#lies im still fucking FREEZING inside buildings

[blondepomeranian]

the only benefit to it being 90 fucking degrees in september is that I can swear my spooky t-shirt and not be cold.

[divinesolas]

lies and sneaking

summary; requested: you are sick of being stuck inside the stone hedge walls and decide to sneak out. You end up running into the worst man you know but it leads to a lot more.

fancast!benjicot blackwood x bracken!reader

w.c: 1.4k

c.w: fluff, minor angst, twin!aeron bracken, minor smut, benjicot is annoying, not proofread

perm benjicot taglist: @lyssaluvs @yeolsbubbles @lenasvoid @at-a-rax-ia @poppyflower-22 @helpyourself-9 @kiraflowersworld @randomgurl2326 @valdezthg @mysticmusicinkpop @tiredsleepyhead @secretf1lms @hardkiddonut @hydrxxxmrti @stlzking @smh-anon @shootinqstars101 @charvsz @helo1281917

you were giddy that you had even managed to sneak out of the castle at all. despite the late hour the town seemed to be as alive as ever and you could barely believe it.

But you got careless and weren’t paying attention until you bumped into somebody’s back. “oh my gods i am so sorry.” the guy turns around and waves his hands, “no no its,,,” his face drops and you freeze upon seeing him “bracken.” benjicot blackwood. Of course you had to run into him. he was the fucking worst. always tormenting you and your brother, not that you never tormented him back, you all were stuck in this endless hateful loop.

you shush him and look around desperately praying nobody heard him. “please just act like you never saw me.” you try to move away from him but he grips your arm and pulls you into his chest and peers down at you a large grin. “oh i dont think so.” you try to pull away from him but he keeps an arm firmly wrapped around you. “what would your dear old daddy think about his precious little baby sneaking out to town to do gods know what.”

you huff and manage to shake your way out of his arms and hiss at him, “if i am going to get caught i might as well make the most out of it.” you turn away and just pray he truly does not knock on your fathers door and tell him you were here. you thought that would be the last of it and you would not see him again but you hear footsteps trailing behind you and you stop and the footsteps stop too.

you turn around and glare at him while he still has that mischievous grin on his face. “what do you want?” his smirk cant seem to leave his face, “im merely making sure the pretty little pampered princess makes it around okay, wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” you tsk and turn away from him, “fine follow me i dont care.”

you walk for awhile merely looking around the town. “you have no clue where to go huh?” you groan and turn around to him throwing your hands up with annoyance. “yes okay i have no clue where im going i just want to have a little fun but the only place i ever go into town is to the bookstore with aeron but i doubt that would be any fun right now.” you scratch your head in frustration. he takes a step closer to you and you step back, “i can show you somewhere fun.”

You want to say no that he should just go fuck off and leave you alone. but you’re sure he knows a good place to go. is he even trust worthy? no he definitely is not. “fine.” you still cant help but accept his offer and he grabs your forearm and begins to pull you along with him. you almost want to ask him where hes taking you but you dont get the chance before he walks you into a building and you’re immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol and sweat.

you cough lightly into your fist but he just pulls you against him and continues to walk along. “why are we here?” “where else are we supposed to have fun hmm? you have any ideas?” when you say nothing he hums, “thats what i thought.” when he walks up to the counter and buys the two of you a bottle you take the opportunity to look around the place. It was packed, bodies at every corner and turn, you can see people dancing and turn your head when you see a couple in the corner having way too much fun. suddenly you feel a hand on your ass and turn to look at the guy and he just grins at you.

Benjicot sudden pushes the guy on his chest and glares at him. “get the fuck away from her.” the guy runs away at benjicot’s hard stare and deep voice and you place a hand on your chest to calm your racing heart. you dont know what has your heart racing, the fear or the fact that ben had gotten protective over you.

you shake the feeling from your head you shouldn’t be thinking like that. he is a blackwood for god’s sake. He pulls you to a darker corner of the room and sits you down next to him. pouring you a cup of the ale. The two of you just sit and chat for a while, you hate to admit it but he is good company, hes funny, he pays attention when you talk.

The more and more you drink and the closer and closer you sit next to each other. you don’t know who makes the move first, you think it was him or maybe that was your brain denying it had been you but neither of you reject the action. you grab the collar of his tunic and he grabs your hips, placing you on his lap. his fingers reach down and touch parts of you you never dared to. biting onto the fabric on his neck as your legs quiver from your peak.

Your peak brings a sort of clarity and guilt and dread washes over you as you can feel benjicots hardening cock on your thigh. so you run. you run and run until you can see your home back into view. you cannot believe you had done that and you would never forget it, how could you be so stupid? but as you toss and turn in bed you want to regret it but you cant. you want to see him again. but he’ll probably never want anything to do with you since you ran out on him. this is as it should be you remind yourself you two are supposed to hate each other.

you hope to let yesterday be nothing more than a memory as you tend to the cattle in the afternoon. you hear footsteps approaching and you turn around a smile at the sight of your brother. “brother i…” your words trail off as you see the furious look on his face, “aeron?” “were you in a brothel with benjicot blackwood last night?” you freeze. how could he have found out? “what,, what are you talking about?” you try to laugh it off as a joke but he just glares at you. “answer me.” you shrug as you begin to sweat, “no, that’s ridiculous.” “then why have i been informed you two were seen together last night?”

You feel heat crawling up every inch of your body. you did not want to lie to him but you certainly could not tell him the truth. “i was at the establishment and he let me sit as his table thats all.” “what in the hells were you doing there?” “i am locked here everyday with nothing to do i just wanted to see what it was like brother!”

You can see him having an internal conflict at your words. you want him to believe you. to drop this all in its entirety and move on. but he hardens up and he looks you in the eyes. “did benjicot blackwood touch you?” you straighten up and grab his hands, “no of course he did not aeron.” he turns his head away slight. you can tell he does not believe you and you heart aches, you love your brother but you cannot admit to him the truth.

“Benjicot Blackwood never touched me; I swear this to you, upon the memory of our mother!”

You know its a bad move to bring up your mother, his face completely softens at her mention. he has not been himself since she passed but you know its the one thing to get him to believe you. and he does he nods, “i believe you. im sorry for believing such rumors.” you pull him into a hug and stare out into the distance as he wraps his arms around you. you feel like absolute shit but at least it was over and that was that.

At least until later that day lord blackwood and benjicot show up at your father’s door and you find out benjicot had asked for your hand.

[toons-and-doom]

(This the response for @asilikesshit I accidentally deleted the ask- I think it was along the lines of like, a hypothetical real dandy world episode but it’s corrupted due to being in a tape for awhile, dandy’s world being lost media, and like- dandy transforming for the first time? )

Imagine if the episode starts out normal but as time progresses the episode gets weirder and weirder until it’s nearly unrecognizable (hehehe parallels to twisted go brrrrr)

Tbh I wanna eventually get around to exploring dandy’s world through a lost media thing. After gardenview closes, all the episodes are pulled off the air and all merch is discontinued. Since this is the early 2000s it’s not recorded well and now in the modern day very few peices of media exist including the toons-

Now Onto dandy

Cw for body horror, emetophobia, gore of the skin variety, and potentially bad writing I felt a lil snazzy and did this all in one day. Its also kinda rambley and there is NO planning plus im tired af

TLDR; It wasn’t fun to say the least. It was a little gross to

No 2nd reading or beta read either we die like the toon handlers probably did

Sorry if this is ooc, and dandy is fucked up when twisted in cannon when I finally design him I’m gonna try and make him make sense so he doesn’t right here

Anyways thank you to my pals on discord for giving me ideas

Now I can finally sleep

Enjoy :3

The first time it happened it hurt. It hurt like hell.

Dandy should have paid attention to how that off feeling had been building up the last few days. Maybe he should haven’t gotten so worked up about this whole ichor operation- Astro was gonna be quiet and none of the others knew. Not that he could help it. If he were to be caught the consequences would have been heavy- perhaps he would have gotten rewritten and redrawn entirely.

Maybe he should have been more cautious and not gotten some ichor onto himself.

Maybe he shouldn’t have then proceeded to continue on with his experiments with said ichor.

One second, dandy had been going back to his resting quarters, taking the long as to avoid any employees which still remain. The next, he’s suddenly doubled over on the floor, his hands having barely caught himself. He shivered. It was like he had been dunked in cold water, a feeling which only intensified as he inhaled shakily.

Dandy tried to will himself to get up, yet his limbs felt painfully stiff, uncoordinated. He gave up getting up when his hands nearly gave out and he’s almost sent face first into the floor. He initially wonders if he had come down with something, but something this intense doesn’t come on this suddenly.. unless-?

Something is pushing its way out up Dandy’s throat. It somehow both burns and freezes his insides. Now dandy’s wondering if it’s something he ate- food poisoning maybe? no, it can’t be that, the only thing he ate today was a cupcake sprout made. Sprout usually made edible food.

Dandy gagged as whatever his body was rejecting oh so violently finally began to choke him. His hands gave out, leaving himself only propped up by his elbows as he heaved. When that something finally did come out, thankfully it seemed to come out all at once. Something about it felt fundamentally wrong but dandy couldn’t exactly tell what- his body gasping for breath. Once dandy could begin to focus again would he begin to dare at whatever caused such a reaction and-

Oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t bile. Or food.

That was ichor.

He knew his little hobby was eventually going to catch up to him- but not this soon.

Dandy mustered the strength to pull himself away from the ichor, now he lied on his back. He knew far too well what pure ichor did to somebody. Just a little bit of it killed humans. It needed to be diluted to be safe for them. While toons like himself could get closer than a human ever could, it wasn’t a good idea.

Strange enough, the cold sensation is beginning to fade, but it’s rapidly being replaced by burning instead. Perhaps ichor brought fever along with it-?

Dandy is brought back to reality as his tongue brushed up against something sharp. A shakey hand comes up to his mouth, and he feels his teeth. In a second he withdrew his hand, a small cut leaking ichor onto the mitten like appendage.

Oh god.

What is he supposed to do-? He’s heard of toons who explode when exposed to pure ichor- is this a symptom you experience before exploding-?!

Think dandy- you can’t die right now- think!

Water. He needs to get water. Dilute the ichor inside him. Yeah. There’s gotta be a sink nearby- maybe if he’s sneaky he can pretend none of this happened!

With newfound determination, dandy pushed himself up onto his feet. Doing such a thing was near impossible considering how uncoordinated he is- and he had to hold onto the wall to stabilize himself. He looks to his right. The door wasn’t that far- he just needed to find water-

So he took a step.

And another

And another

Each step felt like he was walking on hot coals, and dandy couldn’t help but notice how difficult it was getting to remain upright. With each step the wall became more and more of a godsend. He couldn’t help but whine, he’s not used to this kind of pain at all. He tries to power through it as best he can, even as he notices how he seemed almost taller.

He could not ponder this, one misplaced step has sent him back to the ground. He was only barely able to shield his face from impact. He tried to get up once more, less out of determination and more out of a desperate attempt to survive. His legs simply did not cooperate with him, limp but not numb.

Dandy would have opted to crawl, but a morbid curiosity overtakes him. He turns his head, and he nearly wants to throw up.

He doesn’t think his feet are supposed to bend like that. He doesn’t think they are supposed to be that long either. His ankle isn’t supposed to be that high, nor his arch that long. While toons are naturally stretchy, dandy could feel his skin beginning to give way to the sudden growth, unable to adapt at such a rapid pace. He could begin to see a black coating underneath. He doesn’t think muscles look like that either.

The shape vaguely reminds him of a animal’s leg,

Dandy quickly turns his head around. Change in plans- he needs to find an employee. To hell with his plan of secrecy- he’d rather have at least a chance at living! He screams out for help, for anyone really, his handler, one of the employees, he’d even take up his chances with a janitor at this point.

His voice echos across the halls, and he doubts anyone hears him.

So now he crawls towards the door, though it is less crawling and more so just dragging his body against the cold tile floor. He could downright feel the skin throw thinner and thinner.

Snap!

Something slid off his foot.

Dandy already knew what it was. He was already shrieking- hands grasping onto his petals for any semblance of comfort. His hands could only remain on the petals for so long before even that became painful.

Focus. He needed to get help-

Thus, he dragged himself forward like a wounded animal escaping an inevitable fate. The door was so close now- he just needs muster the willpower to get up and reach-

It was only now dandy is beginning to realize the sorry state of his hands. His thumbs were slowly being shriveled up to the point of being absolutely useless. He could feel something lurking just under the flesh of his hands- not like the ichor which coats his body under his skin. It does not stretch his skin until it snaps, rather, it slices through the skin rather effortlessly- a much more merciful agony but still agony nonetheless.

…

Dandy now has three sharp digits on each hand, slowly twitching as he holds one hand up to his face. Each digit represents a color of the rainbow, like his petals…

Maybe dandy would have found it cute if he didn’t feel like he was dying.

… at least now that’s the worst of his problems. The pain from his feel was beginning to subside, and he could tolerate the horrors his hands are undergoing, he might be fine if he can just-

…

it’s like he’s getting too large for his skin. All at once, it’s like he’s tripled in size. The strain is far too much to bear- and dandy is completely lost in the agony and haze beginning to engulf him.

Bones shatter. Skin tears like ribbons

Dandy’s very likeness, torn to shreds, a monster left in its place.

He wants to wake up. He wants to hug pebbles tightly right now. He wants to see the others- he wants to see Astro-

But no. This is his punishment by some sick god.

By the time it is over, dandy does not have the strength to continue, and collapses.

…

The monster comes to, and it quickly gets on its feet. The fluorescents above it hurt its red eyes, and it squints. It appears to be in a hallway of some sort. How it got there does not matter to it.

Not much matters to it. Besides a simple instruction; kill those not like it.

And thank god it can hear someone coming.

~~~

He’s okay guys he’ll learn how to change himself back and learn how to be conscious during the whole thing.

Now I can finally rest

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[sunsinrinn]

Secrets Part 8.

Bakugo x reader, Bakugo x Uraraka, Kirishima x Reader

Fluff- ish, language, angst

Word Count: 1,520

Idea: Y/n has a secret to share with bakugo not expecting a secret from him. She leaves heart broken and attempts to move on. But how will she move on if her secret can no longer be hidden? She fakes a relationship hoping its enough to not expose the true origin of the secret. (This is a terrible summary but I cant say much without spoiling future parts. 🙃)

Earlier,

Kirishima was walking to the cafe to meet up with Bakugo. God he hoped Bakugo was actually wanting to apologize. He hated that he hated him. He wished he could hate him, but being his best friend for years, and *maybe* wanting to be more than friends with him just make it impossible to hate him. Yes, he was furious for treating you like he did because he loved you too.

When he arrives at the cafe, he takes a deep breath before entering. When he’s inside he looks for him but cant find him. Not until he sees a hobo looking man with oddly familiar hairstyle. He approaches Bakugo and notices he was not in the best place, mentally and physically.

“Bakugo” kirishima’s voice is soft but still causes Bakugo to jump.

“Oh its you Kirishima.”

“Yeah, what did you want to talk about?”

“Right to the point I see...

I- I just want to apologize for the pain Uraraka and I caused Y/n-“

“Shouldn’t you be saying this to Y/n?”

“I- yes but I wanted to talk to you first... Look, the day of the baby shower after I left I saw Uraraka fucking another guy in my house.”

“Seems like you got what you deserve then. Is this why you’re apologizing?”

“Kirishima! Let me fucking talk shitty hair”

“Fine. Continue.”

“THANK YOU! Anyways, I yell at her to leave and before she does, she said something about manipulating me into cheating on y/n. I asked how she did it but she said it was a secret. I was confused because i don’t fucking remember being manipulated in any way. But anyway, She said she only slept with me to hurt Y/n. And then she was the anonymous tip that told the news and everyone y/n was cheating on me. To hurt her.”

“Wait- URARAKA WAS THE LEAK-“ Kirishima looks pissed of as hell.

“Yes, and I did not know anything about it. After she left I fell into a depression.” Bakugo looks embarrassed to admit that.

“Shit Bakugo, is that why you look like shit?”

“I don’t look like shit, thank you very much.”

“You do.” Kirishima feels bad for Bakugo, and without thinking he asks,

“Why don’t you come live with us for a while?”

Bakugo looks taken aback and hesitates.

“Are you sure Y/N would even want me there?”

“I don’t know... but I doubt she would refuse you, especially in your state.”

Bakugo looks conflicted about the offer but finally speaks up.

“I’ll go... but only if she agrees first.” Bakugo says in hopes to be able to talk to you and apologize and take him back. No, you won’t you have Kirishima...

Kirishima, the man who stuck with him through thick and thin, until he didn’t. He really did miss you and he also missed his best friend. He knew that if he never knew you, he would have dated Kirishima, but Kirishima doesn’t like guys. And now he has you and his kid.

Kirishima nods and nervously dials your number.

When you pick up both men perk up at your voice,

“Hello? Kirishima? What’s up?”

“Hey Y/N! How was the appointment? Is Mina there? MINA WHATS THE GENDER?”

“IM NOT TELLING YOUR ASS ANYTHING, KIRISHIMA! YOU KNOW THAT!”

You laugh and shake your head, “What’s up Kiri, why’d you call?”

He’s silent and sighs, and he hears your voice ask nervously,

“Kiri?”

“Y/n.. I need to ask something of you.”

He hears silence and thinks you’ve hung up but soon hear a response,

“What is it?” You ask shakily fearing the worst.

“I- I don’t know how to phrase this but I finished talking to Bakugo.”

“How’d that go.”

“Well he told me a few things. And he does not look like he is in a good place right now...”

“Oh no...” he hears sadness in your voice.

“And I suggested him live with us for a while....”

He hears your hushed voice talking to someone else, who he assumes is Mina.

After a minute of silence he hears you speak up again and Bakugo listens closely for your response.

“Kiri... I- I- yeah, its fine...” you sound unsure.

“Y/n if you dont want him there you can say so...”

“No no, its fine...”

Bakugo’s face falls at her answer sensing how sad and unsure you sound.

“T-thank you so much Y/n” Bakugo says.

There’s silence but again you speak up, “Y-yeah anytime.”

“I gotta go Kirishima. I’ll see you and Bakugo when you both get home then”

“Bye y/n, love you and see you soon. Tell Mina I said good bye as well”

You hum in response and hang up.

Kirishima and Bakugo get up and leave the cafe and head to Bakugo’s house to pick up a few things.

When Kirishima enters his house, he notices how overwhelmingly pink it is, “I didn’t know you liked pink...”

“I hate the fucking color. That bitch decorated the house like this.”

“Oh, okay. Well if you want me to help you pack a few bags?”

“Sure, make yourself useful”

Kirishima sighs but goes into the bedroom and helps him pack clothes.

After a moment of silence Bakugo speaks up

“Thank you.”

Kirishima looks up confused and bakugo elaborates more

“Thank you for hearing me out and taking me in”

“Oh- yeah anytime”

“Did- did taking me in bother y/n?”

Kirishima thinks for a while before answering,

“I don’t think she was bothered but more taken aback by the news.”

Bakugo hums, “You asked about the gender of the baby?”

“Oh yeah- Mina and her were going today to find out the gender but Mina won’t tell us. She’s hosting a gender reveal party. But only because she wants to one up Izuku and Shoto, since they’re the god parents.”

Bakugo nods sad that you’re building a life with out him. He really misses you and misses Kirishima.

After finishing packing they head home. Bakugo pays close attention to where they turn so he remembers where you live and sees the apartments right ahead.

As they reach the apartment and walk inside, it looks two times bigger than it should.

“Oh yeah, forgot to mention, we knocked down the wall separating mine and her apartment so now its one huge apartment.”

Bakugo just nods and stares at you as you come out of the kitchen. He notices your wobbling a bit and thinks again about how you’re way to big to only be 4-5 months pregnant, but that would mean you were pregnant with his child.

“Hey guys. Do you guys want anything specific for dinner?” You ask maintaining eye contact with Kirishima.

“Um, I don’t know yet, Bakugo?”

“Huh- oh whatever you guys want...”

You purse your lips but speak again, “Here then, I’ll help take your things to your room”

As you reach for his bags he pulls them away, you glare and Kirishima hands you a bag, “Best not argue or resist against her Bakugo. She’s in the mood swing stage” Kirishima jokes and you send him a fake glare.

“Wow- Kirishima so fucking mean.”

You grab the bag and head to Bakugo’s room. Both follow you and notice you had already fixed up the room for him to his liking. You set the bag down on the bed and head out.

“I’m going to lay down for a bit Kiri, and then I’ll start dinner.”

“Take your time babe”

Both men begin to unpack and put away Bakugo’s things and once they finish they smell food and head out to see you setting the plate down.

“Good, you both are here. Dinners ready.”

They are about to sit but you stop them. “Did any of you wash your fucking hands?”

The look on their face as they get up and clean up is hilarious

As soon as they are done, the three of you sit and eat in silence.

After dinner you pick up the dishes but Bakugo insists on cleaning them as a thank you, you finally relent and sit on the couch with Kirishima. Once Bakugo finishes he lets you both know he is retiring to bed.

As soon as he walks out, you look over at Kirishima when he clears his throat.

As soon as Bakugo heard kirishima clear his throat he stands still and listened to what they were saying.

“So, Y/N does it bother you that he is here?”

You stay silent for a while before answering with a simple no.

“Y/n, are you sure? I can always tell when something is wrong...”

“It doesn’t bother me Kiri, I’m just afraid he will find out the fucking truth. I mean its not long before i POP out the kid. He will know that I lied about how far along I am... I don’t want him to know he is the fucking father-“ you says kinda loudly.

“I get it y/n, but he looked so vulnerable and alone, I couldn’t leave him like that...”

“I know baby, I wouldn’t either...”

Bakugo freezes when he hears your words

‘IT’S MY FUCKING KID SHE IS CARRYING’

SERIES MASTERLIST — Part 9

A/N- three chapters in one day? Granted, one was supposed to be posted yesterday, but anyways- i HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER. I hope you guys tell me what you think- its spicy- anyways

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts or future works dont hesitate to dm, ask, or comment! I hope you guys had a lovely day today! Also if you asked to be tagged and I didnt tag you send me a dm so I can fix it :)

@hero-ink-pillar , @silentw-lkr , @ushiwakatrash , @purple-rabanito , @chaelysian , @puppycat714 , @fake-id-69 , @adaydreaminganon , @jessie9008 , @sam-i-am-1025 , @purple--nebula , @curiouslilbeast , @httpswwwtbhkcom , @setup-the-ace

[world-of-aus]

Behind the Screen - (Part 7)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 

Warnings: 18+

Author’s Note: Is anyone else confused on there days, because i literally thought today was Monday and i thought i was on schedule only to realize it was actually wednesday! So sorry for the delay, i’m debating moving around the day updates for Behind the Screen to Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday & Family Matter’s will be Monday, Wednesday and i’m also aiming for Fridays, im thinking if i make this change it may help me feel caught up! With finishin up our year, and being a fulltime mom updates are a little hard, but im trying! As always tag-list are still open for both BTS & FM, so if you’d like to be added just send me a message or ask. Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying the work i put out!

Part 6 / SERIES MASTERLIST

“How bad is it?” Bucky groaned head resting in your battered hands.

“I’m pretty sure it’s broken, I don’t think I can set this,” you sighed gnawing on your bottom lip in worry as you assessed his injured nose, “Buck I really think we should get you to med bay, why didn’t you go there first before coming here, I'm not a medical professional.” You muttered applying more pressure to the soaked cotton hanging from his nostrils.

“take my nose between your fingers will you,” he grunted nasally.

Bucky was having trouble breathing, through his more than likely broken bloodied nose, the hot air from his mouth fanning over the palms of your hands where they rested on his cheek, “buck seriously this is broken, let me get you down to m-”

His fingers looped into the tops of your leggings, pulling you into the slot between his tense thighs, “stop with the med bay, I'm not going and you're not taking me,” he wheezed, “set it for me, you do it to Steve all the time,” he murmured.

You stared at the bloodied man before you in bewilderment, “Buck that was once and it was his shoulder, we’re talking about your nose here,” you voiced exasperatedly, “what if I break it more than you’ve already managed to do!”

“Sweetheart,” he grunted, the word going straight through you, “will you just straighten it up, I can’t fucking breathe.”

You knew you shouldn’t, but you also knew how stubborn Bucky could be when he was this badly messed up after a mission, and man was his brooding showing through, and where there was brooding his stubbornness was sure to be as well. There was just simply no arguing, you would be here longer than needed if you didn’t just do what he was asking.

“count of three?” you questioned.

He nodded his head, his fingers holding onto your waist as he pulled you in a little closer, “alright,” you took a breath, “one, two, th-” your thumbs pressed into the sides of his noise, fingers pushing on his nose, a crack sounding below your fingers as you pushed it back into place.

“Son of a bitch!” he growled, “what the fuck doll, I said three!” he grunted his fingers pressing harder into your skin sure to leave a mark. His head fell to your shoulder, his breathing labored, “Buck had I counted to three you probably would have moved away at the last second.”

“I wouldn’t have, should have just done it myself,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped past your lips, “m’sorry buck, but if you had gone to med bay like Steve had advised when you guys landed instead of catching me in the hallway maybe they would have been gentler with you,”

Bucky lifted his head up from your shoulder then, “maybe I wanted you to be the one to tend to me, have you not read those types of fics of mine?” he questioned a teasing tone to his voice.

Laughter fell from your lips, “I'm regretting ever letting you find out, I mean how long has it been now and you still tease me about it?”

A low chuckle fell from Bucky’s lips as his eyes looked over your face, you felt so exposed in that moment, “Wouldn’t say I'm teasing you in that way doll, but I am teasing you in another way,” he replied his voice dropping to a whisper.

You cocked your head, eyebrow raised, “Buck” you warn, “don’t you star-”

His hands are cupping your face then, thumb running over your lips silencing you. He’s staring at you in a way that has your heart stalling in your chest, your knees going weak. He’s leaning forward then, bringing you in closer, his breath ghosting over your parted lips.

His name falls from your lips in a silent whisper, his lips close the distance between the two of you. The kiss is slow, un-rushed like the two of you had time. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, coaxing you to let him in. Your fingers are curling, looking for something to bury themselves in, you push further into his open legs your hands sliding up his chest where they weave their way into his long locks. You’re pushed against his warm broad chest, lips magnetically drawn to his as your tongues continue to dance, delicate moans spilling from your lips into his.

The need for air becomes too much in the wake of your heated kiss as you draw your head back, a gasp falling from your lips as you suck in a lung full of air. Bucky nuzzles your neck then, placing delicate kisses along your awaiting skin. His hands have found their way to your hips, fingers gliding along the hem of your shirt slipping under to feel the soft skin that lays there. Your hands still weaved in his hair, are pulling his head back to you, your lips connecting with his again. The kiss is not like the first, this one is fiery, demanding, your senses having been clouded over with want, a need building up within.  

He speaks your name into your lips, you heart fluttering wildly in your chest from the sound, never had your name sounded so wonderful falling from someone’s lips as they did his. Your leaning in again when three sharp knocks to your door have you both jumping apart from one another,  

“y/n,” Steve's voice calls out, your head falls against the wall, a silent groan falling from your lips.

“is Bucky still with you, he’s needed for a debriefing,” his muffled voice adds through your closed door.

From where your leaning against the wall, your eyes look over to Bucky his face unreadable, and you wonder if Steve has managed to do it yet again. A gentle sigh leaves your lips as you push off from the wall, “Just finished Steve,” you lied not daring to look in Bucky’s direction, “I’ll send him right out to you,”  

No words are spoken as you move around Bucky’s unmoving form from where he sits on your bathroom vanity.  You can feel his eyes on you as you pick up the bloodied cotton and wrappers thrown around him. You want to say something, but your words are failing you, all that you can think to speak is “Steve’s waiting Buck, you should go before he comes looking for you again,” you murmured continuing to clean the already clean counter. The sigh that leaves Bucky’s lips has you looking up at him, your breath catches in your throat at the storm on Bucky’s face. Not wanting to stick around to be caught in it, you did the only thing you could think to do in that moment, you walked away to busy yourself and your racing thoughts.

Bucky wants to reach out to you the second he sees your face falter, he wants to stop you, make you stay, tell Steve to fuck off, but he knows you, he knows what you’re doing inside that head of yours. So he lets you go, let’s you walk away from him, even though he wants nothing more than to pull you back into his arms. Walking out your door to go to the debriefing with Steve was the last thing that he wanted to do.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you while Steve babbles away of the disarray of today’s mission, but he can’t get you out of his mind. Bucky’s mind is solely on you, on how you look, feel, everything about you, and he’ll be damned if he gets an earful from Steve on not being focused, which it does.

Bucky can’t get out of the meeting room quick enough, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before he does so as to not throw them off when they see him run off in the other direction. He’s quick to walk the halls, feet pounding down the slick tile like a man on a mission.

He stops in front of the door, his mind and heart racing wondering if he should just turn around, tuck tail, and go back to his room. He doesn’t want to though, he wants to put himself out there, he wants to put himself in arms reach for you, he wants to do these things with you, he wants you. He doesn’t allow himself to over think as he turns the doorknob, pushing your door open.

Bucky freezes door open midway as he spots you standing in the middle of the room a single white towel wrapped around your wet skinned form. Your eyes are wide, finger clutching the towel tightly, his name is falling from your lips but he doesn’t quiet register it in the haze of his mind. He’s moving forward then, the door swinging closed behind him, as his feet carry him to you.

“Bucky,” you whisper in question stumbling back slightly from the intensity of his gaze. He’s watching you, the rise and fall of your chest, you shouldn’t have this effect on him, but you do. He draws closer to you, his hand rising up to push your damp hair from your face, his fingers curling behind your head, keeping you there. The smell of your body wash lingers on your skin, the scent of coffee and coconut tickling his nose. He’s pushed against you now, his body turning yours as he backs you up into your bed. The back of your legs hit the bed first, your form stumbling, Bucky's hands are gripping the towel as it falls from your body, your back hitting your sheets.

Your cheeks are burning as you look up at him like a deer caught in head lights, your hands scrambling for your sheets to cover your naked form, but Bucky’s voice stops you.

“buck what are you-” he silences you with a finger to his lips. His stare alone causes a shiver to roll up your spine, his gaze predatory.

“buck” you try again.

There’s too many things going on through his mind, he needs to calm himself before he does something he might regret, “fuck” he whispers his eyes trailing your naked form, you’re so beautiful he thinks as he eyes rake over your curves.

“Buck,” you repeat, your eyes looking at him with concern, he can see your restraint in leaning up to check on him, the caution. He's swooping down then, his body fitting over yours, pushing you deeper into the mattress below you. He's caught you off guard, an audible gasping falling from your lips, his head is ducking down, tongue trailing your clavicle, drawing a low moan from you. He braces himself with his left hand, his thighs slotting with yours as his right hand finds its way to your face, thumb tracing along the plump of your lower lip.

“Bucky,” you sigh, his name falling from your lips in a breathy drawn out plea.

“You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, his nose running along the underside of your chin, leaving a trail of open wet mouthed kisses, till his lips are finding yours. He lets himself relish in the sounds he pulls from you, the way you feel under him, saving it for later when he’s away from you, something that he can think back to. When he pulls his lips from yours, he can feel the rise and fall of your chest, your plump lips parted slightly, your warm breath fanning across his face.

He really can’t bring himself to look away from you, he had always thought you were beautiful, but having him underneath you like he did now, it was almost to much, almost.

“You know,” he murmurs “when I first went through the tag on my own after I had left your room that first night, I didn’t know what to think, but the more I read through some of these stories the writers wrote, I began to imagine myself doing these things, and do you want to know who I imagined myself doing them with?” he questions. Your nodding then, your breath hitching as you feel his right hand descend down the curves of your body, “you” he whispers, words ghosting over your lips, “I’ve imagined you in every possible scenario that was drawn out for me,” he murmurs nipping at your chin.

Your writhing; back arching as you feel his hand drift to where you need him, “I’ve pictured you on your knees for me, on your back legs spread, arched, as your hands drift down this beautiful body, finger dipping into your warm heat,” the statement is accompanied with his fingers dipping into the slick of you warmth, your mouth falling open in a gasp. “I have pictured you every time, and you never disappoint,” he grunts index finger circling your entrance before he’s dipping in your back arches head thrown back at the pleasure that surges through you.

Your making those noises Bucky loves to hear spill from your lips, the sweetest sounds bubbling from your throat. He’s adding a second finger, curling them in a beckoning motion, grinning against your skin, when he feels how your body reacts. He pushes in deeper, fingers curling quicker, “fuck” you breath out, and Bucky's grinning again knowing he’s found that sweet spot within you.

He loves to see you like this, loves to see how your body reacts to his. His lips are making their way up your face to find your lips, only for you to be seeking out his as well, the action causing you to jostle his nose slightly a low hiss falling from his lips. “Buck your nose,” you gasp breathily, “you really should have gone to med bay.” Bucky can’t help but chuckle, “you really want me to go to the med bay?” he questions his fingers curling again, causing your head to fall back into the sheets.  

“you know what would be better than med bay,” he murmurs kissing along your skin, “to see you come apart underneath me,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your skin, “you think you can do that for me angel, you think you could cum for me,” he questions huskily thumb swirling around your clit.

Your mouth falls open in a breathy moan, back arching as he builds you up, fingers thrusting faster, deeper, thumb swirling quicker, harder working you up to that immense pleasure only he can bring you. He feels the moment you fall over the edge, your pussy clenching around his fingers, a loud moan falling from your lips. He continues to thrust his fingers into you, only for you to reach down and take a hold of his hand halting his movements. He glances up at you through his lashes, a grin pulling at his lips as he pulls his finger from your wet slick.

You're watching through hooded eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. A shiver rolls through your body at the action, you don’t get the chance to utter the fuck that wants to escape your mouth with Bucky’s lips crashing onto yours. Bucky licks into your mouth, tongue tangling with yours, letting you taste yourself, a low moan falling from your lips.

“Bucky,” you moan tearing your spit slick lips from his, “please,” you plead.

And Bucky swears he’s never heard sweeter words than those that spill from your mouth, “what do you want sweetheart, tell me what you want,” he replies in a low whisper, his fingers trailing over your lips. He watches in awe as your tongue peeks out, licking the digit, your lips closing over it as you suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck look at you,” a moan falls from your lips, “the things I want to do to you,” he grunts, “I want to fuck you, fuck you so hard you won’t be able to leave this bed, be buried so deep inside of you that you’ll never forget what it feels like, would you like that, do you want me to fuck you?”  

“Yes please,” you moan, “please fuck me Bucky,” you beg.

Bucky growls low in his throat, his lips capturing yours in another heated kiss of teeth and tongue. You have no idea what you do to him, how riled up you get him. Your innocent to the reactions he has because of you, though he thinks you know with how hard he is in his tactical gear, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

Needing to feel your skin against his he slides off of you, a whine leaving your lips as your fingers reach out for him. You watch him peel his shirt off tossing it to the side, his hands going for his jeans next, but your hands are stopping him, pushing his hands away as you work the button and zipper off.   Your hands are hooking into the waistband of his jeans and boxers pulling them down swiftly, a low moan falls from your lips as his cock springs free from the right confines of his pants.

He’s kicking them off the rest of the way, his body covering yours once more. Your perfect he thinks, so fucking perfect, and you’re with him like this, in a way he never could have imagined having you. His hand is sliding down the side of your body where it hooks underneath your leg pulling till it’s wrapped around his waist his hips falling into place between your legs.

Bucky’s mind is hazy with pleasure,  as he feels every inch of you against his, like you were for him. “Fuck sweetheart,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips, “you’re so fucking wet, did I get you this wet?” He questions his cock nudging your clit.

A moan falls from your lips, “use your words sweetheart, did I make you this wet?” He grunts thrusting his lips shallowly  

“God yes,” you whine needing to feel more, “please Buck,”

“Please what, tell me what you want,” he whispers lips ghosting just over yours.

“Please fuck me, please I need to feel you,” you begged back arching, your chest pressing into his.

Bucky wastes no time as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, his hips thrusting forward, teeth gritting as your heat welcomes him. He stops when he’s fully sheathed, breath coming out labored, as you flutter around him, clenching. “Fuck sweetheart,” he grits, “feel so good around me,” he murmurs.

He pulls back to only the tip, before surging forward, the thrust jostling you beneath him, earning him a throaty groan of pleasure from you, “Fuck, yes,” you hiss, “please don’t stop,” you moan.

Bucky grins into your neck, nipping at your sweat slick skin, his thrusts are slow, hard, and deep, a buildup that has you writhing and whining just for him. Your fingers are winding through Buckys hair, tugging the harder his thrusts get. Your pulling his hair bringing his face to yours, your lips meeting his in a breathy kiss.

“Fuck right there, right fucking there,” you moan into his mouth when he changes the angle on you hitting that pleasurable spot within you.  

Bucky’s left-hand catches under your right thigh, lifting till it sits high up on his hip, it changes the angle further, a broken gasp falls from your lips as it drives him in deeper, “fuck it feels so good,” you groan, you feel so good,” you sob clenching around him.

Bucky wants to reiterate your exact words but with the way your warm wet heat is clenching around his aching cock, he can only manage a low moan of your name. Your it for him he thinks, the way you take him, the pleasure you bring him and he knows he can bring you; he doesn’t think he could ever go tired of this.

“Shit,” he breathes his hips slowing slightly, he wants to drag you out a little longer, wants to rebuild that pleasure. He moves again fucking up into the wet heat of your cunt, drawing low moans from you, your breath hitching as your pleasure builds up. Bucky feels spurred on as he continues to fuck into you, bringing you back to that sweet edge, he can tell your close by the way your pussy clenches around him, and he knows the thing to send you right over.

His left hand is leaving your thigh to slide in between your bodies, delving in the warmth of your heat, index finger seeking out that sweet little bundle of nerves.

“Come on baby,” he murmurs finger picking up speed around your aching clit, “i know you want to cum for me, are you going to cum for me?” he questions finger swiping a little quicker. Its enough to send your over the edge, as your body tenses, thighs shaking, low moans of pleasure ripping from your mouth.  

Fuck Bucky thinks, if that isn’t the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.  

His name is falling from your lips in a low chant, the pleasure is too much, you need him to cum, you want to feel him cum. And he does, he cums with his lips pressed to yours a low groan of pleasure falling from his lips and into yours as he loses the rhythm, his body thrumming with pleasure.

Your both laying there bodies lax, Bucky’s head nestled into your neck, your fingers absentmindedly running up and down his back drawing the occasional shiver from him. Its quiet, but its comfortable, you’re the first to speak up, “Bucky where did this come from you,” you murmured quietly.

He peeked his head up looking up at you, “you complaining,” he teased earning a laugh and a swat to the arm from you.

“No i’m not complaining but,” you paused mulling over your words, “it was just unexpected, I thought you might have been thrown off with Steve again,” your murmured looking away from him.

Bucky didn’t like that you did that, that you felt you needed to hide from him, “i told you I wanted to do these things with you, and I meant it,” he spoke taking your chin in his hand so your eyes would meet his again.

“so, is this part of the new agreement?” you questioned not really knowing what this new agreement had entailed since you and Bucky had never actually sat and talked about it.

“You could say that, there’s things I want to try and like I said, I only want to try them with you, if you don’t want to do this you can always tell me to just go and I won’t hold an of this against you,” though those were the words that had fallen from his lips, his mind was saying something entirely different. Bucky could only hope you would agree to this new agreement, because while he felt he couldn’t have you the way he really wanted if he could have you like this, well this would be enough.

Part 8

Behind The Screen Tag-List: @ladifreakingda @georgialeighc13 @racewife2004 @multy-fandom-lover @otvlanga @sailorstupidsblog @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @wantingtobekorra @gazzan-a @clarinette07 @amanda-the-fangirl @im-sure-its-fine @sagechanoafterdark @heyywestman @runaway-escape @ilovesupersoldiers @unlistedpond @rayofdawnworld @badassbaker @spookyanairwin @fandom-basurero @krabby-tentacles @sassy-pelican @lizlepuffs @jaywolf840 @xoasalxo

[itsthe-neo-zone]

Wands and potions: NCT Dream & WayV 

Please read the Masterlist before continuing ahead with the upcoming chapter. Thank you.

A/N: I apologize for taking so long to post (im a mess) but i had some issues to deal with, personal things at home and some family members were feeling sick so things were a mess, as always I hope you enjoy the chapter and I’ll try to get back on track. I’m sorry if my posts aren’t up to the standard I usually output in. 

Chapter 17:

[Lyra’s Pov]

[10th Jan 2005]

The first memory I had of my parents was a fight. It was one of my earliest. And one id never forget. The shouts and screams being thrown about. It was hazy and only when I began whimpering and crying weakly the blond male lifted me up into his hold. His cold icy eyes warming up for me. Melting the frozen glacier of cerulean into a deep royal navy.

I’ve been hidden from everyone and anyone around me for their safety and their status in the social wizarding world. I was a child that wasn’t ever supposed to be born and it was hurtful the longer the secret was kept. Whilst my siblings were given all the love and care in the world, lived to be around them in a comforting lovable world. I was left to be brought up by myself. Alone.

[06:18PM]

“You deserve to know, and I deserve to be treated like I’m desired, like I’m loved and wanted.” I murmured quietly my voice came out fragile and broken, its displayed the 14 years of raw emotion behind it.

“Remember when you told me you really felt we were like sisters?” I saw Selene’s expression warp into confusion her lips between teeth as she sat next to me her eyes shaking nervously. She didn’t want to glance into my own, but she nodded confirming my words.

“Well we could be, if Scorpius believes me... when I tell him, I- I’m his half-sister. His blood sister...” Selene stared as if I'd just produced a rhinoceros from my pocket. Though the expression on Scorpius face was unreadable. It was a mix of confusion, guilt and denial.

“Please say something.” I pleaded, he needed to respond. In any way possible, I needed to know how he felt. My heart was being torn by the second, this was worse than being stabbed multiple times and left to bleed to death...

“I can’t- i don’t know- how do I?” he sighed, exasperatedly. “I need some time to think about this.” He stood his eyes frantically looking around, Scorpius looked anxious wanting to leave, and even though it was freezing cold he was loosening the green tie around his neck.

“Please, don’t tell anyone. You can’t let anyone know.” I stood desperately wanting to hold or grab him. I yearned for his acceptance for so many years. My only sibling I cared about. This had to be kept a personal family secret as well.

“Scorpius, are you ok? Do you need me to-” “NO, no- I’m fine,” it came through gritted teeth...

“Selene, just stay with her? I need some space.” He quickly takes his leave frantically looking off, not once did he look back at us.

“Give him some time, he’ll come back. Don’t worry.”

“How are you taking this?” I turn to Selene who was hugging me, her arm on my back comforting me. She seemed dazed, her eyes were clouded. It’s like she wasn't here.

“You were already my sister; all you did was give me confirmation.” She held me close pulling me into her hold.

“Thank you, for being here.” I whisper clutching her robes her hair tickling the side of my face. I was glad to have her around me.

[06:25PM]

Pieces of mirror shatter breaking into a shower of tiny pieces; the amount of negative energy in the air was boundless. “Scorpius please calm down.” the rage in him needed to get out somehow? He wasn’t himself.

“He lied! HE LIED TO ME AND HER!” the bloodcurdling cry echoed; his mouth wide open as he released his inner demons. The scream made all the hair on his body stand. Albus wanted to stop him. To help him.

He couldn’t.

“He had another child, behind her back, she was thrown to the side. Like it was nothing!” The sobbing continued gales began to swirl and enter through the sides of the bathroom. Unknowingly, he was brewing a whirlwind. A storm hitting, equal to the force it felt inside him. It was building for weeks now and all Lyra did was confirm the reality.

His vice was strained, and it hurt like hell, but he continued letting all the pain and sorrow out. His head was pounding now. He wanted it to stop. Scorpius yearned for the numb feeling

“Stop you’re going to hurt yourself.” We he? Scorpius wished He’d hurt himself. Maybe that pain would distract him from the searing agony he was feeling. Pain sears through his abdomen better than a branding iron, his mind conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion.

Everything had been a lie.

“Want it to end. Please.” The crouched figure in the centre of the room strained himself. He didn’t want to be here anymore. “leave.”

Albus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave his friend in such a vulnerable and defenceless position. “let me help you.” A crack in his voice, it shows the pain he was feeling it reflected into Albus. the young boy stumbled back pushing from the sheer force of the gales that tormented Scorpius this whole time.  

“I SAID GO!”

The pain was increasing in waves; getting bigger by the second, giving false hope of an end. But it would never end.

It was too loud to hear anything at this point the push of the wind tore bits off the wooden cubicle doors. Becoming spinning daggers of anger within the whirling storm.

Scorpius increased the howling gusts, faster and faster until they sheathed him with a spray of sprinkled sharp edges and crusted glass, they shimmered in the ill lit bathroom; the gloomy skies reflecting its dusty grey cold rays.

“Scorpiu-”

Albus had no way of coming near him he was forced out of the bathroom having no choice but to leave his friend in there suffering alone. The soft tears fell down the boy’s face, he hated the haunted feeling of having no form of control over the situation.

 Across the empty acres of land, empty silent castle hauntingly still not much moving, was two figures perched up upon the north towers. A forbidden duo, though ones that felt comforted in another’s presence. The light breeze slowly yet surely trying to pull against their night robes.

“I want to get over the anxiety I have, I want to control my feelings not the other way.” murmured to the male, she had been spending most of her time. Days -and starting now- her nights were spent with the devilish Durmstrang boy.

“It’s not easy.” he spun on his own two feet looking across the edge of the tower towards her. Selene was perched upon the handle of the metallic barrier.

“I know. but I want to at least try. Will you help me?” Selene was in her sleeping robes she was twiddling with her wand spending most her days with him she had gotten extremely comfortable with the male who she has come to know for his sharp tongue and the ability to be quite convincing.  

“I will. But first you need to show that you can trust me.”

“I do, I trust you.” Selene leaned off just a little further. She was content in being here silently with him. But was he? did he enjoy their secret nights alone?

“Do you think I can be like them?” letting her hair cascade past her figure, taking orders from the wind it wrapped over her -like the tentacles of the giant squid- across her body.

“Like them?” Repeating the words; he asked for more.

“My ancestors. I want to find out more.” It was like a persistent hunger that couldn’t be satiated. From a fairly long time, it was that absence of complete acceptance and love. Deep down she understood that but was she never going to admit it?

“You want to follow the prophecy?” a hesitant nod answered his questioning. the endless chewing on her dry lips and thoughts fighting against one another proved to show the utter confusion in what she really wanted. The certainty was on one thing though “I want to belong.”

“A girl, Dominique, from Beauxbaton.” Leaving the edge Selene moved towards the boy getting slightly closer. “She mentioned that the Lestrange ancestral family had a connection to France.”

“You think it could be important?” she pondered over his words for a moment. “Didn’t you mention that Grindelwald had his convocation in Paris France?”

“He did. But what’s-”

“I can find out more, what happened? Who I am.” Curling back into herself Selene hummed a soft tune she was comforted by her own arms wrapping around herself. Making her feel the soft pressure upon her own body.

“Selene.” Yangyang mumbled as he stepped closer sitting next to her “When you were at the mirror, the first time we met, it showed you something.” he grasped her two hands in his softly rubbing his slender fingers over her palm. His eyes were captivating.

“it showed me myself.”

“it showed you something else along with it.” He edged, the slight smile on his face and his eyes boring into selenes pushed her to continue. It felt as if everything was surreal, it was all a dream, why was everything so easily spilling past her lips.

“What I wanted; I want to find myself.” Capturing his eyes she glanced at the void contained the magnitude of the earth and the blackhole sucking the shimmers of light inwards. Nothing could escape.

“I promise I can help you do that, but you can’t go to France just yet.”

“I can’t go to France…” Selene murmured his eyes were captivating. As time passed slowly, she fell deeper into his gaze.

“Yes, you have something to do. First.”

 [13th October]

“Someone has taken a large noticeable dose of tentacle juice, from the private potions storage. If anyone has any known whereabouts or knows of anyone having sources, you must inform your head of year or head of house. Thank you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me-” shifting to take seat next to her position next to the others the raven-haired witch sat calmly the frustration only evident in her voice. “-they wake us up at 8am for this?”

“Yeah, some bastard nicking a few drops of poison…” Irene adds muttering, every single student for a 20-meter radius was yawning uncontrollably and dozing off on the study tables but once awake you needed to prepare for breakfast.

“Where were you this morning?” Ravelle had a sly smile on her lips as she pondered not so innocently over the whereabouts of the ginger witch before her.

“Out taking a short walk.” Blowing out an exasperated huff Selene stood taking her leave from the depressing and sleep deprived circle, “You know there’s only so much ‘Ravelle’ I can take in one day.” Sarcasm slipping past her voice was what made the sneaky witch drop her innocent act.

“Really, I’ve only asked you one question you shouldn’t be so defensive… unless there is something for you to hide?”

Selene stopped in her tracks, movement stuttering for a second. The wrapping of a dusty cloth rough in her hands.

“I have nothing to hide.” The outrage in her voice was enough to alert those around them that somewhat of a fight was about to start and, like the usual- all hell was about to break loose.

“Though I must let you know that I am exceeding the amount of ‘bitchiness’ I can take from you in a day so mind if I leave?” she widened her eyes turning to face the raven and nodded frivolously, she feigned sorrow for her and a sympathetic smile came to her face as she left.

“Thought you’d never ask…” Ravelle murmured the words she wasn’t interested in Selene herself. The antics she had grown accustomed to, -since that night with the celebratory introduction Selene had been on edge, spitting back ruthlessly and harsh words were leaving her lips- Ravelle eyed the linen wrap in her hands, it covered something, and it was important, no doubt delicate by the way she was cradling it to her core like a mother would do to her babe.

   [1st November]

Many days passed and winter edged nearer, visibly shortening the once lengthy and enjoyable days. The cold let soft cotton and thick clothes layer up with the many peaking noses out of scarves turn red and pink. 

The clouds of air exhaled when talking put things together but what really allowed the community to know the ending of summer solstice was the thick coat of white sheen that glistened in the early morning rays, covering the lands and lulling them to sleep.

“Anyone received any personal invites to the yule ball?” Albus whispered to the young brunette. The two now becoming much friendlier than usual were confiding in themselves after all they both had Scorpius to worry about.

“No not yet.” She glanced at him weary of the random questioning. lyra had enough on her plate already. It was harsh and difficult that her only brother wasn’t talking to her and Selene was sleeping off half her days and running of at night.

“If this is about Selene the-” “It’s not.”

“Then who-”

“I’m just asking.” She shuffled to turn towards him, sceptically reading his face the Slytherin shifted uncomfortably. “Such a liar.”

“You dummy, I can see it in your eyes. Who pushed you to do this? This is about Selene.”

“It isn’t, I swear.” His hands flew up in retaliation. The silent pause of scepticism made him sigh in relief when she dropped the accusations.  

“I’m sick of this, it’s all going to hell and I cant get any of them to even sit and talk to me. It’s awful.” Lyra whined her frustration could be seen in the way she tugged at her roots the hair lengthier than it was a few weeks ago.

“Scorpius isn’t ready to face this ye-.”

“-Hell never be ready then. Albus I can’t wait any more. How does he think I feel?” the brunette boys turned into saucers at the sudden interruption. She had been waiting for the past 3 weeks and it was getting agitating for a while, but nobody understood her. The way she felt.

“Whats wrong with Selene then? He can’t talk now so whats the issue with your ginger friend?”

“Oh don’t get me started with her.” She shifts in her seat lyra was starting to remember the situations Selene was in, breaking her heart for the past fortnight. “She’s gone, really lost it.”

“Sleeps all day and sneaks out at night, its odd Selene would have never done such a thing.” She mutters, the frown on her face showed her feeling of betrayal. “I can’t get her to spend any time with me at all, it’s always ‘Yangyang this Yangyang that’!”

“Wait.”

“You mean Durmstrang Liu” if his eyes were saucers back then they were as wide as cauldrons. His hands clenched up visibly the whole demeanor he possessed was stiffened within a second, Lyra didn’t comprehend the change until she spared him a quick glimpse.

“Yeah him,” she blinked dropping her head further into her grasp as she questioned his body language “Whats got you so surprised, most girls already know!”

“Liu Yangyang that German-Taiwanese boy?” the voice crack gave him away, there was definitely something wrong, but Lyra had no clue what was happening to him, what kind of reaction was that.

“Hold on know what?” he interrupted again.

“Well, supposedly they’re in a relationship, and I don’t know… but he’s really affecting Selene.”

“They can’t be though?” the denial in his voice was giving all the wrong signals and signs, Lyra turned towards him fully, hands out of hair and eyes skimming his face, his expression wasn’t helping the previous accusations planted upon him by her.

“Why Albus? Do you like her or something?”

What came out of his mouth after wasn’t a big shocker or anything but lyra was shocked to find out such a revelation and from him, Albus, who seemed to have no clue who the boy is.

“No, its just. He has a girlfriend already,”

“Yeah Selene.” The response came quick.

“No, he’s engaged to her, its not Selene. She’s back in Germany.” He was referring to another girl, that Selene wasn’t the only one in a relationship with the male and it made Lyra's blood boil.

“HE’S TWO-TIMING?”

The two had another issue to deal with, Selene couldn’t find out, even if it meant lying to her. She wouldn’t be able to handle what was to come.

@ajuniceuajuniceu​ @kkuljungwoo​ @sensiblebutch​ @kangkinoa​ @nctzen2020​ @mystic-jungkook​ @merryandhappylele​ @bcbymingi​ @mochischeeks  @rilakunma​ @jaehyunspaghetti​ @commentgirl​ @99jjh​ @johnnys-wifeu​ @misaraem @apricottulips​ @h2ogamergirl @angelsnowflake​

[ratisnotcrying]

you’ll get him back

Summary:  Morse had done foolish things before, on several occasions, often running alone into whatever half formed theory he had, and Jakes or Thursday usually found him bleeding, but mostly okay. Jakes used to be annoyed whenever he did this, thinking it a waste of time, but now he feels much the way he imagines Mrs Thursday does every time her husband leaves each morning.

Pairing: peter jakes/endeavour morse, fred thursday/win thursday

Warning: graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence, murder,  descriptions of murder

Word count: 2.5K

A/N: this is crossposted on AO3 under the same title - im working n a follow up piece but dont hold ur breath xoxo 

~~~

Morse had done foolish things before, on several occasions, often running alone into whatever half formed theory he had, and Jakes or Thursday usually found him bleeding, but mostly okay. Jakes used to be annoyed whenever he did this, thinking it a waste of time, but now he feels much the way he imagines Mrs Thursday does every time her husband leaves each morning.

The thing is, Morse was good at talking. He could explain obscure classical references in layman’s terms, in a way that meant Jakes didn't have to listen to any bloody opera to solve a case - which he was always thankful for. At first he had thought it was condescending, some young bloke lording his knowledge over the lowly Cowley coppers, but when he got to know Morse, really got to know him, he realised that Morse had a genuine interest in this, that all this music really meant something to him. In a way, it meant something to Jakes too now, seeing as most nights he fell asleep with Morse’s records on quietly in the background.

Morse was good at talking about nothing too. Peter couldn’t count the number of times he had found Morse after he had run off, hands up and definitely scared, though not in any real danger because he just kept talking, a steady stream of thoughts and theories about this and that, distracting the suspect long enough that Jakes could cuff them.

This killer though, the way he killed, seemingly without mercy and with no signs of stopping, he wasn’t the type to be talked down.

It was a rough case. The only good thing about it was that no children were involved. The list of bad things gave Jakes a headache; the long and the short of it was that young men were being viciously beaten and then strangled, and they were all found in some remote expanse of fields on the outskirts of Oxford. That would have been enough to put anyone on edge, but the only thing that seemed to connect the victims was their appearance - tall, slim, blonde academic types.

Dr DeBryn had always been something of a rock to the younger officers, always calm and collected, even in the face of danger, but it seemed that the good doctor was shaken by this one. After the first autopsy, Jakes and Morse had gone to see Max; and the latter pair had looked like they were about to pass out - their expressions grim, their already pale skin almost sickly, and both shaking so much that Peter reckoned he could feel it through the floor. He likely wasn’t doing much better - the body on DeBryn’s table looked a little too much like Morse.

“This young man went through… quite the ordeal. Knife wounds and blunt force trauma all over his body, both sustained over several hours, and if you look here,” Max pointed to the victims fingertips and ears, “you can see the beginnings of frostbite setting in.”

Jakes nodded, glancing at Morse to make sure he was still upright before asking, “What about these bruises, on his wrist?”

“Yes, he has them on his ankles too, which indicates he was tied to the arms and legs of a chair, and you can see from the angle of the bruising on his neck that the killer was taller than him whilst he was sat down. What doesn’t make sense, though, is that there are multiple ligature bruises. It could mean that he was brought to the brink of death multiple times, but I suspect that the killer simply wasn’t strong enough to do it in one.”

Thursday went alone to the second autopsy, which was for the best because the killer had escalated to cutting out his victims tongues, and Morse would definitely have collapsed had he seen that. The third and fourth were the same as the second, the cuts were deeper and bruises bloomed over more pale skin, but ultimately they were the same.

At ten o'clock the morning after the fourth body had been found, Morse was surrounded by Jakes, Thursday, Trewlove, Strange and Bright who were all trying to convince him to stay with another officer at all times.

“These are very clearly crimes of passion.” Morse snapped, slamming the newspaper onto his desk. Strange and Trewlove looked taken aback by his outburst, but Jakes just rolled his eyes, used to Morse’s dramatics.

Morse stood, planting both hands on the desk as he continued. “Likely someone has been wronged - or lied to, hence the tongues - and is going after men who look like the guilty party. I don’t know if you’ve ever actually been to Oxford, but ninety percent of the male population look like the victims; the chances of me personally being targeted are so microscopically small that it would be a waste of manpower to have somebody protecting me instead of searching for the killer.” Morse all but shouted before storming out, his coat billowing behind him.

Morse had become restless after the second murder - people had made the connection between the victims and started hovering around Morse. He didn’t like people fussing over him when he had been shot, so, what with the amount of attention he was getting now, it was really no surprise that Morse had done a runner, Jakes was only surprised it took this long.

That didn’t mean Jakes was happy about it.

He was, however, less happy to find out that Morse had been snatched off the street, in broad daylight, not fifteen minutes after leaving the station.

They’d had multiple calls from witnesses and it didn’t take long to put two and two together, which was all well and good, but they still couldn’t work out where the men were actually being killed. Trewlove had been coordinating searches of all buildings surrounding the fields, to no avail, so their only option was to split up and search buildings further afield until they found Morse.

It was freezing. In reality, Jakes knew that was because it was in the middle of winter, but he couldn’t help feeling as if the real reason he was shivering so violently as he sprinted across the field was the mind numbing fear that this time he would be too late. Or too slow, because despite the fact he was running fast enough to give him a stitch, the rundown barn he was trying to reach didn’t seem to be any closer than it was two minutes ago. He had always reached Morse before he came to any serious harm - he almost laughed when he realised that being shot or drugged no longer constituted ‘serious harm’, at least not when it came to Morse - this time though, this time his Morse could be killed and he’s not sure he’s ready to deal with that possibility.

His shirt was completely soaked with sweat when he eventually reached the building - if you could even call it that. The doors were crooked, barely hanging on; there were panels missing from all of the walls, and the one that were still holding on were more rot than anything else. There were tyre tracks leading from the doors away and cross the field - how the fuck did I miss them? - and in the cold glow of dusk he could see spots of dried blood painting a trail pointing towards what would no doubt reveal Peter’s worst nightmares come true.

There were footsteps behind him, likely uniforms who were only now catching up, but he didn’t turn to check - he just needed to find Morse, he just needed to move, but his joints had locked into place and he couldn’t find it in himself to push open the doors. At least not until he heard someone cry out over the sound of his laboured breathing.

He couldn’t stand there any longer and with a sudden surge of adrenaline, he yanked the door open and rushed inside.

For a moment it seemed that everything was moving all at once - Peter was still hurtling towards the centre of the barn, the unis behind him were cocking their guns, the killer was scrabbling for a weapon and there, bloody, but mostly okay, was Morse.

The next moment was deathly still. Jakes stopped a few feet from where Morse was tied to rickety wooden chair and inhaled sharply at how terrible he really looked: his hair was matted with sweat and blood, his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, his skin as pale as the day he saw the first body and bruises almost as dark as the circles under his eyes after a long case.

“Do not come any closer or I will kill him.”

The unexpectedly feminine voice drew Jakes’ gaze upwards, where, standing behind Morse, holding a knife tightly against his neck, was a young woman.

“There are multiple ligature bruises. I suspect that the killer simply wasn’t strong enough to do it in one.”

“These are very clearly crimes of passion.”

Jakes could have smacked himself for not realising sooner that they were looking for a woman. Instead he raised his hands, signalling to the officers behind him to stand down.

“Alright, okay. No one else needs to get hurt, okay?” He hadn’t realised he was moving towards Morse until the girl waved the knife at him and he froze.

Looks really could be deceiving - Jakes reckons he should be used to that by now, what with Morse, but there was something about this girl that threw him off balance. Not necessarily because she was a woman, he thinks, more because there was something decidedly innocent about her. She was young, probably Morse’s age, though she looked much younger. Her hair was shoulder length and the dark curls bounced as she shook with rage; her pale yellow dress looked like a massacre in early spring, as did her coat which was discarded on some old equipment. Her eyes are what really threw Jakes off - a sort of unhinged sadness desperately looking for a way out that no one, especially not someone that young, should ever feel.

“None of the men you killed already are the one you really want, are they, miss?” Jakes said, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt, though his shaking hands gave him away.

She seemed momentarily distracted, as if she wasn’t about to kill a policeman, as if she was remembering a happier time.

“No, I suppose not.” She laughed humourlessly, a few tears falling to the ground. “No, no one can quite live up to my Jamie. He always knew just what to say to me. It’s a shame he had another girl on the go - we could’ve been awfully happy.”

There was a door on the opposite end of the barn, and over the girl’s shoulder Jakes could see Thursday creeping through it.

“I thought he was going to ask me to marry him - I was going to be Mrs Sarah Jones. I went to his house and I was trying to calm myself down - worked myself into a right flap, I had. But,” she took a deep breath, “as I was about to go and knock, the door opened and some… leggy tart came out, draping herself all over my Jamie.” The girl - Sarah - was getting agitated again and so was Jakes. Morse looked bloody terrified and he had the strangest notion to call out and tell Thursday to get a fucking move on.

“He didn’t even apologise. Merely told me to pack my things by the end of the week. I had a sudden urge to do the women of Oxford a favour and make sure they couldn't get hurt like I did.” Sarah was still smiling, but it was more sinister now and time seemed to slow giving Jakes plenty of time to watch as everything went spectacularly wrong.

Sarah pressed the knife against the side of Morse’s neck just as Thursday reached her and began to pull her back. Morse looked at Jakes, all doe eyed and teary, and all Jakes could do was look on in static horror as Sarah drew a line of blood that immediately cascaded crimson onto Morse’s already ruined shirt.

Jakes isn’t sure he’ll ever forget the sound Morse made - weak and broken, slicing right through his heart.

He moved on autopilot; if anyone asked he couldn't have said with any certainty how he got Morse untied, but he wasn’t really concerned about that. Peter used one hand to support the back of Morse’s neck and pressed the palm of the other firmly over the cut. Almost immediately, blood started seeping through his fingers, and Morse’s whimpering went up an octave, his eyes were glassy and unfocused, gazing vaguely at the other coppers who were standing around as if Morse wasn’t bleeding out.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to get a fucking ambulance!?” He shouted over his shoulder. Morse flinched and Jakes turned back to him, ignoring the sound of now-moving heavy boots behind him.

“Morse, you need to stay awake.” Jakes pressed harder against the wound, trying to ignore the blood that was rolling down his wrist and soaking into his cuffs in favour of adjusting his hold on Morse’s neck as his head lolled and he fell silent, causing Peter’s panic returned anew. It was careless, what with the number of people so close to them, but Jakes couldn't help stroking his thumb across the cold skin of Morse’s jaw.

“Morse? Morse, come on open your eyes.” Peter was only rewarded with a feeble fluttering of his lashes, just as they had on their last day off: the sun had peered over the horizon and Jakes had kissed Morse awake, running his hand through golden curls and in return Morse had blinked up at him, grinning sleepily.

“Come on, Dev. Open your eyes for me, please?” This time he didn’t get a response at all. “Please, love?” Peter isn’t quite sure if anyone heard his voice crack. He’s not sure he cares.

It seemed an age before the ambulance arrived and when it did, Thursday had to bodily drag Jakes away. He was vaguely aware that, at some point, everyone except himself, Thursday and Morse had left - which was probably for the best.

“He’ll be alright.” Thursday said quietly, as if Jakes was a frightened animal. “Always is - he’s a stubborn bastard. Won’t let something like this stop him.”

Jakes didn’t really listen, too preoccupied with trying to light his cigarette. The matches were taken out of his hand, and he didn’t look up until he was exhaling the first lungful of smoke. Thursday pressed the pack back into Peter’s hands, guiding him out to the car, and in an almost characteristic display of kindness and acceptance, he handed Jakes his hanky to clean up with.

“You’ll get him back, Peter.”

[madlymiho]

Also can I ask you for a scenario in which zoro is gathering up his courage to confess his feelings to the woman he's in love with and he ends up doing it mid battle? Thank you my darling I'm so glad you're back 💚💚💚

Hello my sweet darling! I'm sorry it took so long for me to write this one, and I hope you didn't wait for too long! 😞

I'm very happy to write about the mosshead hehehe! I hope this scenario will suit you! It's slightly angsty! 😁 thanks for asking me this one 💙

Words : 2172

Zoro scenario : Something I should have told you before (read after the cut)

He loves her. He knows it for a long time, a very long time. He knows that there’s something different within him whenever she’s around. The way she smiles, dances, the way she simply looks at him. There’s something deeper than a regular friendship, and Zoro is deeply insecure because of his deep obsession with her. He thinks about her all the time, even during his trainings, where his brain is supposed to shut for good, the pain of his muscles becoming the only music he hears. Yet, he can’t shut his heart. He can’t pretend anymore, and it affects him deeply. How he���s supposed to confess feelings he’s so afraid of? He feels blocked by his own brain. Each time he’s seeing her, there’s something invisible which shuts his mouth. Despite his cruel need to say out loud how much he loves her, and how deep he wants them to be together, there’s nothing coming out of his throat. 

“Zoro?” 

He blinks and turns his head to gaze at her. There are both walking to meet powerful enemies, his fingers strongly crushed around the handles of his swords. He shakes his head and offers his best cocky smile, hoping that she wouldn’t notice his silent inner torture. 

“Afraid?” He asks, avoiding her stare. His heart is already too much painful at this particular moment. 

She pinches her lips together, somehow slightly disappointed to feel that everlasting coldness and distance coming from him. She’s not an idiot, she knows him. For a few weeks, she has the sensation that he’s keeping something from her. If usually Zoro is pretty honest and direct, this time, he’s clearly hiding something. And she hates it. 

“Why would I be afraid of them? You’d be around, and the others are not so far,” she shrugs, looking at the road.

“Hey, I’m not here to fight for you.” Zoro snaps coldly, clicking his tongue. 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” She answers sadly. 

It hurts Zoro right in the chest. Once again, he’s so clumsy with her, it’s almost unbearable. He suddenly grabs her wrist and forces her to freeze. Anxiously, she looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. He feels his mouth becoming dry, the words still stuck inside his throat. Why does it feel so hard to speak out his feelings like this? Each time he meets his eyes, he feels terribly numb ; and idiot unable to talk. He wishes that he’d be like Sanji sometimes, extravagant et ready to always share his feelings loudly. He wishes that he’s not that cold heart man. The tension in his arm becomes even more painful. She’s waiting, her mouth slightly open, her tender stare mapping his features. She doesn’t seem to know, and yet, she’s patient, silent, offering him enough time and space to muster up his courage and talk. 

But Zoro turns his head, and looks at the ground. Why? He doesn’t know. He wants it to feel easy and natural, yet his brain refuses to let him tell those forbidden words. 

“Just watch your sorry ass. I don’t know if I’d be able to rescue you.” He lies, and immediately walks again, abandoning her on the road. 

She remains silent, and terribly upset. She brushes her wrist, where a second before, Zoro’s hand was circling her skin. She bites her bottom lip and prevents herself from shouting terrible words. That man is a catastrophe, an impossible idiot. Yet, she wishes deeply that one day, finally, he would be brave enough to tell the truth, for once. 

So Zoro runs, enraged. He runs and attacks the first enemy he sees, his frustration and disappointment becoming a new strength driving his every gesture, giving im even more power. It feels easy to cut enemies, to hurt them. There are just pack of meats, and nothing else. Walking bags with blood inside, no more, nothing useful, nothing he would care about. Yelling, growling, Zoro keeps attacking his many opponents, unable to stop the boiling feelings inside his brain. He can’t help but think of her. He left her on the road, somewhere behind and he clearly doesn’t know where’s she at the moment, and how does she feel. He can’t even know if the distance between them is long or not. He can’t even tell if he saw her five minutes or two hours ago, times itself becoming blurry. In her eyes, he has perfectly noticed that she was hoping for someone else ; something more. But again, he gave up on her. He’s good at fighting, good at drinking his sake and have fun with his friends. Yet, revealing the deepest part of his heart seems just like an impossible quest to achieve. What a pitiful man. 

“Idiot.” He growls for himself, slashing another man with his sword. “You’re just a fucking idiot!” He snaps again. 

Slowly, he feels that he’s about to lose control. His entire mind is poisoned by the fact that he can’t confess his love to the only woman in the world he’s in love with. He hates himself for being such a coward. She deserves to know after all? He tried many times before… Over and over again, clumsily trying to make her guess his feelings. He can’t bear the look in her eyes anymore. She must despised him now. And it would be normal. He doesn’t deserve to love someone so kind, and patient, when he’s just a pill of insecurities and cowardness. 

“Zoro!” He suddenly hears from across the field. 

Name. 

He can perfectly recognize her voice, despite the cloud of dust in front of his eyes. There’s something wrong, he can tell. He pushes on of his opponent to make his way through the battle, cutting more enemies whenever one of them tries to stop him. 

“Name!” Zoro shouts desperately, stopping his race to listen to his environment. 

He’s lost. He doesn’t know where he came from earlier, and he can’t be sure to follow the right direction. Fuck, he’s even more useless. 

“Zoro, here!” She suddenly appears in the middle of the chaos. 

She’s hurt. Drops of blood are running down her cheek, dripping from an open wound on her forehead. She looks tired as well, as she’s barely able to maintain her sword between her fingers. Toddling in his direction, she manages to grab his arm when Zoro quickly crosses the distance between them. Zoro still feels the presence of her enemy behind her back, and immediately decides to react. If she can’t fight anymore, then he’d be the one to rescue her. 

“Stay here!” He orders, helping her sitting down on the ground, her back resting against a pill of rocks. 

“Zoro, please don’t leave me…” She mutters, her weak fingers grabbing his collar, a bit desperately. 

He puts her hand down on her thigh, ignoring her plea, unable to think about anything else but revenge, rushing into the dust and the broken buildings to find the man he’s looking for. He has to avenge her. In less than a second, he finds the enemy he’s looking for, a deep growl escaping from his throat. He wants to spit how much he hates him. How hard he will make him suffer for what he done. But instead of talking, Zoro jumps forwards, one of his sword trapped between his teeth. He’s enraged, out of control. He has never been like this before, it’s the first time ever he feels so violent. He wants to make them pay, twice the price. Each cut on her skin must be payed the double by him. He can’t let them escape, nor live after what they did to her. The enemy is strong and powerful, Zoro can perfectly sense it thanks to his Haki. But he also knows how much he’s far more precise and deadly. After several minutes of an intense fight, the man finally falls on the ground, eyes blank, unable to lift his sword anymore. Unconscious, his head hits the floor in a loud and almost pitiful crack, as Zoro catches his breath back. 

Still driven by the adrenaline of the fight, Zoro looks up for her body, and finally recognize her figure in the middle of the rubble. He puts his swords back in their sheaths, walking right to her as if he’s about to lecture her. He clenches his fists, dazzled by his own rage. When he’s finally in front of her, he squats down and grabs her collar. 

“Why the fuck did you try to fight him?” He snaps angrily, his fingers twisting her shirt dangerously. 

“He was the one who attack me first!” She tries to argue, her eyes gleaming and full of tears. 

“He could have killed, you idiot!” Zoro shouts again, furious. 

Her bottom lip is trembling, tears falling on her cheeks. Zoro once again feels the familiar sensation of his heart falling in the middle of his guts. He exhales loudly. 

“Why are you so mean with me?” She finally questions, her voice slightly broken. “You’re always so mean with me!” 

“I’m not!” 

“Yes, you are!” She violently pushes on his shoulders, trying in that desperate gesture, to repulse him. “You’re always cold, and violent. You used to be kinder with me… What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

Tears keep falling on her face as she stares at him with furious and desperate eyes. She needs an answer, and Zoro knows it. He can’t hide himself behind his coldness and distance with her ; he needs to stop being so selfish and coward. He catches her wrist when she tries to push him once again, plastering her back against the rock, his eyes intensely looking at her. She sniffs and looks away, her fingernails digging a bit in his skin. 

It’s now or never. 

Zoro grabs her chin between his thumb and his index, forcing her to turn her head and looks back at him. He clears his throat, the silence surrounding them, and he thinks for a second that if she’s attentive enough, she would definitely hears his intense heartbeat pumping against his chest. He clenches his other fist, mustering his courage up to confess his love. 

“I don’t know how to say it…,” he starts, blinking a few times. “I’m… I hate when you’re around when I’m fighting someone…,” 

“Tst, you really are stup -” 

But Zoro circles both of her cheeks, preventing her to speak anymore. He shakes his head, pinching his lips together, before he continues. 

“I hate that because I feel that I won’t be able to protect you…” He continues, his husky voice slightly broken. “I...I don’t want to lose you.” 

She remains silent, her fingers still crushing the skin of his wrist intensely. She breathes heavily, the tears in her eyes finally drying. Zoro sighs, and closes his only eye for a second. 

“I tried many times to tell you this... But I’ve been a coward,” he feels his voice turning into a whisper as he finally opens his heart. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to protect you from this cruel world, since the first day I met you. I didn’t want to feel this. I didn’t want to have such a burden on my shoulders...But it seems that fate played with me by putting you on my road, and now I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t lie anymore.” 

“Zoro…,” she calls in a long exhale, unable to move. 

He looks back at her, his thumbs softly brushing her cheeks. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

His all world is spinning while he finally confesses his love, his eyes watching her features intensely. 

“I’m in love with you, Name,” he repeats, once again, to make sure that she understands his statement. “It burns my chest, my soul, my entire body.” 

She softly lets lose her grip on his wrist, her digits coming to brush his face. She skims his features for a long moment, remaining silent. She smiles, at first timidly, until it turns into something solar, enlightening her entire face. She suddenly jumps between his arms, ignoring the blood on her features, nor his. She just crushes her lips on his, closing her eyes, her digits digging in his green hair. He growls, surprised, shocked, until he finally understands that it’s her way to answer to his confession. Intensely, he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, answering to her kiss. They both share this moment of a passion for a long time, their tongues dancing, their bodies entirely flushed together. She finally parts her lips, her hands cupping his jawline. 

“You’re seriously an idiot…” She whispers, shaking her head. 

He rolls his eyes, and clicks his tongue. 

“Shut up, brat.” 

And just like that, as if the world around is disappearing, Zoro kisses her again, freed from that invisible jail trapping his heart. He loves her and she loves him back, and for the first time in his entire life, Zoro finally feels carefree and deeply fulfilled. 

[thestuckylibrary]

Mods’ Reads: January 2020

Here’s the list of everything the Mods have read this past month!

Mod Blue

Sine Tactu by justanotherStonyfan (complete | 22,586 | M)

“Want me to help with this?” Steve says quietly, head about level with James’ stomach as he stares up at him, fingers reaching up for James’ fly, but James shakes his head.

“No,” he says, wets his lips - Steve is all skin and muscle and he’s totally naked and he’s right here and- “no, I’m.” He swallows hard. “I’m not getting naked. This is about you.”

Part 29 of Honey Honey

Propius by justanotherStonyfan (oneshot | 6,178 | E)

Steve comes home kicking snow off his shoes, although a lot of it’s gray colored, and he’s shivering. Despite that, his cheeks are bright with the cold and his smile is bright with affection, camera in hand.

“Hi!” he says on a breath, shoulders hunched to keep the cold air out of his collar, and James smiles, crosses the conversion to reach him, and grabs the trailing ends of Steve’s scarf to draw him down for a kiss hello. “Mh.”

James wrinkles his nose as Steve’s nose presses into his cheek.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he says, and Steve laughs softly.

“Yeah,” he says “That’s why I came back inside.”

Part 30 of Honey Honey

I Believe In Something More by cydonic (complete | 74,304 | M)

In April of 2014, two very important things happen: The Winter Soldier is prepped for a mission as part of Project Insight which never ends up happening, and Steve Rogers finds out his mother is dying.

In October of 2018, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers meet in the Sculpture Garden at UCLA. Bucky has spent the ensuing years building a life for himself, learning that he likes to study in the sunshine and build friendships with people who just think of him as ‘that nice guy who’s really smart’, not what he used to be. Steve has tried to make it in Brooklyn, but everything reminds him of Sarah. He needs a change of scenery, and following his childhood best friend Sam Wilson over to California seems to be the way to do it.

Rare Is This Love (Keep It Covered) by histoires_eternelles, musette22 (complete | 66,773 | E)

It's 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.

darling heart, i loved you from the start (but that's no excuse for the state i'm in) by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 19,725 | T)

“I thought you’d make a terrible Nazi but turns out you’d make a terrifying one instead.”

The year is 2012. Loki has vanished with the Tesseract, and Manhattan is a blazing wreck. A very tired Steve Rogers goes home and meets another very tired Steve Rogers.

Or, the one where Steve saves the mind stone for last and decides to fuck the timeline beyond all recognition, which regrettably involves crawling delicately up Hydra's asshole and less regrettably involves showering a very confused Bucky Barnes with affection.

Kissin' by the mistletoe (Love came to stay) by obsessivereader (oneshot | 4,949  | E)

“I told you,” Steve wheezes, as he tries to catch his breath. “Didn’t I fucking tell you we'd fall if you didn't quit pushing?”

He’d laugh if he had any air left in his lungs. Instead, all he can do is stare up at Bucky as the sound of his carefree laugh winds its way around Steve’s heart. He barely even registers the cold seeping in through his jacket and jeans as he lies in the snow, attention catching instead on the snowflake clinging to Bucky’s lashes. Were Bucky’s eyes always that luminous? The crinkles around his eyes so endearing? Were his lips always that pink?

Bucky’s laugh dies away at Steve’s continued silence. A strange expression settles on his face, like he’s looking into the face of a stranger for the first time, studying and cataloging Steve’s features one by one—eyes, nose, mouth.

Based on this tweet, which has, sadly, been deleted: FUFJFJ ITS SNOWING A LOT IN NY RN AND IM WALKING HOME AND THESE GUYS ARE LIKE PUSHING EACH OTHER IN THE STREET AND ONE GUY GOES “YOU ASSHOLE STOP PUSHING ME IM GONNA FALL” AND THE OTHER GUY WAS LIKE “.... For Me?” and the other guy was like bro... no fuck you” AND THEY BOTH FELL

Part 2 of Happy Steve Bingo!

thot through the heart (and you're to blame) by Deisderium (complete | 9,899 | E)

"You look like shit," Steve says, and that breaks the spell a little because fuck you, Steve, he looks good. Steve's nostrils flare. "Is that—is that blood on your mouth?"

Oh, fuck. Bucky needs to work on not being a sloppy eater. He wipes his mouth hastily, and without thinking, licks his hand clean. Steve stares.

*

In which Bucky is a baby vampire, a disaster, out to have a good time, and hopelessly in love with his roomate; and in which Steve has a few secrets of his own.

Part 1 of food for thot

Scratched Ragged and Rubbed Raw by cheesethesecond (oneshot | 3,788 | T)

“How are you gonna sleep tonight,” Bucky asked, letting his head fall back against the wall and closing his eyes, “knowing that a guy who tried to kill you is sleeping in the next room?”

“Like a baby,” Steve said.

This Lonely Hour Before Daybreak by cheesethesecond (oneshot | 2,912 | T)

Steve knew there would be good days and bad days. That’s how this sort of thing worked.

Except sometimes, the bad days go like this.

Something Great by dragongirlG (oneshot | 1,485 | G)

The Soldier knows he is not Bucky Barnes, but he still seeks out Steve Rogers after the helicarriers fall, inexplicably craving Rogers' affection. Rogers gives it. (Basically, the Winter Soldier wants a hug. Steve gives him that and a little more.)

Based on a prompt from withinmelove: I have a love for Winter Soldier as his own person so Winter Soldier and Steve cuddling is my prompt! Maybe WS is touch starved and is really eager to be affectionate with Steve who is happy to be close and tender with him.

The Right Partner* by LeeHan (oneshot | 41,651 | E) *graphic violence

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” Bucky said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “but I believe I was promised a mocha.”

When he turned to look at Steve there was laughter in his eyes and a touch of heat in his smile.

Dating a civilian was always risky. Luckily, Bucky seemed like a nice, genuine guy and Steve knew he could gently reject him with the smallest shrug and that Bucky would accept his decision easily. It was the smart thing to do.

“Don’t forget the croissant.”

—

Steve meets a beautiful man with a bright laugh on a sunny day in Italy. Captain America meets the elusive Winter Soldier moments later.

Date Bucky Barnes. Defeat the Winter Soldier. Bring down Hydra. How hard could it be?

Pedantic Affectations by fannishlove, relenafanel (complete | 15,858 | M)

Steve Rogers: khaki pants and ugly tweed wearing art history professor specializing in historical queer art (by day). Is actually Captain America, vigilante and the bane of Detective Barnes’s existence (by night).

Detective Bucky Barnes: A very clever cop who suspects something is up with Steve. Is frustrated that Captain America exists and is dedicated to finding him because he loves a good puzzle.

So, how does Steve convince Bucky that he's too boring to be Captain America? Go on a date with him.

(Steve is kind of really, really bad at this secret identity thing)

The Comfort in Certainty by justanotherStonyfan (complete | 20,554 | E)

"You were right when you said we need to talk," Steve says softly ... "Is there anything you want to say first?"

... James can't stand the suspense. If it's going to happen, if he's going to do it, James wants that bandaid ripped off now.

"Is this a breakup talk?" he says, and his wishes his voice would be stronger but he’s almost glad that it’s not.

Steve takes a deep breath in through his nose.

Part 31 of Honey Honey

Honeypot by cleo4u2, xantissa (complete | 133,204 | E)

Preconditions: One Sasha Marozow - internationally renowned assassin for hire, known as the Winter Soldier, ex-Hydra operative freelancing for the last five years; One Steve Rogers, Captain America - recently defrosted national hero and Avenger; One assassination contract; One set-up known in the intelligence community as the “honeytrap”.

Expected Result: One Winter Soldier in custody, the name of his employer attained.

Actual result: Definitely not as expected.

Part 1 of Honeypot

Give Up the Ghost* by cleo4u2, xantissa (oneshot | 19,518 | E) *graphic violence

They were happy together and the year had been good for them. They thought nothing could tear them apart. They were wrong.

Part 2 of Honeypot

i'm a believer (got a fever running through my bones) by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 16,742 | E)

Everyone knows Captain America is an alpha. His tragic romance with Howard Stark is as popular a topic for movies and academic papers as his exploits in the war. Sure, Stark never said a word, and he clearly moved on, given that Tony Stark is currently alive. But even now, people like to gossip in hushed whispers about how sad it is that Howard Stark passed away a mere two years before they found the good Captain in the ice.

Bucky gets it, alright? Alpha/omega is the norm. Matches sanctioned by god or whatever bullshit your conservative Christian sect of the day likes to ramble about. It’s the twenty-first century, and the world still runs on a maddening policy of straight until proven otherwise. Thing is, Bucky has most certainly proven otherwise and has been doing so since he was a wee alpha panting after some knothead or the other because being queer didn’t magically make him any less stupid than your average horny teenager.

Bucky’s an alpha, Bucky likes alphas, and he’d love nothing more than to climb Steve Rogers like a goddamn monkey bar.

- Steve meets Bucky on a flaming helicarrier. It’s not the most romantic first meeting, what with the Nazis and the bullet wounds, but they make it work.

the jackpot question  by biblionerd07 (series, ongoing | 16,126 | G-T)

Steve needs a ride home for Christmas. Bucky needs a passenger.

Winter Gorgon* by Quarra (complete | 74,067 | E) *graphic violence

For as long as Steve could remember, all he ever wanted to do was what was right. So when he hears about his father's old regiment being held as POW's by the Nazis, he's determined to put what Doctor Erskine gave him to good use and goes AWOL to rescue them.

But the 107th isn't all he finds there. Deep in the labs is a very unusual prisoner; one with snakes in his hair and a mask nailed to his face. Despite the man's monstrous visage, Steve can't in good conscience leave him to the enemy. That one act of mercy will change his life, the course of the war, and even the future of the world.

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part ii}

im still alive! yay!

---

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Word count: 6.5K 

Genre: Angst -- CW: death mention, injuries, blood, hallucinations (?)

Notes: masterlist -- {previous} -- {next} -- yall........ hes trying his best ok

-- -- --

you did not break me  

i’m still fighting for peace

~ Elastic Heart, Sia

-- -- --

Keith bites his lower lip as he makes his way to your apartment. Every step sends a sharp jolt of pain up his right wing and he grimaces in pain, massaging his shoulder. The trip looked a lot shorter from where he'd been standing in the square, he thinks bitterly as he makes his way through the swirling crowd, shreds of conversation coming at him from all sides. He's actually surprised at how well he remembers the layout of the city–and how well he remembers the way to your home.

When he finally gets to the apartment building he hesitates for a moment. In the glass door he sees his reflection: black dirt coating every inch of his body, tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. His hair is an absolute mess, as if a particularly pissed-off fairy had tried to knot his hair in the most complicated ways. He tries to smooth the locks down, growling when it did nothing at all. His clothes are torn and crooked, and a wild–almost dangerous–light shines in his eyes, and he looked like he'd just escaped death itself. In a way, he had.

That's when he remembers his knife. A glance to his calf tells him everything he needs to know and he suddenly wants to cry again.

It's gone.

The knife he'd carried with him for so long, the knife that had saved him in many a sticky situation, one of the rare blades that could actually kill both angels and demons–and he'd lost it. Probably dropped it on the ground in the woods. The black straps he used to keep the knife concealed beneath his jeans served no purpose anymore. Keith bends down, ignoring the pain throbbing on his back and unclasps the sheath. Strangely, it's mostly undamaged, except for the dirt and mud that coat every inch of it. He holds it, weighing it in his hands. His leg feels oddly light without it.

Scrunching up his nose, he chucks it in the rubbish bin that stands beside the apartment entrance and pushes the door open.

He's slightly out of breath when he finally reaches your floor, cursing the weight of his wings under his breath, but his heart skips a beat when he finally arrives in front of your door.

He doesn't know what he'd expected, quite honestly. It was–well–a door. A plain white wooden door with a stainless steel doorknob and a number plate on the side; yours said 34. Bar that very number, it was completely identical to the other doors in the building. It didn't look very... well... demonic.

But then again, he hadn't really expected it to be. He takes a breath and knocks.

You open surprisingly quickly, and the sight of you makes Keith freeze up.

Your eyes are stormy and wild and widen only a fraction before they narrow down again, your lips pressing themselves into a thin line just shy of a snarl. The door is only just cracked open, and Keith can't see what's going on inside your apartment, but he forces himself to relax his muscles even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him about how wrong this is.

In the split second where no one said anything, Pidge's words of the previous day–had it really only been a day?–echoes in his ears: Is that why you need guarding every second of the day? Because you're a traitor to the Above? She would never know how right she had been, Keith thinks bitterly.

"No," you say, firmer than Keith had expected, and you cross your arms.

Keith blinks. "You don't even know what I was going to say–"

"I don't need to," you snap. "You look like you just spent a week running around in a jungle. You're probably in need of somewhere to stay. There's a shelter a couple of blocks away. You can take the underground."

"They'll find me there."

"Not my problem." You almost shut the door on him, and in a desperate attempt to keep your attention on him just a minute more he stumbles forward and slams his hand against the frame. You freeze and Keith notices how your muscles tense up–as if you were preparing yourself for a fight.

"Y/N."

You look at him now, eyes pools of swirling fire laced through with hatred, fear–but Keith also thinks he sees something like doubt, and he latches onto that with all his might.

"I need your help. Please." He takes a ragged breath. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

You close your eyes, fingers tightening around the doorknob. When you open them again, all sign of the doubt he'd seen before is gone, a grim determination having taken its place. "No."

That single word is enough to stun Keith into letting go of the doorframe, sending him swaying back. His thoughts are racing, emotions coursing through his body–most prominent of all the absolute terror of the fact that he was going to die. He was going to get found by the Upper hand, and they were going to kill him, and he was going to die. He'd just fucked up his last chance at staying alive a little bit longer.

He almost protests again, opens his mouth–then shuts it, and lets his head hang, sighing deeply. There's no point. You've made up your mind.

Your voice is quiet as you say it. If there had been a single other sound in the hallway, he most definitely would have missed it. But it's dead silent, and so he hears it: "Never ask a demon for help, Keith. You're only going to get yourself hurt."

His head snaps up, but the door is closed. It's like you've never been there at all.

He brings a hand to his face, turns and starts down the stairs again, every step sending a bolt of pain down his back. He flinches against the pain. Doesn't slow.

What was it again you said about a shelter?

The Kindness for All Adults and Children's shelter is a small organization located on the corner of a dark street, easy to miss if you don't know where to look. Except Keith did know where to look, so he found it just fine. He knocks on the glass door, is immediately let in by a short and stern-looking woman (but with kind eyes) and ten minutes later he's sitting on a stool (he's careful to avoid anything to rest his wings against, because even though he concealed them, they're still there) and a blanket puddled in his lap (again. Wings), sipping on a mug of hot tea.

Isabel–the woman who let him in–enters the room, frowning at Keith's dirty boots and overall grossness. "Honey, you'd better take those off. If you'd wait a bit, we have shower hour in just–" she glances at her wristwatch– "twenty-three minutes. We have a couple of other fellas here; hope you don't mind communal showers." She gives him a scrutinising look, and Keith has to fight the sudden urge to straighten his spine and salute. "You look like you need one."

Keith takes a long sip of his tea, rolling his shoulder. His stomach lurches at the mention of a shower. He does need one: he reeks of rotten plants and he's pretty sure he has multiple cuts on his legs and arms that probably need cleaning before they get infected. He didn't bother to check.

But staying here would only get these people in danger, and that was about the last thing he wants. The Upper hand was going to find out one way or another of his whereabouts. Now that he couldn't rely on your protection–he hadn't realised how much he'd just assumed you would take him in, no questions asked (stupid, stupid; he saw that now) to the point where he had no idea what his next move was going to be. He had made a huge mistake doing whatever it was that got him onto Middle Ground and he was paying the price for it now.

Besides–he couldn't fully hide his wings; not with the injury. He didn't want to have to think about what would happen if one of the other guys in the shelter saw a cut-up, bruised, dirty dude wash blood and earth off his body while water slid off a shape hovering above his back that looked suspiciously like wings.

"I won't be staying, Isabel," he finally mutters, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

The older woman frowns, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "Are you sure?"

Keith nods, setting his mug down beside him and getting up from his chair, bunching the soft fabric of the blanket in his hands. "I'm sure. Thank you for your care."

"But–but where will you stay, then?" The edge of worry to Isabel's voice almost makes Keith smile. Humans... some of them were even more rotten than demons, but thankfully even more were better than the purest angel could ever be.

"I'll find a motel or something," he lies. He didn't have money. He didn't have anywhere to go. "I'll be fine." He sounds so convincing he almost believes it himself.

As he curls up on a particularly comfortable spot of hard concrete, Keith nibbles on a piece of bread he'd nicked from the nearest bakery. It hadn't even been hard. He probably should feel bad. He almost does. His stomach growls even after he'd scarfed down the bread. Angels shouldn't have to eat, he thinks bitterly. And in a sense, they didn't–but everyone had to bend to the rules of Middle ground to a certain extent. Having to eat and drink to, you know, live, is one of those rules.

A bottle of water sits beside him, half empty. It was the last gesture of kindness Isabel showed him before he'd exited the shelter and he knows he has to be careful with it and not drink it all at once, even though it was tempting. He also got to keep the blanket, and he wraps it around his shivering body now, and although it hadn't been designed for an angel and it's kind of small to fit both his body and his wings he made it work, and he's grateful for the warmth it provided in the chilly night, however little it may be.

The city buzzes around him, lights flashing and illuminating his surroundings every so often. He'd managed to find a building that looked pretty quiet and not the worst place to spend the night in–big, made mostly of concrete and red bricks, apparently abandoned years ago. It looks like it used to be a factory of some kind. Graffiti tags litter its walls, from stupid vulgarities to surprisingly intricate artworks Keith observes with a kind of admiration. They give him a strange sense of safety, somehow. You're not alone, the colourful letters seem to whisper in the dark. The wall he chose to make his hoe is decorated with a particularly interesting piece. It's different from the others, somehow–he doesn't exactly know what drew him to it, but with his back to the paint he feels a little better.

Now that he's sitting there, the outside noises faded into the background, he has time to think. Really think. Mostly about how he's going to survive the next... next what, exactly? Weeks? Months? Years, maybe, like last time?

He sets his jaw, huddling up even more in his blanket. No. He had to make sure this wouldn't be anything like last time, because he got caught last time. It wouldn't happen again.

The best way to avoid an angry and very powerful group of celestial beings was by constantly moving. Never spending more than a few nights in the same place. Changing the way you look, changing the name you go by. Hiding your wings (that one might be an issue). Not, under any circumstances, performing magic of any kind. And, most importantly, not standing out among the people.

If you want to hide among humans, you have to fool everyone into thinking you are one.

That was probably how you had made it so long, Keith reflects, ears perking up at the sound of water dripping onto a metal surface. It echoes around him. That, or you had managed to reconcile with the big guys from the Below. maybe you'd started doing missions again. Maybe that was why you couldn't take him in. You feared for your own safety.

Or maybe you just didn't want anything to do with him, Keith reminds himself. He screws his eyes shut, softly banging the back of his head on the wall behind him. How he had managed to hold onto the hope that a demon–a perfectly real demon–would be the one to save him was completely beyond him. He sees now how truly stupid he had been. There was no mistaking the fire he'd seen in your eyes for anything other than what it was: hatred. Pure and utter hatred. They're a demon, Keith mutters to himself like a mantra. They're a demon. A demon. It's his fault and his fault only that he's in the spot he's in. His fault.

And yet, he can't get the image of your eyes blazing up at him through that crack in the doorway out of his head. On the back of his eyelids, he sees the vision he had of you right before he'd exited the Above–your eyes had been swirling pools of and black devoid of any emotion, so different to what he'd seen earlier this evening.

Because there had been emotion in your eyes. It had been sort of a shock to him and he recalls how he'd flinched back at their glint. He doesn't know why your eyes affected him so much. They shouldn't have.

But the difference was so stark–and, in a way, almost unsettling–that he couldn't for the life of him banish the image from his mind.

– – –

You sag on your favourite bench, ripping pieces off a stale loaf of bread and chucking them into the pond for the ducks to eat with more force than necessary. You're in a foul mood this morning, you realise, and it's all you can do to scowl at the ducks and scream internally about how much of a moron Keith the Angel really is.

You'd called Allura. Of course you'd called Allura. You hadn't explained to her exactly what had gotten you worked up–maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell a human about the existence of angels and demons–but you'd asked her to meet you at the park. You hadn't needed to say where. Allura knew.

Here she comes, you think, and you drip even further down the bench when you spot the tall girl skipping towards you, her silver ponytail whipping in the wind. She holds two cups of what you recognise as coffee and a smile creeps up your face. Allura, Allura. I don't deserve Allura.

"Gimme." You stretch out an arm and sigh contently when Allura deposits a steaming cup of coffee into your open pal. "I love you and only you."

"I know, dear," Allura croons, graciously draping herself onto the bench next to you and sipping her own cup. "So what's got your panties in a twist today?"

If the question had been asked by anyone other than Allura you would probably have snarled at them to mind their business, but it hadn't, so you didn't. You sigh, handing the leftover bread to her. She starts cooing at the ducks, pitching pieces of bread to them surprisingly accurately. "It's just... I got a rather unexpected visitor yesterday."

Allura's eyes widen. "Greg from Accounting. I told you he's got a thing for you–"

You cut her off with a whack on the back of her head, but you can't hold back the giggles anymore. "No! No, you moron, not Greg from Accounting."

She pouts. "Who then?"

You bite your lip, taking a long sip of your coffee. It's then that you discover that the drink is actually hot chocolate, and you silently thank the Devil for the one good thing in your life as the warmth spreads through your entire system. Still, you hesitate if you should tell her. It'd only bring up more questions, and you don't know how you'll answer them because you have a ton of questions of your own.

"An old acquaintance of mine," you finally muse. You pause, frowning, unsure of how to continue. "I only vaguely know him." You don't know him, you remind yourself firmly. You don't know how he figured out where you live, too–but your questions had to wait, though you had a faint feeling you'd get the answer to them soon. It wouldn't surprise you if you were to run into him once more.

You look over at Allura. She raises an eyebrow, her coffee forgotten and her hand gone slightly slack. "... And you have no idea why he showed up at your door?"

You shake your head. But deep down you did know why he was there: he'd needed help. He was terrified and hurt and alone and he'd come to you for help. Even after you had told him to go away, the encounter had left you awake into the early hours of the morning as you rolled in your bed, getting your limbs tangled in the sheets.

You still don't know why you were so worked up over it. You were a demon, first of all–a rogue demon at that. You were busy trying to avoid the Below's own Managers ever since you'd failed one of their missions and decided that the average demon's life just wasn't for you, and you'd done a fine job of it so far. Taking an angel in could put all of that in jeopardy. Everything you'd worked for–it could all go up in smoke.

You have a life here, now. You have a job at the local animal shelter (not very demonic–but you'd noticed it was harder for Management to pick up your trail when you smelled of animals. Besides, you like the job). You even have a couple of friends: Allura was a prime example of that, and in a way she represented everything you could lose should you have chosen to help the confused Angel who had knocked on your door the day before.

"What'd he want?" she asks, and you start.

"I don't–I don't know," you lie, fingers curled around your practically-full cup of not-so-hot-anymore chocolate. "He didn't say."

Allura squints at you, pitching the last of the bread to the ducks. You watch as at least six of them frantically paddle towards the sinking bread, squawking as they try to get hold of at least a small part of it. Discomfort lodges in your chest when the bread is ripped to shreds in a flurry of flapping wings and spraying water. "I think you're lying to me."

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth, but Allura cuts you off. "It's okay. I know you don't like to talk about your past, and I'm not going to force you to do so," she says in between sips. "It's just–you've told me about how you cut off all ties with people you knew from before you came here. Would this dude have gone through all the trouble of finding out where you live, seeking you out in particular when he knows you don't want anything to do with him anymore if it wasn't serious?"

"I don't care, though," you say, pulling your sleeves down onto your hands. You sound like a whiny child throwing a temper tantrum. "I don't want to know what's got him here. Nothing can be so serious for him to come to me of all people. It makes no sense."

"All right, all right." There's a moment of silence as Allura drains the last of her coffee. "You have the week off, right?"

You nod, even though you plan on going to the shelter anyway. Better safe than sorry.

"There's a party in the old abandoned factory in two days. Wanna come?" The twinkle in Allura's eyes should have warned you that the night was going to get messy. But you'd never been one to deny yourself a bit of fun, and hey–maybe you could even throw up some graffiti on your wall while you were there. Allura knows she has you when you start to grin.

– – –

The cans in your duffel bag make clattering noises with the swaying of the underground. You grab onto a pole to stabilise yourself, sending a cautious look around you. This particular subway ride was quieter than you'd liked, with everyone either on their phone or staring out of the window, headphones on, but nobody seemed to hear the suspicious sounds coming from your bad. That, or they just plain didn't care.

The city was big, and there were a lot of factories around, but Allura hadn't had to specify which one, because it always was the same one. It had shut down years and years ago. No one knew why. No one knew what it used to be–the signs were all worn and unreadable. Most importantly, no one cared. There were lots of little rooms. A few big rooms with high ceilings. Clean, concrete walls perfect for graffiti. It hadn't been long before the young folk of the city had claimed it as their own.

You duck out of the subway as soon as the doors hiss open, jogging with your hands shoved in your hoodie pocket and your headphones hanging around your neck, making your way to the factory. You don't go in immediately, making sure to walk past it before you skirt back and sneak in through a hole in the fence at the back. Cheap trick, you know–but it had saved you many a times from getting spotted, because you were technically not allowed to go in there.

Allura waits for you a couple of rooms away from your wall. She's smiling, long red skirt billowing around her legs, and holds out an arm for you to take. She starts chattering before you've even properly entered the building, stepping over suspicious-looking stains and discarded beer cans. You'd asked her to come a bit earlier so you had time to at least make a start on a new design that you'd sketched out the same morning. Allura plops down onto a slab of stone (probably supposed to have become a bench) and props her chin onto her palm. "You have maybe an hour, babe." You give her a side-eyed glance as you set down your duffel, zipping it open.

You shake the can, cocking your head to visualise the piece on the wall. Your sketchbook is propped up against the wall, for reference. You stand there for a couple of minutes, shaking the can of red paint in an almost hypnotic motion before you take a step towards the wall and push the valve.

Slowly, the lines you put down start to take shape and form something more. The design is pretty simple, yet you work faster on this than you ever have on any other piece. It's as if you're racing against the clock, and you need to get it done or it'll disappear. The two silhouettes take shape: one white, one black, facing each other in a mirror image of themselves and red wings sprouting from their backs. You purposely approach the can of red paint to the wall to make drips. When you step back, it looks eerily like blood.

As you work, you try to banish the thoughts that worm themselves inside your mind. An angel. A demon. How much more obvious did you have to be? As much as you want to forget about him, you find that you just... couldn't. You feel sick in the stomach all of a sudden, but you bite your tongue and squint hard against the tears that threaten to fall, pressing down hard on the can.

You had already refused. It was done. You repeat those sentences over and over until you start to believe them.

When you're satisfied with the base layer, you check the time. You have maybe twenty minutes left. You shove the cans back into your duffel, grabbing the small paint container you always carry with you and the paintbrushes.

You like the way spray paint and regular paint look together in the same piece. It's the small thing that sets you apart from the other artist whose work cover the walls, the small details you add in with black paint that make your work really stand out. You get paint on your hands. You don't care.

It's weird how an hour can pass in ten minutes. Allura taps you on the arm. "It's starting." It is. Music drifts through the door-less doorway, closely followed by laughter and chatter. You nod, packing in the paint and the brush and taking off your mask. You were practically done anyway, and when you look over your shoulder one last time before following Allura to the party, you feel a burst of pride.

The warm feeling quickly disappears, though, when you notice something you hadn't seen before.

A grey blanket, stuffed into the far corner grabs your attention and you frown. The fingers around your bag's straps tightening, you walk to the corner and crouch down. There wasn't much else besides the blanket–yet it made you uncomfortable enough to pick it up and inspect it from closer.

Out of the blanket, two black feathers fluttered down.

Anyone else would merely have thought it weird, but wouldn't have thought much of it. They'd have laughed and moved on.

You, though, weren't just anyone else.

You'd recognise an angel's feathers anywhere.

You make a sound that's a mix between a sigh and a groan. You don't even try to pick up the feathers, knowing they'll turn to ashes if you try. Running a hand down your face, you consider your options–but you know that there really aren't any options to consider. If he's here, and he's found by the partygoers–he can't conceal his wings properly, you recall from a few days ago.

You heave a pained sigh. The risk is too big.

"Y/N?" Allura calls, irritation staining her voice. "You coming or what?"

You stand, clenching a hand around the blanket and stuffing it in your duffel without a second thought, sighing once more for good measure. "Sorry, Allura. I can't."

"What?" cries Allura, face falling and shoulders going slack. "Why?"

You shake your head, eyes scanning the room. If he heard you and Allura come (which he would have, with Allura's chattering echoing through the building), he couldn't have left through the main door, which meant he had to have gone through either the crack in the wall on your left or the big hole that you knew led to the empty staircase to the second level of the building. The bigger hole is probably your best bet, you reason.

"Sorry," you tell Allura, and you hope she understands that you really are sorry. "I'll explain later." But you flinched even as you said the words. Explain what, exactly? You feel yourself slipping back into your old skin: one tainted with memories of fighting, hunting, and betrayal.

When you turn around again, Allura is gone.

Setting your jaw, you duck into the hole and into the dark staircase.

– – –

Keith presses a hand against his side, panting and flinching against the pain.

Noise is coming from all around him. He hears music, people laughing, people talking, people screaming. It seems to come from the walls themselves, and grows louder with every passing second. He needs to move, but these last few days have been hard on him–his wing has gotten worse, to the point where he can't conceal them at all anymore. He's losing feathers, leaving a trail of them behind him wherever he goes.

His other cuts–the ones he dismissed as not being very dangerous–have grown red and swollen and hurt when he puts any type of pressure on them. Infection, the one part of his brain that still somewhat works whispers.

He hasn't eaten since that loaf of bread the first night, and his bottle of water is long since empty. In fact, he spends most of his time slipping in and out of consciousness, living and reliving horrible nightmares that have him jump awake and gasp for breath as he wipes tears from his cheeks that he doesn't remember shedding.

Even in his feverish state, he knows he has to keep moving. There has to be a place in this building where he can huddle up and wait for the people to go away. There has to be a spot where he can wait it out. He stumbles his way up the stairs, one hand gripping the railing as if it's the only thing keeping him upright. Sometimes he has to stop for a minute to catch his breath, clutching his stomach and coughing his lungs out.

He wanders through the upper level of the building. It's somehow cleaner than downstairs, with less graffiti staining the walls and less rubbish littering the floor. Guess it's not an ideal place to party, in plain view of the city, Keith thinks. He chooses a particularly comfortable-looking spot in a small room–too small to be an actual room, more likely a broom closet–to curl up on. Before his head hits the ground, he's asleep again.

– – –

You curse the angel's apparent stamina as you climb the apparently unending stairs, skipping one out of two steps as you race up them, your bag bouncing on your back. Every once in a while you glance down, looking for a feather. He was leaving a trail of them behind, a sign his condition was worsening.

"Swear–to Satan–" you mutter, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. It may not have been warm, but running up a set of stairs for ten minutes was bound to make anyone sweat like it's thirty degrees and the sun is beating down on you.

You get to the top level and groan.

This part of the factory is relatively untouched, you know, because it was so easily seen from other parts of the city and there had already been people who had gotten caught by the police. But what that means is lots and lots of rooms you didn't know to explore, looking for on single guy who could, if he wanted, avoid you until you gave up. All it would take is a better knowledge of the place.

So you get to work.

You search as quietly as possible, as to not give yourself away, tiptoeing from one room to the other, making sure to check each and every dark corner. You don't need a flashlight: the city's lights have turned on, and the moon shines brightly in the sky, casting a cool light on everything it can reach through the windows. You silently thank the obnoxious city lights.

After ten minutes of checking rooms, you start to grow impatient and slightly worried. What if you're wrong? What if the feathers are already days old, and he isn't here anymore? What if you do find him–but you're too late? You shake your head, not wanting to think about it.

And what if you find him and he needs help? Even more than when he initially came to you?

You haven't even fully thought about that. When you did find him, you couldn't do anything else than bring him home with you, could you? You hesitate, slowing your pace and carding a hand through your hair, scanning the walls as if looking for an answer there. It isn't too late to turn back, a voice in the back of your mind whispers.

You can just go back downstairs, join the party. Make up some bullshit excuse to Allura as to why you left so suddenly.

You almost do. The thought of just leaving it–letting everything run its course normally without you interfering–is so tempting...

But then you hear a string of coughs coming from the room on your right and your legs carry you there before you can protest. When you see the shape on the floor, all you can say is "Oh shit."

It's him, all right. Unconscious, lying face down on the dirty floor of an abandoned factory, all curled up like a little newborn angel. He's shivering, you notice when you crouch down by his side. You put a trembling hand on his forehead and hiss through your teeth. He's burning up, the skin slick with sweat and his hair sticking to his forehead in a tangled mess.

"Okay," you whisper, getting on your knees and covering your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. "Okay, all right."

His chest rises and falls, though irregularly and barely noticeable–but he's breathing. He's still alive. You frown at his wings (they're all dirty and dusty and it makes you icky–it's a known fact that the state of your wings reflect your health) and wonder about how in the name of the Below you're going to get him out of there unnoticed. He's not exactly inconspicuous. You'll probably have to carry him.

You tap his cheek. He groans. You keep tapping until he cracks open an eye, and even then you have to coerce him into opening both eyes. They're unfocused and murky and filled with confusion and fear, but he's awake.

"Hey. Do you think you can sit up?" you ask softly.

He tries–you can tell he puts all the strength left in him to push himself up, inch by painful inch. You try to help him as best as you can, but even then he's panting with his eyes closed as he rests his head against the wall.

Then you remember your water bottle. Scrambling for your bag, you yank it out and unscrew the cap, slowly tipping it into his mouth. "Careful, careful," you mutter when he tries to take the bottle from your hands and starts taking bigger gulps, a bit of strength seeping into his system with every drop. "It's not good to drink so much after days of dehydration."

His eyes finally seem to focus on your face, and he frowns. "Y-Y/N?"

You only smile tightly in response. He blinks sluggishly. “But you–”

“I know, I know,” you mutter, running a hand across your face. “I’m probably going to regret this a lot. But I just…” You cast him a tired look. “I couldn’t just let you die.”

“Huh,” he whispers sheepishly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. The small gesture is so strangely out of place that you just gape at him for a few seconds, only shaken out of your stupor when he doubles over and proceeds to hack a lung out coughing. You start, grabbing hold of his shoulders to steady him and whisper encouragement as he takes a few ragged breaths.

“Hey. I’m gonna get you out of here, all right? But you need to be able to conceal your wings. I can carry you, but you have to be able to do that for me, okay?” You speak to him in a low, rushed tone, only able to hope that he can grasp how important it is for the two of you to not be spotted all the way to your apartment. He sets his jaw and nods, weakly grabbing at your shoulders for support as he tries to hoist himself up.

“Okay, all right.” He’s standing now, still woozy and swaying slightly, but he’s standing. “There we go. Hide your wings.”

He closes his eyes. His brow furrows in concentration, beads of sweat beading on his forehead. His wings flicker in and out of sight twice before completely disappearing. “Okay, awesome. You’re doing great.”

You awkwardly lead him down the stairs, one arm around his chest and under his armpits as he steadies himself on the railing, muttering encouragement every couple of steps. His wings flickered twice more, and every time you almost had a heart attack–if he couldn’t keep them hidden when you were in the city, in full view of hundreds of people… you didn’t want to think about it.

When you reach the building entrance, you debate briefly in your head what your options are. You could walk back to your apartment, but that would take over forty-five minutes and you weren’t sure if the angel could keep his wings concealed for that long. But the other option would be to take the subway and risk someone seeing you and starting to ask questions.

Then again–it was almost midnight. Most people wouldn’t be out on the streets right now, and it was dark, and the ones who would be out would be exhausted and only wanting to get back to their own homes. With a little luck, you could find an empty subway cart. The ride home would be seven minutes long.

“C’mon,” you say quietly, tugging on the angel’s sleeve. He’s leaning heavily against you–but he’s walking on his own and that’s better than you could have hoped for. “The station is that way.”

The cart is almost empty, bar a teenager with bags under their eyes the colour of charcoal. They barely give you a glance as you stumble into the cart with the angel, only pulling up their hood and crossing their arms, pointedly looking out of the window. You don’t mind in the slightest. They probably think the angel is just shitfaced drunk, you think as you set him down on a seat–maybe a little rougher than necessary. He flinches. You feel only a bit sorry.

You had given him your sweatshirt before you left the factory, and now you rub your own arms up and down against the chill biting at the skin. You scowl, sinking down into the seat, wondering what in the name of all that is demonic was wrong with you to have made the choices that you did. Taking the angel in could very well be the cause of your capture. Hiding a demon amongst humans wasn’t so hard, but a demon and an angel… That would prove to be a challenge.

But then again, you think as you cast a sideways glance at the angel who passed out as soon as his butt had hit the subway seat (he looks strangely serene in the flimsy yellow light cast upon the seats–you could almost believe he’s merely asleep), you had never been one to turn down a challenge.

[dreamscript]

the seven deadly sins: gula

gula is the sin of an insatiable appetite, a never-ending hunger; it is the sin of gluttony.

He is so peculiar and otherwordly you don’t see the danger and death that follow him until it’s a little too late.

   ➟  seokjin x reader

   ➟ supernatural au

chapter directory || next ⤖

The city is so bright. He doesn't think he's ever seen the likes of this in awhile, especially after spending so long in the dark. Souls, in an array of bright white-blue hues, flicker and twitch with every wince, smile, and emotional spike. Buildings lights, traffic lights, car lights, even the faces of some watches, all burn and glow with varied intensity. It's actually nearly so blinding that he's beginning to see the usefulness of sunglasses beyond simply disguising the face.

Seokjin shoves his hands deeper into his trench coat pockets, then takes them out again to carefully adjust the scarf wound around his neck. Puffs of white breath escape from his lips as he wonders how the human world can be so fickle; in this strange land it changes from light to dark and hot to cold in mere hours, sometimes remaining the same but most of the times changing without a clear, discernable pattern. A part of him speculates that perhaps this may also be reflecting the nature of mankind, who live such short lives and spend their days doing such odd things.

“Seokjin,” you murmur, face hidden under a layer of scarves. “How long had you been in there?”

He gives you a sideways glance before breaking into a wide smile. “A long time, is all I know. It doesn’t matter now, I’m beginning to forget it all from finally being outside!”

Orange lamplights from overhead flicker on, adding to the evening glow as the sun disappears behind the city skyline. He's vaguely conscious of the fact that he does not cast a shadow, but remains assured that in a city as crowded as this, such a fact will remain largely unnoticed. The few that may take note of it--though he may not think the best of their race, he does have to give some credit to the observational skills of some humans--are likely to simply write it off as a trick of the light. People are inclined to rationalize what cannot be rationalized. And he likes it that way.

“Where are you going? Are you just going to--leave, now? Or find the friends you were talking about?” He walks incredibly fast, so you find yourself hurrying to catch up with him.

“Hmm…” He taps his chin in mock thinking. “Dunno. Why does it matter? I’ll just go wherever there’s good food. My friends’ll probably know I’m already here, but I don’t care about them. Since you know me, you’ll probably get to know them, sooner or later.”

“Are you saying you’ll introduce me?”

Seokjin makes an irritated expression. “No, they’ll introduce themselves, maybe. I don’t know. Again, I don’t really care about them.” He pauses and he listens to the thrum of your heartbeat. It’s oddly calming. But your soul... he shudders. “Anyways, do you mind leaving? You did me a huge favor, so in response I’m not going to eat… ah… go eat with you.”

“Huh?” you reply, confused. “That’s kinda rude, you know. And also it makes no sense. What do you mean you don’t care about your friends? And I never said anything about eating? Don’t I at least deserve an explanation?”

He pushes onwards so you grab onto his sleeve, fingers brushing his skin. Seokjin startles and turns around, licks his lips. He studies you once more, carefully, running his tongue along the insides of his cheeks. You stare at him with a determined look in your eyes, so he leans in ever closer. God, the thrum of your heartbeat and your body heat was almost delectable. He feels saliva rush into his mouth but he isn’t hungering for your soul... Quickly, he turns around and shakes you off.

“Hey!” you protest, reaching out for him again, but he’s already slipping between your fingers. “Tell me what you mean!”

He turns around and gives you a wry smile, and for the first time you notice that his teeth are actually sharp and pointy, like a shark’s.

“No,” he says. “But you’ll probably figure it out anyways, just not now. You’re special. I don’t think anyone’s been able to break a seal like that for a long time.” 

And with that, he disappears, leaving you confused and flabbergasted, swallowed up by the evening crowd. Not even a goodbye. He doesn’t think that he can manage one, anyway, with the way that his hands are tremoring and his body is aching.

                                                           <<>>

Trudging onwards and pushing through the throng of bodies, Seokjin soon makes it past the main crowd, now walking along a deserted sidewalk. It had been excruciating, fighting against his bonds. It felt as if his very being were drawn to you in the same way your curiosity had drawn you to his resting place. Your touch had burned like hot fire but made him all the more hungrier...

In any case, being away from you brings him a new peace and he can finally feel himself settling into his new body. He sucks in a deep breath of cool, crisp, untainted air--and then, suddenly, is roughly pulled into a darkened alleyway.

Even through the thick cover of the shadows, he can see the dangerous glint of a pistol in the hooded figure's hand, and through the gruff whispered demands, can hear the bloodthirsty intent.

"Money?" Seokjin says, giving a light chuckle. His hands are raised in a classic surrender. "I don't have any money on me." He does not mention that he knows someone who does--and has lots of it. Not that the Avaritia prick would share any of it, but still.

"Really now?" The hooded figure says, pressing the pistol even harder against his chest. "Then we aboutta have a real fuckin' problem here, yah hear me?"

"I agree," Seokjin says, slightly amused. "I haven't been in this city long enough to know where I could possibly hide a body. Perhaps you would be nice enough to tell me?"

"The fuck you mean?"

"Oh, nothing," he says, looking off to the side. There are no passerby, no other living beings save for the birds in their trees. "I'm just really hungry, y'know?"

Seokjin turns back to the hooded figure and smiles. Wide, wide enough to expose his teeth, and then, with a quick movement, grips their arm firmly with his hand.

They do not even have a chance to make a horrified expression.

                                                          <<>>

After spending so long observing his food, Seokjin finds that now that he's started, he is unable to stop. He knows that you’re out there, still looking for him, still looking for an explanation, but he could care less. There was something odd about your soul, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on... He dodges between shadows and follows his insatiable hunger. The city is still full of light and he cannot quite discipline himself when surrounded by such abundance.

He leans against a stranger's third-floor balcony, feeling the night breeze tousle his hair. Inside the apartment, there's a small girl who sits on a tall wooden stool by herself, looking wistfully at the laptop in front of her. Next to her is a half-empty carton of strawberries, each fruit nearly half the size of her fist and redder than the blood that runs through her veins... Not that he's really interested in her flesh; that would be more of a Luxuria thing, with the way the guy practically worships the human physical makeup. Seokjin's more about what lies beyond the superficial.

He steps forward, reaches out a hand, and then slips in easily--almost too easily--through the windowed door, loving the lack of anti-demonic barriers, enjoying how the acid he excretes simply eats away the glass, melting it away in a process that is just as quiet as it is effective. The girl does not stir, her eyes glued to the screen, not a single indication that she is aware of his presence.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, placing his hands on her shoulders, taking time to rest finger by finger atop her blue cotton shirt. She freezes but does not scream; every muscle in her body has been paralyzed upon contact. He smiles again, wide, his teeth now slowly elongating and deviating from the standard flat, squarish shape of mankind; they transform into long, sharp, piercing canines.

"Hey," he says, voice now transforming to a much deeper baritone, lips just barely containing the deluge of saliva in his mouth. Her back remains turned to him and he wonders just how she would act if she were not paralyzed. Her soul quivers and shakes violently, so deliciously, its lovely deep blue hue pulsating with fear and hysteria. He takes a moment to breathe in the delightful aroma of her soul before continuing with his sentence.

"Give me your soul--”

“SEOKJIN!”

He whirls around fast enough to see you screaming and panting through the entrance he’d just created.

a/n: if you think i have no idea what im actually doing and this seems like a mess, then you’re absolutely right fuck sos

[sinfulbrothers]

Submissive [ Chapter 1-4 ]

[ Wincest! demon!dean priest x submissive Sam ]

A story I am writing on Wattpad. It is quite old though.

——————

"Mr.Winchester, would you like to explain why you would like the job?" Marie, a nice brunette with puppy like eyes asked, she was always the flirting type. Dean Samuel Winchester remembered the first day he walked into the Bulton church and asked to be the head priest. At first no one really took interest in his bulky looking figure, he'd always been a bigger than most people. Not that he cared very much. But the more time he went to work the more he learned about his co-workers and work.

Marie for instance, yes she came to church and begged for forgiveness. She really did. But no one would guess with a face like hers she would be a drug dealer. Dealing pot and other illegals under the cops noses. All while still going to church. Even though Dean knew of her activities he stayed "silent". Only watching from afar as the dealings continued. Another co-worker with issues would be Joseph. He came to church every Sunday and Wednesday. Helping castiel with work and donations. No one would suspect him of being a serial killer, yup. He was a serial killer. One that killed his best friend and framed his other. No one else knew.

It was so hard to keep quiet. Dean knew if he slipped up and told the police people would be all over him. Not that it really mattered in any way, he just didn't need the attention brought to him. It would ruin everything. So he stayed quiet. Going to work every Sunday and Wednesday. They had confessions. Some were better than others. The occasional 'i slept with another man while my husband was out of town' or 'I stole blah blah blah from this store'. It was all complete and utter bullshit, people always lied and stole from one another. If it wasn't that, then they were going at it like a pack of dogs. It was disgusting.

He withdrew his hand back from another visitor of the church, a young blonde man with blue eyes. A thick Russian accent and a scrawny figure. No it wasn't the man he was looking for. Not even close. The one he wanted was way more attractive. Stronger build, darker eyes. "Samantha." The name rolled off his tongue like a spice. Where was he? His emerald eyes darted across the church, scanning the few people that were there.

"Is there something wrong, father?" Eleanor questioned, an eyebrow slowly rising up. Dean couldn't contain the scowl that appeared on his face, displeasure in his eyes.

"Yes there is something wrong! Where is Samuel at? Samuel J. Alexander? Where is he? I had an appointment with him and he's—" Just at the sound of Dean's rambling, the church doors slid open and Sam walked in. His hair dripping wet, carrying a few ruined books to his chest. His shoulders shaking and shuddering as he struggled to catch his breath. Dean's scowl faded, a smile appearing on his lips. "Where have you been, Samuel? In some trouble, have we?"

The brown haired man walked down the hall to the father, "Im sorry, my car broke down and I had to walk here. It started raining, it's one..." He caught himself before he said 'hell of a storm'. But father must've knew what he said because Sam caught the faint chuckle. One that sent shivers up his spine.

Dean turned gesturing towards his office, "Shall we? I'm sure we have a change of clothes. So you won't freeze."

Something about the walk felt off, it felt as if the walls were closing in on him, a simple hand on his shoulder made him jump. Usually Sam wasn't that easily spooked, sure a haunted house could get a laugh. But never a spook. Besides, this was just his pastor he was walking with. It wasn't anyone extremely special, or high up in the social norm. Whatever the hell that meant these days.

Dean walked into the room carrying a nice dry pair of clothes, grey sweatpants, a baggy blue shirt and a bottle of water. "I thought you would want something to drink from running for so long. Hope you don't mind." He sat the bottle down, nodding to Sam. Sam grabbed the clothes flashing a gentle smile and headed to the bathroom. "Fuck." Dean growled punching his desk, clenching his jaw, "How in the living gates of hell..—shut the hell up, you say a word and I'll snap your neck." Without even looking he knew who stood outside the door, nosy brat of a kid. Sally Bulluck. He straightened himself up taking a seat at his desk.

Sam brushed out his hair with his fingers, combing through flattening it down. Sliding his dry shirt over his head flattening it out, grinning at himself in the mirror. It wasn't a good sense of clothing choice but it was better than being cold and wet. Sadly, Sam had lost his phone after the incident. Maybe he could use Dean's? He had never seen Dean with a cell phone. Which was very very odd for someone in this day of age. He combed his fingertips across his jaw examining closer at a blemish, brushing it off and headed out of the room. Going back to father's office. Clearing his throat outside the room before he trampled in. Father was sitting at his desk flipping through papers, his dark eyes skimming over every word, though he didn't seem like he cared or knew what the words meant. "Father, may I use your phone?"

"I'm sorry, Samuel, I don't own a cell phone. Do you need a ride? If so, I can drive you back to your place. It's on the way to the bowling alley." Dean forced a smile upon his lips, standing up pushing his chair back. Causing it to creak.

Samuel nodded, "Yes, father. I haven't been able to afford a car yet for myself. I'm hoping in the next few months when I get my job." The man smiled softly, his hands folded in front of him, grabbing his bag of wet clothes and followed Dean through the church and out the back door. Dean always parked her behind the church, so no thieves could get to her. "Wow..nice car. How'd you keep it—"

"Her. Her name's baby. I kept her from rusting because I'm not and idiot who leaves their car out to the elements. You need to take care of the happy things." Dean unlocked the impala, throwing the door open and climbing in, pushing the passenger door open for Sam. Once Sam was inside he started her up and pulled out of the alley. "Tell me. Do you still live on Grover Street? Beside the park?" Of course Dean already knew the answer to that, he knew everything about Sam. Everything. Sam gave an awkward glance over to him, nodding sharply, his hands remaining in his lap. "Great. That's not too far. About fifteen minutes? Would you like to grab something to eat along the way?"

The younger man shifted around in his seat, "I really need to get home. My mom isn't doing too well, she's sick again." Hair rose on the back of his neck, something cold pressed against his neck. "F-Father?"

"We're grabbing some chili fries without salt. You alert the cashier and it'll go to hell. Just sit still, Samuel." Sam did, he wasn't going to chance it.

[bemyfriend-archive]

Don’t Look Now (I’m Being Followed)

Word Count:  14.057

Parings: Lee Jooheon x Im Changkyun (I.M)

Genre: superhero au, college au, roommate au

Summary: Searching for some apparent place, where floated needles decide the way. I’d dig my heels but I might crack the ice, give me some solid ground. The frost sinking in my cheeks, in my fingertips, I'm frozen senseless, everyday is a winter solstice without you.

The super hero / roommate au in which one is powered by the stars while the other is powered by the frigid cold. When one half of the duo gets seriously injured right before a fatal attack on the city, will the other come to his side?

A/N: this was originally posted to a03 for the spring monsta x fic exchange, i’ve decided to cross post on here just to see how it goes, as always this is unbeta’d because i’m lazy, there is references to drug use and major character death, as well as mentions of depression and suicide

Links: A03 ll playlist

Dragging his half dead body (and entirely dead soul) into the public library, Changkyun made his way to the science section hoping for some sign from Hyejoo. It had already been close to a year since she destroyed half the town. The only reason he knew she was alive was because he still saw her stars in the moon-lit night sky.

Fading in and out of thought, he walked around in a daze as his vision unfocused. Letting his thoughts drift to the distant shores of his own mind, he was met with the confused face of a platinumed hair man around the same age as him. Probably entering his first or second year of university like Changkyun himself.

Watching as the other took out his earbuds, Changkyun echoed the motion removing his own headphones. The tense air between the two was filled with the soft beats of music.

“Can I help you?” Platinum asked, removing his hand from the bookshelf as he hardened his gaze on Changkyun.

“Um, I just need that book on constellations, the black one, by Hye.” Changkyun responded feeling his hands get sweaty for some reason. Why was he nervous? Doing a once over on Platinum he realized he was almost the exact opposite of himself. First there was the hair, second this dude was dressed in pale greys and whites, thirdly he looked way too kissable, his cheeks were too soft to ignore. Changkyun just looked emo, scary, and dead inside, (which he was).

Lost in thought once more, he muttered a thanks as Platinum reached for the books once more. “Catasterismi?” Platinum asked. Giving a small nod in response, he watched on as the other took the book off the shelf and handed it to Changkyun, keeping as much space between them as possible, he acted as if he’d freeze Changkyun if the two made contact. “One strange book for one strange, and cute, boy.” Platinum smiled, showing off his dimples.

Muttering a small “thanks” he could feel himself blushing as he walked away. Cute huh? That was a new one, strange however, he was used to. Putting his headphones back on, Changkyun walked towards a corner of the library that was soaked in sunlight. The soft sounds of some My Chemical Romance song came through his headphones, helping him fall into a trance. Pulling out a chair, he sat down at an isolated table, back to the sun.

“Mama, we’re meant for the flies, and right now they’re building a coffin your size. Mama we’re all full of lies.” He sang to himself as he flipped through his book, glad that no one else was around to question his (very emo), music taste. Continuing to hum along to the song, he began to sway his head from side to side as he read through his sister’s book.

Jooheon had no idea what had come over him. What the hell was he thinking calling a stranger cute? Much less strange. He was the strange one here. Who wore a sweatshirt in the middle of July? Jooheon, that’s who. Shaking his head, he put his headphones back in being met with the soothing music of Michael Jackson. Making his way to the back of the library, meteorology book in hand, he was met with the sight of the stranger sitting in an isolated corner.

Taking a deep breath, he braved himself before walking up to the table and tapping the stranger on the shoulder. Interrupting the stranger’s hums of an outdated, and surely classic emo song, Jooheon tapped the strangers shoulder causing him to jump. And scream.

Faster than they both could realize, one of the workers was shushing them with threats of kicking them out. Bowing and apologizing to the worker, Jooheon looked back to the stranger only to be met with a glare. Giving a sheepish smile, Jooheon introduced himself. He watched as the other lowered his glare to his book before responding with his own name.

Counting it as a win with the cute stranger named Changkyun, he sat himself down across from him and opened his own book. Despite sitting directly in the sun’s harsh midday glare, Jooheon found himself occasionally glancing at Changkyun. Everytime he did, he found the other basked in the sun’s rays as if there was a halo around him. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he found himself falling for him despite the two of them having less than a conversation together.

Convinced that Changkyun was in a world of his own, Jooheon allowed himself to fully take in Changkyun. He had jet black hair, black eyes that seemed like they held both the answers for everything, and questions that no one knew to ask. He wore a black turtleneck sweater with a white line across his chest. Almost the exact opposite of what Jooheon wore, and somehow that interested him more. After all, opposites attract, right?

Almost the entire day had gone by with the two sitting in complete silence, neither wanting to spark a conversation that could lead to something more. Between them a stack of books in a variety of titles, authors, thickness, colors, and topics acted as a wall. A physical boundary to prevent them from talking. Hearing Changkyun sigh, either in frustration, or annoyance, he watched as the other stood up and collected his books.

Continuing to watch in silence, Changkyun slowly faded out of his field of vision with his stack of books and a backpack he didn’t have before. Deciding it was time to go as well, Jooheon let out a defeated sigh as he picked up his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. Not wanting the school year to start so he could continue reading his fictional books and not some stupid text books. Picking up his own stack of books that he had fanned through, he took out the best three and returned to the front desk.

Checking out the books, he carefully placed them in his bag before walking outside. Letting his eyes adjust to the fading sunlight, he began walking to his car only to see that Changkyun was sitting on top of a motorcycle. Somehow he wasn’t all that surprised, all the other needed was a leather jacket (and maybe pants) to complete the badass look. Unlocking his car, Jooheon tossed his bag onto the passenger seat and watched as Changkyun took off down the street.

Turning on the engine, he slammed his head against the steering wheel realizing he had forgotten to ask for Changkyun’s number. Sitting up and rubbing his forehead, he let out a small pout before putting on his seat belt and backing out of the library’s parking lot.

“I have got to stop slamming my head against things.” He whispered to nobody.

Returning to the library, Changkyun sat in the parking lot and pulled out the book that Jooheon had wanted. Taking out the note he had prepared at Kihyun’s, he slipped it in the book and walked inside. A part of him had hoped to see Jooheon again so that he could feel the other’s eyes on him. It was an odd feeling, one that he liked. He wasn’t entirely sure as to why.

Pulling open the heavy storm proof door, he approached the front desk and handed the book to the librarian. Asking them to hold it for Jooheon, he returned to his motorcycle outside and sat in silence for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Shaking his head, he started up the engine and once again left his (now) favorite library behind.

Within a couple weeks Changkyun had given up hope of hearing from Platinum again, but yet here he was, thinking about the mysterious man dressed in all white. Parking in the lot next to his dorm building, he made his way through the front and to the main entrance. Walking up behind the shitty makeshift welcome desk, he tugged on the chair Kihyun was currently sitting in. “Your favorite resident has finally moved back in, how does that make you feel?”

“Sorry Changkyun, but Hyungwon moved in with the RA’s last week, can you believe he hasn’t even graduated and yet he’s working? He’s truly amazing.” Minhyuk turned to Changkyun and responded with a smile plastered across his face, eyes in crescents. Giving Minhyuk his infamous death glare in return, he tugged on the older’s chair making him fall out and onto the ground.

“So cold Minhyukkie, I thought I was the favorite since I’m the youngest.” He leaned back, putting his feet up on the table (most likely knocking over a binder or two in the process) he put his arm over his eyes feigning a broken heart. Faking sobs, he heard Minhyuk groan as he stood up and started rubbing his ass.

Continuing to bicker with Minhyuk, Kihyun’s smack across his chest caught his attention. Sitting up right, he turned to the pink haired male, ready to fight back only to be met with a key in front of his face along with papers.

“Oh no no no, I am NOT having a roommate, I refuse, the school can kiss my ass. Not today Pink Satan.”

“Which Pink Satan? Me or Hyungwon?” Kihyun smiled like the devil he was before shoving the papers into Changkyun’s chest and forcing him out of the chair. Laying on the ground, he watched as Minhyuk quickly took his chair back and placed his feet on Changkyun as if he were a leg rest.

“He fucking what now?” Closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of the Summer air, he let his mind clear, feeling his face relax. “Nope.” He yelled before standing up, only to bump into Kihyun.

“Hey jackass, put aside the thought of two Pink Satans for now and meet your roommate.” Rubbing his forehead, Changkyun looked up and was met with the sight of a man dressed in white with platinum hair. “Changkyun, meet Lee Jooheon. Jooheon, meet your roommate, and pain in the ass, Im Changkyun. I pray for your mental stability.”

“Um, I can show you to our room and help you move some of your stuff in, but after that I gotta dip out for the new student orientation shit. I really only have an hour and a half, so you know, use me.” He smiled and raised his arms, forming a T as if Jooheon was just going to take his body.

Peeking at Jooheon, Changkyun noticed that the other looked more spooked than amused. “Alright room 415, here we go, party room, whoo.” Letting his head drop, he pointed to the entrance before walking towards it. Picking up a suitcase and duffle bag labeled LJH, Changkyun opened the door for the other and headed towards the elevator.

Once inside the two sat in a tense and awkward silence as the old (and probably unsafe) elevator dinged it’s way to the top floor. Maintaining the silence, Changkyun led the pair towards their room. “Just so you know, the pink haired satan, or Kihyun as some call him, is this floor’s RA. He’s chill but just don’t piss him off ya know?”

Unlocking the door, they entered the dimly lit doubles room. “I’m Im Changkyun, or I.M as some call me. Second year astrology major, early entry right out of highschool, wears too much black, probably looks like I’m always ready to kill someone, rarely talks to people outside of his group, blah blah blah. It’s all true. I’m sure you’ve heard some shit already but take it how you want it.”

Setting down Jooheon’s stuff on the plain mattress, Changkyun finished his introduction. “These beds are shit by the way, you’re gonna want a mattress topper of some kind. Anyway, I’ve told you everything you need to know about me for now, let's get you moved in.” Giving Jooheon a soft smile, he tried to make himself seem as nice as possible despite knowing it probably wouldn’t happen.

Tossing the keys and paperwork in Jooheon’s direction, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and left the room. Closing the door as softly as he could, he found himself aggravated as he walked in the direction of the stairwell.

Entering the stairwell, Changkyun began talking to himself not caring if someone heard him in passing. It’s not like it would make sense anyway. “I know he checked out the damn book and yet he couldn’t even bother giving me the time of day, but oh nooo, at the library he’s free to check me out and look at me whenever he fucking feels like it. Look at me getting my hopes up again.” Kicking the wall, he placed his head against the wall as well and breathed.

“Seven seconds in, hold five, release seven.” He whispered to himself as he continued to use the wall as support in calming himself down.

Jooheon couldn’t believe it. Not when he saw the black-cladded male basically pull a chair out from someone. Not when Kihyun had introduced them after he had stood up, and certainly not when he was trapped in the elevator with the man he now knew as Im Changkyun.

Once he was alone in the room, key and paperwork in his lap, Jooheon pulled the silver phone case off his phone. Taking out the note, he rolled it over in his hand mindlessly before unfolding it. “Since you couldn’t stop staring at me - xxx-xx-xxx - call me instead ;)” it read. He doubted that Changkyun had remembered him at all and that the note was more for fucking around together instead of building friendship that could turn into something more like Jooheon wanted.

He was already whipped for Changkyun, just from his mysterious aura and his humming along to music as he read. The other had to have people over him all the time, he just screamed attraction. Those two thoughts alone had made Jooheon too scared to call or text him, but now he didn’t have a choice, they were roommates after all. Oh my god, they were roommates. Putting his head into his hands, he rubbed at his eyes hoping it would help destress him. It didn’t.

Letting out a loud sigh, Jooheon pulled his face out of his hands slowly dragging his hands down his neck in defeat. Taking a second before looking around the room he let his thoughts run wild not making any sense.

Absorbing his surroundings (aka Changkyun’s side of the room) he noted that the other had glow in the dark stars up on the ceiling. Some formed random shapes, others made the constellations.

Changkyun’s side of the room was adorned in shades of black and silver. On the walls he had hung fairy lights (even they had black electrical cords), various posters of bands and video games, as well as some polaroids, none of which had him in them. A part of Jooheon wondered what Changkyun got up to or what kind of past he had to make him this dark and closed off. Continuing to look around and explore the small room, Jooheon found himself wanting to know everything about the other, no matter how long it took.

Starting to unpack his own stuff, the full realization of just how much they contrasted started to settle in. While Changkyun’s stuff was black and silver, Jooheon’s was white and gold. A total 180 from each other. Sneaking a peek over to Changkyun’s desk to get an idea of a good set up, he noticed astronomy textbooks among a wide array of albums and unlabeled binders. Maybe they’d have some classes together. Smiling to himself with a new found hope, he began setting up as Changkyun opened the door bringing in the rest of Jooheon’s stuff.

Once Changkyun dropped everything on Jooheon’s bed, he finally decided to speak up. “Changkyun listen, I uh just wanted to let you know that I got your note. And that I never called or texted because I was nervous and I thought I wouldn’t see you again. So let’s start over yeah? My name’s Lee Jooheon, I’m a second year transfer from abroad and I’m studying Biology.” Reaching his hand out, he watched as Changkyun simply looked at his outstretched hand.

“Nope.” Changkyun said with a soft smile before changing into a (unsurprisingly) black shirt that said “Orientation Leader” on the back with the school’s logo on the breast. He had waved and walked out. Feeling his heart sink into his stomach, the hope Jooheon had previously was gone. “Fucking idiot.” He whispered at himself as he heard the younger disappear down the hallway.

Walking back down to the RA’s table outside, Changkyun now had one mission before his orientation duty.

Slamming his hands down on the table (and most likely scaring a new student or two) he was met with Kihyun glaring up at him. “Yes Changkyun?”

“I want a new roommate.”

“Too bad.”

“He’s too cute and kind for me.”

“Then stop liking dick.”

“Um, no? Have you HAD a dick before? They're fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Fuck off and go do your OL shit gay lord.”

“Says the one with pink hair.”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both very gay and very pretty but we have new students lets not scare them okay? At least not today?” Minhyuk had ended the conversation with a threatening smile towards the duo. Hearing whispers from both students and parents behind them, Changkyun huffed and walked away knowing soon he’d be seeing those same people. At least they knew there was a gay community on campus now.

The memories began to fade away as he finally broke out his homework. Changkyun heard the door open only to reveal a bruised up Jooheon with grocery bags on both his arms. Standing up to help his roommate (and crush) he began looking through the bags. “Hey dumbass, you forgot the milk. Again.”

“Fucking shit.” Jooheon muttered as he dropped his head in shame, allowing Changkyun to pat the other's soft locks. Feeling his heart soften towards the older’s antics once more, he began to wonder when he started feeling like this. Helping Jooheon with the groceries, he couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so beaten and bruised. Maybe he really was the Ice Dude.

Slamming his head against the desk, Jooheon groaned as he looked at his watch watching the time go by slower than molasses on crutches. Up hill. In the winter.

“Dude you okay?” A deep voice beside Jooheon spoke quietly, a soft prod in his side coming shortly after.

“Changkyun, buddy, pal. I love you, but why the hell did you pick morning classes. Also please don’t poke me.”

“You’re squishy it’s fun. As for morning classes, I know we both always have shit to do at night so chill, you’ll thank me for it one day.”

Moving his head to the side, Jooheon stared down Changkyun with a glare in his eye. “Yeah that’ll be the day you save my life or some bullshit.”

Finally sitting back up Jooheon let out a small sigh wishing the time could go faster. Resting his head in the palm of his hand he glanced to Changkyun. “I’m gonna go to the store after class, do you need anything?”

He watched Changkyun look at his phone and quickly cleared a notification. “Just some milk, I’ll be getting back late tonight, sorry dude.”

“All good man.”

Running out of the lecture hall, Jooheon could feel his body temperature dropping. Fast. He knew everyone was staring at him. It wasn’t often he made a beeline right after class. Running through the parking lot he unlocked his car, tossing in his bag and starting it up. Turning up the heat and letting out a small shiver, he grabbed his phone and dialed Hyunwoo before driving off.

“Where am I going papa bear?”

“Still not your dad, you’re going to the east wing on 5th and 14th. Don’t die.”

“Yeah that’s as likely to happen as me working with someone new.” Laughing to himself Jooheon drove onto the almost empty highway.

Changkyun stood up groaning. “If you’re gonna beat me, at least do it in bed after wine and dining me asshole. You know, I WAS gonna feel bad about hurting you, until you threw me through a fucking WALL.” Hardening his expression he stepped through the hole in the wall and turned to look at it. “Looks like my ass after some good dick.”

“What the literal fuck is wrong with you?”

“Says the one out here looking like a fucking twink.” Taking another look at the red head, he smiled to himself. “If you get naked and put some body glitter on I might think about sleeping with you.”

“Changkyun, the more dumbass comments you make, the more likely he is to throw you through another wall.” Turning to face Kihyun, remark ready to be made, he felt something connect with his jaw. “You see normally, I would call that lucky since you’re against Changkyun, but someone has sex on his mind. Again.”

Laying in the rubble of a new dent in their concrete floors, he raised up an arm in protest. “Not my fault my roommate is fucking hot. I can get serious if you want me to Minhyukkie. Do you wanna see my pet Wolfie?” Standing up once more, Changkyun brushed the dirt and dust off himself.

Running over to Minhyuk he connected his boot cladded foot with the older’s chest sending him against the wall Changkyun had previously gone through. Hearing the crack of Minhyuk's body against the hard concrete sent a satisfying shiver through his body.

Grinning, he watched as the older stood up clutching his chest, clearly gasping for air. “I’m that good huh? I guess I can leave everyone breathless.” Changkyun asked with a quick wink, a smirk to follow. Walking over to the barely breathing man he could hear Kihyun yelling at him to quit it. “Do you really want me to get serious? I haven’t even used my powers, do the stars scare you? Maybe one day I’ll summon Wolfie for you.”

“Get. Fucked.” Minhyuk breathed out before blacking out. Feeling his body get weak and watching as his vision blurred, he flipped off Hyungwon. “Can you ever leave time alone? For thirty seconds?” He yelled, resting his head on the rubble of the half destroyed wall.

“With you around? No.” Hyungwon smiled down at him before turning serious again. “In about an hour there’s going to be something happening, I’ll send you the location shortly. Get moving.” Nodding to Hyungwon, he stood up. “You know this wall kinda looks like..”

“Changkyun I said go.”

Letting out a small sigh he walked towards the exit, grabbing his jacket and keys off Kihyun’s workbench. “I’m gonna die to spite you both.” He muttered as he closed the door behind him. Just as quickly as the door closed, it was kicked open by a furious Kihyun screaming that “He had better not” and that “He’d stay dead this time.”

Climbing on top of his motorcycle he pulled his jacket tight around him before putting on his helmet and gloves. Starting up the engine he felt the machine roar to life under him. Patting the side he pulled down his visor, completely engulfing himself in black.

Leaving the hideout, Changkyun sped towards the highway. Driving into the blinding sunlight, a map popped up on his visor with the location of his new mission. 5th and 14th, at least he wasn’t going to the slums for once. Revving the engine and popping a wheelie, he smiled to himself as he weaved his way through the parking lot traffic.

Arriving at the location, Changkyun was met with the sight of someone dressed in hues of  white and blue standing over someone or something. Inching himself forward on the bike, he tapped the side of his helmet zooming in on the stranger. He had this itching feeling that he had seen him before somewhere. Maybe this was the new ice dude Minhyuk had been going on about.

Upon closer inspection he noticed the man in white had some type of weapon on his back. “Probably to help with physical fights.” He muttered to himself. How could this dude wear so much white? White pants, white trench coat, white hood, white scarf, white boots. Changkyun was seeing more white than when he came the other night.

Brushing his platinum hair out of his face, Jooheon walked up to the now motionless body that laid in a pile of rubble. Fixing the white scarf that covered the lower part of his face. “Listen buddy, I really don’t wanna hurt you anymore, so could you maybe, I dunno, turn yourself in? Please? I have an essay due tomorrow and its not done, plus my roommate is expecting me back soon ya know?”

Hearing a motorcycle engine in the distance his head shot up. Narrowing his eyes at the noise he watched the figure on the motorcycle slowly get closer. No doubt who ever it was under the famed Lupus mask, they were inspecting Jooheon. Squatting down he prepared himself to leave. There was no way in hell he was squaring off against Lupus. Not in this lifetime, he liked living. Thank you very much.

Much to his surprise Lupus had turned their motorcycle around, the moonlight reflecting midnight blues and greys off the mechanical body, along with the constellation on their helmet before revving the engine and driving off. He watched in silence as the picked up the (probably concussed) man in front of him. Throwing the man over his shoulder, he launched himself off an ice stalagmite into the sky towards the nearest police station. “Guess the essay isn't getting finished” He whispered to himself as he continued launching himself from roof to roof.

Arriving back at the dorm, Changkyun took off his helmet and threw it into his safe along with his jacket and gloves before slamming it shut. It was all a little odd. For the longest time he was the only super in this city until this Ice Dude showed up. The biggest oddity was that Ice Dude arrived around the same time as Jooheon.

A part of him was jealous of Ice Dude's powers. Ice stalagmites to launch himself through the air, another power that summons a small field of stalagmites, his weapon (whatever it was used for, or whatever purpose it served aside from beating the shit out of people), a frost shield, an ice grenade, and some type of ice blast. What else did this dude have at his fingertips?

It had to be so much better than using physical force and the stars to fight. Granted he knew he looked badass but still, Changkyun was allowed to be envious.

It didn’t make sense to him. Jooheon showed no signs of being a super, much less a powerful one with a skill set like Ice Dude. He was just, too nice. No matter how hard he tried Changkyun couldn't picture it. Hyungwon and Kihyun had also said it was highly improbable.

Usually there was only one super protecting a city or an area.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he changed into joggers and a sweatshirt before pulling out his homework. Sitting back in his chair, he pulled his backpack up onto his lap and propped his legs up on the desk. Shuffling through his bag as he looked for his assigned readings he felt himself get lost in thought.

What if Jooheon really was the Ice Dude? Their relationship could either change dramatically or not at all. Did Jooheon not trust him enough to tell him? Feeling his gaze drop he knew he couldn’t hold that against him. He hadn’t told Jooheon he was Lupus after all.

Who could blame him? Lupus was a scary dude that never showed his full power. The last time a full power like his was shown sent the country, along with half the world, into turmoil and confusion. What else could come out of a constellation coming to life?

The only time it had happened was when his younger sister Hyejoo had seen her best friend commit suicide, shortly after the incident her jet black wolf tore through the town, hunting down the people who had harmed her friend so badly. Once it all ended Hyejoo took herself off the grid, even cutting ties with Changkyun.

Finding himself lost in thought, Changkyun thought back to how he had met Jooheon and how he fell for him instantly. Chuckling to himself with the thought of Hyejoo indirectly bringing the two together.

Sitting at his desk, Jooheon toyed with the cowbell that he had bought a few hours prior. Why? Even he didn’t know, it just looked cute. It was a Saturday which meant nothing to do until nightfall. Leaning back in his chair he let out a groan of boredom as he wondered what to do with his life. Sure he could go train, but did he want to? No.

Turning his head to look out the window, he sighed again as Sol burned herself brightly for everyone to enjoy. He could hear the distant voices of other students outside, talking about the new movie they were going to see or some party that was sure to be a rager. All signs of classes and fatigue were forgotten.

Hearing a strange bark followed by someone shushing the bark. Deciding against his better judgment to ignore it, assuming someone had snuck their dog into the dorms again, he sat up and went back to playing with the cowbell. Lost in distant thoughts of stars and a black-haired boy among them, outshining them all.

No longer feeling the time passing, he turned on his stereo, soft beats and rhythms now filling the air. Hearing the soft click of the door unlocking, the barking was closer. Narrowing his eyes, he had the sneaking suspicion that his roommate was doing something stupid again.

“JOOHEON- CLOSE TH-FUCK.” Hearing Changkyun shouting he jumped out of his chair and ran to the door. Swinging it open he was met with the sight of the younger struggling with a hyperactive grey and white husky.

“You. Did. Fucking. Not.” Letting himself turn serious, (and a mix of disappointment and pride, but he wouldn’t tell him that), Jooheon was truly clueless as to what to do.

“I made a bet with Minhyuk and Kihyun that I couldn’t dog-nap the president's dog, so here I am.” Changkyun stated simply with a smile that brightened his whole face (a shit eating grin really). As stupid, idiotic, and ridiculous as the whole situation was, Jooheon couldn’t help but find himself smiling at the younger.

Dog-napping for a bet did have a certain charm. Allowing himself to laugh, he let Changkyun release the dog into the room with a triumphant yell, along with throwing his arms into the air. Checking the hallway, Jooheon closed the door slowly before turning around to face the younger. Seeing Changkyun taking selfies with the dog, he wasn’t entirely surprised, he felt more soft than anything.

“Take that fuckers.” Changkyun whispered as he sent the pictures and began playing with the dog after closing the blinds. Maybe this is what falling in love felt like. With the smile never leaving his face, he joined the younger on the floor as the dog knocked the cowbell off his desk.

Deep in sleep, Changkyun was nowhere near his typical dreamscape, instead he stood in the rain. In front of him laid six jet black caskets, all given military honors. The rain reflected his emotions, as if he had just lost something dear to him. Looking up from the caskets, he took in the appearances of everyone around him. They were nothing but black and staticy figures, all except a girl that now passed behind everyone.

Dropping his umbrella into the mud, Changkyun began chasing after the girl only to trip and fall into a casket of his own. Slamming his fists into the silk-lined pillow and bed of the casket, he let out a roar of frustration as the walls began closing in. He was totally helpless and he hated it.

On his way back to the dorms from practice and training, Jooheon was slammed into the ground, feeling his pulse racing through his veins and directly to his head. He kicked back against the mutant currently attacking him, he watched with a sense of pride as it flew a few feet back and hit a tree. Taking a closer look at what had suddenly attacked him he realized it looked a little too much like the Beast.

Curiosity piqued, he looked at it with a tilt of his head and narrowed eyes. Maybe this whole beast thing was bigger than they all knew. As a consequence of his short-lived brainstorming session, Jooheon found himself falling through the door of a run down (and probably condemned) building.

Standing up, he brushed the dust off his body nonchalantly. Jumping a couple times to warm himself up, he opened the now broken door and stepped through before taking his weapon from his back. With a quick flick of his arm, the weapon had activated and expanded to its full length. Throwing it at the mutant, he felt a sense of pride that he had successfully locked the mutant down by its neck.

Walking closer to inspect it, it had begun to retaliate against Jooheon. Flailing it’s limbs and letting out screeches of horror that could make someone’s ears bleed. The screeches had begun to turn almost demonic before they suddenly stopped. Bending down, he encased the mutant in ice as he checked for a pulse. Nothing.

“What happened?” He whispered into the wind, as the body turned to dust and disappeared before his eyes.

Arriving back at the dorms knowing he looked like a hot mess, Jooheon sighed deeply wondering what sexual comment Changkyun was going to make this time. Resting his head against the door, he unlocked the door and swung it open lazily.

Not bothering to take off his shoes, he kicked the door shut before walking to his bed and letting himself fall.

“Well you look like a hot mess,” Called it, “You good though?”

Turning his head to look at Changkyun, he took in another deep breath wondering where this conversation was going. “Yeah just a rough and long night is all, I can sleep it off.”

“Must’ve been some bomb sex.” Changkyun stated, covering his mouth as he let out a soft laugh. Feeling his heart soften at the sight, Jooheon felt a smile creeping onto his face as he fell a tiny bit more for the mystery that was Im Changkyun.

“Yeah, it really was.” He laughed back, letting his soft chuckles rake through his body he began wondering if Changkyun held the moon. Or maybe he was the moon. He had wanted to tell the younger who he really was, but he still couldn’t risk it. Feeling his smile fall, he rolled over and faced the wall before fading off into sleep.

It had been a couple days since Jooheon came back looking roughed up, more than usual at least. Covering his yawn, he looked at the clock on his desk. Three a.m, Jooheon should have been back hours ago. He was never held up past midnight, neither of them were.

With worry washing over his body, he went to his safe and took out his combat gear getting ready just incase. Leaving the room unlocked in a hurry, he took the stairs two at a time not wanting to waste precious seconds.

Once outside he ran to his bike, attempting to contact the others hoping one was at the hideout. Much to his disappointment, no one had answered which left it up to him. If Jooheon was in danger, he had to know.

Making it to the hideout in record time, Changkyun logged himself into Minhyuk’s computers and began searching the city’s cameras and traffic lights looking for any sign of Jooheon. The neon green text flashed across his face showing various combinations of street and camera codes. Finally finding what he wanted, he marked down the location and left with one of Minhyuk’s laptops.

Arriving to the camera’s line of vision he began scanning the area not finding anything. Pulling out the laptop, he started checking other cameras in a panic. A number began flashing across the screen and several cameras. “4155012x,” He whispered, “What does that mean?” Hearing a scream followed by a crash, he put the laptop away and began running in the direction of the noise.

Turning a corner as he ran, he saw the flash of a white trench coat across his vision. The person in the coat suffered another hit, this time into the ground creating a small crater. Unsure why, Changkyun felt angry, as if someone close to him was the one being attacked instead of a total stranger.

Once Changkyun had the mutant down for good, he watched in silence as its black griffon- like body faded to ash, the white armor from its face remaining. Turning to the body dressed in white, he faced a fear he didn’t realize he had. Jooheon was X. Picking the older up, Changkyun threw him over his shoulders fireman style as walked back towards his bike.

Jooheon made no movements or sounds as the younger carried him, or even has he drove to the hospital. “I’m taking you to Hoseok, he can fix you up, better than ever.” Changkyun whispered, more to reassure himself than Jooheon who was fading in and out.

“Stay with me buddy come on, you can do it.”

Jooheon heard a dark and somewhat mystical voice speaking softly to him. He felt weak, it was something he had never felt before. Helplessness? Despair? “Yeah despair, that’s the word. Goodnight.” Letting the darkness engulf him, Jooheon felt like his body was both falling and floating at the same time. “It’s like I’m riding myself through space.” He slurred, letting his head loll to the side.

Hearing confusion in the dark voice that surrounded him, he liked that voice. It wasn’t even a voice, it was home. Home was calling for him.

Running through the darkness that was slowly eating away at his body, Jooheon screamed for help. Tears started pricking his eyes as he called for Changkyun. Changkyun would always help Jooheon, he promised. In the distance behind him, Jooheon spotted a wolf with burning red eyes getting closer to him.

Making eye contact with the animal, a voice in his head resonated out the words “You can run, but you can’t hide.” Feeling fear sink deep into his heart , he got up and began running again. Finally reaching some sort of shore, He began to claw himself out of the darkness, only to find himself falling again.

A part of him gave up on Changkyun saving him, Jooheon felt his body jerk to a stop making him scream out in pain. Something or someone was holding his wrist to stop his fall. Looking up his eyes connected with Changkyun’s star-filled ones. Only the stars were fading, leaving the darkness of the void Jooheon was caught in.

“Did you really think I’d help you? That’d I’d stop your fall and demise? Or maybe you believed in the fairy tale of opposites attracting.” As soon as the younger finished speaking, the light from his eyes had vanished, and so had he; leaving Jooheon to fall once more. As he was falling the last thing he saw was Changkyun’s eyes burn a bright red, the color expanded like a lens flare from a camera.

Waking up with a scream Jooheon found himself in some sort of infirmary in a hideout. Or maybe it was actually the hospital. Looking around the room he was met with blinding whites, for once he hated his own color. Everything smelled disinfected and disgusting. Hospital, definitely hospital.

Feeling around his bed until he found a button, he took his chances and pressed it. Within minutes a doctor with pastel pink hair was walking into his room, clipboard in hand. As well as his weapon. Sizing up the doctor, Jooheon was debating if it was worth trying to fight his way out. He didn’t want to be medicated, he didn’t need to rest. He needed to defeat the beast.

The doctor began walking in Jooheon’s direction after kicking the door closed, eyes never leaving his. They watched each other carefully, it was almost as if the doctor recognized him somehow. Glancing at his identification badge, Jooheon whispered the letters CHW.

Sitting himself up, Jooheon propped his body up on his elbows, glaring at the doctor. Those initials seemed too familiar.

“Lee Jooheon, aka X, or as Minhyuk likes to call you, Ice Dude.” The doctor smiled softly at him, his features softening as if they were friends or perhaps lovers.

“Do I know you? And why are you looking at me like that?”

CHW sat in the chair next to his bed, crossing his legs and setting his clipboard on top. Looking at the clipboard, it held all the information on Jooheon. Far more than what any doctor should have. Information on his friends, family, Changkyun, his powers.

“We have a lot to discuss Mr. Lee. Let’s start with the failed experiment of your family, code 4155012x, also known as The Beast. Oh and we contacted Mr. Son Hyunwoo, we’re all officially colleges under the guise of The Code. Welcome to the both of you, now, shall we begin?” Hyungwon finished with a bright frog-like smile.

Changkyun knew taking Jooheon to Hyungwon was a risk, but he couldn’t take him back to the hideout. What if he found out Changkyun was Lupus? He couldn’t have that. If Jooheon was injured beyond recovery he could get Hyungwon to turn back time, he could be there to help him like he should have been this time. But he wasn’t.

Jooheon was hurting all because Changkyun was afraid of him finding out. A part of him wished that Jooheon had trusted him with the information on the beast, they could have worked together. But instead the elder was now in a coma while Changkyun sat outside his door.

He knew how it all went. Jooheon woke up screaming with severe injuries. Hyungwon explained everything to him while putting him under. It was bittersweet, now Jooheon knew, but would he remember? Pulling his legs closer into himself, settling his head on his knees, he allowed his tears to fall.

Drifting off to sleep in the hallway, Changkyun made no protests when he felt someone familiar pick him up. Muscled arms pulled his frame close, forcing him to wrap his arms around the other’s neck.

“Hoseokkie, thank you for employing Hyungwon and putting up with my dumb ass.”

“Go back to sleep Changkyun.” Before he could even hear the end of the sentence, Changkyun was drifting off to sleep knowing he was protected. Hoseok may not have any abilities or powers, but his hospital was a safe haven for the freaks of nature that had these powers.

He and Kihyun ran the hospital together until Kihyun resumed school. That’s where Hyungwon came in, between his watch, Kihyun’s powers, and Hoseok’s skills. Not a single life was lost here.

Waking up in a daze, Changkyun found himself on an old and matted pure white mattress in the middle of an old processing plant. Scanning his surroundings, he spotted a girl with long black hair peering over an edge on the next floor looking down at him. Jumping to his feet, he began chasing after the girl, ignoring any signs of exhaustion were now gone. As he ran up the stairs two at a time, a feeling of familiarity washed over him.

Once he reached the top of the stairs, the girl was turning a corner down a hallway. Cautiously following her, Changkyun couldn’t help feeling like something was off. Racing to catch up to her, he rounded the corner only to be met with the sight of her silhouette at the other end of the blue and red lit hallway. Stopping in his tracks, the girl’s eyes began to glow red, the light flaring out as if it was some sort of camera glare.

Taking in her full appearance, he realized the girl was wearing the same school uniform Hyejoo had on when she disappeared. Taking a small and cautious step forward, he watched as she took a step back. It was almost like she didn’t want to be found, but yet here she was. As soon as the red light faded, she began running. Changkyun started going after her shouting her name down the empty hallways only to be met with the sound of his own voice and fast footsteps.

By the time Changkyun had caught up, the two were standing on a helipad. Hyejoo’s clothes had changed into a black skirt and white button down, along with torn leggings and black boots with a short heel. Almost as if she had just gotten out of a fight. Walking towards her slowly, she turned to look at him, face blurred out. Once she began to speak, Changkyun woke into a cold sweat, heart beating fast.

“I see you’re taking on missions again.” Changkyun stated, staring Jooheon into the ground through his visor. “I have half a mind to put you back you know that? We both know I could easily overpower you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the twink letting you sit in on our training.” Seeing Jooheon shrink away, a part of him felt bad, but he also knew Jooheon needed the rest.

The older had been discharged less than a week ago and yet here he was. Leaving ice around the city as if there was no issues. Taking one last look at Jooheon, he picked up the thief and tossed him over his shoulder. “You can take care of his bow.” Changkyun muttered before turning away.

Once Changkyun had dropped the perp off at the police station, he drove to the hideout, heart set on working out his anger. What the hell had Jooheon been thinking? The whole team knew he needed rest but yet he was out on the field. What fucking idiots. Whatever missions Jooheon was taking on, Minhyuk or Changkyun could handle it, they all knew this. But still they allowed Jooheon onto missions without help.

A part of him had wanted to yell and scream at Jooheon, at the whole team. But he had held back, he couldn’t do that to the others. Even if he had wanted to, there was no way he could hurt Jooheon. Until he could come up with a good enough reason for Jooheon to stay off missions, he was simply going to focus on school and his own missions. It didn’t matter if they were roommates, if Jooheon was going to stop caring about himself, then Changkyun would too.

Turning his heart to stone (ice would remind him too much of Jooheon), Changkyun locked everyone out, not caring if it would bring his own self destruction.

After a few days of Changkyun ignoring him, Jooheon couldn’t take it anymore. He knew the younger was mad at him, but he couldn’t help it. If he wasn’t out on missions he felt useless no matter what he did, even if the rest gave him the chance to get ahead on homework.

Walking through the halls of the university, Jooheon spotted Minhyuk and Kihyun desperately attempting to get Changkyun’s attention with no avail. The youngest sat on the floor reading a book with his headphones on. He looked calm and blissful like that. Feeling himself fall deeper into the black hole that was Changkyun, Jooheon walked up to the trio.

Kicking Changkyun’s foot softly, he was met with a glare from the younger as he pulled off his headphones. “What do you guys want.” Jooheon felt himself shrink in front of the younger again. That wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Changkyun truly wanted to be alone.

Looking over to Minhyuk who met his eyes, a heavy silence sat on top of the four. “Can we talk? Please?” Jooheon whispered looking away from Minhyuk as he let his head drop in defeat. He already knew the answer. Changkyun had only been like this once before, back when they had found out they were roommates. It was understandable then, Jooheon had basically rejected him. But now, He had no idea what he did wrong.

Whispering a soft “Sorry.” Jooheon clutched onto his bag’s shoulder straps tight and walked away. Deciding just to go back to the hideout for some solitude, he was unsure what to feel with Changkyun closing off once more. He had been so ready to admit his crush on the younger until the silence had become deafening.

Arriving back at the dorm, some hours after driving around without purpose (aside from burning gas and killing the environment), Changkyun was relieved to find Jooheon missing. Dropping his bag on his bed, he sat down next to the discarded item. Releasing a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding, he reached over to the cord for his fairy lights and plugged them in.

Laying back on the mattress, he could feel every knot in his spine cracking and releasing after a long day of almost nothing, not including classes. Closing his eyes, Changkyun let his mind empty as he took a deep breath, constellations appearing before his closed eyelids. The stars dance and twinkled, holding something in them that he couldn’t recognize. What that would hold, he couldn’t tell.

He was curious and willing to admit that, but he also didn’t want anything to do with the strange stars. Some of them burned black, others burned white while one entered it’s supernova phase and exploded into a black hole. Feeling uneasy, Changkyun sat up and clutched his chest. Opening his eyes, he willed his heartbeat and breathing to slow.

Stars burned yellows, reds, and oranges. Only in its last cycle would a star burn white, but why would one burn black? It didn’t make sense. Black holes only brought despair and helplessness. What were the stars trying to tell him?

Zoning out, he could hear the heavy rainfall outside making its presence known against the windows.

It was late into the night by the time Jooheon had gotten back to the dorms, with it being close to two in the morning he knew there was the fifty-fifty of Changkyun either being awake or dead asleep. Hoping for the latter, he opened the door quietly wincing when he saw that Changkyun had his lights plugged in signaling he was awake.

Sighing inwardly, Jooheon put on a brave and unbothered mask, as if he wasn’t disappointed that Changkyun was awake. Kicking his shoes on and putting them next to his closet space, he silently hoped that the other had mistakenly fallen asleep at his desk again, leaving the lights in.

Taking a deep breath, he walked towards his bed, tossing his backpack to the side as if nothing was wrong. Completely ignoring the younger, Jooheon simply went about his nightly routine as if he wasn’t there and watching his every move like a wolf.

“So.” He heard Changkyun say as if he was disappointed, or possibly upset about something.

“Yeah?" Jooheon responded, still refusing to face the younger despite his growing curiosity. Stripping himself of his daily clothes and putting on his pyjamas, he could feel Changkyun’s glare on his back.

“How’re your missions going?” Oh?

“Fine I guess, nothing big yet. I haven’t felt the Beast lately so there’s that I guess. At least there’s nothing going on tonight if that means anything. Maybe things are settling down you know?” Scolding himself internally for saying more than a sentence to Changkyun, he couldn’t tell if the younger was actually curious, or getting ready to bitch him out.

“I really can help you, you do know that right? You don’t have to have some sort of redemption arc like a shitty anime. You really shouldn’t even be in the field, you should be resting. The Beast could have killed you that night, but it didn’t. Doesn’t that scare you? At all?” Changkyun sounded both concerned and upset, it was odd to say the least. “I have a lot of anger to let out, but I’m restraining myself more than you know.” He sounded disappointed now, like he wanted to unleash that rage onto Jooheon but couldn’t for some reason.

Simply humming in response, Jooheon climbed into his bed before breaking out his laptop to watch some random anime or drama. He couldn’t preticulary care at the moment. He wanted Changkyun to do something, he knew the younger was angry at him but yet he couldn’t release it. Maybe it was because it was so late at night, maybe there was something else behind it.

Seeing the lights turn off, he took that as the signal for Changkyun going to bed. Sighing in relief, Jooheon stared at his laptop screen as images flashed across it, never really catching his attention.

After a night of hardly speaking, Changkyun woke up with both a black hole and a fire in his heart. Jooheon acted like he didn’t care about his own life and well being, much less the people around him. One of those people being Changkyun himself.

By the time they went through classes, Jooheon hadn’t said a single word to him and his anger was at its breaking point. Slamming the door closed when he returned to the dorms, he found Jooheon sitting calmly at his desk with music radiating through the room through soft beats.

“You really wanna know something Jooheon? Now I’m really pissed, you simply brush me aside after I offer you help and express my concerns when I didn’t have to. I know I probably sound like a selfish prick, but really I kinda am. You’re out here risking yourself to defeat the Beast when we didn’t even know where it came from or why. You’re always risking yourself and not thinking about what the people around you have to say or what they feel. I’m one of those people you know, I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines as you destroy yourself.” Waving his hands around in anger, he was just short of yelling at the older who still wore a blank expression as he stared at Changkyun with hazed eyes.

“Are you fucking stoned right now?” Not a single part of Changkyun could believe Jooheon right now. Since when did he start smoking? Much less without him? By the looks of Jooheon’s face, he was just going to take everything Changkyun was saying and throw it aside. As if his words and he never mattered.

“Your local space gay, me, starts the day, saves it, and ends it. Be thankful prick. And what are you anyway? Are you like fucking Elsa from Disney’s hit movie Frozen from 2013? Are you gonna sing me to death? Are you gonna Let It Go? Are you gonna-” Unleashing his full fury at the smoked out Jooheon, he could feel his eyes burning red as Jooheon punched him.

Getting ready to fight back, Changkyun found himself encased in ice watching Jooheon grab his backpack and shoes as he left.

Despite the two working things out like Jooheon forced (ended was more like it), Changkyun still avoided the other as much as he could. Both in the dorms and in the field. He wasn’t going to standby and watch as Jooheon destroyed himself little by little letting this investigation and hunt get the best of him.

Tapping his foot along to the beat of his music, Changkyun finished up the last of his homework before stretching out. Letting his muscles relax, he released the breath he was holding. Allowing his head to fall back he closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft beats of some early 90’s pop rock song he couldn’t name at the moment.

Pulling his limbs back towards himself, he stood up and cracked his neck and back. Groaning, he walked to his bed and dropped himself on top. It was a successful day, his homework was done early, a professor was too hungover to come to class, a fire alarm went off in his second class and ended it, and he had managed to avoid everyone he knew all day.

The sun had finally begun to set as dinner thoughts began going through his mind. Maybe he would order something nice for once instead of cup noodles. Sushi. That’s what he’d get, yeah that sounded perfect. Sushi, a solid horror movie, and a face mask to destress and relax. “Thank fuck for Fridays.” He whispered as he smiled into his pillow and curled up into himself.

Losing himself in his thoughts and now tuned-out music, he let himself drift. Just when he felt his stress melting away into nothing, the door was unlocked and opened. Rolling onto his back and laying down a leg, he covered his face with a pillow now hearing the music he once had tuned out. He had never thought that Jooheon coming back would ruin a night, but it did.

Taking off his headphones he tossed them onto his desk with a small clatter. Sighing softly he stood up and looked for socially acceptable pants before putting in an order for sushi online. Hearing a soft “Hey” as he finally found a cleanish pair, he responded with a questioning hum.

“I have a question for you.” Jooheon stated, still in a soft tone. Jumping a little to get into his skinny jeans, Changkyun turned and looked at the older. He was looking at the ground like he was ashamed of something, and he still wore his combat outfit minus the scarf and weapon.

“You know, you have balls walking around in that thing knowing people could recognize you. Anyway, question, shoot.” Changkyun responded flatly with an uninterested tone a he pulled on a pair of partially destroyed converse.

“Well uh,” Glancing at Jooheon once more (who still stood in the doorway looking nervous), he noticed the other was playing with his hands as if he was scared. “You of all people know that I’m not exactly in the best position to be back in the field and fighting-”

“But yet you are.” He cut him off, not caring about disrespect. If Jooheon could ignore Changkyun’s well justified worries and fears, then he could put up with the tiniest amount of disrespect.

“Would you be able to help me with the Beast investigation?” Looking at the older in false shock, Changkyun mustered up the most sarcastic voice he could.

“Wow, the great Lee Jooheon aka X, aka Ice Dude, aka Prince Elsa, asking for help? Who died and replaced you.” Bringing out his more dramatic self, he covered his eyes and pretended to sob as he got down on one knee.

“Oh dearest Lee Jooheon please come back to me, I know I was ever so rude but please. An imposter now stands in thou’s place, someone who simply does not belong in this court of heroism and utmost honor! Our Ice Prince is missing, someone please alert the watch! Inform the council, we must set out search parties at once! He must have been kidnapped! Yes! That must simply be it! Our Jooheon would never run off alone! He is in danger!”

Finishing his act, Changkyun slipped on his other shoe and tied it quickly before standing up and grabbing his phone. “But seriously, who are you and what did you do with Jooheon. The Jooheon I know breaks my heart and works alone.” Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he grabbed his keys and wallet, opting out of his helmet and jacket.

“Have fun looking for someone who can actually help. That’s like me actually finding my sister.” Chuckling to himself, he walked out the door and slammed it shut.

After hours of arguing and fighting the two had somehow resolved everything, it became hard for Changkyun to remember why he was angry. Fuck he was whipped. Jooheon had revealed that he felt the Beast was his responsibility despite not really knowing why, and because of that he was taking on missions to get stronger wanting to shoulder the responsibility alone.

Changkyun was having none of it. The argument had ended in tears from both as well as an unexpected kiss that had felt all too right. After spending the night together, he awoke to the sight of a shirtless Jooheon in his bed. It was a sight that he could get used to.

Nuzzling the older awake for classes, Changkyun kissed his neck and jaw softly whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Eventually he had given up, opting for just dragging the other into the shower and waking him up that way. Instead of getting a lovey dovey Jooheon, he had gotten a salty and tired Jooheon, either way Changkyun was happy.

Going through their daily routine of classes, Changkyun noticed Jooheon began looking uneasy at one point, something had to be coming. Sure enough at the end of the day Jooheon had admitted he felt another Beast attack coming, but this time instead of being unnaturally cold, Jooheon had wanted to throw up and rip off his clothes as if his body was burning.

He could feel Jooheon’s grip tightening around his waist as Changkyun drove them into the storm. “Don’t be scared Heony, I’m not gonna hurt you, and I won’t let the Beast hurt you.” Feeling Jooheon nod into his back, Changkyun let a smile slip onto his face.

By the time they had arrived, he Beast was ravishing and destroying both everyone, and everything. With a quick phone call, the others were on their way to the fight. It would be a first to have the whole team fighting together, with the obvious exception of Hoseok and Hyunwoo.

Minhyuk had just taken a heavy hit and flew right into Changkyun. The cracking of bone was anything but a lovely sound, but they had to do this. The majority of the city had been evacuated thanks to Hyunwoo and Hoseok, others proclaimed that they’d never listen to a bunch of rag-tag teenagers and their crazy ideas. Serves them right if you asked Changkyun.

Dropping Minhyuk from his arms, he ran at the beast feeling the air flow through his hair. Jumping off one of Jooheon’s stalagmites, he focused the darkness both around him, and in him, into his fist. Hitting the Beast square in the chest, it stumbled a couple feet back as Changkyun fell back to the Earth.

Nighttime was quickly beginning to fall upon the fight. Hyungwon was trying to amplify him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jooheon near the Beast’s feet attempting to slow him down. Looking behind him, Minhyuk was standing up in Kihyun’s pale aura that was currently healing the older of the two. Running towards them as fast as he could, Changkyun was jumping over the rubble of the fight when he heard a roar.

“No.” He whispered, knowing what it meant. It was something Jooheon had mentioned before, that the beast could summon lightning storms as it pleased.

A blinding lightning bolt struck the ground where Minhyuk and Kihyun had stood. Hearing their screams, Changkyun screamed out for them. Again he was too late, always a little too late.

Growling, he could feel the stars taking over his body, ready to unleash a celestial rage against the Beast that had just killed two of his friends. Scratch that, the Beast that had just killed his family. Hearing Hyungwon yelling at him to stop, he could feel the constellations ripping through his body, supernovas imploding and creating new stars. Purely to fuel his rage.

He could still hear Hyungwon yelling at him to stop and calm down, that they could fix this. They always could. A new voice rang through his ears. Jooheon yelling now or never at him. Allowing himself to be consumed, stars fell from his eyes as the Beast let out another roar. Darkness began surrounding it, the five story Beast was almost completely cloaked in the dark, snuffing out the stars.

Hearing glass shatter as another bolt struck the ground, he knew Hyungwon was gone. It was just him and Jooheon. The faces of now deceased family flashed in front of his eyes. Hoseok. Hyunwoo. Minhyuk. Kihyun. Hyungwon. All of them, gone and dead.

Taking his time, Changkyun let the stars swirl around him as he screamed at the sky letting out his rage. He knew Jooheon was looking at him in horror. This was the older brother of the monster who destroyed an entire town after all. He could feel himself being lifted off the ground as he accepted the night sky into his body.

A cloud of dark matter surrounded him as he forced himself back to the ground, walking towards the Beast. It was finally breaking free of Jooheon’s ice. The Beast threw it’s fists to the building Jooheon was in with a silent roar, as if it was taking in a deep breath. Racing towards the building Changkyun could see Jooheon’s unconscious body falling towards the ground, and fast.

By the time he reached Jooheon, there was no sign of a pulse. Cradling him close, he looked into Jooheon’s now lifeless and blown out eyes. It was almost as if they had burned out. His pupils were unnaturally big and the rest of his body was slack.

Letting the anger wash over his body, Changkyun let out a roar and feels the air around him get hot and heavy. Letting his vision darken, he raised his hand summoning Lupus. “Meet wolfie bitch.” He muttered before charging at the beast with the wolf at his side. No longer in control he let the constellation wreck havoc on the beast.

Every cell of his being screamed for Jooheon but he was gone now, his crew? Gone. Hell, even Jooheon’s crew was gone. They had all lost their lives trying to kill this damned thing and it was about time he let loose. He just needed his sister first.

Picking up Jooheon’s lifeless body, he carried the older back to his motorcycle before climbing on. Sitting Jooheon in front of him, Changkyun pulled on his helmet before looking back at the beast once more. Tears pricked at his eyes as his wolf dealt damage to the beast. Starting up the engine, he pulled Jooheon as close as he could, nuzzling into his neck, no longer feeling a pulse.

“I’m sorry Heony.” He whispered as he revved the engine. Turning the motorcycle around to face the beast, Changkyun drove towards it. Hearing the wolf howl and cry as it went to town, he called it off watching it fade back into stars. “I’ll be back for you guys.” Changkyun whispered to his lost family.

After driving for a few hours (and most likely getting weird looks), Changkyun found himself standing in front of Jooheon’s family house. Getting off the bike, he took Jooheon into his arms bridal style. Walking the path that led to the house, he didn’t know what to feel. Sad? Angry? Denial? He couldn’t choose. Death happened to everyone, but why him and why now? When everyone needed him most? When Changkyun needed him most.

Knocking on the door, he wasn’t expecting anyone to answer, it was close to four in the morning after all. The only people awake were either coming back from a party, or students who had spent the whole night studying or gaming. To his surprise, Jooheon’s mother had answered the door. She had gasped in surprise, most likely not knowing just what exactly her son got up to at night.

“Please, come in.” She whispered, tears evident in her eyes. Nodding, Changkyun walked in being careful not to make too much noise. “Wh-what happened? Why is he dressed like that ice hero?” Understanding that the woman was in shock, he laid Jooheon on the couch before removing the older’s scarf and hood.

Sitting on the floor in front of the couch, Changkyun leaned his head back as he held the tears at bay. He could do this. Taking off his helmet, he rested it beside him and pulled his knees close. “Changkyun. Please.” He heard a whisper. However, it wasn’t the voice he had wanted to hear.

“It’s my fault Mrs. Lee, I wasn’t strong enough and too afraid of myself. I couldn’t protect him.” Finally letting the tears fall, he felt a pair of arms around him. “It's okay sweetie, I still have one son left. We can make it through.” He could feel the gentle sobbing of the woman, holding her close he allowed himself to cry as he sank into her touch.

“Stay tonight, and please rest.” Mrs. Lee whispered, looking towards the ground as she wiped her eyes.

“I can’t, I need to get back and figure out how I’m going to end all of this. No one else needs to die.”

“I wasn’t asking Changkyun, you can sleep in the guest bedroom or in Jooheon’s.” He watched in silence as the woman stood up and walked upstairs, clearly avoiding the sight of her only, and now deceased, son. He knew she didn’t react much, he didn’t either, maybe they were both denying everything. Wishing it was all a nightmare. If it was, at least then he could blame the stars.

Standing up, he kicked his helmet across the room in a short burst of rage. Rubbing the aches from his legs, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. Five fourteen in the morning. He stood wordless over Jooheon before taking off his weapon pack.

Throwing the dual pronged weapon to the floor, it made a noise making it clear that Changkyun had scratched the floor. Next, he tossed the backpack on top of it, vowing to destroy both. Sitting up the now pale and blue body, he removed the trench coat and allowed it to fall to the wooden floors.

Squatting down, Changkyun began to unlace the combat boots. He always found it funny how the two of them had matching boots, just in different colors. Adding them to the pile, he moved to pull off the scarf. Folding it neatly, he decided to keep it safe, either for himself or for Mrs. Lee. Placing it gently on a side table, he started taking off Jooheon’s broken chest guard. He never knew what the blue lights, that no longer shined, were for. Probably just to look cool. It seemed like something Jooheon would do after all.

Feeling himself tear up once again, Changkyun began wishing he was stronger or just more apathetic. At least then he wouldn’t be tearing up every ten minutes. Dropping the broken chest guard, he was met with the sight of the hole where Jooheon’s heart should be. Feeling his empty stomach swell, he ran to the bathroom and threw up stomach acid and water.

When was the last time he had eaten? At least two days ago now. “No wonder I couldn’t protect him, I’m a fucking mess.” Flushing the toilet, Changkyun dragged himself to the sink, cleaning his mouth and hands. Staring at himself, he found his own eyes now lifeless and dull, almost like he had died along with Jooheon. “Fuckin should have.” He responded to his own thoughts.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, Changkyun stared at the ground as he felt another breakdown coming on. The silence screamed that Jooheon was gone. All he was living for now was to kill that damned beast. There was nothing else.

Making his way back to the living room, he sat on the floor once again, this time resting his arms on Jooheon’s legs. “The stars were always so pale next to your eyes, even when I pissed you off, they challenged Sol herself. I can’t tell if this is my death, or my rebirth. Please wait for me.”

Wiping away his tears, Changkyun picked up Jooheon, who was now in a t-shirt and his thick combat pants, and carried him back to his room. Mindlessly talking to Jooheon in a small and toneless voice, he felt himself losing his soul. He was unsure of when it happened, but the older had become his Sol. Someone he needed to survive, and now he was gone.

Gently kicking open Jooheon’s door, he walked towards the bed setting down the older before pulling up the sheets. Pulling them over Jooheon, Changkyun began undressing. Staring at his scars, he wondered when it had become like this. No one told them use their powers, no one told them to stand out. They just, did. They asked for this life, no one forced them. “We were idiots weren't we?” He whispered to no one particular.

Getting under the covers, he pulled Jooheon close like he had so many times before. Nuzzling into the icy neck, he his tears fall once more until he finally drifted off.

The next morning, Changkyun woke to Jooheon’s still body. The older was paler now and his lips were beginning to tint blue. He looked like a fallen angel like this. Dressed in white, platinum hair laid flat against the pillow. Pulling himself close to Jooheon again, he could feel himself beginning to accept that Jooheon was in fact, gone.

“It feels like a dream you know? Your pale skin, closed eyes, lips turning blue. It’s hauntingly unnatural, almost like a dream.” Pausing to take a breath, he brushed some of the hair off Jooheon’s forehead. “You got me, and I had you, things that we got never flew. Please wake me up from this dream. After losing you, my entire body, and my illusions made by my folly. Let me call you once more even if it’s a fantasy, you were always my dream.”

Kissing Jooheon’s cheek, he allowed himself to linger, lost in thought. Thoughts of what could have been, no, what should have been, raced through his mind. Endless stars and galaxies filled his vision as the thoughts continued to haunt him.

“Maybe in another lifetime, another timeline, or even another universe, we could have made it. Just you and I. Goodnight my solstice.” Getting out of the bed and facing the cold and frigid air, Changkyun could feel the stillness of the atmosphere all around him. Making the bed, he tucked in Jooheon making it seem like the other was simply sleeping.

Walking backwards to the door, a new determination set in him. He had to defeat the beast. Running downstairs, Changkyun left a note for Mrs. Lee on the coffee table in the living room saying not to look for him and that’d he’d be putting an end to all of this.

Picking up his discarded helmet, he left it next to the note along with the pen. Gently placing Jooheon’s folded uniform onto the table, he picked the trench coat out of the pile before putting it on. Putting his boots on and lacing them up, Changkyun kicked the weapon up into his hand. Hearing Mrs. Lee beginning to stir upstairs, no doubt waking up to the sound of metal clanging, he walked out the door closing it as quietly as possible.

Once on the highway, Changkyun pulled up the map to Hyejoo’s hideaway. Jooheon’s weapon was now attached to his back and the white trench coat felt odd against his typical all black aesthetic. He felt like a timebomb as he raced and weaved through traffic. There was no doubt that there would be another Beast attack soon, and with civilians still in the city he had to work fast.

Stopping by their old house, he ran in like a maniac greeting his father quickly before running to Hyejoo’s room. Swinging the door open as he gasped for breath, he walked to her wardrobe and began ripping through her clothes looking for the ones he had seen in his dream.

Once he found them, he took off his backpack and shoved them in along with a few other things for her. If she was going to live off the grid she needed to take care of herself still.

The once untouched room was now a mess. Clothes thrown all over the places, drawers remained opened, but Changkyun couldn’t bring himself to care. He could fix his sister’s former room later, the Beast was more important.

Arriving to the abandoned processing plant, Changkyun got off his bike and kicked down the stand before running in. A new fire started inside of him, they were running out of time, perhaps they never had it.

Taking in a deep breath, Changkyun yelled out Hyejoo’s name. Taking deep breaths, he listened to the echoes of his own voice as he began to walk around. Soon enough he ran into the bed he had woken up on in his dream, only now it was covered in red feathers. Allowing his fight or flight to kick in, he broke out into a sprint retracing his steps where he had encountered Hyejoo before.

Once he reached the top, she was nowhere to be seen. Feeling panic set in, he yelled out her name once more, now getting desperate. Leaving the helipad he began searching the rest of the building coming across a parking garage.

After doing quick searches through all of the four floors, Changkyun had finally found her.

“Hyejoo.” He shouted, “I know that you know about the Beast. I’ve already lost too many people to it, others have too. If we worked together we can defeat it, everyone has forgotten about what you did. Some even understood. Please, come with me.” He knew he sounded desperate in his pleas, but that’s exactly what he was. There was no other way around it.

Hyejoo began walking towards him, still in her school uniform but with an oversized bomber jacket now as well. “I’ll help you brother.” she whispered.

Taking off his backpack, Changkyun handed her everything that he had brought. She accepted it with open arms before telling him that she’d meet him at his bike.

Changkyun had been right about his predictions. By the time they arrived back in the city a storm was beginning to stir above the five-story and walking natural disaster of a Beast. Once he got a good look at it, his anger was back in full force. It hadn’t even been 48 hours but yet it was back and ready to take more lives, something he wasn’t going to let happen.

Driving up closer, he felt Hyejoo let go of his waist as she jumped off the bike and summoned her wolf. Ready to scold her for doing something so stupid, he realized the entirety of what they were doing was stupid. Two teenagers taking on a highly deadly beast that wasn’t from this world without aid.

Feeling his wolf come to life he gave it the silent command to attack the Beast. Watching as the midnight body of the wolf attached itself to the beast, Changkyun drove full speed before bailing. Letting his body drop to the solid concrete ground, he felt the air get knocked out of his lungs.

Standing up, he grabbed a rock and threw it at the Beast as if it would inflict some type of damage. Watching his motorcycle explode, he watched in silence as it roared causing another lightning storm, darkness swirling around its body.

Catching up to his sister, both of the wolves were on top of the Beast keeping it distracted. Looking over to Hyejoo, she simply nodded knowing what he was thinking. With a small jump from Hyejoo and a burst of energy from Changkyun, he threw her off of his forearm, launching her at the beast. She landed a kick on it sending it stumbling backwards. The duo was shrouded in darkness, an anger felt by one became an anger felt by two. An anger that would become an unstoppable force. Once they began moving in perfect sync, the darkness around them became filled with stars, unleashing the full force of a constellation that was whole once more.

He had never fought with his sister before, hell he never expected her to come back simply because he said please. It felt natural instead of the static he constantly felt with Jooheon while they battled side by side (or each other for that matter). After all the burning stars and the freezing emptiness of outer space don’t really mix. But they almost did, almost. Fire and ice.

By the time the fight with the Beast was over, it had begun to snow. Almost as if Jooheon was giving his thanks for something that wasn’t his issue alone in the first place. Just like night and day, the sun must die so the moon can thrive. Only this time the moon wished he was the sun. One truly could not live without the other.

Within a couple days the snow in the middle of September became a worldwide phenomenon, as well as the Beast and the siblings. Changkyun and Hyejoo lead the recovery for all deceased bodies left from the Beast’s attacks. Once feared, they were both now seen as heroes. Truthfully Changkyun was shocked at Hyejoo’s apathy for seeing dead bodies, he expected to be some scarring after she had found her friend.

The funeral had slowly come and gone, all of them did. Changkyun personally recovered all of the bodies of his friends once it was over. A part of him felt that it was all too easy, maybe he didn’t care about them enough. He was emotionless. He couldn’t feel anything after Jooheon, but the others had happened before, so why couldn’t he feel anything?

Speeding down the highway in a daze, he had started to think about his bike’s tires slipping in the rain and causing a fatal accident. It’s not like he would mind anyway, everything was already lost. No matter what he did now, he couldn’t do anything to change the past.

Returning to the dorm, Changkyun removed his midnight black suit, throwing the cloths somewhere around the lifeless and stale room. Pulling out his phone, he opened Spotify and shuffled his library. Tossing the device onto his bed, he dragged himself to his desk feeling the life draining out of him, as if he had any life left to begin with.

Turning on his speaker, he listened to the quiet beeps of the bluetooth connecting to his phone. The beeping reminded him of when he had visited Jooheon in the hospital. Sure he was in a medically induced coma for close to a month, but at least he was alive.

Pulling his sweats off his desk, he used the last of his energy to put them on before sitting down on his bed. Allowing himself to fall back, he was met with the feeling of the plush mattress top. Turning onto his side and pulling himself into a fetal position, he stared at the emptiness of Jooheon’s bed.

Suddenly he felt smaller and emptier, as if he had lost his reason to live once more. That was beginning to happen more often. Turning up the music, he began singing along to the song that currently played through his speakers.

“It’s not the same, something’s changed, I never used to be able to see past the trees. A thousand unfamiliars are lying thick on the air, and I can’t breathe. Is our skin to keep the world out or our bodies in? This doesn’t look like home.” Feeling himself break out into sobs, he rolled over and pulled his pillow close. Sobbing into the pillow he allowed himself to drift off into nightmares of both his own death, and Jooheon’s.

[sincerlyyme-blog]

Group Therapy (CONNOR MURPHY x READER)

AUTHORS NOTE: hello!!!!! i am back!!!!!!! i wrote this little thing, in hopes of making it a multiple part series. so this is just part one! but if you guys dont like it, let me know and ill just leave it as it is. I also want to take a moment to say that i am back to UPLOADING A FIC OR HEADCANON ONCE A DAY!! when i first started this blog, that was my uploading schedule. life got in the way, but im back baby!!!!! 

Word Count: 2.4k ish

TW: suicide, suicide descriptions, swearing, therapy groups , etc

PS: i have been to many group therapies, so this is all just based purely on personal experience. so if this is triggering to you, please dont read any further!!!!

           Connor Murphy was special. Not special in the way you would describe a rare artifact or gem. He was special like the waves in the ocean, the colours in the sky, or oil paint on a canvas. He was special because you knew what to expect. Like a wave in the ocean, you expected to crash. Like the colours in the sky, you expected to fade out after hours of daylight. Like oil paint on a canvas, you expected to dry and harden after creating something beautiful. Connor Murphy was a synonym for beautiful; only the rarest of poets could find in a dictionary. He was the sound that rolled off of the tongue of a politician. He was the feeling of warm laundry, draping around your body. Connor was all of these things—which is why his downfall was to be expected.

           You had tried numerous group therapies in the past. None of them seemed to improve your feelings or behaviors. But they stabilized your health, which is all you could really ask for. There was something equally pleasing and eerie about joining group therapy. It was oddly satisfying to hear everyone bitch and complain, but also eerie that the painted beige walls would contain a group of kids who tried to kill themselves. Talk about a Suicide Squad.

           You drove yourself to group therapy. This one was named Youth Wonders: Group Therapy and Psychiatrics. The name was slathered on the brick building in bronze lettering. It looked ancient. Maybe it looked cool back in 2002, but it made you roll your eyes just at the sight. You were 5 minutes early. Your keys were still lodged into your car ignition. This was the hardest part: getting out of the car. There was always that part of you that was tempted to ditch, go eat some McDonald’s for the hour, and go back home to tell your dad that everything went well. The feeling of guilt spread over your stomach just at the thought. You have lied to your father many times before. He didn’t deserve to be lied to again.

           Finally, you slumped out of the driver’s seat and walked into the horrid building. It smelt like old carpet and candle wax. Kind of like a church. But nothing Holy grew an abundance to you whilst walking through the halls. A white, thick door was stood open with a brick. On the inside if the door, facing you, a pink slip of paper was taped up.

“TEEN YOUTH SUICIDAL THERAPY GROUP”

           They really don’t sugar coat anything here. Your footsteps grew heavier as you walked through the door. Plastic chairs were all set up in a circle. Inside there were only four teenagers, and a woman who had a strange resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg.

           “Name, please?” her scratchy voice echoed off the walls. Her dry hands where clutching a clipboard and her pink pen was held between her fingers, like a cigarette.

           “Oh, uh, Y/N L/N,” you frowned, taking a seat across from her.

           According to the amount of chairs set up, there were only six people in the group. You, an empty chair, Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, and an empty chair. The empty chair was to your left. You stared at it, feeling cold. The awkward tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You took this moment of silence as an opportunity to look around the room. All of the teens glared at their feet.

           The girl next to you had red hair. Her face was populated with cystic acne that looked painful to the touch. Her ginger locks were pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a large men’s sweater that hung off of her skinny body. Sitting to her left was a large Filipino boy. He wore a purple sweater and old hiking shoes. The toe of the boots were worn out and his big toe peeked out. His hair was greasy, and he looked in need of a shower. Down the line, in the circle, sat a Latina girl. Her hair was done perfectly and her ears were pierced. Big golden hoops dangled from the lobes, reaching her collarbone. She was chewing bubblegum, and wearing a croptop – even though the temperature was just above freezing. Finally, in the corner sat a very pale white boy. He was short and skinny. He looked like he was 12 years old. His minecraft shirt had large orange stains, and had blonde whiskers growing in on his upper lip.

           Whoopi-Goldberg-lady took a final sigh, clicking her pen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, another person stomped in.

           “You finally decided to join us…” the woman looked at her clipboard before reading out loud, “Connor?”

           The boy grunted in response, throwing his body down onto the chair next to you. You winced at the sound. He had long hair. The ends curled into the collar of his denim jacket. Your eyes trailed up to his face. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he grinded his teeth together. The Whoopi-lady stood up, smoothing out the material of her chiffon blouse.

           “Welcome, everyone. My name is Liz,” she spoke above her gravely tone.

           Her name was Liz. Finally, you could stop referring to her as the Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, in your head.

           “I will be your counselor and guide for this group. Within our 9 weeks here, I expect all of you to hit a few goals. The first being: opening up. I want you to share your story, knowing that whatever is said in here, stays in here.”

           You could hear the boy next to you, practically scoff.

           “So the first thing we are going to do is; go around the room, say your name, age, and explain why you are here.”

           You could feel everyone tense up.

           “Let’s start with,” Liz glanced at her clipboard. “Jamie.”

           The red-haired girl sat up straight. She removed her fingers from her mouth, as she was just chewing on her cuticles moments ago. Her bleeding fingers dove into the sleeves of her sweater.

           “Hi, I’m Jamie,” she spoke softly, almost like a robot. “I’m 15 and I’m here because I overdosed on sleeping pills.”

           Liz nodded, “Ok. Great. Thank you, Jamie.”

           Next in line was the boy in hiking boots.

           “Hi, I’m Leroy. I’m 16 and I tried to hang myself from a tree,” his voice was a deep baritone. But was quickly cut off by the Latina girl beside him.

           “Did the tree break, fatty?”

           “Andrea,” Liz warned. “This is supposed to be a safe space.”

           “Ok, yeah, whatever. I’m Andrea. I’m 18. This is my third time here. I took too much meth and blacked the fuck out. So I’m here,” she snapped her gum, fingering the golden hoop on her ear.

           “Daniel, your turn,” Liz looked at the small pale boy.

“Hi, um, I’m Daniel. I’m 16 and I, uh,” the boy began to sob violently. Your heart broke a little bit. The boy next to you, Connor, scoffed. You were almost in disbelief at his heartless gesture.

“It’s ok, hun. Take your time,” Liz spoke softly.

Daniel continued, hiccupping and telling the group how he tried to end his life just two weeks prior. After many tissues, Liz continued down the line.

“Connor?”

The boy next to you, shifted in his seat. He was now sitting up, straight. His long legs tangled over each other. His large, black combat boots looked heavy against his skinny shins. He was wearing a lot of layers.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Connor. I’m 17. I tried killing myself 3 weeks ago.”

“How? You have to say how,” Andrea twirled her hair around her finger.

“Why? Do you get off to people’s backstories or some shit?” he hissed back.

Liz waved the two of them off, gesturing that it was okay to keep those details private. Next was you. And you could feel your breath become heavy. All eyes landed on you.

“Well, uh, my name is Y/N. I’m 17, also. I tried killing myself last year, but I’m here because my therapist told me to,” you spoke softly.

“That’s fucking boring.”

“Andrea!”

 You were pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup, rubbing the drowsiness out of your eyes. It was the half-way mark through group therapy. The group is given a 15 minute break between the two hours, and there is a small table full of shitty snacks and coffee.

“Coffee at 1pm?” a voice spoke from behind you. You turned to see that Connor boy offering you a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”            “Well it’s shitty filtered coffee, and no one drinks coffee in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” you spoke while moving to the side, putting creamer and 8 packets of sugar into the small cup. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he gaped at the amount of sugar you put in.

“It’s good, you should try it some time,” you mused, taking a small sip.

Connor shook his head, pouring some of the filtered brew into a cup of his own. “No, thanks. I’d like to live well into my thirties.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of why you’re here?”

“Touché.”

 The rest of the afternoon went as expected. Red-haired girl went on a rant about her dad never loving her, Daniel cried some more, and Liz gave us homework to complete for next week. The green folder full of worksheets will be added to the pile of therapy homework that you never do. You have other things on your plate. You have a job, school, and university to think about.

While walking to your car, you see the tall boy leaning against the hood of your car.

“Uh, hi?” you spoke, raising on eyebrow.

He jumped a little bit, not seeing you at first. “Oh, hey, can you drive me home? My dad is at work and my mom…” he trailed off, looking at his feet.

You scratched the back of your head, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry, I barely even know you. I should just walk home-“ he began to ramble, grabbing his messenger bag from between his feet.

“Get in,” you sighed, unlocking the car.

“Wait. Really?”

“What’s your address?”

The car ride was pretty silent. It contained the sound of your humming motor, and the small murmurs of directions from Connor. You had asked him what street he lived on, but he just told you that he would direct you there. He lived on the outskirts of the city. By following his directions, you drove into the suburbs. The houses were all parallel to each other. Each of them very large, big two-car garages, and nicely trimmed lawns. It was the type of neighborhood that would give out the good candy on Halloween.

“It’s the house on left, here,” he mumbled once again. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head.

“This one?” you took one hand off the steering-wheel to point to the house in front of you. It was gigantic. It was painted yellow with a dark blue door. It must have been at least 4 stories high. The backyard, from what you could see, was massive. Two large pillars on other side of the front door, reminding you of pictures in textbooks about ancient Rome.

As you pulled into his driveway, Connor picked at his nail polish. “What? Are you surprised?”

“A little,” you laughed, looking over at him.

He began to pick up his bag, looking over at you. The sunset in the sky casted a pink shadow in your car, making everything a rose colour.

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll see you next week,” he spoke, stepping out of your car.

You watched as the goth boy walked into the giant, yellow house. It was a sight to see.

 Next week rolled around, and you were five minutes early. You sat in your car, rubbing your temples. Another night without sleep. It was beginning to take a toll. Sitting in your car became a ritual you had. It gave you time to mope, before having to put on a brave face for wherever you were going. You let out a large sigh. Your head was pounding. Placing your forehead in the palms of your hands, you laid them down on the steering wheel. Closing your eyes, you were grateful to have a second to decompose.

It was quiet until you heard your passenger door open and slam shut. You let out a scream, sitting back, looking at the man who just entered. It was Connor.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“Chill the fuck out.”

“CONNOR, YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT.”

“What? Get in someone’s car? I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You began to go on a slight rampage, telling him about how many girls get abducted by leaving their cars unlocked. He responded by telling you to ‘lock your fucking car, then’. Before you could shout another witty response, he shoved a cup of hot coffee into your hand.

“Here.”            “What… What is this?”

“Coffee, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know. But why?”

He just shrugged, taking a sip out of his own cup, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“So, why do you sit in here?” he mumbled against the warm lid of his beverage.

“It’s just nice, I guess?” you spoke out softly, rubbing your eyes.

Connor nodded, drinking his coffee quietly. You did the same.

  Lunch time came around. Therapy had been going well. But you couldn’t help but find yourself staring into space every other minute. It was no group participation. It consisted of Liz telling everyone that how they were feeling is “okay”. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before.

You stood up the moment Liz said that your 15 minute break began. You walked over to the snack table, pouring another cup of coffee. Connor watched you from his seat, chewing on his bottom lip.

No one else had picked up on your caffeine habits. Rather, the rest of the teenagers fought over the sugar cookies that were lined up on the table. You walked back to your seat, sighing loudly as your butt hit the chair. You took a large gulp of the cheap caffeine, letting your eyes settle close for a moment.

“You know, I never got to hear your story last week,” you spoke softly with your eyes still closed.

“Well, same goes to you, I guess,” he mumbled back, slouching into his chair.

You cracked an eye open, looking at him. “Mine isn’t as recent.”

He shrugged back, watching you as your eyes flutter shut once more.

“My family is shit. My parents hate me. Some kid wrote a weird letter about my sister. I freaked the fuck out. It was just kind of the last straw, I guess?”

 It was quiet for a few more moments. You opened your mouth to speak, then Liz clapped loudly, asking everyone to return to their seats. Group began again, and Connor avoided your eyes at all costs.

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire II | Nathan x Reader

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

as requested, here’s part two to Grazing the Fire! part one can be found >here<! hope you guys enjoy it!

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language

For a time, you and Nathan did not interact again. He stopped seeing you everywhere he went, and in turn you stopped fearing him cornering you in a restaurant again. Sometimes you’d see the back of his head in the hallway, and other times you’d manage a quick glimpse at his face. It was always so pensive, so strained. You’ll get wrinkles, you joked silently. You didn’t speak to him again but for the first time you didn’t hate him. Sure, you hated the fact that you lied to an actual security guard in order to cover his ass, but you realized you didn’t hate him.

At first you were relieved to not have to converse with him anymore. He was a ticking time bomb and everyone knew it, and you’d experienced firsthand how unpredictable he could be. You even managed to wrangle up your own friend group, a few girls and boys who you finally started to come out of your shell with. Getting accustomed to Blackwell wasn’t easy, and Nathan had made it so much harder, but as the weeks grew on you began to fit in.

It seemed like you were having everything you wanted, that being a friend group, a-little-better-than-average grades, and best of all you were on the good side of Nathan Prescott (even if you didn’t speak anymore). Not many students could say that and even if you kept it mostly to yourself, you still couldn’t help but feel just a little superior.

Yes, it really seemed like you were where you were supposed to be. Finally, after bouncing from school to school to school, you were comfortable.

And then you felt it. The longing, empty feeling in your chest.

When it first arrived you thought maybe you were homesick, missing your parents and hometown, but after visiting them during a long weekend you realized that wasn’t the case. You were happy to see them again, and mostly content when you returned back to Blackwell, but at night you found yourself missing something. For the longest time you had no idea what it was.

Then you locked eyes with him, and all at once, you knew.

It had only been a quick glance and to him it probably meant nothing but for some reason it left you stunned, unable to move from your spot as he rested atop the fountain. He was rummaging through that binder he always carried, that same binder he always slammed shut when people walked by. Initially he hadn’t seen you, too wrapped up in whatever it was he was looking at, but when he looked up briefly he froze when you were in his line of sight. You were late to class and it was obvious he was skipping, leaving you two virtually alone in front of the school building.

Neither of you moved for a moment, staring at each other knowingly. You hated yourself for feeling nauseas as he watched you, but it wasn’t a bad nausea. You didn’t feel sick at the thought of Nathan Prescott staring at you. You didn’t cringe or turn your back on him. Instead you wanted to talk to him, sit down, ask him what he was working on as if he would actually tell you.

The spell that had been casted broke when the front doors swung open from behind the fountain, your friend poking her head out from the crack. “___!” She shouted, and Nathan jolted before looking at her over his shoulder. “Teacher’s pissed, you’re late, again!”

“You’re late too then, aren’t you?” You called back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and walking past the boy staring at you.

“I was on the way to the bathrooms and I saw you, hurry your ass up!” Without another word she retreated back inside and let the doors slam shut. You sighed to yourself, laughing shortly at her antics, but you went silent when you saw Nathan in the corner of your eye. Though you wanted to stop, to talk to him, you didn’t. Instead you just kept going, and he looked down at his binder as you passed by.

That following day you knew you were entirely screwed. You barely saw him again after that, and it was like everything had reverted back to normal. But this time something was different- you still missed him. He was scary and brash, loud and made you feel so uneasy but you wanted to be around him. You wanted to know about him- the things that made him tick. But most of all, you found, you wanted to help him. That was a funny thought though, given you could barely even take care of yourself sometimes.

Tonight was one of those nights, apparently. What was supposed to be a fun weekend out with your buddies turned sour on your end, and by midnight you had no ‘party’ left in you. Maybe it was all the homework you’d gotten that was due Monday, but it couldn’t be that. You had two more days to get it done. Maybe it was the fact that you never were much of a drinker, but, you also hadn’t drank hardly anything either. Perhaps tonight was just a night that was destined to be spent alone, even if it was a friday. At first you considered maybe sitting down for an hour or two to ease your rolling stomach, but then you felt the coldness of the weather and shivered. Arcadia Bay didn’t exactly have freezing winters but it was chilly enough to have you rubbing at your hands and arms every so often.

It was 1 am when you left, having to walk your way ]back to your dorms since the get together had been at the friends parents house. You were never a fan of walking after dark but at that moment, alone, listening to music, you’d rather have been there than anywhere else. Even if the streets were a little too dark, the alleyways a little too menacing, and the fact that you could hear a police siren a bit away even through the music of your earbuds, you were content.

As you clicked through songs trying to find the right one, the sirens stopped. You sighed in relief, even though you weren’t anxious anyways, because that meant that the police must have caught whatever perpetrator they were searching for.

You chose a random song and hummed along quietly. In hindsight you probably shouldn’t have had your music as loud as it was, your fingers occasionally turning the volume up even more out of habit. Before you knew it, you couldn’t hear a thing over the tunes that were playing. It was this that rendered you unaware of the feet behind you, the sound of someone running coming up fast. When you felt something slam into you from behind, effectively knocking you to the ground, the breath was forced from your lungs at the force. You couldn’t even gasp in shock, not entirely realizing what had happened even after your face made contact with the concrete. While your headphones fell off and clattered nearby, you cringed at the pain in your right side, looking over your shoulder and feeling your blood turn to ice at a figure only a few feet away. It was taller than you but not much larger, and was completely shrouded in darkness thanks to the convenient lack of street lamps.

“Agh, fuck,” The figure groaned, managing to bring itself to its feet. You narrowed your eyes, you knew that voice.

“Nathan?” You whispered, voice uncertain but harsh given the amount of pain you were in. There was silence and then suddenly you were being bathed in light, the source from the phone the figure had picked up.

“You?” He breathed viciously, and you huffed.

“Yeah, me,” you brought yourself to your feet and brushed the dirt from your pants. “Thanks a lot for the hello, fucker.”

“There no time to bullshit around,” Nathan said quickly, and before you could react he launched forward and grabbed your arm, literally trying to drag you with him as he left.

“Wait, my phone!” You hollered, ripping away from him and scrambling to gather your phone and headphones before he managed to grab the fabric of your hoodie and then pull you to your feet again.

“I said there’s no fucking time!”

Thankfully you did have enough time, fingers clutching your items to yourself as tightly as you could. Suddenly you were thankful that you left most of your stuff back at your friend's house because you didn’t feel like carrying it.

“Where are we going?” You tried your best to keep up with him but he just kept pulling you. When he didn’t answer you tried to plant your feet on the ground, bringing you and him to a halting stop. He shot you a look as though you’d just stabbed him. “Where are we going?” You repeated, panting.

Nathan, frantic, turned around in a quick circle as though he were looking for something. He groaned and rubbed his face, briefly tugging at his hair.  It was then you saw his attire- black jeans, his varsity jacket, and a white t shirt underneath. However it was all nearly caked in mud and dirt, and something a little more crimson than everything else. You gasped.

“What did you do?” You took a step away from him, horrified.

He looked at you and then his clothes before putting his hands up. “Don’t fucking freak out, okay? It’s not mine.”

Your eyes bulged at him. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?!”

“Stop fucking yelling!” He, ironically, shouted, then he took in a deep irritated breath. “Just chill the hell out, okay? Stop yelling.”

“Okay, okay,” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“No,” He said quickly, that sudden frantic expression taking form again as he looked past you. “Not right now. We gotta go.”

When he made a reach for your arm again you pulled back. “We?”

“Yes, fucking-” He grabbed you and started to run again. “We!”

Instead of arguing you tried to save your breath, anxiety starting to bubble within you like a cloud of dust. It made you feel weak and lightheaded- or maybe that was just the fact that you hated running. Either way you were starting to get scared, and what made it so much worse was seeing a silent police car suddenly turn down the street Nathan was hauling you on. He came to a dead stop, almost making you clash into the back of him, before pivoting and dragging you in another direction.

This time it was off the road and up a small hill, then into some poor strangers back yard. When Nathan rooted his knees to the dirt, his form covered by the thick hedges that lined the person's yard, he yanked you down with him. The fear of being caught in a stranger's yard with a troubled and most likely on the run teen was suddenly very real, and you swallowed thickly trying to wrap your head around how you’d gotten yourself into this mess. All you had wanted was a nice night to yourself.

Beside you Nathan was dead silent, reaching out to poke his hands through the leaves to clear some out. Then he peered through the brush, squinting through the darkness.

“What the fuck is going on?” You quietly whispered, pissed to hell and back. When he didn’t answer your childish nature got the better of you, and you reached out and pinched his leg. He flinched, swatted at your hand, and for a moment it sounded like he actually growled at you.

“Would you just fuck off for a minute?” He hissed, not looking at you. You shook your head in annoyance, in disbelief, and tried to look through the leaves as well. Luckily you didn't have to clear much to get a perfect view of the police car slowly cruising by, a white light scanning the area back and forth in search of who you guessed was Nathan. As it passed by you held your breath, eyes wide as it drew close enough for you to hear the engine and tires crushing the rocks.  When it continued it’s way down the road and eventually turned, you felt like a weight had been pulled clean off your shoulders. You fell back onto your ass not-so gracefully, running a hand through your hair.

“What did you do?” your voice was much softer now, tired from all the suspense and running. He looked down at you.

“I didn’t do shit.”

“Yeah, because that,” you gestured to his clothes. “Is so convincing.”

“Just mind your own business.” Nathan grumbled, and for a moment you swore you sw red.

“Mind my fucking business?” You were seeting at this point. “You dragged me into this! I just hid from a cop car! This is my fucking business! Why are you covered in shit and blood?”

“Keep asking questions and I swear to god I’ll shoot you.”

You gaped at him. He was fucking joking, right?

The hostile look on his face, even through the darkness, told you otherwise. You brought yourself to your feet and wiped at your face, feeling dirty from just looking at him.

“This was fun Prescott,” you started, putting your headphones around your neck. “But I’m fucking leaving.”

“You can’t yet.” He suddenly said. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he huffed. “They’re still out there.”

“Yeah, and they’re looking for you, not me.”

“You owe me.” He stated blankly.

“For Madison?” you asked incredulously. “That was for the jocks and you know it.”

“Not just your stupid note-book fiasco,” He said, standing up, and you took a step back. Oh god, here came the yelling. “Do you even know how much shit I’ve done for you? How many assholes I kept off your back after that?” You blinked at him, unsure of what he meant. At your obliviousness he forced a sharp laugh. “Of course you don’t. See, when I rescued your sorry ass from those dickheads, I told you that it would make you a target, yeah?” You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Why do you think that none of the shit ever came? I’ve been working my ass off keeping people off your back. You’re fucking welcome.”

“I-I don’t-” You looked everywhere but at him, searching for words to say. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Don’t ask me shit I don’t know the answer to.” He looked left and right over the bushes, making sure the coast was clear before passing you by. “This is how you thank me. You keep your mouth shut about what you saw tonight.”

Though you hated the feeling of being chewed out by none of than Nathan Prescott, the problem child of the year, you still nodded and remained silent. When he took little care in shoving past you, you turned to follow him out of the stranger’s yard and back onto the street.

“Why are you even out so late?” He asked as though he had any right to talk.

You shrugged. “I was just walking back to my dorms.”

“At 1 am?” He scoffed, shoving his hand into his pockets and glancing over his shoulder for any sign of the cop. “You don’t seem like a night kind of person.”

“I was feeling sick so I went home.” You knew you didn’t owe him any sort of explanation but at that moment you were tired and honestly, all you wanted was to go to your room. Your casual walk back to the dormitories, so calming and enjoyable, was ruined. You were also painfully reminded why you kept your distance was Nathan. It seemed maybe after not talking to him for so long you forget the edges he carried with him at all times, forgot how troubled followed him wherever he went.

“Sick?” He mumbled, looking back at you. “You look just fine to me.”

You rolled your eyes and looked down at your phone, turning it on to check the time. 1:30. “I just want to get back, okay?”

He rose his eyebrows and turned his back on you. “Yeah, fine, what the fuck ever. Lucky for you I’m on my way back to my dorm too so feel fucking free to thank me for the walk home.”

“I didn’t ask you to walk me back, you know.” You huffed, looking down at the ground. “Feel ‘fucking free’ to hurry your ass up and leave me alone.”

Nathan didn’t answer, or maybe he didn’t hear. Either way you weren’t repeating yourself, occasionally checking your phone as if it would make your now silent walk home any less awkward as it already was. Among the silence there was also anxiety- what if the car returned? Where would you hide if you had enough time? On top of that, what if you got caught? Your parents would have your throat for getting into legal trouble, even if you hadn’t exactly done anything illegal in the first place.

While you two trekked block after block, you made sure to keep mental notes of all the areas you could duck into should a police car arrive. These spots mostly consisted of thick trees, bushes, and occasionally decks if they jutted out far enough. As you picked out spot after spot, you only realized you were close to the dorms when Nathan suddenly hissed ‘shit’ and then swiftly ducked behind the Blackwell Academy's welcome sign by the road.

“What is it?” You asked quickly, peeking over the top. From what you could tell the parking lots looked normal on either side, but he seemed distraught.

“Fuck,” He repeated a few times. “Jackasses- they’re staking out the boy’s dormitories.”

You snapped to look down at him, eyes wide. “What, did you kill someone?”

“No, I didn’t kill someone!” He said defensively. You peeked over the edge again, swallowing. “Look, do me one more favor.” He added quietly.

“Like what?” You didn’t look down at him, still peering over the edge for anyone that could be walking around.

“Give me your clothes.”

You stared at him, bewildered. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

He roughly gripped at his hair, groaning. “Not right now! In your dorm, give me clothes!”

“I’m not letting you in my dorm!”

“I said do me this one last fucking favor!”

“No!”

It wasn’t wise to argue with Nathan and you knew it, but your temper sometimes really did get the best out of you. You were utterly shocked that he’d demand to have your clothes, and on top of that trespass into your dorm even after nearly getting you arrested.

“If I go in my own they’ll arrest me,” he argued. “So let me into yours. It won’t fucking take all night, I just- I just need a minute.”

You shifted your weight and then stared at your feet, frowning, giving into him even though your conscious screamed at you to do otherwise. If you helped him you’d be potentially aiding a criminal, but if you didn’t he would hate you and then that big target would return. As much as you hated it, you needed the shelter.

“Fine.” You grumbled. “But you better not get me fucking caught or so help me.”

“Fine, fine,” He got up and looked over the edge. “Let’s just hurry up.”

Since the police cars were likely looking for a male fitting Nathan’s description (if they had even seen him directly), there were none parked nearby the girls dormitory. Given it was late at night all the students were inside sleeping, so all their cars parked gave you and Nathan great cover as you darted from vehicle to vehicle, occasionally looking through windows just to make sure there was no one undercover watching. It was an easy trip and in no time at all you were both bounding the steps leading up to the door. You used your key to open the doors and when you both stepped inside there was physical relief, the walls providing shelter from both the outside and from the all the possible watching eyes. But, your ‘mission’ wasn’t complete yet. You put a finger to your lips, looking back at Nathan before starting to walk through the hallways. Stopping at your door, you were suddenly embarrassed at the stupid messages your friends left you on your whiteboard. Nathan saw them and of course had to make some sort of scene, raising his brows and pointing at the remarks. Though you wanted to lock him out, you opened your door and led him inside.

Your room was never the cleanest but it wasn’t dirty either. The only thing you were had an issue with was decorating- you didn’t have much decor whatsoever. All your room consisted of was basic necessities: a night stand, a bed, a dresser, and your homework desk, and even that was rather bland.

“Wow,” He breathed, standing in the center of the room while you pulled open your drawers and grabbed at your baggier clothes. Most of it was pajamas but he’d have to make do if he really wanted to have something clean to wear. You looked over at him, and he laughed under his breath. “Your room fucking sucks.”

Your fingers squeezed at the knobs of your dresser in frustration, eyes slipping closed as an irritated sigh left your lips. “I’m still moving in.”

“Yeah I can see that. It’s so vacant and- are those cobwebs?”

“Shut up, Nathan.” you shoved a pair of sweatpants and a black t shirt at his chest, which he grabbed and glared at you for the act of aggression.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Given you’re in my room, about to be wearing my clothes, and you dragged me into some sort of legal shit, I think I can tell you whatever I want.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t speak, so you continued. “Change your clothes and then go so I can get some sleep. Or maybe do homework.”

“Wow you sure know how to party.” he said sarcastically, tossing the clothes you gave him onto the bed. Without warning he grabbed at the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, baring his stomach and chest to you.

“Woah!” you gasped, sharply turning around and staring at the wall. “A heads up would be nice next time!”

“Maybe if you weren’t always fucking staring at me that wouldn’t happen.” Despite his bitterness you could hear a waver in his voice- maybe he was shy after all.

“Are we really going to start this ‘stop watching me’ crap again?” You groaned, slumping your shoulders. From behind you, you could hear the shuffling of fabrics as he presumably dressed into the top you’d give him. It was a shock that you didn’t care less he was probably putting his dirty clothes on your bed.

“You’re always staring at me,” He started, but he wasn’t mad. Your brows knit at the sound of his voice, as mellow as it was. “You never say shit, but you’re always staring at me.”

“I see you here and there, Nathan. It’s not like I look for you on purpose.” Your cheeks were starting to warm as you realized that maybe yeah, you were looking for him on purpose. There was no way you’d say that to him, though. He’d probably get mad about it for some reason you couldn’t quite place. Your face flushed even hotter when you heard what sounded like his belt being undone, and even though you weren’t looking and this definitely wasn’t a romantic situation, it was still jarring to know he was undressed behind you. Grow up, ___, you mentally screamed at yourself. 

“Even before everything you were always there. You were so fucking creepy, you know that? The new kid who never said shit. You were always watching everyone.”

“I didn’t have any friends, sue me.”

“You didn’t even try.”

“You’re one to talk?” Without thinking you turned sharply, glaring at him in anger. How dare he talk to you like he was Mr. Popular. Everyone hated him! The rumors, the names, all the things you’d heard about him, and he was grilling you for not making any friends? For being ‘creepy’ because you were distant at a new school? Through your anger you barely registered the fact that he was still pants less, staring at you like he didn’t understand it either. There was a tense moment of silence, and you felt your mouth dry. You turned back around. “Sorry. You just-” you shoulders tensed. “You piss me off so much.”

There was more rustling behind you and finally you heard his sigh. “Stop looking at the wall, I’m done.”

Hesitantly you turned, looking at him through the corners of your eyes just incase for some reason he wasn't dressed still. When you saw he was, in fact, covered, you let your shoulders relax again. It was odd seeing him in casual clothing given he mostly wore rather expensive materials, and you inwardly smiled. He looked cute with your clothes on and his hair all messed up. For once he didn’t look all posh and fake, he looked human. A very dirty human who still had dirt all over his face, so you grabbed the baby-wipes you kept on your nightstand and handed them to him.

“Baby wipes?” He asked, wiping his cheekbones and beneath his eyes. “What am I, five?”

“You might as well be sometimes.” you crossed your arms and leaned against the wall, watching him wipe the dirt from his face and then his hands. When he finished it was quite the sight to see him bunch them up and then just toss them on your floor, and you clicked your tongue in annoyance.

“Be quiet.” He muttered, and then started tugging at the clothes he was wearing, looking down at them with a disgruntled expression. .

You, having grown far too tired to deal with much more of his shit, rolled your eyes at his constant display of anger. “Why do you do that?”  He looked at you like he had no idea what you were talking about, and it annoyed you that much more. “I can’t say anything to you without you getting all pissy and mad. If I bother you that much than why are you here?”

“Um,” He grabbed the collar of the shirt he was wearing. “I told you I needed fucking clothes.”

“Then why didn’t you call someone else! You’ve got delinquent friends, I’m sure.”

“Because I ran into you, you were there.” Nathan scowled at you and made his way past the bed, staring to take small steps towards you he grew increasingly upset. You wished you could’ve held your tongue but you still kept going.

“I could’ve gotten arrested,” you hissed. “It would have been all your fault.”

“Hey, I got out of the mess, didn’t I?”

“Barely! And I didn’t ask you to!”

Nathan was upon you in a moment, hand slamming flat against the wall beside your head. You hated how he was capable of dwarfing you, leaving you feeling defenseless against him even if he had virtually no muscle on his frame. It was his eyes, his shoulders, his aura that made you bite your tongue. The tension in the air was so thick you could’ve choked on it, and the silence wasn’t helping. He was just staring you, eyes narrowed and lips in a tight line. You really fucked up this time.

“You have no idea the shit I’ve done for you.” He growled, hand balling into a fist beside your head. Your anger only festered as he spoke, and you could feel your body start to shake at the intense moment. He leaned in close to you, eyes on fire. “You should be grateful, ___. It fucks up my reputation.”

“You don’t care about your reputation,” You breathed, your voice calm despite the wave of fury boiling beneath your skin. “And if in some way you do, then why do you keep helping me?”

His eyes bore into your own, unmoving, unchanging. He didn’t answer your question even if it was entirely direct, and you found yourself nearly breathless as he grew closer to you. So much flowed through you, first the anger that lit you up, the sudden fear of being caught in a corner, and now you just stood there, looking back up at him and shaking. You were so pissed off him at him but you couldn’t say anything else, the thickness in their almost tangible.

Nathan was so fearsome, but for some reason he didn’t scare you. Indimitiated you, yes, but you never felt like he would hurt you. Sure, the thought of being hit crossed your mind, but somehow you just knew he wouldn’t. Even now, backed up against the wall with his arms caging you in front of him, you didn’t cower beneath him. You couldn't meet the intensity of his eyes as there was just too much within them, but you hoped you could muster up something to at least be on the same level.

When you spoke again, you were hesitant and soft.

“Why are you helping me?”

It barely rose above a whisper in the quiet room. He blinked, licked at his lips, and for a moment you swore he leaned in to kiss you. You almost met him halfway. But then he pushed himself back, settled his hand on his forehead.

“Nevermind.” He whispered hotly. “Just fucking-- forget I said anything.”

You found yourself almost chasing him, taking a step forward and fighting the urge to rest your hands on his chest. “Tell me,” You murmured, trying to coax him into an explanation. “Why do you care so much?”

“Why do you care so much?” He retorted, letting his hands fall to his waists in vexation. He knew what you were going to say, so continued spoke before you could answer. “I should leave.”

Not quite timid, not quite furious, either. He was in a strange state of mind and you wanted to know more about it. But, he wasn’t willing, suddenly appearing like he’d rather be anywhere but your room despite being the one who demanded he come over. Still shaking from your previous position, you shrugged and sighed. There wasn’t a point in arguing with him anymore. The best way to get something out of Nathan was to have him acting like a loose cannon, talking with no filter or worry of consequence. He was learning, you realized, and that’s how he forced himself away from you. He stopped himself before he revealed too much information. You desperately wished to know what he would have done, but you gave in anyways.

“Fine, yeah. I’ll walk you out.”

Nathan looked at you and there was something there, you could see it and you could feel it. Disappointment, but then acceptance. He shifted his weight and subconsciously tried to shove his hands into his pockets, but given he had none, opted to just shrugging his head down.

He pushed past you, unlocking your door before walking out as if he had a right to be there. You didn’t turn, not yet, staring ahead in your room feeling almost dazed. He was so spontaneous, and you had no idea what he was thinking at any given moment, but when you had your back to the wall, his physique almost shrinking yours, you thought maybe you knew. When you closed your eyes in disappointment, you felt shame course through you. You had wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and then ask him why he was such an asshole at times. God, you wanted to ask him everything.

“Are you coming or not?” Nathan whispered behind you. “I can one-hundred percent walk my ass out of here if you’d rather stand around.”

You opened your eyes and tried to push yourself out of your own head, turning on your heel, grabbing your phone, and slipping outside your door. Just like when you had first come in, the halls were dark without even a single light showing beneath the cracks of the rooms surrounding you two.

“What if the cars aren’t gone yet?” You whispered, looking out for any security guards before darting down the corridor. You saw him shrug in front of you, eyes forward at the front doors.

“They probably aren’t,” Nathan moved forward and you followed suit, oddly impressed at how easy it was for him to choose the right moment for sneaking around. “I’ll just stay at V’s or something. Wouldn’t be the first time I was out all night anyways.”

You frowned. 

Stay at my room.

“Why are you out at night?” You asked, and he didn’t answer. “Seriously, you get into all this trouble- why?”

“None of your damn business, that’s why.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot tonight.”

He glared at you over his shoulder, a silent order to shut up. Though you wanted to argue and force things out of him you didn’t, shaking your head in defeat and sighing. As he made his way to the front doors he cupped the window with his hands, peering out and giving a breath of relief when there was nothing but empty cars in the parking lot.

“Alright,” He started, unlocking the door and carefully pushing it open. “You better keep your fucking mouth shut about this, got it? I find out you snitched and I’ll-”

“Shoot me, I know.” You crossed your arms. “And I already know what you’re going to say next: don’t expect the favor to be returned.”

He gave one last scan of the parking lot before turning to you, snatching your phone out of your hands. He was typing before you even had a chance to grab it back, gaping at him like he had two heads. “Actually,” He mumbled. “You should. You only get one, though. One. Don’t fucking waste it on some stupid shit.” He practically threw your phone back at you and luckily you caught it.

As Nathan stuck one foot out of the door, the breeze cutting through the opening and chilling you to the bone, he glanced at you over his shoulder. His expression was different than it had been moments ago, you noticed. There was no anger this time, no irritation. Thank you, it said. It felt like you were freeing an previously injured animal.

There was silence, and then he was gone.