#inch away from death every time I start it it's somehow easier for me

[whenastrofell]

I hate driving.

[orshii]

☣︎Whispers of The Darkened Mist☣︎

☣︎ Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader ☣︎ Word count: 8,8 k ☣︎ Warnings ☣︎ - cursing, mentions of death, injury, mentions of blood, suggestive

☣︎ Summary: The world is shrouded in a dark, venomous mist that makes survival nearly impossible. Alone and hunted by other desperate survivors, you were on the brink of giving up. But then, Kim Hongjoong's fearsome crew found you. Though Hongjoong seemed intimidating and distant at first, he secretly cared for you, even if he didn’t show it. Now, in a world where betrayal could mean the difference between life and death, will you be able to trust each other enough to survive?

Or will hidden tensions tear you apart before the world does?

☣︎ A/N: I would've never thought I was going to write something like this lol. This is really the first time for me. This is totally new territory for me and I tried my best istg, idk it just happened. Actually, it started because I dreamt about this world and I woke up saying I have to write something with this. I don't know if it even makes sense but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing and I hope it's not so confusing, lmk. Also sorry for the mistakes I am really trying. I might return to this world with the other members *wink wink* (divider)

The world went quiet. Darkness embraced the streets and buildings, creating a bubble around the earth that whispered danger. The streets were empty along with the fields that were supposed to be full of wildflowers. But everything was black, it looked like hungry flames consumed the planet, leaving behind nothing but emptiness. The planet became more and more harder to survive for humans, they needed to adapt to the odd situation that came with not being able to breathe fresh air for too long.

The air was tainted with alchemical toxins, giving humans only a few minutes to find shelter where the air was filtered and cleaner than the toxic atmosphere outside.

It was tough, people's freedom was taken away the day when simultaneous terrorist attacks occurred worldwide. That we call the Black Day since. They filled the air with nuclear gas that came in the form of black smoke, which blinded the people immediately, because of how dense the smoke looked. Being too much in the smoke makes people feel dizzy, like they are a little drunk, feeling intoxicated from the venomous air spreading in their lungs like rivers all around a map. If the ones that were in the smoke for more than five minutes without a mask, their days ended for good. Specialized masks prevent the gas from getting into your lungs, but those are hard to get, and if you are not that lucky to somehow provide one for yourself, you are doomed. It's breaking into a lab that has a lot of these types of masks—but these are rare to find—or it's killing someone that has the mask.

This is the game of survivor. But this time it's not just a game.

It's already five years, five years of the world being in infinite darkness, the sun was already a forgotten phenomenon. More than half of the population was gone. No one could expect something like this. People who were still here were the strongest kind, it's not easy to survive five years in a world that was doomed for eternity. The world changed completely, it wasn't the type of survival where people needed to work to get money and to buy everyday necessities. It was the type of survival when people needed to fight for the things they needed, to search every inch of the cities that were ruined into specks of dust so they could find some supplies that they needed to survive.

If you were alone, you had no chance. People usually gathered together, because it was easier to survive along with others than being alone in the big and dark world that held only surprises for you. Being alone in the wild is like you are prey that has nowhere to run. People hunt for the lost ones because they have nothing better to do.

I had luck. A crew of random people found me on the top of a building unconscious, where I ran up to find shelter away from the smoke that was spreading through the air. In the beginning, there were places where the smoke still did not reach, it was spreading slowly, and after trying to survive for five months alone, being tired of the constant running away from the toxic air, that haunted me even in my nightmares. I stopped. I was on the verge of giving up. I was ready to let the fog consume me, to eat my soul and take me to a better place.

I was almost there, I could see the sun above me, which was beaming at me, embracing me in a tight and warm hug. I felt like finally I could rest and leave this world behind in peace.

But there was nothing like the sun above me and the warmth I felt was hands around me that pulled me up from the dirty ground on the top of a building that was so high, I could feel the warm beam of the sun.

That was the last time I felt the warmth of the sun. Since then, I had already forgotten how it felt and how the sky looked like when the sun was rising or setting down. The people who came to that exact building when I wanted to give up, slowly became my family. Felt like it was destiny. It needed to happen. It was a sign from life, that whispered I should fight until my last breath. And from that day, I decided I was not going to give up.

Kim Hongjoong was the leader of the crew. They saved me that day, Hongjoong lifted me into his arms and they took me to their base so I could survive. His sharp eyes were staring into mine when I was in a haze, trying to perceive what was happening. While I was recovering, I constantly saw his face in my dreams.

Surviving wasn't in my plan, those five months were torture, the worst days of my life, I had no food, and I needed to kill a little squirrel someday to get some strength from its meat. I needed to do a lot of things I could've never imagined I was capable of doing. The worst was when I needed to kill a woman, that had the mask I desperately needed.

This was life. To survive you need to do everything, and when our survivor instincts turn on, we can't turn them off. We become unstoppable and we lose our humanity. It drives us crazy until we can't think clearly. That was when I thought it was better if I gave up. But when they found me and did not let me die there, I realized, it wasn't my choice to die, if destiny wanted me to survive, then I was going to fight until my last breath. I owed my life to these people and one day I might get the opportunity to pay them back.

In theory, it was Kim Hongjoong who brought me to their base; it was his decision. But as the others later told me, he intended to leave me there to die. He argued that I wasn't their problem and wanted to abandon me. However, the others insisted on checking if I was still alive. Hongjoong was prepared to leave me behind, but the others refused, so he had no choice but to take me with them.

And since that day they became my family. Even though Hongjoong hated me for some reason, probably because he did not want someone new in their crew back then—especially a girl—he did some things that made me believe he did not hate me. For example, when they found me, he was the one who took me to their base in his arms—because he did not let anyone else do it.

Or times when it was my turn to explore an unknown sector of the city, Hongjoong never let me go alone. He always sent Wooyoung with me because of his exceptional archery skills—his arrows never missed their mark. Wooyoung was there to protect me if anything went wrong, and Hongjoong made sure I was safe at all times, even though he pretended not to care about me. At first, Hongjoong seemed unapproachable, with his strong charisma and the aura of a true leader. He was the reason everyone survived, always involving us in his plans and valuing our opinions. He was prepared for every possible outcome.

There were times when some strangers attacked our base because we had just been to collect the supplies along with some important masks we needed for survival. People knew about us; we were a strong unbreakable team and it was hard to break through.

And when they attacked us, it was a usual night. We were sleeping.

They managed to kill one of us. I am never going to forget that horrible day. It was a girl, who we saved just two weeks ago. I saw myself in her, he was as broken as me when they first found me on the top of that building. But when we found the girl, her eyes were shining and it was full of hope and with want of surviving, not like mine back then.

After the night they attacked us, we started to be more careful and did not trust anyone. People are here to survive; it was not a game where we could make allies with anyone. If you want to survive, you just destroy everything that comes your way. And that is why our world looks like it was destroyed by an army that looked never-ending, just to leave ashes behind.

 Hongjoong always sent me out with Wooyoung, he was good at covering someone and letting you know if there were any dangers around you. Wooyoung's charisma was captivating and he radiated happiness in this sad empire. Wooyoung's nickname was The Hawk because he had eyes like a hawk. Sometimes when I wanted to tease him, I called him pigeon and he always pouted with his rosy lips with folded arms saying he is not a pigeon.

Wooyoung became my best friend since the first day Hongjoong sent us on a mission together. He taught me a lot of survival tactics and he even showed me how to use the bow. He was the closest to me, he was like my brother who I had not seen way before the Black Day, just like my family, and it hurt, it was like losing a piece of me, that belonged to my family. It is the worst when you don't know if they survived or not if they are in a better place or outside the cruel world trying to survive. I did not know which one was better.

We were in our bunker that was deep in the ground. This was the base of ours, where we could breathe, well—fresher air here than outside. It was built of concrete, the walls were huge and cold, and some pillars kept the weight of the building deep in the heart of the ground.

The huge hall where we were sitting, echoed the voice of Kim Hongjoong, our leader. He was standing in the middle of the room, us surrounding him. He was wearing his usual black fur coat, his black hair cut short, and his undercut as sharp as his jawline as I watched his side profile while he was speaking. With a lot of jewelry hanging from his ear, he looked intimidating and I would have given up instantly if I had run into him randomly on the empty streets. He was an interesting man. I have known him since they saved me, but he surprises me with every passing day. He was protective over his people; he would do anything for the ones who stood by him and followed him along this dark and bumpy road we were on.

I always respected him; five years is long. Our relationship was like a roller-coaster through the years. We had some times when we hated each other, and he made my stay a lot more difficult, as he always made me feel like I did not belong there. Like it was a mistake saving me. But also, there were times when he acted weird. This overprotectiveness of his came out a lot recently. And I did not know what to do with him. I couldn't yet figure him out. He was like a deep ocean full of secrets, some beasts lurking around in the dark. Kim Hongjoong was a monster and it was hard to quell him down. Especially if you betrayed him.

Like that one time, one year ago, when those people broke into our base and killed that innocent girl. It turned out there was a traitor between us. Someone betrayed us by allying with the enemy and revealing the location of our base—or so they thought. When we managed to eliminate them all, their leader, the last one standing, warned us to find Judas among us, then took his own life.

I have never seen Hongjoong like this. The veins on his forehead were visible, as he was shouting at us to tell him who betrayed us and whose fault was the girl's death. He was wearing his usual leather vest as he downed a glass of whiskey that flew down both sides of his neck, making him look like he was psychotic. His hands were still bloody from the fighting just like his face with some red stitches on it. He was furious, he trusted these people he called his family, but someone betrayed him and he went mad. Seonghwa, his best friend and our medic, tried to calm him down, but Hongjoong just pushed him away shouting at him to leave him alone. His best friend looked at him wide-eyed not recognizing the best friend he respected so much.

Seonghwa was already part of the crew when they took me in. He once saved Hongjoong's life, and ever since, Hongjoong promised to protect him if Seonghwa used his medical skills to help their people. Seonghwa was a calm and composed guy, never showing anger or sadness. He took his work very seriously and saved many of us over the years. Though he seemed cold, his charisma was rooted in deep care—his sole purpose was to save lives.

Then Hongjoong faced me. And I froze. It was like he was pointing a gun at me and I was just a little lost bunny in the depths of the forest.

"You," He pointed at me, his eyes shooting daggers right into my eyes, making them invisibly bleed. He slowly walked towards me. "You did this, didn't you?" He looked like a predator, and my heart started to beat fast afraid of getting caught. When he was standing in front of me, I avoided his gaze. If I had looked into his eyes, I might have started to cry, because I was terrified. Then I had no choice but to look into his eyes, because something sharp lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. It was his knife with a wooden handle.

I was just staring back at his eyes, and when I did not say anything, he pushed me into the room behind me with a force suddenly I saw black dots in my vision. And it wasn't better when he pushed me against the cold concrete wall, his veiny hands around my neck. The air was knocked out of my lungs and I tried to scrape his hands off my throat, but there was no point, he was much stronger than me.

"You have one second to explain, then I'm going to kill you with my bare hands." He hissed through his teeth, close to my face, his hands getting tighter around my throat.

I tried to breathe, but it was impossible, there was no way air could go through his hands that were chains around my neck. I tried to speak. "M-mfb" Some noises came out of my mouth but made no sense.

"Try harder, sweetheart." His hands squeezed more and my mouth fell open, his lips almost brushing mine. I looked at him wide-eyed, I was ready to die in between the arms that saved me.

But I didn't want to give him that satisfaction. "M-m my br-brother." The words stumbled out as a whisper, the air long gone from my lungs, his face close to mine was blurry as black dots appeared next to his black figure hovering over me.

Then a sudden wave of air hit me in the face like I was in the ocean and the waves crushed me against the sharp cliff that stubbed my lungs. I fell on the floor, on my knees, supporting myself with my hands, breathing heavily as I coughed blood on the floor. My lungs were full of air, yet I still couldn't breathe, I was on the verge of fainting. But I needed to explain. 

"Th-they told me, they have my brother." I looked at the dusty ground I was kneeling on, as a tear fell from my eyes, the bloody dust getting wet from my teardrops. I looked up at him, I still felt his hands around my throat as he was standing further from me, leaning against a table. "But I did not tell them, where our base was, Hongjoong, please, believe me." My voice cracked as I looked up at him with begging eyes. "They must have followed me when we met at the bridge, I wasn't careful enough, forgive me." I tilted my head down; I couldn't look into his eyes full of disappointment and disgust.

He pushed himself off the table and approached my sobbing figure on the floor. I only saw his shoes in front of me. "I should kill you, sweetheart. How did you even believe them? Did I teach you to believe anything they say to you?" He kneeled, lifting my chin with his fingers.

I shook my head. "But I thought I saw him, that is why I followed them. I don’t even know what I was thinking, he could be dead, but I just hoped it was really him. And when they caught me, they promised they were going to let my brother choose if he wanted to come with me. But they wanted masks in exchange. I would do anything for my brother Hongjoong and you know that so well." I looked at him desperately.

“I know, you would even betray us,” He grabbed my cheeks and lifted my head straight to his face.

“No! I would never, just listen to me, please…” I looked up with tears in my eyes.

"What happened after?" His thumb traced over my cheek to wipe away my desperate tears.

 "Then I told them I wanted to see my brother to make sure it was him—it wasn't him. So, I told them the deal was not valid anymore. They did not want to hear it, so they captured me and did not let me go. But I managed to escape, that was why I was late the other day from my exploring when you were so mad at me for staying out for so long…" I looked down at my hands on my lap, still kneeling on the floor, Hongjoong listening to me carefully, his expression getting softer but still angry. "I'm so sorry Hongjoong, you know I would never betray you and the others. You are my family, I know I made a big mistake, but for a moment I believed it was for real my brother, I was blinded by my feelings." Tears flowed down both my cheeks as I said with a weak voice, my gaze still on my hands.

"I'm glad we killed all of them." He said simply as I snapped my head up. "You should have told me though, you know you can tell me anything, sweetheart." He whispered cupping my cheeks.

"I-I know, but…I felt embarrassed of how naïve I was, they tricked me so easily, I don't want it to happen again." I wanted to be stronger, and the more I was with them, the stronger I became. "And that girl…she died because of me." I buried my face into my hands as I sobbed she was going to hunt me in my nightmares for eternity.

Hongjoong carefully withdrew my hands from my face to look into his eyes. "Sometimes we need sacrifices so we can learn from our mistakes. It happened, now we are moving forward, and you become stronger. Will you promise me?" His hands reached towards my black hair to tuck a string of hair behind my ear, his fingers tracing down on my red neck, his handprint fully visible on my skin, which is going to be red and blue reminding me of the mistake I made. I deserved it because an innocent girl died because of me.

I nodded. "I promise."

"Forgive me." He whispered suddenly. At first, I didn't know why he was apologizing but then his gaze was on my neck that mirrored perfectly the print of his hands around it.

"I deserved it," I whispered as he leaned down to kiss the redness.

"You deserve the world." He whispered in between warm pecks on my neck.

But the world was doomed anyway.  

Since that day, I have become stronger. I did not let people fool me, to lead me towards the wrong way. Hongjoong's words echoed through my mind every time I needed strength, every time I felt like I might give up.

As we watched Hongjoong stand in the middle of the hall echoing his low voice, his black fur coat almost reaching the ground as he was wearing a black leather vest paired with black pants, the flashbacks from that night echoed through my mind as sometimes I still felt his hands around my long-healed neck. I always felt the urge to trace my fingers through my skin to calm myself down a little.

"We need to secure Sector 1 and Sector 2. Yesterday our exploring team said we are being watched again. We might have to move from here if we can't protect this base." Hongjoong turned around to look into every person's eye, who eagerly listened to Hongjoong's commanding words, then his eyes settled on mine and landed on my fingers that were on my neck. He must have noticed as it became a habit of mine and he seemed it bothered him. "Sectors 1 and 2 are around us, we need to set traps and even bombs, to slow the enemy." He averted his gaze quickly away from me as he continued.

 It was funny how people were fighting against each other when it would be much easier to ally with each other and find a solution to this venomous fog that surrounds us all the time, like our nightmares that won't leave us since the Black Day.

"I can go to Sector 2 with Jongho!" San volunteered immediately.

"That sector is big, you are going to need help. I'm coming with you!" I said immediately as I knew that sector just as the back of my hand.

Hongjoong turned in my direction and looked at me sharply. "You are staying here!" He pointed at me.

"I explored that sector before; I can help them." I stepped closer to Hongjoong determined.

"We need you here on the base, Y/N! And this is my command!" His voice came out demanding as he hovered over me.

"Actually," I heard a voice coming from behind. "Y/N could really help us, we haven't been there once with Jongho, it's a new territory."

My eyes bored into Hongjoong's trying to convince him to let me go with them, as his eyes snapped between my eyes from left to right. "I want you to stay by my side, sweetheart." He whispered so the others wouldn't hear what he said his expressions seemed like he was worried.

"It's going to be okay; we did this a lot of times, we go out quickly, doing the usual and I'll come back to you, I promise. They need me out there Hongjoong." I looked up at him sounding confident, but deep down in my heart I was always afraid of going out, anything could go wrong.

He ran his fingers through his raven-black hair frustrated. "Okay, but Yunho is going with you!" He shouted so the others could hear him and they started to move to get ready. I wanted to turn to help the others pack but I felt a hand catching my wrist.

"It's not safe now out there, everyone wants our base and everything we have. Be quick, I need you here. I-I mean we—we need you here." He stuttered at the end as he scratched his nape a little shy. Wait a minute. The scary Kim Hongjoong who almost killed me, was shy?

"Oh, you need me, Kim Hongjoong?" I teased him as I bit my lower lip lifting my eyebrows.

"Shut up and go!" He said as his lips curved up barely visible.

"Now you want me to go or stay? I can't quite figure it out—" I said smiling at him pretending to be confused. I loved to tease him.

Then his hands were suddenly on my waist as he pulled me flash against his body. "I want you to go and come back to me." He whispered onto my parted lips his last word was like an arrow that landed right on my heart, making it bleed with a new feeling I had never felt before.

"Don't worry, you can't get rid of me that easily, Kim Hongjoong," I said close to his lips as I looked deeply into his eyes then pecked his right cheek and turned around leaving a stunned Hongjoong in the middle of the hall.

We started to pack some things we needed, especially weapons. Mingi was in charge of the weapons, he always knew what kind of gun or knife suited you. His charisma was always foolish a little, his eyes always bored into your soul and made you tell him everything. He was a reliable person. Yeosang on the other hand, who was responsible for the food, was a little cold, his charisma seemed nice, but I never had the chance to talk with him. He came with Mingi three years ago and he only opened up to him. Something very traumatic must have happened to them.

We were jumping over pieces of buildings and wrecked cars on the streets, our gas masks on as we were heading towards sector two. While discovering the sector with Yunho, San, and Jongho, we set off some traps so that if someone passes, they are doomed.

When we finished setting the traps we wandered a little out of that sector, and found ourselves in an unknown sector. We wanted to turn back immediately but then Yunho saw a 12-passenger plane. It was white and cute and Yunho wanted to drive it. He was not a pilot, in fact, he had no driver's license. But we somehow trusted in him and we knew it was a very important tool in discovering the city more. We needed it and Yunho was a guy, who was just naturally good at everything. His charisma was like sunshine that can turn into a storm rather quickly.

As he managed to turn it on without any difficulties, we pushed it to a clearing so it could fly, we settled into the seats and buckled in. I was sitting next to Yunho in the pilot seats, he checked the buttons if they were working or not, he was a very sweet guy.

Until some point.

He came with his lover, Hana, they were running away from the smoke when Hongjoong offered shelter for them. There was this one time when someone attacked his lover while we were out to explore the district we were in. As I said people are willing to kill for the masks we were wearing. They just wanted the mask and it happened to be Hana's.

The ones who attacked did not make it. Yunho killed all four of them with his bare hands until they couldn't move anymore. We had no chance to help, it happened in a blink of an eye.

Since that day I knew it wasn't good to play with Yunho's nerves. The girl was his weak point and he did anything to keep her safe.

 Behind me in the passenger seats was San, who was a very buffed man, with wide shoulders and an intimidating charisma, everyone feared him who came his way, but in reality, he was just a cute guy, who loved to call Wooyoung pigeon as well. On the other side of the plane, Jongho, San's brother was sitting. He was also very muscular and carried a hammer as his weapon. Despite his imposing appearance, his charisma was sweeter than intimidating, unlike his brother's. Jongho was a man who did not speak a lot, he was similar to Yeosang, they both just observed from far away, but still coped with us easily.

The Choi brothers were unstoppable. They were the strongest links in the chain we created. Sometimes when the siblings bickered together it reminded me of my relationship with my brother and I felt jealous of them because they were there for each other, they could protect the other, but I just couldn't do it with my brother because I did not know where he was. Back then when I thought I saw my brother, hope blinded me until I was in danger. I could never let that happen. Not in this cruel world.

"It's pilot Yunho, welcome on board, we are getting off the ground in ten seconds," Yunho murmured into the microphone that was surprisingly working. We laughed at his bickering and breathed in when the machine started to move. The next thing I knew was us being up in the sky, flying through the black smog that was floating in the air constantly. My jaw dropped as I looked down, where I could barely get the shapes of the destroyed city, the buildings fallen apart, remains lying on the ground unmoving, the streets full of abandoned cars, and no living creatures in sight. I was in shock; it was totally a different point of view. As I looked further and further, as long as the fog let us. It looked horrible. Dystopian. Like it was a game where they dropped you into an abandoned city and you needed to survive. But sadly, it was not a game.

As we reached the end of the city heading towards our base, we spotted the ocean. We didn't even know we were next to an ocean the fog did not let us see it, it came in handy—maybe we could travel with ships, so we wouldn't meet with unpleasant people along the way.

Everyone was in silence as we tried to take in the view that wasn't the best in our lives. I looked down at the beach where I spotted a figure running, it looked like it was a girl, because her hair was flowing behind her and he was holding a gun wearing all black. I was so distracted watching her, that I did not notice the strange noises the plane made.

"What is happening?" San asked his voice getting worried.

"Don't worry, I can handle it," Yunho said as his face was focused, pushing some buttons on the console. He had no idea what he was doing.

"Oh my God we are going to die." Jongho's voice came from behind panicked.

I looked down, we were quite far away from the safe land, and my heart started to beat fast. There was no way it was going to end like this.

As Yunho pushed some buttons, it seemed the engine got to its full power again, and we released a sigh we all held on to that. But then suddenly the engine fully stopped and we didn't even have time to process what was happening. Only hold for our dear life, and pray to the Gods to save us. I looked at Yunho panicked who tried to control the plane to at least land in the ocean—which was safer than the dry land.

Then Yunho held my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to witness my own death. The next moment, I felt the collapse. It was overwhelming—an explosion of colors, and then everything went black. 

The Black Day.

I was heading to my flat with my best friend from work after a tiring day when the chaos started. While we discussed with my best friend what kind of movie should we watch, that was the first time we heard the sirens. It was low and whispered danger. We did not pay much attention to it, as there were days when the city made some tests with these sirens.

But when we saw people run around panicked, my best friend held onto my arm, not wanting to let me go. Especially when the guards with scary big gas masks separated us, saying everyone needed to go to their district. I still remember the face of my best friend, when we cried trying to hold onto each other, she was heartbroken as we both cried, promising we were going to find each other. I never saw my best friend again.

When the guards told me to go home, I was lost. I wasn't in my hometown. My family lived miles away from me. I couldn't go home and see my family. I was a college student and it was my second year in university. I barely went home, because my family lived far away and I needed to work to pay my bills. It was hard not seeing my family only once a month.

But when I got close up with strange people in a crowded room, I have never felt that lost. I didn't know what to do and what was even happening. Then the people with the gas masks on came back and dragged us into a school bus to take us into an improvised survivor camp, where they only enlisted young and ambitious people. If there were children or old women, they transported them somewhere else and we never found out where they took them.

When the masked men told us what happened in the world and what are we doing there, I was full of anger and felt like I could burn the whole world down. Just as half of the population thought. And this is why the world now looked like it was in fact burned down.

The smoke was spreading unstoppably and no one knew how to stop it. So, people needed to adjust to this terrifying situation, they needed to survive. And in this survivor camp, they taught us how to do it. This was the reason I survived for five months alone. I was hoping somehow with a miracle happening I am going to meet with my family along the way. But I never saw my family again.

I was with my family; we were eating dinner. Everyone was smiling and laughing, my brother looked at me and said how proud he was of me. My mother held my hand and told me to keep going. Then I looked at my father whose face looked a little concerned, he opened his mouth to say something—wake up—but it wasn't his voice, it came from far away, I was confused as I still looked at my father's face.

WAKE UP! I heard again.

Y/N, WAKE UP!

Then I opened my eyes and sat up breathing heavily. My head was aching so bad I needed to close my eyes for a second, then I felt a painful stinging coming from my chest.

"Finally, Cinderella managed to wake up from her long beauty sleep." I heard a familiar voice that always made my heart relieved.

"Wooyoung!" I snapped my head up to look at him. His usual black framed glass was sitting on his tall nose, his sharp eyes were boring into mine, and he was wearing a light blue hoodie that hid his well-defined body well, paired with sweatpants. I hugged him close to me.

"Are you okay? Is everyone okay?" I asked starting to get panicked. I just realized I was in one of the base's rooms, where usually the injured ones were.

"The question is mine. Are you okay? You slept like a mummy, man. Seonghwa told us, you should wake up in a few hours but you just did not wake up, Y/N, you scared me…" His voice got low as he sat next to me on the bed. "You hit your head very bad and a few of your ribs are broken, but that should heal quickly now you are awake. Thank God." My best friend said as he looked down at his fidgeting hands, and I needed to smile at the fact of how worried he looked.

"I'm okay now, Woo," I said as I scooted closer to him and leaned my head against his as he turned towards me. Then I just hugged him again, because I loved him so much, I would burn the whole world down if needed, even though it was already burnt into ashes.

Then everything just flashed in images in front of my eyes. The plane. The falling. The crushing. The blackness.

I separated quickly from Wooyoung looking at him shocked. "W-what happened? Where are the others? Tell me they are okay Woo." Sudden emotions hit me and I was so scared something would happen with them.

"Hey, relax, Y/N. They are okay." He cupped my face into his hands as I sighed in relief. "Well…mostly."

"What do you mean?" I looked at him shocked, my heart rate at the highest.

"San and Jongho made it with smaller injuries. San broke his right arm and Jongho suffered a brain concussion, but it's slight so he is going to be okay." He said caressing my cheek to calm me down. "And Yunho…he is…he is in a coma. He hit his head severely and some nerves in his brain aren't functioning. It needs time to heal. It seems very serious but Seonghwa said let's not give up hope, he is a very strong guy, and he can fight this off." He wiped the tears away that escaped from my eyes.

We were so stupid; how could we think it was a good idea to take off a random plane without any knowledge of how to drive it? We were responsible for our lives and still, we just threw it away like it was garbage. I really hoped Yunho was going to be okay. No—not hoping, because I knew he was going to be okay.

"He is going to be okay, I'm sure." I nodded in determination as I said. "How's Hana?"

"She can barely keep up, but she is next to Yunho all the time."

"How did we get back here?"

"A girl found you and helped you. She said she was at the beach right when you crushed. You were lucky to crash into the ocean; it absorbed much of the impact. So, San was on the verge of fainting when she went to the plane to see if you made it. San told her where the base was and then she ran to our base to call us. But we were occupied a little back here." Wooyoung's face became frustrated. 

"What happened here? The others?" One particular sharp face jumped into my mind and it seemed I couldn’t shake it off.

"Our base got attacked while you were away," Wooyoung said his expression getting sad.

"What? How? What the hell happened Woo?" I got up and ran my fingers through my hair stressed, ignoring the pain coming from my ribs.

"Some random people, who were well-armed, attacked our base and almost burned down the whole base. But we managed to fight them off. Oh my God, Y/N, I thought that's it. This is the end. But then these other guys came and helped us." He buried his face into his hands stressed.

"Who were they?" I asked feeling very thankful for those guys that saved my family.

"I don't know, they told us they came with good intentions and just wanted to ally with us. They call themselves Xikers or what, they are a bunch of kids but still helped us."

 I felt relieved, if the base had been burnt down, that would have been the worst. And I was so thankful everyone was okay…well mostly okay. But I still didn't know one piece of information and it bothered me, boiling my veins with worry.

"Is-is Hongjoong okay?" I asked looking down at the ground as I needed to support myself on the table behind me.

Wooyoung stood up and walked towards me, he grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes with a sadness I had never seen before.

I shook my head. "Wooyoung don't do this." Tears appeared in my eyes.

"He's…" Wooyoung reached his hand towards my cheek to tuck my hair behind my ear. "Hongjoong is—"

Then I heard a door slam and I looked towards it and I saw him. Hongjoong was standing in the doorway with an angry expression that also showed clear signs of worry. He was wearing his black leather vest a black shirt under it paired with black pants, his hair messed up, and some black strings falling onto his forehead. I was speechless for a moment, but when I came to my senses, I let go of Wooyoung's hands and ran towards Hongjoong not letting him time to even blink I wrapped my hands around his neck and hugged him strongly.

"Hey, be careful, sweetheart, you’re injured," he murmured into the crook of my neck, his hands on my waist gently pulling me away to keep my broken ribs from pressing against him.

"I don't care, you are alive," I said into his ear almost tearing up.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked as he pulled away to look into my eyes caressing my cheeks with a frown.

"Wooyoung told me—well it seemed on his expression you were dead…" I looked next to me angrily, where Wooyoung was leaning against the table with a shit-eating grin.

"I didn't say he was dead, I'm just good at acting Y/N, I'm glad it worked." He giggled with a devil smile.

"Jung Wooyoung, I swear to God—you son of a pigeon." I escaped from Hongjoong's arms to chase Wooyoung and slapped him as he held an arm out as a shield.

"Okay, enough. Act yourself out Wooyoung." I heard Hongjoong's voice from behind me, his hands finding their way around my waist. I didn't see his expressions but seeing Wooyoung's told me enough as his smile faded quickly and he sprinted towards the door. I followed him with my eyes squinting my eyes at him. "Hongjoong got stabbed," Wooyoung shouted lastly before slamming the door.

I turned back to Hongjoong with wide eyes. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Hongjoong sighed. "It's not a big deal." He turned away and walked towards the table next to the bed. He always did this, he always turned away when something was about him. He always cared about the others but not about himself.

"How is it not a big deal when you got fucking stabbed?" My voice got higher. I just wanted to scream at his face to not turn away from me. I walked towards him, slowly approaching him. He supported himself on the table looking down at it, his wide back facing with me. I was next to him as I saw his face, his eyes closed, his undercut showing. He looked like he was in pain, not just physically.

I reached my hands towards his chin to slowly, carefully lift it. He looked so vulnerable I was scared I might break him. When he looked at me, I saw so much pain in his eyes. He went through a lot. His family died in front of his eyes. The smoke killed them and his family shouted at him to run and to survive. I knew this was what kept him going. But after five years, only their faded memory remained. What was the reason for him to keep going?

I caressed his cheek like my hands were a feather, scared his skin might fall apart. "Where did you get stabbed?" I whispered looking into his eyes that looked so divine, that I was ready to fall on my knees.

He looked away for a moment. "On my back," He scoffed. "It's so embarrassing, I can't watch my back for a second and this happens…"

I felt worried as I looked at his face it seemed he was really ashamed of it. "Hongjoong look at me," I tilted his head towards me to look into my eyes. "It's embarrassing for the person who did it. They couldn't face you because they knew they wouldn't make it alive if they did."

"Well, they didn't make it either way." His lips curved up a little and mine as well at that.

"Take it off!" I demanded holding his vest in my hands, feeling the leather material under my touch. 

He just looked at me a little confused.

"I want to see your wound, Hong."

He just nodded and grabbed my hand to slowly take it off his body, so he could unbutton the vest, his sharp eyes never leaving mine. My heart was in my ears, I couldn’t hear the usual noises of the base coming from the other rooms. I only saw Kim Hongjoong in front of me as he unbuttoned his black shirt as well after throwing the vest on the floor. He slowly took off the shirt his upper body now fully on the sight. His abs were well-defined, his chest full of strength where a tattoo of a sneak's head was hissing at me. I reached my fingers towards the snake's head to trace the tattoo as I looked at it. Hongjoong's gaze still bored into mine. I followed the snake's figure with my finger as it came from his back, and then I walked behind him, still following the snake with my finger all over his back. My fingers traveled through the snake's length as I felt Hongjoong shiver under my touch. The snake circled all over Hongjoong's back, ending on his chest where the sneak’s head was.

I always admired the tattoo whenever I saw it, while he was working out or just changed. But I never got the opportunity to touch it, and that was one of my most wanted desires. Then there was the stab, it was stitched carefully, Seonghwa doing a good job as always, some white ointments were all over it, so it wouldn't get inflamed. I circled the wound with my finger as I heard him hissing. I leaned down a little to leave a healing kiss above it.

"So, it's going to heal faster," I whispered warmly onto his skin.

"Sweetheart," I heard his desperate voice coming from above.

I did not stop leaving kisses all around his back, following the line of the snake on his back, as I got up to his nape kissing it. My arms circled his abdomen as I left one last kiss on his neck, putting my chin on his wide shoulder. He leaned his head against mine as he kissed my temple. "Thank you," He whispered as he took my hands from his abdomen and turned around to cup one side of my cheek, his other hand on my waist pulling me close to him. I bit my lower lip as my body got hotter, my heart beating unstoppably. He looked into my eyes like I was his whole world, even though it was doomed into a speck of dust.

"I was so worried, Y/N, I thought you would never come back to me." His eyes were full of emotions and with tears.

"I said it's not easy to get rid of me." I smiled at him as I felt his fingers trace through my face.

He smiled at that too and traced his fingers through my temple, where I felt a little stinging, I didn’t even notice I got injured there as well. Then his warm lips were on my wound again.

"So, it's going to heal," His lips curved up into a sincere smile that I have never seen. It cured everything inside me, it didn’t matter if I was injured, his smile healed everything inside and outside of me. Then his hands traveled down to my waist and went under my T-shirt, touching my skin with his warm fingers.

"Let me see your wounds, Y/N," He whispered close to my lips, his eyes so genuine, that he made me trust him. I always did, since the day they found me on the top of that building.

I just nodded, signaling to him I trusted him. His fingers grabbed the hem of my oversized white T-shirt and lifted it very carefully, looking into my eyes the whole time. When he took it off, I was standing in front of him half-naked. We were now equal as both of us were standing in front of the other in a vulnerable state and were injured, yet full of passion that made our pain go away.

His eyes landed on my chest and on my ribs where a bandage was wrapped around my torso. There were a few black and blue marks under my ribs. Hongjoong traced his fingers through them carefully so as not to hurt me. Then he kneeled and looked up at me from there, his eyes questioning if he was allowed to touch me. I just nodded as words simply couldn't escape my mouth.

Hongjoong then leaned against my warm skin and left soft pecks on the blue marks. My chest was rising up and down quickly as I felt like I was in heaven. His lips traced above my ribs, on my chest, leaving healing kisses there, then he stood up and kissed my neck where once his hands were wrapped around when he almost sent me to the other world. Since then, he just couldn't stop apologizing for that move, saying it wasn't him and he would never hurt me. I forgave him because I truly deserved that and because he made me stronger, he made me keep going instead of my family. He was my family. They were my family.

“I’m jealous of Seonghwa because he got to see you like this before I did.” He whispered onto my lips in a possessive way and cupped my face.

As he caressed my cheeks I looked up into his eyes and after five years I felt like I was at home, home that gave me safeness and warmth in this cruel and cold world. When his warm lips met mine, it felt as if the world healed around us. The darkness faded away, and the sun emerged once more, casting warmth over a world that had been cold for five years.

The last time I felt this warm was when Hongjoong held me in his arms when I was on the verge of dying. That was the last time I felt the sun come out between the dark mist. He was my sun that we couldn't feel anymore.

His lips gave me warmth as they moved against mine, I wrapped my hands around his neck as he turned me around to lift me at the table. I wrapped my legs around his torso as he was holding me by my waist, squeezing it, making me let out a quiet moan as his hands squeezed a black mark on my stomach. My hands traveled down his chest and then to his back where I felt the snake as it almost circled my wrist. I felt his wound that I traced with my finger and he let out a hiss on that and sucked my lower lip between his teeth, making it almost bleed as I hissed at that too. He captured my lips in a deep possessive kiss, that made me part my lips and let his tongue dive into my mouth. Our tongues met with each other and danced along to our heartbeats as I let out a moan. I bit his lower lip as we fought for a little dominance, he let out a low groan at that, kissing me deeply like he was obsessed with me and could never get enough of me. I felt the same because I wanted to be with him in this dark and cruel world, to be his reason to keep going now that his family was just a memory. I wanted to be his reason to survive.

 And he was mine.   

When our eyes met again, his gaze was filled with desire and emotions that mirrored my own. Emotions that connected us, that made us feel like we belonged to each other in this cruel world, so we could fight together against the bad. That came in the form of a dark mist that always whispered you promises, promises that said it's going to be better if you die. But dying isn't the solution. Survival was the only solution here and it did not matter how long you needed to survive, you had to because there were people who counted on you, people who were the reason to survive.

Survival wasn’t about the world anymore. It was about the people you encountered along the way, those who became your family amidst the dark mist that whispered of unachievable desires. But if you fight for it, you can achieve anything. I was determined to stand with Hongjoong and the others, so we could save the world one day.

(Ateez masterlist)

Yunho's part-> Demons of The Darkened Mist

[laheysdork]

investigation - stiles stilinski

summary: you agreed to investigate the deadpool with your boyfriend, but things do not go as planned

word count: 0.5k

warnings: none

a/n: this is a very short fluff that i felt like writing a while ago and decided to post it for @sueistired (hope you’re feeling better!!)

masterlist

“These marks are odd, don’t you think?” Stiles is now babbling words, pacing around his room while occasionally writing something or pasting his red strings onto his infamous crime board.

Despite being extremely tired after visiting the sheriff’s station and fully acknowledging the presence of a deadpool, somehow you still managed to agree when Stiles invited you to work on the case with him.

Maybe it’s the puppy eyes he was giving you earlier, or the puffy pout.

You have always loved watching him solve the case. The enthusiasm and passion in his voice when he’s rambling never-ending theory or the way his eyes lit up when he successfully deciphered the mysteries, you have always found overwhelming joy just from spectating those little details.

However, today was an exception. Your head started throbbing painfully 15 minutes into the investigation. At first, you thought hearing his speculations about the possible suspects would eventually make you disregard the migraine you are currently having. But oddly today, it made it worse.

So in order not to disturb your boyfriend’s ongoing research, you quietly lay back on his bed and rest your eyes, hopefully ceasing your headache.

“I think these hexagonal shapes are imprints on the knife casings. So possibly the knife is hidden inside something- no, it’s built inside something since they do not take it out before stabbing. What do you think?” Stiles’ head shoots back, expecting to receive a carefully analyzed opinion from you. Instead, he is met with your sleeping figure. Watching you resting peacefully on his navy duvet, his lips curl up.

Immediately, he halts whatever investigation he was in the middle of and heads towards his bed, climbing up gently, not wanting to wake you up. Pulling away a few strands of hair covering your face, he admires every small detail like how your soft skin glows under the moonlight or the way you purr softly every time you exhale.

Wanting to make sure you don’t freeze to death, he steadily pulls his previously neatly folded blanket over your small frame, which causes you to stir up, indicating that you are no longer in your deep slumber.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. Just go back to sleep.” Stiles brings his hand up to caress your hair and you smile in return, enjoying it.

With half-lidded eyes, you glance up at him. “I’m sorry for stopping you.” You pout a little, which earns a soft chuckle from him. “No, it’s okay. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, a little lightheaded.” He furrows his brows, looking concerned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t wanna disturb you.” You slur quickly which is followed by a stifled yawn.

“Okay then scoot over.” He shifts on the bed, tugging on the duvet in an attempt to cover both of your bodies with it. Trying to make it easier for him, you also reposition yourself.

After both of you are tucked under his duvet, his arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you towards him. You rest your head comfortably on his shoulder and place your palms on his chest.

There’s a glimmer in his whiskey eyes as he look down at you like you are his precious treasure—which you are. “I’ll cuddle you so hard until the headache’s gone.” He then inches closer to your face, placing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you, Stiles.” You grin widely like a fool, snuggling closer unto his warm body.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[fruggo]

Hello ! I saw the enemies fo lovers things and I wanna request if possible

“ rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago. “

With frank if you would and thank you

yessirrr i love frank sm it’s not ok. also umm i may have accidentally written friends to enemies to lovers or something idk. and though i wouldnt necessarily call you friends at the start, you werent really enemies yet???? idk🐸just ummm yeh i love frank

also help how do i not go overboard???? i feel like i made this way too long, please help and i am sorry

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, frank being a bastard but then you’re like awwww he’s a cute bastard aaaaw

~~

Things were weird with Frank, and they always had been from the moment you stepped foot in the Entity’s realm. He always tunneled you relentlessly, and that made you think of him as a big asshole, but there were some strange details tacked onto the sentiment that greatly confused you, should you think about it for more than three seconds.

Sometimes, it seemed like he went easy on you in chases, like he put in no effort. He would chase you for a while, let you waste his time, and then leave without even getting a hit on you when he definitely had the ability to.

And you hated saying this, but when he handled you, it almost felt…gentle. Granted, he was a killer, and his job was to murder you, but your experiences with him did not quite line up with those of the other survivors.

They always described trials against Frank as “stepping on legos in the middle of the night” or something akin to that. You never felt like that, though—when he chased you, it felt fair. Almost as if he played nice with you. And more often than not, the killer would let you go when he caught you. The reason remained a mystery to you until quite a bit later.

This trial, Frank was in 100% bastard mode. You had begun to think of his trials as quite easy due to his seemingly calm nature around you, so you were rather caught off guard when he downed you in the first 30 seconds of the match and tossed you onto a hook, no gentleness whatsoever.

You wanted to yell at him and ask what the fuck was wrong with him until you realized this was his fucking job, and this is how he should have been treating you all along. Maybe you had just been imagining it all, but you could have sworn he used to leave you alone more than this. Something just felt different.

After you were unhooked, he went for you again. And again. And then you were dead, completely wiped out of the trial. Frank had demolished you with no remorse.

You knew it was silly to feel betrayed, but you really couldn’t help it. In such an insane and hellish place, anything that could be even remotely perceived as kindness seemed like so much more of a big deal than it truly was. So Frank’s supposed “gentleness” with you had felt somewhat like a friend doing you a selfless favor. Of course, it was not a selfless favor, and it was certainly nowhere near kindness, because he was still a killer chasing you with a knife, but your standards had really lowered in this place.

After that trial, you were back to hating Frank for tunneling and bullying you (like you probably should). You began to understand the survivors’ saying about the legos—and you hoped that Frank would step on some legos too, because he fucking sucked sometimes.

And for a while, that’s just how it was. You nearly forgot how he used to go easier on you, and how you used to do okay in his matches. Now every time you were pit against each other it just felt like you were being stuck with a bunch of pins; you never had any time to breathe or rest or do literally anything. He just went after you until you were gone, and there was next to nothing you could do about it.

Everything changed very suddenly during a trial at Ormond.

You were expecting the same old routine with this asshole—chase, blah blah blah, die. You hardly had energy to fight back anymore.

So when he arrived out of breath at the killer shack, somehow knowing you would be here, Frank was surprised to find you relaxing under the window with your arms loosely crossed, a disapproving scowl upon your countenance. It was enough to make him hesitate in his tracks.

You let out a deep breath, refusing to break eye contact with his mask; you kept up that menacing frown for as long as you could, trying to make him feel guilty (who knows if it was even possible for him to feel guilty? But it was worth a try).

“Just kill me,” you said, voice steady and seemingly unbothered. Underneath the surface, you were trembling, but you stood your ground. “That’s what you’re gonna do, isn’t it? You’re going to chase me until I’m miserable and kill me off as soon as you can?”

Frank went still, not even fidgeting with his knife like he usually did; he was intrigued by your sudden confidence.

You went on. “I’m really sick and tired of you, you know that? I’m sick of you and your bullshit. Why can’t you treat me like everybody else? At first, you went easy on me. Now you just torture me with your stupid mind games, and frankly, I’m sick of playing! I’m done with you—I don’t care anymore! Just kill me, and I’ll get out of your way, okay asshole? Mori me if you want. I don’t give a shit.”

You put your hands up exasperatedly, fully expecting him to take the offer and just send you back to the campfire right then and there. But the man sighed, pocketed his knife, and sat down right next to you as if this were a normal thing for him to do.

You scooted a few inches away out of instinct. Frank noticed, but he chose not to say a word about it.

It was a long time before he said anything, and when he finally did, you wanted to punch him so bad.

“It’s complicated,” he mumbled. And that was all.

Oh, yeah? It was complicated? You scoffed, hanging your head with a bitter smile. “Oh, okay. Sure.”

Silence again.

Awkward, suffocating silence.

And then Frank got up and left. You were unbothered for the remainder of the trial, not even a scratch or bruise on your body.

~~

Sometimes you simply did things, and you didn’t know why. This thing that you just did was irrational, stupid, unplanned, unwise, and everything in-between, and you knew it was, but frequently you just had no impulse control. Perhaps it was the Entity’s influence, or maybe you had always been this way—you couldn’t really remember.

How did you get here again? Why were you laying on the ground? And why did your leg hurt so fucking much?

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, you remember now.

Funnily enough, it seems as though the Entity, along with certain killers, did not like it when survivors tried to enter their side of the forest! But you did it anyways, and it appeared that you had suffered the consequences. It���s not like you had put much thought into it; where was the point in that when nothing mattered anymore and you were stuck in an endless cycle of death?

You remembered entering the killer’s woods, looking around, and doing…something. What was that something? You couldn’t be sure, but then you remembered somebody coming up to you and probably definitely hurting you. Yep, your leg definitely was in a lot of pain. You couldn’t even look at it. Did you pass out for a while? Maybe. How long were you out for?

You lay still there for a while, thinking. Man, it really hurt, and boy, were you miserable. Maybe more miserable than you’d ever felt here. The Entity normally healed wounds immediately, but perhaps you had just angered it so much you deserved to suffer.

Oh, dear! You seemed to be passing out at this time. Yes, that was almost certainly what was happening. Black spots danced across your eyes as your body began to feel distant and numb, but you didn’t feel very worried about it. In fact, you felt like making jokes right now, but you had nobody to make jokes to and you probably couldn’t even speak.

Just as you began to accept it, there was a strange thumping sensation vibrating through the ground growing closer…and closer…

Footsteps! That’s good!

Oh. Not if it’s a killer. That’s not good, probably.

But you had no way of protesting when you felt yourself being picked up, because those black spots in your eyes were dancing a lot faster now, perhaps something akin to an Irish jig, and you also couldn’t feel your limbs.

Then you were fast asleep again, dreaming of Irish dancers who were actually big fluffy cloud people wearing leprechaun clothes. Nobody but you would ever know this, and it was going to stay that way.

On the bright side, it made it a lot easier for your rescuer to carry you to safety like this.

~~

When you awoke once more, you were horrified to find yourself in the Ormond lodge of all places. You knew immediately what had happened and were determined to escape as soon as possible.

Your injured leg proved to be a huge problem, however, and you collapsed the second you attempted to find freedom. Trying again, you collapsed once more, and probably maimed yourself further in the process.

Hearing the commotion from the second floor, your least favorite member of The Legion descended down from the main stairs, refusing to look directly at you even as he scooped you up and plunked you (gently) back onto the couch, which was rather comfortable (not that you would ever tell him that).

So he was playing it cool, huh?

Okay. You could play it cool, too. You were cool. Smooth as butter.

No. You really couldn’t be cool in a situation like this, and plus, your mind was still a little woohoo since whatever accident had occurred. Suddenly you blurted out, “Frank, I hate your guts.”

And he had the audacity to laugh. He laughed at you! He did the man chuckle thing, as if what you were saying was funny. No! You were completely serious! You did hate his guts!

Perhaps your face showed how upset you were, because he started to apologize (still laughing).

“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” Frank said after calming down a bit.

No. You couldn’t go back to sleep. You did not want to experience dancing cloud people dressed as leprechauns ever again in your life, for the rest of eternity. Never again.

So you shook your head violently, refusing to give an explanation, which just provoked Frank to anger all of a sudden. If you went back to sleep, he could have some alone time while the rest of The Legion was gone. He kept pushing, and you kept resisting, and he pushed and you resisted, until finally he gave up and let you off with a warning. If you made him mad again, he was throwing you out in the snow.

Fine with me, you said. Okay, I’ll do it right now, he said. No balls, you said.

So then Frank casually went to scoop you up in his arms again, and you started to freak out and beat your hands against his chest until he put you back down. He was was awfully mindful of your hurt leg for someone who was about to throw you into the snow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—please don’t throw me out,” you fussed. You thought he wouldn’t actually do it. You didn’t know it, but you were right—he was just messing with you because it was funny seeing you scared.

After a bit more griping back and forth, Frank began to grow concerned about your leg. He didn’t know how to bring up the topic because things were so odd between the two of you; this was your first interaction since the brief encounter in the shack. But he swallowed his pride, because the wound seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“Hey, do you want me to, uhh…get some supplies?” Frank asked awkwardly. When you didn’t understand, he continued, “Your leg? It looks like it hurts…I could fix it if you want.”

You barked out a laugh at his words, unbelieving of this shift in attitude. “Rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago,” you snickered, genuinely finding it amusing.

Frank took offense. He was trying to be nice for once, and you thought it was funny. And his situation really was complex, whether you chose to believe it or not. Maybe he should just tell you to get it off of his chest.

“Listen,” he said, voice laced with seriousness. “When I told you things were complicated, I meant it.”

Sensing the mood change from his tone and body language, you stopped smiling and decided to pay attention to him. Just this once. Never again. After this you could go back to hating him.

Frank continued. “The Entity was going to start…well, hurting me, if I didn’t start doing better in trials. I really didn’t want to sacrifice you, which is embarrassing to admit, but I’ll say it. And I don’t think it liked that.”

You were surprised. And also relieved that you had been right all along—he had been going easy on you at first.

“Why me, though?” you asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want to sacrifice me? What about the other survivors?”

If the slight tilt of his head at your question didn’t answer it for you, the way he started tapping his feet and cracking his knuckles so nervously did.

Boy, if looks could kill, you would have died instantly at the scowl Frank sent your way; you grinned pridefully at the realization that this man was down bad. You couldn’t see the expression behind his mask, though, which Frank was thankful for.

He hated every second of this, but you loved it. You reveled in his embarrassment.

Leaning forward on your hands, you begged, “Tell me more! I want to hear all about your feelings for me.”

“I could stab you right now, you know that?”

“But you won’t. You liiiiike me!”

“What are you, eight years old?”

“No, but I am severely injured and have lost a lot of blood so I am not necessarily in the right headspace at the moment.”

“You make a fair point.”

“So tell me! What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Your ass.”

“No, really.”

“Okay, your ass and your hair.”

“You know what, Frank, I still hate your guts.”

“No, you don’t.”

You paused for a moment. It was probably the blood loss talking, you decided later, but you said, “No. Maybe I don’t.”

[hobidreams]

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

[perlukafarinn]

sequel to this fic (read it for context. or don’t, i’m not the boss of you). i blame @hermywolf for this.

Things were tense for a while. 

Now, Dean knew why he was awkward. He’d offered himself up as Benny’s personal human juicebox and something in his fucked up, wires-crossed brain had gotten so turned on by the act, he’d been about point three seconds away from grinding on his friend like a sophomore at prom. 

He wasn’t sure what to make of Benny or Cas acting so weird.

Benny, and there was no other way to put it, had gotten really touchy-feely. Dean hadn’t realized how rare a non-violent touch was in Purgatory until it wasn’t anymore, until Benny kept putting his hands on Dean’s body, on his back, his shoulder, even his knee as they sat by the fire pit at night. Every touch casual and yet rife with some meaning Dean couldn’t comprehend, and every single one leaving Dean yearning for more. 

And then there was Cas. When he wasn’t hovering over Dean, constantly appearing between him and Benny, he was lingering somewhere behind them, sour-faced and glowering off into the distance. 

So yeah, tense. 

It was the first time Dean was actually thankful for the unending stream of monsters in Purgatory. The near constant combat didn’t leave much time to worry about anything else. Dean was almost convinced that they could get past this whole episode without mention, given enough time and distance and distraction by monsters.

Then Benny had to go and get hurt again.

It wasn’t life or death this time but it was close enough, a lucky swipe from a werewolf nearly tearing a hole open in Benny’s chest.

Cas got to him first again, heaving Benny to his feet and easily holding his weight when it turned out Benny’s legs couldn’t quite support him. Dean got there second, a few moments later, heart pounding as he surveyed the damage.

He met Cas’ eyes.

“Dean, no,” Cas said, catching on almost quicker than the idea had passed through Dean’s mind. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Dean said, face growing warm for reasons he really didn’t wanna examine. “You’ll heal me after, right?”

Cas sighed. “You know I will.”

“He’s right, cher,” Benny spoke up. “Gimme an hour or two to heal, an’ I’ll be fine. You don’t gotta do this.”

Dean ignored him, stepping in close and pulling down his collar. “Shut up and let me help you.”

Benny laughed, low and strained. “If you insist...”

He leaned in and Dean closed his eyes in anticipation, one hand grasping Benny’s shoulder to steady himself. It wasn’t enough, the sudden pain of fangs sliding into flesh sending him stumbling against Benny until an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him still. 

Heat stirred in Dean’s gut and he quickly tried to focus on the pain, on the unnatural pull of Benny’s mouth, on his knees still aching from the earlier fight.

It didn’t work. Somehow, the pain just threw the pleasure into sharper relief. It was all too much; Benny’s warmth against his side, his mouth hungry and insistent, his fingertips digging into Dean’s skin as he tried to pull him even impossibly closer. 

Dean opened his eyes and oh, big mistake. Cas was right there, inches away, still holding Benny upright as he drank his fill of Dean’s blood, staring into Dean’s eyes with a look that might almost be mistaken for hunger.

Dean should have looked away but he couldn’t. He felt trapped, pinned down by the monster at his throat and the divine creature staring him down.

A pained gasp escaped Dean’s lips as Benny pulled away his fangs. He didn’t back off completely though, mouth remaining at Dean’s throat as he carefully licked up every drop of blood. Dean shivered, knowing he should be recoiling in disgust and not fighting off every instinct to lean in closer. 

Finally, it was Cas who put an end to it, grabbing Benny by his hair and pulling him off. “Enough.”

Benny shot him an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Easy there, chief. Can’t a man enjoy a meal in peace?”

He wasn’t being serious, Dean knew. He was just trying to rile Cas up. 

Did that make it more or less fucked up that hearing Benny refer to him as ‘a meal’ kind of turned him on?

“You are not a man,” Cas said, voice low and dangerous. “And Dean is not yours to consume with reckless abandon.”

Holy fuck.

Dean glanced between them as they now stared at each other, Cas all righteous anger, Benny stubborn as a mule. The moment stretched on, tension building, and as Dean was sure something was about to snap, Benny looked away.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, laughing breathlessly. 

Dean shot him a curious look but he didn’t say anything else, letting go off Dean and backing away. Dean stumbled on unsteady legs but Cas was there in an instant, arm around his lower back and hand raised to cover the wound on his neck.

It was too much, too fast. Dean’s head was spinning, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last few minutes and drawing a blank on any plausible explanation. He felt lightheaded too, the blood loss finally catching up with him, and as warmth poured from Cas’ hand, healing him, all he could think was

Have Cas’ hands always been that big?

*

The third time it happened, it wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination necessary. 

Still, Benny had broken his leg. Even if it would only take a few hours to heal it would still slow them in the meantime. And even if he could still fight in this condition, why make an already difficult situation even worse when they had such an easy solution?

Cas didn’t protest this time. He took one look at Dean and sighed, sounding defeated. “If you must.” 

Guilt stirred in Dean’s chest, strangely enough. “It’s easier for all of us this way, right?”

Cas didn’t look like he agreed. “Let me know when you need me to heal you.”

And he stormed off. Dean watched him go, the guilt growing stronger. Which was ridiculous, what the hell did he have to feel guilty about? Cas healed him without complaint after any other kind of injury. What made this so different?

Dean looked at Benny, who was sitting on the ground with his broken leg, watching the proceedings with an odd look on his face. His expression softened when he met Dean’s eyes.

“I hope you don’t feel obligated to do this,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, you gotta know that.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I just wanna - it’s not a big deal.”

He walked up to Benny, kneeling down on the ground next to him, straddling one thigh as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“You keep saying that,” Benny said. 

He put his hand on Dean’s waist, steering him closer as if it were second nature. 

“Cause it’s not.”

Benny hummed, eyes hooded, gaze unfocused and hungry as Dean leaned in. “It is to me.”

He bit down, lighting fast, saving Dean from coming up with a response. Dean didn’t bother to silence his whimper or to resist the urge to sit down on Benny’s lap fully, drinking in the touch of him as Benny drank his life’s blood in slow, deep pulls.

He didn’t take much this time, barely giving Dean time to get used to the pain before he was pulling his fangs out again, laving his tongue over the wound to soothe the sting of their exit.

“This isn’t a one-way street, you know,” Benny muttered, lips still pressed against Dean’s neck. His tongue darted out again, licking up a stray drop of blood. “I’m sure there’s something you want I could give in return.”

And Dean didn’t doubt for one second just what he was implying. It was hard to, really, with Benny’s dick growing hard against his ass, feeling impossibly hot even through the layers separating them. 

It was tempting. No one had touched him that way in far too long and Benny was willing, more than. He wanted it as badly as Dean did and they were already half-way there, practically dry-humping on the cold, damp ground of Purgatory.

But… “Cas.”

Benny sighed. Pulled away and Dean missed the warmth as soon as it was gone. “Yeah, of course.”

“Sorry,” Dean said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for.

“Don’t be.” Benny looked up at him, a teasing glint entering his eye. “You know, he wouldn’t have to be a problem. I wouldn’t mind him joining in on the fun.”

A fuse blew in Dean’s brain. He shot to his feet, nearly stumbling over Benny in the process.

“That’s - I don’t -” Dean stuttered. “He wouldn’t!”

Benny gave him a meaningful look, though what meaning was completely lost on Dean, and got to his feet. 

Instinctively, Dean held out his hand. Benny grabbed it, grasping it tight even as he got to his feet, steady as if he’d never gotten hurt at all. He leaned in and Dean didn’t even think, staying perfectly still as Benny kissed him. 

He tasted like copper, blooming bitter on Dean’s tongue. 

“Offer still stands,” Benny said, pulling away with a grin. “If you change your mind.”

Dean stared.

“Now go find your angel and get patched up.”

An order. Okay, Dean could follow that, even if his mind was becoming more of a jumbled mess by the minute. He walked away, going in the direction Cas had disappeared to and finding him a short distance away, standing in the middle of a clearing.

He looked up as Dean approached, opening his mouth to speak but whatever he had to say dying on his tongue. Dean stopped a few feet away, suddenly feeling wrong-footed and uncertain. 

Cas closed the distance between them, slowly walking up to Dean, into his personal space and then closer still. He raised his hand but he didn’t reach for Dean’s neck, for the still-bleeding wound just below his jaw.

Instead, he softly cupped Dean’s face, placing his thumb on his lower lip. Dean froze, breath caught in his throat, heart beating wildly against the cage of his ribs like a frightened animal.

“Did he-” Cas started then stopped. 

He dropped his hand. Dean followed it with his eyes, spotting the dark smear of blood on Cas’ thumb. Dean’s blood, left on his lips by Benny.

Oh.

“Be careful,” Cas said, finally placing a hand - his other hand - on Dean’s neck and healing Benny’s bite. “Behaving recklessly in Purgatory has too steep a price.”

The warning rankled something deep in Dean’s chest. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to disobey, to lean in and smear his blood on Cas’ lips like Benny had done to him. 

He ignored it. Reckless or no, Dean wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew a rejection when he saw one.

[cyncerity]

not to be a bother but-

will there be a part two to the t!revivebur and g!tommy story or would you like to just leave it at that?

:)

Now I wanna make this a whole au how does this keep happening-

tw: vore, hard vore mention (doesn’t happen), and angst

Also credit to my friends Calli and Bio Anon who helped me out a lot with writing this!! (most of the good ideas came from them lmao)

Wilbur woke up to the walls around him still, the steady breath of the lungs not far above him indicating that Tommy was still sound asleep, and he was still tucked away in the teen’s gut. The realization of that very fact hit him harder now that he was fully awake. He supposed he had the right to be a little tired yesterday. After all, he was now mere inches tall, and far more insignificant in the grand scheme of things compared to how he was before his death. He had only agreed to stay here because Tommy had been to tired to argue with. But now that he was awake, he wanted out, not giving a damn if it was day or night outside his flesh prison.

Wilbur began to pound on the smooth, sponge-like walls that surrounded him in an attempt to wake up Tommy, which after a few minutes began to work as he felt the teen grumble and sit up, shifting Wilbur in the process. The now-tiny felt something press into the stomach from the outside, collapsing the already small organ into him further. “Hello…?” Tommy asked, apparently completely forgetting about the previous night (night? Wilbur couldn’t be sure), apparently.

“You prick, it’s Wil, get me out of here, you said you would, remember?” Wilbur shouted. There was a surrounding silence for a few moments before Tommy stuttered an answer. “I- I thought you didn’t like to be called Wil…?”

‘Why wouldn’t I like to be called Wil, that my nam- oh.’ Wilbur thought. Tommy had mistaken him for “Ghostbur” the previous night. Somehow, this only managed to piss off Wilbur further.

“Maybe ‘Ghostbur’ or whoever didn’t, but fuck him cause I’m here now. It’s me, Wil, actual Wil, so let me out. I don’t give a damn if innocent little ghost me liked it in here cause I don’t, so get me out of here like you said you would you fucking dickhead child.”

Tommy gave no response, or any indication that he even heard Wil. He sighed in annoyance at the silence as he started to shove at the walls again, repeatedly shouting for Tommy to let him out.

*****

Tommy couldn’t decide if he wanted to throw up or keep Wilbur exactly where he was. On one hand, he couldn’t stand to think that his older brother figure, his now alive older brother figure, was stuck inside him. Inside him where he had only ever trusted Ghostbur to go, because it (for some reason) comforted the small ghost as much as it comforted Tommy. But on the other hand, if Wilbur really hated it as much as he claimed he did, Tommy wanted to keep him there as long as possible as an uncharacteristic sort of vengeance towards the man for taking Ghostbur from him.

Tommy had relished being able to keep Ghostbur safe. To help him like he had failed to help Wilbur. But now, he was being reminded by every kick, punch, and shout that came from his stomach that the comfort Ghostbur gave him was gone, and was never coming back. The thought alone made him want to do the unthinkable by his own means. I mean, how hard would it be to get rid of Wilbur from where he was? That would give him Ghostbur back…right?

Tommy let out a shaky sigh as tears began to fall from his eyes. He couldn’t do it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t do it. Not in a place Ghostbur felt so safe in. Even if it did give him the ghost back, Tommy was sure that Ghostbur would never be able to forgive him for something like that. Hell, Tommy would never even be able to forgive himself.

A particularly loud yell came from the man the man in his belly, snapping Tommy back into reality. Wilbur seemed to be having a tantrum inside his stomach, as the tiny’s voice had become considerably more hoarse and Tommys gut hurt considerably worse in the time he had taken to zone off in his thoughts. All Wilbur was screaming about was vague threats towards Tommy and a considerable amount of gaslighting, too. Well, that made Tommy’s decision a bit easier.

The teen let out a small laugh through his tears, making Wilbur stop momentarily. “What the fuck?!” The tiny screamed. “Why the hell are you laughing?! Let. Me. Out!”

“What makes you think you’re in control right now?” Tommy stated in a mockingly monotone voice that contradicted the amount of crying Tommy had just done. Wilbur felt chills run down his spine as he went to answer, “What do y-“

“You’re the one stuck inside me. You’re in no place to be making threats. Do you know how easily I could kill you right now?” Tommy interrupted. He could practically feel Wilbur tense up in his stomach. “Y-you wouldn’t…”

“But I would, considering getting rid of you would give me Ghostbur back.” Sure Tommy had decided that he wasn’t that heartless, but Wilbur didn’t need to know that. And the tiny sure as hell believed it, considering he could now feel Wil shaking in his core.

“So if I were you, I’d behave, cause you’re gonna be in there for a while. Or at least, until I believe that you’re trustworthy enough to be let out.” Tommy continued, getting out of bed and getting ready for the day.

“Y- You can’t, You won’t get away with it! Someone will find out! I- I’ll scream! I’ll scream until your ears fucking bleed!!” Wilbur screeched as he writhed around in the stomach.

“I’ll ignore it, I’m sure you’ll lose your voice before my ears start to bleed.” Tommy scoffed. “And besides, even if someone did find out, who’d help you? No one wanted to back anyways. If anything, I’m doing the server a favor.”

Tommy felt Wilbur slump back against the stomach wall, stunned into silence, as he snickered to himself. He had the man who had caused him so much misery trapped where only he could get to him.

This was going to be fun.

[persephone-plasmids]

The Storm

Danse and Nora fic

[Read on AO3]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

The abandoned house at Coastal Cottage wasn’t much to look at. The second floor was almost completely destroyed and a large Mirelurk nest had been hiding under the floorboards before Nora and Danse made quick work of them. Danse had to admit though, as far as prospective settlements went, this one actually had potential.

The two companions had spent the day clearing out debris to make the rebuild easier for the Minutemen who would eventually move in, but as the sun began its descent in the sky, Danse looked out over the water in the distance.

“It’s pretty, isn't it?” Nora asked, suddenly beside Danse with a handful of branches she’d cleared from the second story.

“It is,” Danse agreed, still feeling uneasy around the vault dweller.

Since their kiss, he didn’t know how to act around her. He felt equal parts guilt, humiliation, and desire, and none of those emotions put him at ease.

“I wish you could have seen it before the bombs,” Nora went on, dropping her pile of brush on the ground just outside of the house.

“You’d been here before?” Danse asked, confused.

“Not here specifically,” Nora answered, her voice distant. “I just wish you could have seen all of it. It was so… green.”

Danse looked over at Nora for a moment, studying the way her eyes softened at the corners as she spoke of her former life. She pursed her lips, still looking out over the water.

“I miss the trees. And the seasons. I know it’s such a small thing when you think of everything else I should miss… but you never realize what a big difference a full green tree makes,” she said, now looking up at Danse with a sad smile. “I loved sitting out in the backyard under our tree in the spring and reading a book.”

The mental image this conjured up in Danse’s mind brought a soft smile to his own lips. “I would have liked that.”

“I know you would have,” Nora said, her features holding less sadness now. “You would have liked a lot about the old world.”

As she spoke, a crack sounded above the pair, causing Nora to jump.

“Seriously?” she asked in exasperation. “Is that another rad storm?”

“Looks like it,” Danse said, frowning at the clouds that were slowly taking on a green glow. “We won’t make it back to Sanctuary in time”

Nora’s brow furrowed as she looked around the ruined home they stood in. Nora hated the rad storms. Of course, Danse didn’t think anyone but a Ghoul could really love them, but there was something more to it for her. Danse suspected that the thunder reminded her of the bombs dropping.

“This house won’t help us much, but that red barn over there should provide adequate shelter,” Danse said, taking Nora’s hand and leading her over to the structure.

He told himself that he had to take her hand to shake her from her quickly growing anxiety. He’d never been a very good liar. Not even to himself.

Closing the doors to the barn, Nora ignited the green light on her PipBoy, taking the device off and propping it up against the wall to provide the pair with at least some illumination.

“I have some RadX if you need it,” Nora said, popping her own pill before handing one to Danse.

He gratefully accepted it before stepping out of his power armor. They were going to be there for a while and his power armor wasn’t exactly comfortable.

Nora sat on the ground with her back up against the wall but Danse continued to stand awkwardly beside his now-empty power armor, unsure of what he should do.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see the signs that a rad storm was coming,” Nora said, closing her eyes as another round of thunder made the walls rumble. “That was stupid. I should have been paying better attention.”

She was trying to sound logical about the whole thing, but Danse could hear the fear in her voice. It was that same anxiety that always plagued her when she heard some deep booming sound. He’d first seen it during a fire fight where one of the raiders had gotten their hands on a Broadsider and loaded it with cannonballs. Then again during their first rad storm together. And yet again when the Institute had finally gone up in smoke.

Nora always tried to hide her PTSD from the day the bombs fell, but Danse could easily see through it.

“We’re going to be okay in here,” Danse said, his voice softening now as he took a seat beside her.

He wanted to comfort her without letting her know that he could see how distressed she was. Nora didn’t like to be perceived as weak in any aspect of her life.

“What else would I have liked about the old world?” Danse asked, desperately looking for something to distract her.

Though her breathing was shallow, Danse could see the way Nora’s lips curled as she thought.

“Museums,” Nora said, now  looking over at Danse in the soft green glow of the PipBoy. “You would have loved seeing all of the displays laid out so neatly without a single smashed relic in sight.”

Now it was Danse’s turn to smile. He tried to push away an image of Nora and himself walking hand in hand through a pristine museum. He needed to let go of those feelings for her. His little fantasies would only make that harder.

“Oh and you would have loved the whole ‘American Dream’ thing,” Nora said, her grin now wide and unbothered by the thunder outside.

“What do you mean?” Danse asked, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled at her.

“Having a wife and kids,” she began. “White picket fence. Baseball with your son while you grilled. Your wife making an apple pie. The whole thing. You would have loved it. You were made for that life.”

Nora’s words once again conjured up an image in Danse’s mind. An image so different from the barren wasteland they were currently in that it actually made him homesick for something he’d never even experienced.

Nothing about the Commonwealth looked like this fantasy. There was no time for leisure or pleasure when you were just trying to survive.

“That sounds amazing,” Danse said, and he was surprised by just how sad his voice sounded. “I’m sorry all of that was ripped away from you.”

Nora nodded as she watched him closely. “I’m sorry you never even got to see it. It was really something.”

“Waking up to all of this death and destruction must have been like a living nightmare,” Danse said.

Nora nodded slowly, looking thoughtful before she spoke. “You would think so… but the one thing I didn’t really account for, is the fact that you can find good people anywhere. Even in the worst situations. I’ve met so many good people since I came out of the vault.”

“And a lot of bad ones,” Danse said.

“Dealing with the bad ones is still worth it to get to know the good ones,” Nora said, the smile back in place.

“I love that about you,” Danse said, before catching just how familiar he was being and shutting his mouth.

This made Nora grin. “Love what?”

Danse wanted to clear his throat and change the subject, but he didn’t. Instead, he opted for uncharacteristic honesty. “Your optimism. The fact that you can see good in everything. I love that about you… there’s… there’s a lot to love about you.”

He couldn’t be sure in the low light of the PipBoy, but it almost looked like Nora blushed at his words.

“There’s a lot to love about you too, Danse,” Nora replied, instantly making the Paladin tense up with that familiar pull he felt towards Nora. The pull he had to try to ignore.

“I’m good in a fight,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Nora nodded in agreement. “But you’re also kinder than you give yourself credit for. I know it hasn’t been easy for you to change your mind about Synths and Ghouls, but you’ve already made a lot of progress. And the fact that you’re willing to try says a lot about you.”

Danse looked down at the ground, unsure of what to do with Nora’s praise. He loved it, even though he wished he didn’t. “I’ve still got a long way to go… but thank you.”

Nora leaned her shoulder against his as she went on, her voice closer than he had anticipated. “There’s a lot more to love too.”

Danse looked over at Nora. Her eyes held something he couldn’t quite place, but it made that pull towards her even harder to resist. Like a string attached to his chest that she just kept tugging on.

“You make me feel safe,” she began, leaning closer to him. Her eyes darted to his lips for a brief second. “And you make me feel… something I didn’t think I’d feel again after I lost Nate.”

Danse swallowed hard, unable to keep his eyes away from her lips now. He wasn’t good with reading people’s emotions, but he wasn’t sure how he could possibly be misreading this situation.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Want,” she said simply, before leaning closer and pressing her lips against his.

This wasn’t like the previous night. Nora wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t emotionally distraught. She was kissing him without any reason that he could see.

His mind raced to analyze what was happening, but his logic couldn’t compete with the overwhelming desire he felt to pull her closer to him.

Her lips started out hesitant and soft, but as soon as Danse kissed her back, it was like a switch flipped. Nora’s kisses became hungry. Persistent. She moved her lips against his in a desperate way that he eagerly matched.

Everything about Nora was soft. Her lips, her skin, her hair, but when she began kissing him, she wasn’t soft. She pushed her lips against his forcefully before repositioning her legs on either side of him, straddling him as he sat against the wall.

Nora moaned into Danse’s mouth when he pulled her against him, his hands finding her hips and holding them tightly.

To say he was inexperienced would be an understatement, but somehow Danse’s instincts easily kicked in as he parted Nora’s lips with his tongue.

She breathed him in as they kissed, their bodies moving together naturally. Danse felt like every inch of him that she touched was ignited by an unseen fire and all he knew was that he wanted more and more of her.

Her hands roamed across his chest before circling around to the back of his neck where she grabbed his hair to pull his lips even harder against hers. Pushing her hips against him, he could hear her breath hitch.

He wanted to taste every moment of this kiss. The way her tongue moved over his. The way her body moved against him so deliciously.

Danse’s chest felt like it might explode from the incredible feeling of kissing Nora and he slowly moved his hands from her hips up her back, reveling in the feeling of her. But as their lips moved together, the barn was suddenly illuminated by the green rad storm outside.

Danse and Nora broke away from the kiss to see that the barn door had blown open in the storm. The event wasn’t exactly life-threatening, but it seemed to be enough to break the moment between them.

Nora didn’t pull away from Danse right away like he thought she might. Her anxiety over the storm didn’t seem nearly as powerful as it had been only a moment before.

Instead, she kept her fingers tangled in his hair as she looked back at him.

The pair were breathless and looking at each other with wide eyes.

Had this really just happened? And what did it mean? Danse’s instincts had taken over when he’d first started kissing Nora, but his mind was quickly working to overanalyze the situation now.

Should he move her off of him? Should he apologize?

She must have seen his brain working overtime, because Nora smiled at him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, Danse,” Nora said quietly, her voice still breathless. “You have no idea”

“You have?” he asked, unable to comprehend her words. “I… I assumed that because of… what I am…” His words trailed off. He wasn’t sure he wanted to come right out and remind Nora of what he was. Especially because he was half convinced that she only kissed him because she’d temporarily forgotten.

Nora leaned forward and gave Danse a long, slow kiss; taking her time as she moved her lips softly over his.

The Paladin was embarrassed by the goosebumps that sprang up all over his body at this gesture.

“You’re a good man,” she said softly after she pulled away from him. He could feel her breath brush across his lips as she spoke. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Danse furrowed his brow, his brown eyes staring at her in earnest. He wasn’t sure what to make of this.

“I don’t understand how you could feel that way about me.”

Nora smiled now. “I know you don’t. And that’s part of the reason I do.”

She lightly brushed her hand against his stubbly cheek, cupping his face as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He didn’t realize just how starved he’d been for physical contact until this very moment. Kissing Nora had been incredible and intense, but this soft touch filled something inside of him that he didn’t know was missing.

“Danse, I want to be with you,” she said quietly, still cupping his face as he brought his hand up to cover hers.

“I want that too,” he finally said, after a moment of quieting the voice inside of his head that told him he wasn’t good enough for her. That he was an abomination. That he was unworthy of her affection. “You just might have to be patient with me as I try to understand why on earth you'd want that.”

Nora placed another soft kiss against his lips; this one brief. “I can be patient.”

[neonoddeye]

New Home | Illumi Zolyck x F!Reader

A/N: That’s it, I’m tired of hiding; I’m an Illumi simp. This was initially going to be soft, but I’m a horror writer, so I did what I do best. Hope you don’t hate it!

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, mentions of death, and Illumi is weird as hell (but you knew that already)

It didn’t take anyone special to figure out that Illumi hadn’t been on a proper date before; simply put, the man didn’t have time for it. In fact, the idea of setting aside his responsibilities for another life form so much as to date them had never crossed his mind- until now. He had admired your strength from the moment he crossed your path, even acknowledging that the feeling was unrequited. Shortly after, in his typical way of doing so, he obsessed over trying to find out everything about you until he simply could not bear with being kept in the dark. He was ready to wipe out the seven seas in a search mission for you... until he stumbled upon you in Yorknew City.

You were heading back to your hotel room when the raven-haired man himself stopped the three of you dead in your tracks. His aura had disturbed the area so intensely that it could have decimated everything in a 10-mile radius, but to his surprise, you stood your ground. Little did you know that your attempt at intimidation only motivated him further, because that kind of strength is exactly why he pined for you. Upon meeting your gaze, he offered you a small smile. “Ah, finally Y/N, I’ve found you”, he broke the silence as he made his way towards you. “I-Illumi?” was all you could manage to sputter out in response. You’d be lying if you said the man hadn’t scared you; however, his menacing aura had diminished a little, almost as if he was inviting you to come closer. With his focus completely on you, he extended his hand, and you found yourself gravitating towards it. While you hadn’t taken the man into much consideration, his newly-surfaced interest in you had immediately begun to intrigue you.

His magnetic attraction had pulled you all the way back to the Zoldyck Mansion with him, even letting you disregard how long you’d be there. The more you were in reach of his aura, the more it became wonderfully intoxicating to you. Upon arrival, however, you had noticed something a little off. It seemed that, somehow, every square inch of the place was anticipating your arrival. The butlers had greeted you rather warmly for a first-time guest, and no one had questioned your place at the estate. Was my arrival predestined?. You decided not to think of it much, and followed him up to the bedrooms. As soon as he opened the door, your blood ran a little cold; it was a guest bedroom that seemed completely prepared for you. “ Dinner will be ready in an hour, meet me in the dining hall then.” He left you with a fleeting smile, and closed the door behind you.

You observed the room carefully, taking in each and every detail and over-analyzing it in your apprehensive state. You walked over to an illuminated vanity with an organized set of makeup and a dress neatly folded on a stool. Illumi’s words came back to you about dinner, and you suspected that the dress was laid out for you. Taking it in your hands, you observed the dress; it was a dark green that matched Illumi’s clothing, and it reached the floor in length. As you tried it on, you were relieved to find that it was modest enough; but to your dismay, it fit you perfectly. The dress seemed as though it was tailored to fit no one else but you, which took the fear that Illumi had been expecting you and dragged it to the forefront of your brain. You drew a long breath before sitting down and starting on your makeup. As you picked up the concealer, you noticed that your hands were shaking, and clammy enough to almost allow the cylinder to slip through your fingertips. There was no hiding it now; you were utterly terrified, and every cell in your body was screaming a different warning at you. A particularly loud thought told you that the Zoldyck Mansion was looking to be your new home, whether you liked it or not.

``````

“I see you found the dress I picked for you”, Illumi spoke as soon as you entered the dining hall, “you look lovely in it.” He sat at the end of a long rectangular dining table, surrounded by the largest amount of food you’ve ever seen for two people. Looking forward, you noticed that your place was at the other end of the table, almost far enough from Illumi to make you raise your voice as you addressed him. “T-thank you. For the dress, I mean.” You sat down and observed the enormous space; two butlers were stationed at both ends of the table, with one about six feet from where you stood. The exit stood a little ways behind Illumi, and in front of the massive double-doors was a guard. A guard? Why the hell do they need a guard for dinner? A small shiver ran up your spine as you attempted to suppress other questions, and you reached for the glass of wine in front of you.

“How are you liking your stay here, Y/N?” Illumi asked you, pulling you from your thoughts and making you jump a little in your seat. “I, uh,” you began, trying to form a sentence that would address your concerns in the most polite way possible, “I feel like… you’ve been waiting for me? I mean, this dress fits me perfectly, and everyone here seems to have expected my arrival.”

“Well I did notify the butlers that you would be arriving, if that’s what you mean,” Illumi responded nonchalantly, glossing over the other points of concern. “I hope that they do not bother you too much- if you’re not used to it, I understand. You will be soon.” Something seemed to flicker in his eyes at the last statement, revealing that sinister thoughts were swirling around in their bottomless trenches. Maybe if this man were easier to read could you grasp the situation at hand even a little, but he concealed his emotions effortlessly, making yours in turn seem childish. “Do you like the selection here? I believe it has your favorites,” Illumi once again broke your stream of consciousness, leaving you to observe the food in front of you. Your heart sank; nearly everything in arm’s reach of you was a favorite of yours, even down to the way you preferred it. Your jaw dropped slightly, and fear filled your stomach. If he was able to find out this much about you, you weren’t sure if you were even hungry anymore. But something told you that you needed to eat, so your shaking hands picked up a fork and reached for the closest thing towards you. As you ate silently for a bit, you rehearsed lines in your head, questions you could ask that would give you any sense as to what the hell Illumi was planning. Eventually, your jaw settled, and you spoke.

“Illumi, the food is wonderful, thank you,” you started, “but I… can’t help but think you’ve been stalking me before we met today. What’s going on?” Your eyes traveled from your plate to meet his, expecting to see any trace of an emotion in them and finding none. Instead, you found in every second you looked at him that the confidence and strength you normally had was deteriorating. It was almost as if Illumi was reaching your aura from across the table and tearing into it like tissue paper. A few seconds passed like this before he sighed and put his fork down on the table. “You want to know why you’re here, even though I have already told you that I wanted your company. Do you think something else is going on?” Illumi questioned. You could have sworn he didn't blink, didn’t move an inch as he spoke to you. Every action, every breath that escaped him, was meticulously thought out, you realized, and if there was any chance you wanted to escape him, you knew you couldn’t. Your eyes wandered off of Illumi, meeting the guard behind you for a fleeting moment, then coming back to him and nodding slowly in response to his question. 

“I see, you want the truth. I tried to treat you delicately, but I suppose I will break it to you now.” Illumi leaned back in his seat, taking in your withered-out state, relishing in the fact that you were being torn apart by the torture of being kept in the dark. “I had a hit on your family, and while you were in Yorknew City, I killed them.” He broke this Earth-shattering news to you in the most apathetic tone possible, in a way only he could. “As I do with most of my targets, I observed you and your family for a while, and I found out these things- your favorite foods, your dress size, how you acted. The more I observed you, the more I felt I had to preserve you for myself. So I did.” 

It took a few seconds for the information to hit you, and as it did, you stifled a scream. Tears could not reach your cheeks, nor could any words escape your lips. You were frozen in terror as you looked at Illumi, at the man who took your family away from you. You weren’t just brought into the Zoldyck’s home, you realized; you were snatched by their claws and thrown into the depths of Tartarus, and each and every inhabitant on the mountain greeted you as if you were one of them. You practically are now.

No, you’re not. No way in hell were you going to stay here.

The rage that was dormant in you exploded, and you stood up from your seat, knocking the chair backwards from underneath you. Your nen escaped and surrounded you like flames, becoming more powerful than it ever had before. In that moment, nothing mattered to you but revenge. You wanted to pay for the life Illumi stole from you. But the moment your feet began to move towards him, two of the butlers appeared behind you, grabbing your arms and forcing them behind your back before you could even blink. You attempted to pry yourself out, but their grips were as tough as iron. You looked down, noticing Illumi coming closer to you, and tears finally began to fall from your eyes. You knew your place now; you weren’t strong enough to fight the Zoldycks. All you could do now was crumble in their hands. 

As Illumi reached you, his hand came under your chin, forcing your eyes up to meet his. Your tears continued to fall, so he gently wiped them from your eyes with his free hand, the one on your chin keeping you from moving away. “You have a lot of potential, Y/N. That is why you intrigue me as much as you do. But no matter how strong you become, you cannot defeat me. You should know better than to challenge someone you know is stronger than you.”

“Let me… go,” you choked out between sobs, “I can’t… be here…”

“Oh but Y/N, what will escaping do for you? Where would you go? Your family is dead; you have no one but me now.”

Illumi is right, you have no one. You can’t escape now. You stopped crying, and you reverted to silence once again.

“That’s better,” Illumi responded, noticing that you had subconsciously softened out of defeat. The hand on your chin moved to delicately grab your hand. Before stepping back, he offered you a cold smile. “Come now, I must show you around your new home.”

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

[zdux]

Thank you for letting me know ^^ I’d like to request Xiefan (romantic) hcs and Eli+Aesop (platonic) hcs ☺️☺️

Of course! Sorry it took me a while to get around to this, my classes started up again recently.

XieFan (Romantic)

God I think about them everyday

I care them so much

I'm gonna talk about them both before and after the flood

Before the flood:

They were inseparable. No matter what happened or what they were ordered to do, they would find a way to do it together.

They were together for a longgg time. They stopped calling it "dating" after about the first year, because at that point they knew it was forever.

Unfortunately they did work at the same place, so it needed to be a little professional

But that wouldn't stop them from sneaking kisses during patrols, or running off during their breaks to go cuddle under a tree

That was actually their favorite thing to do, sit under that tree together. They had two different ways of sitting there.

Sometimes Xie would sit with is back again the tree, his legs criss-cross-apple-sauce. Fan would lay his head into Xie's lap, and Xie would play with his hair or hold his hands.

The other days, Fan would sit with his back against the tree, with his legs almost the same way. Xie would then crawl into his lap and rest his head on Fan's shoulder/chest. Fan would wrap an arm around him, gently doing the little thumb rub on either Xie's waist or upper thigh. Every once and a while he would plant a kiss on his forehead, or tell him to look up and kiss his lips. Xie would keep his hands and legs tucked into himself and just lean on Fan as much as he could.

After the flood:

It was all pain for a while, with only one of them being able to be in the real world at a time.

The only time they ever got close to seeing each other was when they would switch places. As they sank and rose through that muddy goo, they would reach out and try to grab each other's hands, but they were always just an inch too far apart.

Eventually, they had no other option but to look for help.

And so they met Yidhra.

When Xie first saw her servant wandering the manner, he thought she was a survivor who got lost on the hunter side.

But they began talking, and eventually Fan was brought out to show Yihdra what exactly they meant.

When she saw their transformation, she knew immediately that she could help, and her follower told them this.

Though there was a price.

As Yidhra herself was not allowed in Duo matches, they would have to do them for her and bring her as many different things that they could from the matches, which was quite the fair price for what she was doing for them.

She was able to alter their curse and allow them to both be in the real world. So long as the moon was visible at night, the curse would be weakened.

Once she did this for them, Fan eagerly sprinted back to his room, opening the window and beaming when he could clearly see the moon.

He sat on his bed, placing the umbrella in front of him, closed his eyes, and whispered Xie's name.

He sat there, eyes still closed. He heard nothing, he had no idea if it had worked, when suddenly there was a cold hand on his cheek.

He opened his eyes in a flash to see Xie sitting in front of him, smiling so big with tears pouring down his face.

He also began to cry, grabbing Xie and pulling him into a hug.

They wrapped their arms around each other, crawling onto one and other, getting as close as they could in order to make up for years of lost touch. They both sat there on their bed, crying and smiling and kissing the tears off each other's faces.

After that, things were a lot easier on the two of them.

They still were apart a lot, as the curse was wrong during the day, and on night's where one couldn't see the moon they couldn't be together, but every night they could they cherished.

Aesop & Eli (platonic)

These two made for quite interesting friends, that no one really expected.

Aesop was quiet, and very private. Eli was shy, but sociable once he felt comfortable with someone.

Somehow, the two kept being put together in a million different situations, which made Eli comfortable enough to talk to him.

At first it was just small talk, which Aesop despised, and after a while he told Eli to either talk about something worth talking about or shut up.

Eli wasn't expecting this, and out of surprise ended up quieting down

Aesop then realized that what he said may have come off harsher than intended, so he quietly asked what the snake on Eli's blind fold meant.

Eli was happy to talk, and did most of it.

Cue that one meme that's like: Talks a lot Listens

with the characters doodled underneath

As they hung out more and more, Aesop had started to explain embalming to Eli, and while it did make Eli a bit nervous, he recognized and admitted that it was a stable job. Sadly, people passed away every day, and embalming was an essential part of the post-mortem process

He actually ended up apprenticing under Aesop, and learning how to become an embalmer.

It was through this that Aesop started to question some of the things about death that Carl had taught him.

While Eli would be working, studying, or observing Aesop, he would make little hopeful comments about how he hoped their soul rested well, or that they lived a full life, or that they were in the after life they believed in.

These comments made Aesop start to question his view on death, and for that he appreciated Eli, he always appreciated those who's words could make the mind real, even if it wasn't intentional.

Personally, I like to believe that they were both able to leave the manor and start a new embalmer's office in a new city together, where Eli would have his soon-to-be wife move to, and finally live the life he wanted, with his best friend and the love of his life by his side.

As for Aesop, he also wanted this. Though he was used to it, he did not enjoy being alone. Corpses could only provide so much company before it wore a person down, and he enjoyed the idea of working alongside Eli for the foreseeable future.

I really liked writing these, and I thought it was a strange coincidence that Eli and Aesop were the first two survivors I ever really played in IDV & they were who you asked for. I hope you like it!!

[novelconcepts]

Modern AU where Jamie gets a tongue piercing and Dani has, uh, feelings about that

It is rare, Dani Clayton believes, that a single action can define a life. Rare, unlikely, prone only to situations where the action is life-or-death in and of itself, she believes. Most others are a matter of small steps leading down a long road. 

Most.

In the event of dumping Edmund O’Mara not three months before their wedding was meant to take place, those steps start to look a whole lot less small.

In the event of dumping Eddie, informing him--and his mother, and her mother shortly thereafter--that she’d done so because she didn’t love him that way, that she wasn’t sure she could love any man that way, and wasn’t entirely certain she was willing to try any longer to convince herself otherwise, those steps start to look much more like a leap.

Off a cliff.

Into thin air.

If you’re going to do it, she tells herself grimly, might as well do it the right way. Which, in some cases, might mean a fresh dye job, a flight to a distant country, the making of a wild and unreasonable purchase. In this particular case, it means looking what it means to be Danielle Clayton in the eye, turning on her heel, and doing absolutely anything else. 

The club? Packed. The music? Aggressive. Dani?

Several shots in, not nearly as drunk as she’d like, and completely out of her depth. 

Even so, there’s a lot about this experience she actually finds herself enjoying. The music, though slamming into the side of her head like a vaguely-melodic sledgehammer, is easy to dance to. The dark atmosphere of the place means she doesn’t feel as though anyone is getting a chance to really stare--or, if they are, they’re staring for good reasons. Reasons she’s never allowed herself to entertain before now.

It is, after all, the right kind of club.

If she thinks about that fact, she’s going to turn and head right back out the door, and the line had been way too long for such a casual surrender. The only choice, Dani understands, is simply not to think--not to let her nerves get the better of her, not to allow adrenaline to push her into flight mode. Not this time. 

Adrenaline, instead, becomes the thing she closes her fists around and twists to suit her needs. The thing to act as lightning in her bones, charging every inch of a woman who spent nearly thirty years play-acting in someone else’s show. The drinks help, wearing away the part of her that says she doesn’t fit here, doesn’t belong here, might have been wrong all along in telling Eddie she couldn’t do it anymore. The dancing, too, makes her feel better--makes her feel like someone new, someone with all the shine of her mother’s expectation scrubbed away. Someone who can throw her arms in the air, swivel her hips, laugh with delirious joy. 

Flirt, even. 

She can’t remember the last time she flirted with someone on purpose, but she’s certainly doing it now--with one young woman in particular. She wasn’t the first to dance with Dani--there have been a truly stunning number of women dancing with Dani, in fact, making her feel at once special and like running straight out of this club--but she is the one who has taken to it most naturally, somehow. Her eyes are bright, her curls tied back from her face, her smile the kind of charming Dani has never allowed herself to look at too closely before tonight. 

They haven’t exchanged a single word, and there’s something remarkable about that--about how easily the woman seems to read her body language, tailoring her distance according to Dani’s comfort. Unlike several of the others, this woman did not immediately push against Dani’s body, too warm, arms slinking around her waist. She did not attempt to pull Dani into herself, her hips setting a theme for the evening against Dani’s better judgement. This woman, instead, had only reached out a single hand, eyebrow arched--a silver bar punched through had caught the light and Dani’s attention at the same time--and had waited. 

Dani hadn’t quite been able to resist. Something about the woman’s grin, just this side of roguish, just this side of dangerous, had held too great an appeal. She had moved with a confidence Dani couldn’t imagine possessing, a swagger in her walk Dani hadn’t been able to look away from, and Dani thought, They’re pretty, but she is unreal. 

She looks at the woman now, at her green-gray eyes and the shade of abs beneath a cropped tank top. There are tattoos, she notes--a vine of some kind rising from the low ride of her jeans, a pattern of tiny flowers traced around her left wrist. Dani trails her fingers along those flowers now, letting her hand slide recklessly up the woman’s arm in time to the twisting beat, and wonders what else she’s hiding beneath her jacket, her jeans, her boots.

She’s never in her life allowed herself to wonder what might lurk beneath a woman’s clothes. Never in her life let herself look at the sweat skidding down a woman’s neck and wondered what it might taste like, were she to bury her face against soft skin. 

The woman is smiling, she notices with a thread of embarrassment--but it’s a good smile, as Dani wraps loose fingers around her upper arm and urges her closer. A good smile, one which teases, but doesn’t mock. This woman, with four piercings in one ear, with hands that smooth around Dani’s hips only when Dani edges in close, with eyes that watch Dani like she’s the only person in the room, is a marvel. 

Who are you, Dani asks herself, almost trembling with the simple delight of this woman’s hand twirling her around, this woman laughing when Dani slips an arm around her neck and twists brave fingers into her hair. Who are you, doing this with a stranger, with a woman, in a place like this?

Happy. A single word, enormous and bright. She’s happy, with the song under her skin, with this woman moving against her like they were cut of a single cloth. Like she understands, more than anything, Dani’s need to jam a lifetime of feeling electric into a single night. 

She kisses the woman first. It feels almost like a game of chicken, gazing into her eyes, letting her hand settle between jacket and tank top. Almost like a dare, letting her fingers dig into the woman’s shirt, pushing her nearer. Almost like a wish, her eyes skimming from the heat of the stranger’s gaze to her lips and back again. 

She kisses her, and wonders if it was always supposed to feel like this. The woman’s arm around her waist soft and strong, the woman’s lips parting for her like the next beat of a conversation--and there is something hard and warm to the kiss, a gentle curve of metal beneath her tongue. I am, she thinks dizzily, kissing a strange woman in a gay club, a woman with a tongue piercing, a woman who is kissing me like she’s never wanted to do anything else. 

She kisses this stranger, eyes closed, breath quickening as the woman’s hips push against her own, and she thinks, It wasn’t like this with him. Not once. 

Happy, as the woman leans back just enough to breathe, her forehead slick against Dani’s. Happy, as the woman’s hand trails up her neck gently enough to leave shivers in the wake of her fingertips. Happy, as the woman cups her jaw, thumb pressing just hard enough to make Dani sigh, kissing her with slow, hot wonder. 

She wonders what they look like to the others, to the women who had twisted and twirled away from her winces, her apologetic smiles, her tiny shakes of the head. How must she look now, in the arms of a woman she suddenly can’t get close enough to, her kiss hungry and hopeful, her hands digging into reckless curls.  

She hears herself panting against the woman’s ear as her head bows, as her lips trace the edge of Dani’s jaw, her kiss smooth on Dani’s neck. She’s gripping the woman’s hair, pushing her face into Dani’s throat with shameless excitement, and she hears herself say, “I’m--”

The woman raises her head, meets her eyes, shakes her head once. Dani’s heart sinks--but the woman is taking her by the hand, pulling her off the dance floor, away from the rapid-fire pulse of music. 

This isn’t me, Dani thinks, her heart in her throat. This isn’t me, as the woman guides her past the bar, past piles of writhing, necking strangers, past the line to the bathroom. This isn’t me, as the woman guides her through the back exit, out into a brick alley and the warmth of a June night. 

“Easier,” the woman says, “to hear out here. Hope that's all right.”

Dani sways, the thunder of the music and the cacophony of other people replaced by a muted ringing in her ears. The woman’s voice is soft, accented, skipping a little with breathless energy.

Dani opens her mouth, uncertain of what to say--her name, maybe, or this isn’t me, or I’ve never-- “You pierced your tongue.”

The woman’s eyes widen, a laugh rolling out of her like summer rain, and Dani feels herself go hot with embarrassment. “I did, yeah. Years back. You, ah. You like it?”

Not trusting herself, Dani only nods once, too fast to look natural. The woman takes her hands, which Dani realizes she has been wringing against the front of her skirt in nervous anticipation, and sidles closer. 

“Would it be easier,” the woman says, close enough to kiss, close enough for Dani to count the colors in her dancing eyes, “if I didn’t ask your name?”

Dani bites her lip. No, she thinks, and yes, and-- “I don’t know.”

“S’all right.” She believes her, this woman who speaks like she’s already got all the answers to a test Dani’s only just signed up to take. “We don’t have to. Can just be a pleasant memory, if you prefer.”

Dani shakes her head sharply, already leaning in again, and the woman tastes different out here. Better, somehow, without the fuzz of other people pressing close, without the tang of a sweaty crowd on the air. The woman tastes of new, of excitement, of metal and menthol, and she’s kissing Dani like she doesn’t need a name to cherish her. 

If you’re doing the thing, might as well do it right. Her back is against a brick wall, her hands pushing under the woman’s shirt, her head tossed back with the rapture of soft lips at her throat. She hears herself making a low sound through clenched teeth as the woman pulls at her hips, slides a thigh between her legs, pushes up. 

“Is there,” she gasps, one hand gripping the woman’s belt loop, one shoved into the woman’s messy hair, “is there somewhere we can--” Because this is new, this is all new and fresh and beautiful, but the idea of letting this woman fuck her against a brick wall is simply too much for a single stab into the dark. 

Those eyes look into hers, the woman’s breath hot across her lips, and she almost changes her mind. Almost yanks her back in, almost says it would be enough to ride her thigh in full view of anyone who steps out for a smoke, enough to give her anything she asks for beneath the sparse suburban stars. 

“My place isn’t far,” the woman says, her voice husky, and Dani nods, presses her forehead to the stranger’s, exhales shakily. 

The walk is quiet, her hand looped into the woman’s, and Dani feels--impossibly--free. Free to hold tighter or let her hand slip away. Free to knock into the woman’s shoulder with her own or balance along the curb as she walks. Free to look at the stars, to look at her feet, to look at the woman’s profile in the glow of the streetlights. 

“Dani,” she says. “My name is Dani.”

The woman smiles. “First night out, Dani?”

“That obvious?” She ought to be embarrassed, but the woman’s smile is still a good one. A teasing, gentle, comfortable one. 

“No,” the woman says after a moment of what is evidently legitimate consideration. “No, not obvious. Just a feeling.”

The apartment is small, clean, full of potted plants and well-loved blankets. The woman, pushing the door open, ushers Dani inside and stands back as if to say, Go on. Take it in. As if to say, I know what we came here for, but you can still back out. Her hands are in the pockets of her jacket, her posture loose, as though she isn’t thrumming with the impulse to get Dani pinned against another wall. 

Dani can’t quite relate. 

“Do you do this often?” she asks, as she moves into the woman’s arms again, as she slides her hands into the woman’s hair, liking the weight of her head cupped in Dani’s palms. The woman smiles almost sheepishly.

“Sometimes.”

“Do you know their names?” She’s kissing the edge of soft lips, feeling the woman sigh, feeling her head turn in search of Dani. There is power here, she thinks, unlike anything she’s ever felt. Power, and assertion, and desire. 

And laughter, when the woman says, “Not usually. No.”

“Honest,” Dani says approvingly, aware she’s still flirting, aware of the caress of the other woman’s hands around the back of her skirt. Her hips press forward once, and the woman grins. 

“Never tell ‘em mine, either.”

“Because you don’t want them to come calling in the morning,” Dani guesses. The woman shakes her head.

“The kind of woman I bring home rarely wants that. Easier on everyone, to keep it to skin.”

Her fingertips are tracing beneath Dani’s shirt, a light pattern up her back. Dani feels her brush the clasp of her bra almost carelessly, not even trying to unhook and remove it, and shivers. There is a warmth to the idea that this woman, for all her brazen want, is just as interested in this conversation as in getting Dani naked. 

“What if I wanted to know?” she breathes, her lips barely brushing the woman’s, watching her eyes flutter in response. “Your name. What you do when you’re not bringing strange women to bed.”

“Do you?” An honest question, she thinks, not a challenge. Strong fingers stroke down her back, tucking beneath the waistband of her skirt, resting without further pressure. Dani isn’t sure anyone has ever held her like this, standing in the living room of an apartment, waiting for her to take the lead. 

Strike that: she’s very certain no one has done this. Very certain she’d remember the intimacy of it, of hanging suspended between a kiss taken and a yes given.

“Please,” she says, leaning back just enough to look at the woman with clear eyes. That smile again, tilting crooked on pink lips. 

“Jamie. It’s Jamie.”

It’s enough, Dani decides, just to know that much. Just to know this woman, who is letting Dani kiss her, letting Dani push the jacket off her shoulders, letting Dani repeat the name against her lips, is willing to give Dani this small gift. She doesn’t have to. There’s nothing saying a one-night-stand requires names exchanged, a look beyond the curtain. Dani’s never done this before, but she’s certain of that much. 

A gift, it certainly is, and she gives herself over to it gladly. Likes the way Jamie’s kisses increase in intensity, her hands roaming under Dani’s shirt, her voice coiling into a groan when Dani experimentally rolls her tongue past Jamie’s teeth. The brush of metal elicits an unexpected heat in her, matched only by the way Jamie says her name in question as she guides the t-shirt up over her head. 

Just knowing her name has a place on this woman’s tongue is remarkable. Just tasting the woman’s name in her own mouth--two simple syllables extended in a surprised moan when Jamie presses her toward the bed, follows her down with seamless grace, her body soft and warm and willing--is remarkable. She hears herself repeat it for the simple joy of watching Jamie shiver, of feeling Jamie’s kiss grow hotter, her mouth sliding across Dani’s each time as though trying to swallow down the sound of her own name. 

The world has never been quite so vibrant as in this tiny apartment, under the warm glow of a single lamp with Jamie’s shirt pulling up her body, Jamie’s jeans unzipped under her shaking hand. The world has never offered quite so much sensation as with Jamie blanketing her, Jamie’s hands removing her bra, pushing up her skirt, mapping along the spread of her thighs. She presses up into Jamie’s kiss, hands restless on Jamie’s skin, and wonders why it took so long to open this door. 

There are more tattoos, she finds with delirious pleasure, and Jamie rolls over to allow her the freedom to inspect each. Jamie, breathing shallowly under her kiss as she traces the bracelet of flowers with the tip of her tongue. Jamie, arching into her hand as she explores the roses stamped across her ribs. Jamie, uttering a rough cry when she bites gently at the vine flourishing along her hipbone. 

More tattoos, and more soft skin, and more of Jamie’s easy, eager interest. Jamie, who rolls her over and slides the skirt off her hips, following it down with a path of long, slow kisses. Jamie, whose tongue works magic across her breasts, down her stomach, hesitating between her legs. 

Dani is nodding, and Jamie closes her eyes, presses down with a single sweet kiss that makes her feel as though she might collapse under the weight of its tenderness. It’s too much, she thinks, for this woman who has been pressing her into the mattress with firm, steady want, to be this gentle. For this woman who tells no one her name before taking them to bed, who has metal in her tongue and ink on her skin, to be this kind. 

She hears her breath sharpen, hears herself say Jamie’s name again in a voice so unlike her own, it takes her by surprise. She folds a hand across the back of Jamie’s head, pressing her in, urging her to kiss harder, to roll her tongue across the whole of Dani, and still, when Jamie complies, she jumps. Jamie raises her eyes, and Dani pushes her closer still, her heart hammering at the particular look on Jamie’s face. The particular need on Jamie’s face, as she watches, as she flicks her tongue. The metal bar brushes swollen nerves, and Dani makes an undignified noise in her throat that drags a grin across Jamie’s lips. 

Oh, Dani thinks distantly. That’s why. 

The muscles of her stomach are trembling, the muscles of her legs clutched tight, and still, she can’t tear her gaze from Jamie’s. Can’t stop watching the way Jamie’s lashes flicker against her cheeks, her head bobbing gently between spread legs, her tongue tracing and stroking, pressing and curling. There is something beyond intimacy to the way Jamie’s hands flex against her thighs, her fingers splayed, her thumb stroking up and down in time with her tongue. Something beyond seduction to the way Jamie groans against her, a simple gratification that makes her twitch under Jamie’s kiss. 

She winds her fingers tighter in Jamie’s hair, dimly aware she’s pulling, vibrantly aware of Jamie’s mouth wrapped around her. There is no speed, no dire rush, no pressure to come and be done with it. There is only Jamie taking her time, the flat of her tongue trading off with the brush of her lips, her eyes drinking in Dani’s expression all the while. 

She knows my name, she thinks with a rush of heat, and then: She told me hers. 

She’s using it almost without thinking, one hand across her own mouth, Jamie’s name staining her skin. She rocks harder, urging Jamie deeper, her voice rising as Jamie adds her fingers beneath the coaxing pressure of her tongue. 

She knows my name, she thinks again, as Jamie curls deep, as starbursts go off behind her eyes. She told me hers. 

Jamie hauls herself back up the mattress, drops down beside her with a contented sigh. Her lips glisten, her expression tinged with pride. “How was--”

Dani grasps her face in both hands, jerks her in for a kiss, their voices mingling in a muffled ring of pleasure. Dani, almost dizzy with the taste of herself in this woman’s mouth, presses a hand between them, pleased to find Jamie as eager for take as she’d been for give. 

“I want,” she says, kissing Jamie’s neck, stroking Jamie with nerveless, uncertain fingers, “to make you feel--like that. Like you--”

Jamie makes a sound of agreement, reaches down, covers her hand gently. “Try this,” she offers, and Dani’s eyes roll back at the pressure of fingers guiding her in, at Jamie showing her with a hand that shakes exactly how she likes to be touched. She gazes at Jamie’s face, at her parted lips and tight brow, watching the tension coil, watching her smile give way to soft, repeated sounds of urgency as they work in tandem. 

If you’re going to do it, do it the right way, she thinks as Jamie bucks into her hand, as Jamie’s fingers slide away, dragging up her own stomach, leaving Dani to keep up the rhythm. She presses her face onto Jamie’s pillow, lips close to Jamie’s ear, murmuring her name like a melody as Jamie’s breath catches--as Jamie’s hips jerk--as Jamie wraps a hand into her hair and pulls her close to kiss the gasp off her lips. 

“I’ve never,” she says, her hand still resting against wet skin, Jamie’s hips twitching every so often as she traces with the tips of her fingers. “Before. With a--”

“Couldn’t tell,” Jamie says. Dani raises an eyebrow in disbelief, and she grins. “Didn’t mind, then.”

“You, uh.” Distracted, she traces a light circle around Jamie, liking the heat of her. Jamie sighs. 

“Keep doing that, conversation’s gonna get tricky.”

“You sorry?” Dani asks, letting her fingers still. Jamie turns her head, eyes questioning.

“Sorry for...which part, exactly?”

“Taking me home,” Dani says. “Telling me who you are.”

“Didn’t tell you who I am,” Jamie says. Dani frowns, moves to take her hand back, wondering if she’s somehow read the woman completely wrong--and Jamie reaches down to gently grasp her by the wrist. “I told you my name,” she goes on mildly. “Who I am is a much longer story. One I...haven’t told in a while.”

Dani stretches out beside her, letting her fingers notch comfortably between Jamie’s, the join of their hands resting along Jamie’s stomach. “How long a story?”

“How much time d’you have?” Jamie asks, almost idly. Dani smiles. 

“Sort of trying something new, with all of this. I think...that means there are no rules, until I make them.”

“Well,” says Jamie, her voice thick with exhaustion. She’s curling toward Dani, bare skin and vibrant ink and muffled yawn. “Maybe if you’re still interested in the morning? Not much of a cook, but I make an impressive brew.”

She doesn’t say you don’t have to. She doesn’t say we can pretend it never happened. She only presses close into Dani, one hand curling to tuck the hair behind Dani’s ear, her fingers spreading around the back of Dani’s head in a gesture of soft support. 

She told me her name, Dani thinks, her heart in her throat as she watches sleep loosen Jamie’s features. I slept with a woman, and she told me her name, and she’s...she’s...

It is rare, she thinks as she lets her head bump Jamie’s, eyes drifting shut. Rare that a single action can define a life. It doesn’t happen often; consequences are small, tricky things. But a single action can certainly start a person walking. Off a cliff. Into thin air.

Or down a road. 

[sopxhiea]

Anguish

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Y/N gets hurt but doesn’t tell Alfie and things take a left turn when Alfie finds out what happened during an impromptu visit.

“I think my problem is that I have really fantastic bad ideas.”

The air inside the room is hot, there are two fans on the floor but they don’t do much. There’s the sound of paper shuffling every now and then when the wind hits the yellow material but the pots on top of the papers hold them down.

The cup of tea is cold, at a reasonable temperature for you to drink at this weather. The sunlight is gentle against the closed window, it somehow manages the make the whole place hotter.  You put your hair up in a bun, no longer able to put up with the hot weather but it’s slowly cooling down inside.

There are bruises along the right side of your face, you don’t look in the mirror when you pass by the small one in your office.

It was silly, really.

You knew what was coming when you were called for a meeting in the enemy’s inn but it had gone better than you’d expected until their men pulled guns on your men and there were too many sounds of gunshots for you to recall the rest properly.

You’d gone out with a fraction of the men you had gone in with.

The right side of your face has a bruise near your eye, a couple purple marks that morph into one big disaster follow the covered bruise. There’s a bigger knife wound on your right leg but it can’t be seen due to your dress. You ignore the little cuts on your feet while putting them on top of the desk to feel a little better.

Then his voice booms through the corridor.

You’d tried to keep Alfie out of this but you of all people know how stubborn he is. He’s come around three times in the past two days and you’d told him you were entirely too busy and tired for him through your assistant, avoiding eye-to-eye confrontation at all costs but you know Joseph, your assistant, can only keep him out for so long.

“Mr. Solomons, you ca-”  Joseph’s voice booms through the corridor and your hear the sound of heavy yet fast footsteps along the corridor that leads to your office.

You can see the image.

Joseph is running behind Alfie but he’s not seen you in a couple days and you know how needy he gets. You’d avoided anything but phone calls and Alfie had been the most touchy partner you had so it was not avoidable.

You get up but before you have the chance to try to cover your face up, the door flies open.

Alfie looks angry at first but then his orbs fill with agony and fear when he sees your state. You can see the frustration in his eyes when his lips stay sealed and instead, he walks towards you in the silent room.

“You can leave.” you whisper to your assistant, knowing that he’s done his best dealing with your lover and he’s done a pretty good job knowing how persistent Alfie can be when it comes to you.

Alfie slowly walks toward your already standing form as your assistant closes the door, the room is filled with nothing but your heavy breaths. His calloused fingers lift your chin up and caress your hair as he looks at you.

Even though he’s not really looking at you.

His eyes are focused more on the bruises and the why, when and all those questions than the worry that seems to be swimming on your face. You gulp as he turns your head with his thumb on your chin to take a better look to the right side of your now bruised and cut face.

It’s not that bad, you think.

He swears under his breath, it’s a mumble of some sort you’ve heard him say before you know he’s going to be mad, it’s a matter of how mad at this point when he looks at your worried eyes.

His index finger traces something on the bruise and you can’t help but make a sound since the marks on your face are pretty new.

“Ouch.” you whisper but you’re silent again when he casts a look on you after the words come out of your mouth. He seems frustrated.

He’s frustrated at you, for getting hurt and not being as careful but he’s also frustrated at himself, for not being able to protect you. This was not the first time you’d gotten hurt since you started seeing him but it was the first time he was seeing you bruised like this.

You know he tends to worry, no matter how much you’ll try and convince him that you’re completely fine. You don’t look fine, you know that but it’s just a couple bruises on your face for all he can see and you’ll be fine before he knows but he won’t believe that, you know.

“It’s nothi-” you start speaking into the silent room as he inspects your face, you know it’s stupid to even speak at the moment but his worried face gets the best of you.

He cuts you off not too long after, not believing the words that come out of your mouth but you knew that he wouldn’t in the first place.

“What the fuck did I tell ya’?” he asks, staring right at you while you gulp. It feels like he’s about to scold you but you sigh and answer anyway.

“To be careful.” you answer like a little kid, your voice doesn’t skip a beat and he nods.

He doesn’t speak for a while and you remember that he had told you something in addition the last time you’d come across him bruised. It wasn’t as visible to the eye but you know for a fact that he remembers, he doesn’t forget things like these.

“To be more careful.” you say but your voice is not as confident as before, it’s a mere whisper but he hears it clearly since his face is inches away from yours.

He nods this time but a little more enthusiastically. He tugs at his beard then, eyes wondering off to now look at you and not your bruised state. He sees you then, he can see that whatever happened was taken care of but it shook you and in the midst of ogling your wounds and scolding you, he’s missed to see what has taken place.

“Are ya’ feelin’ alright, luv?” he asks after a couple minutes pass, you realise he’s seen the look of fear covered with pride and you hate that he can see right through you.

“Yeah, I...” you start speaking but you know he doesn’t mean the physical damage, he means the thing swimming inside your orbs. “It’s alright, I’ll feel better in a couple day-”

“Why didn’t ya’ tell me?” he asks, words loud and clear as he looks right into you, you ignore the pain on your right leg from the wound and you flinch slightly but he notices, like he always does.

“I didn’t want you to get all worried. You tend to do that, you know?” your words sound more playful now but his eyes are focused on your right leg from when you slightly moved. You pray for him to forget about it, joke about the situation like you are doing but he seems dead serious.

"I tend to get fuckin’ worried, yeah, when my girl is all bruised up.” he speaks against your face and you ignore the temptation to tell him that he’s shown up at your doorstep one too many times with bruises all over his body but you’d not made a scene then. 

It’s in his nature.

You watch the rays of sunlight dance with the lines of his face while his eyes scan your right leg. You don’t stop looking at him even though you know that he’s going to ask you about it and you have no intentions of lying, not at this time.

He then proceeds to speak a little louder, his words are clearer and not rushed like they had been when he first came barging in. You look at his dense stare as he speaks, head nodding at his own words. “This, yeah, is the only injury you got then?” his words are tricky as his finger traces the bruise on your face. 

You gulp.

There’s no point in lying, you know he’ll know about the injury on your leg by midnight when his hands start roaming around your body like they always do but you desperately don’t want to him to get worried, you need to him to think rationally and you know he’ll lose it once he sees how bad the wound is when you start cleaning it.

A sigh leaves your lips and you tilt your head to the side as he tugs at his beard, eyes on you the whole time and you speak. “Maybe.”

Your words are hardly hanging around the air when he takes a small step closer to you so that your bodies are touching. His hand comes in contact with the soft skin of your leg, he slowly travels up while a look of terror takes over your face.

Your breath is shaky when his hand meets the bandage. There’s the shake of your head when he lifts the dress you’re wearing to get a better look at how much the injury is covering and you can see his heart breaking when he sees that most of your upper thigh is covered with a thick layer of bandage and cotton.

“It’s really jus-” you start speaking but he makes you sit down on your desk that you’d been leaning on and puts his hands on both sides of you on top of the desk. You wait for him to speak, face inches away from yours.

“How many stitches?” he asks but he’s calmer than you’d expect. You gulp and decide to give him a vague answer, one that would not make him worry like the truth will. Your voice is soft against his face.

“I don’t remem-”

“How many fuckin’ stitches, luv?”

You break eye contact after his words, his stare is way too dense and he’s got you trapped between his large body and the wooden desk you’re sitting on top of. When your eyes meet his again, you speak.

“Twelve.”

He flinches at your words.

He knows there are certain things he can’t protect you from, no matter how badly he wants to and you see the lines of worry in his orbs while he takes a good look at the bandage covering your thigh. It would be easier, he thinks, if he didn’t love you this much.

He used to be a heartless man, someone who would not flinch when faced with death. He knows that he’s softer now, he still doesn’t flinch at the face of death but he worries about you, about what would happen to his precious girl after he’s long gone.

Your hands meet his as you stop him from interrogating your thigh, you know he’s making up scenarios in his head as to how badly things could’ve gone. It’s a two way street, you worry about him when he gets hurt and vice versa. You know there’s no point in hiding how you feel so you just speak your mind as his stare digs into you.

“I’m alright.” you say, voice confident but desperate to remind him that things are okay and that you’re there with him. He tends to forget.

You know he wakes up late at night with the worse thoughts of you being gone, but he holds onto your body tighter when he sees that you’re right there with him. He’s as needy as they come and you know that his love is domestic and physical, so you remind him with words and your soft touch against his.

“Ya’ say that now, yeah, but I know fuckin’ well, right, that you’ll be out there first thing in the mornin’..” he says while your hands caress his.

It’s your job, he knows you have to go. He just doesn’t want to let you go.

Because he knows how quick these things can be. One gun, one shot and you’re gone. He knows it all too well. He’s seen it happen to one too many guys and knows all it takes is a split second.

He’s gotten much more clingier, you think, since the time he told you he loved you and you returned the gesture. It was maybe his way of confirming the emotions swimming in his heart. He’s made you his girl then and this version of Alfie who happened to be worried each time you returned home late was born.

You weren’t complaining, it was endearing to say the least.

“I promise you that I’ll be extremely careful?” you say but it’s more of a question. You already know he has men watching you at most times but it’s the split second he lets you off the hook that you manage to get hurt.

He sighs and puts both arms on top of the desk you’re sitting on, you feel his breath against your face as he speaks. He’s stern this time.

“I don’t need that, yeah, I jus’ need my girl to be fuckin’ safe.” he says, head shaking at his own words because he knows you’re just as stubborn as he is and you’ll go back to finish the job, just better armed this time.

“I will be safe...” you speak and his eyes catch yours. You continue speaking with a smile on your lips. “..Just need more guns.” you shrug your shoulders and he chuckles at you. Something half his size talking about guns he can barely get his hands on.

“Luv..” he speaks but you don’t know what he’s planning on saying so you just give him a brief nod. He doesn’t speak any further.

“I’ll go with more guns and more men this time and I will pick the location so there’s less chance of this..” your fingers point at the blue and purple lines on your face. “...happening.”

“You ain’t gonna’ to listen, eh?” he asks but it’s more of a statement than anything. He knows you’ll get what you want.

“I think my problem is that I have really fantastic bad ideas.” your voice is soft through the room and he chuckles at you before pressing a kiss on your temple. 

No matter how worried he gets, he knows you’ll listen to him. 

You see the lines of worry in his eyes but it’s more faded now. He knows you’ll be alright. You watch as he patches you up, putting a couple band aids on your face where the deep bruises are. There’s no need to put them but he does it anyway, his heart clenches each time you wince so you hold your tongue.

He doesn’t show it but he’s terrified. He’s terrified of the possibility of losing you and now that you sit there in front of him with a bruised face and a pretty big wound, he figures it’s more of a possibility now.

You stop him when he tries to have a better look at your upper thigh, the wound covers most of it anyway. Your hands meet the surface of his calloused ones, there’s a question in his eyes as he looks at you. You gulp and then speak, he doesn’t miss the way you try to look directly at his eyes and not the room like you usually do.

“I’m sorry.” your words hit his ears and he blinks a couple times, standing still. He knows you know what you’ve done and that you knew the consequences. He doesn’t take you for a stupid person.

He lets go of your thigh and his hand finds his beard this time, tugging at it like he usually does. He knows you mean it, he doesn’t have to look at your face to know that you’re about to cry. But you hold it in.

“I know, dove.” he says, voice gruff as he plants a kiss onto your temple and you let go of your breath. You feel less guilty now.

He then cleans your wounds again and covers them with bandages, his touch remains soft against your skin as you wince every now and then. With each noice if disapproval that comes out of your mouth, Alfie stops and looks at you, you nod and he continues. 

He treats you like a fragile glass as he takes you home to give you a good day of resting. Your head remains at his shoulder the whole time, hands intertwined because you know you need the touch to know that he’s there, he needs it too.

The remaining part of the day is spent with you messing with Alfie as he makes sure you’re not even more hurt than you already are. He puts you to bed, as gentle as a person could possibly be and then gets in between the sheets. You soon find his body next to yours as your breath becomes steadier with time. He listens as you’re lulled into a good nights sleep.

He promises to protect you, always. 

----

Tagging: @clairecrive​  @parkbearum​ @sourirez​ @bicevans​ @mollybegger-blog

a/n:  i’ve been gone for a while now and here’s the new blurb? dunno what to call this :) Anyway, the requests are currently open and let me know what you thought of this? Also if you want to be tagged, let a gal know ♡

[rowan-underthehouse]

Shot Glasses and Shadows

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,011

Warnings: slight self-harm, mention of blood

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Abandon All Hope Coda, Mentioned Jo Harvelle, grief/ mourning

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of Abandon All Hope. Castiel is there to help.

Read it on Ao3 here

It’s the moments between hunts where Dean starts to lose his balance. When there’s no monster to fight, and the adrenaline pounding through his limbs fades away.

There are things he can do to stop it. He can make dinner runs while he tries to list the name of every song he’s ever put on a mixtape, or blast the radio until the speakers crackle, or sprint until his lungs burn. As long as he keeps moving he can fight it off. But as flames lick the glossy edges of the closest thing to a send-off they can give Jo and Ellen, all Dean can do is root his feet to the ground and watch.

He doesn't walk away from the fire until the photograph is reduced to ash. The crumbling of Jo’s gentle features is almost beautiful here. He wonders if Jo could feel the flames in her last moments. If she still believed her death meant something. If it felt beautiful.

“I’m going to clean up.”

“Dean you don’t-” Sam follows his gaze to the cluster of shot glasses still spread across the table, not finding the right words until his brother is already gone. Sam knows better than to follow.

It shouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to finish the kitchen, but Dean’s limbs are heavy with guilt and the half bottle of whiskey he’s already downed. He’d expected it to feel different to be back here. Everything warm and homey and right should have burned up with Ellen and Jo, but Bobby’s kitchen somehow missed the memo. This is still the same place they’d laughed and drank and squeezed out smiles around the dread no amount of alcohol could quite wash away just the night before. It’s Dean who’s out of place. He shouldn’t be here, surrounded by a past already so long gone it aches. It’s going to collapse in on him at any second.

The first shot glass that shatters against the hardwood floor is an honest-to-god accident. Dean lets the second roll out of the crook of his elbow, watching with the closest thing to satisfaction he can muster as broken glass dusts his boots. The third, he smashes into the worn countertop. He feels the blood pooling under his palm before he registers the glass wedged there. It brings a sick, bubbling laugh to the back of his throat.

He’s watching the blood run along the edge of a fourth glass, rolling it over in his palm when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Dean,” The unmistakable crunching of dress shoes on glass pulls Dean back to reality. “You’re injured.”

Dean tosses the shot glass in his hands into the sink, almost disappointed when it doesn’t shatter. He shrugs Castiel’s hand off his shoulder, doing his damn best to ignore how cold he feels at the tiny loss of contact. Cas has that effect on people. That warm sort of feeling that starts deep in your chest and spreads to your fingertips until it feels like everything might be alright. Sam feels it too, Dean’s sure, but it doesn’t seem to be burning him up from the inside the way it does Dean. The relief he feels when Cas grabs his shoulder again is humiliating. He wipes it clean off his face before Cas can turn him around.

“You’re bleeding, Dean,” there’s more force to it this time. Dean stares expectantly, waiting for the feeling of grace stitching the fibres of his hand together, but nothing comes. Cas’s eyes fall to the floor. “I’m...going to get the first-aid kit.”

“So, what? Not going to mojo me back together? Cas, is there something you want to tell me?” He squares his shoulders, taking a step toward Cas. Of course something’s wrong. Not even an angel of the lord could get that close to Lucifer and come out unscathed.

“Because if something happened, something that we should know about, you better spit it out before it gets someone killed,” Dean closes the distance between him and Cas, staring down with what he hopes reads as more malice than concern and waits. Cas should be snapping back at him or threatening to throw him back to hell or something but he’s just standing there, gaze cast at the floor.

“It’s not important. It won’t affect my ability to help in your fight against the devil,” Dean turns away with a scoff just loud enough for Cas to hear. Somewhere deep beneath two hours worth of whiskey he knows he’s trying to start a fight, but he doesn’t care.

Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze burning into his back. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something useful?” He nods in the direction of the library where every piece of lore they could find is still strewn out on the desk. The words taste bitter on Dean’s tongue, but if it gets Cas to do something, anything, other than stand there and stare straight into Dean’s soul (Maybe literally. Dean hopes not) it will be worth it.

Dean doesn’t turn around until the footsteps have faded from the kitchen. He drops the remaining shot glasses into the sink and kicks Jo’s chair in as an afterthought on his way out the door.

Sam and Bobby are nowhere to be seen, no doubt already tucked away in their respective rooms trying to figure out how to get through the night. Dean doesn't bother asking how they got Bobby up to his old room now that the sofa has been temporarily dragged back to its place in the library. He suspects Cas had something to do with it.

The fire is little more than embers when Cas comes back around the corner, battered first-aid kit in hand. Dean’s stomach churns. He should apologize.

“Throw another log on.”

Again, Castiel fixes him with that stupid, sympathetic, stare and does as he’s asked.

“You’re grieving.”

Dean almost laughs. “Really, Cas? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You shouldn’t try to stop it. It won’t help,” Cas settles on the sofa and unpacks the kit, examining the contents carefully while he lays them out on the end table.

That old rage bubbles up in Dean's chest again. “So what am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit here and moan about it in the middle of the friggin’ apocalypse? We have work to do, Cas. Stow the Vincent Grey crap.”

“Give me your hand.”

He thinks about arguing. About trying again to stir up some kind of fight just to feel something other than hollow for a few seconds. Angry is easier. Safer. But then, this is Cas. He knows every atom of Dean’s body and can recite his earliest memories like the goddamn pledge of allegiance. There’s no point hiding. He lets some of the tension holding up his body seep back into the floor.

Cas is more gentle than Dean can handle. All calloused hands and careful touches that are anything but clinical. Letting him in is frighteningly easy. It’ll be letting him go when he finally realizes the Winchesters and all their problems aren't worth the effort that will be like pulling stitches.

“They trusted me,” It’s barely a whisper, but Dean’s throat closes around the words. “They trusted me, and I led them to their deaths.”

“You did the best you could. They knew the risks,” There’s a strain in Cas’ voice Dean has never heard before.

Dean’s eyes are burning. He can’t bring himself to meet Cas’ gaze until a thumb swipes across his cheek, brushing away the tears there. For once he finds himself thanking god in all his infinite absence that Cas doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture “You did the right thing, Dean. You tried.”

There’s a weight to his words that Dean can’t quite pin down, the teary smile plastered on his face making Dean want to either wrap his arms around Cas or make a break for it. He shoots for somewhere near a more reasonable middle.

“Are you uh…” Dean is struck very suddenly by just how bad he is at this, But he has to try. It’s Cas. “Are you holding out okay?”

“Human grief is different. It’s...heavier”

If tearing down heaven brick by brick could pull that weight off Cas, Dean would do it in a second. It terrifies him how far he’s willing to go.

“Yeah.”

The mess of bandages Cas eventually manages to secure around Dean’s hand isn’t pretty, but it’s a relief. He tosses the bloody glass in a trash bin and dries his now clean hands on an embroidered dish towel that may have been colourful twenty years ago. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He’s halfway to the door by the time Dean swallows his pride enough to say something. “Cas, wait. Have you - eaten anything? It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t eat.”

Dean spends the longest ten seconds of silence in his life wondering if he could bore a hole through the floor with his eyes to crawl into. This may be the dumbest excuse he’s ever come up with, which is not an easy title to win.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

Maybe it’s the whiskey clouding his mind or the idea of spending the rest of the night drinking his way through whatever’s left of his liver alone that finally snaps a cord in Dean. He sinks back into the couch, exhaustion taking over.

“Please.”

With a creak of old springs and cushions creasing just enough for Dean to slide, Cas is back on the couch, a good few inches closer than the last time. Of course, it doesn't mean anything. Cas is an angel. He can’t understand the way the closeness makes Dean’s heart leap out of his chest. But the way he presses his shoulder against Dean’s is distinctly and undeniably human. He doesn’t want to be alone either.

The next few hours drift by in near silence, broken only by offers of whiskey and the occasional non-committal remark. When Dean’s eyes slip closed, his head lolling against Cas’ shoulder, Cas doesn’t try to wake him.

Once Dean does finally open his eyes, it’s with a pounding headache, and his face pressed against the rough fabric of Cas’ shirt. Through the fog of sleep Dean slowly becomes aware of his limbs tangled with Cas’ where they’ve sprawled across the sofa. He’s a split second away from launching himself onto the floor when he registers Cas’ hand resting loosely against Dean’s back. The slow tide of his breathing. He can’t be asleep but Dean’s never seen him this relaxed. His hair is a disaster where it’s rubbed against the arm of the sofa and his coat is more on the floor than his body. He must be meditating or praying or whatever the hell angels do to recharge their heavenly batteries. It would be rude to interrupt him, Dean reasons, and he’ll be awake again within a few hours. There’s still plenty of time before sunrise. A few hours can’t hurt. In the moment before he’s pulled back to a dreamless sleep, Dean swears he catches the shadow of wings cast against the wall, curled around his body.

…

It’s not unusual for Sam to be awake before his brother. He rolls out of bed some time after sunrise, stumbling toward the kitchen before he’s even finished rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He very nearly walks past the tangle of limbs on the couch before Bobby rolls into the room, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

“They haven’t moved since Cas brought me back down here. Let them rest. They need it.”

And they do.

When Dean finally stumbles into the kitchen, Cas having disappeared mere seconds before he woke up, Sam doesn’t say a word about it, just smiles into his coffee mug. It’s good to see someone keeping Dean steady for once, and if Dean isn't ready to admit it yet, that’s a problem for another day.

[poliel]

Fix-It Deaths: Floofty

Content warning: this fic contains major character death.

I had the idea to do this way back when I first played through the bad ends and got disappointed by Floofty's reaction to Shelda's deaths and vice-verse as well as Cromdo and Beffica's reaction to each other's death, and the fact that when one of the Fizzlebean siblings died, the other has no reaction to it whatsoever. I'd drifted away from the idea, pulled by other ideas for this fandom as well other fandoms, but as I said in the summary, the horror of it fits for the darker side of the Halloween spirit so I returned.

As of right now I only have two of these written, this one and the one where Shelda dies. I was supposed to start the Beffica chapter tonight but, uh, it ain't happening. That should be fine though, I have the whole month practically to finish the last two chapters. I make no promises though, other than to try my best, my main focus for Halloween is art so it might not happen.

Happy first day of Halloween regardless though.

~

Being proven right about bugsnax would’ve been a wonderful moment under almost any other circumstance. But as it as, Shelda only desperately wished she’d been wrong instead.

“I feel our decision to split up was a mistake,” Floofty said as they fired the fist, knocking a serious of snax back to splat into the ground more due to luck and the density of them than actual aiming skill.

“One is in agreement for once.” Shelda’s only weapon was a hoe stolen from somewhere after the first wave had come out of the ground. It had been fairly easy to push it back. This second wave though, not so much.

Shelda held the right flank while Floofty guarded their left. Even so they were being driven back, step by step until… Shelda gasped as her back pressed against the rough wooden boards of the barn’s wall. On one hand they couldn’t be attacked from behind, on the other though they had nowhere left to go.

The ground rumbled and shook again, throwing off Floofty’s next shot, making it miss utterly this time. Almost as if sensing the opening more bugsnax grew out of the ground and pressed in.

“Back foul toxins, back!” Shelda screeched as she swung her hoe, whacking a couple strawbys away.

Floofty let out her own wordless battle cry. But Shelda couldn’t afford to pay attention to them. She just had to trust them to hold off the snax on that side much like how they were doing for her. Neither of them were going die here today, Shelda simply would not allow it. They were going to make it through and later once they were safe and sound on the mainland again she was going to make sure Floofty never forgot that she was right and they were wrong.

So, abandoning her pacifism for the first time since she’d taken that vow, she went to town with the hoe. Smashing anything that dared approached until her hoe was bent and dripping in various bugsnax juices. She kept going on even as her arms started to ache and burn, her breathing ragged and heavy.

Oh grumping fuck, how many more could there be? Surely they had to stop coming eventually, right? Hopefully help would come before…

Floofty let out a cry of distress. They’d fallen to their hands a knees, either knocked down by an aggressive snac or lost balance some other way, didn’t matter. They were given no time to even try to right themself before they were swarmed completely.

The bugsnax covered every inch of them as they crawled up and forced their way into their mouth. They choked, gagged, and sputtered, flailing their paws uselessly underneath the mass of bugsnax.

With a vicious snarl, Shelda went at them, whacking as many away as she could. But… all the bugsnax had stopped going for her, instead focusing on the easier already down target. There were too many and they just kept coming. Even if she’d been in her prime, there wasn’t much more Shelda could’ve done.

Far too soon the gagging and sputtering spotted, as did the flailing. The bugsnax pulled back, revealing Floofty, or what was left of them. Their snakified flesh was… oozing off them, revealing white bone underneath as it melted into the ground.

Shelda turned and gagged, probably the only thing keeping her from vomiting was the fact that she hadn’t eaten in a while. Before she could recover the bugsnax were swarming her next, climbing up her legs. This was it, now it was her turn. She was going to share the same fate as…

A very well aimed shot from the fist canon knocked the snax off her chest. She gasped, looking over to see Buddy already aiming their next shot. With no time to thank them, she burst back into motion, quickly knocking the rest of the snax crawling up onto her off.

For whatever reason, the flow of snax was slowing. Allowing Buddy to quickly clear a path, freeing Shelda.

“Go back to the airship,” they said, not even looking at her as they continued to keep the bugsnax away.

“But what about…” Shelda glanced at what was left of Floofty. Just a pile of bones where once, just a matter of minutes ago, there had been a full living breathing grumpus. How was it even possible for someone to be there and then gone in such a short amount of time? No one deserved such a fate, not even them… especiallynot them. “If nothing else we should at least…”

“No time,” Buddy interrupted with a slight growl. “Get out of here now before they start swarming again.”

Shelda’s suggestion that they should gather up Floofty bones for a proper burial later died on her lips. Buddy was right, as much as Floofty deserved at least that, they didn’t have time. Shelda was beyond spent and sticking around while Buddy protected her was only holding them back from rushing off to potentially help the others. So… she tore her gaze away and turned to run back towards the airship.

She encountered a few bugsnax on the way back but nothing she couldn’t just run past. Filbo greeted her as she reached the ship but she ignored him as she made her way over to the ship’s cabin. She didn’t go in though, instead sinking to the deck and leaning back against its wall.

Don’t think about it. …. Don’t think about it. … Don’t think about it. … But in all her years and having known many people who were gone now, she’d never witnessed anyone she’d known well die violently. She’d never known someone who’s death she could’ve possibly prevented. If she’d managed to get the snax off Floofty or hold them off entirely for just a little longer than Buddy would’ve arrived in time to save both of them.

Such an awfulway to go too. And the two of them been starting to get along, sort of anyway. But now that was all gone. All of everything that made up Floofty was gone forever. All of the scientific achievements and discoveries their brilliance might’ve led to in the future to help the world and grumpkind was never to be.

It was unwise to dwell on such things, she’d learned that a long time ago. But despite that and all her years and supposed wisdom, her thoughts circled on it anyway.

~

Snorpy and Chandlo arrived on the air ship next, Snorpy huffing and puffing from the run, though Chandlo looked a little spent too. Oh no. Shelda would have to tell Snorpy about Floofty. … Not now though. Let him not have to bear the knowledge of how horribly his sibling had died for just a little while longer.

But alas, as soon as he was done checking in with Filbo on the airship’s engine, a process that took only a few seconds, he and Chandlo turned and made their way over to stand before Shelda.

“Floofty was with you, right?” Snorpy wasted no time getting to the point, huh? “When I was running to help Chandlo, I’m sure I saw them with you. So… where are they?” His expression was confused as he looked around the ship, seemingly the thought of the worst having happened hadn’t even occurred to him yet.

Shelda took a breath, intending to spout some ‘wisdom’ that would really be just gobbledygook meant to obscure the bad news and hide it for a little longer. But… no, now wasn’t the time for that. “They’re dead.”

His face dropped like a stone. “What?”

Chandlo’s expression almost mirrored his. “Nuh-uh, no way they’re dead… right?” He looked at Shelda as if she could somehow take those words back and make them not true. If only she had such powers.

She could only shake her head. “I tried to save them. I really did but… it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

For a moment Snorpy looked like he was going to say something but ultimately just shook his head and turned away as he shrunk in on himself. Chandlo followed as he went to the other corner to grieve in.

“Wait! Floofty’s really dead?” Filbo cut in. To his credit though he remained by his post.

“Yes,” Shelda said. “Now be quiet about it.” The last thing anyone needed was Filbo being Filbo about this.

“Oh uh… okay.” He shrunk in on himself too and turned away once more. “Sorry Snorpy about… I guess you probably don’t want to listen to me about it but… sorry. … I’ll shut up now.”

And this was only the beginning of having to tell everyone about Floofty. Well at least the hardest part was out of the way. Hopefully everyone else would make it back to the airship okay.

[littleredwolf]

Confessions

Pairing: Tony Stark x reader

Summary: Defeating the galaxy’s biggest foe and being brought to the brink of death causes Tony to get a little sentimental. 

Warnings: Endgame spoilers. 

Word Count: 1,969

A/N: I hope you enjoy some Tony fluff. ^^

----------

You chewed your lip as you glanced at the clock for what felt like the millionth time, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter with each second that passed. You turned your attention to the door opposite, your leg bouncing erratically as you resisted the urge to jump out of your seat and charge through it in your impatience. You hardly dared to think about what was going on on the other side, all manner of scenarios rushing through your head. 

What was taking so long? Had something gone wrong? 

That last thought alone caused your breath to catch in your throat and you hastily got up and walked to the nearby water cooler, busying yourself by filling a plastic cup and gulping down the lukewarm liquid. It wasn't the most refreshing experience, but it eased the lump in your throat. When the sound of the door handle turning filled your ears you whipped around to face it, eyes wide as a doctor and nurse emerged. You looked at them expectantly, waiting for them to break the news. You hoped it was good news. 

"Everything is fine," the doctor assured with a polite smile. "He's going to need a little rehabilitation and there's a few things to keep a careful eye on, but he's going to be okay." 

The sigh of relief you breathed could have knocked them both off their feet, as all the anxiety and uneasiness that had been building up over the last 12 hours fizzled and ebbed away. 

"Can I see him?" You asked hopefully, chewing your lip again as you nervously awaited a reply. 

The doctor and nurse shared a knowing look, before the doctor gave you a sympathetic smile. 

"You can see him," he nodded, "but please keep in mind what he's been through. He's going to be okay but he is in pretty bad shape - just keep that in mind and try not to be too alarmed when you see him." 

You nodded in understanding, a new wave of anxiety rolling over you as you placed a hand on the door handle. After what seemed like an eternity you were finally going to see him. So many hours of waiting with nothing to do but replay the last time you saw him over and over and over again - it had driven you almost mad. Now, you were allowed to see him, and it all felt so surreal. 

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed your nerves and stepped inside. 

-

The rhythmic humming and beeping of machines filled the otherwise silent room, and as you laid your eyes upon the figure on the bed you felt a wave of emotions overwhelm you. Relief, shock, worry, guilt, happiness, sadness, all swirling around like a chemical cocktail. You stepped forward with legs that felt like lead and stopped at the end of the bed, resting a hand on the frame and just looking at him. Taking him all in. 

Tony Stark, the symbol of strength and durability, lay bruised and broken before you, tucked beneath a crisp white hospital blanket. A multitude of wires snaked out from beneath the cover, attached to various machines that monitored who knew what - all that mattered was that they were keeping him stable. The beeping of the heart monitor was like a symphony to your ears, reassuring you that he was okay, he was alive. After everything that had happened, Tony Stark was alive. 

A single tear rolled down your cheek as the weight of the situation hit you. It could so easily have gone the other way. Using the gauntlet against Thanos should have killed him, the power in the stones more than any human could endure, yet somehow, against all odds, he'd survived. For once in your life, you were grateful for his stubbornness. 

"Are you gonna stare at me this whole time or are you actually gonna say something?" Tony's voice cut through the silence, weak but still filled with his usual sarcasm, and you jumped at the sudden sound, blushing in embarrassment for getting caught staring. You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes and came closer to sit beside him. 

"I thought you were asleep," you said softly, voice threatening to break. 

"That's even creepier," he remarked, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes with a smirk. 

"Nice to see you still have your crappy sense of humour," you teased, causing him to pout. 

"Hey, you're supposed to be nice to me, I almost died." 

"Really? You're playing that card already?" It was surprising how easy it was to fall back into your old habit of swapping banter - it made the current situation a lot easier to deal with, which you suspected was exactly why Tony was doing it. The serious talk would come later, when he was ready, but for now you were happy to lean on humour as a coping mechanism. 

"Just tell me, how's the face? Because that's the real money maker."

You took the opportunity to really look at him, heart sinking as your eyes trailed over every bruise and cut and scar - reminders of what he'd been through. He looked a mess, but it was a relief to see that the impish glint was still in his eyes. 

"Well, you're not gonna get any calls from Vogue anytime soon, but it'll do," you shrugged, unable to stifle a giggle. 

"Ouch!" He gasped, holding a hand to his heart. 

A heavy silence followed and you found yourself struggling for what to say next. When Tony’s hand touched yours you looked up to meet his eye. 

"I'm okay," he reassured, squeezing your hand. "I'm okay." 

You shared a smile as your eyes filled with more tears, and you finally allowed the emotions you’d been holding back to break through. 

"I was so scared," you breathed, inching closer and gripping his hand tighter. "I thought we'd lost you." 

It seemed wrong that he was the one who'd almost died yet you were the one sitting there crying, but now that you'd started you couldn't stop, as sobs ripped through you and the tears just kept coming. Tony did his best to comfort you, rubbing circles into the palm of the hand he was still holding and encouraging you to let it all out. He'd been through hell, but he could only imagine what it must have been like for his friends to witness it all unfold. 

"You could've just said if I looked that bad, you know." 

"Shut up," you giggled through your tears, taking a series of breaths to help calm down. 

"You know, there's something I realised while I was busy thinking I was dead…”

"Yeah? What's that?" 

"We may be a bunch of superheroes with fancy technology and the best gadgets money can buy, but it only takes one crazy guy, high on power, to bring it all crashing down." 

"I'd really rather not think about that just yet." 

"Sorry, it's just...I nearly died, and of all the things in my life I've messed up or regretted, not getting this off of my chest would have been my biggest mistake." 

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, sitting straighter in your chair in preparation for what he had to say. 

"When I thought it was over and was heading towards the light - yeah, it's real - I didn't see God or St Peter or any other bearded guy waiting for me...I saw you," 

"What?" 

He nodded, "I was done, Y/N. I was ready to die. I knew all along that's how it was going to end, and I'd accepted that. I was sick of fighting, just delaying the inevitable. I was ready to go, but then, right at the end, I saw you, and I remembered why I'd been fighting so hard in the first place." 

You weren’t entirely sure where this was going, but your heart beat just that little bit faster in anticipation anyway. 

It was no lie that you’d harboured feelings for Tony over the years, but you'd never once expected that he might actually feel the same. It was much easier to bury it away than admit how you felt about someone with his reputation. 

"I couldn't leave without telling you how I really felt. Because it's you, Y/N, it's always been you - you've set me straight when I've lost my way, you've pulled me back from the edge more times than I can count. You've stopped me getting carried away, going overboard. You've always been there making sure I stayed on the right path, and I guess I wasn't ready to admit it before but, I kinda liked the thought of you having my back. I guess nearly dying puts things into perspective, but I just know that I couldn't leave without telling you how I really feel." 

You stared, dumbfounded, as he babbled on. "Tony, what are you trying to say?" 

At this point you were pretty sure your heart had stopped beating altogether, that familiar knot of anxiety twisting in your chest again. He took a deep breath as he carefully contemplated his next words.

"I love you, Y/N. I've loved you for a long time, but I never wanted to admit it because I knew that if I did it would mean it was real. I've spent so many years building this persona, wrapping myself up in a safety blanket and hiding away from my emotions. I didn’t want to just lay everything out for the world to see and make myself vulnerable." 

"But. You're Tony Stark." 

"I'm aware of that, yes."

"You're one of the biggest names in the world. You're important. I'm just a nobody."

"You're not a nobody, Y/N. Not to me."

Tears filled your eyes again but this time for a completely different reason. You couldn't deny that you hadn't thought about this moment from time to time, imagining how it might feel if he were to feel the same, but now that he was actually confessing it, it didn't feel real. 

"It's always been you," he repeated, cupping a hand to your cheek and swiping a tear away with his thumb. 

"Oh, Tony," you whimpered, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes. It felt so good to feel his warm palm against your skin, as though his hands had been made just to hold you. When he moved to tilt your chin up you opened your eyes, finding him already looking at you with an affectionate smile. 

"Does this mean it's okay to kiss you?" He asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. Without another word, you leaned forward and closed the gap between you, pressing the most gentle of kisses to his lips in fear of hurting him. He hummed in content and ran his free hand through your hair, holding you close for just a little longer. 

When you parted, Tony rested his forehead against yours, the two of you closing your eyes and relishing this quiet moment between you. You weren’t sure when you’d get another, knowing the others would be here soon now that he was awake.   

"You're not just saying you love me so that I smuggle you in some cheeseburgers are you?" You asked after a while, pulling away to look at him with a raised eyebrow. 

"No, but is that a request I can make?"

"Well, I don’t want to get caught,” you thought aloud, tapping a finger on your chin for added effect. “But I can get Happy to pick some up for you. That way my hands stay clean.” 

Tony grinned, the mischief in his eyes mirroring yours.

"That genius thinking is just one of the many reasons why I love you," he grinned, pulling you closer for another chaste kiss.