#ignore the fact that its almost 3am please and thank you

[tiredflowercrown]

Sometimes you just have to recognize a good day as a good day. I've written a shit ton of fics, listened to an absurd amount of Hoizer, made both bread and soup from scratch, and now I'm watching smosh and eating tomatoes drizzled in oil and vinegar

Shits good man

[justreadingfics]

It’s a Deal (Chapter 11)

Chapter Summary: Bucky is ready for commitment.  

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: fluff. Bucky is so smitten.

A/N: It’s been 84 years, but I hope you have fun! Thank you, @lesqui, for reading it over and helping me out with English and everything. The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated.

Tag list for this story is closed.  

  Placing your hands on each side of your hips, you smirk at the popped-up screen in your office. Another project you just nailed. Ever since the promotion, your productivity has increased tenfold and you feel as motivated as ever, your creativity on a top level. Also, the last few weeks, after you decided you needed some time alone, you did set more focus on yourself and your own projects. Work being one of them.

It’s weird to say the least… you’ve been busier than ever and yet, it seems like you actually have much more time to yourself now. You’ve been reading books you’ve bought but never really got to read them, eating ice-cream at 3am as you watch The Return of the King for the millionth time, your drawers are finally organized and so is your precious DVD collection. You got to explore a great number of parks and spots you’ve never been before, even living in New York for so long. You’ve been going out a lot and catching up with friends and family. 

It was a good decision. You remember in your relationship with Eddie there were always obstacles for you to hang out with people outside the small inner circle of you as a couple. Sometimes the obstacles were subtle, and not always brought solely by Eddie, but also by you who let yourself get involved in that dynamic. You had no idea how much you missed people that were yours only, and not yours and Eddie’s.

It’s been great to be single. Really, really single for the first time in your adult life. No boyfriends or fiancées, no booty-calls or deals. Completely single… A title and state of mind you didn’t really get to enjoy in the first months of being broken up, being too heartbroken to even think of everything you could do with your life then.

Deciding to be alone for a while…It was a great and reasonable decision.

You have to admit something to yourself, though.

Sometimes you just wanna throw “great” and “reasonable” out of the window. Because you do miss him… A lot.

Finding out how he’s changed his mind and predisposition towards your relationship has messed quite a bit with your mind… and heart. You weren’t expecting that at all and now you don’t really know what to do with the chaos that’s bringing upon your feelings. And what’s making it even messier is the other guy who also changed his mind and predisposition towards your relationship… you weren’t expecting that either… however, that particular change of heart hasn’t been making your own heart jump each time you think of it…

Squeaky little yells and an animated chattering sound of female voices catch your attention to outside your office. Your previous smirk turns into a smile while you shake your head to yourself. That type of commotion only ensues when a certain someone drops by the Tech Department.  

With a wave of your hand, you shut down the screen you’ve been working on, before moving towards the sound. What you come to find a few stops outside your office, at the Department’s common area, is a little circle of your female coworkers around a Super Soldier. He’s always a hit among your coworkers, but today it seems like they’re even in a bigger frenzy, fussing around something that he seems to be holding in his arms. You attempt to catch an eye of it, but the bodies in front of you make it quite hard.

He spots you as you approach them and opens a huge grin at your sight.

You smile back at him just as widely and after you come closer and some of the girls make room, your eyes widen and a small little gasp slips out of you when you finally find out what the fuss is all about. They are all cooing and marveling at a beautiful cat on Bucky’s arms, white as snow on a mountain peak, standing there like royalty, staring back like they’re nothing but proud of being where they are.

“Hey,” Bucky greets, prompting your eyes to focus back on him.

“Hi, there,” you answer back while your gaze carries an amused question mark at him.

He lifts a hard drive with his free hand to your vision field, “We collected this last mission, it’s some alien stuff,” he offers you the drive, keeping his eyes on yours.

As you gaze at each other, you reach for the little device. His fingers brush against yours and that’s precisely when the chattering around both of you becomes nothing but a distant and vague noise that barely reaches your senses… until a loud clear of throat sound stands out.

“Alright, girls, let’s get back to our desks and let these two, ahm… work,” Camilla, your closest friend there, gives you a pointed look and a discrete curve curls the corner of her lips as she leads the group - which looks far from happy about it - away.  

When your gaze meets Bucky again, he’s got that shit-eating grin of his that tells you the little interaction between you and your friend didn’t quite skip from his attention.

You bite your lip and are about to say something when he beats you to it, “Sorry, I had to bring her with me.” He looks down at the cat on his arm and gives it a gentle shake, grinning down at her while she looks up at him before her incredibly blue eyes shut in what looks like sheer contentment, “This little girl right here started whining at the door when I was leaving… she just can’t leave my side anymore.” Bucky shrugs and ticks his tongue, before winking at you.

You chuckle, finding the surprising scene before you nothing less than adorable. The fact that you enjoy being in the presence of his charm again doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you say nothing about it, “It’s ok, of course. I love cats. What’s her name?”

“Y/N, this is Alpine. Alpine this is Y/N,” he introduces you two with pride lacing his voice.

“Oh, hello, Alp-” your attempt of petting the cat comes to an abrupt halt with you withdrawing your hand at the loud hiss the animal aims at you.

Your eyes snap at Bucky to see his jaw dropping and his eyes widening with a mix of shock and fluster, “Fucking Christ,” he gasps, before looking down at the cat who now licks its paws absentmindedly, “What the hell, missy? Apologize. Apologize now,” he scolds, gaining absolutely no reaction in response.

He scoffs, looking back at you with incredulous lifted eyebrows.

You laugh, mainly at his attempt of making Alpine apologize, “Don’t worry…” You wave him off, “How did that happen, though? I don’t remember you having a cat.” You narrow your eyes just when your head tilts.

He bites his lower lip before an almost cringing smile forms on his lips, “Oh well…”

 A FEW WEEKS BEFORE…

 “Weren’t the Skrulls, like, actually good guys?” Bucky frowns, shoving one of his post-missions Oreos in his mouth and crossing his ankles over the spaceship’s dash.

“Every bunch has its bad apple, I guess,” from the pilot’s seat Natasha shrugs, eyeing the apple in question from over her shoulder.

“You’ll regret this,” threatens the prisoner, who’s actually a Skrull slaver named Gragnon and has his hands and feet securely tied up, stuck on a sit at the back of the ship. Still, he tries to get up and advance towards the front, but a shield of red mist surges in front of him, making him fall back on the chair again with a growl.

Wanda, the third member of the party on that mission, smirks from her seat right behind Nat’s.

Nat rolls her eyes, “What a douche… Talos has been leading a search for him for years now, he’d be thankful we’re taking him to them. Feet off the dash, please.” 

Bucky quickly obeys, pulling down his legs to the floor as Wanda snickers.  

“In fact… we should thank the success of this mission to a certain someone, who came up with a device to break alien codes.” The cheeky smile on Wanda’s face as she started speaking only fades so she can shoot a glare back at the prisoner, who’s now revolved by a red mist dome.

“Damn right.” A dreamy little curl pulls Bucky’s lips as he swings on his seat and passes the bag of Oreos to Wanda.

“Jesus,” Nat scoffs, setting the ship on autopilot, before swirling her chair to see both Bucky and Wanda, “Could you ever imagine this could be possible? That this guy would someday be that smitten over someone?” she questions Wanda.

“Not in a million years. I don’t know Y/N that well, but I bow to her.” Wanda mimics the gesture before shoving a cookie in her mouth.

Bucky doesn’t even drop the dreaminess of his smile. He is smitten… completely… utterly… and fuck if that doesn’t feel damn good. He always thought that kind of feeling would be a pain in the ass, boring and painful. It is not. He feels like singing, dancing, hugging every human being and alien he comes across. Fuck, he would hug the Gragnon dude if it didn’t mean to get a kick in the ass from Natasha. It’s been ages that he doesn’t really get high on anything, but that feeling… he’s definitely hooked on it.  There’s not a doubt inside him anymore and he’s in love with being in love with you.

“So, spill it,” Nat crosses her legs, swinging on her chair “You really went to her place and poured your heart out to her? Right after her ex proposed to her?” She questions, “What did she say?”

“Well, first she thought I was kidding and laughed her ass off…” He shakes his head with the same dreamy little smile on his lips, “Then, when she realized I was not, she started crying and, of course, so did I.” He shrugs, ignoring when Nat and Wanda exchange looks, “She wasn’t expecting that from me at all, and, we can’t really blame her can we?” 

“Definitely not.”

“Nope.”

Bucky chuckles at the unison response from her friends before leaning over and snatching the bag of cookies from Wanda, before giving them the details of his talk with you, having their undivided attention.  “And she said she needs some time alone, being single, I mean, to sort her feelings out… Also, it seems like she doesn’t think I can’t deal with the kind of commitment that being in love requires,” he says with a mouthful.

“Oh, honey…” Nat tilts her head.

He notices the sympathy on hers and Wanda’s expressions and waves his hand to brush her worries off, “No, no. None of that. All in all, it went pretty well. As much as I wished it would be different, I think her decision is fair. At least she didn’t say yes to the jackass with the ring,” he huffs, “I wasn’t really expecting her to throw herself in my arms. At least, not just yet.” He smirks.

“What?” Natasha shoots a look at Wanda before turning to him, “You’re not stepping aside?”

Bucky snorts at the question, “Are you kidding me? The first broad I ever fall in love with and you think I’ll leave the path free for that short little clown who thinks ten years matter?” He lets out an exaggeratedly loud laugh, “I’ve lived more than one hundred of them. Ten years mean nothing to me, and soon enough she’ll realize it doesn’t have to mean much to her, either.” A small smile rises on his face, “Of course she can have the time for herself she wants, find out what’s like being single. She deserves that. And she can think and figure out all she needs… have her fun... It’s all good…” He nods, “But in the meanwhile? I’ll be around romancing the shit out of that woman,” he states, right before tossing another cookie in his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Wanda addresses Natasha, with both eyebrows high on her forehead.

“I know…” Nat answers with an equally dumbfounded look on her face, before turning to Bucky, “Listen,” she sighs and tilts her head, “I hate to be such a killjoy here, but… I get you’re in love, and I know this is new and exciting for you.” She’s smiling before her lips tighten, “Having said that… I think she might have a point about you not being ready for commitment Bucky, you never wanted that. I’m gonna be honest here, I’m the one who set what you two had up because I thought it wouldn’t lead to this…” She waves all around him, “Feelings, I mean… and I would hate myself if you two ended up hurt because of it.” She focuses an apprehensive gaze on him while Wanda also rests her attention on him, looking like she agrees with her friend.

Bucky takes a good look between the two of them before putting into words the answer that’s so clear on his head now, “I know it may sound weird and uncharacteristic of me. Trust me, I know that.” He nods at Natasha, taking a moment to silently communicate with her in the way that has been always so easy for the two of them, “You’re right, I’ve never wanted that. Settling down to just one person, commit to a long term relationship…But with her,” he sighs and the corner of his lips curl up without further notice, “I want her and I want all of that with her, the whole package. I’m ready. I’m not afraid. I think the reason I didn’t want all of that before is because I hadn’t met her yet. That’s it. Simple as that. I know it’s not going to be easy, but to hell with easy. I want her. And I want her hard.”

Wanda already has a huge grin on her face when a satisfied little smirk twists Nat’s lips, “That’s what Amanda said.”

Bucky’s eyes widen before he squints at her, “What’ve you been up to?”

Nat puts on a nonchalant face and reaches forward to grab a cookie from the package. She takes a bite and shrugs, “Poor girl… needed some comfort after being let down by your buddy down there.”

Bucky lets out an outraged scoff and throws a cookie on her way, from which she dodges easily as she laughs, “I bet you were of great help in consoling her… Jesus… Amanda and you? The world isn’t ready.” He shakes his head.

Natasha sports a smug smile on her face when she nods her agreement, “You’re not wrong.”

“Alright, as much as I want to hear all about this Amanda girl, we’re getting close to the Skrull base now and we need you to land us, Nat,” Wanda nods towards the dash.

“Copy that,” Natasha makes a military salute at her, before shifting her seat and taking control of the ship again.

“And as for you,” Wanda turns to Bucky, “I don’t need to read what’s on your mind to know you’re telling us the truth. You’re ready for commitment,” she offers him a soft smile, which he reciprocates, “And if you really wanna show her that, I may have an idea.” Her smile turns into a devious little smirk and that’s enough to pique Bucky’s interest.

~~~

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bucky asks, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks alongside Wanda through the busy sidewalks of Manhattan, “I mean… I know I said yes, but it is one hell of a commitment, what if it’s not for me?”

“Don’t worry, Bucky,” she smiles, “We’re just gonna take a look around, feel the vibe, and then see what happens. You don’t have to decide anything just yet,” she assures, wrapping an arm around his elbow as he looks down at her, “I just think it’s a good idea for you to get to know a bit more of this sudden inclination to commit…to experiment, I guess,” Wanda shrugs, “Besides, a dear friend of mine runs the shelter and the girl knows her stuff. If she feels like you’re not ready, she won’t allow you to get out of there with one of her babies.”

Bucky lets out a laugh. Feeling a little lighter about the subject, he places his hand over the one Wanda has wrapped around his arm, “Alright… I’m not opposed to the idea of having a dog, I guess. I always loved Labradors…” he frowns, “I would have to switch apartments, though…”

“Look at you.” Wanda nudges her shoulder on him, “Already making plans for your child…”

“Child…” Bucky can’t help but snort. He had agreed to Wanda’s idea of going to an animal shelter because he thought it would be a good way to show you he’s ready for commitment and, like he said, he’s always been fond of dogs and he’s sure if he ends up taking one home he’ll treat them well. But he also never understood how some people could be so attached to an animal to the point of considering them a child, or family…“I don’t know… I’m definitely not taking a pet home today. I agree with you, I shouldn’t decide anything just yet.”

As they walk past a small alleyway, Wanda halts, forcing him to stop with her.

“What?” Bucky frowns down at her.

“Shhh,” she brings a finger to her lips, staring towards the alleyway, “Listen.”

That’s when Bucky’s enhanced hearing catches the thin and shaky little sound coming through the trash cans.

“Come on,” Wanda pulls him to the alley and towards the cans.

What they find behind one of the containers, among all the filth around is a ball of white fur. Curled up and shaking just like the meows they heard seconds ago. A cat, a young adult white cat looks up and a pair of baby blue eyes meets Bucky’s and he just can’t look away from the plea on them and it’s just when something clicks inside his chest.

“Oh, no, look,” Wanda points at the tail, that has an evident injury on it, but when she leans down to examine it further, the animal flinches and rushes towards Bucky’s legs, letting out another trembling and weak meow. Bucky freezes as it starts climbing up his calves. 

Given the poor coordination on their back little legs – probably from the damage on the tail- it can go much higher,  but keeps trying. After the initial surprise, Bucky can’t help but to smile at the little fighter, who seems to reach out at him for protection. Next thing he knows, he’s leaning down and picks it up with all the caution he can muster.

“Hello, little lady… what happened there, huh?” He coos, nodding towards the small injury, which looks like a bite, having the cat meowing while bumping and rubbing the head against his chest.

“Is it a female?” Wanda tilts her head, an amused and questioning expression on her face.

Bucky smirks, not taking his eyes away from the animal, who is now quiet and seems much calmer, but digging her little claws on Bucky’s shirt, “I know a beautiful lady when I see one. Don’t I, gorgeous?”

A purring sound comes out of the now contented animal, the small injury on her tail apparently not being a problem anymore while she climbs higher and practically hugs Bucky with her little paws, whose fur is smudged by dirt, making his heart take a flip in his chest. Damn his heart nowadays…

“Aww, Bucky…” Wanda smiles, placing her hand over her heart, “What are we going to do? Should we take her to the shelter?” Wanda offers, with a bit of tentativeness on her voice.

Bucky’s eyes widen largely, before they snap to her friend. A protective tightness laces his hold on Alpine, who lets out another weak meow. Shit… Alpine? When the hell did he even come up with a name? Fuck if he knows, all he knows he’s done for and can’t possibly think of parting from that white furry little thing, who seems to have gone through a lot in her life already and probably has never met with human kindness before.

He doesn’t need to say anything as understanding falls upon Wanda’s face. He would even guess there’s a bit of pride adorning the smile on her lips now, “Alright, alright… we do need to take Alpine to the vet, though, Mr. I’m not gonna take a pet home today.” She winks.

~~~

PRESENT DAY…

“Oh well…” Bucky scratches the back of his neck while you keep your beautiful interested eyes on him, “I found this beauty on the street… she had an injured tail, poor thing… probably bitten by a dog. But she’s fine now, aren’t you, sweetie?” He coos, putting on the new tone of voice that belongs to Alpine now and loving the sound of your chuckle, “You know… I’m fully committed to taking care of her. I’m a cat dad now.” He says, putting some effort to highlight the word “committed”.

“I can see that…” you comment, nodding with a glimmer of fondness in your gaze at where Alpine is cuddled against him with eyes closed, completely relaxed.

Bucky looks down and smiles. That one is too cute for her own good, but he’s definitely having a talk with her later, for hissing at you like that, like he hadn’t given her a lecture about good behavior and how incredible you were before they left home.  

“So, it’s been a while, huh? How’re you doing?” He asks softly, boring his eyes on you and holding back every ounce of him to not pull you to his arms and shower you with all the intense love he’s gathering in his chest at your sight in front of him. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have spent those long weeks apart from you, but he met with missions and an Alpine in the way. Also, as much as he’s resolved to show you he’s the one for you, he understands you needed time for yourself. But, hell, he missed you so much.

“Oh, I’m good, I’m good… pretty good,” you ramble, brushing a finger behind your ear, that thing you do when you become a bit self-conscious, which happens often when he places his gaze so intently on you.

He can’t help but smile, his chest impossibly swelled with his feelings for you, because that woman who becomes all flustered with his attention is the same woman who whined to suck his dick while shitfaced after a party. Damn, he’s so in love with you.

“That’s great...Are you free tonight?” He asks, smoothly, “Wanda and Sam will make hamburgers, they’re one hell of a team in the kitchen, you’ll be welcome to come if you want to.”

“Oh… I…” You falter.

“I’m not trying anything, I promise,” He’s quick to add with a chuckle and raises his free hand up, noticing the trepidation in your voice. “Everyone’s gonna be there. We’re just gonna eat and hangout.” He shrugs.

“Oh… no, it’s not that, it’s just…” You tighten your lips “I’ve got plans.” Something Bucky guesses to be disappointment or something like that sweeps into your voice. As for him, he holds his breath, bracing himself for the news that you’re going out with that douche of an ex, “I’m gonna meet some friends from college tonight. I got a reservation for us for dinner and then we’re gonna go dance…”

Bucky lets out a breath and the smile that grows in his face is wide when he says, “Oh, alright. That sounds like fun.” Really, really fun, especially if that jackass isn’t involved. He’s not disappointed. Far from it.  

You smile back at him, matching his mood. It doesn’t slip from his attention that you seem a bit surprised by his reaction at you declining an invitation from him in favor to hang out with your friends, but he says nothing of it.

“Yeah… I’ve been getting reacquainted with them lately,” you say, excitement plastered on the little curve of your lips and the glint in your eyes, “It’s been fun. I’d love to get to know Wanda and Sam’s talent in the kitchen, though….Maybe some other time?” You offer.

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment brings the effect he was aiming for when you promptly does that thing with your finger on your ear again, but it was also noticed by the other girl in the room and currently in his arm, who seems to wake up from her comfort slumber against his chest to hiss at you again.

You look at each other in widened eyes.

“What the hell,” Bucky scolds down at the cat, glancing at you briefly, catching your now amused expression, before addressing Alpine again in a whispery voice, “We’re gonna have a talk back home, young lady.”

~~~

“What a number you put out there, huh?” His voice is gentle despite the reprimanding intention in his words while Bucky crouches and fills her little plate with the special food the vet recommended.

With her crystal-clear eyes glued on the plate, Alpine doesn’t really acknowledge his half attempt of admonishing her before digging in.

Bucky chuckles, “She’s cute, isn’t she? But so are you,” He scratches the back of her ear and she stops eating for a moment to brush her head against his hand, “You don’t have to be jealous, doll. You’re so cute, you’re my girl, too, you know?” he coos, still petting her, “But you gotta help me out there buddy. Ok? She’s really special and I know you’ll love her, too.”

Alpine lets out a weak meow before getting back to her plate and Bucky swears to God he sometimes wonders if the cat is some sort of shapeshifter in disguise, understanding every little thing he says.  

Letting her out to eat, he stands up, “Hey, Friday,” he calls.

“Yes, Bucky?”

“Could you search for a table reservation in the name of Y/N Y/L/N tonight? I need the address of the place.”

A small silence ensues before the A.I speaks again, “Isn’t it a bit creepy?”

He sighs, placing his hands on his hips, “Friday… babe…” He smiles at the giggles that resound in his kitchen, before bringing a hand to his heart, “I’m in love, ok? I’m not gonna ruin her night…If anything, I’m just going to make her night out with her friends more… interesting.”

“Alright, you know I can’t say no to you,” the A.I concedes, “You can find the address in your phone’s map. Good luck, handsome.”

“Thanks, babe,” Bucky grins, before turning to Alpine, who’s now about done with her food, sprawled on the floor busy with cleaning out her paws, “And you?” He calls, catching her attention before he points at her, “You’ll have burgers with your aunt Wanda. I have plans for tonight.”  

~~~

To be continued...

[ikevamp-shrine]

Thank you @yanderepuck​ for giving me the courage to post this😊❤

Please ignore the crappy drawing of her, but that's kinda what she appears like in my mind. I will be writing with her character in future posts.

Name: Elizabeth Tudor

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Height: 5’4

Birthday: September 7th

Occupation: Former Queen of England

Appearance: 

Long, curly (and extremely thick) strawberry blonde hair, fair skin, red lips, and intense icy blue eyes. Her stance is strong, regale, and respectable. Her skin is littered with smallpox scars (only a few, very unnoticeable ones residing on her face, neck, and hands). Her expression is usually blank and unreadable. Her movements are controlled and polite. Her brows thick and stomach soft. Legs long and fingers thin and graceful. There are patches of freckles on her shoulders that mix with her scars causing a unique blend of color. Thick thighs and pale, maintained feet. Smaller breasts.

Childhood:

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

She was taught a rigorous education normally only given to male heirs and was applauded for her perseverance and memory. She became fluent in French and Italian which profited when conducting diplomacy years later. Her involvement with the Reformation shaped the course of the nation, but she held no interest in religion.

With her father’s death, her step mother married the lord high admiral, Thomas, which resulted in his decapitation due to his intent to rape and impregnate Elizabeth forcing her to marry him in order for him to rule the kingdom. He was said to be overly flirtatious and acting inappropriately familiar with the young girl when around her (which one of the reasons she doesn’t like Arthur, his flirtatious nature reminds her of her past).

She was raised around sexism and taught that women were likely to act on impulsion and passion making them unfit to rule. Men were taught the arts of war and told they are the ones who dominate women while women were urged to keep their head down, mouth shut, and attend their needlework. She had remained unmarried, her want to remain single overshadowing any thoughts of seeking out relations with a man. She was rumored to have burst out in tears when Queen Mary, her older sister, had proposed to marry Elizabeth to a duke. This became a national concern when Elizabeth became queen and refused to take a husband, going against the belief that a woman’s place was a wife. It also raised worries that she would die childless, ending her bloodline, and giving Elizabeth’s title to Mary, Queen of Scots, a catholic posing a threat to the Protestants of England.

Dislikes: 

her privacy being intruded on, loud talking, 3am, those who play weak and stupid or whine to get what they want, people who are lazy but still expect to reach their goals, women who chase men and believe they need a man to be successful in life, messy rooms, fake personalities and cheaters (in both games and relationships)

Likes: 

walks in the garden at midnight, the sound of the birds singing their life’s song as the warmth of the day’s first rays of sun trace her skin, reading, learning new things, burning candles, smiling faces, happy children, the smell of freshly baked bread, warm blankets, animals, the laughter of children, hunting, dancing, and horseback (bareback more often than naught)

Personality: 

She appears cold at first because of her bluntness and blank (almost annoyed) expression. Unreasonably serious with a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and morals. She is a firm believer in working harder than everyone else to achieve greatness. A highly intelligent woman that believe women are equal to their male counterpart. Extremely stubborn in a non-disrespectful way. She is adaptable, disciplined, dignified, and confident with a wit and tongue as sharp as, if not sharper, than any of the residents. She is blunt, doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, and is always honest. Focused, logical, and exceedingly loyal to those she decides to put her trust in. She is protective and straightforward but rather quiet. She tends to keep to herself. She is paranoid and distrustful when meeting new people but will not show it. She tries to work on it, but she can be very vengeful when it comes to people betraying her or hurting those she loves.

Preferred company: 

Theo, Leonardo, Isaac, Jean, Vincent

Relationships (platonic, romantic, etc.):  

Jean- platonic with a chance of something more

Has a deep understanding with Jean. They don’t really talk about each other to each other; their conversations mainly consist of stiff, dead toned jokes that you wouldn’t be able to tell they were jokes until specified. She is one of the few people that has actually seen a sober Jean smile. He is extremely protective of her and will stand behind her just so he has the peace of mind that her back is guarded. If she asked, he would show her what is under his eye patch, no matter what lingering emotions he has on the ‘ugliness under the fabric’. His blade is always ready, his mind perfectly clear, when it comes to the safety and well being of the woman he had found himself connecting to in ways no one had before. Often, they go horse back riding together, Napoleon will sometimes accompany but its only when her and the former solider are alone does she throw her head back, her laughs unrestrained while the wind rips through her hair and clothing. Jean will race her and chuckle at how free she looks, but of course she doesn’t hear. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Napoleon  

Mozart- platonic

Sometimes Mozart look for her and demand Elizabeth to listen to his new piece until she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to correct his wording. He’ll swallow thickly and glance off to the side, a scoff on his lips as he apologizes. She’ll nod and follow him to music room. Mozart will stare at her impatiently until she gives her honest (and extremely blunt) opinion. He values her words and while alone the pianist will replay the slight quirk of her lips as she praised his efforts. He has a small obsession with her and it drives him insane

Vincent- brotherly platonic and Theo- they horny for each other but don’t want to cross that line of friendship so they dance around their feelings while making out every once in a while

Has a soft spot for Theo and Vincent because their relationship makes her think of her brother. She only sees Vincent as a brother and will only allow him to do her makeup when he asks to, but with Theo its completely different. She sees Theo as a partner, a man she shares many values and goals with. She respects him and their shared opinions on responsibility and productivity. They understand each other intuitively and can conversate with just fleeting touches and quick glances of their eyes. There is a thick sexual tension that builds between them overtime resulting in hurried, frantic, sloppy kisses in hallways where the couple battle for dominance by pushing each other against walls and gripping roughly at the other’s clothing

Napoleon- just housemates (not friends or lovers)

She can and usually feels uncomfortable when around Napoleon. She has chalked it down to the fact they are both the leader ‘alpha’ types that ruled enemy lands. Truly, they just don’t have much in common and find it hard to build a meaningful relationship. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Jean

Arthur- just housemates

Can sometimes get too snippy with Arthur. While she does find enjoyment in his jokes at times, she despises the sexual aspects of the author. Finds his skirt chasing habits understandable but disgusting. Admires his intelligence but can’t stand how he is able to tell you where have been just by the dust on your hand (she likes her privacy). Will play chess and pool with him even though she knows she will lose just because she enjoys playing. Will sometimes have deep conversations with Arthur in front of the fire place, both nursing a glass of alcohol, their eyes never leaving the fire as to not break the imaginary protective barrier around the two that eye contact will shatter. Smirks at his quirks and jokes sometimes and it literally makes Arthur’s heart leap because ‘damn a queen just found amusement in my joke.’ He internally freaked out the first time he met her mainly because the mansion now had two previous rulers instead of one and the newest one scared the living daylights out of him.

Comte- there is nothing between them

Doesn’t trust Comte as far as she can throw him. She can see the darkness in his heart and his past behind his eyes. She can see the death he’s caused- the pain, and while she knows that she, herself, has caused the death of many, she still has a deeply rooted gut feeling telling her to stay away from the pureblood. He wants her trust but soon realizes her opinion on him is similar to Jean’s. She will not take any gifts other than what is necessary from him (ex. Dresses for parties)

Dazai- just housemates

Dazai tries avoiding her. He feels suffocated when around and the victim of her stare. He feels as if her eyes and actions pick him apart and leave his in his barest, rawest form, and it scares him to no end. She does find his window habit hilarious though and will give him a hand up when he falls

Shakespeare- they don’t get involved with each other

She can tell Shakespeare’s mind is being manipulated, by what is the question she has yet to reveal though. She can tell he is dangerous. One who’s actions are watched and controlled by another always are. His unpredictable nature and mysterious, secret filled smile is what causes her to feel uneasy around him. She doesn’t ignore him, but she doesn’t want to be involved with the playwright and his actions so she tends to just quietly leave the room when he enters. He is polite to her and compliments her when they do talk but his fancy wording sometimes annoys Elizabeth, especially when she just wants to get away from him. She believes he is a good man at heart lead astray by forces more powerful than him, but still finds his company rather unnecessary. 

Sebastian- they respect one another, are not friends but have decent conversations

Has an interesting relationship with Sebastian. She wouldn’t call him a friend, she has very few of those so it is understandable, but she does respect him for his work ethic just as he respects her for her accomplishments and standing in history. She let him interview him once and nearly laughed out loud from how excited he got. They always have a cup of coffee or tea in the morning together, Elizabeth not quite woken up yet so they sip in comforting silence. Sebastian usually asks how she slept and she responds by telling him about her dreams if she had one. She’ll end up helping him cook breakfast.

Leonardo- friends with a chance of something more

Elizabeth appreciates Leonardo’s straightforwardness and honesty, so they have a decent trusting relationship, but his matureness makes her feel like a little girl again and it bothers her. Her thoughts tend to be: she was a queen; she ruled a country with a strength that rivaled even the greatest men, she should not look at this chain-smoking man with admiration in her eyes like a giddy school girl, flustered over a boy telling her she is cute, while around the Italian. The start of their relationship was rocky, due to Elizabeth’s personal feelings on the man- Leonardo could have cared less, but soon enough they started to appreciate each other’s qualities. Leonardo is mainly the only one she allows to touch her hair. They often speak Italian together on the balcony as Leonardo smoke a cigarillo and Elizabeth reads.

Isaac- they have the chance of being more than friends but their relationship is mainly just comforting one another through their presence and (when needed) touch- they also trust each other whole heartedly

Adores Isaac and will purposely sought him out just so she can listen to his calming ramblings while he tinkers away, a book in her hand and two cooling cups of coffee on the surface closest to the pair. He gets so red around her; at times he turns snow white from the intensity in her gaze and how her eyes never stray from her company. They share an endless loyalty to each other. Neither knows when the bond form, it just happened on its own (and very suddenly). Isaac has lost control and bit her but instead of reacting in anger she accepted it and pulled him closer, shuddering with each frenzied suck against her neck, her nails gently scratching the scalp of a whimpering Isaac. When Isaac finally came to his senses, he tried pulling away, his voice thick with unshed tears as his panicked words rang through the air until Elizabeth grabbed him and held him close, shushing Isaac as he trembled with regret and guilt in her arms. They had held each other for hours until they feel asleep in each other embraces. Isaac will link pinkies with Elizabeth when he is being picked on without realizing it for support and something to ground him so his thoughts don’t run too wild. Elizabeth will just glare and clear her throat and Arthur will shut his mouth while looking at the former queen as if he was a kicked puppy. She has a habit of fixing his clothing or hair after he nervously pulls, picks, or twists at it- Isaac doesn’t even notice it after a while. His face does burn intensely though when she places a hand on his overactive, bouncing knee when he is anxious.

Fun facts:

Due to her makeup being poisoned by her undetermined enemy, which resulted in her death, she refuses to wear any cosmetics other than what Vincent personally makes (learned how to from Leonardo) and puts on her skin himself when going to events if he asks to.

She tends to wear clothing that covers all skin other than her neck and face when leaving the mansion due to children being scared by her smallpox scars.

She usually never strays from wine unless her emotions become a little too overwhelming for her to just push the feelings down, only then will she drink something stronger.

Elizabeth is a quiet, peaceful drunk that tends to curl up on the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor, her hair loose and flowing over the decorative pillow she’ll grab and hug tightly to her chest.

She died a virgin and has remained one ever since her resurrection.

The former queen is hesitant to allow others to touch her hair from her past concerning the loss of said strands (a result of surviving smallpox), but if she trusts someone enough and knows they’ll be gentle she’ll let them style the curls, even if she is tense the entire time.

Prefers to braid her hair herself and wrap in into a bun due to the protective nature of the style.

Loves sleeping in but is often unable to due to insomnia.

She is highly particular when it comes to cleaning and organization. She has told Sebastian not to worry about cleaning her things or doing her laundry, instead she does it herself with up most focus and determination.

When she does open up or is around the boys long enough, they realize her heart is truly kind and nurturing instead of what she appears when first met (a cold-hearted woman with a resolve like steel). This is especially apparent when around animals.

She is very sarcastic and doesn’t mean any harm but usually her joking words sound hateful due to her dead tone and blank face.

Her voice is deeper and soothing, most times holding no emotion which creeps Dazai and Arthur out

Lives by “no pain no gain”

Doesn’t waste her breath on hate- if she doesn’t like someone or feels as if she can’t trust them then they just don’t exist to her. She won’t hesitate to cut someone off without warning.

Has a bad habit of bottling her emotions which causes her to explode when pushed over the edge resulting in one of the very rare moments where her anger creates an electric static in the room that demands the attention of anyone present. She doesn’t shout or scream but her words are sharper than a blade, her eyes burn with a fiery rage while she takes control of the room, overwhelming anyone (even Napoleon) and making them feel as if they are an ant beneath her boot.

Her eyes freak many people out- they feel as if the ice like orbs are staring straight into their soul, picking apart their insides, leaving nothing but shredded organs and an empty husk of what used to be a strong mind.

Can always tell when someone is lying. It’s a gut feeling, and her gut is always right.

She still wears her coronation ring on her wedding finger as a sign of her symbolic marriage to her people and country

[chaseatinydream]

morning fix || k.hj (atz)

➼ pairing: reader x kim hongjoong (ateez)

➼ word count: 4516

➼ genre: barista au; fluff

➼ synopsis: “i’ve been missing you a latte lately.”

You always go to this specific café for your morning fix.

Every morning, without fail, before the start of lessons, even when you don’t have lessons, you always make sure to head to the Twilight Café to grab a cup of coffee. Your friends tease you occasionally, saying that the baristas must add mermaid’s tears or dragon’s blood into the coffee as some sort of secret ingredient, because there’s no other way they could get you coming back for more every single day so religiously. You merely smile over the rim of your coffee cup, thinking “Well, they’re not completely wrong.”

But the secret ingredient isn’t in the coffee.

It’s the barista, Kim Hongjoong.

The handsome young man that is Kim Hongjoong has been working at Twilight ever since you entered the college, but even though you've sat at one of quaint tables by the window side more than once just to admire his dream like features, you've never actually... noticed him in particular.

Most, or might you be so bold as to proclaim, all of the staff in Twilight are remarkably good looking, so Kim Hongjoong had just been another pretty face. Sure, he was one that you might have vaguely recognized out on the streets, but not really one that had stood out to you very significantly.

Until that day.

You'd stayed awake the entire night prior, rushing though your year end projects which had been due the next day. There was a presentation that you had to do today that counted towards your final grade, but winging it with less than eight hours of sleep in the last two days didn't sound very promising. You needed a morning fix before attempting to ... and you needed it fast.

So, exactly five minutes before your presentation had begun, you had dashed over to Twilight faster than the speed of light, panting for a cup of hot coffee over the counter.

The barista, whose face you had recognised vaguely, had looked shocked for a moment as he took in your flustered, unkempt state. You probably looked like you’d been run over by a backing car several times over, with dark bags under your eyes and an even darker expression on your face.

Time had passed by agonisingly slow, drop by drop, as you watched the hot liquid of the coffee trickle into the cup much too slowly for your liking. Every hair on your body was crawling with impatience, the seemingly insignificant ticking of the second hand of the clock on the wall grating on your ears like nails scratching over the surface of a chalkboard, your teeth grinding together as you watched the barista scribble something on your cup-

“Could you please hurry up?” The words came out harsher than you had intended, and for a split second the cute barista flinched from the viciousness of your voice before he managed to pull an apologetic smile together on his face. Quickly, he passed you your cup of coffee, piping hot and smelling of sweet caramel, lowering his head apologetically.

“I’m truly sorry, miss.”

Something had tugged at you, perhaps it was a little bit of guilt, a little twist in your gut, but then the clock and its damn incessant ticking caught your attention before you could say a word of ‘sorry’ to the poor barista. Two more minutes before your presentation was due. Glancing desperately between the young man and the minute hand steadily inching closer and closer to twelve, you made up your mind.

You’d apologise to him next time.

So, grabbing your coffee, you had turned and dashed out of the shop.

The coffee had been amazing, aromatic, fragrant, and ultimately strong and sweet enough to keep you awake throughout the whole presentation. In fact, it had been so good that after drinking it, you had felt absolutely awful for taking out your stress on the barista from earlier. Maybe there really was some sort of secret ingredient in the coffee.

With the resolution to apologise to that poor barista firmly in your mind, you had lifted a hand to dispose of the cup, but before you could let go of it, some ink markings on the paper sleeve caught your eye.

You frowned.

Why hadn’t you seen that before?

Sliding the sleeve out of the cup, you had turned it around carefully to read the writing on the surface. And to your immense discomfort, two very opposing emotions blossomed in you at the same time.

You look stressed, so have an extra sugar to make today even more sweet! I hope everything goes well for you :) Cheering you on!

For a moment, warmth that reminded you of knit sweaters and freshly brewed lattes rose in your chest. Then, you paused, sighed and stared at the innocent paper sleeve for a long second, before tucking it in your pocket, the sleeve feeling unnaturally heavy.

“I really need to apologise to him.”

And so you had.

The first time you’d returned to the cafe, awkward and a little uneasy, he was already there, wiping down the counter with a clean cloth. Luckily for you, the cafe was mercifully empty, most of the student body that used to frequent the place currently at lectures or back at the dorms. Back turned to you, he was humming along to the song playing over the radio, blissfully unaware of your presence. You were tempted to just give up on the plan and run for the door, but you steeled yourself with a determined exhale and clenched fists. No! You had to apologise!

You squeezed your eyes shut and tapped on the bell at the counter.

“Hello, welcome to Twlight Caf-” The barista turned around with a wide smile, ready to greet you... until he saw your face.

For a second, he faltered, nearly dropped his cloth too, before his mouth pressed into a thin, nervous line. Your heart sank, did he think you were here to complain about him, or something along those lines? He tried to force a smile onto his face, but it looked fake, like a mask of clay.

You hated it.

“Excuse me, miss, but is there something you need-”

Sucking in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you shoved a piece of paper forward into his hands.

He glanced down in surprise, he hadn’t expected that in the least. The paper was a crumpled post-it, a little torn around the edges and a little damp from sweat, but the words written on it were clear as day.

A latte, just like how you made it for me that day.

And beneath that, in smaller writing:

I’m sorry.

The polite smile on his face slid right off and for a moment, you were almost worried he might reject your apology. But before you could hightail it out of there with your tail between your legs, another smile, brighter and so much genuine than before pulled at the corners of his mouth, turning his face from show-stoppingly handsome to near radiant like the sun itself.

Then he grinned at you, cuter than a man his age should be able to look, and you swore that your heart sputtered to a stop in your chest for a long, dangerous second.

Oh no.

“One ‘I’m Sorry’, coming right up.” He teased, a smirk playing on his lips, a little mischievous, near devilish, almost, and you had merely stared at him with your mouth hanging wide open, unable to believe that he’d just teased you like that.

When he passed the steaming cup of espresso and milk to you a few moments later, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee tickling the edge of your nose, you had smiled and thanked him a little awkwardly in disbelief, nearly tripping on your way out of the cafe.

And when you glanced at the paper sleeve of the cup once more, you saw the exact same handwriting there, neatly scribbled at the side in black marker.

You need to buy another 50 cups of coffee before I forgive you! See you around, Sugar!

You didn’t know why a furious blush spread across your cheeks at those words, or why a smile tugged at your own lips at the stupid nickname, but you slipped off the paper sleeve off the cup once more as you passed by the trash bin.

And put the sleeve into your pocket once again.

Have an amazing day >.< you can do it! (○｀･Д･´)9

You look down today :((( Have three sugars to sweeten that pretty smile of yours! Don’t forget to brush your teeth tonight, though!

Your smile is sweeter than sugar, but here’s some more to make it even more irresistible! All the best for your interview today!

How are guys just like coffee? The best ones are rich, hot, and can keep you up all night! :D (okay that was embarrassing ignore that i’m not that kind of guy-)

Oh no ;-; you stayed up all night! Don’t worry, I can’t see those eye bags, you still look like you’re going to crush today amazingly! Here’s a cup to start your day off on the right foot!

Why did the coffee file a police report? Because it was mugged :”D (please forgive his bad jokes he was googling them at 3am in the morning) THAT WAS JONGHO IGNORE HIM PLEASE

I’ve been thinking about you a latte lately SAN STOP THAT’S JUST WEIRD-

(ง •̀ω•́)ง✧ nearly at the weekend! You can do this, Sugar! The boys have been teasing me a lot πーπ but hmpf ignore them if they say anything silly to you! Visit the café on the weekends too, I’ll make a special treat for you if you do!

You sit at the couch in your dorm room, flipping through the stack of paper sleeves in your hands fondly. Each sleeve documents the journey of your blooming friendship with the barista behind the counter of Twilight Cafe, the one who works the morning shift and has a smile sweeter than sugar itself, Kim Hongjoong.

Your finger traces the last one fondly, the one he’d given you yesterday as you had rushed to your next lecture. Waving you off with a bright smile, he’d given you a small wink and a grin, one that made your own cheeks flush bright pink and a smile to bloom on your face, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

It’s Saturday today, and you’re blessedly free from any lectures or lessons, a rare occasion. But then again, Hongjoong has indeed promised you a cup of special coffee if you swing by the café, so shaking your head at just how soft you are for that boy, you slip on a pair of shoes and make your way across the campus grounds.

The bell chimes as you push the door open and Hongjoong immediately turns around to grin at you as you enter. Smiling, you slide him a yellow post-it across the counter and he grabs it eagerly, eyes scanning the words with excitement. As strange as it is, you and Hongjoong have actually never spoken a word to each other verbally, instead communicating through your little post-its and paper sleeves.

As much as coffee’s part of your morning fix, Kim Hongjoong has become part of your daily routine, slowly inching his way into becoming an integral part of your life.

I made it through the week thanks to Hongjoong’s special ‘I’m Sorry’ latte! Surprise me today ;)

Hongjoong looks up from the note to salute at you playfully and your heart flutters, before tucking the post-it in his pocket and moving to brew your coffee. Studying the way he moves, you watch his able hands as they work the machine, adding syrup and sugar just the way you like it. But everything he does looks familiar to you, as if you’ve seen it a hundred times (which to be fair, you probably have), nothing out of the ordinary. You cock your head to the side in confusion.

A few minutes later, he sets the cup in front of you, but this time, he’s nervously wringing his hands, fiddling with the hem of his navy blue apron as his gaze darts around, never lingering on your face for long. Then he squeaks out a hurried ‘goodbye’, barely intelligible, and flees into the back faster than you can blink, the other two baristas on shift now, San and Jongho, howling with laughter behind the machine. You’re a little befuddled, but you take the coffee all the same and exit the shop, glancing down at the paper sleeve.

Made with Love. Drink me!

Your heart melts into a puddle of something warm and fuzzy for a second at his sweet words and you smile fondly, raising the tab on the lid to take a sip. Then you freeze in your tracks, staring at what is written there with wide eyes, your mouth falling open.

It’s Hongjoong’s handwriting, alright.

XX XXXX XXXX

Call-ffee (Call me) maybe?

You reach for your phone faster than you ever have in your life, keying in the numbers with the urgency of a life and death situation. The last time he’s spoke to you had been the day you apologised to him, and for the first time in a year, you’re going to hear his voice.

The dial tone cuts off. The call has gone through.

A male voice, jumpy with nerves but still smooth as well brewed coffee, comes over the phone.

“Sugar?”

[miyaniacs]

Sinfully Sweetheart pt.9

A/N: uhm yeah my attempt to continue this series with our fav twins... well.. its trashy I'm so sorry lol - tell me if you want a pt2 to this one so I can make it up for you lol (also it’s not really edited since I couldn't get myself to reread this) 

other parts can be found in my masterlist 

Warnings : slight NSFW, also reader is ‚slightly‘ drunk (but not drunk drunk they can still think straight)

Atsumu & Osamu 

Well you and the twins know each other since you’re born practically 

Your parents are Highschool friends 

And that’s why you’re here now 

At some get together of your parents Highschool group 

It’s cool and all since you’re friends with some of their daughters, who are almost like sisters for you 

And you haven’t seen them that often the past months - you’re all in your 20’s now, meaning different cities, different universities, different jobs, some are already engaged - the whole : Who are you in your 20’s  span of : not knowing what you’re getting for dinner to Let me pick up my kids real quick, my husband is still at work

Due to exam season you haven’t had a real chance to dress up or go out, since all your nights are spent in front of your laptop, with a glass of wine at 3am, helping you with your existential crisis and your fits are what you already wore at 3am 

SO NOW 

It’s your time to…. Feel human again.  Taking a shower, putting on a hair and face mask, painting your nails, putting on some lipstick and eyeliner, finally being able to wear all the hot fits you brought at 4am right after your existential crisis - yeah the usual 

Currently your moms best friends are gushing over how much you’re grown up etc and telling embarrassing stories of your childhood 

The fun part tho - you’ve grown up soooo much - so you’re now getting handed the good stuff and not some apple juice

You’re on your… 3rd Margarita now 

Your 2 „Sisters“ at their 4rd - they both brought their boyfriends with them who are also forced to drive tonight 

“Why are you still sitting here with us the whole time?“ One of the mums ask, making you all look at her confused 

“I mean, shouldn’t you dance?“ She corrected herself laughing 

“Yeah, isn’t that the song you three always danced to?“ Your mum laughs. 

Talking about embarrassing stories: Yes you danced to “Pony“ by Ginuwine

Atsumu starts laughing, “Yeah please show us, haven’t you just told us how much you missed riding.“ 

Great. Just great. you ignored the twins the whole time until now. 

Why? Well your best friends attends the same college as Atsumu and after all her bragging abilities how lucky you can be to be friends with such good looking twins… you started to look at them differently? They’ve always been the „chaotic twins“ who you know since you can remember.  Yet after she gushed about them for hours and proved her points with pictures on instagram  You had a rather strange dream that night.  And you can’t look at them anymore now  The sinning was WAY TOO BAD

Back to the now 

Taking a big sip you roll your eyes at his comment and sass “Well, judging from what I’ve heard you’re quite a pro at... instructing how to ride properly.“ 

Osamu chocked on his drink 

Their mother takes a big sip of her red wine 

But Atsumu gets up and now towers over you 

Fuck 

Don’t think of that dream now, Don’t - don’t - don’t 

“That’s right.“ He grins, “And as far as I can remember your skills need some serious practice.“ He smirks and now you’re almost choking on your own breath

"Let me help you, yes?“ He extends his hand, but you just look at it while you feel your face getting redder with every second 

"Tsumu, stop it.“ Osamu says and you look at him as if he’s your knight in shining armor- 

Until he opens his mouth again 

"She’s still our small innocent y/n.“ He laughs and looks at you with slightly closed eyes. 

"Oh yeah, yer right, I forgot.“ Atsumu laughs, but quickly stops when you get up and take his hand dragging him away from the table to the open space

Was it the Margaritas giving you the confidence? Probably yes. 

That has to be the reason why you’re currently placing one of your hands around Atsumu’s neck and press your back on his chest 

His hands are placed on your waist, trying to keep it all “our parents are watching“ friendly 

Starting to body roll on him you feel his grip tightening, making sure you’re staying as close as possible 

When you arch your back though-  you hear him coughing “Our parents are still watching.“  

As if the playlist heard his wishes, the song changed to “Bootylicious“. 

You laugh and turn around “Ohhh come on ( your friends names), that’s our song.“ You say remembering that you three had a whole choreography planned for this song 

“Wow and what about me?“ Atsumu teases

“You haven’t given me any instructions so you’re useless.“ You smile brightly and push him away 

Laughing it off he walks back to the table and sits down next to Osamu

The whole situation long forgotten you pull of your choreography, which includes way more hip shakes and “I dropped my phone“ or “where’s my phone“ moves than you remembered 

Your parents are all outside at this point enjoying the warm summer night

What you’re not noticing though is the fact that Atsumu’s and Osamu’s eyes are fixed on your every move 

Slowly they start to realise that you’re not… so innocent anymore 

So it doesn’t hurt to play with you a bit right? 

That said they join you on the dace floor, together with the others boyfriends

Right now some Sean Paul song’s on

Osamu is right in fort of you meaning he’s you’re new dance partner now - If he wants it or not

But believe me he wants it 

Your hands on his chest, running slightly down his torso as you go down to the beat, still looking up at him through your lashes 

Getting back up you’re wrapping your arms around Osamu’s neck

Immediately his hands find their way to your lower back, pulling you against him 

"Well.. what happened to our innocent babygirl?“ He whispers in your ear 

You can feel his breath on your neck  His chest pressing against you with every breath he takes  His strong grip holing you in place  This whole scenario reminds you way too much of your dream 

"Ohh, suddenly shy again?“ He teases while guiding your body to move to the beat 

"Uhm.. no I - uhm..“ You stutter 

"Yes?“ He asks, but before you can answer, you’re pulled away from Osamu and pressed against a slightly more toned chest.

"Samu, you never knew how to share.“ Atsumu grumbles and rests his hands on your hip

"Relax Y/N. We’re just dancing.“ He chuckles 

Was it the alcohol? Or the lack of sleep? Or all the pictures your best friend showed you?  You have no idea  But things escalated quickly and you’re now dancing… unholy with both of the twins

You’re arms around Atsumu’s neck, his thigh between your legs, while Osamu’s hands are on your hips moving them against his 

Thank god your parents left the room and your friends are too occupied with their boyfriends to notice 

"How about we leave?“ Atsumu suddenly whispers dangerously low in your ear, "I still have to teach you how to ride, don’t I?“ He smirks down at you 

"Don’t listen to him.“ Osamu says, “I’m a way better teacher.“ He says and his lips press against he sensitive skin behind your ear. 

"Uhm.. I - no - we shouldn’t do this…“ you try to convince them, well more yourself if you’re honest 

"If you truly don’t want this.“ Atsumu says and moves a few inches away from you, Osamu doing the same 

"I - wait no!“ You exclaim, without even thinking about it 

"What’s the magic word?“ Osamu says while walking around you stopping next to his brother 

"P- Please..?“ You stutter, not truly sure if you’re actually dreaming all of this again 

"Goodgirl.“ Atsumu smirks and pats your head. 

"I’ll go and tell our parents that we’re driving you home.“ Osamu says and is about to leave when you hold onto his arm

"Wait!! Non of us can drive though!“ You remember 

"… Atsumu and I both got a drivers license?“ He asks confused

"Yeah yeah I do too, but we can’t drive! We all drank too much.“ You mumble 

To your surprise both of them laugh 

"What?“ You look between the two of them 

"Baby,…, non of us drank any alcohol.“ Atsumu says and Osamu continues his way outside, telling your parents that you’re too tired from the past week and they’ll make sure to get you home safely

"You… you didn’t?“ You ask shocked. 

"No baby, after seeing you dace, we’re sure that you’ll be needing all of our attention later on.“ He smiles and leans down, "And you’ll get all of our attention.“ He whispers the last part and emphasises the all

You gulp and look at him with big eyes

What exactly have you gotten yourself into? 

let me just tag you @kenmasgameboy​ so you know what trash I was talking about alsooo @saucysamu​ @shoyosun​ since Osamu is included 

[mrpenguinpants]

KAEYA PLAYING WITH ABYSS MAGES AHDHSHDHSB IM- that’s so cute????? Guizhong being older than Zhongli is such a valid hc, I fully support and condone it. Thank you. And Childe growing to like battle was something I found interesting because he was once mentioned to be fragile and weak in his character stories iirc? I like to think that maybe the initial reason he persevered was to overcome that past status.

Also, YES. They’d have the worst habits, and it would eventually become more visible the more comfortable it becomes, but Keqing just gives up on trying to change anything because it’s literally hopeless.

I also headcanon that they have different ways to show appreciation for Keqing. E.g. Childe sometimes uses one of his cringy ass Russian nicknames and when she looks up the meaning, she turns from the most straight-faced woman known to man to a highkey affection-starved queen self-destructing in her room.

Diluc leaves a note on her desk that are simple “Sleep early today. Tomorrow is your day-off.” or “Don’t over work yourself.” messages. He’s so self-conscious about it because like, what if Kaeya catches him up at night contemplating whatever reaction he’ll get. Ends up feeling so accomplished whenever his messages bring a smile to her face.

Kaeya, I feel, would be more open in a sense? Keqing is the last person he thinks he’s be able to deceive, and so he chooses not to. He’s probably one who enjoys deep conversations about literally anything be it mosaic artwork or changes in between modern and archaic politics. A good listener and a fine conversation partner, I feel they’d certainly have interesting conversations.

Zhongli lowkey seizing every opportunity to bring up Rex Lapis and his sense of humor is lowkey degrading Morax for his past mistakes. He’s like “Oh, I thought you hated him. I hate him too” and proceeds to laugh at the fact that the oh-so legendary Geo archon bore a hole in his hoodie for his hair. FOR HIS HAIRS. Keqing is losing her sanity trying not to expose herself as a closeted fan.

The anon lists’ name is super cute btw! Makes me feel pretty blessed for being there haha. I just finished midterms and goodness, I am exhausted. We’re having a short break so I think I can send asks much faster during the brief moment of rest. And pls drink responsibly 🙏

Sincerely, Keqing harem brainrot anon

I lowkey plucked Kaeya playing with mobs and shoved it into the royalty au because god damn, that’s fucking cute. I’m so behind on my asks;; but it’s okay cause we’re here now. I don’t know, Guizhong being that older sister/mother/whatever figure is so heartwarming to me. I think you’re right? I vaguely remember him saying he was pretty fragile but I have the memory of a goldfish haha. Lowkey, this is why I really want the part 2 and 3 of character story quests to go more in depth with their actual character stories. I want to see Childe talk about his feelings and meet his siblings, I want to hear more about Guizhong, I want to hear about the crippling loneliness and depression that Bennett and Barbara have (NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP ABOUT THIS PART. WHY THE FUCK IS GENSHIN NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS? I KNOW ITS FUN AND GAMES BUT LET ME CARE ABOUT THEM. 1.4 has these hangout events and istg, bennett and barabara have one and if we don’t talk about our feelings I’m going to cry). 

oml their bad habits, Zhongli and his extensive collection of plants because that’s the most social interaction he gets (yes, zhongli is a planter. no i do not take criticism tyvm) and it starts off with a couple plants. Not too bad. Then the next day Keqing walks and it looks like their entire home turned into a forest. But Zhongli loves his plant children and Keqing is slowly losing her mind and starts referring to the plants with the nicknames Zhongli gave them. 

This. This is cute. These appreciation ideas. I fully approve and we need to bring them back. I don’t know anything about Russian but I have a friend that does. But I don’t know how to casually say “hey, can you give me Russian nicknames of endearment. It’s for research.”. Keqing radiates professional in the front, social anxiety in the back. I just love that they added the detail that she’s secretly a Rex Lapis fan but pretends that she hates him. I know there is art of Zhongli lowkey being creeped out or vv smug when he find’s Keqings stash but idk, imagining him being a proud dad and giving headpats even though Keqing is an adult. 

Okay. Let me level with you. Sticky notes of reassuring phrases are the best and why the fuck aren’t people doing it more. I’ve been reading “my mom left a note on the table” or “my partner puts sticky notes in my textbooks as a pick me up” for CENTURIES but am I seeing it in real life? Fuck no. Please, if someone does this for you. Keep them, never let them go. I can imagine Diluc writing these messages, feeling confident when he writes them and ready to be a supportive person. The next day he’s looking at these notes and thinking “what the fuck did I just write, this is garbage” (totally not how I feel about my writing). Then he proceeds to throw them in some cabinet but since Kaeya doesn’t know the first thing about personal boundaries he goes snooping around in Diluc’s room, discovers the notes, and he ends up taking them and putting them on Keqing’s things. It makes her happy so Diluc is going to ignore the very pressing issue with whether or not he should commit manslaughter. 

You know, that’s very valid. That’s how I feel about Kaeya’s relationship with Lisa or Albedo. People that don’t get riled up or annoyed by his antics the same way Amber is. I feel like if you’re looking for small talk, he’s not a bad choice, but if you want those deep 3am conversations he’s definitely the person to go to. Zhongli isn’t a bad choice either but Zhongli tends to go into historical and philosophical moments (which isn’t bad) but you want to have someone relate to you or it feels like an actual conversation and not a history lesson then he’s actually perfect. Especially more controversial topics, I feel like Kaeya would probably have very different opinions from the norm. 

YES. YES. YES I’m replying to these as I read them but YES. Honestly, I get it. Zhongli is a super polite and respectable person. But. But. Have you seen how he clowned on Childe?? That entire interaction?? He didn’t even look the slightest big apologetic for almost destroying Liyue and using the man who was going to kill him to pay for his funeral. What a power move?? And you’re telling me you don’t see him being a smug prick. I love Zhongli’s story quest where everyone is saying “oh the first mora was treasured or it holds mythical powers” and Zhongli is looking at them as if they’re idiots. 

tyty (❤´艸｀❤) I’m blessed to have you here. Oh, I hope you did well on your midterms tho and be sure to rest. I am a bit late to replying to this so hopefully I caught you before your break was over.

Always lovely hearing from you,

Pengu

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded. Chapter Four

Happy Sunday all, back to the usually scheduling this week. I hope you enjoy the next week of lockdown with Jamie and Claire <3 Mod MBD.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie: 

It does not matter what you bear, but how you bear it. [Seneca]

CHAPTER FOUR: WEEK TWO - Home and Away.

As Monday rolled around again, the weekend having passed by in a blur, Claire sat at the breakfast table with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. Having ventured down during the day on both Saturday and Sunday, she had hoped to bump into Jamie and pass on her thanks to his generosity but he had been out before sunrise each day and she had been asleep before he’d returned home.

Resolute, however, she chose to spend her day downstairs and hopefully get something on for dinner before he came back so she could at least start the week off right.

Fate, however, wasn’t on her side. By 10pm, with the lasagne tucked away, wrapped in foil, in the fridge, she covered her mouth with a yawn and pulled herself up the stairs to bed.

The crash and smashing of a glass bought her out of her sleep as the clock beside her bed clicked over to 3am. Pulling herself from beneath the sheets, she crept downstairs, eager not to scare him as she approached the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, knowing full well he had only just returned home.

He was stood by the sink, cold lasagna on the countertop and his mucky boots still on his feet. With the fork held to his mouth, he smiled as he took another bite of the pasta, chewed and then shook his head. “I havena ever been the best sleeper but it’s lambing season, aye? One of them got into bother and I couldna leave her until I knew she was safe.”

“And she made it?”

“Aye. I was luckier tonight than I was at the weekend.”

“Oh, dear...that doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s the job, I’m afraid. If I didna lose at least a handful a year I’d be shocked.”

It was the first real (and longest) conversation they’d had since she’d arrived and she was suddenly grateful for the company. He was calm, grounded and relaxed in the way a lot of city dwellers weren’t. She could tell in the slump of his shoulders that it didn’t matter how long and awkward his day was, how messy or how little sleep he had gotten the night before, he was still weightless almost, free of the constraint modern living brought to most.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she broke in, remembering the reason she’d half-blindly stumbled down in the middle of the night, “you’ve been so amazing - to get me materials for a garden, that’s...above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Ach,” shaking his head, he finished the last of his supper, balled the tin foil up and placed it in the bin, “dinna fash yersel’ about that. It’s no’ a problem.”

He was embarrassed, she could tell. Abashed, his accent had become incredibly thick and almost impossible to understand. But it was quiet enough here that there was no background noise to blot out his sentence and luckily she didn’t have to ask him to repeat himself.

“Well, nonetheless,” ignoring the slight reddening of his cheeks she continued, “I am very grateful to you. For everything.”

With nothing more to say between them, she waved, smiled and backed off, feeling strangely pleased with herself for breaking the silence between them. Hopefully, she thought as she climbed the stairs back to her room, there would be some evenings in the future when they could eat together and she could show her appreciation by making him something warm and fresh.

-- --

By mid-week, she had yet to see Jamie again. His work was intense, and yet, despite that, he had still managed to begin construction of her tiny garden.

In her haste she had forgotten that she wasn’t allowed outside the house and, as she’d watched the greenhouse foundations being laid, she had become almost inconsolable about the fact that she probably wouldn’t get the chance to tend to any of the produce grown in it.

She knew, however, that safety was more important than new hobbies and she chose, instead, to make detailed lists of the daily needs of each of the seeds and plants Jamie had procured for her.

She started with the tomatoes and grapes, which needed to be contained within the glass walls in order to collect enough light and heat to survive. She noted water levels, soil PH and balance and daily rituals which would need to be abided by in order for the best crop to be formed. It filled most of her days and when the sun went down, she’d swap her notepad for the computer as she researched all the differences she might see in her fruit and veg determined all by the way they were treated as they grew.

Though she had never been an artist, she started to search for youtube videos on how botanical art could be created. Having no coloured pencil crayons or watercolours, she stuck to pencil sketches and began to leave more post-it’s, this time with future predictions on what the garden might produce for the household.

Once again Jamie enjoyed coming home. There had only been a few days lapse in her communications but when he didn’t see her for days, it was the one thing he could rely on to buoy his spirits.

They were different, in so many ways, but on a subconscious level, he pondered to himself at night as he held the drawing of some rare cabbage in his hands, Jamie felt as if they had very many similar quirks. He’d been pleased that his idea to leave her be for as long as she needed had been a success and was grateful she felt at home enough to reform her life around his. Her asking for the garden made him realise how easy it might be for someone else to fit into his own life without causing him much grief.

It was only a small thing, but to him it had made a huge difference. Having lived alone for so long, he had almost forgotten how malleable people could be. Though, he thought as he rifled around in the fridge for more pre-made meals, he had probably just gotten lucky with Claire.

The thought also occurred to him that she had been inadvertently raised more suited to this life than her old one, but he didn’t know enough about her to advance on the notion.

It wasn’t until late on Thursday when they came face to face together. After another heavy day and late night, Jamie finally toe-ed off his work boots at nearly midnight and made his way, quietly, through to the kitchen.

He had not expected to nearly bump straight into Claire has she dished up what looked like a very tasty stir fry.

“I thought you might be sick of reheating pasta dishes, so I thought I’d try and wait for you this time.”

“Ye didna have to, it’s very late.” He scratched the back of his neck bashfully, even she couldn;t find the truth in his words and she smiled as she placed a fresh bottle of soy sauce in the centre of the table. “But this does smell delicious.”

“It’s taken me a few attempts to hone it, but I’ve been practicing most evenings this week to try and get it perfect, flavour as well as how long I need to cook the veg for.”

“What’s the meat?” He asked, watching as his stomach rumbled audibly.”

“I used the duck, I hope you don’t mind. I used chicken earlier in the week but I couldn’t seem to get it as tender as I wanted it and a few forums online suggested that duck might be a better substitute if I wanted meat with a bit more moisture.”

“Perfect. Use any meat you want from the freeze, for anything. Honestly, I forget most of the time what I’ve got in there.”

Placing several bowls filled with various meats, vegetables and sides, she went back to the sink to wash the remaining stickiness of her hands before beckoning him to start without her. “I had hoped you weren’t saving anything for a special occasion.”

“Ach, I think the virus has put pay to anything like that for a while,” he began, filling his plate with noodles, duck and beansprouts, “my sister - she lives in Canada now - had planned a summer visit, but we’re no’ sure of anything at the moment.”

“Is she the one in the photo,” Claire enquired, taking a mouthful of her own concoction and swallowing back the relief when it tasted nice - a mixture of sweet and savory that wasn’t as overpowering or as dry as it had been earlier on in the day when she’d made the first of the final tests. “The one with brown hair?”

“Aye, she is. Her partner, Ian, got a job out there a few years ago and they emigrated. We talk as often as we can on Skype and FaceTime but it’s become sporadic recently wi’ my erratic work hours. She’s a nurse, ya see, and works odd shift patterns too. But we try and keep in touch at least once a month.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I didna really think about it, we were close....until we werena. Then they moved away and I fell into a new routine.”

He had begun to speak without thinking, filling up the silence with answers to her questions as they ate in between conversation. He had, though, had the forethought to stop before giving too much away. The thought hurt his heart and he had to inhale between a bite of his dinner to gather himself back up. He knew, given time, that he would be alright with sharing his past (as he hoped she would be with hers) but tonight wasn’t the night for revelations.

Sensing his reluctance to continue, she moved on, understanding that she herself wasn’t in a place to open up about her own family life.

“I can imagine Skype is about the only way most are communicating at the moment.” Sighing, she started to collect the empty dishes and load the dishwasher. “I’m quite grateful, actually, that I don’t have anyone to keep in touch with. It’s all...quite scary.”

It was the first time Jamie had consciously thought about the pandemic, being cut off from the outside world had its benefits and he felt relieved that he could separate himself from the constant barrage of news that he supposed others would be exposed to. He realised that both he and Claire were unique now, part of a smaller section of society where being remote was almost a blessing rather than a curse.

“If you ever need to talk, lass,” standing, he helped to clean up the remaining mess from dinner, his hand almost brushing against hers as he wiped the countertop down, breaking only to hover for a second before returning to his job, “ye know where I am. Please dinna think you have nobody...if yer concerned, aye?”

“Thank you Jamie.” Pulling her fleece cardigan across her chest she walked slowly to the kitchen door, pausing for a second in the doorway just to make sure she’d left nothing out to go cold and mouldy overnight. “The same to you. I’m a good listener, I promise, if you ever need to talk, or if you need any help.”

She’d been thinking about his life on the farm for a few days now, watching the rolling hills out of her window, seeing the sheep and cattle on the horizon and -very occasionally- seeing the silhouette of him roaming his land. There was little she could do from indoors, she knew, but there had been chores around the house that she could potentially complete. Putting herself to task, she had learned new basic kitchen skills but only this morning she’d noticed the beginnings of a hole on the seam of his trousers as they dried on the rail in the courtyard and she thought it might be something she could tend to...should he be alright with it.

Leaving with the quiet settling calmly between them, she noted the relaxing of the muscles in his face as he smiled and nodded as she turned and carried herself to bed.

Resting against the faux-marble worktop, Jamie closed his eyes as he waited for the soft slam of her bedroom door before he followed her up. She just might, he thought to himself as he undressed himself, taking a towel from his radiator and making his way to the shower, be better equipped for this life than I am.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xv

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xv: down the rabbit hole

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~10.6k ( i think? sorry? )

Rating: M for mature. You know; Far Cry 5.

Warnings: canon typical violence, some forced drug use (Bliss) that results in some PEAK emotional manipulation, a friendly reminder that this is not a love story about people in a healthy relationship but just a love story, sort of. Also I love tropes and no one can stop me.

Notes: HM not much to say about this chapter except that I had a ball writing it and I hope that comes through when you're reading it as well!! It's a joy to finally move some plot pieces a long and also explore some different narratives--especially Faith's, who I had been nervous about writing but made myself do it anyway.

I really hope you enjoy it! @starcrier​ blessed me with her input (per usual; she's an angel, what can I say) and of course I want to thank @lilwritingraven for helping me with the pacing of this chapter, as well as @baeogorath​ for letting me send them memes at like 3am and talk abt how Cora and Elliot are going to end up in a domestic partnership with many dog children.

She’s in a bar. 

She’s in a bar, and she’s twenty-two, and Joey is off to go get a drink and she doesn’t think she likes the one she has very much.

She’s in a bar, and she’s twenty-two, and John Seed locks eyes with her from across the bar and it feels like her entire body is getting eaten up by flame. She’s never had a man look at her like he looks at her—starved, like he could never get his fill of her, prowling through the crowd of bodies milling about in the bar to beeline straight for her.

Wanted. He wants her—and it twists in her stomach, writhing, white-hot and intoxicating and the second he closes in he says, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know,” she says, feeling his hands on either side of her neck, cradling. Her lashes flutter and the oxygen is so thin, like they’re somewhere very high, but they aren’t; they’re just there , together, the wildfire of him greedily devouring the kindling of her bones.

This is the part where Joey is supposed to come in. A part of her knows this: that any minute now, she will get pulled away, that even as John leans down to kiss her, the dream will evaporate and she will be left remembering that moment that she missed so many years ago.

But the dream doesn’t end. John’s lips brush hers; his fingers wind through her hair; John, she says, because nothing in her is not for him, just the kind of girl that he likes—the kind that’s hurting, and that hurts others.

“Just like me,” John says against her mouth. He disentangles his hands from her hair and reaches for her own, bringing them for her to see.

They are drenched in blood. Sticky, wet, crimson. A small, tiny part of her brain says, we can’t know for sure whose, but she knows.

Joey.

“See?” John says, his fingers biting into her palms, his teeth catching her lip. “Just like me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot’s eyes fluttered open. At first, she felt her body brace for some kind of impact—she had woken up in an unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar sounds of voices outside, and someone’s breath fanning her neck. She shifted, forcing her eyes open despite the strange panic crawling up her throat, and peeked over her shoulder.

It was John. She thought, Oh. And then: Hm.

Not the kind of dread she had been anticipating. It was different than fearing a monster; it was the kind of dread that came with being known down in the most vulnerable parts of you, the kind that she’d felt after she’d stood up from laying everything out in front of Joseph. She’d felt sick, then, and slimy; every detail of every memory about that night years ago before moving back to Hope County had made her skin burn .

And then there had been John. Hands gripping, mouth hungry, but it was always: Anything you want, El. He’d done everything exactly the way she’d wanted it. John wasn’t the first man she had been with since her time in the city, but he was the first to—well, mean something, and wasn’t that a dreadful thought?

Pressing her face back to the pillow, the unfamiliar weight of his arm around her tightened when she shifted away.

“Stop squirming,” John rumbled. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“This is a twin bed, fucker,” Elliot replied, ignoring the unease that was beginning to knot in her stomach. She didn’t know why it was there, inside of her, until she realized she was—happy? “It wasn’t meant to hold both of us.” And then, bitterly: “ Fuck, you’re hot.”

She kicked her leg out from under the sheets, exhaling sharply as the complaint left her mouth. It was too late to choose better wording; she could feel John’s self-pleased aura radiating off of him almost instantly as he buried his face into her neck.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said, as his fingers skimmed beneath the sheet to trace the lines of her scars. She knew that it infuriated him that she hadn’t told him what they were from—but at least like this, he wasn’t interrogating her, contenting himself with feeling them rather than knowing them. She squirmed and grimaced.

“I mean like a space heater,” she grumbled. Tucking her arm up under the pillow, she added, “I don’t remember saying you could sleep here.”

John grinned against the back of her neck. “Are you kicking me out?”

A long, tired sigh slipped out of her, muffled by the pillow. Every part of her ached in a pleasant way, and John’s warmth pressed up behind her as they lay crammed on the bed in the bunkhouse was a grounding one; the kind that might let her sleep a little more. The darkness in the room meant that she hadn’t dozed off for very long, and even now her eyes felt heavy.

She knew that she’d barely gotten the amount of sleep that she needed since Joey’s death, let alone wanted . Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the gore and grit of it; it sat just behind her eyelids, waiting for her to try and get some rest and move forward to assault her with the memory of Joey’s gruesome murder.

The broken jaw, the gutted chest cavity. The flowers, packed so tight and full she could have rested her cheek on it and been held like a pillow. 

And John’s arms, circling her: Don’t look, El. 

“You can stay,” Elliot said after a moment, keeping her eyes fixed on the wall. “This one time.”

“You’re in an agreeable mood.” John paused, nosing past the hair gathering in the crook of her neck. “You want to tell me how your confession went now? Must’ve been pretty good, considering what you let me—”

She groaned. “I changed my mind. Get out.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, I just—”

“You are so fucking annoying,” she said, rolling over in the bed to look at him. With that grin slapped on his face and his hair tousled out of its normally meticulous slick-back, he looked boyish and young, not like a cultist maniac; it was probably the most frustrating thing about him, that he could look this way. That he could have moments of sincerity, but that he never seemed to fall into the realm of “good”, because every time she felt herself relaxing around him he did something to remind her why it was a bad idea . “I’m not going to talk to you about my confession.”

“Well,” John said petulantly, “why not ?”

Her fingers traced the Sloth scar just under his collarbone. He had a myriad of them—tattoos, too—and while she hadn’t quite gotten them all memorized, it was nice to let the buzzing of her brain focus on parsing them out instead of everything else.

The problem was that Elliot didn’t know how to tell him the truth of it; that she had only told Joseph those things about who she had been and who she was now because she knew that he wanted her to, just like she knew John wanted her to let him kiss her, and just like she knew Jacob wanted her to give him a reason to push her to her limits and really test her. She couldn’t tell John that, because even though it was true , it also didn’t change the fact that he complicated things for her more than she should have let him—like everything, John was an outlying variable which Elliot had no way to brace for.

“It’s not good pillow talk,” she said after a minute, skimming her fingers along the jut of his collarbone. “And I don’t want to talk about it, and that should be enough.” And then, decisively, when John opened his mouth, she said, “It is enough.”

John closed his mouth pointedly, and then said, “You certainly know how to ruin a good time.”

“Goodnight, John.”

She rolled back onto her other side and waited for the departure of his warmth. It didn’t go anywhere—instead, John buckled down, keeping his arm wrapped snug around her abdomen as his mouth traced the slope of her shoulder.

“You’ll tell me,” he said after a moment, his voice a pleasant rumble, “eventually.”

We’ll fucking see about that, she thought, closing her eyes with a muted sigh.

“ Goodnight, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You’re late.”

Jacob sounded fully unimpressed, arms crossed over his chest as John stepped into the chapel. It was to be expected, he supposed; after all, they were supposed to have been convening about ten minutes ago, but sleeping in the bunkhouse meant his alarm hadn’t gone off, and—

And, even if it had, he wasn’t sure that he’d have rushed out of bed anyway.

“Sorry,” John said, not feeling nor sounding very sorry at all, he was sure. Joseph was seated patiently by the table, the radio set to the side as it casually flicked through channels on a timer, meant to scan and make sure they weren’t missing out on any chatter. He glanced at John as he came in, his eyes inquisitive, but remained silent.

And then Jacob announced, “Your shirt’s all fucked up.”

“Didn’t have time to change,” John replied. He wanted to say it—he really did—but he mostly wanted Jacob to ask. “I came right over as soon as I woke up. What do we have on the Family?”

“Hey? John?” Jacob leaned down against the table, palms flat on the surface, fixing him with those steely eyes. “What the fuck?”

Faith stifled a laugh, her eyes glimmering wide and doe-like on her face. “You aren’t going to tell us what happened to your shirt?” she asked.

“I feel like this is detracting from the purpose of the meeting,” John answered, trying his very best to feign innocence and focus in the face of the attention, which—after all of Jacob’s moaning and groaning about his incompetency with the deputy, he was enjoying immensely.

Jacob pushed the collar of John’s bedraggled shirt aside with one brisk movement. “Are those nail marks?”

“Oh, John,” Faith sighed.

“Well, I don’t want to brag,” he said, brushing Jacob’s hand off of him, “and I won’t, because there’s no reason to. I’m just doing my—you know, my job.”

“So,” Joseph said, finally, “the deputy is...?”

His older brother arched a brow loftily at him, watching him from across the table. He didn’t seem to be enjoying John’s little show quite as much as his other siblings—in fact, Jacob seemed the most pleased, that wicked grin splitting across his face as soon as John said, “I think you could consider her converted. ”

“Little John finally got around to it, huh?” the red-head said, sounding quite amused.

Joseph waited. “Is that so?”

“She confessed to you,” John explained, “and then—well.” He glanced at Faith for a moment. “ Confessed to me. And actually, you know, Joseph, I was thinking about that little problem we were discussing a few days ago.”

He leaned in against the table, pleased to have their rapt attention—most of all, Joseph’s; his brother’s gaze was fixed on him expectantly, waiting patiently for the elaboration that he hoped was coming.

“Problem?” Jacob prompted. “You mean Burke?”

“I mean the whole thing,” John replied. “Burke, whether he got out or not, what’s going to happen once we get rid of the Family if someone tries to come down on us. Joseph’s right when he says there’s ways to make people not talk. Who knows if the Resistance members got out? And even if they did, who’s to say they won’t leave this place behind them forever and never look back?”

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay?”

“Okay, so ,” he continued, and then paused and said, “bear with me—”

“John.”

“What if—Elliot and I got married?” he finished. All three sets of eyes blinked at him for a moment, and then he said, “ If this goes to court, and if we have witnesses pulled up against us, Elliot can opt out of testifying against me if she’s married to me. Only a complete moron would put her up on the stand after hearing that she’s a Seed, and—”

“Stupid,” Jacob interrupted. “Bad plan. If she does get put up on the stand against one of us , what is she going to say, John?”

“She likes Joseph,” he ventured. “Sort of. Right? The confession went well, you said.”

“And me,” Faith offered. “I’m probably her favorite.”

“That’s very true,” Joseph conceded.

John plunged on, “She has a good reputation. She grew up here, went to school here, knows all of the locals, worked on law enforcement—”

“And she’s fucking nuts,” Jacob deadpanned. “They’re going to take one look at her body count and put her in a psych ward. I don’t care if you want to have a bride, John, but don’t pretend that it’s for us and not for you. We all know the second you put your eyes on her—”

“Well, it was really fucking stupid of us to let Burke get out!” John snapped. “It doesn’t look good , you know? The prospects? Not to be a big bummer, but I’m trying to make a win out of a losing hand!”

Joseph lifted his hand to signal that an end to the discourse had come. He settled back against his chair for a moment, pensive, eyes fixed on the Eden’s Gate symbol carved into the front of the chapel; it felt a little like agony to sit and wait for him to break the silence, and John could sense the unease prickling in his stomach.

“The deputy has confided in me the extent of her past,” he began at last, “which matches up with everything we dug up on her before, when she came back.” He sighed thoughtfully. “She was truthful, and willing, and so vulnerable. It really was remarkable—and with all that time she spent fighting us. You should have seen her, John.”

I know, John thought when the spiteful venom shot straight through him, taking away some of the victory that had rooted itself there in his chest. I know, I know, that should have been fucking mine.

“She confessed to me, and then…” His eyes landed on John. Delicately, he continued, “... willingly indulged you.”

“I’ll say,” Jacob muttered.

“It seems that our deputy is turning a new leaf, after all.” Joseph’s gaze flickered absently down to the table, and he asked, “So. She’s agreed to it? This idea of yours?”

No, John thought, with no absence of affection and frustration in equal amounts. If he was being honest, he thought that she wouldn’t have agreed to it even if every bad thing they had ever done to her was erased; that was just the kind of woman that Elliot was. All the more reason to want her. All the more reason to make the taming sweeter.

And if tying Elliot to him legally, by name, didn’t get them out of this mess, it would at least ensure that she stayed in it. 

With him.

After a moment, he ventured, “It could require a little extra persuasion.”

“Hol-ee shit,” Jacob said. “You came with a half-baked idea that you haven’t even gotten confirmation on? John? John?”

Feeling another bout of bickering come on, Faith let out a little exhale of breath and came to a stand, smoothing her hands along the skirt of her dress. Both Jacob and John stopped their oncoming fight to look at her—almost as effective at garnering attention as Joseph, his little snake.

“I’ll talk to her,” Faith said. “It shouldn’t come from you. You’ll just piss her off.”

John narrowed his eyes. “It takes a rapport, Faith, and you’ve barely spent any time with her.”

“It’s not about the amount of time, it’s about the quality of the time,” she snipped. “Fifteen minutes with her and she was willingly offering up information about her childhood to me.”

“Okay,” John replied tartly, “and?”

“When I was kidnapped by the Family, they kept referring to their— substance as ‘opening them to the influence’,” the blonde said primly. “And when I heard that, I thought, what a good idea! It’s easy to overwhelm the body with Bliss, you know. Send someone on a nice trip. But if you just give them a little bit at a time? Over a longer time? Sort of like what Jacob does.”

“We’re not letting Jacob do his brainwashing on her,” he bit out.

“No, John , we’re not,” Faith sighed. “I just mean—give her enough where she doesn’t realize what’s happening. It just makes her…” She searched for a moment, and then smiled brightly. “Soft.”

Oh, he thought, I do like it when she’s soft.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Joseph said, before he gathered up the threads of his thoughts from images of Elliot soft , burying her face into his neck and sighing prettily. “And if she’s more open to your influence because of it, John, then what’s to lose anyway?”

“Well, since we’re all settled on this fucking insane idea,” Jacob said, spreading the map back out on the table, “Faith will take care of that while I educate everyone on what’s going on with our Family, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When she woke up, John was gone, and with him the satisfying warmth that had lulled her back to sleep. In his absence, Boomer had curled up on the floor next to her bed; John must have let him in on his way out.

“Hey, buddy,” Elliot murmured, reaching down and ruffling his dark fur affectionately. He made a low, whining groan, blinking big brown eyes up at her. “You’re ready to be done, huh?”

Boomer rolled onto his back, stretching his legs luxuriously as she patted his stomach. She was pleased to find that John had left almost no trace of himself—no articles of clothing, no sticky note left on the bedside table. It was as if he hadn’t ever been there.

Well, almost, anyway. She slid out of bed and grabbed some clean clothes from her bag, making her way to the bathroom to start the shower. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she almost started; there were marks blooming on her neck, her collarbone, her hips. Her lips were kiss-reddened, her hair disheveled. She thought for a second that she’d never looked more like a stranger and also felt like herself in a very long time—though perhaps that had to do with having a clear path out of Hope County. As close to clear as she could get.

About ten minutes into the shower and she heard the door to the bunkhouse open; Boomer barked once, and Elliot stuck her head out of the shower to say, “John, I really only just got into the shower—”

“It’s me.” It was Faith’s voice. Softer, sweeter, more welcome even all things considered. Elliot hadn’t forgotten the way that Faith had stuck around to try and comfort her, even if she knew she’d been told to do it, and even if she knew that Faith had to have been doing it for something. The only person who had ever done that because they cared for her was dead, now.

“Oh.” Elliot paused, clearing her throat. “Um—I’m sorry, I thought—” Fuck fuck fuck.

“I can wait,” Faith continued, closer to the bathroom door now. “I was just going to see if you would go on a walk with me. We’re not allowed to leave the compound alone anymore.”

Faith’s voice sounded small, filled with a kind of longing that Elliot recognized in places of herself, too—the kind of longing that she’d felt before she’d met Joey: to be around someone, anyone . She swallowed thickly. 

This wasn’t on her agenda for the day. She was supposed to be grabbing a map, trying to get to the radio without getting seen, figuring out where they kept all of their guns. She’d gathered what ammo and weapons she could at Fall’s End, but it had been slim pickings.

“I’ll hurry,” Elliot said after a moment, and she meant it. She sprinted through the rest of her shower; somehow, the idea of keeping Faith waiting was more tragic than leaving any of the other Seeds waiting, and maybe it was because Faith wasn’t even a real Seed at all and somewhere along the way had gotten snared in their trap.

She had to be safe. She had to be careful. And that meant not trusting a Seed—even an honorary one. Especially an honorary one.

Once she had dressed, she stepped out into the main room of the bunkhouse to find Faith waiting patiently. Unlike John, she didn’t regard Boomer with a look of wary disdain (though it had been a while since he’d done that), but rather with a little smile planted on her face; the Heeler’s hair was up, and he made a low warning noise that rumbled right out of his chest, but he laid flat on the floor and looked instantly to Elliot for a cue on whether their new guest was dangerous or not. She waved her hand at him.

“Sorry about that,” Elliot said before she could stop herself—there was no reason for her to apologize for Boomer being wary of her, considering all of the variables, but Faith’s sweet face gazing wide-eyed and trusting at her was enough to dig right in the grit of her in a way that John or Joseph couldn’t have ever. 

“It’s okay,” Faith replied amusedly. “I know John locked him up in a cage.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly, shifting on her feet. She was glad she’d packed mostly sweaters, a few high-necked, to help conceal the remaining bruising. With a gesture for Faith to head out of the bunkhouse, Elliot followed her out into the late morning—but not before she grabbed a handgun out from under the bed, flicked the safety on, and tucked it under her sweater and into the back of her jeans.

Outside, the sun had receded behind a thin veil of gray clouds, and in the distance thicker ones started to roll in. Angry, boisterous kinds of clouds. She hoped it was going to storm again; she loved an Autumn storm, but she had the feeling that it would only be a nuisance in the end.

“I can’t believe how gloomy it is,” Faith murmured, pouting. Without any ceremony, she took Elliot’s hand in hers, interlacing their fingers like they had been friends forever; a sweet perfume scent wafted off of her, and it smelled familiar , but Elliot couldn’t figure out what it was. Boomer sprinted on ahead of them, doubling back every once in a while as he got his stretch in, and the girl continued, “Jacob says it might even snow. ”

Elliot grimaced at the mention of Jacob but trailed obediently next to Faith. It was so much harder to maintain the anger, even knowing that she had been just as complicit. Faith was just so—

“It’s snowed as early as August here, once,” she offered, dragging her mind away from what it was that bothered her the most: that Joseph, Jacob, and John were all somewhere, convening, likely about her. Likely about things that she needed to know. “What are your brothers doing?”

“Talking about boring stuff,” Faith replied with a little laugh as they walked out from the gate of the compound. And then, with a sly little look on her face, she said, “Talking about you, too.”

A little lurch caught in her stomach. “What about?” she asked faintly, and Faith shrugged.

“John’s upset he doesn’t know what you talked to Joseph about.” As they broke away from the dirt path and went instead closer to the forest, Boomer ducking and darting as he chased a mouse, Faith gave Elliot’s hand a little squeeze. “He really likes you, deputy.”

“You can call me Elliot,” she clarified. The title felt wrong, now that Joey was gone. Now that Whitehorse was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t really even a deputy anymore. “And did he tell you that? He’s got a funny way of saying things.”

“I can just tell. John’s my brother, and he’s bad at hiding his feelings.”

Elliot smothered a laugh before it could come out of her. “I suppose he is.”

They walked like that for a few moments; Faith, remarking often about something that caught her eye, Elliot offering whatever information she could about the flora and fauna, and on one occasion Boomer sat still enough to let Faith brush her fingers over his ears. It was a strange, suspended sort of moment in time, Elliot thought. Like they had entered a bubble entirely their own, perfumed by Faith’s floral-sweet perfume, the freedom of walking outside of the compound, and the gentleness that Faith carried with her.

She was so remarkably unlike any of her siblings that it was almost possible to forget she had ever been one at all. That at one point, she had held Joey captive at John’s behest, in a way to wrench on the softest parts of her.

“I’m very sorry,” she murmured after a moment, garnering Elliot’s attention. “About Miss Hudson. You know, they kept us together. The Family. She was…”

Oh, Elliot thought, as the faint wash of grief slipped up in her, trying to climb up her walls. Oh, please don’t say something lovely. I just can’t stand it.

“So kind,” Faith murmured at last, “to me. Even after everything. When I was crying, and scared, and thought no one was going to come for me, she held me. She always said that you were going to come, no matter what.”

The words rinsed her with a different kind of sorrow, then. Not even really for herself, anymore, but that Faith had known Joey’s kindness, and now she would be without it.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Faith continued after a moment, stopping their walk as they had looped back around and now the chapel was coming within sight. A swoon rattled around in her head again as a waft of Faith's perfume smothered her. “You know? Brothers are nice, but—”

Elliot felt a pleasant, dreamy buzzing in her head, and she thought it might have been from the words because— because, and that was all her brain could think to supply as the thoughts flickered around in her head. Because Faith wrapped her arms around Elliot’s midsection and hugged her, head tucked just under her chin, because the young woman felt so tiny and small and frail in her arms, because there was nothing about what she said that came with the same boxed, off-brand sincerity that the rest of her brothers used.

“I’m so happy you came, Elliot,” she murmured, her voice floating up to her muffled by the fabric of her sweater. She was holding so tight that Elliot could feel the rabbit-like fluttering of her own heartbeat in comparison to the slow, luxurious tempo of Faith’s. “I’ve felt really alone out here.”

When she tried to lift her arms, cautiously, it felt like she was moving under water; she rested her hands on the blonde’s shoulders. “Faith,” she started, “if you—if you’re—unhappy—”

I can get you out too, she thought, a little desperately. I can get you out. I couldn’t do it for Joey, but for you, I could.

“What do you mean?” The young woman smiled up at her, and their noses brushed, and that scent washed over her again. What was it from? She couldn’t quite muddle through her brain to catch it and pin it down. “I’m so happy. Now that you’re here.”

“M-Me too,” Elliot managed out. She thought, vaguely, that something must be wrong; before she could trouble herself with it anymore, Faith reached up and kissed her cheek, and then the corner of her mouth, chastely. A burst of floral raced through her mouth, humming between her molars.

“Are you?” Faith asked her as the world wobbled a bit around her. “Happy, Elliot?”

Was she? When she reached around inside of her, dug around deep, she had anticipated to find that sharp little jumble of glass inside of her, all of the anger and the hurt that had been wadded up and sat right locked away in her jaw: but it was nowhere to be found, then. In that moment, all she felt was a gorgeous swoon of delight race straight through her at the idea that she could still be happy.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, feeling a little smile tugging at her lips. “I am.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So,” John said casually, “are you going to tell me what Elliot said to you?”

“Oh, fucking Christ,” Jacob muttered.

“John, you know that I can’t.” Joseph’s voice was mild, and patient, as he gathered his things from the table and came to a stand. “She confessed to me in absolute confidence. I could never violate that.”

“It’s important,” John replied, shooting Jacob a look when he scoffed, “to make sure that I have as much information as I can.”

As they walked toward the chapel’s doors that led out into the main yard, Joseph rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, rooting him to his spot for a moment. It was just a tiny gesture, but that alone was enough to make John hesitate, glancing over at his older brother.

“Everything that you need to know about our deputy,” Joseph said, “you do. The only advice I can offer you is that she’s already told you what she wants, more than anything.”

“Don’t,” John sighed, “ please don’t be cryptic with me. I don’t know—”

“You do,” his brother cautioned. “You do know, John. She’s just a woman, you know. She wants what anyone wants.” He gestured for him to move forward, and he did, albeit reluctantly, and Joseph opened the door to the outside. “A place to belong. A person to belong to, or a person to belong to them.” He paused. “A home.”

“John!”

As he stepped out of the chapel, Faith’s voice dragged his gaze to the small little space between the chapel and the building next to it. His sister waved at him with one hand while the other clasped Elliot’s tugging her along.

“We wondered how long you guys were going to be,” she said, beaming at him as they neared, Jacob and Joseph trailing after him out of the chapel. Joseph got as far as the doorway, leaning against it comfortably. Elliot’s face was flushed prettily, and yes, he could see it—the ever-so-gentle dilation of her pupils, a strange dragging smoothness to her movements, like each lift of her arm or flicker of her eyes was being done in a syrupy pool of molasses.

“It wasn’t too long, was it?” he prompted amusedly. “Only an hour and a half, I think.”

“Boring,” Faith insisted. “Elliot and I had so much fun. She knows so much about the plants around here, did you know?”

The sentence almost made John laugh. Faith knew just about as much as anyone could be around the plants in the area; he knew that she was capable of this kind of sweet manipulation, but to see it in action, to see the way that Elliot’s nose crinkled at the compliment, was different.

“Not,” Elliot managed out modestly, “that much.”

Joseph said something to beckon Faith; John couldn’t hear it, or if he did, the sound didn’t filter into his mental archives, because Elliot was gazing at him with something other than venom, and when their eyes met she waited a heartbeat too long to look away.

“I think I’m— gonna go lay down,” she said after a moment. “Thanks for talking with me, Faith.”

“I told you,” Faith replied sweetly from the doorway of the chapel, “I’m so happy you’re here.” And she swiped her thumb along her lower lip, like the dredges of a sweet-drink she didn’t want to forget, and John felt like he’d missed something important.

As Jacob brushed past him with one last meaningful look over his shoulder, John cleared his throat and asked, “Are you feeling alright?” just as Elliot caught herself from swaying on her feet.

“Me?” she repeated, and as she took a step forward it seemed to hit her really hard then, her hand flying out to stabilize herself with his shoulder. “I’m good. I’m pretty good, you know?”

“I don’t,” John replied. He reached up, brushing the hair from her face, and for a moment her eyes fluttered and she sighed. “Tell me.”

“Got food.”

“Mhm.”

“Got sleep.”

“Right.” John nudged her forward, walking her towards the bunkhouse.

“Got—” She paused, almost like she felt suddenly shy, opening the door and stepping inside. She looked at him over her shoulder, a little smile tugging at her lips. “ You. Don’t I, John?”

He thought very suddenly that he had been a fool to doubt Faith’s capabilities. A fool, certainly, and an even greater one to not have taken advantage of this sooner. Of course dunking her in a river bleeding Bliss had made her feel like shit. It was meant to disorient her. But this Elliot? Gently, sweetly catered into a bliss-buzzed reality?

“Yes,” he replied as her arms slipped around his neck. “You do.”

“Smell good.” Elliot nuzzled her face into his neck. She smelled like Bliss extract—like she’d taken a bath in it—and when she leaned up and kissed him leisurely, unhurriedly, she tasted like it too. It vibrated in his mouth, sharp and glittering and racing straight down his spine. “You left too many marks on me. It’s hard to cover up.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, even though he wasn’t sorry at all.

“You’re not.” She grinned against his mouth. “But you will be.”

The words sent an excited little thrill through him, anticipation prickling along the back of his neck. But he needed to stay focused; he needed to remember why Faith had done this for them in the first place. Not to get Elliot relaxed enough to actually enjoy herself, but to secure at least one aspect of their future that they could get their hands on.

He said, half-cocked grin on his face, “Is that so?” while Elliot nudged him to one of the chairs settled snug and comfortable in the corner of the bunkhouse. The table had been littered with her own belongings that she’d fetched from Fall’s End — her bag of clothes and things from the house, the two crates worth of supplies she’d hauled from the Spread Eagle. As soon as he was sitting in the chair obediently, she settled in his lap.

“Hey, El,” John said against her mouth, “what if we did something?”

“Kissing is something,” Elliot replied pleasantly.

“I mean,” he tried again, skimming his hands up underneath her sweater and down her back, “what if—we got—what the fuck is this?”

His hands hit lukewarm metal. He gripped it tentatively, feeling familiar ridges and lines, and pulled it out from where it had been tucked beneath the top lip of her jeans. 

It was a gun.  

In hindsight, John realized that it would have been stupid to think that she hadn’t grabbed weapons while they were in Fall’s End—she obviously didn’t think they’d give her any, and she was probably more right about it—but the absurdity of actually catching her with one on her was almost too much, in juxtaposition to the innocent way she was regarding him.

“A gun,” she said.

“I can see that,” John replied amusedly, making sure the safety was switched on before he set the gun on the table. “Care to elaborate?”

Elliot shrugged. The black of her pupils slowly ate away at the blue of her irises, until he thought that there could only be a sliver of them left now. “Not really.” And then she kissed him again, instantly pulling his mind away from the task at hand as well as the careful procurement of her firearm.

“You wanted to be—armed, walking around with my sister?” John rumbled against her mouth.

“Not getting caught unarmed,” Elliot replied. “Not again.” And she threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him, sighing into the liplock prettily and reminding him, again, why he was actually here.

John waited until he could feel the flutter of her pulse under his fingers before he said, “What if we got married?”

Elliot laughed. “Don’t be stupid,” she murmured, while his fingers traced the bruise he’d left the night before. 

“I’m not.” He kissed her again, distracting her for a moment. “What if we did?”

The blonde stilled and pulled back, regarding him with a gaze that was both unimpressed and confused. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t say anything, and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. But John had been prepared for this question, because he knew it would come inevitably, and he leaned forward and tugged her down to kiss her again; her movements were more tentative now, as though she were trying to brace herself against him.

“I don’t want,” John said against her kiss, “you to be alone anymore.”

“Um,” said Elliot, sounding faint.

“And when this is all done with,” he continued quickly, “all of this stuff with—with the cult, you and I can get out of here.”

She stared at him. He could almost hear the sluggish churning of her mental gears, grinding and lurching against each other. In the time that he’d known Elliot, he’d come to understand that there were two things that she cared about: getting her friend, and getting out. And it was easy to promise both; by the time they got to the end of the line, it was time to make a decision about staying or leaving, Elliot would be so won over by him that she’d choose to stay.

What does anyone want?

“But what about…” She swallowed thickly and gestured with her hand. “What about—like—all the others—”

A person to belong to them.

“I want to be with you,” John said, low and easy. “I want to be yours, El.”

Her lashes fluttered uneasily. “John—”

“I want a home.” He studied her face. “With you.”

Come on, he thought as she worked the words through her Bliss-muddled brain. Come on, hellcat, come on, I know you want to.

“If you—I bet if you agree to testify,” she started, “then Burke could—”

“Cutting a deal only works if you can choose not to testify against me,” John told her. “You know that, El.”

She didn’t; she was only a small town deputy, but it didn’t matter. She nodded like she did. She was a small town deputy with nothing and no-one left, and now he was offering her what he thought she wanted the most: something. Someone.

“You said there was a John that you wanted,” he continued. He kissed her, his hand cradling the back of her head, and he felt her fingers fist the front of his shirt like she was afraid of disappearing. “I’m here.”

Voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Okay.”

John nosed past her hair, kissing the slope of her jawbone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Elliot repeated. “I’m—yeah, I want—I want you to be… If you’ll go, when this is done—if you’ll cut a deal with Burke, and—”

A moment passed where she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say exactly what she meant. So he waited, and let her muddle through it, mouth twisting for a moment. A person to belong to, Joseph had said; he felt the absent fluttering of her pulse under his mouth. A person to belong to them.

“Then I want you,” she managed hazily, “to be mine.”

Mine. The word echoed pleasantly, over and over again, in his own voice. Mine. All mine.

“Of course,” John murmured against her skin, “all yours.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Evening came, and with it, a plethora of new problems: chief among them, sober Elliot.

That is to say, though John had hurried from the bunkhouse and fetched the marriage certificate Joseph had figured up for him, and though he had made it back in time for Elliot to dimly sign it, she was nearly asleep. Which left the question up in the air as to whether or not Elliot would even remember their conversation, or if it would feel like a strange dream to her, and if it did, what was he going to do? Tell her?

By the time she’d slept off her happy little trip, John had filed the certificate away for safe-keeping, and she'd come barging into the chapel.

“Hey,” he greeted her, noting the sharpness of her eyes, the way she cocked her head and rolled her shoulders. “Get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Elliot replied, her voice coming out a little hoarse from the sleep. “What happened? I was so tired, I can barely remember leaving Faith.”

Jacob looked at John pointedly, his brain rapidly scrambling for a foothold. Now, in the face of Elliot-not-under-the-influence, he had the distinct feeling that his assumption she would not be pleased at the idea of being a Seed felt truer than ever.

He should tell her. He should. He should tell her what they’d agreed to, that she’d signed a marriage certificate to be “witnessed” by Joseph and Jacob and Faith, that she’d said she wanted him to be hers. If he trusted her, he would.

“Nothing,” John said lightly. “You came back from your walk with Faith, said you were tired and wanted to go lay down. You look pretty flushed, though.” He feigned concern, reaching up to touch her forehead. “Are you running a fever again?”

Elliot jerked back, startled by the gesture, as though the display of affection in front of Jacob was a shock to her. Trying to look as though she hadn’t just acted like a cornered animal, she said, “I’m—no, I feel fine otherwise.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Well—”

“Faith said you guys were having a meeting earlier,” the blonde continued. “About what to do with the Family. I need to be in on those meetings.”

Jacob scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“ I’m going to kill Kian,” she asserted firmly. “So I need to know what he’s up to.”

The two of them exchanged a glance for a moment. John said, “Elliot, are you sure you don’t—”

“Positive.”

“Well, sit down,” Jacob snapped. “Not gonna wait all fucking day for you.”

Relief immediately crossed her face. It was so potent in that moment that she didn’t even seem to have the heart to bite out a retort—Jacob’s venom meant nothing to her, not if she was getting what she wanted. Elliot sat herself down at the table and leaned over the map, stifling a yawn.

Jacob covered all of the information that he already had with John and Joseph in their own, which was just fine; John didn’t need to hear about how they’d dug up Ase Carnell, daughter of a Swedish hedge fund king who’d inherited her daddy’s billions upon his departure from his mortal coil. He didn’t need to hear about that, because instead , he could think about the way Elliot had said, I want you to be mine. How sweet she would be when she’d settled into being his wife, too; how delicious she would sound saying, come here, husband.

He was halfway through a daydream when Elliot broke him out of his thoughts. “Did we find out anything about them?” she asked.

“ We ,” Jacob said, pointing at himself alone, “found out that they’re no longer holed up at the camp, but they’re on the move. Like they’re heading out of town. Somehow, these people are well-funded, well-equipped, and they have nothing but time on their hands.”

“Ase told us that the end of the world was coming,” John clarified, “and that it was their job to help usher it in.”

“Well.” Jacob grimaced. “We can’t let them get out. We should choke them here on their way out of Hope County.”

“Do you think Kian’s there still?” Elliot asked. “After what he did to Joey, I—I have to think he’s really pissed off.”

“There weren’t any stragglers,” Jacob replied, “the camp was completely empty, and we haven’t seen anyone out on their own.”

“Then I’ll go cut them off.”

Jacob barked out a laugh, and when Elliot regarded him with an even, unflinching gaze, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re fucking joking.”

“I have guns,” Elliot insisted. “I can drive in a firefight better than any of you fuckheads. Just ask John.”

“Yeah, he told me about your little stunt. You almost killed Faith.”

“But I didn’t,” Elliot insisted, “ and I got valuable information, which was that they weren’t willing to kill her even if it meant killing us, so you’re welcome, you fuckhead!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jacob bit out.

“Okay,” John interjected just as Elliot opened her mouth, “what if I went too?”

It wasn’t ideal. He didn’t really want to go on a happy little road trip to try and corner a murderous cult, he wanted to just let them fuck off and never come back, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that they had egregiously affected Elliot, and he had promised her, and if he went back on that promise now, the tentative peace they had come to would disappear instantly.

Whether she remembered the marriage or not.

His eldest brother stared at him for a long minute. John half-expected him to say no; after all, the whole point was to make sure they didn’t die, Elliot included, so that they could use her if something went awry after the Family was dealt with.

“Fine,” Jacob said after a moment.

“No!” Elliot protested instantly. “Fuck, God, no, I don’t—need a fucking babysitter.”

“On the contrary, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without one,” Jacob replied. “John goes with you to choke them, or I go with you.”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a vicious grimace. She tapped her thumb nail against her lower lip for a moment, her gaze sliding to him; their eyes lingered just a bit longer than normal, and for a second he thought she knew something that she wasn’t telling him.

“I’d rather drill out my own cavities than go with you,” Elliot said to Jacob after a minute.

“Great,” he said flippantly, “so you and John can have a nice little road trip down the highway—”

“Cool.”

“—and we’ll pin them in from the back. We’ve got enough explosives to light up the entire gaggle of them, but only once, so you’d better make it fucking count. Got it?”

Something was clearly brewing. It unsettled John, the way that she regarded him with a fixed, unreadable gaze. It struck John that Elliot hadn’t, in the last few days, mentioned anything about her plan, or her next move. It was the first time that he was not acutely aware of her intentions beyond revenge for Hudson.

What’s going on in that head of yours? He wondered. What’s storming around in there?

“Got it,” Elliot replied, at length. “So when do we leave?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot stood by idly while Joseph went about his work. His “work” being speaking in low murmurs to John and Jacob, hands on both of their shoulders, heads bowed together as he took them through what was certainly some kind of horrific disfigurement of a prayer.

Joseph had been pleased when she’d told him about that night in her apartment. He’d looked elated, to know the nitty-gritty details of her worst nightmare; of her then-boyfriend terrorizing her, for weeks, before breaking into her apartment. He’d been thrilled. He’d cradled her face and said, Don’t worry, Elliot. You’re safe now.

She had to bite back a laugh. Safe , like that meant anything to her anymore. Her apartment had been safe. Joey had been safe. And what had that gotten her?

Alone.

Alone, and with strange, broken moments of time. John had said that she’d gone straight to sleep, but if that was the case, she’d had uncomfortable dreams, too. Splintering fragments of what felt like a memory. John, kissing her, arms wrapped around her midsection: I want to be yours. I want a home, with you.

It was too much of a fairytale to have been real, she knew—John would never. He’d said it himself; he’d do anything for his family, and that meant dying, and lying, and squirming his way into her bed, and fuck him for being that way. Maybe she wanted him in her bed, and fuck him for that, too.

Because he had lied to her. Or at the very least, he hadn’t been entirely truthful with her. Elliot knew she’d taken her gun with her, and when she’d woken up, she’d seen it on the table.

“You’re not riding this time, bud,” she said to Boomer, the keys in her hand. “I don’t want you in the car if you don’t have to be.”

The Heeler gazed her, big brown eyes soft and trusting. His tail wagged softly in the dirt. If there was someone that was going to make it out of here, no matter what, she’d make sure it was Boomer.

“Elliot.” It was Faith’s voice. She had slipped up while the brothers spoke amongst themselves, smiling at her, small and tentative. 

“Hey, Faith,” Elliot greeted her, clearing her throat. A wad of anxiety rolled in her stomach at the sight of the blonde—something she wasn’t expecting, and that she couldn’t quite parse out. “What are you doing up so late? Or—early, I guess.”

“I wanted to see you off,” she replied sweetly. “You’re going to get that guy, right? The one that killed Hudson?”

She swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” The blonde sounded oddly determined. “I hope he suffers.”

A wave of affection washed over her. It was an unexpectedly kind thing to say. “Me too.”

The brothers finished their convening, and as they divided—John to her, Jacob to a group of Peggies, and Joseph beckoning Faith to follow him into the chapel—Elliot felt something settle right in her, just under her skin, and John glanced back over his shoulder before he reached up.

His fingers brushed her jaw. She didn’t recoil the same way she had before, but steeled herself against the instinct to do so; the two combating urges to both lean and pull away. But she stayed perfectly still, and when John leaned down, she tilted her chin up.

Their lips brushed. She wanted to linger in the moment, to enjoy it, but she couldn’t brush off the creeping knowledge that he hadn’t been honest with her.

“Aren’t you excited to go on a roadtrip with me?” John said, his voice low as he kissed her.

Elliot tilted her head just a little bit out of his grasp. “So I can hear you complain about my driving?”

“Mean.” He smiled against her mouth. “Cruel. Wicked.”

“Are you trying to compliment me into submission?” Elliot asked, and then he kissed her again—slower this time, more leisurely; indulgent was the word he should have used for her, all things considered.

He looked at her for a moment, a little like he couldn’t get enough of her, and murmured, “Not into submission. Just complimenting for all the normal reasons.”

“Are you two leaving or what?” Jacob snapped from a few feet away. “We have time wasting.”

Elliot exhaled, sharp and tired, against John’s mouth, and he laughed, pulling away from her. He waved at Jacob before he walked around to the other side of the truck and climbed in; she hoisted herself into the driver’s side and rolled the window down and cranked the engine on. Everything she thought they might need had been loaded into the small space behind their seats—guns, ammo, what medical supplies she’d been able to take from Fall’s End, some food. She tapped a cigarette out of a carton she’d snagged and lit it.

“Really?” John asked, without heat, as she pulled the truck slowly away from the center of the yard.

“I’m tired,” Elliot replied, taking a drag of the cigarette. “If I am still sick, it’s really sticking with me.”

John was quiet at that, glancing out the window as they pulled out of the compound, and she whistled out the window and Boomer took off to dart through the underbrush like an arrow; dark and sleek and lethal. She could see his eyes glinting in the headlights as she turned onto the road and hit pavement.

“You shouldn’t have had to come,” she said. 

“I would’ve wanted to, even if Jacob didn’t demand it.” John glanced over at her, and for a second she thought he looked almost sly as he continued, “You don’t have to do everything alone all the time, you know.”

“Please don’t try and Atlas this thing, deputy.”

Jerome’s voice clattered around in her, vibrating each time it connected with some surface of her memory; but she didn’t let herself feel them, didn’t let them wander into her conscience, because if she did she would have lost herself to the grief.

“I know,” Elliot said quietly, tapping the ash out the window. “It’s just hard. I don’t—I’m not—”

“A team player?” he prompted, reaching over and taking the cigarette out of her hand so that he could take a drag for himself. Before she could correct him on what she was going to say— good at letting go —he snagged her free hand and in a surprising act of affection, brought it to his mouth to kiss her fingers.

“We’ll kill him, El,” John continued. He carried an easiness about him now that he hadn’t had before, like he was suddenly very relaxed despite the task at hand. “And then this whole nightmare will be over.”

The irony that John Seed was assuring her that the nightmare would be finished was palpable, and certainly not lost on her. Even if it was endearing, the way that he snagged her hand and kissed her knuckles, the way that he smoked her cigarette down, like she could get a secondhand-decompression from it.

“Yeah,” she murmured, “I know, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As soon as they hit the highway, the dark night sky stretching out above them, Elliot felt herself relax.

For the first time in a long time, she felt still ; as though all of that vibrating, all of that suffering, had ended, even if it was only for a moment. Even if that meant that John Seed was a part of the quiet.

“Remember the last time you were driving us somewhere?” John prompted from the passenger seat, rolling the window up against the chill of the late evening. “You stole my sunglasses, you smoked in the car, and then you tried to drive us into an oncoming car. With my sister in it.”

“This sounds like a lot of complaining for someone who’s still in one piece,” Elliot replied, hitting the cruise button on the truck and glancing out the window. She was going slower than normal, letting Boomer dart through the underbrush as he trailed them. He’d barely gotten half the amount of exercise he’d been used to since they’d been in the compound, so he was probably having the time of his little doggy life.

“I’m just saying, cruising at a cool twenty-five on an empty highway seems highly out of character for you.”

Elliot opened her mouth to say something, her head turning to look at John, but several things happened in very quick succession: Boomer barked, loud and sharp on her left, John leaned forward to look at him, and when John leaned, Elliot saw a dark, gray shape lurching its way from the far side of the road up onto the pavement.

Panic shot through her body. She slammed her foot on the gas, but it was too late; the van—and that’s what it was, a van —was quicker on the uptake and slammed straight into the back end of the truck, sending it tires-squealing across the highway and straight into a tree. The sound of crunching metal and glass breaking rang in her ears as her body lurched with the movement, wrenching against the steering wheel with a force that knocked the wind right out of her.

She was aware, vaguely, of airbags weakly deploying. Fucking Peggies, she thought through the haze of pain, fumbling with her seatbelt. And then her body kicked again: someone fucking hit us, fuck fuck fuck, oh shit oh fuck, her finger jamming uselessly on the mangled seatbelt clicker.

“John?” Elliot asked, as smoke billowed into the front of the car. The windshield was broken, and the engine sputtered dangerously.

“What—in the fuck—?” His voice was groggy, and through the smoke filling the cab of the truck and her own blurring vision she could see the dim shape of him moving.

The seatbelt finally released, and she fumbled blindly at John’s, ignoring the burning filling her lungs and stinging across her skin.

“John, we have to—John we have to fucking move,” she said, and then she heard the door behind her swing open; frantically she pushed at John’s seatbelt, trying to scoot away from the noise instinctively, but the second she felt a hand gripping the back of her shirt in a fist, she could feel the dread wadding up in her stomach. 

Elliot wrenched her body hard, not bothering to look before she tried to kick whoever was grabbing at her. The hand gripping her sweater went harder, another wrapping around her calf.

And then yanked. Hard.

There was no collision of body; no one was trying to catch her out of the truck, but just haul her out, tossing her like a rag doll onto the hard ground beside the road. It was the second time in as many minutes where the wind was ripped straight out of her, and she coughed, struggling to sit up.

A booted foot planted itself on her shoulder and pressed her back into the ground.

“Sit back, mor,” an unfortunately familiar red-head cooed, digging his foot into her shoulder until she squirmed. “Relax.”

“Fuck—yourself,” Elliot ground out, wrapping her free arm around the offending leg to try and get some leverage to pull herself out from under him. But Kian easily breezed past six feet tall, and probably weighed twice as much as her. He grabbed the hand gripping his knee with a kind of bruising force and twisted until she couldn’t bite back the cry of pain.

She could hear the sounds of voices on the other side of the truck, the sound of a car pulling up next to the wreckage, and Boomer barking furiously. 

John, she thought hazily, they’re grabbing him, and Boomer. I have to fucking—I have to get up, I have move, fucking move you useless fucking body.

“Did you get my gift?” Kian asked her, lifting his foot so he could haul her to her feet. Get out get out get out her brain was screaming when his free hand gripped her throat the same way it had done before. “Did you like it, mor? Picked out every flower myself and stuffed each one in. Her eyes —”

Elliot tried to throw her body weight one way, but to no avail; the images were already flooding over her. Joey, packed full of flowers. Joey, blooming from every part of her.

“—her mouth —”

“Stop,” Elliot begged, her voice coming out hoarse, grating on each sensitive part of her soul on its way out. “Don’t talk about her—”

“—her ribs and chest, those were the best parts to fill up,” Kian seethed. “Broke every one of her pretty little ribs and yanked them right out. Could not waste any space, could we, mor?”

He spat the moniker at her with venom. Where Ase had said it to her reverently, with adoration, caressing her with the single-syllable, he bit it out of his mouth: he sank his teeth into it, brimming with hatred.

Her vision fuzzed around the edges, and Kian dug his fingers into the soft skin of her throat. “Ase—said,” Elliot managed out, one last-ditch attempt at survival, “she said she was—she was waiting for me—”

Kian hauled her against the truck, all but throwing her against the dented and splintering metal as the smell of burning rubber filled the air. Every inch of her body was screaming , straining and aching, desperate for some kind of relief from the constant onslaught of pain.

“Ase,” Kian hissed out against her temple, so low that she almost couldn’t hear him, “is dead. Your man killed her. Or don’t you remember?”

Elliot wheezed. She did, but his grip on her throat was so tight that she thought she was going to pass out; there was no room to answer even if she thought that Kian wanted to hear it.

“We’re going to have fun, little one.” He punctuated each word as hard as he could, punching it out of his mouth. “We’re going to see how fast you can run. You and that man of yours. Did you know, mor —”

His fingers loosened on her throat, brushing over what she was sure was a bruise from John her neck, almost admiring. The sensation sent unpleasant goosebumps prickling along her spine. 

“—that I have intimate knowledge of the human body?” he finished. “So much time digging around in one, you start to figure out how to make someone’s life end quickly—or make them die a long and suffering death.” He smiled, the gesture out of place on his face; in another life, in another world, Kian would have been handsome, but in this lifetime the expression on him only looked jagged and sharp. Like it didn’t quite fit into his skin.

Elliot gathered up whatever strength she had left and spit in his face.

She hadn’t realized her mouth was full of blood, but in hindsight, it wasn’t surprising; watching the crimson splatter Kian’s face was more a happy little treat, albeit short-lived.

“You ugly fuckhead,” she gritted out as he wiped the blood from his face. “I’m pretty good at making sure people suffer, too, let me go first and we can—s-swap notes—”

Too late, she realized that Kian was banking on her mouthing off; he fished something out of his pocket and then shoved it into her mouth. It was a wet washcloth, the taste of it earthy and reminiscent of the lingering taste that had been in her mouth when she’d woken up at the camp before. She tried desperately to spit it out, but her jaw worked tiredly, exhausted.

“Much better,” he said. “I’ll tell you what: I see your color too, mor, and do you know what I see? Not white, not perfect balance like Ase said. You are gray. Oh.” He clicked his tongue, gripping her neck to pull her forward and then slam her back against the truck again, sending her vision spinning. “So sad, aren’t you? Don’t worry. You’ll bloom for me.”

Kian beamed at her, almost boyish, holding her with his vice-like grip.

“They always do.”

[spacegaywritings]

The Wonders of Sleep - Chap 1/5  “Productive Night)

Summary: A bunch of oneshots on Virgil making sure the other sides sleep after long days of work and being busy. This time, Logan has worked until the next day and still refuses to sleep until a certain intervention stops him from getting more coffee.

Tw: trigger?? nO only SOFT RIGHTS, analogical, virgil, logan, nap, softness, domestic fluff. Fluff. Self care, trust, sleep, snuggles, cuddles, naps

 ao3 ! / next chapter .

Support me? KoFi.

Story under the cut! (1326 Words)

Loud typing filled the air of the commons. Tips and traps were emitted by the consistently pestered keyboard as Logan was writing away at a first draft of logical facts that would end up woven into the latest script of yet another episode of the Sanders Sides series Thomathy had created.

 His unoccupied hand reached for the cup of coffee, his fingers wrapping around its handle. It was cream white. A colour fitting into basically any setting. This is why Logan appreciated it. No matter what or where, a good cream colour fit any occasion or location.

It definitely aligned with the rest of furniture Patton had asked Roman to put into their common space.

 When he brought the cup up to his lips, eyes still fixed on the illuminating screen, he stilled down. It was empty. While a bit of remaining smell of dark, unsweetened and bitter coffee greeted him, there was no replenishing liquid left to clear up his senses.

Not to speak of his expanding on his capacity to stay awake further.

 “How unfortunate”, he mumbled to himself as he placed the mug back onto the table and retreated his hand to finish typing up his section.

Finally.

He was not fully done but at least a part of it was ready to be send over to Roman.

 He closed his laptop, glancing over the time in the bottom left corner of the screen.

2:49 am

This was not exactly the prime time of productivity but he had yet to write a frame of safety measurements and otherwise logistic concerns for Roman to consider. It was just a list of things he had to bring up in a meeting with the others in order to make these short videos Thomas made, as well.

To be fair, it just made him remember “vines”. To Logan, these compilations of short sketches were nothing but “vines”. They had to be put into quotations as they were not actual vines such as the plants.

 He got u-.

No, he did not.

Instead of raising to his feet, Logan got somewhat stuck in the process. His butt barely left the soft couch but did not get any further. A certain amount of weight pushed him back down to his seat.

 How odd.

 Logan looked down, mug in his hand and nothing but an empty grab into air with his unoccupied fingers.

Apparently Virgil had placed himself onto his lap while he was immersed in work - not literally, of course, just mentally. It was another of these metaphorical expressions he had picked up.

 “Virgil, what are you doing here?”

 There was no answer.

Huh, strange. Virgil was usually more than fast to shoot back any retort but there was really nothing but silence, not even a flinch.

Any movement and sound were cancelled out.

 Logan squinted, leaning a bit over Virgil to look at his face. It was mostly covered in his bangs. Other than that, he was facing away from Logan, more towards the table with the laptop on it. He had not even realised the weight of a whole head and a pair of shoulders nestling on his lap.

Now there was Virgil and he could not get up to the coffee machine and make himself more coffee.

 “Virgil, please, this is highly unproductive.”

 Maybe it was one of these practical jokes Virgil explained to him? It was worth a “shot” to try and appeal to Virgil from blocking him.

 “This is highly unproductive. It is almost 3am, please let me continue on with my work. Anxiety? Are you ignoring me?” He stared into the closed yes he could see with his back arching a bit further. Virgil looked peaceful.

 They had accepted him a while ago and it had become more and more usual for him to come around and hang out with them despite him having enough after even a few minutes. It must have been due to a lack of consistent social interaction, Logan assumed, for now Virgil was more likely to stay even when a lot of them were together and actively engaging.

It was nice to have a calm person around, especially when Roman and Patton had especially intense days of being... an extra “handful”. Logan did not even know how to phrase it.

 He blinked.

 Now that he thought about it, the weight was sort of nice, maybe hindering him from getting more coffee and postponing his sleep further, yet still somewhat comforting.

It sounded odd but apparently, people sleep better with extra weight since it reduces anxiety and gives the body a feeling of comfort.

 “Virgil?”

 He did not want to wake up the other but he still called for him. It was another illogical action he found himself indulge in more and more.

Sometimes it felt as if the interactions he had with the others made him somewhat dense to sensible actions. Why would he say Virgil’s name for no reason? The idea of risking his sleep was rather bad, to be frank. Virgil needed sleep, it was also 3 am - since when was Virgil on his lap?

 When did Logan get his last coffee? He only remembered sitting down to start on his work in the evening and now it was very early in the morning.

 Well, he did still have a lot of work left to finish . . . Thomathy relied on him.

 “Virgil, please, I have work to do. I really need to keep going.”

 He looked down at the unmoving body and sighed.

 Nothing, not even a single reaction.

If Virgil was secretly awake, he was being rather persistent albeit rather calm about it. Usually, even the slightest bit of stress had him react intensely - which made sense considering he was the metaphysical embodiment of anxiety.

 “I have to finish. Roman and Patton will be lost without me and it will cause you more work to deal with, Virgil.”

 He glanced over the laptop and opened again.

If Virgil did not move, then he would work until he would pass ou-

 Wait.

 Exhausting himself until late into the night and even further meant that Thomathy had to be awake still, had to be awake because of him.

 Logan shoved his glasses up and rubbed his closed eyes. They were so warm.

He cleared his throat and opened up his mouth to speak to nobody in particular.

 “I.. I consider this a good time to catch up on my lost weeks of sleep as there is nothing better to do. Seeing as Virgil has fallen asleep on me”, he declared. Maybe he was addressing Virgil. He certainly was shutting down his idea laptop and putting it back into its respective bag.

 “Well, then. I will succumb to temporary nonsense for now - but only for as long as my mind needs to rest."

��His fingers pushed away the packed up laptop which nudged the empty coffee mug. Another hand wrapped around Virgil in the now completely dark room.

With the light of the laptop gone, only the faint lights in the kitchen (a sort of night light Patton had insisted on) illuminated the living-room a bit.

 Logan adjusted a bit and managed to eventually bring his legs around Virgil’s body and pull the other close to his chest before he buried them in a big blanket.

Props to Patton for keeping blankets in about any space this house knew. A freezing Morality was an inventive side, Logan noted down in appreciation.

 As he cuddled into the couch cushion, he wrapped his arms around Virgil, glasses abandoned on the coffee table.

  “Thanks for the reminder, Virgil. I really forgot how late it had gotten.”

 The logical side allowed himself to fall asleep to the regular rhythm of Virgil’s calm breathing. He could not see the curled up side smile but he knew for a fact that the other was less asleep than he pretended to be.

 One side down.

[bow-woahh]

I’ll be your crutch to cope

Summary:

A late night (or early morning) text from Catra’s roommate leads to more than she bargains for. 

Relationship: Adora/Catra

Words: 1920

Notes:

So I've rated this teen but I'd say on the scale of things I've written it's closer to an M but since nothing super explicit happened I decided against it.

That's your little warning — enjoy!

Initially, Catra ignores the not so subtle smell of sweat and slick that pretty much takes over Adora’s small room. She's almost used to it, as it's not the first time she’s been here this late. Even if she hadn't noticed the smell, it’s not like it isn’t obvious what late night activities Adora’s been up to— the longer breaths and slower movements tell Catra everything.

She doesn’t mind. Even if she could of been sleeping right now. Instead, she’s here, checking on Adora. Adora. Oblivious, wonderful Adora.

“Hey,” She says as she moves to sit at the foot of her bed. “Having trouble sleeping?” Her voice is soft, with a tint of concern.

Adora nods in response. “I thought I would be able to after…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, because Adora knows Catra knows exactly what she would say if she was going to say it. But, as always, she decides against finishing the sentence, almost as if in some way it is persevering her dignity, her innocence.

“Was it the nightmares that kept you up?” Catra asks, shuffling up a little closer, not wanting to get to invade her personal space, to cross a boundary, a line.

Another nod.

“And you tried everything we've talked about before? You didn’t just…?”

Adora’s silence is enough emission to tell Catra the truth. Looking at her with her brows furrowed and mouth turned downwards, Catra sighs, moving up to sit next to Adora, shoulders touching. Unexpectedly, she’s very warm, and Catra finds it more comforting than she should.

“You know that it doesn’t really help right? That it’s just a crutch?” Despite the harshness in the words, Catra’s voice is still as soft as before.

“I know…” Adora looks down, “it’s just, I guess I’ve gotten myself stuck in this...this—”

“Cycle,” Catra offers, and Adora takes it, a quiet ‘yeah’ slipping out.

“Okay, so how do you suggest we break it?” Catra wants to help Adora, more than she knows, but she needs to know what she wants to do, not what Catra thinks will work for her.

There’s silence, a pause, a moment for Adora to think of something, anything. After another minute or two, she finally speaks again.

“I...I don’t know, Catra,” is what she says, voice breaking, clearly on the brink of tears, and Catra feels like someone is slowly chipping away at her heart as a sad attempt to make meaningful art.

“Hey, hey, Adora, don’t cry,” she moves to pull her closer, saying screw boundaries and screw lines because all her adoptive mother’s teachings, all of that means nothing when Adora, her roommate, looks so small and helpless; when Adora, her roommate, looks so broken; when Adora, her roommate, needs comfort and support, not the usual cold, callous Catra.

Catra holds Adora close to her chest, one hand stroking her hair. It’s odd, other than Scorpia she doesn’t hug or hold people often, if at all, because she hates it, but there is nothing she hates about this right now, nothing she hates about Adora. She likes Adora. She really does.

Even now, with her tears soaking through her shirt, with her room still heavy with that smell, with her having an emotional breakdown at 3am in the morning— Catra likes her. Which is more than she can say about most people.

After ten minutes or so, Adora has little tears left to cry, and she has no more breath to sob, whimper, or cling onto Catra like she’s the most holy thing on this earth, like she’s somehow her saviour.

“Thank you,” is the first thing she says as she pulls away, “for putting up with me as your roommate, you really don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Catra replies, and she means it, more than Adora knows. She grabs a pack of tissue that are sitting by Adora’s bedside table. “Here.”

Adora blows her nose, tossing the tissue into the bin by her desk, a metre or so across the room. Catra thinks she’ll miss, but of course, she doesn’t.

“Thanks, again.” Adora repeats, this time however, she’s really looking at Catra, almost studying her, even though, surely, it should be the other way around.

They are facing each other, knees touching, and Catra can’t help but think of how despite everything, even after sobbing in Catra’s arms (in Catra’s arms) she looks beautiful. It’s unfathomable.

“Anything…” for you, she wishes she could say, but although Catra wasn’t the best at reading social situations, and knew nothing about the rules of liking people, she decides that definitely isn’t the right choice of words.

“...to help,” she decides to finish her sentence with. “Anything to help you. Seriously, whatever you need, just ask.” She accompanies her promise with a small smile.

Adora is scanning her, looking up, and down, eyes quickly moving to look at Catra’s lips (her lips?) before locking eyes with her again.

Biting her lip, Adora starts, “What if…” she reaches for Catra’s hands, taking each in her own, Catra’s heart stopping in the process, “...I said that I wanted you?”

Now, not only has Catra’s heart stopped, but her brain has too.

“I— uh, what?” She feels frozen to the spot, reduced to a sputtering, incoherent, shocked mess.

Adora’s eyes are clouded with want, desire, but from the way her thumb runs over Catra’s knuckles, it’s difficult to ignore the care that is present too. Adora, her roommate who she’s known for less than nine months; Adora, her roommate whom she once hated; Adora, her roommate whom she was now infatuated by, had just said she wanted Catra. Of all people. Catra.

Before she’s even recovered from that realisation, Adora is caressing her jaw, hand warm, soft, welcoming, pulling her in and once more her brain has to reboot, because what is happening, what is happening, what is—

In the next couple seconds, so many things happen it’s hard to keep up, but Catra does the best she can while the pesky voice of her ‘mother’ in the back of her mind, tells her what she’s doing is unacceptable, wrong, when really— she’s wrong, because nothing has ever felt so good in her whole life.

They keep kissing, and after getting over the first hard hurdle of awkwardness, it’s fun, it’s nice, natural, more natural than anything Catra’s ever done. Being so close to another human being does something to you, its electrifying, and it sets Catra’s whole body alight. Once Adora pulls her on top of her, that feeling is quadrupled, because wow , this is new, having someone under her, at her mercy. She worries that maybe it’s uncomfortable for Adora, or that she’s too heavy, or that—

When Adora pulls her down to kiss her on the mouth, hot and hungry and teeth nipping at lips, Catra forgets, forgets everything, forgets her own damn name. Her hands are on Adora’s waist, pressing down with as little pressure as possible as if she's a fragile vase which she's not meant to touch, but she is, and she’s feeling so fervid, and flushed, and it’s all so new it’s overwhelming—

Adora’s hands sneak up her sweatshirt and now her body is practically scorching, on fire, as those same soft, warm hands roam across her abdomen, and just feeling the muscle there causes Adora's breath to stutter and hitch, causes her to look up at Catra like she's just walked on water. And Catra does feel like she's done the impossible, she is impressed that Adora reacts that way, to her, to her body.

Up until now it’s only been gasps, and sighs, and heavy breaths, but now Adora, in the most intoxicating voice she’s ever heard, says:

“God, Catra...I need you.”

And wow. No one's ever spoke to her like that, told her that. Just that alone erupts a familiar pool of heat in her belly, makes her feel like she could get drunk of Adora's words alone.

Catra feels powerful. Catra feels wanted, Catra feels—

She’s kissing her jaw: working her way down to her neck, desperate to give Adora what she wants; desperate to hear Adora say her name over and over; to hear her gasp, sigh, moan, that she almost forgets; forgets how new she is to all of this, how sensitive, destructive Adora must feeling be right now. How she’s got so much on her mind, because Catra's been there, in fact she still is at times.

As their lips crash together once more, and hands move from stomachs to asses, gripping and groping, Catra asks herself:

Am I just a distraction?

A crutch?  

Am I just—

“Fuck, Catra, can we—” Adora’s breath is heavy, voice dripping with lust, hunger. A hunger Catra realises she can’t sate, a hunger she realises she mustn’t sate.

Moving away from Adora's touch, no longer straddling her, Catra faces away from a perplexed Adora, her legs hanging off the bed, one weight lifted and another chucked down on her.

Catra feels a lot colder now, she feels the flame that just seconds ago was lit inside her is now simmering down. But she knows it’s for the better, knows that she would just end up feeling used, or worse, that she would be using Adora. That's the last thing she wants.

Adora reaches out, and Catra can’t help but flinch.

“Ca...did I do something wrong?” There’s hurt in her voice, and it hurts Catra too, but she can’t let Adora do this to herself.

“You can’t just...do shit like that Adora. After everything we've talked about, I thought you'd— You know it won’t help.” This time her voice is as harsh as the words that come out, and Catra tries not to think of the damage this will do.

Adora moves to sit beside her, but neither girl looks up from anywhere but the floor, or the wall.

“I’m–I’m sorry, I just thought…” she moves to place her hand atop of Catra’s, but Catra pulls her hand closer to herself, out of her reach.

“I guess you thought wrong.” Catra stands up to leave, and she tries to ignore the feeling of her throat closing up.

Adora sounds desperate, a different desperate to before. Catra likes this desperate a lot less. “Please, just—”

“I think you need to talk about this with someone else. Try to get some rest Adora.” Adora’s tears are truly her kryptonite, so Catra is willing her not to cry, not to cry not to cry—

She cries. “Catra, please—”

Eyes closed, and biting her lip, she walks out. The door clicks closed, and Catra likes to imagine her heart made a similar sound.

Adora, her roommate, isn’t perfect, in fact she is far from it. Catra isn’t either, but Catra knows her limits. It seems Adora, her roommate, doesn’t. And while Catra likes Adora, really likes Adora, her roommate, she can’t let herself be her crutch. Not like that. Not when it comes to that. Not when she cares more about this girl than she ever has in her whole life about anything, that even when she wants to be mad it dissipates into something...worse.

Not when it’s clear Catra is not what Adora needs. Catra knows Adora knows that that’s the truth.

Though, it still hurts to admit.

Catra knows she won't be getting any late night (or early morning) texts from Adora for a while, and Catra has to learn to live with that.

[chaoticneutralwriter]

A Demon’s Musings

If Marie Kondo could see him now, she would be very pleased (well, as much as a person would with a demon). And though the things he used to get into don’t quite spark the same kind of joy like it did in his earlier days, he still thinks he’s one hell of a demon -- just with different priorities now.

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, comedy, supernatural, slow-burning, slice of life

word count: 6.8k

Warnings: some heavily implied shady shit like deaths, drugs, alcohol, murder, violence and generally things that don’t faze a demon.

A side story during the time of Distance and the Heart

Related works: See Masterlist

A/N: Not a straight continuation from where we last left off but some exposition stuff and delving into the mind of our dear guardian demon Jimin :) Also a little bit of a rushed edit so....anything funky going on please forgive me ^^;;

Small.

 So small.

 And so very fragile — human lives that is.

 It’s made even more obvious when you happen to be a demon, standing atop the tallest building you can find, looking down from it. How easily the change of perspective can turn even the most powerful man to look like nothing more than a scurrying ant, marching in a colony – a worker, a drone.

 Humans, he thinks, become so easily obsessed with such meaningless things like money or power to stand above the rest that in the grand scheme of things, they’re just like everyone else.

 Pathetic.

 It all means nothing in the end anyways, especially when you’re standing at the gates (figuratively speaking). Now which one, well, it’s up to them.

 Still, it’s fun to mess with them.... Correction was fun.

 Jimin grunts to himself at the thought as he begins pacing precariously along the building’s ledge, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

 But he hasn’t always been like this, so disinterested in his nature as a demon spawned from the depths of hell — his inclination to lure poor, hapless souls to the dark side.

 He’d taken great pleasure doing those things; nothing more satisfying than seeing his handy work play out like an oncoming train wreck. In his lifetime, he’s seen them all: from the simple cheating spouse to cold-blooded murder itself. It’s what demons do best; whisper sweet temptations of the deepest, darkest desire to tip the scale in their favour and once their victim has fallen from grace, catch them with open arms.

 That’s the name of the game — corruption of the human soul, exploiting their weak nature. It’s simple and cute.

 Jimin stops his pacing, reaching the end of the ledge to glare at nothing in particular as he thinks ruefully;

 But so easy.

 He flicks one single finger and it all comes crashing down like a house of cards with them willingly in it. It even came to the point where he doesn’t even have to do anything to gain a corrupt soul; all he had to do was look around the corner. It’s like humans send themselves to hell for him. And so, he set off to find himself a new game to play, one that would at least give him a run for his money.

 If anyone who knew Jimin, they would say he was too ambitious for his own good and he would say that they’re right because admittedly, it’s what landed him in his current situation in the first place. In his quest to finding a new challenge, he had asked himself; what’s harder to tempt than puny, pathetic humans? Evidently anything.

 Impassively, Jimin takes a step off of the building and gravity immediately takes hold as he begins to make his sharp descent. Air rushes past him, whipping his hair and stinging his eyes but still, he remains stoic in the face of what would be a gruesome death to most. The corner of his lips twitch, feeling the adrenaline kick in as the ground draws nearer and just as he’s about to collide with it, his body halts, feet hovering just inches above the concrete and with the grace of a dancer, he floats the rest of the way down without a single scuff on his Louis Vuitton loafers.

 He runs a hand through his locks, ruffling the silken strands until he felt that they were somewhat tamed and with a final fixes to his jacket, Jimin saunters off down the busy street, not a single soul aware of what happened.

 Humans — so blissfully ignorant, Jimin sometimes finds himself envious of them as he moves through various crowds of people scurrying by. Even though he was under the cloaking spell, invisible to mortal eyes he still thinks they wouldn’t spare him a second glance, too busy rushing off to places or glued to their phones. It all further reminded him of his predicament; they’re such easy picking that eventually it didn’t take him long to find the perfect way to up the ante in his little game.

 Angels.

 More specifically: guardian angels.

 A shiver runs through him from the memory and he can’t quite hide the grin that has taken over plush lips. Ah, it seems like eons ago that he had conjured up that idea. Curiosity isn’t a sin but one definitely has to exercise caution with it but Jimin would always rather throw it to the wind because who didn’t want to know if a demon can tempt an angel into sin.

 Granted, it was only a low class angel but you gotta start small right?

 And it was far easier finding one than you think.

 Because you see, all humans — as incompetent as they can be — are all assigned to a guardian angel, meant to do what demons also do except the complete opposite: influence good actions and reward with good karma. Contrary to popular beliefs, demons and angels are all fairly equal in power because both have similar hierarchy. A lowly demon can be on par with a starting guardian angel and through time, both can climb the ladder through gaining respective karmic energy through the deeds of the person they influence.

 So it wasn’t that hard for Jimin to find a potential target — fresh-faced, hard working, green, and naive. He almost felt sorry when he was planting seeds of doubt into that pretty head of theirs. Didn’t help that he was assigned to a deplorable excuse for a human being to look after that perhaps that’s why by the end of it all, Jimin found he had grown a soft spot for his newly acquired fallen angel of a friend.

 For such a long, arduous process, it didn’t take long for everyone to find out; both upstairs and downstairs and boy did Jimin get an earful from his boss (in fact nearly got his ass singed off which would’ve been a huge loss for the world). Even though admittedly the stunt he pulled was ballsy and impressive (his boss’ words, not his), Jimin still needed to receive ‘divine punishment’ lest his boss wanted to deal with a bunch of literal holier-than-thou angels rioting at the gates of hell. So to get him out of his hair (to deal with an onslaught of paperwork) and for Jimin to avoid certain death via smiting, he was given his ultimatum — his quote on quote ‘community service hours’. And the rest was history.

 Now fast forward to his first check-in.

 It was nothing special nor worth noting as he had relayed to you before leaving; just a business-like meeting with his boss where he gets told if he’s doing a good job or not and any other updates regarding his case in overstepping the line. It wouldn’t even take him a full day — a simple in-and-out.

 Only it wasn’t so because 1) his meeting gets crashed by an uninvited guest (a colleague thankfully, but there goes his discrepancies) and 2) Jimin is informed that he was not meeting his daily quota.

 The memory has Jimin kissing his teeth in annoyance before he can stop himself, steps becoming a little heavier as he powers on down the street. He couldn’t believe it the first time he heard it. Him slacking? There’s no way in hell.

 But the numbers check out (his dear colleague made sure it was very clear to him i.e. shoving the report into his face and cackling loudly), even if he did miss it by a margin. And as if to add further insult to injury, it goes further on to say that heaven however, is satisfied with his work as temp guardian (sloppy but satisfactorily enough, at least she hasn’t died yet, it had read).

 It baffled him to no end; how is it that he’s managed to shirk his duties, as a demon but be somewhat good at being a guardian angel-albeit-demon?

 “You’re losing your touch, brother.” His underling colleague teased. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft ever since you’ve became a guardian to that human.”

 Jimin responded by setting fire to his pant leg.

 Lost his touch? Soft? As if.

 With nothing more to say, Jimin had stormed out of the room and crossed right back over to the mortal planes, jaw clenched and temper burning. The crisp cool air that had greeted him helped somewhat to tame it, but he could still feel the steam practically rising from his skin. He needed to vent and being back so early, he figured he had enough time to spare without jeopardizing your safety with his absence.

 So for the past few days he’d been going around observing the daily life of a human on earth like he had always done in the past, scoping out fresh meat to meddle his way into. He’d got the occasional shop lifter, scammer, one of those obnoxious teens who think they’re suddenly Nascar drivers the moment they are privileged with their own car…

 Jimin tsks like a disappointed mother, recalling that moment well; it was an illegal street race at 3AM (of course), a bunch of rambunctious teenagers who are so desperate to one-up their buddies at a game they didn’t realize they couldn’t win in no matter how many modifications they’ve made to their car.

 All it took was a drift turn gone wrong.

 Once again, how anti-climatic.

 Jimin heaves a breath, twisting his neck this way and that to release a satisfying crack as he watches the street lamps above him flicker to life; the sun had long set thanks to the short days of the winter season. Boredom was such a bitch to get out of once you’ve fallen into its dark abyss. It seems like there’s no cure for it. Which is a wonder why Jimin finds himself standing right across the street to the entrance of probably one of the places a demon like himself can get a bang for his buck.

 A nightclub.

 He can practically smell the alcohol and indecency from here. It’s a cesspool.

 His lips twitch at the sight, eyeing the burly man acting as a bouncer and the steady line of people waiting to get in. Jimin feels the bass of the music rather than hears it leaking through the closed door and the neon lights cast everything within its reach in a vibrant aqua green and pink shade. He feels like he’s outgrown places like these (an easy hunting ground) but tonight, he has no other plans.

 With a shrug, Jimin drops his cloaking spell and takes long, confident strides towards the front of the line. As soon as he gets within peripheral vision of the crowd, all heads turn and he feels the heat of their gazes on him. He bites his lips subtly to keep himself from smirking; never gets old.

 He approaches the bouncer head-on, maintaining steady eye contact and though it seems like the much larger, muscular man is unfazed by Jimin’s magic, he steps aside without a single word, allowing the demon in disguise to pass through the door and into the club. No protest was made from anyone.

 The music is even louder once Jimin passes through the threshold, down the illuminated cool tone hallway with its frosted glass walls before he finally reaches the heart of the club. The dance floor is filled with gyrating bodies moving to the beat of the song, strobe lights flickering sporadically in multiple colours being the only strong source of light to this dimly lit building. The DJ is situated on a slightly raised platform at the head of the dance floor, bobbing his head as he works the turn table and just slightly off to his side is one of many staircases leading up to the second floor, most likely holding VIP areas.

 Not much has changed from this scene, Jimin muses to himself as his eyes survey his surroundings. As he makes his way down the border aisle of the dance floor, he feels numerous sets of eyes following him, all vying for his attention. It makes him double check on himself to make sure he isn’t still using his enthralling magic (he’s not). Jimin pays them no mind, bypassing the bar, the fumes of smoke giving off dizzying, euphoric effects that had he not been a demonic entity would surely effected him with a single breath, before he makes it to one of the stairs leading upwards.

 He ascends them quickly until he’s on the second floor which was littered with various occupied booths, another fancier looking bar situated off to one side, standing side tables that overlooked the level below and a sectioned off area with velvet ropes and another bouncer. Perhaps to most, this would be the more intimidating places in a club because right off the bat, Jimin can see the shift in its patrons; he sees the sleek way they dress, the way they hold themselves with a higher air as they sip from crystal glasses with dark liquid in it, the impressive bottle sitting not too far from their reach on the table and the subtle glint their jewels give off when the light catches.

 Most people would turn tail and run, feeling out of their league in this place.

 But not Jimin; not when he has a face like this and an aura that can easily dwarf these…. lesser beings.

 So he proceeds on forward unbothered, hand tousling his hair out of the way as he slides into the nearest stool by the bar. The bartender is immediately at his side, asking what he would like to order.

 “A glass of whiskey.” His eyes wander for a moment at the selection and his bartender waits patiently, almost with baited breath. Jimin’s eyes land on one of the tall, darken bottles before he answers with an easy smile. “Make it a Macallan please.”

 The bartender flounders for a split second, blinking from Jimin to the expensive bottle of whiskey before nodding and rushing off to prepare the drink. In the meantime, Jimin takes to turning around in his seat, leaning back casually against the glass bar counter, legs crossed to do what he does best; people-watch.

 Or more like play a twisted game of ‘I Spy’ with himself. It’s even more fun when he knows that everyone here thinks they can get away with things just because the lighting is a little dim.

 Like he spies with his little eyes, a pill being popped a little too eagerly.

 He sees things getting passed around, things being slipped with the sleight of hands and people getting frisky under the table. Nothing much escapes Jimin’s sharp eyes.

 Not even the girl who slyly slips into the seat next to him, her own eyes trained onto his profile like a hawk.

 “I see you’re a whiskey kind of guy.” The booming music gives her an excuse to lean in closer to Jimin but what she doesn’t know is that he can hear her perfectly fine without her having to. It makes his lips twitch as he smoothly reaches beside him for said drink and takes a slow sip, letting the smoky taste of the alcohol coat his tongue before feeling the burn of it travel down his throat. Demons don’t actually feel the effects of alcohol but they can still taste the flavour the drinks have to offer, which is why Jimin likes to indulge in a few drinks here and there.

 He keeps a hold of his glass, swirling the dark liquid before he languidly lets his gaze slide to his surprise companion, head tilting to allow strands of hair to fall into his darkened gaze in the slightest way to show that she’s caught his attention.

 “And what kind of drink are you?” Jimin indulges, shifting a little forward to let the timbre of his voice project more. The girl gets flustered now that he has eyes on her but with a valiant effort, she plays it cool, flicking her dark hair off to one side flirtatiously.

 “How about you buy me one and find out?”

 The reply causes Jimin to throw his head back with a laugh; the sight obviously pleases her as red lips spread into a wide smile. He nods to himself and turns to the bartender, waving him down easily for the girl beside him to order her drink (a mojito). Jimin’s reaction gives her a boost of confidence, making her shift closer until she’s practically pressing into his side.

 “I’m Jenny by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, first time?”

 Jimin lets out a chuckle, bringing the glass up again to take another sip. “You could say that.” He pauses, letting the rim of the glass brush his bottom lip as he thinks for a moment before answering, “Julien.”

 Jenny’s drink arrives and she takes it into her hand, holding it out to him to clink against. “Cheers to that then.”

 He grins before obliging, tapping his glass to hers and it’s as if she’s unknowingly sealed the deal with the devil himself. A good portion of the night was spent getting to know one another (Jimin uses that term loosely), ordering more drinks and her getting braver each time. Though Jimin was not particularly engaged with the conversations they were having, he’s amused from the not-so-subtle ways she’s been trying to get him to leave the club with her to engage in…. other activities.

 Even more so when there were times he’s caught her peeking at her phone, seeing the way it lights up constantly until with a huff of annoyance, she puts it on silent mode, tosses it into her clutch and never bothers with it again. He pretends not to notice, keeping up with the charade and wrapping her around his fingers further.

 “Is it weird for me to say that it feels like I’ve known you my entire life?” Jenny giggles drunkenly, batting her eyelashes coyly from over the rim of her glass.

 “Oh?” Jimin responds playfully, swiveling his body to face her while propping an elbow up on the counter to support his chin, eyes glued to her as if he’s completely enamoured. “How so?”

 She puts her empty glass down and shuffles forward until she’s at the edge of her seat, leaning over slightly to accentuate the cleavage her dress’s deep neckline has to offer. The pretty brunette mimics Jimin’s gesture, eyes taking on a sheen from the alcohol consumption but no doubt still determined to get into his pants.

 “I don’t know…. It’s like,” She pauses, voice coming out breathy as her free hand begins to trail tantalizing up one of his knees to his upper thigh. Jimin pays it no mind, gaze steady on her face and it pushes her to continue. “I feel like we have really good chemistry together.”

 Jimin makes it seem like he’s intrigued by the idea, index finger rubbing against his bottom lip but finds that he has to hold himself from cracking a smile because of the way Jenny’s eyes flicker down to them, watching and unconsciously biting down on her own.

 “And do you have any proof to back up such a bold claim?”

 Jimin deliberately sets her up and she takes it – hook, line and sinker. He thinks he’s dragged this out long enough because frankly, he’s getting bored. The clueless girl can’t contain her smile, taking the invitation by leaning all the way until her lips just about brushes Jimin’s as she whispers, “Let me show you.”

 She closes the rest of the distance, almost crashing unceremoniously against Jimin and he grunts at the sudden added weight, one hand flying to her waist to steady her while the other cups the underside of her jaw. She moves fervently against his lips, hand carding through his hair while the other one remains firmly pressed against his thigh. Her enthusiasm nearly bulldozes Jimin, but he’s no pushover, especially to some drunk, human girl. So he easily takes charge, retaliating with a harsh nip to her lower lip when she had so eagerly tried to invade her tongue into his mouth and it elicits a whine. He grips her waist more firmly, moving to wedge his leg between hers and immediately, he feels her body submit to him.

 Jimin peers at her through half-closed lids, watching her melt under his touch so easily as the hand on her jaw snakes lower until it situates closer to her throat. He feels the desperation coming from her, sees the way her thighs part for him to get closer, causing the short skirt of her dress to ride up further. But he won’t give her that satisfaction, even as his tongue pries open her mouth and she lets out a whimpering moan.

 No, he won’t give her that satisfaction because this is all just a game to him.

 He pulls away the same time his hand on her waist comes to stop hers from inching any closer to the area between his legs, the whiffs of her sweet perfume had long become too suffocating for his senses. The girl is obviously displeased, brows scrunching up as she attempts to chase his lips. Jimin leans back slightly but doesn’t evade her when she presses her lips to his again, only this time he’s unresponsive. He waits and watches her come to realize his lack of response before he allows his gaze to drift off to the side where he spies the male figure who stands frozen at the head of the stairs, looking disheveled and with a phone clenched so hard in one hand that even Jimin can see the knuckles turn white from where he is.

 He feels, rather than sees Jenny’s lips leave his slowly and after a beat, Jimin dares to tilt his head to gauge her reaction. It nearly makes him burst out laughing.

 The girl looks absolutely horrified as all her attention is no longer on Jimin but on the man a few feet from her. The demon continues watching delightedly, like a drama unfolding before his very eyes as Jenny puts distance between herself and him as she staggers to stand from her seat, mouth agape. Jimin can’t help but to take the chance to add more fuel to this rapidly growing fire.

 “Someone…you know?” He asks tentatively as best as he can, despite knowing exactly who this is.

 He sees the girl’s breath hitch before she utters out a single name, “Tony…”

 Like Jimin had said, nothing goes unnoticed by him. Not when the mirror panels by the bar perfectly reflected the name that had flashed on her phone multiple times before she had decided to put it away.

 Tony is the first to snap out of his stupor, face darkening as he stomps over to his girlfriend. Without even sparing a single glance at Jimin, the man snatches her wrist and proceeds to forcefully drag her away. Jenny stumbles after his longer strides, crying out and slapping at his back as he takes her down the stairs and Jimin watches on impassively until the couple disappear out of sight. With the show being over, he turns back around, running a hand through his hair to fix the mess the girl had made. He also catches sight of his reflection and kisses his teeth at what he finds.

 Reaching for a napkin, Jimin wipes away the lipstick residue coating his mouth. He manages to get most of it off, leaving his lips tinged in the slightest shade of pink. He scoffs, annoyed before taking his glass and knocking back the rest of his drink. Jimin calls for the bill, swiftly tapping his black card on the machine without even glancing at the grand total and gets up to leave. He makes it halfway down the stairs before he decides to cloak himself for a swifter exit. With just a few steps, he’s teleported out of the club and into the chill night air.

 Only this time, there’s a commotion and he easily spots the cause. Jenny and her boyfriend were a few steps down the street from where the club was and were currently screaming their heads off at each other. There were a couple of onlookers but everyone seems very keen on not getting involved with this particular couple’s spat. Tony is visibly distressed, a hand aggressively running through his hair as he paces like an angry lion. Jenny is on the defensive, refusing to budge and making great effort in spite of her occasional wobbles. Jimin has to stifle a laugh, feeling very tempted to stay just to see how this will all end. Eventually, Tony has stopped pacing for a moment to point an accusatory finger at Jenny, cursing at her for cheating on him. She in turn yells back about the argument that lead up to that point.

 Enraged, Tony closes the gap between them to tower over Jenny who, even though has stood her grounds for the most part with liquid courage on her side, is rightfully intimidated by the aggression the male holds. There’s a tense moment of silence, the two glaring daggers at each other and Jimin watches on until he can’t bear the lack of action any longer.

 “What will you do?” He whispers but the weight of his words carry thanks to the magic underlying it, his eyes taking on an ominous glow. “She doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

 He watches as his dark tempting take influence, sees the way the male’s vision cloud over in blinded fury before he makes to grab the girl’s wrist and drags her off, screaming and cursing all the way. Jimin takes that as his cue to leave, his job done and proceeds to carry on as if nothing has happened. But now he’s back to being bored, dispassionately roaming the streets like he always had. It was fun while it lasted.

 In his musings, he doesn’t realize that his feet have taken him down a familiar path. The small restaurants and cafes becoming recognizable and the hustle and bustle part of the main city gradually fades, giving way to quieter streets that lead to small neighbourhoods.

 Ah, he realizes, this is the way to your house.

 His thoughts naturally change to that of you, remembering how it had actually been a good week or so since he’d last seen you but judging from the lack of disturbances he feels in your aura, he surmises that you’re doing fine (i.e. not dead or mortally injured). Still, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes under his breath when he slows his pace to let the fact that he had unconsciously been lead back to you, be it by his own will or the nature of the contract sink in.

 Perhaps it was a sign for him to finally go check on you. He hates to admit it, but the bantering you both share are way more entertaining than some of the stuff he’s done for the past few days. It’s always fun because your reactions are like a kaleidoscope of emotions, all morphing from one to another in the span of a minute at the things he does or says. You’re a human who lives diligently like many others, fighting against this harsh and dreary world but managing to find solace in what he thinks is a rather interesting choice of subject:

 An idol K-Pop boy band by the name of BTS.

 Just what does BTS mean to you? He only knows that the face in which he mimics is one that you seek comfort from the most. But where does this fierce adoration and unconditional love come from? He gets the feeling that it’s more than a pretty face and good music (and it seems the same goes for all the members of this group); it doesn’t quite fit with what he has seen with the humans who do the same. It tickles his curiosity to figure out more than what he had gleaned when he first took up this guardian position. He hums at the idea, finding it fascinating.

 A shout sharply cuts him from his thoughts and he immediately feels a spike in your aura from within his chest. His gaze whips to the source and sees that just ahead of him is a figure, tall in stature and clearly male, an arm outstretched over his head with what appears to be a mobile phone held in his hand. He teeters his weight from his right leg to his left in an effort to keep away a much smaller figure that peeks around his gangly frame.

 Jimin doesn’t need to get a clear view of who it might be because the distress and annoyance creates an unmistakable tug that leaves no room for questioning. Your shrieking only affirms this.

 Funny, he thinks as he finds himself making quick strides to close the distance between him and this nuisance of a man, that this scene is playing out in a similar fashion he had just witnessed not even ten minutes ago but it manages to evoke a much stronger reaction from him; pulse rushing, head reeling, and jaw clenching.

 Maybe it was because of the contract, or maybe because of who was involved. He doesn’t have time to figure it out — what any of it means.

 All he knows is that he’s irritated.

 He’s finally within reach, just in time to cut off the unsavoury sentence pouring out of the guy’s mouth by catching the hand that held the phone hostage in a literal bone-crushing grip.

 “I do believe the young lady said no.”

 Quite frankly, the rest of what happened was a blur to Jimin. After trying to be ‘Mr. Nice Demon’ by ignoring the piece of trash behind him, he quickly realized he wasn’t cut out for it. Especially when said piece of trash actually tried to land a hit on him (and doing so even after getting a few of his fingers crushed? Jimin doesn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed).

 He would’ve actually dumped the guy into a literal trash can in the alleyway had it not been for you insisting that he doesn’t but still ended up knocking him out anyways and breaking his nose. Not something Jimin was satisfied with but beggars can’t be choosers he suppose (at least it got him to finally shut up).

 When the situation calmed down and he was able to get a good look at you, Jimin couldn’t help but soften at the slightly disheveled way you had looked. Cheeks flushed, pouting lips and eyes that are a little watery set into a glare his way even though to him, you looked more like an angry kitten than a tiger as you berate him for being gone for so long.

 He inwardly sighs to himself, what is he going to do with you?

 Clearly you had a rough night, that much Jimin can tell. So with the mind to placate your fuming self, he lets you slap his $5,000 jacket (even lets you wear it in the end) and prepares to send you off home (you really need to sleep). Of course things don’t go as planned (or they did, depending on who you ask) because your friend and roommate just so happens to show up at that exact moment. It gave Jimin another entertaining show to experience before the end of the night (probably not something you appreciate but this ain’t about you).

 Either way, with your roommate there, it gave Jimin a great excuse to take care of this unfortunate soul and though you had warned him not to do any killing, it didn’t mean he was barred from doing everything else; the possibility was still endless.

 So here he was, on top of a building that’s currently under construction with an unconscious man dangling upside from one of the tower cranes.

 Life’s good.

 Jimin hovers face-to-face with the man, sipping on the water bottle he’d snatched along the way (it’s thirsty work, even for a demon). The guy still got blood smeared down his lips and chin from his broken nose, which was starting to bruise and swell. But that’s not the problem here — the problem here is that he’s still unconscious.

 The demon fixes that by splashing the rest of his drink onto his face. The cold does the trick to shock his victim awake with a choked splutter.

 “And here I thought I could just leave you for the crows to pick at.” Jimin sighs.

 “WH-What the fuck?!” The man garbles, voice nasally as he tries to blink away the remaining water droplets falling from his face. His hands instinctively try to reach up to wipe it but finds that he can’t because on top of tying his feet to dangle 20 feet in the air, Jimin has also bound his hands because why not. The realization sends him into a rising panic and the man begins to struggle while a steady stream of profanity leaves his mouth. Jimin’s grin only grows wider as he watches it morph into a full-blown freak out when the man finally realizes he’s been put in a rather precarious situation. The amusement is short-lived however when the demon can’t stand his incessant screaming.

 “Silence, human.” He growls, resorting to chucking the bottle right at the man. It immediately catches his attention, wild eyes darting back to Jimin who only narrows his in return.

 “Who’re—You’re…You’re that fucker!”  

 “Oh I wouldn’t be talking to your only saviour like that if I were you.” Jimin tsk, hands casually shoved into his pocket as he glares down at the offender. “Your life’s hanging by a thread — quite literally.” He projects himself upwards until his feet touches the metal of the crane, loafers tapping lightly as he makes his way to stand directly above the man’s prone figure. Jimin chuckles lowly to himself once he catches sight of the expression he has on; clearly the whole situation he’s in is too absurd for his small brain to process at the moment.

 Jimin sees his lips moving quickly, making out words like ‘this isn’t real’, ‘what the fuck’, and ‘I must be dreaming.’  He takes the chance to generously settle those assumptions for him.

 “If it helps, I’ll be happy to drop you to see if it’s true or not.” Jimin bounces on the balls of his heels, the disturbance causes the crane to creak, which makes the man sway. He lets out a terrified shout and Jimin pauses to let the momentum carry on by itself. Crouching down, the demon watches with a bored expression as the dangling male screws his eyes shut, whimpering more words to convince himself that he’s not actually 20 feet from dropping to his death and that some good-looking psycho is the cause of it all.

 Jimin takes out his phone after a while, checking the time to find that it’s late and his patience is growing thin. With a huff, he straightens himself up and taps his foot against the metal to get the blubbering male’s attention.

 “Listen, I don’t have all night to listen to you piss yourself so I’m just going to cut you loose and we can both be done with it yeah?”

 “H-Hey no! Wait! What the fuck’s your problem?!” The man yells, voice pitching as he tries his best to look at his tormentor. “Is it because I messed with your girl?! Look, I didn’t even know she was alright?!”

 Jimin tilts his head; amused by the conclusion he’s been given. The demon hums but other than that, gives no further response. Not like a lowly scum deserves an answer anyways.

 “It doesn’t matter, and quite frankly, it’s none of your business too. Just know that you’re scum and deserve to perish. So….” Kneeling down, Jimin’s hand grasps at the rope keeping said scum from experiencing the bungee jump of his life. “See you in hell, Mike.”

 The rope snaps from the flash of intense heat coming from the demon’s palm and before he has the chance to utter another word, Mike is plummeting towards the ground, his screams fading fast. No sooner afterwards, Jimin teleports himself to the safety of the ground below, squinting upwards to catch the speck that is Mike still making his steep descent.

 Closer…. Closer….

 Now he hears his screaming gradually becoming louder and for a split second, Jimin’s anticipation gets the better of him, giddy to see the result of a human body falling from such a height. That is, until your warning tone echoes from the back of his mind, the nagging begrudgingly makes him scowl with a roll of his eyes before he outstretches a hand above his head and just mere inches from cracking his head open on the gravel ground, Mike’s body comes to a complete stop though he continues wailing.

 Jimin’s scowl deepens as he glares down at the man. He runs an agitated hand through his blue-tinted locks but evidently couldn’t restrain himself from kicking him right in the face…again. It puts a swift end to his endless banshee scream. A heavy sigh escapes his parted lips as he unsympathetically releases the hold he has on Mike’s body, letting him topple over ungraciously with a loud thud.

 “You’re so lucky; I would’ve dumped your body into the nearest river and call it a night.” Jimin mutters angrily, peering down at Mike’s unconscious form disdainfully with hands on either side of his hips. He stares at his stupid face, nose bent in an unnatural way for a few moments longer and with another frustrated inhale through his nose, Jimin impulsively gives one last kick to the man in his gut. They say you shouldn’t kick a man while he’s down but Jimin’s last fuck had long been given away already. Plus, it did him some good; it took the remainder of his steam because he finally straightens himself out, rolls his shoulders to release any tension left before he stoops down to rifle through the man’s pockets.

 He pulls out his wallet, deft hands quickly sifting through various cards until it lands on a university student ID, the institution’s name printed on the plastic with bold letters. Giving the worn leather wallet a shake, a key tumbles out into Jimin’s awaiting hand (along with a bunch of loose change but Mike doesn’t need them). Engraved on the head are a number and letter, no doubt pertaining to the dorm he’s living in. That’s all Jimin needs as he conjures up a portal leading to the location, removes the bindings from Mike’s wrist and feet and all but rolls him through to the floor of his bedroom with the soles of his shoes.

 Jimin tosses the wallet carelessly through too and closes the portal, hands brushing against each other like he had taken out a hefty pile of trash (in a way he did). Feeling a little lighter in mood, Jimin turns to regard his surroundings, stretches and take in the still cool night air. Guess he should probably head on back to your place to check up on you now; it wouldn’t do him any good if he had kept you up worrying over some insignificant scum like Mike.

 So with quick steps, Jimin vanishes in wisps of dark smoke, only to re-materialize in your bedroom. He was honestly half-expecting to be scolded by you the moment he made his appearance but find a much different sight altogether (though still unsurprising). You’re slouched against the wall at the head of your bed, head lopping off to one side in a way that looked too uncomfortable to remain in with the sheets only halfway pulled up over your body. Jimin can’t help the air that escapes through his nose in a quiet giggle, hands suddenly itching to snap a picture of you. He gives in to the temptation, pulling out his mobile with ease.

 After taking a sufficient amount of photos (with various amounts of filters to each), Jimin moves soundlessly towards the edge of the bed to loop an arm around your shoulders, careful to cradle your head against his chest before you used his other free hand to momentarily discard the blanket to make room to scoot you down to the pillows. Once he’s laid you down properly, he fixes the covers again, tucking them under your chin and snuggling the plush cat toy you’re so fond of closer to your side.

 You let out an indecipherable murmur, head shifting to sink further into your bed before letting out a deep exhale, a small smile playing on your lips. Jimin shakes his head though his own smile threatens to overtake his lips. He turns around, satisfied and settles into your desk chair, allowing his eyes to slip shut and the rhythmic sounds of your breathing to lull him into a sense of ease he hasn’t felt in a long time.

[vcdanvers]

Flour and Trouble

A/N: (5-6-19) HEY!! This is my submission for @cant-control-their-fear-imagines  her Summer Writing Challenge- she’s awesome and if you’re reading this, you should definitely pay her blog a visit (:

Prompts: 1 (What’s in that bag and why are you hiding it there?)/14 (Quick! Hide behind the sofa!)

Y/N = Your Name

L/N = Your Last Name

Summary: Mischievous!Reader x Natasha Romanoff, R is known to be a prankster but this time she goes a little too far for a certain someone’s liking. R feels the consequences of this and tries to make it up to Natasha. Fluff. One Shot.

Word count: 1700 something

Warnings: A wee bit of angst but that’s made up for with a lot of fluff- promise.

Disclaimer: I have never written anything before, please have mercy on me, thankS!!! (also your feedback is really appreciated, or, like, leave a like because it’d be cool to know at least one person has read this HAHA)

 It was no secret that Y/N had some curious tendencies. Her mischievous personality was adored but also got her into trouble, more often than she’s willing to admit. Luckily for her, being one of the younger Avengers in the compound, she was let off the hook easily. A little pout was all it took for her fellow team members to have mercy on her (It was incredibly endearing, after all).

Or, well, that was almost always the case. Last time things took a turn and she ended up having to clean the dishes for a week long. If you’d ask her, that was one week to many. But she did really cross the line that time.

 ‘I’m so incredibly bored’ you had whispered to yourself. You had woken up early that morning and was, once again, out for some “good ol’ fun”. After spending your morning gathering the materials you needed, you were ready to start assembling everything for your self-proclaimed master plan. Not only were you mischievous, you were also incredibly resourceful and innovative. The simplest of items could be turned into yet another device to terrorize your team members. This time around you had picked Natasha as your specific target. Natasha had appeared very focused these last couple of days and you thought there would be no harm in trying to distract the redhead a little.

 After setting up your table with a funnel, a bowl, some flour, scissors and Natasha’s hairdryer that you had “borrowed” from her room-without permission- you were ready to get to work. You grabbed the scissors and carefully opened the pack of flour. You created a small opening and poured some of the flour into the bowl. The hairdryer was balanced between your knees to ensure it would be kept upright as you poured the contents of the bowl through the funnel and into the hairdryer. You were ready and all that was left to do now was wait until Natasha would have her daily sparring session. While she was out at the gym, you had time to put the hairdryer back without getting caught and as Natasha would always take a shower after working out, the effects of your prank would soon be revealed. Two birds with one stone, you thought.

 It wasn’t long before you heard a surprised scream from Natasha’s room, followed by her screaming out your name. This was your cue to start running. Natasha was not amused and was out for blood. Your blood, to be more specific. You could hear her footsteps closing in and you knew there was little time left before she would catch you.

Wanda, who had seen the scene unravel, decided to help you out. ‘Quick! Hide behind the sofa!’ she told you and with a swift movement you were on the ground, squashed between the sofa and the wall. You held your breath as you heard Natasha approach Wanda. ‘WHERE IS Y/N’. The words bounced off the walls and came out like a statement rather than a question. Wanda pretended not to know but the Widow was too keen on reading body language and saw right through her. You were close and she knew it.

 A mere 30 seconds later you were roughly pulled from behind the couch by your feet. ‘Y/N WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TIME THIS IS GOING TO TAKE TO GET OUT AND TO NOT EVEN MENTION THE MESS THAT IS IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW!’ The string of words came fast and angry. ‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to anger you I just-’. You were cut off before you could further explain yourself. ‘Not your intention to anger me? What did you THINK was going to happen, genius?’. ‘Nat, I’m sorry, really.’ you tried again. Natasha just rolled her eyes and sighed as she angrily walked off, done with your antics.

 Today marks eight days since your little mishap. You had behaved perfectly the past week and a bit, you had cleaned Natasha’s room and did the dishes- like Tony had ordered- with no real complaints. Sure, you thought it was a little unfair considering you hadn’t actually meant to piss Natasha off but you understood the reason behind it. You had tried apologizing to Natasha, multiple times, but she had had enough and clearly was not ready to accept your apology- yet. An idea came to you, ‘What makes everything better? Food. Duh’. You were going to bake her a cake, she would surely talk to you again, right? To make sure your idea would remain a surprise, you weren’t going to let anyone else in on your little plan.

 This resulted in you having to go to the supermarket to collect all the ingredients you needed to bake your cake, all the Avengers were observant and would notice the missing ingredients, which could endanger the secrecy of your plan. You pretended to head to bed early, saying ‘Goodnight’ at just 10PM. You, however, set an alarm for 2.30AM to start your kitchen adventures. You made yourself comfortable and dozed off until you were rudely shaken out of your slumber at 2.30 in the morning. You were quick to turn off the atrocious beeping sound coming from your phone before it could awaken anyone else.

 After having gathered all your previously bought items into a bag you snuck out your room and made your way to the kitchen. You made sure to be extra quiet as you walked through the hallway, past the other bedrooms. As you got to the kitchen you should have noticed a dim light coming from the area, but in your sleepy state, this detail went completely over your head. You were softly humming to yourself, something you did often without noticing. This time it was to the tune of ‘Somebody To Love’ by Queen. This notified the person currently in the kitchen of your presence before you were aware of theirs. As you pushed the door open your eyes fell onto Natasha, who was standing against the counter, eyebrows raised at you. Startled by the unexpected presence you let out a small screech and nearly fell backward, only regaining your balance last second.

 ‘N-Natasha, hey’ you managed to squeak out as a blush made its way to your cheeks. Her expression went from amused to unimpressed upon noticing the bag you were desperately trying to hide behind your legs. ‘Really, Y/N? Another prank, at this hour?’. ‘No, no, I’m not. This is not what it looks like.’ you stuttered out, intimidated by the piercing green eyes staring at you. ‘Then what’s in that bag and why are you hiding it there?’ You held your head down and were thoroughly inspecting your black and white fuzzy socks as you mumbled out ‘I was going to bake a cake for you, to say sorry, because I really miss you and I’m sorry’. Still a bit skeptical, Natasha had to make sure you were speaking the truth ‘Show me what’s in the bag.’ she commanded. You clumsily retrieved the bag from behind you and handed it to her, still too worried about the look on her face to look her in the eyes. As she took the bag she was slightly surprised to find it was, indeed, filled with baking goods.

Unbeknownst to you, the redhead’s expression softened. She stepped towards you, taking your hands in her own. Seeing you so intimidated by her wasn’t something she enjoyed, she wanted to be taken seriously but she didn’t want to be feared by the younger girl.

She spoke softly, trying to be gentle with you given your current state ‘Y/N? It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore. It’s sweet you wanted to bake a cake for me.’

 Her statement surprised you and you felt a wave of relief wash over you, your Natasha wasn’t upset with you anymore. Blood rushed to your cheeks at your own thoughts, Natasha wasn’t yours by any means but you have had a little crush on her for ages. Lost in your thoughts, you only looked up to face Natasha as you heard her calling your name. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. Your usual goofy grin made its way back to your face as you told her that you were, in fact, okay. More than okay, but she didn’t need to know that. The redhead didn’t look convinced yet, so you wrapped your arms around her torso and leaned into her.

 You made a muffled noise that Natasha was able to identify as “promise”. She couldn’t help but grin at the girl in her arms- she had a soft spot for you and she knew it. As you yawned, Natasha freed herself from your grip, glancing at the clock and seeing it was now dangerously near 3AM. ‘I think it’s time we both head to bed, don’t you think Y/N?’. In return, you pouted at her ‘But what about your cake?’. She slightly rolled her eyes at your comment while remaining a smile on her face, thinking it was quite endearing that you were so hung up on the idea of making her a cake and “finding a better use for flour” as you had jokingly said before. ‘How about we bake it tomorrow instead? Together?’ she suggested, to which you eagerly agreed. Truthfully, you’d take every opportunity you could get to spend some one-on-one time with the beauty in front of you.

 Natasha pulled you out of your thoughts- once again- as she got a hold of your hand and looked at you expectantly. ‘You coming, L/N?’ she asked teasingly. You ignored her little remark and nodded, walking to your room together. As you had reached your bedroom door you paused. ‘Thank you. For forgiving me, I mean. And walking me to my door, of course’ you said shyly, your actions causing the Widow to gaze at you softly. ‘Anytime’ she said, bringing her arms around you once more and letting a small peck linger on your temple before turning around and making her way back to her own room. ‘Goodnight’ she said just audible enough for you to hear and soft enough to not awaken anyone else. ‘Sweet dreams!’ you called back, a little less careful than Natasha had been, earning a chuckle from the redhead.

[trans-shuichisaihara]

fake it till (we) make it - Scene 1

the celebrity fake dating oumota au I started last month or smth and finally picked up again. I really love this au so uhh hopefully y’all do too! coughs bc it’s probably a slow burn and i have too many of those

(read on AO3)

Kaito Momota, up-and-coming actor newly known for his roles in various sci-fi films, has a problem. Said problem comes in the form of his frequent costar ringing insistently on his door at 2am.

“What the fuck,” is all his tired mind can create to greet him with. If Kokichi minds, he doesn’t show it, a wild grin filling his face.

“Good morning, Kaito!”

“It’s the middle of the night, this better be real fuckin’ important.” A headache is already starting to form right behind his eyes, so he really isn’t in the mood for-

“I’m bored; you should be a good host and entertain me!”

Three seconds later, Kaito slams the door in his face.

“Hey! Kaito! C’mooon!” The relief from his voice being muffled only lasts a matter of seconds, as Kokichi goes back to ringing the doorbell rapidly.

“Fine,” he groans, throwing the door back open, “Get in here before I call someone to get rid of you.”

He wastes no time obeying, hurrying past Kaito and straight to the living room, vaulting over and onto the couch.

He sighs, closing the door and massaging his aching head. “You could at least take off your shoes, asshole.”

“I’m good,” he cheekily replies, resting said shoes on the arm of the couch, “Come sit over here.” He pats the seat next to him. Kaito shakes his head and opts to sit on the opposite end.

“Are you gonna explain why the hell you’re awake at 2 in the morning or should I just assume you’re going out of your way to bother me?”

He hums in response, before his expression changes to a pout. “My manager wants me to change my sleep schedule so we can get some night scenes out of the way. But no one else is ever awake at this time of night unless they’re completely smashed.”

Kaito pinches his nose; what was Kokichi starring in again? He himself isn’t doing anything currently, waiting for preparations for the next film to wrap up. “Why don’t you go bother Miu then? She supposedly never sleeps.”

“She sleeps weird hours, but she’s in France with Kaede right now.”

Oh, yeah, that’s right. “Ugh, call her or text her or something then; it’s like normal morning hours there.”

“No thanks,” Kokichi declines, kicking off his shoes, “I don’t want to interrupt her honeymoon.”

He furrows his brows at his word choice; they’re there for Kaede’s piano concerts, right? Well, whatever. “Why don’t you go bother-” Fuck, who could he send Kokichi off to? He couldn’t bother Shuichi or Maki with him, and all their other mutual friends either expressed annoyance with him or didn’t stand up to him when he was being like this. Dammit. “... Fine, whatever, guess you can be my problem for tonight.”

It has to be illegal for him to look so happy at being the source of someone’s sleep deprivation. “Aw, I knew you’d come around. No one can resist me.” Fucking spoiled brat.

“Just find some way to entertain yourself; I got plenty of shit lying around. I'm goin' back to sleep.” He stands, waving him off, but doesn’t get far before Kokichi lunges forward and grabs his wrist.

“I have a huge Lego Star Destroyer in my car and if you don’t help me build it I’ll egg your house.”

... Well, how could he say no to that? “Dude, you act as if building that would be a bad thing.”

He hums in response, releasing Kaito and tossing his keys up to him without warning. He catches it midair, nearly missing the sly smirk that crosses Kokichi’s face. “You’ll see~!”

The box isn’t that big, but it’s heavier than he expected it to be. Not anything he can’t handle, but it still causes him some trouble getting it through the door, determined to be as difficult as its owner. He becomes very familiar with information on the side of the box as he’s bringing it in; 3152 pieces, recommended for ages 16 and up.

Looks like Kokichi would have to sit out, haha.

Relaying that joke to him when he finally sets it down in the living room earns him a huff and an annoyed shout reminding him that they’re the same age. Geez, it isn't Kaito’s fault he looks nothing like a 23 year old. He doesn't look a day over 15, and that's just a fact.

“So, why do you even have this? Don't tell me you bought it just to bribe me,” he asks as they pull out the bags of pieces from the box, Kokichi flipping through the first few pages.

“No way, it's just something I impulse bought last Christmas and never got around to building. I remembered it while I was sitting around bored and hey, you're the residential space freak.” He grabs the baggie labeled “1” from Kaito’s pile, tearing it open with more force than necessary.

“Hey, careful! You’ll lose pieces like that!”

“Relax, it's the first bag, and your house is surprisingly clean. Seriously, do you even live here?”

Kaito feels a bit offended at that. “What does that mean?! You think I live like a slob or somethin’?!”

“Uh, yeah? Your dressing room is always a mess.” He pauses. “Do you keep the mess in your bedroom then?” He gives him a teasing wink as he begins snapping pieces together.

“My room’s clean too, asshole. It's not hard to keep a clean house.”

“I bet it is, when you own literally nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was expecting collectables and spaceship models everywhere.”

Well... He does have those, but they're in his study where he can see them while he works out. “What, so are you saying you own a bunch of junk then?” He did say that he impulsively bought this.

Kokichi's face goes flat for a moment, before snapping back into a grin. “Yep! You caught me, I'm a huuuuge hoarder!” And a huge liar; anyone who works with him for even five minutes knows that.

“Yeah, sure.” Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. He can't judge a house he's never seen. Which begs the question- “Where the hell do you even live?”

“I wonder,” he answers with a non-answer, flipping to the next page. Kaito shakes his head, unsurprised.

After he grabs one of the other instruction booklets and his own bag of pieces - pushing Kokichi’s scattered pieces towards him to prevent mixing - the two of them work in silence for a long while. Kaito starts to yawn as he flips through the seemingly endless instructions, blurry vision causing him to keep misreading the pictures and forcing him to frequently tear apart sections of his progress.

“You're really bad at this,” Kokichi comments as he finally finishes his booklet, standing up and stretching.

“Fuck you, I'm doing my best on three hours of sleep.”

“Hmm, should've gone to bed earlier. Besides, I only got four and I'm perfectly fine.” Despite his words, the next sound to leave his mouth is a poorly disguised yawn. “Anyway, I'm gonna raid your pantry as punishment for being so slow.”

Ughhh. “Good luck finding anything, I haven't gone grocery shopping recently.”

There's a long pause as Kokichi inspects the food situation for himself. He returns a minute later with a tupperware container. “How are you alive?”

“Meal prep and tons of leftovers.” He hauls himself up with a low groan, before walking over and taking the container from him. “Don't eat this; it's my lunch for tomorrow.”

Kokichi sticks his tongue out at him. “Whatever, I didn't want your gross... whatever that is.” He huffs, turning back into the kitchen to poke around.

Kaito sighs. “Want me to order a pizza?” That's a better option than him getting into the little food that remains.

He perks up, closing the barren freezer. “I supposeee,” he drawls, pretending to be disinterested.

“What toppings?” He pulls up a list of nearby pizza places, hoping one of them would deliver at almost 3:30am. Closes at 3am, closes at 2am, midnight... Damn.

“None pizza with left beef, obviously.”

“C’mon Kokichi, a serious answer please.”

“Fine, pineapple with anchovies.”

“Alright, no take backs,” he answers, still squinting at his phone to find a place.

Kokichi sighs after a minute of unsuccessful searching. “Gimme that, I know a place.” Before he can object, his phone is in his hands and the pizza is ordered, along with some mystery combo items.

Afterwards, the phone is returned to him unharmed, thankfully. “It’s gonna be 34 dollars, spaceman.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah yeah, lemme go find my wallet.” He shakes his head and makes the mistake of leaving Kokichi alone unattended downstairs.

By the time he digs his wallet out of his nightstand and takes a quick piss, the doorbell rings. He splashes some water on his face to help keep himself awake, hurrying down the stairs as Kokichi’s opening the door.

“Thank you very much! Sorry, no autographs, but you can get one from Kaito if you want.” He hurries past Kaito and away from the delivery girl, a pile of boxed food in his arms.

Kaito sighs as he pulls a 50 out of his wallet. “Need me to sign anything? And keep the change, it’s fuck o’clock in the morning, I know.” Once he’s signed in three separate places aside from the receipt, she finally leaves, letting him turn his attention back to Kokichi.

“Hey, what’s your Netflix password?” He immediately asks once the door’s closed. “I tried a bunch of stupid space references but it’s not working.”

“Like hell I’ll tell you that, use your own.” He plopped himself back down at the abandoned Legos, trying to regain focus.

“I don’t have oneeee,” he whines in response, dropping the controller down onto the floor as he flops onto his side. Kaito resists sighing again and picks it up, turning the console off, ignoring Kokichi’s continued mumbled whines.

They sit in silence for a few long moments before Kaito realizes that something’s off with the Legos. “Hey, where the hell’d all my small gray pieces go?”

He shoots Kokichi a look, and he receives a toothy smile in response. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll step on them at some point!”

He scowls - like hell he will. “Seriously, do you want us to build this or not? If we lose a shit ton of pieces right off the bat, that’s not happening.”

“I mean...” Kokichi sat up, observing his nails for a moment before turning to the pizza box next to him and opening it. “I’m pretty bored with it now. I’m trying to think of a better game to play, since Netflix and chill is out of the question.”

He coughs. “Shuddit. Fuck, you’re such a pain.” He shakes his head and starts to pick up the pieces, taking the complete piece and the almost finished one to the empty bookshelf he’s been meaning to fill in the corner of the room. Once he’s finished, Kokichi beckons him back over, shoving a paper plate with a slice on it into his hands. He eats it, only because he paid for it and he’s hungry from sleep deprivation.

It’s not too bad, honestly.

“Hmmm, I wanna take a selfie...” Kokichi thinks aloud, leaning his full body weight of literally nothing against Kaito as he pulls out his phone and opens the camera app.

“Seriously?! I’m trying to eat!”

“Just one, promise! Say pineapple!” The circular button takes their picture silently, unlike paparazzi cameras. He lets Kaito approve of it before returning to his previous position.

“Satisfied? Will you let me sleep and not make a mess if I go back to bed?” Kaito asks after the pizza and half the breadsticks are gone, yawning again.

“Only if you answer my question.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

“What do you think about fake dating? Specifically, me ‘n’ you?”

His question is answered by him coughing to avoid choking on his own spit.

[servphims-blog]

this is gonna be a whole MESS bc its 3am but !! i rly wanted to post this now bc im already late and i didnt want to be even MORE late ! ANYWAYS hello my name’s ellie, ur local the boyz stan, 20, and from the cest tz which is … gmt+2 i think ?? this here is my child fei that i may or may not have created specifically for this rp so im still figuring her out :/ pls bear with me ! i don’t have a bio page up yet but i do have her profile right HERE and i’ll try n write some more important things under the cut c: if you’d like to plot, dont hesitate to click the lil heart and i’ll slide into ur ims – you can also find me on discord as rilakkumas#2155 if that works better for you !

OKAY SO feifei was born as the only daughter of a pretty affluent pureblood family in beijing, china. her parents, while initially over the moon because of the pregnancy, had completely different reactions once the child was actually born. while her mother held the baby close to her chest, already in love with the tiny girl, her father turned around and walked straight out the door he’d come through. after all, it was no secret that he wanted a boy – someone who, in his eyes, would be a better fit for the role of his heir

fei grows up without a father, really. he’s almost never home – most of the time he’s out gallivanting with his newest conquest, leaving his wife alone; or if he is home, he just pretends the child doesn’t exist. it hurts at first, she’s not gonna lie. young fei does everything in her power to get his attention. she tries being sweet. then she lashes out and throws tantrums every other day. then she thinks that maybe if she ignores him too, he’ll be the one to crack first. and then – she just gives up. if you asked now, she’d call herself pathetic – though only because she pities the girl who got her hopes up a million times, just to have them shot down just as many

a couple of months after her eleventh birthday, she gets two letters – one marked with the hogwarts crest, and another with the mahoutokoro one. her father insists on sending her to japan. the standard is much better, he says; and they only accept the best of the best. i will not allow my daughter to go and live with those – those – those brutes!!!!

she picks hogwarts almost immediately – if only to spite her father

not that fei doesn’t like hogwarts. quite the opposite really. at first, it’s mainly because of the fact she’s so far away from home and her parents and their controlling regimen. here she has the upper hand. she strips away the last remains of the starry eyed fool she once was, and builds herself anew – a lot more charming, and a lot more persuasive – a person fit to wear the silver-green colors of the house she was sorted in

she can honestly be pretty fake ?? the type of person to make you believe you’re best friends when in reality she couldn’t care less about you. fei learns how to change her entire personality depending on who she’s around, in order to get whatever it is she needs – so she’s almost always around people, but most of the friendships she has are superficial bc of this

horrible at dealing with her own problems/emotions !! 99.9% of the time she will ignore them until they either a) go away or b) escalate into something much worse ( it’s mostly b tbh )

very prone to escapism via anything and everything that will get her mind off her problems :/ she usually has p good self-restraint and knows her limits, but can go overboard at times

can be pretty impulsive, and doesn’t really care about any consequences that may come out of it. she can be pretty responsible i guess – but only when and if she wants to

regularly uses the prefects bathroom even though she’s not one. how? she probably talked someone into giving her all the passwords. she can be pretty manipulative – but if it gets her what she wants, then it’s worth the trouble

im probs gonna make a separate page later on, but as far as plots go ?? would absolutely love some friends for this child – anything from superficial friendships to frenemies to actual best friends ? someone who knows what fei is actually like ? slytherin squad too please and thank u ! enemies would be fun – maybe they found out how fake fei can be, maybe she only used them to get something she wanted and they found out, maybe they just hate each other from the first day in the castle ( the possibilities are endless !! ) someone who actually manipulates her for their own benefit? also fwbs bc she’d have a lot of them, exes (angst????) enemies to lovers ( my fav trope of all times ), old crushes OR current crushes – unrequited ones too ? could be fun to see fei stumble over her words and not know what to do for once. maybe you catch her in the middle of her regular bubble bath in the prefect’s bathroom ( she’s not really supposed to be there, but you won’t tell – right? right?? ), class partner that she just CAN’T seem to get along with because both of them are too stubborn and won’t admit they’re wrong etc. bUT obvi im also open for brainstorming as these are all pretty basic !

uuuuh i think thats about it ?? im on -10 braincells rn so idk if any of this makes sense and there’s probs a LOT more im forgetting BUT this will have to do for now ^v^ ily ❤❤❤

[redditnosleep]

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

by NeonTempo

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 (Final)

Well then… here we are.

I have to be honest; when I posted the first of these logs from my bedroom in North London, I didn’t think it would go very far. After all, why would it? I wasn’t a regular contributor to this site, nor a seasoned veteran of the paranormal. I was just a man who missed his friend, seeking a few words of wisdom from an online message board, open to the idea that it wouldn’t lead anywhere.

Suffice to say I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Over the past two months, the incredible advice I’ve received from this forum, and the amazing leads you’ve sent my way, have opened up entire worlds of possibility. It’s thanks to all of you that I’m where I am now; sitting in a rental car on a quiet street in Phoenix, Arizona, posting the last of Alice’s records.

I realise I’ve written more than usual for my part. Apologies for this. If you want to skip straight to Alice’s section, that’s fine.

Otherwise, please consider this the prologue to the epilogue.

It’s very, very early in the morning over here, with only the gravest of the graveyard shift out on the streets. By all rights I should be in bed, and not wasting petrol on an aimless drive through the city. The ritual helps me think however, and I’d recently been given a lot to think about, courtesy of a young woman at a local bar.

She was a forum member, who’d contacted me over Direct Message. When we met up earlier in the night, it was clear she’d done a great deal of research; charting every mirror shop in Phoenix in an attempt to reconstruct the route Alice took on February 7th 2017.

We spoke for quite a while; about the game, about Alice, and about life in general. Once closing time rolled around, she handed me a printout of the most likely route, with all the key locations circled. Then, in the final minutes before we parted ways, she nervously asked me two questions. The first put me in a rather sour mood. The second provided the fuel for my 3am drive.

Question One; Are you sure she wants you to find her?

I’ve been hearing the same query from a few of you recently, especially since Part 9 was posted. People commenting that Alice made a clear choice when she left Rob behind in the silent city. That I was searching for someone who wasn’t seeking return.

I’d like to take a moment to respond to this, as I responded to it earlier tonight. To be clear, the Alice I know wouldn't do that. She was planning to come back, she’d told us as much. I’m not going to waste your time with my theories, but we’ve seen what the road can do to people's minds, how it can carry them away against their better judgement. I understand why it's being asked but if those sorts of questions are all you have to offer, I’d kindly ask you find another way to help.

Question Two was less clear cut; what are you going to do now?

It’s something you guys have also been asking me, but that was the first time I’d heard the question out loud. In the awkward silence that followed it became obvious to her, and in some ways to me, that I didn’t yet have an answer.

I decided to take a drive while I figured it out… I’ve been in my car for the rest of the night,

After an hour of aimless meandering, I realised I was close to one of the marked locations; the alleyway where Alice first entered the underpass, the point at which she first disappeared into the road. Turning into the side street, just after a large intersection, I was briefly relieved to see no sign of the tunnel. The part of me that still hoped this game was a fiction swelled at the sudden lack of evidence. My reaction was short lived of course, as I quickly realised that the tunnel wouldn't have shown itself to me anyway. Even if the game were real, I’d hardly been sticking to the rules on my way here.

There was no denying that the place resembled Alice’s descriptions however, and with a long time to go until I’d feel remotely tired, I decided to work my way back along the route, retracing Alice’s steps towards Rob Guthard’s street.

OK so I have to admit at this point, I suffered from a momentary lapse in intelligence. In a fog of distraction, residual jetlag and general dullardry, I drove for longer than I’d care to admit under the misconception that I wasn’t playing the game. I thought this because I was heading in the opposite direction, and had started my run with a right hand turn, when the rules explicitly state that you begin by turning left. Of course, as I’m sure all of you would have realised immediately, that didn’t mean I was out of the game, it just meant I started playing with my first left turn, one road later.

Alice was always the smart one.

What I’m trying to say is that, due to this fairly mindless oversight, I wasn’t exactly looking out for the Woman in Grey as I drove past what should have been her corner. There wasn’t a mirror shop this time of course, that’s only the 34th turn when you’re coming the other way, in fact I’m not sure which of the many passing streets it was. It is strange though, as I think back through my journey, I feel like I would have noticed her. The streets were practically deserted, so much so that any pedestrians stood out immediately. I know I should’ve been looking more closely but, if you asked my honest opinion… I don't think she was there at all.

The moment I realised this, I felt it again; the faint perverse, hope that I’d been misled, that the entire story was nothing more than a twisted, elaborate fabrication.

It wasn’t long until I passed an old mirror shop and, 34 turns later, arrived on what must have been Alice’s starting street. It was an inner-city neighbourhood whose residents were all fast asleep. From the moment I realised that the game was in play, I’d been thinking less and less about this particular road, and more about the one directly after it, resting just beyond the crossroads. I’d come halfway across the world on the strength of Alice’s account, but I’d seen no first hand proof of the Left/Right Game. If the whole thing was a hoax, then the next road should just be another street. If it was real, then I’d know soon enough.

I crawled up to the junction with my heart in my throat. With every inch of road that passed under my tyres, I found myself hoping more and more that it wouldn’t be true. Let someone be playing a prank on me, let the logs be counterfeit... let Alice be anywhere else but on that road.

I took the corner in a wide arc, parking myself in the centre of the crossroads, my headlights facing down the next turn.

Ahead of me was a quiet residential street; lines of neatly parked cars, rows of well-kept yards and squarely drawn windows. Yet at its centre, in utter defiance of the modest surroundings, the road sank into a deep and dimly lit corridor, cutting beneath the street, and disappearing into complete darkness.

I’d always known it was true.

In the presence of grim confirmation, the question I was asked earlier that night started to ring in my ears, as if echoing out of the tunnel itself. After an entire night’s driving, after two full months of searching, I still didn’t have a response.

In the end I just left the engine running, as if turning it off would somehow be a sign of retreat, and decided to type up the notes you’re reading now. I thought maybe the process of putting it all down on paper would bring me clarity, and leave me with either a note of farewell or a note of apology to Alice, for not having what it took to find her.

And now… here I am; still undecided, still writing, still sitting in this rental car on a quiet street in Phoenix, Arizona.

Though perhaps the street’s not as quiet as I thought.

I’ve just looked back to the previous road, down the street where Alice began her journey. As I type this very paragraph, I can see a figure standing on the sidewalk, just outside one of the houses. It isn’t the woman in grey this time.

Though it’s almost too dark to make out, I can tell the figure is an older male, well built and imposing, the rugged features of his weathered face half lit by moonlight. I’ve never seen this person before, yet he bears a striking resemblance to another man; a man whose description has been well recorded within the pages of Alice’s logs.

He watches me in silence, staring through the window of my still running car.

I wonder if he can help.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 20/02/2017

The Left/Right Game was once nothing more than a 9-page document, peeking out of a yellow envelope, resting quietly on my desk.

I remember reading it on my lunch break.

I remember it made me laugh.

The submission had arrived with the first post, quietly making its way around the office, treated by everyone as a short-lived novelty of little journalistic value. The story was easy to dismiss, appearing all too similar to the rambling ghost stories and blurry UFO sightings that filled our mailbox on a daily basis, and which most of the senior staff had learned to instinctively ignore. Doomed by association, the document was quickly passed over, my desk merely a pit stop on its way to the rejection pile.

I was curious however and, after an uneventful few months in my new role, I had no compunctions about fishing from the scrap heap. Placing the envelope in my satchel, alongside a misfit crowd of similar rejects, I slipped away to a local coffee shop, reading it in an armchair by the window.

Somewhere around page three, between the description of the game’s rules and the exhaustive list of “Required Skills”, my mouth started to curl into an irrepressible smile.

They’d been gloriously wrong about this one. It wasn’t some paranoid diatribe, nor a sensationalist plea for attention. Within those pages lay an introductory glimpse of a man’s passionate obsession. As I read on, something about his earnest eccentricity, incredible thoroughness, and unquestioning confidence made it impossible to put down. When I turned the final page, reading the last of Rob Guthard’s charming and refreshingly well formatted submission, I knew that this was the story I wanted to tell.

Later that day, I found myself in the editor’s office making a case for it. They didn’t quite see what I saw, but I was intent to win them over regardless. I told them the story would be characterful, colourful, thought-provoking and, at the very least, that I wouldn’t be gone long.

It’s been twelve days since then; ten since I first entered the Wrangler in Phoenix, Arizona, five since I commandeered it myself, leaving Rob behind in the silent city. I haven’t updated much recently, save for a regular set of notes made for my own benefit. In all honesty, after I finished writing up my account of the city, I was struck by an overpowering sense of needlessness. There was no one left to receive these logs, no friends to proofread, no editor to hand them to. It seemed pointless to maintain the same prosaic format as before.

I still largely agree with this assessment. It’s only due to a set of exceptional circumstances that I’ve chosen to type up the following account in full.

Whoever this reaches, I want to thank you for reading up to now.

I’m quite sure this will be my final instalment.

The moon has broken, and in my entire life, I’ve never witnessed an evening so still.

The air is cool and quiet, and the Wrangler cuts cleanly through it as I glide down a stretch of even tarmac. The scene is defined by calm and absence. Not a cloud in the sky, not a solitary whisper of breeze, not a single blade of grass stirring on the dark green banks beside me.

Yet even on a night as peaceful as this, I can’t help but feel far away from home. The city had served as a turning point in that regard. Before we reached those titanic monoliths, the landscapes we passed through generally resembled the world I once knew. A few obvious exceptions aside, there was nothing about the environments that looked truly divorced from reality. That’s all changed now. The aberrant aspects of this new world are unignorable, constantly hanging at the corner of my eye, passively injecting a sense of wonder and disconcertion into the otherwise silent night.

A few days ago the moon started to crack like old porcelain. I hardly noticed at first, my eyes fixed on the road as it loomed above me, quietly splintering into three jagged pieces. As of tonight, the empty space between each fragment has significantly increased. If I focus on the sky for a little while, I can almost see them falling away from each other, charting infinite and lonesome trajectories through a barren cosmos, against a backdrop of foreign constellations.

The stars themselves fall further than they should. The night sky travels down past the horizon and continues below it, wrapping underneath the grassy bank. It’s as if the road, and the narrow plains on either side, are suspended in the middle of a vast abyss; a platform in the middle of open space.

At least that’s what I thought it was at first. It didn’t take long before I noticed the broken moon was appearing twice in the sky, both above and below me. A pair of orbiting satellites; identical and in perfect alignment. That’s when I realised that there were no stars below me. I was merely staring across a flat surface so flawlessly mirror-like as to cast a perfect reflection of the heavens above.

I was driving through the centre of a lake.

The water is impossibly still. Since leaving the shoreline proper yesterday night, I’ve seen neither a wave, nor a ripple across its placid surface. It’s also undeniably vast, reaching beyond the horizon in every direction and continuing further still. Without being sure how I know, I’m aware that the waters carry on for an unspeakable distance, that I would sooner reach the stars themselves before setting foot on its opposite shore.

I lean over and switch gears. The act of driving the Wrangler was a daunting one at first, but after the first two days I’ve managed to make do. An old scarf wrapped tightly around the steering wheel serves as a makeshift handle, allowing me to navigate corners one handed. I don’t have an elegant solution for the gearshift, but I’ve quickly grown used to the process. If I’ve learned anything from the road, it’s that grace is the first casualty in the fight for survival. Adaptability, no matter how clumsy, outlasts it at every turn.

A few minutes later, the Wrangler pulls up to a spacious verge. A large circle of land surrounded entirely by dark waters. At the far end, the grass seems to fall away, dropping sharply into the lake with a dead stop. The road continues of course, but it's the only thing that does. With nothing on either side, it forms a narrow bridge of perfectly flat asphalt, raised on a bed of mud and rock.

I press my boot onto the brake pedal, easing the Wrangler to a steady halt at the centre of the clearing. For the first time today, I open the car door and climb out of my seat. The dull tap of asphalt shifts to a soft rustling as I make my way over to the lakeside.

There’s something on the shore, a barely discernible object, almost entirely concealed by a shock of verdant undergrowth. It’s a miracle I’d managed to spy it from the road, though perhaps something about the stark uniformity of the landscape had made it stand out.

As I advance towards the water, and the object draws near, its indeterminate form solidifies in my mind.

It’s a human arm, reaching out from the water and onto the bank. I crouch down to examine the few pertinent details. The fingers are still embedded firmly into the soil. The thumbnail is broken, coloured by a peeling coat of faded varnish. There’s a pallid, emaciated quality to the skin, spreading down the arm until it disappears beneath a thick, woollen sleeve. At the point it meets the surface, the water soaks into the fabric, turning it black from the original grey.

With a sad exhalation, I rise to my feet and lean over the water’s edge.

The body of Marjorie Guthard lies against the silt, her cheek resting on the lake bed, her wide bewildered eyes staring out into the open lake. She’s been almost perfectly preserved. Save for the striking tautness of her skin and its mottled, grey pallor, she looks exactly like the woman I saw on the 34th turn, who’d tried to repel me from the road, who’d spoken of a lake drinking her wounds clean.

It seems her ramblings weren’t completely void of fact. It’s clear to see that Marjorie has been exsanguinated, so completely in fact that the only evidence that blood ever flowed through her veins, is a large dark stain across her shredded blouse.

It doesn’t take long before the perpetrator makes itself known.

As I stare into the water, a steady stream of formless whispers sink up through the depths of the lake. The softly spoken murmurings drift up to my ears, taking root in the back of my mind and instantly blooming into a flurry of deeply persuasive promises.

I find myself entirely transfixed by the still water, as a myriad of generous offerings unfold in throughout my consciousness. The whispers suggest an end to the phantom pains in my absent arm, perhaps even a completely restored limb, stronger than it had been before. Furthermore, it shows me a glimpse of its incomprehensible span, its furthest bank reaching across countless worlds, its deepest point lying below everything. I’m offered total knowledge of every league, every fathom, every inconceivable shore.

My hand reaches down as the whispers continue, every bargain steeped in sweet beneficence. A moment later, my outstretched fingers brush against the soft grass, and wrap around Marjorie’s exposed arm.

Digging my heels into the ground, I lean myself backwards and pull. The water ripples and splashes as I drag Marjorie’s lifeless body slowly onto the bank. I feel the voices in my mind grow louder, erupting in anger as I back away from the lake.

The promises had been convincing, each quiet solicitation undeniably persuasive. But after seeing Marjorie’s wretched fate and the look of eternal betrayal in her vacant eyes, I found myself aware of a subtle undercurrent behind every syllable, a sense of desperation and timeless hunger emanating from beneath the lake’s surface. I already have a clear understanding of what would have happened if I’d lost myself to those waters. I suspect it’s no coincidence, that of the countless shores it showed me, all of them appeared to be deserted.

Marjorie wouldn’t have stood a chance. She’d left the forest alone, grievously wounded and without a vehicle. She’d walked the whole way here, bleeding endlessly, the road’s rejuvenating power battling every moment against her body’s natural inclination to die. I suspect the road’s influence wasn’t strong enough, and when a whispering voice promised, ever so sweetly to mend her, she would have been in no position to refuse.

Her other sleeve brushes against dry land, her body leaving the water for the first time in decades. I keep pulling until my boots hit asphalt, laying her down on the grass just beside the Wrangler.

After a moment of sober vigil, I walk to the back of the car and fetch Rob’s foldable spade.

A long few hours follow. I’ve never dug someone’s grave before, and my injury is hardly conducive to the task. My fleece tied around my waist, pearls of sweat running down my brow, I manage to slowly chip away at the damp earth. Five hours later, my back cramping, my hand raw from gripping the shovel, I attempt to lower Marjorie into the rough pit with some semblance of grace, her legs dropping limply into the soft soil despite my best efforts.

It takes over an hour to shovel the soil back. It’s a sobering and ugly task. As a layer of dirt covers her face, I realise this will be the last time a living person lays their eyes on Marjorie Guthard. Burying her suddenly feels disrespectful, as if it’s an act I don’t have the right to perform.

Once it’s done, I drop onto my knees, a dull ache in my muscles as I smooth out the disturbed ground with the back of the shovel.

MARJORIE: You.

Even before I turn to face her, I can hear a scowl in her voice. There’s an odious depth to that one acrid syllable, a potent witch’s brew of contempt and accusation that feels like it’s been festering in her drowned lungs for decades.

Reluctantly, I rise to my feet and turn around, finding myself face to face with the woman I just buried. She looks different now, her clothes are dry, her skin clear, with nothing to be seen of the deep, dark gash in her blouse.

AS: Marjorie.

Unlike the empty vessel below us, the woman in front of me is by no means at peace. She shakes and wretches with the same indignant fury I witnessed when we first met. When she speaks, her words shudder under the weight of her own turbulent emotions.

MARJORIE: I chased you. I ran to you. I… I gave him up for you.

AS: I’m… I’m sorry Marjorie, I don’t know what you mean. Tell me what you mean.

MARJOIRE The things I saw, things so beautiful. And I saw her, walking alone through the new worlds. I gave everything up for you!!

I don’t know quite what to say. It’s pointless to ask her what she means, to try and understand her frenetic ramblings. In the end, I can only try to speak her language.

AS: Marjorie I… I didn’t mean you to.

Marjorie’s trembling breaths burst into a despairing fit of laughter.

MARJORIE: Oh… oh yes you did. Yes you did. And now… now you’re here.

Marjorie’s wild and volatile demeanour shifts once more, her laughter degrading further into a desperate crying panic.

MARJORIE: And what do I do now? What- What do I do?!

Marjorie cringes with the terror of the self-imposed question, placing her head in her hands and repeating it over and over again. As I watch her wrestle with despair, I’m struck by an idea I’ve never before considered. The disconcerting notion that, in death, we are not transported to a set destination by some ethereal attendant. That in fact, nothing is decided for us. Perhaps the manner in which we spend our afterlife is down to us, a decision we have to make ourselves.

Marjorie is standing over her own lifeless body, still lost, still entirely unmoored.

There's no sign of boundless paradise, inescapable damnation or everlasting nothingness, and the common thread they share, a final release from the weight of our own agency, is similarly absent. Perhaps we never get that freedom, perhaps we continue like we always do, accompanied by all our imperfections, uncertainty and discontent.

Perhaps we must choose our eternity.

After all my time on the road, that’s possibly the most terrifying notion I’ve encountered.

AS: He never stopped looking you know.

Marjorie snaps out of her wretched despair, instantly aware of who I’m referring to, staring up at me with an expression I’ve never seen her wear before.

AS: I saw him, walking on the road. He didn’t stop. He was never going to stop. I think he was looking for you Marjorie, he still is.

Marjorie stares through me. For the first time since we met on that quiet Phoenician corner, I can see the faint spark of something other than misery and rage across her tear stained face.

I hold her gaze for a moment more, before pulling my phone from my pocket. In a single sweep of my contacts, I delete every number except for one. A number I pulled from the Nokia during our second night on the road. A number that connects to a lost wanderer of the road.

AS: I don’t know if this can help but… stranger things have happened.

As she stares up into my eyes, I feel like we’re finally meeting for the first time. Without a word, Marjorie reaches out a quivering hand and takes the phone from my outstretched fingers.

Before I can say anything more, Marjorie Guthard is gone.

A few moments later, a refreshing breeze lands against my cheek, a soft zephyr, cooling my still warm face. It’s a welcome sensation, and the first movement I’ve witnessed in the air since I set out onto the lake. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I stare quietly along the bridge, the breeze picking up around me.

It’s a subtle wind at first, brushing stray hairs across my forehead, chilling the perspiration on my neck. Yet as I reach my hand out, and feel the air slip between my fingers, I’m witness to a steady rise in both strength and magnitude.

The sound of the wind grows from a whisper to a howl, Seconds later, the hanging sleeves of my fleece begin to stream sideways. My hair lifts from my back, billowing in the throes of a developing gale.

I back up against the Wrangler’s hood as the air finally erupts into a roaring, cacophonous cyclone. My hand reflexively seeks the sturdy frame of the Wrangler, my fingers wrapping around the grille, my arm tensing as the unrelenting wind threatens to drag me from the road.

Squinting through the violent tempest, I focus on a single point in space, just above the threshold of the bridge. In the midst of the storm, a jagged line of white hot light bursts out of the ether, tearing through the night’s fabric, a crackling fissure that widens and yawns, forcing apart the curtains of reality as they frenetically struggle to recombine.

Staring through the shuddering fracture, I’m subjected to the briefest glimpse of a boundless, and impossible vista. It is a faraway place in both distance and time. An achingly beautiful and gloriously terrifying dreamscape, enduring on the majestic shores of infinity. Every moment there spans a millennium and unfolds in countless directions at once. Every passing shadow holds a darkness beyond measure, their edges burned by the glare of a waking sun which looks across every conceivable world with a hollow, rancorous intent.

In the midst of this maddening landscape, a singular entity approaches, gliding towards the portal with the clear intent to pass through. As it breaches the shuddering gateway, and the wind dies down around it, I stare up at its grand celestial form.

The being is unlike anything I’ve ever seen; composed entirely from electric arcs of brilliant, magnesic light which burst from a volatile and blinding central core. It sounds like a lightning storm, its plasmatic tendrils snapping and crackling, bursting chaotically through the night air before collapsing in on themselves. As they fall back into the creature’s centre, they emit pale clouds of vaporous fractals that fade softly into the air.

Somehow, even as my eyes barely adjust to the stark light, I realise that the entity usually burns much brighter. It's dampened its glow for my benefit, so that it can appear before me without scorching my eyes from their sockets.

AS: It’s you… isn’t it. You’re the voice I’ve been hearing. You’re the one who brought me here.

The bristling maelstrom of light hangs in the air, crackling and shifting, its transient limbs strobing with chaotic incandescence. Part of me wants to hide, part of me wants to run, but neither are an option anymore. Releasing my hand from the Wrangler’s grille I take a single step forward, standing on my own and staring up into the entity’s smouldering core.

AS: Can I get an interview?

The creature doesn’t react. In the following silence, I feel it observing me. When it finally responds, its voice ruptures the night, echoing through my skull.

VOICE: There is little time, but you may ask what questions you have.

Each reverberating syllable forms a string of literal shockwaves in the surrounding lake, emanating outwards from the being in a perfect circle. I watch the waves roll into the distance, showing no sign of ever diminishing, and I think about what question to ask first.

In the end, it comes to me quickly; a promise is a promise after all.

AS: What happened to Marjorie? Why did she do what she did?

The being pauses, as if considering its response. When it does reply, it speaks with a calm sobriety.

VOICE: She glimpsed an echo of the future, dreamed of the road, of the things that it passes through.

AS: Like whatever’s through there?

I gesture through the gateway, which is now almost entirely blocked from view by the creature’s spiralling form.

VOICE: She dreamed of untold frontiers. She saw a lone woman walking them. Over time, the fulfilment of that vision became everything to her.

AS: But it wasn’t her… she thought she was seeing her own future… but it was-

VOICE: It was you.

Those three words, as they burst into the open air, casting three narrow waves across the boundless water, hit me with a deep and heavy force. Unbeknownst to myself, decades before I was even born, Marjorie had been driven insane by dreams of maddening grandeur, of a life of boundless possibility and true significance. She had given everything up to chase a shadow… a shadow that eventually turned out to be mine.

I hadn’t just pulled Rob into this game, I was the reason for everything. I was the cause for the tragedy that befell his entire family,

AS: She didn’t just dream those sights. You influenced her. You let her see them… the same way you made Rob see me in Aokigahara. You pushed and you prodded wherever you needed so that I’d end up here. Are you the reason Bobby got the rules in the first place?

VOICE: Yes.

AS: But… why? You toyed with so many lives across… across decades. Why me? Why does it matter that I travel the road?

VOICE: Because across all humanity, across every conceivable permutation, you are the one who makes it the furthest.

It speaks plainly, as if the statement were a foregone conclusion. Yet its words strike me into silence.

The creature continues.

VOICE: I’ve watched you work your way here, through skill and through tenacity… and undeniably through luck. You were brought here because of these qualities, and they will carry you further along the road than any other.

AS: Then why didn’t you just bring me here? All that influence and you didn’t lift a finger… after everything that happened-

VOICE: Events transpired as they needed to.

AS: As they… needed to?! People died! Marjorie. Bobby. Ace. Apollo. Eve. Lilith. Everyone. They’re all gone. Do you not care at all?

In response to my words, the entity remains silent for longer than usual.

VOICE: I care more than you know. There are things greater than your understanding, forces that exist beyond the realms of your comprehension that you would consider a threat to everything you hold dear. My actions were guided by a higher standard of knowledge. Your protests are predicated on false understanding.

AS: You’re saying I don’t understand death?

VOICE: You don’t.

AS: ... That still doesn’t make it right.

VOICE: Regardless, my influence is necessary. That which is necessary must be.

AS: What even are you?

VOICE:: I cannot answer that question in any way you’d understand.

AS: That's not good enough.

The creature doesn’t respond, as if it doesn’t feel it needs to. So far it’s returned my every argument with impenetrable certainty. From the domain it occupies, knowing what it knows, my arguments must seem entirely facile. Even if it did feel the need to justify itself, after seeing the place it hails from, I wonder if there’s any way I could ever comprehend its motives.

Still, that doesn’t mean my arguments are invalid, and the creature’s lofty dispassion does little more than stoke my desire to oppose it.

AS: And what if I don’t want any part of this?

VOICE: You are travelling the aberrant strand; a singularly stable flaw in the fabric of reality. As it carries you further from the world you know, you will be freed from the influence of the old laws. You have already noticed the effects in those who settled the road, those who were lost to it and in yourself; energy without consumption, knowledge without requisite experience. You are shedding entropy, and causality and in time you will reach realms of understanding you cannot currently fathom. You will find answers to questions you never thought to ask. You will discover absolute truth. For this reason, you will carry on.

AS: That’s the only reason?

VOICE: Do you need another?

It doesn’t come across as a question, but rather another blunt statement of fact. I understand the effect it’s speaking of. Ever since the city, I’ve been encountering vague notions and fragmented ideas that occur to me randomly and without announcement. New avenues of thought leading to revelations that would otherwise lie beyond my mortal reach.

I’ve started to comprehend things I could barely have conceived of back home, and though the onset of these notions had been terrifying at first, they grow less so with every passing day.

AS: No… no, I don’t trust you. I don’t-

VOICE: Your trust is immaterial. You will travel the road regardless.

The creature’s already stark glow starts to intensify.

VOICE: I’ve watched you, on every turn … across every moment of your journey.

One of the creature’s countless protrusions lashes out at the empty air, forming another harsh, glowing fissure. It wrenches itself open in a few stilted jolts, a transparent, almost crystalline membrane stretched across the gap. Through it, I can see myself, in the centre of a cornfield, examining a block of C4 explosive.

It’s as if I’m staring into the past through a jagged shard of one-way glass.

VOICE: I’ve watched you questioning.

Though we can’t be seen through the aperture, I see the glasslike membrane shake with the force of the creature’s voice. As the window collapses, I can see the rows of corn thrown into a frenzy.

A second arc lashes out at the sky, forming a second aperture. This time I’m expecting the sight before me. I see myself, crying in the forest… a silent radio by my side.

VOICE: I’ve watched you struggle.

The second window closes. The creature has made its point.

VOICE: I’ve watched you fight… to make your way here.

VOICE: You will not turn around.

AS: You make it sound like I don’t have a choice.

VOICE: You do have a choice Alice, but you have already made it.

As much as I’ve grown to detest the creature’s presumption, in that moment, I know it’s right.

What it’s saying is true. I’ve done things I never would have imagined in order to get where I am now. In fact, if this being hadn’t arrived at all, I’d already be heading out over the bridge.

I’m not proud of what drives me; that same, ugly impulse that led me to refuse Rob’s offer of return, that made it so easy to leave him behind in the silent city. But there’s no denying the impulse is there. It’s been with me the whole time, long before I ever arrived in Phoenix, Arizona… and it’s buried deeper than I’ve ever wanted to admit.

AS: Can I… do I get to say goodbye?

The entity says nothing. It hangs in the air, flickering and coursing with rupturing bolts of light. The next thing I hear is a faint mechanical hum emanating from the Wrangler behind me. Turning around, I pace briskly back to the car, opening the door and reaching into the passenger seat. My notebook is booting up, seemingly of its own accord.

Picking up the laptop, I lift the lid as I march back towards the bridge. I stare up at the silent being before me. When I look down to the laptop, my email client is already displayed on the screen.

AS: How… how long do I have?

VOICE: Long enough.

The entity begins to regress, its arcs diminishing as the being at its core turns away. Its message has been delivered. There is nothing more to discuss.

As it passes through the gateway, into an unknowable world far removed from my own, I call out after it.

AS: I’m still not certain I trust you.

The being focusses on me once more, as the fracture begins to close. A final set of waves pass across the surface of the lake as it solemnly replies.

VOICE: … I remember.

A moment later, the being is gone.

I stand motionless in the middle of the road, the entity’s final remarks washing over me, its curious choice of words echoing in my head. In the renewed silence, the faint stirrings of an overwhelming and terrible revelation start to form in my mind.

It could have simply said that it knew of my mistrust, that it heard the overtones in my voice, saw the disdain across my face or otherwise sensed it in the space between us. Instead, the being spoke as if my current feelings were a memory, dwelling somewhere within its depths.

It was undeniable that my time on the road was changing me, but in all this time I’d never truly considered how those changes might evolve as my journey continues.

I’d never thought about what I might gain, what I might lose… or about what I might inevitably become.

A short while passes before I lower my eyes from the empty space above the bridge, to the screen of my notebook. Lowering myself down, I cross my legs and rest my back against the Wrangler.

If you’ve been reading from the beginning, you’ve finally caught up with me.

I hope you’ll allow me a few personal messages.

To Rob. I hope you’re able to read this someday, and I am so, so sorry for everything I’ve done; for everything I may do. I hope you understand that I didn’t know, and that none of this was your fault. You did the best you could, and the days I spent with you were the most significant of my life. It was an honour to know you and I hope that, among these pages, you find the answers, and the peace, that you deserve.

To my mum and dad, I’m sorry I won’t be sending this to you. In the end, I was carried along this road by a profound selfishness, and I just can’t bring myself to face you. I can’t imagine the pain I’ll be putting you through, and I won't try to justify my actions. All I can say is that I love you and I’m sorry that my last act towards you was one of cowardice.

And finally to you; the person to whom this message will be addressed. I’m sorry. I always thought I’d see you again someday, that the roads I took would eventually lead me home. That doesn’t look so likely now. Though I could say a lot to you, I’m not going to.

But I wish we could have been friends for longer.

It feels like a lifetime since I first arrived at Rob Guthard’s quiet street. I remember the uncertainty as I waited for him to open his door, with no concievable idea what was about to transpire.

Like so many other things, that’s now changed. Despite being in an entirely new world, further from home than anyone’s ever been, I know exactly what’s going to happen next.

I’m going to take a drive. Take a left, then the next possible road on the right, then the next possible left. I will repeat the process ad infinitum, until I wind up somewhere new.

And from there I’ll keep driving, beyond worlds, beyond time, beyond the bounds of my imagining. To a place where the lake runs dry, where the broken moon drifts away, and the stars disappear in the rear view.

To a place where everything has fallen away, and the road is all there is.

[snagglewoojin]

Fight Day

summary: you and seongwoo get into a fight and he couldn’t bring himself to ask you to come back.  genre: angst, romance characters: you and seongwoo a/n: i was listening to bolbbalgan4’s fight day and had this idea so here goes nothing! i hope y’all like it lmao i didn’t proofread this because i’m lazy so bare with any grammar mistakes whatsoever thanks i wrote this for fun and my own enjoyment!! 

Sunny day, we fight again I can’t stand it anymore, I’m tired of it Finally I shake your hand off and turn around

On a good day with the birds chirping and the warm summer breeze blowing, everything in the world seemed so peaceful. But all of that soon ended when the door to the house was opened and slammed shut in a rough, almost frightening manner.

You jolted at the sound and turned around, looking at your boyfriend as he angrily loosened his tie. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You slowly walked towards him, feeling a little conscious and mildly afraid. Seongwoo was never one who had a bad temper, but when he did, he can be frightening. It was also really odd that he was back from work in the middle of the day.

“It’s nothing,” he simply said and walked off without even glancing your way. You watched as he walked towards the bedroom and slammed the door once again, confused and slightly hurt that he chose not to tell you about his problems.

His temper has gotten worse recently, fights were occurring more often between the two of you than you’d like. It was puzzling, really, that you had no idea how things started to end up in this kind of situation. The fights were slowly taking a toll on your relationship as well as on you emotionally.

Deciding that it would be better to leave Seongwoo alone to calm down, you opted to not press him any further.

A few minutes later, he came out of the room in casual clothes – ripped jeans and all. You could smell his cologne as he walked right past you without even sparing you a glance, as if you weren’t even there.

“Where are you going?” You asked, your voice slightly trembling. It didn’t feel nice to have your significant other completely ignore your existence, neither was it great to know that they didn’t even trust you enough to tell you about whatever that is troubling them.

“Nowhere, I’m just going to hang out with Daniel,” Seongwoo said after a slight pause as he fiddled with the house keys and prepared to leave. However, you knew damn sure he wasn’t simply going over to Daniel’s just to “hang out” and play video games. It was pretty evident to you that he was going to end up in the club by night time and have Daniel carry his passed out body back to the house at 3am. That feeling obviously did not settle well with you.

“If something’s troubling you so much, why can’t you just tell me about it?” You continued questioning. He turns around, albeit annoyed as he lets out a sigh of frustration. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk about it?! Stop asking!” He raises his voice and his cold eyes pierced into you. Is this what heartbreak felt like? You stared at him, speechless and hurt but most of all, angry.

“Maybe it’s because I’m your girlfriend and I care about you!” You weren’t expecting yourself to yell at him, but your voice came out louder than you had wanted it to be. Your words were laced with accusation and pain as you tried your best to hold back the tears that tried to force their way out of your eyes.

He rolled his eyes and looked away, “You know what, I’m not doing this,” he says.

“I’m not doing this either,” you spat and grabbed your own pair of keys and left the house. As you unlocked the door, a small part of you wished he had just grabbed you and apologised. But that tiny hope vanished as soon as it appeared when you opened the door and left the house.

He didn’t hold you back.

-

From now on this is it, you and me You’re just the same as the other guys Pick the mean words and send it to you, but the truth is, I’m in front of your house now

There was a small playground directly below your apartment. Having nothing else but your phone with you, you walked towards one of the swings and sat there, letting your tears flow. You were thankful no one was around to witness you sobbing at a place that was supposed to be filled with the laughter of children. It was contradicting and almost funny. You would’ve probably laughed at yourself if you didn’t felt like complete shit at the moment.

After calming down, you unlocked your phone and, in a sudden fit of anger, typed out the meanest things you could come up with on your chat with Seongwoo. As your thumb hovered above the send button for a good minute, you eventually decided not to press it. Your hand fell dejectedly as another wave of tears hit you once again. 

-

(2 hours later) You don’t answer my call (3 hours later) I don’t want you to let me go (Finally 5 minutes later) I call you, tears falling down

As hours passed, you’d finally calmed down and you were just slowly swinging back and forth on the swing. Seongwoo was an asshole, sure, for lashing out at you, but you knew you still cared deeply for him. The man you witnessed earlier was not who he really was and you knew that for a fact. Millions of thoughts ran through your head as you wondered where he was. Was he still at home? Had he left? How is he feeling?

You looked through your contacts, hoping to find a friend you could call to meet but your finger accidentally hits his number and you ended up calling him. You were scared and unprepared but you did not want to click the red button to cancel the call. Was it enough time for the both of you to talk things out properly? Maybe he was still angry? You couldn’t stop asking yourself as the ringing went on. In a quiet neighborhood like this, the ringing of an unanswered call felt like sirens blasting in your ear. However, although you were afraid of the fact that you had to talk to him so soon, a small part of you still wished that he would pick up.

To your dismay, the call went to voicemail after a minute of ringing.

It was absurd, painful and you could feel yourself wanting to cry all over again. It felt like a lie and you wanted to yell and scream at him for acting this way. All you wanted was for him to hold you back. 

You tried calling again.

Once again, it goes to voicemail.

-

We fight and scream, break up and leave Romantic you who bought flowers for me late at night, midsummer nights’ flutters, Can’t start all over again

“For you!” Seongwoo beamed as he pulls out a bouquet of roses from behind his back.

“Seongwoo!” You gasped as you slowly held onto the bouquet. Red roses, the classic symbolisation of love. It wasn’t the first time he had bought you flowers, but it never failed to cause butterflies in your stomach. It was a sweet gesture and you appreciated it. “Thank you so much, I love them,” you whispered as you planted a kiss on his lips.

He holds onto your waist and chuckles, “Anything for you.”

You laughed sadly as you thought back about the times when things were still going well. Everything was fresh. The feelings you experienced with Seongwoo were ones you knew you couldn’t feel with anyone else. Seongwoo felt like home, and you missed him dearly. What happened to the Seongwoo you’d once known? Was it even possible to start all over again?

-

I swallow my pride and push the bell, but finally the insensitive you already went to sleep I rip off the necklace we matched and throw it in your sleeping face

  As night fell, you decided to just go home. You didn’t want to bother your friends since you knew they were busy with work as well and didn’t want to impose on them. The house was eerily quiet when you unlocked the door. You were well expecting Seongwoo to have left. But to your surprise, his shoes were still there so you decided to look for him.

Entering the bedroom, you see a figure on the bed. Inching closer, you realised that it was Seongwoo, sleeping so peacefully as if the fight had never happened, as if he didn’t just drove you out of the house with his harsh and insensitive words, as if he never cared. It stung and your eyes were literally dry from all the crying that you couldn’t even form tears anymore. “You jerk,” you whispered angrily and ripped off the necklace on your neck and threw it at him. The necklace had a ring on it. It was a couple ring that he had gotten the both of you in the early of days of your relationship. You deemed it as something so precious and important to you that you wore it around your neck on a chain all the time. 

You turned around once again and stomped out.

Seongwoo had heard the door click open and he knew it was you. When he heard the door to the room opening, he quickly closed his eyes. The room was completely dark, except for the light that came in through the spaces between the curtains. Why was it that the moon shone so peacefully and quietly above the world, but everything in this house screamed of misery, unsaid apologies and pain?

He didn’t know how to face you after talking to you in that manner. He was embarrassed of himself and he certainly wasn’t expecting you to return this quickly. Unable to face you just yet, he decided to feign sleep.

“You jerk,” he heard you spit, anger and hatred extremely evident in your voice. It broke his heart, but who was he to feel this way when it was his fault right from the start? Your angry footsteps could be heard heading towards the door, coming as quickly and leaving as quickly.

A tear rolled its way out and stained the pillow. “Please come back, I’m sorry,” he said meekly. He was a coward, and he knew it.

-

2 days later 3 days later Finally 5 days later Tears fall down, I want you to come back

  You were gone for many days. Deciding that you were in a situation worse than your friends, you decided to call one of them up and stay at their house for the time being. Being the good friend that they were, they didn’t hesitate to let you stay. Despite feeling guilty for keeping them up late at night spilling whatever had happened between you and Seongwoo, you were still thankful that they listened to every word of yours and lent you a shoulder to cry on.

Seongwoo on the other hand wasn’t doing great. He felt like hell, and forced himself everyday to get up to go to work. He wasn’t doing well at work as well, constantly distracted and unable to focus. He’d looked at your contact on his phone so many times, afraid to hit the call button and had a small hope in him that you would call him first.

He’d missed your calls on the day of the fight because he left it in his bag and it was on silent mode. Only after checking did he realise that he missed his chance to apologise to you.

No one knew about the tears that stained his cheeks that night as he stood below the shower and cried. His tears were washed away, along with the words that he yearned to say to you but couldn’t bring himself to say, “I want you to come back.”

-

We fight and scream, break up and leave Romantic you who bought flowers for me late at night, midsummer nights’ flutters, I wanna start all over again.