#reasonably positive at least half the sources of these were lying about when they were painted

[geraldofallon]

Fashions of the Neath, taken from 1890’s paintings.

Discreet but firm. Just like you.

[imafraidoftomorrow]

Welp, I managed to finish one chapter of my Alucard fic and nearly destroyed myself in the process. My poor boy, I relate to him far too much.

Very brief preview under the cut for anyone who may be interested.

---

The first sunlight of dawn broke faintly through the slivered crack of curtains that were otherwise drawn tightly together. The room to which the curtains belonged was completely blackened, save for the subtle warm glow the singular ray of light brought with it. And at its sanction, a head full of thick, flaxen locks listed upwards from the wide-planked floorboards to glance at its luminance. The soft beam only served to illuminate the particles of dust and dirt and spores that wafted through the long-since shuttered room, which only made the occupant feel worse about the present state of his life.

“Is it morning already?” he huffed, but in that simple sigh, there was a juxtaposition of both a sort of lifelessness and the heavied weight of burden. “That means it’s been, what… Twelve days since my stores ran out? Twelve days since I’ve last eaten?”

The man sighed again and rolled over onto his back from where he had been curled on the ground in a fetal position for all that time. The hard, flat floorboards did nothing to provide any sense of comfort as he quartered himself, stretching out his slender limbs for the first time in days. But then again, comfort was not the reason that he had crawled onto the floor in the first place.

“I suppose I should go out and catch something to eat, but it hardly seems worth it… What point is there in eating when there is no point in your living? Maybe it would just be better to die…” he posed the thought, though he was not expecting an answer. He was merely talking aloud to himself again, as he so often did. As he had been doing for three miserable, forlorn months now.

There was a time when he hadn’t been quite so alone, before his mother was killed, and before he, in turn, killed his father. And there was a time after that, when he had made his very first friends. Though, his time with them had come and gone all too quickly, and they were far off from him now… There was even another time, too. More recently, in fact. But that experience was what had left him the broken husk of the man he was today.

Left behind, abandoned. Forgotten, used, and betrayed… These had been the themes of Alucard’s existence thus far, and they had left him with little want for life. So now here he was, lying on the wooden floor of his childhood bedroom, on the half-incinerated and blood-covered carpet of his youth, despondent and dejected and undesiring to carry on any longer.

But it was no easy thing for an immortal being to will itself to death… Not even for a dhampir like himself. Though his human side still felt hunger, it would take years, if not decades, for him to succumb to starvation. Thanks to his father’s all-too-powerful bloodline. And waiting to die, it seemed to him, was a fate even more wretched and miserable than this lonely existence. And so with that, Alucard peeled himself up from the floor and rose staggering to his feet, a bit hungover yet from the wine that recently acted as his only source of nourishment, and he resigned himself to at least the effort of finding something to eat.

---

[sortasirius]

What the Fuck Happened to the SPN Finale?

Okay so here it is, my Charlie Kelly style manifesto.

Before I get into it, I recognize that I will look like this to many of you, and that’s okay, I understand:

Secondly, your personal Takes about the writers don’t interest me, I don’t need to hear them. This, as I’ll explain, is going to remain a writer positive blog, and that’s the end of it.

Third, and most importantly: some of what I’m going to talk about is fact, and some is highly educated speculation. I will notate what is speculation, just so there’s no confusion or hot takes in my inbox that I’m a conspiracy theorist or stirring shit up for no reason.

A list of what I’ll be discussing

The episode in regards to the rest of the season

The episode issues: length, editing

Scene placement and speculation of scenes cut

The scrubbing of Jack, Cas, Eileen

Network involvement and general timeline of when things were cut

Misha: theories on where he was, official company line, why we can’t expect to hear anything directly

The silence of the cast post episode (in Misha’s case, mid episode) and what this might mean

Jensen speaking with Kripke about the ending: why it doesn’t mean what you might think (also why kripke remained positive on the ending)

Walker, and why this episode had a major shift

Why the network would do this or get involved

Why the writers of the show simply aren’t the bad guys here, and what I “want” out of this post, since I know it’ll get asked

This is very long and under a cut, but I hope you’ll give it a read.

The Episode In Regards to the Rest of the Season

So, I’ve discussed this already here, but it’s the most obvious thing to me, and that’s the way this episode simply doesn’t fit with the rest of the season.

These people in this room have, truly, been nothing but consistent when it comes to their arcs, especially this season, and the marked dropoff in quality for the finale episode is just too sus to discount to me.  Dabb’s whole focus has been character-based.  In his seasons, we’ve moved far away from MOTW and bro-codependency, the found family taking it’s place.  Does it really sit right to anyone that that was all thrown away in literally the last episode of the entire show?

This is speculation on my part, but as a writer myself, there is no way I would be happy or willing to stamp my name on something that I didn’t think would, at the very least, wrap up the season+ character arcs that I and my team had been crafting.

And before anyone comes in here saying, “well GOT did that!”  Bruh.  The writing was on the wall for GOT long before the final episode.  You could tell that the showrunners just wanted to be done (not only from the plot, but from the fact that they lobbied for a shorter season).  Miss me with that, it doesn’t apply here.  Andrew has, besides Singer and J2, been with the show longer than anyone.  He cares, he is meticulous and detailed, and this ending feels worse than anything Bucklemming has ever written, let alone Dabb.

Additionally, I’ve seen a lot of people say that Dabb was never behind Destiel, that it was all Bobo and Meredith and no one else.  That is reductive to the point of insult of the work Dabb has done to get this greenlit.  This man did not write the s13 Dean grief arc to be slandered like this.  That being said, YES, Bobo and Meredith were the leads on the DeanCas arc this season, but ANDREW IS THE SHOWRUNNER, TO GET EVEN THE CONFESSION APPROVED BY THE NETWORK HE WOULD HAVE TO HAVE THEIR BACKS.  AND HE DID.

Finale Issues

So, now that we’ve gotten the fact that this episode doesn’t hit on any of the major themes the show was barrelling towards all season, let’s discuss the fact that the episode is just...weird.

Not only is it shorter than any other episode (I think with the intro and the credits/crew thing at the end, it was around 38 mins), but it was also...idk, 90% filler?

One of the lovely humans in the POLOL server did the legwork here, and broke it down:

This is weird, y’all.  Most series finales are LONGER than normal (Lost, SOA, Longmire are the ones I can think of off the top of my head), and for the final episode to be this?  I saw more than one person point out that we only really needed 19 episodes, what was the point of 20?  AND THAT’S EXACTLY IT?  WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THIS FINAL EPISODE IF THIS WAS ALL WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET?

It simply doesn’t make any sense, the first half of the episode was rushed, a final monster hunt gone wrong, but in the second half?  Nothing really happened?  Sam lived his entire life and Dean just drove around.  It doesn’t make sense to have all the emotional arcs left unaddressed in an episode that definitely needed some kind of spark.

Here’s the speculation I have: the episode seemingly went through a lot of changes between the initial inception of the final season and when we actually got it, but I think it would have been passable (as in, we wouldn’t be sitting here asking each other why each arc feels incomplete) until the editing room got ahold of it.  The only think that makes this episode make sense is network fuckery.  Truly, that is the only thing.  It explains the weird, cuts, the rushed pacing of the first half followed by nothing in the second half, the double montages of “Wayward Son” back to back, and Dean just...driving around for the last half of the episode.

Scene Placement and Speculation of Scenes Cut

Before I get into this section, the info of the shots in the episode I have come from a source that @occamshipper​ got a week or so before the finale.  She’s talked about this here.

So here’s what Min was given:

1-5: 1 INT MEN OF LETTERS – DEAN’S ROOM Dean is greeted by Miracle

6-10: 6 INT MEN OF LETTERS – HALLWAY/SAM’S ROOM Sam has his routine

D1 1 11-15: 15 EXT FARM HOUSE Establishing

N1 1/8 16-20: 19 Dad’s journal, marker, drawing of masked man in journal.

21-25: 23 INT IMPALA – PMP Driver picks the music

N2 1 3/8 1,2 26-30: 28pt2 INT BARN: A face from the past

28pt3 Sam and Dean say goodbye

28pt4 Shot early for technical reasons, presumably the overhead shot

N2 31-45: 41 INT MEN OF LETTERS – SAM’S ROOM Sam’s alarm goes off D4 1/8 1 46-60: 56 INT N7glasses for Sam, laptop.

So...it all fits right?  It all tracks with the actual episode, where it lands, etc.  The issue is between shots 29-40 which were apparently “too big to spoil.”  Uh.  Where are they?  And where’s 28 pt4?

After Dean dies, the next scene is Sam burning him, then shot 31, the shot of his alarm going off.

So.  Where are those 11ish shots?

PLUS we have the boards, which are scenes we KNOW were actually shot:

As well as scenes for 20 that were shot in 19.

It’s just...weird, it’s weird and again hits on the fact that the episode is so short and like 80% montage.

The Scrubbing of Jack, Cas, and Eileen

So now we have to reckon with the fact that Eileen was last mentioned by Sam after she got snapped by Chuck, Jack’s last mention is that he’s off being God somewhere, and Cas’ last mention is a ~knowing look~ between Dean and Bobby.

I’m sorry, make it make sense:

????????  That’s the end if it?  They don’t need to be discussed after this???  It’s just simply not something a writer would do, they would not introduce these characters, these arcs, without thinking there’s going to be some kind of follow through here.

So not only were three major characters (including two leads and both of the original characters’ love interests) completely wiped from the finale episode, it was as though Sam and Dean never even needed them, which just...ain’t it.

So why Eileen and Jack too?  Why not just take Cas out of it if they were afraid of the gay?  Because, ultimately, the episode went back to Kripke’s original story: just the bros, they only need each other and no one else.  They don’t want anyone else, they don’t need anyone else.  Easier to go back to something they knew was successful than trust the writers and their audience and take a big leap.

Alex even said he shot for 20 with “some of the guys” here.  What happened to that footage?

The complete 180 of it all still shocks me, I still cannot believe that we were essentially at the finish line, and the network just stopped short, and decided to go run another race, at the expense of the arc of this fifteen year legacy show.

Network Involvement and When Things Were Cut

Okay, now into the juicy stuff.

So I’ve pretty well established that network fuckery is clear, but how much did they get involved, what was the original intent?

Well again, we may never actually know what Andrew’s original script was, but I think, at the least, it would involve Dean speaking his truth to Cas and Sam living a life with Eileen.

Now, it seems today, that Misha said that Jimmy Novak was supposed to be in the finale in one iteration of the script, and while initially my brain was like “that truly makes no sense and he’s either straight up lying or telling a half truth,” I think what may be happening is Misha talking about as much as he can right now.

So Jimmy right.  Weird as fuck.  Why would he been in the Roadhouse and not Cas?  My current thought (this is about as reachy as I’ll get) is that Jimmy had no lines, could he have been in the Roadhouse as a red herring, like it said “Jimmy” in the script but it was just Cas in human clothes, a way to get around the network saying Cas couldn’t be in the final scene.  Also, you’ll notice that Misha didn’t say that Cas wasn’t supposed to be in the ep at all, just Jimmy in the last scene.

All this to say, there have clearly been multiple versions of the script, getting lighter and lighter with Cas and Eileen as the network pulled further and further back.  Remember, Dabb has to get things approved before they get shot, and if the network kept asking and asking and asking to cut Cas and Eileen, he had to find a way to work around it.  Granted, I still think that if we had been able to get a Dabb script that wasn’t torn to shreds in editing, it wouldn’t be so bad.  It may not be what a lot of us wanted (Dean speaking his truth to Cas and a reciprocation), but doing everything he could to give it to us in subtext or visual clues.

Plus, in all honesty, my man can’t keep his story straight anyway.  He said twice in his panel that the Empty and offscreen Heaven ending weren’t his original ending either.

In addition, remember that Jensen did ADR post episode 18, AND said in a meet and greet last weekend that Dean’s reaction to Cas’ confession was “cut down.” (Source here).  Many of us clowns got excited when we first heard about ADR, because we thought it would be upping the ante on Dean’s reaction, but I remember being a little sus when it was just crying.  My speculation on that is that they cut out Dean actually SAYING something, @winchestersingerautorepair​ spoke about that here.

The biggest sins were, in my opinion, committed during editing, where the network got too gun shy and sliced the episode until it was nothing but a heartless bro-fest of a finale, not mentioning anything about the other major characters that we all love, and letting the boys just suffer in separation until Sam died and finally joined Dean in Heaven.  The editing came by cutting all the major emotional beats between anyone other than Dean and Sam, leaving the skeleton of the story intact, just shorter and less...poignant than it was ever supposed to be.

Misha

We know Misha was in Vancouver, we know he quarantined, but we also know he wasn’t in the final scene, when he spoke about being in the last moment of the show months ago.  We were not crazy, he was there, he quarantined, and, in all likelihood (speculation but fitting with the timeline), he actually may have shot something (not much, but something).

I have sources here, here, here, and here showing where Misha was at that time.

Remember, the man was completely open about coming back until they finished shooting (look at this thread).  The switch happened, just like everything else, halfway through them shooting.

Please also remember Jake Abel posting his “Where’s Misha” video here.  Jake isn’t malicious, he isn’t being nasty here.  Misha was there, and everyone that’s trying to convince people he’s wasn’t just...isn’t telling the truth about it.

This is one of the things that makes me really mad, because they’re literally attempting to gaslight people into thinking, “oh we were totally wrong he was never supposed to be there” WHEN HE WAS THERE, WE KNOW HE WAS THERE.

So we’ve already heard from several people (Meghan Fitzmartin, Jay, a PA on the set of 19 (WHO WAS NOT WORKING FOR 20), Misha himself) that this was all down to Covid restrictions.  Ultimately, as this post says, we’ve heard FIVE versions of where Misha was.  None of it makes sense, but the Covid protocol seems to be the company line that others are repeating.

You may ask: why?  Why lie to all of us when we have questions?  Why, in Jay���s case, say that we’re all spreading false lies to stir up trouble, when we just have questions and things that do not make sense.  Simply?  Warner Brothers is absolutely massive.  These people have their careers to protect and are likely all under NDAs.  They want to work for WB again and don’t want to burn bridges, including Misha.  It sucks, but that’s why it’s unlikely that we’ll hear someone come out and say, “yeah we’re lying to you.”

Silence of the Cast Post Episode

So this is...probably the worst part of all this, at least in my opinion.

The guys had all been pretty excited about the end of the show (especially Jared, but Jensen’s panel last week was Jensen as happy and jokey and positive as I’ve ever seen him.  He was so excited about episode 18, about what it meant for Dean and for Cas, and I just cannot buy that he would have been that excited unless he thought there was something more in the episode.

Misha live-tweeted the episode, and was watching it with his kids.  It’s well known that Misha and the kids don’t watch the show because it’s too scary, and let’s ask ourselves, why would he have them watch an episode that he’s barely even mentioned in?

He also stopped live-tweeting at a very specific point in the episode (Dean’s death) and has not mentioned Supernatural since then. 

None of them, not Jared, Jensen, Misha, or even Alex, said anything about the episode for nearly 36 hours, when Jensen posted a salty photo on instagram.  It’s just...not what you’d expect for the end of a 15 year show, when the cast and crew are so close to the fans, so close to each other. 

My theory?  They didn’t know.  They thought Misha was, at least, going to be in the episode in some way, and when he wasn’t, they decided not to say anything.

You really think that Jensen “Heller” Ackles would have been so excited about the end of the show last week if he thought Cas wasn’t going to be in it at all?  Nah son, doesn’t make any sense.

Even today, in Jared and Misha’s panels, they seemed sad and...more than a little careful, both saying that there were things they couldn’t say, both talking around things that we all have questions on.

Jensen Speaking with Kripke

So this is where a lot of people are getting fodder to take shots at the writers, saying that Jensen hated it from the beginning, but I don’t think so.  I actually think I know what Jensen went to him about, and it wasn’t the lack of Cas or the weird pacing or the montages (which I don’t think were there when Jensen got the script); I think it was the manner of Dean’s death.

I know a lot of people were upset about that, upset with how...normal it was, coming off an episode where they literally beat God.  I actually didn’t mind it, I thought it was an interesting thematic take to be like: you can be a hero all your life, but sometimes shit happens, and you just die.

But imagine how hard that was for Jensen to read.  He would run to Kripke for that, because for him, Dean dying by being impaled by a piece of rebar had to be tough to swallow.

So, why didn’t Kripke say that?  Why didn’t he say, “oh well he had a problem with Dean’s death, none of that other stuff was in the script.”

Guys.  Why would he get involved?  He’s not going to burn bridges any more than anyone else is.  He said the ending was good because it’s the easy thing to do, it’s simple, will cause him no problems in his career, and he can just ignore the people trying to engage with him on it.

Walker

Something else to talk about is the major shift this episode had from the rest of the season: the shift from Dean to Sam.  I am NOT saying that Sam isn’t important, he definitely, absolutely is, but it was DEAN who really needed to wrap up his arc, Sam just needed to move on, get married to Eileen, become the leader he was always meant to.  So what changed?  What was with the shirtless scene, the Austin number and random case there, most of the episode being heavily Sam focused, going through his entire life in a montage?

Anyone else notice the 375 Walker promos, or Jared’s little spiel about Walker and how he hoped SPN fans would “come along for the ride.”

It’s...kinda obvious?  CW wanted to appeal to who they think the key demographic of SPN and Walker is: rural areas in the South.  It would explain a lot, why so much editing, why so Sam focused, the Austin number, the number of Walker promos, all of it.

I’m not saying this is fact, I don’t know that it is, but it is a little suspicious that even in Jared’s panel today, he talked A LOT about Walker and how he hopes SPN fans will watch it.

Why Would the Network Get Involved?

Simply put: $$$

If they think Walker can be the new SPN, and that those crazy SPN fans liked it originally, it’s a lot safer to go with the “original intent” of the show than do something risky (like making one of your two original leads queer).

And?  They don’t care.  They don’t care that the episode didn’t make sense, they don’t care that all the emotional arcs were left hanging, they don’t care by (potentially) smashing together two of Dean’s monologues (one to Sam, one to Cas) that it came of as...gross. ( @curioussubjects​ wrote a beautiful post showing how part of that death speech was likely meant for Dean here).  They don’t care, they never have, they just want to make their money and move on from the too-loud fandom that fought for representation too hard for too long.

It can’t help but feel insidious, which, honestly, it might be, but it really all comes down to the next cash cow, which, they think, is Walker, even at the cost of the fifteen year legacy show.

The Writers and What I Want

So here it is, all this weird, sus shit laid out on the line.  And you know what?  To me, there is no way to blame the writers, because they didn’t want this.

I don’t think Dabb and Bobo would have gone ahead with the confession in 18 without thinking that there would be some closure to that arc, they wouldn’t have done that not only to the fans, but for the sake of their own story as well: no writer wants to start something that they can’t finish. (And this applies to both Cas and Eileen).

Here’s a basic rundown of what I think happened: they had a clear arc from 18-20, ending in reciprocation at some level from Dean, Sam marrying Eileen, Hunter Sam as the new Bobby, Dean in heaven with Cas and big roadhouse reunion at the end. Covid prevented a good amount of that. Network had to stare at big gay 18 for six months, got cold feet. Thought about Walker, target audience and alienation of the rural areas if it went full gay. Misha quarantined and likely shot something (not much), he was then cut by execs and went home. They likely added in lines referencing Eileen and Cas to make it clear but more subtextual. They wrap, editing gets it and hacks it to pieces, so we get a shorter episode that’s mostly montages and jarringly bro-centric with nothing else. Arcs are left hanging. Dabb gets episode but it’s too late, there’s nothing he can do. Actors aren’t told so they can continue to do positive PR for the ending, they all found out at the same time we did: hence almost complete silence about the finale.

And you know what?  They warned us.  I talked about it here, but they’ve been telling us all season that Chuck wasn’t the writer, he’s the network.  I don’t think, still, that they thought it would be cut up like this, into something so unsalvageable that it’s been panned by almost everyone, even people who didn’t care much about Dean and Cas.

Finally, a masterpiece can be ruined by editing, and while I’m not sure even the script they ended up shooting on was a masterpiece (due to the network meddling already), but to me it’s blatantly obvious that it’s no one but the network that caused this, that took away closure for Dean, Cas, and even Sam.

So what do I want?  Nothing really, there’s nothing we can do, but I wrote this mostly to show people that the writers are not your enemy.   In fact, to the people trashing them?  You’re doing exactly what the CW wants you to: blame the obvious targets, blame Misha, blame Jensen and Jared, blame Dabb.  Scream and yell at them on Twitter and about how the show is ruined because of them.  The network keeps their engagement levels high, they don’t get as targeted for their behavior, and just keep moving along.

Just, please, think about who did this,  Mourn the show, be angry, but not at the people who fought tooth and nail for this for literal years, not the people who wanted it more than we did, not the people who cannot say anything because of their careers and the NDAs they’re bound by.

Someone is going to spill eventually, but until then, we just have to wait, and continue to be loud.

[slashbitch2]

Lying To Her Love

i noticed there were no fics for lorraine and felt i had to remedy that

also no hate to ed he's a dilf

Lorraine wasn't really sure what prompted her to stray from the group. Conjecture would be the only way to describe it: a sudden desire to distance herself from Ed, to explore the house alone. A new feeling had also arisen deep inside, in her chest if she had to place it, similar to a compass. Like there was an internal needle pointing in the direction she was supposed to go, and she chose to trust this instinct. Though thus far her inference skills had brought about nothing but terrifying situations.

And unfortunately, it seemed this time would be no different...

The needle slowly spun round to point out a set of stairs leading down toward the basement. A layer of dust had settled upon each step, indicating that no one had ventured down so far, which only served to intrigue her further. How, in a paranormal investigation, had no one thought to check the basement? As she drew closer, Lorraine realised there was a very faint set of footsteps. They were too imperceptible to have been made recently, yet the house had supposedly been uninhabited since the disturbances began over a week ago.

Had it not been for the very insistent compass directing her down, the footsteps would've been convincing enough. Careful not to unsettle the evidence, she began to descend down the staircase, one hand tracing along the brick wall as if to ground herself in reality. With each step she could feel a weight bearing down on her chest, a dizzy wave rushing over her. At one point the sensation grew so overwhelming that she had to pause and close her eyes. Whilst stood still, the strange pressure that had been building up in her ears reached its peak. Without opening her eyes, Lorraine knew she'd crossed over to one of her prescience visions.

However, when she eventually did open them, it was to find everything exactly as she'd left it. There were no indications that anything had changed, except for the familiar feeling that she was watching through someone else's eyes. Or rather, watching what someone else wanted her to. She'd been brought here for a reason, and by god she was going to get to the bottom of this. Reinvigorated by a new determination, she practically skipped past the last few steps and onto the cold basement floor.

Here Lorraine found the first confirmation that she was no longer in reality: natural light flooding in from no visible source. It was a welcomed change from the gloom of late evening she'd left behind, but only made her more weary of whatever she was about to encounter since it was clearly trying to lure her into a false sense of security. Nonetheless, she cautiously ambled further into the open space. In fact, it was eerie how empty the room was. Usually she'd be climbing over piles of abandoned objects, trying to give equal attention to each one which often invoked fabrications of the mind. However, here there was nothing for her brain to work with, save for the occasional movement out the corner of her eye that she knew was nothing more than fiction to fill the void and warrant her apprehension.

By the time she'd reached the opposite end of the room, nothing yet had occurred to explain why she'd been dragged into this particular vision. And then, an abrupt, horrifying possibility dawned on her. What if she was stuck here?  It had never happened before, but then again, in most cases 'the cause' would've revealed itself by now.

Although, with this realisation came another equally strange one. Lorraine could feel no fear, no panic, no negative emotions. All she was aware of was complete relaxation. Even her most horrific memories and upsetting images couldn't create any response. They were nothing but distant stories told by a different version of her. The positive aura filling the room started to shift into something else, into an almost crippling pleasure. It was both intense and insufficient. She found herself clutching at her stomach, as if she'd suddenly been made aware of an incapacitating emptiness. She longed for company, yet the idea of returning to reality appeared an incredibly unappealing one. Instead, Lorraine wanted to fall further into this dreamlike pleasure.

But that was what it wanted.

With great difficulty, and an exclamation of discomfort, Lorraine turned on her heels to begin her escape. Though she halted upon catching sight of a figure stood before her. She compelled herself to push past the profound ache lingering in her gut, standing up straight to face this mysterious being. Here she came across the second confirmation that this wasn't reality, not that she needed it anymore. You were indescribably beautiful, radiating a sort of divine light like an alluring beacon of possibility.

Most spectres or demons Lorraine met were the opposite. They enveloped the light around them, constructed a dark gap in which there was nothing but pain and regret. They represented everything that couldn't be. A screaming phantom that reminded her to appreciate life.

But you-

You represented all that could've been without any guilt or anguish. You emanated both warm nostalgia and burning desire, the effects of which were palpable for anyone who could tune into the energy, and Lorraine was being strongly subjected to it. Though first and foremost, she had a job to do.

She swallowed, refocused her attention to the task at hand. "Why-" Another wave of dizzying desire washed over her. She tried again. "Why are you-" The world around her was spinning. She blinked rapidly to try stave off vertigo, but stumbled anyway.

A cool reprieve from the searing pleasure caught hold of her. Using the embrace for support she stabilized herself only to come face to face with you.

Despite your overpowering influence on her, you appeared surprisingly human up close. Normal enough to blend in with reality, but sufficiently attractive to be memorable. Still there was something irresistible to your appearance that encouraged Lorraine to sink further into your hold, to move her hands to wrap around the back of your neck. She hadn't felt so loved since early on in her relationship with Ed...

Ed.

She shouldn't be doing this. Her marriage commitment ought to have her fighting against you- but that was practically inconceivable. Besides, how could something morally wrong feel so right? No, this wasn't infidelity. She wasn't exactly sure what it was, but not that. She would never cheat on Ed.

The temptation was intoxicating. Lorraine's hands started to trace patterns along any available skin, savouring the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation. You weren't a living breathing person so there was something different about the way you felt that she was eager to investigate. In response to her caress, you brought one hand up to cup her cheek, maintaining intimidating yet intimate eye contact. The touch emitted pure pleasure and Lorraine gasped as she leant into the contact. Time seemed to slow as neither moved, opting to stare at the other in silence instead.

She was vaguely aware that time moved differently in her visions. That the longer she spent in one, the more time had passed upon return. Though currently it was the least of her worries. All she could focus on right now was you and the close proximity that appeared to be narrowing still. Your gaze had dropped to the lower half of her face. Lorraine did the same, her eyes fixating on your lips. However, before you closed the gap she raised a hand, motivated by a new desire. She was shaking slightly, but ignored it to gently brush a finger along your lips. She wanted a taste of the upcoming kiss, and was pleasantly unsurprised. As expected, the touch only reasserted her conviction.

She'd never wanted anything- anyone- as much as she did now.

Suddenly your mouth was upon hers, bringing cooling bliss with it. Lorraine moaned. She felt again a rush of possibilities, the surging tide of everything that could be. The muted uncertainty at the back of her mind blurred into nothingness as she clung onto you. Your mouth was the only solid thing in a swaying world, and she planned on indulging herself in the addictiveness of it. She parted her lips, provoking insatiable tremors along her nerves and another rush of giddiness. She felt young, as if she were experiencing intimacy for the first time again.

Your hands were everywhere, carrying an influx pleasure. She'd never felt anything quite like it. Time became irrelevant, everything except you was meaningless. She was lost to an eternity of bliss, in a realm of endless fulfilment. It was incomprehensible, otherworldly.

And then it was over.

She hadn't noticed she was lightly crying, or trembling so much. Or that she was on the ground. You'd simply disappeared and she'd collapsed. But someone was holding her now, someone else.

"Lorraine!" Ed was crouching before her, gently shaking her out of the dreamlike state and back to consciousness. She'd never loathed him so much for saving her.

"What happened?" He asked, lowering to meet her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She scoffed, her mind trying to comprehend all that'd just happened. She was left reeling from the sudden weight of Ed's touch and separated from him. "I'm fine." Her voice barely breached a whisper.

"Did you see anything?"

Lorraine finally met his eyes, but she couldn't tell him.

"No." She answered. "There's nothing here." She lied.

[cdroloisms]

Do you consider a possibility that c!Punz never betrayed c!Dream in the first place and whole "I'm sorry, Dream -- but you should have paid me more" thing was a facade and undercover for Punz? Like Dream said that Punz should not associated with him, so it was intentional-

staged disc finale theory my beloved !!! :D it’s definitely one of my favorite theories, though i’m still holding out (for now) as for believing super firmly in one direction or another (tho the staged finale is definitely the one i prefer for Many reasons, haha.) c!punz is so so fun no matter if the betrayal was intentional or not, but oh boyyyy if it was something planned ,,, man . 

*c!dream voice, after quackity starts visiting*: the risk i took was calculated, but man am i bad at math. 

anyway c!punz and c!dream interactions make me soft as heck so have this !!

tw: implied torture, abuse, violence, blood, injuries, emotional distress, panicking, dehumanization, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy mindsets, illness, trauma, flashbacks, starvation mention, suicide mention, death mentions, dark content, dark imagery, prison arc/pandora’s vault themes, c!quackity critical/dark portrayal of c!quackity

Dream comes to in vague moments and flashes. 

There’s a hand brushing over his forehead, too gentle to be Quackity or the Warden, not Techno because Techno is Gone and he has Left and won’t come again, running through the sweat-soaked locks and pulling them back out of his forehead. He’s unbearably hot, shifting around on the ground, only barely registering it moving beneath him. Water, cool and clear, is tipped in between his lips, quenching his thirst and easing the dryness of his mouth. Someone speaks, voice low and rumbling, and even though he’s unable to make out the words, there’s something about the cadence of them and the specific rhythm in which they move and rise and dip that is bone-achingly familiar, enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Through it all, there is always something, someone, lingering in the edges of his vision, a shadow standing near and watching over him; part of him remembers Quackity, remembers the Warden, and recoils in fright; another part of him remembers Techno, remembers the barest flashes of a life before obsidian and lava and pain and hell, and wants nothing more than to get closer. 

When the fog in his head finally clears away enough to think, the first coherent thought he has is oh fuck, I need to piss. 

Which, out of all possible things to think, is probably up there as one of the worst, and he’s sure that when his head feels a little less like it’s trying to actively kill him (ha, let it- it’s far from the first to try) the panic will settle in as it always does. As it is, he’s exhausted, and hungry, and he really really needs to pee- so he forces his eyes open to move away from where he’s probably still stuck in a puddle of dried blood in the middle of his cell.

The second coherent thought he has is this: this isn’t Pandora. 

The realization has him thoroughly awake, eyes snapping open out of his previous fatigue to take in his surroundings, feet kicking out to the weight on top of them that he hadn’t even noticed was there, panicking against his restraints that end up not being restraints at all, giving way easily under his thrashing and resolving to what appears to be a thick blanket when he has the mind to look. With the covers gone off of whatever he’s lying on (a bed?) he’s suddenly, unbearably cold - the prison has always been hot, the lava baking into him and leaving his skin sticky with sweat, and he thinks that the room he’s in is probably not meant to feel like a fucking freezer, but after months of being one wrong step away from heatstroke, anything cooler than the goddamn Nether feels like literal ice against his skin. The room is wooden and cozy and oddly familiar, an open door leading to what appears to be a bathroom and a closed one going who knows where, window panes built into the opposite wall to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice room, all things considered, and Dream fucking hates it. 

He pulls himself to his feet, cursing at the wobbly edge to his stance when he finally manages to stand, his vision wavering dangerously in time to the spinning of his head. His eyes flick between the two doors - he still needs to go to the bathroom, and using it now will lessen the amount of things to get in the way of his escape in the future - but at the same time, there's no knowing when people will come to (hurt him, beat him, starve him, punish him, leaving him bruised and bleeding and half-dead on the floor just as he deserves) him and he needs all the time he can get to get the hell away. In the end, he slinks into the bathroom, ignoring the thudding in his chest as he does so - at the very least, the cabinets in the thing might provide him with some manner of a weapon. 

He’s only just past the door on the way out - a fucking broomstick in his hand because it’s all he could find - when his ears catch on the sound of metal clicking against each other and his eyes fall on the knob of the other door shaking as someone makes their way in. All at once, panic slams into him - goddammit, he should’ve just run when he had the chance - and he directs quick, desperate glances at the window. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, he can book it out of there and disappear into the trees; it’ll hurt, but it’ll be better than getting caught. Anything would be better than getting caught-

 “Dream?” 

Dream blinks. All at once, the same feeling of getting the air punched out of him returns, but combined with something warm and floaty wrapping around his chest, something almost a little like relief - and hell, if that isn’t something he’s not felt for a while. 

“Punz?” 

Punz is standing in the doorway, hoodie rumpled, expression more than a little frazzled; Dream’s breath hitches at the sight of the sword strapped to his side, but their face holds none of the harsh edges and cold-dark-hard hatred that had characterized the Warden and Quackity’s visits, mouth slightly parted and eyes shining with nothing but what appears to be shock and concern. The sight of them, again, nearly has Dream dizzy, a swell of tangled, unexplainable emotion rising to the back of his throat as he sways on his feet. He hadn’t thought that he would see Punz again, he realizes, had never thought he’d see his stupid gold chain and his stupid outfit he never bothered changing, ever, or that same lopsided smirk and pale blue eyes- the last time he’d seen them, it was in that vault, their mouth twisted up in the act the two of them had decided on and eyes shimmering with unease and regret; as far as goodbyes went, it wasn’t the worst, not when Punz was one of the few to never leave him, not really, not when something ached in their expression other than the hatred that had colored all of the other expressionless faces watching him die. Months later, alone in Pandora, he must’ve grown resigned, or something, the repeated reminders that he would die alone and afraid and it would be nothing more than he deserved settling into his skin and against his bones; Punz’s expression twists, visible even across the room, and- oh. 

They must’ve thought the same thing, too.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Punz asks, finally, and Dream decides not to point out the way his voice cracks harshly in the middle, especially when the other man strides forward and starts to awkwardly herd him back in the direction of the bed - covers still thrown to the floor - in the middle of the room. Dream lets them, not replying because he doesn’t really know where to even begin describing the tangled knot of panic and shock that had strung his muscles tense when he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, not knowing if he can really describe it all at all, trying his best not to flinch at the hands flitting in the corners of his vision as he falls back into a sitting position onto the bed. His fingers settle into the mattress, pressing into the bedsheets cautiously and marveling when they fall away under the pressure. Punz watches him, expression odd, gathers the blankets from the ground and presses them over and around him in a way that’s entirely awkward but does leave him warmer than he’d been before, before walking back on his heels with an odd expression that makes Dream’s insides twist. 

“You,” Punz says after a long second, voice wavering, “are a fucking idiot,” and it’s all the warning Dream gets before a white-and-black blur is rushing towards him, arms wrapping around his chest and his vision whites out in alarm and panic. When the pain doesn’t come, he comes back to his senses enough to realize that Punz’s arms are still wrapped around him, shoulders shaking as he holds him close but not painfully, careful not to pull too much against the places on his ribs and back that leave him gasping with small shocks of pain, head pressed against the crook of Dream’s neck and hair tickling his face. Dream can feel his heart hammering in his chest, but as the panic dies something warm and long-neglected stirs in the middle of his chest, and he melts forward with a quiet hum. This is- nice. Really, really nice. 

“What were you thinking?” Punz mutters, too quiet to really be directed at him, hands curling tighter into the folds of the hoodie - oh, he’s wearing one of those, not the same stiff, bloodstained material of the prison uniform that had chafed against his skin, another constant source of pain and discomfort of thousands in the hell that had been Pandora’s Vault  - on him, and Dream doesn’t really know what to do except sit there and blink dumbly, listening to the heartbeat of the person leaning against him rumbling against his ears. It’s oddly calming, has the pressure on his chest lightening enough to take a full breath, and then another, the warmth of someone leaning against him almost too much but not enough at the same time - his eyes burn, and he ignores them. 

“I-” he doesn’t really think that Punz was really asking a question, but just ignoring his question seems rude, too, and even despite the fuzzy warmth settling into his skin and into his bones from the pressure of Punz’s arms around his body and their head against his shoulder, he’s still unable to shake the anxiety of leaving a query unanswered, a constant murmur to listen obey do as you’re told or you’re going to regret it put on a damn good show or suffer the consequences remaining no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He wets his lips when his mouth feels too dry to keep speaking, eyes fluttering closed as he leans forward further, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You-” Punz cuts themselves off with a wet, incredulous-sounding laugh that has Dream jerking back despite himself, meeting their ice-cold eyes when they pull themselves back to look at him. He doesn’t really recognize the expression he wears, Dream realizes with a jolt, the way his lips are pressed together and the churning in his eyes, and his lungs seize in his chest. 

“Sir-”

If anything, Punz’s expression only seems to harden, and the warmth disappears as Dream looks into their eyes - cold, two polished shards of ice, frosted over pools of water in the middle of the tundra, flinty and sharp and brilliant blue. His hands shake as he pulls them back to his chest, trembling from the chill that’s made its home in his muscles and frozen them in place - sir sorry sir please don’t hurt me im sorry please I didn’t mean to

“Fuck, Dream,” he shakes his head, and only then does Dream see the slight wobble to their bottom lip, the waver to their words like they’re struggling to keep themselves together, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 What?

You almost died, you know,” he keeps going, not meeting his eyes as they direct their gaze out the window, “Several times, honestly. Fucking hell- when Techno brought you out- I didn’t think you would survive. I didn’t think anyone could survive that.” 

Dream swallows. He doesn’t remember getting out, doesn’t really remember much at all if he’s being honest; there was the black of the cell, the heat of the lava, Techno promising to get him out before disappearing in a flash of purple, Quackity throwing him against the wall (Where the fuck did Techno go? You better have a fuckin’ answer, pal, if you want your death to be anything resemblin’ quick-) then nothing. Everything. His heart hammering in his chest and blood slick against his skin and the press of metal against his windpipe and pain, the only constant within it all, the only thing that made any goddamn sense when the room seemed to flip and turn and twist and his feelings knotted and frayed between anger-betrayal-distress-sadness-fear-grief, when reality swirled into a dizzying blur of colors and feelings and sounds carving themselves into the inside of his skull- then here. Dream flexes his hand experimentally, marveling at the feeling - the pain is almost gone. 

He’d forgotten how it felt, really, to live and not hurt. 

“Dream,” Punz calls again, voice low and worried, and Dream can’t help the way his head snaps up to meet their eyes and can’t help the flinch that twists his neck back when their frown deepens. It’d been a show, at least he tells himself, because Quackity would stop earlier if he screamed more, but- his hands tremble at his sides, twisted into the sheets of the bed, a near-constant litany of reminders and rules beating like they have a heart of their own in the back of his head. It was a show- he feels himself almost buckle, give in under the force of the stare leveled at him, and hates himself for how weak he feels, pinned under the eyes trained on his own. He’s not sure how much of a show it is anymore. 

“Dream,” Punz repeats, words even softer, and the ugly feeling of shame and anger twists inside Dream’s chest again. Punz- ever unflappable, deadly with almost any weapon and never letting anyone see him as anything but deliberately apathetic - is watching him with an expression so uncharacteristically and unbearably gentle that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “You could’ve died,” he says once again, and the look that paints his face is so terribly vulnerable, feelings pouring over like a cup overfilled, bubbling forward and bleeding from every corner, and Dream- can’t. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of such stark emotion, doesn’t know how how to handle the way his eyes burn and his heart throbs like an exposed nerve, the way everything yawns wide in the middle of his chest into void and emptiness and pain so deeply carved in the space within his ribs that he half-thinks he’s been hollowed out entirely.

“But I didn’t.” 

Punz pulls back, but Dream isn’t looking at him, is staring at the scarred surfaces of the backs of his hands and the knobs of his knuckles sticking out against the thinned-out skin and the yellowed nails he’s pushing against the blanket, the fourth and fifth ones of his right hand missing. They shake, no matter how long he looks at them and how hard he tries to make them stay still, and he can feel a voice whispering in the back of his mind, tone too familiar to ignore. Weak. 

“I didn’t die,” he says when Punz doesn’t reply, looking at his scarred hands, weak hands, broken hands. “So it’s okay. We can keep- we can keep going.”

“Dream-” their voice is a blade scraping against an anvil, nails scraping over his ribs, his hands clamping over his ears before he’s realized he’s moved and his brain screaming at him for doing so once he realizes that he has, “-what the fuck are you talking about?” 

Still, he hadn’t survived months of Quackity’s visits by bending over the second he was pushed, so he forces his tongue to move from where it’s fallen to the bottom of his mouth like lead, feels his eyes go steely even from under the way his vision has already begun to wobble. 

“It’s not over yet,” he continues, trying to keep his words even, “‘cause I didn’t die, so we’re not done. I gotta- we have to reevaluate, of course,” he can’t stop, because the second he stops talking is the second he falls apart, so he ignores the way that Punz stiffens and stills and doesn’t let anything stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth, “because the vault and the prison- um, obviously didn’t go as planned, but it’s fine. Just a minor- um, minor inconvenience. A setback- but it’s not- it’s not unsalvageable- we just have to-”

“Are you kidding me?” Punz cuts him off with a sharp laugh, disbelieving and just on the wrong side of desperate, and the air in Dream’s lungs freezes into a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest, “you- you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Punz?”

Dream’s voice comes out small, himself shrinking back into the bed, keenly aware, suddenly, of how there is nowhere he can go to run - Punz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s spoken at all, one of his hands moving up to tug through his hair, which is - now that Dream is looking - fluffier and messier than he remembers, sticking up in all directions like they didn’t bother to smooth it down.

“You think this is fine? You think that because you didn’t fucking die, that this is all okay?” Punz’s voice rises in volume slowly, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to go hard and unyielding like a threat, and with each word every remnant of the vault comes crawling, clawing back up to the front of his head, a pounding reminder to play his role, put on a show, behave behave behave-

“Goddammit, Dream,” Punz startles him out of his own thoughts, looking straight into his eyes with their ice-blue ones, “have you seen yourself?”

 Have you seen yourself? Lying down in your own goddamn filth like a fucking mutt- prime, you disgust me. 

“Your ribs were basically shattered. Your legs had fractures on both sides, and your back was so fucking torn up that it looked like more blood than skin. You’ve been starved- enough for me to see every goddamn bone in your body, it feels like. Your throat was bruised to hell- I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to speak again, fuck, and like a day after we got here you got fucking pneumonia.” Punz’s breath hitches, “Your skin was a literal fucking oven- I thought you’d bake yourself from the inside out. You could’ve died- you should’ve died.”

 You should’ve died a hell of a long time ago, pal- should’ve saved us all the fucking trouble and offed yourself like Wilbur fucking Soot.

He flinches, and this, Punz seems to notice, eyes widening a fraction before they pitch their voce lower, clearly taking a few breaths to calm down and reaching forward to take one of Dream’s hands loosely in his own, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles. 

“You’re not fine,” he says after a long while, shaking his head. “Hell- I’m not fine. But we’re not doing anything like- like the vault or the prison again, dude. I told you they were shit ideas- fuck. We never should’ve done that.”

“It was worth it,” Dream butts in, because he can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t, can’t imagine a world where all of that was for nothing, “it was worth it-” 

“No it fucking wasn’t, are you out of your mind?” Punz replies immediately, voice overlapping over Dream’s own, “have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? You- look at you! How was that worth it?”

Dream shakes his head stubbornly, already feeling the way his jaw is trembling around the words he forces himself to speak. “The server- it was all for the server-”

“Fuck the server!” 

Punz seems startled by their own shout, drawing back at the same time Dream does, breathing ragged. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, bringing his hand to his face as Dream sits stock still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Fuck the fucking server, okay?” Punz says, finally, voice cracking in the middle, “You lost two damn lives for this server. You got fucking tortured for fucking months for this shitstain of a server. Just- fuck them. I’m not watching you tear yourself to fucking shreds for this- not again. I can’t sit around and watch you fucking die again, Dream, I can’t drag you out bleeding out in my fucking arms again- fuck-” Punz shakes their head, and oh. They’re crying. 

“No more. Fuck the server. I’m done, Dream- we’re done with them.” 

Dream blinks, so thoroughly surprised that he thinks the shock knocked him straight out of the building panic attack, leaving nothing but a slight thrumming of anxiety still simmering beneath his skin. Almost instinctually, in a motion he doesn’t really remember but still has the muscle memory for, he opens his arms- and in a similar, near-unconscious response, Punz tumbles into his arms. 

He blinks, not moving his arms to curl around the other, feeling the weight of another person against his again and the sound of their breathing and relearning them both. This is- new, for both of them. Dream was never emotional, not before the prison, not that he wanted to be after it either- but Quackity always had a particular affinity for tearing him apart, shard by shard. And Punz- he’d never been like this, even back in the day, when things were easier and they didn’t bear the constant burden of netherite against their backs. They’d always been stoic, sharp, sarcastic, cool and dry in a way that chafed against Sapnap’s fire and always led to Dream laughing at them sooner or later. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, feeling the heat behind his eyes finally sear too hot and boil over, tears squeezing through his closed eyes and falling down his face. 

“Okay,” he says, finally, and there’s nothing easy about the acquiescence, not when he had poured blood and sweat and the better half of himself into this place, salted the earth with his tears until no more would come and nothing else would grow. He thinks that he will have more to think and more to say and more to protest come the next days, that the binds between him and his goals have been weaved too deep with the fibers of his soul for him to tear them free without sacrificing what broken pieces of himself he has left, but all he can think right now is how fucking tired he is. He remembers Techno’s voice, going through myth after myth to pass time in the prison, and thinks with something like humor and something like grief - let someone else be Atlas for a day. The sky is too heavy right now. Punz’s arms tighten around his body, enough to remind him that they’re there but not enough to press at his still-healing ribs, and he thinks that they might understand. “Okay.” 

[theringers]

august - pierre gasly

illicit affairs, part ten

summary: "august sipped away like a bottle of wine, 'cause you were never mine"

warnings: this shit is sad

3 years later

You walked hand and hand with your son down the streets of Monaco. It was his first day of preschool and you were nothing short of emotional. “Mommy, stop crying!” He kept shouting at you as you walked. You bent down to him.

“Mommy can’t help it. You’re such a big boy now.” You walked past a newsstand and saw the headlines on the tabloids in bold red. “Formula One Driver and Wife Divorce”. Well, that was a familiar headline.

You took a few steps closer to see the faces in the photo. It was your husband’s career after all. Your son complained as you dragged him closer to the newsstand.

The subheading read in smaller font. “Pierre and Anna Gasly finalize divorce just days after filing”. No way. It was a quick divorce with little to no proceedings. He wanted out and he wanted out bad.

More tears fell, but this time it was for a different reason.

He finally left her. The poor guy suffered long enough, doing everything possible to make her happy and him getting absolutely nothing in return. You were hoping he could now find true love and happiness with someone other than the horrible woman he married. To replace you.

It had been almost three years since you spoke to Pierre. Anna’s threat stuck with you and you couldn’t break the promise you made. Not at the expense of your family. Especially while you were celebrating the birth of your son. Little Jamie was the joy of your lives. He came much earlier than expected but was fully grown and healthy. He popped out with a full head of hair as well, a dirty blonde just like his daddy.

The first few months were brutal, to say the least. He never stopped crying. No matter what you did, the loud wails never stopped. Except when he was in Max’s arms. You weren’t sure what it was about him but Max had a way with Jamie that you couldn’t recreate.

It was always tough when he was away for race weekends. You would sit in front of the tv, watching Max and rocking Jamie, hoping the sounds of the cars would soothe him. At least that’s what Max told you. “The whooshing will put him right to sleep,” he would say over the phone. You were exhausted and lacked sleep but he tried to be as positive as possible halfway across the world.

Jamie got to attend his first Grand Prix at only a month old. The Monaco Grand Prix was a sight to see for anyone. Even though he won’t remember when he’s older, there are photos to prove he was on his first podium before he could walk. His daddy held him proudly in one arm and his trophy in the other.

Every time you attend a Grand Prix, you receive a warm welcome from those around you. People are excited to see you after missing you for multiple races at a time.

There was one person who wasn’t excited to see you and you don’t blame her. Anna Gasly kept to herself and avoided you at all costs. It made your stress levels decrease knowing that she wasn’t going to seek you out and knock you out for sleeping with her man.

You could sit in Max’s driver's room or the garage and just enjoy the weekend. Cheer on your husband, exactly what you were meant to do all along.

You picked up the tabloids and examined them, going against your own rule of never reading tabloids. Those stories aren’t real, they’re pure fiction. For entertainment. But this time you hoped it wasn’t. You hoped it would be fact-checked and sources cited. A quote from the man himself.

Jamie tugged at your arm. “Mommy, I gotta go!” He said. He looked adorable in his school uniform. You got emotional just looking at him. He was so excited to be a big boy and go to school. He carried his lunchbox around for hours yesterday just to practice. He was so young and innocent. He had no idea what the universe had in store for him for his life. You crossed your fingers that he met the right girl the first time around. And that he beats his friend to her. Because he deserves all the happiness in the world.

You snapped photos of him in front of his school before waving goodbye and handing him off to the teacher. Your baby was so old and you couldn’t handle it.

The post office was directly across the street from his school, so you decided to stop in and check to see if you had any new packages. No boxes, but the postal worker did hand you two envelopes.

One envelope was stamped with your address and name. Return address, Princess Grace Hospital Lab, Monaco.

The other was handwritten. No return address but it was addressed to you.

You weren’t sure which to open first. The handwritten letter seemed more intriguing.

Y/n,

Hi. I shouldn’t be sending this but I am going to seal it up and hope for the best. If you’re really as mad at me as Anna said, feel free to throw this out. But I know she was lying.

I’ve thought about you nonstop for the last three years. It’s been exactly three years, nine months, twenty-three days, and some odd hours since I last heard your voice.

I used to think about it at night when I couldn’t sleep. You always knew how to calm me down.

Congratulations on the birth of Jamie. I know I’m late, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything when he was firstborn. He’s beautiful. He should’ve been mine. You should’ve been mine.

Anna and I are divorcing. By the time this gets to you, it should be public. If not, feel free to tell whoever you want. I don’t give a shit. I tried for too long to convince myself that she was you but no one compares to you.

You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. You are smart, funny, beautiful, and my better half. I didn’t want to imagine a life without you but I’ve lived it and it fucking hurts.

If nothing comes of this, I want you to know I love you. I always loved you and I always will. I think about you constantly and I can’t see that ever ending.

You look happy. I just couldn’t let another day go by without telling you how I feel. How I still feel.

I wish you all the happiness, success, and love in your future. Please don’t forget about me.

Pierre

He signed the letter with his signature, the same one he gives to fans. This made you laugh through your tears. Of course, he still loved you. Something like that doesn’t just go away overnight.

You made sure both envelopes were in your hand when you ran down the street. You busted up a set of stairs, almost tripping on the way up.

You knocked on the door and stood there waiting. “Y/n?” He said opening the door.

“Hi, Pierre.” You held up both envelopes and smiled. It was time to find out the truth.

next part

[yanderenightmare]

yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon, profanity, abuse, anger issues, anxiety, arson, bullying, child neglect, child abuse, drugs, addiction, anorexia, guilt, pills, unprotected sex, stalking, trauma

TIP-JAR

PART ONE 

IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM - PART TWO

IN THE TRAILER

She ran away from him in the hallway.

He’d warned her of what would happen if she did.

Knowing it was a matter of when as the next day he was left waiting, grazing the halls of where she’d left him with a kicked ball-sack on the dirty school-floors, all lovesick and frenzied with fire ants raging over his skin and a manic promise that one way or the other he’d get her. Lying in suspenseful spiteful wait to tell everyone what type of slut the little spitball in class 3c General Studies really was.

But, timing was everything, and as the day went by without him spotting her he realized the opportunity to ruin her reputation in school wasn’t going to rear its head.

She was home… 

Sick.

Or, that’s what she’d told the school. One quick question at the reception told him so.

She was home. 

Home in that run-down trailer-park sorry-excuse for a home she despised, the one she cried about so often, the one with neighbours who didn’t give two shits worth a damn about who she was or that her mother was a crackhead-whore in no position to take care of her. 

She was there instead of at school begging him to stop, begging for him to give her a second chance, begging him to kiss her, like she was supposed to do.

Standing outside her trailer, he wondered if whether her mom was home or not. He wondered if either one of her neighbours would care if they saw him break in, if it even was considered breaking in.

He spotted her mother slouched on a beach-chair beside some other trailer with a needle still stuck to her arm, ugly destroyed skin sizzling in the summer-heat, mouldy flip-flops sticking to her feet. 

He cringed at the sight of it, but knew then that his pursuit would go on unprovoked, which at the very least brought him some sense of relief.

She’d gotten in through scholarship as she in no form or way could afford a school like UA. That much was clear, unlike how unclear the crystal-meth shards decorating the plastic salon-table placed on the outside of their van was. 

She transferred half-way through the first year, all on the account of pure hard work.

He could respect that. 

He did respect that. Given she was quirkless and all. It was the reason she’d caught his eye.

It all went sideways when she rejected his invitation to Homecoming.

He’d already gone miles away out of his comfort-zone, out of his element, talked himself into asking her out, only for her to turn him down.

Him.

Best student in Hero-course 1A at the time.

Rejected.

He knew it was petty of him to bully her because of it, but… she didn’t only make a fool out of him, she broke his fucking heart.

He could have listened to Kiri, and tried to forget about her through some other extra, but... he wanted her. He’d decided. She was his. And a quirkless trailer-rat like her was in no position to just say no.

In some sick sense he believed she deserved better. Him being better. But, he would like for her to ask for his help, instead of him just giving it to her. He would like to see her grovel, beg, just a little bit, or a lot. He wanted to see her regret her decision. He wanted to see her sorry. He wanted to see her want him as much as he wanted her. And he wanted it to be her who initiated it.

But… he could see that wasn’t happening. He could see that his unorthodox methods of courting her through continuously trying to bend her until she broke only consisted of her rewinding or snapping back like a rubber-band.

She was distracted, too busy being broken by what life had given her, too busy with juggling different shifts, bills, schoolwork, to be thinking about him and how he pushed her around a bit at school.

He eyed the cracked paint of the faded trailer with much the look of a snob on his face. Fingers brushing over the door-handle, testing how much noise it would make if he were to pick the lock, coming to a complete loss. 

He could barely believe it… the door was unlocked, and when he stepped inside he was even more distraught to see there was no existing lock there to be locked in the first place. 

Meanwhile her mother was too busy slowly dying to better protect her daughter from depraved humans who could come and do just about anything they wanted with her.

Meaning… just look at him.

Soft snores brought him back to where he was once he closed the door behind him. Making the short way to the source of the groggy sounds, feeling his stomach flutter at the thought of how wrong it was of him to be there, sneaking about like some love-obsessed sick stalker, getting turned on by hearing his prey sleep.

What the fuck was wrong with him? 

And why didn’t he care enough to stop?

He stood at the foot of her bed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, head tilted to the side to view her sleeping frame.

Sleeping on top of the covers, not under.

He doubted it was because of the heat, the same way he doubted the mattress beneath was clean.

She was curled onto her side, knees bent and tucked up. Cute with that teddy-bear she used as a pillow, silly and stupid but cute because of it, especially in her uniform despite having left the tie and blazer off.

She was wearing her uniform.

Meaning... she’d either gone to bed with her clothes on and slept through the entire day, or she had planned on going to school this morning, but weaseled her way out like the weakly coward she was.

Well, in that case… what he was about to do would serve her right then...

Ought to teach her lesson.

He lifted his hand out of his pocket, producing a finger to poke her ankle softly, before stroking up a path alongside her socks, all four other digits joining in the stride before the fabric came to an end and his callous fingertips glided onto the doughy flesh of her leg, over the dome of her knee and onto her even softer thigh, coming to the edge of her skirt.

He always liked her in that skirt. 

That’s where his mind was at as he started lifting to see what underwear she was wearing, yet never getting that far as something sharp dug into each side of his wrist.

Her nails weren’t of course any close to lethal, yet managed to surprise him as she whipped around to meet him, digging the talons into his roughened skin.

She might not have prioritized figuring out who it was that was currently touching her in her bed, but she had assessed the situation enough to know that someone was in fact in her house and touching her, something of which is not a good omen when you live where she lived, nor in any other situation for that matter.

He tried subduing the splash of struggles that followed her awakening by climbing and crawling some further up on the bed in order to control what myriad of flailing limbs came at him. 

Soon, hands that had primly started clawing at him were safely locked in his much larger hands.

“Oi, relax! It’s just me!”

As if it being him would have any other effect than of rising her already racing heartbeats. Yet, even as her lungs heaved for as much air as her tight chest would allow her, he managed to capture her focus, her hands pinned to each side of her head whereas her feet were stopped amidst their kicking, crushed beneath the weight of the much stronger, much more encompassing mass and weight of Katsuki’s legs.

He hunched over her, back arching with his face a mere half-foot away from her own, the only thing supporting his upper-body being his arms, which were stretched out and grasping at her wrists, pushing them into her pillow.

Her eyes were large with craze-ridden fear as they locked with his recognizable carmine ones. 

“Bakugo?” 

Shocked and scared, with the creeping feeling of anticipation waving over her again, now all for different reasons then when she first understood there was an intruder in her caravan. 

Somehow, it being Bakugo gave her an even starker unsettling eerie feeling than if it had been a total stranger. Maybe because oblivion is bliss and knowing what is to come makes the inevitable that much more inescapable. 

Still, she demanded he tell her, even though she thought she might already know the answer. 

“What are you doing? Why are you here!?”

“You weren’t at school.” He stated, spoken as though it preforming as explanation enough, though serving as far from it to the girl beneath him, the confusion shown in the way she scrunched her brows together.

He noticed, contemplating whether or not he should make his reasons known, but deciding against it and for playing with her for just a little while longer.

“I thought, since you managed to wiggle your way out of your punishment at school, I’d bring the punishment to you.” 

He searched her features for any cracks in her composure, but though she looked beyond uncomfortable, she made no moves to push him off.

Her eyes squinted instead, narrowing at him. 

“I’m not scared of you, Bakugo. I know you’re not gonna hurt me.” 

Her body started twisting under him. The action far from vigorous, mainly meant to show her discomfort as she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere unless Katsuki decided she could.

And though the intention to her wiggling was not to evoke his arousal, it most certainly managed to do just that.

He inhaled sharply and she felt her body freeze up, seize at the feel of his hips making a shift to slot himself against her, grinding down onto her flattened and unmoving body.

“Hurt you?” 

He let out a low rumble of a laugh, like building thunder. 

“Who said anything about hurting you?”

Her breath strained as his eyes scrunched closed upon her jerking, his own teeth sinking into his bottom-lip to maintain the hiss on his tongue at the pull in his pants, his head descending to nuzzle against her chest, spiky hair poking at her chin. 

Mouth breathing hot breaths onto her ear, causing her to whimper.

“Thought you just said you weren't scared?”

She swallowed thickly, improperly giving his rhetorical question an answer, feeling her wrists go numb under his hold and her blood running cold.

“Bakugo…?” 

He didn’t answer and she felt herself go even more rigid at the absence of his voice.

It wasn’t often Katsuki didn’t speak back to her when she willingly spoke to him. In fact, it was never. But now, he was quiet, too quiet, making the frightening rugged sound of his heavy breathing overwhelm her ears, dulling her senses in the process before everything being sent into hyperdrive upon the feeling of his hand leaving her one wrist to cup her breast outside her shirt, giving the mound a careful and slow yet full squeeze.

She yelped at the sudden attack, her body jumping up against him, making yet another teasingly harsh contact with his clothed cock.

This time he hissed, both upon her delicious little struggles but also because her newly freed hand had actively made the decision to pull his hair as a desperate means of making him move.

It worked to some extent, at least in freeing her other hand which opened for the opportunity to drag herself out from beneath him. 

Yet, the action was stopped in a series of rather clumsy fighting, where Bakugo managed to retract the upper-hand once again, pinning both her wrists with one hand whilst tugging loose his tie with the other. 

He’d slotted himself between her legs now, her skirt spreading and hiking up her thighs as she struggled to stop him from tying her wrists together and fasting them to the handicap-bar mounted on the side of the bed, yet failing.

Her body free for him to touch now, to tamper and play with, and she felt her heart catch in her throat, small pleas coming erupting from the place because of it, but he didn’t seem to hear her, and if he did, he was electing to ignore the pitiful sounds.

His hands traveled down her sides, thumbs rubbing over the scratchy material, the fabric of her shirt stiff as a result of using dollar-store laundry detergent.

White shirt; made up of thin fabric to make the fight against the Tokyo-heat easier, yet resulting in it being so temptingly easy to make see-through with just a little spill of water. Water Katsuki was always so eager to pour, either with light teasing spritzes from his water-bottle or in carrying her over his shoulder into the showers and holding her there as the water rained down upon her, drenching both her and himself, then offering ever so mockingly if she would like to borrow a shirt, because unlike her he had a dorm-room with fresh and dry clothes, whereas she only had that one uniform and all other clothes made up of more holes than actual textile.

He chuckled at the memories as his fingers moved up-front and centre to tamper with the buttons.

“I bet you just hate this uniform, don’t yah?” His voice, although maintaining the snicker, was soft. Not loud and abrasive and rushed, but as though he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that, drinking in the moment.

His movements too, were slow; careful.

Large warm hands stroking down the bare skin of her stomach, feeling the tremors as he did so, with eyes glued to those perfect mounds found beneath what looked like a well-worn sports-bra, making him wonder what she’d look like if he were to dress her up in expensive red lace. She’d be mouthwatering to look at either way, and breasts are just as soft whichever way they’re dressed… it’s not like the bra is staying on for too long anyway.

He swallowed thickly to stop his mouth from dripping.

He tucked her shirt out from her skirt, taking a moment to grip her midriff and squeeze to try and ease her struggling. 

It only resulted in her thrashing even more, whirlwinds of panicked get-off-me’s and fuck-you’s and stop’s spilling from her mouth in rapids, but the plead seemed to repel off Bakugo’s ears like water off a ducks back where the desperation only aided in satiating his sick sadism, in the same fashion tears fell from her eyes aided in making his stomach churn or flutter with something he could only describe as bliss, her arms trying to the best of their efforts at tugging at her bonds, to no avail except for making the skin found their chaffed and sore.

He spent a few seconds deciding whether he wanted the skirt on or off as he felt up the fabric between his fingers, more memories flushing his mind with such sweet and potent nostalgia of him lifting up the short excuse for coverage in the school-halls every day to sneak a peak at her underwear, or those times he would bend her over classroom-desks and push his bulge where it would fit so snuggly against her ass.

“Kinda feels like this skirt gets shorter and shorter for each year...” He mused, stroking up the skin of her thighs, lifting the fabric in the process, revealing a pair of black cotton boxers which, despite being lackluster, forced a groan to rumble from his chest.

The fuck-you’s had turned to please’s and the change made a smirk curl onto his lips as he put his lips to the inside of her thigh before pulling away to look down at her, all spread open and quivering for him. 

Breasts all perfect, squished together in the comfort of her bra, hair splayed on top of the pillow, her nose turning all red and adorable with her eyes brimming with both panic and tears.

Her skin felt so soft and untouched beneath his fingertips as he stroked up and down her thighs, pulling them towards him, as far as the bonds on her wrists would allow, slightly struggling with how much the panic had taken a hold of her, her legs kicking and flailing.

But he liked it that way. 

Messy and desperate.

“Don’t be difficult, Quirkless, you’re not getting out of this.” He spoke so calmly, so collected and controlled and determined. As though he wasn’t doing anything wrong, as though this was his right. “This is the only thing you’re any good for anyways.”

He leveled with her clothed little sex, slung her legs over his shoulders, watched as she squirmed upon his breath, heard her whimper and plead with his name as he stuck his tongue into the fabric, her legs doing a little involuntary kick while her thighs where firmly secured in his hands.

“Worthless quirkless little pussy on legs.”

She sobbed as his fingers latched around the ribbon of her underwear, pulling, tearing the fabric, with no need to pull it down her legs, just a need to pull them off.

A content and knowing smile made its way onto his lips, yet she was unable to see it in her position, something of which she was thankful for, or… as thankful as one can be when being defiled by a friend. 

Not that Bakugo was much of a friend anymore, but he had been, at some point before he'd offered more than one concerning opinion about quirkless people and their place in the world.

Of her place in the world.

He didn’t share her nostalgia though, not when the future was smiling at him with the face of her shaven warm pussy right in front of him.

“Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me? Huh? Knew I was coming?” He teased as she shook her head sporadically, unable to form any type of words in her overwhelming embarrassment and fear and panic.

He grinned smugly, despite knowing it was due to her spot on the swimming-team she kept herself clean and hairless, also knowing that the only reason she took swimming-lessons was because she and her mom couldn’t afford the hot-water bill, making her take showers at school instead, and that a spot on the swimming-team gave her a free-ticket to using those showers anytime she wanted.

How many times had he snuck in there to watch her soap up her body?

How many times had he palmed his erection to the sight of her?

How much he’d wanted to waltz in and take her against the cold tiles, make steam roll off the walls, hearing her voice echo his name... 

Now he had the real deal though, no more time for fantasies.

She was smart, she was resourceful, but not enough to put a lock on her door.

She was lucky if one thought about it.

Lucky it wasn’t just any random guy who walked in and took her like Bakugo was going to take her.

Lucky it wasn’t just anyone’s tongue jutting out to lick up her spread folds.

Lucky it was Bakugo who was hugging her thighs close to him, using them as soft warm pillows as he nuzzled between them to lick and suck and bite at the little bundle of nerves found right there in front of him.

Lucky it was Bakugo that had her squirming and quaking and whimpering and crying. 

Because, taking everything into consideration, she was safe with him.

Safer than she would or even could be with anyone else for that matter.

Who else could really protect her like he could, like he will, like he has?

She should be grateful he still wants her after she rejected him, humiliated him like she did. She was sure going to pay for it tonight. But first, he could at least treat her to what she had been missing, especially when thinking of how much he was going to take from her before the day let up.

It almost made him feel bad.

Almost, being the keyword, because without it he wouldn’t have thought it funny how many noises she could make without alerting anyone from outside, how no one cared whether she blubbered out common sniveling protests and screams of his name, begging him to stop, or those equally loud yet scarce moans that sprung from her despite her not wanting them to, each time he sucked too hard or too harshly on her clit, teeth rubbing over the sensitive skin found there. Her hips dancing a panicked series of shimming from side to side, controlled in his grasp and only aiding in his tongue finding new places to lick and suck at as he laid abusive worship onto the temple between them. Nose bumping and dipping and rubbing onto places too tender as his mouth moved lower.

Her knees jolting as he kept them spread open, claws digging into the grabbable flesh each time she would pound the ball of her heel into his back, the movement always falling still upon the building simmering threat of explosions in his palms, pain much sharper than that of his nails.

She wanting nothing more but to wrench away, especially upon feeling the shameful treacherous dripping of herself down onto the bedsheets, disgusted with her body, humiliated beyond repair, with the tongue of Katsuki lapping up what mess he had made out of her, teeth from a grin gracing in feather-light motions, yet still managing to shoot electricity up her core. 

All she could do was pant and sob through moans and trying her best to force out more protests even though she knew it was to no use, until she felt him pull away, leaving her cold in loss of contact with heat. 

She doubted his removal was because she’d begged it from him.

Her doubts being answered as she heard the crisp clatter of a belt-buckle opening.

Her eyes were swimming, gifting her with more panic as she wasn’t even able to see what he was doing, yet knowing, again wishing she didn’t, wishing she was rather deaf as well as blind, wishing all her senses to simply give away, all so that she didn’t have to witness what she was surely soon going to have to be the victim of.

She heard the clothes dropping to the floor, looked up at him through bleary blurry eyes, still recognising the sandy nuance of his skin fully on display before her. 

His large hands found her knees again, prying them open. His hips fitting between her thighs.  

“Ba- ba- Baku- go,  plea- please, don’t- don’t… stop.” She choked on her tears, on her fear, on her panic, on the feeling of the cold breeze making her exposed sex shiver and beg for something warm to fill it up, on her disgust.

“Don’t stop?” He snickered, pinching her clit between his fingers, making her arch with a whine before trying to wrench away, yet stopped by his hands steadying on her knees, spreading her open for him.

His cock-head delved between her folds, and he had to catch a pathetic whimper from escaping his throat, settling for biting his lip instead and ridiculing the reason as to why he was feeling so weak in the first place. Growling at the little girl beneath him, all tied up and defenceless and hopeless and pathetic, but still able to make him feel so small.

“I knew you were just a stupid slut.”

It helped hearing her scream for him. 

It helped hearing her choke on her own gasps as he filled her tight little space up with the warm length of his cock. 

It helped feeling her squeeze and seize around the girth of him, hugging him close and tight, filling and stretching her out so nicely.

She had resorted to hectic crying, no words, no protests, just sobbing, hiccupping, coughing up her own cries. 

And, although he imagined himself growling and groaning he fell short of those guttural rusty sounds and fell prey to whimpering like a lovesick puppy humping a plushie-toy instead. 

His hands holding onto her hips as though letting go meant death as he rolled his hips into her, feeling her warm velvety walls welcome him home.

It felt so good he nearly barreled over, his face buried in her chest, hand coming up to enclose over her mouth as so to stop the cries and hear those soft muffled moans she made instead.

Small stifled broken wet mews spurred into his palm, as he kissed a trail up the valley of her chest and onto her neck, whispering with his breath shaky.

“If it makes you feel any better… this is my first time too.”

He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because he was suddenly regretting his decision of being a monster, or maybe because the fright of being vulnerable disappeared at the feeling of conquering what made him afraid.

“I spread a rumour in second that I fucked Ururaka just to see your reaction.” He let out a breathy laugh, the open smile on his face indicated his nostalgia, as though it were a fond memory. “But you didn’t care at all did you?”

He snapped his hips forward, hitting something painful making her scream beneath his hand, opening it to hear her sob out in whimpers.

“Did you?!” It was accusatory and loud and right next to her ears, as he bared his teeth.

She was sure she was bleeding, feeling as though he was tearing her up, splitting her open, every harsh thrust felt deep within her abdomen, churning her guts.

“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor- sorry!” She spluttered out, more thick gulps of tears streaking her cheeks with red.

“You know what I think?” 

He leaned in closer, his nose poking into her cheek, lips brushing her ear, hands now having moved to cup her knees, pushing them up into the bedsheets beside her shoulders, hiking her up to meet his sharp thrusts. 

“I think you wanted this…”

She shook her head as his grin gleamed from seeing her discomfort.

“Leaving your door unlocked like that, you were begging for this to happen.” He laughed, biting her earlobe, heavy balls clapping against her ass.

She sniveled. “You- you know we can’t afford-” She started, but was cut off by her own broken moan as Bakugo yet again made another sharp movement, sending an earth-shattering smack to fill the crammed space of her RV, and then again cut off by Bakugo’s own response.

“Yeah? But you could still afford that dress you wore to Homecoming couldn’t you?” He sounded crazed, upset and angry and obsessed with making her regret it. “When you went with that fucking extra instead of me?” 

His forehead pushed against hers, eyes a feral red and large with rage, watching in sadistic glee as she scrunched her eyes together in pain, trying to block his voice out from her head. 

“Yeah, I bet you’re sorry now.” He growled, again taking a break from his series of shallow thrusts to push deep into her, making her whine in wet agony. “That was the worst mistake of your life and you’re gonna make it up to me tonight.”

He pushed himself up, looking down at the crying mess he was buried inside, licking his lips.

She couldn’t stop apologising, as he fucked into her, her hands going numb under the bondage of his tie around her wrists. 

“I’m sorr- sorry-” She croaked, face burning from her tears.

“Yeah? You better be.”

He gathered her ankles in his hands, holding them up, one hand coming to roll her sock down her leg.

“You’re gonna be.”

His hand caressed her small bare-foot tightly, thumb digging into her sole, his mind drifting to how cute and tiny it was, smaller than his hand, and strangely soft for someone who chooses to walk everywhere to save money.

“I’m sorry-” She blubbered. “I’m- I’m sorry...” 

She struggled for breath between her apologies and cries, forgetting how to inhale as Bakugo’s cock crammed into her, stripping her lungs of their air.

He kissed the pad of her foot, before leaning down again, hands once more cupping her knees and pushing them against the mattress.

“Good.”

She quaked beneath his stare, his sharp teeth too close as she cringed at the wet creamy sloshing sound of his cock pounding into her.

She had to look away, wanting to twist to hide her face in her pillow and cry until he was done.

But he wouldn’t have that.

“Hey, look at me when I fuck you.”

Gathering her face between his fingers, he scrunched her lips together as his own face closed in, his teeth coming to bite down on the vulnerable pout.

“You’re nothing without me, you understand that?”

One of his hands seized around her throat, adding slight pressure to accommodate his words.

“Good for nothing.” He spit. “Except for being my little slut, right?”

His claws scratched her throat, making her mewl and suck at her bitten bruised lip, tasting the metal.

“Come on, slut, I asked you a fucking question!”

Again, he angled his cock to jut into her painfully, making her gasp in strained pain at the stretch, followed by a sob.

“I’m just a slut-” She sniffled, eyes spiralling when looking into his unforgiving scarlet ones.

He smiled again, kissing her cheek.

“Who’s?”

The kiss became a lick, as he dragged his tongue up her tear-slicked cheek.

“Who’s slut?”

He felt her tremble and stiffen under his tongue, her eye’s squeezing shut.

“Your slut.” She answered, but it proved not to be good enough as another sharp painful thrust hit her core. “Bakugo’s slut.” 

She knew it was wrong the second she said it as a growl rumbled against her neck, his teeth gracing, scraping against her tender flesh. 

“Katsuki’s slut!” 

The words all broken and wet and beautiful coming from her bloated and reddened lips.

He placed a chaste kiss to her jaw, nibbling his way up to her mouth, whispering upon them. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re nothing without me.”

He kissed roughly, growling for her to kiss back, hand still tightly locked around her neck, begging for her to refuse him only for him to squeeze the life out of her.

His tongue pushed into her mouth as he slobbered and drooled above her, mouth sucking on her lips, trailing down her jaw and down her throat, nibbling and biting and lapping at her skin like some hound drooling over steak.

His hand left her throat to grasp her clothed breasts as he hit a particular spot, calling an unintentional bucking of her hips into him, making him groan in pleasure, his own thrusts gaining speed, hitting that same spot he now knew would make her unravel.

“You’re so lucky to get my cock.”

He worked himself into a taller position again, dragging himself off her chest to admire what artwork he’d made of her collar and chest.

“Say you love it.”

She shook her head, a petty begging-look on her face. 

It was a weak protest, almost enough to make him let it go, yet still outweighed by his need to make her pay.

His hips suddenly thrusting into her deeply, sharply, in all the ways he’d found out hurt.

She cried out. “No, no, Bakugo, please!” Panicked sobbing, her chest arching in pain, her legs coming to kick him off, yet were stopped as he pushed her knees into her chest. Jutting into her brutally.

“Say you love it and I’ll go slower.”

He saw her knuckles whiten at how hard she was balling her fists, tugging at her bonds desperately.

“I’ll fuck you good.” He promised, finding himself grow excited upon the thought. “Nice and slow like lovers do.” He had to snicker, even as she sobbed and hiccupped up screams that caught in her throat at his sharp thrusts, her eyes screwed tightly shut, allowing no tears to drop yet leaving them swimming in stinging salt.

His head dropped again to her temple, lips nibbling lightly on her cheek bone, his heavy breaths sounding louder than what snapping noise was made between his hips and the softness of her ass.

“Come on…” He drawled an impatient growl into her ear, a rumble that strung another whimper out from her.

More sobs followed, broken in their execution. “I love it… I love it.”

She hadn’t screamed it the way he wanted, but hearing it hang loosely onto her cries, all trembling and weak, was somehow better than what he thought he’d wanted anyway.

He slowed down, enough to lessen the sound of flesh slapping flesh and for the squishy noise of him filling her up again and again to replace it.

“What do you love?”

He made his way to rip open the seams of her shirt on her shoulder, not caring in the moment that she didn’t have a spare uniform to replace it. The shirt gone before she could even answer his question.

“You’re cock, I love you’re cock.” She sobbed, as her bra met with the same fate her shirt had, leaving her in just her little black skirt and one sock remaining, her tits springing loose, bouncing on both her cries and Bakugo’s movements.

“Fuck, good, such an obedient little pet.”

His head fell into the newly presented bare flesh with a moan, heavy panting as he slobbered up the valley between her breasts, palming the soft mounds before twisting the nipples between his fingertips, pulling at them, playing with them, his mouth sucking and biting, teasing the tender sensitivity.

His hands quitting their torment in favor of holding onto each their knee to keep her spread open for him as he rolled deeply into her spot.

“Feels so fucking-” He groaned, not bothering to finish the thought, before another impulse struck him.

His position in having his face buried in her neck and his body laid tight and snug on top of hers moved, making her feel the wisp of a chill coat her as their warm sweat-slicked bodies parted, feeling almost as though they were glued together as he pulled away, cock still being kept warm inside the comfort of her walls.

His hands came up to fickle with the knot that kept her hands locked above her head, his fingers sloppily tugging to loosen the tie, before gripping her hips tightly in a fashion meant to make sure she understood that despite being loose she was far from actually free.

Lifting her up of the spot she’d sunk into on the mattress and on to straddling his torso, his feet hitting the ground with a dunk with her propped up on his thighs, every little movement of his adjusting making his cock poke and message into other new dangerous places, places too tight to be attacked in whichever reckless unthoughtful way Bakugo saw fit.

Fingers running, or rather digging into her skin and making way to rake up her sides, grabbing and clinging to her midriff to pull her close, with his thighs beginning to impatiently move in a boyish manor to satiate the need for friction his member craved.

One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand made to grab her chin, allowing him to look over her, again tempted to bite into those lushes red lips, all bloated and made for his teeth to gnaw on. Yet, his mouth made way to her neck instead, licking up her throat, sucking on the thin skin, wanting to make his mark flourish in red explosions all over her.

“Be a good quirkless slut and bounce on my cock, make yourself useful for once.”

His knees jolted upwards making her hop, followed by his cock sinking deeper into her.

Her hands held uncertainly mid-air made to grip his shoulders at the further intrusion, biting back another cry, however unable to keep the sobbing sigh from rupturing her throat.

However, she wasn’t given long to recover as his hand came down to plant a red-hot slap on her ass, making her jump on her own.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

She started moving, unsure of what or which way to do it, finding the rhythm of rocking her hips forward after a while, earning a disgusting sigh of satisfaction from the blonde holding a bruising grip on her.

“That’s right...”

His arm moving to hold a death-grip on her waist, thumb digging into the underside of her ribs, poking each time she lolled forward and at the same time threatened her to stop.

His other hand came to grip her face again, stiff lips crashing against teary lips. Sucking her face as though stealing her life-source, only breaking between breaths to announce cocky cruel comments and instructions.

“Stay right there, slut.” A thrust from his hips accompanied the nickname, making her wince and lurch forward into him. “Aww that’s cute.”

Both his hands went under her skirt to grab at her ass, lifting her up only to sleeve himself inside her once again.

“Does that feel good? Huh? Right there?”

Another slap and she rested even harder against his chest, trying to find comfort in the pitch black her screwed-shut eyes left her in, yet the overwhelming scent of caramel wasn’t easily ignored, and neither was how perfectly his cock sunk into her.

His hands fingered the fabric of her skirt as he bumped into her from beneath. Tugging on the textile until ripping it off, the action earning her gasp as she was now wearing nothing but her one sock, the skirt having provided as some false sense of coverage.

“Is the slut enjoying herself?” He mocked, a salacious grin constantly spreading on his face between moans and grunts.

She shook her head, the urge to fight herself to freedom awakening yet again as her hands moved to push at his chest. 

“No… stop.”

But her back was supported, or rather steadied, with Bakugo’s large palm, little sparking ignitions gaining control of her struggles quickly, the fight leaving her body with a whimper of defeat, just as quickly as it had arrived.

Another sharp thrust ripped a strangled moan from her and he grinned. 

“Liar.” He snickered. “You’re gonna cum on my cock like a good little slut 'cause that's the only thing you know how not to fuck up, only thing your whore mom ever taught you.”

Forcing her hips to roll faster, the slick coated their thighs as her tits bounced for him.

“Does she share this bed with both you and her crackhead fuck-friends?” 

He couldn’t defend his need to make her cringe in his arms, why he wanted to see her ashamed, why he wanted her crying into him. 

“Such a freak. Are you gonna cum on the same sheets your mom sleeps on?”

Sharp fingers dug into her cheeks again, all because he wanted to be entertained by the show of her breaking.

He pulled her hips closer, fighting to hit that spot that had her mewling earlier, wanting to hear her mewl again, wanting to prove his point.

Once he found it she fell flush against him, melting in his hands, soft-spoken moans falling like drool down her chin.

“Like that, right there?” His words fell hot on her lips as his thumb pushed into her mouth and down onto her tongue, holding her chin in place. 

Her eyes crossed then upon his cock nudging in just the right way against her cervix, as well as her brows drawing up into a pretty eruption. 

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, clutching tighter onto her hip, rocking her forward to meet his thrusts. “Are you gonna cum on my cock, huh?”

With his thumb still dipped into her mouth, she tried her best to retort. 

“No…” 

It couldn’t be referred to as defiance as it was too pitiful to be called that.

“Yes, you are.”

He sucked on her collarbone, making his way up by kissing a trail of slobbering kisses and bites to her ear. 

With his hips still angled just right, his thumb left her mouth to grip her other hip. 

He could feel her tight little pussy start to convulse around his shaft, small flutters that squeezed him tightly, milking him.

She hated that she wanted to spill over so badly. The surging swimming boiling buzz constantly teased by Katsuki’s plush cockhead pushing and poking and jabbing at her cervix again and again.

She felt it coming, the snapping, breaking, splitting, the building coming close to bursting, yet she was reminded of who she was with in her reach for bliss and found herself regretting chasing it.

“No, no, not with him, not with him, not-”

It was too late as she tried holding it back, tried grasping it as hard as she was clamping down on his cock, as hard as she was digging her nails into his shoulders.

The movements of his hips slowed down. 

“There you go. Feel good, slut?” He mocked as her body spasmed, skin freezing over under his touch, feeling disgusted, skin-crawlingly disgusted with herself and how she was unable to control the continuous spasms that seemed to ricochet through her spontaneously. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

His speed picked up again, humping into her, making her ride through her orgasm, feeling the almost painful ticklish pressure build again upon each time he bottomed-out ruthlessly inside the comfort of her wet walls.

“No, Bakugo stop, stop!” Her pleads weren’t met.

“Is it too much?” He laughed, gathering a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck in order to make her look up at him, making her wince as he spit his words into her face. “Mommy didn't do too good a job at raising her slut, I see. Can't even handle cumming without crying." He jeered, mock pouting at her with his forehead pressed into hers, blood-soaked orbs forcing eye-contact from her wide tear-stained ones as she whimpered. "Aw, is my cock too much for the little whore?”

“Yes, stop!” She couldn't care less if she was answering some cruel nickname , the painful pressure assaulted inside her was something too vehement she needed to make relent, but yet again was her plead answered with a lack of mercy in an eerie whisper and nothing more.

“I’m not finished yet.”

All she could do was beg for him to finish… so that’s what she did. 

“Please...”

He gathered her face in his hand again, fingers squishing into her cheeks hurtfully as he made to sneer into her face. 

“Please what? Please fuck your whore cunt harder? Please make you cum again?”

Even as he snickered and mocked, his cock twitched at the sight of her. 

Eyes all puffy and swimming in her own tears, eyebrows knitted together, begging for mercy. 

Completely and literally held in the palm of his hand, yet her gaze still managing to make him feel fuzzy with the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh fuck, say you love me.”

Cold dread made up most of her body, what else was the rising crippling shameful feeling of something sweet knotting up somewhere in her lower abdomen again, this time harder than before as her already abused high was continuously pocked by Katsuki’s swollen cockhead kissing her cervix harshly again and again and again, driving her insane. And all of it made his demand impossible to answer, impossible to even comprehend.

Yet, she was in no position to refuse with her face held up between his fingertips and his crimson eyes boring holes straight into her terror-wide heart.

“Say you love me or I’ll cum inside you.” His voice lacking all she considered still human. Not a hint of remorse or guilt or shame or pity.

She gulped on her breaths, yet managed to voice the words. “I love you, Katsuki.”

Her eyes now unable to look away from him. Even as he picked up the painful pace, stabbing at her core, in places she had no former knowledge of, places the length of her fingers could never even as much as dream of reaching.

“Fuck.” A boyish virginal whimper laced the moan that escaped him at her words, satisfaction easing the raging and crazed look on his face. “I love you too.”

His toes curled painfully, cold and numb against the floorboards.

“I love you.”

Hands warm and sliding against dewy and doughy flesh.

"I love you."

Something pulling, straining, building to burst was chasing release, sending spasms to shoot through his shaft.

"I love you."

He knew what was coming. He knew it would be better than ever.

“We’ll get you a pill later, ‘kay?”

The guilt was washed over with the promise of painting her walls.

“It’s fine.” He tried reassuring as he felt her revolt in his arms, all her strength fighting to get off him, yet was no match against the force of his hands holding onto her, and his need to explode inside.

She resulted to begging instead. “No, no, Katsuki stop, don’t, please!”

Feeling her hope being crushed in his palm, picturing his laughing face as she turned her vision to black, his feral smile like supersonic light, dangerous and deadly and made to rip throats out.

And then it was done, she felt the last thrust like the last blow through her gut.

Cream filling her up, smearing between their thighs, Katsuki’s head resting on her shoulder with his hands holding onto her hips, fingers marking their presence into her back yet softening their grip with each of his panting breaths landing on her breasts.

Her blood ran cold through stiff veins, as though she were dead. Her skin crawling, as though rotting with mites. 

Sickness. 

Sickness in her lungs, in her throat, building, climbing up her pipes.

She slung herself off in a hurry, and with Katsuki coming down from whatever sick high he was riding, he wasn’t alert enough to catch her, which was probably a good thing because after her staggering her way to the bathroom, feeling his cum and her wetness leak out of her and drip along the inside of her thighs, she only barely made it in time to open the toilet compartment, get to her knees in the small space and haul her guts out into the small stained bowl.

Feeling like her mother, each time she came home all sweaty, mascara smeared with tears on her face like a garbage racoon, sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging until she collapsed on the floor, face laid in her own puke.

She heard Katsuki’s heavy footsteps, one and two before his hand met with her neck. Collecting her hair in a ponytail in his grip with the other hand encompassing her naked back.

She was afraid he was going to pull her up, expecting her scalp to soon scream in protest at the feel of her hairs being ripped up from their roots. 

Yet, as she awaited the torture… all she felt was the slow stroking of carefully placed paths running up her spine and then down to the small of her back in a manor either meant to be comforting or patronizing, with her hair being kept away from her face as she retched on repeat.

It was mostly just water and acid, and Katsuki made a mental note to make her eat later as he helped her up with his hands under her arms, supporting her when seeing how her shivering rendered her knees too weak to stand on her own, lifting her up on a tiny counter which would have been impossible for him if he were to try and sit on it, yet seemed the perfect size for her.

The ruff base of his thumb brushed the spit from the corner of her mouth, her large eyes meeting his own as he leaned in, soft weak hands only barely pushing against his chest in an act to stop him, but his lips pushed onto her anyway.

Parting with a string of silver connecting them, and he couldn’t help but fall prey to how beautiful she was even in her broken ugliness, how prettily her eyes fluttered with sticky eyelashes clutching together as though hugging for comfort, stray wisps of hair dancing in front of her face. Her wet breaths, sobbing breaths, hiccupping breaths, trembling past those soft pillow-y and blossomed lips, plump and full and bitable, or huffed through her nose, sniveling and sniffing and so very unfairly precious.

His thumb stroked over those lips, watching them quiver. 

He took time admiring her, feeling her cold fingertips vibrate against his chest, wondering if she could feel how hard his heart was hammering inside his ribcage with how much she was shaking. Wondering if she knew just how much he’d wanted this, how long he’d wanted this, how despite him ignoring her cries, that she understood how this wasn’t in vain, how he wasn’t just doing this because he could, that he was doing this because he needed to, that he wasn’t doing this because he hated her but because he loved her, loved her too much to let her simply slip from between his fingers again.

His fingers latched onto the band of her sock, pulling it down and off at her toes, finally leaving her completely bare.

“Let’s get you in the shower.”

He moved to pick her up, uncaring of her newly sparked urge to fight him.

“No, Katsuki…”

She tried pushing, she tried making him stop despite everything being slippery and sticky and gross. The want to cry herself to sleep knowing and finding some comfort in the fact that Katsuki was done with her and long gone outweighed the want to get clean.

“The water’s cold, you won’t like it.” She argued in a weak attempt to sway him from the idea, yet knowing full well that he didn’t care.

“Come on…” He drawled as he caught her bothersome fists by the wrists in his massive hands. “We’ll take a shower and then we’ll go get your pill…” 

He fought to find eye-contact. 

“We both know you don’t have the money for it anyway…”

Typical of him to mention her situation. Typical of him to use it against her. And though it was typical, though it was predictable, it still made her heart clench, her soul twist, her spirit crumble.

He swore he saw something start to break in her eyes, wanting to deliver the final blow to snuff out whatever fight she still had left. 

He leaned in more, his nose brushing against hers.

“You need me.”

Her struggles stopped at that, Katsuki wrapping her legs around his back to support her as he carried her to the shower. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, completely deflated.

It wasn’t at all as in the movies. Sweet couples who help wash each other’s hair, warm bodies gliding against one another, soft perfect handprints printed on the dewy glass.

She hadn’t been lying, the water was freezing as the showerhead spritzed the water down on them with a force close to that of aching.

They didn’t both fit in the crammed space either, Katsuki was sure that even him alone wouldn’t fit in the tight space, where he was left to have one foot on the floorboards outside the door, water rushing into the hallway, running down his leg, but he didn't care.

His frame blocked the door completely, allowing her no shape or form of exit as he made her stand there, under the showerhead, hair slicking to her neck and nipples perking into hardness under the freeze, goosebumps strutted and coated her flesh from head to toe, her cheeks and lips blossomed with a purple hue, her eyes closed, head dipped in discomfort or shame or embarrassment or sorrow or a bit of everything and even more.

Her body trembled beneath his warm hands, as they cupped her breasts, palming them and playing and pinching with her back hunching in a weak effort to get her discomfort across, despite knowing how he didn’t care, with the fact having been proven time and time again.

His warm calloused fingertips brushed down her abdomen, eyes stark and loud as they looked at her body, thinking of how unblemished and beautiful her skin was as opposed to him, no roughness or ugly greenish bruises, just milky smooth and rosy suppleness and all his.

His hand traveled further, causing her small ones to reach out and grip around his wrist, both hands giving their best effort at trying to stop him. Though his other hand was quick to wrap around her throat and extract a sweet gasp with the movement.

Her hands removed their pressure yet remained on him as he brushed featherlight touches over the sensitiveness of her sex, fingertips dipping into her folds, slithering in the slick velvet of his cum mixed with her wetness.

A sob ricocheted through her as her toes curled, fingers bending and nailing into his wrist. Still, he continued. Fingers pushing inside, pumped knuckle-deep inside the puffy spongey walls, reaching deep before scissoring, making her knees bend, yet kept from falling by the hand around her neck keeping her up like a noose as he curled the two digits.

Her eyes avoided his, looking down at his limp cock who somehow seemed just as intimidating as before, like a sleeping beast ready to wake at any second. 

Yet, as much as he played with her sex, his own remained still.

He picked her up again as he saw more of her skin going purple, not really wanting her to get sick, just refreshed.

Water flooded on the soft-with-mould floorboards in the tight hallway as her feet dragged against the walls when he yet again carried her to the bed. And as much as she wanted to fight as he placed her dripping body down onto the sheets, she couldn’t find the energy. Tears, however, still managed to drip down her face, unhurriedly gliding down her cheeks, warm in stark contrast amidst the freezing shower-water.

“Do you wanna hear something really fucked up?”

It was rhetorical, but he wouldn’t have gotten an answer either way.

“I used to be jealous of your crack-whore mother…”

Her face cringed, confused yet still not desiring to know what he meant.

“Fuck, I’m still jealous when you come to school and I see that there's somebody else who makes you cry harder than me.”

She had to swallow in order not to gulp.

“You’re sick.”

Those were the wrong words, for as quickly as they entered the air, he was once again on top of her, squeezing the breath from out of her lungs.

“I’m sick?” He questioned, fingers plunging inside her, a forced moan ripped from her throat. “You’re the one cumming and creaming and squirting all over my cock while crying.” He bit out while starting to pump into her cruelly, finding it easier now as she was already wet from before. “Telling me you love it, telling me you love me.” He laughed as he sneered. “Who would’ve known what a slut you are. So desperate you let your own bully fuck you like this. You fucking whore.” 

His pushed his thumb into her clit cruelly, a sadistic smile on his face as she struggled.

“Stop, shut up, shut up!” Her palms made to push at his hard chest, yet was weakened as she felt the burning sweetness start to pool were his fingers poked.

“You don’t like that nickname? No? Aww, that’s fine.” He hissed, then scoffed. “It’s not true anyway...” He muttered beneath his breath, trying to find what sweet spot his fingers could reach as so to have her unravel beneath him again, wanting to lick the sin from her expression, wanting to bathe in his victory of making her his. “How did it feel to have my cock balls deep inside your precious little virgin innocent cunt, huh? Better yet, how does it feel to know how I am your first? First to kiss you, first to fuck you, first to make you cum.”

“Fuck you.”

Any remnants of strength was now spent on those last words, as the rest was spared to support her oncoming orgasm, the one she could feel clawing, sucking all senses up as though preparing for an implosion.

“That’s right…” He whispered. “Fuck me. Your first and your last.”

His ominous tone had her guts churning, which in some sick sense only added to the pooling dam that was about to snap inside her, but she kept her eyes wide, further digging into what his words meant, wondering if this would be her last day on earth, wondering if Bakugo would be the last person she'd ever see, ever feel, ever touch.

“You look like I’m gonna kill you.” He observed as he curled his fingers once again, making her hips buckle into his hand, which in turn made him grin. “Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

His head dipped so that he could nibble at her neck, lick up the tender flesh with his fingers pumping in and out of her, coated in slick, collecting and drenching in his palm.

“I’m just gonna make sure no one ever touches what’s mine again…”

She couldn’t explain why the growl in his voice had her abdomen doing flips.

“Including that fuckface slut you call a mother.”

His fingers scissored, her back arching as she moaned.

“You’ll be lucky I even let you graduate.”

She couldn’t quite catch what he was saying anymore, just the lilt in his tone which had her falling apart beneath him, the walls of her pussy fluttering in pleasure.

“People go missing all the time.”

Her toes curled and she braced herself.

“That way I can have you all for myself.”

His warm lips pressed against her neck, his growls reverberating on her skin.

“All mine.”

His fingers poked at something that was about to burst and as she wanted to climb further up on the bed to escape it, she also wanted him to follow.

“Where you belong.”

And there it was, body melting into the mattress, all shame obsolete in those seconds.

Unable to see him lick her orgasm off his fingers as her eyes had crossed and traveled way too far into the back of her skull.

Unable to prepare for his kiss as her mouth hung open, soft feeble moans cut loose into the air, captured by Bakugo’s mouth.

She didn’t catch the second he stopped kissing her, nor did she catch the moment he got off the bed.

She must have fallen asleep for a short while because when she opened her eyes again Bakugo was dressed, rummaging through cabinets containing worn out clothes and things like it, seeming displeased with most of what he found.

She looked to her side, where placed on the bed was a towel, fresh underwear and a bra.

She motioned for the towel first, feeling the shameful wet stickiness between her thighs, hurriedly wiping it clean before putting on her garments, looking up to see Bakugo staring at her, having found something suitable to dress her in.

“Put this on.” 

She didn’t bother looking at what he’d so graciously offered her of her own clothes.

Her eyes narrowed at him instead. 

“I don’t want your help.” She sneered, looking away, crossing her arms over her chest as so to hide herself from his piercing gaze.

His fingertips were quick in clutching her cheeks, raking them into her skin as he turned her head back to look at him.

“Too bad, you need it.”

The fabric was cast at her lap unceremoniously, the soft silky feel cold against her bare thighs.

“Put it on.” The growl was followed by him removing his hand with a push.

She huffed before looking down at the presented article, wondering what Bakugo wanted to dress her up in, her lips forming a disgusted snarl.

“It’s my mother’s.”

The yellow summer-dress, flowy and frilly in texture, something she’d never wear, something Bakugo knew well she would never wear.

“It’d go to waste on her.”

This made her look up, curiosity or maybe even a form of flattery evident in the curl between her brows.

The sudden eye-contact catching Bakugo off guard as he’d shared the uncharacteristically tender opinion of the girl out loud.

He scoffed, crimson eyes darkening in an attempt to hide the building flustered panic, masking it with a growl instead. 

“Put it on, I won’t ask again.”

She fingered the fabric for a while longer before treading it on over her head, letting the skirt dress her thighs with a featherlight fall.

Looking like a spring-daydream, not at all as though she’d just lived through a nightmare.

With her drying hair falling in messy curled tousles down her shoulders, Bakugo reached out a hand to fasten the small wispy strands coming to tickle her forehead behind her ear, grabbing her wrists in favor of her hand when he pulled her up.

“Let’s go. I can’t stand this shithole.”

Wondering if he should have said that he couldn’t stand her in that shithole instead.

TIP-JAR

PART ONE

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[whump-a-la-mode]

“Good Boy” - Starvation Whump

Summary: A desperate villain sacrifices everything, just for a little food.

CW//Starvation, cold, isolation, solitary confinement, imprisonment, collapse, dehumanization, humiliation

Their cell was getting colder.

That was the only way that Villain could rationalize it. It wasn’t them-- they weren’t growing weaker, of course they weren’t. No. It was the room. Someone, somewhere, turning down a knob, ever so steadily. Sending ever stronger chills through their bones.

That had to be it. It was the only reasonable explanation.

The only source of warmth available to them came in the form of the rough, purple-hued bruises along their arms, where the hands of guards had gripped them. Thrown them in here.

How long ago had that been, now?

On unsteady legs, Villain stood. The room was terribly small-- if they stretched out their arms on either side of themself, their fingertips brushed the walls, both long and shortwise. At the very least, it meant they did not have to travel far to reach the concrete bench chained to one wall.

Somehow, the bench was colder. They spent most of their time on the floor.

The guards had taken their shoes, at the same time as they had forced them to change in their thin, grey prison uniform. Without the slightest protection from the cold, they shivered as they climbed onto the bench.

Villain looked out the window; a tiny hole in the wall, half a foot in height and two feet in length, a layer of glass guarded by thick iron bars.

Between them, they could only just barely see the city. The sparkling lights. Somewhere out there, somewhere among those countless streets, there had to be someone who cared about them, right?

Right?

No. Probably not. They were happier, now.

Or was that just the fuzziness in their mind talking? They tried to breathe in, imagine what the air of the city would taste like, feel like in their lungs, but they only caught the stale scent of their cell. The vent, too, was covered by a row of bars, leaving the air stinking of old metal.

Villain’s legs shook. They had been standing for too long. They took one last glance out the window, before-

The clinking of metal. Their chest seized. They had only heard that sound once since the start of their captivity-- the one time they had been allowed water.

The sound of the door being opened.

They scrambled to get back to the floor, off the bench, refusing to be in such a vulnerable position. In their haste, they forgot just how horribly weak their legs had grown.

The moment their feet struck the ground, they lost their balance, collapsing heavily to the concrete floor. A new array of bruises to add to their collection.

A slamming of metal on concrete. Villain’s heart lurched to their throat, flailing limbs somehow managing too get them to their hands and knees, though no further than that. They stayed in that position, panting, having expended their minuscule energy reserves.

“Bowing for me?” That stupid, arrogant voice came. “How nice.”

In Villain’s chest, fury replaced energy. They scrambled to their feet, not needing to keep their balance, as they flung themself forth, at the intruder.

Leader chuckled, moving out of the way with leisurely ease. Villain slammed again to the concrete.

“They told me that you were a little... fierce. Guess they weren’t lying.”

As though moving a piece of debris from their path, Leader pushed aside the fallen Villain with a foot. Distraction removed, they reached just outside the door, dragging in a chair. Metal legs scraped on concrete, screeching.

Leader closed the door, positioning their chair in a corner. Atop it was laid a plate, at least of some sort-- its contents obscured by a wrapping of foil. They picked up the platter, sitting in its place, amused gaze casting down to the floor.

“You’ll at least get up, won’t you? It’s rude to sleep when you have guests.”

Villain wanted to tear their face off, but their limbs ached far too much to consider even standing.

“I didn’t realize you’d be so... weak, I suppose.” Leader flicked their tongue across their front teeth. “I thought a villain of such status would be a little bit more resilient.”

Six days. Five nights. Six times the sun had rose, five it had fallen. Trapped in this stupid box.

But they were a villain. They weren’t weak. Leader was right, they needed to get up. To...

They were just getting upset. They knew that. But they had no energy left to suppress such emotions. No energy left at all.

Yet, they got up. Slowly, shakily, they got up, crawling onto the bench like a survivor to a lifeboat. When only their arms were upon the concrete seat, they could not continue, forced to rest a moment, gasping, before they managed to clamber their way up entirely.

“That’s better.” Leader spoke, voice still tinged with that terrible amusement. This was a joke, to them. “Now, it is only polite to greet your guests.”

“Why-” Villain gasped. “Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

“I only came to visit. How have you been finding it? I figured you should get a little rest, after your capture. It was quite harrowing for you, wasn’t it?”

“You left me in here for a... a week.”

“Only to let you catch your breath. I only want to be a good host.”

“Shut up. What do you want?”

“Well, if you are going to be rude about it. I thought we could have lunch.”

The word alone made Villain’s terribly empty stomach twist in on itself.

“L- Lunch?”

“Of course.” Leader’s hands moved to the platter upon their lap, uncrinkling the foil wrapping.

The smell alone... Oh god. Villain wiped the beginnings of drool from the corner of their mouth. A pile of freshly prepared meats and steamed vegetables, garnished with fruit chunks.

Leader took a fork, slicing off a chunk of meat. Looking to Villain as they chewed.

Their stomach knotted, squeezing around food that had long since been absent. They had given up on stopping their drool, letting it drip off their chin.

“Please.” It was their stomach speaking more than their mind.

Leader swallowed, looking up with a smile.

“Repeat that, please? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Please. They haven’t fed me-”

“Well, did you earn it?”

Villain blinked, gritting their teeth.

“You can’t expect food if you don’t pull your own weight, of course. Have you earned a meal?”

“N- No. I’ve been here. What was I supposed to do?” Desperation clouded any sense of dignity they had left. “You locked me in this stupid box!”

Leader could not contain their laughter, even though it only slipped out in the form of small chuckles.

“Let’s just say it was a trial period.” They smiled. “Now that you have had your rest, perhaps you’re a bit more... amiable. Would I be correct about that?”

“Anything. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Now, Villain, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Now, hm...” They hummed. “On the floor. Lay down.”

“L- Lay down?”

“On the floor, yes. I should not have to ask you twice.”

Villain’s gritted teeth shook in sheer fury.

They dropped to the floor.

“Good.” Leader smiled. “Now, roll over.”

“Wh-”

“Like a dog. Roll over.”

The smell of food overtook their mind. They rolled over.

“Good boy.” The words were tinged with terrible laughter. “Come here, now.”

They did so. When the morsel of food was offered in Leader’s palm, they did not hesitate to devour it.

Food for dignity. Their dignity for their life.

Was it really worth it?

[echoghost1]

Ectober Day 05 - Ouija Board

Summary: Danny had just finished up a ghost patrol with his friends when he hears a voice calling out to him. A voice that his friends can't hear. A voice that he doesn't want to ignore.

Word count: 1,600

No trigger warnings for this one because it's also fluffy! It just starts off a little spooky.

You can also read it down below the cut!

Danny capped the thermos on the ghost of the day’s threat of vengeance and landed next to his friends.

“Glad that’s over,” Tucker commented as he tapped something on his trusted PDA. “And hey, we’ve still got some time if you wanted to do a quick study session at my place?”

“Do we have a test tomorrow?” Danny asked alarmed not remembering anything about that.

“No, it’s just a short quiz over the latest unit in Biology. You missed the announcement because of that ghost fight before lunch.” Sam explained.

Danny let out a sigh of relief, “Ok, sure a study session sounds-”

“Hello is anyone there?” a small voice echoed in interruption.

Danny turned toward the sounds finding nothing but the empty park and a distant streetlamp buzzing. “Did you guys hear that?”

“Other than you cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence? No.” Tucker answered.

“Why? What did you hear?” Sam asked elbowing Tucker for his rudeness.

“I thought I heard-”

“Hello? If you’re there please let me know.” The voice spoke again. Now he could place it as a young female voice, but not one he’d ever heard before tonight.

“That.” He gestured in the general direction, which to his friends must have seemed like empty air.

They exchanged glances then shook their heads.

“I’m just going to check it out then. I’ll meet you at your place, Tuck.” Danny explained as he floated off to investigate.

“Danny, wait!” his friends called, but he ignored them.

It was probably nothing anyway.

He flew away from the park towards the older side of town, which was around where he lived actually.

He remembered his parents had mentioned that older houses were more susceptible to hauntings than newer ones.

“If anyone is there please just answer.” She asked again.

Although he could feel he was closer, the voice wasn’t getting much louder. Clearer yes, but it stayed a whisper.

No, it was more like she was talking right into his ear than from across a large empty room.

He flew past a small two-story home and noticed the soft flicker of candlelight coming from the attic. As he got closer he realized this was the source he’d been looking for.

In amongst a halo of candles was a young girl, maybe about 10 at the oldest. The dramatic shadows caused by the candles made it difficult to truly tell.

She sat cross-legged and hunched over. He had to move all the way up to the window to see what she was focusing on. He turned invisible on his approach to keep from startling her and noticed that she was using a Ouija board.

“I’ll ask you one more time tonight, okay? If anyone is there, please let me know.”

It took a moment for it to connect in Danny’s clueless head, that as a Halfa, he counted as the ‘anyone’ she was looking for.

Without being able to come up with a reason why not, he slipped through the wall invisibly and sat opposite her, mimicking her cross-legged position.

She looked up when the candles flickered with the breeze of his unseen movement.

He gently moved the planchette to spell out ‘Hi’.

Her eyes shot wide open, “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” she looked around frantically, took a breath, then asked, “What’s your name?”

He waited for a beat and then spelled out ‘Phantom’.

She didn’t lift her eyes from the board, “Phantom?” she breathed, “As in the Ghost Boy hero, Phantom?”

‘Yes,’ he had the board indicate.

“Oh geez, I didn’t think I’d get you! You’re like, a celebrity!”

He chuckled and spelled out ‘thanks’.

She tensed when she heard his echoed laugh, then leaned forward, “Are you in the room with me?”

He moved the piece to “yes”

She stared at the board, her expression hidden by her auburn hair and darkness. “Would you rather talk out loud?”

Turning visible, he moved the piece to ‘yes’ while saying, “Sure.”

She bolted upright, eyes wide, and looked on the verge of screaming.

“Oh no, no, no! I didn’t mean to scare you!” he felt so bad, he’d appeared like that in front of Sam and Tucker all the time and they never seemed to mind. He had forgotten that most people wouldn’t be so used to his powers.

It confused him to no end when she started laughing.

“Seems kind of odd that a ghost didn’t want to scare me, right?”

They both got a kick out of the irony.

“So you know my name, but I don’t think I ever got yours?” Danny asked leaning back, using his arms to support himself.

She let out a small squeak of surprise. “Oh, right! I’m Charity. Sorry, I always forget that part.” She looked away hugging herself in insecurity.

“That’s ok, I’m not that good with people either.” He admitted.

She looked up at him through the strands of her long dark hair, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But you know what? I bet there’s something you are good at.” He thought he could see a faint blush in the dim light, he couldn’t tell for sure so he just kept talking. She reminded him a lot of himself and figured if that was true, she could use a pick me up. “Like me for example, I could tell you anything you could ever want to know about space or NASA, but I’m failing Math... and Bio.... most of my classes actually....” he rubbed the back of his neck feeling awkward about sharing how much he sucked at school.

She blinked a few times before she spoke, “Ghosts go to school?”

“Yes?”

Crud, now he was going to spill his whole secret identity to a little girl? Well, no time like the present to work on his lying skills.

“If we want to. Which I do. And I usually sit in the back so no one really notices me.” He shrugged, trying to hide how he was mildly impressed with himself.

She swept her hair behind one ear and looked at him with deep concern, “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

“Sometimes.” He smiled half-heartedly, “I used to want to fit in with the popular kids, but it dawned on me one day that it just wasn’t going to work. That I just didn’t want to waste any more time on people who hated me. People that would only accept me if I were to change myself completely. I mean sometimes I still wouldn’t mind if they at least could be somewhat nice to me, so I try being nice to them, but then I get nervous and my powers act up. Or I just say really stupid things that I regret as I’m saying them.”

“Right! And then you just want to pretend that it never happened, but that’s the one time they were actually paying attention to you and then they use it against you forever!”

In unison, they sighed and agreed, “People suck.”

They locked eyes and laughed again, both pleased that they found someone who knows how hard it can be to not fit in.

“But wait,” she started, “Don’t you rescue your classmates all the time? I heard the high school is the worst place for ghost attacks.”

Without thinking it through he answered truthfully, “Yes! When I’m in hero mode, they can’t get enough of me, but bam!” he clapped his hands together so they slide against one another, his right hand going forward while his left shot back, “Back to class, and it’s ‘out of the way nerd’!”

She cocked a brow and straighten her posture, “You look different when you go to school?”

Double crud, this kid was a lot smarter than he was expecting, “You can keep a secret right?”

“Even if I had anyone to tell, they wouldn’t believe me anyway.” She answered frankly.

He frowned when he heard that, “Firstly, I’m sorry to hear that, but yes. Some ghosts can appear human. And I’m sorry I can’t show you what it looks like, gotta keep the secret identity a secret.”

She looked only somewhat disappointed, like she expected as much, and nodded, “Yeah, I get it.”

They talked more and more until the candles slowly burned themselves out. Danny didn’t even notice how much time had passed until he realized that that was the fifteenth time he saw her yawn. He looked to the window to see the early morning blue filling up the sky.

Alarmed he popped to his feet, not noticing when his legs fused into a ghostly tail, “Oh my gosh! I kept you up all night! On a school night! What time is it even?” He pulled out his phone, cringing at the sight of all the missed texts and calls. “6:15?! You have to get ready for school! I have to get home! My parents are gonna kill me! I have a test!! I didn’t even- ugh!”

He realized he’d been pacing through his whole rant and turned back to Charity who stared at him with confused and bleary eyes. “I’m gonna go now.” He gestured his thumb over his shoulder to the window, “Feel free to call again, but maybe next time save it for the weekend? Can’t have me messing up both our GPAs.”

“Ok, Dad.” She teased.

He felt his face grow red, or green rather, “I’d come up with some witty retort, but I’m running late.” And with that, he flew off hoping he wouldn’t be in too much trouble when he made it home.

[sideofmango]

You Have My Heart...

Word Count: 2.14 k Pronouns: feminine (she/her) Pairings: K. Bakugou x reader Warnings: gore, dark fic ahead, violence, cursing, death

Thanks Marie ( @dailydoseofscenarios​) for letting me be part of the server event! I had a lot of fun writing this, and as you can tell, I took the prompt kinda literally...anyways....I hope you like it! Don’t forget to check out all of the other fics in this event under the server event hashtag!

The ash blonde sat in the oversized red leather arm chair that faced the large window overlooking her garden. He let out a soft sigh, readjusting his position to get more comfortable as he leaned his chin in the palm of his hand. 

“What am I supposed to get her, that she doesn’t already have?” He questioned aloud, his crimson eyes shifting to the side as the large dog beside the chair let out a sigh himself moving into a laying down position, as if to say, I don’t know why you’re asking me. 

“You aren’t very helpful, Khan.” Katsuki muttered, as his eyes focused back on the window, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips at the sight of his beloved wife in the garden below. Khan let out a whine in protest, as a close lipped smile grew on his owner’s face a moment later. “I’ll ask Shitty Hair.” Katsuki stood to his full height, the large black dog standing as well, prepared to follow him.

The ash blonde and his loyal dog walked down the long expanses of hallway, ornately decorated with golden accents, on the way to his private quarters. “Good day, Master Bakugou. Please give my best to the Mistress.” A few servants said as he passed them in the hallway, simply nodding in acknowledgement before he closed the heavy wooden doors to his study.

“Khan get me the ink.” Bakugou stated without looking up from where he was writing, the quill held firmly in his left hand, an almost empty ink well beside the letter he was in the process of writing to his best friend. “Good boy.” He threw the dog a treat as a reward before going back to writing, Khan settling at Bakugou’s feet once more in content silence.

“Dear Shitty Hair, Help me or else. What do I get Big Hair for Valentine’s Day? Come over and help me now. I won’t help you next time with Raccoon Eyes if you don’t help me. Signed, K. Bakugou.” The explosive man read aloud, nodding once before shoving it roughly into an envelope. He scribbled the information down before sealing the expensive stationary with golden wax, pressing the Bakugou Family Crest into the warm wax to leave an imprint.

“You!” Bakugou’s loud voice startled the butler walking past him in the hallway, the man blinking up at his employer nervously. 

“Master Bakugou?”

“I don’t care how you get this to Kirishima, just do it. And get it there by this afternoon.” Bakugou told him before walking away. He didn’t have to tell anyone anything twice, and he liked that.

A number of hours later, one of the servants announced that Kirishima had arrived, while Mina went to the garden to spend time with (y/n). 

“So is there a reason a winded man servant showed up at my door some time ago? You aren’t a father yet...are you?”

The ash blonde scoffed, quickly dismissing the idea with a roll of his eyes. “Fuck no.”

“Well, you aren’t getting any younger...”

“Well, I’m not getting any older either...”

“Don’t counter my point with another point.” Kirishima argued back as Bakugou rolled his eyes and flipped the redhead off with a small smirk.

“Whatever.” Bakugou stated as they both sat down in a chair. “I can’t think of anything to get (y/n) for Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s your anniversary, too right?” Bakugou nodded. “How many years?”

“183.” Bakugou said after a moment in thought. Kirishima stayed quiet as he thought.

“Do you remember how we all met each other?”

“You mean on our wedding night?” The blonde snorted as Kirishima rolled his eyes.

“Well, I guess...but you remember the first time you saw her right?”

“Well yeah, but she was just an extra then...I didn’t even know she was the woman I was going to marry.”

“What did you do? You weren’t an asshole to her, were you?” Bakugou simply glared at Kirishima. “Damn, you were.” Kirishima frowned.

“That’s a lie, Shitty Hair!”

“Whatever, just give her something super unconventional. Mina loves those types of gifts.” 

“Like what?”

“Well, you remember those super exclusive auction seats that we scored a few decades back?”

“Which ones? The Body is Art ones?”

“Yeah...well, I contacted Pierre and he lined up this whole private show and he let me harvest the different pieces...anyways, Mina loved it....We ended up keeping a few things.” Kirishima shrugged.

“How did you contact Pierre? Didn’t he say he hated technology?”

“That just what he tells everyone. He owed me a favor from a while ago. Anyways, the man loves you, I’m sure he’d do it for you in a heartbeat.”

“Whatever.” Katsuki shrugged dismissing the idea, but he would definitely look into it later. “Are you staying for dinner or not?”

“Are you asking?”

“Answer the question, Shitty Hair.”

“Sure!” Kirishima smiled widely, showing off his sharp teeth before the pair of friends decided to join their partners outside in the garden.

“Hey Mina?” (Y/n) questioned, looking over at the pink skinned girl who had her back against a tree. Mina’s eyes focused on her, a kind smile on her face.

“I’ve been thinking of what to get Katsuki for Valentine’s Day...and I want your opinion on it...” (y/n) trailed off, growing slightly nervous that Mina would think the gift was weird or stupid.

“If you wanted to model lingerie for me, you could’ve just said that...though Bakugou wouldn’t care if you were in a sack or lace...have you seen the way he looks at you? How do you not have gremlins...I mean children yet?”

“Mina! Get your head out of the gutter! I’m not modeling lingerie for you...right now at least...and we’re too young for children...”

“You’re 200 years old, but keep lying to yourself.” Mina teased as (y/n) rolled her eyes at one of her best friends, her face still slightly hot from what Mina had said earlier.

“What’s the surprise then? If it isn’t you in new lingerie or a child?”

“So...I thought it would be fun to recreate the night we first met?”

“But you literally just said you weren’t giving him lingerie.”

“Mina! The actual first night we met! Not our wedding day!” (Y/n) laughed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation.

“Oh...the hunt? Ohhhh, the hunt.” Mina’s smile grew wider the longer she thought about it.

“That’s perfect! But the lingerie thing would’ve been nice too.”

“Mina! If you wanna see me in lingerie, then you should’ve just said that.” (Y/n) giggled before further explaining her plans for Valentine’s Day. 

It was the only plan she could think of for the man she had loved for almost all of her life...a man that seemed to have everything he could ever want.

ON VALENTINE’S DAY...

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just hired more people to help.” Mina complained while straightening a string of lights. 

“It’s more fun, and besides, all of the girls are back together!” (y/n) commented, gesturing towards all of the girls that were gathered around the room, each hanging different decorations.

“How long has it been since we’ve all been in the same place?” Ururaka questioned with a wistful sigh.

“At least 30 years.” Momo chimed in. “We really do need to see each other more.”

“Then we should have more balls, like we used to.”

“This isn’t a ball, Tsu.” Mina pointed out. “It’s the hunt. You know, like we used to have way back when.”

“Wait a second...where are we getting the prey from?”

“Aren’t you vegetarian?”

“No, Iida and I gave that up like 5 years ago.” Midoriya laughed. “Iida just likes sustainably sourced and organic.”

“Oh come on, you haven’t ever just gone to a night club to pick up a few?” Mina teased as the girls, Midoriya, and Denki laughed. 

“No, that’s so 1960s, Mina.”

“No, that’s date night.” Mina corrects as (y/n)’s face heats up slightly as she laughs.

“We’ve done it a few times...not recently though, we’ve been pretty busy...one of our neighbors called the cops because she thought she saw us doing something suspicious.”

“What were you doing?”

“Well we may have been hiding a body, but that’s besides the point. That old lady should’ve minded her own business. It’d be a shame if she were to suddenly...go missing.” (Y/n) mumbled with a roll of her eyes as they all laughed.

“Alright, everyone go change! We’ll be starting in three hours!” Jirou announced, ushering everyone to different parts of the large castle to change into their special outfits. 

It only took everyone an hour and a half to two hours to get ready, the last hour was spent doing finishing touches and everyone calling their partners to come as a surprise.

“Oi Shitty Girl! What’s the problem? You aren’t hurt are you?” The aggressive blonde questioned quickly, his red eyes gliding over (y/n)’s body as if checking she was ok for himself. 

“Then what’s the problem?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at her as she placed a blindfold over his eyes. “Shitty Girl, what are you doing?”

“Be patient, Katsuki. You’ll like the surprise.” (y/n) said in a teasing voice as she led him into the large ballroom. The sun had just sat and the night sky was dark and littered with stars that could be seen from the windows.

“What’s all of this?” Katsuki questioned, finally removing the black blindfold as he scanned the room, surprised to see all of his friends equally surprised from where they stood with their partners. 

“Surprise! I thought it would be fun to recreate the party that happened the first time we met each other. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“We’re going on a hunt?” Denki questioned excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as Jirou just smiled lightly at his antics.

“Duh.” Jirou mumbled from beside him with a quick roll of her eyes as everyone made their way outside. 

“Ok here’s the rules...and it’s the Valentine’s Day edition! So there’s 20, whichever couple can get the most hearts wins.” Midoriya announced with a large smile on his face. “(y/n) release them, and we’ll give them a minute long head start.”

(y/n) walked over to the where the 20 individuals were lined up single file, metal cuffs around their wrists and longer ones around their ankles. Each one wore a black leather collar with a number from 1 to 20 on it. “You evil bitch! Let me go!”

“Where are your manners, Thomas? You were so good up until now...I wouldn’t want to have to make an example out of you.” (y/n)’s voice was kind and soft, but the look in her eyes was anything but that. 

“Why are you doing this?” Thomas questioned, his blonde hair falling into his light eyes as she stared in fear at the group around him before meeting (y/n)’s eyes once more.

“It’s fun, Thomas.” (y/n) told him, patting him on the head before releasing everyone’s cuffs. “Go ahead...you’re free now.” (y/n) urged as they all just stood there with blank stares. They continued to stand there, looking at each other. “I said go!” (y/n) repeated, her eyes practically glowing in the light of the full moon. The soft light shining against the sharp points of her canine teeth. 

The group of 20 broke off into a sprint, disappearing into the tree line as Iida looked down at his watch. “Is it time yet?” Denki questioned, obviously ready to begin.

“Almost.” Iida replied shortly, a smile growing on his own face as the seconds counted down to zero. “Now!”

Everyone ran after that, disappearing into blurs with the speed they were moving. (y/n) ran with a long spear, the silver tip shining in the moonlight as she jumped forward, releasing the spear into the unsuspecting number 13. 

13 fell to the ground after looking down at the sharp spear poking through his chest. No sound leaving his lips since it had all happened too quickly. “One down!” (y/n) called out, seeing the recognizable flash of blonde that belonged to her husband. 

Katsuki came to a stop beside her, his hands stained red along with his lips. He smiled at her. “Two, actually.” He told her, showing her the heart in one of his hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day...I’ve already given you my heart figuratively, so now I’m giving it to you physically.”

“Aw, that was cute.” (y/n) laughed before accepting the gesture. “You can have mine too.” She added after her laughter died down, picking up the bloody organ from number 13 before holding it out to Bakugou.

Tags:

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Duplicity. 

Word Count: 2.6k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Paring: Yandere!Hanako/Reader & Yandere!Tsukasa/Reader.

Synopsis: The afterlife is very, very lonely. It effects come spirits more than others, but Hanako’s gotten close to so many humans, and he’s been left so many times... You can hardly blame him for wanting to be selfish. You can’t fault Tsukasa for wanting to keep his favorite toy close, either. 

TW: Death, Graphic Violence, Blood, Imprisonment (via Ghost Mechanics), and Emotional Manipulation.

No one should have to watch themselves die.

You guess you didn’t, really. Or, you did, but you didn’t watch as closely as you could have. You’d like to say that you faced your end bravely, that you were cunning and quick and did your damnedest to make sure your assailant left your encounter only slightly better off than you did, but you’d never been one for self-flattery. As soon as you realized you couldn’t escape, as soon as you’d caught the glimpse of something glinting in the dim, flickering school lights and managed to put a name to it, you’d clenched your eyes shut, threw your arms over your face, and begged for mercy. You could remember the pain, if you wanted to, the intensity of it, but you don’t try to. You could recall the feeling of your own blood flowing over your fingertips, but you’d really rather not. You know that, one moment, there was something, and the next, there was nothing. Black, frigid nothing. For a few seconds, you couldn’t think of anything worse than that nothingness.

And then, there was something, and you realized there were things much, much worse than nothing.

You think you would’ve found a way to stay dead, if you knew he’d been the one to kill you.

He’s still bent over your unmoving body when you reform, on your knees and beside yourself, your skin translucent and your chest so much more hollow than it used to be. You let yourself linger on the sensation for a moment or two, attempting to inhale and exhale before realizing how odd it feels to breathe when you don’t have to. You’re still caught up in the change when your attention drifts, first to the dark stains littered across the tile floor, obscured by the darkness, and then to… yourself. What used to be you. You, but not you.

Dead you, with a familiar knife still rooted in its diaphragm, and a familiar boy straddling its waist.

It’s disorienting. He isn’t panting, but his chest is heaving in silent, uneven sobs and his eyes closed as tightly as yours had been. With one hand clamped around the hilt of his knife and the other pressed to the ground, supporting his nonexistent weight, he draws his weapon out, then with only a slight hesitation, he plunges it back in. Out, then in, again and again and again until something breaks underneath him, your ribs caving in with a sickening crack. His eyes fly open, his shoulders tensing as he scrambles backward, but it’s a short-lived panic. All it takes is a quick scan over the corpse underneath him, and with an exhausted sigh, he drops his knife, relieved that you’re as dead as he is.

You’re not sure whether the cold feeling that runs through you is betrayal or disgust, but you don’t have much time to decide. A scream hitches in your throat, emerging in a stifled croak, and Hanako turns towards you, all wide-eyes and parted lips, as if he’d gotten caught rummaging through Yashiro’s back or playing with Kou’s staff, rather than killing his friend. He has time to lift a hand, to open his mouth, but if he says anything, you can’t make it out. Not over the blood suddenly rushing past your ears.

“I don’t…” You mumble, taking a step forward, then one back. You drive your nails into your palms, hoping to ground yourself, but it hurts less than you thought it would. You’re not sure whether that’s a reason to be relieved, or just a new source of distress. “Hanako, I don’t… Why are you--”

“It’s not what it looks like.” The words are hasty, spouted in such a rush, you can hardly differentiate one from the other. He wasn’t expecting this part. “I mean, it is, but you don’t understand. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You don’t respond. You don’t want to respond.

You turn on your heel, and you run. As fast as you can and as far as you can, and thankfully, Hanako doesn’t try to follow.

~

Surprisingly, it’s Tsukasa that comes to find you first.

Holing yourself up in a storage closet wasn’t your smartest decision, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. You were scared, you are scared, but it was the only thing you could think to do, after realizing you wouldn’t be able to leave Kamome. You’re still hugging your knees, fruitlessly attempting to warm yourself up when he walks through the closed door. You’re not sure where you ran to in your desperation, but it’s not like he has a reason to move secretively, nor does Hanako have a reason to stop him from doing so. You’d promised to visit sometime after your graduation, sometime during a break, as stupid as that turned out to be. The staff wouldn’t return for weeks, let alone the students.

Disturbingly, the thought crosses your mind that your body might sit there, undiscovered and decaying, until the first day of the next school year. In an effort to distract yourself, you decide you would rather face Tsukasa than linger on it.

When you bother to look up, he’s hovering in front of you, his eyes as wide as his brother’s and twice as unsuspecting. You attempt to melt into the wall, and then, for fear that you actually might, you stop. “What do you want?”

“To see you,” He answers, no trace of malice or discontent audible in his voice. He’s uncomfortably close, the distance between the two of you minimal, but you're glad for the space. You’ve seen him be far less courteous to spirits he’s known for a shorter time, spirits he’s far more fond of. “I don’t think Amane was as gentle as he could’ve been. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He thinks, for a moment, before he adds a brief explanation. “It’d be boring if you were already broken.”

“Like you’d care,” You mumble, letting your gaze fall to a dusty corner someplace behind him. “I’m dead, aren’t I? That probably goes with at least one of your schemes.”

At that, he grins. “My brother and I worked together,” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he floats upward absent-mindedly, his head bowing and his cheeks turning pink with the barest hints of a flush. “He was really stubborn about it, though. He didn’t come to me until the very last minute, and even then, he was so specific about the rumor he let me spread for you…” Tsukasa laughs, the noise high-pitched and half-suppressed, more of a giggle than anything. “You should’ve heard some of the stories we were going to try! Sakura made it look so easy, but--”

“A rumor?” The question slips out before you can stop it, the subject instilling as curiosity as revulsion. “What do you mean you ‘spread a rumor’ for me?”

“Oh, that was my part!” There’s a clap, a roll that left him lying on his back, and despite yourself, you begin to uncurl. Just enough to make him more excited than he had to be. “I was supposed to set things up, give you a rumor to slide into, my big brother just had to get you here! I did all the boring, business stuff, and Amane got to do the dirty work.” Tsukasa lets out a disappointed huff, pursing his lips. “He was so mean about it, too. He said he didn’t trust me to be responsible, whenever that means.”

It’s a numb sense of shock, a dull wave of luke-warm information you only barely don’t know. Hanako’s betrayal makes sense. You don’t like it, nor does your awareness do anything to soften the blow, but it does. He’s a spirit, someone who did something awful enough to warrant an afterlife full of duty and obligation. You feel stupid for not realizing he would be willing to do something awful to you, too.

When you speak, you nearly forget he’s meant to respond. You want to hear yourself talk more than you want to hear his grim clarifications about a story you have a feeling you don’t want to know. “How’d you get him to do it?” You ask, already fearing his response. “Hanako didn’t seem… I can’t believe he would--”

“I didn’t have to,” He chirps, cutting in without hesitation. He really doesn’t have to.

The way his smile widens is enough to silence you on its own.

“It was all Amane’s idea.”

~

When Hanako finally comes to you, it’s only because you come to him, first.

Or, you leave your closet, at least. It seems pointless to avoid him, even if your legs start to shake before you can make it to the girl’s bathroom, the ghost of a heartbeat racing in your chest and your vision going dark at the edges without warning. It’s a terrible feeling. Everything is duller, when nothing’s life or death. Sensations are fainter, the world around you seems dimmer, and no matter what you do, you can’t seem to get warm. Although, you aren’t sure if that’s because you're dead, or because you’re trapped in a dark, dank school building you’ve never seen past sunset. In the end, you give up about a hundred steps away from Hanako’s domain, you back against a wall and your legs crossed underneath you.

It’s a pathetic position, but you’re pathetic.

No one with any dignity would crawl back to their murderer so quickly.

He’s kind enough not to say anything. There’s no friendly greeting, no callback to a better time in your companionship, just a deep breath and a solid thud as he falls against the cheap, plaster wall, then another when he hits the ground. You try to resist the temptation to look at him, to see if he’s just as miserable as you are, but it’s a futile thing to fight.

That doesn’t mean you don’t regret it, though. He’s… different, for lack of a better way to put it, less lively than he usually is. All troubled eyes and wilting posture and thoughtful glances in your direction that get taken back so quickly, you have to wonder if he’d ever offered them in the first place. He’s sad, obviously, he’s guilty, but there’s something missing. Something absent from his display.

It dawns on you abruptly. As unwelcome as it is unpleasant.

He’s guilty, but he isn’t sorry.

He doesn’t regret what he did to you, he’s just disappointed he got caught.

Still, he’s the first to speak, his voice listless and downtrodden. Like a child who’s just been put in time-out and forced to apologize. “I’m sorry. I calculated wrong, I… I thought it would take more time. I didn’t think you’d have to see anything.” He pauses, something troubled flitting over his expression. You might’ve missed it, if you hadn’t known him so well. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I didn’t want to--”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Your tone’s far from authoritative, the declaration more sober than strict, but Hanako falls silent all the same, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts. Not that there was much to think over. “I don’t think I really care about that. I’m angry, I’m absolutely angry, but… There’s nothing you can say to fix this.” You feel him bristle next to you, folding into himself as his eyes narrow at nothing in particular, but if he’s going to interrupt you, he doesn’t make a move to do so. His acceptance is a small relief, but it’s a relief all the same. “I just want to know why. We’re friends, Hanako. If I did something to make you think I deserved this, all you had to do was tell me. I would’ve transferred to another school, or stopped bothering you. I could’ve left. You didn’t have to--”

“I did.”

You snap towards him, moving to speak, but Hanako reaches out before you can, his fist claiming around your sleeve. It’s a sickeningly childish gesture, a sickeningly desperate one, meant to stop you from leaving before the thought could even cross your mind. “I want you to stay. It’s not--” His voice cracks, his whole body tensing. “I couldn’t just sit back and watch you leave. I couldn’t watch you move on, not after Yashiro took the first chance she had to run. I didn’t want to. I’m selfish, and I didn’t want to.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to speak. You’re confused, you’re disoriented, that crushing, oppressive dizziness only getting worse every time you try to associate the scared kid sitting at your side with the same boy who ended your life. “I would’ve come back,” You stammer, grasping for something to say, a sentiment that would comfort you as much as it soothed him. “I graduated, but I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Yashiro visits every time she gets the chance, I would’ve done the same thing. You know that, Hanako, you knew that when you… When you decided to do this.”

“Nene’s growing up,” He spits. “She’ll stop. She’ll get busy with her university classes and meet a boy and forget about me, about us. I’ll be a bad dream, and you’ll be her annoying underclassmen. In a few years, Kou’s going to care more about exorcising spirits than befriending them, if he cares at all. He might forget, too.” He drops your sleeve, pulling into himself, but it’s hardly an improvement. Like this, he just looks withdrawn, spiteful. Someone who knows what kind of trap they’ve been caught in, but still refuses to completely submit to it. “They always forget. You would’ve, if I let you.”

You want to deny it. You can think of a thousand reasons you wouldn’t, a thousand moments you’ve done more than enough to prove you’d never willingly abandon him, and yet, all your arguments and disputes and defenses disappear the moment you turn towards Hanako, finally looking at him in earnest. You think he’s going to be angry, furious, violent, and yet, your expectations couldn’t be farther from the truth. Rather than balling his fists and steeling himself, he’s shaking, trembling, rubbing furiously at his eyes with sleeves that are just a hair’s width too long, every tear he misses falling to his chest, unnoticed and neglected.  You can’t hear him crying, but you almost wish you could. The sobs that rack over him are silent, his jaw locked in place and his teeth grit to the point of pain, but the few noises that slip through are pitchy, pitiful, evidence that something much louder is coming, something Hanako won’t be able to control. Something no one should have to go through, not alone.

Something you don’t want to see your friend go through alone.

You don’t think. You rest a hand on his shoulder, tugging him towards you gently, and just like that, Hanako’s face is buried in your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your midriff and yours resting limply on his shoulders, giving him permission to be as close as he wants to be. It’s not amnesty, but it’s sympathy, and that’s enough for Hanako to melt into you, to cling to you like a lifeline.

To make you think you might be able to forgive him, one day. Even if the idea seems incomprehensible, now.

So wrapped up in optimistic thoughts, you don’t notice how tight his grip is, as he clutches at your shirt. You don’t pull back when he goes quiet too quickly, or mention how easily he’s convinced to go still. You don’t feel the tiny, contented smile soon pressing into your skin, small but just as self-satisfied as any grin or smirk could ever hope to be. Involuntary, but genuine.

More genuine than any tear Hanako could ever force out, at least.

[tryingsomethingoutidkyet]

Ham Hocks: 100 follower celebration

Ok so I may have accidentally found some writing inspiration . It is currently 4am and the smoke is clearing out of my house. Let’s see if this turns out well.

WORDS: 1.4k

Warnings: Fire (not really, but almost)

Pro hero! Sero x College!Reader 

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Let’s get one thing clear, you can cook, you can. It’s just that you were tired. Which is justified. You had been working for the past two weeks non-stop on a project for your college class that you’re more than willing to admit you invested an unhealthy amount of time into completing, so much so that you hardly had a break.

It’s not that you didn’t want to take a break either, in fact, you thought you’d be done by now. And you would’ve been if your project partner actually did his half of the work instead of lying to you about how much he was getting done every time you checked in with him, only for him to tell you the week before the project was due that he hadn’t actually gotten anything done besides putting his name on it and yes, it was too late to switch partners. Which is how you got stuck gathering weeks of research, siting sources and linking articles into a few days of effort in order to get a passing grade.

It was about 12am and you had just finished the final page of your work, thankfully having gotten both halves of the project done without any other issues. You even had time to attach a detailed note to your professor about who did what exactly. Yes it was petty, but you did everything yourself and you refuse to allow the very reason you had been up for the past few days, surviving on an aggressive amount of coffee and maybe 8 hours of sleep total to get the same grade as you.

After completing your project you find yourself suddenly aware of all the needs you’ve deprived yourself of for the past few days. You were hungry and tired and you just wanted to take a shower that was longer than 5 minutes. So that’s what you set out to do.

Let’s get one thing clear, you can cook, you can. It’s just that you were tired. Which is justified. You had been working for the past two weeks non-stop on a project for your college class that you’re more than willing to admit you invested an unhealthy amount of time into completing, so much so that you hardly had a break.

After completing your project, you find yourself suddenly aware of all the needs you’ve deprived yourself of for the past few days. You were hungry and tired, and you just wanted to take a shower that was longer than 5 minutes. So that’s what you set out to do.

 It didn’t work out that way

You had scoured your kitchen for a quick meal and unfortunately came up with nothing. Dealing with the project kept you so busy you guess you forgot to buy food. The only thing you had in your freezer was a pack of fatass ham hocks and those take forever to get done. You contemplated sleep for dinner tonight before finally deciding to put them on the stove. “I’ll just sleep in tomorrow.” You reassured yourself as you headed to the shower.

Coming back from your shower at about 1am, you sat on your bed turned on the tv to distract yourself while you wait. There was nothing on considering how late it was, so you decided to leave it on the news.

  Now onto some exciting hero news. Pro hero Cellophane was seen today taking down a pretty big villain…  

 “At least I’ll stay up for this.” You say to yourself as you adjust on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. You had been a Cellophane fan for a while so seeing him finally getting recognition for all his hard work was pretty exciting.

  The anchor lady continued to talk about the rising star pro-hero and his defeat of some creepy villain that looked like a science project gone wrong.

   You weren’t really paying attention to the news anchor as she spoke, preferring to focus your attention onto the footage that played in the background of your favorite hero.

 Honestly, you don’t even know how you became a fan. It’s not like you were always big on heroes. You couldn’t name more than a few but somehow, the human tape dispenser had caught your attention from the very start of his career. He always seemed to go out of his way to help civilians, no matter how small their troubles may have been. Which should be normal for a hero but seeing as how the pro hero Screamy Mc Anger Face is sitting at #2 on the hero charts, you really held an appreciation for Cellophane.

 It also didn’t hurt that over the years of you being a fan, this man has gotten more and more attractive. He had gotten taller, and now according to the tape man himself, was sitting at a good 6’2. His jaw had become more shaped and his form had filled out a little as well thanks to his years in the hero business. He had let his hair grow out a little more and seemed to mainly keep it in a ponytail for his hero work. He was truly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

 You were so caught up in your thoughts of Sero you hadn’t even noticed you were falling asleep.

You didn’t get much time to rest, however as you were being pulled out of your slumber by someone roughly shaking you. Your eyes shot open and met with a set of deep brown pupils that seemed so familiar although you didn’t quite know why. Allowing your vision to adjust, you see that they belong to someone you’d found yourself admiring for a while. “Oh, I must be dreaming.” You say to yourself as you roll over, fully intending to get the most out of whatever this was you were being blessed with. You loved when god blessed your dreams, at least you thought it was a dream.

 Only until you felt yourself being lifted into some pretty solid arms. “Ok definitely not a dream, y/n.”  Your eyes shot open once again, very much awake this time. The Sero Hanta was carrying you. But why? You were trying to wrap your head around the situation, but it was hard to focus. There was a loud screeching that had filled your head and you couldn’t see much further than Sero’s head due to the thick smoke in the house. That was when it clicked: My ham hocks

 Before you knew it, you were out of your apartment complex and being placed feet first onto the cold ground. After a quick look to see you weren’t physically injured, he began to speak.” It doesn’t look like anything more than smoke; I checked the whole house.” He stated before gesturing toward your smoking apartment. “I’m going back inside to open the windows and turn off the alarm; wait here.” He walked off into your apartment. Sero Hanta was just standing in front of you. Sero Hanta was just carrying you. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

 When he came back, he was holding a few of your items in hand. “It looks like you’re just gonna have to wait it out, so I got you a few things from inside; I hope you don’t mind.” He says handing you one of your jackets, a pair of fuzzy slippers and your phone. “Thanks.” You say, slipping on the items before focusing your attention on him. He was so much hotter in person. How is that possible?

  “So… how’d you get in my house?” He looked surprised. “Oh, wow that sounded rude, I’m sorry.” You say nervously “It’s just that as attractive as you are, I’d rather not have a stalker. Wait that’s not what I meant- “he cut you off with a chuckle. “No, it’s fine. I guess I just wasn’t really expecting that question. I was coming back from patrol and I saw smoke coming from over there.” He says gesturing toward your open kitchen window. “So, I climbed through. Thankfully, your room door was closed so no smoke was able to get in. You’re a pretty heavy sleeper, by the way.”

 “Yeah, not really” you sheepishly reply, “I had a big project for class that kept me up for a while, so I guess my body just kinda went into a coma.”  You were less nervous now “Honestly I’m surprised my neighbors didn’t hear all the noise.” Despite everything that happened, they hadn’t made a peep. “Well, it is 3am. At this point they’re probably all dead to the world.”

 “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late” You say, checking your phone. “You probably want to get home, so I won’t keep you.” You had felt guilty. He spent today battling villains and now he couldn’t go home because somebody couldn’t stay awake long enough to keep their sad meal from turning into an almost house fire.

 Sero didn’t seem to mind standing there with you at all, however. “No, it’s fine.” he reassured, “I really don’t mind. Besides, you’re pretty attractive yourself.” Wait-

He grins and continues “ Also, I was hoping that while I was getting your number, you could tell me what it was you were cooking in that pot, because I couldn’t figure it out.

--------------

Thank you for 100+ followers!!! idk why y’all are here but you are and I appreciate it.

[seacottons]

Find a Reason to Smile

pairing: choi san x reader

summary: you help an amnesiac named san find his way back home, and in return he helps you find a reason to always smile.

genre: sci-fi, dystopian au, horror, angst, language

words: 16.9k

warnings: excessive violence, blood, mental instability, mentions of smut.

The wind and rain felt like tiny little pricks against your skin and hair as you hastily rode back home on your yellow bicycle. Dark clouds blanketed the coastal town of yours, washing it an eerie, yet somewhat comforting darkness. Despite the gloomy weather, your mood was still beaming due to just wrapping up the last exam of your third year in university.

The streets were almost nearly vacant in this part of town, thankfully. You slowed down slightly whilst crossing roads and intersections, puddles of water splashing harshly against your shoes. Your hair clung onto your face, and a few strands flew into your mouth and eyes as you turned corner after corner. You flinched as the sound of thunder shook the ground underneath you. The street lamps and illuminated street signs flickered rapidly, and a flash of lightning followed shortly afterwards.

Your mind only registered what just occurred after a few seconds too late. A flash right in front of you blinded your sight, and a big lump of a body strewn on the wet cement crossed paths with your bicycle, causing you to fly and skid across the concrete a few feet away from the initial impact.

Hissing under your breath as pebbles dug into your broken flesh of your palms and knees, you glanced up and groaned, completely confused as to what made you lose your balance. You were positive there was nothing but empty space there a few seconds ago. The rain was heavy, but not enough to blind you. Your head throbbed, and you were sure bruises were already forming. 

Your breath was caught in your throat at the sight of a man lying beside your bike, clutching his side and emitting grunts of pain, his frame writhing. The man could make out a few words through the hazy fog of his mind,"Mist...okay..."

"Mister..are...okay?"

"Mister, are you okay?"

You scrambled up onto your feet, mind frazzled and bewildered,”I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t see you there! I- ..what were you doing lying down in the middle of the sidewalk. Oh my god, are you okay?” you blithered loudly, hands reaching down to grab onto the man’s own frail ones.

Your rambling seemed to make the man’s headache even worse, and you hastily helped him onto his feet. He was a few inches taller than you, a well built, lean frame adorned with dark clothing and a leather jacket. A striking patch of green decorated his ebony locks, which clung to his flushed face as his pained eyes bore into your own, “Where am I? Who are you?”

You visibly blanched upon hearing the male’s words, hesitant hands reaching up to clutch the air in front of you, panic soon welcoming itself into your eyes and voice, “I gave you amnesia..,” you clutched his wet, black leather jacket with desperate fists, brows knitting in distress, “Please don’t sue me! I have one more year left to graduate! I’ll help yo-“

You were thankful that no one was driving by to witness the scene, you on your wobbly legs, screaming desperately in a stranger’s face. Before you managed to finish your plead, the man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his frame collapsing onto your own jittery one. Yelping in fright, your hands flew to steady his body, which felt cold and deadweight in your arms. You rested your fingers against his jugular, your shoulders deflating in relief at the prominent heartbeat.

Spending the night of your last day of the semester was intended to be scheduled with partying, watching movies, going out with acquaintances, but fate decided to grant you a man who popped out of whatever that flash was, only to faint in your arms in broad daylight, feet away from your apartment complex, and rain drops creating frequent ripples in the puddles surrounding you two.

You were paranoid that somehow you’d be imprisoned or fined if you called the police for giving a stranger a possible concussion, so the next best thing you came up with is to take said stranger back to your apartment, wrapping him up in several towels and lying him down onto the couch. Droplets of rain cascaded down his high cheekbones, and onto your leather sofa, but that was the least of your concern at the moment. You debated whether or not to call your mother for help. She will certainly give you an earful if she found out you allowed a stranger into your own home.

As you were in the process of constructing a reasonable sounding text, a groan escaped the man’s mouth as he reached up to press the heel of his palm onto his forehead. You panicked at the sight, frame stiffening as the male sat up slowly, pausing to gaze at you in confusion. He tilted his head, eyes blinking in curiosity. His dark orbs studied your form, flickering around to examine his surroundings before turning back to you, “Hello?”

You offered an awkward smile, shrugging your shoulders and putting your phone down, “Uh.. hi. I’m (y/n). Are you feeling better, Mister? Do you remember anything?”

His dark eyes glanced around the room once again, before looking down at his wet attire and hands. He peered at his reflection from the mirror across from him and turned to you with a look of distress, “I don’t seem to recall anything other than when you crashed into me. By any chance, do I know you? Do you know who I am?”

There were a few moments in your life you were proud of. Few, meaning you can count them with one hand. This was not one of them. You found yourself crying in the middle of your apartment, with a complete stranger attempting to comfort and console you, when in fact he was the one who most likely needed it most. He smiled sheepishly, his attempt at consoling you only twinging a bit of hope in the pit of your stomach. He explained that it wasn’t logical for you to be the cause of his amnesia, due to the fact that you only managed to hurt his side as opposed to his head. You winced at the memory, nodding shamefully and offering him some ointment for the mark on his side, courteously left by the wheel of your bicycle. About half an hour of ceaseless reassurance from the man, you managed to regain your composure, asking him if he had some sort of identification.

To your disappointment, and his also, there was no source of information to identify him with. Pockets empty, no phone in sight either. You ran a hand through your hair, eyes downcast as you scrambled to think of plan b, only to catch sight of the the marking behind the man’s left ear. You raised a brow, leaning forward and tilting your head, startling the male from the sudden proximity,”You have a tattoo? San? Is that your name?”

There doesn’t seem to be any spark of recognition in the man’s eyes as you say the name, but he scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly,”I am honestly not too sure, but it’s safe to assume that it is? I’m sorry, I wish I could just remember one thing at least..”

You offered him a smile of pity, shaking your head to disagree with him,“That’s okay, San. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. In the meantime, you should change before you end up getting sick. I think my clothes will fit you somewhat. It’s the least I can do for crashing into you. Is that okay?”

“Ah, thank you,” you nodded at him to proceed,”I appreciate it. Do you mind if I stay here until the rain stops?”

You dug through numerous names of people named San on social media within your town, but you had no luck in finding a match. If your parents knew you kept a complete stranger in your home out of pity, they would’ve called you a lunatic.

He was very bashful about the offer to stay the night, denying it at first and telling you he’ll find his way somehow. Days later, you spotted him sleeping on one of the bus benches near your apartment as you made your way to the convenience store. He was reluctant at first, but finally agreed to stay for a short term with you.

You hadn’t even meant to but the poor guy had nowhere to go, no money on hand, and no memories whatsoever. What a predicament to be in.

Several days passed, and you’ve yet to tell your anyone of the incident that occurred that spring night.

It was no lie that over the course of several weeks of summer, the man had grown onto you. San was extremely humble, aiding you in any way he found possible. He took charge of cleaning, cooking, and even ironing your clothes on some days. The days when you had work, you would come home to find the apartment sparkling, and the smell of dinner wafting through the entirety of the small complex.

There were a few strange quirks you’ve noticed about him, though. For starters, he called the planet Earth, Utopia. You sat down for a good half hour over dinner one night, arguing back and forth regarding the name, but he just couldn’t explain why he thought that, and where that piece of information came from. He flung a pea at your nose as you pulled out several maps on your phone, proving your point, a pout resting on his features as he gave up his argument.

You were mildly paranoid that San was secretly a slimy alien disguised as a handsome, young man, from a different planet who somehow dropped down onto Earth, but you pushed that thought away several days later when he showed zero signs of being extra terrestrial. ( You forced him to sit down through reruns of alien related films, gauging and studying his reactions only to disprove your conclusion when he grimaced and complained he didn’t like the concept of aliens. )

However, he always seemed fascinated by the twinkling stars at night, occasionally asking if you’d like to sit and watch them, instead of movies, every now and then.

He enjoyed warm cups of tea as the cool breeze from outside fluttered into the apartment, the two of you pointing out which constellations you recognized.

—

“This is cute,try it on!" you threw a fuzzy, white sweater at San over the door of the changing room.

He took it off his head and inspected it, eyes blinking rapidly. He then threw it back,"It seems itchy."

"Come on! How about this?"

"The color is reminiscent of the time you threw up the leftover sushi.”

"Just say it’s an ugly shade of green and shut up," you grumbled, stomach flipping at the mere thought of the incident that occurred days prior. This wasn’t the first time he bought it up, only to laugh and tease you for it when you quickly shut him down.

San, albeit surprisingly being a playful and mischievous guy, was very modest and humble when it came to your shopping trips. Guilt would wash his features as he argued about you spending money on him for clothes and other necessities, often making excuses of why he didn’t want the items you chose for him, but you never missed the sparkle in his eyes as he placed the articles of clothing back on the racks.

He would pull items from your hands before you had the chance to purchase them for him, sometimes starting embarrassing scenes in various stores. When you have him a hard time, he would cling onto your arm, whining into your ear and attempt to pull you out of the store.

You did get kicked out of a plushie store that one time in which you accidentally kicked over one of the shelves while wrestling over a shiba inu plushie, tipping it over only slightly, but just enough for stacks of puppy plushies to fall into a heap on the floor.

He would often scold you when he finds the same item he’d been ogling laying innocently onto his makeshift bed in the tiny living room. San profusely apologized for being a nuisance to you and your wallet, and every time, you threatened to wrestle him down to take back his words.

“You said you wanted this one, and you’d name him Shiber. So give him a proper welcome to our home.”

He did ask to help him find a job, but you insisted you were fine with spending your money on him for the next month. Tuition and books were not a problem thanks to your scholarship, rent wasn’t too high, and you didn’t even own a car for you to spend money on gas. You also had several years of saving up from numerous jobs to help you put your mind at ease, but that did not stop the gnawing feeling of guilt that succumbed San every time you traded your money for something to give him.

You did take him to see a specialist, and he’d gone under several tests and examinations, but all the test results came back normal. There was no indication of head trauma, and he was very healthy for his age, which you two assumed to be in his early to mid twenties.

Nobody in town recognized him when you two had your weekly shopping trips, either.

He did promise to only spend two months with you and go about his way, if he managed to recover his memories. If not, he would land a job while you returned back to university for your senior year.

You never did tell him, but you left your bedroom door ajar ever so slightly to gaze at him in sympathy during the nights he woke up restless, silently staring out the window of the living room, arms clutching Shiber to his chest tightly for comfort. You knew he didn’t enjoy feeling lost and helpless, even if he never liked to admit it. His eyes held a heavy, silent sadness, one so deep that you think not even time will mend.

Learning to read and understand San came naturally and seamlessly. You caught every flicker of his eyes, every change in his tone, and every expression he makes. Every twitch of his lips did not go unnoticed by you.

He soon warmed up to your comforting presence, much like the summer weather.

"Ahhh! It burns!"

You fell in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs, startled by a screech. You were acutely aware of the pain blossoming onto your bottom as you landed ungracefully on your wooden floor. Beams of sunlight shone brightly in your room, welcoming the new day.

"San! Are you okay!?”

You piped hurriedly,  stumbling up to rush towards the male, tangled sheets clinging around your ankle, your hair a mess and eyes puffy from sleep.

You failed to notice a roll of toilet paper flying towards your head.

The impact startled you, heart leaping in your throat at the sudden attack, your adrenaline pumping through your veins as you raised your arms for defense.

It was San on the bathroom doorway, mouth red and puffy and eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Where the hell did you get this mouthwash? It's like I'm swishing fire in my mouth!" he cried, profusely rubbing at his mouth the back of his sleeve. He grumbled, turning around to lightly slap the bottle of green liquid on the bathroom countertop, fidgeting around and running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"Fucking hell, San. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I nearly burned my tongue off, but thanks for asking!”

You dropped your head in your hands, contemplating your life choices for a few seconds before walking back to your bedroom to get an hour more of undisturbed sleep.

Summer was nearing an end, and the two of you fell into a simple routine. He would iron your work clothes the night before, wake up early to cook a light breakfast, and help you tidy up for your day.

You had joked one day, asking if his profession was a chef due to his great cooking skills.

“Maybe you’re secretly rich and hired me as your personal chef, but we argued one day, and you hit me so hard with a pan that I lost my braincells, and-“

You quickly stuffed his mouth with a loaf of bread to shush him up. He blinked, flabbergasted at the sudden intrusion, before hastily swiping a jam covered finger onto your cheek in retaliation.

Not only was he talented at cooking great food, but he was also amazing at styling hair.

He scoffed as a stubborn strand of your tresses curled up from the nearly perfect hairstyle he struggled to create. Licking his lips, he pressed them into a thin line as he leaned forward, gel slicked hands working meticulously to smoothen out your locks,”San, I work at a coffee shop, not at a fashion agency. Don’t you think this is a bit much?” your back ached from being stuck in the same position for nearly forty minutes.

He ignored your comment, scolding you for attempting to distract him, eyes trained onto redoing the intricate braid in your hair, adding several tiny diamond clips, and a golden ribbon lacing through your locks. You tilted your head at an angle, struggling to catch sight of his beautiful work in the mirror, your eyes practically twinkling in delight at the sight.

“San, you’re so talented! I should’ve hired you as my hairdresser months ago,” you marveled happily.

His heart leaped in his throat, much like the acrobats he’s seen in movies, whilst you crushed him into a tight hug. He stared down at the crown of your head, jaw slackening  and eyes growing wide at the first physical gesture of affection you’ve ever given him. His frame felt like it was doused in gasoline and lit on fire, but before he had the chance to ask himself why, he caught sight of his reflection. His ears were an embarrassing shade of pink, like the tiny cosmos he helped you grow on the balcony. He hoped you hadn’t noticed.

A gentle smile found itself onto his features as he raised a  respectful hand to the dip of your back, returning the hug fondly, his lids fluttering shut as he basks in the moment of having you cling onto him. This was better than hugging Shiber, he noted to himself.

“I’ll do it for as long as time allows it,” he curls a strand of your hair around his pointer finger, before delicately pinning it behind your ear, his gaze unfaltering as his eyes bore into your own.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, and you simpered at his bashful expression,”I’ll see you tonight, then. No need to cook anything, either. Today we’ll try out the new barbecue place across town, yeah?”   His eyes widened, your bright tone snapping him out of his dazed state, eyeing you in mild embarrassment for staring much too long than deemed necessary. He pulled away abruptly, hands busy attending to the brushes and combs across the counter, anything that was within his grasp really– the green patch of hair concealing his eyes from your sight,”Y-yeah. I’ll be ready when you come back home,” he responded, voice meek and delicate as he flashed you a small grin.

His tender smile was reminiscent of spring mornings: fresh, warm, and welcoming.

—

The oil sizzled as you gently laid down a slice of chicken onto the grill, your hands startling as tiny droplets of oil met the flesh of your hands. The steel tongs fell from your grip, mouth pulled back as you emit a hiss of pain, your other hand flying to rub away at the burning sensation.

Delicate hands wrapped around your own, the pads of his fingers rubbing soothing circles onto your skin, his eyes holding a weight of disappointment,”I told you, you’re supposed to do it gently, or else you’ll splash yourself with all that oil, dummy.”

“I was being gentle!” you shot back, only for your words to die down into a small whisper once you locked your eyes with his. Clearing your throat, you pulled your hands away from his hold, allowing your tresses to frame your face in hopes of concealing the blossoming pink of your cheeks. ”Alright, I’ll be more cautious next time,” you added quickly, picking at the side dishes with your chopsticks, sheepishly avoiding his teasing stare.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when exactly San’s gazes affected you the way they did now.

They left a soft, bubbly feeling inside the pit of your stomach, reminding you of his favorite powder scented laundry detergent he became very fond of.

“It cleans Shiber’s fur better than the lavender one.”

You didn’t know why you now noticed small quirks of his that you found attractive.

The way his skin dips as he smiles, displaying the cutest set of dimples you’ve ever set your eyes on. The way his eyes glimmer at the sight of a new episode of his favorite tv series. The way his voice rises an octave in excitement at a clear night sky, displaying twinkling diamonds over the town.

And also the tiny freckles that were beautifully paraded thanks to his v-neck shirts. The mole on his cheek. Or when he gnaws his bottom lip in concentration when either cooking or attempting to rid his shirts of a stubborn wrinkle.

The way the veins in his arms are more pronounced whilst he cooks up your favorite dish, or when his muscles ripple as he reaches up for something on the shelves.

And the sound of his contagious laugh as you proposed the idea of him becoming your roommate and helping him hunt for a job, despite having no known credentials or work experience as soon as you move to Seoul.

Initially, you didn’t think much of these small seeds of attraction you felt towards him. It wasn’t a crush. You were merely fond of his cute, clingy behavior.

You ignored them when they sprouted.

And now it seems they have blossomed, and you think there’s no denying it anymore, however you decided for the sake of the steady and well-built friendship, you’ll bury those feelings in a small, dark corner of your mind, tucked safe and away from prying eyes, specifically his.

“(Y/n)?”

You jumped in your seat, eyes widening and a ghost of a breath escaping your parted lips as you crashed back down to reality. San’s eyes were furrowed in concern at your silence, his hand hovering over the grill, tongs stretched and ready to latch onto the meat. You were quick to whip out an apology, offering him a sheepish grin,”Sorry, did you say something?”

He jabbed a thumb to the flat screen t.v, quickly changing the subject to save you from further embarrassment,”They’re talking about University of Seoul. Isn’t that the one you’re planning on transferring to next month?”

Physics Professors of US, Dr. Jung and assistant Dr. Kang, announce successful test in the relation between their theory of quantum physics and alternate reality; They say the world is ready to witness something grand.

You glanced at the long headline, eyes then trailing up to the news anchor, and then back to San. A black haired professor began an interview with the hosts over video call, but you soon tuned it out disinterestedly while spooning a few grains of rice and seasoned seaweed, only pausing mid-bite as you noticed the twinkling reflection of the lightbulbs in tear drops falling from San’s eyes as he stared silently at the screen.

“San? Are you okay?”

He quirked a brow in confusion, only then following your line of vision towards his side of the table. Peering down at the droplets, he raised dainty fingers to brush against his cheeks, examining the wetness as he pulled away, confusion decorating his features,“Oh? I’m crying?”

You settled your spoon down, eyes, filled to the brim with concern, roaming to study his features, and for the first time since you met him, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, couldn’t decipher what he was feeling. Your appetite suddenly dissipated, worry filling hunger’s place instead,”Is something the matter? You can tell me, you know?”

The lights in the restaurant flickered continuously, tv screens pixelating and distorting. Customers and the employees paused their ministrations to look around in confusion.

Your face glitched and pixelated, and his eyes widened at the sight.

Go back home!

As if watching a poorly captured, grainy video, he suddenly found himself in a pitch black room. He was aware he was standing above a fallen figure, even with the lack of light. A beam suddenly flashed down upon him, casting a dim ring of light around his frame. His pupils dilated and quivering at the sight of the pale visage void of any signs of life staring blankly at him from the bloody mess on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realized the corpse he was staring down at was an exact replica of himself, face gaunt and frozen with terror stricken eyes.

Go back home, San. I’m so sorry.

The corpse’s ghostly face blurred and pixelated, before he felt lips press against his own, a giggle following shortly after. His breath caught in his throat as he gaped down at your smiling figure,”Of course, I’ll marry you, Sannie. Who else would I want to spend the rest of my life with?”

Home.

And then you vanished in fade of colors, your body dissipating with the breeze.

Everything came to a gentle still.

Suddenly, the sight of a fist gripping a gleaming syringe rushing towards his direction and painfully digging into his wrist—

He jumped, startled knees crashing into the underside of the table, the utensils clattering upon impact, making you also jolt in place, hands hastily reaching up to clamp onto your chest in surprise.

“San!”

Unbeknownst to him, something akin to severe horror flashed within his orbs for a millisecond, silent terror haunting the dark depths of his eyes as his gaze flickered from the tv screen to your face, the ambiance of the restaurant becoming nothing more than a faint, muted buzz in the background.

You were alarmed by the sudden rapid rise and fall of his chest, shallow breathing overlapping with the sounds of utensils clattering in the background.

“San? San, tell me what’s wrong.”

He took a moment to assess your expression, hesitantly shaking his head moments later, voice small, hands fidgeting with his chopsticks, before reaching up to grasp the sides of his head, suddenly unaware as to why his hands were trembling,”I don’t know? I don’t know why I’m crying, (y/n). I have a terrible migraine too.”

You were quick to send a glare at the nosy customers who took a sudden interest in you and your friend, eyes narrowing in triumph as they hastily averted their gazes.

“Do you think I’m having an allergic reaction to something?” you heard San mumble into his palm.

You weren’t sure how to answer him.

“Yeah, maybe.. it’s the radish?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen sheer, raw terror in one’s eyes like that before.

That look on his face will forever haunt you.

Weeks later, that night was buried away along with the other nights you’ve spent with San in your coastal town. He helped you pack your belongings, taping box after box as the two of you prepared to move inland into the city for your final year of university.

San surprised you two days after you moved into your new, spacious apartment with the announcement that he obtained a job at a local floral shop just down the street, owned by two friends, Jongho and Yunho. You blanched as soon as he informed you that he explained to them he had no idea of his identity and held no official documents, but had a knack for delicate and intricate styling of materials, ranging from flowers, to food, and hair. He even challenged them to a bouquet arrangement match.

“Is that seriously how you convinced them? No fingerprints or anything? No documents? How will they pay you? You can’t just go around telling people you lost your memories, San. What if someone takes advantage of you?” you chided gently, brows creasing as you worked at adjusting one of the paintings on the wall.

He feigned a pout, fingers reaching to brush a strand of hair from your eyes,”And here I thought you’ll say let’s go out to celebrate. Are you not proud of me? I’m getting paid in cash to avoid the documentation requirements, if that’s what’s bothering you. I told you I need to start helping with the bills,” he crossed his arms, back resting against the wall and head turned the other direction as he silently sulked.

You didn’t know if that was even legal, but you decided to brush it off at the sight of his crestfallen expression, your hands quickly finding their way to his own, grasping them and giving them a gentle squeeze,”Of course we’ll celebrate! Over drinks and barbecue!”

If the Sun had feelings, you were sure it would feel a massive amount of envy towards the male in front of you, with the way his face shined and glowed with every smile that reached his handsome features. Your heart will never become accustomed to the sunshine-like smile, no matter how many times he beams at you like that.

A month flew by as quickly as the leaves changed color during autumn, and soon, you two found yourselves constantly huddled underneath a large blanket, hands holding steaming mugs of tea while you watched new movies his co-workers  recommended him. You smiled fondly at his excited announcement of finding a new movie to share with you. Your heart swelled at the sound of his giggling throughout the film.

You confided to him after one particular movie regarding homesickness, suddenly finding yourself tearing up at the thought of your old town and apartment and how much you missed them.

He prodded your cheek in a playful manner, tapping away your tears with a tissue before running a soothing palm onto the back of your head,”You just have to find a reason to smile. It won’t fix the problem per say, but it’ll make the situation easier for you until you find a solution,” he mused,”Like me, for example! I don’t have a clue about who I was or am, or where I came from, but you’re the reason I still smile.”

Your brows rose up high at his words, and you couldn’t tell if the flush on your face was the result of crying anymore. You also felt ashamed all of a sudden, realizing your situation wasn’t nearly as bad as his,”I make you happy?”

“Of course you do,” he chuckled, hands patting his chest proudly,”I don’t have to be reason for you to smile, though. Maybe it can be that big star that twinkles every night out your window, or the smell of that nice bakery down the street.”

Your stomach fluttered.

“You make me smile more than anything and anyone, San.”

Some days, he’ll come home to find you face first in one of your heavy books, hand still gripping your pen while a monotonous voice from your laptop plays out throughout the kitchen. He chided your sleeping form as he picked you up, carrying you to your bedroom and huffing when you immediately snuggled into your sheets and pillows,”What will you ever do without me, dummy.”

The third month in, and you eventually became accustomed to the new environment, city, people, and university. It was a lot larger in comparison to your previous one, and it accommodated not only local students, but international ones as well. You were offered an internship with one of the university’s top leading music professors, and you contemplated accepting the offer or not for months. It worked out in your favor, though. San had a stable job now. You weren’t as worried about your finances as much as you were before, you were enjoying your last year of studies, your apartment was spacious enough to fit the both of you, and it wasn’t too far from your university either.

Your manifestations of a simple and happy life became reality, and there was no room left to complain.

There was one problem though.

You learned that San was not to be trusted with money. He either spent it on food or yourself. You begged, pleaded, and chided repeatedly that you really did not need every color of the sweater you liked at the shop, or the fancy teacup you saw at the market, but he insisted on buying them all,”But all these colors suit you! Besides, it’s getting too cold, you need to dress warmly!”

Saturday night he presented you with a glittering, amethyst necklace. You paled at the sight, cheeks stuffed with the remaining spoonfuls of dinner as you gazed from your plate, to the necklace, and then back to his face,”You didn’t. San, not again..” you shook your head.

At your words, he rolled his eyes, scoffing and skidding his chair as he stood up to walk towards you,“You have the audacity to complain? Have you forgotten you’ve bought all my clothes and kept me well fed over the summer?” he leaned over your frame, polite hands clasping the necklace around the column of your neck, grinning in satisfaction as it glimmered underneath the fluorescent lights,”You make it even more beautiful than it already is, (y/n).”

He gasped as you choked on the remnants of your food, hands hastily slapping your back in aid, loud voice bouncing against the walls of the apartment, scolding you for not being careful enough with your food.

One night, he came home pleading for you to visit the amusement park that opened in town. San knew that one certain look of his that made your resolve crumble into nothing but a heap of emptiness within a matter of seconds, and that jerk used it to his advantage every damn time. And it worked every damn time.  You were ashamed of how easily you fell for his tricks, but in most circumstances, it was worth it.

If one day, the Sun were to cease existing, it will be okay, because San’s smile is its greatest rival.

You swore San’s eyes twinkled brighter than any of the stars in the night sky. Happiness looked best on San. He had bits of cotton candy still stuck on his cupid’s bow, pockets filled to maximum capacity with tickets. You couldn’t help but emit a snort of amusement at his behavior as he dragged you from booth to booth, demanding you to a challenge every time.

He was the embodiment of happiness and sunshine, all things soft and delicate. He begged you to enter the photo booths with him, and then proceeded to have a bet on who can win the most prizes.

“I’m telling you, these games are all rigged. I just know it,” you grumbled angrily, harshly chomping down onto a handful of popcorn.

He peeked up, arms struggling to carry the amount of plushies and prizes he won. A green hat sat on his head comfortably, his eyes teasing as you placed a few pieces of popcorn into his gaping mouth,”Sorry, couldn’t hear you from all the plushies I’m holding. What did you say?”

“San, that makes absolutely no sense.”

“I know, you’re just fun to tease.”

He managed to win at nearly every game you played, and you gaped in disbelief as he won at the fishing game for the fifth time in a row. Crossing your arms, you turned around, hand sticking up to shush him as he called your name,”Rigged!”

You felt something cold and hard poke your cheek, and you turned to be met with a pouty rubber duck that was much too close for comfort. He repeated the action, along with a soft quack, and you attempted to swat his prize toy away from him, only for him to mimic the duck’s expression, your heart nearly falling to your feet at the sight,”Don’t be angry. I promise I’ll let you win next time.”

Having San work at a floral shop meant being gifted with a new flower every day.

He would beg you to stop writing in your notebook just to listen to him ramble on about what a certain flower meant, and so forth. Curse Jongho for getting him into this sort of thing, but you couldn’t deny the fact he appeared so endearing while blabbering passionately about why he thinks white roses aren’t meant to be related to death, or why cosmos deserve more love after Yunho trash talked them one day.

“Jongho, what are you doing?” San asked one day, arms placing the new shipment of glass vases down in the corner of the room. Yunho peeked up from tying a ribbon onto a pink bouquet, snickering at the sight of Jongho ripping petal after petal of a yellow flower.

“He wants to know if the girl that visits the shop every Friday likes him back,” Yunho teased, ducking as a piece of floral foam was thrown in his direction.

San leaned over Jongho’s shoulder to study the flower inquisitively, eyes wide and curious,”How do you determine that?” Jongho’s miffed expression soon was replaced with a stoic one as he explained to San how it works,”So, all I have to do is pluck them and whichever is the last one..”

Jongho nodded, elbowing the ebony haired male in the chest,”Are you thinking about the girl you live with?”

San’s flustered expression gave him away. He hid the white daisy behind his back defensively, shrugging his shoulders and announcing he has to get back to work. Jongho and Yunho shot knowing smiles at his retreating figure.

“She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.”

Hiding behind a stack of boxes, San was finally at the last petal, his fingers hovering above it with widened eyes and parted lips,”She loves me.”

You were too engrossed in editing an audio file, that the sight of a gerbera daisy flying into your face startled you nearly to death. San laughed as you yelped in fright, hands immediately ripping the headphones from your ears, before repeatedly smacking his hip in anger,”Are you trying to give me a heart attack!” you hissed in frustration.

He placed the daisy behind your ear and leaned back up to examine his work,”So pretty.”

You didn’t know whether he was referring to the flower or yourself, but either way, that didn’t stop your ears from flaring up.

A month later, you managed to survive the exams, and your second to last semester came to an end. The university held a party a week later in celebration, just before winter holiday, and you asked San over dinner if he’d like to attend. He shyly denied it at first, saying he never learned how to dance, but you insisted you wouldn’t have to if it made him uncomfortable,”We can just relax and eat the food there. I promise it’ll be fun!”

You wore a well fitted, knee length black dress, and insisted on San wearing something formal as well, much to his displeasure. He reached a hand to readjust his tie for the umpteenth time that night, glowering at your snickering form,”Oh stop, you’ll mess it up. You look perfectly fine.”

“Fine? Is that all I get?” he prodded your cheek, playful lilt to his tone,”You should pay me, Prince San, for attending this party with you. I will only accept cash or kisses.”

His grin stretched further as you stumbled on your words, a faint scowl reaching your features as you thwacked him on the chest lightly,”Stop being embarrassing!”

You loved his teasing.

He knew you did, and curse him for taking every opportunity to make you a blushing, babbling mess, especially in public. The university’s courtyard couldn’t be recognized from the dangerous amount of people within the area, music blasting off in several directions, and drinks and food being served left and right.

San shot you a smile as he noticed the glimmering pendant resting on your collarbones,”Did you want to dance, (y/n)?”

You glanced at him curiously, head tilting back as you took a sip of your soda,”I thought you were too shy to dance in public?”

“That’s where you’re not wrong,” he chuckled, taking you by the wrist and behind one of the building’s corners. People still walked by, but there was a curtain of privacy that provided him with a subtle boost of confidence. He mimicked the princes in his favorite movies, head bowing and offering you his hand, to which you laughed and accepted. Your arms rested against his firm chest, lithe fingers curling onto his shoulders as his hands hesitantly found their way to rest onto the dip of your waist,”I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

“I can’t believe we’re slow dancing to club music,” you couldn’t help but laugh, head thrown back in glee as San took stiff, unsure movements, a sheepish smile gracing his features as he ducked his head shyly, his earrings glimmering underneath the moonlight.

“It’s the only dance that seemed easy enough online,” he mumbled, unsure of his movements now that he held you in his arms,”I watched five videos.”

You flashed him a grin, pausing slightly to lean forward onto your toes, pressing a chaste kiss onto his cheek,”You’re doing so well. You never cease to impress me, San.”

You watched his jaw go slack, hands now hovering over your waist as he peers at you unsurely. For a split second, you were worried if you crossed the line, however, he released a chortle of amusement, leaning down to press his lips flush against your forehead,”And to you the same, dearest (y/n).”

The party was nearing an end, and you smiled fondly as San pouted beside you, watching someone take the last slice of chocolate cake on one the large tables. You took his hand, walking a few steps and ushering to another table across the courtyard,”That’s okay! I know another table with dessert. Maybe there’s—“

“San?”

The two of you paused, catching sight of a man only a few feet away, whose eyes were wide behind the pair of bronze rimmed spectacles. His shaggy, black tresses curled beautifully over his eyes, a mole prominent underneath one of his orbs. His mouth was ajar as he stared at the two of you, your interlocked hands, and then specifically onto you. You quirked a brow, noting how his eyes lingered a second too long onto your chest, making you shift uncomfortably beside San.

With long and quick strides, San was ripped from your embrace and into the other male’s chest as he crushed him into a hug.

San gazed at you pleadingly, seemingly uncomfortable with the sudden gesture of affection from the stranger, his arms glued to his sides, unsure whether or not he should return the hug,”Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since May! How can you just disappear into thin air without telling any of us?”

Your eyes widened at the information, and suddenly, the strange stares you two have gotten from your peers here made sense now. Ever since you walked into campus with San by your side, you’ve received curious and confused glances. And here you thought people were only shocked at how handsome the male that accompanied you was.

San could only stare in shock at the other male, his eyes searching an. searching for any flicker of familiarity, only for his shoulders to sag down as he found not a spark whatsoever,”You know me?” his voice was small and almost breathless.

The other male’s longing gaze morphed into a confused expression whilst he peels away from your friend, head tilting and brows furrowing in thought,”What do you mean? It’s me! Wooyoung. We’re childhood friends. You were a professor here. We worked on a project together before you ran away.”

You didn’t know whether to intervene or not, not knowing if it was your place to even speak on behalf of San. He peeked at you in question, and you nodded albeit your shocked state, understanding his silent question,”I’m sorry. I don’t recall any of that information. I’ve been living with (y/n) here. It seems as though I’ve lost all of my memories prior to meeting her.”

The black haired male’s eyes flickered between the two of you, and he points an accusing finger at San, a boisterous laugh falling from his plump lips, “Nice one. Don't tell me you ran away to be with your secret girlfriend, Sannie. Was the project too much pressure on you? You could’ve told me you know?”

When San’s confused expression didn’t change, Wooyoung’s bright expression faltered, smile falling into a concerned frown.

“Is it true? He doesn’t remember me?”

Your head perked up at the sudden attention that was now on you, a look of pity falling onto your features as you nodded silently,”Yes. I met San in Hwaseong months ago. I transferred and moved here recently. We’ve been searching for months about his identity. Was he not reported missing?”

Wooyoung blinked at your sudden question, shaking his head and emitting a sigh, gazing at his friend as he spoke,”No, he didn’t exactly go missing. He left a note and ran away, saying he didn’t want to be apart of the project we worked on any longer,” he grasped San’s limp hands, tugging him forward and cocking his head in another direction,”Come with me. I’ll prove it to you! Maybe your pictures will help spark some memory, yeah?”

The campus was fairly large, and walking in heels did not aid you in the slightest. Wooyoung looked back over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly, almost apologetically,”I still haven’t organized the office, so excuse the mess you’re about to see. My assistant was supposed to meet me last week to help tidy up, but..”

He flicked on the lights, and he ushered you to one of the three desks in the room. He grabbed onto a small picture frame, handing it to San to observe,”Do you know who this person is?” Wooyoung asked softly.

You peered over San’s shoulder, gaze catching sight of the three people in the picture. It was San, Wooyoung, and a shaggy haired, blonde man whose hair was tied into a small ponytail. Your eyes widened in recognition. These were Dr. Jung and Dr. Kang, the two professors from that one interview you watched that night.

San wordlessly peered at the picture, minute after minute, and he finally sighed moments later, placing the picture frame down while shaking his head in defeat,”No. He’s not familiar either.”

You rested a hand onto San’s shoulder sympathetically, whispering reassuring words underneath your breath. He turned his head to offer you a melancholic, but grateful, smile. Wooyoung cleared his throat, brows knitting in thought,”That’s Yeosang. Our partner,” he placed pointed to another frame, one showcasing the three men swimming at the beach,”We met him four years ago, San.”

An awkward silence fell upon the three of you, and moments later, San walked around the office, fingertips brushing against multiple papers with his name and handwriting scribbled onto them,”Choi San? That’s my full name?” he said almost breathlessly,”This is all my work?”

“The one and only, Choi San,” Wooyoung nodded grimly, arms crossing over his chest as he proceeded to sit down, running a hand through his dark locks,”Wait ‘til Yeosang hears about all of this,” he moaned into his hand, before peeking up and pursing his lips in thought,”You should come back to our apartment. Your stuff is still there. It’ll be a start at getting your old life back together again?”

Your brows knitted, shoulders tense in defense, and you opened your mouth to quip back an answer, only for San to beat you to it,”I’m already staying with..” he hung his head, troubled thoughts weighing him down before he glanced at you almost apologetically,”I mean, our plan was for me to move out, after I figure something out right? It was never supposed to be long-term.”

“You can have time to think about it and work things out,” Wooyoung piped in, gaze softening at the sight of your crestfallen expression.

You attempted to contain your tears, your eyes now glassy and red. You offered a shaky smile, hand squeezing San’s reassuringly,”I don’t mind if you stay with me, San. I love having you around,” you saw Wooyoung’s head perk up in amusement,”But that doesn’t mean I’ll hold you back from returning to your home.”

San couldn’t return the smile, his lips sloped in contemplation and confliction. He shook his head to rid himself of haunting thoughts. Moments of silence later, he sighed, looking back up to meet the hopeful gaze of his forgotten friend,”I’ll have my stuff ready after tomorrow.”

Your heart felt heavy in your chest as Wooyoung and San continued to speak, both exchanging information and addresses.

—

The news hurt you as much as it relieved you. San, Choi San, is back where he belongs, with people he knew and grew up with. And on top of that he was a Physics professor, too?

You were happy and beyond proud of his endurance, and also proud that you had helped him this far, however, a small part of yourself, a selfish part of yourself, clawed and lashed out at the thought of losing him, even as a roommate.

Your heart ached, and a dangerous sense of bitterness bled throughout your system.

"I’m so happy for you, San,” you offered a small smile, and although the sight of him left an ache in your heart, your truly attempted to mask the pain that was settling in your veins, leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss scolding you about tidying up your plushies, your pancakes in the morning– I.. our movies night, too. But it’s okay.. I’ll visit you, and you’ll visit me? Right? Even if we won’t live together anymore we can-“

Throughout the months he’s lived with you, you’ve failed to realize how well he’s learned to pick up on your demeanor and attitude. He reads you as easily as his favorite Harry Potter books.

“(Y/n). Stop.”

The sudden, sharp tone caused you to clamp your mouth shut.

He reached down to grip the mug of tea out of your trembling hands, his gaze then trailing up to brush against your cheek, frowning at the sight of your quivering bottom lip and misty eyes. Your teeth bit at the inside of your cheek harshly, determined to keep yourself contained.

Usually, at such proximity, you’ll turn into a fidgety, blushing mess, but the way he’s gazing tenderly down at you from your spot on the couch, you felt your heart splinter and crack in sadness. You tried your best to look at the brighter side of things, because you knew how selfish it was of you for wanting him to stay with you.

He wasn’t a stray animal that needed to be loved and protected.

He was a man with a life behind him, and denying him that would be the cruelest thing you can ever do to someone, especially one that had no idea of his past.

You were suddenly aware of his warm chest against your face, his hand carefully cradling your head ever so gently. His shirt darkened with wet patches of your tears, and it was the sight of them that made you realize you were crying. He held you as your walls broke down, brick by brick. Your small, shaky voice, muffled by his chest, still managed to shoot a wave of pain through his heart,”I don’t want you to leave me, San.”

“(Y/n),” he started, “I will never leave you. Just let me build my life back together, and after that, everything will turn back to normal.”

He caressed your messy hair, pressing faint kisses onto the crown of your head.

“We’ll get an even better apartment after you graduate and a cat named Byeol. Our balcony will be filled with all shades of cosmos, and I promise we’ll have enough space to build blanket forts for our movie nights. This is merely the beginning of it all, okay? Please don’t cry, or you’ll make me cry,” his voice was soft but reassuring, trembling in the end.

It’s funny, because here you always thought at the moment like this, when you finally found the answers San’s been looking for, that you will be the one comforting him, and not the other way around.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, words unable to leave your mouth as you pulled him in tighter, face buried against the freckled side of his neck as you nodded in silent agreement.

He held you close and tightly like this for the last two nights you had together, and every touch of his felt right against your frame.

So right, just like the last remaining puzzle piece left to finish a picture.

He held you in his arms the last night on the balcony facing the city, and he smiled at the sight of the twinkling diamonds in the night sky. He squeezes you tightly, breath against the crown of your head as he promises to always be with you as long as there are stars in the sky.

“Let’s find a reason to smile, yeah?”

—

Days passed without a word from San, and you grew increasingly upset. You struggled so hard to hold onto the promise he left you with, but with every missed call or ignored text, it became even harder than you had originally thought. You tried to make use of days of winter holiday by tidying up your apartment, a bitter frown etching your features when you pull something out from underneath the couch cushions or in a tight corner that belonged to San.

The day before Christmas, he finally called you, apologizing profusely and informing you that he was so busy with both Wooyoung and Yeosang, both of whom were credited for proving their claims of an alternate dimension existing beyond your world. San rambled over the phone about the project they wanted him to help with, and you weren’t sure if that was a good idea at the moment. You wanted him to prioritize healing first, but you didn’t want to crush his happiness, and you opted not mentioning it at all.

He asked if you can make it for the Christmas dinner the next day, and you were quick to agree.

You were huddled over the living room table, struggling to wrap a few gifts for him. After a few failed attempts, you made decent progress.

The next day, you scrambled to get ready, throwing on one of the glittery sweater dresses he had bought you and boots. After making yourself look presentable, you grabbed the gifts, locking your apartment and ushering for a taxi soon later.

The trip to Wooyoung and San’s apartment wasn’t too long. He lived a few blocks away from your home. With excited and shaky fingers, you rapped the door almost too quickly, bouncing on your feet almost nervously. Before you could process anything, your hands flew to wrap around the person behind the door, gifts long forgotten on the floor,”San! I missed you!”

When an unfamiliar tuft of blonde hair invaded your vision, you tilted your head up to meet the flushed gaze of the man you recognized from the picture in Wooyoung’s office. His spectacles dangled crookedly off his nose, eyes wide and blinking.

You scrambled back and profusely spat out apology after apology, the male only stuttering out a shy ‘It’s fine. San’s friend?’, causing you to nod in embarrassment. The blonde offered you a polite smile, hand extended politely in which you grasped after a moment of hesitation,”I’m Yeosang. I’d like to personally thank you for taking care of my friend for all these months. If there is any way Wooyoung and I can repay you, please don’t hesitate to let either of us know.”

You beamed at him, shaking your head gratefully, informing him there was no need for compensation. A familiar head of ebony and green peeked out from the noisy kitchen, and suddenly you were lifted in the air, crushed between a firm chest and strong arms. San’s familiar laugh filled the air as he swayed you from side to side, before dragging you towards the kitchen where Wooyoung was currently waging a war with the sizzling pan of oil and a batch of seasoned and breaded chicken. The black haired male shot you a wink in the midst of flipping a piece of chicken, only to squawk in protest as Yeosang came forth to steal a piece from the paper towel lined tray.

“You’re just saying that to impress, (y/n).”

“Watch yourself, Kang- before you end up getting fried next.”

The two bickered amongst themselves as you helped San with the drinks and other dishes he prepared with Wooyoung.

After eating, you exchanged gifts, and sat around for Wooyoung to tell the adventurous stories he shared with San as a kid. Throughout the whole ordeal, San’s eyes widened in surprise, orbs flickering from Wooyoung to Yeosang, a finger pointed to himself questioningly,”Did I really do that?”

You hadn’t realized how much you really missed San’s laughter. Studying the spacious living room, your eyes caught sight of a familiar patch of fur, chuckling to yourself at the sight of Shiber decorating the rocking chair as a cushion.

Another thing you noticed was that Yeosang’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he laughed along with the other two males. You brushed it off as a sign of reservedness. Not everyone was as boisterous as San and Wooyoung.

“No, that didn’t happen over summer break it happened during spring!” Wooyoung affirmed, jabbing his finger against Yeosang’s chest, who huffed in retaliation.

“You’re the one forgetting the whole story! Maybe I should tell it instead,” the blonde quipped smartly.

San could only emit a laugh as the two attempted to wrestle each other down instead, his gaze flickering over to you from across the room. You beamed back at him, nose scrunching up in delight at the sight of his smile.

His grin swiftly vanished, morphing into somewhat of a grimace, before his jaw slackened, the colors and shapes in the room distorting into large, blurred pixels while the lights of the apartment flickered rapidly.

“Let’s build a treehouse. It’ll be our secret hideout where we make missions and lock away the bad guys,” a young, voice bounced around the vast, empty white space. SAN’s eyes widened in confusion, eyes flickering left and right, before turning his frame around to catch sight of a very young Wooyoung, brows furrowed in determination whilst clutching a hammer,”Are you just gonna sit there and stare at me! Come on!” The boy ran off and vanished into thin air, San’s fingers reaching towards the boy in a desperate attempt to stop him.

Desperate fingernails dug into the flesh of his back, leaving behind pink lines in their wake. Low, guttural moans slipped past his lips at the sight of you writhing beneath him, your face flushed and contorted into one of bliss, your lips shaping his name with every movement of his frame. The sensation of having your muscles flutter and clench around him nearly drove him to the edge.

Why did you do it?

Pleasure was soon vanished as he found himself laying down in a dark room, two hands gripping the girth of his neck and squeezing with malicious intent, choked gasps emitting from his mouth, and a trail of saliva pooling down from the corner of his lips onto the concrete. The only light in the dark room, coming from behind him reflected the round, golden spectacles resting on the person’s face.

Why are you killing me?

The pressure on his neck vanished, and an ominous silence surrounded him in the dark room. He was acutely aware of something warm, red, and sticky gurgling out of his throat, coating his lips and spilling down his chin. His eyes caught sight of the gleaming edge of a knife as it was bought down repeatedly, slicing through his flesh as easily as softened butter. Pain did not blossom in the areas of impact. His half-lidded eyes gazed up, confusion pooling in them as tear drops fell onto his face from above, faint, broken laughter sounding out from his assailant.

“Why are you killing me!?”

His hand shot out to swipe at the hands on his shoulders, his eyes screwed shut tightly, wheezing for much needed air. Suddenly, he looked up to meet your stunned expression, hands recoiling from his touch,”San!? What’s wrong?”

Three pairs of eyes were trained on him, and all he could do was stare back at your panicked ones, silent tears streaming down his face as he attempted to pull your hands to his frame, softly apologizing for striking you,”I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Who’s killing you, San? What are you talking about?” you ignored his words, your brows knitting in worry as Yeosang exchanged a hard look with Wooyoung from behind you.

San’s lips parted momentarily, as if he was deep in thought. As quickly as they opened, he sealed them once more, his brows furrowing in disarray,”I.. I don’t know? No one? I don’t know what I’m saying?”

You pulled him into a tight hug, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as hesitant arms wrapped around your frame. You were suddenly taken back to that night at the barbecue restaurant. That look of terror on San was one you wished to never witness again, and for months you forgot about it. Something was definitely wrong.

“Did you remember something?” you tried, hands cupping his face, your thumbs working on wiping his tears away.

Frustration colored his features as he gently pried your hands off of his face, before burying his head into the palms of his hands,”No? I’m not sure? I can’t recall anything-“

“Has he had episodes like that before?”

You turned to meet the concerned gazes of his friends. Nodding sorrowfully, you sat besides San, arms pulling into your embrace,”This is the second time. Do you know what’s happening?”

Wooyoung shook his head grimly, walking over to brush San’s hair out from his eyes,”No idea. He.. has episodes like that in his sleep, I’ve noticed. And when I wake him up to calm him down, he immediately forgets what made him yell like that.”

“San, maybe we should go see a—“

“No,” came a swift quip from Yeosang. Stunned, you peered back at him in confusion, mouth hanging open at the iciness lingering in his tone,”I know a friend who can help. Wooyoung and I have already discussed this. He’ll be seeing Dr. Song in a few days.”

You could only nod reluctantly at the answer, your concerned gaze falling onto San as Wooyoung helped him up to get a glass of water.

The night passed much too quickly for your liking, and you found yourself standing at the doorway of Wooyoung and San’s apartment, coat in tow, eyes shining with unshed tears as you forced a wobbly smile onto your features,”Will you be alright?”

San’s eyes softened at the sight, dainty fingers reaching to brush the tears away before they stained your cheeks,”Yes, I will. I promise. I’m sorry for what happened today,” he smiled apologetically, “Hopefully, next time it won’t happen, and I’ll even show you my baby pictures and photo albums from when I was a kid. Would you like that?.”

You nodded, despite the heavy lump in your throat, squeezing him one last time. A certain blonde cleared his throat behind San, and the two of you pulled apart to gaze at Yeosang, who was currently tossing his car keys repeatedly in the air,”Need a ride, (y/n)?”

You said your goodbyes, bidding San a farewell with a quick kiss onto his cheek, arms squeezing him tightly.

Yeosang’s car smelt of new leather and cologne. The ride was comfortable, despite him being a mere acquaintance to you,”So, (y/n).. are you and San, y’know?” It took a few seconds for you to process his words, your brows furrowed in defense as he scrambled to deny his claim, but he hadn’t missed the way your voice raised an octave. He hummed, lips pursing in contemplation, one hand resting on the steering wheel whilst the other fiddles against his mouth, clearly deep in thought,”Oh, that’s a relief. Wooyoung didn’t know how to tell you this, but before San’s disappearance, he was seeing someone. She’s.. currently out of town, visiting family for the holiday.”

In middle school, during a soccer match, one of the opponents kicked the ball, accidentally striking your gut. The information that slipped past Yeosang’s lips left the same breathless, painful feeling in your chest.

Suddenly, the sound of your heartbeat in your ears became much louder than the muffled noises of the car’s engine and tires. A breathless ‘Oh’ slipped past your parted lips, voice wavering and hard.

Yeosang casted you a look of sympathy, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, silently sucking against his teeth before breaking out into a sigh,”I’m sorry, (y/n). I thought it would be best to let you know now.”

—

San did not keep his promise. Your texts were always met with apologies and excuses, even after the new semester began. He couldn’t meet in person, and every time you paid a visit to Wooyoung’s office, you were either met with him or Yeosang, explaining that San was too busy catching up on the large project he missed out on for several months.

A month had passed and the messages became even more scarce.

You attempted to visit him at his apartment on the weekends, or whenever you didn’t have as much studies to catch up on, only for a tired Wooyoung to open the door, explaining that San wasn’t home, and probably either at the university library or the office. Today was no different as a sleepy eyed, disheveled Wooyoung leaned against the door, dressed in a loose, sleeveless top and sweats. If you weren’t so annoyed, you’d compliment how cute he looks, a striking difference from the usual ironed dress shirts and slacks he normally adorned at campus.

He invited you in, offering to make a mug of coffee while you waited in the living room. San wasn’t here, and either due to pity or friendliness, Wooyoung offered to listen to you rant about your mutual friend. He set two steaming mugs of coffee down onto the tiny table, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter following suit. Lighting a stick, he bought it up to his lips, inhaling the smoke, before tilting his head back and slowly puffing out.

You didn’t take him to be a smoker. When he offered you one, you politely denied, hands tucking the mug of coffee closer to your frame, the warmth of the ceramic providing you some level of comfort,”San’s been busy, y’know? You should cut him some slack.”

He took a small sip of his coffee, before dragging another puff of smoke. Your eyes narrowed slightly at the subtle hints of accusation tinting his words,”I was never one to deny that, Wooyoung,” you spoke back, voice firm, “I know he is, but it wouldn’t kill him to acknowledge me every now and then. I haven’t seen since Christmas.”  A sudden veil of aloofness washed over Wooyoung’s features as he crossed a leg over the other, eyes half lidded whilst gazing unamused at you. You were taken aback with the sudden change of atmosphere, your brows furrowing as his shoulders shook with bitter laughter,”(Y/n), don’t you see why he’s been avoiding you?” he tsked, tapping away at his cigarette and watching as the ashes crumbled into the ashtray,”How would he flat out tell you he’s making amends to repair his relationship with the woman that loves him? He couldn’t bear to weigh that news onto you. Not after everything you’ve done for him. His conscious is eating away at his very being.”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion,”Why is it that you seem to think I’m trying to get in the way of his relationship? The one he’s never mentioned in the first place, might I add. All I’m asking is for time with my friend. You’re the one who seems to get it twisted.”

He chuckled, leaning forward on one knee, pointing the lit end of the cigar in your direction,”Are you calling me a liar?” his hand cradled your knee, frame leaning closer to you as he tilts his head to the left to blow out the smoke, eyes never leaving your own,”Y’know, I won’t mind if you came here to visit me. I’ll make all the time in the world for you, sweetheart.”

Scoffing, you set the mug of coffee down, so harshly, the liquid swishes around the rim,”You sound so-“

Before you could make your way up from the couch, he called your name, frame turning around to showcase the screen of his phone, which read a familiar name.

Kim Hongjoong.

Your eyes bore into his own amused ones,”My internship mentor? What are you insinuating?” you spat, arms crossing over your chest defensively.

He tutted, putting out his cigarette in your abandoned mug of coffee before standing up to hover over your frame, his fingers propping your chin up to gaze into your orbs. You felt his breath against your face as he whispered, words venomous and laced with poison, but tone soft and gentle,”You seem to forget I am a professor, don’t you? I have connections. I asked you nicely to stop disrupting my and San’s work. He doesn’t need any more distractions than he already has. I will take it upon myself to not only have your internship revoked, but also expelled from the university, hm?”

Swatting his hand away, you shoved him back with a glower,”What the hell is wrong with you?” he caught his balance, a laugh of amusement ringing from his chest at your abrasiveness. You did not find this situation amusing in the slightest,”You’re sick.”

“Don’t test me, (Y/n),” he curled a finger around your locks, lips quirking up into a fond smile,”Be a good girl, mind your business, and maybe I’ll consider taking you out. You can forget San. He’s already taken.”

You purposely slammed the door shut on your way out, eyes burning with rage.

Later that day, you found yourself mulling over Wooyoung’s words, hands gripping the grocery cart, knuckles white and crescents left on your skin. Bringing up a fist, you harshly rubbed at your misty eyes with the sleeve of your coat. You ignored the squabbling of an elderly woman as you accidentally bumped into her while walking out with your grocery bags.

Walking down the street not too far from your apartment, a pang or hurt shot through you as your eyes made contact with Jongho, San’s previous employer, who was standing on a ladder, watering the flower baskets hung in front of his shop. He gave you a sympathetic smile as you passed by, pinning a flower behind your ear and reaching up to pinch your cheek,”My flowers need more sunshine, so is it okay if they see your smile?”

You two spoke for over fifteen minutes, only for him to flash you an apologetic smile as a few customers walked in the store,”You can stop by anytime if you’re ever feeling lonely. Yunho and I would love the company.”

Continuing your path towards home, your eyes caught a flash of movement in an alleyway, further up by the parked cars in front of your apartment complex. The people walking by hadn’t seemed to notice the movement, some busy on their phones, whilst others laughing along with their partners.

Maybe I’m seeing things from all the crying and tears.

You checked your phone for any notifications, only for disappointment to wash over your features at the lack of any. That same morning, in a fit of rage and overwhelming emotions, you bombarded San with text after text of how disappointed you felt, at how you didn’t care if he was with someone else, and how you just wanted to have your friend back, and how much a prick you think Wooyoung is.

You always imagined how it would be like to help San find his way back into his old life again, but this was far from how you pictured it to be in your mind.

You hastily changed into a pair of sweats and t-shirt after putting away all of the groceries, the tv playing in the background to fill the deafening silence that became apparent ever since San left.

While adding a new load of laundry into the machine, the lights in your apartment flickered rapidly, your ministrations ceasing as you looked up in confusion. It wasn’t raining. The bulb above you shattered, and you jumped in fright, hands frantically brushing the glass out of your hair.

A loud knock on your door startled you, and your eyes widened in hope, hands faltering and laundry suddenly forgotten.

San?

Your first mistake was assuming the person was San.

Your second mistake was not checking through the peephole.

Your third mistake was leaving your phone in your room.

The door merely opened a few inches, when suddenly the  flimsy security chain broke upon the sudden thrust from the other side of the door. The doorknob dug into the adjacent wall, leaving an ugly dent in its place whilst three figures clad in black shoved their way into your home.

The tallest amongst the three, a redhead, shut the door hastily, while one man with striking black eyes and dark hair walked past you, his other friend striking you down and pinning onto the floor face first. You struggled in his tight grip, heart thumping with adrenaline and shock,”Get off me!”

Throwing your head back, you heard a thump and a faint hiss, your assailant’s grip loosening only slightly, but enough for you to roll around to face him. One hand was gripping his jaw whilst the other held you by the neck against the floor, his eyes burning with fury and malice. The scowl on his features soon withered away into a look of surprise, and your expression seemed to mirror his own. The pressure on your neck was lifted, and the tallest of the three, the redhead, paused, eyes wide once taking note of your face,”Is that (y/n)?”

His voice was deep and unfamiliar.

“Professor Hongjoong!?” you cried in disbelief as you recognized the man above you, anger evident in your voice as you shoved his chest with your palms,”Who do you think you are barging into my home like this, you asshole!?”

The redhead helped your professor up, looking back at you with a blank expression as he leaned down to whisper in Hongjoong’s ear,”Do you really think she’s working with him?”

“I can hear you,” you quipped, stepping forward and jabbing a finger in the redhead’s chest, your head tilting up to glower menacingly at him, lips pulled back into a scornful scowl,”And how do you know my name! And you–“ you grabbed a fistful of Hongjoong’s cloak, pulling him down to your eye level,”Explain all of this before I call the cops for trespassing my home. I don’t give a shit if you’re my employer.” The redhead startled at your sudden act of aggression, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“Hongjoong! He’s not here!” a voice called from behind you. Your head turned to see the black haired male walk out from the hallway, stress painting his features. He froze mid-step, eyes widening as he gazed at you from his step, before turning to Hongjoong questioningly.

You didn’t know these two, so why were they so shocked at your mere presence?

“(Y/n), where is San?” Hongjoong gently pried your hands off his shirt, the black haired male eyeing the wrinkles they left behind. Your brow twitched in annoyance.

“Really?” you mused,”You came barging into my apartment, unannounced, just for San? Why don’t you ask Wooyoung?” you seethed in annoyance, stepping behind a few steps to make space between yourself and the men.

Hongjoong peered behind you towards the man, distraught eyes holding a battle of conflict,”Seonghwa, are you sure you felt his aura here?”

“This is the only place, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice was firm, his eyes narrowing and hardening afterwards,”She’s lying.”

You gaped, turning back to your mentor,”What reason would I have to lie!? He doesn’t even live here anymore.”

“He moved?”

“Yes. With Wooyoung. You know that already. You’re friends with him,” he quirked a brow at your sassy reply.

“Not with that Wooyoung,” ducking his head, he removed the black fedora and pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes flickering back up at you, studying your features meticulously,”Are you working with Wooyoung?”

“What!? I’m your inter- what is this all about?” furrowing your brows, you crossed your arms, patience flying out the door faster than you can blink,”Why would I work for that prick?”

“I like Earth’s (y/n),” the redhead snickered behind Hongjoong, earning him a sharp glare from Seonghwa.

Your eyes suddenly widened in thought.

“(Y/n), why does this map say Earth? It should be Utopia.”

Your mouth parted open, voice hesitant and drawing out the words unsurely and slowly,”Are you from Utopia?”

The three men gaped at you, all falling silent.

“I told you she’s working with him,” declared Seonghwa, reaching down into his cloak for what you can only perceive to be a weapon.

Hongjoong was quick to throw an arm out, halting the older’s actions. Your frame went rigged, shoulders tensing in defense and breath becoming shallow. Hongjoong studied you warily, choosing his words carefully, his ashy brown hair falling into his line of sight as he spoke,”How do you know that?”

“San had once mentioned it to me.. months ago,” you pondered quietly, mostly to yourself, as if trying to wrack your brain for other pieces of information. Your eyes narrowed and zeroed in one the three men, in particular Seonghwa, whose shoulders deflated in relief at your words,”Do you know why he lost his memories? He’s been having these episodes- and he yells, but-”

Hongjoong’s expression turned grim, your words resonating a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach,”It’s a long story. We don’t have much time, so-“

“I’ll help you in any way I can if you would just explain all of this to me,” you breathed out, stepping closer to him with a frown on your visage.

Seonghwa sighed, mumbling something into Hongjoong’s ear, before crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden door, brows knitted and eyelids fluttered shut.

Hongjoong sat you down, contemplating on how to start off. Testing the waters carefully, he began to explain how every human on Earth has a counterpart in another dimension named Utopia.

“So, there’s another Hongjoong- Earth’s Hongjoong, and he’s my employer and not you?”

Hongjoong’s replica only nodded before continuing, blithering like the rushing waters of a river.

A year ago, a human named Choi San managed to enter Utopia, and was thrilled to find his counterpart. He explained how he worked for years studying about dimensions, findings manuscripts and notes, eventually creating a device that allowed the two worlds to intertwine. He, along with his friend, Jung Wooyoung, convinced the Utopian San to enter Earth for a few test runs.

Human San’s intentions were good-hearted, but greed blinded Wooyoung. He wanted to take advantage of the beings in Utopia. He wanted power and profit, wanting all the credit all to himself. San disagreed with Wooyoung’s wishes, and tension grew between the two. While running a few scans on Utopian San, Wooyoung managed to corner and kill San. Utopian San was the only witness present.

Wooyoung’s plan was to remove San out of the picture, and threaten Utopian San with destroying their world unless he agreed to work with him and do as he says. Forging numerous letters under his human half’s name, Utopian San attempted numerous times to escape, not exactly knowing how to use the device created by his late counterpart.

“Wooyoung managed to trap him in your world, running experiments on him that most likely led to his memories being wiped clean,” Hongjoong leaned back on the couch, eyes stone cold,”You mentioned something about him having.. what? Breakdowns? Can you explain what you meant?”

His gaze hardened as you explained what occoured with your friend, Mingi’s helpless expression making you frown with pity.

“I can’t say for sure, but what I think is happening is that he’s getting flashes of both his memories, as well as Earth’s San’s memories,” Seonghwa concluded, voice wary,”I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten mad at this point. His aura is getting weaker by being in another dimension.”

“Is it treatable?” Mingi’s concerned voice spoke before you managed to form any words.

Seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line,”Most likely, in Utopia, it is. If he stays in Earth any longer, than I highly doubt it. He’ll lose his damn mind.. and death seems inevitable too.”

Your hands trembled at the words, eyes frantic and in search of answers as you looked back at Hongjoong.

They’ll have to take San away from you.

San will die if he remains with you.

”We attempted to save San, but with Wooyoung’s newest aid– Yeosang, I believe– they improved their systems, and things became complicated for us back in Utopia. The portal leading back to our world glitched, and it seems somehow it opened up to where you were at the time..”

“Your Utopian half and San are together, so I’m not surprised the portal led him to you. Fate works in strange ways,” Seonghwa mused, deep in thought from across the room. You swore your heart skipped a beat at the words.

This is the first time in months they’ve been successful in opening a portal to Earth, and they’re not sure why.  

“It seems that Wooyoung managed to find a way to conceal San’s aura in his home and workplace. We need your help to find him and take him back to our world, along with that damn device. Have you seen it? An hourglass?” when you shook your head, Hongjoong sighed in frustration, hand running through his hair,”Okay. It’s most likely in his study. I’m positive that’s also where he’s keeping San. Is there anyway you can help us get into it? We have no idea how to track it without sensing San’s aura.”

—

Wooyoung was surprised to find you standing in front of his office, bowing your head apologetically for your behavior yesterday, and asking if it was okay for you to tag along with him throughout his day, curious to see his work.

“Hongjoong said there wasn’t much to be done today, so he gave me a break.”

He agreed, but only after you promised you wouldn’t touch anything.

You permitted the arm that slithered around your waist to rest comfortable against your hip as he led you throughout the large campus, his eyes occasionally following the curve of your clavicles and swell of your chest, and back to your eyes as you replied back to one of his comments. Entering the code to his laboratory, you were quick to notice the lack of cameras in any of the corners of the room. There were files stacked neatly onto a few desks, folder strewn about, and other large machines and desktops decorated the back of the room.

You listened to him gloat, his hands tugging you to showcase the numerous certificates and achievements under his belt. Resentment and anger bubbled dangerously in the pit of your stomach, your fingers twitching at the thought of wiping that smirk off his visage.

The fluorescent lights flickered once.

Your smile was strained, nodding and tuning out his words, only for you to jump back, startled, as his face was mere centimeters from your own, breath ghosting your lips,”Did you not hear me, precious?” Emitting a nervous laugh, you reached up to push his face away playfully, his hand grasping your wrist and placing a tender kiss onto your skin,”I asked if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight?”

“Dinner? Well, I-“

“I think she’d rather go with me,” a voice piped from behind you two.

Furrowing your brows, your mind reeled at the familiar voice. You gaped at the sight of a mirror image of Wooyoung, clad in black, resting comfortably in one of the swiveling chairs across the room.

When did he get in?

A curse fell from Wooyoung’s lips as he dropped your hand immediately, reaching forward into the nearest desk to pull out a pistol.

Your breath was strangled in your throat as you took several seconds to process what was happening, your feet taking hesitant steps back to avoid the end of the gleaming, black weapon. A rough tug onto your sleeve, and you found your back pressed against Wooyoung’s chest, the cold metal of his weapon resting against your temple,”Go back to your world-“

“Or else what? You gonna kill her like you killed San?” the other Wooyoung cackled, propping his two legs onto the desk, black leather boots kicking at a few documents. He gazed in amusement at your trembling legs,”Nice to meet you, Earth (y/n). Sorry my human half is a dick. I wouldn’t dare treat a lady like-“

“I didn’t kill San!” You jumped at the ferocity in Wooyoung’s voice, your form tensing against his frame as he breathed heavily against the back of your head,”He’s alive. San is alive- you don’t know what you’re talking about.” This tone- desperate, broken, and determined sent chills down your spine.

“Where is he then?”

You recoiled back, face scrunching and arms flying up to shield your face as the sound of a gunshot left a loud ringing in your right ear. Your wobbly knees struggled to keep your weight up, hesitantly peeling your eyes open and expecting the sight of blood. A bullet hole punctured the chair Utopian Wooyoung once occupied.

“Wooyoung, would you stop running your mouth for once!?”

A blur of black shoved your assailant away, hands hastily disarming the manic eyed professor. You stepped back in surprise, nearly falling down upon impact, Wooyoung’s frame colliding near your feet,”Sorry-“ the curly haired brunette snickered underneath his breath, flashing you a smile and wink. Gaping, you realized that man was Yunho’s counterpart. You were suddenly pulled back by Hongjoong, his eyes cold and void of any sympathy as he stared down at the struggling male.

Mingi had him pinned to the floor, the man fruitlessly attempting to free himself underneath the crushing weight of the red-head.

“(Y/n)! Help me!” Wooyoung growled, cheek painfully pressed onto the floor, eyes trained onto the black weapon which rested innocently feet away,”What are you standing around for!?”

“You should leave, (y/n). Seonghwa found the device in one the rooms here. All that’s left is to find San—,”

Once Wooyoung realizes what’s occurring, his movements cease. His jaw slackens and then he glowers in your direction,”You bitch!” the broken sound of betrayal almost leaves you feeling pity towards Wooyoung,”You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into! There’s no way you’re getting–“

His taunts only increased the pressure of Mingi’s fist in his hair, the smaller male letting out a rough grunt of pain as his face is slammed down roughly onto the floor, pearls of red dripping down his nose. Hongjoong’s orbs flickered between you and Wooyoung,”(Y/n), things are going to get ugly. If we have to use force, so be it. I don’t want you here witnessing that. You’ve been more than enough to help us.”

Your gaze softened, the prickling feeling of tears welling up in your eyes evident from their glassy appearance. Shaking your head, you took in a shaky breath,”No. I need to find San. I’m not leaving without him.”

Wooyoung’s counterpart eyed you curiously, his foot stepping onto his human half’s ankle,”Seems like you put a strain on my friends and their human halves too? I’m so embarrassed to have you as my half, fuck,” he chuckled humorlessly whilst grinding his boot against the male’s ankle, the other still squirming underneath Mingi’s weight, cries of pain only amusing the Utopian Wooyoung even more,”Oh, sorry. Didn’t see your leg there. Does that hurt?”

Hongjoong was quick to turn you around, tugging you and scoffing underneath his breath,”Alright, fine. You’ll see him, when we find him, but please, don’t make it hard on yourself when it’s time for us to depart. Do not get in the way, is that understood?”

Tears streamed down your face as you nodded reluctantly, your attempts to contain your emotions failing after facing the harsh reality of your predicament. While Mingi, Wooyoung, and Yunho began tormenting the pinned male, Hongjoong and Seonghwa accompanied you in searching every curve and crevice of the building to no avail. You winced as Seonghwa’s fist left a dent in the wall out of frustration, and you found yourselves back in the lab, where the leather clad Wooyoung was resting onto his human half’s chest, legs propped on either side. A sadistic grin took over his features as he watched the blood dribble down the male’s lips,”I can do this all day, Wooyoungie.” He paused mid-punch, sharp eyes flickering in your direction. When he noted the absence of his best friend, he proceeded to land several more strikes onto the fallen man’s face,”You fucker.”

Yunho and Mingi’s hopeful expressions deflated as they noticed you returned empty handed,”We can’t find him.”

“Where is he!?” Hongjoong demanded, crouching down to meet Wooyoung’s eyes.

“You’re not..” He spluttered, droplets of blood striking Hongjoong’s angered face,”You can’t take him away from me.”

The sound of the door opening ceased every breath and movement in the lab, and your panicked filled eyes flew to Hongjoong as Yeosang stepped into the room, ironed lab coat and glasses pristine underneath the lights.

A second ticked by, silence enveloping the room as Yeosang froze to assess the situation.

Seonghwa was quick on his feet to tackle him against the wall, knife digging painfully into the curve of his neck,”Ah, about time the other rat appeared. What do you think we should do with this one, Hongjoong?”

Yeosang’s eyes were confused as they landed on you, his hands raised up in defeat, adam’s apple bobbing against the edge of the dagger, which rested painfully close to his jugular,”Wait!” he cried, voice emitting in rapid, panic pants,”I removed the barriers that stopped you from entering our world! I only plan to help you, I promise. I can take you to San!”

Wooyoung weakly lifted his head up to spit in Yeosang’s direction, glassy, panicked eyes narrowing, his voice cracking with betrayal and distraught,”Have you lost your mind? You wouldn’t, Yeosang. Don’t you dare— you know San belongs here-“

Yeosang inhaled sharply as Seonghwa roughly shoved him away after Hongjoong’s request, shoulders deflating as he gazed at his bloodied friend,”I’m sorry. I don’t really have much of a choice now. I’ve already decided where my morals lie.”

You were expecting Wooyoung to shout in anger, to scream, to yell. What you weren’t expecting him to do was sob, voice so helpless and broken, sending a cold chill down to the marrow of your bones,”I regret it! Is that what you want to hear? I regret killing him and– the other San! He’s supposed to take his place- I want him back,” his cries sent a shiver down your spine, his words slurring together as he cries out in grief, panicked breaths cutting his sentences,”I want him—  I want San back! I- I need him back!”

“Take us to him,” Hongjoong’s hard gaze fell onto Yeosang, completely ignoring the crying male. The blonde professor nodded, ushering him out of the room.

You were the first to catch sight of him, rushing forward and crying his name out in relief. He appeared to be drugged, wires and other devices sticking into various parts of his body. You hadn’t realized you were crying, until Yeosang gently pushed you back into Hongjoong’s arms as he removed the various wires and needles attached to the tired man.

You pulled San into a hug immediately, a sob wracking your form as you apologized for not being there for him when he needed you most. You concluded that after Christmas, Wooyoung took over San’s phone while trapping the male here, hence his emaciated and pale appearance.

His eyes met yours, an apologetic smile finding its way onto his features,”(Y/n),” tears welled in his tired eyes, his voice quiet and weak,”You’re here?”

You nodded, repeatedly mumbling in agreement through your tears, pulling him even tighter and shaking your head, claiming that this was all your fault. Hongjoong watched the exchange with a strained expression, before turning to Seonghwa,”Get the others. It’s time to leave.”

Your eyes widened, frame turning to gape at Hongjoong, and then back to San, your throat closing up. He only offered you a faint smile, hand reaching up to cup your cheek,”Wooyoung told me everything while he kept me here,” his thumb worked at wiping away the few tears that  cascaded down your cheeks,”There was no way to reach out to you, I’m so sorry,” his words were slurred, tongue heavy and mind slightly foggy,”None of this is your fault. I tried.. I tried to get to you. Believe me, I did..”

“It’s not your fault either. San- I.. They’re taking you back to Utopia, San,” your voice cracked, strained and tight in your throat,”They said you need to go back or else-“ you failed to finish your words, jaw slackening as you let out a pained sob at the thought.

His shoulders deflated, head hung low as he buried his face into the crook of your neck,”I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” he held you tighter as you sniffled, whimpers muffled against the side of his head. He held your trembling hands,”I will never find it in me to forgive myself for putting you through all of this.”

His warmth suddenly left you as he was helped up by Yunho and Mingi. Snapping your head to your right, you noticed a swirling light against the wall of the room, where the counterparts of Wooyoung and Hongjoong spoke with Yeosang, the blonde only nodding reassuringly in reply. Their attention snapped to you as you let out a desperate cry, fingers reaching to grasp San’s hand in protest, attempting to pull him towards you. You weren’t aware of your shrill, panicked laced voice, mind too focused on returning San into your embrace.

The sounds of muffled shouting from the taller two didn’t deter you from wrapping your arms around San’s shoulders, defeat and sadness painting his features as he took in your form. Arms tugged you away, planting you firmly in place, and you writhed and struggled in Yeosang’s hold as you watched with frenzied eyes as Wooyoung leaned forward, his form dissipating into the portal, followed by Seonghwa. Hongjoong turned to give you one last glance, frown on his face,”I’m sorry, (y/n).”

He held onto San, who not once took his teary eyes off of you. Mingi and Yunho disappeared, and with one last attempt, you kicked back at Yeosang, the blonde yelping in surprise at the sudden rush of pain on his shin, flailing forward and catching you by the ankle roughly, preventing you from moving forward,”Stop, (y/n)!”

The last thing you saw as the diameter of the portal shrunk was San’s heartbroken expression, along with the hourglass in Hongjoong’s arms. The portal vanished, leaving tiny specks of light in the air, a gentle breeze kissing your wet face.

“Yeosang,” you mumbled, turning back to the blonde,”take me there. What do I do? I need-“

“He took the device with him, (y/n). There’s no way any of us can reach their world anymore,” he ran a hand through his hair, voice steady and firm.

You don’t know how long you sat there, crying and yelling profanities at him. The rush of footsteps throughout the building ceased your sobs, and you watched from the doorway as officers forcefully dragged an injured Wooyoung out of the other room, his panicked eyes filled with disbelief boring holes into Yeosang, who already had his arms up in submission,”Yeosang? You reported..” The blonde was restrained and taken away as well.

“Miss?” an opened palm invaded your blurry vision, and you peered up to meet the concerned, brown eyes of an officer, uniform hugging his large frame,”Are you okay?”

Silent tears pooled and streamed down your cheeks, your head shaking weakly.

No, Seonghwa. I’m not okay

.

—

Your half lidded eyes bore holes into the tv as the news anchor spoke, showcasing two mugshots of both Yeosang and Wooyoung. Your eyes flickered down to your lap, unable to even look at Wooyoung’s face.

“A new update regarding the disappearance and death of Choi San, the physics professor of University of Seoul. After almost a year after leaving a note and disappearing, police have confirmed that the letter was forged.“

Kang Yeosang, an assistant professor who joined Jung after Choi’s disappearance complied with police, informing them every detail regarding the case, and providing written evidence and memoirs from both the late Choi and Jung. It’s been reported that Choi was the first to discover Utopia, working years on building the device that managed to connect with the alternate dimension, creating portals that challenge both time and space. It is said that every human on Earth has a counterpart in the other dimension.

In hopes of taking all the credit, Jung murdered Choi, disposing of his body, which has yet to be recovered. Officials say they are still attempting to interrogate the information out of Jung, who is expressing clear signs of distress and manic episodes at the mere mention of Choi’s name.

This counterpart was staying with a woman we will go by A. Choi and A met up in another town, shortly before both moving to Seoul, where they encountered Jung at the University of Seoul. Reports state that Choi moved out from A’s apartment and back with Jung. After numerous reports, officials have declared A to not be involved in Jung and Kang’s crimes, Kang testifying in her defense.

Choi’s Utopian counterpart was forced into our dimension, his memories from his Utopian life disappearing after Choi’s death. A statement from Kang concludes that Jung was the cause of that.

In an attempt to undo the murder of Choi, Jung attempted to implant memories into Utopian Choi in hopes that he will take his human’s place, which only aided in creating discord between our world and Utopia. When the Utopians attempted to re-enter our dimension, Kang implemented new sets of devices that aided in sealing the two worlds apart from each other. It was only recently that Kang eliminated these tools, thus permitting the Utopians from intervening.

The Utopians did not intend to harm or hurt anyone. Their only intention was to rescue their friend, and also take the device the late Choi created to cease their world from being further tampered by us.

Jung and Kang have both been stripped of their titles according to the university. Their first court date will be announced later today to determine their senten—“

You closed your eyes, hand hastily clicking the power button on the remote, before wrapping yourself with the blanket tightly. Curling into a ball and throwing the the fuzzy sheet over your head, you decided you were tired of hearing the news reports, opting for the deafening silence you grew to hate. Fluttering your eyes shut, you stilled, inhaling San’s scent that was left lingering on the blanket. The amethyst necklace tickled your cheek, your hand reaching up to move it away.

A sweet, floral scent filled the space of your living room, a beautifully arranged bouquet resting on the coffee table. The card still stood in the middle of the arrangement, words of encouragement and support written by both Jongho and Yunho in bright green ink. Underneath it, your untouched dinner sat cold and forgotten, clumps of wet tissue paper scattered onto the table and floor.

Your phone chimed, and you peered down, already knowing it was Professor Hongjoong sending another voice message of support. He’d been a strong pillar for you to lean on ever since the news broke out. You made a silent note to respond later, as the time was growing late anyway.

Minutes ticked by and soft snores, along with shallow breathing filled the vacant space, your hair sticking out from the heap you’ve made of yourself and the blanket.

Above you, the lightbulb flickered repeatedly.

[everybody-loves-purdy]

Sorry for the extremely long ask

I don't get why Mapleshade went for Sandstorm at all, I'm trying to find reasons but maybe it was because of her kids? Mostly Leafpool. Though if that were the case Mapleshade should have just went straight for the source and attacked Squirrelflight or Leafpool. Now to explain, in Mapleshades eyes Sandstorm had a "loving" mate, and kits with that said mate. When it comes to Sandstorms kits, essentially both Squirrelflight and Leafpool broke the code and got just a slap on the wrist for it with no actual consequences. Leafpool having a half clan relationship, almost leaving for said relationship and having half clan kits who she in a sense (and in maples eyes) got to "raise" since they got to stay in Thunderclan and she got to be close to them and watch them grow up. She wasn't banished from Thunderclan nor condemned at all really, the only thing that happened was her medicine cat position got revoked and even when it did, she still was doing her job on the down low and even got her job back in the end. Now onto Squirrelflight, by taking in the kits and lying about their birth and origin (when starclan literally gave her no choice) she is initially "breaking the code". She knew about Leafs half clan relationship and her half clan kits and didn't say anything (which makes complete sense that's literally her sister and best friend), raised them and when the truth came out she just got yelled at by Bramble but was still deputy at the end of the day. Squirrelflight and Leafpool were still respected by their clanmates and Starclan after everything got out and were even sympathized with by some from both their clan and starclan so maybe that's why Mapleshade went for Sandstorm? Like "You and your kids got to have my life" and "Your kids broke the code but nothing happened to them" up until that point the trial doesn't happen until later so in Mapleshades eyes they had no consequences to their actions which resorts in envy, anger, jealousy and etc. I'm not defending Mapleshade at all I'm trying to make sense of why she would go for Sandstorm- maybe because she was the first person she saw? I don't know maybe I'm looking too deeply into it. I just wished the erins would have made her at least try and kill Leafpool because Spottedleaf saving her would have had the same effect since Spottedleaf was a big part in Leafpools life too but okay I guess.

Dw!

That’s a good analysis and it wouldn’t surprise me if that was true, a shame the books never bothered elaborating on it though.

I think the main reason was just so the Erins could have Spotted due to save Sand without thinking too much about why that was happening

[forehead-enthusiast]

Unmasked

Pairing: Mark x Reader

Genre: spiderman!au, fluff, a smidge of angst i suppose?

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: This night is weird and it’s only getting weirder. Still, you can’t just leave a beat up hero to die.

A/N: I can’t lie I loooove this concept! I might play around with more hero!aus in the future, and possibly write more about spidey!mark!! I really hope you like this fic~ 

You sat up suddenly, awoken by a loud clang outside your window. Morning was still hours away, and the only light in your room came from the yellow street lamps outside. You were almost too sleepy to care, and were about to flop back onto your pillow when you heard another, smaller clang. You sighed and threw off your bedsheets. Now awake enough to be intrigued, you grabbed your phone and turned on the flashlight. You approached the sound cautiously, and shone some light on the source.

Spiderman, the local hero, was laying on the fire escape outside your bedroom.

You blinked, shocked at the sight, before realizing how torn up his suit was. And how ragged his breathing was. And how much blood had seeped into the already-red fabric. And how the exposed skin was purple with bruises.

All caution thrown out the window, you immediately knew you had to help.

“S-spiderman? Sir?”

He barely moved at the sound of your voice, which only stressed you more. You reached out to gently touch him. He flinched, but couldn’t fight it, even on reflex. You took hold of his arm carefully, and started pulling him up as best you could.

“Um, Mr. Spiderman, I’m going to help you. I-if that’s okay.”

One of his eyes peered through a tear in his mask, out of focus, then closed slowly. You tried again to lift him, only to fail, and decided you’d have to go to him. As quickly and quietly as you could, you hurried to get a first aid kit and whatever bandages you could find and clambered out the window with little to no grace.

The metal of the fire escape clattered in a way that made you cringe, and you prayed you hadn’t woken up your parents. After a second of tense listening, you returned your focus to the incredibly injured man before you.

He was smaller than you’d imagined him to be. You’d never seen him in person after all, let alone this close, but on a TV screen he always seemed so… big. Powerful. The news always vilified him as some vigilante, but now he was shivering before you, barely conscious. Your heart ached. He was just a person. Doing his best to tackle things beyond him for the good of everyone else.

You shook the distress from your mind. As admirable as his morals were, his body was of greater concern now.

“S-spiderman? Spiderman?” He didn’t respond, but you asked permission anyway. “I’m really sorry, I know you wear a mask for a reason, but this is an emergency.”

You yanked gently on the mask, finding where it ended, and slipped it off entirely.

Somehow, somehow, you managed to be even more shocked in an already absurd situation.

“…Mark?!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, having yelled without thinking. Finally, he stirred. Hearing his name startled him far more than anything else, and his gaze finally honed in on you.

“Y-y/n?”

He tried to scramble into a sitting position, floundering for his mask, but winced in pain.

It was impossible to comprehend the scene before your eyes. Mark Lee, the boy who gave the most awkward English presentation ever witnessed, the boy who stuttered every time you asked him a question in Chem, the boy whose broken glasses never stopped slipping down his nose, was sitting in front of you now, battered and bloodied, in an all-too-familiar red and blue suit.

He groaned, snapping you out of your disbelief, and you reached out instinctively as he slumped back against the railing. Your hands paused before touching him, unsure of where you could touch that wasn’t injured. His eyes flicked back to you, alive with recognition and pain and above all, fear. He was helpless, exposed. For all he knew, this could be it for him. His identity, his most vulnerable possession, discovered by someone who actually knew him. Your chest tightened as you saw him desperately looking around, trying to formulate an escape plan.

You extended a hand towards his face, halting when he flinched, before gently placing your fingertips against his cheek, on the tiny patches of unbroken skin. 

His eyes met yours.

“It’s okay, Mark.” You whispered. “Everything's going to be okay.”

Somehow, he knew you weren’t lying. Maybe it was the tremble in your voice, or the compassion in your eyes, or the way your cool fingertips felt like snow against the burning surface of his skin, but he knew. He relaxed, and you hurried to get out the antiseptic.

“Could I…” You were rapt as he began to speak weakly. “Could I… have some water? Please?” His face crumpled with a small grin, and suddenly he was just your lab partner again, despite the blood dripping off his chin. You nodded, and returned a few moments later with a bottle of water and a granola bar. “Just in case you were… hungry, or something.” It was hard to tell with the bruising, but his eyes seemed to light up at the sight. He chugged down half the water in one gulp, and fiddled with the wrapper of the granola bar with his gloved hands before sheepishly having you open it for him. Seeing him eat half of it in one bite helped you relax a smidge.

“These were my favorite when I was younger.” He chewed slowly, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth. “Mm, I’m alive again.”

Debatable.

Still, he was at least conscious enough to wince at the antiseptic stinging every cut on him. Even though you knew it was necessary, you felt guilty for inflicting even more pain on him. You couldn’t imagine how someone could possibly get so brutally injured. Every time you shakily wrapped up a wound, he’d shift ever so slightly, and you’d notice another patch of spreading blood you needed to address. 

Mark flushed as you instructed him to shed some of his clothes so you could better access the cuts scattered across his back. You'd gotten chills for a moment. All across his back were scars. Patches of tough tissue that would never fully fade- you didn't have to be a doctor to know that. And on top of all the old scars, a new layer of fresh injuries. You swore to yourself you wouldn't let these scar too. 

It was on the third bandage you realized just what you’d made him do. You fumbled over some bandages as you looked at his bare back, astounded at yourself for managing to ask him to strip. You hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but now you were flushing fiercely, trying futilely to put bandages on him while avoiding touching him. This was not the time to think about how you were with a half naked (shockingly muscular) boy in the middle of the night! You pinched yourself, frustrated that you were concerned with such a stupid thing at a time like this.

Mark, more used to pain than someone his age should be, was possibly even more concerned with that “stupid thing” than you were. He flinched every time your fingertips slid across his stinging skin, more at your touch than the pain. In all his time swinging around town, he’d never been in a situation remotely like this before. Everything about this moment was strange- his identity had been found out, by you of all people. You were treating his wounds, and for once he felt completely at peace. That last sensation was the strangest of all. Ever since he’d started working to protect the city, he’d felt on edge. He’d always be peeking out the corner of his eye for a car flying at him, or for some building to be crumbling a few blocks away. Right now he just… looked straight ahead, at the hazy amber lights of the city he never got to admire. 

He could’ve fallen asleep to the rhythm of your hands touching him, he was so wholly relaxed. He might’ve, if you hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

“...Mark? I’m done with your back.”

He slid his suit up slowly, and turned his gaze to you as you picked up some of the wrappers and bits of cotton that had gotten scattered. You could feel him staring, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You’d let senseless worry guide you through the last however many minutes it had taken you to patch him up, but now that his life wasn’t in imminent danger, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Thanks.”

You finally looked up, a sigh of relief escaping you when you heard his voice, still quiet but much steadier. He smiled just slightly, the cut on his lip still aching as he did. No matter how fully you understood who he was, you still found yourself bewildered by the juxtaposition of Mark’s sweet face and the blood stained suit below it. 

“No problem, I'm sure I should be thanking you. Are you…” You knew he wasn’t okay, but what else could you ask?

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, but upon seeing the concern in your eyes, continued a bit more seriously, “Don't worry, I'm used to it. It happens, like, every other month or so. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“That just makes me worry more.”

He chuckled, and carefully scratched the back of his neck.

“I guess that’s, um… the normal response to that.” He fell silent, surprised that someone cared. You suddenly imagined grabbing a baseball bat and beating up anyone who made him feel that being hurt was normal. You wouldn’t say that you were close friends with Mark by any means, but still, if you would’ve imagined his problems before tonight, you would’ve imagined him missing the bus or forgetting to study for a test or trying to ask someone out- normal teenager things. Not this. Your mind swam with images of him putting his life on the line, pushing himself too far for a city that was always ungrateful. How many times had he patched himself up alone? How many times had he been unable to reach the wounds on his back? How many times had you spoken to him, not noticing how much pain he must've been in?

You fixed your gaze on the floor. The metal bars beneath you began to blur, and you cursed the tears that threatened to escape. It’s not like you had any right to cry when you were sitting there in your pajamas, completely unharmed, undoubtedly thanks to the injured boy in front of you.

“Y/n?” Mark’s eyes, swollen as they were, widened as he realized what was happening. He lurched forward, then cried out in pain. Wounds don’t heal in seconds, which he knew by now, but he couldn’t think about anything besides wanting to comfort you for whatever was making you sad.

You caught him before he could land face first against the metal you both were sitting on, and you tensed to feel his weight in your arms. His eyes met yours, and you held on carefully, too scared and not strong enough to move him any which way. He didn’t tear his gaze from yours as he opened his mouth to speak, only an inch away from you.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not- I’m not crying.”

“Why are you crying?”

Tears dropped onto your pajama shirt as you shook your head in obviously fake denial. 

“...I don’t get why you have to get hurt. It’s not fair.”

His breath caught as the teardrops spilling from your eyes became trails of sadness on his behalf. As carefully as he could, he lifted his arms to wrap around you and pull you into his shoulder- a hero through and through. It only made you more frustrated, to know that someone this selflessly kind was being bludgeoned and nearly killed by heartless people regularly.

“It’s not all bad, you know,” he spoke lightly, patting your head slowly. “There are really cool parts. I’m really, really strong. I could probably hold, like, an elephant. One in each hand, if there were two around.” He smiled as he felt you laugh against him. “I can stick to stuff. That… doesn’t sound that cool, but it is, I swear. It’s really cool. And I can swing across buildings, which is maybe my favorite part.” 

He turned to look at your red eyes and weak smile and pushed some hair off your face.

“Maybe... I can take you with me sometime?"

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he could tell how much it enticed you.

“It’s a promise, okay? As a thank you for helping me tonight.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder. The tears were still flowing, and Mark put aside his shyness to speak quietly. His words were low and careful, rustling through your hair.

"I chose to do this. No one's making me. I'd feel so much worse knowing I could be helping people but wasn't. Sure, I might get a little hurt sometimes, but if I manage to save a life because of that? It's all worth it, y/n. I know they don't like me very much in the news, but I still want to fight for all of them- all you people who can't stand up to a supervillain. I'll always fight for you." His eyes widened. "I-I meant that as like, not you as in you specifically, I meant like you as in like you guys, the people who live here. Of course, it's not like I'm not fighting for you? Anyway, um, yeah. I won't tell you… not to worry, but I wanted to say that."

You sighed, uncontrollably comforted by his soft voice in your ear. Wordlessly, you nodded into his shoulder, too emotionally exhausted to be reserved. That is, until a moment later, when you realized you’d cried to, buried your face into, and hugged Mark within the span of a few minutes. Then you suddenly remembered how to feel embarrassed. You rubbed your eyes hastily with your sleeves, acutely aware of his arms still around you.

“I-I’m really sorry. For being weird. And kinda losing it.”

“I don’t mind. It’s… It’s kind of nice, knowing that somebody will cry for me. O-of course, it’s not like I want you to cry or anything, I didn’t mean it like that, I just, I dunno, like-”

You laughed brightly, feeling the most at ease you had all night at the sound of his awkward rambling. 

A warm silence followed, and his arms grew anxious hovering around your waist.

“Can I hug you again?”

You blushed, but weren’t about to turn down a request from the boy who saved lives on the regular. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Maybe some part of you just selfishly wanted to hold him close again. Who could say for sure? You opened your arms and welcomed him into your embrace. It was clear he was still exhausted and weak, but he held you tightly, far tighter than you’d ever imagined your classmate was capable of. It was almost hard to breathe, but that actually relieved you. If he was this strong at his lowest, maybe he really could take on all the bad guys that roamed the streets.

“...Mark?”

“Mm?”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone who you are. I wouldn’t dream of it. You can count on me to keep it a secret." You squeezed him as much as you felt was safe, feeling the outline of bandages through his suit. “You can count on me to help you if you get hurt again. And you can count on me to cry every time. Whether you want me to or not.”

He laughed softly, and you could feel his warm breath against your neck, chilled by the night breeze.

“But if you don’t want me to cry, please don’t get hurt anymore,” you whispered.

“I can’t promise that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You woke up as the sun began to rise, and flinched to find yourself still in Mark’s arms. For a moment, you paused, watching the pink light fall on his features, which looked serene despite the bruises settling in. Your back ached from laying on the metal fire escape all night, and you pitied the sleeping figure beside you, who’d feel even worse once he was awoken. Still, you couldn’t just leave him there.

“M-Mark. It’s morning. You gotta get home before your aunt calls the police.”

He grinned drowsily, a lazy hand reaching up to pat your cheek.

"This dream again?"

A second passed while you mulled over that question, then his eyes snapped open.

“What time is it? What’s going on? Where am I?”

“It’s okay! It’s still early, you’re at m-my house.”

“Oh… right. Honestly,” he smiled, halfway bashful and halfway still asleep, “Last night, when I first saw you, I thought I had died and you were an angel.”

You hoped the sunrise would disguise the glow on your cheeks. A sleepy Mark was a dangerous one. 

“S-sorry, just me.”

“Even better.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to that, and he didn’t even seem to realize he’d said it. He stretched as much as his injuries would allow, stiff from the uncomfortable way he’d slept. He patted around for his mask, and slid it on, tattered as it was. In the morning light, you could see the tufts of hair that poked out from the tear near his eye, and the sight made you smile without thinking. He stood up, only groaning a bit as his spine loudly cracked.

“Thanks for everything, y/n. This was… uh. Nice? It was nice, I think. I don’t know what else to call it.” Even though you couldn’t see most of his face, you could picture his sheepish expression. It was strange how close you felt with him after a single night, but you supposed that was just the effect that life threatening injuries, shocking identity reveals, and emotional embraces tended to have.

“I feel the same way, Mark.”

He made a motion as though he was pushing up his glasses, only to realize he wasn’t wearing them. He ended up poking himself in the eye, letting out a soft, “Ow.” It was so positively endearing you thought your heart might just stop. In a moment of impulse, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to the cloth covering his face, right where you imagined his mouth might be.

“Y/n, w-why-”

“Drop by if you need patching up, Spiderman. I’ll see you at school.” Your face nearly matched the color of his mask as you cut him off, too embarrassed to allow the conversation to continue.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you at school.”

His visible eye crinkled with a smile, and he jumped off your fire escape.