#i mean the fic is called ablaze for a reason

[garfinkelstingle]

magic and maybes | draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (implied slytherin!reader but only once i think)

warnings: swearing; implied mentions of verbal abuse; this is not in chronological order, but i do think it makes sense this way (especially if you've listened to the song); angst

word count: 5,2k

summary: based on “wendy” by maisie peters; loving draco is like something out of a fairytale. but not all of those always end with happily ever after, do they?

a/n: oh my!! hi!!! my first full-length fic in over a year!!!! so exciting!!!! this came to me while listening to wendy (which you should defo listen to if you haven't yet; the whole album is too good!!) and i just sort of rolled with it. i will never understand why i keep coming back to draco, but i just do. i have never written anything like this, and i certainly have never written draco like this, but the song called for it!! and also, let's be honest, this really matches draco better than it would most other characters. oh and i put it in the warning, but please beware that this is not written in chronological order. it's supposed to showcase the rollercoaster of relationship that reader and draco share, and i thought this was the best way to do it! let me know if you like it, it would really mean a lot <3 happy reading babes

masterlist

rolling like a stone / laughing like a kid

She had never seen him like this before.

Correction: She had never seen him like this before in front of people that weren't just her. Because this is the only way she had ever seen him, really seen him. She knew the charade he kept up, could see right through it better than anyone else. And if you took all of that faux meanness and excruciating ass-ness away, this is what you would be left with, what she's been left with all these years that she's known him. A silly kid, rolling around in the grass, holding his stomach laughing, eyes glistening with tears and shining brighter than any star ever could.

This is how she saw him, always, and how she hoped she would get to see him forever. This, and nothing else.

calling like the future / closed up like a fist

It was always the same. He always did this, and she swore that one of these days she would hex him into oblivion for it.

"What do you mean I can't come with you? We've been planning this for months; I told my parents to make plans without me and they have. What am I supposed to do now?" They had been at it for close to an hour now, going back and forth, nowhere close to having this argument reach its conclusion.

Usually, she didn't mind backing off. He was stubborn; she knew that. This wasn't something she had discovered only recently. She had known him for longer than she hadn't, so she was acutely aware of this quality of his. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy her, either. So she'd just let it slide and move on—one of them had to.

This time, however? She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not responsible for you and how you spend your time," he provocatively stated, his eyes ablaze with fury that nearly matched hers. How dare he? As if this was in any way, shape, or form her fault.

"You have got to be kidding me! You were the one who invited me to spend Christmas break at your house! You were the one who wanted me to meet your parents! You were the one who made all these grand plans, and now you just blow me off the day break starts and talk about responsibility?" She couldn't believe him. She really, truly, couldn't.

Except that, maybe, she should. This wasn't the first time Draco blew off their plans. In fact, it wasn't even the second or the third. But he usually had a not-so-terrible reason for it, and the worst thing he had ever cancelled before was a Saturday in Hogsmeade or a picnic by the lake. This, however? This was huge, a plan that had been set into motion during the summer, when they had sent their owls into a frenzy, corresponding through multiple letters a day and vowing not to spend another break apart. She had told her parents before she boarded the train to take her back for another year at Hogwarts, that she would spend the Christmas break with her boyfriend and that they should take that trip to the sea they've been dreaming of forever. And since they did just that, and she didn't feel like ruining their holidays as well, she would now have to spend hers at the dingy castle, with people she barely knew and couldn't care less about.

She didn't even need him to change his mind at this point. While the reason he was giving her sucked, she was sure the real reason didn't—even if he wasn't planning on telling her. What bothered her so much was his refusal to just simply apologize for screwing up and leaving her hanging. If he would just say that he was sorry, she'd let this go. But she knew him well enough by now to know that the chances of that happening were non-existent at best.

"I will not apologize for your lack of a backup plan," he said, with a voice so cold that she could feel actual shivers run down her back. "I will see you after break is over. Merry Christmas." And with that, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, without even sparing her a backward glance.

And all she could do was stare after him, seemingly frozen in place, with tears flowing down her cheeks freely, and wonder if this was what loving someone was supposed to feel like.

lost my page when you kissed me

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. They had been friends, or at least something very close to it. Draco believed that only people who had nothing else to their name cared about having friends, and she somewhat agreed with him. Friends were feeble; people came and went. There was no use getting attached to them, not when you couldn't ever be a hundred percent certain that they wouldn't just up and leave one day.

But he—he was something else. They had known each other for years, attending the same balls thrown by both their parents and their associates, riding in the same train compartment on their first trip to Hogwarts, reading the same books side-by-side on their common room's couch. They were put in each other’s orbits due to their inescapable proximity, yes, but they were welded together by baked goods that they would steal from the kitchen and share in some dark corner of the too-big houses they would be dragged to, shy smiles and squeezing of hands followed by it's okay, you're not alone's, two a.m. conversations in front of the fireplace in which they discussed whatever books they just finished reading and, sometimes, maybe even more. That's what made her the first person he would say "good morning" to at the breakfast table, and what made him her preferred potions partner. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't friends, but they were each other's person. Whatever that meant.

It made sense, and it worked, and neither of them needed more. Or so she thought. Because when Draco kissed her after one of those infamous two a.m. conversations and told her „You just looked too pretty not to kiss", after she asked him why he would do something so ridiculous, she came to realize that maybe they were wrong. Maybe getting attached to someone wasn't the worst thing there was. It couldn't be. Right?

i know the girl you want / it scares me

He was scared. He was scared, but so was she. The future was uncertain and terrifying. It didn't make sense on a good day and was simply revolting on a bad one. So much could go wrong at any given moment in time, and not knowing when or what could happen made it sometimes feel like, maybe, life just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And when you add love to that equation? You're pretty much just signing off on a death sentence. Draco knew that, and so did she, but unlike him, she believed it to be worth it. Love was never something she saw herself needing, or even wanting, but now that she had it, she was certain it was worth all the heartbreak it might possibly entail. Draco, however? He still didn't trust her enough to let his walls down completely, to give her the power to destroy him and believe her when she said that she would never, ever do that.

She loved him, and she was certain that he loved her, too, but she also knew that he might never be able to let her know that himself. And she knew that he expected that to be enough, that her own knowledge would suffice her and that she would survive without his confirmation, and maybe she could. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to. Spending your time with someone who was emotionally closed off to everyone around you and made them feel like they were replaceable was one thing, but spending your life with someone who was emotionally closed off toward you and too proud to tell you that the one person he could never replace was you? She wasn't sure if she was strong enough for that. She doubted she ever would be. And that terrified her more than anything else ever had before.

pretty like a girl / vicious like a man

He was beautiful. She had always found him inexplicably beautiful; his was the kind of beauty poems were about, a beauty that ran so deep and was so intricate that she sometimes wondered if he wasn't put on this world solely to be admired and stared at.

Even now, when his face was laced with fury and his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his desk, he was still beautiful.

She wasn't even sure what they were fighting about now, stopped paying actual attention to the ugly words leaving his mouth. Instead, she was questioning her judgment. She had always found him beautiful on the outside, just as everyone else did, but unlike them, she had also always considered his soul to be beautiful, too. And yet here she was, target to his livid shouts and insults, wondering if maybe that was just another thing that she had been terribly, terribly wrong about.

give up like a ghost / leaving halfway through

It was moronic at best, really. They had spent a fortune on these tickets and had been excited for this game for months now. So, the fact that they were now letting it all go to waste? It was pure idiocy.

Especially when you looked at the why. He was being a child, a petulant little toddler who got upset at the idea of giving his girlfriend of nearly four years a kiss in public.

And the worst thing is that she hadn’t even been upset because it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. She knew Draco, knew that he liked keeping their PDA to an absolute minimum, and she didn’t mind it in the slightest. Or, well, not enough to be actively affected by it. So, when the kiss-cam panned to their faces, she blew it a kiss and winked for good measure and went back to talking to Draco about how pathetic Potter and his friends looked standing there on the very far side of the stadium, most likely not even able to see the scoreboard. She had moved on, and so had the camera, but for whatever reason, Draco didn't.

Instead, he started huffing and puffing about Salazar knows what, getting upset at her for what, exactly? For respecting his need for privacy? For not pushing him to do something she knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with doing, even though she really wanted to? For, once again, putting him first and foremost? Is that what he was trying to punish her for? Because he certainly didn’t seem to be able to put it into words, storming off like an actual imbecile instead, leaving halfway through the match.

And of course, she had to follow him like the ever-loyal girlfriend that she was, trying to catch up with him and calm him down, even though she was seconds away from losing her bloody mind herself. She was sick and tired of his juvenile behaviour, was just so exhausted with having to put up with his shit instead of just enjoying herself, and yet it seemed as if some invisible string kept on pulling her in his direction, not allowing her to choose her own needs and herself, ever.

She wondered if he would ever grow tired of this pretence of his, or if this was what being with Draco Malfoy would entail, forever. She didn’t want to believe it, but it became harder and harder with each passing day. Maybe this is who he was, who he always would be.

But maybe it was just a matter of time before he would finally give it all up and be who she has blindly believed him to be all this time. All she could do, it seemed, was to hope that she wouldn’t be the one to give up, first.

if i'm not careful we'll be married

"Do you ever think about the future?" His voice broke through the quiet reverie they had both found themselves in. She was used to him being the first one to speak up after a long beat of silence; he didn't find it quite as peaceful and tranquilizing as she did. Not that she minded, though. She liked his voice, and she liked talking to him even more. To say that the question surprised her, though, would be an understatement.

Putting the book she was currently reading to the side, she snuggled further into him. The fireplace was providing a fair amount of heat, but the chill seemed to be inescapable in the Slytherin common room. It was also just very nice to be able to have him hold her close like this, even if the only reason he did so was because it was far past midnight and everyone else was already fast asleep.

"Sometimes, yeah," she said. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She didn't expect him to elaborate, so it stunned her when he did. "I see us. You and me, together. Married. But not like them. Like us. Does that make sense?" It did. She knew exactly what he meant. Not like them. Not like his parents, who didn't love each other in the slightest and could barely stand each other most days. And not like her parents, either, who cared deeply about one another, at least as much as you could care about someone you didn't choose to marry. They found a way to be friendly and cordial, mainly because they didn't want their daughter to grow up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats, but it was still far away from the real deal.

Were they the real deal? That's what Draco was implying, wasn't it? That if they would get married, it'd be because they loved each other. He's never even said it, she thought. And he hadn't. But he's said this now, hadn't he? And that should be worth more than any stupid three words ever could be, right? Because he wanted to marry her, really marry her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It rarely happened for people of their status, so she should be beyond delighted that it was happening to her. Plus, she loved him, too, and unlike him, she hadn't been afraid to say those three words. Marrying Draco was what she was supposed to want; finding out that he wanted to marry her, too, was supposed to be the greatest news she's ever heard. So why was there some nagging part of her brain that knew that saying yes would be the worst thing she could possibly do?

"I know what you mean," she said. She had never lied to him before.

you want me / you're sure

Blaise Zabini was flirting with her. Then again, Blaise Zabini flirted with everything that had legs and a mouth he could kiss, so it did nothing to impress her. It did, however, do its damage by making Draco furiously jealous. After all this time together, she prided herself in being able to read him like a book. Him storming off like a petulant child made her think that, in this instance at least, even a visually impaired person would be able to deduct the fact that he was (unreasonably) upset.

Sighing, she made out to follow him, annoyed that she had to make yet another excuse for her friends. It shouldn't be her job to smooth things over every time his tantrums killed the mood at a get-together, and yet it seemed like part of the "Dating-Draco-Malfoy" package.

She found him at the lake, the same way she always did. She wondered if there was any specific reason he chose this place to run off to , but she doubted he would tell her even if there was. Some secrets just weren't worth the effort of trying to figure out.

She expected him to be upset with her, to accuse her of leading Zabini on and whoring herself out to him—Salazar knew it wouldn't be the first time. It used to upset her beyond measure. There would be a good amount of crying and screaming on her part; calling him a pretentious douche, telling him to screw off if he really thought so little of her. It always ended the same: he would storm off, eventually, and disappear for a good few hours. Then, he'd come back, without something even remotely close to an apology, and tell her he wasn't mad anymore. She knew what he really meant when he said it: I expect you not to be mad anymore, either. And even when she was, she was usually too exhausted to keep on fighting. After a while, she decided there wasn't even any point in being upset in the first place. Draco was who he was; she knew what she was getting into. Or so she kept telling herself.

This time, however, seemed different. She was sure he could hear her approach him—he always did. So why wasn't he turning around? Why wasn't he yelling at her and making her feel as if the affection of others was her fault?

He stayed quiet until she finally reached him and made to stand next to him. "I don't like it when others try to make a pass at you," he said. She waited a beat, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He did. "I know I have no right to be upset with you." This was new. It surprised her. So much so that she wondered if she might've misheard. "It's not your fault Zabini has no respect for boundaries, or anyone else, for that matter. I just... it's paralyzing, sometimes. Realizing that you could leave me for someone else at any given moment, and there's nothing I could do about it. I want to be with you. I know I'm not always good at voicing it, but I do. I'm certain. That's why I get upset. Because it terrifies me."

She took his hand in hers and gave the back of it a soft kiss. This was possibly the most vulnerable he had been with her, ever. She understood him; of course she did. Didn't he know that she was just as terrified? That a life without him in it didn't seem to make any sense whatsoever to her? She loved him, and now she was sure that he loved her, too.

Nothing else mattered.

lose the world that you live in / pretend that it's what you wanted

“This isn’t okay, and you know it.” Maybe she did. Maybe she knew that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel like. But it’s all she’s ever known, and sometimes it felt as if this was all she’d ever want to know. Because when it was good it was great. It was all she could ever want and then some, and she honestly didn’t think she would ever find anything better than it.

Draco wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She had her flaws just like anyone else, so to expect him to be something she herself couldn’t be? That seemed unfair and illogical at best.

“Look, you don’t get it, alright?” And she didn’t. None of them did. Not her mother or her father, not her friends or his. They were complicated and messy, but they were right. Right for each other, right in all the ways that mattered. She loved him, and he loved her. If there was anything in life she was sure of, then it was that.

“You can’t let him treat you like that.” That’s what it always boiled down to. Every fight she ever had about him—and there were probably too many to count—always came to the same conclusion: She shouldn’t let him treat her like that. But what did that even mean? No one would ever treat her the way he did. No one would ever look at her as if she was the reason they got up in the morning, as if she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. No one would ever be able to make her feel like she was the thing they lived for, someone they’d die and kill for in the same breath.

So, what if he’d yell at her and insult her and make her question her worth sometimes? He’d never allow her to question herself out loud to him; he’d make sure to show her how important she was to him. And Salazar forbid someone else dared to say the wrong thing when it came to her—he’d made sure it’s the last thing they’d ever say.

Maybe she knew it wasn’t okay, what they were doing. There were a million words to describe their relationship, with toxic and unhealthy being the prime examples. But no relationship was perfect. Why should theirs be?

it's a life i could have, i know

They were invited to someone's birthday. She didn't even know whose, just knew to wear "that green dress that makes you look like actual royalty". There also had been a promise by a certain someone that the dress would later be carefully taken off, and that there would be some... not so careful actions afterwards. It was the prospect of that that kept her from making up some excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave this awful and hollow house and curl up with a book and one of Draco's sweaters in her bed.

The party in itself wasn't awful; on the contrary, it was lovely. The music was played by a live orchestra, and the entire house was decorated in different shades of blue and silver. There were white roses everywhere, and the food was exceptional, too. But she didn't know anyone here except for Draco; she didn't even know the birthday girl. She was a couple years older than the two of them, and from what she understood she was the wife of a son of a business partner of Draco's father. Or something like that.

She was currently standing in a corner all by herself, with a champagne flute in hand, trying to find Draco in the crowd. He had snuck off some time ago, claiming that he had to make the rounds or else "my father is going to chew my ear off about it", convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to introduce herself tediously to every single person he would have to shake hands with. He wasn't wrong, but somehow standing in her lonely corner appeared to be an even worse fate.

Eventually, she locked eyes with Draco and gave him a small smile. She knew it was pointless to beckon him to her; he'd just shrug her off. Instead, he sent a quick wink her way, before turning back around to speak to whatever important person he was speaking to right now.

This could be my life, she thought. Going places with Draco, having him wink at her from across the room, promising to take her dress off at the end of the night and make it all worth it. This could be the rest of her life. She could see it, could see herself be one of the important men’s wives, gossiping away in some lonely corner just like hers, on their fifth or sixth flute of champagne already, trying to hide the hollow look in their eyes. This could be it. It was nothing like the life that she had wanted for herself all this time, and yet it didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it should.

throw your rocks / scream that you hate me

She didn’t even know how long it’s been. All she knew was that her mother had been up twice to tell her that she was this close to hexing him away from their property, and that she had begged her just as often not to.

“He has every right to be upset,” she had said, and could feel the bile rise in her throat at the bitter taste of the lie. Because no matter how often she told herself just that, it didn’t sound any more truthful to her ears than it did the time before. Yes, maybe Draco was allowed to be upset. She certainly was. But standing below her window, completely wasted, and throwing rocks at it, whilst yelling profanities at her? No one should have the right to do that.

And it wasn’t as if it was her fault, either. She had given him a choice; she shouldn't have had to do that. She hadn’t even meant to. It was supposed to be clean cut. She was supposed to tell him that it was over, that it should have been over a long time ago. If he still couldn’t tell her that he loved her after five years together, chances were that he never would. And she was just so tired of not hearing those words.

But she had looked him in the eyes and something—something made her believe that maybe, just maybe, he would realize that she was worth so much more to him than his pride and that being with her was worth more than being whoever he kept on pretending to be.

She should have known that her stupid, childish hope would be the death of her.

So here he was now, screaming that he hated her, that he wished that he had never met her, that being with her had been the greatest mistake of his life. And what if he wasn’t wrong? Would things had been different had she been different? Would he have been able to tell her how he felt if she had been more like Daphne? Would she have been able to leave him sooner and protect her own heart had she been more like Pansy?

It was driving her mad, the never-ending question of “what if?”, and yet her silly mind didn’t seem to be able to put an end to it. Because no matter how awful being (or in this case not being) with Draco may have been, it was still the most magical time in her life so far. And she didn’t even doubt for one second that the rest of her life might have been just as magical, too. Except that there was only so long a person could survive on magic and maybe’s, before eventually having to put an end to the madness and realize that the whimsical dreams weren’t anything other than nightmares hiding behind a pretty façade.

She loved Draco, loved him with her entire being, loved him more than she could ever imagine loving or even wanting to love anyone else. But, somehow, along the way, she had come to realize that just because she couldn’t see ever loving herself even half as much as she loved him, it was still enough to realize that leaving him was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t lose herself completely.

So, when her mother came up for the third time, this time with her father in tow, she didn’t fight them when they suggested to call the authorities to remove the Malfoy boy from their property. After all, just because Peter never wanted to grow up, didn't mean Wendy couldn’t.

i could love you / wait 'til you're ready

It was the little things more than it would ever be the big ones. She knew Draco, knew that the only way she could expect big romantic gestures from him was if someone were to put him under a spell, which is why she came to appreciate the small gestures and hold them as close and dear to her heart as she possibly could.

It was the little enchanted paper cranes that would hold little love notes of “your hair looks pretty today” and “how lucky I am to be dating the smartest witch in this castle”.

It was how he would lend her his robe without a second thought when he would see her rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt of warding off the cold, even though he had adamantly tried to convince her to wear a jumper underneath.

It was how he would press a kiss on her temple first thing in the morning, without fail, every single day, no matter if they had fought the previous evening or not, letting her know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was how he would rub her feet at the end of a long day in Hogsmeade, knowing that her boots were a size too small but that she loved them too much not to suck up the pain and go out with them anyways.

She loved him, and whilst she had no problem with telling him just that, he had no problem with showing her, either. And maybe he wasn’t lying when he told her that he just needed time, that she ought to just be patient, that sooner rather than later he would feel ready enough to say it, too.

The question wasn’t whether she could wait or not; she knew she could.  The question was whether she loved herself enough to know that she shouldn't have to.

forever 20

Twenty.

That’s how often she had said it, and how often he had stayed quiet. And every time he hated himself just a little bit more because he knew that with every time that she would say it without hearing a reply, he would get closer to hearing it for the last time.

And now here he was, stuck at twenty, forever, because he knew her well enough to know that it was over, really, truly over, with no one to blame but himself.

The worst thing was that for every time she said it, he had wanted to say it tenfold, had wanted to shower her with those words until she grew sick and tired of them. Had, on the worst days, wanted to just grip her by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake her and tell her, over and over, that he loved her, that he had loved her all this time and would love her for all the time to come.

But he never did, and now she was gone beyond his reach and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The best thing he had ever done for her. And that had to count for something, right?

[fixfoxnox]

Something In The Orange - Part 4

Summary: Roach goes on his first mission with the 141

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, somewhat graphic depictions of violence, near-death experiences

Note: I am also uploading this fic to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there!

Word Count: 6.6k

"Where the liquid fire filled his lungs and his eyes,

silenced any mortal cries

Cold and the grip of death stinging pain, he fought like

hell to keep the wolves away"

"Keep the Wolves Away" - Uncle Lucius

The view of the sunset was particularly breathtaking that night. At least that’s what Roach thought as he stared at the streaks of oranges and pinks that set the sky ablaze. He wondered if tonight, the sunset was really so beautiful, or if he only thought so because of the people surrounding him. 

There was a content feeling that was resting over his chest, a feeling of happiness and belonging that he hadn’t felt since his old life. He’d come close, of course, he had. His friendship with Jackson had filled the hole in his chest for a period, but even that hadn’t completely erased the feeling of longing he had for a life taken from him. 

Though he knew he hadn’t returned to that life again, sitting on a rooftop doing recon with the members of the 141 was close enough that he could feel that bubbling of happiness in his chest. 

“You’re sure this is the building?” Came the question from a rather bored Gaz.

Roach turned to look at him, his fingers tangled in his necklace to help calm his nerves. He was happy, but he was also nervous. Not only were they on the hunt for Makarov, but he knew he had to prove himself to the team. “Unless your information was wrong, that's definitely the building. 

“Makarov was supposed to be here an hour ago,” Came the complaint from Soap, “We’ve been up with no sign of anything. Maybe he backed off?”

“I doubt it,” Price shook his head from his place on the roof, “He’s probably changing his security detail up at several stops. Changing the schedule could throw off any would-be assassin’s plan.”

The roof fell quiet once again. Roach turned back to the almost gone sunset, a smile pulling at his lips. All that was missing was Price calling him a muppet and he would almost think that he was back on his first mission with the group. It was a pleasant sort of reminder. 

“You religious, Roach?”

The question caught Roach completely off guard, his head turning to look at Soap who’d asked the question. The older man was looking at him curiously from his position reclined next to Ghost. He must have seen the confused look on his face because soon he was nodding his head towards the necklace Roach had wrapped around his fingers.

Roach looked down at the cross necklace he’d taken to wearing, “Oh, uh, no. Not really.”

Soap seemed a bit surprised at that, “Why the cross then?”

“It’s a little odd,” Roach said, “When I was on the Demon Dogs there were a couple of times where I just felt like I needed a little comfort.” He shrugged, tangling his fingers with the necklace further, “It reminds me of home a bit. My family is religious.”

“But not you?”

Roach chuckled, “Not me.” He pushed himself up a bit further and directed his gaze down to where Makarov was supposed to eventually make an appearance. “Being who I am, seeing what I’ve seen,” he paused, “It’s a bit hard to stay faithful.”

Soap nodded, “I understand, sorry for asking.”

Roach shook his head, “Oh no, don’t worry. I get it, there’s a bit of a reputation around people with an accent like mine and a belief in God.” Roach paused then, “I suppose asking how you got your call sign would be a bit too much in return?”

Soap gave a chuckle before a wink, “It’s classified.”

Roach gave a grin in response, “That probably means you’ve got it for an embarrassing reason.”

Soap raised a hand over his heart and feigned being hurt for a moment, “What about you, eh? I bet you won’t share how you got the name Roach?”

A grin crossed Roach’s face, “Oh no, mine’s not embarrassing.” Soap motioned for Roach to continue, “I’m hard to kill, so they called me Roach.”

Soap scoffed, “Oh c’mon, that can’t be true.”

“It is!”

“Yeah, okay,” Soap scoffed, “keep it to yourself then.” Roach let out an annoyed huff and gave a roll of his eyes at Soap’s disbelief. Still, he could feel fondness flutter in his chest. 

“Eyes sharp boys,” Price called suddenly, catching the attention of everyone in the group. Looking over the edge of the building with his scope allowed Roach to see three black vans pulling up to the building they believed Makarov was going to be staying in. 

“Three vans,” Ghost reported, “No sightline on the people inside.”

“Guy at the back,” Roach pointed out, spotting one of the men getting out of the last van, “He’s got a weapon.”

“That’s them,” Price breathed, pushing himself closer to the edge of the roof. 

The group waited silently as people in the first and last van stepped out, forming a protective barrier around the second of the vans. The security detail was definitely something that would match up with Makarov, but something about the uniforms rang as wrong to Roach. The men looked familiar, enough that he knew he’d seen them somewhere in his past life, but he didn’t feel confident placing them as Makarov’s men. Finally, the door to the second van was opened. First came more armed guards then, finally, a man in uniform stepped out. Except, the man wasn’t Makarov. 

“What the fuck,” Ghost muttered, “It’s Shepherd.”

“What?” Soap asked, also moving closer to the edge. 

The mention of Shepherd meant that Roach could finally place the men who were standing around as his security, “Shadow Company,” he muttered to himself. The only person who heard him was Gaz, the man shooting him a glance before focusing back on the building. 

“It’s supposed to be Makarov,” Price said, taking the scope that Ghost passed off to him. “Shit. Hold on.” Price messed with his coms for a moment before, “Laswell, we’ve got an issue.” 

Roach could hear a woman’s voice in his ear, “What’s going on? Did Makarov not show?”

“Not only is Makarov not here,” Price said, “But someone else is in his place. Shepherd.”

“What? Why is Shepherd there?”

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” Price responded.

“Shit,” The woman, Laswell, said, “Our informant must have mixed up the two.”

“Lovely,” Price said, pacing the roof, “Absolutely phenomenal. So now I don’t have Makarov, or the clearance to go after the American traitor.”

“Just wait okay, just because it isn’t Makarov doesn’t mean we won’t take this opportunity to bring Shepherd in, just give me a minute John.” The line went silent.

“Laswell better get us clearance,” Soap muttered, “I want to bring the bastard in.”

Roach could feel his hands shaking. His breath went a bit quicker and he couldn’t help but be thankful for the darkness as he was sure he’d gone pale. Chasing Makarov was one thing, but coming face to face with the man who’d ended his first life? That was another deal completely. He continued watching through the scope, with far more shakieness this time. “He’s going inside the building,” he reported quietly. 

“Price?”

“Laswell,” Price responded, “Tell me something good.”

“You’re cleared to go for Shepherd. Your goal is to bring him in alive, but if it comes to it, you’re free to take him out.”

Soap gave a bit of a cheer at the news and the others seemed similarly pleased. Roach tried to ignore the feeling of sickness that crept up his throat.

Roach motioned with his hand for the members of the 141 to follow him through the alleys of the city. They weren’t headed directly for the building that Shepherd was in, but rather one of the various sewer entrances around the area. It wasn’t a very pleasant path, but it would get them into the building without having to worry about any security details.

“You’re sure there isn’t a less…dirty way in?” Gaz asked as they approached the short little tunnel into the sewers. 

“Unless you want to fight your way in,” Roach said simply. His nerves were still fried, but he wasn’t going to back out of the mission. Hopefully, things would go smoothly. 

“That might be preferable,” Gaz muttered as they stepped into the shallow murky water of the sewer system.

The group continued through the sewers, Roach leading them through the tunnels that wound around to the bottom of their target building. The walk wasn’t long, but Roach could feel the atmosphere go tenser the closer they got to the building, the entire squad preparing themselves for an inevitable firefight. 

“This is it,” Roach motioned to the ladder in front of the group, “It’ll put us in the basement.”

“Right,” Price made his way to the front of the group, Roach willingly falling back to let him take over, ��Shepherd’s room is on the fourth floor. We’re going to head up and clear the building floor by floor, let’s keep it as silent as possible for as long as we can. Suppressed weapons only for the first few floors.” Roach nodded, pulling a suppressor from his belt and attaching it to his gun as Price continued with his orders. “When we hit the fourth floor, Ghost and Soap will make their way up past us to the fifth floor. If Shepherd realizes we’re there and gets away, he’ll head up to the roof and that nice little heli sitting at the top of the building, if that happens, the two of you will cut him off. Gaz, Roach, you’ll stay with me.”

With everyone in agreeance on the plan, the group started up the ladder, Price in the lead. 

The basement was, thankfully, empty, allowing the 141 to easily move up to the first floor. 

Clearing the first floor was the beginning of the resistance that the group would face. Along with a number of Civies that the group were forced to direct back into their rooms or outside of the building, nearly every hallway that they came to had one or more guards blocking their way. Luckily, everyone in the group had quick reaction times, each of the Shadow Company guards being dropped within seconds. The Second floor was cleared just as easily.

Heading to the fourth floor seemed that it was going to be equally as easy, the group making it through the first area of the third floor without issue. Things were feeling a bit too easy when Roach dropped the guard standing in front of the staircase, so it made sense that only moments later, everything would go to shit. As the group moved towards the staircase, there came a sudden ring of shots from behind them, forcing them to take cover as best as they could. 

“Shit,” Gaz yelled as the group returned fire, “How the hell did they figure out we were here?”

Roach considered their path for a moment. The hotel had cameras, but they’d disabled those in the basement before coming up. The only way that Shepherd's men could have seen them was if, “They probably set up their own cameras!”

“Price,” Ghost called after delivering several quick takedown shots, “We’ve got to move! Shepherds probably getting ready to leave.”

Price gave a grunt in response, shooting several of the men who continued to emerge from down the hallway. “If we try up the stairs they’ll take us out from behind, we have to clear them out first.”

Roach shook his head, he knew if they took the time to clear out the seemingly never-ending wave of enemies, Shepherd would be long gone before they even made it up to the next floor. “That will take too long,” he called, “You guys go, I’ll cover you from here and hold them off.”

“Are you insane?” Came the question from Soap, “You’ll get overwhelmed down here!”

“I’ll be fine!” Roach peeked over the top of his cover and delivered four quick and clean headshots to the four soldiers who’d run into the hallway. “Now go! I’ll cover!”

Roach left the group with no room for arguing, popping out of his cover to provide covering fire, each of the members popping up and making their way back into the stairway. Price was the last to go, stopping to tell Roach, “Stay alive. We’ll be on comms,” before he too stepped into the staircase and left Roach alone to fend off the oncoming Shadow Company members by himself. 

The numbers weren’t too overwhelming, each of the men arriving in groups of four to six, usually he could drop them quick enough that they’d all be dead by the time the next group would run around the corner. The difficult part came when he had to reload, the brief time it took allowed whoever was at the end of the hallway to advance further toward him than he was necessarily comfortable with. There was also the issue of ammo. He knew that he was slowly running out. 

“Price we’ve made it to the fifth floor, took out the guards, no further activity,” Ghost reported over their comms.

“Good, hold steady. Gaz and I are moving toward Shepherd's room. Roach, how are you holding up?”

Roach handled the few men at the end of the hall before responding, “Still alive.”

Roach could have sworn he heard a sigh of relief over the comms, but he wasn’t quite sure who it had come from. “Right, Gaz and I are breaching Shepherd's room now.” 

The knowledge that, soon, Shepherd would be in the custody of the 141 and unable to hurt himself or Ghost gave Roach a bit of comfort. This entire mission had put him on edge, he’d hoped to never be this close to Shepherd ever again. 

After a few more minutes of stopping any members of Shadow Company that dared to show themselves, Roach was pleased to see that the steady flow of Shadow Company members seemed to finally come to an end. Again, his luck seemed to enjoy knocking him back down a level as only a moment after he determined that there would be no more people coming towards him from the hallway, Price reported, “Team be aware, Shepherd is not in his room. It looks like he’s only recently left. Ghost, Soap, be on alert. Gaz and I are going to head up towards you, but it’s possible Shepherd has taken the other staircase.”

“Got it, I’ll cover the east stairs,” Came the voice of Soap, the man sounding more than hopeful that Shepherd would show himself and give him a shot at him. 

“Price,” Roach started, “The hallway down here is clear. No more men that I can see.”

“It’s clear?” Came the confused voice of Gaz, “They’ve probably rerouted their men up here.”

“Alright, good job Roach,” Price called, “Team, be aware we may have reinforcements heading our way. Roach, I need you to head up the east stairs and help us close off Shepherd. Either way he goes he’ll be cut off.”

“On it,” Roach called back. He left his cover and began carefully backtracking towards the eastern staircase, the group had used it to come up to the third floor. 

He was met with little resistance on his way to the stairs, taking out two other guards who’d taken station by the entrance. With careful and quick steps, he made his way toward the door. 

“Entering the east staircase,” he reported before pulling the door open. His entire body went rigid at the sight he was met with before he felt a familiar sting of a gunshot to his chest.

“Roach, what’s your status?” Price and Gaz stopped on the staircase, both sharing a concerned glance at the gunshot they’d clearly heard from who they could only assume was Roach’s comms. “Roach, report. Are you okay?”

There was a moment of silence before some movement from the comm then finally, “Hello taskforce 141.”

Price felt his blood run cold. “Shepherd,” he acknowledged over the comm. “What happened to Roach?”

“He is…out of commission.”

“You-”

“Oh don’t worry, he’s not dead. Yet.”

Price could hear an intake of breaths from his team members, Soap was the first to respond, “You bastard.”

“Now, now,” Came the voice of Shepherd, Price motioned for Gaz to follow him, the both of them beginning a rush back down the stairs, “That’s not very nice.”

“You’re a dead man Shepherd,” That came from Ghost, the man also obviously having started down the stairs if the sound of a door above Price and Gaz was anything to go by.

“No,” Shepherd responded with a taunting lilt to his voice, “I don’t think so. Let this be a warning to you, Price: keep coming after me and you’ll lose your entire team. For now, I’ll leave you only one body.”

“Don’t-” the yell from Soap was cut off by the sound of another gunshot.

The pain of a bullet in his chest worked almost like adrenaline for Roach. His chest was stinging and he felt like he couldn’t breathe for a second. It didn’t help that his frightened mind and heightened senses decided to remind him violently of the first time he’d been shot by Shepherd. 

There was the gunshot, betrayal flooding his system followed by pure panic and an overwhelming heavy feeling in his lungs as Ghost was gunned down only a moment later. With his prior injuries and the new gunshot wound to his chest, Roach could offer nothing but a weak grab at Shepherd's arm when the man grabbed the DSM off of his body. 

He remembers Shepherd tossing his hand off, disgust evident on his face. He remembered briefly coming in and out of consciousness, the feeling of nausea taking him over as he lost more and more blood. He remembers the acrid taste of gasoline in his mouth and the way he wanted desperately to cough and spit the terrible taste from his mouth. He remembered the fire and smoke filling his lungs only a moment later. 

Roach remembered all of these things in the span of a second. He supposed it was a miniature version of his life flashing before his eyes. He was rather surprised, with all of the painful memories of his death, that it was the memory of the neverending darkness before the screaming of being reborn that motivated him to move. Maybe it was the pain of potentially having to start all over again or maybe it was the fear of not getting another chance. Either way, he found himself clawing at the carpet of the hallway and dragging himself away from Shepherd. 

The man wasn’t willing to let him go that easy though, soon kicking him back to his side so he could reach down to take the comm from his ear and throw his side arm down the hallway. Roach reached out to stop him, his hand grabbing the man’s wrist in a move that was oh-so-familiar to him. Shepherd threw his hand off with disgust, just the same as he’d once done. Roach started crawling again. 

He could hear Shepherd behind him, and distantly he registered that the man was taunting the 141, trying to make threats that Roach knew he would make good on. He couldn’t be bothered to listen to what the man was saying, the words going in one ear and out the other as his mind narrowed in on one thing. 

It was a knife, lodged into the head of one of the guards that he’d killed on his way to the staircase. It had been a quick reflex to throw his knife, the memory of Simon teaching him to do it in his past life guiding his movements. The shot to the other guard had also been reflex, one closer to something that Soap would have applauded. Roach thought, distantly, that if he could make it to the knife, he could use it to take Shepherd out. He hoped it would be only the man who would be killed, but he supposed that if he had to die, he’d be fine if only he could take the man out with him. 

Shepherd didn’t even realize he was going for the knife, following behind Roach and kicking any guns they came across out of Roach’s way. He didn’t even notice when Roach draped himself over the body of the guard and pulled the knife from the man’s head. Roach had the blade firmly in his hand when he turned to his back, seeing Shepherd's gun pointed towards him once again, the man ready to deliver a killing shot. 

As quickly as he could, Roach threw the knife at Shepherd, feeling for a brief moment the phantom hands of Simon guiding his movements. The knife hit Shepherd's arm just as he pulled the trigger, the bullet knocked off target as Shepherd dropped the gun in reaction to the sudden pain in his arm. Roach could hear the bullet hit next to his head, but he paid the near-death shot no mind, instead using what strength he had left in his body to lunge for Shepherd's gun. 

He could see Shepherd lunging for it as well, but Roach was quicker, grabbing the handle of the gun and pointing the weapon at Shepherd. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid Shepherd making a grab at the weapon, the two briefly grappling as Roach tried to hold tight to the weapon and find the trigger. Luckily, his finger was able to locate it rather quickly. 

A shot rang out, surprise and pain crossing Shepherd's face. It took the both of them only a moment to realize that Roach had managed to find the trigger and get a shot off. Roach wasted no time in pulling the trigger again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. 

He emptied the entire magazine into Shepherd's body, ignoring as the man went unconscious after the second shot. An odd sense of satisfaction and relief strummed through his body as the gun finally clicked with the sign that he was out of bullets to use. He shoved Shepherd's limp body off of his, pushing himself up and back so he was propped up against the wall. He was still bleeding, and distantly he could feel nausea creeping up his throat and warning him that he was losing too much blood, but he paid it no mind. 

Instead, he stared. Stared with a deep satisfaction at the body of the man who’d killed him and the man he loved. Who’d taken the beautiful wonderful life that Roach had managed to carve out for himself in his first life and stomped it out with a gunshot and a cigar. All at once it felt somehow like things were finally over. It was a sort of final chapter to Roach’s first life, one he didn’t realize he was still stuck on. All at once, that chapter was over. He could finally move on. 

He didn’t expect the tears that formed in his eyes at the knowledge. Even as his world started dancing with black dots and he wondered distantly if he was about to die again, Roach found that he couldn’t stop the tears. 

There were footsteps then, rapid ones rounding the corner and in a moment, Captain Price was knelt in front of Roach, a hand pressing painfully into his gunshot wound to provide pressure. “...oach? Roach? Can you hear me?’

Roach furrowed his eyebrows, “Shepherds dead.”

Price gave him nothing more than a nod, “You did good kid, but that’s not important right now. Listen, I need you to try to stay awake alright? Medical is already on their way up here.”

“Medical?” Roach’s mind couldn’t quite understand that this time around he wouldn’t be left to die. Instead, his mind thought of something else, “Ghost?”

Price gave him a quick glance before going back to putting pressure on his wound, “Ghost is fine lad. So is Soap. We’re all okay.”

The confirmation that Ghost was okay made Roach’s chest a bit lighter, he felt a bit more at peace, even as he was suddenly surrounded by several medics who began to load him onto a stretcher. 

The trip down from inside of the building went by in blurs for Roach, his mind trying to follow Captain Price’s orders to stay conscious, but his body actively fighting against him. He found himself tilting his head to the side, hoping that the coolness of the stretcher would provide him with a bit of relief from the phantom flames he felt licking at his skin. 

As he was being delivered to the ambulance, he spotted Ghost. His eyes followed the man, and he was sure that his feelings were clear in his gaze. Ghost didn’t give him a glance, but Roach didn’t mind. He seemed determined to get to something, and Roach assumed it was important by his body language. 

He watched, his eyes growing heavier and heavier as Ghost found his way to Soap, the two men stopping once they’d reached each other. Roach was happy to see both of them. Happy to see his friend and the man he loved. Happy to see them hugging. Happy to see Ghost pulling his mask up just below his nose. Happy to see them sharing a short kiss.

Roach’s world went black.

The first thing Roach heard was the sound of beeping. It was a steady noise, following the same interval of silence before another beep. It was oddly calming. 

Roach’s eyes opened first, his mind still swathed in darkness as he was blinded by a sterile and stark white. For a moment, he wondered if he’d been reborn again. That moment faded as he began to feel his body lying beneath the sheets of the bed. He realized very quickly that he was laying in a hospital bed, and that the steady beeping was his heartbeat monitor. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Roach turned his head too quickly, his world going dizzy for a moment before he was finally able to focus on the, rather dressed-down, form of Captain Price next to his bed. “Captain Price?”

Price nodded, “Glad to see the blood loss didn’t fuck with your memory,” he paused for a moment, “Also just glad to see you’re alright.” 

Roach carefully pushed himself up further in the hospital bed, his side protesting at the movement. His mind was trying to slowly piece together the last few things that he remembered happening, “Shepherd is dead.”

A brief smile crossed Price’s face before he nodded, “He is. You killed him.” There was a moment of silence as Roach let that fact fully sink in. “You did good Roach.” Roach came back to himself, turning to look to Price who reached beside him to pull out a file with his name on it, “I understand now why you’ve got so many glowing reviews in this thing.” A sense of hope bubbled up in Roach, he wondered if this was his moment. “I’d be more than willing to write you a review as well.” Roach felt his heart drop to his stomach, “Or,” Price paused from where he’d been flipping through Roach’s file, “Or, you could join my team.”

“The 141?” Roach breathed out, trying to school his expressions into something more professional than the excitement he felt. “It would be an honor, Captain.” 

Price gave him a small smile, as though he knew that Roach was trying to hide his true excitement. “All of us on the team were highly impressed with you. Both Ghost and Soap recommended that I invite you to join. We’ll be glad to have you on the team.”

Roach gave a smile, the knowledge that Soap and Ghost had both been so impressed with his performance the night before that they’d mentioned him joining to Price? It made an odd sort of happiness bubble up in his chest. His mind supplied the memories of the night before. Working with the 141, Soap and Ghost specifically, killing Shepherd and being hit with a sense of catharsis, being taken away by the medics, and seeing…

“Get some rest, Roach. As soon as you’re cleared with medical we’ll get you all set up.” Price stood from the chair and started towards the door to Roach’s hospital room. Roach stopped him. 

“Um, Captain, last night, when I was being taken away,” he paused, trying to find the right words, “did I see Soap and Ghost kiss?”

Roach could practically see Price’s body language change. He stood up taller and crossed his arms. His face went deceptively blank. It was like a layer of tension fell over the room. “Possibly,” he responded, “The two are in a relationship, so I wouldn’t be surprised.” Roach felt as though he forgot how to breathe, his chest was suddenly covered with an invisible and unexpected weight. His face must have given something away to Price because soon the man was saying, “Is that going to be a problem, Sergeant Sanderson?”

Roach looked up at him, confused at the sudden hostility in his voice before his brain connected the dots, “I’m not homophobic sir, if that’s what you’re worried about,” He rushed out, his mind running in circles as it tried to process the new information and come up with an excuse for Price that the man would accept. Finally, he landed on, “I’m gay.” He winced a bit at the rather rushed and nervous way it was spoken, but the words landed and Price was relaxing slightly, “I just didn’t think relationships within a squad were allowed.”

That uncrossed Price’s arms, the man relaxing once again, “We’re a bit different than your average squad lad. So long as the relationship doesn’t get in the way of your work, I couldn't care less what you lot do with each other in your free time.”

Roach nodded, doing his best to contain his emotions for the moment, “Good to know.”

Price nodded to him, giving a quick goodbye before leaving Roach alone with his newfound knowledge that while he’d finally made it to the 141, he’d lost any opportunity he had of returning to the life that he’d left behind. 

“Well, at least you’re alive.”

“That's what you got out of that?” Roach had to admit, he’d been expecting a little bit bigger of a reaction from Jackson. 

“What else am I supposed to say?” Jackson’s voice was slightly muffled through the phone, the long-distance making it even more noticeable, “Roach you could have died, sorry that I’m not as worried about the 141 drama.”

Roach rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t really upset by Jackson’s reaction. The man had only heard about the 141 and Simon through Roach, so he didn’t have much stake in what actually happened with them. “I called for advice, not to tell you I was shot.”

“So you wouldn’t have told me you got shot otherwise?”

“Paul.”

“Okay, okay,” Roach could practically see Jackson holding his hands up in mock surrender, “What are you thinking about doing? You gonna break ‘em up?”

“What?” Roach huffed into the phone, “No I’m not going to break them up.”

“So…?”

“I was thinking about backing out of the 141.”

There was a pause, “You’re literally a fucking idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Roach, you’ve spent your entire life trying to get back to the 141. And now you’re going to throw it away?”

“I wanted to get back to the 141,” Roach agreed, “But I wanted to do it with Ghost.”

“You’re still doing it with him,” Jackson pointed out, “just not in the way you thought.” There was another pause, “Listen, you’ve finally got a chance to remake those friendships you’ve missed so much, don’t throw it away.”

Roach’s chest ached. He knew Jackson was right. He’d spent his entire life trying to get back to the 141 and see his friends again. He was heartbroken at the knowledge that he’d missed his chance with Simon. He knew that by the tears that soaked his pillow after Price left him alone the night before. Despite that, the thought of losing his chance with the 141 sent him into a bit of a spiral, which was the precise reason he decided to call Jackson. He needed someone to talk to before he made a decision he would regret. “I don’t know,” he finally mumbled back. 

Roach could hear the sigh over the phone before there was another moment of silence between the two, “How about this, you stick with the 141, but if seeing someone else with Ghost becomes too much for you, that’s when you leave. Just…give it a chance first Sanderson.”

“Glad to see you again,” Soap gave Roach a large grin, Roach doing his best to return the smile. He’d just walked into the 141’s meeting area, having been dropped off on base with the knowledge that the team was in a briefing and that he could just head there. 

Upon walking into the room he’d been met with the eyes of the four other members of the team, each looking surprised to see him up and moving already. Soap had been the first to break out of that surprise. “You didn’t think I’d died, did you?” Roach tossed out, trying to avoid looking at Ghost, “I told you they call me Roach for a reason.”

“Did you get medical clearance?” The question came from Price and he got all the answer he needed when Roach winced at the question.

“I’m fine,” Roach offered, “I feel fine.”

“Fine doesn’t keep you from getting shot,” came Ghost’s gruff response. Roach refused to look at him, instead maintaining eye contact with Captain Price.

The two stared each other down for a moment and Roach suddenly felt like a kid in a staring contest with their parent. If he won Price would let him join in on the current mission, if he lost he’d have to sit out even longer. Finally, after a few moments, Price broke eye contact with a sigh, and Roach internally let out a cheer. “Alright, but if you die on this mission that’s on you kid.”

“Noted sir!” Price motioned for Roach to take a seat and, despite the empty chair next to Ghost and Soap, Roach made a point to go around the table and take a seat next to Gaz. He gave the British man a quick smile as he did so, and Gaz seemed amused enough at his entrance to the room to give him one back. 

“Alright,” Price said, taking the attention of the room once again, “As we all know, our last mission didn’t go exactly as planned. This was because of our informant. Laswell did a bit more digging on the informant and learned that they’ve been on Makarov’s payroll the entire time.”

“So Makarov wanted us to kill Shepherd,” Ghost tossed out. 

“Why the hell would he want that?” Soap asked, “I mean Shepherd was in the wind. He was on the run with no way to take action against him. Why trick us into going after him?”

“A distraction?” Gaz questioned. 

Roach shook his head, thinking back to what he remembered about his old life’s Shepherd and about Shadow Company. Using them as a distraction didn’t exactly line up. Ghost seemed to agree, “We had no idea where he was at, or what he was planning. What would he need to distract us for?”

Price shook his head, “Makarov needed Shepherd out of the way for a reason. And he needed him gone quietly. Why?”

Roach had a thought then, remembering the very thing he and Ghost had been killed for, “Information.”

“What?” 

Roach noticed all eyes in the room on him, “Did Shepherd take any information with him when he disappeared?”

Price crossed his arms, “Laswell mentioned that Shepherd's computer and drive were missing and that he likely brought them with him.”

“And did they find the computer and drive at the hotel?”

There was a pause before suddenly Price was cursing. He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing numbers in quick succession. Within a moment he’d stepped out of the conference room to speak with who Roach could only assume was the Laswell that he’d spoken with during their last meeting. 

This moment left the room in a brief silence before, “Good catch.” 

The compliment came, surprisingly, from Gaz. Roach couldn’t help but be proud at the compliment. He didn’t know how easy it was going to be to befriend Gaz, so the fact that he already seemed to be on the man’s good side was making him feel quite good. 

“How’d you catch that?” Came the question from Ghost. There was a hint of distrust in his voice, one that brought back a nostalgic feeling of first working with the man in his past life. It had taken time to earn Ghost’s trust, time that Roach had been and, despite the heartache, was still willing to put into his new life. 

Roach shrugged, “It seemed obvious. If Makarov got wind that Shepherd had taken information, he’d likely see it as a free ticket to American information. I figured with Shadow Company guarding Shepherd, all Makarov would have to do is find the weak one out of the bunch to nab the information for him,” Roach sighed and shook his head, “The poor sucker is probably dead already.”

“I’m surprised you know about Shadow Company,” came the voice of Gaz, “I mean I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised now, but you knew about them before any of us said anything back on the mission.”

Roach found himself fumbling. He forgot that Shadow Company was meant to be a somewhat secret spec ops team. After a moment he offered, “There’s a pretty chatty recruit with a brother who works in the pentagon on base. He likes to sit in the same area you guys were in when I overheard you talking about Makarov.”

Soap gave a bit of a laugh at that, “Truly like a bug aren’t you Roach? Like a fly on the wall.” He gave him a grin, “You probably know a lot more about what goes on around here than you let on.”

Roach gave a small laugh at that, they really had no idea how much he knew.

Price entered the room again soon after, a frustrated look on his face that told Roach that he’d been right. “Shepherd’s computer is nowhere to be found.”

“We played right into Makarov’s hands,” Ghost noted. Roach watched him, wondering for a brief moment if he had that pinched look on his face under the mask, the one that meant he was frustrated but slightly impressed with the enemy's play. 

“What do we do now?” 

Price pinched the bridge of his nose, “There isn’t much we can do.”

“We can’t let up on Makarov. If he has another chance he’ll try to stir things up,” Soap leaned forward, his hands splaying out on the table in a plead for Price to give the team some sort of option. 

“Makarov’s dropped off of the grid,” Price explained, “At this point, all we can do is chase a few loose threads and hope that one of them leads us to him.”

“I hate chasing threads,” came a grumble from Gaz. 

Roach didn’t quite know how to feel about it. On one hand, he didn’t like the idea of Makarov running free with American intel, but on the other hand, he found himself relieved to avoid a true hunt for the man, at least for a little longer. 

Prev: Part 3

Next: Part 5

[decennia]

Sup! Can you tell more about Ives Mclaggen and Dean Thomas?Like what is happening in their story and all that

omfg sorry this took so long to respond to, it got lost in my inbox among the submissions for the giveaway haha

also, literally last night, the more I thought about Ives, the more I started to like her and Blaise together more? and Diana and Dean just seemed to also make more sense? so... here I am changing the love interests at the last second haha! she initially was a Blaise OC anyways, but I thought of one (1) scene with her and Dean that I thought would've been cute and then I derailed my entire story just for it, but now I realise it really wouldn't work between them (especially since she's Ginny's friend).

ABOUT: IVES MCLAGGEN

To fully understand the Blaise/Ives dynamic, you have to understand Ives first

Which is notoriously difficult

And since no one has asked about her until now, I will be using this opportunity to infodump, haha

Ives is the person who just appears. You'll never hear her enter the room and you'll never see her leave but you'll turn your head for 0.5 seconds and suddenly she's there

She's very quiet

And knows everyone's secrets

Or at least you think she does, but really, she just has this quality about her that feels... wise. Like some ancient being trapped in the confines of a fifteen year old girl. Her eyes speak of the fall of empires and her small smile whispers of knowing

She reminds her father, Tiberius, a lot of Socorro

She has a touch of Legilimensy too; she can't quite read minds just yet, but she's very attuned to emotions

She has a bit of whimsy about her, much like Luna Lovegood

So naturally, they gravitated towards each other as friends

Ginny, Luna, and Ives. An odd trio

Caden is very protective of Ives. They're Cormac's cousins, and kinda find him to be a bit of a tosser (but they'll stand up for him if anyone else says so, because he's still their tosser)

She was one of the only Slytherins permitted into Dumbledore's Army, probably because Caden was a Gryffindor and she was trusted through her association with him

And, she believed Harry. That fear, when he came back with Cedric's body, that fear and rage and sorrow, you can't lie about something like that

Her story (Ablaze) starts much later than the others, centering around Half-Blood Prince. It, like all the other fics in the Malefica Series, is closely entwined with the other narratives (A Funeral March In Eight, And The Snakes Start To Sing, Lacrimosa, Limerence, etc.)

It fills in the events that Althea misses at Hogwarts while she's away following the death of her mother

Ives notices something strange about Draco Malfoy

And begins to gravitate towards him, trying to unravel the mystery

Too curious for her own good, when you get too close to fire, naturally, you get burned

And burn she did

She'd been snooping in Draco's dorm, trying to find something, anything that could justify his recent behaviour

When in walks none other than Blaise Zabini

They'd never been close, but friendly enough

But when he finds her in there, she feels the fear that rips through him, ice cold and flashing

She knows that he knows something

Something about Draco

And he grabs her, tearing down the stairs to the common room, almost yanking her arm from the socket

He's furious, but also worried. Anxiety clamming his hands, anger creasing his brow

They get into a row (spoken mainly in metaphors and euphemisms to ensure her safety from Malfoy's wrath) of astronomical proportions

One so loud, it has the school muttering, curiously prying to get to the bottom of it

He keeps an eye on her after that

Very closely

And Ives finds that she doesn't even mind it that much

The Dean Scene that made me change my mind like fifteen times was this:

When emotions reach an all-time high, Ives snaps

Coincidentally, Dean Thomas had been having his own little moment of misery following his break up with Ginny

And what he's feeling is so different to what Draco is feeling that she just... clutches on to him

And he needed something to hold on to or else he feared he'd just slip away and so he holds her back

She confides in him that night. And it sparks something in him, a need to protect her, keep her away from danger

And Draco Malfoy had become danger

[strwbrryblues]

Lowkey [1]

Pairings: Lee Minho | Lee Know x Fem!Reader

Genre: Exes to Lovers, Exes with Benefits (i think??), Angst, Fluff, Smut (???), College AU

Warnings: Alcohol, Reader is Bisexual—implied, Felix is also Bi in here (i think?), [No smut as of now]

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Synopsis: You would think a harmless party would do you some good, and you can finally loosen up from holing yourself up with homeworks, until you met him.

I do not condone to having minors on my blog, I also do not wish for minors to even interact with any of my adult fics.

This is not a representation of the Stray Kids members, and is completely fictional. If you think it is, don’t even read at all. I don’t like it when people relate fiction to reality when those are completely different things.

© March 2022, strwbrryblues. All rights reserved.

Lowkey Masterlist | Lowkey Synopsis | Next Chapter

Senior year. High school.

You stood at the now, empty hallway, right in front of the dance club’s practice room. Minho was standing right in front of you, as he clutched on to the straps of his bag. You both waited until no one was around, for him to finally tell you something he’d been meaning to, since the start of the day.

Minho was a smart kid. He knew as much that if he talked to you about the matter, you’d likely pay less attention to classes, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be the reason that you’d be unable to reach your dreams.

“So,” you started. You were half-nervous, curious of what he’s about to tell you. Half-calm, because somehow, you kind of guessed where this was going.

The boy in front of you stood there. His hands that held on to his backpack straps, were shaking. His eyes darted anywhere but you.

“Y/n…” He called. Suddenly he felt shame rising within his body. “I—…We should break up…”

Nervousness left your body, calm remaining, but hurt was stinging every limbs of your body. Your insides churned, but you just gave him a calm look.

You were hurt, yes, but you already saw it coming. The ache is still there, but you’d hate to see it more when Minho looked as though he’s beating himself up over it. You saw the familiar vulnerability in his face—he was insecure—something he’d show only to you.

You took his hands. A gesture that subtly tells him to look at you. And he did.

He saw your face painted with calmness, yet there was pain hidden in your eyes.

Brushing over his knuckles, you finally spoke up. “I already saw this coming…So, don’t beat yourself up over it.” He was confused and hurt, but relieved at the same time. Before he can speak up however, you added, “we really didn’t work out…”

Minho sighed guiltily. He let go of your hands, opting to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close to him. He buried his head on your neck, inhaling the calming scent that once set his heart ablaze.

“I’m sorry we didn’t work out,” his tone was very sad. He sounded upset. With himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you rubbed his back up and down, to ease him. “We didn’t work out, because we were both busy. It wasn’t just you; it was you, me, and our own priorities. You had your worries, and I had mine.”

You swore you heard him sniffling, and it broke your heart. “I don’t deserve you…”

You pushed him off you, grabbing on his face and squishing it. “Don’t say that. Time just didn’t work out for us, and it made us fight a lot. We were both in the wrong, but doesn’t mean we don’t deserve each other…We’re just too young and yet to mature for something complicated like this.”

You wiped the tear that gathered on his eyes. He looked at you, with all his love for you, as if this is the last time, he’s gazing at your orbs like this—which is in fact, the last time he did.

“Would you mind if…I kiss you?” Minho pressed his forehead against yours, eyes pleading at you.

You closed your eyes and sighed, “I think that’s not fair for me…You do know that I’m hurt by all of this...” You opened your eyes and looked at him sadly.

The boy retracted from you, suddenly feeling shame rising once more in his system. “Right. I’m so sorry.” He looked down at his feet.

You pulled him into your arms, “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

A moment of silence enveloped you two, before he broke it, leaving your arms, he spoke, “I should walk you home.” He shrugged off your back pack, carrying it to his back like he always did when he walked you home.

Your heart felt warm, but it held the ache at the thought of him not spending anymore time with you. He won’t be doing this with you, anymore.

Clearing your throat, you gathered the courage to ask him out this last time—for selfish reasons, of keeping one last memory with him.

“Hey,” you caught his attention. You both were walking out of the school building. “I hope this isn’t too much of a request but…Would you mind if we have one last date?”

Minho paused in his steps, turning to you with an amused look. “You rejected my request for a kiss earlier, but you want to go on a date?” He raised a brow teasingly at you.

Heat rose up to your face, as you turned away from him, embarrassed. “That’s different.” Was all you could manage to say.

You continued your walk, but before you can go far, he grabbed on to your wrist. You turned to look at him, and he wore that familiar, soft gaze once more. “Of course, I’ll go out with you.”

“One last time…” You muttered, looking away sadly.

Minho felt the very depths in his heart, something breaking.

“Yeah…one last time.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his ears. The twinkle in his eyes lost its shimmer. There was sadness behind his tone and his orbs.

You both went to your usual hang out place for dates; it was a small cat café a few blocks from the school grounds. There you played with the cats you grew familiar with. Occasionally, you’d glance at Minho’s direction to see his face painting something you don’t usually see him wear. His emotions were all over the place you can sense it. But you chose not to touch the subject, as it can lead you to wanting him to stay with you longer.

Night was drawing near and Minho had insisted in walking you home. You two walked the pavements of your neighborhood in silence. Bordering between comfortable and uneasiness. It reached to the point where you never actually talked until you reached your house, only then did he break the silence.

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday then.” He clenched his fist, heels gently rocking back and forth. He then turned around, not waiting for you to speak.

You stood there, waiting for him to look back, but he didn’t. You entered your home, rushing up to your room with tears welling up in your eyes.

Upon entering the familiarity of your room, you slumped on your bed, quickly dialing Felix’s number.

“Hey,” you muttered, lips quivering sadly.

Felix was quick to hint the tone in your voice, so he opted to speak up. “Code blue?” He asked, worry lacing in his tone.

“Code blue,” you repeated what he said, smiling but it did not reach your eyes. On coming tears stinging away at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m on my way. I’ll sleep over at yours, mom already said yes.” The freckled boy said. You can hear from his side the rustles and shuffles of the boy; clearly he was getting his things ready.

“You really don’t have to,” you sadly whispered, hoping the boy did not hear, but he did.

“It’s the weekend, it’s fine.” You sighed, happy the your dear friend would be there to at least make you smile.

That night, Felix let you vent out the pain you felt from the break up. He took your mind off it for a while, with movies, and friendly café dates.

But when Monday came, it was like the heartache never left. And Minho saying you’ll meet again, it did not happen. It was like he was avoiding you at all cost; you haven’t seen him the whole day, nor the following day, nor the next day after that.

And just like that, three years passed without you two seeing each other. Like you two never met, nor happened. It was only in the second semester of your third year in college, did you two finally meet.

-----

“Y/n come on, I know you’ll enjoy it!” Felix whined. The boy had been bothering you about a party he was invited to by his crush.

“Lix, you were invited, not me. So I don’t see the point of me attending.” You sighed, not really up for partying on a weekend, with your deadline until tonight at exactly 11:59.

The boy grumbled beside you on your desk, “He said I can invite my closest friends. And it’s the weekend! You need to let loose!” He stood up from your bed, walking behind you to give your shoulders a very aggressive massage.

It was a good thing the work you were doing was not written, or else you would have strangled the boy from annoyance. But you won’t do it even so, as you have a very soft spot for your dearest sunshine friend.

“Lix, I have to pass this before midnight.” You grabbed his hands on your shoulder to stop the massage that was making you feel a bit dizzy.

The freckled boy peeked at you, his eyes lacing with mischief. “Does your prof allow late submissions?” He asked.

You remembered at the back of your head that the professor is kind enough to accept late submissions. You really didn’t want to tell him that, but it’s Felix, and you can’t lie to him. “Yes.” You sighed exasperatedly.

The younger boy jumped up and down in excitement. “I knew you’d say ‘yes’ eventually, so I had prepared your attire!” He went to your closet, to pull out a paper bag you noticed him bringing in earlier when he set foot in your apartment.

So that’s why he was hurrying to go to your room earlier, and that you caught him by your closet looking very suspicious

Naturally, this made you shock. “Lee Felix!” You were mad but not really. But then you weren’t happy as well.

“Come on, try it out! I bought this for you on my way here. I know you’ll love it.” You scanned the dress he bought for you. It did not have a provocative nor a conservative design. Equally showing skin, while also looking modest.

The style all in all, really did suit your taste. You can’t help but sigh at this. It was the least you can do before absolutely combusting into million pieces from all the stress weighing down on you. “You know what, I’ll humor you.” At this, Felix clapped very loudly with a childish grin as he zoomed around your room in search for his bag where he pulled out a make-up kit you didn’t know he was carrying around.

You sweat dropped at this. “Just this time Lix.” He nodded his head as he placed your dress on your bed. After setting up you dress for the night, he then grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you to your bathroom.

“A quick bath could do you good you stink girl.” He laughed jokingly. “You’ve been holed up in your room for days.”

You scowled at him. “I take baths, Felix.” He just waved you off, reminding you that the party is in two hours.

This prompted you to take your time as it was still 8 in the evening, until you heard him shouting, “don’t even think about taking your sweet time! I still have to do your hair and make-up.”

You groaned, but then sighed. It was really the least you can do for the boy, so you took your shower quite quickly, but still scrubbing your body very carefully.

When you got out of the bathroom, Felix was quick to push you in a seat in front of your full-body mirror. Placing a couple more chairs he took from your kitchen, he placed all the things he needed for your full make over.

“Literally, how did I not notice you brought all these with you.” You sweat dropped, picking up a cute yellow hair dryer, which he snatched from you.

He plugged the said device, looking at you mischievously, “I have my ways,” he wiggled his brows before turning on the hair dryer.

Felix worked with your hair in haste, but he was gentle; making sure that you were not uncomfortable during the whole process. After drying your hair, he styled it in loose curls—you were once more astonished when he pulled out a flat iron from his bag.

Once he was finished with styling your hair, he then moved to your make-up. Making sure to not make it heavy, he only did a natural look for you that’s fitting to go along with the dress he bought. Once he was done, he moved away from you to admire his work.

You looked in the mirror to see yourself look more freshened than when you were an hour before—completely stressed, with bags underneath your eyes. “Lix, you really didn’t have to go all this way for me.” You gave him a somber look.

“I do what I want, and what I want is for you to let loose and be happy.” He said, giving you a gentle smile that made your heart ache at the visibility of his pure intentions.

“Okay, I promise I’ll have fun tonight.” You said, giving him a small smile.

Felix happily let out a squeal, zooming around your room. Next thing you know, he was all prepped up for the night. “I promise you won’t regret it.” He grinned happily at you, taking you hands in his, and giving it a light squeeze before letting go. “Yeji said she’ll pick us up. She’s on her way right now.”

You suddenly frowned at this. “Just how much did you plan this?” You were starting to get suspicious of Felix with how everything was going into place with his plans. Everything looked like it was prepared before hand that maybe, this party was even a plan of his.

“Oh, she’s actually still going to pick me up either you wanted to go or not.” He said, looking at you very innocently. But you still stared at him with suspicion. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t plan all of this.” He pouted.

You chuckled at the cute reaction he gave. “Okay fine, I believe you.” Sometimes it scared you how much grip Felix’s cuteness has on you. You took note to try and resist him the next time.

A few more minutes and Felix received a message from Yeji, saying that she’s waiting in the parking lot and that she didn’t want to walk up to your apartment. You couldn’t blame her, as you felt like not moving a muscle for the night, if only the freckled boy hasn’t invited you out.

During the whole ride, Felix and Yeji talked about a lot of things, with the boy riding shotgun, it was smoother for their conversation to flow. You didn’t mind riding backseat. You were actually thankful to have it all for yourself.

Thinking the place was a lot farther, you were about to close your eyes for a short nap, when the car halted, with Yeji hollering a, “we’re here.”

You groaned inwardly. You really didn’t want to be here, but you just couldn’t resist your dear friend Felix. Slapping yourself mentally, you gave yourself a small cheer of, “what could possibly go wrong?” so as not to dampen your mood, that could easily be sponged by Felix, and then Yeji would have to pester both of you why you two are not so in the mood.

When the three of you got out of the car, the freckled boy was quick to latch his arms around you and Yeji. And upon entering the said place, he was just as quick to let go both of you, but not without a quick peck on both your cheeks as farewell, and then rushing off starry eyed at a boy, who you concluded as his crush.

Yeji sighed, “you know, if he wasn’t so cute asking me to go on this party, I would have stayed home and binge watched some series.”

You chuckled at her, feeling the very same way. “Come on, let’s just get something to drink.” You giggled, already feeling lighter than when you were working on your homework.

The girl agreed, dragging you around the house in search for a kitchen. When you arrived the said place, a girl was standing beside the fridge, handing out fresh drinks. At this, Yeji was quick to approach her, and quickly engaged a conversation.

From what you were witnessing, they were very close. Yeji noticing your stare, she introduced you. “Y/n! She is a childhood friend of mine, Shin Ryujin.”

Said girl, who was no doubt oozing with charisma, that you almost blushed from it, extended her hand. You shook it before saying, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ryujin replied, all smiles, before handing you a small can of beer. You rejected politely the alcoholic drink, “I’ll have a soda instead.”

“You don’t drink?” She asked, a brow raising but she still wore her charismatic smile.

“I do. Just not in these kinds of parties. I wouldn’t want to make a decision I’d regret later.” You said, as she finally handed you a can of soda.

Opening the can, you sipped from it as you heard Ryujin praise, “smart girl.”

The statement making you flush lightly in embarrassment, before you hear Yeji scoff in pride, “of course! What do you expect from my girl?” You can almost see her nose pointing higher with her eyes closed.

You laughed lightly at her praise, but thank her deep inside for thinking highly of you when in truth insecurity and fear creeps up your very being.

And just like that you fell into a small conversation with them, before it completely shifted to a topic where you suddenly felt out of place. You didn’t mind, thinking that Yeji needed to catch up with her childhood friend, you left their vicinity, while still being in the kitchen—in search for food to nibble on.

You looked around the counter and kitchen island to see junk foods sprawled everywhere. You scowled at the sight of mixed up chips that were now barely touched. Opened ice cream tubs, and soggy, cold fries, and even cold pizza. You thought this place was a disaster.

In honestly, you could’ve gone with one of the foods available, but with all of it being left out in the open, you just grumbled and ignored the groans and moans of your stomach.

Taking another soda in the fridge beside Yeji and Ryujin, hoped there was at least a food inside. And bless the heavens, there was a clear container, and you can see the fresh salad inside, making your stomach rumble in rejoice.

But then you saw in bold markers, the name “Minho” was written. Something inside you made you stop your movements in hesitation. Until a voice inside you head reasoned out, “there are a lot of Minho in this place. It couldn’t be your Minho.”

Still with hesitation, but with determination to fill your stomach up with something, you grabbed the container, wishing on the heavens that this ‘Minho' guy was not your Minho, nor would he care that his salad was just eaten by some stranger.

Your hunger was sate the moment the leafy green entered your mouth, and in the middle of eating, you were sure you heard Yeji mutter something to you. But being to focused on savoring this “Minho’s” salad, you just nodded your head absentmindedly.

Half-way through finishing the salad, someone had made it’s present beside you, a smirk teasing in their tone. “Who eats salad in a party?” The person teased amidst the blaring noise of the music that played in the house. Until, “wait a minute...That’s my salad!”

This caught your attention, making you look up and apologize profusely at the owner of the said salad. “I’m sorry! I just got really hungry, and I didn’t want to eat anything else that was offered because it was exposed and who knows what kind of shit landed in there and—” you blabbered on and on, not meeting the person’s eyes, too ashamed of being caught.

The person held your shoulders however, and the contact felt awfully familiar until you finally met their gaze. “Y/n?”

“Minho?”

It was then your worst fears have been realized, and the salad owner really was your Minho.

[Next Chapter]

-----

Series Taglist: @endzii23 @dreamescapeswriting

A/N: lmao, after months i finally finished the first fckin chapter 💀 btw if you want to be added on the taglist, please let me know! 💗 Also your thoughts about the series are openly welcome! i accept constructive criticisms as well 💗

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[yumeyooa]

revenge is brutally sweet | jeon jungkook

—jeon jungkook’s life so far has been going well. he’s the guitarist of the most famous band in the scene, he’s got the girl of his dreams, and everything he’s ever wished for is in the palm of his hands. what he doesn’t expect though, is to wake up one day in the middle of a controversy. what the controversy is, you may ask? a new band has been hitting the charts, and their lead singer is none other than you, a former member of the band and his ex-girlfriend.

➢  pairing: jeon jungkook x female! reader

➢ genre: angst | slight fluff | band au | slight highschool au | post breakup au | exes au | r 15 | guitarist! jungkook | vocalist! reader

➢ word count: 14.6k+

➢  warning: profanity | heavy drinking | toxic relationships | messy break-ups | self depriciation | bullying | messy closure | this is just very much super angsty

➢ love letter: AH SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG T_T I kinda drowned in midterms AHSHSHs but I hope you enjoy this fic <33 there’s more to this angsty collection to come so stay tuned!! 

navigation | collection masterlist

Life couldn’t be any better. 

This is what Jeon Jungkook constantly told himself every morning after his short, fifteen-minute shower while messily tousling his hair in an extra-soft towel as he takes in the dreary yet somehow vibrant view from his penthouse apartment, soaking in the sun’s rays. 

The city was busy, even though the sun had just risen and bloomed into full glory. The streets were filled with people rushing to get wherever they needed to be, cars driving past with the fervor of a shackled mad man on wheels. If Jungkook looked closer, he would have probably seen the black exhaust drifting in the air from the fumes of those ecologically damaging vehicles or the frantic looks on an office worker’s face as they hurriedly crossed the street obviously late for work. 

But alas, Jungkook couldn’t care less about the trials and tribulations of some strangers he didn’t even know. After all, his life was going great. In fact, he was literally walking on cloud nine at this point and felt like nothing had stopped him. 

Of course, it wasn’t always this way, which was why Jungkook appreciated his success tenfold. 

He, like every other success story, had started from the ground up. Music was something he had always dreamed of doing for the rest of his life. Ever since his grandfather had first shown him how to play the guitar, the melodies had wrapped their whimsical tunes around his heart and made themselves stay. It was fascinating to him how playing a couple of strings could produce such music that could move souls and bring smiles to people’s faces.

And ever since then, he was hooked. Every chance he got, he would play the guitar even if his parents tried to pry him off it. 

They wanted him to be a doctor after all, and there was no way in hell he was going to go by their wishes. While being a doctor was great, it didn’t ignite the same spark that music did, and for Jungkook, he would rather die than live a life without his flame running ablaze.

So, against his parent’s wishes, he pursued a career in music. It wasn’t easy, of course. At first, he had no support system for his dream. His friends and teachers ridiculed and discouraged him, saying that the future was bleak and he had no hopes of making it big. But if Jungkook knew anything about himself, it would most likely have to do with the fact that he was extremely stubborn and persistent, much to the disappointment of the adults in his life. 

So he continued. He continued reaching his dreams, joining every music-related activity he could at his age until he finally met Mr. Park.

Mr. Park was a bright man who came in one day as a replacement for their music teacher, who was an old lady who stuck to the classics and had a somewhat deceiving grading system. He came into class with disheveled hair, an unkempt tie, and when he turned around to write his name on the board, the whole class laughed as they could see his heart print underpants peeking through. 

But despite his clumsiness and seemingly carefree nature, Mr. Park was a master at his craft. He was the epitome of what a music teacher should be; exceptionally skilled, eloquent, and passionate about what he did. But Mr. Park had another talent that not many knew about, which was the eye for potential.

And Mr. Park saw potential in Jungkook.

He had taken Jungkook under his wing and taught him the ropes of music life. The keys of the piano, how notes were read, how symphonies were made. And the more Jungkook learned, the more he yearned for a life surrounding music. When he voiced his wishes to Mr. Park, expecting to receive the same rejection he had always known, he was pleasantly surprised to find out that he had his support.

Mr. Park was the very first person who saw that Jungkook could have a future in music. He was the very first person who showed Jungkook that there was a path for him to take that was far better than the path his parents laid out for him. A rocky path filled with trials and tribulations but ultimately reaped great rewards in the end. 

Like a moth drawn to its flame, Jungkook was attracted to the seemingly devastating path because somehow, amid the darkness, there was hope. Hope for a happier future, a future that wasn’t filled with regret and mourning but full of triumph and satisfaction. Jungkook would be a fool not to pursue the latter.

And thus, in hopes of finally seeing the light, Jungkook decided to start his own band. 

It didn’t start off right away, though. After all, no kid at his school wanted to be part of a band that, in the eyes of their parents, was a complete waste of time. Jungkook kept his small dream hidden deep within his heart, yet even so, it still burned with an unyielding passion. Even if years passed and no opportunity for him to start a band was in sight, Jungkook didn’t give up, knowing that his persistence would one day reap great rewards.

And finally, his chance came in the form of you. 

From the very beginning, Jungkook had always thought you were strange. In a prestigious school known for being the epitome of perfection and class, you were the odd one out, sticking out like a sore thumb with your disheveled appearance and undignified manner of carrying yourself. Almost immediately, you were set to be the outcast, ridiculed by your peers for your looks and mannerisms, even if, in Jungkook’s opinion, you weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

Unfortunately, the world is never kind to those who are different. 

Jungkook’s phone rings from where it is laid on his bedside table, the alarm blaring loudly, causing a shift in the once serene atmosphere of his apartment. Jungkook pays it no mind at first, choosing to finish drying his hair before finally picking up the phone, voice groggy and slightly annoyed from having his peaceful morning interrupted.

“Who is it?” He hastily asks, not meaning to sound as harsh. But could he really be blamed when it was 7 AM in the morning, and he wasn’t expected to show up to any scheduled event until noon?

“Jungkook!” An exasperated voice exclaims from the other side of his phone. It was Namjoon, his manager, Jungkook, quickly concludes. Although it was rare for him to call so early in the morning, especially in such a panicked state. Perhaps he forgot to inform him of a schedule? Although that was annoying, Jungkook wouldn’t really mind. After all, work made money. But if that were the case, it would have been odd for Namjoon to be so panicked about it. The man was known for being reasonably level-headed even in times of extreme stress, so perhaps it was something else entirely. 

“Did you read the news?” Namjoon quickly adds before Jungkook could ask what was wrong. At his question, Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, quickly sitting down on the side of his bed and grabbing his iPad from the same bedside desk, unplugging the charger along the way. 

“No,” he says as he types up the password into the Home Screen, laying his phone in between the juncture of his shoulder and ear. “Is there something I should be concerned about? I mean, it’s not like I got into a scandal or anything, right?”

Wrong.

Well, partly.

The moment Jungkook opens his Twitter, he’s surprised to see more notifications than usual. Of course, it was a given for him to have a ghastly amount of notifications as a celebrity. He did have a large fan base, after all. But the numbers on his screen far exceeded that of what he was used to, and amongst those notifications tagging his account, one article stood out amongst the rest, and the headline made his blood run cold.

“What the fuck?” He whispers, staring at the article in shock as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Am I seeing this right, Namjoon?”

The man on the other side of the phone is silent for a while before Jungkook hears a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook can almost imagine the way he’s probably rubbing his temples together while sipping his cup of black coffee in his office out of stress and frustration

“(Y/N) is back,” he says, causing shivers to run down Jungkook’s spine. “And apparently Jungkook, she wrote a song about you.”

 The day Jungkook finally mustered up the courage to talk to you for the first time was an experience, to say the least. For what felt like years, albeit it was only a few days, Jungkook had been observing you from the sidelines, watching as you were berated by his classmates, who apparently had nothing better to do with their time. 

A part of Jungkook always felt guilty for never standing up for you. He knew you needed a friend. Someone to confide in this hellish school that made it seem as if it were every man for himself. But he was a coward, raised and molded to never take a step outside the boundaries he had set for himself, like a doll.

Although, with Mr. Park's influence, Jungkook could finally break free from his shell, even if it were just a mere few steps. 

"Here," he says nervously, handing you a carton of banana milk that he had picked up from the nearest vending machine the moment he saw you storm out of the classroom in tears. Even then, your classmates had laughed, mocking how sensitive you were, which disgusted Jungkook. Didn't they have any ounce of shame for making a person cry like that?

You look up from where you sat on the school's staircase, eyes puffy from crying so hard, a stream of tears still flowing down your face. You looked like an absolute mess, and the sight only caused Jungkook's heart to clench even more. He sat beside you, albeit a bit distanced because he couldn't help but feel awkward. This was your first conversation, after all. 

You stare at him, not entirely understanding why he would extend kindness towards you. Was this a trick of fate? Was he doing this so you would someday do his bidding in the future? The kids of this school were scary, even scarier than the monsters that hid underneath your bed or the creatures that roamed around in the dead of night. Even amidst the light, they scared you, and you were terrified that the man offering you some banana milk would be just the same. 

"You don't have to take it if you don't want to," Jungkook says, after realizing you were staring at him warily, cautious over whether or not you would accept his gift. "Sweets always cheered me up whenever I feel down, and I thought maybe it would cheer you up too!" 

If anyone were to see your interaction, they would have burst out laughing from how awkward it was. You who were wary and cautious, and Jungkook who was awkward and shy. A stark difference between your usual timid behavior and Jungkook's confident act. In fact, if anyone else were to see this, they would have never believed their eyes. 

It was odd, after all. And you knew this very well. Which was why you were so confused at Jungkook's behavior. Why was he approaching you so kindly when everyone else ridiculed and shunned you out? You were different, someone who didn't deserve to be there. An imposter, an intruder. It didn't make sense for him to act friendly. 

"Don't take this the wrong way," Jungkook continues, setting down the banana milk in the space between the two of you as he fiddled with his fingers, a habit he had picked up over time. "I'm not doing this to mock you or make fun of you later down the line… I just really don't like the way they're treating you. It's not right."

You're stunned. Rightfully so. This was the first time someone had ever gone against what others did to you, despite him doing so behind the scenes. A weird sensation bubbles up from inside you, one you can't quite place. But what you do know is that amidst it all, there's warmth. Jungkook's words sounded genuine and sincere, not like the usual condescending tone you were used to hearing from the rest of your peers. 

He genuinely seemed to care. 

Jungkook's eyes widen in surprise when he sees you grab the carton of banana milk, opening the straw in pushing it through, taking a sip. You sheepishly stare down, not even bothering to look Jungkook in the eye before muttering. "I prefer strawberry milk… but this isn't that bad... I guess… Thanks…" 

His eyes gleam, happy that you've accepted his offering and watching with a content smile as a small smile of your own forms on your lips, a far cry from the mess you were mere moments ago. He had somehow managed to cheer you up, and that was better than anything Jungkook could ever ask for. 

"No problem. Next time I'll buy you a whole box of strawberry milk!" He exclaims, excited for what was about to unfold between the two of you. 

But he would have never expected this. 

And on this week's celebrity news: Former Vocalist of The 97, (L/N) (Y/N) debuts solo with her new single 'Move On', which fans speculate is a direct message to her ex-boyfriend and former bandmate Jeon Jungkook. 

"Fuck!" Jungkook exclaims, overcome with emotion, as he watches the news unfold in the conference room of his label. He had quickly made his way over the moment he saw the headline, confused, devastated, and most of all angry. 

What in the world were you thinking, dragging him down like that?

"Jungkook, calm down," Namjoon says from the other side of the room, trying to prevent Jungkook from destroying the room. Jungkook was strong. And if he really wanted to, he could turn the whole conference room upside down in a blink of an eye, and Namjoon really didn't want to deal with whatever consequence would follow should Jungkook actually decide that he'd destroy the conference room. 

"How the fuck do you expect me to be calm, Namjoon?" Jungkook asks, exasperated as he walks from one end of the room to the other. "This is going to ruin my fucking reputation. And it's all because that bitch is too bitter about our breakup that she decided to fucking write a song about it."

"Hey." Another voice calls out, stern and ready to scold. Jaehyun, the band's bassist, glares at Jungkook with as much disdain as he could muster, not believing the words that came out of Jungkook's mouth. "No matter how you feel about the situation. I'm not going to stand by and let you call (Y/N) a bitch. She was and still is our friend. Just because you're so caught up in your perfect reputation doesn't mean you have to bring others down in the process, Jeon." 

It was rare for Jaehyun to ever call Jungkook by his last name. The two were as close as could be, having been the best of friends for more than ten years and counting. Jungkook knew he could trust Jaehyun with his life and vice versa, so it shocked him to hear that his best friend was defending her. 

"But Jungkook has every reason to be mad, Jaehyun!" Another voice pops up, this time a more feminine one that has Jungkook's heart-melting just a bit. Eunha, his current girlfriend, and the one who was there for him when you left him. She was the band's current vocalist, and Jungkook couldn't feel any more grateful to have someone as supportive as her in his life.

"She's using a personal situation to make her more popular, all the while bringing us down in the process! There's nothing else to call her but a bitch when she's hurting the band she started with! Is that how she says thank you when the band's been nothing but good to her?

It's incredible, Jungkook thinks to himself, how he was able to find someone like Eunha. She was the most compassionate and understanding person in the world, a far cry from what you had become. Bitter, selfish, and downright ungrateful. You probably wrote that song out of spite just to get back at him when he did nothing wrong in the first place. You were crazy, and he was glad Eunha allowed him to see through all of your lies. 

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" Jungkook's eyes darted in surprise to Yugyeom, the band's drummer, who had just cursed at his girlfriend. He glares at the drummer, mad at the fact that the usual happy-go-lucky man was now acting bitter in front of his girlfriend, who had done nothing wrong. Were his bandmates woven that deep within your cruel lies?

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" Eunha asks, appalled, tears forming from the corners of her eyes, which only causes the anger within Jungkook to grow. How dare they. How dare they make Eunha cry when she was doing nothing but telling the truth?

"You heard me, Eunha," Yugyeom continues, paying no mind to the burning rage that was about to burst within Jungkook. "I said shut the fuck up. So what if (Y/N) wrote a song about Jungkook? Why does it matter? She has every right to. I mean, our next single is literally a song Jungkook wrote after the breakup, so why the fuck are you berating her for doing the same?"

"Because she's hurting our reputation!" Eunha exclaims, clearly frustrated at how Yugyeom and Jaehyun weren't getting her point. "And besides, she was the one in the wrong during the breakup. What right does she have to make a song about it?"

Jaehyun scoffs, glare intensifying, causing Jungkook to clench his fist at their hostility. "And how do you know that when you only heard Jungkook's side of the story and not (Y/N) 's? For all we know, Jungkook could also be in the wro—"

Before Jaehyun could finish his sentence, Jungkook explodes, immediately rushing over to where Jaehyun sat and grabbing him by the collar, causing the rest of the band and Namjoon to panic, trying to break them apart, while Eunha watches, scared. 

"You motherfucker," Jungkook curses, hand raised into a fist, ready to punch Jaehyun in the face with all the force he could muster. But before he could do so, Namjoon and Yugyeom immediately held him back, causing Jaehyun to let out shaky breaths as he glared at Jungkook, hurt, confused, and angry. "Why are you defending her? She was the one who hurt me! You're supposed to be my fucking best friend!"

"Maybe if you actually listened to what she had to say and what she was going through, then we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place," Jaehyun screamed back, anger slowly growing as each moment passed by. "You've always been like this Jungkook, self-centered and fucking mean. (Y/N) was right for wanting to leave."

"What did you say, you fucki—"

"Enough!" Namjoon screams, holding his ground. This had gotten out of hand, and it was beginning to stress him out, and clearly, that same stress was spreading through every single person in the room. This wasn't even supposed to be that big of a deal. All they were supposed to do was listen to the song you wrote, and come up with a statement, So why the hell did this turn into a full-blown fight?

Gosh, Namjoon needed a raise. 

"Jeon Jungkook calm the fuck down, or I'll have you on probation, you hear? The same goes for all of you. I don't want to hear any bullshit about who's right or wrong in the relationship. All I need is for us to listen to the song and figure out what we're going to tell the higher-ups. So stop acting like you're a bunch of teenagers and sit down."

Usually, Namjoon wasn't this scary. But there was a glint in his eyes that taunted the band. And they knew that in the heat of the moment, the best thing to do was to shut up and listen. Besides, he was right. The way they were going, no progress would have been made, leading to further complications. With a huff, Jungkook sits down, staring grumpily into space. He wasn't comfortable with what had just occurred, a frenzy of emotions bottling up inside him from the outburst.

Luckily for him, Eunha was quick to hold his hand into hers, soothing him enough to calm his nerves and mentally prepare himself for what was about to unfold. Because he knew he wasn't going to like it.

And true to his words, the moment Namjoon pressed play, he didn't like it. Not one bit. 

Jungkook couldn't quite pin why your song made his blood boil and heart clench. From an outsider's perspective, it was a good song. A really good song. As a musician himself, Jungkook would never deny that. You had a knack for creating some really great tunes that were out of this world, after all. It was the very thing that made him ask you to start a band with him in the first place. 

But there was just something about this piece in particular that seemed different. Your very aura was different, Jungkook concluded as he watched the video, listening to the way you screamed about how good it was that he was able to move on while you haven't. How you laced memories and fragments of your relationship and expertly wove them together to create a masterpiece that echoed into the very depths of his beating heart. 

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because amidst the chaos, you looked free. 

There was something beautiful about the way you were in the middle of a room up in flames, almost to the point where Jungkook knew that it was metaphorical. You liked metaphors. Jungkook remembers how long ago, when the band was just the two of you, you mentioned how metaphors brought out the beauty of the world. They made the ordinary extraordinary. They made the dull come to life. Metaphors were beauty itself, and that's precisely why you loved to play with them so much. 

It's funny to see how that part of you hadn't changed, even after how many years. 

"Jungkook?" Eunha calls out to him, a concerned look gracing over her face. "You okay?" 

Honestly speaking, Jungkook didn't know. The high of his anger had finally settled, and all Jungkook felt was a burning numbness scouring through his veins. It's laughable how mere hours ago, Jungkook was sure that today would be another great day to celebrate how amazing his life was. Yet, here he is, in the middle of a conference room, watching as you submerged yourself underwater at the last scene of your music video, feeling empty. 

He doesn't directly answer Eunha, afraid that if he were to say anything, unwanted words would slip from his lips, and he would unleash another round of chaos and hell. And he was too mentally exhausted to go through that again. So he merely nods, clasping Eunha's hand gently and sighing as Namjoon pauses the video, turning towards the group. 

"Well," Namjoon says, surveying the room to see the band's reactions. But who was he kidding? He knew damn well that the band wasn't nearly overjoyed seeing and hearing what their old friend had to say, especially Jungkook. The poor kid looked lost. "That's that. It looks too vague to be considered a song catered to Jungkook, so I'll inform the higher-ups that it has nothing to do wi--"

Suddenly, Jungkook stands up, causing a deafening silence to befall once more as everyone watches him with cautious eyes, afraid of what he was about to do. 

"I'm going to get a drink," is all he says, moving to head out the door. No one really says anything in protest, Yugyeom and Jaehyun still feeling the aftermath of the previous fight. Only Eunha seemed to be visibly bothered, scoffing at the rest of the team's reactions before quickly latching on to Jungkook's arm. 

"Babe, it's still early in the morning. At least let me accompany you?" She asks, that hopeful glint burning brightly in her eyes, to the point that it makes Jaehyun recline back in his seat uncomfortably, not liking the way she seemed so unnatural. You were never like that. And while Jaehyun knew it was wrong to make comparisons, he couldn't help it. 

You were his best friend just as much as Jungkook was. 

"I'll go alone," is all Jungkook whispers, shrugging Eunha off who is about to protest, but Namjoon is quick to shut her up with a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head when she tries to chase after him. Jungkook needed to settle down and sort his thoughts through if he ever wanted a chance at getting through this situation with you. 

And maybe, just maybe, he could finally make amends. 

“Do you have a dream?”

This was the question that started it all, Jungkook supposed. He remembers the very day you asked him that one decisive question that, looking back, changed both of your lives. For good or for worse, Jungkook wasn’t sure. But as he reminisces the memories of the past and tries to figure out where everything went wrong, he couldn’t help the gut-wrenching feeling that settles within him. It’s so upsetting, in fact, that the moment Jungkook arrives in the pub across the street, he immediately drowns himself in a bottle of soju. 

The two of you were spending the lunch break in the empty stairwell, the same place where the two of you first met and the same place where the two of you gradually started to hang out. It was a quiet space, free from the condescending eyes of the perfection-seeking kids you called classmates. It was a space where you and Jungkook could be free, even for just a little while. 

Sipping on his banana milk, Jungkook looks at you curiously. You were staring at the strawberry milk he had bought you, fiddling with it nervously, not even bothering to look him in the eye. He wonders what goes on through your mind, what thoughts dance around within its hollow crevices, shaking you up and causing you to become a nervous wreck. Especially when the question wasn’t as bad as you were probably thinking. 

“Hmm, do you want the honest answer or the answer everyone wants to hear?” He asks back, looking up at the ceiling. For an elite school, they didn’t do well to maintain the more hidden areas. Was that a sign that they really didn’t care about things that weren’t relevant to them? Maybe. Maybe not. Jungkook didn’t particularly care. It was just more bearable t stare at the ceiling than sit in awkward silence, 

“Honest,” you say after a few moments, much more confident than a few moments ago. After hanging out with you for a few months and observing you within the silence of your conversations, Jungkook somehow knows that no matter what he’d do, you would forever be shy. Regardless if you knew someone well or not, the first moments of conversation would always be parallel to a first meeting. It was a curious thing, honestly. But it was more intriguing once he realized that your confidence grew the more you spoke. 

In a way, it was kind of cute. 

“I wanna make music,” Jungkook says after snapping himself out of his trance. He once again averts his gaze from yours, but this time it wasn’t to avoid silence, but rather to think, to immerse himself in his thoughts. Because this was the first time, someone had asked him what he truly wanted to do with life. The first time someone wanted an honest answer from him, not a polished response set up to please his parents and peers. 

“Not the classical kind, though,” he continues, smiling softly to himself. “Not really fond of it as much as you think.” From the corner of his eyes, Jungkook can see you gaping at him in surprise, and it causes him to chuckle. You were never really expressive beyond the weary walls of the seemingly abandoned stairwell. To the rest of the student body, you were expressionless. Someone who took all the beatings and ridicules with a blank face. As if you were a doll, waiting to be ruined. 

But here, you were much more alive. Much more expressive than Jungkook was used to seeing. It was as if the (Y/N) beyond the worn steps of the stairwell was an entirely different person. A mask you placed upon yourself to protect your heart from the cruel reality you had come to face. And Jungkook was more than fascinated at the fact that you had brought that mask down for him. 

“If I could, I’d do rock, maybe even some metal If I got enough courage,” he continues, smiling to himself unknowingly giddy at the sight of you. “There’s just something different about it, you know? The music runs through your system and gets you all hyped up; you just can’t resist it. And when the beat drops, it’s as if your emotions are on an all-time high, and it weirdly makes you kind of free. It made me realize that this was what music was supposed to be, I guess.”

“Wow,” you mutter, after staying within the silence of your initial awe. “That’s... poetic.” Jungkook laughs at the look of disbelief in his face, shooting his empty carton of banana milk in the air and watching in satisfaction as it lands straight into the empty trash can just right down the corner before turning to you, a grin high on his lips. 

“Oh, come on,” he whines, rolling his eyes playfully. “Why do you sound so surprised? Do I not look like I’d be a good musician?”

“It’s not that!” You quickly exclaim in your defense, flailing your arms in the air to avert Jungkook’s thoughts about the situation. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook was only joking, highly amused at your reactions, wanting to see more. “I just assumed you’d be more into sports, you know, since you’re so good at it? If you ask me, you kind of look like you’d do well in either football or basketball… so I just kind of assumed that was what you wanted to actually pursue. Not that wanting to pursue music is a bad thing! It’s great, it’s just that rock is kind of unexpected....” 

You were beginning to ramble at this point, the shy sheep from within you bursting forth as you fiddled with your thumbs nervously, anxious to see Jungkook’s reaction. Would he be mad at you for assuming things about him off the bat? Probably not, right? You did initiate the conversation by asking him what his dream was, after all. Wait, maybe this was your fault. Gosh, you should have just asked any other question that wasn’t as deep. 

This friendship thing was too difficult for your liking. 

As you bury yourself in your thoughts, Jungkook couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was small at first, almost going unheard by you who was so deeply consumed by the matters of your mind, but the more Jungkook laughed, the louder he got until he was full-on cackling, much to your dismay, confusion, and shock. 

“What’s so funny?” You ask frantically, trying to make sense of his actions. Did you say something wrong? As far as you knew, you hadn’t, but what if you had and accidentally crossed the line? You hoped not. You really didn’t want to screw any chance you had at having a real, genuine friend. But to your dismay, your questions remain unanswered as Jungkook continues to laugh, almost as if he wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. 

“Hey!” You exclaim, pouting. “Stop laughing at me, Jungkook!”

“I-i’m sorry,” He says after a few more laughs, trying to wipe the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. “I couldn’t help it,” He laughs again, although this time, it seems as if he’s calmed down, sporting a cheeky smile. “Your reactions are just something else!”

Jungkook watches as you become flustered, once more, much to his fascination and amusement. He’s never been the teasing type, or more like, he’s never had the opportunity to become the teasing type, especially with the perfect image he had to curate in front of his peers. But he liked this. He liked being friends with you. It made him all the more free. 

“What about you?” He suddenly asks after a while, feeling that it was high time to cut you some slack. You look up at him in confusion as if you had entirely forgotten why this entire conversation had happened in the first place. “Do you have a dream?”

It’s silent, yet this time, Jungkook notes, the silence is uncanny. It’s not the same comfortable silence that Jungkook is used to whenever he was hanging out with you. It was as if the silence had suddenly crashed down and enveloped the cheery atmosphere in its deceitful arms. A trap, if you will. 

And Jungkook was unsure whether he wanted to break free from it or stay there with you. 

But you take the first step, finally looking up to meet him in the eyes, and Jungkook can feel his heart sink just a tad bit from how empty and solemn they were. “I don’t think so,” is all you say, brushing off the concerned look on Jungkook’s face with a smile. “I’ve never really given it much thought. That’s why I asked,” you chuckle halfheartedly, staring up at the ceiling. “Although I think it would be nice,” you say, smiling a bit more genuinely. “You know, to have a dream?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to react to that, anyway? No matter how difficult his life was, he had always had a dream. It kept him going, made him push through no matter the difficulty. Dreams were the driving force of life. The hope amidst the darkness. To not have a dream, even just a small one, rattled Jungkook. 

It terrified him because now Jungkook realized that he knew nothing about you despite you being his first friend. He didn’t know the reason why you decided to become a living doll in the eyes of others. He didn’t understand why you subjected yourself to such suffering when, from the small talks you and Jungkook had with each other, you seemed to have a loving family. 

He wanted to help you, to be there for you. Because he wasn’t sure whether or not you were actually feeling lost. That’s what friends were for, right? Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure on how to do this whole friendship thing, but if there was one thing he did know, it was the fact that friends helped each other. 

And Jungkook would be damned if he couldn’t help you in any way that he could.

Soju bottles littered the lone table that Jungkook sat upon. At this point, he wasn’t sure how many bottles he had drunk, but it sure was many, more than he could handle if he were, to be honest, but amidst his drunken state, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Why was he acting like this anyway? 

He was supposed to be happy. His band was one of the most successful ones out there. He had thousands, if not millions of fans, who supported him in everything he did. So why, just why was this insignificant matter affecting him so greatly?

Was it because it was you?

“Dear, are you alright?” The old woman, running the pub asks, concerned as she sets down a piping hot bowl of warm hangover soup, which has Jungkook’s mouth watering to the point where drool almost seeps out, mainly because he only had a bite of a sandwich on his way to the office which Eunha forcibly made him eat. But even so, he couldn’t bring himself to eat, especially with the array of emotions that were burning deep within him. “Do you need me to call someone for you?”

Jungkook stays silent, not even bothering to respond to the old lady, who only grows wearier at the lack of response. He didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that he couldn’t find the strength to actually do anything but wallow in his own misery. His thoughts were going on haywire, with no place to land in sight. 

What had he done to deserve this? He was sure he had done nothing wrong, so why were you doing this to him when all he had done was, be nothing but nice to you? He had supported you ever since the beginning, and this was how you repaid him?

He doesn’t notice how the old lady leaves to call someone from the company, despite him not saying anything. It was probably for the best anyway. He was too out of it to even ask for help. The old lady was right and kind for going out of her way to do this for him. Although it made sense, after all, this specific pub was where Jungkook had been drinking ever since he had reached adulthood. 

Maybe she would call Namjoon? It was likely, but Jungkook hoped not. He was sure that if Namjoon were to see his sorry state, he would scold him until his ears bled out. Although he couldn’t really blame Namjoon, if any manager were to see their client drinking away their woes like he was, they would probably freak out. Primarily since he was known for drinking at most two bottles. Jungkook just really didn’t want to deal with Namjoon right now, especially after what had transpired earlier. 

He hoped that she would call Eunha. Sweet, loveable Eunha, who was there for him when the shitshow that was his breakup with you went down. Even until now, Jungkook was still in the dark of why you had left him and the band, but Eunha was the one who stayed by his side. Ever since he had met her two years ago when she first entered the company, they had become the best of friends. And now she was his girlfriend, and he couldn’t be happier. 

All of a sudden, a familiar voice wafts through the empty pub. One that has Jungkook’s head whipping everywhere it could to figure out where it was coming from. It was sweet, melodic even. But at the same time, it had a hint of melancholy and freedom? Why was the voice so familiar? Where had he heard it before? 

Jungkook’s eyes darted around, trying to see if he could spot the culprit behind his dilemma until they finally landed on the wide TV that sat in the middle of the pub, presumably for their customer’s enjoyment. And lo and behold, in his eyes, he sees you. 

It was a local music show where famous stars would often find themselves performing to promote their new music. He assumed you were there to perform your new single, the one song that had him sitting here broken and destroyed with pride in your chest. Did you enjoy this?

Did you enjoy knowing that he was broken because of you?

He hated it. He hated how bright your smile was the moment he caught sight of the camera focusing on you as the hosts began their interview. You were brilliant, cheery, happy. And it sickened Jungkook to the core. Why did it seem like you were doing fine when he was here all bothered? How selfish could you possibly be? 

But as much as it hurts him, he can’t find it in himself to look away. It’s a strange sensation that Jungkook couldn’t quite explain. Why couldn’t he avert his eyes from you when all he’s been feeling today was pain? It didn’t make sense. But honestly, Jungkook couldn’t tell what made sense anymore. 

He watches you sing, hearing those blasted lyrics that made him rage just mere moments ago. Yet, this time, the lyrics made his heart clench. Perhaps it was the fact that your performance seemed more genuine because you were singing live. But why? Why were you singing those lyrics as if they had genuinely happened to you? Jungkook never caused you any pain, so why did it seem as if you were hurting more than him? 

The thoughts were too much. It was driving Jungkook crazy, and all he wanted to do was drown in them. He didn’t want to think. Thinking heightened the pain that brimmed deep within his chest. He just wanted to float in the ocean of his misery and stay there, hoping that someday he would land ashore and the pain would come to an end. 

Maybe if he took one more shot, it would help? 

He pours down the last remaining soju into his shot glass, not caring if it overflowed and spilled out on the table. Rationality was far out of his mind at this point. All Jungkook wanted to do was do anything that would make him feel numb. 

He raises the glass shakily, ready to feel the burning sensation of the alcohol run down his throat, that temporary relief that made him sink deep down into this endless cycle of emptiness. Yet, it doesn’t happen. 

A hand shoots down to stop his wrist. It’s a familiar yet unfamiliar hold, something Jungkook can’t quite place. Where has he felt this hold before? He looks up, his eyesight a bit blurry from his drunken state, so he squints, trying to see clearly. 

Who was it? Namjoon? Eunha? Heck, Jaehyun?

Turns out it was none of them. 

When his sight finally clears, he gasps in shock, breath hitching in his throat as he takes it all in. Because the person, whose hold was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, wasn’t his manager, nor was it his girlfriend or best friend. 

It was you. 

The person, the old lady, had called to get him was you. 

Well, Jungkook be damned. 

When you got the call from the old lady, you were on your way to your new studio after finishing up a schedule you had prior. The past few weeks have been busy for you. Leaving the band and Jungkook was no easy feat. It was a decision that you knew was a high-risk, high reward yet at the same time had higher chances of failure. 

After all, even if you hated to admit it. Without the band, you had nothing. 

Sure, there was the fame that came with all of the band’s success. You were the vocalist, after all. It was exhilarating knowing that millions out there would be listening to your voice, singing music you created with people you loved dearly. But in the midst of all of that, there was nothing. 

Jungkook, Jaehyun, and Yugyeom had everything going on for them. A backup plan in case the band didn’t succeed. A plan B, if you will. It made sense. They had privilege dripping from the palms of their hand, after all. Even if they had their own troubles and doubts, they didn’t have to worry about finding another way out because there already was a path laid out for them in the beginning. 

You went into all of this, risking everything. 

It was a choice that you had seemingly made on impulse if an outsider were to look back at the situation. When Jungkook had asked you to start a band with him, it was during another one of your many lunch dates, as you two had jokingly called it. Only this time, the two of you weren’t sitting on the cold and empty stairwell, but instead, you were in the old music room. 

“I can’t believe this,” Jungkook mumbles to himself as he cranks the rusted door of the old music room open. People barely used it nowadays, much to his disbelief yet relief at the same time. He couldn’t blame them though, the brand new music room was much more enchanting, filled with top-of-the-grade musical instruments than anyone would drool over. 

Well, at least it meant that he could have autonomy over the room (even though that wasn’t really the case). “You’re telling me that you never heard rock or metal before?” He gapes in disbelief as he sits on one of the dusty desks, looking at you with an outraged expression. You sheepishly enter behind him, taking a sip of your drink as you took a seat beside him. 

“You never asked,” is all you say, shrugging. Jungkook looks at you once more incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. “That’s because I assumed you would have known what rock and metal are! They’re like the greatest music genres of all time. How can you not know it?”

You shrug once more, not really having an answer. Well, you did, but it was probably stupid. After all, if this was his reaction to you not knowing about rock and metal. What would his response be if he were to find out that the only music you’d ever listened to was classical and nursery rhymes? Yeah, probably not a good idea. 

“Well, get ready then,” he exclaims, bringing out his phone, much to your surprise. Model student and Mr. Perfect Jeon Jungkook breaking a school rule? Who would have thought that you’d ever lived to see the day? “Because you’re about to experience an awakening, I tell you. A revolution!”

It’s amusing, really. You had never seen Jungkook as passionate as he was at the moment. Was this what it was like to have a dream? His eyes lit up as if sparkles were floating around him. As if he were about to step on cloud nine and enter paradise. He was bouncing his leg lightly in excitement, a goofy smile on his face that kind of reminded you of a bunny. 

Maybe having a dream wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

He immediately scoots over to you once he has his phone ready, grabbing his earphones and plugging it into his phone, handing you the other ear. You hold it, a small smile on your face, and hook it unto your ear, not really knowing what to expect but excited all the same. After all, this was the music that made your best friend passionate and hopeful for the future. For sure, it wouldn’t be bad, right? 

Well, to say the least, it was an experience. An experience you couldn’t quite tell if you enjoyed or couldn’t fathom. It was entirely different from the music that you were used to. From the bright and soothing tones came ones that were heavy and thundered on your ears. Yet, in a way, it was exhilarating. 

You could see why Jungkook was attracted to this style of music. In a way, it was unhinged, a little more rebellious than the traditional types of music you were used to. But that didn’t mean it was worse. In fact, that’s what made it more exciting. Jungkook was right. In those few minutes that he had introduced you to the world of rock, you’ve gone through an array of emotions, from confusion to thrill and excitement of the highest level. The rollercoaster of new sensations was, to say the least, intoxicating, 

Because immediately you got hooked. 

“Wow,” you mutter, looking up at Jungkook, who was looking back at you with lively eyes. “That was… something else.” 

“Right?!” He exclaims, immediately jumping off the desk to grasp your hands in excitement; it was endearing to see. Jungkook rarely got riled up like this. Music truly brought out the best in him, you thought to yourself, watching as he continued to dangle your hands in his. “Isn’t rock just amazing? Oh, what I’d do to pick up an electric guitar and play,” He sighs, and you can tell from the far-away look on his face that he’s daydreaming about something and the sight warms your heart. 

“You should,” is all you say, startling Jungkook out of his trance. “I think you’d do absolutely great in music, Jungkook! You should go for it.” Jungkook looks at you, stunned. He blinks, trying to process what you had just said, before clasping your fingers a bit tighter, unsure of himself. 

“Really?” He mutters softly, “You really think I can do it?”

“Of course,” you encourage with a bright smile. “If it’s you, then you can do anything!”

It’s silent for a moment, with Jungkook deep in thought. But you don’t necessarily mind, as more than anything, you understood the weight of your words. Being Jungkook’s friend meant that you stuck by him through a lot of undesirable moments, moments that both of you promised to never speak of unless it was absolutely necessary. 

You knew how much he longed for his dreams. Ever since that rather inspiring conversation you had around a week ago, you knew just how much Jungkook bottled up his true passions and desires, even though there were moments wherein he would freely let them out. 

“Then you have to be there with me,” he says, eyes filled with determination. “I don’t think I can do this without you (Y/N).”

Looking back at it, you chuckle at how swooned you were with Jungkook’s words. It was crazy to think that he had swept you off your feet with a mere ten words that ultimately decided the course of a good chunk of your life. You let him, and for that, you were to blame, But that didn’t necessarily mean that you regretted your decision in its entirety. 

Suddenly, your phone rings from beside you, and you grab it from where it lay in your purse, only to see an old number that you hadn’t seen in a while. It’s been a year, you think, as you accept the call, pressing your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“(Y/N) dear! It’s been such a long time!” You smile at the cheery sound present within the old lady’s voice, although you can’t deny that you hear a twinge of worry within it. You used to go to her pub every so often back when you were still in the band. And the old lady had been such a sweet soul, acting as some sort of parental figure to you and your bandmates through the years. 

“It’s good to hear from you again,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised at her sudden call but also a bit suspicious because you had no idea what she was calling for. “May I ask why you’re calling me?”

“Ah!” The old lady exclaims, and suddenly the initial chirp present within her fades into a frantic tone that has your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, not sure what to expect. “Do you mind picking up your boyfriend?”

You blink, confused and startled. “I’m sorry,” you say, still not processing it clearly. “What was that?”

You hear a sigh from the other side of the phone. It sounds tiring, exasperated even, Which shouldn’t be the case since the pub usually opens up later at night. It was only open during the day for company employees. And what sane person would cause trouble with this much sunlight out? 

“Your boyfriend dear,” the old lady continues, sounding absolutely done, yet at the same time, the concern was still there, and you swear you hear the sound of glass falling in the back, causing your eyebrows to furrow in worry. “He’s been drinking for hours, and this is more than he’s ever drunk!”

You stay silent, letting it all sink in. The only person she could have possibly been referring to was Jungkook. There was no doubt about that. After all, the old lady’s pub was where you and Jungkook would often find yourselves having late-night rendezvous, drinking the night away as you bonded over whatever life was throwing at you within those moments. 

But now, the pub gave you nothing but pain. 

“Grandma, I’m sorry to tell you this, but me and Jungkook aren’t—”

“—So you’ll come, yes? Thank you, dear! Truly a lifesaver!” 

She hangs up. You stare at your phone in disbelief, shocked at the predicament you had unknowingly gotten yourself into. What were you supposed to do now? The responsible thing to do was to probably phone Namjoon and tell him about the situation. But with what had just transpired earlier today with the release of your single last night and your performance this morning, you’re not so sure he would appreciate any sort of contact from you. 

With a sigh, you turn to head towards the pub. No matter how much you hated Jungkook for the way he treated you within the last few stages of your relationship, you couldn’t leave him alone to wallow in his misery (even though there was a part of you that was secretly glad that he was torn because of you). It would be too cruel of you. Especially considering that Jungkook had been a significant part of your life. 

Huh, guess you haven’t moved on as much as you thought you had. 

Even just reaching the pub brought back memories that you wish wouldn’t resurface. You and Jungkook used to wrestle over who would open the door for the other, and more often than not, Jungkook won. But you weren’t one to lose quickly, even to him. 

The familiar jingle that came with opening the door brought a pang of nostalgia to your heart. When you and Jungkook would enter the pub, just ten seconds after the jingle faded away, the old lady would come out of her quaint kitchen and say

“Welcome home— Oh, there you are, dear!”

Not exactly how you remembered it, but it was still familiar all the same. 

“Hello grandma, how are you?” You greet with a solemn smile, watching with fond eyes as the old lady comes up to clasp your hands within her own. “Oh dear, I haven’t seen you in forever. Why haven’t you visited in so long?” 

You’re not sure what to say. How are you supposed to tell her that you left and broke up with the man she asked you to pick up? That would put her in an awkward position, and you didn’t want to cause stress for the already weary lady. 

“Oh, never mind that,” she says, luckily dropping the subject. “Come in, come in, your boyfriend’s over there drinking in the corner. Did something happen? I’ve honestly never seen him drink this much before. At this rate, he’s going to finish my soju supply before I open up for the night!” 

You enter the main area, and immediately you’re hit with the familiar, comforting scent of alcohol and home-cooked meals, as odd as it sounds. Although the smell of alcohol was by far heavier in the air, and as you turn to look for the source, your eyes land in Jungkook.

And you’re, for lack of a better word, shocked.

It was almost as if he was drowning in an ocean of soju bottles, with some of the alcohol dripping off the table and into the ground or his clothes. Partly because he was pouring himself another shot, which you know he can’t take.

He could barely handle two bottles when the two of you were dating, so why did it feel like he was drinking more than ten. If he wasn’t stopped now, something majorly damaging could happen to him, and as much as you never wanted to speak to him, you couldn’t just ignore him when he was literally on the brink of life and death.

You stomp on over to where he’s at, hastily quickening your steps as he’s about to down his last shot, and before you can even think about what to do, your instincts act on their own, and your hand reaches out to him, stopping him.

No words are spoken. Rather, you can’t find the words to say as you watch with solemn eyes as Jungkook looks at his hand confused. He tries to shake it, to move his arm so he can bring the shot glass to his lips, but you remain firm in your grip, clasping just a bit harder so he wouldn’t push through with the shot. 

He looks around, following the trail left by your grasp until he meets your eyes, and already you can feel the whirlwind of emotions bubbling up inside you. This was the first time you and Jungkook have met after the breakup after leaving the band. You never expected the two of you to meet this way. Although, you supposed life was funny like that. It liked to throw unexpected situations in your face, especially in the most inappropriate times.

You watch as he squints, trying to make sense of who you were before he gasps, arm slacking, falling into the side as the alcohol from the shot glass splatters into the air. He squints once more as if trying to ensure that what he was seeing in front of him was real before stammering. 

“(Y/N)?” He whispers, broken, voice breaking. You try not to let your emotions show, knowing that if you do, he’d only lure you back into him, which was something you did not want at all. You were done. After many months, heck years of being torn apart by him, you couldn’t afford any more pain. It would break you even more than it already did, 

“Hey,” you whisper back, breath hitching as you watch the way Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sound of your voice, loud and clear for him to hear. Even with his drunken state, he can’t deny the pang of nostalgia that runs through his veins once he finally registers that it’s you standing before him. In the flesh. Not a vision on TV or a picture of you from his memories. 

It was you. 

“What are you doing here?” He slurs, trying to reach out to you, but you move away, refusing him any form of affection. Because you two were too far gone for that. 

“Grandma called,” is all you say, the disappointed look in Jungkook’s eyes not going unnoticed. “Asked me to pick you up. Said you’ve been drinking more than you used to and… I can see that.”

You gesture to the empty soju bottles that littered the table with a grimace, turning back to Jungkook only to hear him scoff and point a finger to you accusingly, although with his drunken state, his posture was way off. “Who do you think’s to blame?” He asks, sarcasm laced within his tone. You raise an eyebrow at that, choosing to let him continue before you could offer back any sarcastic remark of your own. 

“It’s you!” He continues, slamming his fist to the table, much to your surprise. “You and your stupid fucking song…. I mean, what the fuck is up that?”

“What the fuck is up with what, Jungkook?” You quip back, eyeing his fist cautiously in the case he would do something dangerous that would either injure him, you, or if worse comes to worst, both. 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” He continues, and Jungkook can feel the irritation, frustration, and fatigue build within him now that he’s finally gotten a chance to let all these raging emotions out. “You know what you did! Why’d you do it, huh?” His voice grows louder, causing you to flinch as you move your chair back just a bit. 

“Why’d you have to ruin my fucking reputation?” 

All of a sudden, it’s like something in you snaps. 

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe the audacity Jungkook had to say something as outrageous and stupid as what he just said. The emotions that were already burning up within you finally exploded as you stared at him with all the anger and disbelief you could muster. 

And here you thought he was drinking because he had finally realized all the wrongs he had done to you. What a fool you were. 

“Excuse me?” You say, exasperated. “What did you just fucking say?”

“I said what I said (Y/N),” Jungkook continued, not noticing the way rage was about to take you into its waiting arms, only to allow you to explode upon him with all the pent-up hurt that you’ve accumulated inside you. “You and your fucking song ruined the band any my reputation. Is this how you repay me after everything I’ve done for you?”

You blink. The words slowly make their way towards you as you try to process them, letting out a chuckle at how ridiculous his words were. “Are you being serious right now?” You say, scoffing at how there wasn’t an inch of regret on Jungkook’s face. “You’ve got to be joking, right?”

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You want to give him a chance to prove your ears, mind, and heart wrong. That he wasn’t actually thinking those absurd thoughts that had your gut-wrenching and your heartbreaking after already being broken. This couldn’t be the Jungkook that you knew, right? He wouldn’t be this cruel, right? 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

“You piece of shit.” You spat without even realizing it, surprising Jungkook. He’s sobered up just a little from your outburst, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, you regret speaking without any thought. But the more you try to rationalize it, the more the anger burns. This was unacceptable. 

“Reputation?” You scoff, looking at him incredulously. “You’re fucking worried about your reputation when there are bigger issues to be addressed here?” 

“(Y/N) I—”

“Shut up, Jungkook,” you say, cutting him off coldly. “You don’t get a say in this when all you’re worried about is your reputation over a broken relationship with someone you’ve grown up with for the past thirteen years!” 

Wide-eyed, Jungkook gapes at you, and you, in your disgruntled state, take this chance to get back at him, unleashing all the feelings you’ve buried deep inside you. 

“You dare ask me why I’m treating you this way when you’ve been nothing but nice to me?” You mock, his words hurting more than they should. “Do you even bother to ask yourself as to why I broke up with you in the first place, Jungkook? Why I left? Did you even bother to listen to my song?” 

His silence echoes throughout the pub, further shattering any lingering hope that you had about the situation. “No,” he says after a while, firm in his belief as he stared back at you, although his gaze seemed as if it could easily water away. “Didn’t think it was necessary; after all I did nothing wro—”

“—You treated me like shit for the last two years of our relationship, Jungkook. That’s what you did wrong.” You exclaim, not wanting to hear his excuses. “Are you really this blind to not know? To not see your own faults?”

How could he? You think to yourself, the unbearable pain of this revelation thrumming through every fibre of your being. It was painful. Painful to hear that he hadn’t even thought about the situation through your lens. He was too absorbed with what he had going for himself that he failed to see the world through your eyes, and it frustrated you to no end.

Because that breakup broke you like no other. 

Choosing to leave wasn’t an easy decision, by no means. You had risked everything to help support Jungkook in hopes that you would find a dream of your own. You joined the band, knowing that you would put your family’s safety and security at risk instead of pursuing a more stable career like starting a business or becoming a doctor.

You became selfish to follow Jungkook, so of course, you were attached. 

Jungkook, in a sense, was your world. You suppose, looking back at it now, that wasn’t the healthiest decision you took for yourself. But at that time, you could not help yourself. He was your first friend, your first love, your first everything. Jungkook showed you the ways of the world and then shattered it without a care. Of course, more than any other breakup, it would tear you apart.

Because to be honest, loving Jungkook made you happy. You remember when he first asked you out. Probably one of the best moments of your entire life. It happened after your band’s first major gig to open up the local summer festival. The two of you were still calming down from the high of the performance, excited, thrilled to have finally been given the opportunity in front of a bigger crowd. It felt surreal seeing the fascinated faces and happy smiles as they listen to your music.

Jungkook was right. This feeling was incredible.

“Holy shit. That was amazing,” Jaehyun laughs, hugging Yugyeom before turning to hug you and Jungkook. “I can’t believe we just did that!” 

“Do you think they liked us?” Yugyeom, ever the timid one asks. “I felt like I made a mistake somewhere along the second cho—“

“—Who cares, man?” Jungkook says, cutting Yugyeom off with a playful slap to the back. “We just fucking performed our first major gig. This isn’t time to be wallowing down on our mistakes. This is a time to celebrate!” 

You and Jaehyun hollered in agreement, following Jungkook as he dragged Yugyeom backstage where the four of you packed up, took a few commemorative pictures, and made your way towards the nearest convenience store to celebrate the night with some good old ramen, ice cream, and whatever your hearts desired.

It was a fun night, one filled with laughter as the four of you joked about whatever your mind could think of. Jungkook boasted about how he was right about their band getting somewhere, of how Jaehyun and Yugyeom, who were much more hesitant in joining the band, and after months of no progress, we’re beginning to regret it, had nothing to worry about. 

Jaehyun and Yugyeom even mustered up the courage to do a speed eating challenge, grabbing about her round of hot piping ramen and racing to see who could eat it the fastest, despite the heat burning their tongues both literally and figuratively.

It was a night where for once, the four of you didn’t have to worry about life outside of the band. Didn’t have to worry about the social pressure from school or home, Didn’t have to worry about stupid tests or becoming the best, for once the four of you could just be yourselves. Unapologetic and free.

When Jaehyun and Yugyeom decided to pack it up and head home, saying that if they didn’t arrive before their dreaded curfew, then their parents would literally send them to the pits of hell, you didn’t notice the way Jungkook grew silent. Maybe you did, but you were too preoccupied with the nauseated looks on Jaehyun and Yugyeom’s faces as they headed towards the public restroom to flush out the ramen in their system. 

“Hey (Y/N)?” Jungkook asks once Jaehyun and Yugyeom are nowhere to be seen. You hum in response, turning to look back at him, and immediately your eyes become overwhelmed with worry at the serious look on his face as he gazes up at the night sky, seemingly nervous and scared.

“Will you go out with me?”

It’s unexpected, a bomb to your heart if you could call it. You gasp the moment the words flow out of his mouth, staring at Jungkook in shock. Did he really just ask you out? 

You think it’s a joke. A cruel trick of nature. But by the way, Jungkook nervously fidgets from where he sits, and his eyes nervously dart around. Like they usually do during nerve-wracking situations like these, you knew in your heart that his words were true.

And you couldn’t be more overjoyed because you had fallen for Jeon Jungkook too. 

Throughout your many years of friendship, you had gotten to know Jungkook inside out. You were there when he threw a mini tantrum over missing first place in the final exam by one point, knowing that his parents would be disappointed in him. You were there when the two of you went out to buy his first-ever electric guitar after months of saving up money secretly. You were there for him when he was convincing Jaehyun and Yugyeom to join the band, even when he was about to get into a fight with Jaehyun over the matter.

And like clockwork, you had fallen.

It wasn’t particularly hard to do so. Jungkook had this certain charm to him, after all. He was an enigma. He could draw people into his rhythm like it was nothing and have them follow to the beat of his own drum. Sometimes you wondered if there was a hidden secret with the way he could so easily attract people, but the more you hung out, the more you realized that wasn’t the case at all. He was genuine in everything he did.

“Yes,” you say without hesitation, causing Jungkook to whip his head to face you in the blink of an eye, mouth slacking in shock. He blinks, you smile, and suddenly a smile of his own is forming on his face, reaching all the way into his eyes. 

“For real?” He whispers, not wanting this moment to slip away from his grasp. He was so close to having you in his arms, something he’s wanted for the longest time, that he was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he would ruin any chance he got. But your reassuring gaze and gentle hold immediately calm the raging wave of anxiety within him. “For real,” you affirm, and suddenly you’re in Jungkook’s embrace. 

It’s a warm embrace, one that has you returning it back with the same vigor, the same excitement bubbling in your chest. This marked the beginning of a new chapter for you and Jungkook, one where the two of you would walk down the unclear path you have chosen, still remaining by each other’s side, but this time, with hands intertwined.

You just wished it didn’t go up into flames like this.

You blink, snapping out of your trance as you gaze at Jungkook. Once more, seeing the way his lips were pursed into a thin line, his brows furrowed as if he had a lot going on through his mind. Which was only fitting. He had to, or else this wave of hurt and pain would only intensify and turn into something you would never be able to control. 

Remembering the happy moments was something you had promised yourself not to do, for it only brought you into another world of pain after looking at how the two of you were faring now. But in the midst of agony staring right at you, you couldn’t help but let yourself reminisce in hopes of relieving some of that anger and hurt so you wouldn’t do anything out of hand. 

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you finally say after a moment of silence, and you want to curse yourself for the way your voice cracks at the end. You had to be strong. You had to get through this. Because there was no way, you were going to let Jungkook ruin you once more. “How do you think our relationship was going within the last two years?”

Silence befalls the room for what feels like the millionth time, But this one is heavier than the last. Jungkook looks at you with such a severe gaze that you almost falter, forgetting the fact that he’s drunk with the way his eyes bore into yours. 

You dread his answer, not knowing what to expect. With the way, he was acting, and with all the things he’s said and done, you knew that his words would only hurt you even more from here on out. You clutch the fanfic of your sweater tightly, hanging on by a thread. 

But he says nothing.

The heavy silence lasts longer, and the more it persists, the more disappointment and disbelief creep into the cracked crevices of your already broken heart. Was he really going to act this way? Saying nothing at all? Did your relationship mean nothing to him in the past 2 years? 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, letting out a scoff as your eyes scan his figure. He’s hunched up as if unsure of what to do, what to think, or what to say. There’s probably a flurry of emotions running through his mind, but you don’t pity him. You hope it continues to weigh heavy, as it did to you for the last three years. 

“I was miserable, Jungkook,” you whisper, recounting the memories you had buried deep within, afraid to open them up again at the cost of your already fragile happiness. But to be truly happy, one needs to let go of all the agony locked within. “Ever since Eunha came into our lives, you started treating me like a side character, as if I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“And no,” you say sternly, already knowing what Jungkook was to say by the way his eyes widened and his mouth slacked, an arm up in protest for your words. “I’m not blaming Eunha entirely, contrary to what you may think. Sure, her arrival started it all. Sure, there were times where she acted so out of line that I wanted to slap her in the face n’s remind her who exactly she was talking to. But I couldn’t. Do you know why, Jungkook?” 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you take a deep breath as you gather your thoughts. This was the first time you were finally going to let out all of your frustrations that’s been building up inside you for the past few years. It was a nerve-wracking feat, but a necessary one nonetheless, as even in those few moments of speaking, you were starting to feel just a bit more free. 

“Because I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”

Jungkook’s never been this confused in his life. 

It’s as if you had dropped a bomb on him without warning, causing him to be in a frenzy. What did you mean? How could you blame Eunha? Eunha was a sweet girl who could do no wrong. She was there for him whenever he needed that extra support, whenever he needed someone to ground him in this cruel, unforgiving world. 

She was there when you weren’t and was a constant in his life. How could such a sweet girl like her be the catalyst of this catastrophic situation? It had to be a joke.

“You’re lying,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. The pain in his heart was coming back again, and just when he thought he had finally gotten rid of that after drowning in alcohol moments ago. This was your fault. You and your stupid song, your stupid lies. You were driving me crazy.

“I’m lying?” You ask, and Jungkook looks up to meet your eyes, feeling another burst of pain shoot through him at the agonizing expression on your face. Why did you look so hurt? He did nothing wrong. He didn’t hurt you. He couldn’t have. He had always been there for you. He was the reason you could do what you could in the first place. There was just no way that misery was because of him.

“Jungkook, did you even realize that with how much time you were spending with Eunha, you weren’t spending time with me anymore? Remember how you used to walk me home at midnight after your time at the studio and my radio show? You stopped doing that ever since she appeared.”

Lies.

“For days, I stood outside the company for hours, waiting for you to bring me home because you promised that you’d never miss it for the world. And on the day that I finally decided to check up on you, worried that you might have been overworking yourself? I see you in the studio, laughing with Eunha.”

 Jungkook wanted to scream. He was stressed. He had to make music. Why couldn’t you understand that? 

“And when I confronted you about it? You shrugged me off, saying I was overly dramatic.”

You are. Jungkook insists in his head, thoughts spiraling. What’s wrong with him not bringing you home. Even if he was your boyfriend, he was not obligated to, right? You were supposed to understand him, right? That’s what lovers are supposed to do.

“I thought to myself, maybe you were right. Maybe I was overdramatic, so I did what you asked and shrugged me off. Yet, with each passing day, it felt like I was a stranger in your eyes. Do you even realize Jungkook that ever since Eunha came into our lives, we’ve only been on three dates?” 

You’re too demanding, his mind screams. Three dates? That was plenty for successful stars of your caliber. You had to understand that being under the limelight meant that he couldn’t reserve all the time in the world for you. 

His heart clenches painfully again, and Jungkook feels a sob hitch in his throat. 

“It hurt.” You cry, letting out the words that Jungkook wanted to say. “It hurt so much watching the love of my life and my best friend toss me to the side. Where was the you that promised that you’d always be there for me? Where was the you that promised to stay?” 

You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face as the words you’ve kept hidden for the longest time finally make their way out of your system. Every part of you was screaming in agony and pain, and you can feel the mended parts of your patched-up heart slowly break again. 

“Jungkook, I loved you. I loved you so much that I risked it all for you. I joined the band even though I wasn’t sure of our future because I saw how happy you were. You showed me what happiness could be, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, but at the same time, you showed me firsthand real pain and heartbreak. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for doing that.” 

No. Why? You had to forgive him. You were his best friend. Stop. Stop speaking. Stop it. 

“I left because I wanted to keep what we still had within our memories.” You whisper, remembering the night you finally came to your decision. Remembering all the times you cried and broke down, not knowing what to do or where you should go. All the times where you forced yourself to put on a smile on your face and act as if everything was fine even though it wasn’t. 

“And I hoped that in leaving, we could pick up all the broken pieces and create something new with them. Maybe it would not have been a relationship as strong as the one we’ve had before. But at least it was something. And at least I would have still had a connection to you.”

You’re calm now, in a much better headspace than before. But that didn’t mean the ocean of despair that you surrounded yourself in dwindled in the slightest. It was still there, waiting in silence for the moment it could envelop you once more into its treacherous arms and drown you in its suffocating whispers. 

“But what the fuck is this?” 

You can feel the tides begin to sway, and you will yourself desperately to keep them down. With how the situation was unfolding, you needed to be the bigger person. For your sanity, For Jungkook’s, and for the closure that you both needed, which you weren’t sure would ever peacefully come to an end. 

“I never thought that you’d think of us like this Jungkook,” you whisper, and much to your horror, a tear slipped from the crevices of eyes as you hurriedly wiped them, standing up to grab your purse as you stood to leave the pub, not caring one bit if Jungkook got home safely or not, you were too overwhelmed to care. 

“I thought you loved me,” You whisper as you turn to look at him one final time, and all of a sudden, Jungkook is hit with wave after wave of sadness, anger, pain, frustration radiating from you. It suffocates him, and the only thought running through his head were questions of him hurting you? Was this really all his fault? 

“But I guess you only loved yourself.” A chuckle falls from your lips as you make your first step out of the door. Not paying mind to the old lady who looks at you with a worried gaze, you turn to open the door of the pub, only for someone else to beat you to it. 

Lo and Behold, It’s Eunha. 

“You,” She gasps as she takes in your disheveled and exhausted state. Although that immediate shock quickly disappears as she catches Jungkook’s equally petrified state from the corner of her eye. She then glares at you, but you honestly can’t find the energy within you to care.

Because this was never about her in the first place, even if in some way she plays a small part. 

“What did you do?” Eunha spats as she rushes past you to go to Jungkook, not even bothering to hear you out. You sigh, gathering the last remaining buts of courage within clenched fists, and make your way out of the door, leaving Jungkook, your broken heart, and the memories you two shared behind for good. 

Not caring what he would do with those fragments in the end. 

“Jungkook!”

Eunha exclaims, immediately hooking her arms around him and hoisting him up into an embrace. “What happened? What did that bitch do?” But Jungkook doesn’t answer, thoroughly overwhelmed by the range of emotions that had just surpassed him from his conversation with you. 

Was it truly his fault? Was he the reason why things had turned out this way? There was no way right. He had treated you right, right? 

Jungkook tries to convince himself that he’s done nothing wrong, that he was perfectly innocent in this situation. But that nagging feeling deep within his mind and soul screams at him to finally realize the truth. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to know what lies beyond the bubble of happiness he had placed himself in. He doesn’t want to feel the agonizing pain he’s put himself through without realizing it. 

But not doing so would kill him more than knowing the truth ever will. 

So he opens the door to the truth and wallows in the misery of what he’s done. 

To be fair, there was some truth to Jungkook’s words. He had treated you like you were the most precious thing in the universe. And that was because, for the longest time, Jungkook did consider you highly special to him. You were his first friend, the first person he could confide his feelings in, the first person who showed him what love could be like. 

You grew up together, cried together, had your first drink together, stood on stage for the first time together. You had done just about everything together, and Jungkook cherished you more than anything in the world. 

In everything he did, he always tried to make you a part of it. Whether that meant buying your favorite drink or sending you pictures of whatever he was doing, Jungkook always wanted to help you see the world through his eyes because you deserved that much. 

Ice cream dates, sneaking out at night to have some chicken and beer, random dates at the local arcade, a stroll at the beach. You and Jungkook had practically done it all. So, where did it all fall apart? Where did Jungkook go wrong?

“Jungkook?” Eunha calls out, and Jungkook finally musters up the courage to look at Eunha, who was worriedly trying to get him to answer her. Her hold is familiar, something he’s been used to in the past two years, yet at the same time, something was missing within her warmth. An unexplainable feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

And then he realized it wasn’t you. 

Just when did he go astray? When did he start treating you like you weren’t the world to him? For sure, it wasn’t a singular moment. It was most definitely a culmination of many events that led up to his demise. But just how did it happen? 

He looks at Eunha’s worried eyes, those same eyes that he thought meant the world to him within those two years of your break up. Yet, for some reason, he just couldn’t look at them in the same way anymore. Not when there was this hollow emptiness in his heart that called out for you and only you, 

It was like a game of tug and war in his heart. He still loved Eunha; that much was for sure. But he couldn’t deny the love that he had for you as well. He remembered how Eunha was like a breath of fresh air for him. In the midst of all your nagging for him to take care of himself when he was working his ass off making new songs and dealing with management, Eunha was there to simply smile and encourage Jungkook. 

Like a fool, he got lured into Eunha’s charm and held onto it, not noticing that he was letting go of you in the process. 

His heart wails. It cries in pain and desperation of the love it has lost. Why did it have to be this way? Why was Jungkook such a fool? So consumed by his own selfishness, he abandoned the love you two shared and sought another, and now he was reaping what he had sown. 

You were gone. You would never come back. Whatever love you had between the two of you had left and died out. The world was cruel. It had given Jungkook so much hope yet took it away from him the moment he slipped up. Yet, he couldn’t really blame them. He couldn’t really blame you. 

Because he knew you had tried, he could see it in the way your eyes still cried out in pain when you see him. He could hear it in the agony of your voice as you sang passionately in your songs. He knew you did your best to pick up the fallen pieces and try to mend them back together. But all Jungkook did was rip them apart all over again. 

Life couldn’t have been any better for Jeon Jungkook until suddenly it was not. 

And he was the only one to blame. 

© yumeyooa 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform aside from a03 and tumblr or by any means is NOT permitted and will be dealt with accordingly.

➢ taglist: @wearenot7withu @nadiaislas @bbydoejk​ 

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[depressedacadamia]

Dimples

Summary: Apparently Nico has dimples and Will did not know.

A/N: Heheheee, motherfuckers my exams are in a week and a half and I haven't revised shit. Instead, I'm writing these. Wish me luck, this might be the only fic I post for the next 2 weeks but if you're lucky, I might post pt 2 for 'How to passive aggressively say Fuck you in flower'. Toodle pip and <3 from mee!

Extra edit: I forgot it was solangelo week, woops. 

Read on A03

Nico Di Angelo was not known for smiling. He was not known for grinning or laughing. He was however, known for snarling, sarcastic, outdated remarks and terrifying people to the point where they’d rather face death itself than face him and his wrath.

So of course, Percy and every logical being would avoid him at all costs when he was in one of his ‘moods’. These so-called ‘moods’ referred to when Nico seemed particularly dangerous, like when his eyes had a dangerous glower to them that hinted he enjoyed threatening others a tad too much- in fact, so much so that Leo had suggested that Nico may be a sadist (That hadn’t gone well for Leo, to say the very least).

But of course, William Andrew Solace was in no way a logical being nor was he very fearful of Nico’s alternating and very much violent auras. Now, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing necessarily, in fact, it was the very thing that had started their relationship and while everybody thought Will was insensitive with his historical jokes he made towards Nico, Nico greatly appreciated being able to understand something from his time.

Will, on several occasions, related him to Captain America in Marvel's Avengers.

So when Nico, in his terrifying rage, stormed into the infirmary, Percy wasn’t sure what he was about to witness. Were these two having an argument? Nico looked like he was going to set the infirmary ablaze or perhaps bury it 6 feet under- it was truly the unpredictability that created the suspense and fear.

“Where are they?” Nico’s voice was calm, cold but sharp. His words felt like the gentle, smooth slant of a knife, apply pressure and you get cut. Nobody dared to answer. The infirmary’s silence seemed like one of lambs, too scared to speak out until another leader did. Whether they expected Nico to simply leave if no one answered, they certainly did not expect him to ask again.

“Where. Are. They?” He punctuated his words, his voice combined with a deadly hunger that could only be satisfied with death.

The room felt like a cave. The only words being echoed back were Nico’s own words, bouncing off the smooth walls of the infirmary. The corners seemed dark, the white presence of the infirmary slowly being poisoned. It seemed like fate sealed their hands- they were like lambs to the slaughter: helpless.

“WHERE ARE THEY!” Nico roared. This time, he did not wait for a response. He took a small glimpse at the camper in front of him, who was obviously avoiding his gaze, and the next thing the kid knew was that he was pinned to the wall with a metre of stygian iron under his neck. The kid hyperventilated and in a moment of sheer panic and pure fear, blurted,

“I don’t know where they are! “

Nico, holding the camper up with one hand, shoved him into the wall again. “ But you hurt them anyway?”

The camper was completely clueless but he wasn’t stupid. Simply denying whatever Nico was accusing him of would increase Nico’s rage and that could lead everyone down a very dark road.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt them! I swear...” He started to sob. “ I swear it was an accident!”

“You hurt them! That isn’t an accident. You will pay for your crimes. I swear I will-”

“-Dear god, Nico what the hell?” A voice of pure confusion entered the infirmary. Nico, on recognising the voice, felt his head snap backwards-trying to find the course of the voice. There on the other side of the infirmary, with his leg in a cast, stood Will solace, still as unfashionable as ever.

Nico almost teleported to Will, considering how fast he appeared by his side. “ Are you okay? It’s okay, I found out who did it and-”

“-Jesus, Stalin, calm down there.” Will looked at the terrified boy who was in tears. “This kid knows nothing. He wasn’t even there. Were you just putting on some show trials?”

Nico had to resist the twitch in his lips at the communism jokes. Ever since Will had found out that Nico’s weakness was communism jokes, he had been exploiting it, just like the working class were exploited, and using it to his own advantage.

“Wait, this kid wasn’t involved?” Nico looked at all the terrified people in the infirmary, still frozen to their spots, waiting for the go sign for them to continue with their lives.

Will waved his hand. “Go ahead, continue with your business. He will be on his best behaviour now that I’m here.”

“Uh, says who?”

“Says my broken leg.”

On the mention of a broken leg, Nico’s worry instantly returned. His hand reached out to touch Will’s face, in a gesture of affection before quickly snatching it away. Will reached for his hand, took it in his own and intertwined their fingers as in to say It’s okay, they support us. It’s okay, I love you and you love me. It’s okay, I’m not ashamed of being in love with you.

Nico appreciated the gesture and once again, fought the urge to give in to the overwhelming desire to smile at his perfect boyfriend.

“Are you okay? Can you show me your leg? What happened? Why can’t you heal it?” The words began flying out of Nico’s mouth, the concern on his face unhideable. His eyebrows were cutely creased together and he kept on placing his hands all over Will- it was driving him crazy.

“Calm down there, communist. This is my injury, not yours.” Will joked, trying to hide his blush- truth be told, he did not want to tell Nico the real reason behind how he broke his leg because it was honestly the most ridiculous reason one may ever hear in their entire life.

Nico let out a little snort of laughter after hearing another communist joke but was careful to keep it on the downlow. He noticed that Will was being quite indirect and avoiding his gaze: he knew that could only mean one thing.

“What did you do to break your leg?” Nico smirked wickedly, understanding that Will had, once again, been quite idiotic.

Will, gasping in mock offense but also quite embarrassed by how well his own boyfriend knew him, let out a bubble of nervous daughter. “ Hahaa, what do you mean? I broke my leg the same way everyone else does...”

“... which is?”

Due to the vast amount of broken legs he had healed, Will actually knew how to answer this question. “ Through sports.”

“Sports?” Nico snorted. “ You? Sports? Have you ever even run in your entire life? I swear the only thing you do is heal and read. Maybe sleep on the offhand you listen to me.”

“You can’t talk over there!”

“Just tell me how you broke your leg, for the love of the Gods!”

“I was having a competition with Percy for who could heal faster.”

“You were doing what?”

“A competition Nico, have you ever heard of one? Normally the losers forget they exist so I wouldn't be surprised that you had never heard of one-”

“No, I know what a competition is, you idiot. What I don't know is, why on earth you were having a regeneration competition with Percy of all the demigods you could have chosen, you chose the one with the ability to heal themselves as well?”

Will pouted slightly, his eyebrows making a small frown. “I would have thought you would be halfway through murdering Percy right about now.”

“If Percy managed to win, then honestly, you kinda deserved it.”

“I thought you liked me!”

“I thought my boyfriend wasn’t an idiot!”

“Technically I won because Percy was too baby-ish to break his own leg!”

Nico took a very long pause. Slowly, he began shaking his head, from side to side. The expression on his face was illegible but eventually it morphed into one of laughter. His laugh was rich and so was the expression on his face. His lips were curled upwards, his eyes were creasing, with long beautiful dimples on both sides of his face- as clear as the moon on a clear night.

The infirmary was silent. They simply stared at the beautiful angel who graced the place with their voice. They were horrified and in awe. Nico Di Angelo was capable of smiling! He was capable of laughing!

It was a fucking miracle.

“What did I tell you!” Percy yelled, throwing his arm over Annabeth who simply sighed. “I fucking told you! I knew he had dimples!”

Will, slightly stunned, simply took Nico’s face in both his hands. His crystal blue eyes were wide open and to Nico it looked like the ocean was inviting him to take a dive into int’s complex and unknown depths.

Into the unknooooowwwwwnnnnnn.

He cursed himself for that being his first thought. He then cursed Will for making him watch Frozen because it was apparently culturally inappropriate to not have seen it. Then he cursed himself again for cursing Will.

“Holy shit,” Will whispered as he stared into his boyfriends grinning face. “Holy fuck Nico, you never told me you had dimples.”

“Language.”

“Holy shit, holy fucking hell. You cannot smile at me like that Nicolo Di Angelo and expect me to keep my language appropriate. Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror?”

“Calm down,” Nico groaned, throwing his head backwards. He could feel his palms getting sweaty from Will’s words- what could he say, he was slightly embarrassed.

“Wait!” Will cried. “ Do it again. Smile again!”

Nico gave a sultry smirk and Will whacked his arm. “ I asked you to smile at me, not seduce me. Smile!”

“Who wouldn't be happy to be seduced by me?”

“Just smile, please!”

Nico sighed before looking at his gorgeous boyfriend. His eyes darted down at the cast around the leg and immediately Nico remembered the cause of injury. He started laughing, his lips stretching into a genuine smile and his dimples flashing all across his face. Will, still holding his boyfriend's face, couldn’t help himself as he brought their lips together.

Will was so used to feeling Nico’s smile when they kissed so when he brought their lips together, he didn't know what he was expecting. It felt different for some reason, it felt more.. It felt better, it felt like he was getting a new piece of Nico. Feeling Nico smile and seeing him smile were two different things and now that he could picture Nico’s smile as he kissed his smiling lips, Will thought he’d explode from happiness.

Will pulled away quickly, his hand still cemented to Nico’s grinning face. He had pulled away just so he could see Nico’s smile and more importantly his dimples again.

“What?” Nico’s innocent voice and grin combined confirmed for Will that if he died on that very spot, he would have died a happy man.

“Holy shit, you’re the cutest person ever.”

And with that, he brought their lips together again.

Neither of them noticed Thalia and Annabeth sulking as they paid up their debts to Percy from losing the bet.

[gureishi]

A #14 with Saeyoung. I love your fics ❤️ Thank you

Thank YOU, dear! ♡

Writing this one was cathartic af. I don’t often write them fighting, because I don’t think they fight much—but the prompt was begging for it and I think a lot about the unexpected ways they find themselves grappling with their trauma.

fourteen: hurts like hell to be torn apart

SaeyoungXReader, T (referenced violence, angst with a happy ending), words: 2912

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Bang.

The sound reverberates off the cobblestones and the colorful storefronts. It’s as loud and dark as the street is cheerful and bright. You feel it in your bones.

And for some reason that you have neither the time nor the emotional capacity to explain, you take off running. Away from the blue-and-white awnings of the little farmers market. Around a corner. Down the alley. Toward the sound.

I know someone’s been shot, says your brain, and you don’t notice the general absence of panic in the crowd—don’t register that no one is yelling, no one else is running. Your sandals slap against the pavement, hard. Your blood rushes in your ears and your heart is in your mouth.

I have to find them, or else… Your vision blurs, your thoughts scramble. Or else.

You’re halfway down the alley, running straight into the setting sun, and you still can’t make out what’s happening at the end of the narrow, dark, trash can-lined street. You squint, expecting at any moment to see a body on the ground, blood pooling on the uneven concrete…

…and your line of sight is cut off as you run face-first into something firm and warm. Someone. You let out a muffled cry and try to pull away, but there are hands gripping your arms and you find you can’t move.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hisses a familiar voice, and although his scent hits you then, and you know you should feel safe, you continue to struggle—hands balled into fists, striking his chest.

“Let me go!” you yell, raising a hand to shove him. His long fingers wrap around your fist. “I have to…” you gasp.

“Nope,” he says. He wraps his strong arms around you and you give in, slumping against him. There’s literally no way out now—you know him too well. How did he catch up to you, how did he cut you off…? He’s not even out of breath.

“Saeyoung…”

“Look.” He’s still got you in his firm grip, but he lifts one arm so you can see through the triangle it makes with his torso. Now that you’ve stopped your insane sprint, you can see more clearly. The end of the alley is…empty.

Your throat feels raw. You realize that at some point you’ve started to cry.

“It was a car backfiring,” he says stiffly.

“A car…”

Rationally, you understand: why the sound was too quiet, why nobody else took off running. Why there’s no body slowly growing cold at the end of the alley. But you can’t quite think rationally. Your heart is pounding so hard you feel like you might throw up.

Saeyoung spins you around and half-drags you down the alley, back the way you came. You know you should feel relieved—comforted by his arm around you, thrilled that your instincts were wrong. But his grip on your shoulder is bruising and you feel yourself wriggling, trying to turn around, trying to check the imagined crime scene just one more time.

You turn a corner, back to the shopping center. Here, nothing has changed. There’s the same group of kids in brightly-colored outfits lounging on the steps to the ice cream place. There’s the same harried-looking mother struggling to get her three toddlers in a stroller. There are couples walking hand-in-hand and friends calling to each other over the crowd.

Why, you think, a bitter taste in your mouth, was I the only one who ran?

The dissonance between the cheery atmosphere and the way you are feeling makes your head spin. You sneak a glance at Saeyoung’s face—he has a frozen expression, unmoving, like a statue. His grip on your arm is growing painful.

“Saeyoung,” you say, forcing your voice into a semblance of evenness. “Will you please let go of me now?”

He jumps almost as if he’s forgotten where he is. He drops his arm and it swings aimlessly at his side. He’s not looking at you.

“Let’s go home,” he says at last, and his voice takes you by surprise. His expression is carefully arranged, stoic, but he sounds like he’s ready to hit someone. He takes off walking—away from the pleasant shopping center, down a quieter street, toward the garage. You don’t follow.

He feels your absence, pauses, turns. The sinking sun sets his hair ablaze. Beautiful, you think—if not for the hard look on his face.

He looks, to you, like he’s powering down, turning himself off. There’s no light in his eyes. On some deeply-buried logical level you know that he’s feeling the same echoes of the past that you are, riding the same wave of terror and remembrance. But you feel anger bubbling under your skin and you want to shake him and scream don’t look at me like that in his face.

He spins around and stalks toward the garage. You follow him in silence. Through the entrance. Up the stairs. He picks up the pace and, stubbornly, you slow yours.

He’s unlocked the car, opened your door, and gone around to his own side before you’ve caught up to him. You can’t explain why—just as you couldn’t explain the irrational bolt of horror that struck you when you turned and ran down the alley—but you feel like you could strangle him.

Still in silence, he starts the engine. You can’t stand it anymore.

“So,” you say. Your legs are shaking. “Are you not speaking to me?”

He pulls out of the parking spot. Your head is pounding. Answer me.

He pays at the automated meter. Inches the car down the driveway. Then, finally: “Don’t be so childish,” he says.

Something snaps inside of you.

“Childish? From the man who’s giving me the silent treatment?” You clench your fists, leaving little half-moon imprints in your palms. You look at him sideways; no reaction registers on his face. “Would you mind at least telling me why you’ve decided you’re not talking to me anymore?”

“You don’t—” For the first time, you see anger flash across his face; it disappears as quickly as it came. The car speeds up a tiny bit; he corrects it instantly. “You don’t know why I’m mad at you?”

You feel yourself crumbling—a chain reaction that began when you heard the not-gunshot moving on to its inevitable conclusion.

“If you’d tell me, I bet I’d know,” you snap.

He exhales slowly, as if willing himself to be patient enough to deal with you. You want to wipe that expressionless mask off his face.

“Why did you take off like that?” he asks. His face remains impervious but the anger is in his voice and it scares you a little.

“I thought it was a gunshot,” you say. “Obviously.”

“So did I,” he growls. “Which is why I’m asking you why you ran toward it.”

His words are like a slap in the face and, stubbornly, desperately, you want to hurt him back.

“You’re being condescending,” you say. Your voice shakes, giving you away. “I’m not a child.”

“Then don’t act like one!” Every word is like an icicle to your heart. “It was stupid. Do not ever do something like that again.”

It’s too much for you—the reprimanding tone, the fear you still feel in your bones, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach. You feel tears coming again and you hate yourself for it.

“Don’t speak to me like that!” you say, and it comes out every bit as harsh as you’d intended. He flinches.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says through clenched teeth. “I need to make it clear to you just how—how dangerous and idiotic—”

“So whenever there’s something dangerous—and there will be again, because this is our lives—I’m meant to, what? Let you take care of it and hope for the best?” You feel hysterical. Your throat is raw.

“Yes!” he yells, and it’s your turn to recoil, shrinking into your seat. “That is. Quite literally. What I was trained to do.” He’s tried to lower his voice but the quiet derision is somehow worse than when he shouted.

“You don’t trust me. At all,” you say. There are the tears again. You turn to hide your face, wiping them furiously from your eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he says. “Acting like you did today just proves to me that I shouldn’t.”

Your insides are caving in. You want to grab him by his stupid hoodie strings and make him look into your eyes and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

Your head turned, your forehead pressed against the cool glass, you spot a familiar exit. You pounce on a different instinct—because it’s there, because it’s easy, because you know it will would him.

“Take the exit,” you command. You’re shocked by how cold your voice is. How mean you sound.

“What?” 

“Saeyoung, take the exit. Right now.”

He does.

He drives in silence, slowing the car to a stop at a red light. You peek at him. There’s realization in his dark golden eyes—and hurt, too. Good.

“This is the way to Jaehee’s house,” he says. He sounds numb.

“Yes,” you say. “Take me there.”

“But…but we should go home,” he says quietly, and in that moment you feel so angry you want to laugh at the vulnerability in his voice. It’s so easy to hurt him. You can still feel the hot lava anger bubbling under your skin, can still hear the way his voice sounded as he told you he didn’t trust you.

“I don’t want to go home with you,” you say.

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

Jaehee opens the door, takes one look at your face, and ushers you inside without a word. You can’t help it—you turn as she closes the door behind you to watch Saeyoung’s headlights slowly pulling away. He’d waited till you were inside.

Right. Because I can’t be trusted on my own.

Jaehee doesn’t pry, and you love this about her. She ushers you into her warm, familiar living room. She gives you a blanket. She offers to make you a coffee.

It’s late, but you say yes anyway.

It’s only once she’s brought you a mug filled to the brim with foam and dusted with cinnamon that she folds herself onto the couch beside you and fixes you with a knowing look.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

And you have been—fine as you stormed out of the car without saying goodbye, calm as you watched him drive away, steady as you sat alone on Jaehee’s small-yet-squishy couch. But now that she’s asked it all crashes down around you and you burst into tears.

Wordlessly, she opens her arms for you—a bit awkwardly—and you slip into them, burying your face in her chest. 

“We never fight,” you sob, knowing you’re soaking her sweater. She runs a soft, small hand over your back—stiffly, like she’s not used to it, but gently, like she wants to be. “We never…and I don’t even know—w-why…”

Jaehee hums soothingly. She takes a deep breath and you follow her lead, choking a little on your own tears.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” she asks softly. She adjusts you, tucking your head against her shoulder. “It might help.”

You sniffle. In this warm, comfortable room, with this warm, comfortable person, suddenly your actions feel so irrational. Why did you run toward what you assumed was a gunshot? Why did you respond to his concern for you with such unbridled rage?

You tell Jaehee about it—the sound, the alley, the way his face looked when he caught up to you. The things he said in the car. The things you said.

She listens patiently, steady as ever. She tucks your hair behind your ear.

“I’m not entirely surprised to hear that you had that kind of reaction,” she says when you’ve run out of words and are sniffling into her neck. “You’ve been through quite a lot.”

“What, today?” You wriggle into a sitting position. She hands you a tissue box and your coffee.

“Certainly today, but I was actually referring to the past year.”

Oh.

You blow your nose. Take a sip of the coffee. It’s delicious.

“You’re saying I freaked out like that because of, um. Because of what happened at Mint Eye?”

Jaehee looks down at her hands in her lap. “Obviously, I don’t know everything that happened,” she says carefully. “But I can imagine that what you witnessed isn’t something you’ll get over easily. It will take a lot more time.”

When she says it like this, it feels obvious. You can still feel it ringing in your eardrums: the gun, the shouting. The sound of a body hitting the ground.

“Yeah,” you say. Your hands are shaking again.

“Saeyoung should know this,” she says. She places a hand over yours; it stills them.

“He does,” you say. “But he has his own—things—to deal with. From that day, and also before.”

“Yes.” She pats your hands once and then rises. With your eyes, you follow as she goes to the entryway, retrieves your bag from where you dropped it. Pulls out your phone from the outer pocket. “As I suspected.”

She hands you the phone. The screen’s lit up—you’ve just missed a call. Several calls.

“I’m going to make more coffee,” she says, slipping politely toward her kitchen—out of earshot. Your cup is still almost full.

You hesitate for a moment—just a moment—looking at the rows of his name on your screen. The shape of it makes your skin tingle.

You call him back.

“Hello?” He picks up after a quarter of a ring. He sounds breathless. You wonder if he’s made it home already.

“Hi,” you say.

“You called me back.” He’s talking quietly. His throat sounds raw. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Of course I did.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can hear him breathing—hard, ragged.

“I’m so, so, so, so sorry,” he says, and you can tell that he’s been crying too, in the way his voice catches at the end of each word.

“Saeyoung, I—”

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I should never have spoken to you that way. It’s no excuse, but I was just so scared when you ran from me, I—I panicked, but I didn’t mean to…I never meant to—”

“I know.” He shuts up right away. He sounds miserable. You want to stroke his pretty head. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s okay. I did deserve it.” His voice is small and suddenly you want to be home, want to kiss his silly, perfect face and squeeze him till the sob is gone from his voice.

“You didn’t,” you say. “You were scared. I can understand that.”

“I was terrified,” he says. “I thought the same you did—you know, that it was a gun, and so I went to get in front of you, but you’d already taken off running toward it. I just—it felt like my soul was getting ripped from my body. I haven’t felt like that since…since—”

“Me neither,” you say. “I mean, me too.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to run toward a gunshot,” he says, and he laughs a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re supposed to be somewhere safe and warm where nothing can hurt you. I can’t—if anything happened to you, I’d—”

“Me too,” you repeat. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

It’s quiet. You breathe together. In, out.

“I love that you want to protect me,” you say. “But I need you to trust me, too.” He hesitates, and you know that a part of him wants to say so don’t put yourself in danger. Once, he would have. He’s grown up so much since then.

“I do trust you,” he says. His voice breaks. “I didn’t mean what I—I promise I’ll try to—you’re my whole world,” he finishes. Desperately, miserably. Hopefully.

“I want to come home,” you say.

“You do?” The optimism rushes into his voice and you want to bathe in it.

“Please.” You smile and taste your own salty tears at the corners of your lips.

The doorbell rings.

No way.

“No way,” you say into the phone. You cross the room, tug the door open. “No way,” you say to his face. His arms hang at his sides and his eyes are wide and bright as if he’s still not sure if you’ll slam the door in his face.

“I only drove like a block away…” he mutters, trailing off nervously. Sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Should’ve known.” You throw yourself at him and he tears his hands out of his pockets in time to catch you, a surprised laugh bubbling in his throat as you catapult into his chest.

“So you missed me even though I’m a sad, miserable excuse for a boyfriend?” he says into your hair. You stand on tiptoe and kiss his face till his eyes are glazed over and the goofy grin is back on his face. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, dummy.” You kiss his throat and he shivers. “Take me home.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Friends! Let me know if you’d like to be added to this list so you’re tagged in my future mysme writings~ <3

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini​ @cro0kedme​ @otomefoxystar​ @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Part two of three. Izuku has a new goal for this tournament, and Shouto’s getting a vibe check.

[No. 39 - Todoroki Shouto: Origin]

We start off with a brief flashback from a younger Shouto’s POV, ith Rei saying that that’s fine, he’s not…

Shouto’s narration wonders when he forgot what came after that. In the present, Shouto demands to know what Izuku is planning. Everything he’s got… did his bastard of a father pay him off or something? Shouto is pissed, and dashes forward, thinking that Izuku won’t be able to deal with him at close range. Izuku reacts by dashing forward as well, ducking low as he gets close. 

In the stands, Katsuki has also notices Shouto’s slowed down, likely because of the frost covering his body. It’s different than Katsuki’s limits - kind of like magic points in a video game. The scale of that attack against Sero was probably the most he could muster.

Shouto panics just a bit, realizing Izuku had moved the instant he raised his left leg. Izuku himself is furiously muttering to himself about imagining the microwave, don’t let it explode, even as his powered-up right arm comes swinging, landing right in Shouto’s stomach. 

Of course, Izuku isn’t entirely unscathed, Shouto managing to get some ice on Izuku’s left arm at the elbow before being flung away by the force of the punch. Present Mic makes a comment on things heating up, while both Izuku and Shouto take a moment to recover from the backlash of that punch. The crowds are shocked at Izuku landing a blow, but also note that he’s the one who can barely stand. 

Shouto coughs, commenting on how now Izuku is on the offensive. He’s wondering how (I’m guessing on how Izuku finds the strength to keep going?), sending out another weak burst of ice that Izuku leaps over. Izuku comments on how Shouto’s not just slowing down, but his ice is weakening too. 

Cementoss asks Midnight if he should stop the match. It seems like Izuku’s going all out because he knows he can be healed no matter what. And he’s not feeling all the pain he’s in because his adrenaline’s pumping. But those injuries… a single healing session won’t be enough for a full recovery. Even if he wins here, he’ll be in no shape for the next match. Midnight has no reply.

Aizawa thinks back to the quirk assessment, where he told Izuku to learn to control his quirk. In the present, he notes that that control is starting to come, even if it means weaker attacks. He’s not just blindly going wild out there. In order to win, this is the best strategy for him at this point. But… even if he does know he can be healed, putting himself through all that pain takes a hell of a lot of guts.

Toshinori, however, has caught on to what the others have not, wondering what it is that’s motivating his successor. Which is a small little thing that I find neat! Toshinori’s known this kid for just over a year at this point, while the rest of the staff have only known him a few weeks.

Izuku can’t make a fist with his right hand anymore. So when Shouto sends another up-close ice attack, he puts his thumb in his mouth and uses that to flick it, destroying the ice with a crack that is equally likely to be from the thumb as it is from the ice. During all that, Shouto (or Izuku?) thinks back to Izuku’s words, about wanting to be like All Might, and for that, he has to be number one, he has to be the strongest. It might seem like a lame motivation compared to Shouto’s, but.

Shouto asks Izuku why he’s going this far. Izuku dashes in, saying he’s just trying to meet expectations. A smiling, dependable, cool hero - that’s what he wants to be. 

Shouto flashes back again for a brief instant, providing enough distraction that Izuku gets in another hit. Izuku states that that’s why he’s giving it everything! For everyone! Shouto’s experiences, his determination - Izuku can’t even begin to imagine what all that is like. But if he becomes number one without giving it his all, then Izuku doesn’t think he’s serious about denying Endeavor everything. 

A longer flashback. Endeavor tells his son to get up. He won’t even be able to defeat third-rate villains, let alone All Might, if he gets knocked down by a hit like that. Rei begs Endeavor to stop, that Shouto’s only five years old. Shouto looks up from where he’s kneeling on the floor in his own vomit, just in time to see Endeavor slap Rei out of the way while stating that Shouto is already five, and to get out of his way.

Present Shouto tells Izuku to shut up, his right side absolutely coated in frost. 

More flashback. Young Shouto is curled up in his mother’s lap, saying that he hates his father, he doesn’t want to be like him. Someone who bullies mommy - he doesn’t wanna be like that. She rests a hand on his head, noting that he wants to be a hero, right? That’s fine, he’s not… 

In the present, Izuku takes another swing, thinking back to… someone’s words about if you have a future you’re striving for, while out loud declaring that that’s why he has to win. Which I guess clarifies the earlier reasons that everyone might think this is about winning the match. Toshinori, however, is cottoning on to what’s actually happening, thinking back to his talk with Endeavor, and how Shouto won’t use his left side because of his conflict with his father, which means Izuku is…

Izuku lands his hit while stating he has to surpass Shouto. 

While the other Todoroki children play soccer under the supervision of an elderly lady, Shouto watches on from the window. Endeavor grabs him by the arm and yanks him away, telling him not to look, that his siblings belong to a different world than him. 

Shouto stumbles across his mom talking on the phone to her own mother. She states that she knows it’s not right, but she can’t do it anymore. The children, they’re like him more and more everyday. And Shouto, his left side - sometimes she looks at him and hates what she sees. She can’t raise him anymore; she shouldn’t raise him. The kettle rattles as Shouto peeks into the kitchen, nervous and overwhelmed by what he’s hearing. Rei… does not react well.

Shouto, a bandage over his left eye, asks Endeavor where his mom is. Endeavor states that she hurt him, so he had her put away. He calls her a fool, during this crucial time in Shouto’s development, no less. Shouto weeps, furious and upset, stating that he’ll show Endeavor, that it’s all Endeavor’s fault. 

In the present, he starts to talk about how he’ll show his father, only for Izuku to interrupt - 

Not quite the same line as the anime! Which I was surprised by, to be honest. Like, I get why the line was changed up for that, and both have the same meaning, but there’s… something interesting in the original version of those words as well. 

We flash back again, to an All Might interview Shouto is watching with his mother. All Might states that quirks are naturally passed from parent to child. However, that’s not the only thing that matters. It’s not just blood ties - instead, one must recognize and appreciate oneself! That’s what he means when he says it - when he says ‘I am here!’

(Not gonna lie, that bit of All Might interview actually has me thinking. That comment on blood ties makes me wonder whether he’s thinking about Nana, and that line about how one must recognize and appreciate oneself seems like a lesson both Toshinori and Izuku are needing to internalize in the current manga.)

Rei notes that Shouto wants to be a hero, right? That’s fine. Shouto isn’t bound by Endeavor’s blood. He can decide who he wants to become.

Shouto is practically in tears as he wonders when he forgot that. Flames lick at the corner of his eye and cheek, right before his entire left side goes ablaze with great force.

Everyone spectating is in shock. Tenya thinks on how Shouto had stated he’d never use his left side in battle, remarking on how he’s using it now. Toshinori realizes Izuku was trying to save Shouto. Endeavor is elated by this development. 

As Izuku flinches back from the heat, Shouto comments on how he thought Izuku wanted to win. So why is he trying to inspire him? Which one of them isn’t taking this seriously now? But he wants to be a hero too. Shouto and Izuku grin at each other, and so this chapter ends.

Not gonna lie, I kind of vibe with this version of The Line. It’s still similar to the more popular anime version, but it’s also just different enough that I am. Thinking. Mayhaps it shall be used one day in a fic somewhere.

Anywho, character sheet incoming. Rest of the Izuku vs Shouto match on Friday. See y’all then.

[empire-of-wildfire]

HOLIDAY SURPRISE

A @starseternalnighttriumphant X @empire-of-wildfire CHRISTMAS MINI-FIC COLLABORATION

WARNING: GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT. NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER 18 YEARS OLD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

a/n: here’s part 3!! Sorry it’s not on schedule, we both have been going crazy with work but we worked really hard to get this out for you guys tonight!

Cassian hung up the phone, running his hand down his face in frustration. His partners hadn’t been pleased when he’d told them he was staying in Velaris longer than planned because they needed him to start working on another case, but he told them he would work virtually until he could return. He hadn’t told them about Amina, wanting to keep her to himself for a little while at least. He’d called and arranged for more of his things to be sent to him in a week or so, and he looked into AirBnBs so he wasn’t living in the hotel long-term. He was pretty sure he’d thought of everything that needed to be handled while he stayed here, although something still nagged at him but he ignored it. The possibility that he wouldn’t be returning to Illyria permanently flickered through his mind, but he shoved it away. It was too early to know that. That would require further planning, and likely an extremely uncomfortable discussion with Nesta. If she didn’t kill him first.

Even just thinking about her for a brief moment, she moved to the forefront of his mind like she always had, since the day he left Velaris. Except now it wasn’t just Nesta he couldn't stop thinking about. Now she shared his headspace with Amina.

Amina. Now that he’d had a little while to get over his initial shock, he marvelled at the thought of her. So many times he’d dreamed of the day Nesta would bless him with children, but his imagination couldn’t have ever come up with such a perfect child as the one he met hours ago. He wished he could’ve been there to see her birth, to see her grow into the fiery toddler she was now. He couldn’t wait to see the woman she would become one day. Tough as nails and sharp as a whip, no doubt, with Nesta as her mother.

He was dragged out of daydreams of his daughter by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. He didn’t even look at the screen, assuming it was Rhys calling him to chew him out some more.

“What, Rhys?” He snapped.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s your other favorite brother,” a deep voice said, sounding amused.

“Oh shit, sorry Az.” Cassian instantly regretted his attitude. He hadn’t even seen his other brother yet in the hours he’d been home, he didn’t deserve his anger. And yet, Azriel had clearly known about Amina, and had kept her from him just like Rhys. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Feyre… she sounded pretty upset. Mentioned something about you and Nesta and that she wasn’t sure if you were leaving again?” Azriel said the last part slowly, as if afraid of setting Cassian off.

Cassian sighed heavily, bracing for the conversation he knew was about to happen. “How could you not fucking tell me? I don’t give a shit what Nesta threatened, I’m your brother Az. She’s my daughter. I deserved to know.”

“I know Cass, trust me. I wanted to tell you so many times. But I also knew how much your job means to you. I guess I’d just hoped you’d at least come home to visit sooner than this so you didn’t miss so much time, but then the longer it got the less likely I thought it was that you’d ever come home. And I didn’t want the only reason you came home to be because I told you about Amina. I was afraid you’d come to resent me for taking you away from your career, or worse, resent Amina for it. And I couldn’t risk her getting hurt like that.”

Cassian just sat there for a minute, shocked into speechlessness. For all his anger about how he felt about this, he hadn’t stopped to think about how Amina would feel. He’d just decided she would love him automatically, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if she never wanted to know who her father was? Would Nesta have ever told her, even if she didn’t ask?

“Cass? You okay?” Azriel asked tentatively.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and I know she’s taken the next week off. Go talk to her. I would assume at this point you know where your priorities are, so tell her that. Apologize. Make her see you won’t hurt Amina, or her, and go from there.” Azriel paused, clearly considering something. “She just dropped Amina off with me and Elain. She’s over in the neighborhood by the Sidra.”

Cassian sagged with relief, glad that someone was telling him something at least. “Thanks.”

“Good luck brother,” was his only reply.

Cassian immediately hung up and ran for his car, taking off for the other side of town. The neighborhood Azriel had told him Nesta lived in was pretty small, but he still wasn’t sure how he’d find her house. He slowly drove through the neighborhood, looking at each house for a sign of the fiery woman he hoped was living in one of them. Suddenly he came to a stop in the middle of the street, unable to look away from the house in front of him.

At face value, the house was simple, but elegant. Nothing overly extravagant, but clearly a well loved home. The thing that stopped him in his tracks though, was the front door. All the other homes had very neutral front doors, black, beiges, whites. This door was a bright, crimson red. He was immediately transported back to a different time in his life, when whispered secrets were shared under soft sheets with the woman that held his heart in her hands.

“When we get our own place, like officially ours, I want the front door to be red. I know it’s weird, but I want it to be a statement.” Nesta’s words rang in his head like she just said them, though that conversation was over five years ago.

Evidently Nesta had taken her dreams into her own hands, no longer wanting or needing Cassian with her to make them happen.

Cassian pushed down the twinge of pain and regret that thought caused, then finally parked and got out of the car, making his way slowly towards that bright red door that represented so many missed moments and realized dreams.

Knocking on the door, he braced himself for the wrath of Nesta Archeron.

As soon as she opened the door, she took a step back and ground out, “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?” Nesta hesitated, scanning his face as if looking for something. “Please, Nesta. I just want to talk,” he pleaded.

Finally she nodded, turning and walking into the house, leaving the door wide open since she knew he would follow her. He quickly stepped inside, following her through the house.

He spied the big Christmas tree in the living room, covered in matching ornaments. Nesta had never really been in to Christmas, but he wondered if that had changed now that Amina was in the picture.

He had to admit, he wasn’t expecting Nesta to live in the richer part of town. She must’ve been doing well at the hospital, being paid well if it meant she was living like this. Despite how awkward it felt to be here, to feel her weighted gaze on him, he was glad Amina would be cared for well, even if things didn’t end well and he ended up going back to Illyria.

“How is she?” he asked after a few moments.

Nesta’s whole body was tense as she poured cups of coffee, and he watched her closely just in case she decided to poison him. “She’s fine.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Tell me about her.”

“Oh, all of a sudden you’re interested?” she asked, her pleasant voice not concealing the venom underneath.

“Nesta, please.” He never begged, and she knew it. Her shoulders dropped in acquiescence, and she walked over with the two mugs, setting one down in front of him as she sat at the opposite end of the table.

She looked out the window to where the sky was dark now, and he had forgotten how late it was. But she just gazed out for another moment before she sighed and turned back to her coffee, staring into the mug.

“She’s super smart. She started walking months before the doctor said she would. She started talking months before she was supposed to. She’s leagues ahead of any other kid her age.” A small smile graced Nesta’s mouth. “She’ll be smarter than me one day, if you can believe it.”

Cassian watched her intently, hanging on to every word as Nesta finally relaxed and talked about their daughter. It was clear that Amina was the center of Nesta’s world, a place that had used to be his. He always knew Nesta would be an amazing mother, and his heart clenched when he realized he’d always thought he would be there for that day that she did become one. And he’d missed it all: the moment she found out, the ultrasounds, the birthing classes, the actual birth of his daughter. And the truth of it hit him square in the chest, making him wince.

As if she had sensed it, she stopped talking, eyes roving over him. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

Ouch. He guessed she was ready to move on to the harder parts of a conversation that was four years in the making. She didn’t give him time to reply as she grabbed her mug and placed it in the sink, walking out of the kitchen. He scrambled to follow her, catching up to her in the living room.

“Nes, you know I loved you. So much. I just wanted to prove I was more than the dumb kid I was here. I wanted to see if I could make something of myself.”

She spun on him, her eyes ablaze. “You don’t know how much it hurt when you told me you wanted to leave. I thought it was because of me. Every insecurity I’d ever had about us, warranted or not, came roaring back.”

“Nesta—”

“We’d been together all of high school and college, and then suddenly you wanted to leave and I hardly got any more notice than anyone else did.” She was on a roll now, and didn’t leave any space for him to interrupt. “I mean for cauldron’s sake Cass, we’d talked about our future together! That didn’t involve you being thousands of miles away and leaving me here. So after you left and I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t want to try and make you come back. And I knew if I told you and you still didn’t come back, it would crush me.”

Her words shocked him. Nesta Archeron knew him better than anyone else in the world, knew him better than his own brothers. And for her to think that… “Do you honestly think that if you’d called me and said we were having a baby, I wouldn’t come back and be there for you? For fuck’s sake Nesta, I can practice law anywhere.”

She crossed her arms stubbornly, fire in her gaze. “You fucking left, Cassian. You wanted to chase your dream, you were so focused on being such a hotshot lawyer, so forgive me for thinking that a baby would ruin that pipe dream for you!”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’ve known me for how fucking long, Nesta?” his voice was hard, and he was struggling not to raise it but he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “Do you think for one second I would’ve stayed in Illyria if I had known you were pregnant with our child?”

Her jaw clenched. “I didn’t need you to stay here out of guilt that you knocked me up.”

“Gods, Nesta, I’m not standing here because I feel fucking guilty. I’m here right now because I never stopped loving you!”

She froze, her face a mask of pure shock. For once she was left speechless, and Cassian took advantage of it. He closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands and kissing the hell out of her.

He wasn’t expecting her to return his fervor, her hands sliding up around his neck, tangling in the locks at the base of it. Every nerve ending came alive at her touch, his body reacting to her the way it used to over four years ago. The feel of her mouth was like coming home, so familiar and intoxicating that he had half a mind to wonder why he ever left her.

He grabbed her up, somehow finding his way to her bedroom and settling her down on her bed, hands slipping her out of her shirt. As he pulled it up over her head, he realized it was one of his old shirts from college. His heart clenched painfully, lungs refusing to breathe. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what Nesta keeping his things meant. But he wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t push just yet.

As soon as he had her completely naked before him, he pulled back to take in every inch of her. She was completely breathtaking; her sharp angles and curves were softer now, likely an after effect of giving birth. But it didn’t matter to him. This was Nesta, the one woman that he would never get over, no matter what happened between them.

He slid his hand over hip and up her stomach, watching goosebumps pebble her skin. Before he could reach her breast, she sat up and grabbed him, impatiently pulling at his clothes to get him on the same playing field. He chuckled, helping her get himself undressed. He leaned over her again but she surprised him by wrapping a leg around his hip and flipping their positions. She was now atop him, gloriously naked above him, her golden brown hair falling around her shoulders and down her back. Her face was vulnerable, open, her eyes already blown with desire. She was a goddess.

She leaned down to meet his mouth, kissing him long and deep. He groaned against her lips when her hand found his already hard length, stroking him softly. When she ran the tip of him between her folds, he was ready to lose his godsdamn mind.

“Nesta,” he breathed, her name coming out like the holiest of prayers.

She wasted no time in sliding down onto him, and he was already lost in pleasure that he almost missed the sharp gasp that left the woman atop him. She stilled, adjusting to him after so many years apart. His hands wrapped around her hips, thumbs caressing her skin as he met her steely gaze.

“Lost for words?” he quipped, the left side of his mouth hitching up into a smirk.

Her nostrils flared, but instead of shooting a venom-laced reply back at him, she moved her hips, effectively shutting him up and leaving him incapable of any cocky remarks. Her hands braced against his chest as she began to ride him, and he wondered if he was going to die from this. He hadn’t been celibate since he’d left her, but every single motion of hers was threatening to undo the very threads of his life. Coming together after so long was going to ruin him, but he didn’t care.

He watched her as she moved on him, rolling his own hips to meet her movements. She clenched around him and he swore, fingers digging into her hip as his other hand came down between her legs to stroke the sensitive bundle of nerves there. When she let out a breathy moan, he knew she was his again.

He continued his ministrations, watching in awe as Nesta started her ascent, writhing and moaning above him. He took over her movements, thrusting into her slow and deep, feeling every inch of her. When he knew she was close, he sat up, seated inside her at a dizzying angle. He captured her mouth, tongue invading her mouth as he picked up his pace, thumb circling her clit torturously.

Her back arched, chest pressing against his and then she was crying out his name and spasming around him, body shaking as her orgasm overtook her. He didn’t stop, continuing to stroke into her, his mouth on her neck as she trembled. He rolled them so she was on her back, his body resting against hers as he continued his pace, hips stuttering as she clenched around him one last time. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling him even closer, her nails raking gently down his back until her hands were on his behind, urging him to go faster. 

He didn’t resist, bracing himself on his arms as he looked down at her, taking in her pink cheeks and glazed gray-blue eyes. She held his gaze, hands coming back up to slide along his jaw, pulling him back down to kiss him softly. Her kiss seared his mouth, and he sighed in content against her lips, savoring the way she tasted.

“I love you,” she whispered, the worst so quiet he wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her right. His eyes shot open, brows furrowing in surprised but she just kissed him again, holding him close.

Her lips found the juncture of his shoulder and when her teeth dug into his skin, he found release, choking out her name as he emptied inside her, all but collapsing on top of her sweat-slicked form. He couldn’t think straight, could only focus on all five senses that were overwhelmed by Nesta. Everywhere they touched was like fire, all he could smell was her and the evidence of what they’d done. His head was on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, and the memory of her coming undone kept playing in his mind. He felt no better than a house cat as she ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

When he finally lifted his head, it was to place a light kiss to her collarbone, to her jaw, to her swollen lips. Her eyes were already half-closed, trying to fight off sleep, but her mouth curved into the soft smile that had captured his heart all those years ago.

It wasn’t until she was sound asleep that he ran a thumb over her cheek and whispered, “I love you too.”

-

@werewolffprince @schmlip-scribble @justgiu12 @westofmoon @legallyhermione @love-is-a-contradiction @shyvioletcat @oversizedbats @superspiritfestival @ladywitchling @disgreisful @empress-ofbloodshed @lovemollywho @highqueenofelfhame @rocky99 @sayosdreams @mynewdreamwasyou @whydoineedtowriteanamehere @charincharge @sjm-things @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @queenestarcheron @julemmaes @littlehoneyybee @throne-of-crescent-roses @sleeping-and-books @agentsofsheilds @that-golden-lyre @swankii-art-teacher​ @nessiantho @mythicaitt

[lollytea]

Hi! I love you Shageera fic! The fandom is so small and your fic is so good, I can't thank you enough! And I wanted to ask you, do you have any headcanon about their relationship outside of Talespin? In the original Jungle Book "canon" or some other AU? I'd love to hear them if you do have them, your takes are gold!

Hi! Thank you so much!!

Hmmm. All the versions of shagheera in my head follows the same basic story structure of “friends as kids, grow apart as they get older, reconnect as adults” EXCEPT for the jungle book/canon universe, where the first two DO apply to them (thank you jungle cubs for making that canon, idk where I’d be without jungle cubs canon.) but they continue to keep their distance from each other once they’re grown. I mean Khan tried to kill Bagheera’s kid AND his bear husband. I don’t think they ever can bounce back from that one. They got bad blood and they probably always will.

Unless….just kidding…..unless….

I think about the plot of this cancelled third jungle book movie very often. Yeah it would’ve been bad but….but….but adult Khan and Bagheera might have interacted. Also I wanna know how the fuck a shere khan redemption arc is written. Not very well probably but I still wanna see it. I think Disney should send me the script to this film. As a gift. I think I deserve it. It’s not like they want it. Hand it over, lads.

ANYWAY

Besides the talespin universe, I’ve got like two shagheera AUs

Treasure Planet AU — Bagheera is a scholar and astronomer who comes aboard Captain Shere Khan’s ship. The two know recognize each other as the childhood friend they used to play pirates with. So, rather ironic circumstances they’ve found themselves in. Neither know how to react to reuniting so they’re pretty awkward about it and refuse to acknowledge that they were ever close. They mostly interact with the distant politeness of people who barely know each other and strictly refer to the other Captain/Doctor (unless circumstances are dire) But they’re gonna be stuck on this ship together for the next few weeks so they better figure out what the fuck their relationship is.

Bagheera is deeply out of his element. He’s intimidated by the crew and he doesn’t know how to handle a weapon so he considers himself rather useless on this expedition. He’s never even held a pistol before and now he’s expected to know how to shoot one. He’s so frazzled that he nearly (accidentally) shoots Khan dead at one point. But he wouldn’t be Bagheera if he wasn’t stubbornly insisting that he knows what he’s doing, especially when the captain shoots some sardonic comment his way. The two get into more squabbles than he cane keep track of.

Shere Khan is exasperated with the doctor, with the boy he brought aboard, with the entire idiot crew he hired, but especially with the doctor. He attempts to keep himself composed but he keeps stooping to the most childish arguments and he feels like the presence of Bagheera is forcibly dragging him back 25 years every time they interact. Shere Khan does not know how to feel about that.

Shere Khan finds himself having to acknowledge that Bagheera is brilliant. Due to the doctor’s calculations, the ship avoided the waves of impact during a difficult path through a black hole and he’s the reason they got out alive. He never felt all that much admiration for the little brainiac when they were children but now he is absolutely blowing him away.

Bagheera starts spending more time in Shere Khan’s office because it’s the only place he feels comfortable. (The crew really creeps him out.) and they do everything from argue to discuss alternate routes to pour over the map. This evolves to Shere Khan teaching Bagheera what he knows about wielding a sword and they have many homoerotic sparring sessions. Sometimes they’ll lay out in the escape boats and Bagheera will teach Khan the names of all his favourite constellations. They have many homoerotic star gazing sessions. BASICALLY they have a gay space pirate love story but it’s behind the scenes stuff cuz Kit is the protagonist of this au and he doesn’t give a fuck what Shere Khan and Bagheera are doing.

They are forced to acknowledge that they care about each other when the stakes get more dangerous and both have their near death experiences, rattling the other considerably. At the very least they start calling each other by their first names again ❤️

Fairytale/ Dragon Princess AU — OKAY i don’t think I’ve ever publicly posted about this au so I won’t unpack all of it cuz I know y’all aren’t familiar with it. It’s mostly focused on Baloo/Rebecca and the bear family as a whole but Shagheera is involved too so I’ll focus on that part for now.

So basically Shere Khan was a kid prince and Bagheera was the son of a servant so, as the only two children in the castle, they’ve been playmates since before they could walk.

The only other children they interacted with were Bagheera’s friends (Baloo, Louie etc.) and Shere Khan’s wife-to-be, Princess Rebecca. Their parents arranged the engagement and neither Khan or Rebecca were thrilled about it. As they grow older, Bagheera leaves the palace to make his own way and he and Khan don’t keep in touch.

By the time they were young adults, mysterious circumstances paused Shere Khan and Rebecca’s upcoming marriage when word spread around that the princess had been horribly cursed and locked away in a tower. Details were sparse, even to her fiancé. All that was known was that she had last been seen talking with a man who had a reputation for being a dark mage and it can be deduced that he was the one behind the curse.

But before she disappeared, Rebecca sent Khan a letter begging him to please not retrieve her from the tower, warning him that whoever ventured out to save her would not make it back alive. Khan obliged of course, both because he respected her wishes and if she returned, he would have to marry her.

As a king, Shere Khan had excellent publicity. He was charming and charismatic in public, masking the fact that he was an absolute bitch in private. He was also obliged to act like he cared about his fiancée being returned to his side so every now and then he allowed whatever arrogant glory seeking fool who offered, to go “save” her. None of them lived.

Years later, Khan drops into an ancient, desolate library on the outskirts of town, hoping to find a particular book on plants. It’s after midnight, so he doesn’t have to deal with the scandal of the king being out and about. And who does he find between the shelves, bathed in the dim glow of oil lamps, but Bagheera, snoring on the floor in a pile of open books.

This begins a tentative acquaintanceship in which Khan escapes to the library every now and again for a change of scenery and to meet with Bagheera, who lives on the floor above.

It doesn’t take long for Shere Khan to learn Bagheera’s reputation. As it turns out, the passionate yet introverted scholar with books on the brain, is allegedly the “dark mage” that put a curse on Rebecca all those years ago. This would explain why his library is always empty. Everyone in town is petrified of him.

Rather than turn to anger or fear, Shere Khan can only feel disbelief and intrigue because whatever rumors are going around are clearly fabricated. He challenges Bagheera to perform some evil little spell for him, summon hellbeasts if he must. But Bagheera falters and it is revealed that underneath that reputation is a bit of a sham. Bagheera has been trying for years to become an adept mage but he just can’t get the hang of it. His spell-work is terrible. Always has been.

“Well surely you can’t have cursed the princess then?” Shere Khan reasons. But that’s not exactly true. Yes, Bagheera was not behind the original curse but when Rebecca came to him for help, he accidentally made it so so much worse. Bagheera is the reason shes been forced to hide herself away in a tower and he’s been spending all these years attempting to improve his magic so he can finally undo what he’s done.

And so Fairytale/Dragon Princess AU is a fantasy love story where Shere Khan attempts to help Bagheera effectively channel his magic. The fun part about it is magic is intricately tied to a persons emotional state so when you’re having homoerotic little scenes with your childhood buddy and he touches your forearm, you nearly set the whole goddamn library ablaze. Real gay shit.

I have run out of steam and cannot ramble anymore. Hope I have pleased you.

[commanderserwin]

morning view.

✧ characters. levi ackerman x reader

✧ summary. bedsharing trope with angst and some sprinkles of fluff if you squint a little ♡ is this even bedsharing ???

“because those girls thought we are still together, and we always sleep together in tents so they counted us as one.” 

✧ notes. super self-indulgent bedsharing fic ♡ inspired by this song b/c it’s an ultimate favorite of mine. and also because i love bedsharing fics that’s all

it has been three months and it was a mutual decision.

everyday with him always ended with a sour mood, a sad face, a frown, a scowl, sleeping angry with the two of you laying down with the biggest distance between your bodies. angry, angry, and horrible and both of you knew.

so after a year— comes the break-up and it was exactly what you two needed.

but who ever thought of teaching these new recruits how to count? how could they not count properly as it goes easily from one to ten? it was taught in training, maybe in early education, or from their father or mother over a dining table, but it was easy.

one, two, three.

"what do you mean there isn't a spare tent?"

the young recruit shuddered under your eyes. she tried to smile, but it made her look constipated and she only shook her head. the other young girl beside her looked equally hopeless, probably beating themselves up for not counting properly.

"well?" you pushed, offering a hand as you looked at their wagon.

it was empty, mockingly empty.

the night's getting close and by whatever this trial is of sleeping outside the comfort of the warm headquarters to teach these young ones how to survive the outside, and yet here you are, already dying because they have no spare tent.

"we thought..."

"thought what?"

"we counted..."

"counted?!"

"we counted you and captain levi as one, because you two are together, and you always shared tents with him! but we didn't know that you broke up with him, and we only knew about it now. so we have no spare tents because we thought you would be sleeping with the captain!"

the girl blinked before you while the other panted for air as she spat out her quick spiel for not having a spare tent.

the wind has been getting colder, and before you could sleep with only a coat over your body but now... the wind made your toes curl and made your whole body shiver.

you turned behind you, instantly looking at him who was helping the others set up their own tent. he commanded the others to help and proceed to set up their own before it gets too dark and cold to do so. you whipped your head back towards the girls, sighing deeply because you wanted to be angry but there was no reason to because... it's there already, can't be fixed.

but it can be fixed and it involves with you kneeling down and asking for a spot beside him because you are not about to sleep outside in the cold.

the girls gulped under your look, and you pointed at yourself for holding on to their words. they look alarmed as you inched closer, "i didn't break up with him. we both wanted to break up, you got it?"

the wind blew over your whole body as you stomped towards where the supposed tent is. his back was turned on you as he hammered the nail deeper into the ground— fully knowing that you were behind him.

you cleared your throat, tightening your arms across your chest as you rocked your foot gently, looking up because you aren't ready to meet his smug face.

but he didn't turn around. he kept hammering the nail down even when it was perfect already. he moved his head to the side to hear you clear your throat again, and again, until you couldn't take it.

"levi."

"what."

levi brushed the grass off of his trousers as he raised to his feet. he dropped the hammer back on to the grass as he crossed his arms. he watched you pinch your arm in an attempt to calm yourself— to ask him, for something he knows that you will ask.

"can i sleep with you?"

he arched a brow, waiting for more.

oh, his smug face, you thought.

no matter how impassive he stared, you knew that underneath all that he is smiling widely and is enjoying this— which he was.

"please?" you pushed, hauling your bag to the side of his tent.

levi didn't answer because he wanted to hear more. for three months, he waited for you to come up to him with something, even when he found himself hiding away. this was just an oppurtunity to fix that was long broken before it even started— but he's just enjoying, enjoying, this sweet, stubborn begging from you.

"please?"

"fine," levi answered, and you immediately crouched down to be inside the tent. he shook his head, bending down slightly to pop his head inside, "but why?"

it made you angry again. 

"because those girls thought we are still together, and we always sleep together in tents so they counted us as one."

levi clicked his tongue as you whipped your head towards him, eyes ablazed as you looked at him. his grey eyes inspected the small tent, wondering how the two of you could fit now with the smallest distance in that tent. he was about to comment on not to take the left side because that was closest to the opening and his spot, but he kept his mouth shut as you instinctually went back to your things, moving them to the right like you always do.

he left without a word, hearing you mutter to yourself as you cursed this whole situation.

levi roamed around the few tents and being in charge, he barked gentle orders to the new recruits as they settled inside their own tents after their dinner. he didn't see you anywhere after the dinner, didn't even mingle with the others as you usually would do, so he gave a few extra minutes before he went inside his tent where he figured you would be in already.

and he was right. because there you were, cramped and kneeling down in the tent, as you tried to unclasp the stiff leather harnesses around your chest and back to get a more comfortable sleep.

levi turned his back, removing his jacket as he folded it into the side. he turned his head once more, watching your fingers fiddled with the hard material as he busied himself with the boots, placing them beside yours. he turned to his cravat as he folded them inside his jacket— and you were still busy with the harnesses.

“you can ask for help,” levi hinted, unbuttoning his shirt at the collar, turning his head towards you.

“i don’t need your help,” you snarled, tugging on your leathers on the chest and back, hoping to find some success but to no avail.

he sighed quietly, kneeling down beside you, swatting your hands away from your back. he tugged harder, hearing you groan embarrassingly as he worked his way out of your leathers, helping you successfully untangle yourself. you moved your head to the side, eyeing his work but he didn't stop there, because he helped you untangle the ones over your thighs and legs.

"thank you," you murmured, accepting your harnesses as you fixed them up beside his clothes.

levi only grunted in return as he began with his own effortlessly, while you crawled into the sleeping pad, settling on the furthest right as you laid down stiff as a log.

the sweet, soft patch of grass was as perfect as the sleeping pad and you fought yourself not to yawn and close your eyes as you didn’t want to disrupt whatever levi needs to do with the candles on. but levi made it impossible when he blew on one candle, dimming the light in the tent as he proceeded to fix his side and clothes.

the small things with him and it has you melting into sleep already. levi caught on your surpressed yawn, quieting his movements to make room for you to rest after an exhausting day. after that, he crawled beside you with his back on you, settling down and shying just an inch away from each other.

you have no idea how long you have been asleep. the darkness engulfed your eyes, and it took a while adjusting. you blinked a couple more, your mind slowly waking up to the slightest movement beside you as you draped an arm around the space beside you. it was automatic in your mind to look for him, feel for him when you wake up without him beside you.

"levi?" you croaked, hand blindly patting his side, until you feel his seated figure in the dark before you. you tugged on his shirt, just to feel him— just to know if he was there and he softly leaned on your hand. "levi?"

"go back to sleep," levi murmured in the dark, his head turning to where you were even when he could only see your silhouette.

"hmmm," you hummed, turning your body to the side to curl up a little. you dropped your hand from his back, tucking it underneath your cheek as you closed your eyes. you felt his arm brushed over your waist as he fixed the coat over your body properly while you snuggled deeper.

"sleep," he whispered, pulling his knees up as he laid his arms over it.

after a few minutes, and you couldn't— not when you heard him give out the deepest sigh as he sat on the pad in the dark, the usual. even three months of the split, you still now this about him. the nights you have spent calling out his name, only for him to be far away because he couldn't sleep. the only thing that could make him lay down comfortably is when you would reach out to his hand, guiding him back beside you.

but you don't know if it was still appropriate, because you two aren't together. a mutual decision, and even as every bit mutual it is, it felt too different and unsettling. still, you weren’t a nobody to not comfort him through his night. so you did the best thing that you could think of, no matter how hard it was to strip the sleep away from your tired body but you did it anyway for him.

your shoulder brushed his as you sat beside him, yawning as you stretched your legs as you pulled them to your chest. you rested your head on top of your arms as levi tensed beside you.

“what are you doing?” levi softly asked, turning his head to the side as you yawned gently.

“you can’t sleep so i’m staying up with you.”

“i said go to sleep.”

“you can’t tell me what to do,” you muttered, resting your cheek on your arm as you traced his features with your eyes in the soft, tented moonlight.

“we have to be up in a couple of hours, so, rest.”

“i will stay up if i want to.”

three months of avoidance, three months of excuses of the split and this has been the closest the two of you have been. like a lost continuation to the story you two have been trying so hard to narrate only for it to be unfinished in the end.

it isn’t always horrible with him. everyday with him was filled with the small things, the details that made your heart flutter: that whenever you wake up just for him to feel his arm lazily on top of yours, or when he polishes your boots, when he piles your things neatly, kissing your shoulder, holding your little finger in secret, a hand on your back as he passes, the quiet “hi’s” mumbled, or his palm turning over yours as he let you hold his hand when he couldn’t sleep at night.

levi felt your finger tap on his knee as you nudged him with your shoulder, making him intake sharply. suddenly, he felt your hand on top of his, clutching it gently while you turned your head straight ahead. levi didn’t even try to question or fight it— because just this once and last time, he wants to. he turned his palm over, fitting his fingers into the spaces as he held on to yours while the two of you sat down together in the dark.

seconds, minutes has passed before he finally had enough of the sitting. he looked down at the intertwined fingers before stretching his shoulder.

“i’m going to lay down,” levi sighed.

“okay.”

and he did. and he held on to your hand, as he settled in on his side. he tugged on your fingers, making you look back at him, smiling as he tugged again, urging you to lay down too.

“are we going to sleep?” you yawned, curling up beside him, facing him. “do you want me to hold your hand?”

“don’t coddle me,” levi scoffed, turning his head away while he laid on his back. 

“hah,” you huffed, closing your eyes as levi placed your intertwined hands in the space between your bodies. “if i pull away, don’t come crying to me.”

“go. to. sleep,” levi harshly whispered —faintly squeezing your hand. 

“i should say the same to you.”

“speak more and i don’t think i’ll ever get to sleep.”

you chuckled softly, snuggling closely until the faint press of your cheek is upon his shoulder. levi turned his face, his lips close to your forehead as he breathed deeply, awaiting for sleep. he could see through the sliver of the moonlight as you moved in closer to him, lips slightly parted as sleep clouded your mind.

levi couldn’t help but breathe a little better, think a little gentler when you are close to him— as if everything is shutting down for the day, and he only wanted to drown in the sense of you. but he shouldn’t, because it was over. it was a mutual agreement, and he admitted how it was such a good decision for the both of you, but he couldn’t help but be bitter.

“where did we go wrong?” levi asked in the night, turning his face away. he held on to your hand while he absently soothed you, sighing deeply as he let his mind rest into the clouds with the feeling of you.

where did we go wrong?

you flutter your eyes open, resting your chin on his shoulder as levi slept beside you. his hair framed his face, falling sloppily on his forehead, making you want to brush them away— push them away just to get a better look at his face. but you stopped your fingers just at the tips of his hair, retreating them back to hold on to his arm.

the smallest distance you have shared with him after breaking up and it has got you messed up in the mind. but sleep never came that easy, because his question stayed unanswered.

his morning view. it wasn’t the ugly shade of the tent or the way the recruits outside laughed outside. it was the way your cheek was pressed on his shoulder, almost leaving little no space on his side because you have completely moved closer to him. 

levi has been awake for almost an hour, unmoving and still as he waited for you to pry away your tangled arms and legs with his, both of your hands still lazily intertwined with each other and levi perfected his fake sleeping position while he felt you stir awake beside him.

he has done this so many times, almost waiting for you brush his hair away as you gently moved away from him. it almost didn’t happened as he listened to your shaky breathing, knowing that you were hesitating. levi didn’t really expect you to brush his hair away— let alone hold his hand, so he threw away that thought.

yet, his heart almost stopped when he felt your fingertips brush his cheek in the softest gesture, as you murmured a little, “levi?”

but he didn’t respond. he was supposed to be sleeping.

“still asleep?” you whispered so softly, feeling your hand brush his bangs away.

he could feel the futon crumbling under your weight as you untangled your legs, yawning gently as you stood up, while he listened to you move around. you stopped for a moment, and levi almost opened his eyes to see where you have gone to, but he only felt your hands rustle down his blanket, covering his feet— tucking it underneath the covers. then, you were off.

you have been gone for awhile, and levi finally opened his eyes— letting out the biggest exhale that he didn’t know he was holding. levi stretched his neck, rubbing circles into his nape, feeling the aftermath of having his head faced to the side while he slept as he sat up.

he closed his eyes, seething through the sensation, while he tried to move his neck to side, taking a deep breath whenever it hurt. he didn’t even hear you come inside— he only opened his eyes in surprise when he felt your hand on his knee, squeezing it while you crouched beside him.

“does your neck hurt?” you smiled, holding out a warm cup of tea for him. levi looked down at your hand, his eyes wondering but you answered it right away. “i saw it in your bag, i’m sorry. i thought i’d make you tea as a thank you.”

“hmm,” levi nodded, accepting the warm drink from your hands.

you sat down near his feet, blowing on your own drink as you two sat in silence— listening to the trainees outside the tent.

“we go back to the headquarters in a while,” you mumbled, looking at the liquid in your cup.

“we should get ready,” levi murmured, his lips on the brim of the tea you have brought him. he wanted nothing more than to wrap his blanket around you, noticing the small sniffle from the crisp weather— but he fought over it.

tea all smell the same to him whenever he does it, but it feels different whenever you make it for him and it almost made him smile.

the air has settled once more, both of you sipping silently, relishing in the stillness of the night and the morning spent together. levi watched you blow on your tea, placing it firmly in between your hands, moving it around gently— both of you not moving a muscle to prepare for the way back. he stayed on his spot, enjoying his tea as he looked at you carefully, noticing the deep furrowed brows on your face— painted deep in worry and dread.

levi sighed gently, making you look at him. if there was something bothering you, he was sure it was because of what he said last night. he thought you were asleep right away, because he read the tiredness in your eyes but he must’ve missed it. he took the blanket off of his body, moving to sit beside you.

his shoulder brushed yours in a greeting, as his hand found its way towards yours. “cold?”

“a little,” you murmured, turning your hand over as he intertwined your hands together— warmth from the tea swirling in between the two of you. levi stared ahead into nothing, gently smiling, as you placed your head on his shoulder, tightening your hold over his.

holding each other just for the last time, leaving the question still unanswered, as you two sat down together in the early morning.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Ablaze ~ S.R.

A/n: Haaaaaaaaaa so y'all liked that Spencer Reid fic I did huh? lol I'm glad

Request: "Could you do a Reid x male reader where the team is in Cali following an arsonist and the readers a firefighter (and Reids bf but the team doesn’t know that) and somehow the reader gets into a confrontation with the arsonist and has to use what Reid has “taught him”/talked about to try and deescalate the situation" by @sheepfather

Word Count: 2400+

Masterlist

They met when Y/n's team was putting out the fire and Reid's team was rushing to the scene to see if their arsonists was still around. The BAU had been dragged to California because it seemed that a killer was on the lose. They couldn't figure out the connections of the victims, but they were all dying in horrible fires. It turned out that someone wasn't setting fires to kill people, just that they were setting fires that happened to kill people. There wasn't a killer on the loose. There was an arsonist.

When I say "they" I don't mean Y/n and Reid by the way. The two boys actually went way back. They'd met in Vegas at a party neither of them wanted to be at. Y/n had been going through a rough time and Reid wasn't good in social situations and they'd ended up in the same corner and just enjoyed the mutual silence. After they'd found peace in each other Y/n had rested his head on Reid's shoulder and Reid was surprised to see that it didn't bother him. They'd run into each other again at the local library of all places. There they'd exchanged names first and then numbers soon after. After that, they'd spent more and more time together. They had to work around work and school schedules (only Y/n went to school anymore, but it was still an issue) but eventually it went from hang outs to date and then suddenly they were boyfriends instead of best friends.

The "they" I meant was actually Y/n and the rest of the BAU. None of Spencer's friends knew about Y/n. It wasn't like he was ashamed or hiding anything, it was just that it never came up. Everyone assumed Spencer was single and would always be, and Spencer didn't care enough to correct them. He wasn't into PDA either so the team didn't figure it out themselves. What they could tell was that they knew each other. It was nice to see Spencer be comfortable around someone outside of work, but Spencer hated talking about his personal life so people tried to ask as little as possible.

Working together was fun though. Y/n knew him very well, down to every micro sign of each emotion. Whenever Spencer got anxious or confused or was really focused and needed to be alone, Y/n always reacted appropriately. It came with knowing him for many years. It was also very helpful when Spencer was profiling and giving information to the other firefighters to keep a look out in case they arrived when the arsonist did. The firefighters, of course, were who made up Y/n's team, as Y/n was a firefighter as well. They had lots of questions though, and even more doubt. Y/n showed very early on that he knew Spencer's capabilities, so when they got too dubious or went to interrupt him, Y/n was quick to cut them off. It made JJ, Emily, and Morgan smile.

One day Morgan prodded. He walked up to Y/n, leaning against the wall next to the boy. "How far back do you and Reid go?"

Y/n was drinking water so he finished his gulp before answering. "Further back then Reid being in the BAU," Y/n responded. "I was still in high school He wasn't, of course, but-" He shrugged, chuckling. "We both lived in Vegas for a while. The relationship carried even when we moved away."

Morgan nodded. "You like him?"

"I'd like to think so." Y/n tried to hide a smile. He could tell them that he was Spencer's boyfriend, but what was the fun in that? "I'd even say I was in love with him."

That seemed to surprise Morgan. "Oh." He looked at Reid and then Y/n, obviously confused. If Y/n was so sure of his feelings, why did it seem like they were just friends? "Does Reid feel the same?"

Y/n considered that. "I don't know. I don't think Spencer and I have ever been on the same emotional playing field. Usually when I feel one thing he's feeling something else... But even then, no one ever seems to feel the same way about each other." Y/n shook his head. "I'm a psychology major, ignore me. What you want to know is if Spencer loves or likes me or whatever. But I can't speak for him." With that, Y/n left and Morgan only had more questions. Were they together or not?

His question was answered on one very bad night that almost cost Reid everything.

Lina Mare was a local sweetheart. She was kind of quiet and shy, but she liked Y/n. They were friends at least - Lina was in college. Y/n seemed to have a knack of befriending awkward, shy, or quiet people. People that couldn't quite get along with anyone else. So when she came into the fire station that day, it wasn't totally weird. She'd never visited Y/n at work before, but that didn't stop Y/n from greeting her when she came in. Nothing else was going on- why not?

She looked upset though. "Hey, you okay Lee?" He asked, touching her shoulder.

The girl leaned into his touch and his eyebrows came together, wondering if maybe she felt dizzy. Her eyes were clear though and her expression was set and clear. Her features were sharp and her gaze was like someone running a knife along his skin. Dangerous and seconds from doing damage. "I'm not," she told him. "I need you to stop, Y/n."

Y/n looked at one of his teammates behind her head. They made eye contact and the other man stood at the ready in case he needed to act. Y/n had a very bad feeling about what was happening. He didn't know why, he just felt like something bad was about to happen. "Stop what?" He asked her softly.

Lina looked right into his eyes, seeming to see something amazing. Her gaze softened, but didn't become any less dangerous. Just a little more uncontrolled. "The fires. You can't stop them. You have to stop putting them out."

It clicked immediately in Y/n's head. He looked at Lina's hands, still in her pockets. "Why don't we go outside and-?"

"No," Lina snapped, tugging out of his reach. "You have to stop putting them out!"

"Okay," Y/n cooed, putting both of his hands up so she could see that he was unarmed. He recalled everything Spencer had ever taught him. Anything he'd been told about in stories, or things Spencer had complained people often did wrong. "Can I at least let my friends go outside?"

She considered that a second before nodding. "But we stay."

"Okay," Y/n assured. He looked at the other fireman he'd warned before. Daniel. "Take everyone outside, will you please? Make sure everyone is there that needs to be." Daniel nodded before running off. Thankfully people trusted Y/n's judgment. Soon the building was empty. "Why don't you take your hands out of your pockets, Lina?" He knew they'd call the police. If he stalled long enough no one would get hurt. He'd gotten as many people safe as he could. Now he had to keep Lina calm until they could solve this.

A sigh came from the younger girl but she agreed. In one hand she had a lighter. Now that it was free of her pocket, she flicked it on and off every few seconds. "You're so oblivious, you know that?" She moved further into the fire station, toward the back of the truck.  Y/n followed, wanting to keep her in sight so she couldn't do anything too stupid. "You don't get anything."

"What did I miss Lina?" Y/n asked, trying to stay casual.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm in love with you." Y/n froze, both because of her word and also because she'd stopped down and hooked her fingers around a canister of gasoline. She vegan to move back into the building and when he didn't follow, she snapped, "Come on." He swallowed before obeying. She was getting agitated and he didn't want to set her off. She began to pour out the can all over the floor.

"Wait Lina-" She turned on her lighter and let it hover over the pouring gas. Y/n stopped dead in his tracks.

"You know Y/n I've tried for months." She let her lighter out, but kept it at the ready. "I tried everything to get you to realize how I felt about you. But you just kept laughing and it was so frustrating. I thought, it wouldn't help to be mad at you all the time. I'd have no time that way. So I did something I haven't done in a long time. I managed to keep myself under control for years. But you made me so angry, I had to let it out some way. So I burned. Little things."

Y/n's jaw hardened. "You killed people."

"I KNOW!" Lina sneered. "It wasn't on purpose! But fire is alive, Y/n. And it has wants and needs. And it grows. Who am I to stop it?" Y/n felt his stomach turn. "Then you made it even worse. You came rushing in every time and put them out. And suddenly I had a new reason to be angry. I'd almost forgotten about you. Until I saw your stupid, pretty face through the window and realized you were one of these stupid people putting my fires out. Of all people, OF COURSE it had to be you, huh?" She scoffed and Y/n's mind raced as he tried to figure out how to stop this. Lina went back and got three more cans, pouring those out too. Y/n could do nothing, as she kept her lighter at the ready. The whole floor was covered in oil now and her lighter was alight. "So I figured, get rid of the problem you know? No more fire fighters. No more you. No more me."

Fuck.

Y/n began moving to her. She tried to move away, but he forced a smile. "What, you're scared of me now? What am I going to do? I'd never hurt you Lina, you know that." She relaxed again. "I was just thinking, you know, I feel the same way." He tried not to cringe at the words. He was like seven years older than her and had a boyfriend but SURE, he liked her too. He knew that he had to get her to calm down. Trust him. He'd heard it a million times from Spencer. You give them what they want until you find your opening.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You do?"

Nodding, Y/n chuckled softly. "Of course I do. I just thought, I'm too old for you. Of course you'd never like me back. If I had known... Well, like you said, I'm completely oblivious."

She giggled, her eyes watering. "I knew it. Everyone said that you were into that- that- that weird guy from the FBI. But I KNEW we were made for each other." They were close now. The lighter was out and Y/n was inches from getting it out of her hand. Then she did something that totally knocked him off of his feet. They heard sirens and she ignored them, because of course why would the police be after her? She ignored them and she kissed Y/n and he was so stunned that he almost forgot about the lighter.

Finally Y/n's fingers closed around the lighter and he yanked it from her grip. She pushed him away and they parted. She shoved the lighter in his back pocket, moving to her quickly and wrapping her arms around her to force her to be still. She thrashed and kicked until they ended up with Y/n on his back, arms and legs all wrapped around her to keep her firmly in place even as she screamed and moved her head. It meant, unfortunately, that Y/n's face was nearly completely in the oil.

When the door finally opened and police came in, Y/n was relieved to let her go. His head was spinning and his vision was blurring as his eyes burned. She was handcuffed and taken away and he ignored what she was saying as she screamed at him.

It was Morgan who pulled Y/n to his feet and out of the oil. Who questioned him and got him a towel to wipe off as much oil as he could. Who got him outside and to clean air and who kept everyone back as Y/n processed what just happened and got real air into his lungs.Morgan finally got the story piece by piece and then took it to the others. That was when Reid finally got to his boyfriend.

Y/n leaned away from his touch. Then he started crying, his head full of images of him burning to death. Or Lina burning to death, screaming for him as she did so. Or, even worse, both of them burning to death together. Holy shit...

"She kissed me," Y/n choked out, covering his mouth.

"What can I do to help you?" Spencer asked softly, his eyes wide with worry.

Y/n shook his head before looking at him. "How can you forgive me?"

That seemed to confuse Spencer. "Forgive you for what?"

"She kissed me," he reiterated. "I let her."

Spencer tried not to laugh. "Y/n you were in a stressful situation and because of that, you got the lighter away from her. Because of it, you're safe..." He shook his head, moving closer to take Y/n's face in his hands. "Listen to me. I know I don't say it enough, but I love you, Y/n. Kissing her didn't mean anything other than you being safe today and that is all I care about. I don't even know who would ever consider that cheating. Don't be an idiot." He smiled and Y/n did as well. Spencer wiped the tears off his face. "Now can I take my turn and kiss you or do you need more space?"

Y/n laughed before pulling his boyfriend close by the belt loops. Their noses brushed a second before they finally kissed. It lifted the weird imaged out of his head and the weight off his chest. He was okay. Everyone was okay. That's all that mattered.

"So you guys ARE dating then?" The men looked over to see Emily there, JJ next to her.

"Yes," Spencer answered as if it was the most obvious thing ever. Emily looked at Y/n and then at JJ and then JJ and Y/n looked at each other and suddenly they were all laughing. After the stressful showdown from before, it was nice to laugh. It made Y/n feel better, and everyone seemed to sense that. Unfortunately, just because Spencer understood the laughing helped, he couldn't get why they were laughing at all. "I don't get it. What's so funny?"

They just kept laughing.

[thirstyfortaglines]

Welcome to the Wangsheng Family!

This is a 1.5K word Hu Tao x fem!reader fic. Contains adult content. This is my first time writing yuri content so I hope you enjoy.

“So...am I hired?” I reclined from my hunched over position, hastily attempting to organize my papers. Today I sat before the director of the Wangsheng funeral parlor, Hu Tao, in the hopes of getting a job. After reviewing the papers, Hu Tao nodded, finally looking up at me. “You definitely meet the basic experience requirements, but I’d like to get to know you a bit more before making my decision,” she stated in a professional but friendly tone. “What do you mean?” I asked, taken off guard by the question; I had never made it this far in an interview, and it showed. “Well, you must be a strange soul to seek work at a funeral parlor. What brings you here?” she pressed on, an eyebrow quirked in my direction. “To be honest…” I started slowly, scared of revealing too much, “this is the last place left for me. Everywhere else I’ve applied has turned me down for one reason or another, which is why I really appreciate your consideration, miss Tao.”

“Peculiar indeed...well, your application shows you’re more than capable of handling this position-” she had only just started, but I was already jumping out of my seat in celebration. “Thank you so much Director, I promise to be a hard working employee for you” I felt tears start to form and reached for her hand, only to be met with a wagging finger and a mischievous look. “While you have some experience, I have to make certain you’re emotionally strong enough for this job; this line of work can be very taxing and I have to make sure you’re up to snuff” she finished, standing and looking down at me. She then explained to me that she would need to conduct some examinations on me as a test of my metal; had I been less desperate for the job, I might have given it all a second thought, but I was too afraid of her changing her mind to show any bit of hesitation. And so, with a final locking of the doors, I was subjected to Hu Tao and her onslaught of trials.

“Is all this...necessary?” After having agreed to her testing, Tao handed me a blindfold and asked me to wear it. She then explained she was going to apply different types of pressure to my spirit which may cause me to lash out, and so she told me to sit down and tied my hands behind the chair. “To fully bring out the essence of one’s soul, they must first be deprived of the material world and be relieved of their earthly desires” the Director said hauntedly over my shoulder, as if to be spooky and get a rise out of me. Though I could not see, I could definitely hear the things going on around me.

Especially the sudden breathing against my ear. 

“What are you-” I spoke out, startled by the sudden heat in my ear. “Hey, stop moving! You’ll ruin the ritual” she whispered hurriedly into my ear, hushing me. After a few moments, I felt what seemed to be her chin resting upon my shoulder, and with it came the brush of her hand up the sides of my arms. “Tell me,” she began to speak in a low hum, “what is your desire?” Truthfully, I did not have many desires left: I had already settled down in Liyue harbor, my debts had been paid off, I mostly had everything I needed-. “My my, you’re still a virgin?”

The question rang out in my head as blood rushed to my cheeks and made my face flush with embarrassment. “W-why does that matter?!” I stammered, though I already knew the answer in my heart. “To work here, you must be capable of freeing yourself of all desire,” she started, finally untying my blindfold, “and so, we’ll have to do something about this lust of yours.” At that moment, the look in Tao’s eyes changed to something more...enchanting; my entire body was lit ablaze under her gaze, with every new location she brushed her fingers against bringing new life to my skin. “Looks like you’ve finally loosened up” she said after some time, cheerily as ever, slowing her exploration of my body for a brief moment. Though I was still bound in my chair, I reveled in this moment; the director was right, this was exactly what I wanted, no, needed. I let out a long winded sigh as Tao traced the back of my head, resting her hand at the base of my neck with a coaxing but firm grip. Her thumb played at the base of my hairline as I tilted my head back to fully feel her touch, the feeling of being held ringing throughout my entire being. What I wasn’t ready for was the kiss.

Hu Tao leaned over my shoulder and planted a kiss, square on my lips. Shock overtook my body, swiftly followed by a maddening desire for more as she drew away; I nearly lept out of the seat, chasing after her fleeting lips. “Haha no need to rush, I’ll give you some more” she teased me, but I didn’t care anymore; all that mattered to me in that moment was having more of her to myself. Perhaps it was only minutes, or maybe hours and hours had passed already, but all I knew was that I was exhausted from the kissing alone. I was dizzy and light-headed, so when Hu Tao slipped from my side, I didn’t even notice. Only when I saw her little hat pop up at my lap did I realize, and the smile she wore told me there was much left in store for this “test”. “So,” she said, her eyes bright and smile wide, “are you ready for round two?” “Round...two…?” I was still attempting to catch up with everything going on but Hu Tao continued full steam ahead. Though I was still seated, she had no intention of stopping, raising my one leg over her shoulder, and pushing the other aside to give her more room. “It’s safe to assume this is your first time, right?” she hovered above my panties, breathing heavily and arousing me further. “Y-yeah, what about it?” I tried to sound confident, but my inexperience shined through as brightly as her eyes, enticing Tao to take advantage. “Well then…”

“Allow me to be your guide~”

She lifted my skirt with a look of anticipation written all over her face, followed by a more quizzical look. “Say, are you a vision user by any chance?” she asked, somewhat abruptly. “No, why?” I replied, equally as confused, though still awaiting more of her touch. She smiled wryly at me and continued, “It’s just so wet down here, I thought you surely couldn’t have been this excited by my kissing alone, you must be a hydro user. Glad to know I still have my touch.” Embarrassment once again coursed through my veins, with Hu Tao still sitting between my legs, attempting to console me while concealing her own laughter. 

“Ready?” she looked up at me with a strong gaze, crumpling any opportunity to defy her. I nodded meekly and watched as she descended once again to between my legs. A cold sensation suddenly began rubbing against my clit, contrasting heavily with the hot air being breathed along my thighs. Despite my attempts to contain my enjoyment, a moan of pleasure left my lips as the teasing continued. “My my, did you enjoy that? My hand is absolutely soaked!” Hu Tao giggled, removing her hand from the area and tracing my thighs with the tips of her fingers. The sensation was so stimulating I got goosebumps all along my skin, begging to be touched, teased, and toyed with more. Once I was amply excited again, Tao gripped the sides of my drenched panties and slowly pulled them off, as if to remind me she was in control this entire time. “I think,” she said, hovering dangerously close to my sensitive pussy, “it’s time I dig in.”

The moment her tongue entered me, I screamed as I came. Not once had I ever considered myself a “quick shot”, but in that moment the stimuli got to me and Hu Tao showed now mercy; she continued her attack on my sensitive parts, alternating between her fingers and her tongue, forcing me to cum many, many times. At some point she doubled up on her assault, using her tongue on my clit and reaching deep into my pussy with her fingers, drawing out an aggressive moan from me and completely draining me of all my stamina. The cycle went on for hours: Attack, Cum, Tease, Repeat. And I loved every second of it.

By the time she had finished, I was drenched in sweat and my own fluids, fatigue overcoming my every muscle. “Seems like you’ll be a great fit here” the Director stated, standing up to face me. I gazed up at her as she placed a hand on my bare chest, leaned in, and kissed me. The feeling lingered on my lips as she made her way towards the door. “You start next Monday” she said behind her, halfway through the door. “T-thank you ma’am” I called after her, scrambling to get my clothes back on.

And that’s the story of how I got a job at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

Todaloo~

[secretkeeper13]

Secure

This fic is inspired by and a continuation of sorts to my Christmas fic, Wish. The fic contains some of my head-canon about what happened to Ginny in the Chamber before Harry arrived. In an abundance of caution, please note a potential TW for verbal abuse, similar to Ron and the locket Riddle in DH (but there is no physical or sexual abuse of any kind).

Also, this is the first time I’ve written full out smut without a fade to black, which was both difficult and intimidating! Thank you to @thedistantdusk for reading it and for your encouragement :)  

Read the first part below, or the whole fic on Ao3.

i.

The invitation surprised her a bit. They’d been sitting in the garden after her birthday dinner, still at the table, sipping their drinks and watching the sunset. The sky was ablaze with swirls of burnished red and bright orange, casting a warm glow across the garden. Harry was next to her, his arm draped across the back of her chair, his hand resting on her shoulder, her hand resting on the top of his thigh. Hermione was talking to them from across the table about the short holiday she and Ron were taking with her parents to the Lakes over the weekend.

“They’re really looking forward to it. I think they missed England this past year. And I wanted to do something with them before we go back to Hogwarts in a few weeks.”

At the mention of Hogwarts, Ginny felt a flare of anxiety. It’s still weeks away, she told herself firmly, trying to ignore the pit that had developed in her stomach.

“It’ll be nice to get away for a bit,” Harry said to Hermione, breaking Ginny from her thoughts. She could detect a hint of wistfulness in his tone. She knew how hard he’d been working lately with the Death Eater trials. He’d had to testify in nearly all of them. She gave his leg a slight squeeze with her hand, and he smiled at her.

“‘Arry and Ginny, you should come visit us at ‘ze cottage this weekend.”

Surprised, she looked up at Fleur, who was sitting next to Hermione.

“The weather has been beautiful, and a weekend by the sea would do nicely for you both, I think,” Fleur continued, confidence radiating from her tone, as always.

Ginny looked at Harry to see his reaction to the invitation. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulder almost imperceptibly, which she understood to mean why not?

“Thank you, Fleur; we’d like that. I’ll let Mum and Dad know.”

“Let me know what?” Her mother appeared behind Fleur as suddenly as if she’d apparated.

“Fleur invited Harry and I to stay with them at the cottage this weekend, Mum.”  

“Oh how lovely, dear. It’ll be beautiful there this time of year.”

She turned to Harry as her Mum bustled back off to the kitchen with an empty platter.  “Pack your trunks then, yeah?”

Three days later, they stood at the hearth in the Burrow, Harry holding their overnight bags, and Ginny holding a tin of biscuits she’d made with Mum earlier.

“Enjoy yourselves now,” her Mum said, hugging them both.

Ginny stepped into the green flames and re-emerged into the whitewashed walls of the sitting room of Shell Cottage, Harry following at her heels. She cast cleansing charms to remove the soot as Fleur and Bill entered from the kitchen.

Fleur embraced them both, kissing them on each cheek. Ginny hugged Bill and handed him the tin of biscuits.

“It’s nice being able to use magic out of school now, isn’t it?” Bill said, his arm still around Ginny.

“Well, it’s nice to be able to do it legally at least,” Ginny replied with a wink.

Bill laughed. “Not much for rules in this family, are we?”

“No,” Harry chimed in. “But I suppose that’s why I get on so well with you lot.” Bill chuckled and ruffled Ginny’s hair.

“Let me take you upstairs so you can put away your things,” Fleur said, ushering them to the narrow stairwell as Bill took the biscuits into the kitchen.

They climbed the steep stairs until they reached the landing. Fleur opened the furthest door to the right, revealing a small room with whitewashed walls and a window that looked out over the cliff onto the sea. The window was framed by airy light blue drapes. A double bed with a fluffy, white duvet was in the middle of the wall next to the window.

“I think you will be comfortable in ‘zis room. The view is very nice.” Fleur said holding the door open for them.

I take back every time I called her Phlegm, Ginny thought, surprised and overjoyed at the prospect of getting to sleep in the same room as Harry for the weekend without the usual sneaking around.

Harry looked over at her with a confused expression, clearly unsure as to whether they were meant to stay in the room together.

“Thank you Fleur, this is lovely. Harry, can you bring in the bags please,” Ginny said, trying to give Harry a hint.

Harry stood in the doorway, still looking puzzled. “Erm, are we both staying in this room?”

Fleur raised her eyebrow. “Unless you would prefer separate rooms?”

Ginny flashed Harry a look that indicated he’d better not be a noble idiot by passing up a weekend together in a shared bedroom.

“Oh, erm, no, I wouldn’t… I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you and Bill if we stay in the same.”

“You are both of age now, non? Don’t worry about Bill. He owes Ginny a favor anyhow.” Fleur smiled at her. “I did not forget ‘zat Christmas morning Ginny. What you did was very kind.”

Ginny felt slightly guilty, as she’d gotten five galleons from Bill in exchange for letting him and Fleur have a private moment in her room Christmas morning before last, but she certainly wasn’t going to mention that to Fleur now.

“I must go finish dinner,” Fleur said. “Come downstairs when you ‘ave unpacked.” She left the room and shut the door.

Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry, who still looked a bit stunned. “This is a nice surprise, isn’t it?” she murmured into his chest. “For a moment, I thought your stupid nobility was going to ruin it.”

Harry smiled. “It’s got limits. A weekend in a room alone with you....” he said wryly, and then a look of nervousness crossed his face. “But I hope it won’t be awkward with Bill. I don’t want to throw it in your family’s face that we’re… you know.”

Ginny snorted. He was adorably thick sometimes. “Harry, you do realize everyone in the family probably knows we’re shagging, right?”

“What?” Harry said, looking panicked. “We’ve been so careful. They’ve never caught either of us out of bed.”

“It doesn’t exactly take loads of N.E.W.T.s to figure it out, love. We told them we got together my fifth year, we’ve been inseparable since the war ended, they all know about your near-death experience-“

“Actual death experience,” he interrupted.

“Please don’t remind me. And to top it all off, you’re smiling and looking far too pleased with yourself most mornings. I don’t know if you remember, but you used to look like this,” she screwed up her face into what she thought was a spot-on impression of sulking, broody Harry.

He laughed. “Well, I’ve tried to be discreet, at least.”

“And we have, I’m just telling you, they probably all know.”

He sighed. “Well, hopefully it’s not too awkward with Bill.”

“It’ll be fine. And like Fleur said, Bill owes me one. Let’s go to dinner.”  

They had a pleasant dinner. Ginny, somewhat apprehensively, tried the Bouillabaisse that Fleur made, but found that she actually quite liked it. Bill and Fleur told them about their trip to France to visit Fleur’s family, and then the conversation turned to Harry’s first Auror mission, which was starting in a few weeks.

At the mention of summer’s end, a pit formed in Ginny’s stomach, and her mind wandered as Harry spoke. She dreaded leaving him to return to Hogwarts. Last year was miserable, of course, and for reasons far worse than just missing Harry. She tried to tell herself it would be easier this year- they could write to each other, he could visit her on Hogsmeade weekends, and they’d see each other over Christmas- but it didn’t change the fact that they’d be apart again. And this time, Harry would be working at the Ministry, surrounded by throngs of witches who would undoubtedly throw themselves at him, and he would no longer be distracted by fighting a homicidal maniac who wanted to kill him. Meanwhile, she’d be a schoolgirl stuck at Hogwarts- little Ginny, always the youngest- always the one left behind.

She knew that Harry loved her. She knew that he would never mess her about. But she couldn’t help the fears that crept in the corners of her mind- the fear that another year away from each other would be too difficult, the fear that being apart would result in growing apart. And her darkest fear of all, the one that hid and scuttled in the most shadowed corner of her mind, planted years ago by a silky-voiced stranger who she thought was her friend, was that Harry would realize that in his new, grown-up life, he could do anything he wanted, have any witch he wanted, and decide that he didn’t want her.

“What do you think, Gin?” Harry’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Oh um...” She flushed. “What were you saying? I’m sorry, I got distracted by the view.” She motioned to the window by the sink, which looked out over the sea.

Harry grinned at her. “I was saying I’d like to try to go down to the beach tomorrow at low tide.”

She smiled back. “I’d like that.”

They finished dinner and then went into the sitting room. Bill poured them wine, and Fleur brought out a tray of cheeses and the biscuits Mum had made. They ate and drank as they chatted and listened to the wireless. At some point, Bill produced an Exploding Snap deck, and they took turns playing against one another, laughing at the explosions and goading the loser to finish their drink.

Some time later, she sat cross legged on the rug next to the hearth, midway through a game of Exploding Snap with Harry, feeling slightly tipsy and pleasantly warm from the combination of the heat from the fire and the wine, when Bill approached and knelt down next to them on the rug.

“Alright, you two?”

“Fine thanks, just kicking Harry’s arse.” Bill chuckled as Harry shook his head playfully.

“We’re going to head up to bed. The windows are charmed so you can leave them open but nothing can get inside, so no need to worry there. Knock on our door if you need anything, alright?”

“Thanks Bill. Goodnight,” Harry replied.

“Night,” Ginny said, as she kissed Bill on the cheek.

When he was gone, Ginny looked at Harry from over the cards. “Your move, Potter.”

He smirked at her. “Potter now, is it?”

“I take thrashing you at Exploding Snap seriously, what can I say?”

She gazed at him over the cards. The rippling flames from the firelight reflected in his eyes, which were darker than usual.

“I think I should make my next move upstairs,” he said, his voice low, desire evident in his tone. Her stomach fluttered, and she bit her bottom lip.  With a swish of her wand, she sent the cards flying neatly back into the box. With a flick of his, he extinguished the fire.

They climbed the stairs to their room, being careful to tread quietly on the landing. The second the door closed behind them, she heard the click of the locking charm.

“Muffliato?” she reminded him.

“Already done,” he said.

He leaned down and crashed his lips to hers, kissing her passionately, one hand winding into her hair, the other caressing low on her back. He slowly walked her backward until her legs reached the bed, and she lay back, pulling him towards her.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, but he held her wrist to still her hand. “Wait,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically, one brow raised, unsure as to why he was stopping her. His cheeks flushed. “It’s just, erm, we’ve got the night…”

She understood him perfectly. “We’ve never had all night together before, have we?”

He leaned down and kissed her neck, then moved his lips to the shell of her ear and whispered, “No. And I’d planned on taking my time.”

Read parts ii and iii (NSFW) on Ao3.