#his plan is absolute carnage... so not too different from before

[mollysunder]

She hasn't even gotten to the time travel part yet.

[zarnzarn]

Penelope wakes up to the sound of screams.

With a gasp, she sits upright, straining her ears. The carnage is at the far end of the castle, the shouting and clanking of metal- but it is not her maids, or her soldiers who are dying.

It is the suitors.

Penelope swings her legs out of bed, silently making her way over to her mirror. She lights a candle and starts doing her hair and makeup, thanking the stars that she fell asleep in her best dress that night, and it was still fresh looking.

She looks at her own face in the mirror, older and lined. Feels her lips pull down as vanity passes over her, tugging at the unruly grey strands that poke out of her head, half-urgently trying to smooth out her face.

"Penelope," Athena says as she leans over her, eyes dancing with amusement. Athena, who has not appeared to her in four years. Her face is speckled with blood and her chest is heaving with fury- she must be down there too, in the bloodbath. "You know it doesn't matter."

"Can't I want to look my best?" She snaps, slamming her makeup box shut. Walks over to the chest that holds her jewellery and starts putting it on. "Sixteen years I have not seen my husband, I think I'm quite past anyone telling me what to do with regards to finally seeing him again."

A cautionary voice in her head screams at her to stop antagonizing Athena, so close to finally being whole, but when she turns, the goddess only has regret in her eyes.

"I am sorry, Penelope," She says, and Penelope stills, more than aware that it was very likely no one had ever received an apology from this goddess before. "Time passes differently in Olympus. What was four days ended up being four years, when I looked."

Tears prick at her eyes, but she forces them back with a sharp inhale. "That would explain it," She says roughly. "How much longer?"

Athena approaches her, armour clanking, and tilts her face up. When she presses a kiss to Penelope's forehead, she feels some of the desperate madness of the past years dissipate, leaving behind the sorrow-less certainty that she had been wise to wait, that she had been right.

Athena smiles. "Go."

-

She sees him before he sees her.

At first glance, she knows him, blood drenched and older though he is. He stands in the main hall, surrounded by bodies, and moves sharp and precise and inevitable as he takes down suitor after suitor, with none of them able to so much as land a scratch on him. Quick, moving in and out, with a tall, masked figure by his side and-

She clicks her tongue in exasperation, smiling. Sixteen and bloodthirsty, Telemachus stands by their side with furious satisfaction in his eyes as he clumsily shoots down each suitor that gets too close.

That absolute brat. He planned this! No wonder he was so happy this whole past week, when he'd been so morose the entire month before.

Penelope watches from the high balcony. Her trusted maids and all the subjects of the kingdom that still remain come running up the steps to help, some from the far reaches of the town, all gleeful- Ithaka is small, and shouts carry. She can see torches being lit across the city, when she looks, more rushing to the palace, taking out the retinues that had accompanied the men.

She takes a deep breath and makes her way down the stairs.

The brick walls around her swim in and out of focus as she walks, curiously far away. Her sandals sound out against stone.

She had been right. All these years, all this waiting- she had been right.

When she reaches the curtain, she stops and swallows. Sixteen years of waiting. She had promised him she would spend it happy, not grieve him before he was dead- and she had. Enjoyed the power, enjoyed raising her son, learning how to let the moments of grief rush over her and pass by every time she turned to see empty air. Made friends, gained allies, became skilled in politics like no other woman could so openly be. Ithaka flourished under her.

Let it end, she prays. Let that all be past from tonight.

She would give everything up for one more day with her husband.

Her hands are trembling when she pushes aside the curtain.

Odysseus stands in the middle of the room, panting as the last suitor falls, covered in blood. He's ragged, weary, scarred from all the horrors of whatever made him come back to Ithaka alone. Behind him, what looks like the entire kingdom stands together crowded as they stare, the ones who knew him crying themselves in shock, the ones who didn't studying him warily.

Telemachus says something and points to Penelope and she can see him stop breathing, same as her, when their eyes finally meet.

"Penelope," He breathes, swaying forward as he drops his weapons.

"Odysseus," She chokes out, as she forces herself to stop a distance away. Tries not to cry at the blatant hurt in his eyes as she does, at the frown Athena and Telemachus send her way. Feels rage climb in her chest- wants to scream at them both, at them all, that they cannot blame her. "You have returned."

"I have." He takes a step forward and they both shake. "To you. For you. I promised, didn't I?"

"Mother!" Telemachus bursts forth, dismayed. "Why won't you embrace him? It's father, it's really him, you waited so long for this moment!"

"You were too young to remember the shapeshifters that besieged our palace after Troy, my son," She says sadly. Watches grief at the fact settle in Odysseus' expression, then the devastated acceptance of her distance, tries not to let her emotions overweigh her caution at the love in his eyes as he allows her to do so.

Odysseus laughs suddenly, and her heart aches, her muscles cramp from how tightly she holds herself back, as he casually places an elbow on his son's head to lean on him, flashing her one of those grins she remembers so fondly, of the two of them being the only ones on the inside of a joke. It must be him, right? No shapeshifter could be so skilled, to embody the movements of his entire body so. "Don't worry so much, Tel. Your mother doesn't look at me unless I'm dressed in my best clothing- she would refuse to accept it was me either way, when I'm covered in all this blood."

Penelope aches. Penelope aches.

"So then I assume you wouldn't mind waiting until the daylight?" She smiles, half-fake. Her heart pounds as she turns to Eumeus and says, "Move our bed to the main hall for him, would you? I-"

She can't bring herself to speak further, turning back too quickly to look. Her stomach drops as Odysseus straightens back up with shock, her heart flips as hurt flashes over his face, and she's already running as he says in confusion and anger, "Damn you, woman! Did you take an axe to our fucking bed when I was gone-"

"It is you!" She exclaims as she throws herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as tight as she can. She sobs, and sixteen years of missing him spring to the surface all at once as she gasps for air in between tears, a smile on her face as she finally lets her mask fall. "Oh gods, oh Olympus, it's you, it's really actually you!"

Odysseus doesn't move for a moment under her, then says in a thick voice, "You fucking trickster."

And finally, finally, hugs her back.

"Don't be angry with me," She begs, voice devastated with her crying as she hangs off him. Holds onto him as if he'll disappear, escape her grasp again if she lets him go. "Don't be angry, please, I beg you, don't be irritated, or annoyed, I couldn't bear it-"

So long overdue was this reunion, and she spoiled it with her paranoia; if the first thing she did as a wife when no husband would do what he'd done for her was disappoint him-

"I am not," Odysseus says gently, cradling her face, holding her with the same desperation. Her ears burn with the sound of his voice, no longer a memory she had to guard fiercely against forgetting, every syllable just the same as she remembers it, saying new words. "I understand why, my love, trust me, I am only happy. I am only happy."

Penelope wails, her crown crashing to the floor with the force of it, shoulders shaking, and Odysseus holds her closer.

"Oh, Penelope," He whispers sadly. His voice cracks and he breaks down in tears too as they sink to the floor together. "My Penelope."

They cry on the floor like animals, a loud terrible din in front of everyone there, uncaring of who watches. Penelope tries to crawl into his lap, and he tries to crawl into hers- she has the wild thought that they need to both slit themselves into puzzle pieces so that they can fit together more tightly, to be satisfied.

Finally, they run out of tears, shaking on the floor ungracefully, still holding onto each other. She tries to press every inch of her body against his, even as the fear of having not seen his face while she embraced him makes her rear back to look, wiping off the blood to see him underneath. "You're home. You came back."

"I did," He says softly, eyes as adoring as she remembers them to be. She curls her fingers into his hair, relearns the shape of his face, traces her fingers over his nose and eyebrows. "Fought a lot of people to do it, but I did. I'm home."

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you," She chokes out and shifts so she can hold him as he starts crying again at her words.

"Penelope," He whispers, threadbare- her poor husband, who fought so hard to come back home, with the glaring absence of all the men he loved who went with him, who has something shattered deep within his eyes because of whatever the Fates put him through. "Penelope."

"I have you. You have me." Penelope chants, looking around until she catches sight of Telemachus and Athena, both smiling. Telemachus sniffles and wipes at her face, and it is with a start that Penelope realizes that the goddess is also crying when she reaches up to elegantly wipe at her face. Holds out a hand with a grin that feels more real on her face than any she's worn these sixteen years past. "What, you two require official invitations?"

All of them nearly fall over with the force at which the other two rush into them, and they all laugh. Penelope holds her family close, all four of them together once more, and looks beyond to smirk victoriously at all her handmaidens and advisors and all the idiots who'd told her to move on. Some lay their eyes down as she looks, some of them incline their heads in acceptance and respect, and a few of them shake their heads with a smile. Penelope will not be losing their trust anytime soon.

She takes a shaky breath and holds them all close. Her family. Her loves.

She's never letting any of them go again.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

pspspsps; can you do some headcannons for Lucifer getting a crush on a friend and how this absolute disaster of a man would handle it? thanks love you <3

One Hazbin Hotel Lucifer headcanon is coming up!! Also, you are not dumb, Anon. I also sometimes forget that I write for two different Lucifers it gets confusing at times! I appreciate the clarification!

You and Lucifer went way back, back in heaven back. You heard all his ideas and thoughts, never once questioning him or calling him out like others did.

Lucifer thought he would never see you again when he fell from heaven. That you would be a distant memory for him to look back on.

He always kept a picture of you from your younger years in heaven tucked in his pocket. He even told Lilith all about you and Charlie.

Imagine his surprise when he entered his daughters hotel to see her for the first time in ages and there you were sitting at the bar talking to a cat demon.

He was in shock but due to the Radio Demon needing to butt in he was quickly pulled out of his shock.

Once things had settled at the hotel Lucifer learned from Charlie how she found you wondering the streets not to long after their father-daughter argument just before the hotel opened.

He was impressed that you willingly lost your title among the elder angels all because you couldn't stand the thought that innocent souls were being played with every year.

As he watched you coach Charlie and assist in the hotel he was taken aback. You may be a demonic angel now but you were just as breath taking as when you were teens.

Your (H/C) hair was pulled back from your face as you worked on a billboard for Charlie to hang. He loved your devotion to his family even if you never knew she was his till he appeared.

When he sought your company out privately for the first time after reuniting with you he was a complete mess.

He talked to himself in the mirror, talked to Charlie, Alsastor, hell he even turned to Angel dust on how to rekindle the old times with you.

Ironically after all this planning and attempts to talk to you, you were the one to ask him out for a day on the town you know for old time sake.

He was so excited yet so crushed that you made it a 'friend' date. But he knew he was getting ahead of himself. He would court you appropriately he wasn't going to mess another relationship up.

The date went well besides the 12 poles, 6 signs, 4 people, and 2 cars that he has tripped, walked, ran, and crawled in too. He couldn't help it you were just so you.

He was falling fast and hard as he learned more about how you were one of the only activists on the angelic counsel fighting his fight even after he fell.

When Adam threatened war on Charlies hotel he knew his hands were tied due to his deal with the Angels. Yours weren't though however. Once you guys learned about the Angelic Steel you and Vaggie took to training the cadets.

When Adam saw you down with Charlie baring arms he was taken aback you one of the wise elder angels fighting him? Oh this was gonna be so sick killing you.

You fought harder and better though, till Adam went for a lethal strike on Charlie. Without hesitating you took part of the blow for her when pushing her out of the way.

When the carnage and battle was over Charlie went searching for you scared for the worse. When Lucifer chased after her asking what was wrong and saw you barely breathing he was devastated.

You were nursed back to health by the Morningstars for weeks. Never once being allowed to even exist alone.

Once you were okay again and getting ready to re-debut yourself to society Charlie pulled you aside and told you how she would be totally cool with it if you where another mom for her.

When you confronted Lucifer about the weird conversation you definitely saw him turn in to a puddle and disappear.

Slowly though over time Lucifer you and Charlie started making your own little family. You were hesitant especially with Lilith still being out there somewhere but you would fight for what you loved if you had too.

When Lucifer finally confessed his feelings after almost a year and half of you being back in his life he made it a big big deal.

The whole hotel was involved having every guest help surprise you with either old pictures from your angel years together or even some new ones from now.

Once you finally got to Lucifer he did one hell of a showstopping number to confirm what you had begun to suspect.

When you accepted his confession whole heartedly he was so happy and excited that the next day he made a public message to all of hell how lucky he was.

He couldn't be more happy with his new little family, even if Lilith came back he would be happy with you. All three of you could assist Charlie and redeem those in hell together.

[megumimania]

A BIRTHDAY — suguru geto

summary: geto’s birthday doesn’t come without a period of reflection.

content/warnings: geto x black fem reader, set a couple years after hidden inventory arc, established relationship, semi angsty, suggestive, italics are used to signify past conversations,am i late to the party yes but who cares! i fought tooth and nail for this not to have a happu ending

“so what do you say?” suguru’s hand reached out for yours with a charming smile that made it hard for you to say no to. “i’d say that this is the most insane idea you’ve ever had, but im in.”

you really don’t know why you took up his offer that day.

yes, you could argue that you were foolish. caught up in the fantasy of running away from all your responsibilities as a sorcerer or maybe it was because you were curious to see how his plan of eradicating all the non sorcerers in japan would play out.

the sounds of birdsong resounded throughout the grand estate. acting as background noise whilst you laid against one of the pillars out back as you lit up a cigarette—a habit that you picked up in high school. a time in your life that ended just as quickly as it began.

however that didn’t stop you from reminiscing about the memories. never did you indulge in them for too long though, afraid that you would be clinging on to a life that was no longer yours.

besides you lived a different life now.

you were older and now responsible for two adorable little girls mimiko and nanako. they were your entire world and you made sure they knew of that spoiling them rotten with a bunch of toys and cute outfits.

aside from the girls, you and suguru’s relationship was pretty rocky to say the least—years of built up emotions and unspoken words drove a wedge between you both. for you it grew harder and harder to turn a blind eye to what he was doing.

the constant killing of non sorcerers and consuming of curses changed him as a whole. his goals became more lofty and vague rather than being practical and tangible.this often lead to hushed arguments between you both that caused you both to bring your ideologies into focus, making you question if losing everything was worth it at all.

“don’t you think this is all getting out of hand?” you asked one night, wrapping up your hair for bed. too tired to even start an argument.

“it’s extreme yes but it’s necessary.” he replied with a chilling coldness that was unlike him. it was obvious he’d thought this was the absolute truth and you couldn’t convince him otherwise.

he was too far gone.

“necessary? are you hearing yourself?” you felt your blood run cold. the man you once knew now stood before you a stranger.

“i understand it may not be to your tastes but this is the only way.” he replied curtly, signalling the end of the conversation.

he never apologised. leaving you both in the constant cycle of fighting, fucking and making up with each other. some days you’d be playing happy families, taking the girls to school or the park which made you forget about all the chaos that loomed around you.

other days were spent meeting with potential clients who sought out geto as a last resort; using up most of their life savings or last pay-check in hopes that master geto could cure them of their ails or bad luck. you pitied them the most. they were usually the elderly who rarely never made it out alive unless they paid on time.

with a man like suguru the carnage bled into all avenues of his life; his blood splatters in the hallway, the blood on the walls, even on his robes. the metallic scent of blood still lingered when he buried himself in you. no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself clean, you still felt tainted by him.

however you couldn’t dwell on these thoughts for any longer, you had a birthday to celebrate.

you stubbed out the remainders of your cigarette and headed back inside, plastering a false smile on your face as you greeted the kitchen staff. you were presented with suguru’s cake—a rich chocolate cake that had the girls scribbly hand writing in red icing making you smile.

you and the girls carried the cake and his gifts to his room being sure to knock thrice. he opened the door his usual neat top knot now spilling across his shoulders, his robes quite disheveled—yet he still looked handsome as ever.

“happy birthday papa geto!” the girls said in unison holding out their gifts for him to take. suguru’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at them, taking the gifts and setting them down on his desk.

he locked eyes with the cake and you saw a glimpse of his former self peeking through. “you did all this for me?” he looked at the girls with disbelief, feigning surprise knowing damn well he heard you and the girls causing a ruckus in the kitchen.

“yes we did papa do you like it?” nanako the more outspoken of the duo asks but nonetheless their eyes sparkle in anticipation, eagerly waiting for their dad’s approval. suguru lifts them up into his arms and looks at them with such a rare softness that they only got to see.

“i love it more than anything girls, thank you.” he peppered the girls faces with kisses making them break out into a fit of giggles as they tried to break free from his grasp.

it was a picturesque sight of domesticity that you wanted to capture and relive over and over again until it was ingrained into your mind. until you could live and breathe this moment again.

once he blew the candles and the tendrils of smoke dissipated into the morning sun. mimiko was eager to ask what he wished for but in true suguru fashion he was tight lipped about it, standing firm even after all their pestering.

mimiko and nanako eventually gave up and left to play outside, their burning curiosity fizzling out. you and suguru were left alone and it seemed like the celebratory mood died as soon the girls left the room.

“what did you wish for?” you asked into the echo chamber of the bedroom. the silence was driving you mad. “you.” he replied not missing a beat as he inched closer to you. the way he said it with such conviction almost fooled you into believing him.

your treacherous heart betrayed you once again exposing how much you missed him, how much you needed him.

“you already have me.” you said matter of factly, clearing your throat as if it would quell the conflicting feelings of desire and resentment you had towards him.

suguru picked up on your conflicting wave of emotions and paused. “sorry.” he muttered before continuing “I shouldn’t have—I should go.”

and just like that the axis between you both tilted from growing tension to mild tolerance .

you wondered if you should’ve just caved in and enjoyed the fleeting moment of pleasure he offered, knowing how good his touch felt but you knew it was for the best not to fall for it again.

maybe one day you’ll both come to an agreement that this was no longer working. but you were just fine with dancing around the topic until one of you finally had the guts to end things.

[cringecannon]

Obsessed with the idea of your Dark Urge fics. I'm cackling at the idea of how Gortash would Absolutely Loathe his "nearest and dearest" having an interest in sharpening their new shiny little knife of a darling. So annoying. So irritating. Catching the attention and ire of a certain Banite when you don't even Want to be the Bhaalspawn's new pet project is so nightmarish.

genuinely one of the worst positions to be in.

Your introduction to the banite was tense, to say the least. Meeting his paramour’s new… pet wasn’t something he was interested in. Why they felt the need to introduce him to you is beyond you. Because it’s funny, would be your best guess. Because your torment can’t just be from them, no, that’d be too easy.

Luckily, Gortash seems more than happy to ignore you altogether. Every time they bring you around him he simply acts like you’re not there, despite the teasing and goading of your master. You can tell it’s getting to him. The white-knuckle grip on his utensils as they coo at him from over you shoulder. They’ve sat you on their lap, chin nestled by the crook of your neck as they taunt him from across the dinner table. Why so sour, Enver? They hope he doesn’t feel left out. They’d love to share. His utensils clatter to the table loudly in response and you jump as your master laughs in your ear. The glower he has unsettles you.

You don’t see him for awhile after that. You’re happy for it. You should’ve known better than to let your guard down.

You awaken in the middle of the night to a blade reflecting moonlight onto your face. You barely roll out of the way in time, the blade plunging into your mattress. No weapons, no means to defend yourself. You hate yourself for it, but you have no choice. You scream. The assassin lunges for you, and you block with your arms, the sharp blade easily slicing skin.

Like a shark senses blood, your master is quick to burst into the room. As they tackle the would-be assassin you stumble back, pressing yourself up against the wall. You can’t stay focused. One minute you’re standing, the next you’re sat on your bed, watching the carnage unfold. You’d seen them kill before, but this is different. Wild. Unhinged. The assassin’s face is unrecognizable when they finally slow their assault. They pick up the assassin’s blade and examine it casually, as if the person below them isn’t now faceless and barely conscious.

They ask who sent them. The assassin dares to gurgle something that isn’t a name and your master stabs the blade through their hand with such force that it sparks against the stone. Your head goes elsewhere. When you snap back out of it your master is kneeled between your legs, stitching your arm with a care and precision you wouldn’t expect. The assassin’s corpse lays in a puddle of it’s own blood, body broken and bent. A sharp tug and they tie off the stitch, mumbling something. Mad promises. You don’t care to listen.

When they take your hand you follow obediently, too numb to protest. They lead you along, out of the temple, through the city, alleys you’ve been down dozens of times before. A pit grows in your stomach when you realize where they’re taking you.

You’d eventually find yourself sat prettily in a wooden chair, a quick kiss to your forehead before they wander out of the room. You don’t dare move. You hold as still as possible, even when they return with Bane’s chosen. You prepare for the punishment. The torment they’ve clearly planned for you.

You don’t expect your master to pull the assassin’s knife on him, pressing it to his throat hard enough to draw blood. Kneel. He glares, and doesn’t move. They kick the back of his leg, forcing him to the ground. They could gut him. They remind him that they still might, after the little stunt he’s just pulled. They grab his hair and drag him across the floor, pulling him to you.

They thought him more clever than this. Clearly, his ego is bigger than his brain if he thinks they'll let some little lordling get between them and their plans. He gets two choices. They press the dagger between his shoulder blades, leaning in close. He can apologize, or they’ll get to play in his blood.

After that, they expect you both to put all this silly business aside. His killer-for-hire gave you a nasty cut. It’s only fair he makes it up to you. A matching scar, maybe a kiss to make it better. Plenty of ways to give this night a happy ending, don’t you both agree?

[willel]

Hmm, I never paid attention to this scene before, what do you think:

https://www.tumblr.com/hoppergoshipper/727093560201084928/i-know-this-has-been-theorised-already-but-i-was

Regardless of if it has anything to do with Joyce, why would possessed Will warn anyone about the attack if atp the plan was to "kill everyone"?

There are three different Will's during his hospital stay.

When they first get to the hospital and he's howling in pain, that is mostly Will before sedation.

While he was unconscious, his mind was probably tinkered with a lot thanks to Vecna/The Mind Flayer. When he wakes up again, I'd say he's about 60/40 Will, Will being on the lower end of things. It's still Will, but his thoughts are no longer his own. He's being heavily influenced, so much so it's probably hard for hint o tell what are his thoughts and what aren't.

That is where I think the warning came from. It was Will seeing through the haze and the carnage unfolding coming to realize what he had done (because of the Mind Flayer) and trying to save his mom before it's too late.

That is the last time I think Will is really able to come to the surface as he very quickly falls further into the fog that is the Mind Flayer's grip on his mind.

When he wakes up again after being sedated by Joyce, at that point, it's like 90/10with Will on the lower end. It's so bad he can't even speak his own words and he has to use morse code secretly. Still, shows how much he can do with only 10% control of his body and mind.

And then the final sedation and wake up, Will is pretty much "gone". Of course, not really, but he has absolutely no control or awareness. I doubt he even knows how he got in that cabin or remember being burned alive or why he's in so much pain.

This is all speculation on my part though! I don't think Vecna/Henry would try to save Joyce, he clearly has a grudge against maternal figures imo. Even when Will was mostly in possession of his body, there was a certain amount of aggression towards Joyce at times and only Joyce.

The way he yelled "NO" at her when she tried to get him in the tub

The almost hooded glare he gave her when he woke up in the hospital after the burn.

Him yelling at her on repeat during the shed scene? He didn't give a flip about anyone else, he was completely focused on her while he was going crazy and yelling

And then finally, in the cabin, completely abandoning his escape play to loosen his restraints just so he could choke Joyce to death.

I feel like there's a lot of bad blood between Henry and his mother that will explain all this honestly.

[aeghina]

Vampire AU

CW: mentions of blood, nudity and sex

Part 2!

“Is he your son?” Someone asks in the store line. Mask fortunately doesn’t pay attention, still looking at the chocolates near the cashier.

“Little brother actually.” They tried the son lie before, he looked too young to have a child even some centuries ago when women started having children at fourteen. Actually, some girls still have babies at fourteen these days. Some things never changed, but this should. 

“Oh I see. So you’re not taken.” he eyed the person again and let his senses focus. Woman, near thirties, no smoke smell, no easy to recognize disease, pretty common face after seeing so many hylians for the last thousand years living in the country. Ah, he had worse people before.

“No, single and ready to mingle.” He ignored the huff from Mask

“I’m taking a box of each.” Mask said and he waved him off, the other putting different chocolates inside the cart, but Warriors’ eyes still focused on the woman 

“I’m actually new in the neighborhood.” She says, slightly embarrassed. Blood rushed to her cheeks and wasn’t that a lovely vision? His mouth watered.

“You should come for the potluck this saturday, everyone is welcome.” He nodded with an easy smile, they walked a bit closer to the cashier when the line moved “Maybe stay for dinner.” 

“I’d love to.”

“Great!” He swallowed, thickly and had to control his senses to not be overwhelmed. Too many people here, no need to start another carnage, the last one took months to clean and years in another country until they were ok to come back. 

“You should put in the salad dressing.” Mask counted the bags and checked the needles before locking them inside the chest again. Warriors hummed, crumpling the herbs and poured it in the gravy pan. “Not everyone eats meat these days.”

“Not everyone likes salad too.”

The only good point of living forever is learning to do a lot of things. Their group of horrible cooks could now make a decent feast and nowadays people were so happy to participate in a neighborhood potluck, it was easy to mix some herbs that would improve the blood flow and say it is a family recipe, it was even easier to have a group only large enough that everyone could sit down in the couch after lunch and lounge and plan for the next one. The market lady came and he introduced her to the others, she’d need good connections just arriving in a city and he was more than happy to provide. 

Someone had to miss her to tell the news to the family in case things get out of control.

“Did you get your toys Junior?” He asked and the glare Mask sent made him snicker when the other vampire brought his bag.

“Whore.” He mumbled in old hylian, a dead language that they could use to talk in secret even in private

“Grouchy bastard.” He replied without batting an eye, the insults were too common by now to really offend. He knew Mask was a bit jealous, it was hard to be taken seriously as a kid. “Thanks for watching over him tonight.” Warriors says to the couple, waiting with their own child

“Not a problem, Link.” the friendly neighbor smiled, running a hand over their stomach “But man, that lamb was good. Send me the recipe later.”

“Absolutely.” he nodded and waved them off. 

“Save some food for me!” Mask complained 

“Don’t worry, there’ll be enough.” Hopefully. He probably should fill a blood bag instead of biting.

Ah, who was he trying to fool? With a warm body under him, heart racing and blood flowing full of adrenaline and dopamine after sex, his fangs were out and piercing skin.

“Wars!” He groaned and let go of the woman, licking his lips to save every possible drop 

“What?” He licked her neck, closing the wound. It had the double effect of medium anesthesic, so he sucked on the skin, leaving a red mark that wouldn’t be too questioned other than the expected after a wild night.

“Problem. Big problem.”

“Someone better be dying.” 

“They are.”

“Gods kill me.” He grunted, raising his head to see the other by the side of the bed, the woman passed out under him, still so warm and delicious. Mask was looking at her too, eyes large and mouth hanging and he could see the fangs poking out of his lips “Nah-ah, she’s mine. You had a whole family to eat from.” Mask shook his head 

“It’s her.” Mask showed his phone “Four just sent me.” A picture of a young teen, hiking a hill and giving a thumbs up.

“Where?” Mask raised his arms, as frustrated as he was. “Damn it all, have you called Sky?”

“Not picking up.” Mask looked to the woman again, not with hunger but concern “Are you going to leave her here?'' The woman slept without a worry in her mind. They couldn’t disappear without an explanation. This would work maybe fifty years ago, but these days? Not a fat chance. He sat down on the mattress

“You also can’t disappear from the Wolton’s house.” He sighed and covered her with the blankets “Call me at six, I won’t pick up for two first tries then I’ll take the third one.”

“Korean?”

“German, I think I’ve told someone about us having family in Munich.” Mask nodded and went to his room while Warriors went for the closet where he kept the luggages, not caring about dressing.

Clothes were never really a worry for them. An immortal life meant their savings doubled every fifty years, without counting investments (or heists when they were particularly bored). But they carried magic items, books with curses and spells that while harmless in human hands, could be one hell of a headache with someone from the other realms. Mask was already filling his luggage with small boxes, he knew each carried a different mask that could shapeshift him or drive a man to madness. A nasty thing he enjoyed collecting over years. Warriors debated over taking the fire rod. The house would still be theirs but who knew how long until they came back? Better take it too. 

“Got any space left in your magical bag?” Mask put his hand inside until almost the shoulder with a frown but nodded, he threw the rod at him and it was safely kept.

“I think I can only fit one bottle here.”

“Put the dragon blood. Wild would kill us if it’s wasted.”

He walked around the rest of the house, checking. No noteworthy work of art here, he got a couple more magical tools that were in the office. Alright, everything looked harmless enough for humans until they could come back or ask someone to come. Mask was carrying now two large bottles of silver liquid, comically big in his little arms.

“Oh shit.” Warriors dragged a hand on his face “Why is this here?” Mask shrugged, the bottles clinking with the motion “I swear, it’s a miracle we never stopped carrying those things.” He carefully put the bottles near the curses book, involving both with fabric stitched in fae glamor. For human eyes, hopefully, they’d look like shampoo or something harmless. A soft sound coming from Mask made them glance at each other before Mask got his phone.

“Wind found him.” Mask frowned to his phone “Hyrule.”

“Of fucking course.” If anything, Hylia was predictable. He closed the first luggage. “Central? The woods?”

“Ordon.” Warriors almost broke the zipper.

“Ordon?” he hissed back.

“He lives in a bigger city north, but hometown is Ordon. That’s basically our backyard.” Mask nodded while he put the luggage against the office table. He crouched near the drawer pulling documents they would need to travel and stuffing them in the outside pocket of the luggage for easier access.

“How is she coming any close to it with a holy spring right there?” the smaller vampire shrugged and Warriors sighed, putting his head against the luggage “Please tell me he’s a priest or something.”

“I think he’s a student.” Mask hummed “Wind is looking for a better picture. There’s him and another guy. Dividing?”

“Dividing.” Warriors pulled his hair backwards, looking up to the ceiling. They barely started in this city. 

The acting on the next day was easier than the last preparations from the night before. He pretended to be asleep and the woman stirred when his phone ringed loudly one, two and finally before it became a third missed call he picked it up. He apologized, saying it was a family problem and he had to pick up his little brother immediately and she was understanding enough (gods dammit it all, he could have fed more, she wasn’t even dizzy!). 

They were out of the city and inside a plane in less than two hours. 

[wyldblunt]

14, 16, and 19 from that multi commander ask please☆

let's goooo

14. How close are they? What do they think of each other?

sooooo close. extremely close. worryingly close, sometimes? they were lovers for a while (from like, early personal story through mid-HoT), but honestly they're even closer AFTER that blows up than they ever were during. (also glyndwr is still persistently in love with alan forever. just fyi.)

they butt heads a LOT, though -- maybe that's even part of WHY they're as close as they are, bc it's kind of a "if we hadn't been through so much together for so long i would never put up with you" kind of thing a lot of the time. they respect each other immensely and also often find each other Literally The Most Annoying Person Alive. glyndwr finds alan's near-constant calm and positivity irritating and off-putting; alan can't stand how prickly and inconsiderate glyn is and finds it really juvenile. glyn finds alan overbearing and fussy; alan is trying to get glyn to realize that he wouldn't HAVE to be if glyn would just fucking learn how to behave himself. for five seconds. but they find common ground in their shared tenacity and committment to the causes they fight for, and they've also found, over time, ample explanations for all the habits and behaviors they dislike in each other.

and he would never acknowledge it, but glyndwr -- like a lot of people, frankly -- puts alan on a pedestal. he doesn't actually want to be like him, and i wouldn't even specifically say the emotion here is admiration (he does admire alan, but as a separate thing) -- but he feels very much like alan is a kind of person he could never be. like everything he does is just kind of a shittier version of what alan does. it's a feeling that weighs down a lot of his interactions with alan that he is not particularly interested in examining too closely, thank you.

also as of early lws4, alan's crush is starting to tentatively kick back in. (he was Super Fucking Over It for a long time, we are never ever ever getting back together taylor swift dot mp3, but... things have simmered down between alan and canach enough that the two of them can at least exist in the same room without attacking each other, they've both had time to heal, and also they uh. died together, which has a tendency to stir feelings up.) Mess Incoming

16. How effective are they as a team?

on the battlefield, absolutely deadly. unthinkable carnage. terrifying to behold, perfectly in sync, the whole nine yards, you know what i'm talking about.

for anything else? uh. it's not great. when it comes to actually having to decide their next course of action, formulate plans, etc, they are FREQUENTLY at odds, and more than once entire campaigns have ground to a halt as the two of them tear into each other in the war room over strategic and ideological differences. (alan's specific role in the vigil was always as a tactician, and of course they're the same rank, so glyn cannot whip out his normal "[RON SWANSON VOICE] I KNOW MORE THAN YOU" card to try to bully his way to victory in every argument.) this has been improving a little tiny bit in recent years, because glyndwr has been improving a little tiny bit about not creating plans that involve throwing civilians into a woodchipper

19. If they weren't the commanders, would they still be friends?

HMMMMM. kkkkind of? in one way, yes, they would have still BECOME friends, bc they were actually penpals before they met for pact stuff (more on that in another answer :3c), but... without everything they go through together as co-commanders, their relationship never would have ended up as deep or resilient as it is now. so they probably still would have BECOME friends, but they wouldn't have STAYED friends.

[tiptapricot]

Misadventure May Day 7!

Prev

Longest one so far but I think I’m alright w it n I’m rly excited for tomorrowsSS!!

———

7. Plan Of Action

The underside of the beast is worse than its claws. It’s warm and muscled, leathery skin slamming against the two of them as the lasso bobs in the rough air. Rigel’s grip stays firm around Romero as they’re brought up and up at breakneck speed, the thing releasing a chittering whine that rumbles its gut like a bass string, the regular screech trapped behind roped shut teeth.

It doesn’t stay within the city limits this time, it just keeps rising, wings beating hard, illuminated in scarce moments to show a thrashing mass of dark flesh and sinew. They rip through the net dome with a snapping sound, string and sharp wood scraping down against them in bristling carnage.

“Yahh-hoo!” Rigel whoops, craning their neck down to look at Romero. “You havin’ fun?” they ask.

Romero’s fingers tighten against their sternum, curving angrily into the rocky gaps around their neck.

“Ah don’t look at me like that ‘Mero, I know ya trust me!”

He doesn’t, he really doesn’t.

“I’ve got us covered, promise! Now come on and use those nice hands of yours to get us up this rope!”

Romero stares at them hard, and for a moment his light flickers, disbelief and indignance choking out the warmth. And then, because there is nothing else to do, he pushes an arm up pointedly, and begins to pull them along the beast’s underbelly, alternating his grip with Rigel.

Now, Romero doesn’t fancy himself an angry man. He tries to be reasonable, he tries to get things done and get them done straight. He doesn’t like fighting, despite the job field he’s taken on, he just finds it… unpleasant. It gets complicated and messy too fast, makes people do stupid things and hurt people they’d rather not. He knows he’ll stop someday, that he’ll set down the gun, settle down on some nice farm and waste whatever days he’s got left of existence growing tomatoes or lavender, but that’s not happening quite yet. For the moment, this is his job, and he’ll just try to quell that anger and push on through.

He’s absolutely failing at that right now, though.

“So once we get up there, we’re gonna flip topside!” Rigel shouts, like it’s the easiest task in the world.

Romero pauses in the climb, looking at them incredulously again.

Rigel cocks their head, holding Romero a bit tighter as the creature jerks in a different direction to try and shake them off. “It’ll work fine,” they say, “you just tag along now! Follow what I do!”

And Romero does, because he has to, because they are in the fucking sky.

When they finally reach the creature’s jaw, the world is a void of cold air and heated monster, and all that matters is that Rigel’s lasso is still stuck right around the things snout. The knot is digging into its soft gullet, keeping them from falling into whatever abyss lays below.

The creature’s eyes gleam in the light, contracting into thin dots that stutter between them up close.

“Thar she flies!” Rigel yells.

The beast growls again, a vibration that makes them both shiver.

“Now don’t be like that darlin’, we’re here to take you for a ride! You’ve been so courteous with yours, we only gotta return the favor!”

They jut their jaw out slightly, one of those movements that gives a sense of a bright smile that Romero swears he can almost see, before they shift to press their teeth against the side of his head, voice dropping.

“Now hold on tight and don’t let go, even when I lean away. Get ready to grab your pistol, we’re gonna need it.”

And with that they lean back, slipping a hand up to hook in between the beast’s jaw and their lasso. Immediately, Romero digs his arms into the gap of their hips and spine, gripping tightly to the hard, thick, surface. Rigel’s fingers slip past to unhook something from their belt, and Romero readies himself for a free fall, for getting dive bombed by sharp white fangs and the billowing mass of a predator’s body. He readies himself for the action of an idiot, for a companion too lax and impulsive to think twice about process, but he also hopes, with a selfish, burning, spark, that Rigel’s confidence has a basis beyond good aim.

There’s a soft grunt as Rigel moves, a jerk of their body and a muffled screech of pain from the creature, hot breath gusting through tight lips, before blood splatters against Romero’s collar, and all at once he’s being hauled up by Rigel’s hips and over the swell of a hairy neck. He slips around to hold on against their back in the process, jostled out of place, and finds them settling against the base of the creature’s skull. Still gripping tight, Romero watches Rigel lean forward to wrench a knife from the bat’s snout, looping the lasso around its ears like a makeshift headstall.

“Yaaah-hoo!” they cry, voice rising triumphantly over the wind.

The creature thrashes, diving suddenly and twisting to try and shake them off. Rigel keeps the two of them pulled snug against its neck, forearm wrapped up in their lasso.

“Figured we can’t very well fight this thing down there!” they shout back to Romero. “Not when it’s got half a dozen things to bulldoze through and we got no space to move, so thought instead we’d wrestle it down like a ragin’ bronco!”

They’re jerked heavily to the side as the creature bucks mid-air, and Rigel whoops loudly again.

“Now get that pistol o’ yours out and shoot it in the ear! We’re gonna throw it off balance!”

Romero leans around them quickly and does just that, the beast flinching and rearing up immediately as his hand recoils, pulling the gun back gleaming. And it makes sense. It fucking makes sense and it’s worked so far against anything that should’ve, and for the moment he feels ready to carry this stupid goddamned idea to fruition, whatever next step Rigel has planned.

But… they make no move afterwards. They just sit straight and proud and keep the two of them secured as the bat becomes more and more erratic beneath them, and Romero’s hope sinks.

He jostles them roughly with the arm looped around their waist, throwing his free hand up when they crane back to look at him as if to say “Now what?!”

“Don’t worry,” Rigel yells, an ecstatic brightness filling their voice, “this is where he comes in!”

———

Next

(ID in ALT)

[vestigesofperversion]

That was one of the best combat encounters I have ever watched on Critical Role

(CAMPAIGN 3, EPISODE 16, v. SHADE FAM)

Tbh, maybe Top 10. That might not seem high, but think about the total number of combats they’ve had over 3 campaigns to-date. Mind you I really don’t remember them all but this one just like, hit different

Just, to begin with. The number of senses engaged. An enormous psychic slug modded with brumestone underglow, Tokyo Drifting around the nest’s family room. Fearne’s round 1 game-changing moment of pure controller badassery. All the flavor injected into every single interaction, like Ashton straight up yeeting shade creepers about, then basking in the splatter and pain of their explosive demise. Multiple crucial Nat 20’s. The added benefit of 2 Very Cool magical Pinkertons wielding one of the sickest arcane items I have ever heard described in D&D. Fascinating demonstrations of how physical strength doesn’t always rely on the physical bit. Powerful minds being used by/for good and evil. FCG blindly pulling random levers. Drills gone wild. Mid-combat cooler talk. And as it came to a close, the audience’s anticipation of a party absolutely drenched in poisonous slime surfacing like the fucking Ghostbusters and just turning to the foreman and Gus’ ex like, “welp, it turns out you’ve got a bit of a slug problem 🤠🙃”

It was all so well-suited for the party’s abilities, but only because they were clever and made calls that worked, and the dice gods (you, you, not you Laudna, you) mostly smiled upon their efforts. A fight thought to be too hard and nearly avoided, bravely initiated and won through luck and, dare I say, maybe some planning? Fearne emerged as the clear MVP and fully fucking rode the sphere containing Emoth out of the chamber in the end I mean srsly. But Orym with his gnarly rope trick, Ashton serving a slo-mo bludgeon-fest set over blaring punk music (get them a walkman like Star Lord and let’s make this headcanon real, pls thx), Chet tearing himself into a werewolf and lifting an impossibly immense boulder like a mom rage-lifting a car, Imogen discharging every ion of lightning coursing through her and sizzling each creature in its ray of carnage to a crisp… On the whole each member of the party got at least one incredibly cinematic moment of pure anime-style fantasy combat in. And that ultimately may prove to be more transformative for them at this level than them having played it safe or having learned from (what seemed like inevitable) failure, as it will likely increase their confidence in future fights (disclaimer: may lead to a period of cockiness and/or carelessness, followed by a great tragedy that then sets the pendulum swinging back again). More than anything I think Olly and Gus deputizing them as honorary detectives for the Green Sleeves* before they pursued the investigation together is what made such an epic fight possible and really gave them a glimpse of what Tier 2 could be like for them if they keep adventuring once their first arc as a party is finally resolved.

[*Definitely 💯 happened, I’m sure of it & yes I’m also sure it’s Sleeves, Fearne told me]

Not everyone in this fight had a smiley day though. I really felt for poor Laudna/Marisha. Not only did she get boned by bad rolls, but injury was nearly added to insult when we all clenched our butts for the impact of the stinger into her unaware back (did you catch that Shady Mom was physically mocking Laudna right before the stinger swipe.. ??? 😂😂😂 cold ass Slug Shrug, your creepy petty ass really earned that Nat 1 dinnit). I haven’t watched past the end of combat yet but I really hope she doesn’t end up with a negative perspective of what was otherwise a wildly successful mission. Stay strong my twitchy witch, you are cooler than a hellish recuke and you will get your moment in the shadows, just you wait!

[psychewritesbs]

Jujutsu Kaisen and The Curse of Inter-Generational Trauma

IMPORTANT: This is a companion piece to my analysis of Chapter 161. While not absolutely necessary, if you haven’t read my analysis of the chapter already, it will make more sense if you read the part about Megumi being enticed into a path of carnage before reading this post.

With the release of the official Zenin clan’s family tree in volume 17, everybody noticed that Toji was the direct descendant of the 25th head of the Zenin Clan. 

Everybody except me that is... I was too busy noticing Megumi’s-mom is the only one smiling and that Megumi gets his erratic hairstyle from her.

The implications for this are massive because of what we just saw in chapter 161 where Gege presents a really neat possible parallel between Megumi and Toji. Go read about it if you haven’t.

This made me wonder about Gege’s possible plans for Megumi...

Is Megumi following in Toji’s footsteps and becoming a puppet of carnage?

This is what I’m thinking...

We’ll Give you 10 Mill if he Possesses an Inherited Technique

We don’t know if Toji’s father had inherited the 10 Shadows cursed technique himself. This is just speculation, BUT, if Toji’s father was the head of the Zenin clan at one point, it could make sense that he had inherited the technique and that is why neither of his sons inherited it. 

In other words, if that’s the case, 10 shadows skipped a generation.

I am only assuming this because Megumi became the head of the clan as a result of Gojo being sealed. If you think about it, Naobito took the leadership away from Naoya, his own son, or any of the other members for that matter, in favor of Megumi.

Not to mention the way that Toji and Naobito handled Megumi’s sale implies they both seem to be confident that Toji’s side of the family tree had the most genetic pre-disposition to inherit a technique--in this case 10 shadows. 

This would also explain why Toji chose to hide Megumi from the clan. Not only did he want to protect Megumi if he inherited Toji’s Heavenly Restriction, but he could also use whatever technique he did inherit to his advantage against the people who had hurt him most.

This is because to Toji, Megumi is a blessing. Whereas in the eyes of the Zenin clan Megumi is only as valuable as his inherited cursed technique.

The issue that JJK brings up is that cursed techniques aren’t the only ones that get inherited or passed down from generation to generation. Quite the opposite, trauma is also inherited and passed down through the bloodline.

This is of personal interest for me as someone who has both studied epigenetics and as someone who inherited a genetic mutation from my mother’s side of the family that is likely the result of trauma. 

The Father-Son Dynamic

Just like some in the fandom think Megumi is weak, there’s people in the fandom who think Toji deserves the Worst Father of the Decade award.

I feel like quite the opposite is true about Toji. 

Side note: If you are or know the author of this beautiful fan art, please let me know so I can give them proper credit. I’ve tried my best to not repost fan art, especially without credit, but I couldn’t help myself with this one.

The problem is that understanding that Toji was the most loving father he could have been requires understanding that trauma is a phenomena inherited from our parents, our parents’ parents, our parents’ parents’ parents, so forth and so on.

Put in different terms:

Can you imagine what it must have been like for Toji, who was the son of the 25th head of the Zenin clan, to realize he can’t use cursed energy? Especially when his brother can?

The weight of that shame must have been unbearable. Growing up in a clan that values cursed techniques above all else, it is no surprise that Toji was bound to be perceived as a failure even if quite the opposite was true. 

Again, we don’t know anything about the relationship Toji had with his father but it is safe to assume it wasn’t a good one considering everything we've seen about Zenin parenting standards.

The problem is that to Toji, abandoning and selling Megumi was, in his head, probably the most loving thing he could have done given the fact he was never modeled a healthy relationship in the first place.

I am assuming that when Megumi’s mom died, Toji wondered how he was supposed to raise this boy whom he loved very much, while living in the unforgiving world he lived in.

Side note: I love the fan arts of Toji taking care of baby Megumi but still having to “go to work” as a Sorcerer-killer 😂😂. Again, know the author? Let me know so I can give proper credit.

Translation: Shut up! Megumi finally fell asleep!!

Tsumiki’s mother was probably the perfect solution to his dilemma even if we all know how that went down.

What Toji did as a result, however, was to turn his back on his feelings for his most precious blessing. Megumi was, after all, all that Toji had left of his life with Megumi’s mom.

Talk about tragic. 

In the end, however, even though Toji wanted nothing but the best for Megumi, Toji passed down the curse of his own inter-generational trauma onto Megumi by choosing to abandon him. In a sense, instead of facing his own inner-demons, Toji ignored them and turned his back on his humanity.

Which brings me to Megumi and his possible unconscious compulsion to repeat the same pattern.

Like Father, Like Son: Megumi’s Corruption Arc

I’m totally digging that name whomever came up with it by the way.

Moving forward in the story, it is up to Megumi to change and heal his bloodline’s trauma. I love @justafrenchlondoner​‘s theory that “Megumi will become the strongest and the pillar of the three clans”. 

In addition, it goes back to the idea that Toji’s existence “broke” destiny, and the fact that the kanji in Megumi’s name means blessing.

Before Megumi gets to that point, however, Megumi has to get through the Culling Game and whatever else Gege has planned for him. Unfortunately, what we’re seeing as of chapter 161 is that Megumi is starting to loose himself as he turns away from his kindness just the way his father once did.

Tsumiki = Megumi’s Kindness

There’s a lot of speculation as to what will happen to Tsumiki, as she represents and symbolizes all that is kind and good about Megumi. 

If Tsumiki dies, which is the MOST likely thing to happen seeing as Gege continues to use her as a plot device, we all know her death would send Megumi over the edge into Dark Megumi land. 

You could say that Tsumiki’s death would liberate Megumi. Not only would it help him release his inhibitions, it would mean that he can leave his kindness behind so that he can take out his pain and despair on others.

The most heartbreaking thing about this whole ordeal is that Megumi and Toji turning their backs on their kindness and humanity is nothing but a protection mechanism against getting hurt.

Is He Being Enticed into a Path of Carnage?

TLDR: Megumi might be unconsciously following in his father’s footsteps. 

Now... 

If Gege is, in fact, taking the story in this direction, I can’t help but bring back around the idea of Megumi becoming a “puppet of carnage” (just like Toji became one) because it begs the question: 

WHOSE puppet of carnage?

I’ve been saying I’m going to write about Sukuna for some time now. More specifically....

Me: omg I have all these ideas to write about, what should I write about first guys?

You guys: write about this and that!

Also me: *proceeds to write about none of those ideas* 😅

Just know that there is a character analysis on Sukuna in the works. 

EDIT 121221: Read the post here.

Understanding Sukuna

Analyzing Sukuna is a big task because it requires looking at the lore that inspired his character, which inevitably leads to speculating about his creepster level-boss fascination with Megumi.

The problem is that I ended up going down a crazy rabbit hole that may or may not lead to a dead end. That’s what happens when you are a Jungian Psychologist at heart: every single detail is ripe with potential for exploration.

So 15 pages worth of written madness later and... I’m going to start editing my argument into something that is hopefully coherent 🤣.

I wish JJK would have been around in 2013 when I started writing my Master’s Thesis because Sukuna simps Megumi would have made a hell of a subject 🤓.

[lemonjoonah]

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama  Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi​ and @ladyartemesia​ thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t. 

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later. 

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.” 

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...” 

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot. 

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights. 

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression. 

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?” 

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves. 

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall. 

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”  

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?” 

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return. 

“So we're in the same boat?” 

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.” 

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist. 

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?” 

 Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present. 

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.” 

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin. 

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination. 

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts. 

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved. 

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!” 

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright. 

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.” 

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown.  “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.” 

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another. 

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop. 

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation. 

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”  

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time. 

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon. 

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road. 

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?” 

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?” 

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence. 

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-” 

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.” 

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle. 

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat. 

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”  

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.” 

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.  

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape. 

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors. 

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation. 

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat. 

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper. 

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt. 

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation. 

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart. 

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.  

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car. 

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted.  See you tomorrow,  - Namjoon  

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in. 

KNJ: Are you awake? 

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can. 

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm. 

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”  

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.” 

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

 “Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

   “I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.  

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it. 

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away. 

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn. 

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?” 

“Eleven okay with you?” 

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down. 

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”  

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art. 

“A win-win.” 

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.” 

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection. 

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on. 

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers. 

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?” 

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?” 

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is. 

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you. 

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear. 

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips. 

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces. 

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible. 

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?” 

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before. 

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you. 

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm. 

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior. 

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?” 

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.  

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.  

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” 

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

 “That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text. 

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.” 

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment. 

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.” 

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor. 

 You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself. 

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.  

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.” 

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome. 

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.” 

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend. 

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink. 

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.” 

“Valerie...” Eric growls. 

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?” 

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.” 

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you.  “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?” 

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again. 

 “Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia. 

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon. 

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size. 

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.  

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’ 

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer. 

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

 Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid. 

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.” 

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to. 

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms. 

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.  

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”  

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”  

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”  

   Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall. 

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays. 

...

-Christmas Eve- 

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning. 

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.   

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver. 

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along. 

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised. 

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk. 

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.” 

“It’s the holiday sea-”

 “I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!” 

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer. 

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover. 

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.  

 “I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.” 

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.” 

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him. 

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.” 

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...” 

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive. 

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.” 

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first. 

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left. 

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”  

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.” 

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned. 

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow. 

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party. 

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.” 

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.” 

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift. 

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time. 

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?” 

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person. 

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.” 

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.” 

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look. 

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait. 

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds. 

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not. 

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you. 

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear. 

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in. 

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground. 

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth. 

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile. 

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.” 

“I want that too. I want you.” 

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.” 

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft. 

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch. 

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes. 

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.  

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter twelve rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

With Carnage’s weight on top of you, you couldn’t really move. You didn’t have the room to shift into Venom and you were starting to lose consciousness.

“You think you can beat me? You shouldn’t have even come. I’ll win this fight in no time.” Carnage laughed and easily pinned you down. You tried to break free but couldn’t. You could only watch as Carnage unhinged his jaw and bent down to bite your head off.

“Incoming!” You heard a triumphant call from above you. Spider-Man swung down on a web and kicked Carnage off of you. Carnage went tumbling back before landing on his feet and growling.

“Taser web!” Peter announced and shot another web at Carnage. It landed on his body and electrocuted him, promptly knocking him off the building. Peter quickly ran to you as you shifted back to yourself.

“Are you alright?” He panicked as he helped you up. You groaned a little at the dull ache throughout your body. You were a little sore but ultimately okay.

“I’m alright.” You answered. “Nice shot, lover.”

“Thank you. I’m still mad at you for that break up scare.” Peter joked as he dusted you off.

“Understandably so.” You laughed as Venom healed your wounds.

“But I’m still gonna help you kick Carnage’s ass.” Peter followed up. “Since you believe in me and all.”

“I do. But maybe a little less with the teen romance cliches and a little more with the killing of the deadly Alien?” You teased as Peter seemed to forget the situation you were in.

“Right.” He nodded curtly. “On it.

Carnage had climbed back up the building and was ready for more. Peter got into fighting stance and you transformed into Venom.

“Do you think this fight is off the record for my article?” You asked as Carnage swung at you. You ducked and swiped at his knees. He howled in pain before turning to Peter and charging.

“I think once someone tries to eat you, it’s free reign.” Peter called as he dodged punches from Carnage. You were impressed. Peter was putting up a good fight.

Carnage turned back to you and punched you in the gut. You retaliated by punching him in the jaw and ripping at his outer layer of skin to reveal Cletus inside.

“Cletus, you can stop this. You don’t have to be a killer anymore.” You yelled desperately.

“I’ve always been a killer, baby. You can’t change me now.” He laughed and bonded back with Carnage. Carnage kicked you in the stomach and sent you tumbling off the building. You fell freely for a moment before shooting a web and slowly lowering yourself to the ground. Peter dove off the building after you after hitting Carnage with several taser webs.

“Are you okay?” You panted as you turned back into yourself. You almost couldn’t believe you were having the biggest battle of your life with a boy you once delivered mail to. Peter took off his mask and went to check if you were okay.

“I am.” He nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m nervous, Pete.” You confessed. “He’s a lot stronger than us. There’s a lot on the line here.”

“I know.” Peter sighed. “But we’re Spiderman and Venom. We can do anything as long as we’re together.

“Alright Tiger. Save that energy for our wedding vows.” You teased him to lighten the mood. “Do we have a strategy?”

“I was thinking you keep fighting him and I pretend I’m dead down here. You can weaken him and then I’ll spring up there and ambush him. It’ll be a sneak attack. We’re gonna Trojan horse this son of a bitch.” Peter said excitedly. You laughed at his eagerness.

“That’s not really a Trojan horse. Nothing is inside anything.” You pointed out.

“You’re inside us.” Venom said as she came out in her snake like form. Peter pointed at her.

“Blammo.” He nodded. “Trojan horse. See, Venom gets it.”

He and Venom high fived, finally getting along.

“Impeccable plan Peter. We’re starting to like you. We don’t want to eat your liver as much anymore.” Venom complimented. Peter looked terrified.

“You wanted to eat my liver?!” He gasped.

“And kidneys.” Venom stated. Peters eyes went even wider.

“That’s enough. Trojan horse on three?” You asked. Everyone put their hands in the middle. Well, you and Peter put your hands and Venom put a tendril.

“One. Two. Three.” You counted. You broke and mentally prepared yourself for what was to come. Peter shot a web at the neighboring building and slid up it, upside down, like a spider. You laughed at his action, though it seemed completely normal to him. You felt a sudden sadness strike your heart at the sight of him. This could potentially be a deadly situation.

“Peter, wait.” You said suddenly.

Peter slid down his web and waited. He was still upside down but you didn’t mind.

“If we don’t make it out of this, I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I broke up with you when I found out your secret. I didn’t know how great of a team we’d make.”

“It’s okay, Y/n. I still loved you even when I was mad at you. Nothing you can say or do will ever change how I feel. I told you, I love you more than anything. Even when you broke my heart and insulted my Star Wars bedsheets.” You opened your mouth to laugh but you were interrupted by Carnage roaring from the top of the Oscorp building.

“That’s our cue.” Peter said, getting ready to slide back up his web.

“Wait.” You said again. You approached him cautiously and carefully rolled his mask down just below his nose. Peter stayed perfectly still.

“Be safe.” You whispered, and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was a bit awkward seeing as he was upside down but it was still perfect. It would always be perfect as long as it was Peter. Peter kissed you back to the best of his ability, putting his hand on the back of your head for support, until he needed to breath.

“If I don’t make it back, know that I love you.” You said tearfully as you rolled his mask back down.

“If you don’t make it back? Wait, Y/n-“ Peter was about to protest so you pressed another kiss to his covered mouth before shooting a web towards the top of the building and flying upwards. You landed with grace and transformed into Venom. Carnage smiled a toothy grin at the sight of you.

“You can still join us Venom! There’s nothing we can’t do! You’re no different from us. Don’t act like you are.”

“We may be no different, but we are better.” You answered firmly.

“Fine. Be that way. Sorry it had to come to this.” Carnage said, though it sounded more like Cletus speaking. Carnage pulled out a match and looked down at your feet. You followed his gaze and noticed you were standing a in puddle.

“Gasoline.” You said fearfully. Carnage knew your weakness. He had that big terrible smirk on his face. But you saw something in his eyes that his smile wasn’t telling you. Fear. He was afraid. You tried to form a plan as quickly as you could.

“Some people just want to sit back and watch that world burn.” Carnage drawled. He lit the match and flicked it at you. You quickly jumped out of the way as the fire roared to life. Carnage seemed as eager to stay away from it as you were. There was now a large fire at the center of the rooftop and you and Carnage circled around it.

“Carnage told me that sound is dangerous to symbiotes.” Cleatus said suddenly. “Did you know that?”

“Sound will hurt you too.” Venom growled. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I did something smart, actually.” Carnage said as he pulled out a remote. “I brought ear plugs.”

With that, he pressed the remote and the speakers on the roof began to emit a shrill sound. Your whole body shook and you could feel yourself separating from Venom.

“Hold on!” Venom cried. You did you best to stay together but the sound was too powerful.

“I can’t.” You yelled. Venom shot out of your body and you slumped to the ground. Carnage charged towards Venom, who was nothing but goo and picked her up. Then, he threw her like a frisbee into the night. You had no idea where or how far away she landed.

“No!” You cried. You panicked briefly before assessing the situation. You and Venom had been separated before and Venom found her way back to you. You didn’t die last time because you didn’t have any fatal injuries. All you had to do was stall until Venom made her way back. As long as Carnage didn’t injury you that badly, you could survive. The problem was, you were now weaker, slower, and had absolutely no fighting skills. Carnage was surely going to use that to his advantage. Carnage stalked over to you and raised a claw, ready to swipe.

“Any last words?” He growled. You suddenly remembered something.

“Yes. Thank God for Tony Stark.” You answered and pressed a hand against your chest. Your suit formed around your body and covered you like a second skin. Carnage looked surprised at your action. It wasn’t much but at least you had some protection until Venom came back.

“You think your little suit will protect you? Nothing will protect you from me. Now, you and Venom are gonna watch each other die all because you were too selfish to join our side.” Carnage sneered. You took notice to how Carnage “me” and not “we.”

“Venom isn’t even here.” You spat. Carnage hesitated.

“Cletus, I told you the plan was to separate Venom and Y/n so we could kill them in front of each other. What did you do with Venom?” Carnage asked in an annoyed tone.

“I’m sorry boss. I forgot. I tossed it off the building.” Cletus’s voice answered sheepishly. You watched them carefully. Their relationship wasn’t like yours and Venoms. It wasn’t equal.

“You ruined the plan. Just like you ruin everything. You’re pathetic! You’re nothing! You can’t do a single thing right!” Carnage yelled.

“I’m sorry boss.” Cleatus whimpered.

“I’ll do it myself.” Carnage growled.

Carnage turned back to you and grabbed you by the throat. He raised you up and dangled you over the edge of the building. You had done this exact thing to Peter so many times and now it was coming back to haunt you. You looked down at your dangling legs and saw the long way down to the ground. The fall was a certain death. You didn’t see Peter anywhere and you knew it was because he was on the other side of the building, waiting to sneak attack. You looked back at Carnage with tears in your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, Cletus. I know you think Carnage is in charge, but he doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be his puppet anymore. You can separate from him and we’ll kill him together. I’ve done it before. Please, be human. Don’t be a monster. You don’t have to kill me.” You pleaded to Cletus, hoping he would hear your through Carnage’s body.

“He will never separate from me, fool. I own him. He’s nothing without me.” Carnage growled.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Cletus. You said you can’t change, but I know you can. I believe in you and I know you’re capable of doing the right thing. You don’t have to be a killer anymore. You can be a hero. The city will love you if you protect them from Carnage. I’ll write the story myself.” You tried again. Carnage tightened his grip around your neck. You were losing the ability to see and breath. But you could sense something. Hestitation. You might’ve been getting through to Cletus.

“Shut up!” Carnage shouted. His hands suddenly felt weaker around your throat.

“You told me you were glad I was telling your side of the story. This is your chance to change your story. Rewrite the ending. You can be the hero this time.” You begged one last time.

“He will never be the hero. I didn’t make him a killer. He always was. And that’s all he’ll ever be. Now, any last words?” Carnage asked with a grin. You noticed him faltering. There seemed to be an internal struggle going on.

“Yes. Do you know what the capital of Thailand is?” You asked the through short breaths. You were going to die of asphyxiation before he even dropped you.

“What?” Carnage asked, visibly puzzled.

“Bangkok.” You said through gritted teeth as you swiftly kicked him in the crotch. Carnage doubled over and let you go. You plopped on the ground, right near the edge, and gasped for air. Carnage recovered quickly and let out a low chuckle.

“Clever girl. Bangkok. And you hit me in my…whatever. You think a kick to the groin is gonna stop me? Nothing can. The world will know my name.” Carnage declared. He picked you up and threw you across the roof. You tumbled and groaned in pain. Little bits of gravel stuck to your face and hair. Carnage ran to you and kicked you in the stomach. You wheezed and barely had time to recover before he punched you in the face. You felt the metallic taste of blood filling in your mouth. You heard his evil laugh amongst the blaring sound of the speakers. He straddled you and pounded relentlessly onto your face with a series of blows. His huge claws left your face battered and bloody. He raised his sharp claws in the air and plunged them into your body. The suit deflected the claws as well as it could, but they couldn’t fully stop them from entering your body. You felt the full pain of his sharp claws in your abdomen. You were so weak, you couldn’t even scream. Carnage gave you another hit to the jaw, knocking your face to the side and you began to see double. Double…Spidermen?

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you a woman should never be hit, not even with a flower?” Peters voice rang through your ears. Through your blurry vision you saw a taser web hit Carnage in the chest and electrocute him. Peter pounced on Carnage and punched him several times in his face, feeling absolutely no fear at all. Peter felt one thing, rage.

“Don’t you ever touch her again.” Peter growled in a voice you had never heard before. Carnage got up and began to fight Peter back. You wanted badly to get up and help, but you were too weak. You could only watch as Carnage ultimately began to win the fight against Peter. You felt hot tears streaming down your face, along with the blood running from your nose, mouth, and forehead.

“Don’t hurt him.” You cried weakly as Carnage swiped at Peter, leaving a deep scratch in his chest. Peter fell to the ground. You managed to drag yourself over to him just enough to see him. He was unconscious, as expected. His masked eyes were closed. Your heart ached for him.

“Come on Peter.” You wheezed. “Come on Spider-Man.”

The eyes on Peters mask snapped open and he jumped up. He immediately dodged a punch from and kicked Carnage in the chest with full force. You watched them fight and heard a slinking sound form behind you. You still couldn’t move your body, but you could stretch your arm out and felt around the ground. You felt something warm touch your hand.

“We got you baby. It’s gonna be okay.” Venoms voice sounded in your head. You let out a happy laugh of relief.

“You came back.” You said weakly but happily.

“We will always come back.” Venom assured. You felt your body beginning to heal. The puncture wounds in your chest closed and your face stopped bleeding. After just a minute, you were able to stand up. You grabbed the remote and shut the speakers off. You saw Carnage about to throw a punch at Peter so you quickly shot a web at his fist and pulled. Carnage looked at you, not expecting you to be alive still. His fist never made contact with Peter, who was looking at you with adoration. You could tell, because his mask was torn and one of the masks eyes was broken. You could see tears in his soft brown eyes. You transformed into Venom and yanked on your web with your full strength. He flew towards you and was met with a hard punch. He laid on the ground in pain and you ran to Peter to check if he was okay.

“Hey.” You breathed out. Venoms face opened up to reveal your own so you could talk to Peter. You wanted to run into his arms and apologize to him. You wanted to hold him and never let him go.

“Hi.” He said shyly. You felt like you and him had this exchange a thousand times. This time felt different. He was so close to you but he felt worlds away.

“Thanks for saving me. The Trojan Horse plan worked.” You complimented.

“It wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t put up such a good fight.” Peter said back. You smiled fondly at him, turning completely back into yourself now.

“I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through. The breakup and now this.” You shrugged sadly. “I hate seeing him hurting you. And I hate hurting you myself even more. I’m so sorry Peter. I’m so so sorry.”

The fight wasn’t looking good. You wanted to tell Peter everything in case you didn’t get the chance later.

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like we’re saying goodbye. We will win this, Y/n. This isn’t goodbye.” Peter said firmly, taking a step towards you. You looked at him weakly.

“But if it is…”

“It isn’t.” He interrupted.

“But if it is.” You said, taking his hands in yours. “I need you to know that you are absolutely the one I want to be with. I promise that if we make it out of this alive, I will never leave your side again. And if we die-“

“We won’t.” He interrupted again.

“But if we do, it’ll be okay.” You smiled sadly. “Because if I die by your side then I died in my favorite place to be. I love you, Peter Parker. I need you to know that. Can you repeat that back to me so that I know you know?”

“I’m not doing this. We aren’t going to die, Y/n. This is-“

“Please.” You interjected. Peter sighed deeply and took off his mask.

“You love me.” He repeated. You reached up and touched his face.

“How much?” You asked quietly. He looked up at the sky to keep from crying.

“More than I’ll ever wrap my head around.” He answered, quoting the song you had sang to him earlier that day. It felt like a million years ago.

“That’s right.” You smiled at him, despite the ache in your chest. Ever since the first time he said hello to you, you hoped he’d never say goodbye. And though neither of you wanted to admit it, this was your goodbye.

You stared at each other momentarily before Peter began to lean in for a kiss. You leaned in as well, but were violently yanked back by a firm grasp. Carnage spun you around and punched you in the face. Peter ran to your aid but Carnage knocked him in the head with a with a steel rod. Peter fell limply to the ground.

“Peter!” You cried out, and immediately clamped a hand over your mouth. Carnage wasn’t supposed to know his identity. You tried to go to Peter but Carnage held you down. He looked at Peters unmasked face and laughed.

“Wow. I never would’ve guessed that Spider-Man was just a little boy.” Carnage laughed.He put up a pretty good fight. But not good enough.”

He went over to Peter and punched him abruptly, rendering him unconscious.

“Stop!” You cried. “It’s me you want! Not Spider-Man. You said you’d leave him alone.”

“Cletus said he’d leave him alone. And Cletus has no power.” Carnage answered. You stared at Carnage with rage before letting out a little laugh. Your laugh grew louder and Carnage looked at you with confusion.

“What’s funny?” Carnage demanded. You continued to laugh.

“That’s it. That’s your weakness. Cletus has no power. Carnage controls Cletus like a puppet master and Cletus has no say. I should’ve known that’s how your relationship worked. It makes total sense.” You said as you stood up and slowly approached Carnage.

“Why does that make sense?” Carnage asked. You shrugged.

“Because Cletus is boring.” You said simply.

“What? I’m not boring.” Cletus’s voice came out. You smirked as your plan began to work.

“Yes, you are. You bonded with a killer symbiote and what did you do with it? Kill people. Boring.” You said in a sing song voice. Then you faked a yawn. “I bonded with a killer symbiote and together, we killed bad guys and made the city safer. We saved Earth from Carlton Drake and now, we clean up New York. That’s pretty unexpected of us, wouldn’t you agree Venom?” You asked. Venom swirled around your hand and nodded.

“Absolutely. Very unexpected of us.” She said eagerly. Carnage looked lost.

“I can’t say I’m surprised though. Cletus has always been boring. Right Venom?”

You asked Venom again.

“Right again, baby.” Venom responded. Carnage’s face opened up to reveal Cletus’s beet red one.

“I’m not boring! I’m a serial killer! That’s not boring!” He yelled. You watched as Carnage struggled to take over Cletus’s face again. He lost the battle, and Cletus shifted back into himself. You had never seen him standing before. He was shorter than you thought.

“A boring serial killer. You’re literally the most generic and prolific serial killer I’ve ever seen. Let’s see, you’re a white male in his mid to late thirties who killed women who resembled the girl who broke his heart in high school. Boring. I just described about a thousand serial killers. I mean, killing women who looked like someone who wronged you? Please. That’s an incredibly common motivation.” You faked another yawn just to rile him up.

“It’s so common, one might even call it boring.” Venom taunted. Cletus looked furious.

“Shelly broke my heart. She deserved to die. That’s not boring!” He yelled at you. You turned your back to him and smiled.

“How did Shelly break your heart? I always wondered. It didn’t say anything about it in your file. Just something about a…school dance?” You asked as if you didn’t know the answer. Cletus face reddened with embarrassment.

“A spring fling.” He muttered. You could tell he was reliving the memory by the look on his face.

“That’s right. A spring fling. What happened? Did she reject you?” You asked curiously. Cletus looked haunted by the memory. He merely nodded.

“Did you know that with a simple google search I could find out the names of your classmates in high school? I didn’t find anyone named Shelly but I did find a Michelle.” You told him. “Michelle Jameson. Does that name sound familiar?” Cletus’s eyes snapped to you and saw tears forming in them. You smiled directly to his face.

“Michelle.” He whispered.

“You asked Michelle to dance that night, didn’t you? But Michelle didn’t want to dance with you, did she Cletus? She wanted to dance with Tobey Garfield. Because after all, Tobey was the captain of the football team, played the drums in the school band, and made high honor roll every year. And you, you were just-“

“Boring.” He finished your sentence. “She called me boring. The whole class heard. They all laughed at me. I was humiliated.” He said, tears rolling down his cheeks. He suddenly looked angry. “I wanted her to pay.”

“And you made her pay. 17 times with all the women you killed. But they never filled that empty hole that Shelly left, did they? Nothing could fill that hole. Nothing until-“

“Carnage.” He finished your sentence again.

“Yes. And Carnage promised you great things, didn’t he? Things like world domination and revenge. I bet he even promised you no one would ever laugh again.” You said cautiously. You had him right where you wanted him. Cletus nodded sadly.

“But he didn’t live up to those promises, did he? He ordered you around, made you call him boss, degraded you. He said you were a team but you weren’t.” You shook your head. “He was always in charge and you just had to go along with anything he said. Am I right?” You asked. Cletus looked at you.

“Exactly right.” He said.

“That’s not what it’s like with me and Venom, you know. We’re a team. Equals. We don’t control each other. I protect her and she protects me. Does Carnage protect you?” You asked compassionately. Cletus shook his head.

“He makes me feel worse.” Cletus cried. You put your hand on his shoulder.

“Cletus, if you kill me, your story will never come out. No one will ever know the pain you went through.” You spoke softly. “You can stop this. You can take back the control.”

Cletus looked at you hopefully for a moment. His eyes quickly faded back to fear.

“No I can’t. I will never have control.” He said sadly before merging back into Carnage. You gasped in fear and turned into Venom. You and Carnage fought again. He wrestled you to the ground and pulled Venom away from your face. He brought his fist down many times until your nose was broken and bleeding. Everything ached, even your teeth. Your eyes were swollen shut and you couldn’t see. You thought you were going to die right there, but Carnage was knocked off of you by a blow to the head with a steel pipe. Peter stood above Carnage with the pipe still in hand. Carnage pounced on Peter for the second time and began to throw him around like a rag doll. He beat Peter senseless and tossed him off the roof like garbage. You let out a silent scream. Carnage went back to you and delivered another blow to your gut. He dragged your towards the fire by your leg and held your leg close to the flame. Venom retracted back into your skin, exposing your leg. Carnage took the opportunity to snap your leg at the calf. You screamed in pain. He stepped on your broken leg and you nearly passed out from the feeling. It felt like your leg was on fire, and for all you knew, it could’ve been. You spat in his face with with acid spit but he dodged it.

“Beg for mercy.” He demanded.

“We will never beg a man for anything.” You spat in his face again, this time hitting him and burning him. Carnage picked up your hand and put it in the flame. Again, Venom retracted and your flesh was exposed. Carnage broke your hand and you let out another scream. He picked you up and threw you over the flame. You landed hard on your side and felt Venom slipping back into your body.

“We’re losing.” You cried.

“We know. We’re trying to heal you as fast as we can. Just hold on, baby.” Venom said desperately. You nodded as you watched Carnage approaching you again. You braced yourself and cradled your broken hand. He picked you up again and this time, sent you tumbling through the fire. Venom completely retreated into your body as you rolled. You suit was beginning to disperse as well, leaving patches of skin exposed here and there. Carnage targeted those spots and dug his claws into them. You let out a cry of pain. You knew you couldn’t last much longer. You couldn’t stand because of your broken leg, so you began to roll yourself towards the edge.

“Oh, I see. You want to see your boyfriend. Alright. Go ahead.” Carnage cackled as he kicked you off the building on the same side Peter was tossed off of. You landed on the ground and heard several ribs crack. You scooted yourself up against a wall and held your broken hand against your body.

“Venom, what’s happening?” You wheezed. You felt pain with every breath you took.

“You’re getting hurt faster than we can heal you. You need to stay here and rest for a few minutes so you can heal. It’s absolutely vital that you don’t go back up there. You will die almost instantly if we’re separated again.” Venom answered. Your odds weren’t good. You had troubled catching your breath and figured your lung had collapsed. You were in critical condition. Your whole body hurt. Everything inch of you was either broken, bloody, or bruised. You slowly felt your lung inflate and your leg beginning to heal. But you still had a million other injuries that would require more time. You looked around and noticed Peters body near you, conscious but not moving.

“Peter?” You gasped for air.

“Stay still! We’re not even close to done!” Venom ordered. You ignored her and dragged yourself with one arm to over to Peter. He stirred but was too injured to move. His fingers twitched as he attempted to reach out and touch you.

“Stop moving! You’re dying!” Venom pleaded. You suddenly heard ambulance sirens wailing and noticed a police man just a few yards away. If you could muster enough strength to shout you could be taken to a hospital. You looked between the police man and Peter.

“Peter is dying.” You croaked. Peters eyes were open but you could hear his heartbeat. Your biggest fear was coming true.

You gave the police man one last look before uncurling your broken hand from underneath you and placing it on Peters shoulder. The simple move sent your body through worlds of pain.

“Go.” You whispered. Venom knew what you meant and would never dream of complying, but and she also knew there was no use arguing.

“We love you.” She stated. She sounded miserable.

“And I love you.” You responded, doing your best to sound happy for her.

With that, Venom left your body and went into Peters. Peters body began to stir again as you felt yours beginning to shut down. You watched as cuts on his face healed and he gradually gained more movement in his body. You could hear his heart beat return to normal and you sighed happily against the pavement. You watched in joy as Peters body sprang up, as if he was pulled on a string. It reminded you of when you first bonded with Venom.

Peter transformed into Venom and began to climb the tower. You watched as the two people you loved the most ran to freedom, leaving you on the pavement to die. Your vision began to fade from red, to white, to black. You could see the outlines of some people standing before you.

“Oh, isn’t she lovely?” A woman’s voice said.

“She’s beautiful. I can see why our son loves her.” A mans voice answered.

“Now, you know if Peter heard you say that he’d object and say that women are more than their looks.” Another’s mans voice said with a chuckle. He sounded older than the first man. The man and woman laughed.

“Of course. May taught him well.” The first mans voice said. Your eyes drooped as you saw one last figure approach you. You could only see their shoes.

“Y/n?” The voice asked. The voice was soft and sweet. You didn’t recognize it at first, but it sounded so familiar.

“Y/n? Is that you baby?” The voice asked again. You forced yourself to look up and saw a woman standing before you. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. She picked you up and held you in a tight embrace.

“Everything’s okay now, Y/n. Mommy’s got you.” The woman said. You let yourself relax in her embrace. You didn’t feel any pain anymore. You felt tranquility wash over your aching body.

Then everything went dark and you went to sleep.

[romanceimp]

Relflections

hello, hello,

welcome to the dark side... this is my second collab with bnharem. Please, please, read through the rest of the collab list HERE. I am so grateful to be working with so many other talented writers and artists on this. Special shout out to @doinmybesthere for beta reading and for @kuso-deku whom I dedicate this piece fror giving me the Mirio brain rot...

TW: NSFW, 18++++ Villains, dub-con moments, sex, violence, YANDERE MIRIO, two crazy people, inter dimensional travel, killing, mentions of blood, dirty talk, some cum play

Around 7000 words

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before. Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city? Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary. One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

You flip off the television and rise from your seat on the couch. Your roommate and the object of your affection had already left for the night. Mirio would never obey that curfew, not as long as there were people he could be saving. That’s Mirio for you… always being the hero, even if he’d lost his quirk ages ago. But ever since the onslaught of new villains, and heroes turning to the darkside you’re patching him up more than normal… He returns with wounds more serious now, the scars abundant on his once smooth skin. He is becoming a reflection of the ruin and carnage that floods the streets. This is why you had come up with, planned out, and prepared for a way to fix everything. You could never stop him from being a hero, it was who he was… but you can get his quirk back… 

You check your pocket one last time… it’s there, wrapped in that small blue handkerchief. You examine the strange item one last time, careful not to prick yourself with it by mistake. It’s shaped like a sewing pin, only slightly larger. One prick, that’s all it takes, one prick and it will absorb the power from the first thing that it touches. Then one more prick, and the next thing it touches will absorb the gathered power. One chance, that’s all you have. 

You grip the chain around your neck and pull the locket out from inside your shirt. You read the engraving on the back, as you always do, and you smile. 

Come back to me ~ Mirio

It had been a gift, something to help you when you were learning how to use your quirk. The going part had always been easy, it was the returning from your travels that had been difficult. You open the locket, one side is a watch, the other a mirror. You check the time and write it down to the second on your arm in biro. 

7:43. 26 PM

You have 8 hours exactly and you fear you’ll need much more time than that. But your quirk’s limits are not forgiving in the slightest. A second longer and you’ll die. 

You take a deep breath, eyes now focussing on the mirror side of the locket. You’d returned this way ever since Mirio gave you the locket, but never once travelled forward through the mirror before. You meet your own eyes and start to feel the familiar pull, your face turning that strange shade of blue. 

Please let this work. Please, take me to Mirio. 

The gravity in the mirror builds and you can feel the surging power of your quirk. You feel yourself meet your reflection, becoming one with it for a split second before you’re absorbed to the other side of the mirror. 

You land in a darkened alley. The smell of stale beer and piss invading your senses, making your head swim even more than normal. The thickness of the summer air does nothing to help. It doesn't matter how many times you use your quirk, it always leaves you dizzy, disoriented. But that was to be expected when travelling to another dimension. Your quirk was dubbed Mirror Image, it allowed you to travel to different dimensions by looking at your own reflection. 

You check your pockets again… it’s still there. The “quirk extractor”, that’s not really what it was called but you’d forgotten the actual name of it. It had taken trying quite a few different dimensions to find something like it. It was very possible that you might never find that place again. You had to treat this like it was the only one in existence, afterall, it was the only one in this existence. But where exactly was this existence?

You blink, vision clearing and you examine the alley. It looks like a regular alley, slimy brick walls, dumpster, broken liquor bottles. A few people walk past on the main street, their laughter echoing off the alley’s walls. A lightbulb buzzes over a shut metal door. But there was no Mirio. The plan was to find a mirror Mirio, a Mirio that had never lost his quirk... extract this Mirio’s quirk and bring it back to your Mirio, the Mirio you loved. 

You had done enough dimensional travel to know that every version of the self was weirdly connected. That’s why you had travelled forward through the mirror he had given you this time. You had hoped it would bring you to another Mirio, since the mirror had never failed to take you back to him… even if you were in a strange corner of the universe. But alas, it was like travelling through any other reflection. As usual, you stand in an unknown location, trying your best to figure out where you’ve ended up. 

You kick a stray tin can in frustration as you walk towards the more populated streets. You laugh at your own stupidity. You knew the real reason you were doing this. Maybe, this act of love, retrieving his stolen quirk would change his mind. Maybe he would take back what he had said all those years ago… the words that would never stop ringing in your ears.

You’re standing on the sidewalk, trying to decide which way to go when the sound of rusty hinges snaps you from your thoughts. You turn to look back down the dim lit alley. A man with shaggy blue hair exits the building, his red eyes gleam and your heart drops. It’s hard to see but you’d know his face anywhere, he’s practically taken over your city, Shigaraki Tomura. Take a few steps to where you’re concealed by the wall of the building. He speaks to someone who is still inside the building. You angle your head to try and hear over the busy street. “They’ve just been getting in the way is all, and I need you to get them out of the way… see?” 

Why did your quirk take you to Shigaraki when you had specifically thought of Mirio? The streetlight’s shadows help to hide your shape. You peek around to see who he is talking to. Your breath hitches in your throat as you see the tall blonde exit from the building’s wall. Mirio. You watch as he leans his shoulder against the brick from which he just emerged. He looks taller, stronger, and still has his quirk… would your Mirio have looked like this if his power had never been robbed?  His grey tshirt is pulled tight around his body and his usually done hair is ungelled, almost messy, bangs hanging just above his eyes. “That’s easy, you have anything actually worth my time?” he jokes. Shigaraki looks unamused, eyes closing in annoyance.

 “Just do it, and don’t make it so messy this time… you tend to leave a trail wherever you go,” Shigaraki scolds. Mirio grins, but it’s not the same warm smile you’d grown to love, this smile is darker, more sinister. “I’ll take care of it boss, sheesh, you worry too much,” he rolls his shoulder on the wall until his back is flush against the brick. He pushes off of it and heads towards the end of the alley. You panic as he heads your way. “It’s that hotel on the corner of Roosevelt and Third,” Shigaraki screeches after Mirio who gives him a wave of his hand. “If you weren’t so useful I’d kill you,” Shigaraki adds. Mirio’s laugh bounces off of the alley walls. “You could try,” he calls as he rounds the corner, just passing you as you crouch near some bags of garbage praying he doesn’t notice you. But he passes you, languidly walking towards the destination he was just given by Shigaraki Tomura. That’s when it hits you… by going through Mirio’s mirror, you have found yourself a mirror Mirio. An exact opposite to the man you know.  

The thoughts are swirling around in your head but there’s no time to sort through them… you have to follow him. You slowly rise from your hiding place and melt into the crowds of people. It’s lucky that Mirio is so tall, it makes him easy to follow from a safe distance away. The crowded main streets turn to less populated side streets and you have to maneuver accordingly to stay well hidden. Mirio approaches a building with a neon sign that spells out HOTEL in red letters. A glowing arrow points to the double doors at the front of the building. He hurries up the steps before slipping inside.  

You follow close behind to make sure not to lose him inside but leave a long enough gap so that it isn’t too obvious. Upon entering, you’re met with the old red carpet that should have been replaced twenty years ago. Dust clings to the fabric of the sofa and cobwebs dangle from the antique crystal chandelier. The floor is well polished however, reflecting the lights that hang from the ceiling. It’s strange that there’s no clerk at the desk but a few people piddle about the lobby. A man makes eye contact with you, furrowing his brow in confusion. A woman in a short, low cut dress slips her hand below another man's belt and whispers something in his ear. No one blinks when Mirio makes a beeline down the hallway to the left. This was not an ordinary hotel. You walk calmly after Mirio and peer down the long dark corridor. There’s not sight of him but you watch the door at the end of the hall close. There. The lights in this section of the hall are off and everything seems quiet, whereas the hall to the right was lit and loud. Sounds of pleasure and partying spilling from underneath each door. You curse Mirio for walking down the more sinister path and follow begrudgingly. 

The hall is dark save one room where hysterical cries seep out. You don’t want to know what was going on and instead keep your eyes trained on the small bit of light that pours from the window inside that end door. Upon closer inspection there is a coating of condensation on the glass. This must be the pool. 

You retrieve the quirk extractor from your pocket and remove it from it’s wrapping, careful not to prick yourself.  You slowly open the door he had gone through just moments ago. You slid inside the door slowly and carefully, making more sound than you would have liked, but it can’t be helped. Any sound easily bounces off the water of the glistening blue pool. The smell of chlorine is overwhelming and you start to realise that there aren’t very many good hiding places in a place like this.... And Mirio is nowhere to be found. You grip the quirk extractor as you hear a door towards the back of the room slam shut. Another exit… your footsteps echo far more than you would like for them to as you head towards the door. 

“Gotchya.”

The voice startles you. Your grip on the quirk extractor falters, coupled with the way you jump… you watch as it slowly descends into the water, effectively pricking the pool. The ball at the end of the extractor emits a green light as it sinks to the bottom. “You idiot!” you shout before you can think better of it. Mirio steps from the wall and quirks an eyebrow up at you. “Me idiot? You’re the one following me with the stealth of one of the 3 stooges.”

He looks even more dangerous up close. A long scar descends from his chin down his neck. And while his eyes are the same colour, there’s a glint in them which your Mirio lacks. He’s faster as this version of himself, and you don’t have time to think before your back is against the cold tile wall. “So gorgeous, gonna tell me what that thing was and why you’re following me… or will I just rip the answers out of you one by one.” You’re too confused watching as he looms over you. His expression is half pleased, half irritated. You inhale to speak but the words don’t come. The smile on his face right now… it’s the expression of someone who has killed and enjoyed it. It’s never something you could have pictured to play across Mirio’s face and it jars you. A chill runs up your spine and goosebumps prickle on your arms. He’s terrifying but also so beautiful. 

One of his hands moves up to grip your throat as he growls, “I’m waiting, bitch.” You flail as his grip tightens, scratching your nails into his arm in hopes that he will let go.  “Please Mirio, I-I’m sorry.” His grip loosens suddenly but his hand stays around your neck. “What did you call me?” You cough and inhale, then meet his eyes. There is a familiar curiosity within his gaze but it’s joined by something else, that same strange glint. Is it amusement or something much more sinister? You can’t put your finger on it. “Mirio, your name is Mirio,” you murmur. A sly smile crosses his face as he moves closer to you, his hips pinning yours to the tile. “Yes, but how do you know that?” 

You stutter, trying to find the right words, a sigh haphazardly escaping your lips as the heat from his body becomes intoxicating. “You been sent to spy by the heroes?” You shake your head and try to wiggle free, but only succeed in grinding against him. A low laugh bubbles from his throat as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand and stills your hips with his other. “That’s real cute, but not gonna get you out of trouble with me…” His eyes flick down your body then back up. “Quite the opposite actually,” he teases. Your face feels warm and your eyes dart down and away. “Aww you’re so shy now, makes me wanna eat you up.” Mirio tilts your chin upwards so you’re looking at him. His eyes have softened slightly. “Just tell me,okay? I don’t wanna have to hurt ya.” There's a strange pleading in his tone, a sincerity you didn't expect. “We know each other, Mirio… well sort of,” you match the tone of his voice. A smirk breaks on his face, “are you my stalker?” You roll your eyes, he still had a sense of humour in this universe. It’s nice to know some things never change. 

“No, no we’re friends, but I know a different… you.” He blinks before his eyes narrow. He starts to speak but you continue to explain… about your quirk, the Mirio you know, and how you’d planned to steal his quirk. You show him your locket, the engraving. He still seems suspicious as he turns it over in his hands, examining it. “You’re a crafty little liar, I’ll give you that, had this made and all, but now I’ll have to pull the truth out of you, and like I said, I really didn’t want to have to do that to you.” “Wait… I can prove it, just let me use the mirror… then I’ll leave you alone.” Mirio looks you up and down again before opening the locket and holding it out for you. 

You focus on your reflection and watch as your face turns that strange blue black colour. Guilt seeps from your mind and travels down your spine as you’re pulled towards your reflection. The quirk extractor was sitting at the bottom of the pool, now carrying within it the power of chlorine… You hadn’t helped Mirio, only discovered a dark side to his existence… which wasn’t all that bad it seemed. He hadn’t harmed you at all, just threatened you slightly and even then it had seemed he was teasing and flirting more than anything. Your Mirio had never flirted with you… on purpose. The pull of the mirror became stronger and there was a strange sadness, a feeling that you would miss this version of Mirio. This version of Mirio was void of the sunshine that the original Mirio held within him at all times, but this Mirio seemed to see you. This Mirio had given you more in a few seconds than the original Mirio had in years. You shut your eyes as you began to fall into the mirror’s reflection. The original Mirio’s words that he’d said to you that day still hanging heavy in your heart. You laugh at your own pathetic nature for the second time today. You fantasies of Mirio were just that… just fantasies. In all universes. 

A hand pushes you backwards away from the mirror. The impact is so strong you stumble, but the same hand catches you and pulls you into him. You gasp for air, your head reeling from being ripped from the portal. Mirio holds you close, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just- I didn’t want you to go.” His voice is riddled with guilt, shaking slightly. You fist your hands into his shirt, gripping the fabric as you struggle to stand. “Whoa whoa, hey,” he consoles as he sinks to his knees, bringing you with him. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap. “I really didn’t mean to- I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m okay, I’ve just never been pulled from a portal before,” you stutter. His thumb brushes over your face temple. “You remember your name?” You state your name and he repeats it, “Y/n… I love it.” A smile plays on your features, cheeks heating once again upon hearing the compliment. “Hey, what’s 2 + 2?” 

“4,”

“Damn, well I guess you’re a math wiz.”

Your eyes flutter open and he smiles, “there she is.” You squeeze your eyes shut then open them once more in an effort to stop the room from spinning. “Are you gonna kill me now?” you drawl. Mirio pouts, “well that depends, are you still gonna steal my quirk for other me?” You laugh and roll your head away from him. “I can’t, it’s in the pool now, it’s absorbed the fucking power of chlorine.” Mirio laughs, “well whose fault is that?” You look up at him, there’s an intensity to his gaze when you meet his eyes. Your heart hammers against your chest… “yours.” You start to sit up, his arms still cling to you. “You’re the dummy who let go just ‘cuz I scared you.” You hum considering his words, “you don’t scare me Mirio.” 

His arms relax around you and you move to lay down on the tile floor. Your back relaxes against the floor and you move your arms over your head to rest your head in your hands. “You should be afraid, I’m a whole different me, sweetheart,” he remarks. He moves to lay next to you, mimicking your position. “You’re still Mirio,” you sigh, your eyes taking in the blank space of the ceiling. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, my body count, nothing.” “You’re still Mirio,” you insist. Laying like this you can hear the echo of your words bouncing off of the water. “He’s lucky, other me… to have a girl like you.” His last few words are whispered, failing to bounce around the room. They hang over you, adding weight to the atmosphere. “Ah well, the Mirio in my universe doesn’t see it that way,” you deflect. Mirio rolls to face you, his head laying in the crook of his arm. “I know we don’t know each other… not really, but it’s strange, I feel like I’ve known you forever.” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are practically on fire now, that small glint having grown into a flame. “In a way we have, I know a version of you… what I’ve come to find is every universe has overlaps of some sort… you and the Mirio I know will share some things… memories even.” Mirio’s face lights up, “yes exactly, I feel like I’ve seen you in a dream or something…” You shrug, “it’s possible.” Mirio smiles, it’s a familiar smile, a sincere happiness that the Mirio of your universe wears often. Much different than the smiles this Mirio had even just a few moments ago. 

“Why are you a villain?” you ask him. Mirio clutches his chest in mock pain. “That hurts, sweetheart… Just because I don’t accept the truths the rule makers of our world have given me… that’s what makes me a “villain”?” You narrow your eyes, “I meant more that you’re a hitman working for Shigaraki Tomura.” He laughs, “heard that did you? Guess you were following me for longer than I’d realised.” He pauses and moves closer to you. “I have no problem getting rid of a few people who won’t contribute anything of value… most lives are a total waste, I’m merely an exterminator… getting rid of the bad to make more space for the good…” He says it so casually that it makes chills run up your spine. “So does that make you the good or the bad?” He laughs again though this time he is less amused with your question. “I’m just a sacrificial pawn, sweetheart… can’t be good to make space for it.” 

You reach out and touch his bare arm. His skin is hot against his fingertips. “You didn’t hurt me… when you thought I was lying, you can’t be bad…” He smiles, “That’s just because I see how good you are and I want to protect that… protect you.” His hand begins to mirror yours, stroking up and down your arm with light fingertips. “If you can see the good, then that makes you good.” 

His fingers grip into your arm and he pulls you closer to him. He reaches for the back of your neck when he notices the smudge of ink on his hand. He examines your arm and finds the numbers. “What’s this?” he asks. You sigh, “it’s the time I have to go…” He pulls your face closer to his, your noses almost touching. “You can’t stay?” You shake your head, “Only for 8 hours, else I’ll be torn apart by the universal pulls… I’m not really supposed to be here ya know,” you joke. Mirio’s face falls, “Can you come back?” You shrug, “I can but the time I can stay is deducted every single time I return to a universe until I can no longer visit anymore…” Mirio’s thumb rubs soft circles into the flesh of your cheek. “What should we do then?” he asks. You smile sadly before sitting up. You give him an impish smirk. “Well, there’s a pool, I say we swim.” 

You start by removing your top, slowly peeling it away and discarding it to the floor. Mirio follows, taking off his grey tshirt. His figure is chiseled, each muscle toned and defined. You start unbuttoning your trousers when you feel the heat of his chest flush against your back. “Can I?” he asks as his hands rest on your hips. You nod and he slowly pulls your pants down your legs. He helps you step out of them before throwing them towards the growing pile of clothes. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into your skin, trailing kisses up your thighs. You grab his face with two hands and pull him to standing. “My turn,” you smirk, looping your fingers in his belt loops and pulling him towards you. You undo his pants, kissing down his chest. Savoring the taste of his skin. He groans at your touch and you feel the heat pooling low in your belly. His pants removed his stands only in grey underwear, while you remain in your bra and panties. 

You teasingly move away from him and stand on the first rung of the ladder in the deep end of the pool. You look back to where he stands, calling him to you with your gaze. He groans as he moves towards you. “I’m really holding back you know,” he growls, pressing his chest against your back, his a. “Why hold back? You can have whatever you want… Just take it, make it yours.” Mirio trails his lips up your neck, ready to suckle a mark into your skin, when you add, “if you can,” and step off the ladder into the blue water. 

As soon as the water touches your skin you’re swimming towards the other side. You hear Mirio dive in after you and know that this has all been futile. He grabs your hand and slings you gently towards the wall. He places both of his hands on either side of your body, pinning you. You wipe the water from your eyes before wrapping them around his neck. “You caught me so fast… I thought you’d chase me around more,” you provoke. He shakes the water from his hair and moves his body closer to yours. “Chasing you is a waste of fucking time right? I want to have you,” he growls. You open your mouth to say something but are silenced by his lips on yours. 

The kiss is needy, sloppy. He kisses you like he’s starving, finally being fed. His tongue draws circles around yours before sucking it into his mouth. You moan into the kiss and he responds by pulling you closer, grinding on your clothed cunt with his hardening cock. He moves to run his tongue along your bottom lip before nipping at it. You sight into the kiss, turning your head to deepen it. You pull away a wry smile on your face. Mirio’s pupils are blown, that unfamiliar glint in his eye now having a name for it, desire. 

“Miri, I want you,” his hips stutter against yours upon hearing this. “Fuck princess, I won’t be able to hold back anymore if you keep looking at me like that.” You pepper kisses to his face, tasting the chlorine on his skin. “Don’t hold back,” you whisper, “I trust you, you’re good to me, I’m yours if that’s what you really want.” His breath shakes upon hearing this and he presses his forehead to yours. “Mine? All fucking mine? Like this me?” You nod and kiss him again. This time you catch his bottom lip and suck it, pulling on it just to hear him moan. 

He helps lift you to where you’re sitting on the edge of the pool. He peels your panties down your legs before spreading them. He kisses one of your thighs before massaging the other. “So fucking perfect,” he praises, “all fucking mine.” He trails his hand and mouth up the inside of your thigh. He spreads your folds, drinking in the sight of your bare cunt. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he sighs. “I’m gonna make you forget about any other versions of me, you’re going to be all mine.” He presses a kiss to your clit, “gonna be all fucking mine, princess.” 

He drags his tongue, slow, up your slit and circles it around your clit before sucking on it gently. You stifle a whine and you can feel him smiling in pride. “That is princess, lemme hear those sweet sounds.” He does the same move again and this time you don’t hold it in. Your sounds of pleasure echo around the pool, bouncing around and finally landing back on your own ears. But you don’t hear them, as you’re too lost in the pleasure. Mirio grips the wall of the pool with one hand while the other comes up to rest on your lower abdomen. His thumb starts rubbing soft circles on your clit while his tongue circles your hole. “Tastes so fucking good,” he growls and then shoves his tongue inside. The muscle is hot, wet, and he slowly begins to add more pressure to your clit while tongue fucking you. You’re completely overcome with a mind melting pleasure as you fall back onto your elbows, your hips grinding against his face. You aren’t sure how, but you can already feel that familiar knot forming in the pit of your stomach. You’re close and Mirio seems to know as he picks up the pace. “Cum all over my face- wanna taste you-” His permission was all you needed and soon you’re clamping down around his tongue, calling broken syllables of his name. He kisses your cunt as you come down from your high. “Such a good girl for me, cumming when I say.”

He lifts himself out of the pool and removes his underwear. He’s thick, incredibly so and long. The head is red, leaking pre cum. You groan at the sight, cunt aching to be filled. You reach for him, pulling him on top of you. He kisses you, deep, passionate, with lots of tongue and teeth. You can feel his cock, thick and hard pressing into your thigh. He ruts his hips into yours, his cock sliding along your thigh. “Please,” you beg. He growls and flips you to where you’re on top and he sits pressing you to him, cock wedged between the two of you. You grind against him in anticipation. “Please Miri,” you plead. He lifts you and in one swift move, you’re impaled on his cock. 

You cry out, and it echoes back to you. The stretch is incredible, a pleasurable, dull pain that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He carefully thrusts up into you, and you crumble, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t wanna hurt my baby,” he coos, body stilling. You shake your head, “no it feels good, y-you're just so big.” He laughs darkly, “you love the pain, don't you?” He gives another thrust to test your reaction and this time he can feel it. Your pussy dripping down his cock.He looks down, eyes blowing at the sight, “fuck baby look, I’m not even all the way inside…” You look down and moan, his cock is a little over half inside. It’s too big to fit all the way. “You cute little cunt keeps throbbing on my cock, and when she does, she drools.” He wipes up some of your combined juices with his thumb and rubs into your clit again, just as he had before. Then he starts to move. 

He starts slowly bouncing you in his lap at a gentle pace, but soon his eyes change and his thrusts become harder and faster. “I’m sorry princess, but you feel too good, I need more of you, need all of you.” Mirio fucks into you harder, his cock so big he hits every spot inside of you that makes you weak with each thrust. Your cries become louder and more desperate. His cock kissing your cervix with each thrust causes you to disintegrate in his lap. The lewd sounds of his hips smacking into your ass fills the pool. Mirio’s eyes flick down and he growls. “Look at that baby, ‘m all the way inside now, doing so good, so fucking perfect taking every inch I have to give. God you’re fucking made for me.” You sink your teeth into his neck in a desperate effort to stave off your orgasm, to savor the moment you’d waited so long for. The moment where you and Mirio Togata become one. But it feels too good, the pleasure so intense that you’re pushed over the edge again, clenching tightly around Mirio’s fat cock. “Fuck baby, do that again, milk my cock for me while I fuck you into my shape.” 

His thrusts become sloppier but he manages to continue to hit all your spots, driving his cock into you at a bruising pace. You’re shaking in his lap, body convulsing from your last orgasm as another starts to build. “Fucking hell baby, you’re so fucking perfect, and you’re mine, all fucking mine.” His hips start to stutter but his pace quickens. “I’m all yours Miri, yes, I’m yours,” you moan. He pulls your head towards him and kisses you with that same hunger as before, teeth gripping at your lower lip and him sucking on your tongue. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm washes over you, white hot. It’s too much and sends him over the edge. “That’s it, milk my cock, milk my fucking cock,” he pants, pouring his cum deep inside you. “I’m gonna get you pregnant, gonna make you mine forever,” he growls as his hot ropes of cum still paint your walls. 

Your body is shaking, the post orgasm cold mixed with your wet body has goosebumps prickling your body. He pulls his cock out and groans at the way his cum drips from your hole. He smiles, “you’re even more beautiful now that I’ve claimed you.” You smile against his skin. “I feel more beautiful,” you reply. But Mirio’s words ring in your ears. You sit up quickly but wince. “I hurt you, I’m so-” “No, that isn’t it…” You lay your head in the crook of his neck. “The longer I’m here in this dimension the weaker I become… but I’m okay, don't worry.” You nuzzle into him, trying to steal some of his warmth. He caresses your back, “I wish you could stay…” “I-I have to go back, we can’t be together forever, even though it’s all I want,” when you finally say the words you start to cry. Mirio wraps his arms around you. “You’re cold,” he says. He helps you up holding your hands, “can you stand?” You nod and he walks you back towards the shallow end of the water. He eases himself in first and then takes your hand to help you do the same. 

He cradles you to him, “but you can go back to other me, and when you make love to him, you can just think of me… we’re the same.” You look into his eyes, face pleading, “that’s just it Mirio, you aren’t the same at all… he will never love me.” Mirio’s face darkens, anger, pure anger resides in his features. “Why not?” You take a deep breath. These were the words that haunted you from the moment the other Mirio had spoken them. “He told me, I will always love you, but I will never, ever, love you like that.” You whisper this secret to him.

Mirio can see it, the weight you’ve carried in your heart. That Mirio might save people all day long, be an actual hero, but he’s the one that’s more fucked… evil. Breaking the most perfect girl he has ever known into small pieces. No, Mirio could never let such evil exist, even if that evil was technically himself. “I’m gonna kill him,” he vows as he cradles you protectively. 

Your eyes widen, and you grip onto his face. He looks at you, smiling. “Miri, do you really want to be with me forever?” He nods and kisses you, “more than anything, you’re mine now, I’ve claimed you, you belong to me.” “I belong to you,” you echo and press your forehead against his. “I think I know a way,” you inform, the grin breaking over your face. He awaits an explanation with wide eyes. “You can come back to my world with me.” Mirio narrows his eyes in confusion, “won’t that kill me? Like it kills you?” You shake your head, “no… that just has to do with the limitations of my quirk… I’ve brought someone back with me before, the only thing is… that there’s already a Mirio in my universe, which could technically throw time and space out of balance. But there’s a small window where it wouldn’t… and if you really want to kill him… then there would only be one again.” You smile and hold his face, peppering it with kisses. “You can kill him and take his place!” 

You’re met with Mirio’s grin and another sloppy kiss. “I knew I was right about you, you’re perfect.” You both climb out of the pool and dress in your clothes again. You put the locket around your neck and open it focussing on your reflection. For the first time, holding the mirror, you don’t feel the weight of the other Mirio’s words. This Mirio, now your Mirio, has filled the void that the Mirio of your universe put inside your heart. You wonder now if you’d really loved him all this time or if it was a disguised hatred and rage. You’d always found blood somewhat disturbing but now you were excited to see it. Excited to watch the man who hurt you bleed out and be destroyed by the man you loved. Excited to watch him die. 

 You grip Mirio’s hand in yours, finger interlaced. “Just don’t let go, no matter what, okay?” Mirio kisses your hand. “I won’t, swear,” he confirms. 

Your face begins to change and you feel the gravity sucking you back into your reflection, but this time, you won’t be returning to him alone and in pieces. You’ll be returning to him whole.  This time… it would be him lying in pieces on the floor. 

[archangelsquill]

to hell and back || damien darkblood x reader 

pairing: damien darkblood x partner reader (gn, no y/n)

fandom: invincible

word count: 1448

summary: after omni-man flees earth and things begin to settle down, cecil feels he owes you -- the demon detective’s partner in solving crime -- a favor.

warnings: none

a/n: a sequel to this. darkblood deserves better, and by the gods, i’m giving it to him! enjoy, my fellow simps.

———

“If anything happens to them, on your head it will be, Cecil!”

Those were the final words of the demon as the pits of hell called him home, and as Cecil met his gaze, he knew it was no threat. It was a promise, and though he considered himself a bastard, Cecil saw no need to keep you in danger. He knew without Darkblood around, you were a target for Nolan. He’d already had security detail on you, but against Omni-Man, he knew it was useless. If he ever decided he wanted you dead, there’d be nothing stopping him.

Then, if Cecil was lucky (or maybe unlucky) to stay out of the warpath, he’d have Darkblood breathing down his neck, even with such distance between this world and his.

Sending him back to Hell wasn’t something Cecil wanted to do. It was a necessity. He owed him big time for that, and he’d start with keeping you off Nolan’s radar.

The official report was that you’d gone to stay with an imaginary Aunt Sue, somewhere in the Dakotas, but the reality was you were to be kept in the Global Defense Agency Headquarters -- well hidden, out of sight, and away from Nolan Grayson.

No one told you a thing. You’d been in your apartment, waiting for Damien to show up with those coffees he’d promised. Evidence, photos, and papers of theories and notes were scattered around the small space, occupying every inch of surface area, as you paced, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger and stronger the longer your demon detective was away. Something was wrong, and as Cecil Stedman appeared suddenly before you, making you jump out of your skin, you knew for sure. 

“You’re the demon’s partner, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I guess you’re Cecil.”

“You guess right. You need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“You’re not safe anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t answer your questions now. Pack a bag. You won’t be coming back for a while.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have a choice.

The Global Defense Agency took care of your monthly expenses while you were gone, as if that made any of this less scary or confusing. All you’d been told was Damien was back in Hell, Cecil put him there, and you were in danger.

No one told you much else. Cecil had acted civil toward you -- kind, even -- but it didn’t help. Damien was gone, it was Cecil’s fault, and life may never be normal again.

All because you two asked questions.

Because you wanted the truth.

And you both had paid the price: freedom.

Meanwhile, Omni-Man roamed free, ready to kill again.

You lost count of how long you’d been at GDA HQ when Nolan finally struck.

Initially, you’d been barred from the control room, but Cecil let you choose to watch the chaos or stay blind to it.

You choose not to watch. No one needed you to be in the room when all of the ruin, disaster, and chaos you and Damien knew would happen happened. Based on what Cecil told you after, you were glad you decided to stay out of it.

All of those innocent people, now dead. All of that destruction. All of that carnage, and for what? Omni-Man had fled.

It was for nothing.

And Debbie…

You’d offered as much comfort as you could. You knew how it felt to lose a loved one (it took all you had not to look pointedly at Cecil when you told her that) and the woman needed someone to lean on. Someone not quite so cold as Cecil.

And he’d watched you. Despite everything, you comforted Debbie and Mark, putting on a brave face as if you haven’t lost everything, too. Cecil knows you’re still hurting -- why wouldn’t you be?

Cecil was many things, and a man who paid his debts was absolutely one of them.

He’d been searching since he put Darkblood back in Hell for it: the spell to undo what he did. To summon him back. His plan was always to bring him back, if such a thing existed. He’d had his people looking for months with no luck, and he’d already given you the all clear to go home, with the promise your rent and utilities were paid for until you could get back on your feet.

Yeah. Right. How the fuck do you do that? Your partner -- not only in profession but your partner -- was gone, your office had been trashed, and your apartment felt so empty it was somehow suffocating.

For weeks after you’d returned, you’d laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, jumping at any change in the temperature, hoping one day you’d look up and see him, only to find it was the apartment complex’s shitty circulation.

The news talked about things going back to normal, yet normal sounded like a foreign language now. How was the world supposed to be any kind of normal again?

Cecil made a few visits to check on you, but you regarded him with coldness that could rival that of Damien’s. He couldn’t blame you.

You’d lost track of the days when the sigh that escaped your lips was accompanied by a small fog. You froze, sitting up from your temporary home on the couch before exhaling again. Just to be sure.

And there it was again: the small visage of your breath indicating the decrease in temperature you’d been ignoring out of lost hope.

“Damien…?”

“Yes, amare?” the gruff baritone was music to your ears as you turned toward your kitchen. There he was: red, large, and intimidating -- yet that soft look in his gaze remained, as if no time at all had passed.

“Damien!” you leapt over the couch, nearly tumbling to the ground before two strong arms grab you, pulling you into the warmest yet coldest bear hug you’ve ever gotten.

“Sorry for delay. Had to...speak with Cecil...” he rumbles, clawed hand carding through your hair, “Need to be ‘debriefed’ but...had to see you.”

“I can tell you what you missed.” you mumble, burying your face in his arms. He pulls you tighter still, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Later,” he says.

And for a moment -- how long, you’re not sure -- you both just sit there on the living room floor, holding each other in a silent, loving embrace. Tears stream down your face, stinging from the cold emanating from Damien. His hand moves to brush them away, and the contact makes you cry more. You missed him. It had been so long.

After what felt like forever, you part -- just enough to look at each other. He, of course, looks no different. Demons didn’t age like humans did. You, however, probably look like shit. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in forever, but you knew your hair was much longer. You hadn’t bothered to get it cut in...how long had it been? It wasn’t like you could’ve gotten it cut, anyway. The city had been rebuilding, and getting anywhere was...well, hell.

“Beautiful as the day I lost you,” he says, and your tears well up again.

“I know I look like shit, Damien,” you say, trying to laugh off the sudden absence of your grief. He smiles slightly -- a rare sight.

“To me you look like heaven, amare,” he replies.

Amare. His nickname for you. You think its Latin, but you’ve never looked into what it means. You never asked, either, assuming he’d just tell you one day.

But you almost lost him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into it after he was gone, and now that he was here again….you decide to ask.

“You’ve called me that since we became partners. What does it mean?”

“Supposed to be a detective.” he replies. His own attempt at a joke, you muse. You’re in no mood for it.

“Damien, please.”

He looks at you fondly, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“Love. It means love.”

You should’ve figured, yet you find yourself crying again, and his arms wrap tighter around you in a protective, loving embrace.

There was more to be said between you two. You both know it. What happened to Damien in Hell? How did everything with Nolan go down here? Now that Cecil knew how to banish and summon Damien as he pleased, what would become of your demon detective?

All need answers. Resolutions.

But not now.

Now was the time for healing: for the world, for humanity, and for you and your demon in that tiny apartment.

You had him back, and though so much hangs in the air, that was enough.

[tehrevving]

Stop and Stall What’s Safe

When a stray bullet ricochets, Dante doesn't know how to save you. With a last ditch effort, he remembers how the bruises on your skin used to heal after sex, and just prays that it works.

Dante x Reader (Reader is neutral but can get pregnant), Gunshot wounds, Angst, Masturbation.

I had a little bit to drink, and was in mood. So this is like, angst but with a crack premise.

I don't know what to say about this apart from that Reader gets shot, Dante doesn't know what to do and ejaculates on the wound to try and heal it. That's it, That's the premise. Enjoy lol.

Dante’s heart is still racing, even though it’s been hours. You’ve been asleep on his chest for a while now and even though you’re breathing and warm and alive, his head just won’t stop spinning. It had been his fault. He’d almost lost you because he was too fucking stupid to think about the consequences of his own actions. He was terrified, lost in his own thoughts with no idea how to go about not making the same mistake again.

He’d never liked involving you in his line of work, even though of course sometimes he didn’t have a choice. It’s not like he could always keep his lives separate. Dangerous creatures often decided to try and invade his home that he shared with you, though luckily they never seemed to attack while he was away. They would always wait for him to appear before they made their move, he was never sure why, but he was thankful for it. 

In general though, in a fight, you knew what to do. You would hang back, away from the battle, arming yourself with one of the numerous weapons that were stored underneath his desk, or under your desk, or behind some of the artwork. So when a bunch of low tier fucking assholes decided to disturb the peace today, it had all gone according to plan. To start with anyway. 

He’d been fighting them, dispatching the weak ones easily. They were never a match for him anyway, but especially not when he was showing off for his mate. It had been easy, he hadn’t been concerned, or worried at all, until a Chaos had sauntered its way into the office. 

Dante knew that they were fast, far faster than you as a plain old human would be able to handle. So he’d focused his attention on it, trusting you to dispatch any of the small fry if they managed to get close. He’d tried the usual strategy, shoot to stun, and then tear it limb from limb once those sharp spikes were no longer a factor. 

He’d never had to consider the enclosed space before though, while fighting something so fast, so high powered. He’d aimed properly, got it in his sights right in between the eyes. He’d waited until he’d thought the timing had been perfect, but even though he liked to think so, Dante wasn’t perfect. 

He hadn’t been able to anticipate the way that the creature had moved, the way that it had shifted slightly and thrown his marksmanship off. That the piece of shit would shift slightly, throw off his aim, that the thing would start rolling, moving its spines so fast that no bullet would have a hope of reaching it. He never expected the angle at which his bullet would ricochet off it’s shining carapace at full speed. Dante never fucking anticpated that any devil hell bent on destroying him would be smart enough to deflect his weapons straight into your god damn body. 

He’d watched it happen in slow motion, the bullet deflect and start to turn in your direction. He’d seen your eyes widen, but he’d not been fast enough to do anything. Dante had watched as you crumpled to the floor as his stray bullet hit you, he’d watched it part your flesh, and embed itself deep within your abdomen. 

Fuck, he’d been overtaken by an all consuming rage, he’d never felt anything like it before. It was like he wasn’t himself anymore, like his subconscious was moving without permission from his physical body. The entire world around him slowed down as he lost control. He wouldn’t have been able to recall exactly what he had done if you’d asked him, but every single damn devil in the building had been destroyed by his hand within an instant. 

The Chaos was the last to go down, the ultimate subject of his rage. He moved faster than it could react to, his claws ripping it to absolute shreds. It didn’t even get a chance to shriek before it hit the ground, dead, and his entire focus shifted to you.

Dante was by your side seconds after you’d taken his deflected bullet, surrounded by the shrieks of dying devils around him. He grabbed your body before you hit the ground, lying you down carefully onto your back. You had looked up at him, with shock and horror and fear in your eyes, before immediately pressing your hand to the blood pouring from your abdomen. He’d expected to see disgust, or hatred, because he was the one that did this to you, but instead, you’d just been terrified. 

He hadn’t known what to do, he’d just panicked, his entire mind wiped blank. You’d started speaking, throwing him out of the haze that had threatened to overwhelm all of his senses. “Bandage,” you’d said to him, snapping him out of his stupor. “Dante. Pressure on the wound.”

So he had torn the shirt he was wearing to pieces, the fabric didn’t matter in the slightest. He’d ripped the material from his front, wrapping it around his hand. He didn’t know how much pressure to use, how much pressure humans needed, so when he pressed the fabric against your slick abdomen, it didn’t seem to do anymore. 

“Harder,” you’d barked at him, and so he pressed down with the sort of pressure that might have bruised you on a normal day. He didn’t know what to do, he could feel your blood pouring out from the wound, even through the layer of fabric bound around his palm. 

You were surprisingly calm, or maybe you were just in shock. He didn’t know how being in shock felt, or what this much pain might actually feel like. He could be cut in half and recover from it a trace of a scar of course, do he had no frame of reference. “Is it bad?” you had asked him, and he hadn’t known how to reply. 

“Did it hit any organs? I can’t feel anything,” you’d asked him, and in the moment he had ignored the way that a small amount of blood had bubbled up from your throat to your lips while you’d spoken, but now that it’s all over, he can’t help but imagine the whole fucking thing in vivid detail.

He’d tried to think. He knows when his own organs are compromised, it’s a slightly different feeling, but as he’d looked down at you, he’d realised he doesn’t know how to map his own experiences to your body. You’re so much smaller than he is, and you have more organs in your abdomen than he does, don’t you? “I don’t know,” is what he finally manages to say, because he doesn’t know how else to respond. 

“Call an ambulance,” is what you’d said next, but as he’d looked around the shop, and at the carnage his own enraged demon had caused, he knew there was no way anyone would be able to get to you. 

“I can’t. Fuck. I can carry you. I can fly,” he’d said, panicked, desperate. He’d tried to move you, but you had screamed in pain, a sound that he’d never heard before, a sound that tore him in half all the way down to his soul. He’d immediately put you back down, but even then, your screaming hadn’t stopped. 

His entire hand had been wet, your blood welling up around his crappy shirt. He was going to lose you, because he didn’t fucking know human first aid, because he hadn’t fucking thought about his actions and shot a firearm in an enclosed space, against something that could easily deflect bullets at insane speeds. “What do I do?” he’d asked you desperately, but you hadn’t replied. You’d been in shock, and Dante doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how pale your face was. He’d started crying and he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t known what to do. 

“I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.” He’d been distraught. He knows the basics, but not how to save you. The pitiful fabric of his shirt had been dyed completely red, and he knows it’s not absorbing your blood anymore, there’s just too much of it. 

He’d pulled his hand away, just to get a look at your wound. It had been bad. The blood wasn’t stopping, and he could see your insides, his bullets are much more powerful than a normal calibre, even a ricochet. He’d willed himself to think as he’d felt your breathing start to slow, and felt your life starting to drift away. Fuck. He wasn’t going to let that happen. 

His brain for some reason, had decided to fixate on when you’re first gotten together. When he hadn’t been able to control himself, and he’d left bruises on your skin. He’d noticed the bruises, felt guilty about them, but then suddenly they’d started disappearing once the two of you had decided to become exclusive, and stopped using condoms, and started pulling out and spilling himself on your belly instead. He remembered the bruises returning though, once you’d confirmed that birth control would still work on his half devil spunk, and he stopped pulling out. 

It had been stupid, and a fucking long shot. But he hadn’t known what else to do, and your lips had been turning blue right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t know how the fuck he’d planned to manage it, but as he’d pressed down on your abdomen with slick fingers, he’d started struggling to undo his fly with the other. 

It had felt wrong, so fucking wrong, as he’d pulled out his cock. He hadn’t been hard, but there had been no other options. He’d started stroking himself, and of course nothing had happened, arousal had been the last damn thing that his panicked mind was expecting. 

He couldn’t keep looking at you, watching the life drain from your face. He’d shut his eyes, imagined you teasing and encouraging him. He’d imagined the way you would bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes while egging him on.  

It had started to work eventually, but he was so worried it wasn’t fast enough. His dick had started to rise and for the first time in his life, as a virile and overeager half devil, he’d wondered if he could ejaculate at half mast.

He’d pulled out all the fucking stops, because he hadn’t known what else to do. He’d pressed down on your wound with one hand, trying to block out the feeling of your heartbeat starting to slow while he stroked himself.

He’d twisted his hand on the tip of his dick, stroking loosely and then putting pressure on the base, before moving back up. Of course he knows how to get off, but it’s completely different under pressure. 

It had been a struggle, but the longer that he had kept his eyes closed and pretended, the easier that it had gotten. It had become easier to convince his penis that this wasn’t a life or death situation, that he was just casually jerking off and not using it as a last ditch attempt to save your life. 

He’d gotten there eventually, though all of his progress had almost been ruined when he had to lift his sticky palm from your flesh. The wet sound had broken his heart. He hated the way that he could hear your laboured breathing start to bubble up from your lungs when he released the pressure. 

He’d just hoped that this would fucking work. 

Dante had taken his dick in hand, lined himself up, and with a terribly reluctant moan, shot his seed all over your wound. He’d tried his best to hold back tears as he watched the white settle over the red staining your skin, watching with bated breath, wishing for anything to happen. 

He’d been able to see it right in front of his damn eyes, that his cum was slowly disappearing, sinking into your wound and reducing the amount of red. He’d watched as the bleeding had gradually stopped, and as your skin began to knit itself back together. 

He’d waited with baited breath, watching as every trace of what had just happened disappeared from your skin, within moments there wasn’t even a scar on your abdomen. The only evidence remaining being your blood staining your skin, and his hands and the floor, and the tears streaming down his face. 

He’d pulled you to his chest, begging for you to wake up, wiping his eyes on your hair. The office had been a disgrace, was still a disgrace. There was blood everywhere, sticky stains from where he’d ripped the damn devils apart, and of course your own life essence, staining the floorboards by his desk. 

Eventually you had stirred though, eyes disorientated and unfocused. You had been in no state to do anything for yourself, but he didn’t care. He’d carried you against his chest, washed the blood off of your now healed skin, and off his own and then gotten you into bed. 

You’d been exhausted and incoherent, immediately curling up against his chest and falling asleep, but his mind couldn’t stop racing. He’d been so fucking close to losing you and he hadn’t even known what to do to give you a fighting chance. 

His last ditch effort had been disgusting, even though it had worked, and he’s horrified with himself. Repulsed by the fact that he’d even considered it, but horrified by the fact that he’d actually been able to get off to you dying. It makes him reconsider everything. 

Dante knows that he won’t sleep at all tonight, but that’s okay. He had to watch over you, and make sure that you don’t stop breathing, that nothing else happens to you. He cries again, his face pressed to the pillow to try and muffle the sounds so that he doesn’t wake you. He vows that he’s going to be better, that he’s going to learn how to save your goddamn life next time, no matter what it takes, and that he’s not going to let anything like this happen again.