug her nails into her hair and pressed his lips against hers. She refused to move until her lungs were weeping for air, praying that he would be enough to fill that ugly hole.

It only felt colder and painfully bitter as Toph went back into the sunlight.

[utterlyinevitable]

and though love sometimes hurts, I still put you first - ordinary people by john legend for ethan and mc, thanks

thanks so much for the request!

Decisions 

Part 1

Word Count: 1.9k Warning: angst  Summary: This takes place somewhere after OH2 where Ethan and MC started dating. 

A/N: I wasn’t going to do a part two to Was It but after every comment was asking for one I couldn’t ignore y’all. 

not the best thing i’ve written but thankful to be coming out of my writers block.

________________________________________

Becca didn’t go to work for her next three shifts, taking personal time and swapping clinic hours with her roommates for next week. She just couldn’t bring herself to set foot into the hospital, not yet anyway. Instead, she sat in her room wallowing in her decision. 

It was the right thing to do, she convinced herself. 

There was so much heartbreak that came with loving Ethan Ramsey - too much heartbreak for one lifetime. Becca was deftly afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle the next blow - the next time her little slice of heaven was struck down to another circle of hell. 

Ethan Ramsey was a man that could never settle down. His career and ethics, along with everything he’s ever told her, made that perfectly clear. It was better for her to end this before he left her high and dry once again. What even would a life be with an emotionally unavailable attending? 

Her thoughts reeled, over and over again trying to find salvation in her decision. 

Was she really in love with Ethan or was it a continued stage of infatuation for Dr. Ramsey, her medical hero? When did their honeymoon stage end, and when was she left with this sinking feeling of no return in the pit of her stomach? 

Her mind replayed all of the moments where they had the privilege of just being Ethan and Becca - just people, not colleagues. All those sweet hours they spent as friends and lovers. All those wonderful moments that gave her a false sense of futuristic hope. 

They both had a lot of room for growth. Ethan had a decade longer to prepare himself - to focus on his career and get ready for love and the long term commitment that comes with it. But Becca’s still only 27. She has a bright career ahead of her - something Ethan has always been trying to protect. And although she’d never admit it, she was thankful for it. He gave her everything she could possibly need so she can achieve her dreams. What if they were both mistaken? What if, deep down, her dreams all led to a path with a family - a few little feet running around the grassy backyard by the bay she’d save up for. Something Ethan was adamant he could never settle down for, no matter how much he would like to want to. It was another reason to go. 

For her own sanity Becca needed to walk away.

She spent her whole life waiting for a love as great as Ethan. She never thought it was possible to be so completely obsessed and content in the arms of one person. How one person's presence could soothe all the current issues she’d be facing. She kept trying to convince herself she’d find a better match - someone with Ethan’s wit and intellect, his attractive features and banter. Someone who’s fingers fit just a bit better between her own and wanted the same dream as she. 

In those days she wanted to call him and take everything back. But this wasn’t a movie. There was no fairytale ending, against her better judgment she knew that. Becca was confused and didn’t know what to do - about her heart or about work. How was she meant to work closely every single day for the next few years with the man whose heart she just broke? 

God this hurts. 

Is love supposed to hurt this much? 

Ethan Ramsey was considered a god among doctors and aspiring medical professionals. His quick intellect and curt tendencies were admired much to his disapproval. The Ethan Ramsey did not believe in idolatry, especially among physicians. Ethan was just an ordinary person, sitting at his desk completely gobsmacked. 

The event from the other night is still very much ingrained in his brain. He’d played those last few days over and over again, dissecting every little detail for any sign of dissatisfaction. Maybe if he could pin-point the moment her mind changed he’d be able to salvage their relationship. He needed to salvage their relationship for his own sanity.  

They didn’t argue. They never really argued. Sure they had spats and quarrels but never over anything larger than life. They left as quickly as they started, with one of them admitting their wrong - usually Ethan. How was he meant to apologize if he didn’t know what he did to offend her so deeply? 

Ethan sat at his desk a few streets away from the woman of his dreams and so unsure of what to do. His gut feeling was to flee - to accept a position elsewhere and let her have Edenbrook. These days Edenbrook needed Dr. Lao more than him. He has done all he could and it’s her turn to shine. But Naveen, he couldn’t leave Naveen. And deep down he knew Edenbrook was his home, more so than any other physical location has ever been. Aside from Rebecca. Rebecca has always been home. 

What was Ethan supposed to do about their professional relationship now? He spent so long dreading the implications of having a relationship that he never thought to think about what would become if it had ended. 

With a heavy heart and a sigh, he pulled the small rectangular black box out of his desk drawer, turning it over in his hands. 

Where did I go wrong? 

He always has and always will put Dr. Rebecca Lao first. So where does that leave Ethan now?  

It was so quiet in the Diagnostics office between the still air and Ethan’s deprecating internal monologue that they didn’t notice one another. Becca gingerly entered the office, not noticing him sitting at the desk and Ethan still too transfixed by the box in his hand. 

As if on cue, their cheeks naturally began to flush with heat before lifting their heads to let their eyes meet. Dark surprised brown meeting with deeply conflicted blue. 

“I’m sorry,” they said in breathless unison. 

Becca quickly added, “I didn’t think you’d be here. It’s your day off.” She stood up taller, mustering up all the courage she had left, and let the glass door slip from her fingers and close behind her.   

Ethan tried to tear his eyes away from her but was frozen in place. He didn’t anticipate seeing her, not until he solved the case of her misery. Words fell off his tongue in an indifferent response, “A lot of work to do, I’ve been down a team member.” 

She stood there awkwardly, wringing her fingers. 

“Can I help you with anything?” he added when she didn’t advance.  

“I was just coming to grab the new case file. Hirata said it was on your desk.”  

He grabbed the lonely file from the edge of his desk and stood, carefully making his way over to her. Becca met him halfway, hesitantly. She held her hand out to snatch the hefty document but he pulled it up, using his height to keep it out of reach. 

“Can we talk?”  

“I don-”  

He cut her off, “What happened?” A bated pause. Becca bit her lip, anticipating his next words. They were the words she herself couldn’t fully comprehend. “Why did you leave?” 

“Ethan… don’t,” she warned, crossing her arms over her chest. The file now a distant memory. Ethan was within range she could feel the warmth radiating off of him even if he was three feet away. His gravitational pull was and will always be so strong.    

Ethan’s bloodshot eyes bore her down, “Tell me. You owe me an explanation.”  

Her eyes were fixated on the Hopkins Diploma on the wall behind him. “I told you,” she shrugged. “I can’t trust you not to break my heart - not again.” 

He took in the feisty woman before him. Her scrubs hung off her body and the ever-present purple bags under her eyes certainly matched his own. Her large brown eyes were showing the after effects of days of tears. Ethan reached out for her with his free hand. He hated seeing her like this. 

His hand ghosted her own. “Come back to me, Rookie,” he implored in the softest voice one would never have imagined came from the stern doctor. “We’ll make this work.” 

She let his hand linger before pulling hers back tightly close to her body. 

Becca watched as Ethan’s face fell. Any ounce of form he wanted to keep completely vanishing. Sadness coated his features and Ethan Ramsey never looked more human. It pained her to see him so vulnerable, though not enough to abandon her decision.  

“I’ve heard that one before…” Becca muttered.  

“I promise. I’ll do better.”  

With a long sigh of the air she did know she was holding in since he tried to take her hand she told him curtly, “I’ve given you so many chances, E. You keep pushing me away and I can’t keep crawling back.” Finally her eyes met with his once more. “I deserve better.” 

Without a moment's hesitation he agreed, “I know. You deserve so much more than me but…” He dropped the file to the floor with a thump and a scatter. His hands needed to be on her, to make her understand. But he couldn’t just grab her that would be wrong, he needed her permission. Instead he balled his fists as tightly as possible. “But you can’t help who you love.” 

There those words were again. That four letter word she had waited so long to hear but he’d never vocalized in the right of circumstances. “And, as I’ve learned, though love sometimes hurts, I still and will always put you first.” His feet carried him towards her on their own volition. Ethan made his decision then and there; if Becca couldn’t take him back then Edenbrook wasn’t big enough for the both of them. “You can shine brighter if I step down.” 

“Step down?” Becca’s jaw dropped. “What’re you talking about?”  

A sad, ghostly smirk appeared on his supple lips, “It’s going to take some time to get over you. I’ll consult somewhere else for a while.” 

There he was, leaving again. His selfish selflessness would be the death of her. But this time she didn't feel sad or abandoned, Becca felt empowered. She knew.  

“Stay,” she told him. “We can work together.” 

He wanted to ask her to clarify, but she continued on. 

“What’s that?” she looked over him to the black box sitting on his desk. 

“It’s nothing.”  

Becca raised an eyebrow, “Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

Ethan had no idea which way to go - if he withheld he just might always regret never asking her, if he told her he didn’t think he’d be able to handle the rejection of a second chance. 

He didn’t get the chance to ask. In true Becca fashion she went ahead and opened the box anyway. Her fingers brushed over the silver, trying to accept if this was a fantasy she conjured in a sleep-deprived state or the reality she had been manifesting for months. In fact it was a declaration straight from heaven - her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, anxiety setting in. She made a terrible miscalculation. 

“Is this…?” 

He nodded. 

“We both made mistakes.” He crossed the distance between them, their bodies only inches from one another and Becca’s back pressed into his desk. “I love you. More than scientifically possible.” he declared and a crack of smile broke through their hesitant expressions. Ethan removed the small bit of shiny silver out of it’s makeshift container still held tightly in her hands, holding it delicately between his fingers Ethan asked, 

“Move in with me?”  

Becca’s eyes glowed, every doubt she ever had seemingly vanished all over again. 

“Yes.”

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices​​ @dulceghernandez​​​ @aylamreads​​ @binny1985​​​ @ramseysno1rookie​​​ @interobanginyourmom​​​ @queencarb​​​ @perriewinklenerdie​ @rookiefromedenbrook​​ @eramsey28​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​​ @heauxplesslydevoted​​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​​ @purpledragonturtles​​ @ramseyandrys​​​ @ermidc​​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​​ @doilooklikeiknow​ @overwhelminglyaquarius​ @drethanramslay @edgiestwinter @rookieoh @lucy-268 @mvalentine @lilyvalentine

A/N: if it’s not obvious the silver is a key not a ring 👀

[kuriquinn]

Wait For Me

Blanket Fic Disclaimer

Original Prompt by: @toscafan

"Olá. Você poderia escrever uma fic onde após Sasuke voltar para a vila, Sakura vai em uma missão e é gravemente ferida. Então Sasuke percebe que seus sentimentos por ela cresceram quando ele a vê ferida no hospital. Talvez com um pouco de Naruto preocupado também. Eu imagino isso entre o período que Sasuke volta para Konoha e antes de eles partirem juntos em suas viagens. Suas histórias são maravilhosas :) eu sinto muito não escrever em inglês :( “

[Roughly:  Hello, Could you write a fic where after Sasuke returns to the village, Sakura goes on a mission and is seriously injured. Then Sasuke realises that his feelings for her have grown when he sees her injured in the hospital. Maybe with a bit of Naruto worried too. I imagine it between the time Sasuke returns to Konoha and before they leave together on their travels.]

Author’s Note: As promised during Evil Author Day, I am trying to finish some of my WIPs. I actually managed to finish this one (Prompt # 4), which is a total miracle given how I’ve been feeling lately. And the fact I think this one is like...two years old. So yeah, major backlog of stuff that needs writing. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: None but me and my editing software :)

________________________________________________________________

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

It shouldn’t have happened.

The words repeat themselves on a loop in Sasuke’s head, like a record player tossed asunder, skipping unerringly back over the same line in a song. In every momentary pause where the words begin to repeat, there is a breath, an extended moment of tension where his chest feels tighter and tighter.

She hasn’t been on active duty rosters since the war. Her field is medicine, not defense or combat or infiltration, and as strong and talented as Haruno Sakura is, she’s still human and prone to mistakes. Shinobi work isn’t like riding a bike. You have to continue to exercise your particular skillset daily, or mistakes can be made, leading to mishaps, leading to—

It shouldn’t have happened.

サスサク

When the call came in for a relief-force of medicnin, it wasn’t unusual. War or no, there are still major medical emergencies and disasters. In this case, reports reached Konoha of an earthquake 350 miles away. Though the village had barely experienced a tremor, the quake had apparently devastated the shepherding community living at the base of the mountain.

As a rule, Sakura should have stayed behind to coordinate everything from the village; with Tsunade on another of her gambling jaunts, she was the most senior healer.

But the devastated town was without its own medical corps, and the number of injured was overwhelming. Every able pair of hands was needed and naturally, Sakura volunteered herself for the mission.

“I can do the work of a dozen medics and they might need someone to lift debris,” she informed the Sixth Hokage when he seemed likely to protest. “I also trained the latest group of emergency medics going out there; they’re still relatively untested in the field. Better they take their orders from me than some random jounin that you assign.”

Kakashi knew better than to argue with his former student, but he was reluctant. For some reason, he was uneasy. There was little reason for it that he could discern, but after all his years as a shinobi, he had learned to heed his instincts.

“Please, Lord Sixth, there are many large families there, with children.”

Against that—with no concrete reason to give—he could not say no.

“Do you need anyone else beyond the emergency medics?”

“Any civilians with basic first aid training,” Sakura replied, pleased at the response. “Whichever doctors and staff can be spared. The general surgeons, perhaps, but no one with specialized training or technique that we would supper from losing.”

Kakashi nodded and made a gesture she recognized to mean an official granting of the request.

“Ideally, you’d send Naruto as well. He could use the Nine-Tails chakra to mass-heal the simplest injuries. It would make triage a lot faster.”

“That’s not in my power. I’m already on thin ice with the Elders for my executive order to pardon Sasuke. I doubt they’ll want him leaving the village any time soon.”

Sakura scowled.

Under normal circumstances she would argue—she had long ago made clear her dislike  and distrust for the village Elders—but every minute spent arguing was wasting crucial time.

“Can you try to convince them?” she asked as she turned to leave the office. “We should be sending out best for this.”

“We already are,” Kakashi said with ease, and there was a smile in his eyes. The one Sakura returned was only a little strained, mind already on her future patients.

サスサク

Sasuke was on a short, probationary mission at the time, in the complete opposite direction from the disaster zone. He didn’t even hear about the earthquake until two days later.

While handing his mission report to Kakashi, he may have been somewhat surprised to learn Sakura would not be around to greet him the way she usually did—and Kakashi’s eyes had a far too knowing gleam in them when he mentioned it—but it never occurred to Sasuke that she would be in any kind of danger.

At least, nothing she wasn’t capable of handling for herself.

For those two days, Sasuke carried out his usual routine, slowly acclimating to being back in service to the village. It still wasn’t his preference to be around so many people, and there was a constant sense of discomfort that lingered at the back of his mind. The sensation of eyes on him from all over, ANBU and civilian alike, heavy with judgement and fear. The only time that feeling abated, even for just a little, was when he was around Sakura, Naruto or Kakashi.

Still, he wasn’t willing or able to seek any of them out. They all have busy lives, and he earned that judgement and fear from the village. It would be an easy feat to leave and never return, but he didn’t deserve easy. Remaining here was part of his punishment, and so he would learn to live with it.

At home, when the constant surveillance became too much, he went to an empty training ground and put himself through various sword forms or engage in other exercises. In two years, he’s grown used to living and fighting with only one arm, but it’s the constant practice that keeps him lethal.

On the morning of the third day he is going through one of his complex sword kata in the training ground where Kakashi made them genin. He tells himself it’s coincidence and not sentimentality that brought him here this morning, even as the three posts stand vigil over his training like towers of memory.

Today he is working only on form and movement, not using any techniques requiring chakra, just trying to sharpen his movements into their usual lethal grace.

As he uncoils from a low final arc of his sword, returning to a resting position, there is a sudden cracking noise; his gaze snaps toward it, and he watches as—apropos of nothing—the wooden post to his far right splits right down the middle.

Sasuke immediately goes still, focussing his awareness around himself and the area, scanning for danger. There is no one in this place foolish enough to try something—even if he wasn’t lethal on his own, the ANBU escorts hidden in the shadows would have been alerted.

The wind continues meander, sending leaves rustling; the sound of birds and the distant crash of the river do not change. There is not threat that he can detect, nothing but a growing sense of foreboding.

And then the ground begins to shake.

As far as earthquakes go, it’s not the worst he’s experienced. He has no problem remaining on his feat as the ground roils and trembles. Even the trees surrounding him show no sign of shuddering.

It’s small and innocuous, nothing on the same level as the one Sakura was sent to help with.

His eyes drift, lingering on the cracked post.

Memory conjures an image of a gawky twelve year old with too-long-to-be-practical hair and luminous green eyes betraying strain and discomfort as she feeds their third teammate tied to the middle post.

It’s probably nothing.

But for some reason his focus on his exercises vanishes, replaced instead with a growing disquiet in the pit of his stomach.

It only grows with every moment as he returns to the village proper and, without knowing why, makes a beeline for Hokage Tower. All around him, people talk excitedly about the tremor, laughing it off and telling one another what they were doing when they noticed it. It’s just a facet of their day, something that—while uncommon—is not dangerous enough to merit panic.

So why does he suddenly feel uneasy?

サスサク

Sasuke arrives at the Tower at the same time as Naruto, a face which causes his inexplicable agitation to ratchet immediately higher, especially given his friend’s uncharacteristic frown and the absence of his usual joking greeting.

Without exchanging words, they enter Kakashi’s office and are immediately treated to the sight of their former instructor pacing by the window, a frown drawing his brows together. The coiled cord of the telephone stretches and relaxes with his back-and-forth movements. It’s so in contrast to his usual demeanor—lazily slouched in his chair—that Sasuke’s spine stiffens in response.

Kakashi eventually hangs up the phone and faces his students.

“There was a second earthquake,” he tells them gravely. “Right next to the refugee camp we set up. According to reports, about 180 million tons of mountainside have crumble down onto the camp. They don’t know if there are any survivors.”

Sasuke’s fist clenches and Naruto’s eyes blink into slits as he activates his senjutsu.

“I can’t sense Sakura’s chakra,” he says, a panicked note in his voice. “Usually I get a definite flicker from her, even at this distance…”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sasuke tells him. “She masks her chakra when she’s on medical missions to avoid presenting a target.”

He’s not sure how he knows this, since he can’t recall if she mentioned any such practice in their conversations since he’s been back, yet he knows it to be true. Still, this knowledge brings no comfort with it, because the uncomfortable pit in his stomach remains.

“She would be healing everyone after a huge disaster like that,” Naruto protests. “I’d definitely sense that. But I can’t.”

Which, admittedly, worries Sasuke a little despite his unshakable faith in Sakura’s abilities.

Naruto turns to Kakashi, his shoulders squared as if in preparation for a fight. “I’m going to check on her. Even if she’s fine, they’ll need help digging survivors out. I can definitely help with that.”

“Fine,” Kakashi says. The fact he doesn’t argue or mention the concerns of the Elders is telling. “If you leave now, you should get there within—”

Sasuke doesn’t stay to listen.

He’s already climbing the stairs to the roof where there is more open space.

He is by no means an expert at using his Rinnegan yet—every day heralds a new ability or application—but he has more or less figured out how to travel between far distant locations instantly.

“Oi! Sasuke! Wait up!” Naruto shouts from behind as Sasuke focusses himself on creating a pathway. He glanced the coordinates he needs on the papers covering Kakashi’s desk, knows where he’s supposed to go—

The space in front of him crackles, displacing the air, and then rips open, forming a portal of swirling violet energy. On the other side, he can discern a giant wall of rubble.

He wastes no time slipping through, trusting Naruto to follow directly behind him.

サスサク

The sight before them is a grim one.

Sasuke hasn’t seen destruction on this scale since the war.

Mountains loom around them, the closest one looking misshapen due to the giant shelf that has vanished as if scraped off with a giant chisel. Its remnants spill out in front of it, creating a smaller mountain of churned earth and rock, uprooted trees and other debris.

People gather around, civilian and shinobi alike, covered in dust and digging frantically at the rubble. Likely the lucky few who were far enough away when the second quake hit to avoid the harm.

There are almost no Konohanin, medicnin or otherwise, that he can see, suggesting a grim truth to him: they are all underneath the remains of the mountain. Dead, most likely, or trapped and dying as the seconds pass.

But where is Sakura?

She could survive being buried under such weight, and should have dug her way out by now. Stone and rock are like cottage cheese to her strong fists.

“Naruto!”

The two newcomers glance up as a Konohanin scrambles toward them. As he gets closer, Sasuke recognizes him as the kid Sakura has taken on as an assistant. Ando something or other.

“We need help!” the kid gasps when he arrives in front of them, dust-covered and exhausted. “We can’t shift the earth using doton because it could hurt the people underneath.”

The jinchuriki is already forming the signs to summon up shadow clones. If this has to b cleared by hand, he’s the best man for the job. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

“We’ll get through this without a problem!”

“Believe it!”

The clones are already spreading out across the landscape, like a sea of orange washing over the scene.

Sasuke stares down at the boy. “Where is Sakura?”

Ando goes pale beneath the fine layer of dust, eyes pained. “When the earthquake stared, she was trying to get everyone in the medical tents to safety. When she realized she couldn’t, she tried to create barriers to stop the worst of the damage using doton. But it was coming on too fast, and so she tried to slow down the avalanche—"

“Of course she did,” Sasuke murmurs to himself, teeth gritted.

“—but it wasn’t enough! The last I saw, she was destroying the rocks coming at her, but then she was buried.”

“And where were you in all this?”

There’s an accusation in his words that has made stronger men tremble, but Ando merely shudders and clenches his fists. No shrinking violets working with Sakura, that’s for sure.

“I was on water duty. The rivers here were all polluted by the first quake, and so I had to travel far. I saw it all from that cliff up there and hurried down here as fast as I could to help, but…”

He gestures ineffectively, clearly not knowing where to start.

“Sasuke!” Naruto yells all of a sudden, and Sasuke’s head whips toward where he is helping a woman with shredded clothing to climb from the rubble. She is remarkably stable on her feet, considering the situation, and Sasuke understands a moment later when he sees the white creature attached to her shoulder.

“Lady Katsuyu!” Ando cries and hurries over, followed closely by SAsuke.

“Where’ Sakura?” Naruto demands as the younger boy helps the quake victim to sit down. “Is she okay?”

“She’s at the very bottom,” Katsuyu says fretfully. “There’s an airpocket and she’ll still have air for a little while, but she’s gravely injured. Her entire lower body is crushed.” Sasuke’s heart constricts painfully. “I tried to help, but she insisted I attach myself to all the refugees, to keep them alive until help arrives. I fear she won’t be able to keep it up very long. Even my healing can’t save the people buried so long without oxygen.”

“Little fool,” Sasuke growls, the viciousness of the words surprising him more than the situation. Of course she’s more worried about the survival of her patients and the others instead of herself.

“We’re getting her out,” Naruto declares, summoning more clones. “We’ll get her and everyone else out!”

And Sasuke finds himself hoping this is another miracle that his friend’s mere presence and stubbornness will help pull off.

 サスサク

The task is arduous and time consuming.

Sasuke is bizarrely conscious of the speed at which the time passes—too fast. They continue dragging survivors out from beneath the rubble—all unharmed, but looking more and more shambled as the rescue efforts reach deeper into the rubble. Every so often, there is a red glow, and the unearth another person being Naruto has managed to sense and enfold in his healing chakra cloak.

Sasuke uses his snake summons for the first time in years, sending them from his sleeve to slither around and crush rocks blocking their path. He digs one-handed while Naruto and the clones make quick work of their chosen debris fields.

They have yet to find Sakura, or a person that as died of their injuries; all of them so far have had a miniature clone of Lady Katsuyu attached somewhere on their bodies.

Yet he can’t sense Sakura.

“Her chakra signature is everywhere,” he frets. “She’s channelling it through Katsuyu to keep everyone alone. I can’t get a proper read on her.”

“And you won’t,” Lady Katsuyu says in a tremulous tone. “The byakugou has disengaged—her strength has finally run out.” She shudders. “We’re too far away. There’s no way we’ll make it to her in time. And I can only linger here a few minutes longer without her sustaining me.”

“We’ll make it!” Naruto growls, tone and eyes harsh like that of a cornered fox. There’s a panic there, belying his words, because he clearly has no idea how they’re going to do that.

It’s that panic more than anything so far that makes Sasuke’s guts roil and a sickening nausea of fear well up within him. Because Naruto never gives up, he always has hope and he always has some kind of harebrained plan to fix a bad situation.

And if he doesn’t have one in this case, it means Sakura’s fate is sealed.

Which—

No.

“You have a clone with Sakura now?” he asks Katsuyu.

“O-of course,” the snail replies, almost surprised at being addressed so directly.

“You can share your chakra between one another. Can you share the chakra of someone else the same way?”

Naruto’s eyes widen as he catches on. “Yes! If I share my chakra with you and your clone, I’ll able to sense where your clone is and we can find Sakura faster.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Lady Satsuyu replies mournfully. “And besides, I can’t share your chakra, Naruto-kun. The chakra of biju is too volatile, and unless a blood contract has been made, like yours with the toads, it would become too volatile.”

“You wouldn’t need a contract with me,” Sasuke says. “My chakra is entirely my own.”

The slug’s head bobs to one side in consideration, and then she makes a noise of assent. “We can try.”

Sasuke holds out his hand, allowing Lady Katsuyu to inch closer, pressing herself up against his palm. There’s a beat of tense silence as they both concentrate, Sasuke infusing a burst of chakra in the tiny creature’s body.

She shudders from the force of it, her energy signature changing to a mixture of her own and his.

“It’s done,” she says, and he can feel a tiny twinge in his senses calling from far beneath the crumbled mountain.

Sasuke nods and begins to back away from the rubble. “Get beneath her.”

“I don’t understand,” Ando is saying. “How will that be any different from before? Lady Katsuyu was already able to direct us to Sakura.”

“He’s not just looking for Sakura’s location,” Naruto says with a grim smile. “He needs to know exactly where she is.”

“But why—?”

Sasuke tunes out the useless questions as he positions himself somewhere with a decent amount of clearance all around him. Bracing himself—he’s never tried this particular gambit before—he activates the Sharingan and reaches deep within his chakra reserves.

Instantly, violent purple energy manifests, bones and muscle and armor, as Susanoo encompasses him all around. The burning, ripping pain of it has almost become distant by now, and he focusses past it, still holding onto that shred of his chakra beckoning him from wherever Sakura is.

He turns his head, concentrating on the space in front of Susanoo’s empty right hand and activates the Rinnegan.

A portal twists into being from thin air, and Sasuke hardly waits before raising Susanoo’s hand and pressing the limb through the portal. He can distantly feel the weight of her against the flat of the hand as it materializes directly beneath her body, and then pulls her backward, shutting the portal immediately after extracting her to ensure none of the rubble baring down on her might follow.

As gentle as he can, Sasuke lays Sakura down upon the ground, Susanoo vanishing as her body touches the earth.

サスサク

Everyone is already kneeling around her when Sasuke touches back down, the chakra giant vanishing once more. Lady Katsuyu vanishes, no longer having Sakura’s strength to draw on, and Naruto is snapping something at Ando, probably to get help.

All of it washes over Sasuke in a meaningless, soundless wave as his eyes fall upon Sakura. His lungs tighten as he takes in her broken body.

Her legs are bruised and battered, crushed inward in some places and bones poking out of other places; it’s the same for her hips and several ribs. Her eyes are open and staring, a trail of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and nose.

The sight is terrifying.

For a short yet eternal moment he is back in the streets of the Uchiha district, surrounded by the bodies of his family. Just as he was then, he is frozen now—inutile and incapable of doing anything.

“Naruto…” he begins, not knowing exactly what he’s trying to ask.

“This is bad,” Naruto says, voice strained. His eyes are slits once more, his sage mode active as a red film covers Sakura’s body. “I can heal the big stuff, but so much has been pulverized…” He swallows as if in physical pain; Sasuke knows the feeling. “She needs someone that can do surgery at the microlevel. If I heal her right now, like this, I could do a lot more harm then good.”

It’s a measure of how far Naruto’s come that he recognizes this, that he knows not to simply ram through his power and hope it helps.

Sasuke doesn’t know what will help now.

Scenarios and plans speed through a mind more suited for battle tactics than life-saving measures, as he tries to think of any way that he can help her and wishing for the first time in a long time that Karin were here.

Wishing he had ever taken the time to learn more about the healing arts than how to kill.

All the while, the sight of Sakura’s shattered limbs taunting him as her blood seeps into the sand.

Sasuke blinks.

Sand.

The memory hits him out of nowhere, the way many of his recollections from before do. Waking in a hospital, distantly hearing people talking about a fight—sand versus strength.

“Tsunade,” Sasuke says, remembering how the Fifth Hokage dealt with something similar. Right around the time she healed his mind from Itachi’s merciless assault on it, she saved Rock Lee from a life of paralysis.

Naruto is frowning, once again on the same wavelength as him. “No one knows where she is.”

“I’ll find her. Get Sakura back to Konoha—”

“No…”

Both of them jump at the pained, feeble voice and glance down.

Sakura’s eyes are closed now, clenched as tight as her jaw when she speaks through gritted teeth. “There are still…people…” She tries to raise a hand, gesture toward the rubble. “Naruto…stay and…help…”

“Sakura, no!” he snaps. “You’re in a mess right now, I need to keep you going until—”

“…Too much…damage…wasting your…chakra…”

“Sakura,” Sasuke says tersely, and her eyes shoot open toward him. Awareness flickers behind green irises, along with some surprise, as if she didn’t realize or expect him to be there.

“Sasu…ke…”

He shivers.

There has never been a time in his life when he and Sakura haven’t been aware of the presence of the other. The fact she didn’t notice him is telling in the severity of her injury…as is her not expecting him to be by her side.

After all, when has he ever been?

What has he ever done for her?

“We have to get her out of here,” Naruto says. “Do you have enough strength for another portal?”

Sasuke nods, though he isn’t sure; he’s used his abilities twice now in quick succession. But for Sakura, he’ll try.

The space beside them rips open, once more opening onto the familiar rooftops of Konoha as seen from Hokage Tower. All they need to do is step through, and so Naruto goes to pick Sakura up, only for her to scream in sudden sharp agony.

Sasuke’s heart stutters, his concentration wavering slightly, allowing the portal to shrink and contract worryingly.

“She’s too hurt,” Naruto says, panicked. “We need to keep her on her back or…I might sever something important.”

There are no stretchers here, no immobilizing aids to move her. If he had any idea where Tsunade Senju was, he’d seek her out and return her here instantly, but he doesn’t have that time and neither does Sakura.

“I’ll bring her,” Sasuke says.

“But—”

“You stay here. Help the survivors.”

There’s something on his face that keeps Naruto from arguing further, but Sasuke is no longer paying attention. Once again, he centers himself, trying to divide his power between the portal and call up Susanoo in just the right manner.

It takes searing concentration to manifest Susanoo’s hand in the space between Sakura’s body and the ground, letting the chakra fill in beneath her and keep her steady and supine.

Sakura’s eyes are wide, trained on him in something like desperation, before they roll back and she lapses into unconsciousness.

Sasuke’s lungs constrict, but he forces himself to work through it, to slide Susanoo’s hand straight through the portal until Sakura is no longer lying among the debris of the dead but in the safety of their village.

Sweat breaks out across his forehead and the back of his neck, and he tastes blood in his mouth, but he manages to retract the chakra within him. He’s about to step through when—

“Wait!”

He grits his teeth, eyes darting back to the kid—Ando—who has returned.

“Let me come too,” he says. “I can keep her stable, or—or go get someone from the hospital, or—”

“Go!” Sasuke snarls, half from effort and half from irritation the boy is taking up valuable seconds.

A terrified expression breaks over Ando’s face for a moment, before he throws himself headlong through the portal.

“Find Tsunade,” Sasuke tells Naruto as he follows. He doesn’t have to hear the response to know he will.

サスサク

He has no right to be here.

The intensive care wing of Konoha’s hospital is a flurry of movement as doctors and nurses and medic-nin rush in and out of the surgery where they are working on Sakura. He lingers outside the doors, his own self-recrimination keeping him out here more than the ‘Staff Only’ sign on the door.

He doesn’t deserve to be here, to hear news of her condition. He left—he’s always leaving—and she’s always waiting. She’s always here and he realizes with a sudden disbelief that somehow, somewhere along the line something in him has taken that for granted.

Ever since the War, ever since watching her blossom into her abilities and to demonstrate power that makes her neigh indestructible, he’s been thinking of her as if she is. As if she’s a constant that will never change, that will always exist.

Like she’s immortal.

Except she’s not, she can die like anyone else.

It’s something taken for granted in their line of work, but medic-nin die the same as anyone else in the service. And Sakura would be the first to insist she is no more important than anyone else, that her life is the same value as any of their comrades. He knows if given the choice she’d sacrifice that same life without any regret—hell, he watched her try to do just that today.

That knowledge—and the reality of what is happening behind that door in front of him, the image of the light in her eyes dying—steals his breath.

Will that be his last memory of her? A broken body pulled from a wreckage?

Very real terror grips him then, something he hasn’t felt in years. A close, clawing sensation and his lungs constricting as something jagged forms in his throat. Nightmares of blood in the streets, blood in his hands and the rush of a waterfall in the background, the chirping of lightning in his ears—

“Sasuke.”

His head jerks up, the world around him returning, senses no longer going haywire to stave off the incoming panic.

Kakashi is standing beside him—when did he get here?—eyes somber. There’s a beat before he reaches out, hesitant, and lays a hand on his shoulder.

It’s as if a current is going through him, memories from long ago, that same hand on his shoulder. It’s the first time Kakashi has reached out to him since he left Konoha as a child.

“I’ve had news from Naruto,” his former instructor continues. “He’s found Tsunade.”

And somehow with those three words, every bit of tension in Sasuke’s body evaporates. He realizes he hasn’t been breathing and tries his best not to gulp for air, forces himself to inhale slowly through his nose, to not lose his composure.

Kakashi, of course, is not fooled. “Sakura will be alright. She’s strong.”

Sasuke wants to reply that he knows, he’s always known, but his tongue is still frozen. Instead, he returns his gaze upon the door, trying to sense what is happening beyond it.

He feels Kakashi remove his hand, but the man’s intense stare remains on him.

“I should go,” he eventually manages to say. Yet his legs refuse to move.

“You should stay. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re exactly where she needs you to be.”

Sasuke’s protest dies before it was truly born, and he goes back to trying to breath. Inhale and hold; exhale and repeat. It doesn’t matter what he needs or wants, after all.

Why?

Sakura is Sakura. Yes, they have always had a connection, a bond, but it’s the same connection he’s had with the rest of his former squad. You can’t go on missions or into battle with one another without developing a synchronicity. Even if the connections are different.

With Kakashi it’s the kindred spirit of someone who has lost everything almost the same as he has, with Naruto it’s a bond that can never be replicated for the most complicated of cosmic reasons.

And yet…with Sakura, there’s something different there.

He always thought it was nostalgia, the last lingering remnants of a weak child desperate for whatever scrap of affection was offered to him after losing his parents. Every moment he’s ever spent with her, he pretended like it didn’t affect him at all; and yet, there was always that eagerness he had to tamp down, wanting to see the smile on her face because he knew he didn’t deserve it.

A smile he missed in the years training with Orochimaru, then wandering the world in penance. He knows she’s had feelings for him since they were children, and has has spent most of his last years hoping against hope that she’ll let him go and move on.

That she’ll find someone else, someone worthy of her, someone who will keep her safe and guard her heart against pain. Because that’s all he can give her is pain; tht, and a soul that will never completely heal.

Except it wont matter, will it, if she dies?

She’ll be gone, and he’ll be empty again. No matter where he goes, he’s always known that somewhere, Sakura is out there, keeping him in her heart. He knows that even if she does find another, there will always be a part of her that thinks of him, just like he will always have a part of him that thinks of her.

But if she dies…if she doesn’t make it through this…

Suddenly he can see it.

Years stretch out in front of him, bleak and empty and gray. Visits to a gravestone of a life that could have been. Regrets and pain and an endless void of existing instead of living.

More of everything he endured as a child, only this time, without the tiny ray of sunlight that Sakura willingly gave him.

And suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t want that.

A world without Sakura in it, is not one that he wants to be a part of.

He wants her—needs her—to be happy. And if her happiness is him…if he could ensure that happiness somehow…

Well, he’ll do whatever it takes.

Sasuke takes a shuddering breath at the realization.

It feels sudden, like a switch has been flipped with realization, and yet at the same time he knows it has always been this way.  

He’s in love with Sakura.

The world returns then in sharp focus, ignorant to the realizations he’s just made. Kakashi is still eyeing him with concern. Perhaps wondering if he’s going to have to talk him out of leaving the hospital, even though Sasuke knows that he’s not going anywhere until he can watch her open her eyes again.

Until she smiles at him again.

Maybe not even then.

“I’ll wait for her then,” he says, shaken but still somehow managing to control the timbre of his voice. He leans against the wall, eyes once more resting on the door in expectation.

I’ll wait for her forever.

終わり

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels 🤯mind blown 🤬god damn cliffhanger 😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

栗

[jinterlude]

Stargaze

↳ Header is made by yours truly, and the photo used can be found here.

—Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (female OC) —Genre(s): Fluff, Humor, & Slight-Romance —AUs/Tropes: Established Relationship, Non-Idol!, College, Astrophysics Major!Seokjin, Pre-Med!Reader, Childhood friends, F2L —Warning(s)/Rating: None / G —Word Count: 1,079 —Summary: After a chaotic academic semester, you and Seokjin decided to finally have a romantic date consisting of stargazing. Of course, it wouldn’t be a normal date for the two of you without some playful antics thrown into the mix.

—A/N: Hello guys! After not writing for almost two weeks, I am back with this drabble fulfilling two drink requests! The first request was by a cute little anon who wanted, Seokjin + Hot Chocolate, and the second request was by @houseofarmanto​​ who wanted, Seokjin + Vodka, so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone and combine it both since I usually do it anyway lol Seokjin will always stir Fluff and Comedic factors in me, I’M SORRY! Anyway, I hope you guys like it! As always, feedback (constructive and/or positive) is always welcome!

Also, this is written for @bangtan-dreamland​​​​​​‘s Drinks + Drabbles game! Thank you Eris and BHQ for creating this fun net game!

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying, princess?” A voice penetrates your thoughts, breaking you away from the flood of worse case scenarios. 

You move your face; the fresh strands of grass brush against your soft cheek as your tired gaze lands on your boyfriend. 

With a small smile, you softly shake your head.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie, but you lost me during your rather passionate explanation of why Sagittarius always aims his arrow at Scorpio.” You say, softly chuckling. 

Seokjin makes a noise. His face visibly displeased with your lack of attention. An entertaining idea pops into his head while the corners of his mouth slowly turn upwards, resulting in this sly smirk to appear on his handsome face. 

Luckily, you quickly catch onto his devious plan. It’s one of the many joys of being Seokjin’s girlfriend for almost five years. Yet you can’t help wonder why you guys have been dating for a while—especially since the stupid stuff that Seokjin does always drives you crazy. 

Oh, that’s right. 

No one else can understand you as your childhood best friend does. 

And thankfully, the feeling is mutual between you two. 

Slowly scooting away from Seokjin, you stifle the laughter that brews within your chest, ignoring the fact that the grass is slightly damp, and you’re wearing shorts on this beautiful summer night. 

A few whines escape your lips as your mind becomes plagued with the fact that grass stains are hard to get out of clothes, and you wanted to wear those shorts again sometime during the week. 

Without a second thought, you grab a fistful of grass and chuck it at Seokjin, causing the poor boy to quickly spit out the pieces that sadly went into his mouth. He begins to wipe his tongue, hoping that the disgusting taste will leave. As he does so, Seokjin hears sounds of uncontrollable laughter following a thud as you fall to the ground, clutching your stomach as all the muscles in that region start to hurt. 

Boy, you can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing, especially after the never-ending studying sessions with your classmates for your Chemistry final. This stargazing date is also yours and Seokjin’s first serious date in months. 

How pathetic is that for a couple who are in the STEM field? 

Completely…

Utterly…

Pathetic…

Finally calming down, you quickly wipe away any remaining tears as you sniffle a few times before walking up to the handsome fool that you call a boyfriend. 

An amused sigh escapes you as you place a warm and loving hand on your boyfriend’s back as he continues gagging. The foul taste of grass forever haunts his taste bud. 

Oops…

“Okay. Stupid question, but are you okay?” You ask through tiny chuckles that are leftover from your earlier laughing fit. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes, not saying a word to you. 

You raise a brow, taking a step back. This odd silence isn’t sitting right with you. Why? It’s usually what happens after your boyfriend’s strange, reserved demeanor. 

Suddenly, a look of complete and utter dread washes over you. You then hold up your hands in surrender, spouting apology after apology. 

“Remember, Jinnie. We came out to this beautiful field to look at the stars!” You shout, pointing towards the gorgeous night sky, “And, you said that you had a surprise for me!” You quickly add, panic settling in nicely in the pit of your stomach. 

Seokjin casually shrugs, further fueling your fear as he closes the gap between your bodies. 

“Well, I did, but since you thought it was nice to throw some grass at me, which a majority of it landed in my mouth by the way, so…” He trails on, locking his gaze onto you like a spy focusing on his assigned target, “You have ten seconds to get a good head start before I come after you.” He blankly states, sending chills down your spine. 

You smile nervously, “Has anyone told you that you’d be an amazing actor?” You try flattering him in hopes that it will lessen your punishment. 

“Five seconds left.”

“Oh, come on! In all of our years of knowing each other, you decide that now it bothers you that I finally—”

Seokjin interrupts you, dashing towards you. You shriek as you hold out your arms, stupidly thinking that you can stop a man who’s 5’10”. Suddenly, his hands latch onto your wrists and effortlessly, he pulls you towards him. Then, he wraps his arms around your waist before hoisting you up and putting your body on his broad shoulder. 

“This is embarrassing!” 

“Nonsense. You always said that you loved how wide my shoulders were, so I thought why not carry you like a sack of potatoes!” 

You slap his back playfully, rolling your eyes. 

“Did you just call me a potato?” 

You feel Seokjin’s body vibrate slightly. Yup. The handsome dork is laughing at your comment. 

Rude. 

And to add salt to the wound, Seokjin begins spinning around. You quickly shut your eyes. A few whines leave your lips as you plead with him to stop. 

“Okay, princess. I’ll stop,” A wave of relief washes over you, “But, you have to say that I’m the most handsome and amazing boyfriend you ever had and that you love me to the moon and back.” And that feeling of relief vanishes and agitation replaces it after Seokjin says that. 

“Or. You put me down and I don’t grab your crotch and pull up as hard as I can.” 

Without a second thought, Seokjin gently places your feet on the ground, but his hands remain anchored on your waist. 

Your eyes narrow as you try your hardest to maintain the angry expression on your face. Though, as the seconds roll by, it’s proven difficult. 

The corners of your mouth curve up, revealing a bright smile.

“Thank you, Jinnie,” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face towards you so that your foreheads touch, “Honestly. Thank you for tonight.” You softly say before pressing your lips against his, leaving a sweet yet loving kiss. 

Seokjin smiles, “You don’t have to thank me, princess. It will always be an honor to take you out on a date.” 

“Wow. That has to be the most loving yet cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me. Kudos.”

“And I just made you fall more in love with me because of it, right?”

“Eh. Debatable.” 

“Ouch.”

Stargaze is copyright 2020 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.