#don't worry he only dies in an AU

[crowpendragon]

The end of another, unknowable path. Once two flames, now one, alone. Flickering, faded by a choice.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan."

"Cruel to the end."

[natelia-aldelliz]

Guys imagine, Roach died, before the creation of 141, but Soap is able to see his ghost. He was originally following Ghost around, really annoyed that he was using his death as an excuse to not get close to anyone, but when he found out Soap could see him and talk to him he started following him around instead.

And they get really close, like two peas in a pod, except they have to be discreet about it because no one else can see or hear Roach, and they'd think Soap was crazy if they saw him talking to no one.

They use that for shenanigans too: Roach will go follow someone else and report back to Soap, Gaz is genuinely starting to believe Soap has superpowers or something. It's really useful on missions as well, and Soap managed to successfully rescue team members thanks to Roach being able to move through walls and everything.

(Roach is not the only ghost Soap is able to see btw, just the only one he's talking to.)

And then Roach is witnessing his past lover trying really hard to not fall in love with Soap, and Soap trying really hard to not do anything about the love he already feels, and he has to try and convince Soap that he is dead. During that conversation he finds out that something else that keeps Soap from doing something is that he feels very confused about everything because he also has feeling for Roach.

So now Roach has to try and convince him that even if he was still alive he wouldn't have a problem with that. He's known for a while that he was polyamorous, but he hadn't really dared talking to Ghost about that because he thinks he's jealous and possessive.

And Soap is like "oh yeah, you want me to go say to Ghost 'don't worry about your dead lover that I'm not supposed to know, he's actually polyamorous and also in love with me, I know because his ghost told me!' ??? I'm sure he's gonna take that well!"

But Roach is nothing if not resourceful and he manages to put Soap in situations where he's forced to interact with Ghost, and eventually they kiss and their relationship is beginning to be something. They're not really sure what.

And Roach is sad, because he has to watch the two men he loves being in love without him, yes, but at least they're both happy, and it makes him feel a bit better. And then during a mission Ghost almost dies.

Because he was alone and Soap and Gaz were together, Roach was following Ghost this time, ready to fly to Soap in an instant if there was any problems. But there was and he didn't have time, so he instinctively grabbed the gun being pointed towards Ghost's head and moved it as the person was shooting, saving Ghost's life, giving him enough time to shoot the enemy himself.

But even as the threat is eliminated, Ghost is still looking up from where he's on the ground, staring right through him, looking shocked. No, not right through him, he realises when he moves to the side and Ghost's eyes follow him. He also realises that he grabbed the gun. He's never grabbed anything before, in all his years of being a ghost.

Then suddenly Ghost's eyes move wildly around, and he figures he disappeared from his view. He can still go through the walls, but he's kept the ability to grab stuff when he wants. It gives him a ton of new possibilities, to fuck with people and, of course, to touch Soap.

"I wish you were actually alive," Soap whispers to him, holding his hands against his face as he's falling asleep.

"What the fuck," comes Ghost's voice the next morning, waking both of them up - wait, since when could Roach sleep?

Soap doesn't understand immediately, because he's always been able to see Roach. But Ghost is standing in the door, looking straight at dead past lover.

Turns out Soap is a necromancer and he had no idea, though the whole 'I can see dead people' should probably have told him sooner that he wasn't normal... The more he wishes Roach is alive, the more he actually is. And they all end up happy and together. And Gaz is very happy to have won the bet that Soap indeed has superpowers.

The day Roach says, in a wondering voice, "I... I think I'm hungry" is the day they understand that something is really happening and he's actually coming back to life.

(Also, Soap has no control at all on his abilities, he has no idea what does what and why, he knows nothing. No one knows.)

[dootznbootz]

Odypen definitely and equivalently adore each other BUT I weirdly can't see them as the type to actually say "I Love you".

They still definitely vocalize their love for each other but it's more so in "My Joy", and "Extraordinary Woman", "Strange Woman/Man", etc. And very cheesy lines (both say some cheesy shit in the Odyssey, and he definitely does in the Iliad as well. "Joy like a drowning sailor seeing land" bit???)

I could see "I adore you" but even then, that's probably during very specific moments but the actual "I love you"??? I just typed it just now for fic shit and... It weirdly just didn't feel right and I don't know why. 😅

Idk maybe it's kind of because I see them as over the top in ways, they love wordplay and riddles and I think they'd almost think "...That's not good enough >:( " about it??? I don't know???😂

[lazlolullaby]

temporal temp work, a Batman Beyond and WFA style fluid comic canon crossover (but mostly Bruce amnesia recovery/character study)

Bruce lost his memory. He has no idea who Batman is, or what he's done for the past 30 years of his life.

Bruce is still a detective, despite the holes in his memory. He keeps noticing little tells, bruises, signs of lying. He knows he did something in his spare time, he's not sure what.

The batfamily decide that if it's not going to come back easily, then they should treat it as a retirement for Batman. They all came to an agreement, that they would be "as civilian as possible" around Bruce as to not put pressure on him to perform as Batman when he's not ready.

Alfred and Dick had gently explained that they won't tell him anything until he comes to a conclusion by himself and tells the family. If he gets it correct, then they can talk about it. If he doesn't, they can't. The Batcave is still open for him to find.

(he's in the world's most elaborate detective game, basically.)

in the meantime, Bruce focuses more on the company, on bonding with his suddenly large brood of kids, and legal methods of fixing Gotham.

Everyone's backstories remain similar to what the press knows. Jason's case is special, as he's dead. So Jason explains that he did survive, he was mad at Bruce for a while, so he got out to get his own place. They are slowly repairing their relationship.

Damian also flat out goes: "Yeah I was grown in a jar for the League of Assassins." and everyone nods and goes along with it. Jason even says he's seen the jar.

He even starts to bond with Tim, Jason, and Duke again over investigating crime. (well. More for the kids to solve it.)

The ones that fight the most for Batman to come back, the ones that make the most progress in getting Bruce to remember are Tim and Terry, since they were the ones that got him out of his funks in canon.

Bruce has nightmares. Despite losing the context of the fears, he still has them, he still can remember some Caped Adventures. He blames that for his nocturnal sleep schedule.

The Justice League dropped by in capes, trying to get him to remember.

Bruce gets totally suspicious that he's funding an entire space station. It takes him a week to crack every. single. founding JL member's ID, and even some sidekicks...Except Batman and his merry brood of birds and bats. (It doesn't help that the Dark Knight has been missing. no new data.)

The Gotham Rogues are starting to get gutsy. The Batfamily is stretched thin. It gets to the point where either scientists or magicians step in and try to "Summon Batman".

This is where Terry comes in. He gets summoned with Ace the Bathound. They survive on the streets of Gotham, then find Nightwing and Red Robin facing off against a Joker that's "pining for his eternal rival"

Tim is barely in danger but Terry's instincts go full throttle and he starts to roast. They see Ace has a harness with a Wayne Security badge and a license that are both dated for decades in the future.

Dick and Tim take Terry home. Say he's a friend in a tight spot, but Bruce sees right through it. Terry is the seventh black haired kid to be sheltered by Bruce and he knows it's a ploy to jog his memory. He's not having it. Terry also isn't interested in playing along with that either, instead loudly acknowledging he's got family already.

Ace gets along well with lots of the Batfamily. Terry makes a comment that he was trained as a PTSD-support dog. He knows how to sit and block people from getting into your space, how to use his weight as a grounding method. Bruce starts researching getting one for the house.

The batfamily train Terry on the streets for a few nights just in case. Nightwing goes back to Bludhaven. Dick does as well, and Bruce figures the connection quickly. The Justice League is seen with a new Batman.

Terry decides to annoy Bruce into becoming Batman again. Being ever so slightly off kilter, but still dedicated to helping. Always saying "If the guy I'm temping for doesn't like it, he can come out and do the job again."

Terry sees Bruce's psych profiles and list of Batman and Batman II suspects and makes a comment. "You writing a murder mystery or something?"

"Or something."

"What's the seventh rule of Knox's 10 commandments of detective fiction?" Terry asks.

"The detective must not commit the crime?"

"Mmm-hmm. Good thing you're not writing."

Bruce is getting tired of not knowing. Not getting better. Terry talks about how he was an assistant to an old man. That he also had trouble with being less active than he used to be.

Batman II shows up to save a hostage Bruce Wayne, and Bruce plays 20 questions. "why are you here in Gotham?"

"someone has to. And I already promised that I would."

"who did you promise? Why does it have to be you?"

"What makes this work is that I chose it. I work so I won't destroy this legacy. Me. My choice."

"You didn't say who you promised."

"The last guy who wore the bat...he got swallowed up by it. Didn't even think of himself as anything but Batman at the end." He shrugged. "Separating yourself from the mask is important. You know about Superman, yeah? He needs that job. He needs his friends and family, if not to feel human, just to be the best he can. Bruce. You have your friends and family. What are you willing to do to protect it?"

idk i can't figure out a suitably appropriate and dramatic emotional situation where Bruce figures it out. But he does.

Bruce gathers all of the family in the Wayne Study for a Classic Detective Reveal. He goes through the Batfamily one by one an unmasks each of them correctly, even confirming the ones who had other identities.

Bruce takes up the Cowl again, this time with a little more restraint and respect to his Bruce Wayne identity.

Terry goes back to Neo Gotham, stronger and happier that he knows the Batfamily.

[fadewalking]

... but like should i add Felassan to the muse list

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short

Look, I don't know if you can tell, but I really like soulmate AUs, okay. Also, writing something exactly 500 words is more annoying than I thought it would be, but was a fun experiment.

Lightly inspired by this post.

Edit: there is a part 2 now!

Danny's parents were never concerned about the words on Danny’s wrist. Given their occupation, they thought Danny would meet someone while studying, or perhaps even lecturing on ghosts, or maybe as part of some other job in the future. Jazz has always been concerned about the words on Danny’s wrist. This is probably the normal reaction, given most people do not surround themselves with the dead. 

Danny himself was concerned about it for a while. But then he died. The amount of death surrounding him at all times, what with his parents’ study of ghosts, practically tripled after that. And suddenly the words ‘Is he dead?’ were a lot less concerning. Because in his life, oftentimes the answer was yes.

Not that he was always around dead bodies or anything. But the company he kept did include a large amount of ghosts and other ectoplasmic beings, that while they were not dead, weren’t technically alive either. 

So, Danny moved on with his life as normal. He knew what his words were, but was never actively listening for them. For a few years there he was barely hanging on to sanity, battling ghosts and trying to graduate high school. 

Eventually, life calmed down. His parents, unfortunately, died in their own lab accident. Danny was in his senior year at the time, and Jazz took a semester off of college to help him graduate and get accepted at university himself. Then they shut the portal down and moved on from Amity Park.

Jazz went back to Yale. Danny, who did not make high enough grades for that, went to Gotham University. It was there that he discovered he actually really liked college. School was a lot easier when he wasn’t fighting for his life all the time, and this time he got to take classes he was actually interested in. 

By the start of his second year, his life was looking up. He was majoring in mechanical engineering, and he loved all his science classes. He had a somewhat decent apartment, and was living without much worries on the money from selling his parents’ house. Gotham is not the best area, but it can be a really cheap place to live. And he didn’t see Sam, Tuck, or Jazz as often as any of them would like, but they were all happy where they were.

Which makes the current moment much more distressing than it would have been in his teenage years. As Danny looks at the now-dead body in front of him, then turns and presses his forehead into the alley wall. He’s seconds away from banging his head against it, but that would only give him a headache and would in no way help the current situation. 

The vigilante standing across the alley, on the other side of the body, did not move for a solid minute upon rounding the corner onto the scene. Then he asks, in a voice distorted by tech, “Is he dead?”.

This is not good.

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[coldilikeit]

Isekai reader x Batfam (Neglected au)

Female reader

Prologue- Dead mom

______________________________

You woke up as a baby, daughter of a waitress and some unknown guy, your grandmother (mom's mom) kept telling you that you were weighing her daughter's life down, whatever, that old hag died a few months after you were born

It was bad enough that you were born poor, it's the fact that you were born poor in GOTHAM

Fake Mom was a waitress and she worked with a catering job, at one of her jobs, at a charity gala with some rich people, she had sex with a rich dude there, she didn't know she was pregnant and you were a surprise

But it didn't matter, you were hers and she loved you, she didn't have much to give you because you were poor, but what little thing she had, she gave to you

That meant nothing to you, she wasn't your actual mom, your real mom had a nice crib for you to sleep in, not some moldy probably a 4th hand one, your real mom took time off her work to properly take care of you, not put you in a baby carrier and bring you to jobs like cashier, janitress and other stuff

She wasn't your actual mom.

You didn't care, you're not supposed to care.

You were merely 6 months old, at your crib, you were trying to sleep, key word. Try, but your fake mom's cries were too loud, you didn't understand her anguish, it was just a fever, you've had fevers before, why is your fake mom freaking out about your fever now

"I'm so sorry my baby... Mommy can't afford to buy the medicine-" she stops as she hears your heavy breathing, you are struggling to breathe "mommy is very selfish... If I gave you to your dad, he could get you the medicine, maybe you wouldn't get sick at all- but that would mean you are away from mommy- I'm really sorry baby.... I'll work harder"

She took a wet cloth and placed it on your forehead, she hung her head low and cried

You thought she was being dramatic, all this crying for a fever?

______________________________

Now you're 6, you don't know if fake mommy is stupid or what but there's no light and the electric fan stopped spinning, there was only one fan in your apartment, did she forget to pay the electric bill or... Did you guys not have enough money, you can't ask her that because fake mommy is at work, who leaves a 6 year old at home!?

If fake mommy can't pay, you'll do something about it, you were not going to spend a hot night without a fan, you go to explore and you grab some wild flowers off the streets and tie them with long leaves, then you sell

You forgot to leave a note.

When you get home, there's cops, your fake mom is crying and she sees you, she runs to hug "God! (Name) Where did- did you go, I- was so worried!" She cried and sobbed, the cops went away after some time

You hand her 12 dollars "I sold flowers, 2 dollars a bouquet, the lights went out, so I sold, we don't have any money to pay right?"

Your fake mom smiles at you, "my thoughtful baby... Mommy just forgot to pay because... Mommy enrolled you in school!" She said excitedly,You raised your eyebrows "how much money do we have? Won't we go bankrupt?"

But your fake mom is crazy because she just laughs and hugs you

You hated being poor, being poor means you get bullied, it means you can't buy the stuff you want, it means using stuff someone else already used, it means your lunch would also be your dinner

You hated it

Because it also meant being looked down on, being the smartest kid in class (ofc) means nothing if your school bag had holes and patched up, it meant sometimes you'll see other kids your age buy something you wanted

It didn't matter, you could make do, you avoided being bullied and actually became popular by showing off, you landed bottle flips, you could do a handstand, needless to say, you were definitely invited to birthday parties, plus you were smart and well-behaved, parents and teachers love you, it didn't matter if you brought a present or not, all that matters is your presence

And when your birthday rolled around, the kids got used to the fact you were too poor to hold a birthday party, that didn't matter to them, to those kids and parents, you were the kindest person they've ever met, so they gave you presents, at first you tried to refuse (because you were ashamed you couldn't give them anything that's not handmade to their parties) but they insisted

Your fake mom was always busy, with so many jobs, she couldn't attend all award ceremonies and PTC's

You just won for the best science project in the fair (despite having the least resources), you were fine with fake mom not being able to attend the award ceremony, she was out cleaning someone's house after all

"where is her mom?"

"I don't know, but that poor kid, she's so sweet and smart, I feel bad that she has a mother like that"

"I heard (Name)'s mother got pregnant with (Name) while she was at college, thank God that (Name) won't end up like her, how could such a talented girl end up with a mother like that? She couldn't even attend her own daughter's award ceremony"

"the mom is probably off somewhere sucking someone's dick, if she gets pregnant again, I hope the kid takes after (Name)"

"(Name)! Sweetheart! Mommy's here! Oh sorry I'm late, I was at work" you fake mom smiles as she runs at you, she looks at your blue ribbon and hugs you "You're so smart baby! Mommy is so proud"

______________________________

You're 8 and you earn 5 dollars for every lawn you cut grass for, some of the people even give you snacks! You're already an entrepreneur! You smile to yourself, you weren't going to be like your fake mom, you were going to be rich, so maybe you and fake mom can get out of the cockroach infested house and fake mom won't work for an awful manager who hits on her and she won't clean toilets just so the both of you have something to eat

You come home with 40 dollars, you plan to give 30 to your fake mom for the bills and you keep 10 as a reward, but when you open the door your met with a bang

A bang from a party popper "Happy birthday my sweetheart!" Fake mom says

You look at the cake and decorations, you sigh, the money out in this could have been used for groceries

Your fake mom seemed to read your mind "Oh hush my baby, it's only once a year! Plus this is nothing to what you do for my birthday!"

That's a lie, your fake mommy is lying, your birthday decorations for her were handmade by you and her cake was just a muffin because you couldn't afford something more expensive, your birthdays were much more grander than hers

You give her the 30 dollars, you try to give her, but it seemed to make her sad, he smile wore off

Did you do something? Shouldn't she be happy? You were providing and helping!

"I'm sorry you think you have to do this my baby... You should be playing outside- not- not working, I want you to be a kid! Don't work anymore okay?"

But you're not a kid okay! You're reincarnated! And your previous life was much better than now!

So your fake mom should just let you help! Because you're trying to make things easier for her, why won't she let you help!?

But you keep it all to yourself and you and your fake mommy celebrate your fake birthday

______________________________

You're 10, and your fake mom seems... Weaker?? Is that how you put it? Her eye bags seem darker and her skin looks paler, you don't like this look from her, your fake mom is a pretty woman, who would have married good if it weren't for you, nevermind

You don't want your fake mom getting ugly, so every 9:00 pm you crash into her work place and you don't care if she still needs to keep on working and her shift ends at 9:30, your fake mom needs sleep! Someone else can cover for her

It's her birthday when she starts coughing, she starts coughing bad. The sounds were coarse and harsh, it hurt to even hear the coughs, you didn't want to know how it felt like

She grabs a tissue and coughs into it, you're sure you saw blood

Usually you're a master of minding their own business, but this time you rummage, you rummage through your mom's fake mom's room, and you find it, doctor appointments, medical certificates (when did she even go to the hospital!?), fake mom is sick, really sick, why didn't she tell you???

When your fake mom gets home, you show her what you found, instead of confronting you she acts like it's nothing, you get mad, of course you do, why wouldn't you?

"Mom are you crazy? Why didn't you tell me? The bill is huge? And why would you keep on working!? Did you forget what a sick person does? They rest!" You cry yell

She just smiled at you??? Is this woman crazy? "What was I supposed to do? Sweetheart, these things are for me okay? Don't worry about it, I'll be fine... Did you do your homework? If you haven't I can help you"

"I did... Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to pull me out of school" you say

"what why? Are you being bullied? You can tell me"

"No I'm not! If you pull me out of school, instead of worrying about my tuition, you could just pay for your medical bills and actually buy yourself some medicine and get better!"

Fake mom turns silent "You don't have to do that"

"it's the only way! We can't afford both my school and your hospital bills! Mom! Your health is much more important than some certificates! And while I'm out of school I can work as well, even though I get paid a little, money is still money I can give to you-"

"NO! A mother's job is to provide for their kids and your my kid! You don't have to go to work, you don't have to stop going to school, you don't have to think about whether you'll be able to eat tommorow and the day after that, you're a kid! You're my baby! Stop worrying about me and instead, worry about boys you like or girls you like, worry about— I want you to be a kid"

You clench your fists "How can I be!?!? You think I don't hear you!? You come home when I'm supposedly asleep so you can cry about not being able to give a better life, I can hear you! I hear everything! You hate that your manager flirts with you! You hate that the mother's at school talks about you! You hate that I'm the only kid in school who can't afford a birthday party!, I'm trying to help! I can bring in money! I tutor, I babysit, I mow lawns, I can do more if I'm out of school!" At this point you're crying

Fake mom has never yelled at you, never. Whenever you get mad she hugs you and kisses you forehead, why is she yelling at you, you just want what's best for her

______________________________

You didn't care, after school you took on more jobs, you even started doing your classmate's homework and homework from higher and lower grades for money

Fake mom's medicine... It was expensive, that didn't matter, you'll work harder, you were so tired

You started selling bread for a family bakery who felt bad for you, that kind of money doesn't come up in thin air

But you were going to try

And you did, you really did, you did whatever you could

You and fake mom had another argument when you found out she got life insurance and placed you as the sole beneficiary

Fake mom's illness got so bad that she had to quit her jobs because she didn't have the strength to even walk, the amount of blood that comes out every time she coughs kept increasing

You stopped going to school to work more, you started to sweep and mop up for local grocery stores, the owner being a dad of one of your classmates

You knew your mom wouldn't approve, so you fed her with fake science fairs, fake school plays you had to practice for so she wouldn't get suspicious why you returned home late

"Don't stay out so late sweetheart, the riddler just escaped Arkham" your fake mom would warn you with a hint of love in her voice

If you could just make it work, even for half of the money you need, maybe you could put a down payment, and they'd give you the medicine and you'll pay them back later

So why wasn't your fake mom waking up?

You got home, after grueling hours of painting fences, you plan to tell your fake mom that you were just painting some backdrops for a school play

"Mommy?" You call out, you expect your fake mom to be either watching on a broken down TV or probably sewing some of your clothes with holes on them

It's eerie quiet, a quiet you don't like "Mama?" You see her in a chair, asleep and eyes closed

Is she that tired? "Mommy, do you want noodles? I'll make some?"

....

.........

"Mommy?"

You shake her body trying to wake her

Nothing.

"Mommy?"

Your heart drops "No... No. No. No. No. No. No... No!" You keep shaking and shaking her but nothing, it was then you notice her lips have gone horrifyingly pale

"no.. this- this- help! Someone help us please!" You yell trying to call your neighbors, someone, anyone!

______________________________

"I'm sorry kid, Your mom's gone, we'll try to find any other relatives you have" the police officer looks at you with pity

"I don't have any relatives left" you say

You're not going to cry, why would you? She wasn't your real mom, she- she....

Fuck, now you're crying, you're doing what you said you wouldn't do

The officer knelt to you and hugged you "We'll find you another loving family, one that will buy you toys and-"

"I don't want another loving family! I want my mommy! I want my mom" you cry

"it's okay... Everything is going to be okay" he pats your back

After a few days at the orphanage, the news came, everyone was shocked, a few staff who got attached to you were happy you'll be with someone who could provide, a few staff who also got attached to you angry that he abandoned such a sweet girl, a DNA match to the one and only Bruce Wayne, that man is your father.

You stand In front of doors a hundred times bigger than you, you see him- no you see them.

The infamous Wayne family, all in their glory

"Father, will it stay with us permanently" Damian asks

Dick the older one laughed and responded "Unfortunately for her, she will stay here"

Holy shit, you think

Holy shit.

Is this? No it can't be...

You refuse to believe you reincarnated in a Batfam x neglected reader story- surely not-

Welcome Reader! To the Neglected AU!

Prologue: dead mom- finished

Progress:100%

Chapter 1: "I wished I stayed at the orphanage"- start!

Progress: 0%

The screen appears In front of you

"Fuck" you whisper

______________________________

Alr so technically this is the prologue, "yes" won Soo...

Also goodbye mom

My ass wrote this with a fever, while playing chess with my cousin, I'm built diff like that

Also I won, if you want pics of the chessboard and the thermometer I'll provide🔥

[theroundbartable]

Time travel au:

After Arthur dies at Camlann, he wakes up the day of the 20th anniversary of the purge.

Conflicted about his father's rule, scared of this death-not death scenario, he finds himself reaching out to Merlin, who, for the first time of many, saves his life.

Alive and full of energy, Arthur wants to be kind and gentle with Merlin, but the 10 years of lying lay ahead only in Merlin's eyes, not his own. The betrayal cut deep, would still have if it hadn't been about magic.

Just as back then, they slowly become friends. Arthur is different, kinder, albeit more reserved around Merlin. He trusts him but is always suspicious of his lying nature. But Arthur is also more positive about magic. More doubtful about the law. More open about it too.

And it is here, right before the battle of Ealdor, less than half a year after Merlin came to Camelot, that he tells Arthur.

Merlin: I know you're a good man and I know you wish to help, but I need you to turn around and go home.

Arthur: don't be stupid, Merlin, I won't let you fight this war all on your own. You can barely hold a sword!

Merlin: I can and I will. With magic.

The confession comes out of nowhere, the honestly stuns Arthur into silence.

Merlin: I'm sorry I kept this from you. But you know your father. What he would do. You have a good heart, but you don't have to worry about me or my village. I want to show you how magic can do good. Just - I don't want to drag you into this

Arthur: Did you just tell me about your magic?!

Merlin: I know I can trust you.

Arthur: after 6 months?

Merlin: you deserve the truth.

'Did I not deserve it then?''

It occurrs to Arthur slowly, very slowly, as he force accompanies Merlin to Ealdor and sees Merlin fight, how he defeats bandits and Griffins, helps bastets and druids, that he was wrong.

Merlin HAD trusted him. With every doubt and every conflict and every wonder, Merlin had come to him.

Arthur simply hadn't let him. Merlin had trusted him. It had been Arthur, who'd pushed him away.

And one night, as Merlin had fallen asleep in a chair beside Arthur, a magical glowing orb hovering over the new magic laws, he finally understands:

'I'm the one who didn't trust you.'

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."

Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"

Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."

Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"

Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"

Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."

Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"

-THE END-

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[tizeline]

You mentioned wanting art requests for the sep au-- how about casey jr staring at mikey trying to figure out what the heck happened to Master Michelangelo to make him so different from his younger self? If you want to, ofc.

Love your art!!

LMAO no but literally, in the bad future Mikey and Donnie ended up growing really close, and he was always really kind and caring towards CJ too. So seeing this younger Mikey act so hostile towards both Donnie and CJ himself is WEIRD! (Don't worry, they all start bonding after the invasion is dealt with)

And CJ's design in the AU is mostly the same as in canon, the only real change is the mask. I'm still figuring out the details of the bad timeline, but basically Leo dies first lol, then Donnie dies, and then Raph and Mikey are both alive until the moment they send CJ back into the past. So because of that, in this AU Leo isn't CJ's sensei, but rather Raph! Also I'm probably gonna keep Casey Sr alive a lot longer too so she also has more of a presence in CJ's life. So with all this in mind, CJ wouldn't paint Leo's stripes on the mask in this AU but rather something based on Raph and/or Casey, so that's why the mask has red eyeliner lol (Casey has red eyeliner, and also red is associated with Raph) I also asked for advice on the mask deisgn from some pals on discord and everyone wanted Mikey's stupid bean eyebrows on the thing so yeah they're there now too XD. After all of that this is the story I ended up coming up with:

Also some of you might've seen a post that circulated around the fandom recently that pointed out the possibility of CJ having a prosthetic hand (here's a link to it) and I love that concept so I'm establishing it as canon in my AU!

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 3

Part 1 & 2

Around half past midnight, Jason is losing his patience.

They've been searching for hours and finding a whole lot of nothing, and statistics about the odds of finding kidnapping victims and the first 72 hours.

It's been almost 48 since he saw the kid and he's cursing himself for not doing more sooner.

Cameras are finding nothing, Signal is finding nothing, everyone is finding a whole lot of nothing.

And Jason...

Jason chirps.

He doesn't know if it'll help, but it's the only idea he's got. Even if it's a shallow chance. It's all he's got; he has to try.

And if Bruce decides that Jason being meta is the line? Then he'll cope.

He won't refuse to do something just because he's scared when his- when the kid's well being is on the line.

He won't be like Bruce, who'd let his killer walk free rather than do something about it because his feelings were somehow more important when Jason died.

He won't.

The first chirp yields nothing.

He does it again pushing to try and make it as loud as possible.

Again, nothing.

Again, he chirps, something in him certain that if he just keeps going it'll work. Somehow. But he's learned to trust his gut - or weird meta instincts?

And it works.

Because after the third chirp the kid chirps back.

Except.

The kid is not in Gotham.

He is very, very not in Gotham.

He chalks it up to his weird meta-bird instincts that he somehow just knows it came from somewhere hundreds of miles that-a-way.

Kidnapping is looking more likely given just how far the kid got, but now?

Now Jason has a way to find him.

He ignores Oracle asking about mask static in favor of hopping down from the balcony he'd paused on and heading back to the batbike - Bruce's paranoia meant it would have more than enough gas to take him as far as he needed to go and then some.

'And more than enough weapons to level a block, if needed,' he thinks viciously.

"Hood!" Oracle’s sharp voice shakes him from his thoughts.

"Found the kid," he shoots back, hoping to avoid the inevitable questioning.

Mixed exclamations of relief and confusion echoed over the radio.

"How!?" Nightwing cries. "I was literally right next to you! What did I miss!?"

"What are you, deaf?" he grumbles back irritably, uncomfortable. It'd be easier if they were, he thinks. Then he wouldn't have to explain.

"Does this have something to do with the static noise your helmet was producing previously? I had worried it was damaged," Oracle asks.

"Static?" Jason echoes, not slowing a bit - nearly to the bike.

"Oh yeah!" Nightwing says, as though she's making perfect sense.

'Ah,' he thinks, 'A shred of mercy in this vastly cruel existence.'

Aloud, he just says, "Yup. He's not in Gotham anymore, though, and I don't know how far he'll end up going or how long I'll be gone. Anyone who wants to come with can catch up, because I'm leaving now."

15 seconds later he's leaping onto the batbike and peeling out.

***

Jason doesn’t chirp again until he’s nearly to Illinois. 

He wants to. He wants to chirp nonstop the moment he hears that first reply, wants to spend the whole hours-long drive listening to nothing but a litany of chirps that reassure him that his kid is alive alive alive.

He won’t risk it. 

He doesn’t know where, exactly, the kid is. Doesn’t know if his family didn’t hear him because the chirps are only audible to him and the kid or if it was really due to a helmet malfunction covering for him. 

But there is a chance that whoever has the kid can hear his chirps, so Jason won’t risk having him respond more than he absolutely has to in order to find him.

The next time, the kid answers back to the very first chirp, and Jason knows he’s heading in the right direction.

He gets turned around just once, overshooting and heaving to loop back, but he curses himself for it anyway - wasting precious time when the kid is going through who knows what.

Then he’s entering Amity Park: a nice place to live.

A nice place to die, for whoever it was that took his kid.

Several chirps later he’s in front of a school - of all things.

He doesn’t waste time doubting himself - kidnapping victims could be stashed anywhere - he storms in, batbike left idling at the base of the front steps.

Three chirps later he’s slamming through a door into a classroom. Full of kids. Taking a totally normal class - aside, of course, from Jason’s interruption.

One last exchange of chirps later and he finally lays eyes on his little shadow - who has the audacity to also look surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to lead him here in the first place.

Jason takes a moment to feel relieved, adrenaline beginning to crash before it revs back up with his indignation.

What happened to ‘goodbye!’ Who in their right mind would disappear from Gotham and not think that those left behind would assume they were kidnapped!? It’s Gotham!

Oh. Oh the child was in Gotham alone.

The child was in Gotham for a vacation.

Oh the child’s parents didn’t even realize he was gone? He’s worried about them putting him in an iron maiden!?

Jason’s eyes may be green, but oh, how his vision is red.

He barely hears the school’s alarm going off when he finally drives off-grounds, laser focused on following the road to the dot that’s popped up on his helmet just a few streets off, sending a curt thank-you to Oracle for saving him the effort of finding the kid’s address himself - she’s done him the courtesy of leaving everyone muted from his end, but he has little doubt they’ve all been listening to him. He’s only surprised she’s willing to condone the murder.

But then, of course she didn’t, he thinks as he pulls into a decently shadowed alley full of bats and birds. He’s torn between being touched that all of them came and being annoyed that he isn’t already in the process of murdering the kid’s parents. 

“New Brother?” Orphan asks the moment the bike is off, head tilting in question from her dumpster-top perch.

A second, smaller sense of outrage bubbles up next to the first, and it is a testament to his impeccable self-control that his hand only twitches over his gun at the question.

Bruce - Batman - tries to say something, but before he can finish even just the first syllable Jason’s head is snapping around to glare hell at him, and a low, animalistic growl practically rips itself from his throat.

He can see the way everyone tenses - subtle to anyone else, but a glaring neon sign in Jason’s vision. 

He curses himself for it; he asked them to be here. He specifically requested their help, and they gave it. The more of them there are involved, the faster they can help the kid into a safer environment.

But Jason came here to help the kid, not to offer him up as the next sacrifice in Batman’s long line of child soldiers.

“You wanna help? Great. Rule One: YOU,” he points at the bat for emphasis, “can’t adopt him.”

He chokes on whatever he was intending to say next at Orphan’s delighted clap and exclamation of “nephew!”

He wants to correct her, but… he doesn’t. 

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid; Jason knows that.

He knows it more than anyone, having spent his early years there and his most recent years trying to make it better. He knows that.

But h- the kid is a meta. 

Looking at the facts: the kid is meta.

The kid is meta whose first concern with rule breaking is punishment via torture device.

The kid’s parents are neglectful enough that he spent over a week in Gotham and they never even noticed.

The kid went to Gotham to escape his home.

Whether his parents know that he is a meta or not, it is clear to Jason that the kid needs to be Out Of That House. Yesterday.

But he also knows just how metas are treated - even the MPA can only do so much against the tides of hatred and fear. 

And he’s seen the maps - he knows this state is one of the worse ones for metas to live in, let alone a meta child at the mercy of a foster family that has even odds of neglecting him, being just as bad as his original family, or possibly actually caring about him.

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid, and Red Hood is far from the right person for such a job.

But Crime Alley isn’t all that Gotham is, and perhaps Jason Todd could very easily decide to get an apartment in a nicer area.

He won’t lie to himself, he knows he isn’t parent material, but he’ll at least be a step up from what the kid is used to while he works to vet a real family to transfer him to. 

He’s halfway through his mental checklist of the options for the safest place for an apartment and other such logistics when he’s reminded of where he is by Oracle’s voice in his ear.

“Hate to interrupt the group brooding you guys have going on over there, but I managed to dig up… a lot of information about the boy and his family situation.”

He notes how the others all perk up from where they’d been…staring at him. 

Ah, that was why it was so quiet. They were staring in disbelief when he didn’t deny the nephew thing. Well. A conversation for another time.

“Lay it on me,” he says to Oracle, ignoring them.

“His name is Daniel James Fenton, goes by Danny, high grades throughout elementary and middle school until they took a steep drop at the beginning of highschool - likely related to whatever happened when his metagene activated. 

Has one sibling, a sister named Jasmine Fenton - no middle name. She goes by Jazz. High grades across the board with no notable dips. No indication of possible metagene in any of  her records or in Danny’s, beyond the grade drop and your own first-hand experience.

Parents Jack and Madeline “Maddie” Fenton. They have their own personal website where they describe themselves as “ectobiologists” and as ghost hunters. The pictures in their gallery show a vast array of weapons - dubbed “ectoweapons” - in the same chrome-green style with the name “Fenton” stamped somewhere on them. Some of the weapons are for sale on their site, advertised for defending oneself against ghosts. There are some pictures of what must be their lab, all of which look to include at least 12 different types of OSHA violation, and the image in their site’s “about” section has the whole family standing in the lab in front of what looks like a vertical Lazarus Pit.”

“What,” Batman says more than asks, voice tense.

“And judging by the staircase seen reflecting off of one of the guns in the picture, it seems that this lab is in their basement - I can’t see why it wouldn’t be, given they were fine with putting an enormous monstrosity of a satellite on top of their building.

There are plenty of cameras in the house itself, but for some reason all I can get from them is static. Any video or audio in the house that they don’t put on their site appears to be unusable for some reason. 

All told, there is plenty of cause to get CPS involved. If their lab safety is even half as bad as it looks and it’s in their basement it’s pretty much a sure thing that the kids’ll be taken from them. 

Given the small-towny nature of the area it’ll be best to contact someone from outside of the community for the case. It’ll move things along significantly if we have somewhere to send them.

They have an aunt, Alicia Walker, but she’s already marked down as a “no” for taking them in in the event something should happen to the Fentons. 

This leaves their godfather: Vlad Masters. An incredibly reclusive billionaire, pursued the same Paranormal Science degree as the Fentons did when they were in college, but suffered an accident that put him in the hospital for two years with an unknown illness that Masters was allowed to name “ecto-acne.” Lost all contact with the Fentons until he invited them to a reunion party last fall and was named godfather three weeks later.

Masters got his wealth through a series of suspicious business deals. No one has been able to prove foul play yet, but just glancing over some of the early papers is already showing plenty of inconsistencies.

No other relatives - the Walker parents passed away some time ago, and while one of the Fentons remains, she’s in a nursing home. And also disowned Jack. And went out of her way to disown both Jazz and Danny as soon as she heard about them.”

“Great. Make Jason Todd a long lost cousin, set CPS on them. Red Hood is here because Danny ran away to Gotham and stuck his nose in crime alley so I tracked him down because I thought he was kidnapped in my territory, the Bats chased down Red Hood thinking he was gonna hurt the boy, CPS is there because your research turned up the potential unsafe living conditions and you overheard that the kid was gone for a week without anyone noticing - which scream neglect. Now we’re cooperating because we’re all annoyed at the parents that let their kid wander all the way to Gotham and convinced him that a torture device was a possible grounding option.”

He turns to Batman. 

“You can claim to have done a DNA search to find the connection, and I’m sure you can find a reason to dismiss Masters as an option. Make sure to have them call Jason as soon as possible. Oracle-”

“Already routing incoming calls through Gotham. Also, both of Masters’ residences have inaccessible cameras similar to what I’m experiencing with the Fentons. He can be dismissed under suspicion of having an OSHA nightmare in his home. I’ll see if he has his own vertical Lazarus Pit while you all work on exfiltrating the niece and nephew.”Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response, hopping back on his bike to follow the new route - this time actually to the Fenton household.

[cherie-doll]

Royalty AU with Reader being royalty and COD men being your knight

Price trusts that you're cautious but can't help but worry about you when you're not in his sight. In a room full of people he always locates you; you're his priority. And when something goes wrong he gently tugs on your hand and holds you close so you can feel a little comforted as he walks you to your room. And before you close the door he prevents it from closing with his hand to reassure you in a soft whisper that if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call for him because he'll always answer to your voice.

And what can Simon say when you reprimand him for being too strict with you? Well, he can't help it that he gets the smallest fire igniting within him when that duke got too close, he doesn't know any better. All people are dangerous, and he'd never be able to go on living if something happened to you. It's his duty to serve and protect you.

Johnny never fails to make you laugh with his charming smile and wit. Someone like him ought to be more than a knight and you constantly tell him this. All he does is shoot you a grin, indicating that if he wanted to he could be something more to you. Moments with him consist of flashes of knowing gazes and fleeting touches towards you. Always making it seem as if there was a possibility.

Kyle's hands that tremble slightly when he has to touch you. His fingers always come close but never touch your skin, only hovering above as if afraid to touch you. A look of admiration and awe in his eyes as he watches you descend the staircase and extend a hand to him. He tenderly takes your hand in his and with trembling lips places a kiss, all done with reverence for he worships the very ground you walk on and vows to protect you until the day he dies.

Phillip's piercing gaze that holds you in place before his eyes soften has you entranced. The man has a way of slithering into your mind in the most unusual and least expected ways. Why must your mind keep recurring to early that morning when none of the servants were around and he had to help fasten a necklace. His calloused hands moving your hair aside, baring your neck to him as his fingers fluttered, hovering over your nape. Was the deliberate manner in which he fiddled with the clasp intentionally?

König who's silent and observing and it makes you uneasy. But that's only because he secretly holds a hint of affection for you. Even if he shouldn't. He prefers to stand at the back of the room, in the corner furthest away from you to have you in his view. You're flawless in his eyes. How would he ever come up to par with you?

[the-winter-spider]

Say Don't Go | Part 8

Hockey!Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Angst

A/N: Sorry again that its been so long lol

Masterpost

---

The walk back to your dorm feels endless. The wind bites at your face, its chill doing nothing to numb the ache in your chest. Every step feels heavier than the last, like your body is sinking into the pavement under the weight of everything that’s happened. Your eyes burn, swollen and raw from crying the entire way, and your arms wrap tightly around yourself, warding off the cold—or trying to. But nothing can shield you from the icy hollow that’s settled inside you.

When you finally reach your dorm, the familiar warmth of home feels jarring, almost foreign, compared to the desolation outside. You barely have time to lock the door behind you before Wanda’s voice cuts through the suffocating silence like a blade.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” she exclaims, rushing toward you. Her tone is frantic, her movements sharp with worry. “I’ve been calling you for hours! Steve texted me—he’s losing his mind—he told me to let him know the second you got back. Why didn’t you answer your phone? Are you okay?”

You stand there, frozen, her words blurring together into a distant hum, like static in the back of your mind. You can’t bring yourself to answer right away. Instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out your dead phone, holding it up limply like it’s all the explanation you have left to give. Your voice, hoarse and brittle, finally cuts through the air.

“It died,” you manage, barely above a whisper.

Wanda freezes mid-step, her chest rising and falling as though she’s trying to catch her breath. Her expression softens when she sees your red-rimmed eyes, the streaks on your cheeks from dried tears, and the way your whole body seems to sag under an invisible weight.

“Y/N…” she says gently now, her voice a quiet plea. “What happened?”

You kick off your boots sluggishly, the thud of them hitting the floor louder than you expect in the still room. Without a word, you shuffle past Wanda and collapse onto the couch, your legs barely holding you up anymore. Your head falls back against the cushion as if even holding it upright is too much effort.

Wanda follows, hesitating for only a second before sitting beside you. Her gaze is unrelenting, sharp and concerned, like she’s trying to figure out how to piece you back together when you’ve clearly shattered.

“Steve said there was a fight with Bucky,” she begins carefully, her voice soft but probing. “He didn’t give me details—just said it was bad. Talk to me, please.”

A bitter laugh escapes you, broken and humorless, cutting through the quiet room like glass shattering. You tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling, blinking away the tears threatening to spill again.

“What’s there to say?” you mutter, your voice thick with exhaustion. “I overheard Bucky laughing with his teammates after… after that night.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, and you force them out before you can choke on them. “They were joking about it. About me. Like I was nothing.”

Wanda’s eyes widen in shock, and she reaches for your hand, her touch gentle and grounding. “Oh, Y/N…”

“I didn’t want to tell anyone,” you continue, your voice cracking, the words spilling out like a confession you’ve been holding too long. “But it wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t stop hearing it. So, I told Natasha. I begged her not to tell Steve. I begged her, she promised.”

Wanda doesn’t interrupt. Her hand stays on yours, steady and unyielding, giving you space to speak.

“But she told him anyway,” you continue, your voice breaking. “And he lost it. Just like I knew he would.” Your breath hitches as the memory floods back—Steve’s fury, the way his voice echoed across the ice, the way they swung at each other without holding back. “He went after Bucky. They fought—right in front of everyone. On the ice, like it was some gladiator match.”

Your head drops into your hands, your voice muffled now. “Steve kept yelling, asking how Bucky could do that to me. Why he’d laugh about it. And Bucky—”

Wanda leans closer, her grip on your hand tightening, silently urging you to keep going.

“He didn’t deny it,” you whisper, the tears spilling again, hot and unstoppable. “Not once. He just stood there and took it. And that… that was my answer.”

Wanda’s lips part, her expression one of pure disbelief. “He didn’t even try to explain himself? Not at all?”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping you. “No. Why would he? He already said enough. I heard him. I heard him laughing with them, like I was just…” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

Wanda shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Y/N, you didn’t deserve this,” she says softly but firmly. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”

You let out a shaky breath, wiping at your face with trembling hands. “Maybe I did,” you whisper, your voice so quiet it’s almost lost. “Maybe this is what happens when you trust the wrong people. When you…” Your throat tightens as you swallow the words you can’t bear to say.

Wanda shakes her head vehemently. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for his cruelty.”

You pull away slightly, your voice breaking again. “And then Steve… he turned on me, too.”

Wanda blinks, caught off guard. “What? What do you mean?”

You swallow hard, the memory of his words still fresh and sharp, cutting into you like a blade. “After the fight… he snapped at me. Said this whole thing could’ve been avoided if I didn’t…” Your voice falters, and you have to force yourself to continue. “If I didn’t sleep with the first guy who looked my way.”

Wanda’s face twists with anger, her hand flying to your knee, squeezing tightly. “He said that to you?”

You nod, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. “He was just so mad, Wanda. At me. At Bucky. At the whole situation. And I get it, okay? I get it. But hearing him say that… it broke something in me.”

Wanda pulls you into her arms without hesitation, holding you tightly as you cry into her shoulder. “He had no right,” she says fiercely. “No right to say that to you. You’re his friend, his best friend. He should’ve protected you, not torn you down.”

You cling to her, her words washing over you like a balm to your raw, bleeding wounds. “Joke’s on me, though,” you whisper bitterly, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”

Wanda pulls back slightly, her hands on your shoulders, her eyes burning with determination. “Don’t let them ruin you. Don’t let them take away the good parts of you. They’re not worth it.”

You look at her, your expression hollow but searching, desperate for some kind of reassurance that you can’t quite put into words. Wanda sees it, and she grips your shoulders tighter.

“You’ll get through this,” she promises, her voice steady and unwavering. “I don’t know how yet, but you will. And I’m going to be right here with you every step of the way.”

You nod, though the ache in your chest doesn’t lessen. But Wanda’s presence, her warmth, makes the room feel a little less cold.

You pull away slightly, the warmth of Wanda’s embrace lingering even as the cold weight of reality settles back over you. Your hands fidget in your lap, fingers twisting anxiously as you shake your head.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I feel… so lost right now. Like, everything’s just… broken.”

Wanda studies you, her expression a mix of empathy and quiet concern. “Are you going to forgive him?”

You look up at her, blinking in confusion. “Who?”

She tilts her head slightly, as if the answer is obvious. “Steve, of course.”

The question feels like a blow to the chest. You glance away, staring at the floor as you try to find the right words. The thought of forgiving Steve feels impossible right now—his words still ring in your ears, cutting deep every time you replay them.

“I don’t know,” you say after a long pause, your voice heavy with uncertainty. “I don’t even know where to start with him. It’s not like I hate him, but…” You trail off, struggling to put your feelings into words. “I just need some time, Wanda. I need time to figure out how I feel and… how to even face him again.”

She nods slowly, her gaze soft but steady. “That’s fair. You’re allowed to take your time, Y/N. No one can rush you into forgiving him—or anyone else.”

Her words offer a small comfort, but the ache in your chest remains, a dull, relentless throb.

“I just feel so…” You pause, swallowing hard. “Alone. Even with you here, even with Steve or anyone else—I feel like I’m just… floating. Like nothing’s solid anymore.”

Wanda reaches for your hand again, her touch firm yet gentle. “You’re not alone,” she says softly, her voice steady but full of conviction. “Even if it feels like the ground’s been ripped out from under you, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, your throat tight as you try to hold back another wave of tears. “I just need time to myself,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “To think. To breathe. To just… be.”

Wanda squeezes your hand, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Then take that time. Take all the time you need. I’ll handle Steve—I’ll let him know you’re safe, but that you need space. And if you want me to stay or go, just say the word.”

You felt a faint flicker of gratitude warmth in your chest. You glanced at Wanda, her steady presence grounding you in a way nothing else has.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies softly, her smile gentle. “That’s what I’m here for.”

----

The sharp, rhythmic sound of Steve’s footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor of his apartment as he paced back and forth, running his hand through his hair for the hundredth time that night. The coffee table was littered with half-empty glasses of water, discarded notes, and his phone, which he kept glancing at like it might deliver some kind of salvation. It didn’t. The missed call log only made the knot in his chest twist tighter.

Natasha sat cross-legged on the couch, watching him with that practiced calm she always had. But even her patience was wearing thin. “Steve,” she said, her voice steady but firm, “you need to relax. This pacing isn’t going to help anyone, least of all you.”

Steve whirled on her, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Don’t tell me to relax!” His fists clenched at his sides, and his chest heaved with the weight of everything pressing down on him. “That’s my best friend out there, Nat! She’s out there, upset, alone, and I can’t—” He stopped himself, raking his hands through his hair again as he turned away, his shoulders rigid with tension.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his outburst. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Don’t take this out on me, Rogers,” she said coolly. “If she’s really your best friend, you wouldn’t have spoken to her the way you did.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he spun around to face her, his expression a mix of anger and guilt. “I know that!” he snapped, his voice rising. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been replaying it over and over in my head since it happened, and every time, it just gets worse.”

Natasha didn’t flinch, her gaze unwavering as she pushed back. “Then maybe you should ask yourself why you said it in the first place.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond but stopped, the words catching in his throat. He looked away, his jaw tightening.

Natasha tilted her head, studying him. “Are you jealous?” she asked, her tone even, but her words landed like a grenade.

His head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. “Jealous? Of who?”

She gave him a knowing look, her voice quieter now but no less pointed. “Of Bucky.”

Steve froze, his expression hardening as he tried to process her words. He scoffed, but the sound was weak, forced. “Why would I be jealous of Bucky? I’m the Captain, I’ve got nothing to be jealous of.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a sad smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not about hockey, not on the ice. I’m talking about her. Are you in love with her, Steve?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, Steve just stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t quite figure out what to say. He finally let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging as he sank onto the edge of the coffee table, his head in his hands. “No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It’s not like that, I promise. It’s… it’s not like that.”

Natasha leaned back, crossing her arms as she watched him with a hint of skepticism. “Then what is it?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Steve lifted his head, his eyes tired and haunted. “It’s guilt,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I know I shouldn’t have said those things to her. I know I crossed a line, and I don’t know how to come back from this. I’ll never forgive myself for it, and I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t either.”

Natasha’s expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt, letting him keep going.

“She trusted me,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I let her down. I knew how lucky I was to have her as my best friend. And I’ve known Bucky for years—I know how he is with girls. I’ve seen it. But I thought…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I thought it would be different with her. Because it’s her. And Bucky knows how much she means to me. How much our friendship means to me. I never thought he’d… I never thought he’d do something like this.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, her voice sharp when she finally spoke. “Bucky’s a fucking prick for what he did. I hate it, Steve. I hate what he did to her, and I hate what it’s doing to you. But you need to talk to him. And I mean talk to him—not throw punches on the ice. If you’re going to keep working with him, if you’re going to keep being teammates, you need to hash this out.”

Steve shook his head, his hands balling into fists. “We already hashed it out,” he muttered.

“No,” Natasha said firmly, her voice cutting through his anger. “You hit it out. That’s not the same thing. You need to sit down with Bucky and actually talk to him. Figure out what the hell he was thinking and why he did what he did.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion seeping into every fiber of his being. “And what about her?” he asked, his voice small. “What do I do about her?”

Natasha sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Focus on Bucky first,” she said gently. “Because whatever’s between you and her… that’s going to take time. And I need to apologize to her, too. But mine will probably be easier to fix than yours.”

Steve’s heart sank further at her words, the reality of what he’d done crashing down on him all over again. “I don’t know if I can fix this,” he admitted quietly.

Natasha stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm but reassuring. “You won’t know until you try,” she said. “But first, talk to Bucky. Figure out where the hell his head is at. Then, we’ll figure out the rest. One step at a time, Rogers.”

Steve nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how to fix anything—not with Bucky, not with her—but Natasha was right. He had to try. “You’re amazing y’know that?” He gave a tired smile, before giving her a long overdue kiss.

“I know.” She whispered against his lips.

Steve’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence that had settled in his apartment. His eyes darted to the screen, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Wanda’s name in the notifications. He snatched the phone up quickly, opening the message.

Wanda: Just letting you know, she made it back safe. Her phone died. She said she walked all the way back from the rink.

Steve stared at the message, rereading the words until they burned into his mind. His chest tightened, the guilt clawing at him like a wild animal. She walked. In the cold, from the rink. Alone.

He swallowed hard and typed back, his fingers moving almost on instinct.

Steve: She walked?

The response came quickly, Wanda’s irritation practically leaping off the screen.

Wanda: Yes, she walked. Shame on you, Steve.

The bluntness of her words hit him harder than any punch ever had. He closed his eyes, leaning back on the couch as the shame poured over him in waves. He knew he’d messed up, but hearing it—seeing it—laid out so plainly made it feel unbearable.

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the screen, until finally, he pulled himself together enough to send one more message.

Steve: Thanks for letting me know.

He let the phone fall to the couch beside him, dragging a hand down his face. His stomach churned, the weight of his actions settling heavier than ever.

Natasha watched him from her spot on the armchair, her expression unreadable. “She made it back?” she asked quietly.

Steve nodded, his voice thick. “Yeah. Wanda said she walked all the way back from the rink.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, a flicker of remorse flashing in her eyes. “She walked? Alone? Jesus, Steve... Oh my god you were her ride!"

“I know,” Steve muttered, rubbing his hands over his face again. “I know, okay? I’m the asshole in this situation. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Natasha shook her head, standing up and crossing her arms. “I’m not trying to pile on, but seriously, Rogers. You need to fix this. All of it. And soon. Because this—” she gestured vaguely around the room, at the mess of emotions and guilt he was drowning in—“this isn’t sustainable. For anyone.”

Steve didn’t respond, just nodded numbly as he stared at the phone on the couch, Wanda’s message still replaying in his mind.

She walked. And it was his fault. Every step of that walk, every cold mile, was because of him.

And he didn’t know how he’d ever make it right.

---

The hallway outside the changing rooms was quiet now, the echoes of your retreating footsteps fading into nothing. Bucky stood there, his chest heaving, his mind racing as the weight of what just happened settled on him like a suffocating blanket. His jaw clenched, and he exhaled sharply, dragging his hands down his face before letting them fall limply to his sides.

He stared at the brick wall in front of him, anger bubbling in his chest like a volcano ready to erupt. Without thinking, without hesitation, he reared back and punched it. The sharp, searing pain in his knuckles hit him immediately, radiating up his arm. He hissed through gritted teeth, cradling his hand to his chest as he glanced down at the red, scraped skin. It hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his hand out and storming toward the parking lot.

By the time he reached his car, the adrenaline was fading, leaving only the dull throb in his hand and the bitter taste of regret in his mouth. He climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and gripping the steering wheel tightly—so tightly that his injured hand protested. He didn’t care.

The engine roared to life, and before he could think better of it, he was peeling out of the parking lot, heading toward the local bar.

The bar was loud and crowded, filled with the usual mix of students blowing off steam and regulars nursing their drinks. Bucky pushed his way through the crowd, his expression dark enough to make most people step aside without a word. He made a beeline for the bar, ordering a double whiskey, neat.

By the time he was three drinks in, the room felt hazy, the edges of his anger dulled but not gone. His hand throbbed dully, but the alcohol had numbed most of the pain.

A few of his hockey teammates spotted him and wandered over, their voices cheerful and oblivious.

“Barnes, man, what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be—”

“Fuck off,” Bucky snapped, not even bothering to look at them.

The guys exchanged uneasy glances, one of them raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, man. Chill. We’re just trying to be friendly.”

“Yeah, well, don’t,” Bucky muttered, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass on the counter.

The group muttered among themselves before walking off, one of them muttering, “What’s his problem?” “He got his ass handed to him by Rogers” Someone else snickered

Bucky ignored them, motioning for another drink when a familiar voice broke through the din.

“Well, well,” Tiffany cooed, sidling up beside him. “You look like shit, Barnes.”

“Tiff, maybe don’t,” one of the guys muttered to her, glancing nervously at Bucky. “He’s in a mood.”

She waved him off with a laugh. “I can handle him.”

Bucky didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her presence as she leaned against the bar. But Tiffany wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Rough night?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux concern as she trailed a perfectly manicured finger along his forearm.

Bucky finally turned to her, his eyes sharp and full of irritation. “Not now. I’m not in the mood.”

She smirked, unfazed by his tone. “We don’t have to talk.” Her fingers slid down to his hand, the one he’d injured. “We can do other things.”

Something in him snapped, the alcohol loosening his inhibitions enough that he found himself saying, “Fuck it.” There was no chance he was ever getting you back but he never even truly had you.

Tiffany’s grin widened as she tugged on his hand, leading him toward the bathrooms. Bucky followed her, his movements mechanical, his mind clouded by anger and alcohol.

The door to the bathroom clicked shut behind them, and Tiffany wasted no time, pressing herself against him and pulling him into a heated kiss. Her hands wandered, her nails scraping lightly against his neck as she tilted her head, her breath warm against his ear.

“This was worth it,” she whispered, nibbling on his ear. “Taking that photo and sending it out… Best thing I could’ve done.”

Bucky froze. The fog in his mind cleared instantly, replaced by a sharp, burning clarity. He pulled back, his brows furrowed as he stared at her. “What did you just say?”

Tiffany pouted, reaching for him again, but he pushed her hands away. “No. What the fuck did you just say?”

She laughed, like it was a joke, like he wasn’t seconds away from losing his mind. “I said taking that photo of you and that dumb bitch was the best thing I could’ve done. And sending it out? Even better. Because look what came back to me.”

His heart stopped. Then it started again, pounding so hard he thought it might break his ribs. “That was you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. Derek told me what you said about her in the change room.”

It hit him like a freight train. The photo. The rumors. Everything. It was her.

“You…” His voice trembled, anger boiling over as he stepped back, shaking his head. “You did that?”

She smirked. “Oh, come on, Bucky. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, cutting her off. “You ruined her life. You ruined everything. For what? To get back at me? To… what? Try and crawl back into my bed?”

Tiffany crossed her arms, her expression hardening. “Oh, please. Don’t act like she’s some saint. You said what you said, Barnes. I just… exposed it.”

The bathroom was suffocating, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above as Bucky stared at Tiffany in stunned disbelief. The words she’d just said echoed in his head like a relentless drumbeat. Taking that photo and sending it out… the best thing I could’ve done.

“You should be thanking me,” Tiffany said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction as she leaned back against the sink, her arms crossed.

Bucky blinked, his head snapping up as her words fully registered. “Thanking you?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Why the fuck would I thank you? You ruined the only good thing I ever had.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes, a cruel laugh spilling from her lips. “Oh, save your little pity party, Bucky. She’s a loser. A nobody. Steve even pities her—I know he does.”

His jaw clenched, his entire body stiffening as he tried to keep his rage in check. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Tiffany shot back, her tone sharp and cutting. “You need a real woman, Bucky. Someone who can handle the spotlight, someone who’s not dragging you down with her sad little life. You’re going to make it big—we all know you are—and everybody’s going to see right through her and her fake act. She’s a loser for a reason.”

“Shut up,” Bucky growled, stepping closer, his fists clenched so tightly that his injured hand throbbed painfully.

But Tiffany didn’t stop. She laughed, a cold, mocking sound that made his skin crawl. “You know what? There’s already talk going around about her. You didn’t hear? There are rumors that she’s the reason her sister is dead, her own parents probably don’t even want her!. Do you really want to be tied up with that kind of drama right when your career is about to take off?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp. His mind reeled, anger and disbelief crashing over him in waves. “What the fuck did you just say?” he asked, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.

Tiffany shrugged, her smile cruel and unapologetic. “You heard me. People are talking, Bucky. And you know how this place is—rumors spread fast. Do you really want her dragging you down? Because that’s exactly what she’s going to do.”

Something inside Bucky snapped. He closed the distance between them in an instant, his eyes blazing as he loomed over her. “You’re sick,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Tiffany flinched but quickly recovered, straightening up and tilting her chin defiantly. “I’m just being honest, Bucky. Someone has to.”

He shook his head, stepping back as if the very sight of her made him nauseous. “You don’t know a damn thing about her. And you sure as hell don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t act like she’s some saint. You’re better off without her, and you know it.”

Bucky’s laugh was bitter and hollow as he ran a hand through his hair, his injured knuckles splitting open again from the pressure. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade. “She’s the only person who ever really gave a damn about me. The only person who saw me for more than what I was on the ice or in a bar. And you—” He pointed a shaking finger at her. “You took that and you fucking ruined it. You didn’t just hurt her—you hurt me. You don’t even get it, do you? You’re pathetic.”

Tiffany’s smirk faltered, her confidence wavering as she crossed her arms defensively. “Whatever, Bucky. You’re just pissed because I’m right! And I just put the bait out there, you’re the one that sealed the deal when you were talking smack about her, so guess we're both pathetic then, two peas in a pod.” She twirled a strand of hair.

“You’re nothing,” he said, his voice steady and cold now. “And I swear to God, if I ever hear you say another word about her, I’ll make sure everyone knows just how much of a conniving bitch you really are.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the bathroom, his fists clenched at his sides, his injured hand screaming in protest. He wanted to hit something, to scream, to do anything to release the rage coursing through him. But instead, he turned and stormed out of the bathroom, leaving Tiffany standing there alone.

The bar felt suffocating now, the noise and the crowd pressing in on him. He shoved his way through the mass of bodies, ignoring the looks from his teammates and friends with the whispers that followed him.

The cool night air hit Bucky like a slap to the face as he stepped out of the bar, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His hand throbbed, his knuckles bloody and raw, but he didn’t care.

He climbed into his car, gripping the steering wheel with trembling hands as his mind raced. Tiffany’s words echoed in his head, mixing with the sound of your voice as you’d left him standing in that hallway.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he tried to steady his breathing. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, letting out a guttural yell that shook his chest. “Fuck!”

He’d fucked up. And now, he knew just how deep that fuck-up went

[prentissluvr]

forget-me-nots — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : soulmate!au, fluff, very light angst ➖⟢ cw : light mentions of canon typical death, violence, and monsters, shirtless sam aaaaa, light descriptions of injuries and blood, reader believes in ghosts before knowing about the supernatural, drinking/alcohol mentions, silly criminal minds reference to my gf elle, kissing, poor editing ➖⟢ wc : 5.6K summary : in a world where flowers grow on your skin in the exact places your soulmate is injured, you’re constantly covered in forget-me-nots.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

heartache is one thing. heartache for someone you don’t know, someone whose face you’ve never seen or who you’ve never met, is another, stranger thing. it’s common for many to feel this heartache before they know their soulmate, but sometimes you feel as though you have to worry much more than most.

you try not to let thoughts of your mystery soulmate consume you, but you seem to have constant reminders of them litered on your skin in the form of tiny blue flowers. admittedly, you find it romantic that forget-me-nots are your soulmate flower, with their symbolism of true love, respect, and fidelity. the flowers themself feel like a good omen, a sweet promise of a steady love waiting for you. but, the frequency with which they appear on your skin feels far less lucky and always feeds you so much worry for this person you’ve yet to meet.

this morning, you wake with new blooms snaking along your left collarbone, peeking out from the seam of your sleep shirt. and when you change into new clothes, you find a few more growing on your bicep and the side of your ribs.

sighing, you stand at the mirror lightly brushing your fingers over the small flowers and wonder what sort of trouble your soulmate got into last night. as always, worry floods your chest, but you do your best to tamp it down considering the fact that you only bear a few new blooms. the more severe the injury, the more flowers appear on your skin. today, your soulmate must only be dealing with small surface cuts.

sometimes, you’re covered in so many forget-me-nots that you’re too worried to do much of anything at all. more than once, you’ve wondered how your soulmate could still be alive, and the continuous flowers on your skin serve as your only proof that they're still around. there were a few years where you barely had any blooms, just the usual flower on a fingertip to signify a papercut or the occasional few because of a small accident. but one night the flowers came in bunches and never stopped.

you imagine what you might say or do when you meet them. maybe you’ll want to check on whatever wounds they have, be sure it’s not too bad, or maybe you’ll scold them for making you worry so much. you’ll certainly ask what they do in their life that gets them so injured so often. maybe you’ll do it all.

but for now, you’ll have to move on and get ready for the day. the flowers always linger, though.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s been a rather strange week. the flowers from last thursday have completely faded, and you’ve gone a day or two without any new forget-me-nots appearing on your skin. the strange part has been at work. on monday night, one of your coworkers died in the building, but you still had to come in to work the next day. one of the rooms was taped off, but that was the only evidence of the misfortune. the same thing happened last night, thursday, and you’re ready to do everything you can to get at least the next several days off of work. you don't want to risk anything.

and now, it seems the goddamn fbi is interested in whatever has happened. you’re not a huge fan of the federal government, but you have to admit that the bureau has sent two of its most attractive agents. normally, you’d keep your head down, but you feel inexplicably drawn to one of them. he’s the taller of the two, which is impressive because the other is already tall, and he has pretty brown hair and dimples that you catch a glimpse of as he talks to one of your coworkers.

he looks away from her as he moves away, seemingly done with the interview. he catches your eye, and your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. he’s a beautiful man; pretty and sweet looking at the same time as he’s traditionally handsome and slightly imposing. you’ve never loved a stranger’s eyes so much.

he approaches you and you can’t help but watch as he grows closer.

“hi,” he greets with a small smile, “i’m agent greenaway with the fbi. can i ask you a few questions about the deaths from this week?”

“i’m not sure i’ll be much help, but sure,” you nod, folding your arms over your stomach. agent greenaway doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but the topic at hand certainly does.

“that’s alright. sometimes the smallest things can really be helpful,” he reassures, keeping the kind look on his face. “have you noticed anything strange about either of the deceased or the building this past week or so?”

you shake your head. “not really. i mean i didn’t work closely with macy, and i never noticed anything off about lex.”

“and the building? any strange cold spots or flickering lights?”

you find the question sort of odd coming from an fbi agent, but you instintually feel like you should take it seriously. “um, yeah, actually. it was really cold by the bathrooms last night when i left. at first i thought the ac finally got fixed, but it was still sort of warm over here. in this area”

“okay. thank you for your help,” he smiles at you again and for a reason you can't quite place, you don’t want the unusual conversation to end. you have to hide a hint of delight from your expression when he hands you his card. “call me if you think of anything else.” you accept the card with a nod. he looks like he’s about to walk away, but he pauses. “and, uh– be careful. you should go home early tonight.”

“oh. okay, i will.” without knowing why, you trust him. you want to see him again.

⟢⟢⟢

saturday night is the second busiest night at the bar, but you’re glad it’s not as crowded fridays normally are. you walk straight to the bar to order your go-to drink. as you wait for the bartender to make it, you stare at yourself in the mirror behind the counter out of the corner of your eye. today, there’s two little forget-me-nots right on your left cheek. they look sort of cute there, and you guess you should be grateful that it’s such a small wound. there’s no other flowers on your body yet, which feels like a good run for your soulmate. that’s a little over a whole week in between different injuries, even small ones.

the bartender slides you your drink and you thank them. there’s a small red carnation on their thumb, and you wonder if they’ve met their own soulmate yet. you suppose that at the end of the day, you’re scared of what just about everyone else is. without trying, you worry about not meeting your soulmate until you're old and left without much time together. you want to meet them, and you think the sooner the better. the idea’s been particularly stuck in your mind since last night.

agent greenaway’s words echo in your head. “be careful. you should go home early tonight.” he seemed so sweet, so genuine and caring, and all you’ve been able to think about since then is meeting someone like him. finding someone kind with a little red mark on their cheek and a forget-me-not on their right pointer finger to match the papercut you got earlier this afternoon.

and simply, you’ve been feeling a little lonely these days. how nice would it be to have your literal soulmate by your side?

you sip slowly at your drink, and when the cup’s empty, you pay the tab. the bar isn’t quite serving as the distraction you hoped it would. as you head for the door, your gaze snags on a mop of brown hair that wouldn’t be considered familiar for the fact that you’ve only seen it once, but feels that way regardless. quickly, you scan the rest of the bar, and sure enough you catch sight of agent greenaway’s partner, across the way and very obviously flirting with a pretty brunette.

for a moment you pause, wondering if it would be weird or too out-of-the-blue to approach agent greenaway, but the pull you feel towards him overrides all else, taking your hand and guiding it to throw all caution to the wind.

he’s facing away from you, and with a friendly smile, you slide into the seat across from him.

“hi,” you greet over the noise of music and talking, “d’you mind if i sit here?” it takes him a moment to answer, like he’s lagging a little bit.

“uh– no, no i don’t mind,” he flashes a quick smile back at you, but his gaze and attention are clearly stuck somewhere on your face. for just a split-second, you’re confused by what he could be staring at, but it clicks not a moment later. you don’t know how you missed it: the red mark on his left cheek, so small that your eyes glossed over it when you sat down. eagerly, you drop your gaze to his hands, one casually wrapped around his beer bottle and the other resting on the table. and sure enough, so tiny and pretty against his big hand is a single forget-me-not on his right pointer finger, exactly where you have a bandaid wrapped around your own.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes caught on the delicate flower and unable to drag themselves away to look back at his face. just like everyone else, you’ve thought about it a million times over, what it would feel like to meet your soulmate, what you would do, how you would act. in this moment, you feel frozen, but you feel right and you feel a million questions and urges rise up in your heart and mind. you desperately want to reach out to him, to touch his hand and the little flower and make sure that they’re both real.

but you absolutely cannot keep your gaze away from his face for long at all and when you meet his eyes, an irresistible smile stretches across your face. you look at him with nothing short of wonderment. he’s just stunning and you can’t believe that he’s supposed to be… well, yours. 

just staring at each other, you feel a little flustered and awkward, unsure what to say to him. then you realize he should probably know your name, and all you know is his last. so you stick your right hand out and tell him your name. he takes your hand with a smile and repeats it back, saying it carefully and savoring the sound and feel of it on his tongue.

when you touch him for the first time, your breath gets caught in your throat and it feels so right that you never want to let go.

“i’m sam,” he says, only letting his hand fall away from yours after a few moments. even then, your fingertips are merely inches apart now.

“sam greenaway,” you echo, easily remembering how he introduced himself yesterday. then you puzzle at his reaction and the way that the name doesn’t feel quite right as you look at him. he cringes slightly, like he’s done something to be guilty of. “or… not?” for a minute, things were starting to add up to you. the way you felt drawn to him yesterday and his job as an fbi agent finally explaining all of his many injuries. you figured he must be in fights often.

“i– i’m sorry, this is so– i mean if we’re really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to reset and figure out how to say things right. “if we’re really, you know, soulmates… well, there’s just a lot– a lot for me to explain. i’m not an fbi agent and my real name is sam winchester. but i swear, there’s a reason for me lying and i promise that i’ll explain it to you if you’re willing to hear it. which i understand if you don’t–”

“i do,” you say in earnest, finally cutting him off. it took you a second because, for a moment, you were too stuck on him saying the word soulmate aloud in reference to the two of you. it felt special and you were only half paying attention to the things he said after because of that. then all you were thinking about was how endearing he seems when he’s flustered and worried. “it’s okay,” you reassure him, “i want to hear it. i– i mean, sure, it’s sort of strange that you lied about, you know, all that, but… i’m not– i’m not gonna just meet my… my soulmate and not give you a chance.” he still looks a little tense, but his shoulders have dropped a bit in relief and there’s the hint of a grateful smile on his features.

“thank you,” he says, glad for your reassurance but still worried about how you might take the rest of the far weirder explanations that he has left to tell you. “can i maybe get you a drink?”

you smile at the offer, but shake your head a bit. “i was actually just heading out when i saw you. would you maybe wanna get out of here? my apartment’s less than a ten minute walk away.” for a moment, you wonder if that’s too much for just having met, but sam visibly relaxes just a little bit more.

“that would be nice,” he smiles. he’s getting ready to stand when he glances across the bar, seemingly remembering about his partner. or not partner. you’re not quite sure. “my brother, dean,” he explains simply when he catches your gaze on the other man. “i should tell him where i’m going.”

“okay,” you nod, filing the new information away in your mind and watching him weave between tables and flirting couples to reach his brother. the exchange is a bit funny to watch. at first dean looks annoyed at being interrupted by sam. then he glances at you with a sly smirk and makes some comment that is probably less than appropriate judging from his expression. and then his face morphs into one of surprise before it’s taken over by a smile. he claps sam on the shoulder and sends him off. you almost miss the look that dean gives you as sam heads back towards you because you’re so focused on the sweet smile that sam’s now wearing. you only catch dean’s look for a second before sam is back at your side. it’s easy to assume dean as the older brother, with his eyes on you being protective, proud, careful, and happy all at once. and they’re close enough that sam told him about you right away.

walking home with sam at your side is both completely strange and familiar all at once. it’s strange for a number of reasons, the main being that you’d never invite any other unknown man to your apartment, especially not one with a cryptic identity and such an imposing build. and yet, you’re not afraid or worried because of how familiar and safe it feels. it feels familiar because it feels right, it feels like exactly what you should be doing.

on the way over, he asks about you a little bit, trying not to overwhelm you with questions or seem overbearing with how eager he is to hear what you have to say. his kindness and carefulness are clear to you, and you love it. you answer happily, despite knowing he’s partially asking to avoid talking about himself until you settle down.

once inside, sam follows you right to the couch in the living room, sitting when you motion towards it and plop down into a chair across from him. he takes in the space, eyes roaming over your furniture, decor, and every little detail. he wants to know about you, just like you do him.

“it’s really nice in here,” he compliments, sounding so sincere that it’s just sweet.

“thank you,” you respond softly, wondering exactly what parts of the room he likes. you let him look around a second or two more before speaking again. “so… can i ask? you know, about it all, i guess? about you?”

he doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks the way that you ask is so lovely. half of him wants to make up some silly, somewhat believable explanation to spare you the truth, but he knows that would never work out well. not if you choose to stay together in some way or another. already, that’s what he wants. he doesn’t doubt that you’re indeed his soulmate, the one who he’s been sharing wounds and flowers with for as long as he can remember. sam has both yearned for and dreaded this moment. he tries not to be obvious about it or over do it, but he’s sort of a total romantic. he’s had doubts about how this whole idea of soulmates could really be real or make much sense, but those thoughts are eased with each moment he spends with you. he still wants to get to know you before he does anything with you, but the way that he wants to get to know you is something he’s never felt before. it’s undeniably special.

the dread is because he’s known ever since he got back into hunting that he’d never be able to hide the truth of his world from you. he has no idea how he’s going to get to you to believe him or convince you that he’s not completely insane, but he’s going to tell you the truth anyway. even if you do believe him, he wants to give you a choice. you shouldn’t have to get involved with this life in any way at all if you don’t want to. he’d never force you to try things with him if it’s too strange or too scary or hard or anything. and already, he knows that he’ll never stop thinking about you if you do choose to stay away, but he also knows that he’d never try to change your mind or force you to do anything else other than exactly what you want.

“of course you can ask,” he responds, matching the softness of your own voice. “i, um– i’m honestly not quite sure how to say all of this without sounding totally crazy, and i completely understand that, but just– try to bear with me, i guess. and if you need proof, which i also understand, i’ll do my best to get it for you, it’s just– sort of hard.”

honestly, you’re wildly confused as to what the hell he could possibly say that would make him this anxious. it worries you a little bit too. you don’t want him to feel afraid to tell you anything at all. so, you nod at him in encouragement, trying not to seem nervous yourself.

“my brother and i, we– we hunt monsters. real ones. ghosts, vampires, demons, the works. they’re all real. your coworkers who died, they were– they were killed by an angry spirit. we got rid of it last night,” he says those words like they’re a ten ton weight off of his chest, but he’s still got another ten sitting there as he awaits your response. he looks at you so carefully, trying to gauge any sort of reaction.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and probably disbelief and a million other things. “angry spirit? like a ghost?” you’re not sure why that’s the first question that slips out, but you suppose it’s an easier one than are you insane? or what the hell are you talking about?

he nods his head carefully, like he’s waiting for you to freak out or call him crazy and tell him to go. “yeah. the ghost, she had died there, near the bathrooms where you felt the cold spot, in the 90s. she was triggered to kill when the man suspected of her murder was granted parole.”

“okay,” you breathe out, sort of nervously. the craziest thing is that you don’t disbelieve him. you’re not convinced by any stretch, but when you look him in the eye and listen close to his voice, there’s nothing but sincerity there. “i mean… that is sort of a kinda crazy thing to say,” you begin, “but i’ve always sort of believed in ghosts, so i don’t think you’re completely, you know, insane.” you laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood a little. you don’t want him to stress, however unbelievable his words are. “the rest is a bit… shaky, i guess. it’s a hard thing to believe, i mean… vampires. and– and demons. it’s a lot. and honestly, i’m not sure how much i’ll really, truly believe until i see, i don’t know, something, i guess,” you admit, “but… but i don’t think you’re lying to me either.”

“thank you for that,” he says, voice as sincere as ever, “and i completely understand. honestly, part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but… it’s sort of my whole entire life at this point and it wouldn’t be fair to hide from you. or– or to not give you a choice right off the bat of whether or not you wanted to be involved. it’s– it’s a lot and it’s dangerous. and if it’s what you want, i promise i’ll try to find a way to prove it to you, it’s just… hard to do that without putting you in danger. and i really don’t want to put you in danger.”

“that’s sweet, sam,” you say, not really bothering to hide the way you feel. “i’m not, you know, eager to meet any monsters anytime soon, but whenever it’s… the least dangerous, i guess, you can show me. until then… i’ll just trust you. and in the meantime maybe we can sort of just get to know each other?” you suggest, surprising yourself with how ready you are to trust him on this.

sam smiles at you sweetly. “that sounds perfect to me. i just– i don’t want to force you into something you don’t want for yourself. i live out of crappy motels and my brother’s car while hunting monsters that shouldn’t be real. i’m just… i’m sorry i’m not someone easier.”

you smile at him sort of sadly. “that’s not your fault, sam. i never asked for someone ‘easy’ anyway. just someone kind and respectful and you seem to be just that so far. besides, there’s gotta be a reason, right? that… we’re soulmates. honestly, if you were anyone else i wouldn’t trust you like this. an–and it’s not like i’m trusting you blindly because of something that we’re supposed to be. we just met. i’m only trusting you because it feels right to. and this whole soulmate thing never made too much sense to me until i met you. now it sort of does, because this feels right so far. at least, it does to me.”

“it feels right to me too,” he quickly assures, not wanting for you to misunderstand that for a second.

⟢⟢⟢

as two people who aren’t quite ready to jump into such a committed relationship with completely different lives, it’s a little bit strange to be soulmates. and yet, nothing about it is anything but honey-sweet to you. the night you met as soulmates for the first time, you ended up talking for hours. all you had to do was sort of ignore the huge and slightly unbelievable bomb he dropped on you within the first hour of talking. oddly enough, that was sort of easy. you learned that sam’s appetite for knowledge is just about insatiable, including when it comes to knowing about you.

he had words rolling off of your tongue, asking the best, most interesting questions and providing such sincere and in-depth responses. that night, he was just lovely, and that’s pretty much all he’s been since. he’s this adorable mix of confident and shy, awkward and knowing just the right thing to say. and he’s incredibly smart, an almost stanford pre-law graduate who was headed for bigger things before he was pulled back into hunting a little over two years ago. this explains the difference in all his injuries from the past two years versus the three beforehand. secretly, you mourn for the life that he, and subsequently you, might have had, but only because he gets a little wistful every time he talks about stanford.

mostly, you talk on the phone, only stopping late in the night when one of you catches the other yawning. he seems to sleep so little, yet he lives such a tiring life. you almost always seem to be the one who gets too tired first. one night, you fell asleep to his voice, and since then, you feel like it’s the single best way to drift into dreams.

sam tries to avoid the topic of the supernatural, but you ask him about it anyway. as you get used to the idea of monsters being real, you find yourself wanting to understand it all better. you want to understand him better. and you don’t want him to feel like he has to hide the biggest parts of his life from you or for him to have trouble fitting you into his world.

he always answers your questions, omitting any extreme gore or death, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize how many people he really saves. that’s his life; saving people.

it takes three weeks for you to see him again since the first night, and three more plus a whole lot of convincing on your end for him to bring you on a hunt with him. he tries to hide it, but he’s so worried for you, despite all the reassurances he’s made that this particular ghost isn’t really all that violent or dangerous. by now, you’ve already come to mostly believe all that he's told you, but to see it in real life is still the final confirmation that you need to be fully convinced.

sam keeps you by his side the whole time, one hand on you every moment that he can afford it. the second the ghost appears, he blasts it with a salt round from his shotgun, and he thinks he could cry when you flinch at the loud noise. yet, he feels comforted that you don’t seem all too scared. and strangely, you really aren’t. sam easily makes you feel safe. luckily, the next time the ghost appears, it bursts into flames moments later thanks to dean burning the bones.

the moment it’s gone, sam drops the gun to the ground and turns to you, accidentally ruining the now unnecessary salt line around you in his rush to check on you.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, a hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek as he looks you up and down.

“i’m alright, sam,” you reassure. it’s true that you’re a little shaky, and just the tiniest bit scared, but to have your confirmation and sam by your side is much more important to you.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes anyway, pulling you into a hug that’s more for his peace of mind than yours. of course, you don’t complain, easily finding his arms to be your new favorite place in the world.

oddly enough, taking it almost slow works well. he kisses you the next time he sees you, a week and a half later, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to have him keep kissing you, over and over again. he just feels like yours and you feel like his and you’ve barely known him for long, but when he kisses you it’s like there’s stars hung from the ceiling and flowers made from nothing but love and healing growing all over you. when he kisses you it’s sunlight and moonglow bottled up and mixed with sweet, pure maple syrup. his lips on yours feel like lucky four leaf clovers, like it’s possible to taste heaven on someone else’s tongue.

and though it mostly works for him to just visit as often as he can, which sometimes isn’t often at all, and to call him at every moment you can, the yearning only grows. you swear that you’re addicted to his lips, to his big hands cupping your jaw all gentle and sweet or his bulky arms boxing you in as he kisses you so hard that you melt right into the sheets.

and some nights, though he tries to hide it, you can hear him struggling with what seems to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. his job is anything but easy or fruitful. before, you thought that you might worry less when you found out exactly why your soulmate was getting injured so often, but now every time new blooms appear on your skin, you spend all day fretting until you can get him on the phone to make sure he’s alright.

you suppose he gets just as worried as you, despite the fact that you’re never in nearly as much danger as he is. a week ago, a jagged edge on a metal wire fence snagged at your skin, drawing a very shallow, but long line of blood down your forearm. seconds later, you had a frantic sam on the phone, so worried about all the little blue flowers on his arm. 

it’s not as hard as he thinks for you to tell how much fear and worry he lives in. you know that he doesn’t tell you the half of it sometimes, even when you ask. all you want is to have him a little closer, to be there for him and provide the sort of comfort that you’re sure he’s never really had before. and though he’s told you that having you to talk to, so receptive and encouraging for him, has been a complete blessing, you still wish for more. you want his arms enveloping you and his lips on yours and his warm body in your bed. really, you just miss him. all the time.

⟢⟢⟢

tonight is one of the glorious nights that you get to have him with you. his broad frame takes up so much space in your bed, and you love it more than just about anything. he props himself up on one elbow and you mirror his pose as you let your eyes roam over each other’s features and take turns rambling about every little thing from this past week. unable to resist, sam kisses you often. he just leans over, swiftly closing the small space between you and pressing his lips to yours. he looks so beautiful like this; at peace, his shirtless body and protective tattoo framed all prettily by clean white sheets.

eventually, comforting words turn into a comforting silence, and you drop your head to your pillow. your eyes droop a little as you play with the idea letting a few more words slip from your tongue. you want to say something to him, but you can’t tell if it’s the right time.

sam settles on his pillow, just like you. “what is it?” he whispers, inviting and respectful. his voice tells you that you’re welcome to say whatever you’re thinking about, but that it’s okay if you don’t want to quite yet.

you smile a little at how well he’s able to read you. since he asked so sweetly, you say it. “i can’t be away from you, sam. i love you, i really do.” this isn’t the first time you’ve said the three special words to each other, but his eyes grow infinitely softer than they were before each time you do.

this time, his eyes do soften, but he cringes a little too, because he feels sorry and because he feels the same exact way. “i can’t make you live like i do. i love you, too, so much. and i hate being away from you, but this? this life, it– it’s sort of awful, and it’s dangerous and hard and–”

you swiftly cut him off with a kiss that he more than willingly melts into. “i know,” you whisper against his lips, barely moving from him to speak. “but– but what if we tried something else? you still go on your hunts and all that, but you and dean can stay here in between. there’s this cabin in the woods i’ve been eyeing, it’s sort of small but it’s isolated and we could ward it. i’ve been looking into protection and warding spells, and i think we could make it work… only, you know, if you wa–”

this time he’s the one to cut you off with a kiss, passionate and sweet all at once. when your lips part, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours like he can’t bear to be any further from you.

“i want to,” he says, voice so sure and sturdy. “i really want to… but how’re we gonna get the house? it’s not like me or dean can buy property, and i can’t make you–”

“i want to,” you echo his words, just as sincerely. “please, sam, let me do this. i’ve been saving money for a long time and it’s a little run down so it’s not too expensive. and i’m getting sick of this apartment.”

“you’re gonna live there?” he asks, not bothering to hide his hope and sparkling joy at that idea.

you grin. “of course. there’s three bedrooms and it’s so pretty and i can’t, you know, pay for that and the apartment at the same time. and i– i wanna be there every time you get home.”

that word gets to him. sam doesn’t really have a solid or normal concept of home—the closest thing he has is the impala. but it sounds so right when it comes out of your mouth. “and– and you’re okay with that?” he asks, still needing to be reassured, “you said it was isolated, and–”

“i’m sure, sam,” you emphasize, “it’s only 20 minutes from town and the roads to and from are never busy. i’ve always wanted to live in the woods, i swear. and if it meant i could be with you more, i’d never ever say no to this. please… can we talk to dean about it?”

“yes,” he gushes. “yes, of course, i– you’re amazing.” he seals the deal with a firm, giddy kiss. “and if dean says he doesn’t like the idea, i don’t care. i’m gonna do this with you.” another kiss and your heart softens infinitely. “besides, he loves the pie from the bakery on morrison street, which means he can’t say no.” he gives you another kiss and pulls away again, and you know that he’s bound to keep rambling if you let him, so you wrap an arm around his neck and thread your fingers through his soft, pretty hair. then you kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. he returns the favor by tenfold, whispering through labored breath how much he loves you and wants you and thinks that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[boyfhee]

ㅤ ꣑୧ㅤㅤ:ㅤCANDLELITㅤㅤ𝒻t.ㅤㅤ성혼

﹙10097﹚ SYNOPSIS . . . the dating scene sucks, especially when the only person you want to be with is your roommate.

꣑୧ GENRE . . . roommate au, 'i hate them but they're hot' kind of energy

꣑୧ WARNINGS . . . profanities, drinking i mean lots of drinking we need alcohol shortage here, sunghoon smokes, mentions of one night stands, one very suggestive make out scene in the fourth section, undertones of cheating but not from sunghoon or reader, implications of sex although it's very light

꣑୧ NOTES . . . hi ( _ _; ) drowning in nervousness as i'm posting this. it's my first long fic after months ... i think the last one was in may or june 23 ... so please be nice >< don't know why but this didn't turn out how i wanted it to and it's definitely not one of my proudest works, but i hope u guys like it nonetheless huhu TT happy reading and please rb and drop feedback, it's highly appreciated ^_^

001. WHERE THERE’S HEAVEN THERE’S HELL

sunghoon is spiralling again. 

a part of it is because of the endless assignments from classes, but that’s no news. he knows it’s his fault for procrastinating and waiting till two days before the due date to even think about working on them— unlike jake who somehow attends classes probably four times a week and is seen in the football fields instead, and still manages to be the first one to submit his essays. it’s admirable, annoying at most. when he sat down to do his sports science project three days before it was due, sunghoon realised why his professor gave them two months to finish it. 

but realising your mistakes and working on them to be a better version of yourself are two different things.

for one, sunghoon believes those assignments are useless. no one cares about the impact of sports on society, maybe except heeseung and jake but again, in sunghoon’s mind, those two are never important. second, he’s too perfect to be working on himself. sunghoon is the best version of himself. he was born the day his uncle died, and his dad inherited the entire chain of restaurants his family owns across the country. he’s too amazing to be worrying about getting a degree he can buy— he thinks the university should be honoured he’s choosing to study— but that’s simply because his mother doesn’t want him to turn out like his sister. 

back to the matter at hand— as he puts the beer can on the table and sits back on the couch, his eyes travel to the door yet again. seventh time in just a minute, he’s keeping a record of how you make him wait. 

if there’s one thing he hates is being irresponsible ( coming from the great king of irresponsibility himself. ) you said you’d be back by twelve, and it’s half past one in night and not a soul knows your whereabouts. thirteen texts, seven missed calls, his phone is at forty-one percent and sunghoon is at his limit. if it wasn’t for your mom he wouldn’t give two flying fucks about where you are and how you’ve been.

sunghoon is actually surprisingly obedient and well-mannered, as opposed to the popular belief. he gave you and your mother the whole tour of the apartment the day you moved in. even made some coffee which isn’t much but your mother had loved him. he could see it in the way she looked at him with those sweet eyes, holding his hands as if he was her own son, and asking him to look after you. 

‘please take care of my daughter,’ sunghoon thought he was getting married. instead of a wedding bell there were warning sirens going off. to this day he doesn’t know why she asked him that, minutes after she saw a dead cactus in the balcony that he killed by overwatering. he couldn’t even say no to her and just nodded, looking over at you briefly and noticing how you look like you were a bit embarrassed. sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s so serious about ‘taking care’ of you. he thought it would be easy, but you had to be devil’s favourite spawn and sunghoon happens to be your target.

however, he can’t take this anymore. he has a morning class and waiting till two am while drinking beer has done more damage to sunghoon than it should. he gets up from the couch with a sigh, leaving the empty cans unattended for a night as he makes a mental note to clean tomorrow. it isn’t until a click from the door stops him in his tracks. 

“i’m back,” your voice is quiet, a yawn following immediately after your words as you look down while taking off your shoes. you’ve been drinking again, sunghoon can tell it from a mile away. 

“you’re late,” he speaks over the silence, hands on his torso as he’s giving you those squinted eyes and doubtful looks. if sunghoon didn’t know any better, he would assume you fucked someone at the club with how messy you look at the moment.

“yeah well, we had to take gigi to the hospital,” your lazy voice isn’t much louder than a whisper. you stumble towards your room, a hiccup followed soon after by the same quiet and slurred tone. “she ate something weird,”

he huffs at your words, knowing it would very well be just another excuse. “you could’ve at least texted,”

“my phone died,”

“i’m sure your friends would be happy to lend you their phone,” he pauses when he feels himself getting a bit annoyed. a soft sigh falls off his lips as he looks down at the tiled floor before looking up and speaking in a much calmer voice. “i’m just saying it’s not exactly safe to be out alone on the streets this late at night,”

“i wasn’t alone,” that piques his interest. “jay drove me back,”

and sunghoon felt his whole world stop. “jay?”

“yeah, jay, park jongseong,” your voice is surprisingly sweet when you take his name and it bothers sunghoon for some reason. his face scrunches up when you bite back a smile, hoping it’s the alcohol not because of what he thinks it is. “he’s nicer than i thought,”

sunghoon is not unfamiliar with the name park jongseong.

he hears it every day on and off the campus, more often than he likes. first things first, he’s just as popular as jake, for being american, which brings sunghoon to the question— why in the world would he leave america to study in korea when jay could have attended one of the ivy leagues with his face and money?

and the second and more important question, why in the world is park jongseong dropping you home at two in the night?

sunghoon only watches you in disbelief and astonishment as you stumble to your room, mumbling something incoherently. your words ring in his ear like sirens. ‘he is better than you’ jay is better than sunghoon. he scoffs almost offensively in your direction. that has to be the biggest lie of the twenty-first century.

he follows you to your room, reaching out to grab your arms when you almost trip but you manage to balance yourself. he opens the door and turns on the lights for you. “why were you with him to begin with?”

“oh, you don’t know?” and you turn around with eyes wide open as he shakes his head like a deer in the headlight. “he asked me out,” 

sunghoon didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night. 

it’s your fault, clearly. had you been back earlier on the time, nothing would’ve happened. and jay— sunghoon sights at the thought of him, eyes narrowing as he grits on his pen as if he’s going to break it into two. 

“dude, are you hungry?” jake pokes sunghoon by his shoulder, dragging the latter out of his trail of thoughts. 

“what?” sunghoon shoots a blank look, one that makes his friend sigh in concern. afterall, it’s not everyday he sees sunghoon chewing on a pen. “i’m not,”

“you’ve been out of it since the morning,”

and sunghoon has been out of it since jay’s name fell from your lips. 

he’s not your friend, definitely not the first guy you’ve called by his name after sunghoon. but something doesn’t sit right. even after tossing and turning in bed for the whole night, he can’t figure out what bothers him more— the fact you said jay is better than him, or the fact that he asked you out on a date.

it’s the first one, he convinces himself. who you date is none of his business, he can’t be arsed enough to care about your love life or relationship status. ( although, he does care a little because he’s nosy. ) what bothers him more is that jay is, to put it in simple words, a player. all that face and no empathy for emotions is a waste, and to think you don’t know this— or maybe you do and yet still chose to go out with him, is beyond sunghoon’s comprehension. 

“what do you think about jay?” he asks abruptly, catching jake’s attention, looking at him a little too intently for an answer. 

“he’s a nice guy,” a casual reply before he gets back to his assignment before jake looks back at sunghoon with newly found interest. “he turned in my spanish essay last week, oh and drove me back from the bar a few days ago after you ditched me. why?”

sunghoon simply shakes his head, getting back to his books even though his focus is nowhere near studies. at this point, he doesn’t know if it’s jay distracting him or you. even your words keep playing over and over again in the back of his head. jay and nice in the same sentence doesn’t seem fit. sure, he helps his friends and drops his girl back home, but that’s only three days before there’s a new girl in his arms. 

002. RUNNING OUT OF SANITY

sunghoon doesn’t hear the door click open when you come back from your classes, too busy in the balcony while humming a tune that you recognise immediately. you take off your shoes, noticing how he taps his foot along with the melody, and it’s quiet in the apartment, apart from the sound of traffic and wind rustling through the trees around.

“i don’t like people who smoke,” smoking is not on your list of likes, but you find yourself next to sunghoon whenever he’s with a cigarette. just like now, when you return from yet another one of your dates— or meet-ups as you prefer to call it right now— with jay. it wasn’t really planned. you bumped into him after classes and he was on his way back home, so you asked him for a coffee. 

he almost jumps at your sudden voice but manages to compose himself, scowing at the distaste in your expression before scoffing, the cigarette still dancing between his lips. “good think, i’m not looking forward to be liked by you,”

he studies the frown on your face, glares as if your eyes are shooting daggers in his direction. it’s amusing to him how easy it is to get on your nerves. he leans against the metal railings, hair falling over his forehead. his eyes stay on your for a few seconds before he holds the cigarette between his index and middle finger, putting it away from his mouth and blowing out the smoke in your directions. he laughs mockingly when you step back, fanning out the smoke with your hands, cursing under your breath.

“are you crazy?!” you exclaim in annoyance, coughing slightly at his poor attempt at entertainment. your frown deepens when he mumbles a quiet apology although not meaning it, from the looks of it, and lifts the cigarette back to his lips. 

“you’re back early,” he states casually, tapping the cigarette butt and watching the ash fall down from the balcony before a taunting chortle falls off his lips. “did jay dump your ass or something?”

your nose scrunches up at his actions, although mostly at the tobacco you can still smell in your air. you look down at the road, watching a mercedes passing by. “no, he had to go somewhere so he left early,”

“i knew it! he’s good for nothing,” and he drops the cigarette to the floor, crushing it with his foot even though at the back of his mind, he knows you’re going to yell at him for cleaning that up. “what kind of guy can’t even spend time with his girlfriend?”

“we’re not dating,”

“that’s worse!” he emphasises, and a pause follows as he looks at you with a confused expression. “wait— didn’t you say he asked you out?”

“he did, but he said he wants to wait until exams are over,” there’s a hint of displeasure in your voice. his eyes travel down to your fingers, especially the ring you’re fiddling with before they’re back on your face when you speak again. “we just decided to hang out,”

he practically scoffs at your words, quite literally in disbelief. a knowing sigh comes out of his mouth as he stands straight, this time standing with his back against the railing, feeling the cold metal though his thin white t-shirt. a part of him wants to laugh at your stupidity and point at how naive you are, while another part of him wants to find jay and beat him to pulp. he doesn’t know why there’s anger pooling in his stomach at the mere thought of jay just messing around with you. 

“what a sick bastard,” he huffs with a tincture of annoyance in his tone. “how much do you want to bet he’s playing with you?”

“you’re the one who’s sick,” and even though it clicks with him that you’re referring to a few minutes earlier when he smoked all in your face, sunghoon still frowns when you call him sick. “he’s just prioritising his studies, there’s nothing wrong with that. at least he doesn’t smoke while being all up my face,”

you two just bask in silence after that.

he doesn’t have much to say— actually he does, but he doesn’t know how to put it in a decent, coherent way. of course, your reaction won’t be the most pleasant if he told you he wants to punch jay’s good for nothing handsome face. he wonders what you’re thinking when he looks over at you. you seem happy whenever you talk about your supposed ‘future boyfriend,’ yet it’s evident that you’re upset. he likes to think you’re having your doubts too. it's reassuring to him for some reason— because that’s good for you, of course. if you’re upset, you have your doubts, and if you have your doubts you might not fall victim to whatever sick game jay is playing. 

“oh, actually, he doesn’t smoke,” but then you speak in a matter-of-fact way, as if comparing him to jay before giving him a mocking smile. “he’s better than you,”

those words ring in his mind for a good while. 

you go back inside and he hears you shut the door to your room as an annoyed sigh falls off his lips. hearing that jay is nice from jake was another thing, but hearing to say he’s better than him leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. and he doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, these little changes in how he usually is, it’s new. it’s frustrating him out. 

it isn’t until his phone vibrates that he’s dragged out of his ocean of thoughts. his brows furrow when he notices the time, having realised that he basically wasted the entire noon even though he didn’t attend classes after giving heeseung an excuse that he’s sick. his eyes squint at the sender, and then a groan escaping his lips when he opens to read it. 

noh chaeun  4:15pm hoon! my last two classes have been cancelled are you up for some coffee?

sunghoon doesn’t reply, rather leaving his classmate’s messages on seen, too bothered by his inner turmoil to spend time with her. it’s not like him to be this way, to be so bothered over something that doesn’t concern him. you’re definitely not someone so significant and jay is definitely not the first guy you’re with. in fact, he has seen you kiss that guy from one of your classes— as much as he hates to recall that incident now— and had sneaked up to tell your mother about it over the phone when she had called you.

you’ve never had a serious relationship, not after meeting him. in his head, you always came back to him and he’d be lying if he hadn’t joked about it with his friends during the initial few weeks after you had moved in. when he had mentioned to jake that you’re pretty and his friend had teased him a few days later, saying his ‘crush’ was with this other guy, sunghoon, did in fact, say he doesn’t care because you always come back to him; or rather his apartment, actually, but whatever fits the joke. 

that day, he had a good laugh out of it and the joke died back then itself, more so after he started complaining about you to his friends. your habits, your actions, the things you say that tick him off, your quirky and quick remarks— everything. perhaps, even about your habit of arriving late on weekends from parties and ruining his sleep because you forget the key most of the time, so he has to wake up and open the door for you, but not guys, never guys. 

it hurts his head to even try and figure it out, to find the reasoning behind the pang in his chest every time you mention jay. he likes to think it’s just harmless competition although for no reason, even though both of them have done plenty of things to piss each other off just for the fun of it. sunghoon thinks he can live with it and walks back inside to the living room, until he sees you walking out of your room on phone with someone, the name of he who shall be mentioned rolling off your tongue again, and he finally pulls out his phone with a frustrated sigh. 

sunghoon  4:21pm sure, i’ll pick you up in ten

“actually, my mom wants to invite your family over for dinner this weekend,” the girl in front of him speaks with a smile after muttering a quiet thank you to the waiter after he gets their order. “she’s very grateful  for the donation your dad made for our art gallery and wants to thank properly,”

“talk to my parents, then,” it’s a simple reply, too bland and forced for her liking.

sunghoon hasn’t spared her a single look in the past ten minutes that they’ve been sitting together at the table. firstly, he doesn’t know why he drove to a restaurant when she asked for a coffee. it’s not even close to dinner time, and the awkward yet sweet smile on her face didn’t make it better for him, so he ordered starters and drinks to drag their little impromptu dinner out. 

“sunghoon, to be honest,” chaeun tries to strike up a conversation again, despite the constant lack of effort from his side. “i want you—”

“hey, isn’t that jongseong?” and he cuts her off immediately, finger pointing outside the glass panes beside them as he stares in the direction behind her with brows knit together in shock. “who’s that with her?”

“jongseong?” she repeats the name before turning her head, forming an ‘o’ when she spots a familiar figure through the multitude on the streets. “ah, that’s myung jihye. she has been pursuing him for a while. i guess he finally agreed,”

“they’re dating?!” his voice is full of surprise and disbelief unlike hers, so seemed to be happy for the girl instead. he stares outside with a heavy silence as the couple disappears between the crowd before looking at the girl in front of him.

“oh, i wouldn’t say that…i don’t know but it’s possible they are.” it doesn’t miss her attention how sunghoon’s fingers tighten around the fork. “everybody in our major knows jihye has crush on him and they’re probably a thing by now,”

and he wishes you were here with him right now so that he could show you the true colours of the dear guy you’ve been going out with, the one who’s supposedly ‘better’ than him. he wants you to realise that his words weren’t false and he isn’t sick, after all, and if you’d cry, he would be down to tell you it’s not the end of the world. that there are a hundred other guys better than jay, ones who won’t even breathe in front of another woman, who’d treat you better— hell, i can treat you better if you ever give me a chance— and then a pause in his train of thoughts.

he looks at chaeun, who’s looking back at him with a perplexed look and her own set of questions. his mind replays those words yet again, and he screams internally.

what the heck?!

surprisingly enough, sunghoon has been thinking about jay for the whole evening now, obviously not in a good way. his eyes keep travelling to the knife stand on the kitchen island occasionally and every single time, he has to convince himself that murder is not the right answer to anything. 

for some reason, he can’t stop imagining your smiles while on date with jay. not that he has ever seen those— wish i could— as he slaps himself out of his state of mind yet again. not only that man is playing with you but on jihye who’s apparently his girlfriend? he lets out the ugliest scoff known to mankind, because in sunghoon’s head, jay is a sick joke made by biology.

he waits for you to return from your shopping spree for about an hour, having beer as a company. he tries to stay awake although his eyes get droopy, and then every ounce of sleep leaves his body when he hears the door unlock. 

“yn,” he practically jumps out of the couch, it almost scares you. he accidentally bumps into the living room table on the way, knocking an empty can of beer to the floor but too busy to bother picking it up. “i have to tell—” his eyes go down to the eleven shopping bags in your hands, as he counts them. “— wait, what did you shop so much for?” 

“oh, i have to attend a family wedding next month,” his chest feels warm when he sees you smiling and looking so excited, and it’s making him go crazy on the inside because he doesn’t know what is happening to him. for some reason, he starts imagining you in a gown, like the one you wore for the fresher’s party, but then he forces his mind to get back to the point. “i’m thinking of asking jay to be my date,”

and his heart drops down to his stomach.

this has to be a fucking joke, and he tells himself. for a split second, he thinks he didn’t hear you properly. maybe you said jake because, well, jake did tweet a ‘date for rent’ form five months ago when he needed money to buy tickets for a post malone concert that cost more than his gentle monster glasses ( not that he got any money but at least they got a good laugh out of it. ) 

you remove your shoes and put the shopping bags on the couch before sitting down as well, letting out a heavy sigh. “you look like you saw a ghost,”

“a ghost would’ve been better,” he catches you looking at him when he mumbles under his breath, sort of grateful you didn’t hear him before sunghoon would rather not have another argument with you over how jay is not only a bad choice, he’s the worst choice. 

he looks over at you when you pull out your phone, fingers fluttering over the screen as you text someone with a giddy smile. he considers telling you what he had seen earlier, but god, he loved to see you smile like that. the way you press your lips together to suppress a grin, looking ever so happy as if you have won a lottery. he doesn’t think you’ve ever smiled like that at him, and it aggravates him even more when he realises that you probably smile like that every time you see jay. 

jay is getting everything he isn’t deserving of, and it pisses sunghoon off down to his bones. 

but again, he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. you look too happy for your own good, it pains him physically to even imagine your reaction when you’ll come to know the truth. and then he pulls himself together, telling himself that it is your fault in the first place to trust someone like jay and ignore the warning signs he was giving you. 

in the end, he leaves without having any further conversations with you, going to bed two hours earlier than usual even though he knows he isn’t going to get any sleep. sunghoon is convinced he’s losing his mind, faster than a day ago actually. he lets out a frustrated groan and covers himself with his blanket, hoping to catch some sleep. 

it’s going to be yet another long day tomorrow.

003. A CHANGE OF STANCE

sunghoon thinks you’re hot.

what the fuck?

“i asked something,” you remind, pulling him out of his trail of thoughts and he flinches slightly, making your brows furrow in confusion. “how do i look?”

“huh— what? oh,” he takes in your appearance again. hair down, make up done— you’re wearing your favourite lip tint? and the best dress he has seen you in so far, looking so mind blowing it actually blows his mind and short circuits his brain. 

even your favourite lip tint … sunghoon doesn’t know why he’s looking at your lips in the first place but little does he know he’s fucked. 

absolutely. completely. fucked.

nonetheless, he manages to compose himself, clearing his throat and sitting up ever so elegantly on the couch, legs crossed, the magazine still in his hands. “you look…t-terrific,” 

you can’t help but get even more confused at his words, wondering if it was a bad idea to even ask him for his opinion, even though you play along. “like in a good way or a bad way?”

“in a terrific way,” he blurts out, eyes wide open as panic settles in slowly inside his stomach, and he’s stuttering, shocked, surprised, fucked, again. “you look terrific in a terrific way…so terrifically terrific in the most terrific way possible,” 

“are you high?” 

well, he would say he is! never in the two years that he has known you did sunghoon think he’d find himself floored, figuratively, and speechless, literally, at the sight of you. and he’s not saying you look bad on other days. you look good, in fact. good as in plain and presentable, but never in a good good way and definitely not in a hot way, of course. 

“anyway, i’m going out. receive my parcel for me if it arrives,” you move to put on your shoes, taking a few seconds to pick between the two you think would suit your outfit. for a moment, you consider asking him to help you choose— as you look at him up and down peripherally, and he looks terrified. and you shrug it off, grabbing one of your loafers.

“where are you going?” he asks after a good minute of silence, sounding calmer than earlier as he gets off the couch and walks up to you. his nose scrunches up in disapproval as your hands move to one of your jimmy choos for a brief second, before you decide to go back to your initial pick.

“date,” he takes a moment to register your words, despite this happening many times.

a date. he scoffs softly, looking away, arms crossed. 

a date, again. sunghoon doesn’t give a fuck. 

“with jay,” you continue, this time with a sweet smile on your face that makes his heart flutter for some reason. maybe, he does give a fuck. 

now, sunghoon should feel bad for his fellow friend of a friend because he’s on a date with you, but instead he wants to snap his neck in two. the name is starting to give him an ick— jay this, jay that. you’re hanging out with jay, having coffee with jay, going on a date with jay, shopping with jay, next would be going to bed with jay— he pauses immediately, shaking his head. he doesn’t really like the sound of that.

“whatever,” he tells himself when you walk out of that door, looking all pretty and excited. he doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up over a date, that too with someone who— according to sunghoon and chaeun— is dating someone else. he would pay to see you back home all miserable and he would point fingers at you and laugh, saying he told you already while you had your conscience and rationality clogged up with the possibility of getting dicked down. 

but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re on a date with jay fucking park. and you’re looking hot. 

he sighs, slouching back on the couch, looking outside at the bright blue skies and then sighs again. he needs to be lobotomized.

it’s three in the noon and sunghoon is drowning himself in misery and pity. and soju.

a glass after another and then another, along with two empty bottles already on the table. even the owners are giving him a weird look and heeseung can only let him ruin his reputation so much.

“there, there,” the senior takes the half empty bottle of soju from his hand and puts it aside, sighing pitifully at sunghoon. “that’s enough for today. you need to stop drinking,”

“heeseung,” sunghoon looks up at the guy in front of him, looking horribly pitiful, eyes a bit unfocused from the alcohol settling in his system. “do you know yn?”

and heeseung pauses for a few moments, not knowing what prompted him to ask this question. more so when you and heeseung went to the same highschool and even were in the music club. he nods slightly in doubt, raising his glass to his lips. “of course,”

“do you think he’s pretty?”

“of course,”

“do you think she’s hot?”

“of course,” it takes heeseung quite a few seconds to respond and sunghoon sort of wants to punch him in the face for agreeing because he feels a certain way when others find you hot— but he would claim it’s soju giving him heartburns. “why are you even asking this suddenly?”

“she went on a date with jay,” he responds in the most miserable and sullen voice known to mankind. his shoulders practically slouching at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, finger tracing the rim of the glass in front of him with incoherent whines falling off his lips.

“so what?” jake interjects, beckoning the owner for yet another bottle for soju. it was necessary, as heeseung had warned earlier while arriving at the restaurant, considering sunghoon’s impromptu text about wanting to meet up. 

“jake, did you hear what i said? she’s on a date with jay. park. jong. seong,” the youngest spells out every syllable, sitting up straight as he gets defensive. “she thinks he’s madly in love with her or something but she’s wrong! the day i went out with chaeun, i saw him with jihye and guess what? chaeun said everyone knows they’re a thing but apparently, yn doesn’t know this. i’ve told her so many times that he is not worth it but she won’t understand she’s fucking dumb oh my god,”

and…silence.

absolute fucking maddening silence that made sunghoon go even more insane before jake finally decides to speak, albeit in disbelief. 

“that monologue was unnecessary,” the foreigner pours in another glass for the three of them, filling them up completely, knowing this is going in a new direction yet a one that has been anticipated by both him and heeseung. “besides, since when do you care about her?”

“she’s my roommate,”

“you like her,” heeseung exclaims, and silence follows again for a few seconds before sunghoon gasps scandalously, slamming his glass down on the table which turns a few heads in their direction as jake mutters an embarrassed apology for it.

“i don’t,” sunghoon speaks in a voice much calmer than his previous tone, even leaning in towards the table to put emphasis on his words. jake pours himself another glass, scoff at his words while shaking his head mockingly which only pisses him off more.

“i knew this would happen,” heeseung continues, stating it as a matter of fact while nudging jake to pour him a glass as well. “saw this coming from a mile away when you cried over her going on a blind date the last time you got drunk,”

he can’t point out when that must’ve happened, but he doesn’t refute his words, simply letting his eyes travel across the room for a few moments. the frown on his lips deepens when he meets jake’s knowing gaze as he gets defensive once again. “i’m telling you, i don’t like her,”

“you said that about hello kitty but she’s everywhere in your room now,” he turns his phone with the screen up when he feels jake’s eyes on it, or particularly on the hello kitty sticker on his phone cover as the boy nudges him for another glass. “go on, you’ll need it.”

and sunghoon does, drinking more than he usually does thanks to jake filling his glass again and again for the sake of his sob story. the cab drops him in front of his apartment and he stumbles his way to the elevator. the silence sobers him out for some reason as he leans against the walls of the elevator and thinks about you.

perhaps you’re still with jay, sharing smiles and stories, kisses if you’re brave enough. he likes to think you are not, that you would chicken out— it makes him feel better about himself. he imagines you holding hands with him and then shrugs that thought off his mind just as quickly, huffing at the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth as he walks out of the elevator once it reaches his floor.

sunghoon planned to take a shower and sleep, but every thought water downs to nothing when he spots you crouching next to the door with knees pressed up to your chest. he can’t see your face, but he knows you’re sad, and it makes him stop in front of you, his heart accelerating when you look up at him with glistening eyes.

you look miserable.

and sunghoon has no reaction. he’s frozen, hands on his side as he stares at you. he was supposed to laugh at you for your stupidity. but you look so utterly sad and heart broken, god, he wants to punch jay in his throat. yet again, every single thought leaves his mind when his eyes fall back on your face, his hands instinctively opening out to you as he speaks in a voice as soft as a feather.

“let’s go inside,”

004. CANDLELIT 

“he said it was a bet,” you speak over the silence, fiddling with your fingers. you look up at sunghoon— who’s sitting with legs crossed in front of you while you’re curled up in one corner of the couch. “and that he never meant to drag it out for so long but he didn’t know how to tell me,”

“a bet?” he scoffs bitterly, looking away for a fraction of a second before his eyes are back on you. “what an asshole,” 

it’s not the first time sunghoon has said that. in fact, asshole is all and the only word he uses to define jay. you still think it was a stretch, for jay isn’t that bad. sure, he lied to you and played with your feelings— which you will never accept that you had feelings for him because you don’t want to look pathetic— but he wasn’t rude. well, at least he paid for all the three dates you two went on with the locations being some high end restaurants or bakeries. 

on the other hand, sunghoon stares at you in silence. his eyes trace over your sullen face, and then to your fingers. for a second, he considers holding your hands…roommates can do that at least, right? to comfort one another, but then he catches you looking up at him and he averts his gaze to a distant corner. “don’t start crying now!”

“i’m not! i didn’t even like him that much…” and he can’t help but suppress his smile at the pout on your face as you refuse to look at him. it’s adorable, he never thought he would ever say that, but it’s true. your mannerisms are cute, you’re cute, and it’s eating his brain cells.

“is that so? you talked about him like you two were in love or something,”

“stop it!”

he stares at you quietly for a few seconds again. even though you’re being defensive out of embarrassment right now, trying to prove to him that you’re not heartbroken, sunghoon knows you’ll be crying the moment you’re behind the closed doors of your room. on other days, he wouldn’t care so much. not more than giving a few pats on a back and telling you to suck it up despite the concern in his voice. today, however, he feels differently.

you got played. it’s your heart that’s broken. you feel like a fool, and yet sunghoon is sitting in front of you, trying to find words amidst awkwardness and hesitation. his heart feels heavy for you. it’s unfathomable on his part.

he suddenly remembers the day you mentioned that jay is better than him. he almost scoffs at that, again. well, you might harbour feelings for the american guy but at least sunghoon never had you holding back your tears. and he swears it would never come to that, if you ever have feelings for him because sunghoon would be a better boyfriend— and then he comes back to his senses as soon as those words register inside his brain, cheeks heating up at the sudden thought before he clears his throat. 

“do you want ramen?” he manages to change the topic ever so swiftly, getting up from the couch and already walking to the kitchen without waiting for your response. apparently, getting away from you would ease his heartbeat, although hearing your voice has just as much effect on him as your presence or a mere thought of you.

“are you cooking?”

he lets out a breathy laugh at your words, getting two packs of ramen from the shelf. “of course, do you think i’d ask you to cook when you look like you went through a divorce and lost the custodies of all your three kids?” 

you frown at his words, although ending up laughing at them just a second later. it’s hard to not laugh at how silly he is sometimes, if you ignore his annoying tendencies. sunghoon puts the water to boil, fighting back a smile at the sound of your laughter. it’s better than seeing you all sad over a guy who doesn’t deserve you.

you get off the couch as well, making your way to the kitchen, wanting to help him since he listened to your sob story. it’s quiet, and you hear slight rumbling outside as you take a quick look at the weather outside through the windows and then within a few seconds, thunder pierces through the silence hanging in the room. 

sunghoon flinches visibly, freezing in his stance before the sound of heavy rain fills the kitchen. he turns on the electric stove and it blows out. all the lights in the apartment go out, darkness settling in and disturbed just as quickly as the room fills with bright flashes of light, illuminating your face for a short second before it’s dark again.

“wait, i’ll get my phone— oh,” you reach out for the back pocket of your trousers, quickly get your phone and turn it on for the flash light before it powers off. “out of battery,”

he takes a blind step into the darkness when it thunders again and he notices you standing with your arms around yourself when the light surges in the room for a moment again. he hopes you won’t push him away if he puts his arm around you, but then you two bump into each other. a quiet apology finds its way out of your lips, and he can tell you’re flustered. 

“where are the candles?” he asks to distract you from the fact that he’s holding your hand and pulling you aside gently, so you don’t crash into each other again. your hands feel oddly warm in this cold weather, and it only flutters his heart even more.

“second shelf from the right i think,” your voice is interrupted by thunder again and your hands instinctively tighten around his fingers. and then a loud thud follows, causing you to gasp slightly. “are you okay?”

“i can’t fucking see,” his voice is strained, oozing off pain as he lets go off your hands. you open your mouth to speak before he bumps into something again. something falls off the counter, perhaps the spoon by the sound of it and he apologises shortly after. it’s harder to navigate around his own apartment, more than he had imagined.

sunghoon manages to find the candles, setting them on the counter with pure intuition before lighting one of it up with the lighter he always carries around in his pocket. he turns around, almost bumping into you and before he could say anything, he sees you pressed up against one of the counters, face illuminated by the dim candle light. 

you’re close, too close, he’s afraid you can hear his heart going crazy at the proximity. his mind is telling him to step aside but he’s too lost looking in your eyes, ( as you are too ) with you looking so impossibly beautiful under the faint golden glow. 

“is this okay?” he whispers softly and you simply nod, not a word coming out of your mouth as you find yourself entranced by his face. sunghoon has always been aphrodite’s son, as his admirers would call him, and now that you’re seeing him so closely, you’re realising he’s something much more beautiful.

it doesn’t slip your attention how his gaze settles on your lips for a quick second, your body tensing up at the sudden movement. your breath hitches as he leans closer, dipping his head down. your heart is racing while he feels like his heart has stopped— it’s timeless, as he finds himself just a few centimetres away from your lips, not wanting to stop even though he gives you a chance to pull back, whispering softly, “can i?”

you nod. and sunghoon doesn’t waste another second, capturing your lips with his. 

it’s still at first, with your lips only pressed up together for a few seconds. it’s only a few seconds after he pulls back ever so slightly, and then tilts his head to the other side and goes in for another kiss, this time moving his lips slowly against yours. he feels you tense up for a brief while and then melting as you kiss him back, your fingers lacing around his tenderly. you flinch when it thunders again, breaking the kiss, but feeling shivers down your spine as you feel his breath on your lips. 

he takes a few seconds, fingers ghosting up your hands to rest on your waist, tugging you closer as he brushes his lips against yours. “focus on my lips,”

and he kisses you again, this time a bit more firmly, albeit it’s slow and gentle at first, his lips moving against yours in a way that's both comforting and exciting. but as the moments pass, he presses in deeper, more insistently. he lets his body press more firmly against yours, his chest touching yours as his tongue gently teases at the seam of your lips. it was working, the way his lips move against yours, it calms your nerves from the thunder but lights them up again when he nibbles gently on your lower lip, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist as he continues to kiss you so fervently. 

it takes a passing second for you to realise what you’re doing. it surprises you, however not enough to pull back, or maybe the way his tongue feels against yours stops you from doing so. you’d be lying if you say you hadn’t thought of kissing him before— as early as two days after moving in. and now that you’re actually kissing him, everything feels like a fever dream.

he tucks your chin up with his fingers, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. he is a good kisser, sunghoon uses that to boast about himself, he has always been good at this— kissing, bragging, making your knees weak, and all you could do was melt into him wet and sloppy kisses that he plants on your skin. 

he dips his head down to your neck, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, pulling your blouse aside to get a better access to your collarbones and shoulders. it felt like his body has a mind of its own, and he’s only following right behind. when a soft gasp leaves your lips, he moves back to your lips again, wanting to swallow every little sound you make that makes his mind haywire. 

your breaths are heavy, hands around his neck with fingers grazing the skin of his nape. a movement that makes him moan softly in the kiss as he presses you against the counter, holding you between his arms. his hand that's resting on your hip moves up, tracing the curve of your waist and then sliding under your shirt to rest on your bare skin, lips curling up in a subtle smirk as he hears you gasp yet again. 

“sunghoon—” you pull back, getting a quick glance at his half-lidded eyes when the lightning from the thunderstorm fills the room. he can still feel your laboured breathing on his lips and it does nothing but pull him in even more. after all, sunghoon would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine doing this with you.

“we’ll stop,” he pecks your lips, then trailing his lips down your jawline and to your neck, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your skin. “when the candle goes out,” 

005. WHERE THE LINE FADES

when sunghoon wakes up the next morning, he’s met with cold empty sheets on the side and the memories from last night start flooding his mind. his heartbeat accelerates at the mere thought of you, especially how you were last night and every time his name fell off your lips in bliss and pleasure— he would’ve preferred waking up to you rather than emptiness. 

he lays idly for a few minutes and stares at the ceiling, looking for where it all had started. was it the day you told him jay asked you out? maybe not, he doesn’t like to think of himself as a jealous person. it must’ve been when you asked for his opinion on your outfit, he tells himself, you looked too good to be true that day. a few seconds more and he sits up with a soft groan, seemingly unable to find answers to any of his questions.

the weather seems to have improved as he notices the cosy sunlight outside. he slips on this shirt before walking down to the shared bathroom, rubbing his eyes softly and brushing his fingers through his hair with a sigh. he puts his hand on the door knob and looking up in surprise when it opens on the other side.

“oh,” the slight hint of shyness on your face doesn’t escape his gaze, just like how enchanting you look this early in the morning with hair wet from the shower. you bite slightly on your lower lip before the awkwardness in the air is disturbed by your voice. “morning,”

actually, it must’ve all started the day you moved in.

“morning,” he replies back, rubbing his nape and looking away. the weight of questions lingering around makes it hard for him to look in your eyes. “would you like to have breakfast?”

you nod and follow him into the kitchen after making a short trip to your room. 

you steal a few glances at him while eating your breakfast, feeling your palms sweat at the thought of bringing it up to him. you avoid it for a few minutes, tossing the question around in your head while trying to make small talks about the ketchup, as bad as it could get. it feels a bit suffocating until you finally decide to address the elephant in the room. “so about last night—” 

“it was a mistake,” he cuts you off immediately, a heavy pause following shortly after. he looks up in your eyes for the first time since the morning. “let’s just forget it,”

and his words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. it could’ve been just another one night stand for you had it not been with sunghoon— your roommate, the person you see everyday, the person who managed to give you butterflies the day you moved in. your fingers tighten around the spoon and you consider arguing back for a moment before you push that idea further back in your head.

it could be just another thing added to the lists of things that have been buried, like the time you and sunghoon almost kissed in the elevator last year.

“right,” you nod quietly, convincing yourself that it’s not a big deal. that he’s just another guy in your life like jay. actually, you don’t feel like wanting to compare them anymore. you don’t know where the line marking the difference fades. “of course, yeah,”

you don’t even like the sound of that.

“yeah,”

you don’t wait another minute before leaving your unfinished breakfast on the table and going to your room. his eyes follow your movements, conscience nudging him to chase after you. he contemplates it for a while, and then you walk out with your bag. “i’ll see you after classes,”

and then sunghoon doesn’t see you for the rest of the morning.

or the day, in fact. usually, you two end up bumping into each other at least once, but sunghoon doesn’t see you around for the whole day. he skips spanish, deciding to go back to his apartment earlier than usual. he turns on the tv, deciding to watch a football watch with beer on the side while waiting for you. an hour passes, then another, and another.

there’s no sign of you.

it isn’t until he rings up a few of your friends that he hears that you’re staying over at giselle’s for the night. he wouldn’t blame you, couldn’t, not after everything that went down a night ago. you needed some space and so did he, but somewhere inside he wondered if he should’ve been honest with you when you brought up that topic during breakfast instead of saying the first thing that came to his mind and dismissing it.

but, he dismisses it again, letting you be on your own for as long as you need, knowing you’d come back soon.

which you do, the very next day, much to his surprise. he had expected you to avoid him for at least a week. he notices the way you look when you return early in the morning, tired and exhausted as if you hadn’t got a single ounce of sleep. there’s silence engulfing him but you walk to your room before he could even open his mouth to speak. and then you ignore him for the rest of the day.

he starts feeling annoyed at some point, trying to come up with a reason for your actions. he tries striking up conversations with you and you give short responses, or just nod. when you walk away without answering him when he asked about your day, sunghoon wanted to grab your wrist and pull you back for a second, but he dismisses that idea just as soon as it pops up in his head. he doesn’t even realise how quickly time passes in silence, not until he returns from heeseung’s apartment after spending two nights and one day with him and jake and checks his phone, realising it’s already close to being a week till you’re gone radio silent. he notices a few texts, mostly his study group that have been planning meet-ups to study, one that he rarely attends. his eyes especially squint in confusion at the texts from your mother, saying she had been trying to get in touch with you but getting no response. 

he was on his way to his room when he heard the door unlock. a pause, the click of the doorknob strikes through the silence, followed by your footsteps. he takes a few seconds to sort out his thoughts before speaking. “your mom texted me since you weren’t picking up her phone,”

“my phone died,” you give a simple response, almost too quickly for his liking. he lets his eyes follow your movements as you take off your shoes and jacket, putting it on the couch. 

it takes him back to the day you told him about jay asking you out. 

it was exactly the same— you arrived late, your phone had died. he was asking the same questions, albeit laced with annoyance. today, it’s hesitation, maybe slight doubt. sunghoon can’t stop you from seeing jay, but the idea of you being with him bothers him more than expected. so, he follows up with yet another question. 

“where have you been?” he asks, wanting to maintain a casual demeanour even though his heart is pounding in his chest just from being near you. he isn’t expecting any response, actually, however he’s met with surprise when you actually reply. 

“with jay,” the words fall from your mouth as if you’re used to them, used to saying his name. there’s an awkward pause before you clarify. “we had dinner together. he wanted to apologise properly,”

“that’s— that’s great,” he manages to squeeze out, but sunghoon thinks jay could’ve left you alone instead of meeting you if he wanted to apologise so bad.

you definitely had feelings for jay, even though they didn’t go as deep for you to come home sobbing your eyes out the day you learnt the truth. to sunghoon, that is enough of a reason to hate him even more. just the mere thought of your heart sinking whenever you’d even think of jay made him fist his hands, nails almost digging in the palm of his hands. 

sunghoon doesn’t have much experience with girls. in fact, none at all. flings are one thing, and girlfriends another. he has had both— none too serious. the first time someone asked him out was in highschool, although he’s surprised it didn’t happen much earlier. that time, just agreed to go out with her because his friends were in relationships too and he didn’t want to fall behind. it wasn’t soon before it turned into a competition after he got into university. not his best self, it isn’t something he’s proud of now that he thinks about it. 

and sunghoon isn’t half better than jay in that aspect, although obviously not as bad as to bet on going on a date with another girl while he already has a girlfriend. however, if you had feelings for him— as he thinks while watching you walk to your room— he wouldn’t let a single tear fall from your lips. 

“about that night,” he follows you into your room, practically hearing his heartbeat echo through his ears. he gulps nervously when he notices you looking at him with a sliver of hope in your eyes. “it wasn’t a mistake,”

“oh,” and you stop in your tracks, having no idea how to respond. an awkward pause follows as you bite your lower lip habitually before speaking, feigning a casual tone. “well, we can still put it behind—”

“i don’t want to,” he blurts out, cutting you off mid sentence. you notice how his voice is quiet as always, yet there’s panic and anxiousness behind those eyes. “i mean, i tried to, but it’s difficult. you’re always on my mind,”

there’s a silver of determination behind his voice. it’s surprising and equally anticipated. sometimes, he feels like he thinks of you every minute no matter what he’s doing. it was never this bad, these days even the regular banters between you two give him butterflies. and sunghoon understand that he might be far from your type in men. perhaps, you actually prefer someone like jay, who treat you to a fancy dinner to apologise, or maybe that guy from a few months ago who can’t remember the name of. 

you and sunghoon can be polar opposites and he would still be standing here, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his denim jacket, looking so uncharacteristically out of place. he would choose to have this talk again, as much as he hates confronting, because it never about who your type is and always about the fact that you’re sunghoon’s type— as he realises this when you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking at him with lips pressed together. you look cute, more so when you’re awkward, and he can’t believe he’s coming to terms with this but god, he is falling for you. 

he is falling hard, and falling deep. it’s nothing like him, you make him nervous, almost as if knocking him out of air whenever your eyes meet, and he would gladly suffocate to death. it was quiet with too many questions hanging above his head, and he noticed the way you fiddle with your fingers with the cutest expression known to mankind and sunghoon knew he was screwed. 

“i’ve got it so bad for you, yn, really,” —he speaks as if he’s out of breath due to the nervousness— “really bad. i tried to keep you out of here,” he said, pointing at his chest, cheeks flushing red as the words fell off his lips. “but you won’t go, you just won’t.”

and sunghoon has never been so…out of place, for the lack of better words. it’s amusing, even to you, the way he is right now. the sunghoon from three weeks ago wouldn’t even care but he, now, is pouring out all of himself, as if stripping him naked of his emotions and letting him see what lies behind the suave smiles and prideful words. as if showing you how easily you have him going crazy, right out of his mind and how he can’t help but just stare blankly as his eyes travel down to your lips occasionally— as they do now— and it leaves you in a frenzy when you notice it. 

“i can’t stop thinking about that night— not in a weird way, just…” and you’re just standing in front of him, trying not to laugh at his antics. he’s cute, a pause, what the fuck. and then you just go along with it, knowing there’s no point denying it anymore now that you two are having this conversation.

you notice his little mannerisms, like how he can’t look in your eyes for the life in him, how he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. it’s adorable, especially the way he can have all the attention in the room with just his mere presence. that’s sunghoon for you, with a presence so heavy it’s loud even when he’s silent. it’s so loud you can practically hear his mind, of all the words you know he wants to say but can’t. there’s a hitch in his breath, his eyes meet yours for the first time in the past few minutes— i like you— they say, and the next thing sunghoon knows is that you’re kissing him. 

“i like you too,” you whisper against his lips after pulling back, your lips brushing against his. sunghoon feels like every single nerve in his body has been sparked, giving him goosebumps when you slowly intertwine your fingers with his.

of course, you know how he feels even before he could say it out loud. maybe, he just made it obvious for you to guess, otherwise sunghoon likes to think of himself as someone who can hide his feelings well. he lets go of your hands as soon as he feels you lace your fingers with his and instead, cups your cheeks ever so tenderly and leans down to capture your lips with his, smiling in the kiss. “i love you,”

˃ᗜ˂ : if you made it till here, i'm sending each one of u kisses >< thank u for reading, i hope u liked it. ps i had to put my heart aside and write jay's name ... never again will i put my man thru this huhu TT he's too good to do these things