#i remember making playlists after he died

[kirbye]

I miss you J.

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist !

Bellamy Blake - Arkadia

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ Bellamy calls a group meeting to decide certain defense plans and catch up with everyone, but his jealousy gets the best of him. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: smut, p in v, jealousy, nsfw, degrading, praise

Walking into the main room where we kept the rovers I saw chairs near an open rover, my friends sitting in all of them.

Everyone had a smile on their face. Everyone being, Clarke, Bellamy, Monty, Jasper, Harper, and Miller. It was nice when we got to just sit and catch up with each other, not worry about grounders and Polis, even If it was for a mere hour.

Walking up to the group I was met with greetings and questions. I took a seat in the back of the open rover, my legs sticking out as my hands found their place on the edge of the floor.

"You missed Bellamys 'defense' plans," Miller spoke to me with a laugh, doing air quotes. earning a scoff from Bellamy.

"What am I ever gonna do now?" I reply, joining Miller's laughter.

"You should've heard it! Stupidest thing-" Jasper soon got cut off by Bellamy's stern voice.

"Where were you," Bellamy asked, eyeing me up and down, not that I noticed.

My laughter died down, same with Millers at Bellamy's tone. A thick silence now surrounded the group.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "I was just hanging with Kyle and lost track of time." I finished with a shrug.

I didn't understand why discussing defense plans we never would use was so important to him, Monty could've just relayed the plan to me afterward. Me and Bellay had been friends for a while, even on the Ark, he would come and visit me on visitation days while I was in the cell.

Bellamy scoffed and placed his hands on his hips- something he often did when he was frustrated. "These are important meetings, don't miss them for some guy." Bellamy's eyes were still focused on my outfit. I was wearing a pair of short shorts and a T-shirt that hugged me in all the right places.

Everyone started to shift uncomfortably in their seats, their smiles now long gone.

"It's okay Bellamy, well just tell her the plan after, for what it's worth I thought it was a good idea." Clarke chirped up from next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder which he quickly shrugged off.

Here comes Clarke, sucking up for Bellamy. It was something she had always done. Wherever Bellamy was, she was right there next to him, it got on my nerves most of the time, how close they would always be.

I rolled my eyes at Clarke's sentence, crossing my arms on my chest; only helping to push my tits up more. Which Bellamy took full note of.

"Hey, Monty we have that, uh, thing remember?" Jasper spoke to Monty.

"Oh, yeah, right, we should get going."

"Me too." Harper butted in

The three quickly stood up and exited the room, clearly trying to get away from the awkward, thick tension.

"I should get going too, the wall isn't gonna watch itself." Miller joked, chuckling awkwardly.

"Let me go with-" Bellamy cut me off.

"I need to talk with you," He started, "Alone," he finished, looking at Miller and Clarke. A sign they should leave.

Clarke pursed her lips before nodding and joining Miller before leaving, closing the airlock door.

I felt my heartbeat quicken, it was just me and Bellamy now. Alone.

A few moments had passed of him just staring me down, studying my every move as I shifted in my position, my legs now crossed along with my arms.

I cleared my throat, "What did you need?" I asked with a stutter, my nerves were through the roof.

They always were when I was alone with him. He always had such a strong effect on me, his good looks, his strong body. Bellamy was the one I thought of late at night.

"What were you doing with Kyle?" Bellamy asked, walking closer to me, making me look up at him from where I was sitting.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, was he really jealous?

"He was showing me a blueprint for a new scope he was making. Why? You jealous?" I teasingly spoke.

My teasing seemed to fuel his anger more.

"In that outfit? Yeah, right." Bellamy laughed, crossing his arms

My brows creased, "What's wrong with my outfit?" I looked down at it, examining it myself. The shorts were a bit short, but it's not like anyone would be looking.

"You're always walking around in those skimpy outfits, Kyle was probably eye fucking you." Bellamy was so close I could smell him, a smell I've come to love, a smell I've dreamed of for years.

"I don't say anything when Clarke is practically on top of you," I admitted, who was he to tell me I wear skimpy outfits, I didn't even know he looked at me like that, though his words were harsh it sent a wave of warmth down my body.

Bellamy smiled, this was amusing to him. "You think I want Clarke?"

I rolled my eyes, making him grab my face, bringing me closer to his. "Don't roll your eyes at me, princess." Bellamy let me go harshly, if I was wet before I'm pooling now. I simply nodded my head, too starstruck to form a sentence, he chuckled in reply.

"Undress. Now." Bellamy demanded. I didn't even need to think about it, the moment he said those words it was done, my clothes found their way onto the floor, I had picked the wrong day to go without wearing panties.

Being the only one undressed I felt vulnerable, I looked back up at him and he knew what I wanted to say before I even had to say it.

"You wanna dress like a slut, you're gonna act like one too. Get in the fucking rover."

His words had me soaked, I was sure it was leaking down my leg.

I crawled into the back of the vehicle, laying down and using my arms to lift myself up a bit. The air was hot and full of lust, practically choking me. Bellamy crawled in right after me, he moved my legs and placed them on the sides of his hips.

Were we really gonna go through with this?

He was quick to unbuckle his belt and reveal his cock, I wasn't sure I could take all of him.

"Gonna show you who you belong to, you didn't even wear panties, you're such a slut." Bellamy breathed out, grabbing onto my hips and pulling me closer, I felt his tip rub up and down my pussy, earning a moan from me when it rubbed against my clit.

Bellamy smirked and thrusted into me. I moaned at the sudden feeling of being full, I felt my walls stretch around his cock. The pain was soon replaced with pleasure as his thumb traced circles around my clit.

"Gonna make you feel so good, slut, only I'm gonna make you feel this good."

His thrusts started off slow, a torturing pace. But it was enough to get my legs shaking, combined with his words and his thumb on my clit I was already cumming with a loud moan.

"Fuuuck, you sound so pretty cumming on my dick, princess, just like that."

Bellamy began thrusting harder, continuously hitting my sweet spot over and over again, forcing my back to arch. It all just felt too good.

His free hand came up and shoved my bra down, he made quick work of toying with my breasts. His groans became breathier, his grunts of pleasure enhancing my experience.

"Who do you belong to? Say it." With every word he spoke, he pulled out and slammed right back into me, forcing a pleasure-filled scream out of me, one part of me hoped nobody heard, and the other hoped everyone knew who was fucking me.

I already felt like I was gonna cum again, both his hands found their way to my hips, holding me down roughly.

When I couldn't reply he stopped all movements, leaving me whining and whimpering, I needed his cock, I craved it.

"Say it, or I swear to god I will drag you out of this rover and fuck you in front of everybody." I had no choice but to speak, not because I was scared of people seeing but because I needed him to keep fucking me, I needed to be used by him.

"I belong to you Bell, now please keep fucking me, please," I pleaded, my eyes fogging over with lust, all I could think about was him and his cock.

Bellamy smirked, satisfied with my answer, he began fucking me harder and faster than before. Chasing his own high. I was sure his grip on my hips would leave bruises, but I was glad, I wanted to remember this moment forever.

Wet loud sounds filled the vehicle, our moans intertwining as the sound of skin slapping against skin filled my ears. His cock filled my pussy so well, I knew nobody would ever fuck me this good again, I was all his.

My pussy clenched around his cock and I felt him twitch inside of me, he liked that.

"Keep doing that, be good for me princess."

I obeyed him and kept clenching, my legs now wrapped around his hips, needing him deeper inside me.

"So close, so close," He let out between moans, his thrusts now becoming sloppier. "Fuuck,"

I felt his warm cum fill my pussy, his thrust came to a slow gentle pace, still fucking his cum into me.

After catching his breath he pulled out, now leaving me feeling empty without him.

Just as he was about to say something the door behind him opened, revealing Kyle. A shocked, jaw-dropped Kyle. Bellamy quickly moved in front of me as Kyle took in the sight. Once he realized the situation he slammed the door.

My face was flushed red but Bellamy found the situation hilarious.

"I never want this to end," I admit, looking into his eyes.

"Then it won't, princess."

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part four

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is your reminder to reblog and comment on fics you like!! it helps us writers out a TON the girlies who get it get it. thanks!!

series masterlist // playlist

"I just have to ask you a few questions... is that okay?" Coriolanus asks, sitting across from you at the small table you find yourself chained to.

"Please." You nod, grinning at him. You were so tired, the bags under your eyes were evidence enough of that. Screw getting you food- Coryo is worried if you don't sleep you'll be all but useless in the games, even if all he needs you to do is run and hide.

"It's just so people can get to know you a bit better. Okay, so..." He looks down at the sheet in front of him, tapping the pencil against the table as he tries to focus on reading. "First, nice and easy, what is your full name?"

"Y/N M/N L/N."

"Great... Okay, and where are you from?"

"District Twelve, born and raised."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen next week." You smile.

"Oh, really?" He asks, pausing mid-sentence as he starts writing it down.

"Yeah." You smile. "Hopefully I'll live to see the day."

"You will." He tries to be reassuring as he scribbles the finished answer on his sheet. God, you got unlucky. Not that his eighteenth was a big celebration like some of his classmates, but Tigris made him a cake with ingredients she'd been saving up for and she refit his school uniform for him. You wouldn't even have that- you would be spending the day fighting for your life, if you even made it that long.

"And who is in your family unit?" He reads directly from the slip as he forces himself to move on.

"Well, there's me, my brother, he's fifteen, and then my ma and pa." You nod. "Well, my pa isn't home much. Lots of work in the mines; usually has sixteen-hour days. I hardly ever see him." You admit, sadness laced into your tone. "Saw him, I mean."

"My father died in Twelve." Coryo says, catching you off guard. He doesn't even fully understand why he felt the need to tell you this. "About ten years ago, it was rebels."

"I remember that." You reply quietly, recalling the lockdown placed on the District after the murder of a peacekeeper general. "He was the general. Crassus Snow, I assume?"

"Yes."

Everyone was forced into their homes at gunpoint, and in search of the responsible parties everyone you knew had their home destroyed by peacekeepers. Yourself included. Your bed was torn apart, and your mattress shredded for any hidden weapons or plans. Since then, you have shared a bed with your brother. A new mattress was hard to make, and your ma never got the free time or materials again.

Up until this week, that was the scariest day of your life. Just before the peacekeepers kicked in your door, your mother had grabbed the two of you and shoved you into an opening under the floorboards- a crawlspace made from a faulty foundation. You were in there for what felt like hours, listening to shouting and your home being ruined as you held onto each other with a hand pressed over your brother's mouth to keep him from crying too loud. Your mother's cries that day never seemed to end.

"It's a small world." You say after a solid few moments of silence, and Coryo can see it in the way you're staring at his paper that you're not reading it. You're zoned out completely. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It must have been scary."

"The war was hard on all of us." He responds. "What... what do you remember?" He had never heard anything about it besides the bare bones of what happened, he had never considered that the people of Twelve would remember it as well. And judging by the look on your face, it wasn't a good memory.

"I was about six, maybe seven, and I was playing with my brother, and I didn't hear anything but my ma must have because she grabbed us and hid us under the floorboards so fast I could have got whiplash. Peacekeepers came into our home, tore the whole thing to shreds, hurt my ma, then took off. Onto the next house. I didn't find out until a while later that rebels killed the peacekeeper general, they were looking for any evidence of conspiracy, I guess. The people who did it."

"Sounds like it was scarier for you than for me."

"But I want you to know," You speak so quickly you almost cut him off. "My parents had nothing to do with it. My pa is an honest, good man. All he ever wanted was to keep us safe. We're not rebels, I promise you that."

Coriolanus almost wishes you were, so he wouldn't be so hurt by what his people were putting you through. "I know. I wouldn't blame you for that."

"Thank you." You whisper, picking at your nails now as you look down at your shaky hands.

Coryo clears his throat, forcing himself to look away from you. "Uh..." He chuckles at the next question, making you look up at him again. "Are you married?"

"No." You reply, having almost completely forgotten about the worksheet in front of him. "I'm not."

"It's just... I just, I have to ask." He says, clearing his throat as he writes it down.

"Of course." You nod in understanding.

"Boyfriend?" He asks, and as you squint at the sheet you can see it's not there, and he quickly covers the next lines with his palm, cheeks flushing pink.

"Yes." You giggle as he snaps his head up to look at you.

"You do?" He asks, voice catching as his curls fall back onto his forehead from the sudden movement.

"Yes, what is so wrong in that?" You raise an eyebrow at him, trying not to laugh.

"No, no, I mean, of course you do, you're beautiful, I just, you never mentioned-"

"Relax, Coriolanus. I'm kidding." You smile at the panic in his tone. "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh, right. Thanks, it's just for, yeah..." He mumbles, pretending to write something down behind his cupped hand so you couldn't see.

You shake your head at him while he's not paying attention, smiling to yourself.

"So, uh, do you have a job?"

"Not formally, but my ma is a seamstress. I help her lots with that. Fixing people's work clothes, stuff like that." You answer, getting back on topic.

"Did you make your dress?" He asks.

"Now I know that question's not on that form of yours." You laugh. "But yes, my ma made it for me when I was five. It's been my favourite ever since."

He looked the parts of it over that he could see above the table. It was well worn down, but well cared for. Similar to a lot of his own clothing.

"It used to be this big, flowing thing. Too big for a five year old- I would step on the bottom of it, just tore it right up." You recall. "So we trimmed the bottom, and as I grew, it grew right with me. I stitched up the bottom when I was old enough to enter the reaping, so now it's got shorts instead. But I still love it, lots of good memories held in the pockets of this old thing."

Shorts instead. So it's easier to run in. The thought haunts Coryo for a moment. The idea that you, at twelve years old, decided this is what you would want to run in, to die in, and took the liberty of sewing up the crotch in it yourself. Every stitch possibly sealing your fate.

"It's nice. I like it." He responds.

"Thank you." You smile, nodding proudly to yourself as you look down at the fabric. "It's real comfy, too."

"It looks it. Not very... restricting." He chooses his words wisely. No wonder you had kept it so many years. It still fit, so why not? Especially when it looked so good on you. The typically plain, neutral tone of the fabric complimented your skin tone so well. Even in bad lighting, it seemed as though you were glowing where the cloth met your skin. Glowing everywhere, now that he thought about it. Maybe you just lit up every room you walked into. Maybe it wasn't the clothing that was made just for you and hugged your form so flawlessly, maybe it was just you.

"Yes, it is not." You agree. "Now, our time is limited. Next question." You interrupt his thoughts, gesturing to the sheet of paper in between you.

"Yes, sorry." Coryo chuckles, shaking the distraction from his head. "Any hobbies?

"Reading."

"I did know that." He smiles to himself. "Anything else?"

"Well..." You think about it for a moment, chewing your lip. "I have a cat, and I like to play with him and take care of him, does that count?"

"I'll count it." He nods, quickly jotting it down. "What's your cat's name?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

"Tybalt." You giggle.

"Tybalt?" Coryo tilts his head at you and you nod, bottom lip drawn between your teeth.

He nods slightly, prompting you to explain. "He's named after a character from Romeo and Juliet."

"That's your favourite, I remember."

"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives." You quote. "Mercutio calls Tybalt the king of the cats, so I named him after that."

"That's clever. Very funny."

"Thank you. I thought so." You smile proudly, watching him write down your cats name in his notes. "What is this for, if I can ask?"

"Uh, there's going to be an interview you'll have to do the night before the games. It'll be aired live on Capitol television, and people will be able to send in donations so I can send you things in the arena. Just like I told you." Coryo explains.

"An interview?" You ask. "What does that entail?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet." He answers honestly. "But we'll pass this sheet onto the host, Lucky, if you remember him, and he can ask you questions about your family, your life, any of this stuff. I think really whatever we want, though, so if there's anything in particular you want to say or talk about I can write that down for you."

"Oh, I'm really not sure." You reply. "Nothing in particular, but if you need me to talk I can talk about books for hours on end." You smile.

"Could you do a monologue?" He suggests. He had discussed this with Tigris before, and he was hoping you would, but knowing you, you would be dropping quotes in your interview anyway so you might as well commit to it and display how smart you are with something well-planned.

"Maybe, if you could find me a copy of Romeo and Juliet." You smile. "I think I know it, but it would be nice to have a refresher. Just to make sure I get it right. Would be awfully embarrassing if I made a mistake."

Coryo nods, quickly writing that down in the margins of the page. Considering he had never even heard of this book, it may be hard, but he would certainly try for you. "That would be great. Your goodbye was very moving, although quite confusing for most, but it had people talking about you and that's what we want."

"Okay. I'll practice."

"Thank you." Coryo smiles. "And I just have one more question on here to fill out... Do you have any special skills that you think will be helpful in the games?"

Your smile fades slightly and you just shake your head.

"That's okay. We'll figure it out."

That night, Coryo came to see you again. You were curled up with his blanket, draped half over yourself and half over Jessup as he lay next to you. It was a small blanket, obviously meant for a child, but it helped anyway. Maybe it was just a placebo, but for you, that was more than enough.

As you got up, hearing him call your name in a familiar tone, you draped the blanket more fully over Jessup before making your way over to the bars of the enclosure. "Good evening, Coryo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I brought you some things." He whispers, digging in his bag.

"How kind." You smile, watching as he pulls things out, handing you a napkin with some bread wrapped inside and tucking whatever else he brought under his arm to give to you after you've eaten. "Can you sit for a few minutes?"

"Of course." He nods, sitting down with you as you cross your legs and unfold the fabric carefully as not to drop what's inside. "I was hoping to talk to you anyway."

"Let's talk; it is not day." You smile, leaning toward him more.

"Should I be asking what that's from?" He jokes, but is surprised when you shrug.

"You could, but I wouldn't want to bore you." You giggle, shaking your head. "Take a guess, though. I believe you'd know it."

He smiles, watching as you take a bite out of the bread. "Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yes." You nod in confirmation, covering your mouth while you speak. "You're a real fan, now, aren't you?"

"I guess so." He chuckles. "The fact that I've never read it is unimportant."

"Completely irrelevant." You agree with a quiet laugh. His smile fades as his eyes land on something behind you, and you turn to follow his gaze over your shoulder. "What are you looking at?" You whisper, looking back at him again.

"Are you sharing everything I bring you with Jessup?" He asks, voice stern as his brow furrows at the question.

"I try to." You nod, taking another bite. "He's not well. I think something bit him the first night we were here."

"You can't." Coryo insists. Of course, he wants you to win, and you handing over every bit of sustenance or help you receive is only lessening your odds. Making Jessup stronger and you only weaker. "I know you're a good person, but once you get in that arena you won't have any friends. Not even him." Coryo explains, strategically skipping over the part where it makes him ill to see you sleeping with your head on the boy's shoulder and sharing the blanket that he gifted to you.

"Oh..." You say, so quietly he can hardly hear. "But-"

"Y/N." He cuts you off, a serious look on his face. "If you keep feeding him, keep helping him, and it comes down to you and him in the end, who do you think will win in that fight? If you had all the same nutrients and sleep, who do you think will win?"

"I- well..." You stutter, looking back at your friend. "It won't come to that. I think we both know that."

"We have to assume it will." He pleads, eyes now locked on yours. "Don't make it easier for him."

"Coryo, he's got a family, siblings, his ma to get home to. They need him." You protest, leaning closer so no one else could properly hear.

"So do you." He reminds you. The look of guilt that crosses your face indicates to him that even though you had your own family, something about Jessup makes you willing to give that up for him to get home. "What about Tybalt? He'll never know what happened to his own mother. Or your brother losing his sister. Y/N, please..."

Your eyes widen at the mention of your cat and your brother in particular. Clearly, Coryo is so desperate for you to listen that he's pulling strings he shouldn't. To make you hurt. To make you pay attention.

Tears fill your eyes as you speak. "I know." Your voice cracks, and the pit in Coryo's stomach tells him he's gone too far. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't want to be afraid anymore. It's selfish of me, I know, but I won't last long and I know that so I just want to get it over with." You cry quietly, reaching up to wipe your eyes on your wrist. You hadn't been so candid with him before, he almost doesn't recognize you without a smile on your face.

"Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's not selfish." He whispers, without hesitation reaching through the bars and resting his hand on your knee. Your skin is cold to the touch, even for him after he had just walked all the way here in the same air. "But it'll be over soon, and I'll get you home. I'll do everything I can."

You sniff and nod, hesitating before placing your hand over his. "I promise I'll do my best in the interview. I want you to win your prize."

Coryo's mouth gets dry at the insinuation. You didn't think you could win, you won't even consider it even with all the encouragement he tries to feed you every day, but you want him to win. "That's not important." He says, shocking himself with the sentiment. The Plinth Prize is his only hope at a viable future, at saving his family. But right now, he doesn't even care.

You don't respond right away, just sliding your hand under his to hold it. His skin on yours feels warm, comforting, the same way it did when he held it when you were first dumped in the zoo. You don't know if it's more comforting to you or him.

"I'm sorry to cry at you, I just sometimes realize what's going to happen to me and spiral over the possibilities and no matter how hard I try to accept it..." You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "I'm still fearful." Your voice drops below a whisper.

"Then don't accept it." Coryo grasps your hand tighter, leaning closer to you and looking at you through the bars. "Fight. Try to win."

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if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[kitsuren]

DEMO // PLAYLIST

Flirting with Death is a 18+ Otome-like action dark romance in the form of an interactive fiction. The game focus will be mostly into character and relationships development, exploring how you interact with the world and the reactions to your decisions.​

Take charge of Eris, a newly (and forcibly) inducted operative of a shadowy organization, as she enters a world way more twisted from what she is already used to. 

The game will be released chapter by chapter and it will be entirely free after completion!

You died. For all your life, you have been making bad decisions after bad decisions and this time your luck ran out. During your years working with the wrong side of the law you had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly. What you never expected was that your choices would take you into a maze of lies and backstabbing capable to bring countries to their knee. Something big is happening and you are not in the small leagues anymore. To bring down titans you will have to ally yourself with the shady HADES Project, a group with dubious objectives and even more dubious reasons. In a race against time you will have to do the unthinkable before it is too late. There is no right or wrong in this game and the stake is your second chance in life. The clock is ticking. Grab your power suit. Gather your allies. And remember: Trust no one.

Play as a female gender locked protagonist;

Customize your Eris: decide on your past, specialization, appearance, and attributes, bringing your character to life;

Romance one of the 3 initial ROs, each of them having their own unique route that explore the story trough different perspectives;

Make  decisions that impact the people around you for the good or the bad;

Use state of the art never-seen-before technology, including your very own power suit so you will never die (again!) during a mission;

Choose between 5 classes that will assist you during the various dangers that will follow you and your team as you try to solve the mystery;

Be a a righteous vigilante or a complete menace to society;

Kick a billionaire in the face (or not)!

This game is rated +18. Not only it will touch on heavy subjects, but it will also contain: 

Graphic depctions of violence; Strong language; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Guns and gun violence; Manipulation tactics; Explicit sex (if chosen); Taboo relationship; Toxic relationship; Mature content; (This list will be updated if and when necessary!)

Yes, the protagonist is gender locked: This is my first time coding an IF and I didn't want to bit off more than I could chew. Not only that, I wanted to mix the otome/josei genre with the interactive format. Maybe it will work, maybe not.

This game is a ROMANCE first and foremost: You will not be able to opt out of it. I am aware that some people are not fond of this type of content and yes, you as a player will have the choice to have (or not!) sexual content/pda, but you will not be able to get out of locking into a romantic route.

Cold, cynical, and incredibly sardonic, Phobos is all objective, giving up on any and all distractions and not being afraid to do whatever it is necessary for the greater good. His no-nonsense attitude and his constant tries to intimidate anyone into submission​ turned him infamous in the organization. His morality is almost black and he doesn’t care about the sacrifices that he needs to do to obtain the desired result. Killing for him is second nature, but most of times he will let Deimos talk him down from his murderous rampage. At least until he decides that the more approachable way is not being efficient anymore.

Friendly, good natured, and helpful. Everyone who knows Deimos has the impression that the man is not fit for this kind of work. He is well regarded by anyone across HADES and normally tries to resolve everything without violence, doing a really good work as a “face” in his Kerberos Unit. But don’t be mistaken, even preferring to not harm innocents, Deimos is a perfect killing machine, honed by his past to be the perfect assassin and torturer. He has an approachable personality, but when working he only focus on the job that needs to be done. Can be quiet work focused and hyper fixate on the mission, which feeds his insomnia.

With zero chills to give and almost always having and anxiety attack due to Phobos and Deimos shenanigans, his boyish appearance masks very well his personality and he constantly runs with the power of coffee and spite. As a handler he is extremely methodical and professional, being proficient with first aid, tech, engineering, and plan making, even if his ADHD tries as hell to hinder his plans. Being a genius, he mostly always lose patience with stupidity and prefer to work by himself. Chaos is the youngest handler in HADES history and by far one of the most respected, at least by name, since he is the only one capable to make Phobos and Deimos to actually shut up with just a glare.​ Can be a tad dramatic and fatalist, but he rarely is wrong. His favorite phrase is “I ain’t paid enough to deal with this shit” (Yes, he is.).

[loveshotzz]

A sneak peek 🌻

[This snippet takes place after your first night back in Hawkins, the morning after a party that Steve had to take a very drunk you and Robin home from. The morning after some things were said that you don’t remember 😌]

📻 fic playlist

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud insight to hide you from its light.

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty, the toe of your sneaker kicking small rocks as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you have a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, and a dimple filled grin cracks wide across his face as he stands up.

“Glad to see you’re alive princess.” He teases, stepping out of his glass case with coveralls that are clean today, not the stained mess they were last night.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle, but there’s no saying no to Robin, you know that.” You laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to react to the sound of your voice.

“Trust me, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dance across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve Harrington emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light up with obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of his tank top shines with sweat.

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.”

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” You snort, making him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, stopping just close enough for you to smell how the cedar of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad news,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial up on the speaker in his office.

End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them. You can see the green that hides in his eyes, only shimmering if you look close enough in the sunlight.

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it has your blood pressure returning to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him.

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.” He sighs with a disappointed expression.

“Is this the bad news?”

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck.

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch.

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath.

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes.

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap this time. A thumb and forefinger find their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his tooth paste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again, turning into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his work bench before adding,

“Do me a favor though and tell Robin she owes me a new pair of sneakers.”

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 11: POISON ROOT

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

It disgusted you a little bit, needing them like a fiending addict. Living with yourself and yourself alone was starting to get old, though you aren’t sure how much left of you feels whole. You were always fruit split in between a blade, all the gory parts splayed out by the hand of someone greater than you.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, drunk sex, threesome, oral sex, cumplay, phone sex, mentions of depression, angst, descriptions of mild gore

ੈ✩ wc: 7k

ੈ✩ a/n: here's a nice and fat chapter for you before we enter The Dark Ages <3

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

“Sorry, what?”

Yaga scowls at you and you’re unfazed. Mostly, you’re exasperated.

“I’ve repeated myself twice already,” he says calmly. More so brusquely, but you didn’t care enough to gauge his reaction. You’re too busy processing his words.

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” you mutter. “But why me? Shoko’s technique is way stronger than mine.”

“Shoko’s technique is not your technique. And unlike her, you actually engage in combat.”

“Because the boys forced me—”

He brings a hand to your shoulder in an attempt for reassurance. You freeze.

“Your technique is remarkable. Stronger than you think,” Yaga sighs, almost in resignation. He doesn’t seem particularly enthused about what he’s proposing to you, but you consider that you’d probably worn him down over the past half hour.

He rolls his eyes at the look on your face. Mouth parted like an animal struck with fear. 

“But—”

“There hasn’t been anyone with a technique like yours in over ten years. I remember it. I had a family friend as a teacher here first—she talked about a boy that could regenerate cells. Practiced on plants and small animals as a child until he was able to resurrect bigger ones at your age.”

“That boy isn’t me,” you protest, your brows furrowing.

“He isn’t,” Yaga snaps back. “He died, and his death could’ve been prevented. This is why I want you to do this. I want you to be strong enough so that the same thing doesn’t happen to you.”

You swallow and look down, pretending to be interested in your thumbs. Your hands are delicate compared to anyone else’s. You had always admired people who could make something out of nothing, people who sculpted, crafted. Sometimes, you often wonder if what you do could be considered the same.

You haven’t told anyone, but it’s easy to destroy things with your hands. Much easier than it is to build anything up, to heal. 

You’d tried it during long walks through the forest. On your way back from solo missions, you’d take routes that were less traveled, needing to clear your head. Once or twice, you remember finding animals that were victims of hunting. Broken limbs, bleeding out too much for you to save. You’d practice the darker parts of your technique, letting quick rot take away their misery.

“For how long?”

“Just two months. July and August.”

You take a deep breath. You could be alone in Kyoto for two months. The boys would survive. At least, you think Suguru would.

When you tell Satoru the next day, it’s a disaster.

“You’re what?”

“Satoru,” you warn, crossing your arms. 

Dealing with him is arduous. You knew he would react this way. He looks at you with irritation, nipping at your bare thigh just to see you pout. You were in the middle of reading when he had barged in, craving the scent of your moisturizer on your inner thighs. Needed the whipped softness of your flesh squeezed in between his hands after some heated sparring with Suguru.

“You can’t.”

“That’s not your decision—”

“You can’t. What did that old man say? Some other guy had your technique and died?”

“I’m not going to die!” you huff, rolling your eyes. 

Satoru frowns, his blue eyes glowing. He was free of missions for the past week, treating you to dates whenever he could. It seems that you’ve ruined his bliss. That ugly thought in his head festered in his mind again — the need to possess you. Trap you in a glass cage to stay alive forever like you were his enchanted rose.

“Like hell you won’t,” he mutters. “Which is why you’re staying.”

“I want to get stronger, Satoru.”

“You didn’t even want to be a sorcerer in the first place! And now you’re desperate to train with your little cell regeneration? Are you gonna dabble in necromancy?”

You frown at his condescending tone. He isn’t taking you seriously. He never does. Satoru has always had his way of belittling others, but he’d sworn to never do that to you given your history. You take a deep breath.

“It’s just… an independent study, alright? This could help me in the future. I could go to medical school with Shoko or something, you know? If you’re so scared of me dying because of combat, then I could just focus on the regeneration part and—”

“And what about the other part? How you make things rot and disintegrate?” he asks you incredulously, nearly snarling.

“That’s another thing I can learn to control.”

“But–”

“I didn’t have private lessons like you! I’m not a prodigy like you. Can I just have this one thing?” you plead with exhaustion. You can see the way his eyes flicker with a quiet rage, his mouth turned down into a pout. Petulant even at his big age.

Satoru sighs heavily. He nuzzles his face into your hand, kissing the heartline. You almost feel proud of yourself for not giving into him before the conversation began. He’d come into your room wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves messily cut off, exposing the hard lines of his stomach. Just a gaze had ripped away your autonomy, brain dumb at the sight of him. 

You wanted to lick him clean before he opened his damn mouth.

“I won’t tell you what to do,” he says in defeat.

“Thanks.”

You sit with him for a while, staring at the ceiling, hair strewn around your pillow. Silence fills the air save for the sound of his breathing. Eventually, he curls into you, nose into your bare shoulder as he mumbles unintelligible things. His mouth in the shape of I’ll miss you.

“I know,” you murmur. “I will, too.”

Suguru copes by getting buzzed in the daytime. He liked the hope on your face, how the light hit your eyes in a certain way. It meant something more. He knew that you were worth more.

Lately, Suguru feels like less.

Not particularly less than anyone else, though he knows that he’s certainly less than Satoru just by default. He remembers the mission all too clearly—it’s the only thing that haunts his nightmares. The blankness on Satoru’s face, his willingness to kill a group of people just for the sake of it.

He thought he’d lost Satoru forever, that he’d fucked up the mission by letting a bullet go through Riko’s head. But then, of course, Satoru survived. Of course Satoru found a way to bring himself back to life. Everything should be fine, because Satoru came out alive, and so did he. So did you.

It didn’t feel like enough. The taste of curses started to get worse, if that was even possible. Suguru has been starting to believe that he didn’t deserve anything palatable. That the universe was working against him maybe, because his depressive spirals last longer now.

And you’re fucking leaving.

He knows he can have you whenever he wants, but he likes to lick the taste of you out of Satoru’s mouth. 

He bites Satoru’s lip and it makes the boy yelp.

“What the hell was that for?” Satoru pouts. Suguru only grins wolfishly. 

“Thought you wanted me to make you feel better. You don’t like it rough?”

“Of course I like it rough,” Satoru grunts. “But you know I hate teeth.”

“On your dick.”

Satoru pauses, rolling his eyes, then sinks his teeth into Suguru’s neck instead. 

“You smell like a dive bar. It’s fucking 3 pm.”

“Day off, bitch,” Suguru mutters.

Satoru pushes Suguru against the mattress and spoons him, rutting against his ass. It’s always a little violent with them. You used to joke about it—something about dogs and masculinity. Satoru kept wanting to fuck like it was a cage match. Bull-headed, annoying. For Suguru, intimacy always felt like a car crash no matter who it was with.

“You’re not fucking my ass,” Suguru mumbles.

Satoru whines childishly, of course.

“Ran out of lube.”

“Spit?” Satoru begs, his eyes comically large.

“Fuck you, dude,” Suguru scoffs.

“I’m trying!”

Suguru turns to fall onto the bed facing Satoru, then shoves his head downward. He feels numb despite his throbbing cock. He knows Satoru’s mouth is probably watering for him.

“C’mon,” Suguru slurs, unzipping his shorts. “You need to work on giving head.”

“Hey!”

“Not my fault she does it better than you.”

Satoru huffs but leans over the end of the bed anyway, his limbs too long to crouch on the bed. He spits on Suguru’s cock and pumps agonizingly slowly, coaxing out guttural sounds vibrating out of the boy’s throat.

For once, Suguru feels a little powerful when the Jujutsu world’s boy-god chokes over his dick. He looks down and pushes his head down, reveling in the sound of him gagging, throat slack. Not as good as you, but getting better. The drool makes him look pretty. It matched the glazed look in Satoru’s eyes.

Suguru nearly finishes right then and there, the barbed wire inside of his body starting to untangle until there’s a knock on his door. Of course you knock—the polite girl you are.

“S’unlocked,” he calls after you. Satoru makes a noise. Something in between a moan and a sound of protest.

Suguru likes your wide eyes. You’re out of your school uniform, dressed in a white number with embroidered flowers at the hem that hits halfway above your knees.

“Oh… I—”

“C’mere, baby,” Suguru rasps, his hand reaching out for you. He’s so close, threading his fingers through Satoru’s hair before pulling at his snowy mop.

Satoru coughs, his throat raw. It makes Suguru laugh. You watch like you’re outside of your own body, eyes wide. It was easy for them to get you under a spell. 

It doesn’t take long for their hands to grope you, have your dress pooling at your waist so that your bare ass is on display. Heathens. Being with them was always like throwing yourself to the wolves.

“So wet,” Suguru groans, circling a finger in the heat hiding behind your underwear. “Wanted a proper send-off, angel? Gonna miss us all the way in Kyoto, aren’t you?”

You can’t respond when your head is already so dizzy with Satoru’s teeth on your collarbone.

“Don’t talk about that, I’ll lose my boner,” Satoru huffs. 

“What a baby.”

“Stop arguing,” you roll your eyes. 

Suguru decides to be selfish, his dick already out and pulsing from the tease of Satoru’s tongue. He slides it along your folds, wetness pooling right underneath him. It makes him groan, his insides white-hot. He’d been craving this since he’d woken up this morning. The heat was making his moodiness deliquesce into desperation burning like acid in his stomach. He needed you and Satoru like a bullet begging to be lodged, piercing out of a bannister.

“Not fair,” Satoru grumbles, his knees bent as he gropes you. Rutting against the mattress pathetically as he whines, his desperation puppy-like. 

His mouth is salty, leftover from Suguru’s precum. His hair smelled like Suguru’s too—he must’ve been copying his hair routine for the hell of it. It was enough to keep him close without asking to sew himself into the boy’s skin. 

Suguru looks down at you and your blissed-out face, vulnerable before he’s even entered you. Your mouth is wet from Satoru’s kisses, spit drooling out of the corner of your pink mouth. Suguru smears it around and already imagines himself pulling out of you to finish there instead, just to see it on your lips. He’d like to see you cry again one last time.

You hum when you’re filled with him. Stuttering hips hitting slack thighs. Soft despite the violence inside him, the little voice in his head taunting him to wreck you. 

He likes you like this, first. Daisy-soft, his fingers in your mouth until you gag. Yelping in time with Satoru’s stupid whines. 

“Twigs,” Satoru breathes, his hot breath fanning your jaw. “Can I put it in your ass?”

You groan, shaking your head as Suguru howls with laughter. 

July, 2010

Gakuganji has you on a leash. It hasn’t even been a week and you’ve already gone on two missions, each that ended with you covered in blood, but luckily unscathed. Satoru would have a fit if he knew. The ghost of him hovers on your shoulder at your weakest moments — taunting you, challenging you. You know he wouldn’t be as cruel if he was with you physically, but your psyche conjures him in a way that feels like punishment. 

You can’t escape him, either. He’s needier than you expect — visiting you during off times during your weekends, treating them like serendipitous encounters. You don’t believe him, and you shouldn’t. 

(He warps to you when he gets in fights with Suguru. When he gets too horny to find someone at a bar, because if it’s not Suguru, it’s you. But he could never tell you that.)

You like to keep yourself busy in Kyoto. Whether it’s immersing yourself in your studies or practicing your technique, you can occupy yourself easily, even if you’re bombarded by images of veiny hands, long black hair, pink mouths. Blue eyes that are too bright, even in your dreams. 

You spend most of your time by yourself, anyway. It’s what you need. If not that, then you’re at the local bars with Utahime-senpai, who transferred to Kyoto months before. 

“Are you their little plaything?” she teases. You’re loosened up after a few beers, all on her tab, but the mention of the boys sobers you up immediately. You scowl.

“What?” She holds her hands up in surrender. “Everybody knows… Shoko kind of already told me.”

“Of course she did,” you snort.

“I’m just saying, you should be careful. They’re insatiable. And never in their right mind. I could advocate for Geto-kun, but I’m sure Gojo’s already corrupted him.”

Corrupted. It’s a funny notion. You wonder if you’ve been corrupted by both of them. Satoru as your first didn’t bother you. To have Suguru as your second only complicated things. You haven’t known anything else but them. You aren’t sure if this should concern you until Utahime talks about it.

“They’re kind of the same in that way,” you mumble.

“Are they both your boyfriends?” Utahime giggles.

“N-No…”

“So it’s not serious? I know I’m not much older than you, but I still went through a few flings. You shouldn’t let them keep you on a chain.”

“They’re not–”

“Are you sure?” she laughs. “You’ve been checking your phone every five minutes. It’s like they brainwashed you.”

“Hime,” you frown.

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “There are lots of men around here staring at you.”

“No, there aren’t.”

“Someone is staring at you right now. Behind you. Blonde. Tacky if he wasn’t like, a little hot like he is.”

“Shut up.”

She gives you a pointed look that causes you to look over your shoulder. Lo and behold, there is a man of that description making glances at you with a cocky smirk. It reminds you of the way Satoru looks at you. It makes your stomach flip.

“See?”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you mumble.

You move past the crowd to the single stall, plastered in posters from vintage porn magazines and graffiti. Your phone’s about to die, but the group chat with you and the boys has unread messages. It’s mostly Satoru complaining, arguing with Suguru about things that you couldn’t care less about. There are separate messages from them, too. Satoru’s suggestive selfies and Suguru’s words of affirmation. You scoff at the difference between them.

When you return, Utahime grins at you like she’s plotting.

“What did you do?” you narrow your eyes.

“He came over here! I knew it. He was interested in you,” she beams.

“What?”

“Relax. He’s a sorcerer. And I gave him your number.”

“Hime!” You shove her arm lightly, groaning when she laughs.

“You need to get laid by someone who isn’t an idiot.”

You roll your eyes. The many beers are making your head swim too much for you to actually be angry. If anything, your cheeks feel warm at the prospect of someone else being interested in you. It’s not something you’ve experienced in your youth, or now for that matter, since Satoru had sunken his teeth in you so quickly.

Images of him talking to other girls at parties flash in your mind, making you grimace. Maybe Utahime was doing you a favor.

The bachelor in question is nowhere to be found. You curse yourself for not getting a good look at him. A pit forms in your stomach at the idea of him texting you – a handsome stranger who watched you babble drunkenly to Utahime. It occurred to you that you hadn’t even considered yourself something desirable in a context that wasn’t bound to Satoru or Suguru.

On the walk home, the thought consumes you. You aren’t sure if you even know yourself without them. During most of your life, you’ve only known obedience. Intimacy with Satoru was no different, you realize. You were wrapped around his finger since you were children – it didn’t matter that you were apart for years. It would always be him.

You aren’t sure if this bothers you or not. You try to push the thought away, shaking your head slightly as if daydreams of him would fall out of your head. It doesn’t work, not really. You’re drunk. Naturally, you think of his pink mouth. The veins on his hands.

You unlock the door of your room. When you enter, darkness envelops you, which you’re used to, if not for the bright blue eyes that stare back at you. 

“Jesus!” you mutter, cursing to yourself once you can get the nearest lamp on. 

“What? Not happy to see me?” he slurs, flashing you a sloppy smile. 

“Can you at least give me a heads-up before you show up randomly?”

“That ruins the surprise, baby,” he purrs, walking over to you to set his hands on your hips.   Trapping you gently. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Hm?”

“You’re. Drunk. Why are you here?” 

“Had a mission nearby. Then I went to a bar to relax. And then, I thought, warping to Tokyo would take too much for a drunk. Why not stay here?”

“I’m not a motel.”

“C’mon, baby,” he pouts. “You’re not gonna kick me out, are you?”

You scoff, moving past him to sit on your bed and take off your shoes.

Satoru chuckles, taking a seat right next to you, thigh touching yours. “You’re drunk, too. I can smell it.”

“I haven’t even been here for a full month and this is like, the third time you’ve surprised me. What’s going on with you?”

“What? Can’t miss my lover?”

He says lover like it’s an inside joke. He never says girlfriend. Never partner.

“You’re so needy.”

“You like me that way,” Satoru says, his voice velvety. He’s not in his uniform, but a light blue button-down and slacks. You wonder if he’s planned this or if he dressed up for someone else, running to you as the safest option because you’re always there. Always willing.

You’d been ready to sink into your shitty mattress and dream of him. You hadn’t been anticipating the real thing in front of you. It was stupid, how he took your breath away, as if he was still something new to you. As if he hadn’t been in the back of your mind since you were a little kid, always.

“I’m tired, Satoru,” you sigh.

“You sure?” he grins. “You smell like beer. Still trying to have some fun tonight?”

You narrow your eyes at him and he laughs. He comes closer, pinching the meat of your thigh right under the hem of your skirt, chuckling when you swat his hand away.

“So short. Who’s this for, huh?” he taunts.

You swallow back an insult the moment you look down at the way his large hands play with a loose thread of your skirt. How large they are compared to your thigh, the calloused tips of his fingers running circles in your skin.

“No one,” you breathe.

“You cheating on me, Twigs?”

“Yeah, with Utahime,” you roll your eyes.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that. Sounds hot, to be honest.”

Your cursed energy flares. You hate when he belittles you, but you could never do anything about it. You could only fall into his trap, giving into him the way he knows you will. You don’t even notice that he’s caged you within his arms, his hands settling on your hips as his body backs you into your bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress.

His breath smells sweet. It usually does, but it’s something sour this time. Something citrusy, along with the smell of something much too alcoholic. One of those whiskey sours, you guessed. You don’t realize how drunk he is until you look him in the eyes, his blue irises unfocused despite the desperation in his gaze.

“Of course not,” he grins, leaning in to inhale your scent. “You’d never. My sweet girl. My best girl, right?”

“You say that like I’m one of many,” you scoff.

“Are you jealous?” he rumbles, laughing. “As if there’s any other girl I like as much as you…”

He says girl and you think of Suguru. An exception, just barely. You realize how much you miss him, too.

Your eyes flutter closed as Satoru backs you into your bed, teeth grazing your earlobe. You aren’t sure if it’s him or the drunkenness of your brain. You don’t even notice his fingers massaging your thighs, trailing up to hook your underwear to the side to tease your dripping core. It’s his teasing laughter that snaps you awake.

“So wet… did you know I was coming, baby? Or were you expecting someone else?”

You don’t answer. Your breath hitches at the contact of his eager fingers prodding you, pushing upwards into your pulsating cunt before you can protest. The wounded noise you make only spurs him on further.

“You went to a bar, right? Were you thinking about me when you were there? Got yourself all wound up?”

You don’t reply. He’s too busy pushing his fingers to the very edge, stimulating the spot that makes your knees buckle before you can even form a thought.

You gasp, your mouth parting. Slack-jawed, eyes rolling back as you get closer to the edge before he’s even inside you. It could be pathetic if you cared, but Satoru always made everything around you melt, like you weren’t in your own mind anymore. You accepted being a body that belonged to him, nothing more.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he breathes, his lips tickling your jaw. “You’re so quiet.”

“Satoru,” you sigh. His other hand rubs the small of your back, touching the bare skin underneath your thin shirt.

He digs his fingers in further, knuckle-deep until he hears you make a pained noise. He grins at your broken moan like he’d just won a prize. He doesn’t stop, either — he wanted to hear more of those sounds out of your mouth. It was proof that you were still his, wrapped around his finger. 

You try to catch your breath as you lay back on your bed, his strong arms hoisting you up to the wall. You hiss at the feeling of his teeth on your thighs, biting desperately. Satoru was already sweating despite only coaxing bliss from you once. 

He claws at you, pulling at the buttons of your blouse and tugging your skirt down until you’re left bare for him. He groans at the sight of your silky skin, the way your chest heaves in anticipation. Everything about you is ripe, ready to break underneath his hands.

He’s less vocal this time when he takes you, pushing into you before you can say anything. He doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he does this, considering every sense of his was numb until he entered you, igniting his synapses on fire. 

You whimper from the abruptness, aching between your legs. You think that you would’ve bled if you weren’t so in love with him, but you knew better. Anything from him made your entire body warm and pliant, wet beyond your comprehension. You hated it, sometimes.

But you couldn’t hate anything about it now. You were doused in bliss.

“My girl,” he slurs. “So fucking perfect. Say it.”

You mutter nonsense under your breath.

He bends you in half, your calves resting on his broad shoulders. He chuckles at your pathetic whines.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Fuck — I – I’m your girl,” you sob.

“My perfect girl,” he mutters, correcting you. He groans when he looks down at you, his hips stuttering. His thrusts are harder than usual on purpose — he’d rather die than tell you that he’d only warped to you because he was having a panic attack in his room alone. 

He thought he could get his mind off of you, off of Suguru, who he’d assumed was angry with him all day. There were only dry texts from the both of you. No woman at the bar could compete, even if he managed to get a decent handjob in the bathroom. He could only think of you. 

Satoru knew you’d hate him for it. He was disgusted with himself. He feels it now, aching inside the cavern of his chest when you moan his name, knowing he doesn’t deserve a praising word out of your mouth.

He whines, on the verge of tears as he rides out his orgasm in your cunt. 

“Shit,” he hisses into the skin of your neck.

You can barely reply before he kisses down your stomach, licking himself out of you with his nails digging into your thighs.

“Satoru, what are you—oh, fuck—”

“Cum for me,” he slurs, lapping at your clit as he pushes his fingers into you. He pauses, mesmerized at the way his cum drips out of you, only for his fingers to push it back into the hilt, up to his knuckles.

You sob in protest, your thighs shaking as he plays with you. He doesn’t stop for a second. It’s almost as if he doesn’t realize you’re there, his heavy-lidded gaze fixed on the way your pussy swallows his fingers.

“S’too much,” you whine, grasping his wrist tightly.

“Fuckin’ love you,” he murmurs under his breath. You don’t hear him. Your body convulses as he continues to play you like an instrument. He only stops when he looks up to see tears pricking your eyes.

“S-Satoru…”

“Fuck,” he mutters. He finally retracts, licking his fingers as he looks at you intensely. “Mine… you’re all mine.”

The glassy look in his eyes is from the alcohol, you assume, but there’s something tantalizingly too real about the expression on his face. Raw with something he only buries inside his gut. He snaps out of it like it’s not something you’re supposed to see. 

He grunts when he lays his head on your lap, his fingers digging into your skin possessively as you tremble. You prop your head up on your pillow, trying to catch your breath as you stroke his hair.

“Why’d you get so drunk?” you ask quietly. “Were you alone?”

“Of course I was,” he scoffs, almost defensive. But he smells a sweetness on his skin that isn’t from you, and he knows you’ve already picked up on it. 

“You could’ve texted or called me instead of breaking into my dorm.”

“You just hate fun,” Satoru mumbles. 

Despite his attitude, he rubs his cheek against your thigh like he’s a pet. He thinks about taking you again, just to shut you up — enough to have both of you sweating, the musk of your sex drowning out any remnants from the bitch that Satoru had tried to use hours before.

Nothing could replace you and he had to live with that. 

He nips at your thigh, his mouth getting dangerously close to your core. You whine as you pull him back by his scalp, like the scruff of a dog. Satoru is always insatiable when he’s drunk, which is saying something considering what he’s like sober. His cravings for you are always intense. When he’s not in his right mind, you’re more considered prey than a craving.

You don’t have the energy to respond to him. His warmth satiates you for now as he locks his arms around your bare waist. The light breathing fanning your stomach calms you.

When you wake up, he’s nowhere to be found, but there’s a small floral arrangement on your desk. White orchids and blue hyacinths.

August, 2010 

You hate bringing anything back to life as much as you hate desecration.

It’s unnatural — though you know that nothing about the Jujutsu world is natural. Everything to you is a myth you have to deal with. After knowing Satoru for so long and seeing what nasty curses humanity could birth, you shouldn’t be stunted.

It makes you feel a bit ill when you realize how much power your hands wield. As ordinary as you’ve always been, these days you often wish that you were the true epitome of it. Only human, unable to see the horrors of the world. Left in the dark when it came to sorcery. Perhaps you aren’t cut out for this, despite how much you tried to convince Satoru you were.

His voice echoes in your mind. His pleading. The ways he wanted to protect you. He’d belittled your technique for a reason, maybe. You aren’t sure you’re cut out for this shit.

Necromancy is only exciting the first couple of times. After that, it’s the reanimation of body parts that freaks you out. It doesn’t matter that it’s the revival of small birds and rodents on a lab table. You feel like you’re playing God and not even doing a decent job of it.

It catches up to you in your dreams. The image of you getting held down, leaving you to resort to your technique. Rotting flesh. Even in your unconscious, the smell is somehow striking, as if you’re really there. Other times, you find horror in the reanimation of corpses under your hand. Split limbs coming together. Limbs that belong to people you love.

Tonight, you’re shaken by the image of Suguru mauled beyond belief. Sacrilegious violence that makes your stomach turn. 

When you wake up in a sweat, gasping, the alarm clock on your bedside table reads 1:12 am. You dial his number before you can even come to your senses.

“Twigs.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

You hear Suguru chuckle, deep and sweet like teeth sunken into cake. You’re filled with warmth almost immediately. 

“What’s up? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” he breathes.

“Had a nightmare,” you mumble.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you sigh. 

“Fine. What are you thinking about, then?”

“You,” you mumble.

There’s silence on the other end. Despite this, you can still hear his grin. You can see his little smirk perfectly in your head. 

“Yeah?” his voice lowers. “What about me?”

“Y-your hands,” you mumble. “You make me feel safe.”

“Is that right?”

You make a small noise that shows your agreement, but it’s noncommittal. You hum at the thought of him. You’re sleep-dazed, partially wishing for this moment that he was more like Satoru. Able to talk your ear off without any effort from your end.

Suguru had always known you differently. He had you memorized as much as Satoru did, but uniquely, given the similarities between your personalities. He knew how you worked and he never held it against you.

Satoru would probably try to pry it out of you. Suguru would already know.

And at this moment, he knows. It’d be infuriating if you didn’t see it coming.

“You’re upset,” Suguru says.

“No.”

“You are. Or you’re pent up, which is also like being upset. Need some catharsis?”

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Tell me what’s wrong, then. Or tell me about your nightmare.”

“No.”

He laughs. 

“Stubborn as always,” he purrs.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” you whisper.

“You want to hear me be mean to you. You like not being in control. That’s what makes you feel safe, isn’t it, princess?”

“Shut up.”

“C’mon, baby,” he laughs. “Give me something to work with.”

Your eyes nearly glaze over as you watch the flickering lights outside of your dorm. A broken street lamp flashes on and off, shadowing your room in darkness only to illuminate seconds later, back and forth. Unpredictably so. You aren’t sure what else you should look at while you’re still so drunk on Suguru’s voice. You think maybe you’d handle this phone call better if you were far from sober.

“I fucked someone else yesterday.”

The line goes silent. Your heartbeat picks up.

After almost an eternity, you hear Suguru’s voice again. It’s soft, almost cooing. It feels awfully dangerous despite this.

“Yeah? Who?”

You swallow thickly. 

“This guy who got my number last month. Like, I didn��t give it to him — Utahime did,” you ramble. “But then we started texting and stuff and he’s… funny. He, uh, came over yesterday.”

“Did you like it?”

You imagine your throat closes up. Part of you wishes it would, that you’d just pass out immediately for no reason just so you didn’t have to have this conversation. You curse yourself for even bringing it up.

“Y-Yes.”

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” he chuckles.

“I am…”

“You don’t have to be so scared, baby. I know that Satoru took away your virginity, but he’s not some kind of god watching over you.”

“I know,” you huff.

“But you feel guilty, don’t you? Like you’re betraying him?” he teases.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it. You notice how he talks about Satoru and not himself.

“Do you care?”

“I know how you feel about me.” His answer is simple. Blunt. It almost sounds sarcastic, but Suguru often talks like he’s cock-sure about everything. Even if he isn’t, he’s always held a certain confidence that was different from what Satoru exuded. 

Satoru was a bad liar, to you, at least.

“Tell me about your boy. What’s his name?”

“He’s not–” you gruff. “Naoya. His name is Naoya.”

“That Zenin brat?”

“Huh?”

“He’s in the Zenin clan. A right bastard, I’ve heard.”

“He seems fine,” you mumble.

“Someone’s defensive,” he teases.

You pause, staring at the darkness of your ceiling. You fix your shorts, your fingers grazing the wetness of your core. You didn’t even realize you were aroused.

“I should go back to sleep,” you whisper.

“I thought you couldn’t. That’s why you called me, right? You need some help?”

“I don’t need help,” you scoff. “I just… I had a nightmare and wanted to talk to you.”

Suguru smiles. He knows you can’t see it, but he’s beaming in the darkness of his room. He’d been restless for the past few days after some disagreements with Satoru. He tried to blame the heat on physical altercations — the sun burning down to rev up the irritation in their shared systems like they were still boys. Always wanting to pin each other to the ground.

They didn’t have you to mediate, so they’d come out of arguments with bruises. Marks from skin tugged too harshly. The ghost of teeth biting down on flesh. 

“I wish you were here, babygirl,” he sighs, his tone desperate. You almost cringe at it — you always assume he’s playing with you.

“Yeah?” you snort.

“Mhm. It’s funny. You didn’t even wake me up when you called. I was already awake, thinking of you.”

“Were you, now?”

“Mhm,” Suguru hums.  “I just kept thinking about your thighs. How small your leg is compared to my hand.”

Your breath hitches and he almost laughs when he hears it.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he asks. “Want you to touch yourself. Tell me how wet you are.”

You gulp. Your fingers prod at the hem of your athletic shorts, the nylon riding up as you squirm in your bed. Your index and middle fingers prod at the center of your core experimentally. You’re fucking dripping and it makes your breath hitch.

Suguru calls your name.

“I”m…” you stammer. “I’m wet. Why?”

“Poor thing. Maybe that’s why you can’t sleep, no?”

“I-I’m fine… I just—”

“You should play with your clit. Since I can’t be there to do it for you,” he breathes.

“What?”

“C’mon, sweetheart. I can tell my favorite girl just needs to relax. That’s why you called me, right?”

You whimper. It was maybe half-true. Suguru had stopped answering his texts as frequently as he usually did, and you missed the sound of his voice. The odd ache in your chest wasn’t something that you felt like exposing to anyone else, not even Satoru.

The silk of Suguru’s voice brings you back. You wanted to breathe him in, but he hadn’t visited like he said he would. Didn’t have the warping feature that Satoru had, which to this day, still startled you whenever it happened. Ocean eyes whipping your senses from thin air, like a lightning strike. 

Despite your recent gripes about him, you needed the both of them like you needed air. At least to make it all more bearable. It disgusted you a little bit, needing them like a finding addict. Living with yourself and yourself alone was starting to get old, though you aren’t sure how much left of you feels whole. You were always fruit split in between a blade, all the gory parts splayed out by the hand of someone greater than you.

You needed Suguru’s musk, his hair in between your fingers as he rocked into you. Your hands were too small compared to his. 

He has you panting, sweating through Kyoto’s mugginess. The dorms were in even worse shape here than on the main Tokyo campus, probably why Gakuganji was such a vapid old man. Everything was too hot and falling off the bone.

“I feel like I’m hallucinating. It’s like I can smell you through the phone,” Suguru murmurs, his voice like a mirage. You’d laugh if you weren’t so deep in your cunt, fingers pruning and pushed to the knuckles. 

Suguru knew you would do anything for him, so he made you torture yourself because he wasn’t there to do it himself.

Your groans are muffled from you smothering your face in the sheets, knees pressing down and ass up. Willing to humiliate yourself without him even being there.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already,” he chides.

“I’m not,” you whine.

“How many times have you cum?”

“None.”

He laughs. “What are you thinking about?”

“You know what.” 

You’re close to tears by the time he lets you cum. The sound of his voice hitting you deep in your core, insides permeated with the thought of him. Sweeter than smoked sugar.

It was the sound of his grunt that tipped you over, imagining him with black strands sticking to his high cheekbones with sweat. The apples of his face candy-pink. Where Satoru looked cherubic, Suguru looked like a girl’s first wet dream. 

“Were you touching yourself?” you pant, coming down from your high. You don’t bother putting on your underwear again.

“Obviously,” he groans. The vibrations of his voice made the speaker blow off-kilter like the audio of a shitty VHS. “Came all over myself.”

You could fall asleep to the sound of his static hums. The chaos in your gut is settled by the time your alarm clock strikes devil’s hour.

“How are things?” you ask sleepily.

“With me?” Suguru asks. “Fine. Same as always.”

“You sound tired.”

“It’s three in the morning, sweetheart,” he chuckles dryly.

“Mm. My phone bill’s gonna be so high.”

“Get Satoru to pay for it.”

The bastard probably would, if you asked.

You don’t get much out of Suguru for the remainder you’re awake. His answers are deflective and clipped. He hangs up by the time he hears you breathing, knowing you’ve fallen asleep.

He sighs in his room, rummaging for his pills. If nightmares didn’t keep him up, then the sheer unwillingness of his brain’s tranquility was often enough for him to run a graveyard shift. Stumbling in the dark, half-dead. He’d gotten productive in finishing the video games he’d started with Satoru by himself. Not much else.

His throat feels dry. He couldn’t differentiate the tastes of anything anymore. It all tasted like curses.

You keep having dreams about Suguru.

Tonight, there’s two of him.

One is the image you’re used to – hair swept up in a bun. Broad chest in his Jujutsu Tech uniform. Eyes crinkling into half moons.

The other seems to be an alter ego. A cursed version, one with eyes to kill and blood on his hands. Hands that are trying to tear you apart.

When you grip his wrist, you can see the imprint of your hand on his skin. Flesh falling away, much too easily. The air around you splinters like you’re in a glitched matrix. The Suguru you know and love falters beside you, his skin suddenly sallow. Pale as bile.

When you scream, nothing comes out.

Pseudo-Suguru smiles as your Suguru fades away into ash. You stare into his cat-like gaze, the familiar of his mouth. 

“Come with me,” he says. 

It’s the last thing you hear before your body wakes you up in a sweat. You gasp as you jolt awake, fingers curling your damp bedsheets. You’re further startled by the crack of thunder as a torrential downpour occurs without warning — unusual for late August, considering the rainy season had died down weeks prior. 

You sit up and reach for your phone almost automatically, your hands shaking as you go through your contacts. Your fingers hover over two names as you swallow thickly.

A few beeps follow the push of the call button.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

[dancingtotuyo]

9. the fear of what's to come

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel navigate life changing news.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, mentions of potential pregnancy complications including but not limited to miscarriage and stillbirth, single reference to a fetus being a child (not intended in a pro life way), angst, grief, complicated feelings surrounding pregnancy.

Notes: A huge thanks to my amazing beta readers and friends @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin & @janaispunk

If you have not checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3088

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

You know three weeks after your missed period what is happening. It’s not hard to figure out. It’s just like last time. Menopause crosses your mind briefly, but the symptoms don’t line up. You’re sensitive to the same foods, nausea rolls in and out like the ocean tides throughout the day. The insatiable craving for a tomato sandwich cements it two days later. Tears run down your cheeks as you quickly finish off the sandwich and prepare another. 

You don’t get excited. You don’t make plans, and most importantly, you don’t tell Joel. You’re 45. Joel is in his late 50s. You know the statistics, the pre-end-of-the-world ones. You can’t imagine they’ve improved. 

Instead, you just hope that when it happens, nothing goes wrong. There’s no DNC, no pills to make sure everything passes properly or ensure no infection sets in. You’ve aided many women through this, many much younger than yourself. Some make it just fine, others have complications with nothing but prayer, poultices, and 20-year-old antibiotics to help. You’re not sure what actually does it when the women make it through. Some of them you've buried. Their faces flicker through your mind. You cannot be one of them. You cannot leave Carter without either of his parents in this world.  

You tell Maria. You tell her everything she needs to know. What to do step by step when it happens. Since Adam’s injury, Dr. Pooley refuses to practice anything more than simple first aid. You’re both certain it’s dementia. You spend most mornings listening to him talk through different lectures he attended. On the mornings his brain won’t cooperate, you sip tea together. He’s writing down what he remembers, but you have to fact-check it. He’s already taught you most of it anyway. 

“You have to tell Joel,” Maria says when you tell her. 

You refuse. You won’t do it. You won’t bring him into this. You have this silent agreement that you’re partners in this world, but he still lives in the house across the street with Ellie. There’s never been discussions about moving in together or anything past that. You don’t call him your boyfriend. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. Making those commitments, those plans, it will hurt too much when the world takes him away. 

Carter calls him “Daddy.” It makes Joel smile every time. He’s accepted that commitment. It makes you smile too, but there’s still a little ache in your heart each time. Carter knows about Gabe. You tell him stories all the time. If you ask him, he says he has two daddies. One here and one in heaven. 

But you won’t tell Joel about this child. He’s lost one. He doesn’t need to lose another. 

Maria fights you on it. She looks at her son pointing out that she was 2 years older than you are now when he was born healthy. You don’t remind her she almost died, but she sees it in your eyes. You still have nightmares about that night.

You’re firm. You’re not going to tell Joel. Neither will she, and she damn sure won’t tell Tommy either. 

You wait for the cramps and the blood, but they never come. You hit the 3-month mark, your 2nd trimester at the beginning of October. You don’t cry in the bathroom. You square your shoulders. Second-trimester miscarriages happen. Stillbirths happen, but hope gathers in the depths of your soul, growing with each day. You push it away with logic and reasoning. 

Two sides of you war against each other. You can’t bring another life into this world. At one point you were okay with it. You felt safe here, and while you still do, it doesn’t feel okay anymore. The world still digs its ugly claws into this community. Yet, the hopes you used to hold in your mind, the ones you had with Gabe, and the ones you had before the outbreak still linger. In a perfect, uncomplicated world, this is what you would choose. 

You hide the sickness from Joel with relative ease. He’s often awake and out of bed before you for patrol shifts, early morning chores, or waking up with Carter so you can sleep in.

You deliver the Crosby twins a week later without complications. Melissa is only a couple of years younger than you, but at your age, you know how crucial those few years are. When you finally reach your front porch, you sit in the darkness of Wyoming and finally let the tears fall because fate seems to be telling you that this is happening, or just sending you another person to lose. The realization hits you like a freight train. Time is up. You have to tell Joel. 

You crack open the door to Carter’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep and it relieves you to know he's here. You’re less on edge when he’s close, and It means Joel picked him up from Maria and Tommy’s. It means Joel is in your bed.

Sure enough, he’s there when you creep in. He sleeps on his side curled up over your pillow. You roll your eyes. Yes, it's endearing, but it’s also a pain in the ass to get your pillow back.

The bathroom light is blinding at first, but your eyes slowly adjust as you turn on the shower and steam fills the space. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you undress, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You’ve noticed the subtle changes in your body over these past couple of months, but they’re becoming more noticeable. Your breasts have grown, they’re so sensitive, and your sports bra pulls at the seams. Joel commented on it last week. You joked you were packing on extra weight for winter acting like it was nothing. 

Your favorite pair of jeans no longer fit. You’ve mostly stuck to leggings since. You’re starting to clock the subtle changes in your body. They’re happening faster than with your last pregnancy. The past week, you’ve shut Joel down sexually, scared he would catch on despite your sex drive skyrocketing. It’s been difficult. 

The shower washes away everything: the sweat and grime of the day, your tears, the tension in your muscles. You stand under the water until it runs cold, slipping on Joel’s worn soft t-shirt.

Your pillow is back on your side of the bed, Joel still on his side. A smile creeps onto your face. He keeps his eyes closed, but you know he’s awake. You don’t say anything as you slide into bed, but your anxiety spikes, your heart fluttering in your chest. You have to tell him. 

You’re staring at the ceiling when he breaks the silence. “What happened?” 

You suck in a breath. He thinks something went wrong tonight. He’s probably preparing to dig a grave. “Nothing, mom and babies are fine.”

“So it was twins?” 

“Yeah.” You had suspected as much, but the ultrasound machine doesn’t work, try as you might to get it operational. You hadn’t been able to find a second heartbeat with the Doppler. 

“So what’s buggin you?” His drawl is deeper, soaked with sleep. 

He scoots a little closer, hot breath tickling your ear. You can’t move. You should look him in the eye when you tell him, but you can’t. The words are at the back of your throat surging forward toward your lips. The anxiety in your chest feels like a herd of buffalo stomping across the countryside. You squeeze your eyes shut to try and stop it.

“Sweetheart?” His hand reaches toward you, eyes trained on your profile as concern laces his brow. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

His hand stops over your arm. You feel its warmth so close, and then it goes away. You dare to look at him. You expect him to get out of bed and bolt. You don’t know why. He’s only shown you otherwise the entirety of your relationship, but this is more than either of you signed up for. Instead, you watch as it sinks in. He connects the dots, all the symptoms and signs that were right in front of his face, his subconscious absorbing them, but refusing to put it all together. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

You look back toward the ceiling, tears slipping from your eyes. 

His hand covers your abdomen, forehead pressing against your temple. He starts to feel the changes to your body for what they are. You shudder. 

“How long have you known?”

There’s not a trace of judgment or fear in his voice, but it does little to assure you. You’re scared. It doesn’t matter what Joel says or does, the fear is overwhelming. 

“Beginning of August.”

“Shit, baby.” He pulls you into him, cradling your head against his chest. “You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

“I didn’t think it would last.” After months of holding the tears back, you finally let them out, a mix of relief and fear. “I didn’t- I didn’t want you to-” 

You can’t finish it. You can’t say it out loud, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. You didn’t want him to lose another child, and it wrecks him. His grip on you is crushing, but it soothes your shaking frame. Just as you come down, his sobs greet your ear because he’s scared too. Every single fear and anxiety that has come over you the past months, he feels too. Maria’s labor and delivery flash through his mind. If that happens to you, who’s going to save you? 

You reach up to cradle his face. He presses into your neck. Your skin is sticky and salty again, but you don’t even think about it as the man you love and can’t tell cries in your arms. You’re unable to return his soothing squeeze, but you lay there to provide any comfort you can. The two of you fall asleep tangled in each other. 

You feel Joel’s fingers dancing across your abdomen before you’re fully conscious. There’s no rhyme or reason to his movements. His other hand brushes over your temple and through your hair. Every once in a while you feel his breath and lips across your neck, up and down your arm, over your collarbone. It feels like he’s memorizing you, fear present in all of his movements even now. 

You finally open your eyes. His movements still as you look at him. There are tears in his eyes as his head falls forward, resting against yours. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” You reach out, nails raking across his arm. 

He shudders under your touch. “I wish you told me sooner.” 

You bit your lips. “I’m sorry.” 

He lets out a deep sigh, kissing your forehead. His hand drifts to your abdomen again. You watch his eyes, so expressive filled with fear and anxiety and maybe a little bit of awe and guilt?

“I should’ve been more careful.”

You press your head to his, inhaling softly. “We.”

Joel’s fingers scrape along your jaw, his beard rough against your chin. “I like being a we.”

“Me too.”

Silence settles between the two of you. The wind knocks against the window, but it’s warm next to Joel. His arm snakes around you, tugging you closer to him. 

“I suppose you’ve told Maria?”

You can’t hide the guilty smile on your lips. “If it makes a difference, she told me I needed to tell you right away. Pretty sure she was gonna tell you herself if I didn’t do it soon.” You mess with the collar of his shirt. 

“How long do we have?”

“Figure it’ll be May. If we get that far.” You say. Joel nods and something clenches around your heart, a need to protect him, warn him of the danger. “You know there’s a lot of risks. No guarantee…” 

“One day at a time.” He kisses your cheek but you see all the fear he’s pushing away plastered to his face like a movie poster. 

Joel asks you how you are, but other than that, you don’t talk about it. You feel like a weight has lifted off your shoulders but there’s an anvil hanging above your head, waiting to drop at a moment’s notice. 

You’ve outgrown your last pair of jeans. When you manage to trade with someone, they give you a look, like they know what’s going on inside your body. 

You take more naps, sometimes at the clinic, sometimes on the couch. You’re constantly tired. Maria brings dinner to the house every few days. She never asked, but you don’t complain. 

One evening you open your eyes to find Ellie staring down at you, worry etched in her features. It startles you at first. 

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” She says. 

“You’ve noticed?” You pull yourself into a seated position. It feels like someone shoved a bunch of cotton into your mouth. You reach for the now room-temperature water on your end table. 

“You only take naps when you’re sick or depressed.” You raise an eyebrow at her. She crosses her arms as if to say she knows you’re neither right now. “What’s going on?”

You finish off the water. Despite its temperature, it helps. “I’m fine.” You reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder, but it does nothing. At 17 years old, Ellie is turning into a woman before your very eyes. At times, you’re convinced any semblance of childhood has been replaced with adulthood, but there are other times you still see the slivers of the girl you met two and a half years ago. Right now, she’s the one sitting in front of you.  

“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Joel have been acting weird.”

Had things really been that different in the past couple of weeks? You open your mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. You and Joel hadn’t talked about telling anyone, which seemed silly. You can’t hide this forever. 

The door opens and Carter bursts in with Joel on his heels. A smile instantly finds your lips. 

“Mommy! Look!” He holds up a package of seemingly new Crayola crayons. 

Your eyes widen with exaggeration. “Wow, buddy. That’s awesome.”

“John Lacy found a bunch of them on patrol. They handed them out today,” Joel smiles. “Grabbed you some colored pencils.” He hands a set of non-crayola pencils to Ellie.

“Thanks.” She smiles but is still distracted by her worry over you. 

Carter crawls up beside you, eagerly pulling out the surprisingly intact crayons one by one. Joel leans over to kiss your cheek and tousles Ellie’s hair. She makes a face of displeasure but doesn’t fight him on it.

“You two look like you were talkin about somethin serious.”

“I was trying to figure out why the two of you have been acting weird,” Ellie says. 

Joel’s drops to unreadable. He looks at you and you shrug in response. “We have to tell them eventually.”

Worry makes its home on Ellie’s face. “So something is wrong with you.with you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me.” You sigh deeply. You run your fingers over Carter’s head, kissing it. 

“You’re sure acting like there is,” She says impatiently.

“Ellie,” Joel reprimands, traces of his asshole voice laced into it. 

Ellie bites her lip. It looks like she might be fighting off tears as she looks directly at you. “I’m worried about you.”

You force a smile, leaning forward. Your forearms rest on your knees. One would think it would get easier to say each time. Instead, it’s like picking at a scab that’s not healed. You’re forcing yourself to say something, your brain isn’t ready to accept. “I’m pregnant.”

Ellie sits up straighter, her eyes widen with shock. “Oh wow…”

You wonder if the pictures fill her mind too. She saw Maria the night Elias was born. She saw the blood that covered you. Joel’s fingers brush over your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before they run over the back of your neck. You lean against him. “I’m sorry we worried you. We’re still getting used to the idea,” You say. 

She nods and then her arms around your neck. She basically knocks you backward with the force of it. “I’m glad you’re not dying.”

You squeeze her tightly, a faint lilt of humor in your voice. “Me too.”

Then her voice drops to a whisper right at your ear. “You’ll be okay. I know you will.”  

Your head rests on Joel’s bare chest that night. The full moon sends light drifting through your window, casting the room in a cool glow. You play absentmindedly with the hair on his chest. His heart beats under your ear. The room is otherwise silent. 

“I told Tommy today.” 

You nod. 

“He wanted to know why I was so quiet. Told him I was always quiet.”

That pulls a smile across your lips. “Surprised he shut up long enough to notice.”

Joel chuckles. His arm around you tightens. His lips find your forehead. “I know we’re not ready to think too much about it.”

“Don’t think it’s something we can really ignore.” You nuzzle further into him. 

“Baby steps.” He kisses your nose this time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Baby steps? Really?” You flip onto your stomach while you still can.

He chuckles. “Poor word choice.”

You kiss his bicep and then his shoulder. He looks at you like your entire world and your stomach erupts in butterflies and twists in knots all at the same time. You still won’t let him say it, but you feel it every time he looks at you like that. 

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “What are these steps you had in mind?”

His thumb traces over your jaw and cheek. “Don’t bolt on me, okay?”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

He chuckles and then inhales deeply. “I think we should probably share a house. I figured you’d prefer to stay here, but it’s up to you.” He searches your eyes for any signs of panic or signs that you might shut down but finds nothing. In fact, you’re so calm that it’s hard to read. 

“It would be nice to have you officially living here,” you say. It feels right to say, to think about. “And Ellie if she wants.” 

“That was easier than I’d thought it would be.”

“You pretty much live here as is.” You turn on your side, nuzzling back into him. “I’ll miss your fireplace though.”

Joel smiles. “Guess I'll just have to keep you warm instead.” 

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎBodies Are Not the Only Things Buried౨ৎ꣑ৎ

꣑ৎ"Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt."꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: mentions of death/dying, angst pairing: ghost!billy the kid x fem reader author’s note: tagging @kellielovesmovies <3 and @these-travels <3 because we talked about doing more ghost billy!! Enjoy! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

"Have you ever seen the ocean?"

Billy turned his head to look at you, and his breath would have hitched if he had any left. The sunlight reflecting off your skin gave you a glow that was nearly angelic, and for a moment he was sure the higher powers had come for him after all. You blinked, nuzzling your head into the crook of your elbow where it lay, and he wished it was his arm there instead. Holding his girl. The way it should be.

He shook his head, shifting on his side. "When my family crossed to get here I did. But I don't remember much. Was a long time ago."

Your lips puckered just slightly, and he longed to touch his own to them. "I've always wanted to see it but I've never been."

Imagining you in the backdrop of ocean spray, sand sticking to your soaked feet, Billy smiled. "You'd fit right in."

With a giggle like bells, you looked back at the sky, your ever-present smile soft as spring's first rain. The grass framed you perfectly, making a soft bed that Billy didn't deem near good enough. Once again he tried to will his body solid. There was no need for a beating heart or blood siphoning through his veins. He only wanted to hold you.

Death made life feel like a distant memory. The more time Billy spent with you, the more painfully clear the difference between existing and living became. Consciousness was a curse, carried out by the remnants of him left like a half-eaten dinner. Maybe somebody had forgotten to take the final step and bring him wherever those he had known in life were. Or maybe they were lingering too, in different pockets of time's fabric. He had certainly never come across anyone like this.

Maybe you had been the only one who bothered to see. Or care. Either way, he had been revealed to you, the veil separating life and death lifting for a quick second so he could escape. And you were there to see it.

You spent a great deal of time at the cemetery, keeping him company. Often you would lie on the grass with a book and read to him, the passages you picked from between hundreds of pages only enhancing the complexity of your beauty.

It was natural he would fall in love with you. In the beginning he had felt it coming, a universal fact already set in motion. It was almost cruel, and he wondered if perhaps his forced haunting hadn't been a mistake at all. He could be atoning for every sin committed in life in some new method of torture where he was made to think himself joyful.

It was delicate, his dormant love a cobweb formed over decades of starvation. An emotional ache he had resigned to live with for the rest of time. If he had known death was this impermanent, he never would have wished for it.

You rotated on your side to face him, eyes reminding him of daisies. Young and fresh and lovely, innocence shining through your new bloom. Billy's attention was immediately piqued, ready to absorb whatever you had to say, even if it was a single word.

"Have you ever left this place?" He smiled when you asked, wholly enraptured.

Sitting up, Billy leaned against his headstone. Unmarked, unnamed, only the year he died carved crudely into the rounded shape. It made a good resting spot for you some days, though, and he was happy some facet of him was able to do so. "Not for a long time."

"Why not?" you asked, propping yourself up next to him, chin on the heels of your palms. The image of you was so painfully adorable that he had to pause before speaking.

"I dunno," he shrugged, looking at his boots. "It seems odd, but I've never thought of it."

"Never?" You tilted your head.

"I've never had a reason." He half-smiled. "You're the first person I've talked to in a century, sweetheart."

Something softened in your eyes at the term of endearment, and he was now making plans to call you it over and over just to see that look. "You never had wanderlust?"

Billy moved his hand so it was flat on the ground next to yours, pinkies nearly touching. "I wandered so much when I was alive, it must've just burnt out."

Somehow, he couldn't read the look on your face, as though your thoughts at the moment were in another language. He wished more than ever right now that he could draw you into his arms, maybe rest a hand at the crown of your head. There were so many things he desired, and you were at the center of each one as he orbited hopelessly.

He'd never had a sweetheart before. Through every misdeed and trial thrown under his feet and scratching his arms like thorns, he'd never found anybody. Further, he never expressed the desire, not out loud.

Love was always considered a luxury. He'd observed it plainly with his mother and father, witnessed the lengths it traveled and the way it grew to fit the space of new circumstances. But his parents had been good people, trying to make an honest living. He never thought love was meant for men like him.

But without survival on the line, what else was there to think of? There wasn't anything else to exist for, especially when the woman in question was you.

Without physical feelings, Billy ran on pure emotion. It was an energy of its own that replaced what his blood must have done. For so long it had been justified sorrow, but now it was something else. Something he didn't even want to think of because it was so out of the question.

He was a ghost. You were alive. Nothing more needed to be said.

Stretching your arms with a little hum, you shut your eyes and let your hair fall to the side, over your shoulder. He watched it cascade like a waterfall, wishing for the millionth time he could brush it from your eyes. "You know, you could travel if you wanted to. See everything you want to." Opening your eyes, you smiled at him with a little glimmer that lifted his spirits. "You could see the ocean and remember it better this time."

Billy wouldn't tell you what he was thinking. That the only way that desire would enter him is if he could do it with you. See that adorable look of astonishment when you tasted salt water for the first time.

He didn't let his thoughts go any further than that. Instead of saying it, he smiled. "You'll have to see it for me, darlin'."

You looked up at him, resting your cheek on the cool stone of his headstone. If he imagined it right, your ear was on his heart instead of a monument to his death. His girl. In his dreams you were his girl.

Months since you'd first seen him, when he'd expected you to be frightened but instead you were kind. Ghost or outlaw, it seemed any time he was given was to be spent unconventionally. Based on your reaction, it was easy to imagine you in the context of his time. Maybe you never would have judged him the way everyone else did.

A shock of warmth coursed through his spectral being when you simply said, "Your time didn't end when you died."

It echoed, bouncing off the cemetery gates long after you left for the night.

Everything except Billy's existence was glaringly temporary.

He had long accepted the fact that his fate was to stand still, frozen as an unseen relic of time while the world hurtled forward into a future he couldn't have imagined. Regretting his legacy, coming to terms with the fact that he was existing in a space where he couldn't change anything.

Long had he wondered of this purpose. Whether it be by punishment or pity, he was immoveable. And now more than ever it was becoming glaringly obvious that you weren't.

"Long day," you sighed one evening, flopping down next to him. He reached for your hand, wincing as his hand passed through like you were water. But when he made a move to pull it back, you shook your head, half smiling briefly. "Keep it there. It feels nice."

Billy smiled, turning to the side to look at you as you began to chatter, playing with a rogue strand of hair. "I got some news today."

"Good news?" he asked, and you smiled tightly, still anxiously fidgeting.

"An opportunity to travel. And go to school," you went on softly. "In London."

London. There was a pang in his chest. "That's incredible, sweetheart." Billy lowered his head to meet your eyes, where you were staring at the ground. "You've worked hard."

There was that half-smile again. "Thank you." He could see something brewing in you like a storm on the horizon, but didn't press. If you wanted to tell him you would.

After a beat of silence, you whispered, "I was excited about it. It would get me away from home." Billy's thoughts conjured the one time you had told him about your parents. About your mother's passing, and how your father had married a woman who hardly regarded you. He couldn't help but sympathize, thinking of his own mother and the cruel man she'd been forced to wed. The idea of you in that kind of situation kicked his protective instincts in, and it hurt that there wasn't a thing for him to do about it.

Billy nodded, searching your gaze. "You should be."

"And they have an amazing arts program."

"Of course."

"And it's beautiful- I've always wanted to go there." You were staring at him now. "The ocean is close. Closer than it is here."

He smiled. "It is."

Your eyes stayed on him, and he looked right back. It felt like you were trying to tell him something, but he refused to pry at it. Slowly, the corners of your lips turned down as something was defeated within. Without another word you breathed out, leaning down and resting your head in his lap. To his dismay, your head went right through his thighs, landing on the soft earth below.

Neither of you commented. He hovered a hand over the outline of your head, pretending to stroke your hair.

In the next weeks, you didn't broach the topic of school again, instead returning to your regular graveyard activities. Talking to him and smiling as if he was something extraordinary. Picking flowers that grew nearby and braiding them together, leaving them in little bouquets sagging at the base of his tombstone. He memorized every bit of you and tried to piece it together in the hours you weren't there, an endless puzzle.

The beginning of the end was impending, kicking up dust. He could feel it in his being, filling the space where his bones used to be. It wove marrow and tendons out of feelings, creating a whole other entity for him to inhabit. There was no end to Billy's endings.

You were lying side by side with him now, hair spread out like a halo over your head. When you opened your mouth, he heard it before you spoke.

"I'm going to school in London."

Billy let it stretch and consume him, show him what would never be. This was a routine. This was not new. "I'm happy you are. You're gonna do great, sweetheart."

Somberly, you whispered, "I leave in two weeks. To get adjusted to the new country."

He was quiet, just watching your expression. You were holding yourself together and he didn't know why.

Then in a quiet burst, a tear slipped from your eye, leaving a path on your cheek as it trickled down like rain on a windowpane. "Billy I don't want to leave you."

It hit him like something earthshattering. The shot that had ended his life hadn't collided the same way this did, with a force that came from somewhere in the folds of existence, somewhere Billy didn't understand. He sat up, reaching a hand out. "Sweetheart-"

"Tell me not to leave," you whispered, and he froze, watching another tear cross your cheek. "I won't leave if you want me to stay."

"You have to go," he said, shaking his head and getting to his knees, searching your eyes. "This is your dream. You have to do it."

"But I don't wanna go," you sniffled, reaching for a strand of hair and twisting it between your fingers. "Billy..."

"Hey," he breathed, hands over your elbows. "Sweetie, I'm always gonna be right here. And the time we've spent together's enough for me. I want you to live."

"I love you," you managed through your tears, lower lip trembling.

Billy shut his eyes, chin dipping. The fingers of melancholy were seizing him in a way that kicked everything that had ever mattered to the side. Your tears were multiplying, and they were of such a quality that he swore they were what dotted the sky every night. Stardust...that was what you were. Unreal. For him, untouchable.

He risked a look back up at you. You, whom he'd imagined as his for so long. But you weren't because he couldn't have anything anymore. The only thing Billy possessed was a sliver of humanity enclosed as an idea. He didn't even have a heart to give to you.

But there was nothing in him for the truth to hide behind. It was transparent as he was. "I love you too."

You took in a shaky breath. Billy knew right then that for the rest of time he would be committed wholeheartedly to you. You were the only thing in this wretched world worth anything. Tension heightening like a string pulled taut, you surged forward in a single motion, arms encircling his shoulders, pressing your mouth to his.

Warm. It had been so long since he'd been warm. But you were. Between his arms, encasing whatever was left of him in the gift of your body. He hardly registered the sensation of being kissed until you pulled back, breaths leaving your prettily parted lips in quick bursts.

Kissed. He had been kissed. He had kissed you.

"I didn't think that would work," you confessed quietly, and in a natural move, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your eyes, something jolting in him when his fingers didn't pass through.

Billy shook his head, drawing you in by the waist and touching his lips to yours gently, relishing the sensation of you melting under his touch. He wouldn't dare try anything else, this new allowance precarious. Who knew if it would be taken away from him? Your hand found the collar of his shirt, just holding it as his nose bumped your soft cheek. Soft...he could feel that you were soft. Just as he'd imagined.

Conscious of your need to breathe, he separated himself from you, just a little. The last of your tears escaped, and he thumbed them away, not wanting to let go now that he had the option. You whispered, "I can't leave. I love you."

The chasm within him began to open again, and he could see the way it could have gone. Past and present and future. Every version of you and him spun until they disappeared into nothingness, leaving reality standing still, a tower of his own making. A structure he couldn't tear down if he tried.

He breathed, "I love you and that's why you have to leave."

The curtains of the summer were drawn shut, and sometimes Billy wondered if any of it had ever been real. He loved you too much to make you stay, to leave you hanging off the whim of a dead man with nothing to give forever.

He wished you hated him. It would be easier for you to leave.

Any writing on the wall was faint, and he'd been unsure if you'd go through with it. But after the day you were set to leave marched by without so much as a glimpse of you, he bowed his head and thanked whoever was above. Guilt would have tainted everything if you had stayed. He would rather love you miserably than be responsible for the end of another life, especially yours.

Time went back to how it was before. Boundless and brutal. Billy existed in the plane of memories, staring at the sky and letting it consume him.

He hoped for many things. That you would love it when you got there and forget all about him. That you would fall in love because everyone should fall in love with you.

Most of all, he hoped you would never return. He hoped whatever had tethered you to this place would unravel and blow away, off to some far away corner of the earth where you couldn't reach.

Regret tainted him oftentimes, and he wondered if he could leave like you had said. Go find you wherever you were and remind you that even the dead were enchanted by you.

Billy imagined sometimes what would have happened if you stayed. If maybe when you loved him so closely he would have eventually become whole again, not quite alive but not a ghost any longer. Physical. Worthy. Maybe it would have been proof to whoever had damned him this way. He was alive so long as he was loved. It could have been his second chance. The one leniency he'd snuck in the margins of his death's contract.

He let that dream rot with his body, buried in the earth below.

[lives-in-midgard]

Stay With Me

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Steve is there for reader after a mission.

Word Count: 830

A/N: Hey everyone! I had this idea when I saw the prompt: "Please, stay with me." of the Fluffcember from @buckys-wintersoldier But because it wasn't Christmas themed and then I also didn't have time I decided to not post it for the Fluffcember. So, here it is I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Returning to the compound after a mission was not always easy. Sometimes it was, but not today. A lot of bad things happened on this mission, and you didn’t know how to deal with it right now. The whole flight you just looked at the ground, trying not to look at the others, but you could feel them all looking at you. Especially Steve, who sat across from you.

When the Quinjet landed on the compound, you were the first one who made their way out of it, not looking at any of the other Avengers. You could hear Steve calling your name but you didn't care, you just wanted to go home. Home to the comfort of your apartment.

When you got to your car, you turned on your favorite playlist as loud as you could and drove off.

The first thing you did when you got home was to take a shower and change into comfortable clothes. You quickly looked at your phone and saw that you had received a message from Steve.

"Hey y/n, are you okay?"

You didn't answer and put your phone away. Then you sat on the couch with a blanket over your shoulder and started thinking about the mission. How you almost caught the HYDRA agent until he suddenly escaped. How many people had to die. And then you started thinking about the moment you could have died until Steve came and saved you.

You sat there for a while until you heard a knock on the door. You weren't really in the mood to see anyone at that moment, but the person didn’t stop knocking.

After the tenth knock, or at least that’s what it felt like, you got up and went to the door. When you opened it, you saw a very worried Steve standing there.

"Hey." You said quietly.

"Hey." Steve said, looking over your body to see if he could see any injuries.

"I came here to check on you. You drove to your apartment so quickly after you got back to the compound." He said softly.

"Yeah, umm sorry. I just had to get away from there." You mumbled.

"You know what happened on the mission wasn't your fault, right?" Steve said, referring to the things that happened there.

"I don't know." You mumbled and looked at the ground.

"No, hey, it definitely wasn't your fault. You did your best; we all did our best." He said, took your hand and you looked back at him.

"Deep down I know this, but right now it feels like it’s all my fault."

"I know this feeling all too well. He paused a moment and then said.

"If you’d rather be alone now, I can go."

"No, please stay with me." You confessed and Steve gave you a comforting smile.

"Of course." He said and you opened the door more so he could walk in.

You both sat on the couch very close to each other so that your knee touched his. You sat in silence for a while until Steve said something.

"Actually I also wanted to check on you because I wanted to see if you have any injuries." You looked up at Steve who had another worried look on his face.

"I'm fine, I just have a few small scratches and a few bruises, but nothing serious."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked and you nodded.

"What about you?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about me, sweetheart." You blushed at the petname he gave but tried to smile at him.

"How about we watch a movie and order some take out?" Steve suggested, placing a strand of hair behind your ear, making you a little nervous.

"That's a good idea." You smiled at each other. Steve suggested ordering the pizza while you searched for a movie. You found one that you remembered Steve wanted to watch and decided to pick that one.

You ate the pizza and watched the movie. After the movie ended, you decided to watch another one. You had a great time together and were really grateful that Steve came over. The movie had just ended when you decided to say something.

"Thank you, Steve. Not only for coming over but also for saving me on this mission." A small tear fell from your eye and Steve's gaze softened. He wiped the tear away and wrapped his arms around you. Then Steve pulled you into a tight hug.

"Of course, I saved you and came here. You mean so much to me." You sniffed a few times while Steve rubbed your back and hugged you for as long as you needed him.

After a while you broke the hug but stayed close to him. You placed your head on his shoulder, and he held you close to him. Steve insisted that he wants to stay the night to make sure you were okay and because he didn't want you to be alone.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @rogersbarber | @eviebuggg | @nicoline1998enilocin | @nekoannie-chan | @kandis-mom | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @noellez-best-life23 | @buckskemp | @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 | @cutedisneygrl | @mrsbuckybarnes1917

[destinationtrekk]

arcadia

This is only a dream, and you will never hear that laugh again.

1.9k, wesker lives, referenced sex, flashbacks, angst with a happy ending, also kind of ambiguous ending, descriptions of depression

a/n: all my fics are cross posted to my ao3. named after the lana del rey song. also, i have a post-re5 wesker playlist if anyone wants it!!!

-> masterlist

-> arcadia on ao3

This day starts out like every other day since he died. 

You wake up an hour before your alarm, though you think it’s generous to say you woke up if you never really slept. Your bedside clock reads 5:09 am, and you crawl out of bed anyway. You start getting ready for work, carelessly throwing on something vaguely professional looking. You had taken up managing a few of his labs. Not doing any real science of course, you were never as smart as him, but helping with hiring and on-boarding, being the pretty face that introduces young people to the insanity that is - was - his world. 

You think they pity you, his employees and peers, because they ask quietly how you are, what have you been up to, how are you liking the job? You know they just want the gossip on how their dead boss’ widow is surviving without him. You had no clue where his money came from, or his nice house, his expensive cars, your expensive car he bought you. You had just taken everything he gave you with a blush and a smile, with devotion to him that ran deeper than blood. 

You were worried, once you were able to stop crying and pleading for him to come home, how you could possibly manage to handle his assets. You quickly realized he had taken care of it, he had taken care of everything, just like he always had. A lawyer stopped by and handed you a few files, apologized kindly, and left. You only read enough to know that the house was yours, and you had enough money in your bank account to last you the rest of your life, if you were smart with it. 

Now, you look at yourself in the mirror, your eye bags covered perfectly in makeup, and you feel sick. His towel is still hanging behind the door. His cologne is still sitting next to your perfume on the counter. You can’t bear to touch either. 

You drive his black Jaguar to work. You remember when he brought it home, angry after a long day and storming into the house like there wasn’t a sparkling new car in the driveway. You had calmed him down, and kissed him sweetly until he let you drive it to town for dinner. You park the car at the lab and don’t look back. 

Your day drags on but you can’t remember any of it. Everyday feels like this. You smile politely and drink coffee, shake hands and sit in meetings, drink more coffee. After lunch you make two cups of coffee, and you stare at the second cup with too much sugar and no cream until your eyes burn. You give it to an intern and ignore them when they try to thank you. 

Your drive home is stunted by an hour of traffic, so you turn the music up until your head pounds and you aren’t tempted to look in the back seat, where he had fucked you so hard on your anniversary that he scratched lines in the leather with his nails. 

It’s raining when you finally pull into the driveway. You go straight for the shower, scrubbing until your skin is pink and staring at nothing but his half empty shampoo bottle. You go through the motions of cooking dinner, but you feel too sick to eat. It gets portioned away in the fridge, where you know you’ll eventually just give it to someone at work, claiming you’re not hungry. 

You lay on the couch for a few hours, eyes staring unfocused at the TV screen, until you migrate to bed. You do the same under the cold covers, which smell of nothing but laundry detergent now. Your eyes fixed blank on the ceiling. You doze off, just to repeat the day again, and again, and again.

You're splayed across the couch, his broad form crushing you into the cushions. You're both laughing, gasping for air and clutching at each other like teenagers. You don't remember the joke, but you do remember the way his blonde hair glowed like an angel across the table at dinner, lit by candles and the rosy haze of a bottle of wine, domestic in your kitchen. He sits up, straddling your thighs with his own, and looms over you. His eyes glow red in the dim room, and you smile so wide you swear your mouth would be stuck like that. He leans down, whispering sweetly against your neck, hands gliding over your clothes, under them, touching your skin-

This is only a dream, and you will never hear that laugh again.

Before you know it, nearly a year has passed. You had stopped going to the labs a month ago, and soon after the BSAA raided every known location of his research. You don't know who the rat was, but you're happy he's not here to see it. You've done nothing with your time except sit around, cook too much food for one person, and occasionally go running until you make yourself sick.

You're having a... better day than usual. It sets you on edge, thinking that you're on the path to heal and move on. You don't ever want to move on, to forget him, but it's inevitable. You had gone into his closet tonight, taking a sweater much too big for you that had long lost his smell. It was only the second time you had touched his clothes, but you thought you could handle it. Now, laying curled in bed, his sweater nearly swallowing you, you weren't so sure.

He's been gone for a week, and you've taken to sleeping in his shirts. The expensive fabric wraps around you in a poor mimic of his calloused touch, but it smells like him. When he finally comes home, he finds you curled up in bed, face buried in his pillow. Obviously, he has no choice except to drop everything and crawl under the covers, wrapping you tight in his arms. You groan as you come to, immediately smiling as you recognize the vice grip he holds your body in. It makes you laugh, and your joyous sound makes him smile into your neck.

"Nice shirt you have there," he rumbles, breath warm against your cheek. "Where did that come from?"

You giggle and turn in his arms, and you press your lips to his. "Just some guy I met, no one special."

He rolls you onto your back, gaze dark and adoring, and-

You snap awake. The front door alarm was blaring through the speakers downstairs, but it was silent by the time you jumped off the mattress. The alarm could only be turned off with a code, which meant-

You felt panic begin the climb up your throat, and you scrambled for his pistol, still tucked neatly in his bedside table. Your steps were quiet, the gun raised as you searched the house. Nothing was out of the ordinary, until you rounded the corner to the kitchen. You froze immediately, gun falling to your side as your eyes widened in shock.

Albert was hunched over the sink, white-knuckling the counter. His head shot up as the sound of your gasp, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the window. The gun clattered to the ground beside you and you nearly fell to your knees. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you up against his chest. A sob escaped you, and you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head and struggling in his grip.

"Quit it, you animal." His voice was the same dark murmur, a deep rumble against your cheek as he held you still. One of his large hands was cupping your head against him, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. He buried his nose in your hair, breathing deep while you cried and squirmed against him. "Relax, sweetheart, breathe."

A few moments later his grip has loosened enough for you to pull away, and your heart breaks all over again at the sight of him. His hair is longer than you've ever seen it, hanging limp over his forehead and curling slightly behind his ears. His eyes are a familiar red, but his exhaustion is palpable in the air around you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks, and your expression falls at the texture of his skin. Your head rears back, and you take his hands in yours. He's covered in thick scars, pink and white flesh rigid under your fingers. You look up at him, noticing the same scars climbing his neck and crawling over his cheekbone.You reach a hand up to cup his face, and a devastated sound leaves you when he leans into your palm. "Albert..."

He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, turning to press his lips to your wrist. He doesn't need to say a word, not when you can still read each other perfectly even after a year apart. You can see it in the corners of his mouth, the stiff way he moves his shoulder, the rasp of his voice, like it takes too much effort to open his jaw. This isn't the same Wesker you lost. This is someone else entirely.

All at once, the person you used to be comes back, like you never lost them at all. You take his hand in yours and lead him to the guest bathroom downstairs, flicking the light on and pushing him to sit on the toilet lid. He's slouching and avoiding your gaze, an act so unlike him that it makes you pause. You make him undress to his boxers, and he obeys without question. Confusion and grief and relief are clouding your mind. You reach again for his cheeks, and you can tell he wants to resist but you pull him to face you anyway. Under the fluorescent lights his scars look even worse - no, you won't say worse, you love him - you trace the lines gently up to his cheekbone.

"Do they hurt?" You whisper, turning him to take a closer look.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and then barely tilts his head in a nod.

You apologize, and quickly pull your hands away. He grabs your wrists and holds you still, before correcting himself. "Just sensitive."

You can tell now that he isn't injured - he isn't bleeding at least. You spend a long moment just looking at him, taking in the ways his body has changed, and the ways it hasn't. He looks a little thin, his collar bones prominent, new scars riddling his skin that aren't from burns. However, the burns do continue past his neck. One of his shoulders looks, well, frankly it looks like it had been shredded - the thick burn scars the apparent reason for his stiff and pained movements on his right side. The scars continue down to his ribs, all the way to the v of his right hip, where they fade into smooth, unmarred skin.

The shock on your face must be apparent, because he reaches back for his shirt, and you quickly stop him, your voice breaking. "No, don't- I'm sorry, I just... how are you alive?"

He looks uncomfortable, his jaw clenched tight as he still avoids your eyes. "Honestly, I don't know. It's... a very long story." His voice is still hoarse, and you start to think it's not just from exhaustion.

He finally looks up at you, and his red eyes are wet. You decide then and there that, even if this is a dream, he's the most beautiful you've ever seen him.

"Then why don't you start from the beginning?"

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 8

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, lesbian flirtationship?, mentions of kissing, mentions of a weapon (it's just ellie's switchblade), descriptions of injuries and bruising, abby is hot and cocky (duh), minors do not interact

word count: 4k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

You’d spent the last few days texting back and forth with Abby. She hadn’t changed much since your freshman year, still confident and charismatic and charming as always. 

It was nice, taking a step outside of your comfort zone. It had been a while since you’d regularly socialized with someone other than your usual group of friends. The older you got, it seemed harder to feel comfortable getting close to new people. 

But Abby made it easy, keeping things casual and light. She’d ask about your day, talk about hers, and inquire what you were up to. She’d flirt every now and again, and you’d cautiously flirt right back, but she never pushed much further than that. 

You hadn’t told anyone yet about reconnecting with Abby. The girls from the Wilson Crew would no doubt be incredibly supportive, having partly seen you going through some of the disastrous aftermath with Ellie. But as loving and encouraging as they were, having six girls simultaneously asking you questions and being loud & abrasive about your love/sex life was too overwhelming a thought. 

You considered disclosing your secret to Dina. But though you loved her deeply and she was the closest thing you’ve ever had to a sister, Dina was just a tad bit judgy. She wouldn’t say anything, but after a few years of knowing her and her mannerisms, you’d recognized her pursed lips and her one raised eyebrow as her judgy face. And right now, the last thing you needed was to be evaluated when you’re trying to break from behind the walls you’ve built the past couple of years. 

After musing over it for a while, you kick yourself for not realizing right away who it was that you could confide in.

Jesse. 

Jesse was an easygoing person, effortless to chat with and always cracking jokes. But when it came down to it, he cared about you and knew how to listen, judgment-free. You used to have long talks with him back in freshman year, separate from Dina and Ellie, while you watched old movies or played video games together. After Rafael died, he made sure constantly that you stayed stable and took care of yourself. He’s never failed to be a great friend to you.  

Thursday morning, you make the decision to text Jesse as you get ready to leave for your first morning class. 

You let out an audible “uhhh” as you remember that Jesse shared an apartment with Ellie. Jesse seems to suddenly remember as well a few seconds later. 

You chuckle as you read Jesse’s last text before putting your phone in your pocket and walking out the front door of your apartment. 

“So, you free tomorrow night?” Abby asks. 

“Mm, that depends.” 

“On?” 

“On why you’re asking.” You reply cheekily. 

Abby chuckles. 

You were making your way to your Race and Sexuality in Popular Culture class and Abby, who supposedly had some time to kill, was walking you over. 

“Oh, just curious.” Abby says. 

“Uh-huh, just curious.” You reply, rolling your eyes playfully. 

You stroll down the brick path holding a large textbook to your chest that you couldn’t stuff into your backpack with the rest of your things. Abby’d offered to carry it for you, but you insisted that you were a “strong and independent woman who didn’t need anyone to carry their books for them,” to which Abby laughed. 

“Oh, I’m just fucking around,” Abby continues. “Wanted to see if you wanted to maybe come to this bar with me and my friends. It’s pretty close by.” 

“Wow, getting drunk? On a weekday, Miss Anderson?” You joke. 

“Friday night counts as a weekend, you weirdo.” Abby chuckles. 

“Which bar is it?” 

“The Bow and Arrow on Waverly Street.” 

You purse your lips at this. 

The Bow and Arrow was a lesbian bar that was near the university’s campus. It was a pretty small place with a nice set-up: friendly and welcoming bartenders, TVs that played a variety of movies or that were connected to old consoles for patrons to play retro games on, and a spacious dance floor on the rooftop. 

Last year when you were still freshly heartbroken, you’d gone to the Bow and Arrow with a few friends from the Wilson Crew. Somehow, you ended up making out with a random girl in a dark corner who’d been eyeing you all evening. But after they’d asked if you wanted to go home with them, you chickened out and muttered a quick apology before rejoining your friends. 

Before then, you’d gone a few times during your freshman year. But after one fateful December night that involved a random stranger, the dance floor, and Ellie, you didn’t frequent it much afterwards. 

Abby doesn’t notice your hesitation, which allows you a second to come up with a calculated response. 

“Do you mind if I think about it? Tomorrow’s kind of a long day for me. Might be too exhausted after all my classes.” You say. 

“Sure, that’s totally fine.” Abby replies. “No pressure at all. If you wanna have a chill night, you could also come over and we can watch a movie or something instead.” 

You smile at her thoughtfulness. 

“You’re sweet,” You say. “But it’s okay, don’t change your plans ‘cause of me. You should go anyway and have fun with your friends.” 

“Still trying to avoid hanging out alone with me, huh?” Abby jokes. 

You roll your eyes and smile. 

“Yes, that’s exactly why I’m letting you walk me to class today.” You reply sarcastically. “Definitely trying to avoid being around you right now, Anderson.” 

“Oh, you’re ‘letting me’ walk you to class, are you?” 

“Yup,” You say. “Now leave me, I no longer require your services, Miss Anderson.” You joke, gesturing for her to leave the opposite direction. 

“Bossy.” Abby chuckles but continues to walk alongside you. 

It’s a slightly chillier day today as October begins to slowly approach November. You’d opted for an oversized sweater that used to belong to your cousin Rafael (it had his alma mater stitched onto the front and your uncle had gifted it to you sometime after his passing), a beanie, and a pair of thick leggings. When you’d met up with Abby, you pretended not to notice her eyeing your ass in your leggings for half a second when she first spotted you. 

“Alright,” Abby continues. “How about tonight? You busy?” 

“Can’t tonight, sorry.” You say. “Meeting up with a friend.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, just having dinner with my friend Jesse.” 

“Oh, Jesse Chang, right?” 

You blink at Abby’s recognition. 

“Yeah, you know him?” 

“Just seen him around and all.” Abby explains. “He’s at the gym sometimes when I’m there. He lives with that friend of yours, Ellie, right? They’re both there together a lot.” 

Your face drops at the mention of Ellie, but Abby has her eyes straight ahead and doesn’t catch it. 

“Oh, and I see him sometimes playing guitar on the quad.” Abby continues. “He’s pretty good.” 

You quickly compose yourself. 

“Y-yeah. He’s known to play since he was a kid. A, uh, a family friend taught him growing up.” You say. 

You feel a pang in your heart. Joel taught Jesse how to play the guitar when he was younger. Jesse and Ellie. 

That summer that you’d spent in Jackson, Ellie’d told Joel during a Miller/Williams dinner night about how you were musically inclined. You’d felt embarrassed but you remember thinking that it was sweet how excited he got. Joel then proceeded to gush all about how he taught Ellie and Jesse how to play the guitar when they were just teenagers.  

Jesse’d already known how to play piano from lessons he’d been taking and was curious to branch out (Ellie made a comment that he just wanted to learn because playing guitar looked so much cooler to girls). According to Joel, he had been a good, attentive student. When Ellie found out Joel was teaching Jesse, she competitively insisted on being taught too. 

You remember chuckling when Joel’d told you how much of an impatient and temperamental student Ellie turned out to be. She’d easily get frustrated when she forgot a chord and curse herself out when her fingers would slip to play discordantly. But along with her hotheadedness came passion, and Ellie ended up teaching herself quickly into mastering the instrument anyway. 

Something inside ached when the memories of Jesse and Ellie casually strumming on their guitars flooded back. You’d watched in admiration as they fucked around and even occasionally wrote songs together. Sometimes you’d sing along to whatever they’d be playing, and they would joke about how they should start a band (to which you’d tease that Ellie didn’t play nice with others to handle being in an organized group). 

“That’s nice.” Abby says, interrupting your trance. “You’re pretty close to him?” 

“Oh yeah,” You reply. “I’d say he’s one of my closest friends here.” 

You quickly feel guilty saying that out loud, knowing that you’d pulled away from both him and Dina the past year. 

“That’s pretty sweet,” Abby smiles. “He seems like a really chill guy.” 

“He’s the best.” You say, smiling back. 

“Well, I won’t get in the way of some bestie bonding then,” Abby says. “But at least consider coming out with us tomorrow night?” 

You’re approaching the building of your next class now with just a couple of minutes to spare. You grip your textbook to your chest tightly, almost like it's a source of stress relief. Going out and actually being in public with Abby was a nerve-wracking concept. But you don’t want to disappoint her either. 

“I will,” You say. “I promise.” 

“Good.” Abby smiles. 

“Now, go and get out of here,” You tell her. “You’re gonna be late for your next class.” 

“Why are you always so eager to get rid of me?” Abby teases. 

You roll your eyes, amused. 

“You’re just so sickenly nice to me that I can’t stand to be around you.” 

“Get used to it then.” Abby replies. 

“Mm,” You muse. “We’ll see.” 

Abby chuckles. 

“Alright, well, I’ll text you.” She says, waving as she walks off. “See you, pretty girl.” 

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks at this flirty comment as you wave her off. Your grip on your textbook loosens before you turn and proceed into the building. 

“Another strawberry milkshake? Really?” You ask as the server walks away. 

“What?! I’m having a craving!” 

You chuckle before taking a sip of your water. 

Ever the responsible and reliable friend, Jesse was ten minutes early to the diner for your meet-up. He’d pulled you into one of his classic bear hugs when you came in, and your heart jolted and your eyes teared up. You’ve really missed being around him. 

“So, how’ve you been, kid?” He asks, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms. 

“Mm, short or long answer?” 

“Long,” He smiles. “I wanna know everything.” 

You return his smile uncertainly. 

“Don’t really know how to start, Jess.” 

“How ‘bout telling me how classes have been going for you?” 

You go on for a while about how you’d been handling your schoolwork, Jesse occasionally chiming in about his own classes. He laughed at your anecdotes and asked all the right questions at all the right times. Your orders were placed in front of you as you were complaining about your Women in Classical Antiquity professor who you swore has a vendetta against you. 

“Then she looks at me like I’m crazy!” You complain before stuffing your face with a slice of chocolate chip pancake. 

“Yeah, a buddy of mine had her last year, and apparently half the shit she was teaching made no sense.” Jesse replies, licking whipped cream off the top of his milkshake. 

“It doesn’t!” You exclaim. “Like, I’m sorry that I corrected you in front of the rest of your students, but like? Do your job right the first time then, bitch!” 

Jesse guffaws as you pour more maple syrup over your pancakes. 

“Dude, she’s gonna fail you for sure if you keep it up.” 

“Fail me for knowing more about Greek mythology than she does,” You grumble. “Get me up on that podium, and we’ll all learn something for a change.” 

You continue your tirade for a couple of minutes until the conversation shifts from your classes to your friends. 

“It’s so cute that they’ve been together since freshman year,” You say, discussing your friends Tara and Astrid who were celebrating their two-year anniversary in a couple of months. “Although I guess to you and D, two years is nothing.” 

“Hey, still an impressive feat. And I definitely agree that they’re real cute together.” Jesse replies. 

“Nice to know love is real after all.” You joke. 

Jesse smiles at this but then suddenly looks thoughtful before speaking.

“How about you, dude?” 

“What about me?” You ask, finishing off the last of your pancakes and attacking your side of grits. 

“How’s your love life been going?” 

You pause. This is exactly why you’d invited Jesse out, to confide in him. And yet somehow, you feel your mouth go dry and your heartbeat rapidly increase. 

Jesse notices your hesitation and puts his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, bud. But I’m here if you need someone. Judgment-free zone.” 

You give him a soft smile. Jesse was so perceptive sometimes. 

“Well, umm,” You start. “I’m sort of… seeing someone? Or trying to see someone, I guess. Not sure what to call it yet.” 

“Oh, yeah? What does ‘trying’ to see someone mean exactly?” 

“It means…” You sigh. “…it means I don’t really know what I’m doing or what’s going on or if I want to go further.” 

Jesse chuckles. 

“Well, what do you want?” He asks. 

“I’m not really sure,” You reply honestly. “I guess, I’m a little tired of feeling lonely, and she’s so nice to me. She makes me feel good about myself. I don’t know. I just haven’t actually dated anyone in such a long time.” 

“That’s okay. It’s been a rough couple of years for you. I don’t blame you at all.” Jesse says. 

You look at him sadly before popping a spoonful of grits into your mouth. 

“Well, I don’t think you should completely force yourself into something you’re unsure about,” Jesse says after taking a sip from his milkshake. “But I also think that you deserve to be happy. And unfortunately, that means putting yourself out there.” 

You scowl at his sage advice. 

“Do I have to?” 

“Sorry, kid.” Jesse chuckles and you grimace. 

“I just want to see you be yourself again,” Jesse continues. “Whether that’s because you start going out with someone new or because you just leave your apartment more often, it doesn’t matter. Do you think this girl could be good for you?” 

You contemplate his question seriously for a few moments. 

“Maybe?” You reply, unsure. “She could be. I don’t know.” 

“Well, you don’t have to know now,” Jesse says. “Just do what makes you happy, okay? That’s really all I want.” 

You feel something warm growing instantaneously in your chest. Gratitude is too small of a word for what you felt towards Jesse, and you make a note to yourself to start hanging out with him more. 

“Thanks, Jess. You really are the best.” You say. 

“Hey, that almost rhymed.” He jokes. 

“Oh my god,” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “You’re so annoying.” 

“You’re a poet and you don’t even know it!” He cackles. 

You take one of your used, syrup-y paper napkins, ball it up, and toss it at his face. He catches it easily, chortling to himself. 

“God, you’re a fucking dork!” You say. 

“Don’t be a hater!” He says, holding his hands up defensively. 

You giggle. 

“I missed you, Jess.” You say. 

“Missed you too, kid,” Jesse replies, eyes softening. “You’ve got to come over sometime. I haven’t beaten your ass at Smash in forever!” 

You give him a hesitant smile, which he notices. 

“Just come over when she’s not there.” He says, accurately assuming the reason behind your reluctance. 

“Dude, I don’t know…” 

“We’ll do it sometime when she’s not home. It’ll be fine, I promise.” Jesse reassures. “Plus, we haven’t had a jam sesh in forever. I miss my jamming partner.” 

You smile, remembering the times when Jesse would convince you to teach him something new on his guitar or have you sing along to a song he’d been learning. He almost roped you into performing at an open mic with him back in freshman year, but you ended up chickening out. 

“Don’t you have Ellie for that?” You ask timidly. You find that her name hurts to say out loud. 

“She judges me too much for my exquisite and refined music taste,” Jesse complains. “She nearly threw her knife at me for trying to get her to duet a Taylor Swift song with me.” 

You laugh, despite yourself. 

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get.” You tease. 

“Hey! This is a judgment-free zone. No judging my Swiftie habits.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. 

“Hey, by the way,” Jesse suddenly says. “Who’s the lucky lady?” 

“What?” 

“The girl that you’re ‘trying’ to see or whatever.” 

“Oh. Right.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s umm… Abby Anderson.” 

You look up to see Jesse with an expression on his face that you don’t fully recognize. His eyebrows are furrowed and it looks as if he was trying to connect the dots about something you weren’t privy to. After several moments, you see what seems like a sudden realization reach his eyes. 

“Oh shit, umm.” He starts. “Yeah, she’s pretty cool.” 

“What is it, Jesse?” You ask skeptically. 

“No, nothing. Just processing.” He replies unconvincingly. 

“Jesse,” You press. “What is it?” 

“Seriously, it’s nothing.” 

“Dude, come on. Don’t bullshit me.” You assert. Jesse sighs. 

“That just…That just explains a couple of things, that’s all.” 

“What things?” 

“I—” Jesse starts but his eyes suddenly wander away from you and towards the front door of the diner. “Oh, fuck.” 

You follow the direction of his gaze. You feel your throat close up and your stomach lurch as you recognize the figures of Dina and Ellie entering the restaurant. The instinct you’d developed the past year to suddenly look elsewhere whenever Ellie entered the room vanished completely when your eyes fell on her face. 

Ellie was sporting a black eye with a dark gash right underneath. The bruising didn’t look fresh, but you can easily tell it happened recently. Your eyes trail down and see that her right hand is also bandaged. 

“Shit.” You hear Jesse mumble, breaking you out of your wildly unravelling thoughts. You turn to face him. 

“I’m so sorry, man. I had no idea that they were gonna pass by—” Jesse immediately starts to apologize. 

“I-it’s okay, Jess.” You stutter. “I just—” 

You fall silent as you glance back towards the pair, your eyes inadvertently meeting Ellie’s ocean green ones. Your faces make the same panicked expression before you both break eye contact to hiss at your respective friends. 

“You didn’t tell Dina where we were meeting?” You whisper fervently. 

“I told her that we were gonna hang out, but I completely forgot to mention where.” He says apologetically. 

“Jesse…” You whine. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, bud. Do you, uh, want me to go over there and—” His sentence is cut short as Dina approaches your table. 

“Hi, babe.” She says, directed at Jesse. “So, what the fuck?” 

“Why are you here?” You and Jesse demand simultaneously. 

“We ordered takeout and we came to pick it up so we didn’t have to pay delivery fees.” Dina explains. “Jess, why didn’t you tell me—” 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think you were coming out with El!” He says defensively. 

“Fucking hell,” Dina says before turning to you. “I’m sorry, honey. Are you okay?” 

“I, umm,” You start, your eyes unwittingly wandering back to Ellie. She was standing awkwardly by the host’s podium, bouncing back and forth between her feet and twiddling her fingers. She seems determined to look at nothing else but at her Chuck Taylor sneakers. You shift your gaze back to Dina. 

“Y-yeah. I’m okay.” You say weakly. 

She smiles sympathetically, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“Is…” You begin timidly. “Is that a black eye? O-on Ellie?” 

Dina and Jesse share a worried look. 

“Did you tell her anything?” She asks him. 

“No, not yet.” He replies. 

Dina sighs. 

“Tell me what?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

Dina’s hand squeezes your shoulder lightly. 

“It’s—” She begins. “It’s kind of… private.” 

“Oh” is all you say in response. You feel a little rebuffed and excluded, but you decide not to press further. You knew it wasn’t your business. And after all, you were no longer a foursome. 

“We’re just gonna grab our food and go, okay?” Dina assures. “I’ll text you later, hun.” She says to you. 

“O-okay…” You reply meekly and watch as Dina makes her way back to Ellie. 

Neither you nor Jesse says anything. From your peripheral vision, you see Dina and Ellie seemingly argue about something for a few moments before the hostess arrives with a plastic bag of food, which Ellie grabs with her good hand. They leave without another glance back at you. 

“Jess, I’m…” You say after a second or two of silence. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom real quick, okay?” 

Jesse responds with a simple “okay.” His eyes meet yours with an acknowledgement that you merely need a second to yourself. You nod, silently thanking him for his understanding before making your way to the diner’s bathrooms. 

As you shut the door behind you, you lean against it and weep silently. 

Why? Why am I here again? 

You realize that it hasn’t even been a week since you were in this same, empty diner bathroom, breaking down and crying tears of frustration. 

Am I not allowed to catch a fucking break? 

You spend a couple of minutes breathing deeply the way your old therapist taught you before you can wrench yourself off from the door and look at yourself in the mirror. 

Please, just… please. 

Your right hand unwittingly comes up to touch your face, right where Ellie’s injury had been on hers. 

What the hell did she get herself into? 

Ellie wasn’t inherently a violent person, but she didn’t shy away from it either. She was reckless and impulsive, something about her that you used to love but also dread. A memory starts forming in your head, of you and Ellie and that December night at the Bow and Arrow. 

Your reminiscence is suddenly interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You take it out to see you got a text. 

Abby? 

You unlock your phone, giggling when you read her message. 

She really is so nice to me. 

Your heart starts to feel warm before it stops completely upon reading her follow-up texts. 

O-oh. Oh, okay. 

You gulp and feel a chill going down your spine. You almost feel the need to look around and make sure nobody is watching you, only to remember you were alone in the bathroom. Your phone buzzes with another message. 

You chuckle nervously at Abby’s last message. 

She’s bold, I’ll give her that. 

You chew on your lip for a few moments while one hand grips your phone tightly and the other taps nervously on the bathroom counter. You take a deep breath. 

Fuck it. 

Remembering Jesse’s advice, you make the decision to put yourself out there again. 

Hastily putting your phone back in your pocket before Abby can text back, you feel every nerve in your body tremble. Your heart hammers rapidly in your chest, but you stare at your reflection resolutely. 

Abby likes you, okay? I think. And I think I can like her too. This is a chance to be part of something healthy for once. 

You stand in front of the mirror, conducting your breathing exercises and attempting to convince yourself. 

Back at your table while waiting for your return, Jesse is hastily questioning Dina through text if Abby Anderson was the reason that Frat Guy Adam was nearly beaten to a bloody pulp by the hands of Ellie.

author’s notes:

omg a million years later and i finally update? gasp. now everyone clap for belle (pls clap)

tbh i was too lazy to do all the phone texting parts with the format i did in the past chapters cause i hate having to mess around with the html format for the customized grey text, so my lazy ass just did screenshots of the texts instead, sorry slfkjsddsf

if you recognize the lesbian bar that i loosely based the bow and arrow on, no you didn’t

i’ve been replaying tlou2 lately and i know many of y’all headcanon jesse as a himbo which i honestly love, i’m obsessed with himbo!jesse, but i personally didn’t wanna ignore the fact that jesse’s actually a very intelligent and level-headed guy who’s extremely organized and who’s a natural leader and etc. let’s acknowledge this jesse more!

also jesse’s last name is merely inspired by the last name of the actor who plays him (stephen chang)

also jesse is a musician because i say so. i’m also hcing him as having taken piano lessons as a kid cause which of us asian kids weren’t forced to take piano lessons or whatever when we were kids, let’s be real (i took them briefly but they were boring and i’d already known and i also mostly taught myself anyway)

the part about reader's professor not knowing how to teach her own class is just me being still bitter over a mythology professor who kept trying to fail me cause i knew more about greek mythology than she did (she couldn't cause i was literally correct all the time). the bitch even tried to accuse me of plagiarism! i'm still mad.

i added in the part about ellie not inherently being a violent person as a passive-aggressive reference to craig mazin, the creator of the hbo show, who says that ellie has a violent heart when she does NOT, he does not understand our girl at all

the image i used as abby's selfie is of the body model that they based abby's character on, colleen fotsch!

wow i added waaaay too much in the author’s notes lol sorry belle has adhd everyone

anyway thank you for bearing with me as i take time uploading. replies and reblogs and messages are fuel to new chapters, so pretty please! indulge me!

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog, @anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y, @elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27

[6okuto]

COVE RELATIONSHIP HCS

gn!reader | tbh i thought i alrdy did this but i guess not.? cove hcs r hard bc i can't remember what is literally Just Canon.

he instinctively offers you the last seat on the bus. if you want him to sit down it's a little fight /lh. the both of you staring at the other, nodding toward the seat. "i don't need to sit down. we walked a lot, you must be tired." "we walked the same amount so you'd be the same amount of tired." etc etc

he'll sit down if you stand in front of him.. one time a lady commented on how cute you two were and (after thanking her) he flushed and rested his head against your stomach, fiddling with the hem of your shirt to hide how giddy he was

he also instinctively gets your favourite snacks while you're out shopping btw

can't walk around any mall or market without you in mind. we know this but really imagine cove walking into stores he probably wouldn't have otherwise just to see if they had something for you. him calling a store to check when they'd have something in stock again so he could surprise you. him debating between two shirts/charms/etc for like 10 minutes because he wants to make sure he gets the best one

cove texting you to tell you about about a new fish he found. or telling you about what fish you'd both be. constantly thinking of you whenever said fish is mentioned and, to strangers, randomly lighting up at its name

you text cove a pick-up line and get left on read for like 5-10 minutes while he 1) recovers and 2) looks for one to send back

asking cove to kiss where you got hurt as a joke and him doing it. and then kissing you again. and then kissing you on the LIPS!

you make a little charm bracelet that says something silly like "best bf <3" "i love u <3" etc etc and he just doesn't take it off. makes one for you too. do not ask how long he was standing in the same michaels aisle trying to pick the perfect beads/charms...

you visit him at work except you actually meet his coworkers and everyone already at least knows your name.

he Makes Sure he's the first one to tell you happy birthday. Always. will say it at midnight and when you wake up in the morning. it's a minute to midnight and he is Staring at the clock as the seconds tick away.

^ he puts sooo much thought into your gifts and celebration... if you Do have a party, he still makes sure to have time together alone afterward :-( asks if you had a good time and gets all happy when you thank him... he tells you it's the least he could do for you

walks in on you watching a show and asks what it's about and suddenly it's 2 hours later, you're both caught up, and he's tense because your favourite character is collecting death flags and he's worried for everyone involved right now . at least if the character dies he's already prepared to comfort you

cove when asked what he thinks the most romantic song is says the song you picked for your first dance. when asked Why he thinks so, he goes red but explains, eyes flickering over to you and a soft smile on his lips

carries your bag whenever you ask. does not matter if it's a backpack or tote bag or shaped like a chicken (something i really want) like Don't worry about it

makes a playlist with your favourite songs to play in the car so no matter where you're going, he hopes you have a good start to your day/trip

cove asks what song you're playing/humming and if you mention it's onw of your favourites, he goes out of his way to listen to it and at least sort of know the lyrics

when you move in together he's stuck in a constant happy state because he keeps looking over at things and realizing You're Living Together. you're unpacking boxes with YOUR stuff you will both cook in that kitchen you will go shopping together for decor for YOUR place he's going to SLEEP and WAKE UP to you EVERY morning

and you tease him about how you were already seeing each other every day before this and he's like well, yeah, but this is different.

supports you with all your hobbies/interests.... helping you look for a new bookshelf to keep your books/collectibles.... listening to you explain the complexities and tragedy of your favourite character/ship.... offering his opinions when asked,, he's not sure how much you should trust him, especially if he has no experience with it, but he's always a little happier after you thank him with a smile

remembers the names of people who've done you wrong. will block you from sight if you're at an event and see them and asks if you're alright or want to go somewhere else

cove always offers to help you study and quiz you if you have an exam coming up. you can also count on him to make sure you aren't stressing yourself out or sleeping too late. and then, no matter how you feel coming out of the exam, he will always make sure to treat you to something to say good job :-)

Your guy to go to if you're feeling sad or anxious. he'll do whatever you'd like/he knows would help ... taking care of your share of the chores without being asked, cuddle you for a couple hours, shower you with praise and reassurance, take you out on a date, etc

always interested in hearing what happened at an event he didn't accompany you to! even if it was just a hangout with friends, he'll listen to you recount jokes and things that happened. if it was a bigger event, he'll listen As he helps you wind down from a long day

if you have a small business, cove will actually order things himself during shop openings. as if all your stock isn't a couple rooms over and he doesn't help you pack orders. the both of you celebrate your first sale, big achievements, etc ^___^

basically literally canon but hides his face in the crook of your neck when he's feeling shy . but like (re)imagine having been in a relationship for months, years, and you kiss him in the morning like you always do but for some reason he's feeling particularly shy about it . or you just Smile at him and he's like .!!!!!!

cove will stare at you with a lovesick look on his face while you aren't looking. doesn't even realize he's doing it, he just really loves you. friends point this out to you afterward because it's so cute

he's not good at taking photos but he sure will try. like if you mention wanting more candid photos, he'll remember and try to take some. many may be questionable but there's some really good ones !! he keeps a folder of them/photos of you both and looks at it randomly :-)

cove asking your parents how to cook some of your favourite meals the way you enjoy them to surprise you..

he would do so well on those couple challenges where he's asked questions about you. your birthday? child's play. your favourite restaurant and go-to order? easy money. what your favourite field trip was when you were little kids? he was literally there.

you must at some point get a version of this seal video like... also omg. seeing the mermaids at the aquarium. genuinely so impressed and brings up the idea of a secret underwater world again

cove doing that trend where you cover him in lipstick stains and he's looking at you with heart eyes GRAAAAHH!!!

ideas i could/will write if cove wins and will NEVER write if he doesn't 🤌🔥🔥✍️ *edit: i actually don't know if he won. well.

you askingfor money and him saying okay before actually asking what for

trying out pet names on him

smth about getting ready for a fancy event together and him helping you. like.. adjusting your tie / zipping up the back of your dress .... Grah!

? nsft hcs except i'm still at least waiting for the patreon bonus story

random texts because i adore our life but i do not text like that unfortunately.! i would be like WAAAHHH!! i'd be like GBRHABAAH ?!?!?!?!?# i'd be like goodnight ^____^ <3 <3 <3 <3 >___< see u Tomorrow love of my life <3 <3 <3 (/j)

cove-centric event where all i do is cove related reqs/drabblrs GOD BLESS COVE NATION!

@lordbugs @xfangirl-trashx @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @bakugosgrenade @vhenis @anime-ships-gay @dreamtydraw @lost-lonnie @cvhenia @mitskiologist

[korizzybee]

Imagine: being Hobie Brown’s little sister who’s also a spider

Info: reader is a darkskin!black!fem, reader is age 12-13, Hobie is 17-18, SPIDERMAN ATSV SPOILERS‼️

For as long as you can remember it has just been you and Hobie against the world, I guess you had gotten your spider powers like a year after Hobie but you both joined the spider society at the same time

Hobie takes really good care of you seeing as how you’re his only family member left, he always makes sure you’re well fed and rested before taking care of himself

Since you’re still very young he lets you do a lot of the easy tasks when you’re doing your spider jobs like getting civilians to safety and stopping fallen debris from hitting people, of course you can help with villains but you just have to be on the sidelines so you don’t get hurt

You both def play hide n seek in the dark idc what anyone says YOU BOTH PLAY HIDE N SEEK IN THE DARK CUZ ITS SO FUN TO YOU TWO!!

I can not stress this enough when I say Hobie is always letting you be the first one to judge the song lyrics he writes

He’s the guitarist, Gwen’s the drummer, and you’re the singer

Your extra spider powers are sonic scream and x ray vision (Hobie thinks that’s hella cool)

He has a picture of you, him, Gwen at the park as his Lock Screen, for his Home Screen it’s a picture of Pavitr teaching you how to make tea

SPEAKING OF PAVITR!!!

OMG Pav loves you smmm you’re like his little sister figure

He loves giving you piggy back rides and he lets you do his hair in any style you want

Two definitely have a handshake

You take a lot after Hobie minus the way you dress, he says he’s not a role model but he’s def your role model

You and Hobie had separate canon events, the person who died for you was a cafe worker who would look after you when Hobie was busy with the band and he couldn’t take you

For weeks you wouldn’t talk to anyone even Hobie, but he still made sure you were taken care of

You and Hobie have your own playlist, it’s a mixture between rock, punk, heavy metal, pop, hiphop, RnB, and bedroom pop

Idc what anyone says, you n Hobie share a bunk bed (he said he gets top bunk bc he’s older smh 🤦🏾‍♀️) and y’all have a matching pajama set that y’all wear on movie nights

One time Pav came over and teased Hobie about having matching pjs with you (he never came over again /j)

No one knows this, not even you, but Hobie still wears the colorful bracelet you made for him when you were 6 (it’s under he sleeve though so you never see)

Definitely the type of brother to sleep in your bed with you or let you sleep in his bed with him if you have a nightmare

By civilians, you two are nicknamed the Spider Siblings (he hates it bc he hates labels and you don’t mind it sorta)

YOU BOTH ANNOY MIGUEL TOGETHER HE’S SO SICK OF YALL 😭😭‼️‼️

As you can see my requests are back open ESPECIALLY FOR SPIDERMAN ATSV so send those requests!!

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 6

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3517

Warnings: Angst, some Fluff, Confrontation, Dean being a sweetheart.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 6

You moved slowly as you unpacked the things Dean had packed and brought down there. He’d remembered so much more than your mind had even considered, like toiletries. It felt odd, being in this underground home built to not only hide you but keep you safe and taken care of.

The hours passed slowly for you. Dean had left you there around one-thirty. When your stomach began grumbling for nourishment around five, you dragged your feet as you explored the kitchen. It had a lot of non-perishables, like powdered milk, canned meat, vegetables, and fruits. There were potato flakes, too, along with a slew of other boxed items you didn’t feel like looking through.

Cereal it is.

This house was eerily quiet compared to the one above ground, and your mind took mental notes of it as you ate. You couldn’t hear any car or animal. Not even a cricket. Refrigerators typically have a hum, but this particular one didn’t, making the kitchen a vacuum of sound. Each bite of cereal you took seemed to echo in the silence, amplifying your solitude. I need some sound, any sound.

You ate quickly, the silence becoming unbearable. You needed some sort of noise to silence the silence that seemed to be getting too much on you. After you grabbed your phone charger from the bag in your room, you plugged it in, turned on your playlist, and sighed in relief when the first notes of Back in Black began playing, filling the void with a familiar comfort. The music, familiar and comforting, was a lifeline in the sea of silence, easing your unease and loneliness.

It would still be a bit before Dean was due back, so you headed to the room with the computers, wanting to see if anyone had been there while you had been gone earlier. Plus, it’d give you something to do. Earlier in the day, you’d put both keys on a necklace chain and wore it under your shirt; plus, it made it easier not to lose them.

Settling into the chair in front of the monitors, you clicked around on different things, finally finding the saved recordings. You found it interesting how the live feed was up on the other three monitors while you fiddled around on the fourth, looking through the saved files.

Luckily, there was nothing there that you had to worry about. It was either you or an animal of some kind outside that had tripped the motion sensor to record its movement. That was when you came across the one where Dean had spent the night, and furrowed your brow, confused as you watched him in the recording.

Your classic rock playlist continued to play in the background as you watched him. He stayed on the couch for a while, laying there, but in a way so he could easily look toward the top of the stairs. An hour or so later, he got up and paced a little before heading up the stairs. Different cameras picked him up, so you played the recordings with his movements. He stood in your doorway, which you left open.

The camera that was in your room picked up the front of him. He brought his right hand up to the front of his left shoulder, rubbing it slightly. You weren’t entirely sure why he would do that, unless perhaps he was sore from work, even though it had been an easy day.

You could see that he was mouthing words, but the camera didn’t pick up sound, sadly. He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, just watching you, for at least an hour. Dean never went into your room, though. He walked through the house, checking the doors and windows, then stood in your doorway again.

Why would he do that? Does he know something else that I don’t? Maybe he was just worried about me.

When you realized, through the recordings, that he had only gotten four hours of sleep that night, you were determined to make sure he got decent sleep tonight. Then you sighed, as he hadn’t said he’d stay with you. 

If he does stay, he can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.

Glancing down at your phone, you sighed again, knowing he wouldn’t be back for at least another half hour. One recording did catch your eye, though. It was one while Dean was sleeping, and it had several linked recordings from other cameras.

At first, you didn’t see anything as to why the camera would activate, even after you replayed it half a dozen times. On that next play-through, though, you felt sick as the chill of goosebumps ran down your body out of fear.

There was a silhouette of a man outside the window of the living room where Dean was sleeping. You watched all the connected videos, and they had caught not only the man’s appearance, but also the vehicle he had driven there in, with the license plate number.

You were going to take down the information and give it to Jodi, but you had no way of getting it to her without using your phone or leaving the safety of this home-like bunker. Just as you leaned back in the seat, several of the outside cameras got a red line around them, signifying motion. It was a car you didn’t recognize, but Dean got out of the passenger seat, with a bag in his hand. You got closer to the screen, squinting a little, noticing it looked like an overnight bag. You smiled, relieved you wouldn’t be alone, but also that it was Dean who had showed up and not some stranger.

The car that had dropped him off drove away shortly after, which relieved you. You watched him move through the house, locking doors behind him. When he reached the secret door, he looked over his shoulder, then did the secret knock he’d come up with earlier. You excitedly ran to the main door, popped it open, and then ran up the stairs, opening that door as well, still smiling.

“You made it,” you began, but he put his finger to his lips, meaning for you to keep quiet, so you nodded and went back down the stairs. Dean followed you after he closed the door. 

Is he worried someone is listening? Did someone follow him? Did he see something while he was outside that the cameras didn’t? Did someone tell him something?

You had so many questions but were keeping quiet until the two of you were inside the bunker. Once he tossed his bag on the floor near the couch, you practically tackled him in a hug.

“It’s so quiet here,” you told him, doing your best not to cry, again.

Deam was surprised, but he smiled softly and wrapped his arms around you, “Hope it’s okay if I spend the night. Might not be so quiet then.”

You pulled back and looked up at him curiously, with your arms still around the back of his neck, even if you did have to stand on your tiptoes to do so. “You’d really stay down here with me in the silent underground solitude?” you asked, puzzled.

The laughter that erupted from deep in his chest made you have to let go and take a step back. You weren’t entirely sure why he had found your question so amusing, but hearing him laugh like that made you smile.

It took Dean a few moments to catch his breath, which almost made you start laughing, “Sweetheart, you’ve got your own secret hideout. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out here with you? It’s like having your very own personal Bat-Cave, like Batman.”

At least now you understood why he had found your statement so funny. And the more you thought about what he said, you laughed hard at it. “Thanks. I really needed that,” you finally told him, now smiling and far more relaxed than you had been all day.

“Now, did you eat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, around five. Oh, and tonight, you’re sleeping on the bed. I saw you stayed up last night and watched over me. There’s no need to do that down here. So, I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable and actually sleep tonight,” you told him, crossing your arms.

He tried not to laugh, and it came out as a quiet chuckle, “Sweetheart, you sleep in your bed. I’ll take the couch. No need to go to any extremes.”

You rolled your eyes, “Only if you answer a couple questions,” you told him, raising an eyebrow.

“What questions?” he asked, looking mildly curious but also almost worried.

“Why did you rub your shoulder last night? We had an easy day at the garage,” you asked cautiously. You knew there was a possibility that whatever it was could be personal.

He sighed before he sat down on the couch. Well, more like plopped down, so you sat on the far side, near the arm. “It’s my soulmate’s name. That’s all,” he answered quietly without looking at you.

Now you felt really bad. You knew that was a touchy subject for him. Much like you, but in almost opposite ways. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that personal. You can have the couch,” you replied quietly.

“It’s just a sore subject, for both of us,” he replied, motioning to the two of you. “If you want to talk about it, we can, but that means we both share stuff. Keep it fair. If you don’t want to, we can talk about other stuff.”

That was when you remembered the man from the night before, on the recording, “Maybe another time. There’s something I need to show you,” you told him, somewhat worried at how he’d react.

Dean followed you into the room, puzzled but silent. He watched the recordings from behind you, but you would glance up from time to time. You could tell that he was very clearly upset and angry. It was worse than when he was around Cole earlier. Dean’s jaw was clenched, his arms crossed over his chest, and he looked beyond pissed. You were sure you saw fire behind those emerald green eyes of his as he glared at the monitor.

“Azazel,” he said in a low, almost inaudible growl.

You turned back to the monitor, remembering the name from your parents' letters. Now, you had a face you could put to a name. 

That night, Dean pulled out two phones and explained they were burner phones so you could still communicate with the outside world. He also handed you a piece of paper with several people’s numbers. You recognized all the names but not the numbers. So, he explained that everyone had burner phones now so that you could talk to them, as could Dean.

You wanted to ask him how he knew to do something like this, but at the same time, you weren’t sure you really wanted the answer. You just nodded in understanding while he explained it. Then he helped you get a pillow and blanket for him to use on the couch for the night. 

Once that was set up, he slipped off his shoes near the door, then sat down on the side of the couch where his pillow was. You chose to sit on the coffee table again, not wanting to invade what was now his bed. 

The awkward silence hung between the two of you, but Dean looked more confused than awkward. You just weren’t sure what to say or ask. Sure, you had plenty of questions, but you already felt bad that he got dragged into this huge mess surrounding you and your past. “What’s wrong?” Dean finally asked with a sigh, noticing how you wouldn’t look at him.

“A lot,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. “I feel bad. You got dragged into my mess.”

Dean sighed again, then held his arms open, “Come here.”

You looked up at him, slightly puzzled, but he motioned with his fingers for you to go to him. Biting your lip nervously, you finally, but reluctantly, got up and moved over to the couch next to him. Dean pulled you against him, gently holding you close.

“You didn’t drag me into this, Sweetheart. There’s still a lot you don’t know and right now really isn’t the time to go into all those details. I can tell you’re overwhelmed. What can I do to help you relax?” his words were soft, and you found yourself calming the more he spoke.

“I’m just scared, and this place was so quiet when you were gone, and so… lonely…” you admitted quickly.

He took a shaky breath, “Hopefully, it won’t be lonely while I’m here. Still didn’t answer my question, though,” he chuckled at the end, a bit playfully.

For a bit, you thought about his question and couldn’t help the light blush that crept into your cheeks, “This is helping,” you mumbled shyly.

With where your head was on his chest, as well as your hand, you felt his heart rate increase a little and found it odd. You again reminded yourself that he had a soulmate, and it was nothing more than him, perhaps being nervous about your reply. So, you mumbled an apology.

“I wish you’d stop apologizing already. If it bothered me, I’d tell you. I like spending time with you, and no one should have to go through something like this alone,” he told you, and you pouted.

You opened your mouth, about to apologize again, then closed it. His wish had effectively stopped you from being able to respond at the moment as your brain attempted to think of what else to say. You began absentmindedly playing with a tiny crease in his shirt and didn’t notice how his breathing got a little heavier as you continued to contemplate a response.

“So, um, you want me to just let you get some sleep then?” you finally asked, not sure of another topic to broach at the moment.

“Or, we could have a drink, and you can relax so you can sleep,” he suggested a little playfully.

Leave it to your best friend to think of you like he always seemed to do since the two of you had gotten to know each other. There were days, like today, that it felt like so much longer than roughly two months. Then there was how you felt around him, especially within just the last day. He gave a sense of safety and comfort you had only ever gotten from the adults in your life, up until him.

“I guess so,” you mumbled, lost in your thoughts again, trying not to let your mind drift past him only being your best friend.

“You’re so stubborn,” he chuckled in amusement before shifting, causing you to move so he could get up.

You glared playfully at him as he went to the kitchen and pulled two beers out of the fridge. He popped the tops, smirking in that playful way as he made his way back to the couch. You shifted a little, making room again so he could return to his seat.

“Thanks,” you told him, taking the beer he handed you before sitting down again. “I’m not always stubborn.”

Dean chuckled, seeing the way your lips frowned into a pout, “You know, you’re adorable when you pout like that.” He shifted a bit so that he was turned more to face you, his arm over the back of the couch with his leg bent at his knee on the cushion. So, you did the same but kept your hands in your lap, one of them holding your beer.

“I know it’s a touchy subject, but… When you do find your soulmate, I don’t mind telling her what an amazing guy you are. And… I’ll understand that we won’t spend as much time together,” you told him with a soft smile. The strange part was that you almost felt a sense of heartbreak after those words left your lips, but you hid it well.

The smirk he had turned into a soft smile, “Only as long as I get to do the same for you.”

“Fair,” you replied, managing to give him at least a small smile. “How long are you staying for?”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Dean began, then trailed off, looking away from you, debating how to answer you. “Someone followed me, at least to your driveway, but they drove past. I uh, we’re sort of stuck down here, together.” He finished, sounding nervous and apprehensive again.

At first, you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. It would, of course, be nice not to be alone, but you had figured Dean would have the freedom to come and go as he wanted. You wanted to apologize but remembered he wanted you to stop doing that, so you didn’t.  You knew there was plenty of food, even if most of it was things you weren’t used to eating. At least neither of you would go hungry.

You stared off toward the floor as you sipped your beer, thinking about the predicament that both of you were in. Books and lots of movies, even if they were on VHS, could occupy at least some of the time there. Showering would be simple enough; you figured the two of you would just take turns. What about maybe needing alone time? Does Dean need someplace more private than the living room? He already said that the bedroom was mine and he wasn’t going to sleep there and have me on the couch. Maybe we could hang sheets so he had a more secluded spot. We could even rearrange if he wanted to.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you about being down here with you,” he said, pulling you from your thoughts.

That was when you realized you hadn’t even commented on what he’d said. “No, no, no. It’s nothing like that. I was lost in my thoughts,” you quickly replied apologetically, meeting his gaze.

Why does he have to look at me like that? Almost like… No, he has a soulmate. He’s not thinking about me. He’s thinking about her. Now stop it, brain.

“Care to share, Sweetheart?” he asked with that smirk of his that always made you smile.

“Just, stuff, that’s all,” you replied, a little shyly, looking away from him. “I’ve never lived with anyone before, not like this anyway.”

Somehow, you managed to explain to him the things you’d been thinking about but focused more on making a more private space for him in the living room. He at least seemed to like the idea or perhaps it was appreciation that you thought of him like that. You weren’t quite sure.

“We can do that tomorrow if you’d like,” he suggested when you finally stopped babbling about the thoughts that had been in your head. At least he didn’t seem upset with you, which was a relief. “Why don’t you go get some sleep, though? It’s late.”

“Only if you promise that you’ll sleep and not stay up all night watching over me,” you replied, crossing your arms and attempting to look serious.

That, of course, only made him chuckle, “You’re adorable when you act like that. I promise I’ll get some sleep, just not gonna promise on how much.”

You playfully smacked his shoulder before cleaning up the two empty beer bottles. For a moment, you stood in the kitchen near the trash, not wanting to feel what you were feeling. Quickly brushing it aside, you went back out, standing near the hallway.

“Then, I’ll see you in the morning,” you told him, giving him a half smile.

“Night, Sweetheart,” he replied, and you turned from him to your room.

He has a soulmate, you repeated in your mind as you got ready for bed, then slipped under the covers. You didn’t want to feel anything more than friendship toward him, but it was getting difficult. The chain with the keys was still around your neck, but you had left the door open in your closet to the security room. It was for Dean, in case he had wanted to go in there. You thought perhaps it might help him relax, knowing he could watch what was going on outside the bunker, or Batcave, as he had called it.

Your thoughts were still on him as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. The way you felt in his arms and how easy it was to talk to him. The idea of living with him made you happier than you wanted to admit, to anyone, but more to yourself. 

The last thought on your mind before sleep overtook you was you and Dean, lying in your bed, and he was holding you close. A happy smile even crossed your lips lazily just as the blackness took you for the night.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7

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