#on second thought maybe he won't get another angst fic
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merakiui · 1 year ago
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Okay speaking of magical girls.... Evil villain tako that has a crush on the cute magical girl at NRC but he doesnt know shes the magical girl that's trying to thwart his evil plan of taking over sage's island mwhaha
YES YES YES. And every week he gets his ass handed to him. You're determined to keep Sage's Island safe!!!! He's trying to get to know you through the fights. The (one-sided) sexual/romantic tension is too much. Tako who flirts at every chance during your fights... you genuinely want to take him out (defeat him), but he wants to take you out (on a date). And it's so obvious he's down bad for you, but you have no idea he's Azul Ashengrotto (your fellow classmate) and he has no idea of your identity either. Azul's trying to balance his love for the magical girl he fights on weekends and his darling classmate who he sees during the week hehe. How fortuitous that they are the same person.
Please imagine that trope where the villain ensnares the hero in tentacles, but it ends up looking more erotic than threatening....... orz evil villain tako whose tentacle is holding you upside down by the ankle and he's monologuing about how he'll take over the island and you'll get to watch, powerless against him. But then he looks at you and your skirt has flipped up and he's granted a gratuitous panty shot!!!!!!! Tako who gets a nosebleed on the spot. He's such a loser pervert. <3
Omg omg or you're squirming in the tentacles and ranting about how you'll get him for this, but Azul's trying so hard not to give into the horny thoughts because the way the tentacles are looped around you and squeezing is so attractive to him.
Like that one scene where Stocking's fighting the octopus ghost LOL.
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chugging-bleach · 8 months ago
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"SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO." - the 4 times you almost met jason and the one time you did.
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summary. you regret not speaking to jason todd in high school. then, another masked vigilante by the name of red hood seems to make all your regrets dissolve.
tags. fluff, light angst, slight hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual happy ending
a/n. this idea came from a jason todd x <y/n> fic i am in the process of writing (if you would like to know when it comes out, follow or check out my ao3). i hope you enjoy reading this <3 feel free to request anything you would like to see me write.
the first time.
gotham high, located at the heart of crime alley, was for lack of a better word shitty. you hated studying, you never got along with anyone and prayed that the time went by fast. the only thing that made you keep going back to high school was staring at that handsome boy with bright blue eyes and ratty black hair who sat a seat ahead of you. how he made it to first place each year was a mystery to you since he was constantly skipping class.
what kept you going was looking forward to that one day he would attend class and then you could stare at the back of his head to make the time go by faster. one day you knew that you would want to freeze this moment and make it last forever, but for now, staring will do. not like jason would care and catch you looking.
then one day he completely stopped showing up. you thought he would come back. but then you graduated. without him ever returning. you hated yourself for never trying to talk to him. you should have spoken to him rather than staring holes into him. actually, staring at him must have been super creepy. were you the reason why he stopped coming to school? creeped out by the girl who bore holes into him, just staring and staring? regardless of the real reason, you know that you would always regret not talking to him. not being able to thank him for making school a little better.
the second time.
as was routine for gothamites, you get saved from some large attack from some big shot criminal at the hands of batman and robin. you were a bit upset at being saved since you really wouldn't mind dying at the hands of a rouge robber. you had nothing to look forward to. there wasn't enough money to go to university. bills piled up no matter how many jobs you worked.
you snap out of your thoughts when robin puts a shock blanket around you and instead of being grateful, you throw it on the floor. you remember that you have to get back to work otherwise you'll be behind on rent again.
"where are you going?" batman placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.
"work," you simply say.
"stay put for a while. we need to make sure you're alright."
"well, i won't be alright if i don't work and miss rent. again."
you just talked back to the batman. maybe he will kill you and then you might die quicker than working yourself to death.
"let me handle this one," and then robin is making you sit down next to him. you were trying to avoid robin knowing that you will project your regret on to him. the regret of never being able to talk to jason since both jason and robin have eerily similar features. work is just an excuse. you need to leave.
"please. i won't make rent. let me go."
"mad respect talking to him like that. but, you inhaled some poison gas. take the antidote. then you can go back."
"give it to the others here. i don't give a fuck."
you know you shouldn't be this angry. but you are this angry. at yourself. and robin has made that anger surface.
"how about i give you something to look forward to? then you'll stay for the antidote?"
"the person i looked forward to seeing disappeared before i could talk to him," you say before you can stop yourself. you feel ridiculous admitting it, that just staring at some random boy gave you hope. but it did. and now that boy wasn't there anymore.
"that dumbass didn't know how lucky he was."
you shook your head. "he truly is lucky. he was adopted by bruce wayne. i just... he made school less shitty even though he doesn't even know who i am and before i could thank him he was gone. it's stupid, i know, but i just wanted to say thank you to him. like, thank you, jason. that's it. and i'll never get to say it."
robin puts the shock blanket around you again. he was silent. "i'm sorry for saying all that. but now that i said it, i'll thank you instead of him." you turned and stared at robin's eye mask, imagining it was jason. it wasn't that difficult, considering they both had the same bright blue eyes and ratty black hair.
"thank you, jason for not getting creeped out by all my staring." you feel much lighter. maybe you just had to talk to someone. robin rises from your side.
"i'm sure that dumbass heard your thanks, though i'm sure he doesn't deserve any of it."
third time.
life at gotham, heart of wacky and dangerous criminals, was for lack of a better word still shitty. you never saved up nearly enough to go to university but managed to get a decent-ish job at three diners which paid nearly enough for being located in gotham.
you were wiping down table tops and listening to the news playing the death anniversary of jason todd, bruce wayne’s adopted son. it was tragic to die that young. and you were surprised the news didn't leave you as heartbroken as you had thought it would.
you continued wiping down the counters, when for the third time today, thugs burst in and demanded to be served. as per policy, you served anyone especially the dangerous sort. before you could get menus for them and think of how to explain to the next diner that yes, thugs broke in after her shift ended yet again, a person wearing a red helmet/mask comes inside, drags the thugs outside with a "not so fast," and that's that. your shift's over. instead of missing the next job, you will be arriving late, which won't be that difficult to explain.
you finish tidying up and leave.
the strange man with the red helmet has tied up the thugs and left them at the side of the pavement. he is ready to leave on his motorcycle. you make a move to leave, accustomed to strange costumed people taking care of thugs like this.
"for all that trouble, want a ride?" you think being kidnapped won't be too bad. not like you have anything to look forward to.
"sure."
just as quickly as he had tied those thugs up without fanfare, you were sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. you whispered the directions of the place adding, "didn't know this was part of the whole hero thing. giving people free lifts to places."
"you would be surprised how much money i burn on gas for these free lifts."
he drove way too fast. you tightened your hold on him, afraid you were gonna fly off. any conversation was impossible with the loud noise of the engine. but it felt freeing to go this recklessly fast.
"wonder who you need to see here."
oh no. you gave the wrong directions. you were not planning to do this. damn the news for reminding you. you promised last year was the last time you would do this.
before you can stop yourself, you're crying. you were heartbroken after all. "i don't know why i do this to myself each year. he never even knew me," you choke out. you had gotten off the bike at some point, expecting this person to leave.
"if it gives you peace to visit this person, you should. besides this punk is lucky to have you visit him."
ignoring the sense of deja vu you were getting, you shook your head. "jason was anything but lucky. he died so young. i never knew him. i wish i knew him better." he lended you his shoulder to cry on. you had more regrets than you had previously thought. "he did not deserve to die young."
your tears sat on top of his leather jacket and you moved to wipe them away with your napkin. instead, he stops you, wiping your tears away with the pads of his gloved fingers.
"he seriously is a lucky boy to have you visit and cry for him"
fourth time.
you were saving up money to move out of this shithole. nothing was tying you down to this place and there were new vigilantes and new villains rising everyday. none of the other cities were safe, but you had heard they offered better jobs and more affordable bills. less leaky ceilings. you never went to college so jobs still were a little difficult to get, but otherwise, you would be paid more as a server at anyother city, except gotham. if not working for wayne enterprises, jobs were a struggle in gotham. life was a struggle. you remarked upon how you made it this far.
then, someone broke through your window.
the first thought - for fuck's sake, who was gonna pay for it?
second - oh it's red hood, he will pay for it.
this is not the first time a vigilante crashed through your window. being a gothamite sucks.
you brushed the pieces of glass away from his leather jacket and surveyed him for damage. he did not seem hurt. only mildly annoyed. the red helmet wouldn't be enough to conceal his reaction from her.
"coffee as per usual? along with the window repairs and cleanup?"
you swear he is frowning under that helmet. not at you, but at the person who threw him. you don't wait for his answer, already preparing his coffee.
"help me up?"
"what? are your legs broken?"
"they are if you will carry me."
"red, combining you and the rest of your little clique this is the tenth time my window has been broken. sixth time by you, alone."
the person you met on jason todd's death anniversary was red hood. he was an anti-batman vigilante and you couldn't have given two shits. except, red made you give two shits. after that first day at the diner, he kept coming back to pick up food during your shifts. when the diner inevitably burned down, he came to the other diner you started working at. then it was crashing through your apartment window. then it was crashing with robin through your apartment window.
you were overjoyed when he came, but it was best you push him away before he got too close, and up and disappeared like jason had. looking forward to things like this was a curse.
"hope i make it to a seventh. seventh times the charm."
"charm for what?" you say, slamming the mug in front of him, with a little more force than you wanted to.
"for my charm to work on you." he winked and took a sip from the cup. his other hand rested on top of yours and your heart wrenched in your chest. you really wanted to know red hood better. you wanted him to keep crashing through your window instead of entering through the front door. but then he would die during patrol and you would have nothing more to look forward to. again. you carefully free your hand from his, ignoring his puzzled expression and the dejection you feel separating from him.
you have to stop this. "listen, you shouldn't see me anymore."
"why?
"i don't...don't need you to disappear too. jason disappearing was horrible and he wasn't safe with the most powerful billionaire in gotham. you break in through people's windows. what if next time you break something? like your spine or..."
you expect red hood to laugh at you. you were a minuscule, microscopic part of jason's life. he shouldn't be this huge a part of your life. if he were alive, you knew the regret wouldn't eat you up inside. but he wasn't alive. you couldn't hold that moment as a happy memory of a stupid thing you did in high school.
"all i'm hearing is, breaking your window is fine but not my bones. i guess that's doable."
you smack him, knowing that it wouldn't even hurt. "i'm serious. besides, once i have enough money, i will be moving out of gotham. don't come here. please." you were miles away from moving out. you knew red hood knew that.
you did this to save yourself the hurt and regret, but as you saw him leave from the front door, you knew you caused yourself more hurt and regret than last time. jason was far away from the beginning. you had chances to get to know red hood better. used to have chances.
jason was dead. red hood was right in front of your eyes and interested to keep seeing you. you had messed up.
he would never come back.
the last time.
instead of wallowing in your heartbreak, it was time to give back to the community you grew up in. moving out was an impossible dream you gave up on. instead, you got more involved in elder homes and joined their knitting circles.
it had been a month since red hood was gone. you couldn't believe it had been an entire year since you saw him, on jason's death anniversary of all days. yes, you couldn't help but regret that you made another mistake. red hood knew about you and wanted to know you better, to the point where he broke into your house.
like clockwork, you went to go see jason's grave, finding out that the grave wasn't there anymore. it wouldn't be there anymore at the request of the wayne family.
you cried outside the gates of the cemetery, knowing that this wasn't where he was laid to rest. jason's real body was in wayne manor, not here. this was for the public.
with red hood gone, you had nothing left to look forward to. you were a dumbass.
"need a ride?" you thought you were hallucinating. you looked up with teary eyes and confirmed it was the red hood. except, his helmet was off. you stared at him, dumbfounded. he had dishevelled black hair and bright, blue eyes. you sniffled, letting him drag you to your feet. you shook your head.
"jason's grave isn't here."
you were clutching the flowers in your hands. the red hood took them from you and bowed, pink flushing his cheeks.
"yes, that's 'cause i'm here. thanks for the flowers."
you gaped at him. "you're jason? you mean your name is jason too?"
guess it checks out. red hood knew about your strange connection to jason todd so he didn't tell you his real name. he chuckled, pulling you close, pressing a gentle kiss on each of your glistening cheeks. if you weren't shocked, you probably would be ecstatic about this development.
"it's time you learnt more about jason todd rather than staring and let me learn about you, <y/n>. i have been looking forward to learning more about you."
//bonus//
jason had no idea about before the diner incident. he remembered the (y/n) from when he was robin, once they arrived at the cemetery. but, he didn’t remember anything from high school as he barely attended. then, his crush on (y/n) was born.
the batsiblings were tired of seeing jason delay his confession, so they threw him through the window. once jason took tim with him. this totalled the count - three times tim as casualty, one time jason and tim, six times jason. all the costs were billed to bruce wayne as 'civilian casualties' code for ‘of course we broke through the window. it’s the batmove to pick up chicks.'
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wheeboo · 3 months ago
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candy | yoon jeonghan {TEASER}
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SYNOPSIS. After moving back into the city to be closer with friends and family, you start receiving letters from an unknown sender in your mail. When curiosity gets the better of you, you decide to respond, and what begins as a simple sweet-tasting exchange soon blossoms into something more with someone you’ve never met—or so you think. But as the snow continues to fall, you find yourself confronting the bitter-tasting feelings you thought were long buried back in your youth, as well as the person who’s been hiding in plain sight all along. Loosely inspired from vocal unit’s, Candy. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader (ft. soonyoung, mingyu, joshua, seokmin, seungkwan) GENRE. fluff, penpal au, angst, exes to lovers, second chance romance WARNINGS. swearing, alcohol and food consumption, mental health mentions, jeonghan and reader broke up on bad terms, so much longing!!! and pining!!!!!, one-bed trope, unfortunately they're still in love and are lil idiots 😔 WORD COUNT (FOR THE TEASER). 1.5k WORD COUNT. (FOR FULL FIC). 15k-20k
notes: me publishing this in the hopes i won't hate this when i finish it (it's almost done)! anyway, this is my teaser for the @camandemstudios "winter with you" collab! if you'd like to be tagged specifically for this fic, feel free to leave a comment/ask! to sign up for the taglist for the entire collab, you can fill it out here!
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You don’t know why you’re standing in front of the café again. 
It’s late, far later than you intended to be out. Bags of convenience store food are tightly gripped in your hands, snow crunching beneath your feet as you take another step towards the door of the cafe, before stepping back again. 
You feel ridiculous standing there, like the answer lies right behind the door, and all you had to do was push it open. The soft glow of the lights inside spills through the frosted glass, casting warm hues on the snowy pavement. The temptation to just walk away gnaws at you. 
What are you even hoping to accomplish here?
You sigh, your breath floating like wisps in the cold air, shaking your head dismissively. The bags in your hands crinkle as you shift your grip, trying to convince yourself that this is a bad idea. But then, as if on autopilot, your feet move forward, and as you are about to push through the door, it swings open by itself. 
Jeonghan steps out, his coat slung loosely over his shoulders, his blonde hair catching the soft light. He freezes when he sees you, the surprise in his eyes giving way to something else𑁋something unreadable. And you could only stand there, like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, or minute, maybe even a whole damn hour, neither of you speak. 
He’s the first to break the silence.
“Did you want to come in?” he asks.
“I𑁋no,” You stammer, gripping the bags in your hands even tighter. “I was just passing by.”
Jeonghan simply stares at you for a beat or two, his lips forming a thin line.
“You were never really a good liar, you know.”
You wince at the words, even though they aren't said harshly. It’s the fact that he still knows you so well, despite everything that’s passed between the two of you. It makes the sting go even deeper into your heart. The years apart have changed you, shaped you in ways that should’ve made him a stranger. 
And yet, here he is, looking at you like nothing’s different. 
“Okay, I was… I was thinking of getting some coffee before𑁋”
“Since when did you become a coffee person?”
The slight quirk you catch on his lips makes your stomach twist into an uneasy knot. You hate how he seems to still know you like the lines on the back of your hand, hate how he can still read you so easily, even after all this time.
You hate how you can’t fully hate him, even if you’ve convinced yourself enough times that you’re supposed to. 
Jeonghan’s eyes flicker curiously over you once more, and there’s a slight shiver to your limbs that he catches sight of.
“Do you want to come inside? I could give you some coffee before I𑁋”
“No,” You cut him off sharply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m fine. I just... I don’t want anything from you.”
Jeonghan’s expression falters, the familiar trace of concern flickering behind his eyes. It makes you nearly want to give in, but you refuse to show that vulnerability, because you don’t want to feel that way again. You don’t want to be the person who needs him. You can’t let yourself fall back into his orbit, because does the sun really care if you burn yourself trying to get close to it again?
He doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing and softening into something contemplative. His gaze still doesn’t leave you, studying the way you stand, as if trying to figure out what’s going on inside your head. He brushes a stray lock of hair behind his ear and steps back up a fraction, letting his shoulders deflate in what may be defeat.
“It’s really been a while, hasn’t it?” 
You swallow hard. You can’t deny that it’s been so long, but here he is, standing in front of you, almost the same, yet so different. Maybe it’s the more mature look in his eyes, but something about him feels less like the Jeonghan you once knew, and you can’t quite place your finger on why that makes you even more unsettled.
“Yeah. It has.”
Jeonghan shifts between his two feet and stuffs his hands inside the pockets of his coat. You remember how easily cold he would get back then, always wrapping himself in layers even when the air wasn’t particularly chilly or sneaking his hands into your pockets as an excuse to get close with you. 
A part of you wishes he’d just leave. You wish you could escape to avoid this conversation. But you’re stuck here, frozen under his gaze, as if time has both stretched and shrunk all at once. The very thing you feared was happening𑁋you’re back where it all began.
“You look great,” he says, the words coming out softer than you expect.
Your heart skips, and you curse at it mentally for betraying you. “Jeonghan, you can’t just𑁋”
“Can’t just what?” he interrupts gently, almost teasingly, and it makes the words die in your throat. His expression holds none of the coldness it used to. No. This is different. 
You suck in a deep breath, shaking your head as if trying to clear the fog that’s settling over your mind. You want to tell him to stop looking at you like that, to stop making everything feel so complicated, to stop making your heart flutter yet hide itself away. But the words don’t come out right.
“I… I didn’t come here for you, you know,” You confess weakly, and you hate how easily your voice crumbles. 
Jeonghan doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flicker down to the bags in your hands, and then back to you, studying the way you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. There’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah?” There’s a faint smirk to his features as he steps closer to you, but not enough to close the distance completely. “Then what are you doing here?”
The cold air nips achingly at the skin of your cheek, your lips pursing into a thin line to keep anything from spilling out. 
“I don’t know.”
You’re met with an arch of a brow, an incredulous look plaguing his features. You hate it. You want him to stop looking at you like he has the answer to your thoughts, like he knows more about what you’re going through than you do. But you’ve already dug yourself in a hole𑁋you just lied in front of him, and he knows. 
Jeonghan takes another step closer, the distance between the two of you shrinking by a fraction, as if testing the waters. He’s so close now. Too close. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body, the same warmth that once made you feel safe. The same warmth that you ran from when everything fell apart between you.
And you take that chance to run away again.
“I should go,” You let out nimbly, clutching the bags in your hands, turning your back toward him, not before muttering out a quiet, “I’ll… see you around.”
Jeonghan watches as you walk away, and you feel his eyes shoot lasers through you as the distance between the two of you grows. 
When he brings his gaze down to the snow-covered pavement, he lightly chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as if he’s caught between a sigh and a laugh. It’s not mocking, though. There’s something softer in it, perhaps heavier, sadder. But of course, you don’t hear it. You’re too far away now. 
You don’t dare look back. If you do, you know you’ll fall apart.
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Dear 526,  Hello. Sorry, it’s been a few days since I’ve opened my mail. Promise me you’ve been keeping warm, or else. Sending my thanks to Google as I write this, literally. Strange times continue, I’m afraid. Let’s just say someone walked back into my life unexpectedly, and now I’m trying to figure out if it’s a blessing or a curse. All the memories came back with them too. A blessing because I haven’t seen them in a long time; a curse because it was simply my fault for screwing up things with them in the first place. I don’t know. Does that make sense? Sorry, I’m rambling. You said you don’t mind long letters, though, so here’s me testing the waters. Anyway, how have you been settling in the city? I can imagine it must be quite daunting. Keep hanging in there, though.  - 017
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To 017,  Funny that you mention memories. They’ve been on my mind a lot too. As for your question, I think I understand. Do you ever wonder why we hold onto certain memories so tightly? Even the painful ones? It’s like a part of you is afraid to let them go because you feel like you’d lose pieces of yourself along with them. It’s complicated. Maybe that’s a little too philosophical for this letter. I guess I’ve been in my head too much.  Perhaps the past isn’t as easy to leave behind as we think. Other than that, I hope this person doesn’t cause you too much heartache. I’ll fight them if you need me to. I think I’ve been making peace with the city. Some days are good. Some days are bad. But maybe this is where I’ve always belonged. - 526
Once again, you pin 017’s letter on your refrigerator, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
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@svtficsarchive @lllucere
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sugar--brown · 5 months ago
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A bit of fluff
Because we need more fluff to balance all the angst people are creating with the cat!Martin AU by @ultramarinaa
I'm preparing a proper big fic, but meanwhile I made this.
What were the chances to read a book made of only two pages and turning into a cat because of it only a few months after your promotion?
Not much. Martin was sure of that. As sure as the fact, he was in deeeep troubles. What would his boss say?! Turning into a cat should be pretty high on the scale of being unprofessional. Especially after introducing himself as the incompetent fool who let dogs run free in the archives! Jon will be so disappointed and annoyed! He was toasted!
Maybe... Maybe he could fix this? Maybe if he could read the book backward…?
Martin took a tentative step forward and immediately face-planted on the floor. Right. Four legs instead of two. That was great.
He meowed - gosh! he meowed! - pathetically before standing up, ready to make another attempt. But this time, everything was blurry.
… why was everything blurry?
Oh. His glasses. Right. Face-planting on the floor meant losing your glasses. Strange thing that his clothes disappeared with his body, while his glasses stayed the same…
Ah. Great. He couldn't put them back on. Because he was a cat. Without hands. Just very big and soft paws.
He really needed to fix this before anyone sees him!
Staggering a little, Martin began to walk cautiously toward the evil book. He was scared - heck! even terrified - of it. But what could it do more? Turning him into another type of cat?
With apprehension, Martin used his front right par to hit the book quickly. Nothing happened. Ready to bolt backward, he very slowly peaked at the fourth cover.
A wonderful fairytale where only the purrest love can help the hero to save the damsel.
Ah. Ah. Ah. Very funny.
Annoyed, Martin hit the book so hard that it flew away, landing between cardboard boxes full of statements. Great! He was already sick of it!
Two hands grabbed him and lifted him up.
“Hello!” cooed the stranger who just grabbed him without any warning.
Martin meowed and hissed in panic, squirming with all his might. But the stranger hugged him against their chest and started scratching him behind the ears. Oooooooh that was good…
“There, there, it's okay now. You are safe. I don't know how you got here, but I promise I won't hurt you.”
Wait. That voice… was it…?!
“I'm Jonathan, what's your name?”
Martin's eyes grew wide in shock. That was Jon! His boss! His prickly, cold-hearted, boss! And he was cooing at him like he was the cutest thing in the world.
Oh gosh… he was in deep troubles.
“Hey bossman! Did you find Martin? He was supposed to-... is that a cat?”
Tim appeared around the corner, clearly amused by the scene. Jon immediately stopped cooing and scratching Martin's ears, becoming all tenser and professional.
“Ah. Yes, it is… it is a cat. I caught it before it can do any damages.”
Hey! Martin wouldn’t have done any damages! He knew he wasn't the most graceful person, but he wasn't that clumsy. …right?
“What are you all doing back there? Oh! That's a very cute cat, Jon.”
And here was Sasha. Each second was more humiliating than the last. Martin really wanted to run and hide somewhere dark, tiny and safe right now.
“Do you know where it comes from?” asked Sasha, getting closer to inspect Martin.
“No, I just heard him. He doesn't have any tattoos or tag on him.” answered Jon, putting unconsciously a possessive hand on Martin's back. “I have not the faintest idea how he arrived here.”
“Ha! You know cats, boss, they are real champions when they want something!” laughed Tim.
“Champion… that's a good name.”
“Wow! You are already naming him? You move fast!” teased Tim with a smirk.
“We can't keep him, he may have an owner already.” added Sasha, more pragmatic.
“W-well… We can't call him ‘the cat’, that would be properly ridiculous.”
If Martin didn't know better, he would have thought Jon was embarrassed. But he couldn't, he was never embarrassed. On the other hand, he hadn’t reacted like this with the dog so…
While he was lost in his thoughts about his ridiculously cute boss, the group had moved on back to the break room.
Wait. What about the book?! And his glasses?!
Martin was almost able to escape, but Jon's soft hands captured him over his shoulder at the last second. But that didn't stop him to agitated his fluffy paws with a few panicked meows.
“What's wrong, Champion?” asked Jon, looking back with surprise. “Oh, good spot! There are glasses on the floor.”
Martin had half a hope to see Jon putting his glasses on his nose so he could see, but of course, he didn't. Instead, he inspected them before putting them in his pocket with a disgusted face.
“Aren't they Martin's?” asked Tim with curiosity.
“Yes.” groaned Jon. “He must have lost them while clumsily searching for a statement. I still don't understand why he had been assigned here. He clearly didn't have the competences to-... hey!”
Martin had escaped Jon's grasp with a hiss. He knew he wasn't good at his job, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it!
Before Jon could grab him again, Martin flew under a shelf, deep enough so he couldn't be grabbed. He heard the others shout in surprise and agitation, but he was too agitated to pay attention.
He vaguely heard Tim saying to “cut him some slack” and Sasha guessing that “champion surely needs space”. And Martin decided to do just that. He would stay here until everyone was gone, and then he would find the book to turn himself back.
Hours went by. And Martin must have snooze at some point because when he focused again, everything was calm and quiet. Tentatively, he came out.
Nothing to worry about. The lights were off and Tim and Sasha weren't here any more. So, he walked as silently as possible to where he had launched the book.
Until he heard a groan.
Martin froze. And slowly, oh so slowly, turned his head. 
Jon was still here. In fact, Jon was so focused on his work he hadn’t noticed Martin. So he could have continued, but… something was off. Jon didn't look… healthy. Or at least less than usual.
He seemed barely able to not passed out. He was pale, sweaty and his eyes were unfocused.
… when was the last time had Jon eaten? They didn't see him going out of his office at lunch…
With a sigh, Martin shook his head and walked to the break room's fridge. To be fair, he was a bit hungry himself. And he knew his fish salade was in here. He always brought double portions in case someone forgot their lunch.
It took a lot of time and effort, but Martin was able to open the fridge and to drag the dish to Jon's office.
“Champion? You're out? What are you… oh.”
Jon stood up quickly, too quickly because he needed a few second to make the world stopped spinning. Then, he knelt in front of Martin.
“Where did you… oh, you must be hungry. Right. Sorry… I'm a bit rusty at taking care of a cat. You are really smart, you know? Stealing Martin's food… I'm sure he wouldn’t mind, since he left work early to go find a replacement for his glasses.”
Martin huffed in annoyance. Why did Jon was so… harsh? Sure, he was a fool but still…
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Let me open this.”
That what he did, but he didn't eat. Maybe he needed some encouragements? Martin his best imitation of pleading kitty eyes while hitting softly the salad.
“You… want to share?”
Jon visibly melted, almost like he was ready to cry. But instead, he just sat on the floor and began eating the veggies while giving the sardines to Martin.
They shared in silence. But it was the best interaction Martin had Jon since… since ever! So he wouldn’t complain.
When they finished, Jon suddenly bent down and gently hugged Martin, bumping his head with his.
“Thank you…” he whispered in a broken voice.
And the genuine, honest, sweet, smile of Jon made Martin think that everything wasn't so terrible.
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chronically-ghosted · 2 months ago
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your friendly neighborhood dumbass
part i of some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb
AO3 Link | series masterlist | main masterlist | marcus moreno masterlist
rating: explicit (18+)
pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader
word count: 7K
summary: a night in turns into a crucial turning point for your relationship with marcus. what happens next, what he chooses, is entirely up to him - or maybe you, depending on who you ask.
warnings: a nice little smattering of angst and fluff, with just a dusting of crackfic, grinding like horny teenagers, themes of doubt and a lack of self-worth, lots of "i'm sorry"s because the man is a hulk, life not at risk unless you're a couch, insecure people trying to be better than what they are, missy moreno being an absolute menace, peep the references if you can
a/n: was this on the approved list of fics the author needed to work on? Absolutely not, but regrettably she recently finished My Adventures with Superman and now she needs to fuck a kind, good-hearted shitbrickhouse of a man in spandex or she will die. Apologies in advance.
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The wine has you believing this time it will be different.
His grip on your hip, possessive and firm, tells you the same: this time it will be different. He will be different.
This time, he won't stop.
The inside of Marcus's mouth shares the tang of the dry cabernet sauvignon, fruity and acidic, sitting in the half-empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you. His hand in your hair is warm from the open fire roaring in the fireplace, the skin on the back of his neck where you grip him just as warm. Each time you tilt your head, licking deeper and deeper into his mouth, soft lips bumping up against each other, your nose brushes his heated cheeks, your own burning from the rub of his beard.
You dig your nails into his skull and he releases your lips for a moment let out a low groan.
"Fuck."
You grin, your half-lidded eyes taking in the way his own drift close, his swollen mouth dropping open wider and wider the harder you tug on his hair. His glasses have fogged up completely, which under any other circumstances would mean he is moments away from taking them off; it's not like he needs them to see anyway.
It's the opening you need.
With his eyes still closed, you pull yourself closer, one hand still gripping his hair, the other sliding from his shoulder to balance yourself against his solid chest. The first time you touched him like this, it surprised you that his bullet-proof skin actually depressed under the pads of your fingers. Now you know that he feels everything just as any normal man would. He can be distracted like any man can.
You nip at the tender flesh below his ear, your bite just barely on the deep end of hard, and he keens. Hips bucking into nothing, it looks involuntary, his eyes fully closed and head turned to expose his throat.
Encouragement. Don't stop.
Your heart suddenly pounds harder, or maybe you're just now registering it, as an almost panicked frenzy floods your system. God, you've wanted this for so, so, so long. Marcus Moreno is indescribably hot and the longer you've had to wait, the more thoughts of fucking him senseless had taken over your every waking moment.
His grip is so hard it officially sort of hurts. Not that you're about to tell him that.
Excitement and eager desire beating in your chest, you sit up from where your knees were tucked under you, thighs previously keeping a respectful distance between your hips and his, and you completely obliterate any idea of respectability. Throw your leg over his thighs and tug yourself into his lap, not giving him a single second to overthink or reconsider. Gone is the moment where you pleasantly request access to his mouth; you dig your fingers deep into his curls, making sure to scratch along his scalp, and when his lips part in another moan that plunges deep into your core, your tongue licks his as roughly as it can.
With the press of your chest against his, his moan twists high, a gasp, and you lose yourself entirely to sensation. His jeans scrape against the insides of your thigh, your skirt rucked up high, the threat of friction so near your throbbing cunt almost overwhelmingly cruel. That well-behaved hand finally abandons your hip and digs into your waist, then the lower arch of your ribs — sliding without thought towards your right breast. You could cry from promised relief, your own gasp escaping between your lips and his, as his other hand knots your hair at the base of your skull with warm, solid fingers.
"Oh, God, Marcus —," you're actually whining, petulant and begging.
He surges up, forward, flattening your breasts against his chest, his grip in your hair impossibly tightening, and his teeth sink into your jaw — you wail, the heat of his crotch so close to your wet panties, your thighs shake, his right hand pulling your hip down, against him, tilting you back at a sweet, beautiful angle as the tender center of your frustration grinds down against the seam of his jeans and a staggeringly hard bulge —
Marcus pulls back.
More like, he yanks himself away from your mouth, both hands this time almost shoving you off his lap.
That heart-racing desire edged with desperation twists into a light panic.
You dip forward again, seeking out that spot on his throat that made him melt, but his super-human grip holds you at a distance — you couldn't get out even if you tried. And at this point, he won't even look you in the eyes, his head tilted back on the back of the couch, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Both of you are panting hard, but with every passing moment, the high of arousal falls faster and faster, until you can feel it crash and burn.
Your own grip on his shoulders twists the fabric of his shirt, this time in anger.
"What? What is it?"
You'd already committed the clearly grievous sin of begging once tonight, so you don't ask him: why did you stop . . . again?
Marcus swallows gulps of air, flush high in his cheeks, his throat tightening and loosening in a way that in your current state nearly sets off that wild frenzy of need again. Every inch of your skin is throbbing, this time almost painfully. It feels like you've run a marathon only to slam face-first into a brick wall inches from the finish line.
There will be no finishing of any kind, he's made sure of that.
Between aborted gasps of breathe, the words form and escape in anger, before you can stop them.
"Marcus," you bark, "what is going on?"
The harshness of your voice snaps him out of whatever fugue state he's slipped into and his head jerks up off the couch. He looks like he's been slapped; shocked, pink-cheeked, eyes unfocused.
And then he swallows.
"I'm sorry." He says quickly. "I'm sorry — I just — it's —,"
Your anger swerves dangerously into sorrow, tasting bitterly of shame.
You climb off him, even though his hands follow, in direct contrast to everything he's said and done in the past two minutes.
He does look genuinely sorry as you cross your arms, the wet fabric of your panties stuck uncomfortably against your curls and that only ratchets up your building fury.
"It's what, Marcus?" you snap. His face visibly falls. The pounding in your chest is starting to hurt. "This is getting ridiculous."
Your words hit him like a physical force; he tightens his eyes shut and leans forward the curve of his brow in the palms of his hands.
"I know it is." His voice is low, addressing his knees. "This isn't what I want either."
"Then what's your fucking problem?" His shoulders lock up when you swear, harden, like he's steeling himself for something. Your ball of fury ices over immediately and plunges fear between your ribs and your heart. "Marcus, are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?"
He blurs and he's on his feet in front of you — not an entirely needed use of his super-human speed, you think distractedly.
His dark, liquid eyes are a black hole; you fall harder for him, spin down aimlessly, every time he looks this intently at you. Every time he takes your elbows like this and makes you stand still — something you abhor by your very nature. And he'd happily spend the rest of his life chasing after you and saving your ass, he once told you.
But maybe he had lied. Maybe you were too much.
Marcus shakes his head, eyes wide, his hold on you steady but light, as if determined not to touch you in any way that can be misconstrued as simply polite. Your stomach hurts.
"No, God, no. Shit — no, that's not what I want even remotely." He swallows again, gaze drifting to your earlobe. "That's the furthest thing from what I want, but — I — I can't —,"
You open mouth to scream, you can't what?, when an all-too familiar siren breaks the silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the light beam flicker as it blasts one single image into the sky.
Marcus breathes in sharply and curses again under his breath as he glances out at the city's signal, all but calling his name.
Somewhere, out there in the dark, someone needs a hero.
Too bad it has to be your hero.
His expression is pained as he looks back at you.
"I'm so sorry, but I have to —,"
"Go. You have to go. I know."
"But when I come back, I want to —,"
"No, Marcus." You shake your head and amazingly pull yourself out of his grip. Your grief has been processed enough to melt the confused fury down to icy despondency. You wipe your eyes briefly before you pick up the two empty wineglasses and half-drunk wine bottle. If you couldn't control your voice every time you got emotional, you wouldn't be a very good reporter.
"I want to be alone for the rest of the night," you tell him flatly as you purposefully keep your back to him, which might be a moot point given that he could probably smell the tears in your eyes. Fucking superheroes.
The way he murmurs your name is the only thing in all of existence that could have stopped you in your tracks.
"Please, can we talk about this?"
No.
Not tonight.
Not right now.
"Just go, Marcus. I want you to leave."
You don't hear the door close, or the window open, but you know he's gone when a draft of cold air floods the room, the curtains flapping as if startled by the sudden change in temperature.
You calmly turn off the water and go to shut the window.
You make it back to the sink just as the knot in your throat chokes you enough for the tears to come. You don't sink to your knees, like any other dejected girlfriend of a superhero, but you do cry silently until your whole head feels like it's swollen with salt and water.
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"This is the fourth fucking time he's done this, Kat! I am sick and tired of it! Either he's going to fuck me or I'm going to lose my goddamn mind!"
Neither the microwave nor your oatmeal deserves the way you roughly toss your bowl onto the glass plate, or the way you slam the plastic door. You take your frustration out on the buttons as if you could cause an appliance physical pain.
Huffing, you turn back around, arms crossed as the innocent microwave heats up your morning breakfast.
Kat, your best friend at work, smirks as the coffee machine refills her cup.
"'Oh, no, the hottest man on the planet who is also a sexy superhero AND who is also my boyfriend won't fuck me, whatever will I do?'"
You groan. "I'm serious! Every time we are literally inches from it, he pushes me away like I'm on fire or something. And I even wore my good underwear last night!"
Okay, you're officially pouting. But you still feel entirely justified. You snag the hot bowl from the microwave and slump into a chair at the break room table, poking your warm oatmeal with a spoon.
"If he doesn't want to fuck me, then why is he dating me?" You grumble.
Kat rolls her eyes as she sits down next to you and begins her morning ritual of turning her black coffee almost translucently white with a truly terrifying amount of sugar and cream. The break room table often resembles a battle field, mutilated sugar packets and globs of cream everywhere, by the time Kat is finished making her coffee every morning.
"I'm very sure not wanting to fuck you is the actual problem. You are very fuckable."
"Then what? What is it?" You toss your hands in the air, demanding answers from the very universe. "What is he so afraid of?"
Kat thoughtfully taps another packet of sugar into her mug, the first packet lying dead and mangled by her elbow.
"Have you asked him?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
You hide your shameful grimace behind a bite of oatmeal. "Okay, fine, I just yelled at him like he had lost his mind. And then, of course, he was called off to go be heroic, or whatever."
"Unless I am distinctly mistaken, mind-reading is not one of his powers."
Even the rush of sugar hitting the liquid sounds judgy.
"Kat, I am a grown adult woman. I know how to communicate in a relationship. I know how to ask for what I want . . ." You pause, a sense of concern rising in your stomach. You never before had to put it into words and the instant you do, this nebulous anxiety solidifies. "But this is different."
Kat's frown matches your own as she sips her Snow White-colored coffee.
"How do you mean?"
Being with Marcus has been unlike anything else, anyone else, and it's only now how out of your element you feel you are. It's not because he's a single dad because he might be the best father you've ever seen. It's not even his highly demanding job, because you have one too. Is it because he has powers? No, that can't —
Is it because he has powers, and you don't?
That seems marvelously petty.
And perhaps inaccurate because this feeling didn't arise until after he put the kibosh on anything more than virginal hand-holding. He has powers, you don't, but he definitely has a working dick, so why is this so personal for you?
A nudge against your arm brings you back to the office break room. Kat is smirking again, eyeing the clock.
"C'mon, you're That's-So-Raven-ing which means either you've had a startling realization or you've gotten a vision of the future. We only have fifteen minutes before Barry starts nosing around, asking why we think we have autonomy over our time. Spill."
The fluorescent lights are starting to dry out your eyes. This is the first time you hesitate to investigate the truth, mostly because when you pick it up to examine the truth, it burns you in a very tender place. You sigh and rub the backs of your eyelids.
"I don't know," you partially lie, to her and yourself. "Maybe he thinks he'd be better off with someone who doesn't work twelve hours a day, three days a week. Someone who can be present on the weekends, instead of attached to their email. Maybe someone who can be a real mom to Missy —,"
Your voice breaks just as Kat's hand covers yours. Embarrassment instantly scalds away the fresh tears in your eyes and you take back your hand from hers, crushing your fist into your lap.
"I'm sorry." It's breathy and as your best friend, she deserves better, but there's bruise forming, or one you're just now recognizing, and it's been there a lot longer than you thought. You stand and you feel your thighs tremble. "I'm sorry, Kat, I'm tired and I've been busting my ass for this article and it doesn't feel like it's going anywhere — I'm sorry. Thank you for listening, but I've got to get back to work."
Kat is a few years younger than you, a little more messy with her dating life, but an incredible writer and investigator. She has broken as many stories as you have, and in the beginning, it was not uncommon for the both of you to share a byline. She is your best friend and by design, you feel deeply protective of her.
And yet, sitting there in your office's shitty break room, she looks worryingly disappointed in you, staring up with concerned eyes. She knows you're lying but she also knows she won't be able to get anything out of you because that's the kind of person you are. Hidden behind a byline and a spit-fire grin.
"Of course," she says simply, sadly. "We can chat later."
"I'll call you," you say, meaningfully, intending to do it, but knowing you won't.
"Of course," she says again. She smiles and you take that as your dismissal.
Your heart is pounding a ragged and painful beat in the hollows of your throat as you walk back to your desk.
You shake your mouse to wake up your computer, absolutely determined to write something and get it all out of your mind, when you realize your hands are trembling over the keys.
Fuck.
Fuck superheroes and their fucking powers.
Fuck Marcus Moreno for ruining your night and your morning and your friendship with Kat.
Oh, and fuck him doubly for making you forget your oatmeal in the breakroom.
Your stomach grumbles in protest.
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A full gallon of Cookie Two Step was reserved only for breakups and while there hadn't been one officially, it didn't take a reporter's instinct to know what was coming. So, on Friday, after days of staying at the office until Steve the janitor was going around and shutting off the lights, and then getting back to the office before Steve unlocked the building, you come straight home after work.
With one single detour.
At least you didn't buy a full bottle of wine, like with a regular break up. That felt way too final.
Something, something counting chickens before they hatch.
So you didn't whip out your grungy sweatpants you've had since college, or your stained but buttery-soft cardigan to wrap yourself up in. Instead, you slipped on a pair of lounging shorts and took down the biggest sweatshirt you could find in the back of the closet, something that could swallow you whole — only to realize this was not your sweatshirt, but Marcus's. With Marcus's smell still present beneath the fabric softener you use. Marcus's heat still clinging to the neck hole, you're sure of it.
If this were an actual break up, you would have thrown that sweatshirt in the garbage — no, actually, down the garbage shoot of your building. Or set fire to it on your patio, whichever you decided first.
But as such —
You bury your face in the sweater, inhaling deeply and pressing your fists into your face, a poor substitute for his rock-solid chest.
Fuck.
You pull it on over your head, the soft fabric rubbing deliciously against your bare nipples. At least something of his that won't freak out about my tits.
In the living room, your blanket and spoon await. You flop onto the couch, press play to start the exposé on the evil company behind the tattoo choker of the 90s (a competing documentary on the same subject, but this one on a different streaming platform already queued), and pop the lid to the ice cream.
Marcus hasn't called you all week. Which is why your phone is face down on the coffee table, far enough away you have to lean forward to reach it.
The office knows not to bother you tonight. You made sure of that. Unless the world is literally ending, you are not a reporter tonight.
You are a sad sack who doesn't know where you stand with your boyfriend. Or maybe he just wants to be friends —
Huffing, you stuff your face full of ice cream again, trying to focus on the talking heads describe the corruption and duplicity surrounding the iconic vintage fashion choice. Oh, God, did they really just describe that plastic choker as vintage? It can't possibly vintage — you're not that old —
The harsh buzz of your phone startles you out of your spiral and your spoon drops into the half-melted tub of ice cream with a plop. You watch it sink as it is slowly submerges, before you grab your phone.
Missy Moreno is calling . . .
Your heart leaps into your chest. Back when you and her father were starting . . . whatever this thing is — was — is, you gave her your phone number and told her to call you for anything, especially emergencies. She has one of those phones meant for children (without internet access and can hold only, like, six numbers), but she seemed delighted to add another contact. Marcus made her promise not to bother you, but you pushed back, telling her you would always be there for her, so she could call day or night.
While she had taken you up on that offer and secretly used you to get ice cream when her dad was working late, she had never called at night.
Because Marcus was usually with her at night, which means he could handle anything she needed. Unless he wasn't with her. Unless he was —
"Missy?" You cradle your phone to your ear, as if you could hold her through the phone. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing! Nothing's wrong." She responds, perky as ever. You roll your eyes as the spike of adrenaline fades and you huff a sigh of relief.
"Then why are you calling me so late? It's almost ten. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I am in bed. Got my pillow behind me and my glass of leche on the bedside table. Abuela is here too."
You put aside the melting tub of ice cream and stand up. You never handled a crisis situation sitting down . . . even if this increasingly didn't look like a crisis situation.
"Okaaay," you say slowly. You mute the TV just in case you misheard her. "You know I love talking to you, Missy, but is there a reason you're calling me so late?"
"Are you doing anything tonight?" She asks as if you hadn't said anything. Brisk, abrupt, on mission. Focused. "Like, are you out somewhere or, like, do you have someone over?"
You blush harder than that time your father caught you making out with your boyfriend in his 89' Camaro.
"What? Missy, that's not — you can't — I'm — no, I'm not out and no, I don't have anyone over. What's this about?"
"So you're alone at home, doing nothing?"
The eleven year old is judging you on your abysmal social life. Great.
"Yes! Okay, yes! I am home alone with nothing going on!"
The doorbell rings.
"Oh, good!" Missy exclaims on the other line. "Just making sure! Good night! Oh, wait, can we go to the pier next weekend? You said we could go just the two of us."
The door bell rings again.
Maybe you're dreaming. Maybe you fell asleep to the world's worst documentary and this is all an absurd dream.
Maybe you dropped your ice cream, slipped, and cracked your head on the kitchen tile.
This time, there is a knock. A pleasant knock. One announcing arrival but not demanding attention.
"Did you hear what I said? I said can we go to the pier —,"
"Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, Missy, we can do that." You can't take your eyes off your front door. "But would your dad mind?"
There is a full, long silence, where Missy Moreno is quiet for the first time in her life.
"He's right there. Why don't you ask him?"
Yep, that's dread you're feeling. And panic. And horror. And —
He calls your name through the wood and stops your heart.
"Bye!" Missy trills and the call ends. You feel the need to reach through the phone, yank her out, and demand she explain herself because there is no way in hell you are opening that door!
He calls out to you again. "Baby, please, can we talk? I really need to see you." Then, "I want to apologize again, and I want to explain myself. You deserve to know what's going on. If you want to break up with me after that, I won't stop you."
Oh, that maniacal, twisted, little —
You wrench the door open. His gaze drifts, all too slowly, from your bare feet, up the curves of your calves, your thighs, to where the giant sweatshirt (his giant sweatshirt) hangs down, and then to your face. His own pales slightly.
"Me break up with you?" You snarl. "How honestly fucking dare you!"
"You didn't call me all week! Or text! What was I supposed to think?"
"I was waiting for you to call! Or text! You were the one who ran out of here like his ass was on fire the instant I touched your dick! And now you have your daughter trick me into opening my door to you because you know you fucked up but you show up anyway, looking all sad with flowers and —,"
Hang on, he brought you flowers? Chrysanthemums, your favorite. A fact you've told, like, one other person besides him. How he glowed when you told him your favorite flower AND how you never told anyone that you even had a favorite flower — and he fucking remembered.
A pounding on the door across from the hall startles you both.
"I am eight-five goddamn years old," a muffled voice shouts through the wood, "I don't need to hear no stories about my neighbor's dick touching!"
"Sorry, Mrs. Sanderson!" You and, to your immense surprise, Marcus chime in unison.
"So fucking lucky I don't complain. The shit I hear coming from that door . . ."
Marcus has the audacity to look slightly ashamed, red on his neck, as he looks back at you. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him, the both of you knowing full well he could pick you up and toss you across the room with one hand.
"Chrysanthemums wilt rather quickly if you don't put them in water." He holds the bouquet up to you.
They really are gorgeous. Not halfway as gorgeous as their owner — no, bad thought.
"Fine. Come in. Just shut the door so I don't get the cops called on me."
Marcus grins as he steps inside and toes off his shoes, just like he always had, even though you never told him he needed to do that. "Yeah, but I'm pretty chummy with the chief of police so I could probably get you down to just a warning."
He follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter on the other side of the sink. He watches you fill up a vase, a soft smirk on his face.
"But I can't promise anything if there's a lot of noise."
Usually, you enjoy his terrible one-liners, his ridiculous puns. Marcus is probably the funniest person you've ever met, even if he doesn't always intend the humor. But tonight, his jokes only serve to remind you of the distance between you two. How long it's been since you saw his face, heard his voice. And for him to joke about that, after everything —
"That's not funny, Marcus." You snatch the flowers of his hand and drop them into the vase, eyes on a single bright petal. "Don't make fun of me."
The flowers spin from the force of his speed. He's in front of you in an instant, hand inches from your cheek. When you look up, all the levity is gone from his gaze, replaced by something so serious, it's almost stern.
"Baby, I would never make fun of you. That wasn't me laughing at you, I was being self-deprecating. All of this is my fault and I know it."
The covering you'd placed over that vulnerable bruise you'd found with Kat in the break room, on the precipice of a deeply painful realization, starts to peel with just the brush of his thumb against your skin.
You push out of his arms, yanking your head back.
"Are you just saying that to make me feel better or are you just too much of a coward to admit it?"
His gaze tinged with panic, his eyes widen, the sharp line between his furrowed brows growing deeper. "Admit what? What are you talking about?"
You wish more than anything you had picked literally any other sweater to wear tonight. Agonizingly, you can still smell his cologne around the throat of the sweatshirt. Or maybe you'd just forgotten what being this close to him felt like.
You shove the overly long sleeves up your arms then ball your hands into fists. It's embarrassing to be your age and dress like a toddler, but here we are.
"Oh, don't act like you don't know! You wouldn't run away from me if you didn't feel this way!"
"Baby, please —," Genuine fear colors his voice and for some reason, you're even angrier because of it. So angry, your vision blurs. No, wait, you're —
The gulp of air you try to take in comes out as a sob.
You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, bending forward into your hands—
but instead, you fold into something solid. Your feet leave the ground and you cry into his chest, his smell both overwhelming and relieving all at once. Your back touches against something plush, the arm of the couch, and he props you up against his chest, his thighs under yours, his hand holding your hip to him.
"Please talk to me, baby. I'm worried," he murmurs against your forehead, taking care to brush back your hair from your face. He holds you across your shoulders, curling you into him, taking all of you for himself.
Despite your shaking, despite knowing what could happen if you screw this up, what you could lose, you wipe your face and sit up straight. Marcus is pale, stricken with fear. You sniff and smear the snot dripping from your nose on the back of the sweatshirt sleeve.
"Why do you keep running away, Marcus? Just as we're starting to get anywhere, you act like I'm revolting to you. Why — do you even want me that way?" His broken, defensive murmur — "Baby, no —," has him tucking you in closer, his hand coming to your cheek, then cupping your skull.
But you still can't tell if this is the end or not.
"Do you need . . . someone stronger? Someone who is also bullet proof and . . . is it because I don't have powers? " Quietly. Fearfully. In opposition to everything the world knows you to be. You stare at your thumb as it rests on his collarbone, touching his skin but far from his neck. "Am I not enough for you?"
You feel the gulp of air, the swallow, as it shivers down his chest.
Marcus Moreno, the superhero, his hand shakes as it turns your chin up, guiding your eyes to his.
"You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, everything I need and more." There is no hiding the tremble in his voice, the weak tremor as if his incredible strength is failing him. "I should be asking you that question. Around you, I am completely powerless. You are my strength."
This time, amidst all the other times he's tried to make you believe him, this time is the time you finally trust him. When it finally sinks in. When you finally admit to yourself that this thing between you two is nearly tangible, pounding with vitality, that it eclipses both of you and drags you beneath its waves, rendering you helpless.
That's what this is.
You are helplessly, hopelessly in love with Marcus Moreno.
"Then why? Why, Marcus, won't you let me touch you?"
You adjust in his lap, only trying to look him in the eyes at an even height, but your hip brushes up against the seam of his jeans and he inhales. So recklessly sensitive.
He exhales, slowly, then drags his tongue over the curve of his bottom lip against his teeth, his eyes fluttering close, then open. For a moment, the man looking at you isn't Marcus, but a version of himself that has succumbed to something, who has been digested and used, stripped down and made hollow, save for one single desire. He is adrift.
"It's not a matter of want," he begins, lowly, in a pitch that sinks down between the bones of your hips, to that place that houses a creature prone to madness whenever he gets his hands on you. Your breath shudders and he notices — of course he does — his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, then your throat. Gently, as if testing some sort of boundary, he rubs the soft hairs at the base of your hairline on your neck with his thumb. The grip could turn greedy, overpowering, in an instant. "Believe me when I say this: I've lost sleep over you. Over how you'll feel. Over how you'll sound. How this —," he cups you between your legs and you whimper. Helpless, remember? "— will taste."
The linchpin to Marcus's seduction is not predatory, but his honesty. His blinding, truthful inability to lie and simply lay his desires at your feet.
"Then just tell me — why, Marcus."
He still hasn't removed his warm palm from your cunt, one thumb slipping beneath the edges of your shorts to run smoothly over your skin. You arch into him and his next words start as a rumble in his chest.
"I could break you."
And then he removes his hand again.
Again, his hand settles respectably on your waist, only this time it doesn't settle. His fingers drum uneasily against the bones of your hip, his eyes trailing up and down your bare legs.
"You know, I like it when I can't walk the next day. Marcus," you thumb his thick bottom lip and, dragging his attention back to you, you feel his teeth scrape against your skin. The deep brown of his eyes is darkening fast. "I want you to bruise me a little."
Your kiss is hestitant but he sinks into it anyway, the small groan too soft to be discernible as protest or pleasure, but he takes your mouth all the same. Cups your neck and holds you close as the kisses elongate, heat, and take your breath away.
When your fingers wrap around his wrist, it's like a shock to his system. He pulls away, gaze blurred, mouth potent and plump — you're about two seconds away from clawing that stupid face up —
"I haven't fucked a non-super since my wife died."
Plainly. Stately.
Simply.
"Actually, I haven't fucked anyone since she . . ." He searches your eyes for something but you don't know what. Disgust? Horror, maybe? The words tumble out as if you'd pulled them along by a string. "We were kids when we met so we had all the time in the world to help me to figure out how . . . h-how not to hurt her. How to help me f-finish without . . ." He swallows. Eyes on your mouth again like he wants to keep eating but worries about overfilling. "I haven't been with anyone since her and I think I've . . . forgotten how to do it. Do it, I mean, without hurting the other person."
Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics and star player in all your wet dreams, blushes.
But when you don't say anything, his palms warm and suddenly the necklace around your throat trembles, the backs of your earrings start to twist. Your TV flickers.
"I need you to talk to me, please. Please be honest. I think about you and I think about this all the time and I've gotta know now if I have to get you out of my system — out of my head. I don't know if I even can, but I swear I'll try if that's what you want —,"
The dripping spoon rises out of the ice cream tub, wavering uneasily in the air.
"Marcus, honey, slow down. Breathe." The spoon splashes back into the ice cream. Your jewelry settles and that terrible documentary is back on the screen. With a sigh, he tucks his head below your chin and presses his ear flat against your chest. His thumbs rub circles into your back.
The room is quiet, excluding the hum of your air conditioner.
"This is still all so new to me." He murmurs. "Everything about dating is different now. I'm . . . different. You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me and I'm so paralyzed that I'm going to screw this up, I — I . . . I end up fucking it up anyway. I'm sorry."
Sometimes you cannot believe this is your life.
Suppressing a grin, you twist locks of his hair between your fingers, scratching lightly to relax him.
"So you won't fuck me because you're afraid you're going to, what, shatter my pelvis?"
He looks up at you, that stern seriousness wildly adorable. "That's not funny."
"Marcus, baby, you control your strength all the time. You manage to hug me without crushing my bones into dust, so what's different about this?"
He swallows, eyes glancing away from your face, down your throat, to your bare sternum. The neck hole of the sweater slings low, just above the rise of your chest. Marcus looks like he's experiencing this revelation in real time.
"Because." He blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut and settles back against the couch, his arms around your back and across your lap again. "Sex is made up of a lot of involuntary actions. I don't know what I'll be able to control and what I can't."
"Ooh, Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, just said sex." You grin into his face, despite his disapproving glare. "Can you hear that? I think the Virgin Mother's ears are burning."
"I'm serious. This is very real —,"
You slide out from his grasp and ease into the cushion next to him. Take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. You smile.
"Baby, before you do an abridged version of Twilight's 'as if you could outrun me' speech, I know you're serious. I know you're worried. But as a hero that's kind of your job. And it's my job as the intrepid reporter to tell you to do the thing you're scared of anyway."
That look of staunch determination melts when you put your hand on his cheek. His hands curve over your bare knees. "I think some of your sources might be biased in their opinion. A conflict of interest, and all that."
"Oh, my sources are very interested," you smirk as you slip his ear between your fingers, nose nearly brushing his. But your levity fades as you swipe your thumb over the corner of his mouth, a beautiful mouth that is so often turned down in worry, or concern, or anger. Every inch of you loves every inch of him, even down to the bristles of his beard. Every wrinkle and gray thread in his curly hair. "What makes you think we don't have all the time in the world to practice getting it right?"
His mouth slips open as you watch the question occur to him for the first time. A nebulous question he had never challenge or asked directly. Instead, with you by his side, his anxiety solidifies.
"I think I thought that we just didn't have that kind of time." It's an admission that releases him but turns your touch to iron. Immediately, his eyes fly to you and he grips your hand against his cheek as if he knew you were about to tear it away. "I mean, I think I thought that . . . that I'd somehow lose you too. That this kind of love isn't meant for me, nowhere near as lucky or deserving. I thought —," he swallows, hands dropping to your knees, then sliding with slow purpose, up the sides of your thighs. He breathes deeply, eyes tracking the way your shorts crinkle beneath his palms, as inches of skin are slowly revealed to him, resolve trickling like sand through his fingers. "I thought that if I loved you enough, someone would try to take you away from me. So I tried not to. But I can't. I can't stop loving you but I'm so afraid of hurting you, of hurting us that I —,"
It's colossal, this thing that sits in your chest and screams his name. It's unwieldy and too big to be put away, but it is determined. Determined to finally feel his love.
His head knocks back, teeth clashing against skin, from the force of your kiss, from the transference of your soul into his because you put everything, every feeling, every joy and fear and excitement, every ounce of love you can hold in your hands, into that kiss. Despite being a writer, you've never been good with words outloud, so this is how you tell him everything.
He doesn't push you away when you crawl into his lap, pinch his waist with your thighs, and roll your hips into him. This time it is different.
This time, his hips lift up into yours and the explosive pleasure is staggering. Gasping breath, temporarily jolted out of your mind.
You need it. You need it so fucking bad.
You dip back from him, hands curled around his shoulders, your shorts riding high, the fabric bunched against your wet pussy, and you watch his face fall as you drag your hips slowly, testing, over the seam of his jeans.
This time —
He pins you to him with two hands on your thighs as he meets you grind for grind, eyes, flickering, distracted between your shared intense gaze and the place where he grinds into you. The zipper catches the cloth over your clit and you whine quietly, high and muffled.
"Wh-what — what are we doing?" Marcus murmurs — the question bizarrely genuine — neither slowing down nor stopping the subtle drag of your hips over his. "Not that I don't like it but I — this —,"
"You're starting over, right?" Your voice is breathless, almost as startled as he looks. Marcus nods. "Then it's over the clothes stuff. I think the kids call it dry humping."
He nods, his eyes dropping shut when you roll higher up and he groans. "Y-yeah, but — fuck, there, that feels so fucking good —,"
It's about finding where you fit best against him, where desire crackles with intensity, instead of dripping like warm syrup. Your hands leave his shoulders, press flat against the couch on either side of his head, and watch the steady grind of your hips to his. He alternates between biting and licking your jaw, before dropping open-mouth kisses along your throat.
But the thing is you're not kids, no longer wayward teenagers, far from it, and you have something else in mind entirely.
You dip your hand between his legs, finding that hardening length and squeeze. Marcus lifts his head up from the couch, eyes wide, the press of his hands around your hip bones harsher than before.
"Stop," he says. "Stop, I'm gonna — I'm gonna come in my pants—,"
His grip is bruising now, borderline painful, but you don't stop, not now. Not when you need to know how far he can go. You squeeze him once more before returning to that slow, patient grind.
"Then don't, Marcus." You don't stop. And neither does he. Weakly, unsteady, he continues to rock up against you. "Don't come."
"Please —,"
"No. Control yourself. Show me your strength. Show me what I mean to you." With the swipe of your palm, you push his curls up across his forehead, the edges of his hairline damp. His eyes plead with you. They're nearly damp too. You lean down and gently lick his warm neck. Your lips curl by his ear and he shudders beneath you. "Show me your love."
A strained groan, his heaving chest, and he opens his eyes. A few more gulps of air, and . . . he settles. Then swallows.
Breathing hard, his thighs trembling slightly beneath your ass, Marcus looks up at you with complete and total adoration.
A love that overwhelms all else.
"There," he whispers. I did it, he doesn't. His fingers loosen their grip and you consider if it's possible to hide the incoming bruises. You know shame has no place here, not between the both of you, but he's going to feel some kind of way about seeing purple spots littering your skin.
You slow your grind, halting your hips over his, and you smile. You smile and run your fingers through his hair. He turns his face to your palm, like a reach towards the sun.
"That was good. So good." Marcus hums. "But you have to apologize to my couch."
"Huh?"
He lifts his hand and the white stuffing goes with it. Five wide holes, where he tore through the fabric and the cushion. "Fuck, your couch, I'm sorry, I'll replace that —,"
"That's right. Fuck my couch. You didn't hurt me. Everything in this place, and I mean everything, is replaceable. But you, this," you press your thumbs to the warmth of his cheeks, "is not. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Marcus nods. Slips his fingers under yours on his cheek and laces them together. "I do. I promise."
His mouth parts when you kiss him. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Now," you say, pushing up to waver over him, "let's take a break. I can come over tomorrow, and see if —,"
The hairs on your thighs, your arms, the back of your neck and in between your legs arch, a static, electric shock crackling in the air.
Marcus grins up at you.
"Not a chance, sweetheart."
"There's my good boy."
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series masterlist | part ii
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bluebeary-jay · 2 years ago
Text
scattered thoughts / sharp focus
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Joel Miller x f!Reader
Summary: Joel is taken away from you and upon finding him almost-dead... something in you snaps ((kinda part 2 to clouded judgment / clear mind, but you don't necessarily need to read that one))
Tags: ANGST, angst with happy ending, near death experiences, Joel has surprisingly little screen time but you'll see he was there in spirit
Warnings: REALLY graphic descriptions of violence, small panic attacks, KINDA torture(?) 😳, choking, lemme know if i missed something
Word count: 7.5K
A/N: i can't believe i've finally finished it! i aimed for a worthy successor to cj/cm aaand i hope i managed but jeez was it hard. also i told myself i won't be writing sth like that again but i kinda have an idea for the final part (would be hurt/comfort 🤭) so let me know if it's sth you'd like to read. anyway as always happy reading!! 💕🥰 comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, i absolutely love seeing what you think of my fics!
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
You swallowed your tears and rested the chin on your hands, trying to push back the wave of panic threatening to drown you.
“Tell me again.”
Tommy sighed, his own eyes empty and worried.
“I don’t know who those guys were, but they obviously knew Joel. There was a dark man leadin’ them, and I think he had somethin’ wrong with his lip, but it was too far for me to take a good look. The group consisted of five, maybe six people? And I shot one of them, but he appeared to still be alive when they were leavin’.”
You were silent for a couple of seconds, trying to make sense of it all.
“And where did they take him?”
“I reckon to the old ski resort on the top of the mountain. We ventured pretty far from here to investigate these tracks.”
You nodded and steeled yourself, taking a deep, trembling breath and quickly drying your tears.
“Okay. I’m going.”
“You’re not.” Maria leaned over the table, her expression unyielding. “The decision is final.”
“I am going,” you repeated fiercely, slamming the flat of your hand against the tabletop, but Tommy gave you a stern look, which made you bite your tongue. “Look, I get that you don’t want to lose even more people in a rescue mission–”
“This is not what it’s about,” Maria retorted, almost looking hurt by your words. “Believe me, if I wasn’t carrying another human being inside me, I’d already be going after them. But you have to take other things into consideration.”
“She’s right,” Tommy spoke up quietly, though equally irritably, and you turned sharply to look at him in disbelief. “The route to the resort is very advantageous to fall into an ambush. They could shoot us off like ducks and we’d have nowhere to hide.”
“I don’t care,” you ground out, looking from one to the other. “We can’t leave Joel. He’s your family, for goddamn–”
“You think I don’t know that?!” shouted Tommy abruptly, bringing his hand down onto the table, too. “He’s my fucking brother and was family way before you were even born!”
“Tommy.” Maria kicked him under the table, keeping one hand on her belly. Her husband flared his nostrils, clearly agitated by your words, but you were too angry yourself to care right now. You two glared at each other for some time before Tommy clenched his fists and turned around.
“M’goin’ to get some air,” he said gloomily over his shoulder, already at the door leading outside. Maria sighed and looked at you again.
“Please. Don’t do anything stupid, and I swear I’ll send a group out as soon as this blizzard ends.”
“He can be long dead by then,” you answered gravely, really set off by Tommy’s reaction and his words. You tried to will your tear ducts to hold any signs of stress and worry, not wanting to show your friend how broken and helpless you felt inside. “If it was me, he’d already be halfway there to save me, Maria.”
“I know. But just think about it. If something happens to you…” She shook her head. “How do you think I’d be able to look Joel in the eyes and explain why… how…”
She genuinely seemed at a loss of words, and you sighed, rubbing your eyes tiredly.
“I understand where you’re coming from, I really do. But I need to get him home, Maria. I have to.”
With that, you stood up, feeling like you were going to suffocate if you stayed in the room any longer. You didn’t look back even when you heard Maria calling your name softly.
There wasn’t any sense in discussing the matter with any of them – you made up your mind to go and save Joel and there was no way anyone would make you stay. He wouldn’t hesitate to go and get you if anyone dared to lay a hand on you.
You remembered that one time when he killed a group of men who wanted to use you as a bargaining chip to gain entry to Jackson. And how afterward you told him you’d do the same for him, unable to bear the painful and guilty expression on his face.
Now you planned on doing just that.
You were scared – of course you were, you weren’t stupid – and the nerves were practically eating you alive, gnawing at your bones and hurting your muscles from the inside out.
But the worst was the fear of never seeing Joel again. Of something happening to him. And you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t at least try…
“I’m coming with you.”
Your head snapped to the side. There stood Ellie – dressed in a warm jacket and a hat that didn’t cover her ears. Her eyes were full of fire, and you recognized the anger and determination in her expression as the same which were almost suffocating you.
Of course she was eavesdropping on the conversation. It was Joel that it was about, after all, her dad in all but one sense.
And suddenly you understood what Maria meant by not being able to look Joel in the eyes if something happened to you.
“No,” you said curtly, walking past her and out onto the street in the direction of your house.
“I’m not asking for permission.” Ellie was right behind you, and the force of her steps showed just how angry and frustrated she was – just like you felt. “I know you’re gonna go after those guys, and I’m coming with you.”
“You’re not,” you repeated more sternly, not turning around to face her. You reached your house and fumbled to open the door. “You’re staying and that’s fina–”
You stopped yourself and sighed, pressing your forehead against the wooden surface.
It was unfair. You were unfair. If those exact words spoken by Maria have set you off so much, you wouldn’t be surprised if Ellie…
“You’re not my fucking mom, remember?” the girl barked angrily, and you let out a shuddering breath, stressed to your limits with everything that happened in the last few hours. “You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do just because you’re older!”
It’s okay. It’s gonna be fine. Everything is gonna be okay.
“I know,” you whispered after a couple of seconds of silence, still not turning around. “I’m sorry.”
Ellie didn’t answer. You repeated your quiet mantra and glanced over your shoulder at her. “But Ellie, I… I can’t let you go. Joel would never forgive me if something happened to you.”
Jesus. Exactly like Maria.
Ellie still looked pissed at your earlier words, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, you’re not the only one who cares about him, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. But you’re the one he cares about the most.”
Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it and furrowed her eyebrows, but the irritation in her eyes dimmed. You gave her a small, apologetic smile, trying not to burst into tears.
“He’s gonna be fine, you know,” you lied smoothly, opening the door. “And Maria said she’ll send a group to retrieve him as soon as the storm eases up a bit.”
You didn’t even need to look to know that she didn’t believe you. To be honest, you wouldn’t believe yourself either in this situation.
You waited several seconds to see if the girl wanted to say something else, but after a few moments she spun on her heel and went back, not saying anything. You stared after her, but when the thick snow made her figure just a fuzzy shape, you gently closed the door and pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes.
It’s going to be fine. You’ll get Joel back and all will be okay.
You took a couple of deep – albeit shaky – breaths to pull yourself together, and when you were pretty sure you weren’t about to start crying, you made your way into the kitchen. And stopped short.
At your table sat Tommy, fiddling with his thumbs.
“Fuck, Tommy,” you mumbled, trying to calm down your pounding heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”
The younger Miller looked up, but stayed silent. You looked at each other for a few tense moments, but ultimately you sighed and left him in the kitchen, going to your room to get a backpack and another, more fitting, set of clothes.
He was still there when you returned to the kitchen with your stuff, but you didn’t even pretend you weren’t preparing to head out. The man watched silently as you put the backpack down by the door, went to retrieve and reload your gun, and gathered some essentials on the table, not once glancing in his direction.
You were persistent in ignoring Tommy’s presence, but then he finally spoke up.
“We can go before dawn. I’ll get the horses ready and we will take the fourth gate.”
You froze and stopped what you were doing, then turned around and placed your hand on your hip.
“We can’t take horses up there. Not in this weather.”
“We’ll leave them at the fifteenth checkmark. That place in the East where there are so many swallows durin’ spring.”
You nodded, and your gaze softened when you looked him over. Tommy was just as worried about Joel as you were, you knew it. He was just better at hiding it.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” you murmured, feeling terrible that in such a short amount of time, it was a second person you were apologizing to. “But you know I have to go after him. You know that.”
“Fuck,” he swore quietly, sighing. “Yeah, I know. There’s no way I ain’t goin’ either. Just… I just hate doing somethin’ behind Maria’s back.”
You didn’t answer – because what could you say? That he didn’t have to go with you? As much as you wanted to save Joel, pretending not to care about the dangers or anyone’s opinion, you knew you’d probably die if you went alone. But it didn’t mean you were going to ignore all that Tommy was risking by coming along with you.
“You don’t have to, Tommy,” you whispered. “You have your wife to think about, after all. And your–”
“I know,” he interrupted glumly. “Don’t worry. All of us will come back.”
You nodded. You really hoped he was right.
*****
At first, everything was going according to plan.
At least, until Ellie decided to show up.
She surprised both you and Tommy a couple of miles outside of Jackson, probably thinking that it was far enough that you won’t try to send her away.
You tried anyway. You were understandably furious, not only because she didn’t listen to you, but also that she trailed after you both for so long in this weather. Her reveal caused a short screaming match and a couple of nervous tears shed by you, but eventually you and Tommy decided it’d be more dangerous to make Ellie go back to Jackson alone. So she continued with you to the house where you left your horses, then past it and in the direction of the ski resort.
You didn’t know how many people were at the resort, and there were only the two of you – well, three, counting Ellie, but no matter her stubbornness, you weren’t going to let her go in – and an attack was too risky in this situation.
So you decided to sneak in. To distract and draw the kidnappers’ attention long enough for you to get Joel out.  It was still stupidly risky, but it wasn’t like there were much more options that wouldn’t end in those guys killing all of you. The plan was that Tommy would find a vantage point and be on guard to take down any threats with his sniper rifle if you were noticed, while you go get Joel.
Ellie… Ellie didn’t take no for an answer. And as much as you hated that she tagged along on this dangerous rescue mission, you had to admit that she came prepared. Apparently some time ago Joel taught her how to make trap mines and she pitched the idea of planting some up the mountain to create an avalanche.
Well, you and Tommy were both very much against setting off a full-blown avalanche, but it wasn’t a bad idea per se. So it was agreed that Tommy will help her set the bombs in some strategic places while you wait for a signal to go in.
The sneaking in part was surprisingly easy. The people staying there didn’t leave any guards outside, probably because they didn’t expect that someone would actually look for them in this weather, and it seemed that there weren’t that many of them inside like you feared. You had a vague idea where Joel might be, based on the positioning of the people present, so you reckoned it’ll be the wisest to wait nearby.
It took about an hour of hiding in one of the empty rooms (you had to change your hiding spot once, because someone decided to randomly sweep the perimeter) before you heard distant explosions and panicked, angry yells, and then a rumble of the mountain. You suspected a fair amount of snow was falling down the slope, and you prayed that Ellie and Tommy were in a safe place when that happened.
You heard the sound of footsteps getting further away. Then more of it. It was eerily silent, and you counted to ten in your head, before slowly exiting your hiding spot.
Just as you suspected, Joel was held in the lobby, tied to one of the decorative columns, and even though his back was to you, you’d recognize him anywhere, even by hands or the back of his head alone. A quick glance around the room confirmed that there was no one around, but still you preferred to stay on guard. You silently tip-toed to where he was sitting on the floor, mindful of all the debris scattered on the floor and keeping your head low, and breathed a sigh of relief when you finally reached him.
“Don’t move,” you whispered, barely moving your lips. Your fingers touched his wrist and he budged slightly. You angled your face closer to the left side of his head, hoping he’ll hear you better this way. “It’s me, Joel. I’m gonna get these off you, okay?”
Not waiting for the reply, you took out your knife and started to cut the thick, coarse rope binding Joel’s wrists. You winced at the burns underneath, but you managed not to cut him, which was a feat with how tight the ropes were. He was very still, probably not wanting to handicap you.
“Okay,” you whispered when the last of the thick strands were cut through, and you carefully slid the remnants of the rope from his wrists. “Now follow me, Tommy is…”
Your voice died down when Joel’s arms loosely slumped down, along with his head, and a second later his torso started tilting to the side before heavily hitting the ground.
Your heart stopped in your chest.
“No.” The whispered word escaped you when you hurried around him, now not caring about staying hidden. “No, no, no, please…”
You rolled Joel onto his back and only now saw the damage done to him – his nose broken, face covered in blood, a gash under his left ear, and a still bleeding gunshot wound in his arm. He didn’t look dead, didn’t have that lifeless emptiness around him, but his eyes were closed and his chest was still. You put your ear to his mouth, desperate to feel his breath on your skin, but…
No, it can’t be, it can’t…
You couldn’t feel anything.
“Joel,” you said quietly, taking his face between your hands, but tears were blurring your vision. “Come on, please open your eyes.” A choked sob broke out of your throat and you shook your head when he still didn’t even as much as stir. “Love, please…”
That’s when your eyes landed on a small, glass vial lying discarded some feet away. You looked from it to Joel, tears clouding your vision, and scrambled forward to check it out.
As you suspected, the syringe – because that’s what it turned out to be – had the traces of a thick, translucent liquid in it left. There wasn’t any writing on it, but the glass was clean, unlike various other bottles and wrappings scattered throughout the facility. You stared at it for a couple of seconds, then fixed your gaze on Joel again.
Just as the sound of footsteps started to echo down the hall.
You froze and strained your ears to make sure you didn’t imagine it, then took a look around the room. The doors were slightly ajar, but whoever was coming here, they couldn’t see you just yet. Panic seized your insides and you turned to Joel again.
“Sweetheart, please wake up,” you whispered pleadingly, shaking his shoulders and slapping his cheek lightly. “Come on, look at me, open your eyes…"
The steps were getting louder by the second. You tore the glove off your hand with your teeth and tried to very quickly check Joel’s pulse, but either in your panic you couldn’t find it, or the heartbeat was too slow for you to pick up.
You didn’t consider any other option.
There wasn’t much time left, so finally you left him and quietly went to hide behind the door, waiting for the incomer to walk in. Your hand reached for the gun on your belt.
And paused.
There couldn’t be any other option… right? Joel was alive, you just failed to find his pulse. He…
He was lying, still in the place you left him, and you couldn’t see his chest moving. The blood was flowing from the wound in his arm, staining his jacket and the floor… Your hand, the one holding the pistol, was covered in it, too…
Then you did something you never expected of yourself.
The gun stayed in its holster, and you went to grab from the ground one of the heavier pieces of debris you noticed before, a long metal pipe. Your hands tightened on the metal, and your eyes stayed on Joel’s lifeless form. You took a stifled, nervous breath. Then a deep, steadying one.
The person in the hall was really close now. Joel still didn’t appear to be moving or breathing, and it made your own chest feel tight and painful.
He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.
But if they did this, if… if he won’t ever open his beautiful brown eyes again, say your name in that entricing raspy drawl…
The doors to your right opened and your face twisted in rage and resentment. Your muscles tensed and focus sharpened.
The man who walked through the door made a noise of surprise at the sight of Joel lying on the floor – and that inhaling sound, that maddening noise seemed to taunt you, because how dared he breathe when Joel’s own breath was stolen from him, when you weren’t sure if it was still there – right before you stepped forward and swung the pipe with all your might.
The man – dark skin, with short hair – fell down with a loud cry when the harsh metal hit him right in the temple. Your eyes scanned his figure for a weapon, and you hit him again, this time somewhere near his stomach, when he made a move to reach for his knife.
“What did you give him?!” you asked with malice and venom that were so alien to you, you almost didn’t recognize your voice. The man’s eyes focused on you for the first time when you kicked his blade away, and his confusion turned to anger.
“Crazy bitch!” he spat, heaving for air, and lunged at you, but the open wound in his skull must’ve slowed him down, because without any problem you managed to raise your makeshift weapon before he could grab you.
Since you met him so many years ago, you always had Joel to watch your back. Now you were alone, but somehow that thought didn’t scare you. It exhilarated you.
An unpleasant, hair-rising crack echoed in the room, followed by the stranger’s scream, when the heavy metal smashed the bones in the forearm.
“I asked… a simple, fucking, question!” you snarled at the man, bringing the pipe down again, aiming for his hand this time. He moved it away at the last second, which enraged you even more, so with a mad, frustrated scream, you smashed his knee, using the pipe’s momentum when it bounced off the floor. “What the fuck did you do to him?!!”
He screamed, loudly and terribly, cursing at you with every shaky breath he took, and–
You felt so unlike you, so… out of your skin, somehow… but you wanted to make him suffer. You wanted to know this inhuman cry of pain that was reverberating through the walls of the resort was your doing and your power over this bastard. Because of what they did to Joel.
Then a loud bang rang out in the air, and you instinctively ducked your head when a part of the door to your side was shot off. You dropped the pipe – no use for it now – and drew your gun, noticing with surprise that your heart was steady and your breath even, as if you didn’t almost get shot just now.
Another bullet was sent in your direction, and a woman’s voice yelled something inaudible, while you stood still and counted the seconds.
Three, two…
In a rapid movement, you came out of cover and aimed at the person standing in the hall, firing twice. The first bullet hit the woman in the arm while the second seemed to burrow itself in her stomach. She fell backwards with a curt cry, and the man lying at your feet roared with rage.
“No! You fucking bitch, leave her alone!!”
Your motions were almost automatic as you put your gun away and picked up the metal pipe again, its end splattered with blood. The man in front of you had to see something in your eyes – despair? emptiness? hatred? – because his face fell and he started quietly begging for you to stop and let him go. At least that’s what you assumed he was saying, because you didn’t listen to him one bit.
“Do not…” you started, unexpectedly calmly, bringing the end of the blunt weapon down. The impact caused his shinbone to break, and you lingered for just a moment to hear the bitter cracks of the shattered bones, “fucking… go anywhere. Don’t you dare move, hear me?”
The man didn’t answer, just cursed and wept in pain. The sound was horrible, but you almost didn’t notice it – or more accurately, didn’t care. Which would be even more concerning if you weren’t aware of the woman lying injured in the hall behind the door, and Joel, still unmoving and cold to the touch on the other side of the room.
Slowly, not hearing the black man’s cries or distant gunshots from where Tommy probably was taking down the enemies, and not caring about the blood of a stranger covering your jacket and pants, you dropped the pipe and took out your gun again. Then you made your way down the corridor, your eyes locked on the woman who shot at you.
She was groaning in pain, clutching at her stomach. When she noticed you, her hand reached for the pistol which lay discarded next to her, but you quickly lifted your own and aimed at her before she touched it.
“Don’t move,” you murmured, which would sound almost soft if it weren’t for the empty look in your eyes. The woman scanned you up and down, and slowly lifted her hands.
“Who are you?”
“What did you give him?” you asked like you didn’t hear her, coming closer to kick away her gun to the far end of the hall. The woman’s eyes followed the weapon, then shifted to you.
“Do you even know what that man did? What is he guilty of?”
“I know. Now answer the damn question. What did you give–”
The door on your left slammed open and you only had time to turn your head before a heavy body collided with you, pushing you to the wall. Your head hit the bricks with an echoing crack, knocking the breath out of you. A man who surprised you grabbed the material of your jacket and slammed you into the wall again, but you managed to grab his hair and yank it hard, which allowed you to step to the side and away from the point of disadvantage that being trapped against the wall was.
The man – taller than you, with a black eye and without one of the front teeth – was quick to recover, however, and catched the wrist of your hand that held the gun, pushing it to the side when you pulled the trigger. From the corner of your eye you could see the woman you shot curling up and covering her head, then trying to scamper away, but the wound in her stomach was a significant impediment.
You fired again, trying to wrestle the gun from the man, but his grip was strong and after a few seconds of struggle he managed to knock the weapon out of your grasp, sending it flying to where you kicked off the woman’s one earlier.
Not sooner than your hands were empty, his elbow collided with your face, hard, and you cried when a gush of blood started pouring from the broken nose and a cut on your lip. Fear washed over you, and sheer luck caused you to duck to the side in time, avoiding a fist to the temple.
You stumbled backwards a few unstable steps, breathing heavily. The guy was smirking, acting like he already won – but you weren’t about to die in this sleazy, stinky place, leaving Ellie all alone and never knowing why they abducted Joel in the first place.
Joel…
“You’ve made a huge mistake,” said the man quietly, taking one, then two steps forward and swinging again. You backed away a second time, feeling your heart pounding in panic and knowing you didn’t stand a chance against a man of his stature.
Finally your luck ran out, and the man managed to hit you in the jaw, making you taste blood on your tongue. Before you could recover, one of his hands shot forward and grabbed you by the throat, and then, still keeping his big hand on your neck, he brought your entire torso down, slamming you to the ground. You hit your head hard and the glass shards on the floor embedded themselves in your skin, but in the next moment the sound of your painful scream was cut short. The grip the man had on your throat tightened, and you started to have difficulty breathing.
Your eyes budged in fear as realization of what was happening dawned on you, and you started to kick and struggle wildly, reaching for your attacker’s face, but he moved out of reach, still putting his whole weight down on you.
Your fists were hitting his forearms, your nails scratching his cheeks, whatever to make him let go. But he didn’t, his hands still squeezing your throat so strongly and crushing your esophagus.
“After I kill you, I’ll go kill your friend,” your attacker snickered, smiling viciously as he watched ice-cold panic enveloping you. “He’s not worthy of keeping him alive that long, anyway.”
Something ignited inside you at his words.
Joel.
You suddenly remembered the many self-defense lessons Joel had given you, so that whenever he wasn’t there to protect you, you could do it yourself. He was always so afraid for your life…
Slowly and with great effort, your fingers crept down, searching for the handle of your hunting knife, while dark spots started to appear before your vision, partially covering the sneering face of the man crushing your windpipe. He said something else – something you didn’t even hear because of the ringing in your ears…
And then with the last bit of your strength, you yanked the knife out of its sheath and buried the blade in the side of his neck.
Several things happened simultaneously: the man cried in surprise and let you go, the woman shouted a warning – too late – and you swung your leg over him, straddling and stabbing the man over and over again. His neck, his chest, his face, you didn’t even see what you were hitting. Screaming your lungs out and burying the blade in him again, and again, and again.
And again.
With an outraged, desperate cry, the woman lunged at you, but the adrenaline coursing through your system made you not even register something cutting deeply the skin of your arm, your veins and muscles giving way. You spun around, tumbling with her to the ground, but quickly managed to pin her down, blocking her arms in place with your knees, and pressing the tip of your knife to her chest.
She immediately stopped moving.
“Last fucking chance,” you croaked with difficulty, your neck bruised and swollen. “What… did you give him?”
You didn’t know if it was the sight of you, bloodied and wounded, the fact that you just violently killed her friend, or something else entirely – but now the woman looked scared.
“Okay,” she whispered, trying not to breathe too deeply, and glanced nervously at the blade pressed against her skin. “Okay, I’ll tell you, just don’t… It was a tranquilizer. Nothing dangerous, we just put him to sleep for a couple of hours. He was putting up quite a fight and the guys were getting antsy that he’ll pull something off before–”
“He’s not breathing,” you rasped viciously, sputtering blood onto her face. The woman flinched and took a shaky breath.
“His heart rate is slowed down, but it doesn’t– it shouldn’t kill him.”
You clenched your teeth, then exhaled. Inhaled.
You have to take a grip of yourself. He is alive. He has to be…
Should be.
The weight with which you had pinned her to the ground became lighter, and the woman sighed with relief when you removed the sharp end from her chest.
“It shouldn’t… kill him?” you repeated emptily, trying to dismiss the pain in your throat when you were speaking.
“No.”
Your head was still buzzing, but you tried to push it to the side, to focus on what was important right now.
“Why… did you take him?”
And just with that one, quiet question, the woman’s expression changed. You were considering letting her go, since you already hurt her pretty badly, but the sudden shift in her behavior set off alarm bells in your head once more.
“He’s a murderer,” the woman said, as if it was the most obvious answer. “A monster that would do everyone a favor if he got put down.”
White, blinding fury flooded your veins and it felt almost as if electricity was cracking above your skin. Your hand held the knife tighter.
‘Put down’, like… like an animal. She was talking about the man you loved–
You weren’t able to stop the hatred and rage flowing out of every pore of your skin. In one swift motion you plunged the knife into the woman’s chest, making her choke and gasp in surprise.
“You cannot call him that,” you spluttered, barely able to speak from the pain. “You…”
And then your hand forced its way lower down, still holding the handle of your weapon. Cutting through the woman’s – now struggling and screaming in agony – abdomen and guts.
They went so far as to abduct Joel, they took him from you, hurt and shot him, wanted to torture him, to make him suffer before they ultimately kill him…
But they didn’t, he can’t be dead, he can’t–
The woman was conscious the entire time as you were ripping her insides apart, and her screams died down only after you reached the navel.
Your vision was blurry and faltering when you stood up, but your heart was still beating steadily. There was an echo of a scream in your ears, though you couldn’t tell if it was your or the dead woman’s voice.
There wasn’t anyone else in the hallway. In the back of your mind you hoped that Tommy took care of any remaining enemies, because if they’d come running here, you didn’t think you’d be able to hear them in time.
Clutching your injured arm, you slowly made your way to the room where you left Joel and the man who attacked you first. Your gun was lying near the entrance and you picked it up before pushing the door open and staggering inside.
The man wasn’t where you left him. Instead there was a big pool of blood, forming into a wide, smeared path leading further into the lobby. At the end of it you saw him, groaning and crawling to the exit.
You reloaded the gun and walked closer. At the sound, the man turned his head and his eyes widened when he saw you.
“You fucking psycho!” he spat, bracing himself on the elbow of his left arm – the only one still working. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! When she sees it, they’ll come for you, and they’ll make sure that the two of you will fucking pay for it!”
His words were flowing through you as you struggled to keep your vision focused. You felt weird – almost like waking up way too early and finding your body not listening to you entirely.
Then you realized. The hungry, burning anger was gone, the embers of hatred slowly dying out. There was only smoke and emptiness left inside you.
“I don’t care,” you mumbled, not loud enough for the man to hear you, but that didn’t matter – two seconds later he was dead, his brain splattered all over the floor behind him.
Your hand was shaking. Cold crept up your limbs, embracing and almost choking you as you breathed in, out, faster and faster as you finally comprehended what you did.
Your eyes moved down to the man’s indented knee, completely smashed into a bloody mess. The other limb was all wrong, his foot sticking in the opposite direction and no wonder he had to crawl to get away from you, you destroyed his legs, you…
You staggered backwards, your pupils darting to the hallway just for a second before returning to the battered corpse in front of you. The back of his skull was gone now, but how did he stay conscious for so long after you smashed his head with a metal pipe? There was so much blood on it… How much pain he must have felt after you left him?
And that woman… He begged you to leave her alone, and you… you ripped her open…
You moved back, back and further away, before tripping and falling to the floor. Your breaths were fast and shallow, and you reached for your neck, sore and swollen from almost being strangled, trying to will your lungs to work.
They were bad people. They took and hurt Joel, and planned to kill him. You had to kill them, they’d kill you in a heartbeat, they…
It wasn’t like you’ve never taken a life before, but it was the first time that you inflicted pain on somebody on purpose – not in self-defense, but because you wanted to retaliate. It was done in revenge.
You didn’t know for how long you had sat there when you heard someone saying your name. It sounded like… No, it couldn’t have been his voice, he was unconscious, he wasn’t breathing…
Suddenly, Tommy’s face appeared in your blurry field of vision – of course it was him, their voices were so similar, after all – and there was a deep crease between his brows. He looked worried and fearful, and–
“Snap out of it,” he said firmly, shaking your shoulders harder than he should have. Your name fell from his lips when you didn’t answer, and his eyes followed yours to a battered body on the floor. “Look at me. Look at me.” Tommy forcefully turned your chin in his direction, and his eyes were full of sorrow and pain. “You did what you had to do.”
You shook your head, swallowing the tears that streamed down your face. He didn’t know what you did. He didn’t understand what happened here, what happened with you… You yourself didn’t know what happened to you.
Tommy brought you closer to his chest, enveloping you in his strong embrace and the smell of leather and gunpowder. You choked on air, unable to stop the sobs racking your body, and deaf to his words, for the only thing you could hear were cracks of bones, screams of pain, and your own vengeful cries.
It was so loud in your mind that you almost missed a quiet grunt coming from behind you.
*****
Joel slowly opened his eye, then groaned and closed it again. He felt like shit and it was so hard to breathe, but he pushed through the pain and discomfort from the wound in his side, and tried again.
The first thing he saw was the greenish curtain, hiding the rest of the room from him, but judging by the fact that he was lying in bed, alive, with apparently all his wounds dressed, he figured it wasn’t the same place that group of angry youngsters took him to.
Lifting his head and turning it to the other side was a tremendous task, but it was so worth it – because there was you. Sitting in a chair next to him, asleep and with your head lying on folded arms on his bed. Joel smiled softly, but then furrowed his brows as a pang of anxiety shot right through him.
Your face was a mess, with cuts and bruises healing, your brow was split, and one of your forearms had a bandage wrapped around it, now a little dirty around the edges. Joel couldn’t see clearly, but your neck seemed… dark, as if the skin was bruised there, too.
What the hell happened?
He lifted his arm – the tingles and needles pierced his stiff limb – and brushed your cheek lightly, trying to wake you.
“Darlin’...” he murmured, and you stirred. He tried to say it again, louder this time, but his throat was scratchy and he winced at the feeling. There was no need for it, however, because in the next moment your eyes fluttered open and then widened when you took in the sight of him, realizing he’s awake.
“Joel!” Your hands – God, he missed the feeling of them – cupped his face gently, and your eyes filled with tears in the matter of seconds. “Oh my god, baby…”
“Hey, hey, I’m fine,” he breathed out quickly, not wanting to see you cry. “It’s okay, darlin’... I’m here.”
You sobbed with a dazzling smile, your beautiful eyes dancing across his features before you darted forward and pressed your lips to his firmly. Joel could almost taste the desperation and worry in your shaky breaths and tears that fell from your eyes and onto his tongue. He wanted to tangle his fingers in your hair and bring you in closer, but a sudden, sharp pain pierced his arm when he tried to move it, and he hissed into your mouth.
“Sorry,” you whispered and moved away quickly, letting out a broken laugh and brushing the unruly strands of hair away from his forehead. “I’m just so happy you’re okay.”
Joel wanted to ask what exactly had happened while he was out, but before he got a chance, you leaned in again and started softly peppering his face in kisses – first his cheek, then his forehead, then the tip of his nose and his chin. And Joel didn’t have the heart to stop you.
And that’s how Ellie found you both. She gagged when she saw the display of affection, but there was a grin on her face when he looked over at her.
“Gross,” she scrunched her nose. “But I’m glad to see you awake.”
“Yeah, well, I still feel pretty shitty,” he grunted, scanning the kid for any injuries, but she didn’t look any worse for the wear. His eyes strayed to your neck again, and the concern came back double-barreled. “What happened to you, sweetheart? Where–”
“I’ll… go get the doctor.” You stood up abruptly before he could finish, and looked over at Ellie. “Will you stay with him?”
“Yeah. Sure.” The teen shrugged, but now was avoiding Joel’s eyes, and he felt more uneasy and agitated by the second.
“Okay. Be right back, love. Gonna grab you some water, too.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. Joel’s eyes escorted you, and when he made sure you were out of the earshot, he turned to Ellie.
“What happened?”
“Well.” The teen blew out her cheeks and went to take a seat you previously occupied. “You were attacked during the patrol…”
“Yeah, no, that I remember,” Joel interrupted quietly. “They shot me, took me to that ski resort. But how am I here? Did she…”
He trailed off. Ellie looked at the curtain you disappeared behind, then back at Joel. “Listen, I wasn’t there, so m’not sure,” she mumbled quietly. “But after she and Tommy got you out, she was sorta… different.”
“Different how?” he asked sharply. Ellie bit the inside of her cheek, looking away. “Ellie.”
“I don’t know, okay?” she answered in a sudden burst. “She looked like hell. You saw her neck, I think someone tried to choke her, and she had an ugly cut on her leg, a fuckton of cuts and bruises… And the doctor spent hours getting all the glass shards out of her.”
Joel got up as much as he could, feeling a pit of anxiety rising in his chest. Ellie was silent for a while before she spoke again, this time surprisingly softly.
“Remember when you beat the shit out of that soldier when we were escaping QZ in Boston?” Joel nodded slightly – she did, too. “Yeah. She had a similar… kind of look on her face, and it looked… not exactly scary, but alien.” The teen looked up. “My guess is she did some fucked up shit to get to you. Tommy said she’s been having real bad nightmares since then, but he doesn’t want to tell me–”
Ellie snapped her mouth shut at the sound of footsteps, and a few seconds later you emerged from behind the curtain. You had a tall glass of water in your hand and a small, hopeful smile that grew when your eyes fell on Joel’s face.
“I know you’d probably prefer something stronger, but water will do you good,” you said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were just talking about you. Joel watched as you carefully sat down at the edge of his bed and put down the glass onto the table to his side. “One of the nurses will come here in a couple of minutes. You were unconscious for a couple of days so they want to make sure everything is okay.”
“I told you I’m fine, darlin’...”
“Please.” You gently took his hand in both of yours, staring at him with concern. “For me?”
Joel looked you over, his eyes lingering on your bruised neck and the bandage around your thigh which he didn’t notice before. Then he glanced at Ellie with worry, not knowing how to approach this problem or ask what exactly happened to you.
Your eyes were a little red and puffy, and he briefly thought about what the kid said: that you have had terrible nightmares, that apparently you went through some sort of hell to save him. It seemed that whatever you had done, it took its heavy toll on you. And he couldn’t bear it.
Joel hated the thought of you risking your life for him, of the experience branding you so deeply that you lost sleep because of it.
Because of him.
The only thing he could do right now was to be there for you. And maybe – just maybe, if he tried hard enough – to do something about those of your scars that he couldn’t see.
He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time.
“Okay,” came his soft answer, to which you smiled with relief. “Whatever you wish, darlin’.”
No snarky remark, no groaning or muttering could be heard from Ellie, and that worried Joel much more than he’d ever admit. He exchanged a worried look with her while you were distracted, drawing patterns on the back of his hand with tender fingers.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he heard you say quietly, though it was unclear whether you were talking to him or yourself.
Either way, Joel squeezed your hand tighter, now feeling oddly afraid of letting go.
“Yes, darlin’,” he confirmed in a soothing manner. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
619 notes · View notes
neteyamssyulang · 9 months ago
Text
✷ Reckoning Escape ✷
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✷ Pairing: So’lek x Fem sarentu reader ✷
✷ Summary: What was once a peaceful day turned out to be the worst, now having to not only protect yourself, but your two children aswell.
✷ Warnings: Angst, Mentions of birth, mentions of death, Protective parents, bit of a happy ending.
✷ Word count: 3,621 ✷
✷ Translation(s): Tsne ma hì'i fa'ìla -> Shh my little angels, Yawne -> Beloved, Sa’nu -> Mom, Paskalin -> Honey, Sempul -> Father, Tsmuke -> Sister, Kehe -> No, Ma’Itan -> My son, Pefya kom nga -> How dare you, Mawey -> Calm.
✷ A/N: The second longest fic I’ve ever written 🫶🏼
✷ Tagging: @ikeyniofthetayrangi @itchaboi-itchyboy @aria-tempest @anemonelovesfiction @bambithewriter @kia-wolfie @sinful-tawtute
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The roaring wind was deafening, drowning out all other sounds, but you knew they were there.
Your lungs burned, your arms felt like they were going to give out but you kept pushing on, you had to get your little ones to safety.
Small sobs pricked at your ears,"Tsne ma hì'i fa'ìla" you spoke softly holding your baby's closer. Your son An'tari and daughter Ona'te were only 8 years apart but yet inseparable. An'tari was the firstborn of you and your mate So'lek, followed by the baby Ona'te.
You gave So'lek what he always wanted, a family. And now the humans were trying to take it from him just like they took his clan, leaving him with nothing.
It's why your on the run now, they had somehow found the campsite where you all lived. What was once a beautiful home now lays in nothing but ash and dust.
So'lek was gone at the time, having to help out at the base. A part of you is happy he's still ok but another part is ill, what is he to think when he goes home and finds it in ruins, with no sign of his mate and children?
As much as you wanted to cry and give up, you couldn't. You had to be strong for your little ones.
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-Flashback-
-August 5th, 2170-
After countless hours of pushing your son had finally been born. So'lek sat beside you, admiring the little baby you held in your arms.
The smile So'lek had was starting to hurt but he didn't care, eywa had given him a blessing. She gave him you, and now a beautiful son.
"He looks just like you yawne" you smiled, your heart felt so full at the moment like it was about to burst from adoration.
So'lek chuckled "He does doesn't he? What should we name the little one?", thinking for a second you finally spoke "An'tari"
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-Present time-
You had managed to find a small cave that would hopefully be safe to stay in. Despite being drenched from the rain, your footsteps were silent like a palulukan.
Quickly you found a small spot at the back placing your two children down, An'tari immediately rushed to pick up his baby sister so she wouldn't cry, her little tail coiling around his small wrist.
Leaning down you placed a kiss atop both their heads "Be good my darlings, sa'nu won't take long I promise just stay hidden", An'tari nodded slowly "Yes sa'nu."
Smiling softly you made your way back out the cave in search of food along with something you could use for a fire.
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-Flashback-
-October 17th, 2178-
The fire crackled as you layed back against your mate, An'tari was fast asleep on your lap while you held your newborn Ona'te.
She was so beautiful, almost a resemblance of you. "You did so well paskalin, thank you" he murmured kissing the nape of your neck.
You giggled softly "For what yawne?", So'lek chuckled wrapping his tail around your thigh "For giving me a family, i never thought it'd be possible but you never cease to amaze me" he spoke, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck now inhaling your scent.
This was a moment you never wanted to end, you finally had a family with the most wonderful mate anyone could've ever ask for.
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-Present time-
You had only managed to find small twigs, maybe two good rocks and a whole skinned hexapede. Bringing it back to the cave was a hassle but you managed it.
The fire you did first so your children would be warm, your oldest scooted closer sighing in relief as the warmth flooded to him and his sister.
While you began preparing the food Ona'te had woken up, her cries echoing off the cave walls as An'tari tried calming her.
After a few minutes she was quiet, fast asleep once more. "Mama?" An'tari spoke, watching as you cooked.
Without talking your eyes off the fire you hummed "Yes darling?", Your son shifted so he was beside you now "Will we ever see sempul again?"
Your heart dropped at his words, truth be told you didn't know. You had no way of communicating as your com had been burned in the fire. "I don't know baby.. we can only hope eywa is on our side"
An'tari nodded, small tears spilling from his golden orbs. Once the meat was done you took it off the fire slicing it with your dagger that was already out.
Everything was finished now, turning to your son you patted your thigh for him to come sit which he obliged.
Bringing a piece of the hexapede meat to your lips, you gently blew on it then brought it down to your son slowly feeding him. You were hungry yourself yes but your children came first, once Ona'te awakened you'd feed her aswell.
Deeming An'tari was full you kissed the top of his head "Rest now ma'itan, ill take over with your sister."
The boy nodded handing Ona'te to you before moving off your thigh opting to lay close to the fire. You smiled down at your little girl, eywa had really blessed you and your mate with beautiful and wonderful children.
Now thinking of your mate, your heart felt like arrow heads were piercing it. You missed him dearly, missed his calming presence, his soothing voice. How he must feel right now not knowing whether or not his family is alive.
Tears now freely streamed down your face, you hated those pesky humans, hated how they were trying to destroy your family.
You didn't even realize your daughter had awoken till her little hand grabbed onto the small braids that dangled in your face. Her little smile and cooes bringing a small smile to your face.
Knowing you were gonna have to feed her, you began slowly eating the rest of the cooked hexapede while Ona'te gurgled watching you.
Just as you were finished eating she began getting fussy, you moved to lay against the wall behind An'tari while lifting your feathered top up, Ona'te immediately latched onto one of your nipples suckling on it.
While your daughter was feeding, you tried coming up with a plan in order to get back to the resistance base. It was a very long walk back but there was nowhere else to go, you had no choice.
The storm still hadn't let up, the trees swayed with it threatening to break. Ona'te finished eating, falling fast back asleep curled up in your arms, with your free hand you moved your top back into place.
As much as you wanted to sleep you had to stay alert, you couldn't risk something happening to your babies.
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-So'lek's POV-
What was once a peaceful day turned out to be the worst, it was as if eywa was cursing him. So'lek was on his way back home, small gifts in hand for you and his children when he stopped in his tracks.
Everything was gone. You were gone, your children were gone, all that was left was a pile of ash and dust. So'lek fell to his knees dropping the gifts, first his clan now his family? What did he ever do to deserve this?
No, he refused to believe it, he refused to believe his family had perished. Rage now fumed him, the humans could do whatever they wanted to him but his family? Eywa they messed up big time.
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-Your POV-
The fire had long been put out, you and your son huddled back into a corner trying to stay out of view from a few soldiers that had found your hiding spot.
This can't be happening, how did they find you? There were no tracks since the rain washed them away.
One of the soldiers chuckled looking at the small fire you had used prior to them finding the cave "Looks like someone has been here, better let the big guy know."
As they were walking out, Ona'te sneezed in her sleep, the soldiers halted in their steps "And they never left" another spoke, you could almost see the smirk on his face.
Your ears pinned back against your skull, looking down at your son you saw how scared he looked, how he clinged onto your leg muffling his sobs.
Tapping on his back you waited for him to look at you then gestured to his sister, picking up the hint he carefully took her into his arms. You gave them both a kiss on the forehead before walking out of the corner holding your hands up in surrender.
"Well well, if it isn't y/n" one spoke,"Mercer will be glad we found you" another added on. You hissed unsheathing your dagger "I would rather die than go back to that asshole!"
The soldiers exchanged a look before laughing "And what of your offspring?" You had failed to notice one of the soldiers sneaking behind you towards where your children were hiding.
"Kehe! Sa'nu!" An'tari shouted, thrashing in the soldiers hold while keeping his sister close to him. No..no this wasn't supposed to happen! The soldier brought them to the head one who's name was Lyle.
Lyle reached for Ona'te but withdrew once An'tari hissed at him "Fiesty children, must get it from their mother" he laughted, signaling for two soldiers to come and hold the child still.
You lunged at them but immediately stopped in your tracks when a gun was pointed to your sons head "I would advise you don't move y/n. You see, Mercer is quite upset that you’re still alive. You were never meant to live, much less start a family.
Tears threatened to fall but he was right though. Mercer ordered you and the rest of the Sarentu kids dead years ago, if it wasn't for Alma then you wouldn't be here right now.
Lyle smiled wickedly seeing his words having affect on you, leaning down he grabbed Ona'te from An'tari's arms, rolling his eyes when she started crying.
"Please! Do not hurt my children, they are innocent!" You begged him, Ona'te looked towards where your voice was coming from, her small hands making grabby motions at you "S-sa'n-u" she spoke.
One of your hands moved to cover your mouth, her first word.. you only wished it was under better circumstances.. An'tari beemed happily for a second before going back to squirming.
"Oh? Baby's first word huh?" One soldier chuckled, "Such a shame it will be her last aswell" he raised his gun pointing it at your daughter.
Whether it be your motherly instincts or just pure rage, you had enough of this. Before the soldiers could react, you grabbed Ona'te and An'tari, rushing out of the cave back into the pouring rain.
An'tari held onto you while trying to shield his sister from the rain, your ears twitched trying to pick up any sound over the storm.
Pushing yourself further, you could feel your heart thumping, threatening to jump out of your chest. Gunshots now rang in the air sounding closer and closer with each passing minute.
Finally after what seems like hours, the base appears in the distance, relief floods over you till a gunshot rings in the air and a hot searing pain travels through your right leg.
Those bastards actually shot you, ignoring the pain you kept pushing yourself till another gunshot split the air. Your vision went hazey as you fell to the forest floor, An'tari quickly picked up his sister who rolled from your arms crying.
"Sa'nu!" He screamed rushing over, there was blood pouring from your right side as well as your leg. You tried getting up but felt too weak "Ma'Itan.." you spoke softly looking at him "Go..take your sister, the base is just up ahead.."
The boy shook his head "I'm not leaving you sa'nu!" You gave a weak smile, lifting your hand to place it on his cheek "I will be fine, please my darling get to safety."
Sniffling he placed a soft kiss on your head before running towards the base keeping his sister close to him.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺ ✦
-So’lek’s POV-
So'lek hissed at everyone who blocked his path leading to outside, "So'lek, So'lek, I know your upset but you don't even know where they are" Ri'nela tried explaining placing her hand on his shoulder.
His tail trashed behind him, "Out of my way! I do not care I will find them.” Shoving the rest of them, he made his way outside, starting to walk through the forest till a small figure caught his eye.
"Sempul!" The figure screamed. So'lek quickly ran realizing it was his son, but fear took place when a gunshot sounded and An'tari fell, still cradling Ona'te in his arms.
"Ma’Itan!" He shouted. Upon reaching his son, So'lek was relieved to know he was still alive with just a minor injury to his thigh. He picked up his son and daughter brushing the leaves and mud off them "Where is your sa’nu?"
An'tari whimpered, "Bad men hurt sa'nu, shot her, she told me to run and get to the base."
So'lek's heart dropped instantly. Fuming, he stood up pressing the com around his neck with his free hand "Nor, come now! There is no time to waste!"
Quickly he took off back to base meeting Nor halfway, Nor carefully took An’tari in his arms, trying to hold back his own anger when seeing his wound.
"Be good for uncle Nor ok?" So’lek spoke gently ruffling his sons hair before turning his attention to his daughter, still in her brothers arms. “Keep your tsmuke safe.”, "Yes sempul" the boy nodded.
He watched as Nor began running back to base before running back towards the direction his son was coming from.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺ ✦
Your face was stained with your tears as the soldiers crowded around your body, "We have a little surprise for you darling" one spoke, grinning mischievously.
You were too weak to care about that, all you cared about was if your children made it to safety. The circle of soldiers parted letting a single man through, your eyes narrowed at who it was.
Mercer smiled, "Ah y/n, so good to see you again." He crouched down infront of you, "I hear you have a family now, see that won't do."
Lifting your head you gave a weak hiss,"Oh cmon you can do better than that" he signaled for a solder to stand behind you. The soldier lifted one of his legs before stomping down onto your wounded side making you scream in pain.
"There ya go" Mercer chuckled clapping his hands. "This is how it was always meant to be, with you and the rest of those students dead."
He was about to continue when an arrow hit one of the soldiers killing them instantly, "Who's there?!" Mercer shouted into the darkness. You knew through.
Another arrow flew, hitting the two soldiers that were close together. More and more went flying till Mercer was the only one still alive and standing, your body felt as if it was on fire now despite it being cold as hell from the rain.
Frustrated, he turned his back looking at you now. Big mistake, a gunshot rang through the air hitting him in the left side, Mercer groaned falling down.
So'lek jumped down from his perch in the trees, stalking towards the humam. "Pefya kom nga!" So'lek hissed, shooting him in the right side this time, just as they did you.
Mercer just laughed as he coughed up blood, "You think this will all end once i'm dead? You're wrong." Annoyed, So'lek shot him in the head, shutting him up completely.
Carefully he picked you up, beginning to run back to base. "T-the chil-dren.." you murmured drifting in and out of consciousness.
He frowned, "They are ok" he spoke, purposefully leaving out about An'tari being injured. You nodded weakly, still trying to hold on for the sake for your mate and children.
By the time So'lek had made it back to the base, you were unconscious from how much blood you lost. The tawtute doctors took you from his arms and into the medical room, he tried to follow but they wouldn't allow it.
So he opted to sitting in the lounge area, hopefully waiting for good news about either you or his son. Ri'nela had at some point joined him, holding Ona'te in her arms "You know, I heard from Nor that At'ari said she spoke her first word"
So'lek's ears pricked as he moved his gaze to Ri'nela,"S-she did?" Now looking at his little girl who stared back at him cooing. Ri'nela nodded handing her over to him, "She said sa'nu"
Even though he was hoping she said sempul first, he was still happy his daughter finally spoke. He only wished he had heard it.
Ri'nela noticed his ears pinning back and a scowl tugging at his lips "Hey hey, I know you missed it but atleast they are back now. Your mate is strong, so are your children."
With that she stood up walking back to Nor and the others.
So'lek watched as his daughter giggled grabbing onto one of his fingers, her little hand barely able to wrap around it.
Close to 4 hours have passed with no word about you, he was happy his son was alright but the doctors had said nothing regarding you. So'lek only thought of the worst.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺ ✦
-Flashback-
-January 25th, 2163-
You laughed as So'lek chased after you, his own laughs pricking at your ears. Eventually he caught up to you tackling you to the forest floor.
"Gotcha paskalin!" He smiled looking down at you "Cheater" you huffed pouting."It is not cheating just because I am faster than you little one" he chuckled placing a soft kiss against your lips.
Immediately you melted into the kiss pulling him down, closer to you. He broke the kiss after a bit to trail kisses from your jaw down to the neck licking a stripe along it "Eywa knows how thankful I am for you y/n" he spoke softly leaning up a bit to look at you.
All you could see in his eyes was the love and adoration he held for you.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺ ✦
-Present time-
One of the doctors eventually came out stating you had made it but had to stay there so they could monitor how your doing.
So'lek wasted no time in rushing in, walking to the large bed you layed on, another doctor had brought An'tari in placing the boy gently onto the bed before leaving you all alone.
Your eyes slowly fluttered open, vision slightly blurry till you regained focus. Your gaze landing on your mate and children, An'tari was quick to crawl up the bed towards you snuggling into your chest sobbing.
"Ma'itan.. what is wrong?" You cooed rubbing his back softly, So'lek moved till he was right beside you holding Ona'te in his arms still.
An'tari refused to speak just wanting to hold his mother, eventually crying himself to sleep. You frowned looking at your mate "I'm so sorry Ma'Lek.."
So'lek tilted his head crouching down "Sorry for what yawne? You protected both them and yourself with everything."
You shook your head sobbing quietly "If that were true I would not be here and our son would not be injured", So'lek's eyes widened, how did you find out? He purposefully kept it from you so you wouldn't worry and could relax while he handled it.
Looking down at your son still asleep in your arms you grit your teeth "The doctors mentioned it to me when I woke earlier, how could you not tell me our son was shot?!"
So'lek looked away, his ears flattened against his head "I'm sorry paskalin, you were badly injured I did not want you to worry and risk something."
Your gaze softened "You do not get to decide that for me, no more hiding things please.." So'lek nodded leaning down to place a kiss on your lips "I am so sorry I was not there to protect you all though."
Lifting your left hand up you placed it on the back of his head bringing him closer till your foreheads touched "Mawey, no one knew what was going to happen."
He nodded pulling away, you could now see tears rolling down his face. It was at that moment aswell that Ona'te had woken up, her small cooes filling the room as she stretched in her fathers arms yawning.
So'lek looked down at his daughter who smiled at him "Se-sepul" she giggled before looking around the room, her gaze now on you.
You chuckled looking from her to your mate "It was close to it, but she still said mama first", your mate huffed rolling his eyes playfully "Guess we'll just have to have another then yawne" he smirked winking.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺ ✦
Four months have passed now, you'd been released from the base and now are home with your family, your new home wasn't as big as the last but you didn't care as long as you had your mate and children.
True to his words you also wound up pregnant, about maybe 3 weeks along. So'lek had never left you or the kids out of his sight, not even for a second. He feared if he did something would happen.
Honestly you didn't mind it, not one bit. An'tari had healed quickly and began practicing shooting arrows with his father while you and little Ona'te took small naps here and there waiting for them to finish.
You could only hope that now you all were safe.
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allgoodnamesrgoneee · 19 days ago
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Head over now to check it out and show some love! 🙌
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Off Limits
Masterlist
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𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — The one where you're off limits and Aurélien loves going over the line.
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Aurélien Tchouaméni x Kylian's sister!reader
𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 15.7k
Warnings! FLUFF!! overload. They are crazy for each other, there is a makeout scene but no smut, ANGST!! brother'sbestfriendau, Kylian disagrees and he's not quiet about it, they fight, I don't know what else to say,
Preview
**********
You make it two steps out the door before tears start rolling down your cheeks. The cool night air hits your flushed face, and you can’t seem to catch your breath. Your legs feel unsteady, like the ground is shifting beneath you, and you grip the doorframe to keep from falling over.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper, scrubbing at your face with your sleeve. You don’t even know where you’re going—you’re just moving because you can’t sit there any longer. You turn left and start down the sidewalk, barely registering the passing storefronts as your mind replays that awful scene. You can still feel the way her words cut, like a sharp knife slashing at your skin. Home wrecker.
 You flinch from the memory, shaking your head.
Your breath is fast and uneven and the tears won't stop coming. You swipe at them roughly, digging your phone out of your bag with shaking hands. You hover over Kylian’s name, your thumb hesitating.
But the thought of telling your brother this humiliating story — of hearing the anger in his voice, the inevitable "I told you so"—makes your stomach turn.
So instead, you call the only person you want right now.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey—”
The moment you sniffle, his entire tone shifts. "What’s wrong? Are you okay?"
The sound of his voice — soft and warm and worried — nearly undoes you. You try to speak, but your throat tightens, and the words stick.
"I—" Your voice cracks, and you hate how broken you sound. “Can you come get me?”
"Where are you?" He’s already moving—you can hear it in the rustle of fabric, the quickness in his breathing. "What happened?"
You try to speak. You do. But the words won’t come, and you can only sob against the phone.
He curses softly, already moving. You give him the address, trying to keep your voice steady, and he doesn’t hesitate.
"Alright, I’m on my way. Stay put, okay?"
"Okay." Your voice is small, but you know he hears it.
You let the phone slip from your fingers, the tears too much to hold back. And then you're crying—really crying—for the first time all night.
You slide down against the wall, phone clattering to the pavement, and let the sobs take you under. You cry for everything tonight—every bad choice, every foolish decision. You cry until your face hurts and your body shakes. You cry until you don’t know how to stop.
And then you hear the sound of an engine, and a car pulls up beside you.
The door opens, and he steps out, his eyes scanning the sidewalk frantically. You hear his soft curse when he spots you.
"Aurélien," you whisper. It's the only word you can think to say.
He’s kneeling in front of you before you can blink, his hands already reaching for you. You throw your arms around his neck, letting out a sob as he pulls you in.
He doesn't say anything, just holds you tight while your tears soak into his shirt.
You stay like that for a long moment—maybe a minute, maybe five—your sobs slowing as his touch soothes you. You pull back slowly, wiping at your face with a shaking hand.
 He watches you, his face tight with concern.
"What happened?" he asks, his voice still soft.
You let out another shaky breath and tell him everything—from the long wait to the awkward dinner to the girlfriend and the fight. By the time you finish, your tears have dried up, and your embarrassment has taken over. You shift, trying to hide your face in your hands, but he gently tugs them away.
His eyes soften when he takes in your crest-fallen expression and wet lashes. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
You glance up, feeling a little worse at the concern in his voice. "I'm so stupid," you whisper, not even trying to hold back the tears that well up again. "I knew better, and I just—"
"Hey," he says softly, squeezing your hand in his. His touch feels warm and good, and you don't pull away even when your face flushes with embarrassment. "It’s not your fault, okay? You’re not stupid." He pauses. "You deserve better than some cheating asshole. And you did nothing wrong. You didn't know." He touches his thumb to your cheek, swiping at the last of your tears. "Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?" His voice is soft. So soft with you.
His words make your chest squeeze tighter, like someone has a hand around your heart. You feel a little wobbly and shaky, like the world is tilting on its axis.
You stare up at him, blinking at the wetness stinging your eyes. "Why are you so nice to me?" The words slip out before you can stop them.
He blinks, clearly startled, and then his expression softens. He shifts a little closer to you, until you can feel the warmth of his body. His voice drops, going low and soft in a way that makes goosebumps spread over your skin. “Because I care about you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like it’s obvious.
And maybe it is. But right now, with your heart in pieces and your pride in shambles, it feels like the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you.
You swallow hard, looking away. The warmth of his hand is still on your cheek, and it takes everything in you not to lean into it. “You shouldn’t,” you whisper. “I’m a mess.”
He huffs out a soft, almost amused sound. “Who isn’t?”
When you glance back at him, there’s something in his eyes—something you can’t quite name. It’s soft and steady, like he’s trying to tell you something without saying a word. And even though you don’t know what it is, you feel it. It hums in the space between you, quiet and warm.
His thumb brushes your cheek, slow and gentle, and his fingers—rough, calloused—cradle your face with the kind of care that makes your throat tighten. His hands are warm, and they make you feel safe.
You lean into the touch without thinking, your eyes fluttering shut. The warmth of his palm seeps into your skin, and you breathe him in—the faint scent of something woodsy and clean. “Aurélien,” you whisper.
“Hm?” His voice is soft and low, and the sound of it rumbles through you. It makes you shiver.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says, and you believe him.
When you open your eyes, his face is so close—close enough that your knees brush, close enough that every exhale you take tastes like him. He’s still holding you, his fingers tracing light, soothing circles against your skin. And maybe it’s the weight of the day, the tears and the fear and the rush of adrenaline—but you don’t think.
You just do it.
You kiss him.
**********
-Bianca🌻
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mikobeautifulheart · 11 months ago
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Hiii, can I request a fic of nanami(established relationship) if he caught to in the act of trying to kill yourself. I get it if you won't do it though..❤
There is like nothing I won't write for I'm that desperate. Plus I have so many ideas.
Tw: self harm, destructive tendencies and depression (angst to ig)
They say you can tell when someone is going to commit. Obviously it isn't true.
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You were the brightest person in the room, every morning when you were all getting assigned missions you would smile and greet everybody.
Nanami didn't know how you did it, always smiling when your job puts you to the dirtiest work of the world. Hell the day you stopped smiling was the day the world ended.
Maybe that's why he was so in love with you, you had so much affection to give him as he had for you, you could always smile brighter for him, laugh louder for him, all you ever did was make him happy.
"Y/n?" He said knocking on the bathroom door.
"Are you okay in there?" he said with little to no concern.
He had come home an hour ago and thought you must have still been on your mission because of how quiet the house was. That was until he heard noises in the bathroom.
"Mmmm" he heard muffled mumbles through the door, not even close to a proper response.
"Y/n i'm coming in okay?" He turns the handle but the door wont budge.
Another sound came from the other side of the door but it was louder like glass smashing on the tile floors.
"Stay away from the door, Do you hear me y/n? I'm going to knock it down"
He wastes no time before he takes a step back before kicking it the first time.
The door makes a splitting sound but dosen't open.
Second Kick.
Again, its more likely he's going to put a hole in the door before he breaks it down.
This time he slams his shoulder into it ripping the hinges off the wall and finally making the door weak enough to rip off the frame.
He pulls the door toward him so he dosen't hit you, and looks into the bathroom to see you on the floor, red around your torso, hair in your face.
He nearly took a step back in shock to see the horror infront of him. Still he went in and lifted your upper half off the ground to see where the blood was coming from.
As his eyes scanned you body you let out a groan.
"Sorry..." You said before quickly shutting your eyes in pain when he touched your arm.
"I didn't want you to be the one who found me..." You said before your mind gave out and your body went limp.
"Y/n? You have to keep your eyes open okay, can you hear me, Y/N" The longer he stayed the more of his composure he lost.
There it was, two long lines of red down both your arms. He rolled your sleeves up to get a better look.
"I'm going to get you to Shoko okay? Just hold out for me, please." He said scattering things all over the floor and pulling out things from the draws until he found bandages, if he didn't stop the bleeding now you would get to Shoko dead.
Carefully he starts wrapping your arms tightly, becoming worried but relived when you hissed in pain. He hated to see you in pain but at least he knew you were alive, alive enough to feel.
When the bandages were secure he carried you down to his car where he dialed Shoko right as he placed you along the passenger seats in the back. Even though it was late at night he knew Shoko would come in and save you.
He rushed you in watching to see if you were still breathing before laying you down in Shoko's clinic.
He waited out side and next to your bed all night, playing with the ring on your left hand.
As the sun came up the warm beams of light made your eyes open slowly.
''Morning" He said.
Nanami did'nt really know how to approach this, dose he ask questions now? Comfort you? Pretend it didn't even happen?
"Kento..." You said, voice groggy.
"Yes"
You reached your arm up to caress his face, a shooting pain ran down your arm and you gasped slightly before feeling tears prick the corner of your eyes.
"You shouldn't really use your arms right now" He said holding your hand to his face.
"Ken...I'm sorry I didn't want you to find me like that, I never wanted tou to suffer because of me I-im so sorry." You said letting the tears go.
"Shhh, you don't have to think about that right now, your being put on a break. No working for 2 weeks, then we can talk okay?"
You nodded trying to hold back your tears as he pressed a kiss you your cheek.
But really he felt more insecure. Was he not enough? No. He just kept taking. Your smile, your laughter and your happiness.
From this day on he would give you everything he could, anything for your happiness.
THANK YOU FOR READING ♡
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AUTHOURS NOTE: If you don't like he ending that's cool because I have a similar fic here with a sadder ending, it's appart of my 5 stages of greife series.
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musings-ofthe-unamused · 9 months ago
Note
I see that request is open so can I ask about maybe a cliche enemy to lovers fic with Leo from TD? 👉👈
A/N: I want to strangle Leo. Unaffectionately.
I made this on the shorter side, so I hope you don't mind! I have another fic for him planned that's sooo angsty to make up for it. I also made reader have more of a backbone than in the game. Because lets be honest, MC needs to stand tf up
Warnings: Angst, Leo being a bitch
Ask Box: Open
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | VGen | Patreon
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Leo knew what he wanted and he knew he always got what he wanted. That wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't such an egotistical asshole. He leaned back against the couch, legs crossed and arms splayed out on the back of the couch.
"Just do it for me, Honor Roll."
You rolled your eyes. "Can you stop calling me that? I have a name."
"And I don't remember it. Honor Roll is fine. A cute nickname, since you need some cuteness added to you."
You crossed your arms and glared at him. You would have backhanded him several times if it didn't put your curse research at stake. If you had it your way, you would avoid Leo at all costs. He was one of your top three least favorite ghouls.
He wanted you to use your stigma enhancing abilities to eavesdrop on Alan. But you had no interest in whatever slimy plans he had. You wanted to use your powers to actually help. Not help get dirt and gossip on the captain of the house.
"Do it on your own. I'm leaving." You walked out of Vagastrom with a huff.
You could hear Leo following after you. He was persistent, which was even more annoying. He'd usually quit and just move on. Yet here he was, following you around. And he kept following you. All the way back to your dorm.
You stopped and turned around. "Are you gonna leave me alone?"
"No. And I wanna snoop." Leo pushed past you and walked into the worn down cathedral. "I've never been here."
"Leo!"
You groaned and followed after him. He leisurely walked around the broken down pews, the dilapidated floorboards creaking with every step. You sighed and crossed your arms.
"Can you just leave me alone?"
"Why?"
"Because I don't like you."
"Aww." Leo pouted, his eyes shining with a mocking glint. "But why not? Don't you know how lucky you are to know someone like me?"
You glared at him, your expression hardening. "Luck isn't the word I'd use. Being cursed to die in a year isn't luck. Being forced to cater to ghouls who are nothing but trouble isn't luck. You, Leo Kurosagi, are a lying, scheming, immoral snake. It's a misfortune to know someone like you. I'd rather face this curse alone than even spend another second with you."
Leo didn't say anything. He just stared at you in disbelief. Did you go a bit overboard? Maybe. But you were tired. Exhausted of constantly running around and being shoved into shenanigans that often turned out to be deadly. And you were tired of being used as nothing but a tool, especially with people that had no respect for you.
"Wow."
That was all he said. His look of disbelief morphed into a smirk. You didn't want to hear whatever snarky comeback he had. You turned and headed for your room.
Leo called your name. "Wait up!"
He grabbed your arm and pulled you back. You let out a hiss. "I'm not in the mood, Leo."
"But it's cute seeing you get so... agitated. It's fun."
"This is why I hate you!" You growled, shoving his hand away. "You don't take anything seriously, Leo! Not everyone can just waltz through life like you! Some of us actually have problems!"
Leo's eyebrows furrowed. "Woah, hey, hey. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to annoy you that much."
You blinked in surprise. Leo was actually apologizing. Rare, considering how he thought he was right in everything. He reached out again and placed a hand on your shoulder. His touch was light and gentle.
"I... I'm still pissed. An apology won't fix anything."
"So what will?"
"I don't know. Maybe-"
"How about this?"
Leo pulled you into him and pressed his lips against yours. Your hands curled into his shirt and you tried pushing him away. He held you close to him, now gripping both of your shoulders. His lips were so soft. You could feel your cheeks heat up and your mind start to twist up and tangle. It wasn't until his tongue brushed against your lips for access that you finally pulled back.
You couldn't speak. You just stared at him. He chuckled and brushed your cheek with the side of his hand. Those piercing yellow eyes of his traveled over your face.
"Do you forgive me?" Leo murmured, leaning in. His lips brushed against your jawline.
"Uh... I-I don't... what are you doing?" You managed to get out.
He chuckled and kissed down your neck. "I'm apologizing."
A small whimper left your lips as a shiver ran up your spine. You quickly pushed him away. "Enough! Apologize in a different way!"
"You're so flustered!" He laughed heartily. "Fine, fine. Then how about a date? Tomorrow at seven."
You quickly looked away and frowned. You nodded. "Okay. But only if you're paying. I don't turn down free food."
"See you then."
Leo kissed your forehead before turning and walking out of the cathedral. Your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking. This couldn't be. Leo just kissed you. And you agreed to a date?! It was idiotic! You hated him. And you hated how easily you melted against his touch.
You weren't going to fall for him. It would just be one date and that was it. There's no way you could fall for Leo Kurosagi.
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actual-changeling · 26 days ago
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some more season 6 angst, happy ending as always implied. i make them suffer cause otherwise where's the fun, so have another dose of pain.
tagging @today-in-fic
———
Scully doesn't know why they stopped screaming, but they both run out of breath and right into a silence. Her hands are shaking, her fingertips are turning cold, and her eyes are heavy with uncried tears. The few that did escape are roughly wiped away, and she wraps her arms around herself, tight and tighter until every inhale meets a wall of resistance.
She can't look at him, yet he is still looking at her across the expanse of his living room. Even barefoot and underdressed Mulder is still just as undecipherable as he was hours ago at his desk. Something within her chest cracked wide open the second he raised his voice, a wound she has no idea how to fix, and it feels like he can practically see her bleeding onto the wooden floor. Instead, there's only a slowly growing puddle of water forming around her as the rain drips from her coat.
She shouldn't have come over. She shouldn't have tried to talk to him again (and again, and again). She shouldn't have insisted on getting a response, everything else be damned. She shouldn't have cared as much as she did—does.
Scully doubts she could ever not care about him, and her bones ache with emptiness. Maybe they could have saved this, themselves, but Mulder refuses to move even an inch from where he has cemented himself in his beliefs. Just listen, she pleads silently, over and over. Just listen to me.
Weeks ago, she told him it's about trust.
It's still about trust, it always has been. Outside, it keeps raining, and the wind keeps violently shaking his windows loud enough to drown out her stuttering breaths. The seconds pass, and she watches through wet lashes as he turns away, back to her, away again, scrubbing his hands over his face and pacing on the spot.
"Scully—", she flinches, hard, and he stops. Mulder's eyes soften, and suddenly she misses him so much her knees almost buckle. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Her voice comes out rough, and when she wipes away more tears tumbling down her cheeks, she feels something inside of her nose break open. She still gets them sometimes, the nosebleeds. When she's stressed, in rough weather, after a hot bath, and now here, right in the middle of his apartment. Her fingers come back bloody, and Mulder's expression morphs into one she thought she'd never see again:
Horrified fear, so much fear, and she is so, so tired.
Swallowing a new bout of tears, she licks her lips, and her mouth tastes like copper and blame. Is it his fault? Not entirely, no, but she tried and tried and tried while he dropped her hand and walked away from her. A drop of blood runs down her chin and colours the rain on the floor a faint red; they both watch it happen, one with exhausted resignation, one with growing concern.
"Look what you did," she says quietly, and he blanches.
Scully realizes then that she needs to go home or she won't be leaving his apartment tonight. If she stays, she will break underneath his concern, she will forgive him as he cleans the dried blood off her face. Maybe he will quickly understand that she's not sick again and do nothing except kick her out. Maybe he will pick up where they left off when she was dying.
She'd let him. She will stay, and he will kiss her until she can't breathe, until she forgets about the phantom pain keeping her awake at night, until this moment is gone, forgotten, smudged like wet paint.
She can't. She wants to—god, does she want to—but she can't.
Instead she backs away slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. When she digs for the car keys in her pockets, she couldn't care less about the blood staining the fabric or the way they become slippery in her palms. Without making a sound, Mulder watches her go with his hands curled into fists, and she needs to know that he won't follow her.
(She needs to know he won't drive through the storm and knock on her front door. That he will no longer worry enough to pull out his keys and find her curled up on her couch. That he won't kneel on the carpet, brush his fingertips over her cheeks, and kiss her until she breaks. That she won't be tempted to kiss him back until they stumble into her bedroom and she burns and smoulders underneath him.
She needs to know that she can stare at the ghost in her mirror without being haunted by him.)
For that, he needs to know that she's fine; she needs to erase the thought of a deadline that chases him into her arms time and time again. Blindly, her hand finds the door and pulls it open, bathing her in bright, yellow light. Mulder takes a hesitant step towards her and she wipes at the remnants of gradually drying blood on her skin.
"I'm not sick, again, Mulder. It happens sometimes," she tells him with a voice softer than she expected it to be.
The corners of her mouth twitch and she gives him the hint of a smile because she can. Because he's her best friend even if she is no longer his. Because she loves him still. She could never not love him, and maybe he never stopped loving her either.
Mulder nods, swallows heavily, and she sees some of the fear bleed away. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she adds, "It didn't have to end this way."
It did, though.
It did, so she goes home.
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bbyobbyo · 10 months ago
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To Mingyu, you were perfect. It was no wonder he was drawn to you when his long time best friend and roommate introduced you to him as his partner. Alas, you were perfect but you weren't his.
content: angst, fluff if you squint, suggestive (no actual depictions of sex), unrequited love, pining, gyu is a simp
wc: 729
notes: second attempt hehe, thank you everyone who read my vernon fic! feedback is appreciated, i'm still new here 😔👉👈
Truthfully, there was no better person for you than Wonwoo. Mingyu could at least admit that much. You complimented each other like yin and yang, supporting and uplifting one another in harmony. You were the much needed ray of sunshine and motivation in his life, and he was the structure and inspiration you wanted in yours. Over time your presence became a welcome constant in his life, first by association, then seemingly by necessity.
"She is the best thing to ever happen to me" his roommate would exclaim constantly, and Mingyu couldn't help but agree.
He tried to be happy for his friend, he really did. After all, why wouldn't he want the people he loves to be happy? It wasn't like he didn't want you visiting the apartment constantly, always with a delicious treat to share in hand. Nor did he dislike your genuine attempts to get to know him as a person, asking about his preferences and aspirations in life. In fact, it bothered him more and more that he wished you came over more often, even when his roommate wasn't home.
It was tortuous to hear the sounds in the apartment when you and Wonwoo thought he was asleep. Heavy moans and muted whines haunt his brain on those long nights filled with tossing and turning. The next morning he tries his best to pretend like he didn't see the hickeys littered on your neck just barely covered by your hair when he ran into you making breakfast. And yet, when you ask if he had a good night's sleep with an offer of making an extra serving for him, he doesn't have the heart to tell you the truth. That he spent the entire night wishing it was him in the bed next to you instead.
-
The day the world came crashing down on him was the day Wonwoo had told him about his plan to propose to you. An evening surrounded by his 12 closest friends that you have also come to adore, how perfect. It was so perfect that he didn't even have to think twice when saying yes when Wonwoo asked him to help film the entire affair.
"I trust you over Seokmin any day, that man can't keep a secret for his life. But if you tell her it's for a personal project, she won't suspect a thing!" he chuckles.
"Yeah," Mingyu mumbles back, not quite meeting his friend's eyes, "she won't see it coming."
-
Mingyu thinks he's going insane. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of photos from tonight and yet he's enamored by this one. You're absolutely dazzling, looking at the camera like you just discovered the lens, eyes turned into crescents and smiling cheek to cheek. How long has he waited for you to smile at him like that? And the first time you do, he's behind a camera. At your fucking wedding reception of all places.
"You like her." His head snaps up from the viewfinder.
"What?"
His older friend snakes a gentle hand on over his shoulder. "You like her, don't you?" Seungcheol repeats, voice barely above a whisper.
Mingyu says nothing, slowly directing his gaze back downwards at the camera, screen stuck on the photo of you he took only a few moments ago. He can't do anything but sigh. Seungcheol's expression softens, giving his younger friend's shoulder a knowing squeeze.
"It gets better."
God, he sure hopes it does.
-
Mingyu's attention fades in and out when you're reading your vows. It's ironic that on one of the happiest days of your life, he finds it impossible to focus on you when it feels like that's all he's done for years. It was a welcome distraction, however. He can't decide what would destroy him more: listening to you profess your love to someone that wasn't him, or knowing that you meant every word. You end your monologue gracefully with a small smile, holding back a sob as the groom begins his.
"You're the best thing to ever happen to me," Wonwoo begins, voice breaking as he bites back his own tears.
In another time, another place, Mingyu would've agreed with him. But in this moment, as you look at his best friend like he's the center of your whole world, Mingyu decides that you might have been the worst thing that's ever happened to him.
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brucewaynehater101 · 10 months ago
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You ever think about what would happen if Bruce had to kill in self defence?
Like literally no other choice, just attacked without holding back because he knows he’s about to die, and he puts a bit more force behind it than he expects and suddenly they’re not moving why aren’t they moving what has he done—
I haven’t put a lot of thought into it, and it depends entirely on how you write his character, but I think he’d either A. spiral before eventually coming to terms with the fact that there really was no other option at the time, B. panic and hide all evidence and pretending nothing happened while slowly spiralling into a pit of self loathing, OR if you want to go the really angsty route, maybe he hides all evidence and after some spiralling convince himself that it’s fine he’s Batman he needs to stay Batman so he’ll just put this behind himself and pretend it never happened, it was just one time it’s fine, but then one of his kids unearths some piece of footage or something and demands why the rules don’t apply to him, why he can keep on working and isn’t a threat despite being a killer yet Jason always gets shit for even knocking someone out. And mayybe one of the other batkids recently killed in self defence too, and Batman was lecturing them because ‘there’s always another option’ and how they shouldn’t be out in the field if they put civilians at risk, when Jason or Babs or someone calls him a hypocrite and it spirals from there…
Ooh ~ I like how you added the element that Bruce didn't mean to kill them. He never actually made that choice.
Despite Bruce's steadfast rules against killing, the man has killed before. Imma link an article here so y'all can look into it. Basically, pre-Robin Batman (or his beginning years as the caped crusader) used to have no issue with killing. This storyline was changed so that he had never killed at all, but it is interesting to ponder. He has made kills since his character insisted he has and never will kill, though. Some of the ones listed are alternative universes or times he was sure his enemy would survive despite their situation seeming to depict otherwise.
Therefore, it's not a stretch to say he would or has killed. There's some fics that examine the hc that Bruce DID kill someone (or multiple people) in that pre-Tim era and repressed/denied the hell out of that notion. Extending that out to other circumstances would cool af.
Anyways, let's look at this AU specifically!
The three reactions Bruce can have about this are:
The mentally healthy one of coming to terms and accepting this kill
Hide all of the evidence, spiral, and try to justify it to himself while remaining a hypocrite
Repress the fuck out of his memories (including killing, hiding the evidence, and anything else surrounding it) to deny it happened
The first one has opportunities for good dad Bruce where he communicates with actual words to his kids that he'd rather they come home alive. Great hurt/comfort for that route.
The second one is full throttle fuck Bruce. He's a hypocrite who berates the others for their choices in the field, reacts explosively to them even hinting at murder, and overall no one (including Bruce) is having a good time.
The third one has four options:
Bruce is obv not mentally well. He can receive help, come to terms, and eventually end up as good dad
He keeps denying despite how much evidence is proven otherwise, causing him to spiral and jeopardize his relationships.
He eventually accepts what happens but is steadfast that HIM doing so is fine. He won't excuse that behavior for anyone else regardless of the circumstances
After acknowledging the kill, he creates a self-fulfilling prophecy with his belief that even one death will cause him to spiral into madness and mass murder. There would be many clues that he could stop from becoming a monster, but he simply doesn't due to his ideas that one death is too far
The last one could bring lots of angst, especially for the person that forced Bruce to acknowledge the evidence and his kill :)
Maybe the fic can even force Alfred to be the one to put Bruce down for good :)
There are also fics that consider what Bruce's reactions and what the rest of the batfam would do if someone who's sworn off killing ends up killing someone (particularly on accident or in self-defense). There's either good dad Bruce who apologizes for ever giving the impression that killing in self-defense is wrong (when there's no other choice) or bad dad Bruce who goes nuclear.
This has absolutely nothing to do with Bruce killing someone, but this is a rant about Bruce's moral code:
For once, I'd kill for an ACAB Batman because cops kill, and that goes against his moral code. A simple math of murder = wrong, so therefore cops (who don't swear off ever killing again) are an entire group he's against the same as he's against gangs.
He's criticized the batfam, some JL members, anti-heroes, villains, etc. for their choices regarding murdering for justice. Are there any fics or instances in canon where he basically says "fuck the police" because they do kill? Not him stating that GCPD is corrupt, but him fully disparaging the entire profession/institution due to the allowance it gives in murdering. He could go on one of his rants about judge, jury, and executioner. He could chat about power dynamics, morals, police training, checks and balances, insufficient evidence gathering before execution, innocents killed, etc.
Where the fuck is ACAB Bruce? Give me reluctantly working with Jim despite his hatred of cops. Give me him stating he likes Jim as a person and his notion of changing shit from the inside, but Bruce (as someone who is legit working outside the law and policies in place) doesn't think it's possible to change enough. Give me Bruce debating whether his role of working with the legal system is doing harm.
If Bruce has black and white perspectives on murder, let him have it about everything.
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oddinary4bts · 2 years ago
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The Forgotten Spaces | ch 6 (jjk)
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☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?
☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in previous/later chapters)
☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff
☆warnings: mentions of sex/hot tub scene. hickey. angst (oops), might be a curse somewhere in there?
☆word count: 5.8k
☆series masterpost here
☆a/n: I am very sorry for all the angst that is to follow. Please don't hate me and please enjoy reading still haha! Thank you to @moonleeai for her beta reading on this fic, I won't ever thank you enough, you're the best <3
☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces
☆☆☆☆☆
For this meeting of our end of the world
It's with you that I want to sing
On the threshold of the memories the dead of today
Them that breathe for us
The forgotten spaces
Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)
☆☆☆☆☆
Sunday, July 8th
                Waking up next to Jungkook feels weird. You reckon it might be because you haven’t slept a lot, and people are already moving around the cottage. You’ve refused to open your eyes so far, just because you’ve heard Jiho and Hobi whispering about you and Jungkook and you feel too much of a coward to admit you probably fucked things up with him already.
You think Jiho has taken a picture. Knowing her, she definitely has, and you wish you could just disappear for a time. You eventually force yourself to get up though, before Jungkook who is still dead asleep when you move to the kitchen. You suffer through Jiho’s questioning, but she quickly notices that you’re shut off, lost in thought and maybe even dabbling in a little regret too.
From there she shuts down everyone that asks questions, and by the time Jungkook gets up, everyone is just pretending they haven’t noticed that something definitely happened between the two of you.
Jungkook doesn’t really look at you. He eats breakfast chatting with Taehyung and Jin, avoiding you like the plague. You can tell you’ve hurt him, but you don’t know how to fix it. After all, you’ve never really been acquainted with feelings yourself. Especially not after your parents’ divorce.
The day feels heavy. It’s still warm outside, far too much, and a veil of dark clouds is looming over the horizon by the time you have to leave the cottage. Your mood imitates the weather, and you find yourself brooding more than you usually do.
You haven’t been able to talk to Jungkook yet. Mostly because he’s been avoiding you, yes. But also because you don’t know what to tell him.
“Hey, I’m shit at relationships and feelings, yesterday felt too real” sounds like too much of a confession. Even though it is the truth, you’re a coward, through and through.
Jiho’s been trying to get your mind off things. Texting you random stupid things, sending you memes as Hobi drives the four of you home. Heather is riding with Chaeyeon, Lance and Bridget this time around, so there’s a space between you and Jungkook. This time, when he falls asleep, he falls asleep with his head resting against the window, and not on your shoulder.
It starts raining halfway home, and Hobi drives slower, windshield wiper going on full blast. Jiho sends you yet another meme – something absurd you can’t bring yourself to find funny. It earns you a frown from your best friend, and a second later your phone vibrates in your hand.
[1:23 pm] Jiho❣️: u’re supposed to laugh☹️ [1:23 pm] You: i want to talk to Jungkook but idk what to tell him🫠 [1:25 pm] Jiho❣️: what really happened yesterday? i wanna help but it’s hard if idk [1:26 pm] You: we made out in the hot tub then fucked when we were supposed to sleep🤡 [1:26 pm] Jiho❣️: bruh i wish i had a make-out session in the hot tub [1:27 pm] You: 🙄🙄 [1:27 pm] Jiho❣️: sorry [1:27 pm] Jiho❣️: pretty sure more than just fucking happened considering both of you are upset [1:30 pm] You: i told him we shouldn’t have fucked after and he got upset [1:31 pm] Jiho❣️: bitch he’s into u ofc he’ll be upset [1:31 pm] You: u’re not helping [1:32 pm] Jiho❣️: are u into him?
You don’t know the answer. You ask yourself that question for the rest of the day, and you reckon you really don’t know. A lot changed between you and Jungkook over the weekend, but it’s hard to ignore the fact you have never really liked him. Because he was a dick and a bully to you for years.
It’s not something you think you can just forget because you’ve had sex with him once. And you don’t even know if you’d be interested in a relationship with him anyway. You’ve never been in a relationship before at all, and the thought of it terrifies you.
The thought of Jungkook being upset with you terrifies you in equal measures, but you refuse to admit it to yourself. Maybe because you’re trying to protect yourself. It’s hard to tell. You feel like you won’t be able to go through your feelings by yourself – they’re overwhelming, all of them.
Thinking about Jungkook is overwhelming. Thinking about dancing under the stars, about his scar, about the way he held onto you after he finished. Everything is overwhelming, and it makes you anxious. Jumpy, even, as you’re sitting in your room in your mother’s empty house later at night.
You’re halfway through a Studio Ghibli movie that was supposed to help you relax when you decide to text your therapist to schedule an appointment this week. It feels like the right thing to do – you know Mary has always been able to help you sort through your thoughts, even though you haven’t seen her in months.
You don’t expect her to reply tonight considering it’s late in the evening, but you linger on your messaging app. You can’t resist but scroll down a little, down to where Jungkook’s name lies on the screen. You click on the conversation, rereading the last messages he sent you from when he was drunk a little over a week ago. It makes your heart squeeze in your chest a little, and you scroll all the way up to the first time he texted you in April. You haven’t talked much at all, so it’s not like there’s a lot, but you can’t help yourself. You reread everything, entirely ignoring the movie playing on your laptop.
When you’re done reading, you find yourself typing a text even though you don’t know what to say. It seems your fingers know, because a moment later you find yourself staring at a fully formed sentence. It looks as if it’s taunting you, and you reread it so many times the words start to lose their meaning.
[9:47 pm] You: hey, i really enjoyed the weekend with u and i’m genuinely really sorry about yesterday…
It takes you all the courage your body can conjure up to press send. You immediately turn off your phone to focus on your laptop and on the movie, though it doesn’t really work at all. The anxiety the message has brought up in you makes the story of Totoro way too hard to follow, and you’re merely watching the scenes, barely even blinking.
When the movie ends, you get ready for bed. You haven’t dared check your phone yet, but a little bit of anticipation has been steadily building inside of you. Because you hope he’ll answer. You hope you won’t have to explain why you are the way that you are for things to go back to normal with him. Maybe because offering him your vulnerability feels like too much of a commitment for someone that doesn’t do commitments at all.
You know you’ll hate yourself at your internship the next day, but you can’t really sleep after you’ve settled under the comforter in your bed. It’s way past midnight when you finally gather the courage to look at your phone, teeth worrying at your bottom lip.
Your empty notification screen stares back at you, as if to say ‘you really thought that would change anything?’
You sigh, putting your phone away on your night table before turning on your side, grabbing a pillow to hold. It’s still raining outside, and your brain focuses on the splattering of rain on the panes of the window. You think maybe Jungkook went to bed early, considering you didn’t get a lot of sleep in the last two days. Maybe he’s asleep and will reply tomorrow…
You cling onto that hope as the sound of the rain finally lulls you to a troubled sleep.
Tuesday, July 10th
                Jungkook has been in a shit mood. He knows why, and it’s strange to think that it’s not his leg for once. What makes it worse is that everyone around him knows too, thanks to the hickey on his neck.
And it’s only worse when you don’t show up to dance practice. Jiho mentions something about you being stuck at your internship, but Jungkook doesn’t ask. He feels like maybe he could text you to make sure you’re okay. His heart wants him to do it, but his mind is stronger.
And his mind has been winning the war against his heart so far. He won’t cave in now. But he’s still in a shit mood when he gets home after practice. It feels even worse when he sees Taehyung and Jo cuddled up on the couch, and Jimin sprawled up on the floor.
Jimin’s texting away on his phone, and Taehyung meets Jungkook’s gaze where he stopped by the door.
“Practice is already done?” Taehyung asks.
It brings Jimin and Jo’s attention to Jungkook. He just stands there for a time, not knowing what to say.
Not wanting to admit he wrapped dance practice earlier because he was pissed that you weren’t there.
“Yeah,” Jungkook lets out flatly. He finally starts moving again, aiming straight to the kitchen.
He misses the way Jo and Taehyung exchange a concerned look when he passes in front of them, or maybe he just ignores it. He’s been ignoring Jo since the weekend, because it feels like too much pressure to admit that her plan worked and failed in the same night.
Yes, he got to sleep with you, but he’d take it back if he could. Just so it wouldn’t lead to where you’re standing now. Because he’s never replied to your text on Sunday night. Maybe because it was too early, and seeing it just pissed him off more.
Or maybe he’s just trying to preserve himself because he’s realized being with you might be a lot more complicated than previously thought.
He’s pouring cereal in a bowl when he receives a text. He fears that he’s conjured you up for a few seconds, but then he reads the name at the head of the notification. Laura. He furrows his brows, reading her text a few times over to make sure he’s read well. On his fifth reading he reckons the words won’t change even if he keeps glaring at them.
And Laura doesn’t deserve him being upset with her too. Actually, he realizes she might be just what he needs – a distraction, perhaps. Because all he wants is to forget how it felt to be with you last Saturday. And it’s not even about the sex. No, the part that’s been sticking with him is the moment between the hot tub and the sex. When he laid his heart on the table for you.
Had he known you were going to step on it a little under an hour later, Jungkook knows he would have never asked you to dance. It was a stupid request, one that made everything too real.
He can’t really blame you for getting scared. Because he knows that’s what it is. You got scared when he told you you should have slept together before, and he’s been embarrassed since then. Because he said the words in the heat of the action, and even though he meant them – means them – he’d rather not have told you.
Because now when he thinks of you he’s embarrassed, upset, and of course he’s pissed. He’s been in a shit mood after all.
He sighs, pushing his hair back before moving to the fridge to grab the milk. He pours some in the bowl, before grabbing a spoon in the drawer and making his way to the table, where he sits to eat the cereals. He’s halfway through his bowl when he finally decides to open his phone and reply to Laura.
[9:01 pm] Laura: Hey, I gotta admit… I’d like to see you sometime this week? If you’re up for it ofc [9:08 pm] Jungkook: yes ofc! i’m free tmrw evening if u want😌
He doesn’t even know if he actually wants to see her. It makes him think of when he helped her with her camera last week. Laura is sweet. Cute and shy. She’s his type, he can’t deny it. But she’s nice, and he doesn’t think she deserves him using her as a distraction.
He reckons he’s a mess. You’ve been messing with his head far too much, and he doesn’t like that you have that power over him. He doesn’t want anyone to have that power over him.
Yet it’s relieving that for once his mind isn’t clouded with dark thoughts related to the accident. Because he can’t really think about the accident when you’re there whenever he closes his eyes. When he can almost feel your warmth lingering under his fingers, along his body. When he thinks he can still smell your shampoo, and feel your soft skin.
The way that he feels disgusts him. It makes him scoff, and he’s frowning as he finishes eating his cereals. The frown only relaxes when Laura texts him again.
[9:12 pm] Laura: I’m available too! There’s a restaurant I’ve been wanting to try? Is that something you’d like to do?
The way that she texts sounds formal. It makes him laugh, and he finds himself replying,
[9:13 pm] Jungkook: wait, so then it’s a date date uh? [9:16 pm] Laura: Maybe?☺️ [9:17 pm] Jungkook: is 7 o’clock good for u?
He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He doesn’t usually do real dates, preferring hanging out at the girl’s place or inviting her over for one of the many parties they usually host. But he needs the distraction, right?
And when he’s texting Laura, he realizes he’s not thinking about you as much. It’s relieving after the last few days, and really, maybe he should just give her a chance.
Wednesday, July 11th
                Your therapist works in a building that’s surprisingly not too far from your internship. You were able to schedule an appointment for tonight, which is a relief.
You’ve been thinking about this weekend so much you haven’t been able to focus at the internship. So much so that you were stuck at the office later yesterday. You didn’t mind having to skip the dance practice though – you were glad you didn’t have to see Jungkook.
But now, it’s time for you to sort out your thoughts about the whole situation. As much as pretending that everything is fine can be fun, you also hate the way your mind wanders every night. Especially considering Jungkook never replied to your text last Sunday.
You feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. And maybe he is, and maybe all of this will be for nothing.
Well, not necessarily nothing, since it’s always good to get a grip of yourself.
You sigh, and you walk into the building right before a rain shower starts. You’re relieved you were able to avoid getting wet, and you walk to the front desk to give your name to the lady. She puts you in the computer and then tells you to sit in the waiting room. You thank her, and you’ve barely had time to sit when Mary comes to get you.
Mary’s office hasn’t changed one bit since the last time you sought her help in February. You sit on the same couch, and she offers you a glass of water as she greets you. And then she asks what brings you there.
At that you still. You freeze, like a deer in headlights, because for a moment you’re terrified of having to say the words aloud. Terrified to admit you felt something last Saturday, and you think you’ve already screwed it all up. She listens to you intently, and you watch her scribble on her pad as you do so. You’re tempted to read what she’s written; you’ve always wondered what it is that therapists write on that notebook of theirs.
Is she piecing out your soul the way that you feel like she is?
You tell her everything. You tell her about how Jungkook came back into your life, differently this time. You tell her about the dance practices, and about your internship too. You tell her about last weekend, and you reveal every little dirty thought your brain dared to think. Mary doesn’t judge, and when you’re done, the only thing she says is, “You’re really good at psycho-analyzing yourself”.
You reckon she’s right. Because you know exactly why you acted the way that you did – with the example your parents gave you of love growing up, it’s hard to actually love. It’s even harder to deconstruct it, to deconstruct the fear until you can build yourself back into someone that can love.
It’s not that you think you can’t. You love Jiho, Jisung and their family plenty. But it’s different when it’s love with a big L. It’s always been, and you’ve never once really wanted to change it.
But now you do. You’ve been using your fears to protect yourself from others for far too long.
Mary makes a plan with you. Nothing too big, but she does suggest scheduling another appointment next week. Because you knowing what you need to do is half of the work, yes, but you still need to put it into practice. You agree with her, and you leave her office feeling lighter than you’ve felt in days.
The plan is for you to ask Jungkook if you can talk. You have the option to wait until tomorrow at dance practice, or to text him tonight, just so he knows in advance that you want to talk to him. Mary favoured the latter, saying that it’d give him time to prepare if he has things to tell you too.
You have no idea if he does, but the moment on Saturday felt heavy. You doubt there’s been nothing on his mind since then… because you were there. You know how it felt like, under the stars and after that. And the whole weekend, if you’re honest to yourself. You doubt he was immune to it.
You decide to wait a little before you text him. Just to make sure you really are going to do this. Because it feels like you’re standing at the top of a cliff, and you’ve never been a cliff diver. No, you’re far too afraid of heights. But the fact that you haven’t been able to get Jungkook off your mind tells you enough: you’d jump off the highest cliff for him.
Because if you don’t risk it, what is there to win?
So it’s later that night, when you’re rewatching your favourite anime, that you find yourself pausing the show. You go to your messaging app, and heart beating out of your chest you type a message. Something simple, something straight to the point. Because the fact he ignored your last message says enough: Jungkook won’t cave in for apologies, especially not over text.
You settle on,
[9:31 pm] You: hey jk! can we talk tmrw after practice?😌
You press send before you can convince yourself that this is not a good idea, and anxiety blooms in every inch of you. It’s a foreign feeling: you’ve never been so anxious when it came to someone else before in your life.
Watching your favourite anime after that has never been so hard.
Thursday, July 12th
                You don’t want to go to practice. Everything feels like it’s going too fast and too slow at the same time: waiting for Jungkook to reply is excruciatingly long, and having to head to the dance studio is coming far too quickly.
Jungkook hasn’t replied. You texted Mary about it – she said to see in person if Jungkook wants to talk, but to also respect it if he doesn’t. It makes you far less hopeful than you were when you got out of her office yesterday, but you know she is right.
If this is his way of setting a boundary, you will have to respect. No matter how much it upsets you.
So it’s in an anxious state of mind that you make your way to the studio. You run into Jiho on the way, and you’re worrying at your bottom lip when she asks, “What’s wrong?”
Your steps falter a little, and you throw her a side glance. “Uh?”
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.
She knows that you used to see a therapist. But telling her that you saw Mary again about Jungkook feels like too big of a confession. It gives him too much power, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that. But you can tell some parts of the truth, can you?
“I’m going to try and talk to Jungkook tonight.”
Jiho remains suspiciously silent for a time. “Are you sure you want to talk to him?”
“I guess,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “I just feel bad about this weekend.” Jiho offers you a sad smile, as your eyes fall to the concrete in front of you. “It’s just like, I don’t know, I liked where last weekend was going and I don’t want it to go back to the way things were before.” You pause, already feeling a little lighter now that you’ve started talking to your best friend. “Like I know I got scared and all, but he’s actually pretty decent?”
Now, Jiho’s smile has turned knowing, and she nudges you with her elbow. “I think I saw that coming from miles away but I didn’t want you to kill me.”
“Uh?” you let out, feeling a little confused.
“Everyone always thought you two were into each other,” she admits, and she laughs loudly when you push her. “Exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” she says when her laughter subsides as you offer her a fake glare, lips jutting out in a small pout.
“I mean, I don’t even know if that’s where things are going,” you say. Your fear returns, and you’re back to nibbling on your lower lip. “Like, maybe I just fucked up too bad?”
“Did you talk since then?” Jiho asks.
You refuse to look at her when you reply. “No. He ignored my texts.”
From the corner of your eyes you see Jiho wince. Because she knows just as well as you what it probably means, and you don’t want to hear her say it.
“What did you tell him?”
You shrug your shoulders, trying to act as indifferent as possible. “Sunday I said that I was sorry, and I asked him if we could talk after dance practice yesterday.”
“And he said nothing?”
It’s rhetorical, so you remain silent. You’re reaching the bridge, and you know the conversation will soon come to an obligated end anyway.
“Babe…”  Jiho lets out carefully. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk to him.”
It makes you scoff. “I’ll be chill, don’t worry.”
“I’m not saying you won’t be,” Jiho says. She grabs your arm to make you stop. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk.”
You free your arm from her grip, though she was already letting you go. “I’ll ask. We’ll see. I just want to clear the air.”
Jiho holds your defiant gaze for a while, before nodding once. “Alright. Sounds good. You let me know what he says.” She pauses for a few seconds, before adding, “And we’re still on for Thirsty Thursdays after that.”
Of course you are, and of course you’ll tell her. She’s your best friend after all, and you don’t remember a time when you really hid anything from her.
It doesn’t stop your heart from aching in your chest as you near the studio.
*****
                Dance practice feels weird. You can’t help your eyes from diverting to Jungkook where he’s standing, next to the mirrors. He’s good at pretending he doesn’t feel your gaze on him, yet more than once you catch him already looking.
He looks good. He’s in paler clothes than his usual today – light blue jeans with an oversized white t-shirt – and his hair is ruffled by the way he keeps running his hands through it. He looks like he doesn’t care, almost. Because you can tell he’s anxious about something whenever you catch him pulling at his piercing, eyebrows slightly furrowed over his eyes.
You don’t know when you started being able to read him so well, but you surely can now.
He calls dance practice off earlier than his usual, and he still hasn’t really looked at you. You’re pretty sure everyone has noticed by now, especially considering the fact Jiho hasn’t really been subtle about it. She’s glaring at Jungkook most of the time, and he just shrugs his shoulders to her.
It’s weird. Something is off, but if you’re going to do this, you’ll do it, right?
It’s in that anxious state of mind that you approach him as everyone filters out. His hands are buried in his pockets and he’s leaning against the mirror. It’s like he’s waiting for you, and you figure maybe he did read your message after all.
The first few seconds of standing in front of him are far more awkward than anything you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. You don’t know what to say, don’t know where to start, and Jungkook’s head is hanging too low for you to be able to catch his gaze without invading his personal space. So you stay rooted in your spot, and you wait for him to look at you. It takes a while, but he eventually looks up.
You’re taken aback by the bitter annoyance his features hold. “What?”
You’ve written in your notes app what you wanted to say. You’ve even practiced it, but now you don’t remember a single word.
His eyes are sad. It’s the only thing that feels different on his features. The rest is all annoyed: his eyebrows are furrowed, the corners of his lips are pointing downwards. His shoulders are low, defeated, and he seems to realize it because he straightens and folds his arms on his chest.
“Uh,” you choke out against the anxiety that’s building up inside of you. “I just…”
“If you want to apologize again, I received your message last Sunday.”
You brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, before folding your arms on your chest too. “Why did you ignore me?”
He shrugs, shaking his head a little as he looks away. “I have nothing to tell you.”
“Jungkook, can you please not? We’re adults.”
“Yeah, and I’m choosing to not be talking with you. I’m sure you can respect that?”
You can. You definitely can. But at the same time you can’t. Not when he says it like that, like it’s some sort of an insult.
“Why are you overreacting like that?”
“Because I’m fucking embarrassed about last weekend!” he bursts. “I wish it never happened.”
It hurts. It stings and burns, and you hold your arms tighter against you. “You’re embarrassed? Is that why you said you wished we did it earlier?”
His gaze turns vicious, like he’s a viper waiting to strike. “See, that’s exactly why I do not want to talk to you. I don’t think we can be friends either. We’ve never been friends, like you oh so kindly reminded me, and that won’t change.”
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to relax, because this is not where you want this conversation to be going. “Listen,” you say after a few seconds of silence, “I really don’t want to be fighting with you. I just want to clear the air.”
“The air is cleared,” he says as you open your eyes to meet his fiery gaze again. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.”
You’re struck then. You feel like you either have the choice to confess or to stick to your anger. And you try to confess, you really do. It’s not like with Jiho – Jungkook was part of the moment Saturday, he was there with you under the stars. So it shouldn’t be too hard to tell him, to say you got scared.
You open your mouth to say the words, and shut it immediately as he scoffs.
“See, I don’t even think we should be speaking at all,” he says. There’s a fraction of a second when you’re convinced you can read pain in his gaze before he continues, “I’m actually seeing Laura, and I don’t want to fuck that up.”
Every word you’ve ever known vanishes from your mind. You just stand there for a moment, mouth hanging open, ears ringing as you look at him. You feel like you’re falling, or maybe you’re getting crushed. It’s hard to tell. It’s equally as hard to breathe, and your lungs burn as oxygen fills them.
“What?”
“I went on a date with Laura and I actually like the girl, I don’t want to fuck things up by talking to you,” he says, slowly, as if he needs to hammer every word into your head.
Laura? The girl from his class?
“Isn’t that the girl you told me you don’t care about?”
Your voice is somehow flat. Empty of the emotions it held just a few seconds ago.
“I went on a date with her and I like her,” he repeats as if you’re stupid and didn’t understand the first time around. As if your heart is not breaking in your chest, infinitely so.
You didn’t know how big your heart is until this moment, when every beat just breaks a little more, and all you can think to do is hold yourself tighter. As if it’ll stop the breaking.
“When?”
“Why do you want to know?” he asks, and his eyes fall shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose. You really do feel stupid then, stupid and foolish and everything in between. Like you’re a five-years-old that keeps messing her right from her left.
“I… how the fuck did you go on a date with her already, it’s been four days?”
“A lot can change in four days, Y/n,” he drawls.
You think your nails might be digging in your palms from how hard you’re clenching your fists. “Wow.”
The studio falls silent. It’s heavy, and maybe the silence is what’s been crushing you. Because you were expecting it – the moment you and Jungkook wouldn’t have anything else to tell each other. Because for everything you were willing to confess, now there’s just an empty spot inside of you.
You hold his gaze. He doesn’t look all that infuriated anymore. Defeated, yes, and maybe a little deflated. He looks like he didn’t expect the conversation to go there.
But you were right. Turns out you were right and you are too late. You can’t help but hate him for it.
“You don’t waste your time, do you?” you ask, and you scoff bitterly. “You fuck one girl and then another in just a few days. Suits you well.”
He rolls his eyes. “As I said, I wish we didn’t sleep together. If I could take last weekend back I would.” He shrugs then, shaking his head a little. “I’m sure you understand.”
You purse your lips, trying to keep them from trembling as you feel a lump form in your throat. “I can’t believe you’re already fucking some other girl.”
“Okay, Y/n, as if that’s going to change anything.”
You nod, and you find yourself fleeing his gaze. Because you don’t want him to see how you’re breaking inside. How every piece of you turns inside out, until you’re bleeding out standing there in front of him.
“Just…”
You think about the stars. You think about the way he led you in that dance, the way his eyes shone as he looked at you.
Jungkook is cataclysmic. He really is. And cataclysms are rarely good, are they? They can create, yes, the way the universe was once created, but they destroy. They destroy and destroy until nothing remains, until you just feel like you’re drowning and burning all at once.
“Save your breath,” he says. You think his gaze is shining again, and you don’t think it’s shining for the same reason that it was under the stars. “And I mean that in the most respectful way.”
“Right. As if that would ever sound respectful.”
He rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, whatever. I’m done here.”
It occurs to you that you’re about to watch someone you care about walk out of your life again. You want to reach out and hold him, to tell him how you feel, to say how everything has started to hurt, but you can’t. You can just look at him, hold his gaze until he makes the decision to go.
He’s gone before you’ve truly assimilated just how bad everything went. Just how far south things went, and how fiercely everything burns. And you stand there for a long time, holding yourself, waiting for the heartbreak to stop. But the thing with heartbreak is that it never fully stops, does it? You just learn to deal with it better.
It’s weird. You never thought you could be cold and burning at the same time. But if this is hell, then hell has frozen over because you’re shivering, just holding yourself.
You feel like you’re sixteen again, like you watched your dad walk out of your life again. Maybe because Jungkook really was the cataclysm to you, and now you’re stuck with the aftermath.
But you don’t cry. No, you hold the tears in. Force them to dry without having rolled on your cheeks, convince them that you don’t care. It’s something you’re good at. Pretending. Because maybe you’ve been pretending you hate Jungkook for a lot longer than you thought. Maybe that’s the reason why it hurts so bad.
But you won’t cry, no. You won’t cry for Jeon Jungkook.
You get home later that night, after having walked through a daze for the whole evening. You’re drunk, and you’re still aching from the inside out. Your phone is in your hand, and you’ve been on Jungkook’s conversation for so long without blinking that your eyes have fully gone dry.
You watch the text you’ve just sent, the only proof that you ever cared about Jungkook.
[2:31 am] You: i reall y wish things ddn’t go so bad
It takes you three days to realize it never delivered.
Friday, July 20th
                It takes Jungkook a little under two weeks to officialise things with Laura. It’s moving quickly, he’s aware of it, but he’s been trying to ignore the way he saw your heart break in your eyes. It seems the best way to do it is to watch feelings swell in someone else’s gaze, and so he asks Laura to be his girlfriend after their third date.
She says yes, beaming like she’s the sun personified.
Still, when Jungkook closes his eyes at night, all he sees is your heart breaking in your eyes.
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☆☆☆☆☆
yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh.. my bad. I really went far with this angst uh? What do we think? What's going to happen next?
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myjedimullet · 2 months ago
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Fanfic Idea #27
OG Avengers get turned back to when they first become heroes/plucked from time at the points where they become heroes
'When they become heroes' is pretty arbitrary and subjective, but for me (and for things I thought would be interesting plot-wise) I decided; Thor: when he decided to save the people in New Mexico; Nat and Clint: when they join SHIELD; Steve: when he decides to go save Bucky; Tony: when he decides to break out/defy the ten rings; and Bruce: when he decides to Hulk out and help the Avengers fight the alien invasion.
Bruce will be the only one who knows everyone like, "Hey, it's you guys. What's happening? I thought you all were in New York?" Probably when everyone is still hazy and waking up.
Nat will be confused and wonder if its shield but will then think, It's not them, they're the good guys they wouldn't pull something like this, like the red room. Then, Stop being naive. There are no real good guys, and some sort of internal struggle she's probably going through about getting out of one shady organization just to go work for another one. Its early enough in she's probably still second-guessing.
Steve - "WHERES BUCKY?!" (This comes across as angry all-caps, but I meant it to be intense all-caps. He was just gearing up to go against orders and do something reckless to hopefully save his bff's life, now he's here with random people, for all he knows he got hit on the head and is now captured by the enemy.)
Thor, "How did I get here? The people of New Mexico are in danger!" And trying to escape... if they're being held somewhere.
Clint will be tense and wondering where Coulson is and what the heck is going on. Also he won't know Nat, but Natasha will know him, causing confusion and suspicion.
Tony will be tense and anxious and like, Great, as if dying wasn't bad enough, I've gone crazy too. And that he had a plan to fix his heart and his situation, but if his mind is breaking under the pressure, he can't fix that. Also, he'll have the car battery powering his electromagnet, so he'll be painfully aware that he's only got so much time.
Listen, the idea of the team or friends learning that Tony's life was dependent on a car battery for however long will never not be prime angst and hurt/comfort fodder for me. Them seeing it? Even better. And I've never seen a fic with that, so I've got a lot of ideas that are basically an excuse to bring about that situation. Also, this is an idea that periodically still takes up residence in my head, so I have had some additional thoughts, as seen below.
▪︎ Maybe takes place after the Avengers have formed? Though the 'baby' Avengers won't know, as they've been taken out of time by some baddie--current idea is Amora the Enchantress, as they haven't used her yet in the MCU and she has magic, so explanation of how this occurs made easy
▪︎ Basically, evil plan is to steal Avengers from right after they become heroes, so, not only will the team not exist, they will only be remembered for the bad or mediocre (Sorry Steve (and Thor?) and Bruce, definitely Bruce. Fighting abomination was good and cool, but I'm guessing wrecking Harlem didn't earn many brownie points, no matter the good he did) things they did because the plan is to kill them all in one fell swoop after taking them from their times (this is more traditional time travel stuff than Endgame, obviously)
▪︎ So, magic circle or whatever is targeting the magic at a special room or something that is inescapable (the bad guys think), like no windows, doors, etc. This is where the 'baby' Avengers are.
▪︎ Meanwhile the Avengers of the present are preoccupied with fighting and/or being trapped and forced to watch their past selves interact (and possibly destroy themselves, since we've got some particularly distrustful individuals in the group) and be killed, thus watching their own demise. Then shenanigans will ensue and they will save themselves, in one way or another (both groups save themselves/past saves present/present saves past)
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madaboutmunson · 8 months ago
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Sunsets and Shadows
Prompt | "The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?"
WC | 700
Rating | T
CW | references mcd, grief, angst
Tags | Steddie, Past Steddie, Future Fic
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"The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?" It seemed as stupid a thing to say as it seemed the right.
It was, after all, the first thing he said to him all those years ago.
It was the first thing he'd say to him most days that summer of '85.
Eddie's response would usually be to jump out of his skin, drop the cigarette he was smoking, and call Steve all the curses he knew.
Then Steve would laugh, and Eddie would melt just like the colours would in the sky.
And wild as the wind, Eddie would push Steve into the dimming alleyway and plant a fast kiss on him hotter than the surface of the sun.
Eddie would offer Steve a ride most times, saving the planet, Eddie would say, but Steve knew why. He couldn't turn off and chicken out if he was in Eddie's van. Which he never did, but Eddie still thought he might.
And sometimes, even though he never told him, Steve could swear that he completely understood why he needed to always have his car with him. That somehow Eddie could read the million bad things that could happen racing through Steve's brain, and he'd just nod, smile, and chuck him a mixtape and a cigarette and be none the wiser about great hulking monsters or spores in tunnels under the ground.
It was a change for him, not having everyone and their mother knowing who he was dating. And it was a change for Eddie to be dating anyone at all.
But whether they ended up at Eddie's, Steve's, Rick's, or some secluded part of Hawkins, the prize was the same.
A few hours of exploring one another physically and mentally. 
Sometimes, he'd remind Eddie that the kids he knew would hit high school next year, and he felt terrible not being there to protect them because they were nerds. Eddie would reassure him there was plenty of room in his flock for a few more, kiss and pet over his hair and tell him not to worry as he lay on his chest in the moonlight. 
Sometimes, he'd even help Eddie study because they had a deal.
When Eddie graduated, they'd tell their friends, and the secret would be over. They would be free. Maybe they would move in together or find someplace more accepting.
But Eddie didn't make it to graduation. Neither did Chrissy, Jason, Fred, or Patrick.
"The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?" he repeated, his heart aching for Eddie to react or respond, but he was met with cold, harsh silence.
"Please, Eddie, don't shut me out. I'd take it back if I could. I'd do right by you. Keep you safe." Steve's voice trembled as he twisted the surprise bunch of wildflowers behind his back.
The sound of the van pulling up made him scramble to put the flowers in the holder next to Eddie's tombstone and grab his walking stick.
"I told you he'd be here," an annoyed voice said. "We could have saved ourselves half an hour if you'd just listened."
The second orderly scoffs at the first, "It's protocol. No one in their right mind would have expected him to hobble this far."
"Except for me."
"I said in their right mind." She shook her head before switching to her professional, cheery demeanour. 
"Mr Harrington, what are you doing all the way out here? We were all awfully worried. Come along now. Let's get you back safe and sound."
"Or we could just leave the lunatic here. I felt sorry for him at first, being so young and messed up but not crazy enough for Pennhust, though I would dispute that. Who the hell leaves flowers for a serial killer? Just because Harrington hasn't done anything yet doesn't mean he won't."
"He's not that young, and he needs our help. You know he forgets, or worse, remembers and gets stuck in the eighties."
Steve made his way over to the van and refused the assistance to get inside. 
As they drove back, he watched the sky. 
Like his heart, the sun sunk, but like their love, he knew it continued to shine somewhere.
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