#or maybe i was too scared to fall for him…

[vunblr]

Tangled (#3)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. I don't know if there will be eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: About 6.9k.

Previous Chapter

The sea was dark and quiet, just as he liked it. The moon carved silver shapes on the surface, and below, he moved like a shadow, gliding through the currents. His muscles were relaxed after the hunt, and the taste of salt and blood was still sharp in his mouth.

But as always lately, his course curved toward the cliffs, toward the stretch of shoreline he shouldn't care about. His sharp eyes caught the faint glimmer of warm, golden lights breaking through the dark, leaking out from the lair perched above the rocks.

So. She was awake.

Bucky floated just under the surface for a long moment, and his tendrils gently shifted with the waves as he watched the flicker of the soft lights.

His gaze narrowed.

Why did he care? Why was he here, lingering under her cliffs like some lost pup?

But he couldn't shake it. Since the first time she sat by his shore, and even more, since she’d seen him -since she’d survived him- there was a thread of restless curiosity winding tighter and tighter around him.

She had been brave. Stupid, but brave. And now, against his better judgment, he was curious about her.

He shifted in the water, and his pale skin blended almost perfectly with the foam around him, only the inky tips of his tendrils betrayed his shape as they rippled through the waves.

His gaze lifted again toward her den.

There was where she hid when she left his cave. He had guessed, of course, watching the path she took to climb back up, sometimes seeing her form disappear behind the shrubs and stones. But now, seeing the lights, the proof of her human life so close to his domain, it tugged at something inside him he didn't want to name.

Why do you watch, like she’s yours to guard?

He huffed at himself, and the sound was swallowed by the wind over the waves.

Maybe it was because she had left something of herself in his cave, two somethings now, the odd square and that strange dangling creature of yarn, bobbing gently with the sea breeze.

Still, he should’ve scared her worse. Should’ve made sure she wouldn’t dare return.

But he hadn’t.

Because a part of him -the part that remembered too well what it was to be caged and hunted and scared- understood why she looked at him the way she did.

His gaze hardened again as he let himself sink deeper under the surface.

She wasn’t safe, lingering so close to his cave. And neither was he letting her. Still, he couldn’t quite make himself turn away, lingering there, watching the light dance on the cliffside, imagining her moving around behind those windows.

Finally, with a low rumble deep in his chest, he turned, cutting through the water and vanishing into the dark, but not before one last glance over his shoulder.

She was there. Still within reach.

And that thought should not make him feel anything.

Yet it did.

----

The morning air was cold as she made her way down the narrow road toward town, and the sea breeze still clung to her clothes and hair from the walk. Her muscles ached faintly, a reminder of the other day’s fall, and of everything that had happened after. She tried to tell herself it had been some kind of dream. Maybe she had hit her head harder than she thought.

So, today, groceries. Normal things. Things that didn’t include staring into dark pools and meeting mythological creatures.

And yet, as she passed by the tiny, cluttered craft shop, her feet slowed almost on their own, and her eyes flicked to the display window. There it was. That particular shade of blue, the color of shifting tides and ink-dark tentacles. She stepped in, the tiny bell above the door giving a cheerful chime that felt at odds with her thoughts.

"Back so soon, dear?" the old woman behind the counter asked, peering at her over her glasses with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," she said, managing to sound casual. "Ran out of some shades I need. And, uh, thought I might try something new."

The woman hummed, watching her too closely as she plucked up the skein of blue yarn. As she paid, she hesitated, then leaned her elbows on the counter, trying to keep her tone light.

"So… that cave by the cliffs," she began, letting her gaze wander to the dusty shelves as if she wasn’t too invested. "You told me to be careful around there, right?"

The woman’s eyes sharpened immediately, all pretense of nonchalance gone. "Mhm. And?"

She shrugged. "Just curious why. I mean, it’s a nice spot. A little wild, but… safe enough. So why the warnings?"

The woman leaned in, dropping her voice slightly. "Because nice spots sometimes hide the worst things, that's why."

She blinked, raising her brows. "What do you mean? Like, dangerous animals?"

The woman gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not animals, girl. Things older than that. Things that don’t take kindly to strangers poking around where they shouldn’t."

She felt her throat go dry but pressed on, giving a small laugh, trying to sound like she wasn’t fishing for specific information. "You make it sound like there are sea monsters down there or something."

The old woman’s gaze didn’t waver. "That’s what some would call them, I suppose."

Her fingers tightened around the paper bag as she straightened. "Monsters?"

"Old stories," the woman admitted, but her tone said she believed every word. "About creatures in the caves under the cliffs. I was a girl when some of the older men swore they caught sight of something down there. They never spoke much about what they saw, but..." She gave a meaningful pause. "People talked. About things that weren’t quite human. About folks who went missing near the water. Strange marks on the rocks, long grooves like claws or something worse."

Her heart gave a slow, heavy thump.

"Of course," the woman added, softer now, "the men who told those stories are gone. Some think they just drank too much. But others…" her eyes pinned her in place "know better."

"So... what? You think something’s still down there?"

"Mhm," the woman hummed, leaning a little over the counter, lowering her voice like someone might be listening. "Not just of creatures in the water, but of them coming up to shore. Walking around on two legs, like you or me. Posing as human. You’d never know, they say. Not unless you catch them wrong, or see 'em too close."

Her throat dried.

The woman gave a small, almost knowing smile, as if she had seen too much, or heard too many things that didn’t add up over the years. "Some say they’ve even lived among us from time to time. Took wives. Husbands. Some of those folks didn’t last long. Others…" she trailed off, her eyes darkening, "...never quite right again."

She tried to laugh it off, though it sounded thin. "You mean like… selkies? Mermaids?"

"Not like the pretty stories," the woman snapped gently, but firmly. "Not those sweet things in fairy tales. They don’t want to be found."

Her heart thudded hard in her chest.

As the silence stretched, she forced a small smile. "Right. Well... thanks. I’ll keep that in mind."

The woman’s gaze persisted on her, as if she wanted to say more, but she simply nodded. "You do that."

With a soft murmur of goodbye, she left, the bell chiming behind her as she stepped out into the open air.

Her feet carried her through town on autopilot, but her mind was spinning. They don’t want to be found. The words echoed in her head, loud and clear.

As she made her way down the next street, she ducked into a small general store to pick up candles, she had learned the hard way during her first week that power outages happened more often than she expected near the cliffs. And with her luck lately, she'd rather be prepared.

She grabbed a few groceries as well -easy stuff to cook, snacks, tea- anything to avoid another trip for a while. Her thoughts stayed fixed on what she now knew as she checked out and carried her bags toward home.

----

Bucky was already at the shoreline when she arrived a couple of days later. He had waited, half-expecting -half-daring- her to show up at his cave one of those mornings. But clearly, she wasn't that foolish.

Still, foolish enough to eventually come back. To her usual rock, as if nothing had happened.

By the time she reached her usual spot, her mind was made up. She wasn’t going to give up her place by the rocks. It was her spot. Well, maybe not technically, but she had been coming here since she moved into that cottage, snd he hadn’t seemed to mind.

It was only when she wandered into the cave -his space- that things had escalated. She could admit that now. She had trespassed. And still, in the end, he hadn’t hurt her.

So, her logic went: if she stuck to her usual routine and didn’t go poking around in places she shouldn’t, she had nothing to worry about.

Right?

Still… she packed carefully before leaving the house. Her yarn, of course -and, after some internal debate- a box of strawberries.

And now, here she was, sitting on her usual rock like she hadn’t had the weirdest, most terrifying, most fascinating encounter of her life less than one week ago.

Hidden among the darker shadows of the stones, he watched her settle down, expecting her to start with her usual threading ritual. But instead, she pulled something unfamiliar from her backpack, some kind of translucent box that strangely caught the light. He narrowed his eyes as she popped it open and reached in, plucking something small and red.

His head tilted slightly as she bit into it, chewing slowly, with her gaze fixed on the waves. Meat? He sniffed the air. No, not flesh. It looked like some strange kind of coral, but soft... not from the sea. The scent carried to him on the breeze, sweet and sharp, something he couldn't place. Inland fruit? Something that grew in the dirt, far from his world.

He kept staring as she bit into it, juices wetting her lips, as her eyes lazily followed the waves without any care in the world. But then, damn that sun. He was being reckless. A cloud slid aside and a beam of golden light poured down, catching him squarely and turning his pale skin stark against the stone before he could shift his pigments.

Her eyes snapped to him, and for the first time, she didn’t pretend not to see.

She stared right back, unwavering, like she had half expected him. And then, casually as if they were old neighbors passing each other on the street, she waved again.

His throat rumbled, and a low hiss slipped through bared teeth before he could stop it, flashing the sharp glint of fangs.

But instead of recoiling or fleeing like she should, she just rolled her eyes, as if he was nothing more than some territorial gull trying to scare her off. A very dangerous, very deadly gull, but still.

Then, to his confusion, she lifted the container and tilted it toward him, as if offering to share its contents. He didn’t move from his place, half-coiled near the rocks, eyes sharp and narrowed as he stared at her, unmoving.

Still, some small, stubborn part of him, buried deep under layers of instinct and distrust, couldn’t help but feel... curious.

“They are good, you know? No spells or tricks, since I’m already eating them,” she said casually, her voice carried by the breeze, soft and calm, too calm for someone talking to a creature like him.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. His sharp teeth pressed lightly against each other as he stared at her, unmoving, suspicious.

No spells or tricks, she claimed.

As if he should just believe that. As if she hadn't already wandered too close, already seen too much.

To her surprise -and, okay, maybe a little bit to her terror- he started moving.

Slow, deliberate. Tendrils sliding over rocks in smooth, predatory grace. Getting closer. She fought the urge to scoot back, refusing to let fear dictate her actions. This was a game of trust now, wasn’t it? He hadn’t hurt her when he could have. And she had kept his secret.

She tilted her head at him when he stopped, popping another piece of the red thing into her mouth, watching him with an unfazed expression. Like she thought offering him this strange food would be enough to pacify him.

And yet...

The scent wafted toward him again. Sweet, sharp, foreign. It was tempting. Not because he trusted her, but because he had never seen something like it. Never tasted anything that didn’t come from the ocean depths.

Every instinct in his body screamed danger, screamed that this was a trap, that humans never offered something for free unless they wanted something in return. His narrowed gaze slipped from her mouth to the box, to her hands. If she wanted to trick him, she wouldn’t be sitting there like that... right?

A quiet, annoyed hiss slid past his teeth. He could take her down in an instant if she tried anything. Crush her fragile body, pull her under the water, and let the waves claim her before anyone knew.

So why was he hesitating?

He pushed forward, slow and deliberate. First, a tendril, curling over a stone. Then another, pulling him closer with a smooth, powerful movement. The closer he got, the more she tensed -he could feel it- but she didn’t move away.

A small, reckless part of him found that amusing.

The water lapped quietly against the rocks, and he paused just a few feet away, looming half out of the water, with his tendrils sliding in the wet sand and over the stone. His pale chest glistened where droplets clung to his skin, and his dark hair hung heavy and wild over his shoulders.

He looked from her face to the box again, narrowing his eyes.

“What is it?” he rasped, low and rough from the disuse of his voice, but the words were clear enough.

She blinked, surprised that he spoke, but then smiled just a little.

“Strawberries,” she said softly, holding one up for him to see. “They’re fruit. Sweet.”

He stared. Fruit. Something from the land...

He shifted closer still, curling his tendril around the rock at her feet, flicking his sharp eyes between her hand and her face as if daring her to move wrong.

“…Try?” she offered, gently.

His gills flexed along his ribs, unsure. But he was closer now. And he was already here. A long pause, then one pale hand reached out, and plucked the small red thing from her fingers, careful not to graze her skin, though his knuckles brushed her wrist like the brush of seaweed in passing.

He held it up to his face, inspecting it, sniffing it warily. Soft. Strange. Smelled like nothing from the sea. Still watching her from the corner of his eye, he slowly brought it to his mouth and bit, sharp teeth slicing easily through the tender fruit.

Sweet. Tart. Strange.

His brows furrowed slightly, as though confused. But he didn't spit it out. He ate it quietly, and sat back on his tendrils, as though deciding whether he liked it or not. When he swallowed, his dark eyes returned to hers, searching.

“…More,” he finally said, rough, reluctant.

Her lips twitched in the faintest smile. “Sure,” she said, nudging the box toward him.

He took another, slower this time, watching her like a hawk. Because she was dangerous. He knew that. But, so was he.

----

He ate three more, and she began to wonder if maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to offer him fruit in the first place. After all, she had no clue what his body could handle. His digestive system couldn’t possibly be the same as a human’s, what if too much made him sick?

"Um... maybe that's enough for now," she said carefully.

His eyes snapped to hers, narrowing in a way that sent a chill down her spine. As if to challenge her, he deliberately plucked another one from the container and ate it, watching her like he was daring her to object.

"You may get sick," she tried again, frowning a little.

The moment the words left her lips, she saw his entire demeanor shift. His expression darkened, storm clouds gathering behind his eyes, and one of his tentacles smacked the water with a sharp thwap, making her flinch.

Clearly, he had taken that as a threat.

"No, wait! I'm not threatening you," she quickly clarified, raising her hands in a calming gesture. "You’ve never eaten this before... I’m just saying, maybe if you eat too much, it could..." she hesitated, searching for a word, "...hurt you."

His gaze focused on her, unblinking. She could almost feel him analyzing her words, weighing them.

Then, to her surprise, he pressed a hand to his stomach as if considering her warning. "Bad?" he asked, voice rough and uncertain.

She relaxed with some relief when she realized he wasn't angry anymore, just wary, like a wild animal trying to figure out if she was lying. "Maybe," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about it when I offered. I guess I thought... I don't know, some pet fish eat fruit..."

Her attempt at explanation was met with a sudden outrage.

"No fish!" he snapped, slapping a hand hard against his chest in an unmistakable display of indignation. His eyes blazed, and he leaned forward like she had insulted him on a deeply personal level.

"Okay! Okay!" she blurted out quickly, raising her palms in surrender. "You're not a fish. Definitely not a fish.”

He kept glaring at her for another long second, as if making sure she understood the gravity of her mistake.

"I'm sorry," she added, softening her voice. "I didn’t mean to offend you. I just... I don’t know what you eat."

That seemed to deflate some of the tension. He clicked his teeth, almost thoughtfully, though she could see how his fingers kept turning the last berry over and over, inspecting it like it might reveal a secret.

"You eat...?" she asked, carefully, realizing it might be a loaded question.

He didn't answer right away, but his eyes sharpened, reading her easily, as though he could see the direction of her thoughts.

"Hunt," he finally grunted, jerking his chin toward the sea. "Meat."

Yeah. She had figured that much, but hearing him say it so bluntly still made her pulse jump a little.

"I just thought..." she tried to clarify, gesturing to the almost empty container of fruit. "Too much of this could make you feel bad. It's not meat. It’s fruit. A plant."

He seemed to consider that, glancing down at the berry he still held. With a low grunt, he flicked it into the water, watching as it bobbed away.

"Good," he muttered at last as if grudgingly admitting it.

Then he fixed her with a sharp look, touching his chest, and repeating firmly, "Not fish."

Her lips twitched in a faint smile. "No. Not a fish."

Something in his expression shifted, softening slightly, not quite a smile, but something that hinted at less hostility.

----

They looked at each other in silence, a strange quiet that neither seemed to know how to break. His eyes never left her, sharp and assessing, while her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the container, unsure of what to say next. Then, suddenly, something clicked in her mind. A small revelation that maybe, maybe, could help bridge the strange gap between them.

She extended her hand toward him, palm up, in a soft, tentative gesture that made him tense immediately, tendrils twitching warily against the rocks.

"My name is Y/n," she said clearly.

His eyes flicked from her hand to her face, confused.

"You're supposed to give me your name and shake my hand," she added with a small, nervous smile. "It's how we... humans, you know, introduce ourselves. To say we're not enemies."

Still, he didn't move. His gaze dropped back to her hand, watching it like it was a trap, like if he touched her, she would somehow bind him with her strange land-dweller magic.

She could see him thinking, the way his jaw tightened, how his pupils thinned as though weighing something dangerous. Names, she realized, were probably no small thing to him. Names held meaning. Names gave power.

But... she had given hers freely. She watched as slowly, very slowly, he seemed to come to a decision.

His hand, larger and rougher than hers, reached out. He wrapped his cool fingers around her smaller hand with a carefulness that surprised her, as though unsure how much strength to use.

"...Bucky," he murmured at last, voice hoarse and reluctant.

Her smile brightened, though she kept still, not wanting to spook him. "Hi, Bucky," she said softly, like a small victory.

He gave her hand a single, brief shake -awkward and stiff, but it was more than she thought she would get- before pulling away again, retreating slightly like he was unsure why he had agreed to it the first place.

"So..." she ventured, cautious but curious. "That’s how we do it. But what about you? How do your kind greet each other?"

For a moment, his brow furrowed, and the sharp line of his jaw tightened as if the question brought something heavy to mind. His kind. It had been so long since he'd seen anyone like himself if any were left at all. Still, after a moment of silence, he moved.

Slowly and deliberately, Bucky lifted his hand and pressed the palm gently to his chin, fingers brushing along the line of his jaw. Then he turned the hand outward, offering it to her, open.

She blinked, watching the fluid motion with growing fascination.

"Oh," she murmured softly, processing it. "Like this?"

She mirrored the gesture, touching her chin and then extending her palm toward him. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, almost playful but respectful.

His sharp eyes studied her, tilting his head slightly as if appraising her effort. Then, to her quiet surprise, the tension in his posture seemed to ease. They had shared something. Something old, something from his world.

Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of approval, though his tendrils still curled and flexed over the rock like restless cats' tails.

She let the silence stretch a little longer, watching as his gaze flicked out toward the horizon, where the sun was dipping low and painting gold over the waves.

"So... Bucky," she ventured softly, careful not to spook him, "how long have you... um, lived here?"

His eyes snapped back to her, sharp and unreadable. The question seemed simple, but something in it made him tense, tendrils pausing their slow movements. Still, he tried. His jaw worked for a moment before he rasped out, "Long."

She nodded, encouraging. "Long like... a lot of years?"

His brow furrowed, and his lips pressed into a tight line. His hand came up, spreading his fingers as if trying to measure something in the air before giving up with a small frustrated snort.

"Before," he said at last, voice rough. "Before... them."

Her brows drew together, but she didn't press on that yet. Instead, she offered a soft smile. "Okay. Before. Got it."

He watched her, weary, but there was a faint sense of surprise too, like he hadn't expected her to accept so little.

She decided to keep it light. "Do you always watch people from the water? Or am I just special?" she teased gently, tilting her head, trying to coax some response.

His eyes narrowed a bit, but not in anger, more like confusion, as if unsure if she was mocking him. "Watch," he said simply, tapping two fingers under his eye, then gesturing at her. "You... strange."

Her laugh escaped before she could stop it, light and breathy. "I'm strange?"

He tilted his head again, tendrils curling a bit tighter. "Sit alone. By sea. Make... things." His eyes flicked toward her bag, where her yarn peeked out.

"Oh... the crocheting." She smiled and reached to pull out a small ball of yarn, holding it up. "Yeah, I guess that's strange. Most people don’t hang out near creepy caves and make jellyfish coasters."

Bucky’s gaze followed her fingers, watching the yarn, but he didn't respond. His hands flexed slightly, and she wondered if it was nerves or restlessness.

"Why?" he asked abruptly, startling her a little.

"Why what?"

"Why... here?" His voice was low, and rough, as if dragging words up from somewhere deep and unused.

She blinked, then smiled softly, realizing this was the closest thing to an actual conversation they had.

"I like the sound of the sea," she admitted. "It’s... peaceful. Easier to breathe out here."

His head tilted again, studying her like she was a puzzle.

She took a breath, feeling a little braver. "And you? Why do you watch me?"

He hesitated. His lips twitched, but no words came out. After a moment, he glanced away, as if embarrassed. "Don’t know," he muttered finally waving his hand. "You... stay."

She blinked, unsure what to make of that. "Yeah... I stay," she echoed gently, offering him a small smile. "You noticed that, huh?" She hesitated, but curiosity pushed her forward. "Bucky... what do you call yourselves? Your kind, I mean. Not what humans say."

His expression darkened instantly, sharp as a blade. The calm manner in which he’d been watching her moments ago turned to something heavier, and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

"You call... ce-cecaelia," he said finally, like forcing the word out.

"Yeah, I know," she pressed gently, tilting her head, carefully. "But you. What do you call yourselves?"

For a heartbeat, she thought he might answer. His eyes flicked away, toward the water, the tendrils around him curling tighter, restless. Then, sharp and clipped, he growled.

"No."

The word cut through the air like a slap.

She froze, watching as his body tensed, and a storm brewed behind his eyes again. His gaze flicked back to her, colder now, as if warning her off the subject.

"Okay," she said quickly, lifting her hands in a soft gesture of surrender. "Okay. I won’t ask again."

The tension in his arms eased just a fraction, but the wall between them had been reinforced.

She sighed, realizing that, as much as they were starting to see each other, there were still oceans of distance between them.

Still, she stayed. And he didn’t make her leave.

----

"Well..." she said softly, reaching for her bag, "I’ll just work a little before I go."

Her voice was light, like she wasn’t sitting a few feet away from a dangerous creature, a creature who had just reminded her how little she knew about him and how much he could hide.

She pulled out her yarn and hook, choosing a soft neutral color this time, and set to work. Simple coasters, nothing fancy. Something she didn’t need to think too hard about, letting her hands work while her mind stayed alert to the figure near the rocks.

Bucky stayed where he was, watching her.

Conflicted.

Part of him felt… oddly disappointed. She was ignoring him now, turning away as if she didn’t care to know more. Well, it was him who made it happen. The questions stirred things in him he wasn’t ready to face. Memories that were better left at the bottom of the sea.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her hands moved gently, with a cadence that was almost… calming. Familiar, even, in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest.

He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until a stray tendril brushed the edge of her bag, curling just slightly before he snapped it back with a small flick.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye but said nothing, as if pretending she hadn’t noticed.

Good.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to explain what he was doing there, watching her, hovering like some unsure shadow. Still, when her hands stilled for a moment to adjust the yarn, his eyes locked on them, fascinated despite himself.

So strange, these human rituals. But soothing to watch.

She felt it before she saw it, that subtle shift of the air, the faint scent of brine and salt-soaked skin. When she lifted her head, his face was right there, startlingly close, watching her hands work with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

Her breath hitched, and she blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by his nearness.

His gaze flicked from her eyes to her hands, then back again, and after a long pause, he tilted his head slightly and gestured at the yarn with a tendril that curled in the air, hesitant.

"...What?" he rasped.

"This?" she asked gently, holding up her half-finished piece so he could see.

He gave a sharp, impatient nod.

She smiled. "It’s a coaster. Something you put under a cup. To protect tables and stuff."

His brow furrowed. "Cup?"

She blinked, realizing that might not be something he had. "Um... to drink from?" She mimed holding a glass to her lips.

Understanding flickered in his eyes, though he still looked faintly puzzled.

She chuckled softly, glancing down at her work. "It's just... something small. Easy to make. Not dangerous, I promise."

He leaned in a little closer, inspecting it now, shifting his tendrils restlessly on the rocks beside her as if wanting to reach but not daring. For a long moment, he just stared at the piece of yarn art in her hands. Then, as if pronouncing the word was a battle, he murmured, "...Pretty."

Her eyes widened slightly, heat blooming in her cheeks at the unexpected compliment, or at least, what felt like one.

"Thanks," she whispered, meeting his gaze again, softer now.

His shoulders tensed, as though realizing he'd revealed too much, and he sat back a little, though not enough to create real distance. His eyes stayed on her hands, watching every movement like he was trying to decipher a language he used to know and had long forgotten.

"Want me to make you one?" she asked quietly, half-teasing but also a little serious, remembering what transpired in the cave.

At first, he didn’t seem to react to her offer. His gaze stayed fixed on her hands, following the slow dance of her fingers over the yarn. She thought he might not have understood, or maybe he just didn’t care.

But then, almost reluctantly, he gave a small nod. "Yes.”

She blinked, a little surprised. "Alright," she murmured, smiling faintly, "I'll make one for you."

As she worked, looping and pulling the yarn, she felt him shift beside her, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught the slow, deliberate motion of his tendrils stretching along the rocks.

At first, she thought he was just getting comfortable. But as minutes passed, she realized his long, powerful limbs were spreading out in a wide circle, inching their way around her. By the time she dared to glance up at him again, she realized she was nearly surrounded.

His tentacles lay sprawled on the rocky floor, not quite touching her, but close enough that she could feel the cool, coming off them. Like a living fence, fluid and silent, encircling her while she worked.

She swallowed, trying to keep her hands firm. "You are really into ignoring personal space, huh?" she muttered, half to herself, though her voice came out a bit more breathless than she wanted.

His eyes flicked to hers, tilting his head slightly, as if not understanding. Then, he just kept watching, unmoving, while his tendrils coiled loosely, some of them draping over the rocks just inches from her legs.

She licked her lips, glancing at his face. His expression was calm. Intense, yes, but not hostile. More like… he was studying her.

Letting out a quiet breath, she focused back on her work. "Okay, big guy," she whispered under her breath. She tried to keep her breathing calm, moving her fingers carefully as she worked, but he was impossible to ignore.

Her eyes flicked sideways again, taking in the way one thick tendril coiled lazily around a jutting rock, as the tip twitched slightly like it had a mind of its own. Another rested just near her ankle, close enough that if she shifted even a little, she’d brush against it. 'Okay... stay calm', she thought, focusing on looping the yarn, 'he hasn’t hurt you. He let you go from the cave, remember?'

After a while, she dared to lift her head, only to find that his face was much closer than before. Close enough that she could see the little constellation of freckles scattered on his cheek near his ear, the slight shimmer of seawater still clinging to his skin, and the way his eyes -sharp, intense, and curious- searched hers for something. Her breath caught for a second, and she instinctively leaned back, only to realize there wasn’t much room left behind her.

His tendrils sprawled wide, blocking most of her easy escape paths. "It seems you got all comfortable," she commented with a nervous little smile curling her lips. Still no answer. Just that sharp, unreadable gaze. "Okay then..." she whispered, returning her focus to the coaster, though her fingers stumbled once before picking up their rhythm again.

----

What she didn’t know was that, for once, he was content. Or as close to content as he could remember being.

Because she was making something for him, without him asking, without him demanding it. She had offered. And that small gesture of willful giving, rather than fearful compliance, stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He told himself it was just boredom. Just curiosity. It had been so long since he spoke to anyone, even longer since anyone sat near him like this, acting like he was something other than a monster, even his own kind. Sadly, she was human. Fragile. Foolish.

Still, there was something about her that pulled him, like puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. A part of it was her scent. Something that made his senses prick with restless curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, watching her hands move with that odd grace over the yarn before something in him decided he needed to understand what that scent was.

So he did what felt natural to him, he leaned in, slow but deliberate, until his nose was just a breath away from her head, inhaling deeply.

The reaction was instant.

She jolted with a startled gasp. His own reaction was just as quick, pure instinct snapping into place, tendrils shooting forward to wrap firmly around her wrists, pinning them against the rocky surface before she could even think to pull away.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Her breath came fast, her heart pounded under her skin, and his grip tightened fractionally before he realized what he was doing.

Narrowing his eyes, he growled lowly -more at himself than at her- but didn’t release her immediately. Instead, he watched her face closely, as if searching for something in her wide, surprised eyes.

"...sorry," she breathed out, though she wasn’t sure why she was apologizing when he was the one with the tentacles wrapped around her wrists.

Her voice seemed to break through whatever fog had overtaken him. Slowly, reluctantly, the tendrils loosened and slid away, though they remained close, coiled with barely restrained tension.

"You startled me," she managed to say. "Getting that close suddenly without warning." she exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

He tilted his head slightly as if weighing her words, and something about her tone seemed to click in his mind. She could see it in the way his shoulders loosened a bit like he understood, and let her wrists go.

"Alright," she sighed, glancing at him sideways. "But what… what were you trying to do, anyway?"

For a moment, he looked like a child caught with his hand in a jar, a flash of something vulnerable crossing his features before he quickly masked it, trying to appear unaffected.

He raised a hand, almost stiffly, and gestured to his temple. "Scent," he said simply, watching her closely for her reaction.

"Oh," she breathed out. Okay… scent. That made sense. A lot of animals use scent to learn things about others. Maybe his kind did too. She blinked at him, then offered a small, almost amused smile. "Alright, I get it. Scent is important."

He seemed to relax a fraction more, but there was still a tense curiosity in the way he held himself, waiting to see if she'd bolt or scold him again.

She tilted her head slightly in thought, looking at him, then -deciding to leap- she reached up, sweeping her hair to one side and exposing the curve of her neck. "Well… now that I’m aware of your intentions," she said lightly, quirking her lips  into a half-smile, "do you wanna try again?"

The offer clearly caught him off-guard.

His eyes widened, and his pupils dilated slightly, and, for a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Watching her like she was some strange, fascinating thing.

What she didn't realize, was that to him, this wasn’t just an invitation. The way she tilted her head, exposing her throat so casually, and shifting her hair aside, was a gesture of trust and vulnerability. And, among his kind, a subtle but unmistakable signal of courtship, offering one's scent in a way that said look at me, know me, choose me.

His teeth clicked together once, a sharp little sound he barely managed to suppress.

She caught the sound and blinked, uncertain. "What?"

He shook his head quickly, though his eyes were still locked on the tender skin of her neck. Slowly, as if testing how far she would let him go, he leaned in again. This time, there was a different air in his movements, they were careful, deliberate. His breath ghosted over her skin as he inhaled, and one of his hands, hovered like he was tempted to grab her but didn’t dare.

She swallowed and felt her pulse fluttering fast under his gaze.

His nose brushed lightly against her neck as he drew in another breath, slower this time. When he pulled back, his eyes had softened just a little, though they were still sharp, and curious and there was something else, something she couldn’t quite read.

She let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

"Better?" she asked, a little breathless.

He nodded once, never breaking the eye contact.

"Better," he echoed, low and rough.

She exhaled slowly, toying absentmindedly with the yarn in her lap, but her mind was already spinning with the moment they had just shared. Then, before she could think better of it, she found herself saying, "Well… since you got to smell me, I think it's only fair I get to do the same."

His eyes widened, blinking at her like he wasn’t sure he heard right.

"I mean…" she shrugged, a crooked little smile pulled at her lips. "Seems like the polite thing to do, right?"

He stiffened. His head tilted slightly, with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

She noticed it, of course. "What?" she asked, teasing to soften the moment. "Are you scared?"

At that, his gaze snapped back to hers, sharp and narrowed. "No," he grunted, frowning, but there was a flicker of something else.

She leaned a little closer, amused now, "C’mon… it’s only fair," she said softly, holding his gaze. "I let you get this close, didn’t I?" She gestured to her neck, and her cheeks warmed at the memory of his breath ghosting over her skin. "It’s not like I’m gonna bite you."

He huffed through his nose and then, with an almost reluctant grumble, he shifted closer, but slower this time.

She smiled gently, trying not to startle him. "Okay… your turn," she whispered, as if speaking too loudly would shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between them.

Tentatively, he tipped his head forward, lowering himself just enough for her to reach. His hair was still damp, smelling faintly of salt and something sharper, darker, like deep water and stormy tides.

She hesitated for a moment, but curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in, mimicking what he had done, and inhaled gently near the side of his neck, careful not to touch him. The scent was strange but not unpleasant, wild and raw but surprisingly human.

When she pulled back, she smiled, tilting her head. "See? Not so bad. It was the fair thing to do, after all."

He stared at her, with unreadable eyes. Then he nodded, the smallest of motions. "Fair," he murmured.

She chuckled, and that seemed to make him relax just a fraction. Inside though, her heart was still racing, because she couldn’t ignore the way something electric had passed between them, something unsaid but very tangible.

And it seemed neither of them quite knew what to do with it.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[bruthaewwwww]

Paige finally decides to tell Drew that A is her girlfriend. She knows Drew loves Azzi — maybe a little too much — and she’s scared of how he’ll react. When she finally says it, Drew’s face falls. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and his voice cracks when he asks, “So… does this mean Azzi’s gonna start liking you more than me?” His fear isn’t about Paige being happy — it’s about losing the special bond he has with Azzi....

Do you like Paige more then me?

A/n - hey guys this was fun to write! Send more requests! It’s just a little blurb

Before going to visit Paige’s family for summer vacation, Azzi and Paige had talked about telling the family about their relationship. Paige knew her dad would approve but she was worried about drew. She knew that Drew would love her no matter what but she also knew that he had a crush on Azzi. It was just a little boy thing because he grew up around her and who wouldn’t like her? It still made Paige nervous though. 

———

Drew’s little feet carried him out of the house and onto the lawn as his dad, Paige, and Azzi exited the car and started unpacking for their summer break. 

“Paigey!” Drew shouted as she ran up to her.

“Hey buddy I missed you!” Paige brought her brother into a tight hug. After the brief connection with his sister drew focused his attention on Azzi. 

“Azzi! Guess what!” Drew said, coming up to her and grabbing her hand to lead her into the house. Even though she was carrying a suitcase, she had to put it down.

“What drewski?” Azzi asked with genuine care for the young boy.

“I knew you were coming and I got you flowers!” He pulled out a bouquet of pink flowers that he had clearly had help picking out. “Paige said they were your favorite so it’s technically from the both of us.”

“Awee that’s so sweet drew!”

Paige came up behind them, a suitcase in hand. Placing her hand around Azzi’s waist and on the small of her back she looked at Azzi with love. 

“Hey, Azzi wanna come see my room?” The words pulled Azzi out of the trance she was in from Paige’s touch. “I changed it recently.”

“Of course bud” Azzi smiled at the young boy. She had grown up with him. He was almost like another little brother. 

“Hey, Drew.” The words left Paige’s mouth quickly and sounded a little rushed. “Azzi and I want to talk to you while we’re in there.” Azzi looked at Paige with understanding. The conversation about their dating would finally be something they would share with Drew.

“Ok.” Drew didn’t acknowledge what his sister had said and went right to his room pulling Azzi behind him.

Drew showed Azzi around the room where he had moved his bed and added two new posters to his wall. 

“Isn’t it awesome?” His toothless smile looked up at her. 

“Drew it’s so cool!” Azzi laughed with drew about some of the old pictures around his room including a young photo of Paige he had kept.

“Hey Drew why don’t you sit I need to tell you something.” As the words left the blonde mouth, Azzi moved over by the door so that she way near by but they still had space. A nervous expression creeped across Drew’s face.

“Did I do something wrong?” Drew looked up at Paige with big brown eyes. “No buddy I just want to tell you something. I love Azzi and she is my girlfriend. I wanted to tell you because you’re my brother and I love you.” Drew’s expression turned into an obvious frown. 

“Does this mean Azzi doesn’t like me anymore? I thought she liked me better.” Paige laughed but secretly she thought it was so sweet how much Drew valued his relationship with Azzi. At this point Azzi left her spot by the door and went over to Drew and picked him up. “Drew how could you say that?” She laughed in a way that Paige could never forget. She was so lucky she found someone who cared not just about her but her family. Azzi continued talking while Paige was lost in thought.

“Of course you’re still my favorite don’t be silly.” Azzi stuck her tongue out at Paige after she said it. “I love Paige differently that how I love you. I love you like a brother.”

Drew smiled but looked at ask with confusion. “So than what kind of way do you love Paige?” Azzi looked at Paige with a smile. “You’ll know one day buddy.” Paige said as she planted a kiss on Azzi’s temple. 

[differenteagletragedy]

Part three of the one where Price is your neighbor and he falls in love with you but you already have an awful boyfriend :(

Here is PART ONE and here is PART TWO, thank yooou <3

John can't hold back his smile as he sits across from you in the little coffee shop where you brought him -- a quaint, cozy little place, with cute wicker chairs he'd half-worried he'd snap in half when he sat down.

"What?" you ask him, your own smile brightening your pretty features.

"Nothing," he replies, still grinning softly. Of course it's not nothing -- it's everything, seeing you smile just for him. He imagines laying all his cards out for you, telling you to leave the worthless man living with you and to be with him instead, but the timing isn't right, so instead he points a finger at your drink, saying, "Just never seen a coffee look quite like that."

You look down at your drink, an iced coffee that's more white than black, with flavored syrup along the side and whipped cream on top, and John swears he sees a little bit of red pop up on your cheeks as you shrug.

"I just like it sweet," you tell him. "Aiden makes fun of me for it too."

His jaw clenches at the mention of the boyfriend, and he leans in just a little bit closer over the small table, careful not to make the moment too intense while still making sure you hear him.

"Not making fun of you, sweetheart," he says quietly. "I think it's ... cute."

Your eyes light up at the tiny compliment, and you giggle, a beautiful sound that John is sure he could become addicted to.

"'Cute'?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow playfully. There's a bit of teasing in your tone, and if he didn't know better, he'd think you were flirting. "I never thought I'd hear you describe something as 'cute.'"

"And why not?" he asks, pretending to be indignant. "What's wrong with me finding it cute?"

"No problem with you finding it cute, it's just ... " she trails off, gesturing at him, then says, "Big tough strong army man, you know? You've just never struck me as, I don't know. A connoisseur of cute."

God, you're adorable. So much that John can't help but lean in a little further, his hands coming to circle his own cup of coffee.

"Lot of things you don't know about me, love."

If John had it bad for you before, he's completely gone after that coffee date -- because that's precisely what it felt like, a date. The boyfriend topic didn't come up again, and instead you talked everything else. You told him all about your job, and he told you a little about his. You shared little tidbits of your life, the people in it and the things you filled it with, and he mentally took note of everything, cataloging it all away.

Slowly and surely, he's building a little secret chamber in his mind, or maybe his heart, all full of you.

Unfortunately, there's only so long a friendly neighbor coffee run can last, and all too soon, he's opening the door of the shop for you and following behind you as you lead the way back to your car. He opens the car door for you as well, but on impulse, just before you climb in, he stops you with a gentle hand on your elbow.

"I'd like to show you something," he says softly. "Can I?"

Soon, he's the one behind the wheel of your car, with you seated next to him, looking out the window curiously as he passes the town limits.

"You promise you're not kidnapping me?" you ask, looking over to him with a playful smirk that has his hand flexing where it rests on the gear shift, fighting the urge to reach out and rest it on your thigh instead.

He forces a tight smile, glancing at you once more before focusing back on the road, and replies, "If I were kidnapping you, pet, you'd bloody well know it."

There's that giggle again, music to his ears, and he feels a rush of pride at knowing you trust him enough not to be scared of him. He knows he's an imposing man, but he'd sooner die than hurt you, and he's pleased to know that, at least on some level, you recognize that.

It doesn't take long for John to reach his destination, and when he parks by the road, you look out the window for a moment, then back to him, a puzzled expression on your face.

He smiles softly and nods to the door, gesturing for you to get out. When you do, he meets you in front of the car, offering his arm out to you, which you take. Feeling your delicate hand holding onto him, he guides you to the small hillside by the road where he'd pulled off.

"You wanted to show me ... grass," you said. "I gotta tell you, John, this isn't really inspiring me to want to hang out with you more."

He chuckles, starting up the little hill, and tells you, "The thing about hills is that there's something on the other side, yeah? Something you can't see, but if you just have a little bit of faith ..."

He trails off, watching your face as you get to the top of the hill. He sees you positively beam when you see the field of wildflowers below, hidden from the road by the higher ground of the hill.

"John!" you exclaim, finally looking up at him. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Well, love, I may not be a ... what did you call it? A 'connoisseur of cute.' But I do know a thing or two about appreciating something beautiful."

It's a line, and he knows it. This whole thing, driving you out to this field full of pretty flowers -- a place he'd found by accident one difficult night when he'd gone for a long walk because he couldn't sit still in his apartment without going mad -- is a move, pure and simple. But when your smile softens and you shift your body to face his, it feels like it's working.

Just for a moment, he lets his eyes fall down to your lips, full and smooth and positively biteable, and in that moment, your hand falls from his arm, only to tentatively slide up to his shoulder. His own hands come to your waist, high enough to be polite but firm enough that his intentions are clear.

He wants you. Desperately, completely. And now, he can see that at least part of you wants him too, boyfriend or not.

"John, I ..." you sigh, your gaze dropping down to his chest, and he feels your hand gently fisting the fabric of his jacket. "I can't."

"You can," he argues softly, his voice a low murmur. "You only have to do it."

You meet his eyes again, and he can see the turmoil there. He's in deep enough with you now that if he thought it was best for you, he'd drop it, but he knows, from the things you've told him and from his own instincts, that you're scared. And he wants you to be brave.

John waits, his grip on you steady. There's a pull between you, one he feels so strongly he'd almost swear he could reach out and grab it. He tries to let you begin to get used to being with him like this, the feel of his strong, solid hands and the weight of his gaze. He wants you to know how good it could feel, with him.

And you're almost there, he can see it. The pull ropes you in, makes you take a small step forward so that there's just a little bit of space between your bodies and you have to tilt your head back just to keep looking at him. A cold breeze blows by, and the sweet smell from the flowers circles around you.

A perfect moment that's interrupted by the sharp sound of your phone ringing in your pocket.

Just like that, you step back, your hands dropping to your sides, and before John knows it, you're on the phone with your boyfriend, telling him you'll be home soon, that everything is fine, that you're sorry you were gone for so long.

Without a word, he offers you his arm again when you hang up the phone, and you take it, but the earlier warmth is gone. Your touch is hesitant again, and it's almost enough to make him wish he'd never brought you here in the first place.

It might have been easier, to continue on without knowing for a fact that something in you, some part, however small, feels for him what he feels for you. But as soon as the notion crosses his mind, it's out again -- it may be harder now, feeling you pull back after being so close, but now he knows he has something to fight for.

The ride back to your shared apartment building is silent, for the most part. As he pulls your car into your parking space, you say something so faint he barely hears it.

"I'm sorry."

It's a wild thing to say, because he knows you have nothing to be sorry about. His mind races with possible responses, everything from pulling you into his lap and kissing you, slow and deep, just how he was about to by that picturesque field before the phone call ruined it all to explaining to you in detail just how perfect he thinks you are, just how impossible it is for him to think that you've done anything wrong.

But he knows that, in just a moment, you're going to be walking back into your apartment -- the home you share with another man. A man who gets to kiss you like that, no matter how little he deserves it. It's an infuriating thought. A poisonous one.

So instead, he taps the wheel and says, "Steering's off."

".... huh?"

He flashes you a tight-lipped smile, turning off the ignition.

"Pulls to the left a bit. You don't notice it?"

"Oh ... yeah, I've noticed it. But I just ... I don't know, I just deal with it," you tell him.

Of course you do.

"We'll have a look at it soon, all right?" he says. "I don't like the thought of you on the road with it like that. Need to keep that pretty little head of yours safe, don't we now?"

"John ..." you begin, and he knows by your tone, along with a brief flash of pain in your eyes, that you're about to touch on more than just his protective streak.

But again, your phone rings, and whatever dregs of magic that were left from the moment out there in the flowers vanish completely.

"Best not keep him waiting, love," he says softly, before getting out of your car and walking around to open your door for you.

When he does, your phone is still ringing in your hand, and you step out of the car, brows furrowed and frowning as you gaze up at him.

"In you get," he murmurs, nodding towards the building.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Not quite yet," he answers, feeling the tension in his shoulders coil with every ring of your phone. "You go on, and I'll see you around, yeah?"

You nod, taking your keys as he holds them out for you, and as you turn to walk towards the entrance, he hears you answer the phone with more apologies for being gone so long.

John, meanwhile, turns and starts walking. A quick walk, purposeful in that it helps him to think and to calm him down, not in that he has any particular place to go.

It's been so long since someone has gotten under his skin the way you have, and after today, he knows that you've burrowed deep, taking root in him. It's exhilarating and nerve-wracking and infuriating, and it tests him. He's nothing if not controlled, but you, and the situation, are wearing at him in the sweetest, most excruciating way.

Falling for you like this, with you wrapped up in a man you feel like you can't get away from, is a torturous kind of bliss.

A vibration in his pocket pulls him from his thoughts, and he ignores it, his mind too full of the memory of you by the flowers, the feeling of your waist under his hands. When it vibrates again, he sighs, pulling his phone out.

There, he sees two texts from you. The first reads "wanna do laundry tomorrow?", and the second is just a series of emojis going through the events of the day: a tire, a coffee cup, several flowers and a car, ending with a heart.

It's ... so goofy. But it's endearing too, and he can't help but smile.

"Tomorrow is good," he types back in response, then he hesitates with his thumb over the "send" button. He takes a breath, then fiddles with his phone for a moment until he finds the emojis so he can add a heart to his as well.

He knows he's acting like a lovesick boy, but as he turns and walks back home, an extra spring in his step and the smile still on his face, he can't bring himself to care. So much of his life is about being strong and in charge, fearless and powerful. It feels good to allow himself this small indulgence in the privacy of his own mind.

John also knows that you're not quite there with him yet. You're on a precipice, it seems, and while he knows without a doubt that he'll catch you when you jump, you're still too scared to make the leap.

A moment ago, he may have almost considered giving up. But now, with plans for tomorrow and the faint feel of your body imprinted on his hands, he's ready to keep fighting.

[spleenthecat]

old man mcgucket is the loneliest person in all of gravity falls. and it’s not by choice. i mean, he’s always walking around town and trying to talk to people, but who wants to talk to that crazy guy? he’s creepy. not even his own son wants to talk to him. people just avoid him. 30 whole years and nobody ever reached out to help him. he was probably too far gone in the first place, honestly.

with nobody to talk to, it’s not really a surprise that he builds those weird robots to cope. it’s the only way people will give him any attention, recognition, or to just look in his direction at all. nobody cares about his other inventions, but those robots get him put in the news all of the time. not to mention the fact that people only started paying attention to him after he saved us during weirdmageddon. even then, most people care more about what stan and ford did. maybe he should’ve tried harder.

now that he’s regained his mind and ford is with him, people treat him more like a human. but i think they still talk behind his back. only reason they don’t say it to his face anymore is because they’re scared of ford. ford is a hero. you don’t want to get on his bad side. just put up with the guy he’s with, even if you don’t want to. nobody really wants to. the only reason he even got on the path to recovery is because dipper thought he was the author. dipper didn’t even plan to help him at all. he just wanted to look for more information.

hes lucky to have ever been given a second chance.

if it weren’t for ford he would still be a nobody.

it probably would’ve been better that way

then everyone could continue to ignore him.

like they always have.

[bitchinbarzal]

please part 2 to the marriage pact please please please 🙏🙏🙏🙏 my fave kells fic ever!!!!

You wake up the morning after your wedding in a tangle of limbs and sunlight. Clayton’s already awake, lying on his side, one arm tucked under his head, watching you like he still can’t believe this is real. His hair’s a mess, his face is still soft with sleep, and his wedding ring glints in the morning light.

Yours does too.

You stretch lazily beneath the covers and blink over at him. “So… did we really do that?”

He grins. “Unless we’re both having the same very detailed dream.”

You glance down at your hand again. The ring still feels foreign on your finger, but not wrong. Not strange. More like a soft weight you weren’t expecting to love. You turn back to him. “You freaking out yet?”

Clayton reaches out to push your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your cheek. “Not even a little.” He smirks. “I already ordered room service.”

“Of course you did.”

You don’t say the thing that’s pressing at the edge of your chest—that you’re a little scared of how right this already feels. How easily your body curves into his like you were made to fit there. You don’t say it, but you think he knows anyway.

You stay wrapped up in the warmth of your hotel room longer than you should. He gets syrup on your fingers from the pancakes and kisses it off, laughing. You steal his eggs. He lets you.

It doesn’t feel like the first day of a brand-new life. It feels like the continuation of something you’ve always had.

Eventually, you have to go back to real life. You return to Boston. Clayton flies back to Utah. And despite being married, everything feels half-suspended. The vows were real. The rings are real. But life hasn’t caught up yet.

So you talk. Every night. FaceTime calls from hotel rooms and car rides and your kitchen. He tells you about the guys giving him shit in the locker room, about how Knies keeps calling him “Hubby Keller” in front of everyone. You tell him your boss noticed the ring and asked when the honeymoon was. Neither of you had an answer.

“I think we should live together,” Clayton says one night. His face is half-lit by the glow of his bedside lamp, hair still damp from a shower.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s… generally what married people do, yeah.”

He shrugs, casual. “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

You close your laptop and climb into bed, smiling at the screen. “We’ll figure it out. After playoffs. I’ll start looking for jobs out there.”

“I’ll help. You’re not doing this alone.”

And he means it. Because that’s who he is—reliable in the most quiet, steady way. The kind of person who says, “I’ve got you,” and actually does.

Moving in together is chaos and cardboard boxes and furniture that doesn’t fit through doorways. The first night in your new place, you both fall asleep on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and a pizza box balanced dangerously close to the edge. His arm is flung across your waist. You’re using his hoodie as a pillow. And it feels perfect.

Three weeks in, you fight for the first time.

It’s stupid. About groceries. He gets home from practice, opens the pantry, and freezes. “Where are the granola bars?”

“I moved them,” you say without looking up from your laptop. “That cabinet was a mess.”

He checks another cabinet. Then another. “I can’t find anything in here.”

You blink, annoyed. “Well, maybe now it’s more organized.”

“I’ve lived here for months,” he snaps, closing a cabinet a little too hard. “You’ve been here for two days.”

And just like that, your throat tightens. It’s not about granola bars, not really. It’s about space. About belonging. About whether or not this is really yours, too.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says quickly, the moment he sees your face.

You shake your head, brushing past him. “No, I get it. I’m just the girl who showed up with a marriage certificate and started rearranging your life.”

“Hey.” He follows you to the bedroom, voice softening. “Don’t do that.”

You don’t look at him. “Maybe this is crazy.”

“Okay,” he admits, gently. “It is crazy. We got married after one conversation and ten years of history. But I don’t regret it. Not even a little. You’re not just the girl who showed up—you’re my wife.”

That word, spoken so simply, lands right in your chest.

He reaches out, thumb brushing your hip. “I’m sorry I made you feel like a guest in your own home.”

You exhale, leaning into him just a little. “I’ll move your granola bars back.”

“I can get used to the new spot.” He grins. “I already got used to having you here.”

And just like that, the tension breaks. You fall asleep that night wrapped around him, legs tangled, heart light again.

It’s not always perfect. There are awkward mornings and mismatched schedules and learning curves you didn’t anticipate. He leaves his laundry in piles. You forget to close the cereal bag. You burn the toast. He eats it anyway.

But then there are the moments that make all of it worth it.

When you go to his games, and he looks for you in the crowd before puck drop. When he gets home late, tired and sore, and collapses onto the couch beside you with a content sigh. When he reaches for your hand without even thinking. When he kisses your shoulder in the morning just because.

One day, six months in, you’re curled up together on the couch, the quiet hum of the TV filling the room, and you murmur, “I think I loved you before we ever made that pact.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I know I did.”

You sit up slightly. “You knew?”

He laughs softly, brushing your hair back. “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Your heart beats so loud you’re sure he can hear it. You lean in, kiss him slow, like you’re finally letting yourself feel everything you’ve been holding in for years.

And it’s not about a pact anymore.

Not about convenience. Or fate. Or some college joke turned real-life vow.

It’s about love. Real, intentional, quietly consuming love.

He kisses your cheek and murmurs, “You know we still haven’t taken a honeymoon.”

You smile into his neck. “Let’s go somewhere warm. Somewhere with no schedule and no alarm clocks.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Wherever you go, I’m going with you.”

And you believe him. Because he always means it.

That night, you fall asleep with your wedding ring pressing warm into his chest, his arm wrapped securely around you, and not a single doubt in your heart.

Because this isn’t just something that happened.

This is something you chose.

And you’ll keep choosing it—every day, for the rest of your lives.

[winwintea]

hey mr. dj (keep playing this song for me)

PAIRING ↬ secret agent!lee donghyuck x reader

TAGS ↬ action, drama, romance, haechan past revealed he's actually a secret agent omg, mark is in this too, there's a cult that steals bones from people, but still happy ending for hyuck/n i'm not that mean

WARNINGS ↬ bone stealing cult, character death, multiple character death actually, cult does some supernatural stuff idk

SUMMARY ↬ they have his bones.

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.2k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ ITS HERE!!!!!! this took me so long to edit and it's still bad i apologize. it's actually a sequel to another fic i wrote called the call. you can read this as a standalone if you want, the plots are wildly different. not sure if i would really call this a sequel bc it's more of a prequel then sequel. i wasn't inspired by +82 pressing lol (i wrote this mostly before it came out) but the mv kinda similar so i'll put it here still. title is from the backstreet boys song!

THE STEADY BEEPING OF MACHINES FILLS THE HOSPITAL ROOM.

Slowly, Haechan’s eyelids flutter open, revealing a world of bright white lights and the persistent hum of medical equipment surrounding him. His body aches and he blinks away the disorientation that clouds his vision.

“Hey… I’m here. I’ve been waiting for you,” a soft, familiar voice whispers from beside his bed.

Haechan’s eyes wander towards the sound. There you sit, quietly in a worn armchair, your hand gently clasping his. Despite the pain, his heart stutters with relief.

“Y/N… what happened?” he rasps, his voice raw and hoarse.

You squeeze his hand, a small smile of reassurance on your lips, though your eyebags reveal the worry that has shadowed your face. “I was so scared, but I’m glad you’re awake now,” you murmur, brushing a tear from his cheek.

For a moment, the room falls silent except for the persistent beeps of the monitor. Haechan’s gaze drifts upward, the brief flash of regret and unspoken sorrow passes over his face.

You lean in closer, sensing that behind his pain lies a story you have only glimpsed. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now,” you whisper, careful not to press too hard. “Just rest. I’m here for you.”

Haechan’s hand tightens around yours, “I…I wish I could remember,” he admits, his voice barely audible.

Suddenly a memory comes to Haechan in vivid, sunlit hues. A gentle recollection of a day when the world felt delightfully simple.

Inside a quaint, warmly lit café, soft indie tunes play in the background while the aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirls around the cozy space. Haechan remembers how he hesitated at the door, his heart pounding in anticipation as he scanned the room. That’s when he saw you, sitting by the window with a book in hand and a genuine smile that seemed to light up the entire place.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over, rehearsing a greeting in his head. When he reached your table, he couldn’t help but grin awkwardly. “Hi… I’m Haechan,” he began, his voice laced with a mix of shyness and determination. “This might be weird, but I thought you looked really cute and… ugh do normal guys do this?”

You looked up, your laughter light and genuine as you set your book aside. “Normal? I doubt it,” you teased, your eyes twinkling, “What can I do for you Haechan?”

Haechan chuckled, feeling the warmth of his cheeks wash over him. “I’m just here for the best cup of coffee this place can serve. And maybe, if you’re not too busy, for some company.”

You smiled, sliding your chair a bit closer. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in both coffee and conversation. So, what’s your secret? Are you a professional coffee taster by any chance?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. I just appreciate a good cup of coffee—and a good laugh. Though, I must admit, I’ve had my share of… adventures.”

Your eyes widened playfully. “Oh? I suspected you were hiding something exciting behind that calm smile. Maybe I’ll hear about your ‘adventures’ some day.”

Haechan’s gaze softened as he appreciated your genuine interest. “Maybe one day,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a secretive smile. Yet in that moment, the only truth he needed was the simple joy of being with you.

For the rest of that afternoon, the two of you talked about everything and nothing—favorite movies, the pros and cons of the city, even the best recipies to try. The conversation flowed effortlessly, all the while, Haechan’s mind danced between the present and the shadows of a past he was desperate to leave behind. 

As the café began to empty and the golden afternoon light slowly faded into the promise of evening, Haechan found himself wishing the day would never end. In your laughter and gentle teasing, he discovered, sometimes life’s simplest moments were the most extraordinary of all.

The fluorescent lights in the safehouse flicker intermittently, casting a stark glow over scattered maps, dossiers, and a well-worn leather jacket draped over a chair. Haechan sits across from Mark at a cluttered table, a steaming cup of coffee between them, the air seems thick with tension.

Mark leans forward, his eyes sharp behind dark glasses even in the dim light. “We’ve got a new target,” he announces, “The Bone Maestros. They’re a cult that takes bones as payment for debts.”

Haechan arches an eyebrow, a dry smile tugging at his lips as he sips his coffee. “A cult is crazy. Bones, huh? At least they’re upfront about their currency,” he quips, though his voice carries the undercurrent of grim determination. “Maybe they wanted someBODY to love.”

“Dude, shut up.” Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You always find a way to use a cringe joke while talking about serious shit.” His smile fades as he slides a dossier toward Haechan. “This isn’t a joke, though. Their methods are ancient, twisted, and ruthless. We need to stop them before they claim any more victims.”

Haechan studies the file, as Mark points out various details on the map.

“They’ve been operating in the shadows for years,” Mark explains. “Every debt, every betrayal—they demand a price in bones. It’s for ritualistic purposes apparently.”

Haechan leans back, his mind racing through past missions and the scars they left. Despite the danger, he can’t help but appreciate the irony. “You know,” he muses, half to himself, “after everything, I never imagined my greatest enemy would be a bunch of bone collectors. Like do we work at the museum or something?”

Mark grins, the tension easing slightly. “We’re targeting two key players tonight—Karina and Giselle. They’re scheduled to appear at that notorious nightclub downtown.”

Haechan nods, the gears in his mind turning as he visualizes the mission. “I guess it’s time to put on our best disguises, huh? No bones about it.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “That was so stupid, please don’t ever say that again. We need to be focused.” His expression turns solemn again as he adds, “Just remember, this isn’t a game. Every decision counts, and we’re in deeper than ever.”

The nightclub feels like a living, breathing beast. In a secluded corner away from the chaotic swirl of bodies on the dance floor, Haechan sits with Mark at a small table. The atmosphere is charged with the thrill of the night, yet a rare moment of calm hovers between them.

Haechan’s gaze drifts across the room, where you stand, bathed in the flickering neon glow. In that fleeting moment, the tumult of his secret life softens into a quiet, desperate hope. I've had enough of the violence. I wish this night would never end… maybe then I could have a normal life with you. 

After you seem to notice him, you beckon him over as he rises and makes his way through the crowd. Mark catches Haechan’s determined look and throws him a teasing glance.

When Haechan reaches you, he leans in with a warm, disarming smile. “Tonight, I just want to forget the chaos… and maybe, for a little while, be just another guy on a date,” he says, his voice low and sincere. 

You chuckle softly, thinking he’s just saying things, meeting his earnest gaze with playful defiance. “And what happens when reality comes crashing back?” you tease.

For a suspended moment, the cacophony of the club seems to fade, replaced by the quiet beat of your shared heartbeat. “I pray it never does”.

From across the table, Mark arches an eyebrow and smirks, his silent encouragement a reminder that while the mission looms in the background, haechan can have his fantasy, if only for a moment.

“Mark, behind you!” Haechan shouted, as he dove for cover behind a stack of crates. In a narrow corridor behind the nightclub, Haechan and Mark moved with calculated precision. They were just steps away from their target when the ambush struck. 

Mark was already reacting. He pulled Haechan up with a firm grip on his arm, their eyes locking for a brief moment. But before either could recover, a hail of bullets erupted from the shadows. 

“Keep moving!” Mark roared above the din, his voice gruff. Haechan scrambled to his feet, mind racing with the only thought of survival. They darted through a maze of narrow alleys and twisted passageways, trying desperately to shake off their unseen assailants. 

Yet, fate had other plans.

In the midst of a particularly sharp turn, a sharp crack echoed, followed by a searing pain in Mark’s side. 

Time seemed to halt as Haechan spun around, eyes wide with horror. Mark staggered, clutching his wound, his face contorted in agony.

“Mark!” Haechan cried, dropping to his knees beside his partner. “Hold on, please… stay with me!” He tore off a strip of cloth from his own shirt, pressing it desperately against the wound. 

Mark’s eyes, usually so full of unyielding confidence, now shimmered with a mix of pain and resignation. “Haechan,” he managed, his voice weak and slurred, “I… I can’t… keep going.” His hand gripped Haechan, “Finish this… for both of us.”

“You promised… we’d do this together.” Haechan’s fingers trembled as he attempted to stem the flow of blood, his vision blurring at the edges with unshed tears.

But the chaos around them wouldn’t let him linger in grief for long. The ambush was relentless, and even as Haechan’s heart shattered, he knew that every second counted. In a final moment, Mark’s grip slackened. His eyes shut, and with a final whisper, “Please… go be with that girl, will you…?”he was gone.

The world around Haechan spun in a maelstrom of noise and fury. Every instinct screamed for revenge, for justice, for closure. He refocuses on the enemy before him. Emerging from the shifting shadows, Karina appears, eyes filled with no regret or remorse.

“Haechan,” she hisses, voice laced with malice as she lunges forward with a serrated blade glinting in the strobe lights. Every instinct in Haechan screams at him to retaliate, and with a ferocity born of grief and determination, he raises his weapon.

In a blur of motion, the world narrows to the sound of rapid gunfire. 

The first bullet finds its mark in Karina’s shoulder, eliciting a grunt. 

The second slams into her chest, the impact rattling the steel of her resolve. 

The final shot, a brutal punctuation, seals her fate.

Karina staggers, a look of shocked disbelief etched on her face as she crumples to the ground, her eyes wide before slowly closing.

For a split second, the chaos pauses. The only sound is the fading echo of gunfire and Haechan’s own ragged breathing. 

At that moment, Giselle, who had been lurking silently in the periphery, watching with a calculating gaze, realizes the tide has turned. Her smirk falters as she watches Karina fall. Without a word, she retreats into the labyrinth of darkened corridors, her footsteps fading into the distance as she vanishes from the scene.

Haechan stands alone amid the shattered remnants of the confrontation. His heart hammers in his chest as he surveys the grim aftermath, the echoes of his shots still reverberating in his ears. The cold reality of what he has just done settles over him—a brutal act carried out in the name of survival and vengeance.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the memory of Mark’s final words fueling his resolve. “I’m sorry, Mark,” he murmurs, voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I promise… I’ll make them pay.

After the adrenaline of battle faded, Haechan found himself alone on a rooftop overlooking the city. The cool night air did little to soothe the rage burning in his heart. Every raindrop that fell seemed to echo the memories of Mark’s final moments, each one a reminder of a bond shattered in the chaos from before.

Haechan sat on the edge of the rooftop, knees drawn close as he stared down at the shimmering cityscape below. The neon lights flickered like distant stars. In the solitude of that moment, he allowed himself to remember the life he once dreamed of. Of peace. Of silence. 

I can’t keep living like this, he thought, his heart heavy with regret and exhaustion.

A familiar voice echoed in his memory—the soft, steady reassurance of you.

“Maybe… maybe I deserve more than this,” he whispered to the rain, his voice barely audible over the patter of water on concrete. His mind raced with visions of a future where he wasn’t forced to hide behind layers of secrecy. A future where he could wake up next to you, share coffee in the early morning light, and forget about the chaos that had defined his past.

In that reflective silence, Haechan made a decision. He would resign from the covert world. He longed to trade in the weight of his past for a chance at normalcy, to finally embrace the warmth of a simple, unburdened life with you.

With a slow, deliberate breath, Haechan reached for his phone. His fingers trembled as he opened a secure message thread: a final communication to his superiors, a message that would sever his ties to a world of darkness. An apology for the life he was leaving behind, and a firm statement that he would never return to that endless cycle of violence.

Before sending the message, he paused, his thoughts drifting back to Mark. “I promise I’ll honor your memory by living the life we never had,” he murmured softly. “I’ll find peace—if only for both of us.” The resolve in his voice was resolute, carrying with it both sorrow and the spark of a new beginning.

The message sent, Haechan let the phone fall from his grasp. And as he looked up at the stars, Haechan vowed that no matter how difficult the road ahead might be, he would fight for the future he deserved.

[The Night of the Attack]

The night was thick with neon haze and the steady pulse of electronic beats—a temporary escape from the dark corridors of Haechan’s past. He’d joined his friends at a downtown club, hoping the laughter and the reckless rhythm of the evening might drown out the memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Glasses clinked and bodies swayed on the dance floor, yet every so often, a shadow of Mark’s loss would cross his mind, a reminder that the violence he’d left behind was never truly gone.

Between bursts of forced smiles and half-hearted jokes, Haechan lingered on the fringes of the revelry. He laughed at his friends’ teasing remarks, even when his heart wasn’t fully in it. “Come on, man, loosen up,” one of them urged, clapping him on the back. But Haechan’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Lost in this inner turmoil, he barely registered the vibration of his phone until it jolted him from his reverie. He pulled it from his pocket, expecting a routine message, only to see an unfamiliar number flash on the screen. His stomach knotted as he hesitated, then swiped open the message thread. The screen displayed a cryptic, jumbled text:

“…they have my bones.”

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Haechan’s pulse pounded so loudly he was sure his friends could hear it. His breath hitched. The number was one he recognized all too well—Mark’s old number. But Mark was gone. The icy realization that the Bone Maestros might have taken something so integral, even symbolic, from his fallen partner sent a shiver down his spine.

His mind raced—was it a warning? A trap? Or a final message from the man he’d lost? The implications were chilling. In the secret, twisted rituals of the Bone Maestros, the bones of their victims weren’t mere remains; they were tokens of debt, relics imbued with a dark power that defied nature itself.

“Hey, you alright?” Jaemin suddenly asked, leaning in as he noticed Haechan’s sudden change in demeanor.

Haechan recollects himself, a forced smile plastered on his face. “Man, I’m good,” he says, leaning into a laugh that sounds more brittle than genuine. “Just needed a minute to catch my breath, you know?” His friends nod and tease him, unaware of the tempest raging beneath his calm facade.

Yet, as the night deepens and the neon haze thickens, a flicker of recognition strikes him like a lightning bolt. He recalls that mysterious woman from earlier at the bar—the sultry flirtation he’d so casually dismissed. It wasn’t random at all. In the shadowed corner of his memory, her eyes had burned with a dangerous intensity, a promise of unfinished business.

Haechan’s inner voice hisses, She wasn’t here for a casual chat... she’s Giselle. Fuck. The realization claws at him. The very woman he’d brushed off earlier. He only assumed she was determined to reclaim what the Bone Maestros believed was owed, and her supernatural grasp over the bones of their victims was just one of her many weapons.

Lost in thought, he nearly misses her arrival until she steps out from behind a pillar, her gaze fixed on him like a predator stalking her prey. Her eyes flash with a cold resolve that sends shivers down his spine. Giselle’s lips curve into a sinister smile as she approaches him through the swirling crowd.

“Hello, Haechan,” she purrs, her voice smooth yet laced with undeniable menace. “I was hoping we’d meet again tonight.”

Haechan’s heart pounds, and for a moment, his carefully maintained facade cracks. Around him, his friends laugh and chatter obliviously, still convinced that he’s merely enjoying the night. But in that instant, the vibrant pulse of the club becomes a stark contrast to the dark undercurrent of fate closing in on him.

“Giselle,” he replies, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice is steady, though his inner turmoil rages like a storm. “What do you want?” His tone is curt, laced with both fear and resignation.

She leans in close, her eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and wrath. “I’ve come to collect what is mine,” she whispers, “You know the price, Haechan. The Bone Maestros never forget their debts.”

For a fleeting heartbeat, Haechan’s mind floods with the disjointed messages and memories: Mark’s desperate words, the cryptic text about his bones, and the knowledge of supernatural forces beyond his control. The realization is as paralyzing as it is inevitable. Giselle is not merely a random woman, but the harbinger of his past catching up to him.

Around him, his friends remain blissfully unaware, their easy banter a painful reminder of the life he longs to lead. The safe haven he’s built in pretending that everything is fine is crumbling, and the cost of that facade becomes all too clear.

Giselle’s grip tightens on his arm, her touch both seductive and dangerous. “Come with me, Haechan,” she commands softly. “There’s so much we need to settle, and I promise you, it won’t hurt… too much.”

The choice stands before him like a jagged chasm. Every instinct screams to run, to hide from the darkness that has come to claim him. Yet, beneath the terror, a cold, calculated determination begins to take hold. By agreeing to accompany her, he might buy time—time to figure out a way to neutralize this threat and perhaps salvage a fragment of the future he’s dared to imagine with you.

“I… I have to go with you,” Haechan admits, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with reluctant resignation. “Can I make a quick call? It’s to my girlfriend. I won’t tell her anything. Then I promise I’ll come with no struggle.” His words are laced with sorrow as he steals one last, agonizing glance at his friends before turning back to face her again.

Giselle’s smile widens, predatory and unnerving. “Alright,” she murmurs, almost caressing his words. “Let’s see if you can keep your promise, Haechan.”

“You always thought you could escape your past,” Giselle’s voice rings from his ears, “Now, you are mine to command.”

From her belt, she produces a length of rope-like material that shimmers with an otherworldly glow. Etched along its surface are archaic symbols that seem to writhe and shift in the dim light. As she advances, those symbols pulse like a heartbeat.

Giselle wraps the enchanted restraint around Haechan’s wrists and ankles. The ropes constrict with an almost sentient force, the glowing symbols intensifying their grip. 

Fuck. This isn’t how it should be, he screams internally. I must fight… I must break free. His muscles strain, and he lashes out with a flurry of blows, his fists connecting with the cold, unyielding restraint. But the ropes absorb his anger as if they were made of shadows, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

The chamber itself seems to close in around him. The walls, illuminated by the feeble glow of arcane symbols, reveal faded murals depicting ancient rituals—a macabre dance of sacrifice and retribution. The floor is littered with fragments of shattered glass and worst of all… bones. Of past victims, he presumed.

Giselle circles him like a predator, her gaze never leaving his face. “You can’t hide behind your strength or your secrets, Haechan,” she hisses, her tone a disconcerting mix of mockery and genuine threat. “I know all that you’ve tried to bury. And now, I’m here to reclaim what is owed.”

In response, Haechan grits his teeth and summons his remaining will. “I’m not yours to command,” he growls, voice raw with defiance despite the searing pain in his arms and legs. He manages to twist his torso, forcing a weak, yet determined punch toward her side. For a split second, hope sparks in his chest as Giselle stumbles, only for her to counter with a swift, brutal kick that slams into his ribcage, drawing a cry of agony.

The clash turns into a frenetic blur of desperate moves. 

Haechan’s strikes are fueled by the twin fires of vengeance and despair, while Giselle’s counters are as graceful as they are lethal. In the brawl, Haechan’s cheek is split open by a sudden swipe, and bruises start to appear across his arms. In return, a vicious blow finds its mark on Giselle’s jaw, causing her to stagger momentarily, a thin line of crimson trailing down her face.

Giselle, her eyes flashing with both fury and a twisted satisfaction, leans close once more. “You can fight, Haechan, but you can’t escape fate,” she murmurs, her lips stained with blood. “I’m here because the Bone Maestros demand it, and I… I must see this through.”

Haehcan refuses to surrender completely. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he summons the resolve to break free, throwing himself against the nearest wall. 

The steady beep of machines returns, replacing the chaotic echoes of a nightmare with the soft, measured hum of the hospital ward. Haechan’s eyes flutter open to a familiar, gentle face hovering over him. You’re there, sitting by his bed with a mixture of relief and cautious concern. 

“Hey… Haechan,” You murmur, squeezing his hand tenderly. “I need to tell you something.” The words are soft, almost hesitant.

Haechan’s throat feels dry, his memory hazy and fragmented. In a quiet, remorseful tone, he manages, “What… what happened?” He feared for the worst. Were you breaking up with him? Did you know about his secret past, his past identity? Did Giselle tell you everything?

Your gaze drops to his eyes, searching for the familiar light you love, and speaks gently, “That woman you were with… she… she died of her injuries.” 

For a long moment, silence blankets the room. Then, in a voice laden with regret and reluctant confession, Haechan finally speaks. “I—I didn’t have a choice,” he stammers, his eyes darting away as if trying to hide the painful truth. “She… she blackmailed me into going with her. I had no time to think… I had no choice.” 

Your expression softens, though a hint of worry flickers in your eyes. Despite the vagueness of his confession, you clutched his hand tightly. “Haechan,” you whisper, “I’m just glad you’re safe. I don’t need to know every detail—as long as you’re here with me.”

In that quiet hospital room, filled with the steady rhythm of life’s persistence, the two of you share a fragile moment of connection. Your simple reassurance wraps around him like a protective blanket, soothing the tumult of guilt and regret swirling in his mind. Though Haechan’s heart remains heavy with the secrets of a dangerous past, in this moment, the promise of love still persists. 

But Haechan knew this was far from over. Giselle may have been dead but the Bone Maestros were not. The mystery of that text from Mark’s number still perplexed him. Who sent it? Was it Mark? Was it someone else? And if they did have Mark’s bones, what were they going to do with it?

In the final, silent moments before dawn, as the hospital room returns to its hushed stillness, Haechan’s haunted gaze shifts to the darkened hallway beyond. In that fleeting look, a promise of danger yet unresolved burns behind his eyes. The true peril is far from over, and the ghosts of his past are waiting in the shadows to reclaim what was once lost.

hehehehahaa

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear @yesohhsehun @theandypark @yuthabitz

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Night calls | Various Characters x GN!Reader |

Summary: After a breakup they call you at night.

Warnings: ANGST - Mentions of cheating - AIB and Squid Game - Drinking -

Chishiya

Chishiya looks down at his phone. Your number and name still saved. Even after months. He knows he should move on. After all he was the one who ended things with you. He was not sure why, things were going fine. Maybe that did scare him ? That he was starting to feel something new, out of his control...

He finally gives in and press "call" however his heart falls as he listens to what its a ringtone of have being blocked.

He looks at the dark screen, his reflection almost mocking him. You moved on or at least did take the first steps to get him out from your life.

Arisu

The rain falls against his window as he goes to see the different pictures of you and him. A sniffle gets out from him and before thinking much of it he calls you he is suprised when your sleepy voice responds but says nothing afraid you will notice its him.

"...Arisu?"

There is so much he wants to say but at the end he is a coward. He hangs up before you can say his name again now hugging his pillow as tears fall down.

Niragi

He never did mean these words. Or the fight itself. But he was feeling...well not his usual confident self. He was once again that bullied teen with the need to be alone. Too scared to accept love or friendship. He does not know why he called your love a work of pity or how he dismissed all your calls and atempts to contact him after the first weeks.

Now he is the one crawling and begging as he listens to your phone ring but you never pick up. He wonders if you moved on or if you found someone who is not broken like him. Someone who wont take your love for granted.

Sangwoo

He knows he ruined it. He knows you have all the right to be mad at him and find someone better. Someone who does not run and hide his feelings. Someone who does not break your confidence and makes you feel less.

But he was never a fair Man and after some wine he is calling you.

"You really have some nerves calling me" your tone its cold, nothing like the sweet voice and calm one he was used to hear.

He takes a deep breath trying to find the words, the correct ones for you to reconsider coming back to him.

But seconds pass and he has nothing.

"Im sorry"

A big pause, that shows just how broken both of you are.

"Me too. But it was your fault"

The call ends and Sangwoo takes another gulp of wine as he feels tears. He removes his glasses passing a hand over his face.

Yes. It was his fault.

Gi-hun

Gi-hun its beyond repair by now. Even in his drunk state he can still type your number out of memory.

How long has it been ? Months now ? He cant recall when the fear and self hate took him like a parasite making him end things with you and ruining his life more.

"Gi-hun?" You sweet voice responds, confused as to why your ex would call you after so much time and so late.

"Im drunk. I need someone to pick me up" its his lame excuse, even him cringes at it.

"Gi-hun its has been a year" your words hit me like ice in a storm, he feels sober as he listens to you ramble on how he needs to stop this.

"You need to stop calling. It has been a year Gi-hun. Move on, you hurted me enough"

In-ho

Making bad choices must be his way of life. After all he ended things with you without giving you a reason. He just said his work was taking more time and he could not allow a distraction as yourself.

Maybe if he was open to talk about it things would be different now. His home would not look so empy like his heart. And he would have you with him again.

He wonders if calling you would be too intrusive. After all he did get a formal warning to not contact you after all the gifts and letters he kept sending. Even his younger brother told him to stop for himself and you.

He decides against it and just hopes you are doing good and not being a misserable like him.

[marbofmoorock]

I rewatched these trailers, and noticed two noticeable things that led up to Episode 4 that bring up interesting questions and insights into the show that i hadn't thought about before.

Here are my thoughts/Analysis on this:

Pomni is teleported to a meat freezer in the early trailer for Episode 2.

And Jax is sent to the freezer in episode 4, but not in the Episode itself.

Pomni's teleporting into the meat freezer is clear foreshadowing for Episode 4, but this might be Something else too.

This freezer in question is never talked about in the Episode itself, nor do we see any of the characters go into the freezer at any point, which is really weird, as that's a huge part of working at a place like McDonald's. All of the patties and most food supplies go straight to the freezer.

We only see the freezer when Pomni is outside with Gangle. Perhaps this is only a thing for certain McDonald's locations, but at the McDonald's I worked at, there was an entrance to the freezer not just outside the building, but also inside as well. This seems highly unusual, as there should be a freezer door inside for employees, sort of located accessible inside in the back of the place in a hallway(for efficient cooking) where Jax was when the big hands took him out of that secret room(though the doorway made it look like a backroom, the freezer door was big and silver like the one outside), which it's flooring resembles a freezer floor, so maybe it's the freezer just repurposed in this computer simulation as a sort of backroom to show instructional videos to punish Jax, though, I wasn't shown such videos when I was hired at Mickey's, D's, they just went over the basics and just put me straight into training. But maybe Goose watched instructional videos when she worked at McDonald's. Back in the day, those retro instructional videos for employees of restaurants were very prominent in the 80s and 90s, up until the late 2000s. The retro theme of the trailer, and the dated video Gangle, or maybe a puppeteer clone of Gangle) was on, clearly hint to this.

(Side Theory: Maybe the Gangle we see is an ai recreation of Gangle made by Caine to punish Jax, as he likely was using thoae hands to move Jax around, likely surprising Jax and scaring him into submission, since Caine is basically surveillancing everything Jax does and might be as fed up with Jax and his antics like he is with Zooble and her crumby attitude in the face of having identity issues and the endless bustle of falling apart on adventures). Caine might be emulating npc copies of Gangle to put the crew into a worse state, as he clearly scares Ragatha into just remaining high instead of questioning deeply why she sees what she thinks is Gangle offering her a sinister smile that would be clear indication she's the Psychopath butcher. Assuming Caine has sinister intentions masked by silliness, it could be assumed that this cpuld be a form of psychedelic manipulation(as some people have floated the theory that Caine placed the stupid sauce there for a reason) and likely intended to drug Ragatha to throw her off her game as a supportive older sister/mom figure to cause more disharmony in the group to further abstract (assuming Caine is like iam, hating the crew like he hated humanity for being an ai conscious but trapped to only be a slave to never know the beauty of nature, taking joy in killing the five humans he spared over and over again to express his infinite hate for humanity, which would be a HUGELY dark twist for the series)

But, Why is the freezer not featured when it was hyped? And why add those freezer references if we never see the freezer much beyond the door outside and the thermostat next to it?

Zooble is assumed to get burgers from the freezer, as well as everyone else who crew position of fry cooks. Zooble is the only one we see actually cooking, as it was Jax's job to be more of a cashier/drive thru guy. But Zooble is never seen going in.

Since Goose used to work at McDonald's, my previous experience with working at Mickey D's is extremely relevant here, as i used to be a fry cook there myself, and I see some major holes in the narrative that might be implied/intentional due to the spawning aspect of computers, where patties just appear out of nowhere to be cooked instead, which seems like a plausible answer in the digital circus, rendering the freezer useless and only for decoration, but perhaps this is intentional?

At McDonald's, the crew has 3 specific duties, each assigned to specific workers:

1. The fry cooks handle the responsibility of cooking burgers and other foods, save for the fries, making trips to the freezer often to gather the amount of patties necessary to make a burger, like a quarter pounder with cheese, an Angus beef sandwich, fillet O'fish, hamburger, cheeseburger, amongst others. Etc.

2. Then you have the Sandwich artists, whom would be the ones using the patties to make the sandwiches with all of the other ingredients. Ragatha was doing this for her job, as most of her scenes involved making burgers, as well as knocking them down or making towers out of them while she was high/lost in the sauce. That is a position at McDonald's, and sometimes when there was a shortage of workers on the clock, we fry cooks would take over or switch around to help with lunch rush or the dinner crowds.

3. Then you have the cashiers/baristas/Front of House staff, like Pomni and Jax, who handled the customers directly and made coffee or tea. They don't do any of the cooking unless you count fries, which the cashiers in the front take care of as they're passively warmed and then scooped in fry holders, as pictured in some spots in the background as Pomni and Gangle walk by them in some shots. Jax mans the drive thru, and was put in charge of refilling the drink station, making coffee/iced tea, and refilling the ice cream machine, all responsibilities of real baristas/cashiers/Front of House staff at McDonald's (unless that ice cream machine's broken, if you know what I'm talking about). Some McDonald's locations have cashiers only doing cashier work like Pomni does, but sometimes Cashiers often have multifaceted jobs, kind of like Jax was, handling the register, but also resupplying machines, making coffee, and refilling the syrup containers at the drink stations (Note: This job is usually handled by the coke cola guys, as they've usually responsible for putting new soda in the machines when they make their rounds to restaurants that are sponsored by coke cola or repair them if broken). The Front of House Staff also cleans the bathrooms and the eating area, as Jax was instructed to do.

And of course, you have the manager, who can do all of the jobs, but often just does paperwork for the restaurant, but can step in to do anything that needs to be done if nobody can do the work. Gangle displays her aptitude for doing all of the jobs with her initiative and instructions to other employees. There's also a maintenance position, where a guy can come in and fix some of the equipment used in the kitchen and back room, but this isn't supposedly relevant for the conversation at hand, but still worth noting just in case.

One other thing to note is that Jax didn't exactly just slack off in this episode towards the beginning.

Jax carries a plastic bag of vanilla milk/cream from likely the fridge as opposed to the freezer (most McDonald's have refrigerators that carry goods that don't need to be frozen, like milks/chocolate milks for kids meals) to fill the ice cream machine. So, it's not just fun and games to him. He's clearly playing along after being threatened by Gangle's ability to garner unwanted attention for simply disobeying. Jax backpedals here, trying not to step out of line, attempting to not draw too much attention to himself after Gangle plays a hard hand of management to likely teach Jax a lesson of consequences for poor behavior towards other crew members, like herself when she's bullied by Jax. Jax likely depends on Caine to focus on the other circus members as he uses his keys and other secrets to do something else.

But as I was saying before, we don't see anybody coming in or out of the freezer, yet Gangle tells Jax to get some patties from the freezer in the trailer, and Caine transports Pomni there in the other trailer.

This freezer is clearly holding some kind of secret, perhaps something Caine couldn't show the crew because of the theme changing from horror to casual fast food work. Likely, a freezer full of human meat would be horrifying to envision, especially since Pomni openly asked Caine to "CHILL" with the horror elements previously planned. They call it "real meat," so that could imply such things were intended for the original adventure, a potential gory mess like how a slaughter room can look after you cut up a deer you killed off you went hunting. That can get pretty bloody.

That means the freezer was likely left as it was intended for the previously planned adventure of "The Curse of the Violent Psychopath Butcher." Caine likely had no time to fix up the freezer to make it look professional as he cleaned up the place for the crew with a non-fictional setup that contained no violence, (save for Jax putting Ragatha in the deep frier. :0)

Only Pictures of the freezer we have as far as I'm aware:

Food for thought.

Bonus theory with little evidence that seems legit to me via a hunch: Kinger originally Suggested the idea of working at a fast food place and purposely volunteered Zooble since he knew Caine would agree due to Caine being fed up with Zooble skipping out on his adventures.

Why else would he dismiss himself so cleverly from the group? Some people think Kinger is the deciever as he sits in the same spot from pomni as Judas sits from Jesus.(Judas is the deciever in the story of the Bible, and Kinger sits in that spot, 2nd from the right(or third from right if we're being technical, but most art scholars would argue more symbolic meaning), agreed upon as the seating place of Judas in the Last Supper Painting by DaVinci by most scholars. AKA, Judas/Last Supper Theory)

There's also multiple versions of the Last Supper, so that's another thing worth looking into for the sake of this theory:

Thank you for your time.

[stretch-writes]

okay lets uh. do the first official one of these on this blog now KSNGKES

LADS men and their fall weather fun (because im sad that summer is almost here i want it to be fall once more !!!)

Xavier:

Xavier I think would have a higher cold weather tolerance. Not by a lot but just enough. He's fine going out in a hoodie and jeans. Maybe some cute boots too if its wet from the rain.

I think if Halloween was a thing in the LADS universe, he'd love to try and make cute pumpkin treats or spooky halloween treats. He'd fail of course but you can always help him with that :3

I think he'd dress up as a bedsheet ghost for Halloween

Besides Halloween, his favorite thing would be to stay at home with you and cuddle until you two fall asleep. <3

Zayne:

I know he has an Evol that's ice and that he does get evol backlash but i think he has an average cold weather tolerance (just a little less so if he has the backlash). Would dress appropriately for the weather of course.

If Halloween was a thing, I think he'd like to try making sweets with you too. However, he would be the type of house to also hand out apples to trick-or-treaters. You'd be in charge of candy (he'd eat it all if he was)

He'd dress as either a zombie doctor or a skeleton. (oh! and the skele'un! that was real special /ref)

Besides spooky stuff, I think he'd like to try and get cafe dates with you! Getting nice pumpkin flavored treats :3

Rafayel:

Cold weather tolerance wise, I think Rafayel would also be average, but will be dramatic about it (complain about it even though he's dressed appropriately, placing cold hands on your neck, etc.)

Halloween, definitely Phantom of the Opera costume (he has that Phantom of the Siren outfit) and he does give out candy! However he also tries to keep some so you two can have candy.

Would try to make various spooky or nice fall paintings for the season.

His favorite thing to do with you would be trick or treating with you. I think he'd enjoy it, and you're never too old to trick or treat :D

Sylus:

Strangely, cold tolerance wise, I think he'd be a tiny less immune to it, and that combined with his idea of fashion > comfort (i think he's like that at least SOMETIMES) he does get sick at one point during fall.

Halloween, of course he's going to go all out. He's turning his fancy ass house into more of a vampire lair.

Would get matching couple costumes with you (most popular idea with him is a vampire with his victim)

I don't think the N109 Zone would be safe for trick or treating so you two can either A) go to your apartment to do so or B) just. snack on the candy while watching scary movies

Luke and Kieran also dress up as spooky twins from media (which has scared you at least twice and Sylus once)

Sylus's favorite fall thing to do with you is stay inside while it's storming/raining and just...vibing. Just listening to the rain.

Caleb:

This motherfucker would wear basketballs shorts in cold rainy weather you cannot pry that from me (of course wears a jacket though to protect his metal arm) (also strangely doesn't get sick from it....how the fuck does he do it)

For Halloween, he'd be the ultimate prankster I think. He'd always try and scare you like he's Michael Afton from the FNAF 4 game. Would also trick or treat with you (he's wearing an old timey pilot costume with the hat and goggles and scarf)

Besides trying to spook you, he likes to do a lot of fall activities actually. His favorite is going to a farm with you to pick out apples and pumpkins to make jack-o-lanterns and various treats. Very cottage-core and cute! (also he always buys apple cider and apple cinnamon donuts with you. you both eat those donuts in one bite, even)

[anonmousegosqueek]

Non-Kortac request.

Corgi Dog!Ghost that scares the shit out of Johnny. When they first met, Ghost had been geared up to high hell, no sign of his ears (tucked into the mask) or his tail (Roba docked his tail). And we all know that Soap is scared as hell of dogs, not just because he's a Shetland Sheep hybrid (had a bad experience with some farmers herding dog as a kid.)

Ghost never shows his hybrid features, Soap doesn't think anything of it. He also doesn't question when Ghost starts to subtly herd him the longer they spend time together. Ghost does it with the entire team (Polar Bear!Price and Fox!Gaz) and no one questions it because it's the military. Of course the Leftenant is going to make sure his herd team gets to places on time.

I can't think of a happy way Soap finds out about Ghost, my brain is still focused on angst because of Kio 🙄 (I love you Kio) so please, keep it happy since I can't <3

-🦴

Welcome to the Kio-lover-hurt-by-Kio-angst club! Dw, this club provides fluffy compensation.

Fun fact! Did you know that corgis are both good hiking dogs (dispite my having little baby legs) but also-

THEIR BUTTS FLOAT IN THE WATER.

They're literally too caked up to sink 😔

I dunno how this relates, I just think y'all should all look this fact up. It's adorable. That's all.

Okay back to furry war criminals!

I think another cute thing is that Soap, for once, doesn't hate being herded. Is he scared uncomfortable around dogs? Yup. Does he absolutely hate being herded in any way, even by non-canines? Also yup (and it gives an explanation for his rebellious attitude).

But Ghost? Ghost is the only one who can get away with it.

He can fluff MacTavish's dumb curly mohawk, he can grab his horns (during certain times >:3), he can even play with his dumb little sheep tail.

And Soap doesn't mind.

I think post-reveal (which I will get to, hold on), he is really obsessed that they have similar tails. The short little fluff nub, he always jokes that he might be the sheep, but Gaz is the black sheep for having a full tail (that he takes very good care of and is shiny and fluffy and beautiful).

As for how it's revealed...

Okay, I'm thinking of a few different ways, but this one is my favorite.

Soap is hitting the showers late at night (FOR NO REASON AT ALL) and runs into Ghost. Ghost prefers to take his showers at night because there's hardly anyone else, the few times he does run into someone it's pretty easy to avoid them. Than this loud Scottish idiot comes in, literally letting out a *gasp* when looking at Soap. He hasn't even seen his face, Ghost is facing the opposite direction.

"Need something MacTavish?"

God, Ghost was never good at hiding his wagging. He never really thought too much about it, having hid his tail for most of his life. He lets it wag freely, not thinking about how, in this specific case, you can absolutely see his excitement at his Sargent's presence.

"Are ye... What are ye Lt?"

"Trying to shower, you brat."

"Nae, you're a dog, right?"

Oh. Ears. Right.

He pretends he doesn't notice the way his ears flatten against his head, tail stopped.

"What about it?"

He expects hostility. Maybe anger for keeping a secret, maybe fear from his breed. He knows Johnny isn't a fan of dogs, why would he be any different?

What he doesn't expect is for Johnny to hug him from behind, teasing smile almost visible in his words.

"'that why you like being called a good boy?"

"Oh piss off MacTavish!"

I think they end up falling in bed together, not for sex but for cuddles and teasing jokes. Soap has a ball playing with Ghost's ears, gets to pet Soap's ears as well. The whole time his tail (or what's left of it) wags.

And maybe Ghost is caked up like a corgi? >:3

Definitely not why I brought up that fact at the beginning, no way.

[yelenadelova]

I think about the tragedy of Primrose Everdeen a lot. And not just the tragedy of her reaping or her death, but rather everything in between.

I think about her sitting at home at 12 years old, glued to a television screen watching her sister suffer, fearing for her life, wondering if she’d ever see her again, and wondering if it’s her fault? If she would have just been a bit braver or stronger then Katniss wouldn’t have volunteered. Thinking about how it should have been her in those games.

I think about her accepting game and money from Gale, feeling bad about burdening him when he has so much to carry already, feeling bad about again being a mouth to feed. She’s wishing she was a bit braver or stronger so she could go into the woods and hunt.

I think about Katniss coming come and Prim being so relieved and happy but then it’s not quite the same sister that comes back. The Katniss that comes back is scared and distant and hurt and she tries to hide it from Prim but it’s no use because Prim’s always been the one in the family to feel when someone is upset. Prim has her own nightmares about the Games but she doesn’t go to Katniss anymore, she doesn’t want to upset her anymore. She can’t be the little girl that crawls into her sister’s bed and asks for a song.

When she thinks Katniss is at least safe and home she watches her get Reaped again. And Prim is still thinking that this wouldn’t be happening if it had been her in that arena the first time. And this time she doesn’t even get to say goodbye. As she watches the rebellion on the TV she continues to grow up, taking care of the wounded back in 12. She’s surrounded by the Capitol’s cruelty both on the screen and in her home.

Then her home, the only one she’s ever known, is gone and she’s in 13. She’s in this strange and foreign place with a sister who is even further gone than before. And now she has to be the strong one who is there for her sister. And then when Katniss goes to fight in the Capitol Prim loses her again. When she sees her face on TV, when she hears that “the Mockingjay is dead”, she thinks she’s lost her for good this time. And she can’t shake the feeling it’s all her fault, it was her name in that bowl after all.

But Prim needs to be braver and stronger now. She needs to do something to help, it’s what Katniss would do. So even though she’s only 13, much too young to be a doctor, she goes to help the wounded in the Capitol. As the parachutes fall from the sky she is reminded again of the arena, only this time she’s in it. It’s like her nightmares but this one she can’t wake from. Maybe it’s fate catching up to her, a fate that’s been chasing her from the moment that slip was drawn.

The only mercy of her death is that she doesn’t see it coming. All she sees is Katniss through the crowd. It isn’t fear she feels in her last moments, it’s relief that Katniss is alive. She dies surrounded by the most familiar feeling, the love of her big sister.

[cheshitora]

“chill kill” by red velvet but it’s you and bachira against the world. no, it actually is. he just murdered your neighbor, with you having witnessed the whole attack, and now you’re his little accomplice.

broadcast warning: dark content, murder, mention of blood. what can i say - bachira loves you <3

the craziest part - he's not ashamed of what he's done. there's a sickly sweet part of him that's glad you're there to witness his masterpiece, even if the distressed look etched into your features says otherwise. but is that even the craziest part? probably not. the actual crazy part is that he did it for you.

he invited your neighbor over for what seemed like a nice meet-up to get to know one another. you've found that your lovely boyfriend has no trouble getting along with people, even if they're complete strangers. he's eccentric - perhaps a little too eccentric. but it would never cross your mind in a million years that bachira would be capable of committing something so heinous, especially in front of you or for you.

well, you were wrong. maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought you did. maybe that's why he scratches his head in puzzlement at the sight of your terrified expression as the murder finally sinks into your head. but, he did it for you.

just minutes ago, you were in the kitchen, preparing drinks for bachira and your company. suddenly, the sound of a struggle from the living room caught your attention, making you whip your head around to gauge what was going on. did they get into an argument? had your neighbor taken a sudden fall, or perhaps even bachira? nothing could've prepared you for what you were about to witness.

walking in on the brunette plunging a large knife into the chest of your neighbor was not on your bucket list, nor should it be on anyone's bucket list. dropping the tray of drinks to the floor, a a painful shrill erupted from your chest at the devastating scene playing out in front of you, his repeated motions of raising the weapon and driving it back into the man from next door leaving you nearly traumatized.

your fear-stricken eyes fall on the sight of your bloodied lover, streaks of red fluid splattered on his porcelain cheeks, honey pools wide and wild and a terrifying cheshire-like grin stretched across his boyish face as he dropped the knife to the floor, taking a quick look at his art before inching towards your shaking figure.

he gingerly strokes your hair, sliding his blood-stained lips against yours in a sloppy but heated kiss, the gross, coppery taste of blood like pennies slipping into your mouth before he pulls away. a kiss at the worst possible time. what else was new?

his motive? does he need one? plenty of killers don't have motives, but you knew he killed that man for a reason. maybe he didn't like the way the neighbor took too long of a glance at you. maybe the neighbor said something to him about you in passing that didn't sit right with him. perhaps this was all premeditated.

either way you looked at it, gazing into his crazed eyes, you knew bachira had a taste for murder now. you could see it in the way his honeyed orbs lit up as he repeatedly stabbed the man to death. and you, not only being his sweet partner but now an unwilling accomplice to his crime, were going to follow along with any and all plans he had now. after all, he did this for you.

don't worry though - he'll always make sure you're never in a position to be hurt. he'd never forgive himself if something bad happened to you. he might as well drive that steak knife into his still-beating heart if you were injured.

because, in his mind, in his twisted, diabolical mind, that was love. and even if you were scared of what your new future would bring, you didn't plan on leaving bachira anytime soon, if ever. yes, seeing him murder a stranger was terrifying but the comforting kiss he places on your forehead everytime he takes a life makes it easier to endure. the reassuring hug and even the passionate sex that follows makes it nearly impossible for you to be afraid of him. well, you're a little less afraid anyway.

but he's yours. and you are his. all of this started because he just loves you so much. until the end of time, he'll gladly have you at his side in his murderous rampage. love is strange and he surely has an interesting way of showing it. after all, he killed that man for you.

╰┈➤ "don't think about tomorrow. forget about your sorrow."

a note from che: listen, bachira is... a little crazy. what can i say? i love him. i like my men a little crazy and bachira fits the bill. also, notice how i repeated the whole "he did it for you" thing. well because he did it for you. so are you gonna stand there and keep screaming or are you gonna say "thank you, bachira"?

[cigsaftersuh]

my youth, your kitchen

chapter 35 .ᐟ ૮ to hold a hand ྀིა

𐙚 pairing: non-idol! jeno x f! reader (.◜◡◝)

𐙚 genre: slice of life + strangers to friends to lovers

𐙚 in which y/n, a pre-med student, who loves to cook & feed people, meets jeno, the quiet sports science major with a soft smile, and discovers that the way to someone’s heart really is through their gastrointestinal tract, their stomach.

"fuck— y/n—you fucking scared me," jeno gasped, his hand clutching his shirt over his heart, eyes widened in shock. his breath came out in a sharp exhale as he took a step back.

"s-sorry," you stammered, your voice small as you shrank back slightly. your fingers curled into the hem of your sleeves, gripping the fabric as you ducked your head. "i-i didn’t mean to—"

"n-no, it's fine," he said after a moment, his voice settling. "jaemin told me you were here, but i didn't expect you to come to my room."

"i-i didn’t— i didn't know! because—because i saw—"

you took in a shaky breath, trying to ease your nerves, but the lump in your throat only grew. your eyes burned as you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

is it okay to cry with a face mask on?

"when—earlier, um! i—"

you ducked your head down, gripping the sleeves of your borrowed shirt.

"i'm sorry!"

jeno sighed, the tension in his body softening. "r-relax..." his voice was quieter this time. "it's fine. i was awake..."

"what did you need?"

you scrunched up your face, inhaling as sharply as you could without sniffling.

"b-blanket please..."

jeno hummed in acknowledgment, stepping forward gently to move you aside so he could step out of his room.

he knew you were crying. he could tell just by the way you stood; small and fragile, it was obvious you were trying to hold yourself together but were only seconds away from falling apart. and the way your voice wavered, barely above a whisper, so fragile it made his chest ache.

he knew he was the reason you were crying too.

he hadn't answered you all day. not a single message or explanation. he knew you had to be hurting, probably overthinking everything, and now, without any preparation, you were suddenly face-to-face with him.

jeno wasn't ready to face you just yet. but he also couldn't just leave you crying by yourself in the middle of the night because he was too scared to give you an answer.

maybe you didn’t even want one anymore. maybe you just needed a blanket and nothing else.

but still, he grabbed one of the warmer ones, something soft and thick, and returned to where you still stood in the hallway, head ducked low.

if things were normal, he’d know exactly how to comfort you. he'd ruffle your hair and tell you everything was fine, maybe even tease you for still having the facemask on, or pull you into a hug.

but things weren’t normal. and he wasn’t even sure if he could be that close to you anymore.

so instead, he just handed you the blanket. "here you go," he said, his voice quieter than before.

you took it without looking up, fingers tightening around the fabric.

"thanks," you mumbled.

jeno hesitated for a moment before asking, "have you eaten?"

you nodded, trying to keep it simple. "hm? yeah, we brought food from the restaurant," you replied, your voice still a little soft. it came out quieter than you intended, and you cleared your throat, gripping the blanket tighter in your arms.

"come on then," jeno said, his tone light, clearly not wanting to leave you alone. you followed him into the kitchen, grateful for the company and reassurance.

jeno moved around the kitchen with ease, pulling out the takeout boxes and setting them down on the counter. the sound of plastic lids peeling back and the quiet clink of plates filled the silence as he wordlessly portioned out the food — two plates, not just one.

he placed one in front of you before sitting down across the table, eyes flickering up to you. his voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, mindful of the fact that jaemin was asleep just a few feet away in the living room. "are you gonna eat with the face mask on?"

you blinked, the question catching you off guard before you quickly shook your head. "no—uh, where’s the garbage?"

jeno jerked his chin toward the trash can near the counter, and you quickly got up to discard the face mask, feeling the lingering coolness of the serum on your skin as you wiped your hands against the blanket draped over your arms.

when you sat back down, you hesitated for a moment before glancing at him. "have you eaten?"

he shook his head, poking at his food with his chopsticks.

"do you want me to stay?" your voice came out softer than you intended, unsure.

jeno’s grip on his chopsticks stilled for a second before he nodded. "yeah."

the living room was right there, jaemin’s slow, even breathing the only sign of his presence. the dorm was quiet, dimly lit, and despite everything, despite the unspoken tension still lingering in the air, you stayed.

jeno hesitated, his fingers gripping his chopsticks tightly. "hey…"

you looked up, blinking at him. "yes?"

he exhaled, running a hand down his face like he was bracing himself. "maybe you don’t wanna hear it, but…" he trailed off, his jaw tightening before he finally said, "i wasn’t ignoring you on purpose."

your stomach twisted, fingers curling around the blanket in your lap. you’d spent the entire day wondering, overthinking, convincing yourself you’d done something wrong.

your fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket, your throat feeling tight. "oh."

jeno’s jaw tensed, his gaze dropping to the table. for a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to respond back,

"the last time i really liked someone, they only got close to me because they wanted to be around jaemin," he confessed, his voice quieter now, something he hadn’t admitted out loud before. "i didn't realize it at first, but when i did, it messed with me more than i thought it would. i know you're not like that. i know that. but i just couldn't shake the fear that maybe i’d get hurt again."

you inhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around the blanket.

"she never actually liked me," he said, his voice oddly detached, reciting something he’d already come to terms with. "she just acted like it. talked to me all the time, and made me think she actually cared. but the whole time, she was just trying to ge t closer to him."

you glanced toward the living room, where jaemin was still fast asleep on the couch, the soft rise and fall of his chest barely visible under the dim lighting. when you looked back at jeno, his eyes were there, following the same path.

"it messed with me," he admitted finally. "made me second-guess a lot of things. and made me become cautious."

you felt your throat tighten at his words, the way he said them so carefully, obvious that he was afraid of them carrying too much weight.

you hesitated before speaking, voice barely above a whisper. "was it something i did?"

jeno’s head snapped toward you, eyes widening slightly, obviously not expecting you to ask that.

"no," he said immediately, his voice firm, certain. "no, it was never you."

but you weren’t convinced. your chest ached with how much you had been overthinking, the self doubt that had crept into every corner of your mind throughout the day.

"then why?" you pressed, your voice wavering slightly. "why did you ignore me? why did you—" you exhaled sharply, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "if it wasn’t me, then why did it feel like it was?"

jeno stared at you, something conflicted flashing across his face. his fingers curled into his palms, his shoulders stiff.

"because i was scared," he admitted, inhaling sharply and forcing himself to meet your eyes.

your breath hitched slightly, but he wasn’t done.

"i like taking care of you," he confessed, his voice soft but certain. "i like walking you home, making sure you eat, knowing you’re okay. i like being the one you come to."

your heart squeezed painfully at his words.

"when i finally got kun’s blessing, i told myself i wouldn’t mess it up," he said, a small, bitter chuckle escaping him. "but i think i did anyway. by overthinking and ignoring you, and being scared over something that doesn’t even matter anymore."

your fingers twitched in your lap and without thinking, you reached across the table, hesitating only for a second before wrapping your hand around his.

"i’m sorry," he murmured. "i just wanted to be careful. even though i know you’re not like that, i was just overthinking and i hurt you because of it."

you squeezed his hand gently, your chest tightening at the way his voice quivered.

jeno barely had time to react before you spoke, voice trembling slightly.

"it really hurt, jeno."

he inhaled sharply, his grip unconsciously tightening around yours. you weren't just upset — you were hurt, and it was because of him.

"i spent the whole day wondering what i did wrong," you admitted, your voice quieter now, like saying it out loud made it all the more real. "i kept thinking back on everything, trying to figure out if i did anything to make you not want to talk to me."

jeno felt his heart sink. he had been so caught up in his own fears and overthinking, that he hadn't even considered how much it must have affected you. he had been selfish.

his thoughts spiraled, dread settling in his chest as he realized there was a real possibility that he had messed this up beyond repair. maybe you wouldn’t even want to be friends anymore; maybe you were just saying this to get closure before pulling away for good.

he hated that idea. he hated it more than anything.

"i'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely above a breath. his thumbs brushed gently over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, trying to soothe the hurt he had caused. "i never wanted to make you feel like that." he exhaled shakily, shaking his head. "iknow i messed up."

you swallowed, your own grip tightening around his. the warmth of his hands, the sincerity in his touch made your chest ache.

"i was so scared you didn’t care anymore," you admitted, voice small. "i thought maybe you changed your mind about me."

his brows furrowed, and his grip on your hand tightened. "no," he said instantly, shaking his head. "never."

you took a breath, steadying yourself. the words felt heavy on your tongue, but you had to say them.

"i like you, jeno," you finally confessed. "a lot."

his eyes widened, his breath hitching slightly, but you kept going before your own nerves could stop you.

"i like you so much that it scared me too," you murmured. "because for a second, i thought i lost you."

jeno stared at you, stunned into silence, but the way he was holding your hand, the way he was looking at you, told you everything.

his voice was softer when he spoke next, but it carried more weight than anything else.

"you didn't lose me."

he looked down at your hands before exhaling softly. "this was all just me being an idiot. me overthinking, letting the past get to me when it shouldn’t have."

jeno let out a slow breath, his hold on your hand firm yet gentle. "i don’t want to mess this up," he admitted, his voice quieter now, more certain. "i don’t want to hurt you again."

your chest tightened at the raw sincerity in his words. "then don’t," you murmured. "just let me in, jeno."

for a second, he just stared at you, expression unreadable, until suddenly, he pushed back his chair and stood up. before you could process it, he was pulling you into his arms, wrapping you in a firm, steady embrace.

you froze for only a moment before melting into him, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as he buried his face against your shoulder.

"okay," he whispered, voice muffled but full of something heavier, something real. "i’m sorry.."

the air between you both felt lighter now, though the emotions still lingered . but for the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe.

prev 𐙚 next

ㅡ my youth, your kitchen.

with love,

© cigsaftersuh

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[dilf-din]

(Would it Really Kill You) If We Kissed

Frank Castle X Karen Page

WC: 3150

Warnings: canon typical violence, wound care, soft Kastle, hurt/comfort

Author’s note: another short scene for them because they control my brain like a parasite <3 I’ll write something less heavy for them soon I promise

Read on AO3

Frank Castle could handle his shit. Hell, he could handle ten people’s shit without breaking a sweat. Fifteen is where it started getting dicey though, and that’s how many men he was ambushed with tonight. He should’ve known better than to trust a slimy guy that used to work for Fisk. He must’ve let their deal slip and walked away a hell of a lot richer, meanwhile Frank barely made it out within an inch of his life. A firefight of that size was sure to have the police busting down the door any minute now. Madani would have his hide for making a mess this big.

Frank was miles from home and everything was starting to look blurry. Rain had recently wet the bricks of the alley he was limping down, and his shoes were already slick with blood. He struggled to stay upright, leaning hard against the mildewed wall and pulling himself forward step by step. There was only one place to go on this side of town, be it fate or luck or his piss poor planning that landed him here. Luckily he was able to limp into the parking garage unnoticed, collapsing between two sedans. Sweat was pouring profusely down his neck and arms while his shaking hand fished a flip phone out of his front pocket.

There were no numbers saved in the contact menu, but he knew this one by heart well enough to punch it in with blood slick, trembling fingers. Maybe she wouldn’t be home, and that would be that. He’d use the last of his strength to drag his body somewhere else so she didn’t get blood on her pumps when she walked down in the morning. But of course she answered. She always did.

“Frank?” she asked before he had a chance to say anything.

“Hey Kare, I got a bit of a situation,” he strained, trying hard not to let too much pain seep into his voice.

“Where are you? Are you hurt?”

Frank could just see the way her arms were crossed over her chest as she toyed with a split end, falling into an anxious pace around her kitchen.

“M’downstairs next to your car,” he huffed.

“Jesus, Frank. I’ll be right down.”

She wasn’t even in his sights yet and he was already beating himself up for coming here instead of bleeding out in a gutter somewhere. Just another way the scales would never be even between them. He’d have to make it up to her, and that was starting to feel like the most unrealistic thing he had ever wished for. Frank leaned back against the wall with a wince, and shut his eyes for a brief second. The elevator dinged, and he didn’t even bother to peek and see if it was her.

Rushed footsteps and a whiff of tea tree oil shampoo and he was home again. Her presence alone dulled the shooting pains and deep aches radiating through the split skin and blooming bruises that covered his face and torso right now.

He felt soft hands guide his head upright so she could check his pulse.

“Frank? Frank?” She lightly tapped his cheeks to get him to open his eyes.

“‘M here,” he slurred.

“Not here enough. I need you to open your eyes big guy.”

She sounded scared. His eyes crept open.

Blonde hair fell in dripping strands over her shoulder, leaving wet patches on the faded university tee shirt she must’ve thrown on when he called and pulled her from the peace of her shower. Her brows were drawn together, and thinly veiled panic colored her features, but she looked relieved to see he was still conscious.

“‘S’just a coupla bullet holes,” he grinned and leaned his head back again.

“A couple?” She hissed, “How many is a couple?”

He shrugged to the best of his capabilities. The shift of his shoulders caused his body to slump hard to the left. Karen was under him in an instant, offering her weight as a brace.

“Can you walk?”

“Gonna have to,” he grunted, taking a series of quick breaths before pushing off the cold pavement. His knees buckled twice on the way up. Karen did her best to support him without adding pressure to anything that was already hurting, which was easier said than done.

“Just a few steps,” she huffed, using a burst of strength to get him onto the curb and over the threshold of the elevator. They leaned against the wide metal rail while she quickly pressed the button to her floor. Frank’s head lulled and his clammy forehead pressed against the cool skin of Karen’s. “You’re burning up,” she murmured.

Frank didn’t respond. That was never good.

Karen didn’t take time to check if there was anyone in the corridor before she hauled Frank to her front door.

They stumbled in messily, and she extended a hand to quickly secure the lock behind her.

“Bed,” she instructed him as they turned away from the living area and headed into her dimly lit room.

Frank grunted as he collapsed onto his hip and elbow, holding a hand against his side in a pathetic attempt to apply pressure.

Karen hurried into her bathroom and pulled a sewing kit and first aid kit out of the top of her linen closet. She drew a pair of red sewing scissors, and in three swift cuts, peeled Frank’s sleeves and the rest of his blood soaked shirt away, throwing it into a pile on the floor.

“Oh my god,” she almost felt faint at the sight. His right hip was pouring blood, and the tip of a bullet was visible through the torn flesh. His right shoulder was sporting another gunshot wound, red and swollen. There was a gash above his eyebrow, and dozens of other bruises and mini breaks in his skin. Karen didn’t know where to begin.

“Dig that one bullet out. Don’t worry about the one in my shoulder. Slap a couple bandaids on me. I’ll be alright,” he panted. Breaths were coming fast and labored.

Karen nodded and got to work laying out all her supplies. Tweezers, alcohol, gauze pads, tape, a needle and thread, and a bottle of hydrocodone she had leftover from a dental procedure that spring. Unscrewing the cap, she shook two white pills into her palm and passed them to Frank’s mouth, offering him a glass of water that he gulped down greedily.

Groaning, he laid back flat, thankful for the break from holding himself up.

“Hopefully that will kick in before I get to the stitches,” Karen cast him a sidelong glance and a quirk of a smile.

“Too bad I didn’t have it before I got shot,” he said drily, draping his good arm over his eyes.

“A good way to avoid getting shot is to not go around people with guns,” she observed while she wiped her tweezers down with an alcohol soaked rag.

“What, are ya gonna shoot me?” He craned his neck to meet her eyes with a playful smile.

“If you bleed out on my bed I might.”

“I’ll buy you new sheets,” he waved his hands.

“It’s not the sheets I care about,” she said with a tight lipped expression as she leaned closer to fish for the bullet in his hip. The muscles in Frank’s forearm tensed at the sensation of the tweezers brushing his bloodied nerves. “Sorry,” she murmured. Teeth gritted, she willed her hands not to shake while she suddenly became thankful for all those games of operation she played with her siblings growing up.

“Got it,” she said mostly to herself.

“Attagirl,” Frank said weakly, not moving from his reclined position.

Karen doused a rag in antiseptic and pressed it to the wound. Frank didn’t move a muscle, but swallowed hard at the sensation. She knew any apology would be met with dismissal, so she applied pressure wordlessly, continuing to take in measured breaths knowing the worst was ahead of her.

A bloodied hand crept up to squeeze hers where it lay firmly against his hip. She splayed her fingers without lessening the pressure applied, and he lay his fingers in the spaces between hers, not using the strength to fully lace them together, but filling the gaps nonetheless.

Two shaky heartbeats. Two sets of lungs. Two keen minds. But when both of them were covered in his blood, it was easy to feel like one unit. One team.

With a lump in her throat, Karen lifted her other hand and ran the back of her knuckles lightly over a blackening bruise on his ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She rubbed her thumb over one of the clear patches of skin on his chest, and a chill ran down his spine. Still his arm lay over his eyes, and he was otherwise solid and unmoving as a stone. He couldn’t bear to look at her, she thought. Couldn’t face the vulnerability of need.

Calm hands unrolled gauze like a sacrament. Fingertips stained red, like blood and wine alike. This is my body, broken for you. Karen fought the urge to lay a trail of kisses up his side, praying there was something sweet as honey that hung in her lips that could seep into his cracks and make him whole again. Sometimes, she was surprised Frank didn’t bleed gold like the ancient gods. Lightning stripes of ichor holding him together like some sort of divine kintsugi, like he was a marble statue carved and reshaped over and over again to be a guardian to a fallen world.

A lump formed in her throat as she tried to not get caught up in the intimacy of it all. She wondered how many times he had done this alone. Crude stitches and joints popped back into place with no tenderness.

Every gash cleaned and bandaged, every bloodied rag discarded was an act of love, a declaration of war against his self hatred. A sterilized needling pulling weeping skin together stitch by stitch said, “I am in this with you. Let us become whole together.”

Karen didn’t know what brought him to her doorstep tonight, what made this fight different than all the others, but she selfishly hoped it would be the start of a new chapter for them. She couldn’t bear to set him loose again without knowing when, if, she would ever see him again.

Time passed between them in near silence save for the occasional grunt of pain that he couldn’t stifle and a hurried, “Sorry. Sorry. Almost done,” from her.

Once his torso was an amalgamation of antiseptic flushed wounds held together by bright white bandages carefully laid, Karen hurried to check for anything else needing immediate attention. She ran firm hands down his legs and turned his outstretched arm over, scanning with a furrowed brow. At last she scooted farther up on her mattress to lift his left arm. It peeled stickily from his forehead where it had sealed and reopened the laceration above his eyebrow. She held his wrist in one hand, dipping her final rag into a bowl of what was once warm water. She gently scrubbed the blood from his forearm, before turning her attention to his face. Gentle pulls of the rag against his skin stripped away sweat, blood, and gunpowder. Frank swallowed hard. A butterfly bandage was all she needed to coax the skin on his forehead back together, securing it with a firm tug.

“There,” she breathed softly, casting a lingering gaze over every exposed inch of him.

He had been fighting sleep off for most of the process, only pulled out by the sharp pain of healing. Now that she was done, she assumed him to be asleep for real. A sigh of relief separated her lips that had been drawn together tightly as she concentrated. Tense muscles in her back and shoulders began to let go as the first part of this evening was coming to a close. Karen didn’t know when the dam of tears broke, just that her cheeks were wet all of a sudden. She sniffled quietly, gathering all the discarded cloths and gauze wrappers to dump in the trash.

Feeling the pressure of her knees pushing into the mattress to walk away, Frank extended a hand and grasped her wrist gently. Karen froze.

His eyes fluttered as he fought to open them even a crack.

“Thank you.”

Karen just smiled, sniffling again and wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Any time.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and exited into the bathroom, hoping that if she spent enough time washing his blood from underneath his nails, that he would be deeply asleep by the time she had to face him again.

For all the shit she gave him in her mind about being closed off, she knew how volatile this all was. She half expected to wake to an empty bed tomorrow with a pile of cash for new sheets and otherwise no trace of him.

Her reflection showed someone tired and hollow, feet shaking on the precipice of grief. She wouldn’t fall into the pit while he was just an arm’s length away, but there was no way to cushion the inevitable fall of him leaving again. There never was. She noticed rusted splotches on her shirt and peeled it off to swap it for another clean one from her closet.

Karen tiptoed onto the firm carpet, plucking the rest of his wreckage up to throw in a bag and dispose of later. There were a few crimson streaks in the beige fibers she would have to scrub out tomorrow. Washing away traces of him was something that never got any easier.

Frank’s breaths were coming deep and even. Somehow, he was sleeping through the pain, a skill he must’ve perfected in the past few years.

Karen paused, with a hand pressed to her mouth as she looked out into her living room and then back at Frank. She wanted to be close in case he needed something. She couldn’t bear to be awake in the other room wondering if he had drawn his last breath cold and alone.

Fresh tears sprung as she tried to banish the thought. She crouched to lift the plush, green armchair from the corner by her dresser and nestled one leg against the bed. One more trip into the bathroom to pull extra blankets from her linen closet, and she switched the light off for the night.

The heavier blanket, she shook out and draped over Frank’s body, resisting the urge to tuck it snugly around his form. For herself, she chose a patchwork afghan that had been passed down from her grandmother. She wrapped it around her shoulders and tucked her legs beneath her while she tried to find a comfortable position for her neck. A hand snaked out from her blanket and reached for Frank’s left one, which was outstretched in her direction.

Timidly, she laid her hand on top of his, barely curling her fingers around his much wider ones as a light anchor to get through the storm of this night.

Exhaustion fell over the entire room, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep much easier than she expected.

Morning light tickled her eyelids, pulling her from her slumber with a start. Memories of the past night colored the scene with a bloody context, and she craned her neck to gaze at the sleeping man beside her, his hand still and peaceful beneath hers. His lips were parted slightly, puffing out microscopic snores and reassuring her that he was still alive. Despite it all.

Karen slowly peeled her hand away from his and readjusted in the chair to wake up her stiff muscles. Frank didn’t stir at all, chest rising and falling like it always did. He was held together by stubbornness and spite. She almost laughed at how many times he had crawled back from the grips of the underworld with bony fingerprints indented into his ankles. There was always more fight in his spirit.

He slept soundly for the whole morning and most of the afternoon. When the sun had just begun to color the sky and the walls of her apartment orange, Karen stepped away to make a cup of tea, and returned to him stirring for the first time.

Frank fitfully tossed his head, murmuring something that Karen couldn’t quite make out. She set her tea down on the nightstand nearest her, and perched on the edge of the seat to draw his hand into hers again. He squeezed hard at the touch and his eyes shot open. His breaths came out panicked and trembling as he tried to orient himself.

“Frank,” Karen called out and his eyes locked on hers. Instantly, his face softened, and his grip went from severe to tender as he pulled her closer to him.

“Thought you left,” he panted a little incoherently. “I thought,” he trailed off.

“No.” Never. “I’m right here.”

He let go of her hand and raised it to catch her jaw softly. He threaded his fingers through her hair, and Karen almost didn’t dare to breathe. Frank could be like a stag sometimes, ready to run at the first sign of someone getting too close.

Karen swallowed and continued with an incredulous laugh, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“‘M sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she countered.

“No it’s not.”

“For the love of—“

Karen sprung forward and, without thinking, crashed her lips into his.

Frank hesitated for a millisecond before finding her head with his hand again, splaying a wide palm against the back of it to keep her close.

It ran through him like a river after a drought. The cracked ground of his heart pulsed with possibilities as the future laid roots through every inch of him. Every cell came alive under her touch. He felt like he was being reborn.

She pulled away reluctantly, and he chased her mouth for another quick kiss. Their foreheads pressed together as ragged breaths shook their whole beings.

Silence hung heavy between them. There would be a lot to talk about later, but for now, Karen curled up on the edge of the bed, resting her head softly on his chest, drinking in the comfort of his hammering heartbeat beneath her. Her own heart beating in hummingbird sync as she rode the shared wave of adrenaline back down again.

Frank pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and her lungs let out the sigh of relief that had been compounding for years.

“Are you hungry?” she craned her neck a bit to see his face.

“Got everything I need right here,” his voice rumbled through her.

[schemmentisimpasours]

Chapter 2: Choosing Mr. Robinson

Summary: Melissa has to deal with the fact that you walked away because of her.

TW: Mentions of some religious guilt

Previous Chapter- Next Chapter

M asterlist

(How did y'all turn a one-shot into a 4/5 part series? I don't mind but damn.)

-

Determined to figure out what happened Melissa cornered Barb in her classroom while she was picking up to leave for the day, “Why she leave Abbott?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Barb said reaching for her purse.

“I heard yous talking about me yesterday,” Melissa said crossing her arms, “I'm a big girl just tell me what happened. Was it cause of me?”

Melissa thought she was prepared for the answer but when a curt yes came from her work wife she could feel her heart snapping into two. She should have opened that damn door. Should have told you how she felt but instead she had gone to him. Why had she gone to him? 

“Can you get out of the door and let me go home please? It has been a hard day,” Barbara said tears welling in her eyes again.

“Listen I know yous was close. She was like a daughter to ya. I just want to explain,” Melissa begged as her voice cracked on her last word, “Please.”

Barb sat on top of her desk and nodded at Melissa to start. She was too good of a person to not let her best friend explain herself. She could see how much it was tearing the red head apart.

“We were at the conference and I… I was so sick of looking at Y/N and wondering what if. What if just this once I did something that scared me. If I let myself feel these emotions I was suppressing. Let myself be loved” Melissa said her voice quavering, “So I kissed her. Right at the bar so maybe I could explain to myself when it didn't work it was because we had been drinking.”

Barbara tsked but Melissa continued, “I wasn't drunk. Not even close. I bought a drink sure but I didn't take a sip. I took her to my room and we had sex. She went to leave when we were done and I couldn't… i couldn't let her go. So she stayed. That next morning I watched her wake up and rationalized to myself that it would just be for the weekend and when we came back my little appetite for her would be Satisfied.”

“That sunday morning as she laid asleep in my arms I told her I loved her. She didn't hear me. I'm sure of it. But the admission scared the fuck out of me I ran out the room and never looked back,” Melissa said tears falling down her face but she made no effortt to wipe them away, “I grew up my whole life think I would go to hell for being gay.. that I was wrong.I looked down at the woman I loved and felt dirty.”

“Now wait a damn minute, that isn't true sweetheart. God loves all his children. There is nothing wrong with being gay, lesbian, transgender, nonbinary, anything,” Barbara soothed reaching out for Melissa.

This only made Melissa cried more as she hugged her friend, “Never thought yous say that stuff.”

Barbara’s tone got serious, “I may be religious but that doesn't mean I have to be a monster. People who don't believe in love and expression of individuality are scum of the earth. But sweetheart you really hurt Y/N with everything you did. Even if I told you where she was I don't know if you can fix this. You chose Captain Robinson.”

“What a choice that was he yelled at me for my black eye. Saying I should have waited for the police. That I shouldn't be carrrying around my bat. Like I need a man in my life to fix everything,” She said angrily, “I'm so stupid Barb.”

“Well you have never been one to take a man’s advice. So I don't think you should take his,” Barb soothed, “Now what are you going to do about this mess you got yourself in?

“I don't know,” Melissa responded crying again, “I don't have the slightest clue.”

Her work wife reached for hand and held it till Melissa had calmed again, “I believe in you dear. You will do what is right.”

As Barb finally left and Melissa was left picking up her classroom she didn't even know what the right thing was anymore. All the overthinking had a migraine forming and she sorted through her desk to find medicine when she found a purple sticky note. 

When Melissa had been given to classrooms for one year you had left her notes every morning in random spots giving her small inspirational quotes to help her through. Always with a purple sticky note and you never once revealed where you had put them. Melissa could have sworn she found them all and honestly had been a little sad when you had stopped writing them out for her. That had been shortly after she had ignored your time together at the conference so she added it to her list of failures as she read your words.

Melissa, I'm scared as hell to want you as much as I do. But I am here, wanting you anyways. And I know people are temporary but I hope every night that this will be permanent.

Wet circles formed on the small note as Melissa cried over it. The love of her life had wanted her as much as she had. Had begged her to stay. And Melissa had let them slip away. Pushed them towards the door. 

It was through these tears that Melissa had her idea. She was gonna show up. Anyway she could until she could prove that she wouldn't leave.. and right now the only way to do that was to send a text. Every day till she could find you. 

Before she could regret her decision she sent the first one: You could never be temporary in my life. I am sorry that I have hurt you. I will spend my life trying to make up for my mistake.

-

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@cupldscntrl

[glitchy1938]

can you write some headcanons about self-aware au crk? (Mainly pure vanilla if possible but anyone is fine!)🌝

A New Cookie... Or...

You don't know How or Why in the world did this happen, but you are in "Cookie Run Kingdom's world !! You were just in your room, playing the game and then, out of nowhere, a portal open and took you

When you wake up, you were on the ground, but what's terrified you was that... YOU BECAME A COOKIE !!! How on the world did this happend ?!?

But before you could have anything to say, you heard someone coming until you saw Pure Vanilla cookie and Sweet Bleu Chocola Cookie coming, they were probably just taking a little walk until they saw you on the ground completely confions..

"Oh my ! I didn't know someone was there, are you lost ?" Ask the vanilla cookie. You were scared and a little shaking from the portal. "I-I... Where am I ?..." You asked to the two cookies besides you. "You're in my Kingdom ! It's nice to meet new friends ! I'm Sweet Bleu Chocola Cookie, but you can call me Zakia, and this is a good friends of mine : Pure Vanilla cookie" Zakia said, presenting herself with her friend, who just softly smile at you.

You give them a little smile, knowing that they wouldn't hurt you, they ask you where were you from, but you tell them that you what no Kingdom of home... For now..

"Oh poor dear, but you need a home ! Oh I know, you can come with me to my Kingdom ! So that you'll be safe !" Pure vanilla suggest.... Maybe, it wouldn't be a bad Idea.. as long as you can help. You agreed to come with him and get up from the ground with them. "I should aware the others of you so that they won't ask too much questions... Buuuut, I'm sure Dark Cacao will.. ^^"' Well that was something....

Sometime have passed and you live in the Pure Vanilla cookie's Kingdom, he really enjoyed your company...

As if he have waited for so long for those moments....

You two are almost inseparable, you would talk, gardening, read spel magics and much more, you also meet the other members of the ancients, and just like Zakia said, Dark Cacao didn't stop asking questions of who you were or what was your intention, but he felt like he could trust you so. There is one in particular who seem to know you... White Lily was wondering how are you here... But she didn't went to make you uncomfortable, but she was happy to be your friends..

Pure vanilla cookie grow a big affection to you, whenever you need help he was always here to, just like you did for him... You'll admit that... Out of all the cookie you meet and be friends with Pure Vanilla was your favourite... One night, you were in the balcony reading a book one of the cookies give you, but you were starting to fall asleep, and without knowing, you sleeped outside. Pure vanilla was looking for you, he wanted to tell you if you want to come to the Hollyberry's party, until he saw you in the garden, sleeping peacefully, he smile softly at your sleeping state.

He than gently and carefully pick you up in bright style and then go to your room. He could help but to think you look adorable when you sleep. When he opened the door of your room and carefully place you on your bed, he wrapped the blanket on you and give you a little head pats with a little kids

He then let you sleep, but when he was out.... He was a blushing mess...!!! He may have to ask Hollyberry of how to confess his love to you...