#save for some glimpses if my brother was watching it while watching me lol

[lucky-bishop]

Have you ever watched Psych? Can I get a Psych AU??? Steter or Sterek or lucky’s choice 💚

I have not watched Psych, unfortunately! But I can give it a shot anyway!

"You honestly expect me to believe you're a psychic, Mr. Stilinski?" Stiles remembers the interview like it was yesterday. His throat dry, terrified that he was going to prison for a crime he didn't commit, all because his dad wanted to give him and his best friend Scott "life lessons". The lie got him out of jail, at least, as he "proved" his powers. Gave him the idea to start "Psych", with Scott by his side. But it doesn't mean that everyone has been successfully fooled, and Stiles is pretty sure that Detective Peter Hale is one of those people. Even if he does begrudgingly give Stiles some respect. Personally, Stiles would be more than happy if Detective Hale treated him a little less respectfully, at least sexually, but he's pretty sure it'll never happen. Doesn't stop him from pining, though.

Send me a pairing and an AU and I’ll write (at least) a 3-sentence fic!

[bonny-kookoo]

Sing to me: JJK x Reader 🔞

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Mermaid AU, Siren!Jungkook, Prince!Jungkook, homeless!Reader, Romance,  Smut duh

Wordcount: 5k (medium)

Tags/Warnings: okay so, spoiled kook, possessive kook, Theres literally an attempted murder lol, drowning? whoops, blood oh no, reader is hella fucking dense ok, biting, courting lol, fish boy is in love, whoops, anyways we got sexy times too, because in this AU fishboy got legs n all of that hah, unprotected sex because, guys pls this ain't supposed to he realistic, wrap it before you tap it folks, its also not all that filthy lol, blink and you'll miss the scene, honestly I didn't include much smut because yall nasty so you will ask for dirty drabbles anyways, not that I mind lol, k I'm done I think, wow mom I've sinned less than usual..

Summary: Help me love myself, and I might learn to love you as well.

Or alternatively: you save Jungkook from being killed, and he totally gets the wrong signals. But he's cute, so its fine. Probably.

Jungkook is floating.

He thinks about what lies above the waves, and cant think of anything he really finds interesting. The surface is littered in junk, in things humans leave behind without thinking twice about it. It's air is thick and stuffy, hard to breathe and never clear at all. It's crowded, with creatures who at the end of the day all look the same in his eyes. There's nothing exciting about the world people walk on.

Its boring, and dirty.

His own home is, compared to that, a kingdom radiating like the moon itself. It shines and sparkles, and harbors some of the most beautiful creatures ever to be found. He and his family, as well as everyone else, live in peace with nature down underneath the waves, existing side by side instead of trying to gain the upper hand all the time.

And he's reminded of the cruelty of man, when he finds himself caught in a net.

He's somehow made the fishermen drop it instead of pulling him up on their boat. But that doesn't mean he's free- he's still struggling with it, fighting it, but he cant rip it apart. All he does really, is tie the knots tighter, have them dig into his skin until spots are rubbed raw. He can't really swim anywhere at this point, gives up as he can see the last lights of his distant home fade into the distance.

Jungkook is floating.

He's slowly being led by the waves, by the love of wind and waters, as he closes his eyes. Its a pity, really; for a prince held so high to die by the mere hands of the poor, he thinks. It's upsetting him, very much so, but he takes it as it is. There's nothing he can do anyways, as he slowly comes into contact with the sand below. It washes him up onto short, the dry sand sticking to his body, waves pushing him higher and higher onto the ground.

He shivers, the cold outside air biting at his skin now unsheltered and defenseless.

He doesn't know how long he lays there.

But at some point, steps are heard on the sand. He keeps his eyes closed, doesn't care about what will happen next- he really just wants to have it be over by now, the ropes already painfully burning his skin at certain spots. He's sure theres sand in his wounds as something touches him- warm fingers, hesitant, and almost shy.

He keeps his eyes closed.

"My god, I hate humans.." You mutter under your breath, your voice hitting his ears, making him notice the way it sounds. He thinks it sounds very similar to some of his kind; sirens being blessed with voices sweet and enchanting. Maybe you were one of the strays who had decided to live on the surface for some reason? But your smell was entirely human, although much sweeter and pleasant than anyone he'd met before. And then, after a small short moment of pain-

He's free.

His arms flop to his side, and he breathes in deeply- finally able to fully move again. His eyes open, and adjust to the night for a moment, before they meet yours.

How interesting.

"Jungkook?" Jimin asks him, curious to what has gotten the young Siren so occupied. Typically, Jungkook would be watching the annual kingdom dances with at least some form of interest; even if it was just a glimpse of it, just to make his parents worry less about him misbehaving. But today, as the graceful dancers move around to the orchestra playing, the young prince is absolutely not there. At least not mentally. "Jungkook." The older one scolds, getting Jungkooks attention- his gaze hard and annoyed. "Please, young prince- at least try to pretend you're interested. This is after all part of our culture." He strategically uses his title as teasing- something which makes Jungkook snort without any fun.

"I really don't want to be here." He explains, and Jimin sighs. "I'd rather be at the surface.." He mumbles, being careful not to be too loud- but Jimin does pick it up, and so does his partner, Taehyung, next to him- now leaning a bit forward to hear better.

"Oh?" Jimin asks. "What could be of interest there, I wonder?" He teases, and Jungkook grows even more irritated.

"Nothing that should interest a whore like you." He says harshly, though Jimin knows he means no harm with it. Jimin is, after all, a man who enjoys the simple pleasures in life- which is why he can't quite grasp why Jungkook, a young man in his prime like himself, doesn't seem to care about whats going on around him.

"Hm, but I think she must be absolutely divine if you're willing to risk the wrath of your own mother just to see her." He says, and Taehyung snickers next to him, clearly amused.

But to both of their surprise, Jungkook grows.. calm. Theres even a glimpse of a smile on his lip as he rests his head on his head, elbow on the armrest of his throne. "That she is." He says, quietly, as he watches the young woman in front of him. He has to imagine you there instead, moving oh so gracefully to the sounds of his Kingdom's greatest musicians- dressed in the most beautiful gown he'd gift you. "That she is.." He repeats, a dreaming look on his face that Jimin has not seen before.

Jungkook watches you.

He enjoys watching you on your daily trips to the beach, picking up cans and bottles, and other things people throw away without care. You're cleaning up the beach, and he thinks its a very good behavior- he likes the way you always carefully scan the ground and sides for any garbage. He swims a little closer as he spots you squatting down; eyes lighting up as you pick up a shell he'd personally not care much for. It's slightly pink- but nothing he hasn't seen in his life. They're so common, and he suddenly thinks that if this already makes you happy, what if he was to bring you something else? Something better, something more worth your attention?

He feels a rush of excitement.

Dashing into the opposite direction, he makes his way towards the ground below, eyes scanning the ground as he searches for something. He spots it after a few minutes of searching, but when he holds the pearl, he hesitates.

Its not enough.

No, that's not what you should get. He's only paying back his dept, yeah, that's what he's doing. But what if he was overdoing it by bringing you something too expensive or rare? No, he should be smart about it, yeah. Start small, and work your way up he thinks, as he takes the pearls he's collected while deep in thought, and pushes himself back to the top, swimming easily. He hopes you're still there-

And there you are, dipping your feet into the water.

He looks at what he can see; only able to see clearly underneath the waves rather than above. There's a bracelet hanging around your ankle, and it looks cheap, he thinks. It only helps him by giving him ideas for his next gifts- if you would accept his first, that is. He's never been rejected before, but then again, has always rejected instead. Nothing had interested him to the extend you did. Maybe you really were of his kind, secretly.

When he slowly brings his head up the waves, you don't get scared, or flinch. You simply look, spot him, and smile.

He likes that expression.

He comes closer, free hand helping him onto the stone you sit on, his hand holding your gift eagerly pushing against yours. You understand quickly, and open them, and he smiles. You're smart, he notes, and it only adds to your qualities, he thinks. Dropping the pearls, your eyes sparkle again- as they should, he thinks with pride. You inspect them with big eyes, as if you've never seen something alike. He enjoys your reaction- and you nod at him. "Thank you- are they for me to keep?" You ask, pointing to them, and then at your chest. He's not fully fluent in human language, but has picked up on some words and phrases, since Seokjin had recently strayed- teaching him some stuff whenever he got bored and visited his younger brother.

So Jungkook nods. "You." He says, and you like the sound of his voice; fittingly just as handsome as the rest of him, you think. But then again- his kind is known for its beauty and enchanting voices. "Keep." He tells you, pushing your closed palm a bit closer to your body as if to underline his statement. You think its cute, in a way.

"Okay." You say. "I'll keep them-?" You ask, and he doesn't understand, until you point to yourself, and say a name- yours, he supposes.

"Ah-" He starts, pointing to himself. "Jungkook. Jeon, Jungkook." He tells you, and you nod, smiling.

"It's nice to meet you, Jeon Jungkook." You smile, and he grins back, slightly sharpened canines in stark contrast with his bunny-like smile.

He thinks its nice to meet you too.

"But you're a witch, aren't you?" Jungkook argues, staring at Taehyung. "I thought you were all so capable." He challenges, and Taehyungs eyes darken- quite literally, since sea witches do technically have black eyes- but conceal them, as to not scare off people. He regains his composure however when Jimins hand lays on his shoulder.

"Now now, no need to become huffy." He says. "He didn't say he can't do it- he simply told you that its not that easy." He explains, and Jungkook sighs, rolling his eyes. Ever the spoiled prince, they think to themselves.

"I don't care about that." He states. "Can you do it, or can you not?" He asks, and Taehyung thinks for a moment.

"I.." He begins, before he sighs. "I can. But, there's a catch, Jungkook." He tells him, and this time, the youngest of the group seems just as serious as he listens. "I can't promise that.. the result will be what you will expect." He says.

"What do you mean?" Jungkook asks.

"There's a chance she won't survive it."

He doesn't think much about why you're so often sitting on that rocky structure close to the deep- he likes not having to get out of the water to be close to you. And you think, Jungkook is quite the interesting being.

He’s curious; that much you can tell. His hands rest on your knees, your toes sometimes brushing against his abdomen as he swims closer- face coming forward to properly look at you. His vision must be bad outside of the waters you assume, his brown eyes squinting in concentration until he huffs and let’s himself back into the waters. You chuckle, and simply take off your jacket, slipping into the water as well as you control your breath- his entire face brightening at your body now underwater in his world, finally clear to see for his eyes.

You’re pretty, he thinks, definitely prettier than any other human he’d encountered before. The clothes covering your breasts and private parts a bit dull and boring for his taste- but he’d change that soon. He smiles, happy, before holding up his finger as if to signal for you to wait before he swims away, elegantly and fast. You swim up to breath some air, catch your breath, until there’s a hand around your calf, holding, fingers running over the skin, signaling you to come down again. You follow his question, taking a deep breath to meet him underneath the surface; his excited hands wrapping something around your neck, before he swims in circles as if he’s suddenly got too much energy. You point to yourself, as if to ask if you can keep it- and he nods, wide eyes watching you with a smile that you can’t help but mirror.

You don't quite realize what he's doing.

He however thinks you know. You know that he's courting you, and you're interested in him. You know that he's just given you more than a simple gift. He only believes you're letting him work for it- something he happily does, taking on the challenge as always. He swims closer, holds your shoulders, as his eyes look into yours, his gaze happy and child-like almost. He's close to finally showing you affection- but you suddenly swim to the surface instead.

And even though he knows you only wanted to breathe, he can't help but feel slightly sour at the ruined moment.

"You're awfully happy these days." His mother says, watching her son in the gardens of the palace. "May I ask what has gotten you in such a bright mood?" She asks, and Jungkook doesn't quite know how to break it to her. He knows its not forbidden, knows it has, and does, happen each and every day it seems- but there's still fear inside of him. Theres still hesitation, even though he is not ashamed of what has happened- of what he has done. His mother however notices. "You know you can trust me, right?" She says, and he nods.

Its now or never.

"I've found a mate." He says, and his mother smiles warmly, holding his cheek as she kisses it in congratulation. "Its a human." He says, quietly, hurried- but his mother continues to smile.

"I have suspected as much." She states. "Your friend- Park Jimin- is not very good at talking quietly." She snickers, and Jungkook curses under his breath about how he wants to strangle him. Theres a huge weight lifted off of him however; finally having said it, made it very real to him, in a way- even though it was already.

Because, after all; you were wearing his kingdom's sigil around your neck already. He had claimed you.

He's restless the next time he swims to the shore to meet you again- eager to see you to give you the news of his family's acceptance.

You're late- later than usual, and his brows are furrowed, mood upset at your mannerism. You're usually always on time, always just as eager to see him he thinks- but this time, you're not there. After his anger however, he grows increasingly worried instead. What if something had happened to you instead? Oh what a bad person he would be to be mad at you for getting into an unfortunate situation. As guilt slowly makes his way into his body, claims his muscles, he moves to sit on the stone he usually finds you on. He tries to look around- rain on his skin making it possible to be out way more comfortably.

He spots movement above.

Theres a person he can't make out- throwing something off the cliff down into the sea, and Jungkook clicks his tongue in anger, already upset- but still curious on what it was the person had been so eager to discard. Typically, its tiny things or plastic he finds- but this is something else, he knows.

Underwater, he smells blood.

His pupils contract, eyes widening, as he spots the black bag slowly making its way to the bottom of the sea- red trail leading from it. Its not the blood however that makes him frantic- its the smell of it, of you, that stops his heart.

He gets you out the bag, his anger over the entire situation diminishing into nothing as he holds you close, eyes spotting the deep cut on your side, and the scratches on your face. Unsure where to bring you, he holds you close, brings you onto his back as one of his hands hold yours, your arms around his neck. He swims quickly to the only place he knows you can breathe.

The underwater cave is big enough for now, he thinks, as he brings your body onto the ground, out the water. He doesn't notice he's crying, doesn't quite speak, his native language of clicking sounds and little noises escaping him as he whines out for your attention, waiting for you to wake up somehow. He's been so invested in making you like him and accept him that he's got no idea what to do with a human. Are you cold? How can he warm you up? How does he stop bleeding wounds? How much can you bleed before you die? Are you already dying?

Jungkook doesn't know what to do. So he simply lays by your side, holding you close, in hopes his slightly higher body temperature can keep you warm.

"He's doing the best he can-" Jimin says, Seokjin next to Taehyung as they both lean over your body. Both witches are concentrated, already exhausted, but there's no way they're giving up on you now. Not only because you're important to Jungkook- but because no one deserves to simply die like this.

"I know, I know!" Jungkook huffs out, pupils turned into cat like slits- a clear sign of the absolute terror and chaos inside of him. "What if they're best isn't good enough? Jimin, I can't loose her, you don't understand-" He starts, but Jimin holds the younger one's shoulders, for the first time serious with him.

"I do." He glances at Taehyung. Jimin had saved Taehyung before as well- the young sea witch having been hit by a fisherman's harpoon years ago. Ever since then, Jimin had been attached to the witch like glue. "Trust me, I really do. And they're doing all they can to make sure she's going to be fine." He promises, and Jungkook nods.

All he can do is pray.

When you wake up, there's several things you notice.

First, you're alive. Having a raging headache, and your limbs and muscles feel horribly tender, but you're alive. There's also strings of rope tied to two rock formations acting like a clothing line, several blankets and clothes hanging from it. They don't look human-made to you- the fabrics and designs not something you would think of as regular. There's a bucket and several stained rags- now copper-brown with old blood. Its then that you look down, seeing your cut sewed shut.

You also notice its rather soft underneath you.

Its sheepskin laid over seaweed you notice- the whool soft and fluffy, and warm. Everything seems to be so thoughtfully placed, even some decorative items- you can spot fireflies casually sitting in a jar close by, and burned wood, probably to . Probably to make light during the night. You're tired however, so you simply lay down again. Quite honestly, surely you should fee worried about the situation- but then again, there was no one to miss you, no place you called your home anyways. No use in worrying- because deep down, you had your suspicion.

A Jungkook swims to the surface with the plastic box in his arms, he's careful not to throw it too hard onto the ground. As he steps out the water, he's sure to at least try and his his hands of most the water before he goes to check on the blankets he had brought this early morning. They've dried enough, he notices, and is glad about that, as he picks one up.

You don't have to be cold anymore, he thinks.

He's unnaturally careful for his typical character- his usual behavior quite the opposite as it was now. Now, he's making sure you're properly tucked in, as he notices your eyes watching him.

He freezes, for a moment.

Jungkook hasn't really thought much about what would happen if you were to wake up- after all, Seokjin had told him he was unsure if you were to wake up this early in the first place, and Taehyung didn't even know if you would wake up at all. He'd told his younger brother to be prepared for any reaction really; fear, confusion, maybe even anger. But you seem calm, curious even, and Jungkook decides to sit down in front of your face, waiting.

"You brought me here, right?" You ask, and he nods, eyes not leaving your form.

"You-.. hurt." He points to the spot where your wound had been. "Also hurt." His hand points to your head. "Brothers, helped." He informs you, and you smile, nodding at his words. He suddenly looks at the ground, mumbling. "I.. worried. Thought... you, dying." He tells you, and you sit up slowly again, keeping the blanket around your shoulders.

"I'm not dead though." You say, and he nods. "Thank you, Jungkook. Now we're even." You say, and he tilts his head in confusion- a mannerism you could only think of as cute. "I saved you- you saved me." You say, and he smiles, nodding.

"I-" He starts, leaning forward a bit, now way more energetic and lighthearted as before. "I- we-" He growls a little in frustration, and you cant help but giggle at his troubles- the chirps and clicks escaping him foreign- but somehow, they feel hazy, as if your mind knows the language, but has forgotten what it meant. He's trying so hard you notice, and appreciate. "You like here?" He asks, and points around. You nod, and he beams at you. "I made." He tells you, proudly so.

"I guessed as much. Its very thoughtful of you, thank you." You say, and he nods, happy you like what he did for you. Its not a permanent solution, obviously, but as soon as you're healed well enough, he already planned a new spot for you to come with him.

You just don't know it yet.

There's a weird feeling inside of you.

It's like homesickness, you think. Every time you look at the waters, you feel- sad? It's making you uneasy, and with every day passing by, it just gets worse and worse. But it's today, that you cant take it.

When you dip your legs into the water, it soothes an ache you can't recognize ever having. It helps your skin, it somehow feels as if you're breathing again. But It's not enough, you think- before you let yourself fall into the deep end.

You're floating.

It's like leaving a stuffy and crowded mall, just to stand in a park, fresh air after it had rained, and light breeze clearing your head. Everything is silent, but not at the same time- the water around you feeling as if you're being hugged, held. It makes you relax, makes you let go, makes you only exist for a moment.

You're floating.

And there's a sudden wave of realization that you're also breathing. There's no water in your lungs- or maybe there is, and you just don't feel it being there. Darkness surrounds you as you don't know where you are exactly- theres no telling where is where, no way to know if you're upright or not. Maybe you've died?

Did you drown?

If you did, it would explain Jungkook being there. He's swimming towards you with a face full of worry, as he grabs your wrist and holds you close. "I can't even let you out of my sight for a mere day it seems, my love." He sighs, and your eyes widen. Its almost comedic how his own do the same, focusing on your neck, as he touches.

You're sensitive, and shift away from his touch.

"It-" He starts, now holding your shoulders, as he begins to smile. "It worked! It really did- by the dragon kind, you look absolutely divine!" He laughs, and can't help but hold your hands, eyes roaming your appearance, as you don't quite get it- until you follow his gaze.

Just like him, there's fins now on the sides of your calfs, smaller ones on your ankles as well. Theres also ones decorating your outer forearms- they look like the ones you'd always see on goldfish as a kid. There's something alike to scales as well, but barely noticable. "I- what happened to me?" You ask, and Junkook smiles.

"You.. almost died." He admits, taking your hand and swimming to what you assume is back towards the cave. "You had been robbed during the day, and when I found you.. well, you know what happened." He says. "While you were asleep, we were thinking about what to do. There was no way you would survive as a human- so, a friend of mine- Taehyung- performed a ritual, together with Seokjin, my brother." He says. You finally spot light, glad to be able to have at least some form of orientation. "I'm glad you're adjusting so quickly, my love." He states, smiling at you.

You notice the petname again.

"Jungkook-" You start, as you both reach the cave again, sitting on the edge of where the ground of the cave meets the water. "Why are you.. calling me that?" You ask, and Jungkook seems confused.

"Why do you ask?" He questions. And you don't quite follow, until he continues. "You're my mate- I am only addressing you as such."

Your eyes widen. "Wait- we're-" You start, and its only then that it clicks in Jungkooks head.

"Oh." He says- the dissapointment bitter and evident in his voice. "You.. didn't know?" He asks, and you shake your head, unsure what he means. "I see.." He tells you, suddenly distant. "I.. will bring you breakfast tomorrow.. sleep well." He abruptly says, and before you can say anything, he's already gone.

What just happened?

"There you are!" A voice says, deeper than Jungkooks, but not unfamiliar. Taehyung had been visiting and bringing you food and nescessities ever since that talk with Jungkook. This time, however, Taehyung seems like he wants to say something. You look at him, silently urging him, and he sits down next to you, sighing.

"Does he hate me?" You ask, quietly, and Taehyung looks sad.

"He could never." He says. "He just.. didn't take the rejection well. He'll need time to come around. It won't take that much time- his mother is already trying to get a new partner for him." He explains, and your head whips around towards him. "I- you.. did reject him, right?" He asks, slowly. "You do.. not love him, right?" He urges again, and you groan suddenly, throwing your face into your hands.

"Oh my god I'm so stupid.." You say. "It all.. everything was so overwhelming, I didn't even notice what he was doing." You cry into your hands, as Taehyungs hand places itself onto your back, trying to soothe you. "I though.. especially after I found out about his status.." You mumble. "How could he want me?" You ask, and Taehyung sighs.

"Head up, little siren." He says. "He's still able to hear you sing, if you want to." He says, and you look at him.

"But how?" You say. "I have no idea where the kingdom, or anything really is. And he won't come see me until its too late." You say.

"Well-" Taehyung says, standing up, and holding out his hand. "-allow me to escort the future princess to her lover."

"How did you find me?" He simply asks, not turning around, as you float closer. "I'm sorry, but I still need time to.. get over-" He starts, but you don't let him finish, instead leaning into his back, your arms around his middle.

"I'm stupid." You say. "I'm really, really stupid." He shakes his head, but you continue. "Just because I didn't realize- doesn't mean that I don't feel anything for you." You say. "I just.. felt unworthy, I guess. Insignificant." You admit, and he turns around, holding your face in his hands.

"You really are not gifted with the mind of the dragons king, my love." He states teasingly, the glimmer in his eyes returning. "My status means nothing to me, if that meant I could not have you." He says, and you lean forward, capturing his lips. "I hope you know what this meant, at least." He teases, and your eyes widen, scared you might've done something wrong. "It means you love me." He says, and you chuckle.

"Good." You say. "Because I do."

Even though he thinks you looked like a goddess reborn in your white and pearl decorated gown from the wedding, he enjoys you without it, close to him, just as much. He's alive, he's feeling, he's in love, as his hands move over your skin, his senses filled with you and nothing else.

The sounds you make for him are sweeter than any siren's song he's ever heard or could ever sing himself. No member of his kind is as enchanting as you, he decides, as he bites and kisses the sensitive skin of your neck. Jimin had teased him relentlessly the entire evening and night by trying to send you sweet words, to which you didn't react- but that didn't mean that it didn't piss him off.

You were his.

His princess- and soon to be queen, one day.

And he's planning on making that very evident, as he marks up your skin with little bites, visible for everyone to see. He wants everyone to know, even though by tomorrow, the entire Kingdom will celebrate the marriage of its prince anyways. He's more than ready to show you off, to hold you close, to have people see the divine being at his side that's you.

It's only natural for his hands to roam your skin, for his lips to worhip every inch it seems, as you reach out for his hand every second it leaves you. It's painfully endearing he thinks, how you can be so innocent and pure, while he's between your legs, performing the sinful act of pleasuring you with his mouth.

You pull him towards you, as you straddle his waist, leaning down to kiss him. He's in god's divine lands he thinks, as he suddenly feels you sinking down on his awaiting length. You fit around him perfectly, more so than he could've ever imagined. And as you both move, he holds you close, happy that here, in his world, he doesn't need to breathe.

He can kiss you as long as he wants.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. I spilled strawberry milk on my poor laptop while writing this.

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 3. frogger

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[warnings: cursing, smoking, light violence, blood]

"i don't want to be friends. i want all of you."

—

"Can I get your number?"

You and Larry both whip around to face Sal, the person who'd spoken that sentence. You're stood at the foot of Addison's Apartments.

"What?" You blink. "Me? My what?"

You assume Sal mirrors your nonplussed expression because he bats his eyes just as startled as you did. "Uh- your phone number. So we can be in touch easier. You know, for school and stuff."

Eager anxiousness in the form of butterflies batted their wings in your gut and your ribs. You reached into your back pocket, flipped your flip-phone open, and handed it toward the blue-haired boy. "Here," you blurted. "Put it in there." You gloss your eyes toward Larry. For some apparent reason, he's wearing a wide, shit-eating grin.

"You can put yours in too if you want."

He waves a tan hand. Your attention is on Larry, but it somehow drifts and you're glancing toward Sal. His veiny hands are jerking which each movement of his thumbs as he presses numbers on the keypad.

"No, that's okay," Larry replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll get it off of Sal."

"Here," Sal holds the flip phone out to you. It's small in his hand.

He has long fingers, you thought.

"Oh, thanks." Your fingers brush his as you reclaim your phone and return it to it's place in your back pocket.

Your heart is beating unnecessarily loud by the time they've walked you to your apartment. Your hands are in your coat pockets to conceal the mild trembling in your hands. You're almost nervous that they can hear the rushing of your blood as your heart rapidly pumps it through your body—because you know you certainly can.

"I had fun today," you smiled, your expression nothing but sincerity. "Thanks for everything. I appreciate it."

Larry grins. "That's cute. No need to thank us, alright?"

You twitch the corner of your lips upward and nod towards him.

Sal tucks a strand of blue hair behind his ear—you'll never get used to the color. In a good way. You could look at it for hours—and fiddles with his backpack strap. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," you respond, your teeth making an appearance. "Goodnight, you guys."

With that, you're inside of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. You hear their muffled voices and unintelligible words through the wall as they retreat from your door and towards the elevator.

You drop your bag at the door and make haste to your room. You sit on the side of your bed and hurriedly open your phone.

The first phone number you'd ever had—save your mother, which doesn't count— was "c you tomorrow :)", sitting right beneath "Mom" on the contact list. After changing his name to "Sal :)" you breathed out shakily, and slowly pushed enter on his contact.

Should you send him something? Isn't that a bit weird? You'd just seen him a few minutes ago. Should you wait a little longer? What if he's still with Larry, and they see what you'd sent a message so quickly and make fun of you?

You shake your head. That was unlikely. All they'd been was great to you.

"c you tmrw."

You inwardly linger over the thought of pressing the send button.

Why the fuck were you so nervous, anyway? Because a boy with nice hands and a pretty laugh said he'd see you tomorrow?

Yeah.. okay, maybe that was it.

"c you tmrw." The message was sent.

You slapped a hand over your face. Should you have said something else? Should you just have not texted him at all? You fell back into the mattress, draping your arm over your face and blinking into your wrist. The feeling of exhilarated dread churned in your gut.

A subtle vibration reverberated on the comforter. It buzzed in your ears momentarily. You paused, before lurching upward and snatching the phone back into your grasp.

"you too. let's try not to rouse mrs. packerton's suspicions tomorrow like we did today lol."

You grinned, and replied before you could stop yourself. "might not be possible. you may need to answer another math question for me."

Sal replied after a pause. "can't say no to that. goodnight, y/n"

You breathed out slowly, typed out a goodnight message, and slowly dropped your hands back down to the comforter.

Your fingers shook and your heart was beating itself against your rib cage. Not long after, you dozed off into sleep thinking of the way your body felt when the warmth of his palm was flush against the nape of your neck.

Getting up the next day is a bit harder than getting up the previous one. You couldn't seem to rub the sleep away from your eyes, and, for some reason or another—you'd waken up in a cold sweat, and your sheets stuck to your body. Not only that, when you'd went to shower, the water was freezing, for no apparent reason. You'd come to terms with the fact that this building had multiple personalities.

Standing beneath the shower head felt like being pricked with itty-bitty pitchforks. Topped with miniature ice cubes.

You'd gotten dressed in an oversized black sweater (over a long-sleeved, black top for added warmth), along with an a-lined plaid emerald green and blue skirt on top of your sheer black tights. The skirt was not short—not amongst your standards, it was mid-thigh—but nowadays teachers were weird about how girls dressed so you'd have to keep an eye out about that.

Also, surprisingly—instead of the usual beat up and raggedy sneakers you usually wore you decided on some of your chunky Mary Janes you'd thrifted not long back. You'd never given them a go outside before. The only time they'd been worn was in your room and by yourself.

When you were fully dressed, you let yourself examine your outfit in the mirror. While doing so, your phone chimes in your hand. You snap it open hastily and read the notification.

"it's larry. sal gave me your number :P meet us outside when ur ready"

You grinned and walked out of your room. You grabbed your bag and made for the door. When you'd gotten outside, what greeted you there was not exactly what you'd expected.

"Oh! Ashley, is this yours?" You inquired, gazing over the pale silver Ford Fiesta that sat in the driveway. It was a cute car. Ash sat in the driver's seat with the window down and her forest green eyes attentive and on you.

"Yeah! My little brother had an allergic reaction while eating out at some big corporate food chain and we got it in compensation. We already have a family car so it was given to me."

What a nice story, you thought, making sure you maintained your pleasant expression.

"Oh," you passed your gaze over the vehicle again. "Cool!"

You noted Todd's place in the passenger seat. You met his eye and gently waved. He returned the wave, with that neutral look on his face he always seemed to have.

"You're going to be cold," a voice behind you says rather abruptly. You jump, whirling around.

"You scared me," you laughed, your face burning as you made eye contact with none other than Sal Fisher. "What do you mean?"

"Your skirt," he replies, glancing away momentarily. Your eyebrows raise comically.

"You don't like it?"

"No-" he rushes out, a bit too fast. "Uh, no. It's g- it's nice. I meant you're going to be cold in it."

He was right. It was nearing the end of August.

You pass your eyes over your legs, from the a-lined skirt, the sheer black tights, and the chunky Mary Janes. You return your gaze to his—not before catching a glinting glimpse of what seemed to be rings adorning his fingers—and shrugged.

"Oh well. All I'm worried about is being dress coded," you look to Larry, who's near Sal. "Good morning."

"You too," he grins. "Let's get in the car. It's chilly."

You all clamber into the backseat. You're in between Sal and Larry. Hot air blew from the car vents and hit you in the face as Ashley turned the temperature up further. While doing that, she turns on the radio and channel surfs until she's found some sort of soft rock station. She turns it up to a moderate volume.

A car freshener in the shape of a red tree dangled from the rearview mirror and swayed as Ashley put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. It had a charming illustration of what resembled two strawberries on the front.

The car smelled nostalgic—like the smell of the hair on one of those Strawberry Shortcake dolls you owned as a child.

The wistful scent is abruptly overpowered by the smell of smoke and the autumn air. Larry had rolled a window down and had just lit a cigarette to your left. On your right, Sal has pulled out his flip phone and is playing some sort of shit quality version of Frogger.

Interested, you lean over.

"How'd you get that on there?"

He looks over at you. He's close. You can hear him slowly inhaling and exhaling through his nose. "Todd did it for me," Sal replies. He gestures toward you with the phone. The phone makes a sound. The digital frog had fallen into the water. "Wanna play?"

"Oh," you pause, and smile. "I like watching you."

His eyes flicker over your face. "Okay."

He returned to the game. Finally, you had an excuse to stare down at his hands. Multiple silver and black rings adorned his hands. They fit him perfectly—snug on his pretty fingers and accenting his veiny hands perfectly.

During your examination, you hadn't exactly realized it but your cheek was now flush against his shoulder and your hair was tickling his neck.

No, you weren't smelling him, but it was hard not to scent it when you inhaled through your nose. He smelled of delicate laundry detergent—fresh, clean—and of minty vanilla. Breathing that in made you feel what was probably the most at home you'd felt in months.

You glanced up from his hands, to his Adam's apple, to his prosthetic face—his gaze remained attentive on the flip phone, dark lashes moving along to accommodate his flickering eyes. You looked away before he'd noticed, and paid attention to the game.

"You're good," you commented.

He didn't reply immediately, almost as if he'd looked over at you. The side of your face remained on his shoulder and your hair still brushed against the skin on his neck.

"Well, it's only Frogger," he remarked. "I bet you're better. Try it."

The sudden scent of ashy smoke consumed your senses. Larry must have exhaled halfway inside of the car. The vapor floated for a moment before dissipating into nothing.

You took the phone from Sal's hands and shifted in your seat to sit straight up. You pressed play on the game, and within seconds your frog had fallen into the water.

"I suck."

"No, you don't. You're just not trying hard enough."

"Potato, Potahto," you reply, shortly laughing at yourself and pressing play again nonetheless.

Suddenly, the vehicle slammed to a halt. You held onto the phone tight in one hand and steadied yourself on the passenger seat in front of you with your other one.

Sal seemed to have the same idea, except he seemed to panic and had braced yourself on your knee instead. You could have sworn you saw white for a split second, your insides jumping and chills fluttering down your spine. He quickly retracted his touch, catching your eye immediately.

"Sorry," Sal uttered.

"That's okay," you'd done a fine job gathering yourself together. "Perfectly fine."

"Jesus Christ, Ash! What the hell was that?" Larry calls from your left, the cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. He was halfway through exhaling his smoke when he spoke again. Vapor spilled from his lips as he stared at the front of the vehicle. "Trying to kill us?"

"Whoops! Sorry guys, I almost missed the red light."

"That wasn't very wise," Todd remarked from the passenger seat, turning his head to look at Ash. You couldn't help but shortly giggle, looking back down at Sal's phone.

You heard Sal slowly exhale a breath of relief beside you.

"Yeah, anything but fucking wise," Larry scoffed. "Thought I was about to die, dude."

"I said I was sorry," you could hear the roll of Ashley's eyes in her voice. "My parents would kill me if I got a ticket. Also, who told you that you could smoke in my car?"

"I did." In your peripheral vision, he was staring blankly. "What're you going to do about it?"

In the rearview mirror, Ashley squinted her eyes but said nothing.

"This is a shit show," Sal murmured, looking back to his phone in your hands. You'd returned to the game, still attempting at getting past the first level. The digital frog continuously leaped over lily pads and logs. It was almost therapeutic.

"Sorry you don't want me back here, Sal." Larry's tone had transformed from mildly annoyed to slightly bitter. His cigarette had been held unattended for a decent amount of time so it had begun to burn out. "I didn't ask to third wheel."

You blinked and convinced yourself you'd heard him wrong.

You weren't looking at Sal's face. He was silent for a few seconds.

"Just chill out, alright?"

"I'll say what I want."

"It's too early for this, Larry," Sal bit out. "Cut it the fuck out."

Your heart pumped furiously.

"Where do you want to take this, Sal?"

Ashley jumped in incredibly quick, the car jerking as she turned the wheel abruptly, pulling the vehicle into the school's parking lot. "Fuck no. What the fuck are you thinking, Larry? Going to fight Sal because you're in a pissy mood?"

"I'm not going to fucking fight him, Ashley," He shook his head. "It's just- apparently he's got some kind of vendetta against me today so I guess we could talk somewhere else-"

"That's in your head, Larry," Sal said honestly. "I don't know what makes you think I have something against you today, but I don't. I don't know how you want me to prove that to you."

Larry settles into silence as Ashley pulls the Ford Fiesta into a parking space.

"Just- put the cigarette out and calm down, okay?"

It didn't look like the smoke had much left in it, but Larry still drew one last hit out of it before he stepped out of the car and crushed it beneath his shoe. He throws his bag over his shoulder and slams the car door behind him.

You look over at Sal, who was reaching for the door handle. Ashley and Todd had already exited the vehicle, and Ashley was standing by and waiting for you both to get out so she could lock the car.

"Hey," you murmured before he could leave. The blue-haired boy turned his head and inquired you with raised eyebrows. "Try to be patient with him, when you two talk it out. I haven't known him long—but I can tell he's the sort of person that wouldn't act like that unless something's bothering him."

Sal looks down at you thoughtfully, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. You hear him swallow thickly. "Yeah," he muttered. "He is that type of person. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

With that, you both exit the vehicle and Ashley locks the car. Todd and Larry had already walked up a measured distance ahead of the three of you.

"Do you know what that might have been about?" Ashley asks, directing the question toward Sal by holding eye contact with him. You walk to Sal's left, looking ahead as to not be intrusive on the conversation.

"Uh.." he trails off. A cool breeze filters past your face and legs and it makes you shiver. "Not really. Usually, it's about his mom. Whenever they've argued about something, it puts him in a bad mood."

Ashley seems to give herself a moment to reply.

"Anything else?"

Sal does the same.

"Not that I know of."

Your eyebrows twitch downward.

Ashley walks slightly ahead of the two of you. She calls your name, and you look up from the ground, startled. "How are you liking the apartments? Anytime I've been there, they're kind of creepy."

You giggle. "Yeah. You could say that. I'd say they're alright—it gets kind of cold. The water was fucking ice cold today. Could barely shower."

Ashley mirrors your laughter. "Anything else?"

You pause. "Larry has this really great treehouse. I don't know if you've been, but it's honestly pretty cool. It's homey."

She looks up to Sal in surprise. "She's already been? When did you guys show her?"

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "Uh, well, we didn't necessarily show her.."

Ashley looks at you curiously. You sarcastically pout towards Sal, finding his eyes to be twinkling with amusement. "I may have broken into it."

"Oh, you didn't break into it," Sal protests, exhaling sharply through his nose in a gentle chuckle. "You just didn't realize it was inhabited."

You look towards Ashley. "Long story short—I found a cool treehouse. Thought it was abandoned. Climbed into it. Coincidentally, Sal and Larry climbed into the treehouse while I was in it. It was embarrassing."

"It wasn't. It was funny," You could hear Sal's grin. "She smoked for the first time that day."

Ashley's jaw dropped in faux-astonishment. "You've tainted her innocence."

You smile. "It was honestly kind of horrible at first."

Before you knew it, the three of you had entered the school. After a few more minutes of banter and friendly conversation, you and Sal parted ways from Ashley to head towards your first class of the day: math.

Once again, Mrs. Packerton had given the class a math sheet. For god knows why she expected you to know all of these things off of the bat and get all of the questions right with barely any assistance. You were stuck on one problem like it always went.

Someone nudged your arm. You looked to your left and smiled at who was looking at you. He glanced down at your paper. "The answer's-"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Fisher?"

Fuck, you thought, slowly looking up to your elderly teacher. Glancing over to Sal, his eyebrows were raised and he peered up at the woman at the front of the classroom with something akin to surprise in his eyes. "Uh-"

Before he could explain himself, Mrs. Packerton's entire facade did a 180 and her eyebrows were suddenly furrowed and her frown was deep-set. It was almost comical, and you strained to keep the laugh in. You weren't looking to break a rib, so you unfortunately giggled beneath your breath.

Her dark brown eyes slid over to you. After a moment of being examined and feeling extremely uncomfortable, she sighed.

"I'm administering detention for both of you, after school. I will let you finish the test, but next time this happens it'll be an immediate fail for both of you. Understood?”

You and Sal exchange both equally supposed expressions, before nodding together.

Before class is over, you see Travis giving Sal another sour look. Oh my god, you thought, twirling your pencil around in between your fingers. Is this going to have to be another talk, Travis?

The bell rang. You and Sal jumped up and fled the class as quickly as you could.

"Oh my god," he breathed, as you both stepped into the hallway and began maneuvering through the countless amount of students flooding the halls. "She's super fucking scary. I was so wrong."

You abruptly laugh. "Yeah. She's got that look in her eye." You pause. "I'm sorry, Sal. You wouldn't be getting a detention if it wasn't for me."

Sal tilts his head just slightly. "It's no big deal. It was my fault, anyway. It's not like you asked for my help either times I helped you out. It's not like my dad's going to be mad, anyway—he'll probably be relieved. I've never really got detention for anything, especially involving talking to another person. Probably'll be glad I'm being more social, haha."

You frown. "I'm still sorry."

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to be-"

"If only your friend wasn't so dumb, Sally Face. It's a shame that your perfect record is all tarnished."

Sal appears as though he knew who was talking a few words in. He inhales, turns around to face the blond boy behind him, and backs up a step. "What do you want, Travis?"

Your fingernails sink into your palms. It stings. You told him yesterday!

"Nothing. Just wanna know why she's so stupid."

Sal's eyes flicker. "Mm, think you're forgetting about how close you were to failing mid-terms last year. You're not very bright yourself."

Travis grows a bit red but he looks as though he's trying to ignore his growing frustration. It boggled you—the fact he was so easy to anger because of the fact Sal was defending himself. Defending.. you?

"Whatever. Why am I fucking arguing with a fucking satan worshipper, anyway?"

That genuinely surprised you. What kind of insult was that? And where did it come from?

"Whatever, Travis. God doesn't like bullies, either. I hope you don't kiss your daddy with that mouth-"

You're glad the hall is relatively empty because the crack you hear when Travis' fist meets Sal's prosthetic face is loud and startling. Your heart is in your throat. You place your hands on Travis' chest and push him into the lockers. The metal cages rattle beneath the sudden weight.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?" You shout, red hot anger coursing through your body and pumping through your veins. "Get the fuck away. I swear to god, I'll-"

Sal murmurs your name, gripping your wrist. "Stop. Don't push him."

You give Travis the bitchiest expression you can muster. He scoffs and walks away. You're surprised he didn't throw one last insult into the air—but he instead walked down the hall with heavy footing, turned around the corner, and disappeared.

As soon as you're done watching him down the hall, you whip around to Sal with wide eyes. He was cupping the place where the mask cut off, collecting blood that dripped down.

"He's got a mean right hook," Sal breathily laughed.

The rage you currently felt made your head hurt. You quickly grabbed him by the wrist and hurried him towards the restrooms at the opposite side of the hall. On your way, the bell rings. You couldn't care less whether or not you were going to miss your class—it's not like you didn't have detention already.

"Hey, what're you-"

You pull him into the girl's bathroom, which was empty. You make sure to turn him away from the entrance. His eyes are as wide as two dinner plates.

"Huh. Smells nice in here," he comments. The fact that's the first thing he says tells you he's clearly in shock from being clocked in the face.

You grab some paper towels and look him in the eye.

"I'm going to clean you up now,"

You reach around his head.

"Hey, I- wait, you don't-"

You unbuckle the clasps at the back of his prosthetic and pull the prosthetic off of his face. You set it aside, and set it on the edge of the sink.

He slowly meets your gaze. The amount of internal fear that's held inside of those eyes—fear you know that's been held in for so long—is astonishing to you. Your eyes soften. You slide your gaze over his face, and all you can feel is an unbelievable amount of happiness and satisfaction.

Butterflies swarm your insides and beat against your ribs at the sight of his mouth.

It's just as kissable as you'd imagined.

Shut the fuck up, you snap back at yourself. Not the time.

You're unable to hold in the large smile that grows on your lips as you bring the paper towels toward his face and wipe away the blood that dripped from his nose, down his mouth, and fell down his chin—there was so much of it that it had made its way down to the collar of his shirt, staining the material scarlet red.

"You can give that to me later," you uttered. "I know a thing or two about getting blood out of clothes, haha."

His lips twitched, but he remained silent and let you do your thing.

After thoroughly cleaning his face off, you return the prosthetic to him, handling it with care.

"Here you go."

After he'd put it on, you met his eyes.

"Hey, Sal, I'm-"

"It's okay." He peered at you sincerely. "That went.. better than I thought it would. I just hope you don't think of me differently."

The thought appalled you.

"No!" You exclaimed, a bit too forceful. You gathered your composure and tried it again. "No. Um- I could never. Seriously. Your face doesn't change who you are, Sal. It doesn't make me think of you any different. You're still you. Besides, I- um... I liked it."

His eyebrows jump and he jerks his head upward. "What?"

"I liked it. I liked your face."

He was silent like it was taking him a little bit to process that. Your eyes wandered during this time, and they landed on the collar of his shirt, again. You cursed.

"Shit. Hold on."

Suddenly, you'd crossed your arms around your midriff and began pulling the sweater upward. The noise Sal made was almost comical.

"No, uh, you don't have to! It's fine, I can-"

Before he could stop you, the shirt was up and over your chest and it was off of your head. Thank god that you'd remembered the black top beneath, or else you'd feel really bad that you couldn't give him the sweater—it wasn't like you could walk around in just a bra (as much as you'd like to sometimes.)

He grabbed the article of clothing from you, hesitant. "You're sure?"

"Yep!"

"Alright," he murmured, cautious, pulling your sweater over his head and pulling it down his torso. Once he'd done so, he looked back to your eyes and inquired you with his own. "So? What do you think?"

Heart beating so loudly it thrummed in your ears, you replied: "You've never looked better," and grinned wider than you ever have before.

[sweetestlamb]

Lighting Up Your World

Episode 17 

Summary: Gang-tae and Mun-yeong continue their road trip, finding themselves and helping others along the way. 

Author's note: Here is part 1 of the weekend fic updates! I tried my best to make these interesting and multilayered channeling my inner Jo Yong. The focus is on MY/GT and their healing but I also wanted them to heal others too on this journey so we do meet an OC. If I had time this could be something that continues each weekend, but work and life starts again very soon so I won’t make any promises but I had a really fun time writing this and trying to plot out the story so it felt familiar to IOTNBO with conflicts and resolutions, only they all happen within the chapter lol. Without further ado, here’s episode 17 ;) *Play “Lighting up Your World* 

The mood shifts drastically after Sang-tae's departure, they're both sulky and a bit flabbergasted by his sudden decision to leave, this was their first trip as a newly fledged family, it felt monumental, like a rite of passage of sorts; but by the morning they've accepted his choice and set sights on their next location. Gang-tae lays in disbelief thinking about how much his brother has changed, how much their relationship itself, has shifted.

Thanks in part to her, his eyes land on her sleeping form, gorgeous in the low lighting of the camping van.

She had crashed into their lives like a bulldozer, hell bent on having him, but only as an object- something to capture and conquer. Somewhere along the way, despite their unconventional start; love had blossomed. It wasn't an easy start and it took time to nurture but he couldn't imagine his life without her now, their little family.

I love you Moon Gang-tae.

She loved him. Meant it with every fiber of her being, it was detectable in her eyes, swirled in the pools of her captivating eyes. If that wasn't enough her actions proclaimed her love, never turning her back on him despite his sometimes despicable behavior and words that cut her. Running back to defend him from the one person she despised the most, uncaring of her own fate. He hadn't known he could experience love like this, all-consuming devotion. Not until she entered his life.

A smile blooms on his face, it all started with a stab. He knew others wouldn't understand- Jae-su's disbelieving face flashed in his memory- but it made perfect sense for them, she who was so jagged and broken when he met her and him so complacent and selfless, saving others even at his own detriment.

I met your mother after she stabbed me in the hand. Then months later she stabbed me in my other hand.

His chuckles fill the tight space of the van, until he hears a hoarse voice, "What are laughing at?"

With a small jump he turns to face her, adorable baffled look on her face, and he sits up to better see her.

"I was thinking about us."

She looks at him deeply, searching his eyes before continuing, "And that made you laugh? Were you thinking of good things?"

"Well... I was thinking about how we met and how we would tell that story to our future son who looks like me." He responds sheepishly, heart singing at the soft look that forms on her face, that happens often now, her blushing every time he mentions their future. He makes sure to do it often, for both of them. After wrongly viewing their relationship as ill-fated, it seems more important than ever to say the words out loud, breathe them into the world and give them life. Mun-yeong and Gang-tae are destined. 

He can’t help but imagine her round with his, no their child, swollen belly protruding from her slim frame, as she demands his attention and curses him for her condition. It would be as beautiful as it was terrifying. 

All in due time. 

After a few seconds of sustained eye contact she finally snaps out of her daze, craftily switching the subject to escape her own unease, “How are you really feeling about Oppa leaving? Do you want to end the trip and follow him?” 

For a moment, he wonders who is the person and what have they done to his Mun-yeong? The woman he first met lacked empathy for others, disregarded their feelings and trampled all over their boundaries; she was a new person, reborn. No, unpeeled, showing another layer to her personality. Considerate and caring with him and with Sang-tae, even putting them first at the expense of her own desires. 

Swiftly removing the blanket covering his torso, he strides toward her on the elevated bed, reaching out to caress her head, she is aptly watching his every move head subconsciously leaning into his tender hold. 

With his eyes firmly locked on her own he replies, “I...am happy. I am happy that he knows what he wants to do, he finally has a dream of his own. A dream just for him. And...I don’t want to go back. When I told you I loved you, that was my promise to keep moving forward, no matter what.” 

Being here, with you, that is my dream. That he leaves unsaid. 

He basks in the warmth of her smile, beaming on him, shiny solely for him. His own personal sun. 

“You’re so cheesy now.” She teases him playfully rolling her eyes, and he chuckles before shrugging, he’s never had a chance to be cheesy, probably has all that cheesiness packed up inside ready to come out, she is going to get it all. 

Curling his hands around her small face, he draws her closer before pressing a kiss to her forehead, watching her eyelids flutter close as she sighs gently. His lips are soft on her smooth skin, nothing more than a peck, a silent thank you for being here with him. For staying. 

Then he finally announces, “I know our next destination. While you were sleeping I found another spot for us.” Before she can question him he states, “It’s a surprise.” 

Her groan of annoyance is music to his ears, as he rushes to the front of the van, ready for their adventure. 

The sunlight brilliantly twinkles on the rippling waves of the water as he pulls up to their destination, a lake sequestered away and roughly hidden by trees and foliage, there is a quaint wooden dock leading to the watery oasis but not much less. He hums in contentment gazing at it, it is almost too peaceful to be true but they of all people deserve some peace after the hell they have been through. 

Mun-yeong stumbles out of the tiny bathroom of the van, peering out the window at the view, she stares at him bewildered, “A lake?” Why did you take us to a lake?” 

He shakes his head at her question, “To swim. Why else do people go to a lake?” He can hear his brother’s voice replaying in his mind, Why ask such an obvious question? 

With a glare she humphs crossing her arms in a symbol that he can read all too well- I’m not doing it- before stomping away, “I’m not swimming.” He watches her back as she defiantly strides back into the small compartment. 

He makes them a quick late breakfast of rice and grilled meat, scooping out a hefty amount for his grumpy girlfriend who has yet to leave the camping van. He had nagged and pleaded at the door, eager to get outside and see the lake, it was tempting especially on such a scorching day. But she had ignored all his calls, even childishly responded “I can’t hear you.” Before he had stomped away in the opposite direction, fondly irritated at her behavior. 

The van door creaks open as she finally decides to exit, he pointedly does not look up, not wanting to seem too eager at her arrival after she spitefully ignored him. He pushes the food in her general direction, not making eye contact. So she sits down on the unoccupied chair to his left, he is unprepared for the breadth of naked skin he sees when she does. 

With his fixed gaze on the food in his lap, the edges of his peripheral vision catch her bare legs, heeled sandals encase her foot but there is no material in sight on her legs. Just bare smooth, inviting skin. 

He gulps, reaching for his water. 

Drawing in a deep breath to reinforce himself, he slowly begins to raise his head, eyes traveling from her ankles to her smooth thighs, similarly naked before he stops on her torso. She is wrapped in a bathing suit, tight fitting and devastatingly distracting. The devilish suit is black and partially mesh, with her skin peeking through the stomach but solid across her breast and lower region. 

His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, despite his desperate swallows of water to re-hydrate his heated body. Grabbing his food, he stuffs his face with rice and meat hoping that will prevent him from begging her to let him take her back into the van and peel that suit off her and.... 

“I am still not swimming, but I figure I can get a nice tan at least.” She offers as away of explanation, he nods robotically, eyes still trained on the ground. Before a white bottle is forced into his vision, he jumps back in his seat, eyes finally landed on her body completely. 

Unbelievable. 

The glimpse he saw does nothing to prepare him for the entire picture, she looks amazing in the suit as if it was made specifically for her body, knowing her taste and monetary capabilities; the idea isn’t too far-fetched and he curses whoever gave this weapon to her. Atop the bridge of her nose sits her glossy black sunglasses, the same ones she wore when he saw her outside, a beautiful black storm cloud under falling cherry blossoms. Her hair is pulled back into a high messy bun, two braids on her side that disappear into the bun, wisps of hair that escaped the bun frame her face beautifully. In short, she looks like the cover of a high-end fashion magazine and he is at a lost for words. 

His musings are prematurely interrupted by her waving something in his face, a thin container, “--Are you listening to me? Take off your shirt.” 

He shakes his head, almost dropping his bowl in shock. 

Only seconds away from taking another gulp of water before her request. He doesn’t miss the smirk that curls on her lips, he knew she did that on purpose. 

“What? What are you talking about?” He shakily asks, pulling his thin white t-shirt protectively around himself. 

She tilts her glasses down ensuring that he can see her eyes before dramatically rolling them, “You act like it’s something I haven’t seen before.”

“We’re outside though!”

“So what?” She fires back, looking at him, exasperation farrowing her eyebrows.

He breathes hard, their eyes locked in a heated battle, before he sighs accepting his fate, admitting to himself that he is not as opposed to the idea has he’s acting. Guilt settles in his stomach as he remembers the excitement that coursed though him as he realized that without his hyung, he would be alone with Mun-yeong.  All by themselves, at given times no one around for miles. No one to hear their screams. The idea of being alone and unencumbered with her was thrilling. 

In one fluid motion, he stands up and grabs the end of his shirt, carefully lifting it up and over his head. Standing in nothing but his slippers and dark blue swim trunks, the only pair he packed, unlike her who probably had endless suits of different styles and colors. In that way they were vastly different, he was practical and minimal whereas she was extravagant and larger than life. 

Her eyes burned on his skin as she stood up as well, carelessly tossing her food on the table, before curling her finger at him in a seductively beckoning call, “Come closer.” Her voice was smoked honey, as if in a trance he found himself obeying, stepping forward a half step, “Closer” and closer he went until he stood directly in front of her. 

She audaciously looked him up and down, tongue peeking out to swipe across the span of her pink mouth. 

Then with anticipation thick in his throat he watched her hands grow closer to his body, creeping closer and closer to his skin and then they were finally on him. 

He jolted at the cold. Jumping away from her hands. 

“What’s wrong with you? I told you I was going to put sunscreen on you.” Her eyes narrow and he feels a blush cover his cheeks, at his red face she lets out a long drawn ahhhhhhhhhh before speaking, “Why did you think I wanted you to take your shirt off? Were you expecting me to do something else?” She lifts one perfectly threaded eyebrow at the suggestive inquiry while simultaneously moving back into his orbit to rub the sticky white cream into his stomach. 

He lets himself enjoy her touch, deliberate ministrations into his skin, her face close enough for him to kiss and only a thread of control keeps him contained. Her hand strokes across his abs, fingers purposefully creeping into the crevices of his body before she trails her manicured finger down to his trunks, so close to where he wants her hand, panting now with anticipation, half hard just from her hand on his skin. 

Then she stops. 

Pats him on the shoulder with a clipped, “All done.” Impish look clouding her face, he glares at her departing back, the pep in her step; she knows exactly what she just did to him. The wink over her shoulder reinforcing his speculation. 

Damn, she-devil. 

When she begins to rubs the same sticky cream into her legs, slowly and wantonly, peering at him whilst she does it, his only solution is to run and dive straight into the water, welcoming the cool blanket that soothes the raging heat in his loins. 

He swims alone for a few minutes, propelling himself back and forth in the shallow water, before he eventually feels the twinges of boredom creeping in, this was meant to be their adventure, he didn’t want to swim alone, imagining wet kisses and wandering hands under the guise of the water.  All new experiences that he only wanted to share with her. 

With those thoughts in mind, he silently vacates the water, footsteps light as he tiptoes to Mun-yeong, glowy and alluring from her spot on the lounge chair she  pulled seemingly out of thin air. Sunglasses still shielding her eyes he waves his arm to see if they attract her attention, she lays motionless still, breathing steady and unhurried. 

Perfect. 

Now, knowing that she will not notice his approach, he creeps forward putting on his best imitation of a spy, avoiding twigs and leaves, anything that will alert to his presence. After a measured and timed approach, he looms over her, taking a moment to bask in her tranquil beauty. She is a goddess in that bathing suit and he wants to remember her face in this moment, in a few seconds she will be ravenous in his arms, clawing and thrashing. It is the perfect juxtaposition of her personality. A beautiful disaster. 

Before he can second guess himself- maybe she was right and he did have a death wish- he grabs her, lifting her out of the lounge chair and wrapping her securely in his arms. 

“YAH!” Her reaction is expeditious, nails scrapping across his arms as she tries to break free from his strong hold, he winces at the sharp burst of pain shaking her slightly to dislodge her, but her efforts do not hinder his mission. He laughs at her screams and threats, “Put me down! Gang-tae, I will kill you!” Gaining speed as he reaches the end of the dock, with a bounding leap he flies through the air, weightless, until they crash through the surface of the water. Water splashes onto the dock from their impact and his nose burns with the sudden influx of water, before he scrambles to the top, taking her now suspiciously limp body with him. 

The sight that greets him when they burst to the surface, makes his body go numb with regret. 

Her face is ashen, almost grey in hue, wet hair plastered to her skull. But what stands out most are her eyes, usually brimming with love and light for him, now sunken and packed with an emotion he never wanted to put there; fear. 

He can feel how rapidly she is breathing, her body shaking like a leave under his hold as he keeps her afloat, the air wheezes out through her colorless lips as she begins to convulse in his arms, he is paralyzed under her visible distress. 

She begins to keen, “Please, please, get me out. I need to get out!” The sorrowful plead that shatters into a scream breaks his heart into a million pieces, and with only a small hiccup he responds to her cries. Kicking his legs powerfully, swimming as quickly as he ever has in his life, arms protectively wrapped around her shuttering form until the reaches the bank. 

It takes a moment to for her to recognize that they are now on land but once she does she leaps from his arms, whipping around and racing to the camping van without another word. 

He is left shell-shocked. 

Standing alone, wracking his brain to figure out what caused such a visceral reaction and not coming up with an adequate answer. Then he realizes that is not important, all that mattered now was reaching her and comforting her, those eyes would haunt him forever otherwise. 

Dashing to her rapidly retreating form, he catches her arm, twirling her around to face him. 

The fragments of his heart, shatter into even smaller pieces. 

Twin trails of tear stream down her face, dripping off her chin before disappearing into the ground. 

“Mun-yeong...” He vocalizes her voice like an apology. 

She breaks the connection between their arms, turning once more to walk away and he can’t stand to see her walk away from him, not again, never again. 

Softly capturing her hand again, he begs, “Please, tell me what I did wrong?” 

Struggling to speak through her choked throat she replies, “I can’t right now. I just need to be alone for a bit, I’m not running away.”

Those words again. 

He wants to hold on tighter, recalling how she had run away after uttering those words before, viciously slamming all her doors shut and pushing him out. She reads his face like a children’s book. 

“I promise, I’m not running away, this time. So let me go, for now.”

Trusting her words, he releases her hand. Heart sinking as she climbs the stairs and disappears into the camping van. If the sun continues to shine, he is unaware, the dark clouds of shame and regret hanging over his forlorn head. 

“When I was young, I had dreams of my mom drowning in a lake.” 

His head buzzes at the confession, so intensely focused on the food sizzling on the grill he had missed her reappearance. Lowering the tongs to give her his full undivided attention as she bares another layer of Ko Mun-yeong. 

“My dad... I thought he drowned my mother in a lake. And every night I would have dreams about her screaming for my help. Sometimes when I have those sleep terrors, I can see her above me, her body is dripping wet. I....” She takes a pause, sitting down in a chair further away from him and he almost cries at that small amount of distance she is placing between them. 

But she is also wearing his flannel shirt, dwarfing her small stature, her fingers clutching it as if needing protection. 

Following a deep breath she presses on, “I haven’t been in water since. I’m....scared. I’m sorry that I’m already ruining this trip--”

He doesn’t allow those words to settle in the air for a second before he’s out of his seat and crouching before her, he begs for permission with his eyes, and watches as she ruminates before nodding, with a sigh of relief he gathers her cold hands in his own, warming them instantly. 

“You didn’t ruin anything. I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never want to make you cry, I told you I would protect you and I let you down. I am so sorry, please forgive me.” Tears pool in his eyes, as he presses his lips to her hands a kiss following each word of apology, anguish flooding his system. 

Silence fills the space between them as he continues to kiss sweet sorries into her skin before she wrangles her hands away, placing them softly on his downward chin, lifting his head until their eyes meet. 

Her dark orbs are now swirled with pain, love and something inexplicable. 

“I should be asking you to forgive me, I don’t want her on this trip. This is just for us, she can’t ruin this.” Her voice trembles despite the force that she exclaims her wish. 

He smiles grimly, “We can’t run from her. You once told me that trauma should be faced head on. You were right, we can’t be expected to be perfect yet. We’re only human, you didn’t do anything wrong. Thank you for coming back and letting me in.” 

I love you.  He thinks it hard enough for her to hear it. 

A sad smile slides across her face, “You’re so adamant these days, I can’t shake you. If I tried to run, you would probably chase me down.” 

He doesn’t verbally reply to her assumption, letting the resolve in his eyes speak volume instead, she has always been able to read him like a book, this time will be no different. 

She appears so delicate and fragile, he doesn’t even attempt to stop himself from crouching up and pressing a kiss to her lips. She moans at the barely-there touch, hands tightening on his face as she drags him closer, deepening the kiss with a languorous swipe of her tongue. He crawls into her space, tilting his face to transform the kiss from deep to dirty, mouths opening to prod and swallow each other. Her teeth graze across his bottom lip before, pulling it and releasing it with a filthy, pop. His dick jumps at the stinging sensation. 

Reluctantly he pulls away from the delicious kiss, worry for her overriding his sex drive, she hadn’t eaten since this afternoon, locked herself away since the lake incident and skipping lunch. It was more important that she get sustenance right now. 

She groans at his sudden withdrawal, blindly chasing after his mouth. He laughs at the adorable image. 

He presses a piece of grilled beef to her mouth instead, chuckling as she opens her eyes in doe-like surprise. He keeps that comparison to himself, she wouldn’t take kindly to him comparing her to self-proclaimed arch nemesis right now. 

“Eat this. My mouth doesn’t have any nutritional value.” 

Her face twists as if she is about to argue, but the booming growl of her stomach pierces the air and she blushes before opening her mouth and consuming the succulent piece of meat. 

Dinner passes by in a flurry of meat and rice, as they take turns feeding each other and she teases him to retrieve meat from her mouth. They talk about the future and all the places they want to go, he hasn’t smiled this much in his entire life. As he packs up their dishes and chopsticks, he sees her stretching, pulling her body taut from the motion. He wonders if she’s wearing anything under his flannel shirt, her bare thighs taunting him for a second time today. 

“I’m sleepy.” 

Like a Pavlovian whistle, his body reacts to the innocuous declaration. Images of their previous night together flood his minds, slamming her into the bedroom wall as he sucked wet kisses into her neck, her legs wrapped around his waist as she sensuously grinded into his erection, her head thrown back in rapture as they imitated sex through their clothes, both hungry as they ripped through the clothes, his eyes rolling back as he slammed into her tight pussy, her nails scratching welts on his back. The sweat on their bodies mingling and drenching her luxurious sheets. 

The soft click of the van door closing slaps him from the memory and it takes a moment to realize that he is now alone. 

He presses down on his erection, hard, embarrassed at how aroused just a memory of her can make him. 

Inhaling the crisp night air, he marches into the battlefield. 

The camping can is dark upon his entrance, the only illumination provided by the stray moonlight that filters in through the tiny windows, after his quick and efficient appraisal of the confined area, he realizes that she is nowhere to be found.  Strange. 

Scratching his head he wonders to his bed mat, pausing for a moment before making the decision to remove his shirt, confidence dominating the usual stream of shyness that floods his bloodstream. He lays down on his bed roll, comically similar to Mun-yeong as she had beckoned him to join her on the bed. He had been a fool then, to refuse such a desirable offer, but he wouldn’t be making the same mistakes ever again.  

The soft patter of her footsteps approaching causes his heart to skip a precious beat. Then it stops completely when she enters his line of vision. 

Temptation. 

That is the word that blares like a siren in his head as he takes her in, her hair is down in soft waves around her face, face washed clean and flawless in the light, and finally he looks at the short silk slip that contours to her every bump and curve. Spaghetti thin straps exposing edible shoulders, as the silk ends dangerously high on her thigh, lace dancing around the ends. 

Jaw permanently on the ground, he watches in dismay as she barely glances at him, wondering eyes fleeting across his abs almost too fast to catch, as she climbs the stairs to her bed, her ascent making the slip creep obscenely up her thigh almost giving him a wonderful glimpse at her ass. 

Pushing past the frog in his throat he croaks out, “Where are you going? I thought we would sleep down here together.” 

She absently arranges her sheets, moving them out of the way, putting her body on clear display for his starving eyes. With eyes that glow in the dark she calmly replies, “Why did you think that? It was your idea to sleep separated in the first place remember?”

Yes, he remembered. When Sang-tae was still on this trip with them, she had offered for Sang-tae to take the bunk bed and they sleep side by side. But he had declined anxiously, knowing that he would not be able to keep his hands to himself if they were sleeping in such close proximity, terrified at losing control so close to his brother. 

She seemed to take a malicious glee from throwing his words back in his face. 

“But that was before.” He whined, “I thought you were sleepy.”

He tried to subtly infuse meaning into the word hoping to remind of their last rendezvous. 

She didn’t bite. 

“I am sleepy, that’s why I’m going to sleep. Good night Gang-tae.” With a quick wave, she rolled over, facing away from him as he glared daggers into her back. 

Fuck. 

He couldn’t see the smirk that overtook her face at his obvious frustration. 

Time ticked by, or it would have if they had a clock in the van. Instead he marked time with the sounds of crickets chirping in the forest. 

Chirp. 

Chirp. 

Chirp. 

Finally he sat up, tossing the blankets from his body as he gazed at Mun-yeong’s still form, the moonlight provided enough radiance to see her perfectly in the dark. He couldn’t resist the pale glow her skin, clearing his throat he called out quietly, “Mun-yeong? Mun-yeong-ssi? Are you awake? Mun-yeong?”

His calls went unanswered. 

He sighed. 

Then he picked up a shoe throwing it at the wall of the camping van, the sound deafening in the silence. She jolted up, with quicker reflexes than you would expect from someone who was deeply sleeping. “What was that?” She turned to him, shock on her face. 

Twisting the truth slightly he replied, “Um.. I don’t know. Sounds like something ran into the van. Probably an animal. But now that you’re awake I was wondering if you’re cold?”

There was a pregnant pause and he vaguely heard her whisper under her breath, “Ran into the van, my ass” before she spoke loud enough with the intention of him hearing, “No, I’m not cold. If you’re cold you should use Sang-tae’s blanket he left it for you.”

He rolled his eyes at her helpful suggestions, that was the last thing he wanted. So he pressed on, “I’m using that blanket too, but I’m still cold.” He gathered the blankets as he approached her bed, resembling a child fleeing to their parents room after a bad dream. 

“What do you want me to do about that?” She asked, still turned away from him and that made it effortless to ascend the stairs and slide into the bed with her. His body’s weight sinking into the bed, announced his presence and she looked at him in surprise. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to deal with that on your own.”

“No, I want you to help me deal with it.” He pulled her into his arms, crushing her face into his naked chest. Minutely moaning at the smooth feel of her nightgown on his skin. 

With a huff of dramatic annoyance, she pushed him away, turning her back to him again before saying, “Fine you can stay. Please go to sleep, just go to sleep.” 

Their night at the guest house surfaces in his mind, her pleas for him as he coldly rejected her once again and begged her to sleep, suppressing his desire to take her right there and then. Karma was indeed, a dish that was best served cold. 

He now knows exactly what she’s doing and why. She is serving him a taste of his own medicine, showing him how he made her feel in those moments when he wasn’t quite ready to let her in, but wasn’t man enough to voice that to her either, so he lashed out and hurt her unnecessarily. 

Gathering his courage, he swallows his pride, “I’m sorry.”

Silence is his only reply. 

Then with a small move, she presses back into his chest, their bodies melding from shoulder to toe. 

He wraps his arms around her, humming at finally having her back in his arms. He holds his breath, waiting for the seduction to continue but she simply lays in his arms, contently playing with his fingers while he’s so hard he could hammer nails with his cock. 

With a casual grip he begins to play with her fingers too, moving their hands up until they are treacherously close to her breasts, ensuring that every swipe of his thumb on her hand also collides with her nipples. Her breath hitches when he catches her erect nipple, but she doesn’t stop him. 

Then he begins to undulate his hips, thrusting his boxer-clad cock into the silk of her slip, groaning at the intoxicating sensation before his control snaps like a rubber band and he surges forward, pulling her close and grinding into her with dark intentions. 

She hisses at his cock’s hard crash into her ass, “Aiish you sly fox, is this why you came here?” 

In lieu of responding to her obvious inquiry, he pushes his hand down the front of her gown, squeezing her breasts in his hand, harshly pinching the tight nipples until she moaned and squirmed in his hands. He pumped his thick length into her back, haphazardly catching her ass and the crease of her thighs with each rough thrust. With a punishing squeeze to her chest, he retracts his hands only to push his boxers down his hips, cock bouncing out in excitement, ready to play. 

His eyes roll back at the feel of her silken gown on his hot engorged skin, precum wetting the material obscenely, as the game ends and she is as enraptured as he is, humping back into him, vigorously. Ripping her panties off from under her nightgown, he tries to plunge a finger into her moist center, but his elbow knocks into the bed railing and he groans at the hindrance. She is a panting mess in his arms now, pressing back into his heavy thrusts, his cock catching on her wet folds, as they both moan in pleasure. 

“Can I try something?” Nerves prickly under his skin.

The question leaves his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. She stills at the sudden question but shakily replies, “Yes, just do it. Stop talking.” 

He laughs at her impatience, jubilant that she wants him with as much vigor as he wants her. Grabbing her around her waist, he hoists her up into a seated position before sitting up too, using that leverage to turn her upside down, before dragging her onto his body and he lays back down onto the bed. 

A perfect 69. 

She gasps at the sudden change in position, before looking back at him from over her shoulder, “I knew you were watching porn in the bathroom. Next time, come to my room we can do some hands on learning.” 

He swats her ass in retribution, “Now you’re the one talking too much.” 

She smirks pressing her lips together and he can’t help but joke, “Well you don’t need to close it completely, just put it to better use.” 

Eyes darkening from the proposition, she leans forward and swallows the head of his cock, wet mouth wrapping him in a squishy heaven. His hips subconsciously jerk forward, forcing more of his length in her mouth and she moans around the intrusion. 

Then he looks up at the feast before his eyes, her wet and open above him, primed to be devoured by his hungry mouth. He wastes no time in licking her folds, wiggling his tongue into the moist cavern and groaning as she moans at the sensation, vibrations tingling around his cock. They both set off to wreck each other, her tongue relentless as she slurps and licks every inch him, distracting him from wrecking her. At a particularly hard suck at his balls, he shoves two fingers into her, corkscrewing immediately and giving her little room for adjustment. 

He grabs her ass cheeks to pry her open further to his onslaught, twisting his fingers into her at the same time licking across her clit, pulling it into his mouth and humming at her addictive flavor. 

She pulls off his cock to shout, “Fuck.” Among other expletives and it’s good that he’s not a religious man because pure blasphemy falls from her sinful mouth. He misses the feel of her mouth around him, so he thrusts up wildly catching her mouth as he fucks into her, in perfect synchronization as he fucks into her with his fingers. 

She is a drooling mess above him, spit drowning his cock in a filthy river, he focuses on making her lose her mind as he feels his end growing near, tongue and fingers both hammering at her pussy, plunging, filling, worshiping. 

Her body twitches violently, drawn tight like a bow, before snapping its release and her juice rain down on his waiting face, bathed in her glory. 

His tongue never stops its lap at her until she keens in pain, “No more, it’s too much.” Reluctantly he pulls away, pretty swollen lips closing at his retreat, he kisses them one final time. 

Without warning, she leans forward and slides down his cock, pushing past her gag until he feels himself slide down her throat and two quick fucks into that constricting paradise is all it takes to shoot hot cum down her throat, his eyes roll in the back of his head. She swallows and swallows, until finally drawing off as the abundant cum dribbles on his naked thighs, some even pooling on the sheets. 

Collapsing to her side of the bed, it takes some effort to meet her eyes in their opposite positions, her head at his feet. But when he does, he sees all the love and fire he knows shines luminous in his own, he worries if this passion might just be too powerful for even them, might it burn them up leaving nothing but their ashes? 

What a way to go. 

He gathers her pliant body in his arms, moving her until she's sheltered in his arms, she will never have to sleep alone again, she has Gang-tae and Mang-tae. The doll now clutched tightly in her hand.

They drive for days before they come across a small town, pulling into a gas station to refill the van tank. They hadn’t yet emptied it since their first fill and he was working hard so they wouldn’t, loathing the idea of getting stranded on the side of the road with Mun-yeong. She would chew his head off. 

“Be careful.” He calls out to her as she wonders into the diner adjacent to the gas station, they’d she’d grown tired of rice and grilled meat and had decided to get some food at the nearest diner. He’d told her to go ahead and get them a table, while he refilled the camping van. 

He thinks about how far they’ve come on this journey, literally and emotionally. He has shared stories with her that he has never shared with another soul, not even Jae-su. Has experienced things he never thought he would be allowed to, this trip itself was a life long dream that he'd foolishly given up on but she showed him that it was okay to dream.

He didn't have to suppress his every whim or desire, was teaching him everyday that he was worthy of wanting and receiving.

With all those thoughts permeating his mind, he is completely caught off guard when he enters the diner and sees her menacingly looming over three young boys, a butter knife in her hand. "If you keep bothering her, your parents won't have children." Those are the words, he hears her utter, to children.

All who, trip over themselves fleeing from her screams of “A witch, a witch!” as they scamper back to their tables and said parents glare at the women dressed in black from head to toe, provoking their innocent children. 

She smiles at them, waving with the knife still prominently in her hand. He promptly snatches it from her grip, reprimand on the tip of his tongue before a small mouse-like voice cuts him off.

"Thank you lady. Are you a princess?" Appearing from behind the shadow of Mun-yeong's body, a thin child creeps out, twiddling her fingers as she gazes up at Mun-yeong like the stars are hung in her eyes. He's never seen a child look at her like that. 

"No. I'm not a princess. They weren't wrong, I'm a witch." She answers deadpan, twirling her fingers to add to the glamour.

She looks very much the part in a bellowing black dress with a full skirt and puffy sleeves, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail with a black rose pin in the front. She towers above the young girl in shiny black leather pumps, that almost gleam under the fluorescent lights. Armor back on since the lake. 

He readies himself for the cries that her statement will evoke.

Flabbergasted when instead he hears, "Cool. You're the prettiest witch I ever saw."

Mun-Yeong preens at the compliment before turning to walk away, but the girl catches the material of her dress, rudely tugging it to get her attention.

The sharp eye at the hand on her dress is enough to make the girl immediately release it but Mun-Yeong peers down in question, "When I grow up will I be pretty like you?"

Without even a second to consider Mun-Yeong replies, "No. No one is pretty like me."

He watches the joy melt from the child's eye and opens his mouth to lessen the blow, take the sting off her too blunt words. But she beats him to it, "You shouldn't aspire for looks, you can't control that. Pick something you can control, like being strong so you can beat up your bullies." Her little shoulders perk back up and she beams at Mun-Yeong, his girlfriend's lip curl up at the side.

Before she walks into the diner, finding an empty table, he watches in shock as the young girl wordlessly trails after Mun-Yeong. The sight so familiar it knocks him in the heart. Just like flies to a fire, people like them were drawn to Mun-Yeong's light, the sparks that singed around her as she boldly did what you only dreamed of.

He joins them both at the table, and finally takes a good look at the little girl. She has a cute round face, rosy cheeks, her hair is pulled back in a disheveled ponytail, what stands out are her clothes, they are too put it kindly filthy. Tattered mess that hand off her thin frame and immediately the need to protect her overwhelms him.

"So what's your name brat?" Mun-yeong's deep voice breaks the silence.

"Min-jo."

He sends a warm smile in her direction, noting that her eyes haven't once left Mun-Yeong. Still he adds to the conversation, "Hi Min-jo, I'm Moon Gang-tae and this is my girlfriend Ko Mun-yeong. She writes children's books, maybe you've read one of her books before."

If her eyes were filled with adulation before, now it is tenfold as she jumps in her seat, "You write books? That's so cool! Do you like it? Are they fun? What are they about?"

Taking a sip of the water, the server brought them a few minutes ago with the menus, Mun-Yeong glances from the corner of her eye, before darkly whispering, "They're about chatty little brats who get eaten when they ask too many questions."

Min-jo's eyes widen in shock, little mouth falling into a perfect O, before her bell like giggles ring through the air, "You're so funny Ms. Witch!"

Mun-Yeong smiles back, a full face crinkling smile, at a child. Someone else's child. He is stunned into silence as he watches them converse, the kid ignoring Mun-Yeong's hint and asking her a million more questions. She even answers a few. He watches the miracle, stuffing noodles into his mouth, utterly charmed and bewildered.

When they've all finished their meals- he's still shocked at the amount of food such a small body was able to consume- he opens his wallet and places down the amount plus a hefty tip. He stands up and they follow his lead, Min-jo still trailing behind Mun-Yeong, before a voice stops her in her tracks.

"Oy! Where are you going? You know better than to bother the guests, get back here!" A woman in an apron waddles out, catching her by her arms preventing her from taking another step.

The woman bears no resemblance to the child, sharp where she is round so he wonders if that's her grandmother, before he asks the question aloud. Min-jo's head bends down until her face is completely hidden, "No. I'm an orphan I don't have anyone." Her voice is barely a whisper, lost in the wind as soon as it leaves her lips.

He watches Mun-Yeong tense at the word, eyes shifting back and forth between the two. Three orphans in one diner, the world's saddest story.

He wonders if that was what drew the girl to them in the first place. Destiny. Then he remembers what he overheard. Definitely destiny, Mun-yeong showed up when she needed someone to help her. 

If someone shows up when you need then, I call that destiny. 

Mun-yeong sniffs at the tears that are pooling in the child’s eyes, her own eyes dark pools that reveal nothing. 

"That's no excuse to feel bad for yourself, you can't control that either. Stop following me and learn how to be a leader, then one day when you're older you can make your own family. I did." Her words are matter of fact with no warmth yet he sees the hope they ignite on the child's face, her eyes large in wonder. Pride washes over him like a wave.

Mun-Yeong turns to leave, before promptly stopping and returning to the girl, bending down to meet her at eye level, "Tell those bullies that a witch gave this to you and if they tease you again it'll turn them into frogs." She unpins the black rose pin from her hair sliding it into the young girl's messy hair, her little hand comes up to touch it in wonder.

Tears swimming in her innocent eyes.

Without another word, Mun-Yeong leaves in a whirlwind of black cloth and witchy flair, and he watches Min-jo watch her, her seemingly cold words had been exactly the balm this child needed. He bids Min-jo farewell, bowing at the older woman who takes the young girl's hand, maybe not her biological grandmother but clearly she cares for her. He hopes they let each other know one day, their true feelings.

Love should be shared and acknowledged, unless what's the point of loving?

"You made her feel better."

She looks up at him from her place on the chair, passively, "I told her the truth."

He noticed a long time ago that she doesn't quite know how to respond to compliments, begs for them but once she receives them she quiets down as if taken back by their presence.

"You did really well Mun-Yeong, I'm so proud of you." Instinctively her head comes forward seeking his hand and he happily strokes his hand across her head, amazed by the woman he loves. He impulsively presses a kiss to her head as well, breathing in the floral aroma clinging to her hair.

That night as they lay together, no facades this time, she walks right over to him and slings into his arms, demanding that he stroke her head to help her fall asleep. He concedes happily. Too tired to try for anything more, he resolves to do it tomorrow. The thing that has been on his mind since he told her that he loved her.

He's going to ask her.

What's the point of having all this love and not showing her?

[hey-its-nonny]

So, thanks to the lovely @themerriweathermage, i can repost all of my chapters of in between!! Again, a huge, huge, thank you, love. i can’t tell you how happy i am about this.

Chapter one of In Between!

i’m super excited for this!! hope y’all like it!!

note: this first chapter will start out (and maybe end) in Legolas’ POV just for somewhat of his backstory. the rest will be told from your POV!!

~~~

The battle was over.

Burials for the dwarves had come and gone, and while Tauriel was grieving over Kili, Legolas was left with a broken heart over the she-elf in question. He just didn’t understand. Tauriel was supposed to be the one. At least he thought so.

Was there something wrong with him? His father would have told him so. He didn’t understand why it stung so harshly, but he supposed that was the risk you took when you fancied someone.

But, a broken heart didn’t really matter now, did it?

The truth was that Tauriel had all too quickly slipped out of Legolas’ grasp; and there was no getting her back. Like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in his face, it had only been a matter of time before Tauriel slipped away from him. So, he traveled for months to meet a man by the name of Strider.

At first, Legolas had lost his sense of just about everything. He knew where he was going, but he didn’t want to find his way there. Everything he’d loved had slipped out of his grasp in a matter of weeks, and he had no power to stop it.

That’s what he hated: being unable to change things in his life. He was a prince, for Valar’s sake. Changing things to get what he wanted was quite literally what he was used to. He understood that he was privileged, although his father said he’d deserved every bit of what he got, unsurprisingly. Somehow, though, he felt he didn’t.

Just like he didn’t deserve Tauriel.

But, as his walked on with his thoughts tormenting him every waking second, he bumped into something- or someone, to be precise. While lost in his thoughts, Legolas’ feet had taken him to a small village -somewhere near Rivendell- he guessed, judging by the forests and whatnot.

It was a man. He’d bumped into another man. Upon realizing this, the elf froze, his senses coming back to him quicker than he’d lost them. He murmured an apology to the man, and the hooded figure nodded, quickly turning to go on his way.

Legolas realized he didn’t know where to go next, so he went to ask the man. “Do you know a ranger by the name of Strider?” He called, stopping the man in his stride. “Who’s asking?” He replied, low voice ringing in the almost eerie silence.

Legolas somewhat scoffed. “I am.” He stated, knowing full well what the man meant. He was angry and hurt, so a little sass or sarcasm could be expected from the elf. Who would blame him?

Apparently, you would.

Laying the pile of wood down, you readjusted the strap of your pack as your combat knives found their way into your hands. “Answer the question properly.” You spoke out, causing the elf to flinch. Cute. A fight prior to this meeting had put you in a bit of a sour mood, so any further irritation would only make things worse.

Legolas turned and faced you, eyes slightly narrowed, making it evident he wasn’t in a good mood either. “Legolas of th-“ He started, cutting himself off to correct himself. “Legolas Greenleaf.” He stated, turning to face Aragorn once more. “Now, answer my question.” He returned, raising a brow.

You shared a quick look with Aragorn, a questioning gaze evident on your features. “Strider.” He answered, and your expression phased into a calm one. You never really trusted people easily, and this elf would be no different, no matter how pleasant his face looked. Whenever Legolas heard this, however, he looked a bit embarrassed.

You smirked, leaning against the tree with a quiet hum. Aragorn grabbed both yours and the elf’s attention as he spoke up, removing his hood. “Why are you searching for me?” He asked, hand readily reaching for his blade. The bitter cold made this exchange far more intense than it should have been, but the elf showed no intentions of harming either of you.

The elf cleared his throat, searching for the answer to that question. “I merely wish to follow along whatever path you choose to take.” He said after seconds of silence, bringing down his ego as best he could. “Companionship, if you will.” He clarified, earning a distrustful, yet knowing exchange between you and Aragorn.

You walked over and pulled Aragorn aside, hoping to get out of ear’s reach from the elf. It took a while, but once you both were far enough from him, you whispered, “Are you going to let him follow us?” You asked, nodding in the elf’s direction.

The man huffed. “Perhaps. I cannot fully trust him yet, but I feel that it may be good to have him around.” He admitted, gazing at the leafless trees that surrounded you. You sighed, brows furrowed. “I don’t know if it is a good idea,” You replied, uncertainty and caution churning your insides. “but I trust your judgment.”

“We’ll have to take night watch, though.” You added, earning a chuckle from the man. “Let’s get a move on, then.” You sighed, trudging through the woods with Aragorn trailing behind you. A hopeful Legolas met your gaze, searching for any signs of confirmation. He didn’t get anything, though.

You simply grabbed your pack and firewood, tightened your tunic, and went on your way. Aragorn spoke up one final time, doing the same as you. “We do not stop until nightfall.” He stated, earning a swift nod from the elf.

~~~~

Hours later, you all finally found a resting point in a cave and started a fire, gathered around it in attempts at gaining some warmth. Aragorn had gone to scout the surrounding area, leaving you shivering and alone with Legolas. As you huddled close to the fire, shaking due to the cold, Legolas stood, walking over to the pack he’d brought.

He pulled out a thick cloak, walking over to offer it to you. “Take it. You need it.” He quietly stated, draping the fabric over your shoulders. The warmth was almost instant, and you allowed a sigh of relief to escape your lips. “Thank you.” You smiled, to which the elf nodded.

Suddenly, your curiosity got the better of you. You peered at the elf from across the fire, staring into the sky blue eyes he possessed. “Where are you from?” You asked, trying to pass the time. “Mirkwood, as they call it now.” He answered reluctantly, though he seemed a bit more at ease now. “And you?” He returned, raising a brow as he met you e/c eyes.

You stared at the flickering flames in thought, pondering if you should give the elf an answer. It was only fair. “I don’t remember.” You quietly admitted, a solemn expression on your face. “My parents passed when I was young. I’ve been with Strider ever since. He’s like a brother to me.” You explained, earning an almost sympathetic look from the elf. What were you doing?

You stood before he could offer pitiful condolences and drew both of your knives. “Speaking of Strider, I am going to search for him. Excuse me.” You quickly blurted, gently folding the cloak and setting it down.

You rushed out, internally scolding yourself for such foolish behavior. You searched for Aragorn, wondering what possibly could’ve taken him so long. After a while, you came upon a slight clearing, the silence heavy over the bitter air.

Then, you heard it. Orc voices could be heard nearby, and you assumed Aragorn was with them. You cautiously padded through woods, making no noise as you passed. You counted twenty five orcs surrounding Aragorn, preparing yourself for battle.

Then, quicker than the wind, you dashed towards the orcs from behind and began slashing at them, taking out four within a minute. But, as fate would have it, you got caught in a fight between two particularly determined orcs. “Run!” You ordered, earning a scoff from Aragorn as he faced the majority of what was left of the group.

You took the two down, your worry for Aragorn outweighing your will to survive. Aragorn fought well, taking down the mindless creatures with a certain grace only Aragorn possessed. Just as you thought you were finished, you caught a glimpse of a blade held at Aragorn’s neck.

“Aragorn!” You shouted, cutting down whatever orcs stood in the way as you bolted for you best friend. Amidst the chaos, you were caught again as another group stole your attention. You fought hard, taking the orcs down with urgency. Luckily, however, an arrow was caught in the center of the orcs head before too much harm could be done.

You looked in the direction from where the arrow came and found Legolas standing there. You finished off the rest of the group with both of the boys’ help, panting slightly once it was over. Without hesitation you went to embrace Aragorn, quietly letting out a sigh of relief. “Please don’t do that again.”

The man returned the embrace, and you pulled him along back to the cave, grateful he was still alive.

~~~~

You sat at the campfire once more, both of your companions sound asleep a little bit away from you. You watched the flame climb the air, relishing in the warmth it provided you. Then, you remembered the cloak Legolas had given you, and you picked up the soft fabric.

You wrapped it around your shoulders and sighed, making sure to keep an eye on the entrance to the cave. You made it a point to thank Legolas for saving Aragorn, unsure of what you would’ve done if things had turned for the worse.

At the end of the day, Aragorn was alive and well, and you had another companion to get to know. Legolas saved Aragorn’s life, and that was all that really mattered to you.

Maybe the elf wasn’t so bad after all.

~~~~

ugh this SUCKED, but it’s done! i’ll probably edit it later, but i just wanted to post it.

@elvish-sky is the only person on my tag list at the moment i think?? pm me if you want to be added, otherwise i won’t remember lol 😂 hope you enjoyed it!

~~~~~

[mira--mira]

Madara and Hashirama for the ask meme 👀

Hashirama

What I love about them:

I really love Hashirama's stubborn optimism. I say "stubborn" here bc I think after a certain point of pain in misery in someone's everyday life, in some way it is a choice to remain optimistic despite that suffering. I don't characterize Hashirama as constantly happy and he can recognize the more realistic/pessimistic possibilities, he just refuses to accept them. I have it in my notes for OoT but haven't worked it in verbatim but Madara would call him "ruthlessly optimistic " and while that's tinged with Madara's own bias, I think it fits quite well.

What I hate about them:

Hashirama is stubbornly optimistic LOL. It's a double-edged sword and I think by the time he reached adulthood in a canon setting, Hashirama was so desperate for there to be peace he maintained his "everything will work out" attitude when he otherwise shouldn't have. There were the concerns with Madara and the Uchiha, his own brothers views that he certainly should have recognized could become a problem, and, after depending on when Tobirama took on students/how old they were, the possibility of biases being passed down and a Danzo like figure coming to power. However this was not Hashirama's responsibility alone to fix. I don't think, despite his love, Hashirama alone could have kept Madara in a village that hated him and a clan that distrusted him. Tobirama was an adult and let his own bias pass under a veil of "logic" and passed that, either intentionally or unintentionally down to his students. None of this is Hashirama's fault, but I think part of the canon story being a tragedy was he was blinded by a bright, hopeful future that he failed to see the early signs right in front of him.

Favorite Moment/Quote:

"To me, Madara was like a gift from the divine."

Even thinking about it makes me melt. It's so sweet and really emphasizes how much Madara means to him. 🥺

What I would like to see more focus on:

In fics? Hashirama's mental health and how his childhood affected him. Most of the long fics I've read focus on Madara. Which I understand, Madara has an arc into becoming a villain while Hashirama is just kinda "there" and it's easy for him to fulfill a support role to helping Madara in canon Au fics. A sort of unshakeable, always optimistic stone for Madara to depend on and stop his downward spiral into villainy. But, what makes hashimada so great for me is that Madara and Hashirama are equals. There will be times one falters and needs to depend on the other, and they're capable of giving each other that support. It'd also be great to see Hashirama struggle yet continue to choose optimism and compassion time after time because that feels more weighty and important than an eternally optimistic characterization that never wavers.

Headcanon wise...this isn't something I've found but desperately want to see (and will come up in all of my own aus) is the connection between the god tree and the god of shinobi who's famed ninjutsu is wood release and who's cells can be used for everything under the sun and are specifically needed to control the gedo statue / ten-tails. 👀 Look when I got back into Naruto and only vaguely knew about the war arc plot I thought Kishimoto was Doing Something with that. He was not. I am.

What I would like to see less focus on:

This is pretty much mentioned above but Hashirama as mainly a support for Madara rather than getting his own (non romantic) arcs in long canon Au fics. Headcanon wise, this is such a small nitpick, but Hashirama constantly being the one described as warm whereas Madara is cold. The big tree can *retain* heat, but he pales in comparison to Madara's ability to *generate* heat.

Favorite pairing with:

Hashimada (Hashirama x Madara)

No one should be surprised. I can wax prose about this for days but it's about ultimately finding someone else in a terrible world that *understands* you that you can grow with and support. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers and battle couples so guess what's right up my alley?

Favorite friendship:

Canon/BoaF- Hashirama & Mito

I know Madara & Mito is more popular, and I do love their dynamic but christ Hashirama needs friends outside Madara and Tobirama and I think they'd be good friends. Canon!Mito would provide a good level-headed perspective and wouldn't have the messy, complicated history like the three founders have together and it'd be good for Hashirama to get a break from that. BoaF!Mito and Hashirama are cousins their relationship eventually progresses to a sibling-like bond. They’re quite protective of each other and gossip endlessly together. Mito’s not as good as gardening, but they do it together and incorporate Uzumaki sealing techniques for certain houseplant decorations. Mito also might know about Madara 👀 

OoT-Hashirama & Sakura or Hashirama & Sai

His and Sakura's relationship is p similar to how I would characterize his and Mito's but with the added hilarity of Sakura being his "student" yet having 0 deference for him once they actually get to the "teaching" part (surprise: Hashirama's most uttered lines are "you do the thing, you know the thing, you know you just...do it. The thing. Madara "translates" a lot of their sessions.) Hashirama and Sai antagonize each other constantly and he *will* tease Sai into oblivion as any older brother would. Tobirama never reacted to Hashirama's mischief in ~fun~ ways and he felt bad about messing with Itama, who was even more emotional than he was and Kawarama, who hero-worshipped him. Sai is the perfect "if anyone messes with you I will personally make them regret being born yet *I* will tease you mercilessly to my hearts content" kind of little brother.

NOTP:

Hashitobi (Hashirama x Tobirama)

I don't do incest. At all. Even "non-incest" aus where they aren't technically related squick me out.

Favorite headcanon:

Hashirama can Speak to the trees.

Either humorously or seriously, I love this kinda, sorta, maybe not quite human power.

.

.

Madara

What I love about them:

Madara is kind and does his best to do what he thinks is right. The “kind” point is a lot of Hashirama talking/flashbacks and the “good” intention behind the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Making everyone a “winner” in the dreamworld, while absolutely insane and full of holes, is odd for a villain’s motivation. His role in the war arc is mostly focused on watching him wreck absolutely everyone he comes into contact with but I love Hashirama’s flashbacks and the glimpses of kid!Madara we get. Madara believed in his philosophy from a lifetime of pain that ended in him losing everything and being manipulated but he was still seeking a way to “help” the most people he could. He’s such a rich character that makes it easy to want to imagine other what-if scenarios where things turned out just a bit differently.

What I hate about them:

Madara takes all responsibility onto himself. This is more speculation because we don’t get Madara’s POV of his childhood or any significant scenes with the clan. However, I think this is one of the primary roots of most of Madara’s problems. If he blamed himself for mistakes that weren’t technically his, he could get into a cycle where he only blames himself and doesn’t seek help/support when he should have and purposefully reduces his support circle because he becomes paranoid that he won’t be able to protect them. A smaller issue that is both about Madara and not is he didn’t fall victim to the Talk no Jutsu, but was Madara aware of what was happening when he was possessed(?) by Kaguya? I forgot but if he wasn’t...I don’t think he’d agree Hashirama’s way was the right way at the end, merely his way was wrong. Because, in Madara’s point of view, the village may have been “better” (used very loosely) than becoming food/power for an alien goddess but it wasn’t good. It wasn’t the solution. Hashirama saying they were both wrong in some way saved the scene but Madara still jumped back to Hashirama’s dream being the right one too quickly imo. 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

“What are you going to do about the second [meteor] Onoki?” 

I’m sorry, that was just hilarious. We see this man slaughter an entire division and drop a meteor from the sky...two kages desperately try to stop it and it looks like they managed to succeed and he just...cool. What about the second? Really cemented Madara is Here and he is Dramatic. A close second fav is him flying across the battlefield to confront Hashirama only for the “I’ll deal with you later” line. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

I really love it when fics fill in the blanks of Madara’s childhood/his time with the Uchiha so that’s always a plus for me. The other thing is Hashirama calls Madara a “fundamentally kind man” and according to Tobirama the Uchiha feel love “too deeply” so I like fics that do focus on these aspects of Madara’s personality while staying true to his prickly demeanor. For headcanons I love, love, love exploring kekkei genkai/ninjutsu/genjutsu and how they individually affect people/clans. Digging deeper so that “fire affinity” means constantly running hot/pushing into possibly having fire resistance/unable to distinguish “too hot” / or even affinity acting like a secondary blood type so even if two people had AB blood if one had a water affinity and the other fire their blood would be incompatible. Also the mundane ways powers can be used (I have some Ideas for non-combat genjustu applications that the Uchiha use and those will come up in OoT 👀)

What I would like to see less focus on:

This again kinda ties into the Hashirama segments, but Madara completely depending on Hashirama and Hashirama alone for happiness. Especially in long AUs where he’s still in Konoha but has a poor relationship with the Uchiha. That’s fine starting out! But if the fic ends or doesn’t seriously work on improving that relationship it just sits a bit weird with me bc I don’t think Madara could be truly happy in that situation. (NSFW start) The other thing I see commonly is Madara is extremely passive/submissive in bed with Hashirama which is...weird to me? There’s also a reoccurring thing where he doesn’t have a lot of experience but Hashirama does and this leads to embarrassment and the aforementioned passive/submissiveness. I understand lack of experience can be embarrassing and I do believe Madara could be embarrassed, but instead of withdrawing into himself I think he’d push through it with something close to bravado and his usual single-minded intensity, for better or worse. I do think Madara usually bottoms in his and Hashirama’s relationship but both of them are as enthusiastic about sex as they are fighting and neither is especially submissive or dominant. (NSFW end)

Favorite pairing with:

Hashimada (Hashirama x Madara)

See absolutely everything else 😂 

Favorite friendship:

Canon/BoaF- Madara & Naori or Madara & Hikkaku 

I really like focusing on the Uchiha clan and exploring the dynamics within it. We get nothing about Madara’s early life outside of Hashirama so this is almost completely speculation. For the angst of canon, I like Madara being close to his clan only to lose them after his friendship with Hashirama is revealed bc he awakened his sharingan over Hashirama and that can’t be easily hidden. For BoaF, a large part of it is exploring the clans’ cultures before they made the village so this necessitates actually fleshing out said clans. Naori and Izuna are v similar in personality and both live to prank Madara and annoy him, but they hardly ever team up bc they start squabbling amongst themselves. Hikakku is stoic and calm in contrast to Naori’s mania and Madara’s intensity but he keeps track of every little favor and Madara dreads the day he’ll act on them because he knows it’ll result in something embarrassing for him. But like all BoaF!Uchiha, they’re fiercely protective of one another and you really don’t want to insult the wrong person. 

OoT - Madara & Naruto or Madara & Sai

I really Madara and Naruto’s dynamic, it’s very entertaining and fun for me to write and they’re both positive influences on each other. Madara gets more people to smother with his brand of affection and Naruto gets early recognition and training. Their weird non-training shenanigans (coupon collecting, gaming, etc.) also is p amusing. Madara and Sai have a similar relationship but I really like writing theirs from Sai’s POV bc he insists that he doesn’t feel close/like when Madara treats him like a little brother when he really does. 

NOTP:

Madatobi (Madara x Tobirama)

Logically, I know why this pairing is popular. Fanfic is saturated with the enemies to lovers trope yet emotionally I Do Not Understand it. Personally, I don’t enjoy toxic relationships, to read or write. And, to me, that’s what a close canon Madara and Tobirama pairing would be. Tobirama tried to convince Hashirama to kill him, he killed Izuna, even if it was in war, and I don’t think Madara could or would get over that. If Tobirama has similar attitudes about the Uchiha it makes it worse. AUs exist to rewrite this, of course, but I still don’t enjoy their romantic chemistry. At best, I like Tobirama and Madara as reluctant frenemies who insult each other and try to one-up each other. 

Favorite headcanon:

Madara is fire proof. 

I have a whole rant about this in OoT’s author notes 😂 Sasuke’s Amaterasu should have been a serious threat when it hit him. Instead the man just lets his clothes fall off then kicks their asses. He’s fire proof.

.

In response to the ask game:

[orionwhispers]

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence. 

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

[gusu-emilu]

orange segments

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Qin Su (one-sided, sorry JC)

Summary: Jiang Cheng and Qin Su share a few moments (and an orange) with Jin Ling and each other.

Rated G, Fluff, brief mention of canon-typical violence

Read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

* * *

A-Ling passes the orange back and forth between his tiny hands, nearly dropping it once. His eyes shine bright with mirth at this simple game.

He's still so little. Jiang Cheng has seen plenty of children in Lotus Pier, yet he is always surprised by how small A-Ling is if he thinks about it too much. Both of his hands, still fiddling with the orange, could fit in Jiang Cheng’s. His nose is a little bump; his oversized ears stick out and somehow make him look even smaller.

Perhaps it is so difficult to process how little A-Ling is because it seems like every time Jiang Cheng visits Jinlintai, A-Ling is a bit bigger. Today he's two years old—and a half, as he’s been proclaiming.

With a sudden peal of laughter, A-Ling places the orange on the floor and rolls it to Qin Su, who is kneeling in front of him with Jiang Cheng. The round fruit gently thuds into her knee. “Shenshen!” A-Ling calls. “Make it for me?”

“Alright,” Qin Su says softly. She glances at Jiang Cheng with a smirk, then picks up the orange, cleans it, and begins peeling it. “How come you don’t make your jiujiu do any work?”

“He makes me do plenty,” Jiang Cheng counters before A-Ling can erupt into one of his new favorite remarks to offend him. It doesn’t make a difference.

“Jiujiu is too busy pouting!” A-Ling says through giggles, and Qin Su laughs with him. He undoubtedly learned this jab from her.

Qin Su has only been in Jinlintai for several months, her lavish wedding to Jin Guangyao still a fresh memory in the cultivation world, yet she has taken a liking to teasing Jiang Cheng quite rapidly. Somehow, they’d become friends over A-Ling after just a few times meeting each other. Qin Su, eager for a child of her own and perhaps even more eager to make pleasant acquaintances outside her maids—a difficult task in the snake pit of Jinlintai—latched onto him and A-Ling quickly. Although Jiang Cheng is not sure how he counts as a pleasant acquaintance.

As for how he ended up taking a liking to Qin Su…he supposes that anyone who treats A-Ling well will inevitably gain his favor. The fact that Qin Su is warm-hearted and sensible, intelligent and down-to-earth enough to see through the vacuous opulence of her new clan, and stubbornly cheeky enough to poke fun at Jiang Cheng of all people—and also that maybe Jiang Cheng is a bit lonely—that could have something to do with it, too. Potentially.

He might also have a miniscule crush on her.

But Qin Su is a married woman, expecting her own son in the coming months, and even if three quarters of the matchmakers have blacklisted Jiang Cheng like he’s some threat to womankind, he isn’t so much of a monster that he would dare disrespect Qin Su’s honor. A crush is not an idea he can entertain.

They're just friends who happen to look after the same little boy.

“If I did pout,” Jiang Cheng says, shooting a stern look at Qin Su, “which I don't, it wouldn’t incapacitate me so much that I can’t peel an orange.”

“Ah, this is good to know,” Qin Su says as she delicately removes another strip of orange peel, then holds the fruit out to Jiang Cheng. “Then I suppose your scowl right now will not hinder you from finishing my work for me.”

A-Ling cackles. Little brat. He probably doesn’t even know why he’s laughing.

The boy watches with twinkling eyes as Jiang Cheng sighs and takes the orange. The bittersweet fragrance of orange rind swirls around Jiang Cheng as he peels the fruit, while Qin Su starts playing a clapping game with A-Ling.

These moments in A-Ling’s room every few weeks hold Jiang Cheng over until the summers, when A-Ling lives in Lotus Pier. Although, now that Jiang Cheng gotten used to Qin Su's company, he’s beginning to wonder if he will miss her during the months he no longer needs to travel to visit A-Ling.

He’s formed comradery with his senior disciples during the war—the cultivators he’d trust with his life—in a way he’d never been able to while he was still the sect heir during times of peace. Watching your home be burned to the ground and fighting back-to-back soaked in blood and mourning the lost can build strong bonds with one's clansmen, if not happy ones.

But this is different.

This might be the closest glimpse of something like family that Jiang Cheng has had since…since two years ago.

Peace, for once.

Half an hour later, A-Ling falls asleep, and Qin Su tells Jiang Cheng about her hometown as they watch over him. Her voice is soft and quiet as she speaks about trips to the ocean and the time she and a friend found a giant sea creature’s fossils sticking out of a crumbled cliffside after an earthquake. Jiang Cheng tells her about the boat racing games he’d play on the lake and the time he got buried under lotus pads, although he doesn’t mention who accompanied him back then.

It’s nice, to share these lost memories, with a child’s cheerfulness between them to break what otherwise might be sorrowful. Qin Su has been separated from her hometown. Jiang Cheng lives in an empty hometown.

Sometimes, he wonders what his life might be like now if it had been he, not Jin Guangyao, who saved Qin Su during the Sunshot Campaign, and if she had pursued him instead. He had never truly wanted a wife (or he at least tries not to think about the one time he considered it), but if marriage could be like this…comfortable, like sitting beside a friend…

What is he doing thinking this way? Even if these wandering delusions weren't about a married woman, he has seen how marriages fail. With his days and his entire mind revolving around his sect when he isn't with A-Ling—or isn't wallowing in his own miseries or isn't lashing out in anger—he's just tired. Callous. He has so little care to offer that the matchmakers were probably right to blacklist him.

Qin Su slides an orange slice between her lips. “Jiang-zongzhu. May I ask—your birth name is Jiang Cheng?”

Surprised by the sudden question, Jiang Cheng just nods.

“Cheng as in chengzi (orange)?” She smiles wryly.

He crosses his arms. “No. Cheng as chengqing (clear). No parents would name a sect heir after a fruit.”

“I think it would have nice imagery. A river of oranges to go with the lotus lake.” She separates a piece of fruit and hands it to him. Although he glares at her, he takes the orange segment, careful not to brush her fingers. But just as he is about to eat it, she adds, “It could also be inspiration to give the Jiang Clan robes a makeover.”

His hand drops to his side, fist closing over the orange segment. “You don’t like our robes?” he asks with more distress in his voice than he intended.

She laughs, eyes bright. “I do. Don’t worry. Violet is a nice color.” She focuses her gaze back down on the orange half she holds in her hands, lips quirked. “You know that I was only pretending to insult you; do not insult me. Eat the piece I gave you.”

“Hmph.” Jiang Cheng pops the orange slice in his mouth and looks away.

“Thank you, Chengzi.”

“You—”

She shushes him. “If you start yelling, A-Ling will wake up.”

Across the room, A-Ling breathes deeply, eyes closed, one side of his faced smushed against his hand. The sight calms Jiang Cheng, although he is still offended.

“Have I ever yelled at you?” he asks.

“You haven't,” Qin Su says thoughtfully. “You can be a bit loud, though.”

Heat rises to his cheeks.

Qin Su doesn’t look over, but somehow she notices the faint blush, as if she has some magical sixth sense for detecting embarrassment. “I enjoy the color violet, I enjoy the company of people who are a bit loud.” She gestures toward A-Ling with the orange in her hand. “So does he, when he's not napping."

"Understood,” Jiang Cheng says, and nods. "A-Ling...A-Ling likes your company, too."

Qin Su smiles and hands over another orange segment. Holding back a smile of his own, Jiang Cheng eats it quietly.

The comfort of a friend, and a glimpse of something like family, is already satisfying enough.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3! :D

江澄 - Jiāng Chéng - "river" and "clear, transparent" 江橙 - sounds exactly the same! - "river" and "orange" hence the "river of oranges" joke shoutout to @qi-ling for mentioning this a few days ago lol

I'm not sure if shenshen (father's younger brother's wife) is what Jin Ling would call Qin Su but I think it's right? Feel free to correct me.

[barnesandco]

Go for Gold

Bucky becomes seriously affected by an Olympic athlete during his time at the Summer Olympics in Tokyo, and makes a desperate attempt to get to know her better.

This is my entry for @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ ‘s #marveldiversitychallenge. My prompt was the song Swimming Pool Summer by Capital Cities.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader

Warnings: Blushy Bucky lol.

A/N: Whitney, thank you so much for providing this opportunity to write characters we are not so familiar with, allowing us to expand our horizons and crucially, working to make this space more inclusive for people of color. It was an amazing initiative to take and I’m so glad I participated (albeit a little late -- sorry)

This is also a wishful glimpse into the Olympics we never got this year.

Tokyo is a cornucopia of sensory overstimulation, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky is glad for it. It’s like the Stark Expo raised to the power of ten, the bright lights of the city and its signs mingling with the bright jerseys worn by fans. The streets are packed with sound and celebration, and his only guide grounding him is the heat he feels along his right side, where Sam walks beside him.

Pressed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, his brother in arms is today a brother in merriment and sports enthusiasm, as they make their way to the swim hall for the next event on their list. The women’s 50 meter freestyle. Bucky feels like he’s floating, cheeks aching while he listens to Sam talk about childhood dares that forced him to brave the cold waters of the cleanest part of the Hudson he and his cousins could find. All the while, the beat of a Xhosa chant from a crowd of South Africans syncs with his heartbeat and he inhales deeper as they pass a samosa cart.

Bucky doesn’t mention working at the docks and witnessing kids decades before Sam complete the same challenges; it’s too grandpa-ish an anecdote. Not that Sam would really notice, not right now, at least. Captain America has fallen silent, his focus on the swim hall, big, brown eyes bright in the cerulean light reflected from the water below.

He snaps out of it, out of that youthful glee at another item crossed off the bucket list, as they sit down. “Hey, how are you feeling?” Sam asks, once they’ve settled down, and they have time to breathe for themselves, and not to inhale all the amazement that surrounds them.

Bucky smiles. “Couldn’t be better,” and that’s all he has time for before the swimmers are walking out and the crowd is cheering behind him and he is fixated on one, particular Olympian. Your posture encaptivates Bucky, because you stands like you are ready to dive. 

You enter the water like Bucky does his apartment, with a sigh of relief at being home. It is transfixing to see someone return to their element, and some egotistical part of him wonders if he looks anywhere near as ethereal as this swimmer. Only your head and shoulders are visible now, brown skin shimmering in the reflection of the water, and you tuck your swim cap tighter on your head the same way Bucky does his gloves before battle. Your face gleams with determination set in steel.

And then there is only quiet, and the gentle lapping of ripples against the pool walls, and everyone holds their breath. The starter pistol fires, and you’re off. Bucky’s eyes follow you and only you, your grace unparalleled by your lithe movements, like a knife through butter, and moments stretch into hours that are over all too soon.

But then Sam is screaming next to him. There’s something about a world record and the audience is on its feet behind him but he sees only you. You hoist yourself out of the pool, beaming brighter than the sun. A towel is placed around your shoulders and you laugh exuberantly when your coach whispers something in your ear as she hugs you. The sound imprints itself into his mind with the intensity of a magnesium flare, and with it, Bucky is a complete and total goner.

-----

He does not stop thinking about you. Can’t help it, even when he and Sam have attended two more events and he has had dinner and Sam has left for bed. Something tugs him to the water. 

The sun has long set and the velvet blanket of night has drawn itself over the sky, tucked neatly into the corners of the horizon where he can see Tokyo spilling over the edge of his view. The city’s size is doubled by the calm reflection he can see from Hinode Pier, and he finds himself sitting on a jetty, above water pitch black save for a cluster of fireflies nearby. 

There are steps behind him, and he tenses, more so when he sees the reflection in the water. It’s you, your posture and height unmistakable.

“Hi, mind if I join you?” You ask, and he stands to pretend he didn’t notice you earlier. The smile dancing like waves on your face tells him you’re not fooled, and he thinks the heat rising to his face surely won’t help, either. 

“Of course.” 

You sit down, and he follows, and the line holding your shoulders so tightly eases as your legs swing over the water. The fireflies look like fireworks -- magnesium flares -- in your eyes. An ease washes over you as you graze the bottom of your sneakers over the surface of the water.

“Congratulations,” Bucky says after a while, and you close your eyes and laugh, rub your eyelids with the heel of your palms.

“Thank you,” you say, removing your hands from your face, using them to gather your braids back and at your neck again, laughing again. “Sorry,” you say, shaking your head, and he wonders why. “I just can’t believe it. A world record.”

Your laughter is contagious and addictive, and Bucky tries to elicit more of it, toeing the line of your acquaintanceship delicately. “I was talking about the medals you won today, but yeah, congratulations with that, too.” It works. You smile, this time directly at him, and he can’t breathe with the full strength of your beauty directed right at him.

Tilting your head, you ask, “You watched me race? Were you rooting for me?” You joke back, but Bucky nods seriously as he considers your question.

“I wasn’t going to root for anyone because I don’t know the first thing about swimming, so it was as impressive as flying to me,” he begins, and thinks about how he really should be used to flying considering who his best friend is, “but I saw you in the 50 meter today and, well, I’ve always cheered for the winning team. Wasn’t going to change that now,” he says.

Your eyes flit between both of his, and the warmth emanating from you is enough to combat the chill of the night near the water. “What about not knowing anything about swimming? Are you willing to change that?” You ask and Bucky looks at the water below, and his face, intrepid, staring back in the dim light.

“Why not?” He says with a shrug, and you grin a starlight smile back at him, and then stand to pull a swim cap out of your hoodie before taking it off, leaving you in a sports t-shirt and yoga pants. The water splashes onto him as you dive off the jetty, and Bucky watches you giggle as you break the surface and come up for air, gesturing for him to join you.

The water is probably cold, but you’re in it, and he removes his windbreaker too, joining you more hesitantly. The waves welcome him, lapping over his t-shirt and he’s glad he’s wearing the synthetic skin today, so that you can be just two strangers, without the weight of your reputations tugging at you.

You cup your hands around your mouth as you paddle backwards and call, “Let’s just warm up,” and Bucky follows in a clumsy breaststroke, as you take off.

His breath is releasing in pants and the jetty is a thin line in the distance, his body warmer by the time you stop. There is no sand beach or wood pier here, only a small stretch of marshland. The cattails sway gently in a slow breeze behind you, and you look happier than you did in the pool, your eyes glimmering.

“You need to move your arms like this,” you say, and demonstrate steps that Bucky then mimics, but you shake your head and move closer. Your hands hold his arms gently, moulding his movements to look less like he is hacking at the water and more like he is pushing at it to propel himself forth. 

Voice low, as if imparting secrets, you speak softly in his ear and are kind in your corrections. Once satisfied with his technique, you ask for him to swim beside you, and begin to move back towards the jetty you came from. 

The air is calm, and then his stomach growls loudly, prompting another peal of laughter from you, as he laughs nervously. “Didn’t you have dinner?” You wonder.

“Guess the swimming worked up some more appetite.”

Treading water, your head and shoulders bob up and down, as do his, and a new affection blooms as each of your circular ripples meet. “You wanna go for a midnight snack?”  

He thinks about what has brought the two of you there, a restlessness, a soulful ache for something unnameable. The night has ended in a way he did not expect, but he is better for it, and hopes you are, too. Something is blooming, with all the soft elegance of cherry blossoms and the deep understanding of hearts resonating with each other. Something he wants to see grow further and take root. He needs to know what your favorite food is, what it took for you to get to where you are, what you like to do in your free time. 

Bucky wants to see more of you you, this version of you, the athlete away from the competition, the woman in her element, the teacher with a student, because he is drowning in all of you, so he could not be any happier to answer: “I’d love to,” and have you smile like the Pacific Ocean, wide and warm and welcoming, in response. 

[deans-haunted-baby]

Curious. What do you mean by Dust till Dawn going against it's Characters? I know I have my own feelings, or confusion, with how they left Kate's story.

From Dusk Till Dawn effectively character assassinated every single character in the very last episode including Kate Fuller. No one is acting like themselves in that series finale it's like some deranged fanfic writer came aboard and hijacked the show while no one was looking. If you thought 15x18 & 15x19 of Supernatural were bad and believe me they really are; those episodes are minorly salvageable against the slaughterhouse that Dusk 3x10 was. It utterly contradicts and ignores everything the show put forward in all 3 seasons. I will never watch that episode again.

I'll first explain what that piece of shit did to the show's lead protagonists, the Gecko brothers. Regardless of how you or anyone else feels about Supernatural's series finale; that show was a saint to Sam and Dean's storyline beginning to end compared to how From Dusk Till Dawn definitively butchered Richie and Seth. I'm sad saying this because Zane Holtz and DJ Controna are outstanding as these characters. I freaking love their chemistry man, it's a great rival to J2! They're the badass dark clones of the Winchesters.  Their arc starts out fascinatingly complex because they went from cold-blooded criminals/bad guys and meanwhile during their escape over the Mexican border with this hostage family the audience is told pretty quick by Professor Aiden Tanner that the Geckos are destined to become these foresworn warriors The Mayan Hero Twins in an ancient prophecy (based on real Mesoamerican lore) who battle the Underworld. So right away the show is telling us ahead where Seth and Richie are suppose to end up in their journey and when you introduce a storyline this big I expect a satisfying payoff.

At the end of season 1, Richie Gecko is *SPOILER ALERT* transformed into a culebra (snake-vampire) while Seth Gecko remains human symbolizing their night and day Hero Twin counterparts from the legend. And they're separated in the first half of season 2 where both try to navigate this new supernatural world they've stumbled on individually. What they find, no different than the Winchesters, is that neither can function properly without the other making their destiny all the more valid. That season is practically constructed like their swan song to the criminal lifestyle since the brothers are meant to become more than crooks; and since Richie's a vampire they can't ever go back to basics. Their adopted father aka uncle Eddie actually says the line "this is my swan song" in 2x07 to Seth and Richie in reference to their final heist together which is not a coincidence. That's the writers telling us that the Gecko Brothers' role in the show is going to shift from anti-heroes to heroes very soon. Eddie and Kate Fuller's fates in S2 act as the primary catalysts for this transition taking shape in the finale.

Going into season 3 it's business as usual for the boys until the prophecy of the twins officially rips a hole in the damn universe via demon queen Amaru. Who's now possessing Kate. Throughout that season Seth and Richie embark on a journey of heroism; find themselves battling monsters, actually saving civilians and dealing with their own personal demons (guilt and remorse over past sins). That year is presented as their redemption arc and final phase into their new role. No one ever tells them about their destiny (despite most of the other characters knowing) but we as the audience are already aware as we watch the brothers in action. The best episode is without a doubt 3x06 the crown jewel of From Dusk Till Dawn because it's about overcoming the darkness inside. And who best represents that than Richie; the show's most important central character whom began the series as a deadly clairvoyant criminal into the tortured vampire hero struggling with his own humanity. Now I won't spoil the whole episode for anyone who hasn't seen it or the show in general but it's an incredible moment of character development for both the Gecko brothers. Not only does it cement their powerful bond it's the episode that defines who these two are once and for all. The ones who lead the battle between good and evil; keep the balance of light and darkness. One day I plan to do an entire analysis of that episode because it's so fucking brilliant and shot so incredibly eerie at the same time 😁

You want to know what 3x10 does to these characters? It shits all over their entire storyline and pisses away THREE FUCKING SEASONS of character development. Just flushes it all down the toilet rendering everything they've ever done up to that point completely pointless! Their destiny which is the WHOLE POINT OF THE SHOW is suddenly dropped last minute and the Geckos hit reset on their former criminal escapades; dragging Kate along with them. I hate that finale with the fire of a thousand suns for what it does to Richie and Seth 😡

Moving on to Carlos Madrigal. He is the best villain character in the history of show villains hands down. I can actually say that without blinking. Wilmer Valderama is phenomenal, he steals the show as Carlos. He's is so freaking awesome, evil and badass! I just want to keep seeing this man tear things apart while being the sexy asshole he is 😈For all intents and purposes I don't want to spoil his whole storyline on the show for those following me in case they're interested. But what I will say is 3x10 destroys this character; so don't watch it if you want to keep the memory of who he was alive. I'm actually depressed over what was done to him as much as I feel sorry for Wilmer having to perform that shitty script. It's laughable in a very bad way. Gotta hand it to the writers and showrunners of FDTD they certainly knew how to humiliate their best characters in this series. Carlos basically goes from charismatic yet lethal Hannibal Lecter to a very captain obvious Gandolf caricature. Yah you heard that right, it's really fucking sad.

Next we have Freddie Gonzalez; the audience's avatar into the series. This character is connected to everyone on the show for a reason because of the crucial part he plays in this universe. The "Peacekeeper" destined to police the line between the supernatural world from the human world. In the beginning he's a Texas deputy on a quest to avenge the murder of his father figure/partner Earl McGraw via the Gecko Brothers. But once he steps in that territory of monsters there's no going back. And FDTD repeatedly tells him and the audience this in the first 2 seasons. But then 3x10 pulls the ultimate fuckery by giving him the most cliched, nonsensical hallmark ending effectively cancelling out his entire purpose in the series. He instantly forgets that he ever cared about Kate, watching her bleed out on the ground, then leaves the Geckos high and dry rushing his family (who isn't injured) to the hospital. And he stays there while the battle continues 😣

Kate and Scott Fuller OMG words cannot describe my anger over what was done to them so I'll make it fast. I'll begin with Kate the bright light and heart of the series. Her arc in the first two seasons is excellent. It's emotionally driven because she begins as an ordinary girl in broken yet seemingly-happy family to a young woman finding her way around the supernatural world maintaining her faith and moral compos while trying to help her brother after he's *SPOILER ALERT* been turned into a vampire; paralleling the Geckos's situation. Scott being only a 16 year old kid, like Richie, struggles immensely after his transformation; searching for meaning as a cursed individual and coping with his duality. He was already different to begin with so being a vampire adds some interesting layers to his character.

Btw Kate plays a vital role in Richie and Seth's lives, though in my opinion is more strongly connected to Richie. The show even goes as far as developing the early glimpses of a romantic arc between Kate and Richie (seeing as they kiss twice) with angst at the end of season 2 that is never resolved. You want to know why it wasn't? Not only does season 3 mute Kate's voice and agency but 3x10 ruins her character and demolishes her whole arc with Richie (who spent all of season 3 trying to save her) at the last second due to fan pressure of those who shipped her with Seth. They don't exchange one word nor barely look at one another it's like seasons 1&2 never happened. This is the biggest fuck you to fans of these characters I've ever witnessed in a series and they did my boys Adam and Michael so dirty in Supernatural. Poor Scott whom the show enjoyed kicking around all season barely gets a thing to do in that series finale either than listening to his sister and Seth gab about prom lol. Yah you heard me I'm not making this shit up I swear. Then he gets abandoned by Kate while she goes off to be a bank robber with the character assassinated versions of Seth and Richie. How extraordinary 😖

Santanico Pandemonium is really the only character in the series who manages to get out unscathed. HOWEVER her arc is handled very poorly beginning to end. They set up an arc between her and Seth that also goes absolutely nowhere. Give her zero closure with Richie whom she sired, dated and used in S2. And randomly throw her in a scene with Kate that makes no fucking sense after these two had nothing to do with one another all series. On top of that Santanico is barely in season 3 so by the time the show wraps her arc feels incomplete.

Other characters go missing that no one notices, the new bad guy whom they've set up at the end is just left hanging. And Richie Gecko, you know the show’s other lead, is horribly sidelined after 3x06 to make way for the Seth Gecko solo show. When I say FDTD series finale is bad I mean it's really fucking terrible and blasphemous.

[ggukkiedae]

could you write angst 11&14 with yoonmi and hobi?? i don’t want makdungie or sunshine hurt but i need some angst lol

angst with homi? something rare but hereyago luv 🥰 i felt kinda sad writing this bc of them being each other’s rays of sunshine aksjdhfh but fighting with your friends and family is inevitable 🤧

this is kinda like in the same timeline as that joon drabble i posted, just a few days after

prompts: “Nobody’s seen you in days.”, “Can you shut up for once in your life?”

“Yoonmi, open the door,” Hoseok called through the studio door.

Yoonmi unplugged her headphones and played her music louder. She didn’t want to talk to anyone at that moment. She had been staying at her brother’s place for the past few days, and the boys would only catch glimpses of her when she walked to her studio. All seven of them wished rehearsals would come by faster so they could see their makdungie again.

“Yoonmi-ah. Please let me in. Nobody’s seen you in days. I just need to make sure you’re okay. We all want to know how you’re doing from you and not from Yoonsung hyung.”

“Can you shut up for once in your life?”

Yoonmi had slammed her hand on the pause button, leaving her in silence. She didn’t mean to shout that at Hoseok. She sighed and buried her face in her hands. That was until she heard beeping from her locks. She turned and saw Hoseok got in. There was a tall figure who walked past the door, one she easily recognized. Manager Sejin helped Hoseok get into her studio. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you,” Hoseok began while closing the door behind him, “I just want to check on you and actually hear from you. I know you’re mad, but—“

“Mad?” Yoonmi let out a tired laugh. “While Namjoon oppa was discussing the whole thing, you didn’t say anything. It was almost like you agreed with it!”

“I didn’t agree or disagree,” Hoseok explained to her. “I needed to think about it.”

“Again with the thinking about it,” Yoonmi groaned. “We are in this together. All eight of us. For most of my life that I can remember, it’s been me and my seven oppas, but now it feels like that’s getting taken away from me, too!”

Yoonmi could feel her tears welling uo in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She had shed enough tears over being left behind before. She wasn’t about to do it again. If Hoseok noticed her about to cry, he didn’t say anything.

“You know we’d never leave you,” Hoseok gave her a sympathetic look.

“You say that now,” she began, “but watch if this actually pushes through. One by one, you’re all going to just—“

She cut herself off with a frustrated groan. She looked back at the music she was working on. Her next solo comeback. She frowned at it then put on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and stormed out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m cancelling my comeback,” she spat out. “I’m not doing solo promotions. Not while this is happening. Don’t bother waiting for me here. I’m going back to Yoonsung oppa after this.”

She slammed her studio door behind her leaving Hoseok in her studio. He glanced at her open computer before sighing and saving her progress for her then turning it off. The meeting really messed up their dynamics as a team. He needed to talk to Yoongi about this before they get to Namjoon.

[starshine583]

Crossing a Line

(SUPER late to do this, but I finally decided to name the fic lol anyay, here’s part 16 of Le Paon! Sorry it’s a day late, but I hope you all enjoy!)

Part 1 / Part 15 / Part 17

Le Paon landed on a chimney top and frantically searched the city streets. The akuma was probably being formed at that very minute. He needed to find Marinette and get her off the streets before the battle started. If something happened to her because he was floundering around for some pieces of jewelry-

“PEOPLE OF PARIS!”

Le Paon jerked in the direction of the booming voice, where a woman stood in the middle of the street. Or, at least, he assumed it was a woman. The person’s figure was too covered in a dripping, green slime to really tell.

“YOU ALL WANTED A MONSTER.” They bellowed. Yes, that shrieking was definitely on the feminine side. “I GAVE YOU ONE, PUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO IT, BUT DID YOU ALL THANK ME? NO! YOU TOLD ME IT NEEDED TO BE SCARIER, MORE REALISTIC!”

The green slime ball aimed her arms towards the sky. “HOW’S THIS FOR REALISTIC?!”

The akuma thrust her arms forward, causing slime to shoot off in random directions. The slime covered the building and the cars, sticking to them like glue. A few people tried to escape, but within seconds, the akuma had them pinned to the cement with her goo. So far, struggle appeared to be futile.

Le Paon started looking faster.

He passed over the alleyways of the entire street, then jumped to a few other streets and searched through those too. Panicked citizens were running and screaming everywhere, but Marinette was nowhere to be found. Where could she have gone? Why couldn’t he see her? What if she’d gotten hit already, and he missed it?

In a newfound panic of his own, Le Paon rushed back to the akuma, only to find Ladybug and Chat Noir fighting it head on.

The heroes were using their weapons to avoid the slime balls, while the akuma kept shooting. Underneath the akuma’s feet, though, slime was slowly seeping off of her body and climbing up the building wall that the heroes were on. A trap.

She looks like she’s got this. Le Paon thought, continuing to look around for Marinette.

It was then he spotted her. Well, not Marinette, but Allegra. She was filming him from behind a slimmed car not too far away. Le Paon ran towards her. The two girls had run off together, so Marinette had to be close by.

Allegra gasped slightly at his sudden approach, but didn’t back up. She merely stared at him with a mix of awe and a slight bit of worry.

“Where’s Ma- uh- your friend?” He asked quickly. There was no time to play games.

Allegra blinked. “You mean Marinette? I don’t know. She said we’d get better coverage if we split up.”

Le Paon let out a frantic laugh. Of course she did. Of course she did.

“Alright, alright, um..” He looked around for a moment, before pushing the camera until it was facing down. “First of all, no pictures. Second, get to safety and tell your friend to do the same.”

Allegra went to reply, but Le Paon spun on his heel and sprinted back towards the fight. He didn’t have any more time to look for Marinette. So he’d have to win- or end -this fight swiftly to make sure she didn’t get hurt. (If she wasn’t already.)

Ladybug threw her yo-yo at the akuma, easily tying them up to stop the blasts. Le Paon used the akuma’s excess sludge to slide forward and grab the yo-yo string. He caught a glimpse of Ladybug’s surprise before he yanked on the yo-yo, causing the hero to fly forward.

Unfortunately, Chat Noir managed to grab her arm in time, but the yo-yo did slip off the akuma when Ladybug lost her balance, so Ladybug’s being saved wasn’t a total loss. 

With the akuma free, Le Paon took off towards another alleway. They needed to surround the heroes, make them sweat. If he could coax their powers out of them prematurely, he might be able to figure out Ladybug’s identity when her time ran out. 

Le Paon jumped back and forth between the alley walls until he was back on the rooftops. Ladybug and Chat Noir were fighting two roofs away. What the heroes didn’t see, however, was the sludge that was ever so quietly creeping onto the rooftop. Le Paon didn’t know how they were missing it, since it was almost covering the front of the building they were standing on.

Pushing that thought aside, He charged forward and spread out his fans. It didn’t matter why they missed the sludge. The point is that they did miss it, and it would be their fatal mistake.

“Incoming!” Chat yelled as Le Paon landed on their rooftop.

Ladybug glanced behind her, briefly catching Le Paon’s gaze. “I see him! Cover me-”

Her orders were cut off with a gasp when the slime finally crawled around their ankles. 

“C-Chat!” She yelped, foolishly trying to pull herself out of it as it continued up her legs.

“I got it!” Chat Noir said, raising his hand in the air. “Cataclysm!” 

Le Paon watched the familiar, dark magic swirl around his brother’s palm. As soon as he thought about stopping the use of the power, though, Chat Noir already had his hand on the slime, and it was disintegrating.

Along with the rest of the roof.

Le Paon stumbled back as the black decay spread across the plastered rooftop. He’d seen Cataclysm a few times in action, but he’d never dared to get so close. His paranoia was proven justified too when the roof caved in on itself, bringing Le Paon with it.

A shocked cry escaped him as he grappled at the air. Debri smacked him from all sides, and his vision clouded with the dust of it. 

When his back hit the top floor, he couldn’t even gasp a second time, as the hit ripped all of the air from his lungs. He did, however, find the time to shield himself with his forearms in the two second span it took for the rest of the debri to fall on top of him.

That’s when the floor caved below him for the second time.

~~~~~~

Ladybug tried not to gag as she dug through the akuma’s slime to grab the akumatized object. She thought that cinema monster was bad, but now she almost missed him.

“There!” Chat Noir spoke up, pointing towards a small object around the akuma’s neck.

Ladybug yanked it off and promptly smashed it to the ground. As expected, an akuma fluttered out of the object.

She used her yo-yo to catch it and stood up with a relieved sigh. “I’m glad that fight’s over. I’m pretty sure I still have some slime left in my ears.”

“I couldn’t agree more, M’Lady.” Chat Noir commented. “Mind using your miraculous cure so I won’t have to take five showers when I get home?”

Ladybug chuckled and threw her Lucky charm into the air. It burst into a million, tiny ladybugs before sweeping over the city- them included -and putting everything back to the way it was.

Chat Noir shuddered. “Oh, finally! That goo was starting to find its way into uncomfortable places.”

Ladybug scrunched up her nose with a laugh. “Ew! Don’t tell me that.” 

Chat Noir gave a shrug. “It’s true.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes playfully. “Anyway, where do you think Le Paon went?” Her eyes swept over the city street they were on. “Usually, he’d come out to fight some more or we’d see him running away.”

Chat looked around as well, but he obviously wasn’t as interested- or worried -as she was. “He probably ran back to his little boss, the coward. As long as he’s out of our way now, I don’t care.”

Ladybug frowned. Chat Noir had always been more firm in his belief that Le Paon was pure evil, not that she could blame him. She’d thought the same thing until he saved her, until she found out he was actually Felix. She wanted to help him give up peacefully, but would Chat Noir allow it? 

“Chat..” She began hesitantly. “Do you think it’s possible to end all of this peacefully?”

Chat furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what if Le Paon decides to surrender? What do you think we should do?”

“Le Paon? Surrender?” Chat Noir snorted. “Come on, M’Lady, we both know that’s not going to happen. Le Paon is an incompetent criminal with no remorse. He’s not going to ‘surrender’ until he’s gotten the miraculous or we have him in handcuffs.”

Ladybug held back a grimace. That didn’t sound like a good start to Felix’s redemption.

“But what if he did? What if he decides to stop working for Hawkmoth and turn himself in?” She prompted.

Chat stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “If he really had a change of heart and decided to give up his miraculous, then maybe I could see myself being fine with him. But the fact is, that’s never going to happen Bugaboo.” 

Ladybug’s miraculous took that moment to start beeping.

She touched a hand to her earrings. “Yeah.. maybe..”

Chat Noir offered her a smile and patted her shoulder. “Hey, everything’s gonna be alright. Even if he doesn’t surrender, we’ll catch him.”

Ladybug bit her lip and nodded. What was she going to do if they did catch him? Would she have to convince Chat Noir to let him go? She couldn’t see him letting a terrorist run off without consequences if he didn’t know them.

She threw out her yo-yo, letting it wrap around a nearby chimney. There was no use in worrying about something that might not happen. “I’ll see you later, Chat.”

Chat gave a small wave and pulled out his baton. “Later, Lb.”

The two ran off in opposite directions, Chat Noir in the direction of the school, Ladybug in the direction of Master Fu’s Massage Parlor.

~~~~~~

A gasp tore itself from Le Paon as his eyes snapped open. He jolted upright and gripped his chest, hard. Where was he? Was the battle over? How did he get back onto the rooftops? Le Paon was sure he’d been…

He shook his head. The miraculous cure must have healed him, which meant the battle was over. Ladybug and Chat Noir must have taken out the akuma while he was- ahem -out. 

Le Paon started to scramble to his feet. He had no way of knowing where the heroes were now. They might have left, or they might be searching for him. Neither situation sounded pleasant. 

Just as he was wondering whether he should go home or back to school, Ladybug’s yo-yo strung out across the air, and she sailed forward a second later, her earrings beeping the whole way.

Le Paon’s eyes widened, even more so when he saw Chat Noir using his staff to volt off in the completely opposite direction. This was it. This was his chance. He could finally figure out who Ladybug was.

Le Paon was on his feet and running in moments, his thoughts of what just happened during the battle lost in the back of his mind. If he could figure out Ladybug’s identity, he could take her miraculous and convince Adrien to give up his. The battles and endless fights would be over, their mother would be alive again, and, most importantly, Marinette would be safe. 

It only took a good minute for Ladybug to land in another alleyway, as she was clearly out of time. Le Paon slid up behind a chimney from the rooftop across the street, holding his breath. Any sudden movements and this whole plan would fall apart. He couldn’t let that happen, not when he was so close. 

“Tikki, spots off.” The magic words tumbled from her lips, and Le Paon peeked a bit further around the chimney. His nerves were buzzing with anticipation as the shimmering magic melted off of her body. He’d never thought much about Ladybug’s identity, but now he couldn’t help wondering who it might be. This girl had been spoiling his Father’s plans for months, after all. She must be special somehow. 

The flash of light faded.

Le Paon’s heart stopped.

Though her pigtails had remained, the light replaced Ladybug’s spotted suit with an outfit of pink capris and a white t-shirt under a black, half-sleeved jacket. An outfit that Felix would recognize anywhere.

Oh no.

All hopes of him seeing things was dashed away when a red kwami zipped around the ravenette, chirping, “That was a close one, Marinette!”

Marinette- why Marinette?-chuckled, giving a small nod of agreement. “That it was, but I made it just in time.”

Le Paon hid behind the chimney again as she turned to jog out of the alley. Of all the people in all of Paris in all of the world- it just had to be Marinette. Then again, who else could it be? The cleverness, the strength, the agility- of course it was her. Felix honestly couldn’t imagine anyone else being Ladybug, and that made him sick to his stomach.

They were on opposing sides. Not only was he fighting his little brother, he was also fighting the woman he’d fallen in love with. Gosh, what kind of sick joke was this?

Le Paon sank to the ground, thumping his head against the chimney bricks. Marinette’s pleas to talk with Ladybug made sense now. She wanted him to talk to her as Ladybug, but she couldn’t say that outright without giving her identity away. What would she have said as Ladybug that she couldn’t as Marinette? Their positions were the same either way. Felix needed the miraculous. She wasn’t giving them to him. That was it.

Le Paon blew out a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. Maybe.. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. If Ladybug was Marinette, he could get the miraculous easily, right? All he had to do was visit her again and take them. It’s certainly something she wouldn’t expect.. He would have the earrings. Then he could talk to Adrien and get the ring. Father would make the wish, Mother would be returned to them, and Felix could give the miraculous back to Marinette in one piece. No harm done..

Except Marinette would be betrayed.

Le Paon finally stood. Doing this might make her hate him forever, but it was necessary. Even if Felix decided to give up and surrender, he couldn’t say that his father would share the sentiment. Then what? Hawkmoth gets a new partner, and Marinette is still in danger, probably more than before? He couldn’t stand that, yet he couldn’t fight her himself anymore either! Getting the miraculous was the only option. It would hurt her, yes, but it was in everyone’s best interest. She would have to find it in herself to forgive him, and if she didn’t.. well.. 

Le Paon started the run home. 

If she didn’t forgive him, at least she’d be hating him in the safety of her home, without the heroic duties that he and Hawkmoth currently gave her.

~~~~~~

Marinette closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, silencing her thoughts. She needed to focus on healing, on life, on every breath she took that represented both.

“Your connection to your kwami is sacred and rare.” Master Fu explained, sitting across from her. “Many wear the miraculous, but few are completely compatible with them. When one is compatible, though, they are able to unlock unique abilities, with practice.”

“In this case, you are connected to the miraculous of creation. That means you have extended abilities towards life itself. If your powers are nursed properly, you will be able to heal others by restoring life to them, or, in other words, recreating their life force.”

“So.. I can bring people back from the dead?” Marinette asked curiously.

“No.” Fu answered. “Bringing people back from the dead doesn’t work, because there is no original life force to restore or recreate. If you did manage to bring someone back, they wouldn’t be the same.”

Marinette cracked open an eye, worry flickering across her face. “Then what happens to the people that don’t make it during akuma attacks?”

Fu gave a small smile. “Tikki’s powers can bring others back to life, or rather, recreate them properly, under the proper circumstances, such as akuma attacks. Right now, we are talking about your powers.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” Marinette said, closing her eyes again.

Master Fu continued. “Now, to access this bond, you need to concentrate on the connection with your kwami, along with magic that has now been infused with your soul. You need to feel it glowing from within and transfer it to the object you are hoping to recover. Clear your mind of everything but Tikki and try to heal this plant.”

Marinette nodded and inhaled. Healing.. What did that mean? Restoring the health of a living being, she supposed. Fixing things that are broken. But it also meant washing away all of the bad that rotted the thing in the first place. 

Marinette touched a hand to the drooping plant in front of her, focusing on the magic within her, feeling it wash away the corruption in the stems and leaves. 

She didn’t have to open her eyes to know that a soft, pink glow was spreading over the plant, but she opened them anyway to watch the wilting leaves slowly rise and regain their bright green color. 

“I’m doing it!” She exclaimed. “Look, it’s being healed!”

Unfortunately, the excitement at her success caused her to lose her concentration, and the pink glow faded, which in turn left the plant drooping again. 

“Don’t worry.” Master Fu told her as her shoulders dropped with disappointment. “This was an excellent first try. I have no doubt that you’ll get the hang of it with more practice.”

Marinette bit her lip, staring down at the lifeless leaves.

“.. What if.. What if I can’t heal her.” She asked, her fingers tangling together nervously. A human being had to be immensely complicated compared to a small plant. How could she revive Emilie if she could hardly hold up a fern for more than three seconds?

Master Fu put a comforting hand on hers. “You can do it, but even if you can’t, I’m sure Felix will understand.”

Will he though? Marinette couldn’t help thinking. She’s always known Felix as a sensible person, but would he give up his mother for a random person he might not even know? Further more, will he betray Hawkmoth to surrender?

“Let’s try again.” Master Fu spoke up, taking her from her thoughts.

Marinette nodded her head and closed her eyes to clear her mind. No Felix. No Hawkmoth. Only life and healing.

She held out her hand to restart the magical process.

~~~~~~

The familiar clang of metal resonated across the secret garden with each step Felix took. He’d come down here a scarce few times since he accepted the peacock miraculous to help his Father. Most of the time it was to grieve, or to restore his determination to get the miraculous. Today, it was for courage.

Marinette was Ladybug. Adrien was Chat Noir. The two people he held most dear were against him and Father. Now he had to choose what meant more to him: Their opinion or Mother’s health.

Felix touched a hand to the glass of his Mother’s coffin. It was cold against his skin, the same way he imagined her to be during her current, sleeping state.

“Duusu, can you heal her like you did me?” He asked.

The kwami shook her head. “I’m sorry, but the peacock miraculous doesn’t work like that.”

Felix sighed. “So, I do need the wish to heal her.” 

Why was he hesitating? Wasn’t this the thing he’s been working towards for months now? Adrien had the ring, and Marinette had the earrings. They were both so close that Felix would barely need to do anything to get them. The wish was at his fingertips, right there in front of him. All he had to do was act.

Felix took his hand off the glass. “Duusu, spread my feathers.”

It will be the coward’s way out to hide under his mask while taking her miraculous, but at least the betrayal will be quick.

~~~~~~

The greenish brown leaves of Master Fu’s plant swayed mockingly as Marinette set the pot on her table. She’d managed to heal it somewhat during her training session, but it was still susceptible to illness. So Master Fu sent her home with the plant and advised that she practice during her free time. 

“You did a great job today!” Tikki praised beside her.

Marinette smiled. “Thanks, Tikki. I’m gonna get this healing magic down if it’s the last thing I do.” 

She pulled up her rolling chair and took a seat in front of the plant. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she drew in a deep breath, the same way Master Fu taught her. 

Clear your mind. She reminded herself. Focus on the bond with your kwami.

Marinette reached out to touch her plant again when-

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A knocking sound came from the trapdoor above.

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat, recognizing the knock instantly. 

“Felix.” She whispered to herself. “Coming!” 

Marinette stood from her chair and swiftly hid the plant under her desk. He probably wouldn’t think anything of a half-dead plant being in her room, but it felt natural to hide something related to Ladybug.

She climbed the ladder and opened the trapdoor, and Le Paon dropped down into her room. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He said in greeting.

Marinette smiled. “No, not really. I was just.. Uh.. sketching.”

Le Paon offered a small smile. “Oh? It wasn’t a picture of me again was it?”

Marinette pursed her lips, a soft blush swirling across her cheeks. “Well, no.. not this time.”

Le Paon’s smile widened slightly, and Marinette felt her heart rate pick up. The last time they were in her room along like this, they kissed. Would he kiss her again? Was it okay to admit that, despite the stress of him working for Hawkmoth, she really wanted him to?

“So.. what brings you here?” She inquired, horribly hoping he would simply say her name, that he would admit to missing her too.

Le Paon’s smile faltered. Not exactly the response she was looking for.

“I..” His gaze flicked to the left of her a moment, and his expression twisted with confliction. “Uhm..”

Marinette’s eyebrow knitted together. “Le Paon? Is everything okay?”

Le Paon met her eyes again, swallowing thickly. “Of course. I just.. I wanted to see you. You know, after last night.”

Marinette frowned. She might be wrong, but people don’t normally look conflicted when talking about a kiss.. unless..

Marinette’s stomach twisted. 

“Do regret it?” She hated to ask the question- What if he did regret it? Where would they go from there? -but she also needed to know. The last thing Marinette wanted to do was pressure Felix into spending time with her on a romantic basis. 

Le Paon’s eyes widened. “What? No, not all! I mean, I regret not asking permission first, but..” 

Relief flooded Marinette’s chest, though his answer still didn’t explain why he looked so conflicted a second ago. “But?”

Something flickered across his expression, but she didn’t have time to decipher it as he took a step forward. “But I could never regret kissing you. In fact, I..” his hand came up to cup her cheek again. “I was hoping to do it again.”

Marinette held back a smile as butterflies fluttered through her. “Is that your way of asking for permission?”

“Should I be on my knees begging instead?” He replied teasingly.

A giggle bubbled up her throat. “Maybe.”

Her leaned forward, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, and the rush of euphoria that came with the contact left her absolutely giddy. She should probably be practicing with her magic right now, or convincing Le Paon to go talk to her alter ego, but all she could think about was the touch of his lips on hers and the gentle strokes of his thumbs on her cheeks.

“I love you.” Le Paon mumbled against her lips, sending Marinette through the roof. He loved her! Albeit, he confessed to it as Le Paon, but still-

“And I’m sorry.”

Wait, what?

Marinette opened her eyes, only to wince when Le Paon quickly yanked out her earrings. As soon as he had them, he jumped back and started climbing up the ladder.

“Wait!” She yelled, pure, icy fear shooting through her veins. How did he know? When did he know? 

Le Paon threw himself out the trap door and slammed it shut. Marinette shot up the ladder after him and swung the trapdoor open again, but he was already two rooftops away. Without her miraculous, she had no way of going after him.

Marinette started hyperventilating. How was she going to explain this to Master Fu? Did Felix already have the ring? What if he made the wish? What if Hawkmoth decided to make a different wish? With both miraculous, they could do who knows what!

“Felix!” She shouted desperately. He didn’t hear her. If he did, he didn’t turn around.

She could only watch as he disappeared into the night.

Tag list:  @im-here-for-the-content @novicevoice @mewwitch@minightrose @starlit-winter @multishipper1needshalp@unabashedbookworm @unholykrow @trubel43@kaydenth3gayden @stardustrevoutionx @legendaryneckjudgestudent @aurordraws @crazylittlemunchkin @uwuteamleader @chocolatecustarddanish @iambi-thilla-meena @corabeth11 @asianfrustration13  @chrismarium @agumon1123 @luciferge @yue-caelum @persephonebutkore @constancetruggle @make-the-stars-stay @johnlockfeelz @imfreakingmagical @tinybrie @procrastinatingrightnow @bee-wrecker @dontcallmecedge @shadowhex99 @daminette-is-life @thethirdwheelfriend @myazael @sizzling-fairy-oil @sparkle9510 @chaosace​ @the-navistar-carol​ @sannsibarr​ @grumpy-vixen-kitten​ @hauntedfreakdeputyhero​ @utcaro​ @more-or-less-human-i-guess @mlbutatbspofsalt @dawn-the-rithmatist @artcart0n @mermaidreject @tori-mmm  @fifaanayd  @novicevoice  @dreamykitty25 @mischief-not-managed-posts @amayakans

[ashes-in-a-jar]

Tma relisten Episodes 11-15

So this round already has two other posts out of it about Oliver because he Bae.

These have alot of ideas regarding entities changing around reality, controlling non victims to set the stage, and turning around what people love most to their worst fear. Also insane abilities of the crew to obtain hard to access info and evidence! And some more Jon sass. Enjoy!

11 dreamer

Wow this episode had alot. I made a separate post with a theory about Oliver's statement here and a realization regarding him and Jane Prentiss here. They are alot to unpack

Oliver is so. Freaking. Relatable! Learned economics and hated it. Nearly had a breakdown like him because of it. "going to stay with some of the few friends that had survived my year of stress-fuelled outbursts and constantly cancelled plans." yep. That.

Boyfriend Graham ey? You notebook eating Graham?? Wow that guy is full of surprises.

I love the dream sequences and their descriptions it's a really beautiful thing to try and picture.

Its interesting how he went from passive to desparate to passive again about death. He tries but can't help. I wonder when the dreams started to bother him so much he sought after the silence of point Nemo. Was it when they became so full of red because of the apocalypse coming closer? Hmmm

Another person named John. I guess that makes sense it's a common name. But I forgot how many people are fully named in this podcast. Hundreds of names to come up with! Jonny I'm quite impressed!

He worked with Jane Prentiss in the magic shop! I can't believe I forgot about that! Wow small avatar world indeed.

"It led me to a room, the label of which was still visible, and read “Archive”. I entered to see walls covered with shelves and cabinets stretching off into the distance. These shelves were coated in a sticky black tar, which I knew at that moment was the thickened, pulpy blood that pumped through each and every one of those veins." everything that has to do with the Fears I bet. Full of death and destruction and stolen from the veins to be out on display for the Eye's pleasure.

Yo Jon is scared of this he's seriously considering going to Elias for advice

" I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke" wait. He trusts TIM? Not to do a practical joke? How. Why. Eh?

"died in the line of duty" fuck you Jonah.

Now Jon will get every new statement immediately when it's made. Perhaps this was Elias' intention all along. To scare him into making sure he does not miss any paranormal activity recorded by the institute.

12 first aid

I'm not immune to more Gerry badassery, hell yeah

And we get polish Martin which hell yeah! Even if Jon doesn't believe it. I'm sure he's repressing the fact that he's thoroughly impressed.

I think it's really interesting the effect entities have on people who are decidedly not their victims. Everyone leaving no questions so the entity can set the scene for the scare. Like with Gillespie how no one lived in the apartment building he was in etc. Alot of work into a handful of people being genuinely scared.

Gerry's burns stopped at the neck? How did he manage that. Also it's hilarious to imagine that he's like "yes burn all of me but please. not my goth makeup"

Zippo lighter with eye design!! And Jon has web design! They are brothers (joke but still really interesting)

Liquids were boiling around her and she didn't feel the heat. Also an interesting effect just for the scare.

Gerry got eye superpowers like Jon if he can function while injure and filled with painkillers.

“Yes. For you, better beholding than the lightless flame.” Gerry knew she'd be haunted by a Fear from that day on and realised that perhaps being watched would be easier for her specifically to deal with than the Desolation. I guess that's a way of assessing people. Which fear would least bother you.

Jon is already enamoured with Gerry you can tell. He can't wait to hear more from him. Just you wait Jon.

They really can access alot of information huh. CCTV Interviews files. Pretty impressive for a non-research team. They're so good at it they'd rather do that than actual archiving.

13 alone

The sound editing in this episode is not that great it was a bit to get used to.

We get a glimpse at the Lukases which is... Ugh

Jon is actually trying to be nice. Granted it's not working and she is a bit of a standoffish person herself who just went through a bad time but alot of her reactions are not his fault. He was trying to be considerate giving her space to record but he did stay when she asked.

She had already leaned into the Lonely before the incident it's interesting to see how some of these statements start with a person actually liking the aspect that later turns to fear. Same happens in lost johns' cave.

Evan Lukas sounds like an avatar of the exact opposite of the Lonely. At least to her. That's a really interesting effect from someone, especially a Lukas.

But maybe dying wasn't his family killing him but him not feeding his patron which he tried to leave. Really tragic.

She was in Martin's domain eyyy!

It's got a bit of buried aspects to it with the grave stuff and all.

"My fingers dug into the soft cemetery dirt as I looked around desperately for anything I could use to save myself, and my hand closed upon that heavy piece of headstone. It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave." The headstone was her anchor? But it said forgotten. I wonder how it helped her pull away. It probably had to go together with Evan's voice. Like the rib and the tape recorders having to work together! I just wonder what meaning the stone had for her.

"I’d be tempted to chalk this one up to a hallucination from stress and trauma, if it wasn’t for the fact... " God he does believe her heavens. He's not a skeptic!

This is when Jon's dreams start which... Good luck Jon.

14 piecemeal

Rentoul is terrifying sonofabitch and I would never want to meet him irl

I remembered them talking about how he was supposed to be a person who cursed alot and they couldn't do it because of sensor and I have to agree this could have been much better for the story. I tried imagining curses in some places.

LOL Jon reading this is funny. Trying to voice act the bad boy. Doesn't sound right on his voice.

With these kinds of statements happening alot where the person does something bad, the institute has to be in touch with police over them. The nda has to include that.

Hello Angela! I really wonder what her deal is. She scared the bid bully so she gotta have creepy vibes to the extreme.

Another lighter! Hmm do I have to start following the lighter motiff in this podcast. This one has a topless woman on it. Flesh lighter?

Salesa's also appearing that's cool! Noriega was probably looking for an artifact to reverse the curse. Didn't work tho since they left with the crate. The buried crate perhaps?

I'm wondering. Was this written? Because the statement sounds like he's talking. If so, Where's the recording?

Oh Jon your attitude towards Martin is so bad. He works so hard and it's not even in what he's good at, sorting and filing like he knows how to do from the library. God.

What's the deal with all the furniture gone? Did he think it'll help not get injured? He's not that smart if he thought that would help him.

15 lost Johns' cave

Ack a bad statement she was not a good person all around

Another example of the entities setting the stage by controlling others not to interfere with the victim's experience.

Also another example of the person liking the subject (cave exploration in this case. And the dark for that matter) only for it to turn against them.

Not much to say about this one other than its one of the scarier ones for sure. And her recording in the end is really the cherry on top. There is alot of discrepancy between what she believed happened and what actually did which shows how much the fear plays with and changes around reality. That's also how she manages to lie in a statement to Beholding. It wasn't a lie. It was her version of reality and she did not remember saying those awful words.

Taught me alot about cave diving and how much I will never do it in my life.

The Dark was mixed into this as well so it wasn't purely Buried.

Btw Where did she get the candles she was found with?

It feels like she made a choice. Didn't want to spend her last moments with her sister and then didn't want to die. She chose her sister to be taken over her. Her sister called for help and the candle coming closer might have been her! But she just shut her eyes.

How did Tim gain access to the recording?? Wow that's some prime evidence.

Martin is claustrophobic amongst other things huh? Live how Jon just dismisses this as an excuse not to work. At least he didn't push it.

[a-smile-hides]

A WISH FOR FORGIVENESS - U.R. (P.5)

Warnings: description of wounds, bit of blood, cursing, Björn is a douche, brother drama (I am starting to think I am turning into Hirst lol) and I got a bit carried away …

Sum: Sólir has sailed away with you as a prisoner, leaving Ubbe behind in Kattegat with the man who is responsible for your kidnapping.

—

The evening sun casted a beautiful red and orange glow over the forest. The soft light made the lake in the middle of the forest look more magical as ever. The wind blew softly through the trees, making the small flowers that grew at the side of the lake dance. The sight was gorgeous and probably capable of calming down the most restless soul.  

But it did not calm down Ubbe. In fact, the scene only made his heart plummet into more darkness and grief. The young man sat at the side of the lake, under a big tree, leaning against a rock that seemed to glow in the sunlight. His eyes were shut tight. His knees brought up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them. He felt conflicted due to all the different emotions that went through his body.

He felt numb. And yet, his stomach hurt due to the betrayal he felt. It felt like someone had stabbed him with a knife, only for them to plummet the knife deeply into the wound repeatedly and then slowly turn it around. But through all that, the guilty feeling that slowly destroyed him from the inside hurt the most. The only thought that seemed to go through his mind was how he let Björn and his merchant friend get to you. If only he had been more careful, and had not let his stubborn side take control, he could have figured out sooner that it was his brother who had been spying on him. Then maybe, you would have been safe right now and would have been able to take in this beautiful sight.

Ubbe groaned, his hands went over his head, his fingers grabbing harshly onto his hair. He forced himself to think of an idea. Of anything that he could do. But nothing came to his mind. There was only one thought that echoed through his head.  

You have lost her forever.

Ubbe let a painful groan escape his lips. On his left, a few birds flew up, scared of the sudden noise. With sombre eyes, Ubbe followed them as they flew away from him, until they disappeared out his sight.

A bit farther away in the forest, Hvitserk walked clumsily over the fallen branches and leaves. He cursed loudly as a low branch scratched his cheek.

Why did his brother had to go and flee to the forest?

Sighing heavily, he came to a stop as his eye fell on a couple of bushes next to a river. He was sure he had seen those four times already. Hvitserk shook his head, leaning against a tree behind him. His hand clutched the bandage that was quickly thrown over the wound on his chest. With each step he took, the scratches burned more.

A loud pained groan made him look up. Someone with a deep voice shouted and cursed at the top of their lungs. Deciding that following the sound was better than to walk in a circle again, Hvitserk pushed himself away from the tree. His vision became blurry. Instinctively, he narrowed his eyes, hoping it would help. He gave a bitter laugh as his eyes fell on the river he had bumped into four times already. Only this time, he did not see those little bushes. Feeling hopeful, he pushed himself away from the tree and moved forward. Focussing on the different sounds that seemed to be coming from behind the trees, right where the river was flowing to. It now sounded as water. A lot of water.

Hvitserk grunted and pushed away some branches that limited his view. The frown on his face melted as soon as he took sight of the lake in front of him. The damned river ended in a lake!

The sight was mesmerising. The water looked still and seemed a perfect place to bath, since the trees and bushes surrounding hid the lake from view. Put the peaceful sight was ruined by an angry man standing halfway in the lake. His back was turned towards Hvitserk, but he could see how his pants and shirt were soaked. But he did not seem to care. He kept hitting the water angrily, punching it as if the water was his biggest enemy. Hvitserk watched dumbfounded as the man kept punching the water, making it rise high around him, his voice dark and low while he cursed out loud. And then, the man fell silent and his head dropped between his shoulders. His shoulders went up and down shakily with every heavy breath he took.

Hvitserk’s eyes widened when he realized it was his brother Ubbe who stood there in the lake. Slowly, Hvitserk stepped forward.

“Ubbe…?” he called out weakly.

Ubbe stiffened. He lifted his head but didn’t turn around. He only hummed.

Hvitserk swallowed. He had never seen his brother like this. Ubbe had always been the calm and rational one. Opting to choose the path of words and peace rather than fights and discussions. But now, it seemed his brother was blinded by anger. Hvitserk took small, cautious steps around the lake, trying to get closer to his brother.

“Brother… What are you… doing?” Hvitserk sounded small and afraid. His voice breaking halfway his sentence. Ubbe didn’t look him in the eye. He kept on staring at the trees in front of him, turning his body away from Hvitserk with every step he took closer.  

Hvitserk shook his head, proclaiming himself mad for what he was about to do. Moving slowly, the young man removed his boots and rolled up his pants as high as he could. His body shivered as he entered the cold water of the lake. But he thought this would be the only way to reach his older brother. The water stung due to the cold, making Hvitserk bite his lip. His body started shaking and it felt like the wound on his chest burned more and more with every step he took deeper into the ice-cold water. But he kept pressing on.

“I tried… I tried to get- “Ubbe’s soft and broken voice made Hvitserk halt in his moves. Ubbe reached down, his hands going through the water as if he were caressing it. He didn’t seem bothered by the cold temperature. “I tried to wish her back.”

“Wish her…- “

Ubbe chuckled, stopping Hvitserk midsentence. “You wouldn’t understand. You can’t-” Ubbe looked down at his hands again. Defeated, he watched how the water slowly dripped out of his hands. “I saved her. She got stuck under a branch. And I saved her. She – she thanked me, by giving me one wish. I am sure Björn has told you all about her powers.” He laughed dryly. “And since I had not made it… I hoped I could use it to bring her back.” Ubbe’s head fell, his shoulders went up and down shakingly again. A mixture of a sob and a laugh passed his lips. Suddenly, he started hitting the water hard again, startling Hvitserk and making him take a step backwards. “But it won’t work!” Ubbe screamed. “She needs to be here for the fucking wish to be made!”

Ubbe’s roar echoed through the woods. Hvitserk listened with his eyes closed how the sound slowly got quieter until all he could hear was the heavy breathing of his brother and the wind blowing through the leaves.

“What – what do you mean with ‘she needs to be here’?” Hvitserk spoke out weakly.

Ubbe slowly turned his head to the left, and for the first time, Hvitserk could catch a glimpse of his brother’s face. His face was blank. It looked as if Ubbe had nothing but hate left in his body. Hvitserk stared down at his own reflection. The silence felt heavy and made him feel uneasy.

Suddenly, Ubbe turned around. His blue eyes had turned dark and his expression screamed rage. Before Hvitserk could utter a sound, Ubbe stormed towards him, making Hvitserk stumble backwards out of the lake. Still, his older brother didn’t slow down. Grabbing Hvitserk by his collar, Ubbe pushed him against the old tree he would always pass when he visited you.

“Why do you ask me, brother? Has Björn not done enough damage? Still in need of information?” Hvitserk flinched, avoiding Ubbe’s intense stare. “How did you know about her” Ubbe asked. His voice low and cold. Threatening.

Hvitserk stammered, trying to find words to make a sentence. He felt his heart pounding against his chest. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, but no words passed his lips.

Ubbe grew impatient. Without thinking, he punched the tree, right next to his brother’s face. His knuckle scraped over the wood, but he did not feel anything. All he saw was red. His aggressive behaviour made the colour drain out of Hvitserk’s face, his hand reached up in a weak attempt to hold Ubbe back, the other to the hand that fisted his collar, but it did not change a thing. Ubbe’s breathing was heavy, making a vein pop out in his neck. His eyes stared down at Hvitserk in a way that made him cower away in fear. A loud whimper passed his lips.

Ubbe blinked, only now noticing the state his brother was in. The ringing in his ears stopped and only now he heard the little, pained gasps Hvitserk made. Looking down at his hand, Ubbe gasped and backed away from his brother as he finally took notice of the thick, red substance that coated his hand. Hvitserk’s chest was bleeding. Hvitserk took in a deep breath as Ubbe backed away from him. With a shaky hand, Hvitserk lifted his shirt. The white bandage the healer had put around his wound had turned a dark red. Hvitserk groaned and leaned against the tree. His eyes looked up towards the sky as he cursed under his breath.

“What – How is that still bleeding?” Ubbe asked.

Hvitserk took in a deep breath and tried to form a smile on his face. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, thinking about what to say. “That must be my own fault. The healer has done everything in her power to stop the bleeding and had succeeded in it. But I may have not listened to her when she told me what I was not allowed to do afterwards…”

Ubbe frowned and shook his head. The grief he felt going through his body for hurting Hvitserk made him temporarily forget about his anger. However, it did not still his need for an answer.

“How did you know about her, Hvitserk?”

“Björn. He had told me about something he had found in the forest. He said he had stumbled across a place hidden deep within the woods were a creature lay that I only though lived in stories. But as I’ve seen with my own eyes, she is real. Yesterday he had ordered several men and women to come to his aid to help and catch the creature. Apparently, he had caught word that a certain merchant was searching for her.”

“Sólir.” Ubbe whispered, interrupting Hvitserk’s story.

Hvitserk nodded his head. “Indeed. I think they captured her at night when we were asleep, morning at last. It was around noon when a man stood before my door, panting and bleeding, telling me that Björn asked for my assistance in helping him ‘tame the beast’.”

Ubbe closed his eyes at his brother’s words. “What did he do to her?”

Hvitserk sighed, his eyes dropped down in shame. “She put up a fight and gave us all a hard time. She scratched and bit every man she could reach. It is from her that I got these things.” He said, his hand lazily pointing towards his chest.

Ubbe stepped forwards so that he came face to face with his brother. Bending down a bit, he made sure that he looked straight in Hvitserk’s eyes. “What did he do to her?” Ubbe repeated. He knew there was no way you willingly gave his brother a taste of your power. Nor would he have gotten the right to make a wish with his behaviour. The only way he would have gain access to it, was by force.

“They – We dragged her to the docks. The left side, where there aren’t any boats. Where – Then… I don’t know why, but they placed her in the water. Only half of her body. Sólir demanded me to bind her arms above her head, making sure she could not escape. It is then that she scratched my chest. She – It seemed as if she knew what would happen.” Hvitserk looked down, trying his best to hide himself from his brother. But Ubbe followed Hvitserk’s gaze, the horrified look on his little brother’s face fuelled his growing concern. “As soon as the sunlight hit her skin. She-she started hissing at us, trying her best to get free. Not long after, she started breathing heavily. It was then that Björn sent me to look for you. As I left, I heard her scream out in agony. I can only guess how they gained access to her power.”  

---

The shattering of plates and cups and shouts of terror could be heard from miles away. Fuming, Björn’s hoarse voice screamed at the young thrall that hastily tried to clean up the mess he created while another hid herself behind the cloths she had used to clean the blood of his stomach. The wound had not looked so grave when he had waved his partner Sólir goodbye, but by now it had started bleeding furiously.

Still, he had nothing to worry about. Sólir had told him all about how mermaid’s scratches could be nasty things. The wounds seemed to have a mind of their own, refusing to heal and let you suffer for a long time. Sólir said to be scratched and bitten many times in the past while hunting for them and had ensured Björn that the pain could easily be taken away with a remedy that a mermaid could give herself: a tear.

He had described it to Björn almost poetically, how the mermaid’s tear could cure any injury. How it could take away any pain. And, when poured into a special golden cup and mixed with some other ‘special ingredients’, it could give a person eternal life. Björn had never been so intrigued while listening to a story. It was there for that he almost felt excited to try the remedy out himself. He vaguely recalled you mentioning the tear as one of the things people tried to get a hand on once they had captured one of your kind. So… It had to work.

But the more he tried, the more teardrops he wasted. The wound on his stomach refused to heal. Crimson red blood still flowed out the wound steadily as he paced round the table, completely ignoring the two young women who didn’t dare to move anymore. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked down at the gash. Without looking up, he stretched out his hand, silently ordering one of the thralls to hand him a cloth. Scrambling, but without making a sound, the blond-haired one dipped a cloth in some water and handed it to him. A low hiss passed Björn’s lips as he pressed the cloth to the wound.

“Boil it.”

The second thrall tilled her head questioningly.  

“Boil the tears.” Björn hissed.

The thrall paused for a moment and looked at her blond-haired friend who gave her a dazed look of bewilderment, but both knew better than to question the man. Silently, one of them started making a fire while the other one took a cauldron to boil the tears in.

Björn turned his back to them. He hoped this would bring him closer to his miracle treatment. Before departing, the merchant had shouted to him that mermaid’s magic worked in mysterious ways. And that their magic was not always accessible in the same way twice. But the mischievous smile he wore while shouting those words starting to concern him now. Slowly, Björn drifted away in his thoughts while the thralls behind him hurried to get the fire going. The two were still shaking in fear, hating the Gods for letting them be the ones who had to deal with his rage.

Björn had stormed into the Great Hall after him and his brother Ubbe parted ways. His brother had pushed him away and sprinted towards the woods, looking like a mad man. Björn still didn’t understand why he acted like that.

He shouldn’t have kept such a jewel a secret.

In his rage, he had commanded one of his trusted men to fetch two thralls to help him clean his wound, which had started bleeding furiously once he returned to the Great Hall. When they had arrived, their master showed them five flasks. The flasks were ridiculously small and filled with a few drops of some clear liquid. When one of them bravely asked what was inside, the young man had simply stuffed four of the flasks in his pocket and remained silent. Only after they first failed at healing his wound, he shared the story of how they were using a real mermaid’s tear to heal him and that they should be more careful if they wanted to see the end of the day. Now three flasks lay empty on the floor, two of them broken due to Björn’s anger outburst only moments ago.

Loud footsteps made Björn look up. He chewed on his bottom lip as he looked straight in Ubbe’s steel cold blue eyes. The friendly smile on his face quickly melted away as his younger brother stormed at him, pushing him against the table. Ubbe grabbed Björn’s tunic with both his hands, he gritted his teeth on each other as he wondered what question he first wanted answered.

“What have you done to her?”

Björn narrowed his eyes, a short shrug with his shoulders showing that he had no clue what Ubbe was talking about.

“Y/N!” Ubbe whispered, it hurt him to say your name. “The mermaid.”

“Is that her name?” Björn straightened his back and put his hands on Ubbe’s, pulling them away from his body. Picking the cloth that had fallen out of his hands off the ground again, he placed it back on his wound. “I have traded her.” Björn answered, deciding that lying will not help him.

“Why?” Ubbe gritted back.

Björn shrugged his shoulders again. Not fully understanding why his brother was acting like this. “Why not? I have made a fair deal. He has provided me with a lot of gold and wealth. I now have enough to make another travel and concur.”

Ubbe shook his head, not convinced by his brother’s words. His eyes fell on the two scared women standing next to a cauldron, dangling above a fire. Without saying anything he marched to them. The two women hurried away, almost falling over their feet as they made their way out of the Great Hall. Ubbe peaked into the cauldron, his eyebrows furrowed as he saw it was completely empty. Until a small flask lying on the ground grabbed his attention. Bending down, he picked it up and rolled it between his fingers. Björn stiffened as his brother carelessly examined it.

“Be careful with that brother, it has more value than you think.”

Ubbe’s eyes widened. Stepping towards his brother, he held up the clear flask.

“What is this? Don’t bother lying”

Björn sighed, spreading out his arms as if the show that he did not mean any harm.

“It is the way to end our suffering, dear brother. It is true if you thought I traded her for more than just gold. I have her still under my power. But I can’t hold that creature here. I have no place for her. So, I made a deal with Sólir. What you have in your hand right now, is only a bit of what I got.”

Ubbe stared down at the small, flask in his hand, shaking his head.

“They are tears. Tears of an actual mermaid. One of those drops can heal any wound. It was rather hard to get it from her, I must say. She put up a real fight. But we were in luck to have Sólir on our side. He knew what to do.”

“You bound her to the docks…” Ubbe said quietly, remembering Hvitserk’s words.

Björn nodded, his eyes narrowing. “We did. Sólir knew that was the only way to get to them.” He grimaced, his eyes dropping down to the ground. “It was not a pleasant thing to do, but after what she had done to us… I still don’t know why, but once she was in place and the sun dried her body... Well, let’s say we were not far from our goal anymore.”

Ubbe grumbled and closed his eyes, the day he had found you at the side of the lake flashed before his eyes. You had been out of the water that time, weakened greatly. Only now he realized why.

Uneven footsteps made both men look up towards the door. Hvitserk entered the room where both his brothers stood, angrily facing each other. Hvitserk was panting, keeping pressure on the wound on his chest. The walk from the forest to this place had weakened him a lot. After Hvitserk shared everything he knew, Ubbe had turned his back on his little brother and ran away. The disappointed look on Ubbe’s face left Hvitserk feeling defeated and he knew he had to make it up to him, somehow.

Hvitserk’s gaze went from Björn’s stomach wound, to Ubbe holding a small flask, to the cauldron over the still going fire, to the destroyed items lying on the floor. And it dawned on him.

“You can’t get it to work?” The question that rolled off his lips sounded more like a statement. “You can’t get it to work!”

Ubbe frowned, looking at his younger brother. “Can’t get it to work?”

“He had told me there was a cure for these fucking wounds! After she slashed me across my chest! Something he could take from that mermaid. But it had to be prepared or tested or something…” Hvitserk mumbled, his head shaking from side to side. “But it is not doing anything, isn’t it? You were being lied to.”

Ubbe looked down at the flask in his hand. His hand clenched around it as he felt the anger rise up in him again. Your sweet voice echoed through his mind.

The stories men and women tell their kids when they go to sleep are only partly true...

“You tortured her… for some tears that don’t do a thing.” He said slowly, his voice going low. “You let yourself get lost in some old stories that aren’t true to begin with!”

With that, Ubbe charged at his older brother. Björn had not seen this coming and Ubbe fist collided hard with his jaw. Stumbling backwards, Björn quickly regained his balance and looked furiously at his older brother who seemed unsure if it was really him who threw the punch.

Björn spat out blood, a wicked smile on his face. “I didn’t see you stop the boat when we send her away. Nor did I see you anywhere the night we took her.”

The sentence made Ubbe’s blood ran cold and freeze completely. The fist that he had balled up hovered in the air. Hvitserk looked at the both of them. One smiling evilly and the other slowly getting lost in his thoughts. Ubbe couldn’t believe it, but Björn was right. As he saw the ship depart, the young man was incapable of doing anything. The shock and terror going through his body prevented him from moving. From reacting. He just watched how the ship slowly got smaller and smaller. And the distance between you and him bigger. It hadn’t been until Björn made comment about Ubbe holding back such a jewel, that he found himself able to move again. But the only thing he could do was weakly push his brother away before running towards the forest as a coward fleeing from the wrongs he had done.

And once again, it was the only thing his mind told him to do.

Ubbe stormed away. He did not know where he was going, but he did not care either. His vision blurred by a small line of tears that build up in his eyes. Different voices laughing in his mind.

I didn’t see you stop me or the boat when we send her away.

Nor did I see you anywhere the night we took her.

Soon, you shall bump into the truth. But when you do, you shall wish you were here sooner

You have lost her forever.

Eventually his step slowed down. Ubbe’s hands rested on his hips as he looked around him. He had run towards the docks. To the place where he last saw you… Ubbe shook his head, blinking to get rid of the tears. But it did not help. One by one, tears rolled over cheeks and fell on the ground. Ubbe sniffed, looking down to hide his face from anybody who might be out when his eyes suddenly fell on a small, grey object. It was covered in mud, but still seemed to shine bright. Frowning, Ubbe dried his cheeks with the back of his hand and kneeled. Very carefully, he brushed away the dirt with his fingers. His eyes widened once he saw the familiar hair clip, decorated with a dragon slithering around a sword. Ubbe had gifted you this after you had trusted him enough to explain to him how you got stuck underneath the tree branch. He wanted to lift up your spirit with the small gift. To connect you with your family again. But if he was honest with himself… He gave it also to make sure you would never forget him.  

Heavy breathing made Ubbe look up, his younger brother Hvitserk stumbled towards him, his hand still clutched to his chest. The young man looked pale and exhausted, but he kept pushing himself. He had to make it up to his older brother, in one way or another.

Ubbe stood up, his bottom lip between his teeth. “Hvitserk, what you are doing… You should rest-“

Hvitserk shook his head. His eyes closed momentarily, but he forced them open again. With a shaky finger, he pointed towards the small grey clip Ubbe had in his hand.

“I gave this to Y/N a while ago. She must have lost it when…” Ubbe trailed off, his head dropped as he thought back about that moment. How easily this all could have been prevented.

Hvitserk cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling guilty for playing a part in this mess. His eyes were focused on the sea in front of him. Never before had the ocean looked so big. He thought of where you could be right now. Hvitserk had not seen you depart, but he could only imagine how Björn handed you to that strange merchant. All for a couple of lies…

“I must get her back… She is alone. Weakened.”

Hvitserk lifted his eyebrow, speaking slowly to not offend Ubbe. “But how are you-“

“We are Vikings, we travel by boat.” Ubbe stated.

“Not what I meant Ubbe,” groaned Hvitserk, “How are you going to find her? And if you do… What are you going to do then?”

“Björn knows where Sólir, the merchant, took her.”

“And you reckon he is going to tell us?”

Ubbe looked from his brother’s confused and worried gaze to the sea again. “He will. He must. I can’t leave her in Sólir’s hands.” Ubbe said, his steady voice concealing the worry he felt, “I can’t let her down again.”

—

Thank you for reading and sticking with this story xxx

Tag: @fairyofvoid

[pain-somnia]

ssm 2k20 day 10: colors of you and me Title: when eye see you Rating: T Disclaimer Day’s Notes: are y’all sick of soulmate AUs? ‘Cause i’m not! Here’s a soulmate au where everyone has heterochromia until they look their soulmate in the eye. And yes there is some inspiration from Jun’s Kitchen in this. It’s my favorite YouTube channel. Minor pairings: ItaKarin and SasoObi. I could have made this longer but I needed to make it shorter lol this fic was impossible to end it was actually meant to be shorter than it is

Sighing to himself, Sasuke brushes his hair out of his face, moving his bangs aside to reveal the vivid sea foam green eye.

Unlike his own dark gray eye, the green one has perfect vision. The optician marks the measurements for both eyes, noting that he needs a slightly stronger prescription for his own eye and a false lens for his partner eye. It was suggested that he switch to contacts so that he would wear one on the eye that truly belonged to him, but Sasuke hates putting things in his eyes.

Some thought he was lucky. The color of his soulmate’s eye is uncommon and that supposedly meant that it would be easier to find them. If he wants to, he can hire one of those people who made a living off of locating people with matching eye colors, but Sasuke doesn’t care about any of that.

Yeah, it was annoying that his eyes were unbalanced when it came to visual impairment and maybe it was ridiculous how often people told him his match had such a beautiful eye color, but Sasuke wants nothing to do with society’s obsession with soulmates.

Riding the train home, Sasuke hides his partner eye behind his bangs. The color catches attention wherever he goes and he’s tired of it. People always want to see the contrasting colors, how vivid it is against the dark colors of his eye and his hair.

It is said that green eyes are lucky, that when people meet their green eyed match that their union would be blessed with great happiness.

Sasuke doesn’t feel very lucky about it when he has relatives fussing over him about finding his match.

Walking into his family home, his nose is invaded with the stench of burnt vegetables. Slipping out of his shoes and tossing his bag next to the genkan, Sasuke opens up the screen door that opens up to the engawa and backyard.

“Karin?” He calls out towards the kitchen from across the informal sitting room. His phone chimes with the arrival of a message and he opens it, not bothering to walk into the other room to check on her. “What are you trying to do now?”

“It’s called cooking!” He heard her shout back from somewhere in the kitchen.

“Oh, gods…”

Karin is his older brother’s match. Originally just a classmate, then his friend—and now most likely his future sister-in-law—Uzumaki Karin is one of his closest friends and, truthfully, the worst cook in the world.

But that’s okay because Itachi is one of the best cooks in the world and spoils her by feeding her and her ridiculously large appetite.

When Sasuke first met Karin, he hadn’t thought anything about her russet color eye paired with a dark gray one or of it being just like the combination his brother had. It’s a common coloring pair, nothing special. But when Sasuke brought her home with two of their friends and she looked Itachi in the eye, they witnessed the moment Itachi’s partner eye shifted colors to match his actual eye and when Karin’s eyes shifted to a matching russet set.

And then they all winced when she shrieked in discomfort because Itachi's prescription for his lenses is a lot stronger than her own.

He really should have known that Karin is his brother’s match. Karin said that her mother told her she was born with her partner eye and Itachi’s had manifested when he was five years old. And then there were the anecdotes of her life that matched with some of the visions Itachi had shared with him.

The ability isn’t as common as their color pairing and it catches more attention, but it’s usually negligible as most sight sharers are not given any visions that help them locate their matches especially because it is an ability more common in children.

Karin’s line to him on their first day of high school was: “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. But like as a kid.”

They call it sight sharing and that strong emotions are required for it to work. That is why children who are more free with their emotions and are having new experiences to react towards are able to send visions to their matches. Due to their age, most children aren’t even aware that they are sight sharing.

Sasuke has seen his own glimpses. Blurry images impeded by tears and a long fringe of pink hair. A blonde girl with a blue-green eye and one inky black eye holding out a red hair ribbon. The largest bowl of anmitsu he has ever seen in his life. A harbor with boats rocking where they were docked, the water choppy and the sails flapping wildly in the middle of a storm.

He still gets glimpses, even this late in his teens, and he’s not sure how he feels about having a match that felt so strongly, whose emotions were as vivid as fireworks on a clear night sky.

“How did you convince my mother to let you cook in her kitchen? Alone?”

“She loves me.”

And it’s the truth. Uchiha Mikoto has always been a sucker for soulmates finding each other. She showers Karin with affection whenever possible and even Sasuke’s cousin’s match—a short redhead named Sasori with hazel eyes, a curious combination of brown and gray with flecks of gold and green—is subject to her doting.

Sasuke couldn’t describe what Itachi and Karin have as love. There is a fondness his older brother has for Karin that cannot be hidden when he’s giving her soft smiles and treating her gently. It could be love with time, but Sasuke can’t help but wonder if Itachi would have opened up to a relationship with Karin even if she wasn’t his match, or was the opportunity to become more only presented because the universe had forced them into it.

He is told he is lucky because of the color of his match’s eye being uncommon and thus easier to find. He’s lucky because his soulmate is close to him in age, his partner eye not having formed until he was still a baby of only eight months. But Sasuke believes the truly lucky ones are his parents who share the same eye coloring and are in love. They could be soulmates or maybe not. But they love each other despite the odds and it’s not something the universe can say it had a hand in.

Universe or not, Sasuke wanted more of a choice.

.

.

Blinking her eyes, Sakura waits for her contact to settle in her partner eye. It was unfortunate that she had needed to adjust the prescription, but at least she saved money by only needing a contact for a single eye.

Grabbing her eyeliner, Sakura traces her lash line delicately, first over one green eye like seaglass and then over the eye with the color reminiscent of storm clouds. Her partner eye has always reminded her of those clouds, fat and heavy with rain, rolling over the sea and waiting to unleash over her harbor hometown.

It’s a beautiful eye, but Sakura had the misfortune of being born with her partner eye. It made it impossible to age her match. They could be someone only a bit older or a grown adult. With the state of their visual impairment, Sakura wonders if her soulmate is someone that is elderly.

It’s something that she perhaps will never know. She isn’t as lucky as her cousin who found his soulmate while he was bar hopping so Sakura’s decided that it’s probably best that she doesn’t search for her soulmate, not to put her hopes on someone she may never find.

It makes it easier to forget them considering she’s so sure she’s in love with her online friend.

It’s strange but she loves him, she really does. She’s never seen his face because they agreed that it would put a strain on their relationship if they knew about each other’s eyes. What had started as a simple exchange with a boy from Tokyo about a photo she had posted to her blog ended up becoming so much more.

His name is Sasuke but he went online by Taka. He wouldn’t give Sakura his last name and asked that she didn’t give him hers so that they wouldn’t be tempted to search for each other online. He had just turned eighteen in July and was planning on going to Handai for university not even an hour from Tsuji Culinary Institute.

Sasuke is going to be so close.

The two of them had been talking to each other ever since they had entered their respective high schools and after two and a half years of conversation they had decided that the time to meet in person was approaching. Sasuke was going to visit with his cousin and his cousin’s soulmate during winter vacation to look into apartments and the area that Sasuke would make his new home after he graduated high school. It was presumptuous that he would pass the entrance exam and be accepted but she knew how confident Sasuke is and about his test scores. Sakura is supposed to meet with him when he is able to shake off his cousin and his soulmate. They played games together and streamed shows and movies but mostly they streamed the same music and listened together sending messages or talking softly on the phone, but they didn’t call them dates so that their first official date would be one where they were face to face.

More often than not, Sakura falls asleep listening to Sasuke talk over the phone. She is an early riser and he is a night owl so she tends to drift off in the middle of their hours-long LINE calls. She enjoys listening to his voice, the deep timbre of it is soothing.

She can’t wait to hear it and see if his face matches the wonderful sound.

.

.

He found her through a video his brother had been watching to learn a new recipe.

Sasuke had found it unusual that Sakura━or “Cherry” as she went by online━didn’t show her face. It’s easier to find one’s soulmate if one’s eyes are exposed, but she never showed her face. Even in her social media accounts she never posts selfies. Sakura’s photos are always of locations or foods she made or of food spots she visited.

She had told him she didn’t want to be bombarded with messages from people claiming she was their match. She didn’t want strangers bothering her and raising her hopes up for nothing and that the only thing they cared about was her eyes.

Sasuke doesn’t care if it’s abnormal to feel affection for someone that he’s never seen. It started with a curiosity that led him to looking through her blog and then he saw it. He saw a photo of the sea before a storm hit over a harbor and it looked just like the glimpse he received a few years ago.

All he wanted to know was where the photo was taken.

And now he’s in a relationship with the person that took the photo.

Sasuke knows the odds of finding his soulmate are low and there’s no guarantee that he would even like them. His cousin Obito had gotten lucky and even Itachi who is fond of Karin despite their differences and Karin’s comparatively high energy levels. It is a gamble and he doesn’t care for the odds. He would rather grow to love a stranger that isn’t his match and be like his great-uncle Madara who never found his soulmate and when his soulmate died, his partner eye turned milky white and blind.

It is much preferable to be blind in one eye and happy than perpetually alone simply because he couldn’t be with his soulmate.

“Here you go.” His older brother interrupts his and Karin’s study session and offers her a small tray with a glass bowl that was leaking a cool mist. Karin squeals and takes out her phone, taking a video as she reveals the smaller bowl inside with a chocolate lid that is cutely decorated with flowers made with icing and berries.

“Did...did you really use dry ice for this?” Sasuke looks on as Karin takes a bunch of photos before digging into her sweet treat.

Itachi shrugs and hands Karin a spoon. “Cherry posted a video about a blueberry cheesecake made with homemade yogurt, so I had to recreate it.”

“I’ll tag her on Instagram when I post these photos.” Karin shoves her books away and pulls the cheesecake closer so that she could dig in. “Ohmygawd this is so good.”

Of course it is. Sasuke looks over Karin’s study materials for Todai. His parents want him to go there, but he made his decision to be closer to Sakura.

.

.

She wonders how he would feel about her accent. The Kansai dialect would be something Sasuke has to get used to if he is going to live in the area. Her cousin is still thrown off at times when he hears the dialect.

Sakura has invited him out to eat some tecchiri at Zubora-ya in Dōtonbori because it’s the best place for fugu despite it being almost an hour by train from Handai. Luckily his cousin has a car and is able to drive them around just so she doesn’t cause Sasuke any trouble before he even gets to meet her.

Snow is swirling around her, flurries landing in her long lashes as she waits under the giant blowfish lantern. She’s never been good with the cold but it’s keeping her grounded as her stomach tumbles with anxiety.

Would Sasuke see her and decide he would prefer to wait for his soulmate?

Will three years of conversations come to a halt when they sit across from each other and are unable to carry on the conversation in person?

Sakura is tempted to walk over to the Lawson and grab something hot to drink and use the walk to calm her nerves. She’s just about to make a break for it when she spots a trio heading towards her. The person standing in the middle is roughly the same height as her with rusty red hair—the red Sasuke had told her to expect from his cousin’s soulmate. Red that belongs to—Sasori?

What was he doing here? Her cousin hadn’t mentioned anything about traveling to Osaka. And now he was walking towards her with his boyfriend, Obito, and a pretty boy she has never seen before.

For a moment Sakura can’t breathe properly and it takes her a few seconds to realize it’s because her inhales and exhales are at too fast of a rhythm for her to actually be intaking oxygen. Hyperventilating will have her passing out right when she’s supposed to meet Sasuke—right when he’s potentially in front of her.

Her hair is pink, a soft shade he couldn’t miss, so when the attractive boy makes his way to stand in front of her, Sakura knows that it’s Sasuke.

Inky black hair frames his angular face. Why hadn’t he warned her that he was pretty? Sakura’s eyes rove his face, taking note of the curve of his lips, the point of his nose, and his high cheekbones that are kissed by eyelashes just as inky black as his hair when he blinks.

Those eyelashes frame one visible eye—the other hidden by hair—and what a beautiful eye it is. Shielded by a pair of glasses, his eye is gray and stormy and oh so familiar.

And the moment she looks at it directly, her left eye stings in discomfort.

.

.

“Shit!”

Sasuke’s eyes widen as the pink haired girl clutches her left eye. She’s cursing as she messes with her eye and throws something on the ground.

A contact.

His feet had moved and his hands had raised to steady her and help in any way he could before he had even processed what just happened.

“Ow…” She grumbles as Sasuke examines her red rimmed eye. His hands freeze from where he’s cupping her face as he looks into a matching pair of seafoam green eyes.

It’s at that moment that he realizes his left eye’s vision is blurry behind its false lens.

“Are you Sasuke-kun?” Sakura asks—because of course she’s Sakura, how many pink haired girls would be waiting under a giant blowfish and asking for someone with his old fashioned name?

“Sakura?”

“Well, that’s a little forward,” Sasori scolds him, attempting to shove him out of the way. “No honorific? Already getting handsy? Tsk, tsk.”

“Sasori-niisan?” Sakura’s attention is stolen for a moment and she turns her focus on Obito’s boyfriend despite the fact that Sasuke is holding her face in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“Fugu. Why else?” Sasori snaps his fingers and gestures to Obito who is pulling eye drops from his messenger bag and ready to play nurse.

“What were the fucking odds?” Sasuke mutters under his breath, taking the saline solution from his cousin and dropping it into Sakura’s irritated eye. Fortunately, all of her poking hadn’t done much damage.

She’s crying, but with how she’s smiling it can’t be anything bad and he always knew his soulmate was an emotional person. Sakura’s brushing his hair away from his left eye and letting out a watery giggle at what she sees before covering her mouth with her hands to suppress the sob that leaked between her laughter.

“You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.” Sakura looks up at him in awe but then her eyebrows draw down into a frown. She was going to make him dizzy with how quickly she flickered through emotions. “Gosh you’re tall.”

“Good thing your hair’s pink.” Sasuke cards his fingers through her hair and teases her. “With your height, I might have never found you.”

Sakura pouts, narrowing pretty green eyes at him, and it makes the moment all the sweeter. A small part of him cheers at how lucky he got that Sakura ended up being so cute but mostly he’s still in shock at the discovery that his online girlfriend ended up being his soulmate. He had given up on the idea of finding his soulmate just for them to be the person he chose over the idea of the universe’s match for him.

But, with the coincidences, did the universe actually have a hand in their connection? His older brother was a fan of her cooking vlog and his cousin was paired up with hers.

And speaking of her cousin...

“Are we getting fugu or what?”

“We’re having a moment here.” Sasuke should have just asked his older brother to come with him on his apartment scouting trip. He had no one else but himself to blame for letting Obito and Sasori come along. He should have known better.

“Have your moment inside.” Sasori pushes at the back of Sasuke’s knee with his heeled boot. “It’s cold and I want the fugu I was promised.”

“Wait a minute…” Sakura’s voice is low, and she eyes her cousin suspiciously. “You knew Sasuke-kun this whole time, Sasori-nii?”

Straightening up, Sasuke turns to glare at Sasori as well. He has been dating Sasuke’s cousin for five years and not once had he mentioned having a cousin with the exact eye pairing that Sasuke has—had.

A rare color pairing that’s supposed to be lucky. Sneaking a glance at Sakura with her green eyes and with the knowledge that she’s the person he’s been growing attached to all of these years, Sasuke’s ready to admit—if only a little—that maybe he is lucky.

No one let his family know that he had that thought.

“You guys didn’t want to know,” Sasori answers, opening up the door to the restaurant. “So, fugu?”

Sasuke and Sakura exchange a look and she smiles up at him encouragingly. Sasuke didn’t come here looking for his soulmate. He came to meet Sakura—just Sakura. He now had a matching set of eyes but it didn’t change anything, not really.

He had already made his choice and it was just luck that the universe had dealt him a winning hand.

“Let’s go find out why this place is so great.”

“Well, have you ever had blowfish before?” Sakura asks, allowing him to guide her inside the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back.

“No, but I kind of like not being potentially poisoned.”

“It makes me feel alive,” Sasori interjects, raising four fingers at a server to signal how many are in their party.

“You’re going to have to be more adventurous.” Sakura flashes a mischievous smile in his direction as they follow their cousins to a table. “I’m going to drag you everywhere and make you try lots of different food.”

“Tough talk from someone that can’t eat spicy food.”

Sakura splutters, cheeks burning red. She hides behind a menu and mutters something about “an abnormal dislike of sweets.”

He’s only seen her face for less than twenty minutes, but he’s decided that he likes how easily her feelings come across it, especially when she flushes from embarrassment.

“It will be nice to video call you from now on,” he casually mentions from over his own menu, watching from his peripheral as her fingers tighten around her menu.

“Your weird flirting is going to spoil the taste of the fugu.” Sasori glares at him over his tea, taking a prim sip.

“You don’t even have taste buds,” Sasuke mutters, wishing even more now that he hadn’t asked Obito to drop him off. “You shouldn’t even have any fugu rights. How could you not know that we were meeting your cousin?”

“Sakura is a common name, don’t try to come for me. I still haven’t given my blessing to this union.”

Sakura snorts from behind her menu and says, “Okay, sure dad.”

She sets her menu down and smiles so sweetly that Sasuke’s tempted to stand up and make a run for it with her, just completely abandon their cousins. Sasori is distracted by the promise of raw blowfish and he’s sure whatever punishment Sasori could come up with would be worth it.

“Video calls would be nice,” Sakura offers, ignoring Sasori’s forced gagging sounds. “But maybe tomorrow we could go out and fix your glasses situation?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke clears his throat and adjusts the pair he’s wearing with only one true lens, “that would be helpful.”

“Then it’s a date!” She chirps. Her eyes gleam when she’s happy and green really is such a nice color, especially on her and not in his reflection. 

“Awwww,” Obito coos, pinching Sasuke’s cheek. “You two are adorable.”

“We’re leaving Obito and Sasori behind tomorrow,” Sasuke snaps, slapping Obito’s hand away.

“I don’t care,” Sasori waves a hand dismissively at him, “just let me eat my fugu and you can keep my cousin for the day. Just return her how you leave with her.”

“You’re incorrigible, Sasori-nii.” Sakura rolls her eyes but she smiles fondly at her older cousin as he steals slices of blowfish from Obito’s artfully decorated plate.

Sakura chats cheerfully with his cousin and talks about how one of the things she wants to do in the future is learn how to prepare fugu properly. Sasuke’s seen the stuff she’s made for her vlog and he doesn’t doubt that one day she’ll be able to prepare it and even make the slices of blowfish into the flower shapes the restaurant forms for their plating.

It’s then that Sasuke is hit with the fact that in a few months that he won’t be watching her from a monitor, that he could be in the kitchen with her if he asked and she was okay with it. He’ll get to spend afternoons with her the same way Karin and Itachi do and go on day trips like Obito and Sasori.

And he made that happen. It was his decision to message her. It was his decision to continue talking to her and get to know her.

Maybe the universe had a hand with all of the coincidences, but it was Sasuke that Sakura wanted. Not his eye but him.

“What’s up?” Sakura asks him as she polishes off the last bit of her serving of tecchiri.

Just thinking about how the universe works.

“Were you ever told that green eyes were lucky?”

Sakura’s eyes widen at the question. Her lips part in shock but she quickly closes them when Sasori snorts behind his napkin. Leave it to Sasori to find a way to snort primly. Even his chuckling has an air of superiority to it. It’s no wonder he didn’t link him and Sakura as familial relations.

Sakura elbows her cousin in the arm to silence him and he throws a glare in her direction.

“Actually,” Sakura’s face flushes once again, “in my family the superstition is that gray eyes are the lucky ones.”

Heat travels up Sasuke’s neck, and the pleasant feeling in his chest can’t be stifled even with Sasori’s smug expression—probably brought on by the fact that his eyes have splashes of gray in them.

“But if it’s green in your family, I guess that means we’re doubly lucky, huh?”

Sakura’s eyes are bright and with the way they sparkle when she’s feeling so fantastically happy, he can’t help but think once again that her left eye was definitely wasted on him.

Sasuke smiles fondly at her cheerful expression and has to suppress the desire to roll his eyes at his own thoughts when he remembers his mother’s stories about green eyes bringing joy.

“Guess that makes us triply happy then, Obito,” Sasori interjects yet again. “I’ve got green and gray in my eyes and you have gray eyes.”

“I guess we are,” Obito cheers, tapping his pint of beer against Sasori’s glass.

“We were having a moment here,” Sasuke grumbles over his cousin’s chortles.

He’s definitely ditching them tomorrow.