#someone else watch this so I’m not alone in the void pls

[monamipencil]

uhmm??? this was sooo goood??? (SPOILERS BELOW)

and i love ur editing skills. the banner looks so fucking good and amazing. your format is amazing too omgg.

“sure. i’d thank them.” you smile at him, the hatred for your father shining through. “believe me, inspector — my father was a miserable man who surrounded himself with miserable people. i wasn’t there by choice.”

i snorted so loudly lmao

tomorrow, 4:30, my apartment. all you have to do is sign the papers. i look forward to the day you’ll make me regret meeting you.

*squeals into the pillow* why tf did i like that so much? “ i look forward to the day you’ll make me regret meeting you.” *dies*

mingyu is seated on the velvet red couch, his legs spread with a girl in skimpy lingerie dancing between them. yet his eyes are on you.

shit—that’s so hot. wtf kim mingyu

“well, not anymore.” you grin, handing him your phone to show the photo of the bank transcripts. “apparently, my dead father just took fifty grand out of his account.”

i love her so much. she’s so snarky and funny lmao

the bickering–asdfghjk. god i love them so much already. It feels so real and not forced. 

“did you know studies have shown that sleeping with someone you can’t stand is arguably the best thing ever?”

you sarcastically reply to him with the exact same tone. “did you know you’d be so much more bearable if you just kept your mouth shut?”

they shud just fuck each other atp

he nods, catching mingyu curiously watching the exchange, and when you walk off with him, wonwoo notices him put his hand on your lower back, which you proceed to swat away.

lmaoooo. I love the duo, your honor 

“well, currently, i think you’re being an idiot, so no.” you retort, stealing the binocular out of his hand again. “god, i’m starting to respect criminals. this shit is difficult to navigate around.”

at this point, i should highlight the entire story and label it as my fav part?? every scene is so good and engaging??? op, i love you <3

the situation forces you to look at him so closely — like never before. your attention trails down from his dark eyes to the litte mole on the bottom of his nose, the shape of his lips, and the glimpse you catch of the silver chain adorning his collarbones.

jee– kim mingyu, 

sure, you and kim mingyu hate one another, but he still makes you smile the most anyone has in ages, and you make him feel more alive than anyone else has.

sighs have i perhaps mentioned that i like their chemistry and pairing? i dont think i did 

“maybe i would.” you grumble like a child admitting defeat. the sound of his laughter echoes through the phone. it subconsciously brings a small smile to your face.

this scene was so cute 🥺

maybe you don’t even hate him at all anymore. maybe.

ugh, no one talk to me, im way too soft rn

you lean forward in your place, the dry smile remaining on your face. “i fucked him. several times, actually.”

lmao, i love this oc like no other. op, you crafted her so well!!

you meet his eyes, and his expression is so beautifully genuine, full of raw emotion you’ve never seen him show before. it’s then that it finally hits you — kim mingyu actually cares about you.

their little vulnerable moment—oh pls, this was so soft and sweet

the worst thing is that you just might care about him, too.

lmao, ofc

because you don’t hate him anymore.

screeches into the void i’ll actually cry, if they dont end up together, happily.

“it’s alright, sweetheart. it’s okay. you’re alright. he’s gone now.” he whispers into your ear as comfort. “but you’re not alone. not anymore.”

“sweetheart” *bangs head on the wall * asdfghjkllkjhgfds, THIS SCENE >>>>

“maybe we can be lonely together.”

i am speechless and breathless. this is so hot and sweet and soft?? wtf. op, op, OP. your writing skills are divine. 

LIAR, LIAR!

PAIRING — kim mingyu x fem!reader

❝ AND THE DANCE FLOOR IS FILLING UP WITH BLOOD, BUT OH LORD, YOU’VE NEVER BEEN SO IN LOVE! ❞

WORD COUNT — 17k

SYNOPSIS — in a dramatic turn of events, a rich businessman is found dead in his lavish estate, and the authorities believe it was no accident. as the detectives dig deeper, they ultimately end up with two key suspects: you, the businessman’s very own daughter, and your sworn enemy, kim mingyu. as the time progresses, tensions rise and secrets spill — and the truth has the power to either bring you closer together or tear you apart.

TAGS — murder mystery, rich rivals to partners in crime to lovers, whole lotta plot, explicit sexual content, somewhat graphic depictions of death, everyone and everything is dysfunctional™, mentions of suicide, unrealistic circumstances, moral compass is nowhere to be found, angst, medium long hair!gyu bc self-indulgence, tsundere-ish reader again guys sorry i love her so bad, mentions of parental neglect, this ended up so long help

♪ verydeadly - wolves (kanye west cover),, low - dancing and blood,, vessel - red sex,, florence + the machine - mermaids,, zayn - bordersz,, mikky ekko - who are you, really?,, q - alone,, danna paola - tenemos que hablar,, blue foundation - eyes on fire (4 ave version),, summer camp - i want you

NOTE — one of my favorite episodes of going seventeen remains bad clue 2020, i loved mingyu’s role in it and i could totally see him portraying darker/morally grey characters and rock tf out of it so. i wrote this solely based on that idea. the music recs above are also really nice to get into the vibe! enjoyyyy :D

[ ONE ] [ TWO ]

i. ASK ME THE TRUTH AND I’LL TELL YOU A LIE

the interrogation room is unnecessarily bright, the noise of the water dispenser in the corner and the flickering led light above you running through your ears. the chair you’re seated on is uncomfortable, though it’s nothing compared to the tension you feel as the man in front of you treats you like you’re guilty of something.

“on september 2nd, around six o’clock, your father reportedly got unwell, so he left his office early, choosing to do the rest of his paperwork at home. according to the information we got from the gps tracker in his car, he went straight home, took no detours. he arrived at your family estate thirty minutes later. then at eight o’clock, the police receives a call from you, saying your father hung himself.”

you stare at the the inspector — whose name you did not bother remembering — before waving with your hand. “i’m aware. i’ve heard the recap of events many times at this point. this isn’t the first time i’m being interrogated, surprisingly enough.”

with a puzzled look, he raises his brow at you. “you don’t think you should be a suspect?”

“no, i don’t.”

“at the time of the incident, you were home, as well as two members of the staff. since the staff were on their dinner break and you were apparently in your room, it’s hard to say what exactly happened, since there were no witnesses.”

“do you mind me asking why you think it’s murder and not just a suicide?”

he’s intrigued by the way you discuss the topic so casually. “your father was an important man. wouldn’t you want to know who killed him if that were the case?”

“sure. i’d thank them.” you smile at him, the hatred for your father shining through. “believe me, inspector — my father was a miserable man who surrounded himself with miserable people. i wasn’t there by choice.”

“did he treat you badly, then?” he continues, trying to pry any information out of you.

all you can do is sigh. “i was his daughter in blood and name only. nothing more.”

with your demeanor softening into something sadder, the inspector’s tone changes into something different. “aside from you, and the staff, of course, we do have another suspect who we think could have something to do with your father’s death.”

that sparks your interest. “who?”

the inspector grabs his small pile of documents to pull a printed photo out of it, putting it before you. you visibly frown, because the person on the photo is someone you’re unfortunately awfully familiar with.

“kim mingyu is a suspect? seriously?” you ask, completely in shock. ironically, he’s the last person you’d suspect in a scenario like the one you currently find yourself in.

“what can you tell me about him?”

leaning back in your chair, you list a few things. “he’s a year younger than me. we went to the same high school, same university, have some of the same friends. though all of that is relatively common in our social circle.”

“anything else?”

keeping the insults to yourself for now, you press your lips together. “our parents are good friends. well, were, now that my father’s gone. mingyu and i hate eachother to the bone, though.”

“any particular reason why?”

“i’m not sure where it started… there’s just something off about him. it’s always been there. he’s—beyond arrogant. always showing off his looks, his wealth, his charm, his intelligence. everything. he insults me, i insult him. we simply don’t get along, never have. nothing you haven’t seen before, i’m sure.”

the inspector raises his brow. “i think you may have left something out.”

“such as?”

his hand moves into the blue folder sitting on the table, taking another photo out of it, holding it up before you. “your father was often spotted with him. at events, business meetings — you name it. matter of fact, your father seemed to be accompanied by kim mingyu more than anyone else. which is interesting, considering you are his only child.”

your gaze turns sour, voice softer yet more hateful than before. “don’t tell me this is the reason i’m a suspect.”

“let’s just say it doesn’t make you look good.”

“you really believe i murdered my own father in cold blood because he cared more about kim mingyu than he ever did about me? that’s pathetic and ridiculous.”

“you wouldn’t be the first. it’s a plausible story.”

scoffing at the accusation, you shake your head. “we’re done here. the moment you have an actual lead, i’ll talk, but not like this. i’m still here grieving and you’re accusing me of being the culprit.” you get up in anger, taking your bag with you before slamming the door shut, not bothering to listen to what the man is trying to tell you to make you stay.

this whole shit-train started two weeks ago. your father was found dead in your childhood home, hung by a rope around his neck. instead of calling it a death by suicide, the police apparently have enough reason to suspect it was a homicide.

you’ve been questioned several times in the past few weeks, but there’s been a gradual shift in the behavior of the inspector and his handimen — they’re treating you like a suspect now.

which you are, for whatever reason. they have yet to come up with any actual evidence.

your contact in the police force mentioned to you that you’re not just any suspect — you’re one of the two main suspects.

and that is unsettling, especially when you discovered who else is.

as you go down the hall, you suddenly lock eyes with kim mingyu himself, who’s leaning against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. a few strands of hair hover by his cheeks, framing his strong features.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you ask in a rather hostile manner, the scowl on your face deepening.

his lips part before he starts explaining. “they wanted to talk to me. again.”

“haven’t you heard the rumors, gyu?” you mockingly use the nickname, taking a step closer to him, “they’re saying there’s a possibility you killed him.”

your arch-nemesis looks back at you with a furrowed brow. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it? you were always with him… it’s perhaps the only thing that makes sense in all of this.”

he seems offended you’d even insinuate something like that. “it’s really the other way around, though. you’re the one who hated him. i had nothing against the man.”

it’s true that you and your father didn’t exactly get along, especially the past few years, to put it lightly. you always considered him to be greedy, cold and unforgiving, and you certainly didn’t cry the moment they told you he had passed away.

“no, we all know how much you liked him,” you hardly make an effort to hide your disdain, “but they must not believe that, considering you’re just as much of a suspect as i am.”

he clenches his jaw. “i’m not guilty.”

“neither am i.” you state. like always, there’s a tangible coldness to your voice, which he finds soothing, for whatever reason.

it’s quiet for a moment as you’re both unsure of what to say next, a rarity between you.

a few years ago, your father mentioned you and mingyu could make a good pair.

you proceeded to laugh in his face.

mingyu is a constant reminder of what you could be, and that’s the last thing you need in your life.

“if i find out you’re somehow involved in this—”

instead of immediately refuting the statement, he narrows his eyes at you. “then what?”

you realize you need to be careful with your words here — you can’t throw around threats to kill people as the top suspect in a murder investigation. “i’ll make sure you pay for it. they might buy your little golden-boy act, but i sure as shit don’t. i never have.”

a smirk subtly tugs at his lips as he leans more down, eyes flicking lower before they meet yours again. “i’d be careful with my words if i were you,” he firmly tells you, his lashes fluttering, “there’s always someone watching.”

only now do you take notice of how close you’re standing to him, and you look behind you, seeing the inspector that just interrogated you observing you and mingyu from a distance.

so you push yourself away from him, giving him a last glare before walking away.

mingyu only moves from his spot once you’re gone from his field of view, greeting the inspector with a kind smile.

ii. THE HATRED WE BEAR

you find yourself staring at your father’s tombstone with a numb face and the wind breezing through your hair. your makeup is slightly smudged under your eyes from the tears you shed just an hour before, while you were giving the public a final speech regarding his passing.

the funeral was long — too long.

at a certain point, once the whole thing was done and everyone left, you decided to take a quiet moment for yourself in the graveyard to let everything sink in.

you made the mistake of thinking you’d left alone.

a voice you’re too familiar with speaks up behind you. “i’m sorry for your loss.”

of course it’s kim mingyu out of all people who’s still here, sneaking up on you.

you don’t have the energy to make a snarky comment this time. “i’d ask why you’re still here, but it’s a question i already know the answer to.”

he still offers you his answer. “i’m here to check up on you.”

well, that takes you by surprise. “why?”

“you lost the one parent you had left. i don’t want you to be alone.”

something about that sentence fuels a sudden anger in you. he’s got some fucking nerve, saying that to you. “maybe you should’ve considered that a couple years ago. you know, before you decided to become my dad’s little protege.”

even as a little girl, your bond with your father was a shitty one. your mother passed when you were young, so you barely have any memories left of her.

in an attempt to win his love and affection, you always did everything your father asked of you, yet your efforts were hardly acknowledged. you found him to be a harsh and cruel man, but surely with you being his daughter, his only child, he must’ve cared for you. or so you always told yourself.

something about your yearning for his approval and support changed for the worse when mingyu’s mother became a prominent business partner to your father, about nine years ago. it made him spend more time with the kim family, and you have no idea how or why it happened, but mingyu became like a son for him.

you saw how well your dad treated him, and you cried for a long, long time as you compared it to his neglect towards you. for every pat on mingyu’s back, you got scolded for not being good enough. whenever he got praised, you got discarded. it’s no miracle that you came to be the way that you are. detached, perceptive, appearing to be just as unfeeling as the man who raised you.

you hated your father. with all your heart.

but you grew to hate kim mingyu more.

so to hear him say that he doesn’t want you to be alone — that takes the goddamn cake.

he lowers his head at your words. “it wasn’t like that.”

“right. of course it wasn’t.” your voice is painfully spiteful.

“i wouldn’t have done it if i knew it was at your expense. i’m sorry.”

he’s trying to be nice to you, not understanding yet that it’s actually doing more damage, making you angrier. “the last thing i want is your fucking pity.”

“then what do you want?”

“nothing you can give me.” it’s a subtle final warning coming from you, because you’re actually about to explode at him. “just leave me be.”

“please, just... i wanna help you.”

like a ticking time bomb, you suddenly hit your limit. finally, you turn around, facing him, and it’s only then that he truly sees how upset you are, like a storm suddenly changing its direction, and he’s in the way.

“help me? you’d help me by getting the fuck out of my face. you wanna know what i want, mingyu? i want to know what in god’s name everyone loves so much about you, what it is that made my father shut me out completely and replace me with you. he gave you more love than he ever gave me. just looking at you makes me sick. what the fuck did he see in you that he didn’t see in me?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from pouring your emotions out to the guy in front of you. “why did he hate me so much? even in death, he favors you over me. he left you... everything. a final ‘fuck you’ to his own child. and for what? for you?”

the fact that you got word from your father’s lawyer that your father chose to leave everything he had to mingyu instead of you was like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

throughout your life, you always did what was expected of you. you were the perfect daughter.

and for what?

the fact that your father grew to hate you and love this asshole so much that he left you not a single penny to your name — that is your tipping point.

and mingyu just wordlessly allows you to continue ranting, almost as if he deserves it.

“what the fuck is so special about you, huh? because i don’t get it. sure, you’ve got a nice face and you’re a smart guy, but i don’t believe you actually give a shit about others. i bet you came here today to rub my dad’s inheritance in my face — you fucking pretentious douchebag.”

“i’m sorry. i never meant—” he stumbles, nearly falling over as he backs away while you keep stepping forward, feeling surprisingly small in front of you, in spite of his tall frame.

“i don’t give a shit if this is what you intended to happen or not! i’m all alone.” you show your sadness right between the anger and hostility, vulnerable in front of him. “no family like everyone else, no money, no house, nothing. abandoned by the one person i had left.”

he looks at you as if you’ve just slapped him across the face. he’s never even shown you a hint of vulnerability — nor have you for that matter — so why is he showing it now?

you’re too deep into your breakdown to think rationally about it. “you took literally everything that i had. and i’ll never forgive you for that.”

“please, let me—let me fix it.” he chokes out, as overwhelmed by your strong emotions as you are yourself.

the harshness of your words makes him feel like he’s crumbling in your presence. “talk to me like you care about me one more goddamn time, and i’ll make you regret ever meeting me in the first place.”

in all the years that you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him flinch — you doubt any of your words have ever hurt him.

until this moment, it seems. but why is he even hurt? you don’t care about him and he doesn’t care about you. it’s always been that way, and you have a hard time believing it’ll ever change.

the moment you walk away from him with a sharp pain in your chest, pushing him to the side by his shoulder, he’s left behind in a shocked and bewildered state, neither of you aware that a pair of curious eyes witnessed the whole exchange.

iii. ULTERIOR MOTIVES

“the full inheritance of your father has been transferred over to you.”

the cup of tea you were raising stills with your hand. your eyes narrow at your lawyer as you’re seated in the garden of your father’s estate. “what—how? why? it wasn’t passed down to me.”

“no, but the person it was passed down to can always make the decision to pass it on. and he did — surprisingly with no strings attached,” he tells you, putting the document from the notary in front of you, “i had it all double-checked. everything’s there, the documents signed by kim mingyu himself.”

just hearing the name makes you grimace, putting you off your tea. “and there’s absolutely nothing he wants from me?”

“nothing was mentioned, no. he did, however, leave you a note.”

“what does it say?”

your lawyer raises his brow as he reads it, handing it to you instead of reading it out loud, which makes you give him a puzzled look before casting your eyes downwards to the piece of paper.

tomorrow, 4:30, my apartment. all you have to do is sign the papers. i look forward to the day you’ll make me regret meeting you.

“that asshole.” you mutter to yourself, not loud enough for your lawyer to hear it, but he’s certainly got an idea of how you feel about the whole situation.

“you do, of course, always have the option to reject the inheritance, but i would highly recommend not to. frankly, in all of my years of experience in this field, i’ve never felt a bigger need to encourage a client to take a deal.”

once you’ve picked up the documents and skimmed over the words, you look back at him. “and if i did accept it, it wouldn’t contain any possible implications for me in the long term?”

“none. it is... fairly remarkable he’s willing to give you the full inheritance for nothing in return, even if he and his family are known for their wealth. but it wouldn’t be a significant loss for him, considering the capital he already has to his name.” the man explains, not needing to spell it out for you.

you put down your cup. “knowing him, i’m not so sure he doesn’t want anything. i suppose i’ll have to talk to him about it myself, tomorrow.”

your lawyer highly encourages you to do so, leaving you to spend the rest of the day wondering what he could possibly want from you.

and so the following day, at 4:30 sharp, you step into his apartment — penthouse is the more fitting term. you’ll admit, though, that he’s got style.

it’s dead silent in his place, save for the metronome in the background and the slow brew of his coffee machine. he’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt with black trousers as he approaches you. “glad you could make it. coffee?”

“why are you willing to give me the inheritance?” you ask directly, not feeling up for the unnecessary chitchat. you’ve always hated small talk. “if it was just a set-up, i’m leaving.”

he doesn’t seem to be even the slightest bit surprised by your forwardness. “i’m willing to give it to you because a) i don’t need it, and b) i don’t want it. i think it’s ridiculous your dad set up his will like this.”

“well, that makes two of us.” you fake a polite smile, clearly very sarcastically, putting your hand on your hip. “you asked me to come sign the papers, but i have yet to see them.”

mingyu smiles a little at you. of course you’d skip straight to business — you never were a girl of many words. he walks over to a cupboard and takes a sealed folder with the documents out of a drawer, handing it to you.

when you attempt to take the folder from him, he swiftly retracts his hand like the asshole he is. “it’s not completely free, though.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “of course. i should’ve known better than to believe you were willing to do something out of the kindness of your own heart.”

he just keeps going as if he didn’t hear you, very much used to the little quips you throw at him by now. “don’t worry, i think you can manage this very small task for me.”

“just tell me what you want already—”

“my family’s hosting a gala next week, on friday. i’d like you to be my date.”

you’re baffled. this is what he wants in return for the inheritance worth millions of dollars? to have you on his arm for a single night?

oh, hell no. you’re not falling for it.

“why? you wanna publicly humiliate me or something?” you question, a deep frown settled in your forehead.

he huffs, annoyed that you’d think that low of him. “i know we’ve always hated eachother, but, maybe, during a hard time… it would be nice to have one relaxed night. and yeah, i wouldn’t mind doing that with a pretty girl to keep me company. what do you say? deal?”

not once in all the years you’ve known him has he ever called you pretty.

“fine. but don’t think about pulling any stunts.”

“wouldn’t dare.” his smile sits somewhere beween teasing and serious when he finally hands you the papers.

you sit down and briefly scan the documents, not signing them right away to have them checked by your lawyer first. “if everything in this is according to the plan, you’ll have them signed by tomorrow morning.”

“okay. see you friday.” he winks at you, escorting you to his front door, a subtle grin on his face that gives off the impression he’s planning something, and you can only imagine what it might be.

there is one good thing about having to spend time in his family home, though — and that’s to search his rooms to find anything that might implicate him having something to do with your father’s murder.

since there’s still a culprit to be named.

with your own agenda in mind, you walk out of his apartment, searching for the name of your stylist in your contacts.

you’re going to need a dress, after all.

iv. A PROPOSAL

with a stern look on your face, you look at the entrance of the gala from the tinted window of your car. it’s all bright lights and colorful decorations, candles, flowers — the kim family is well known for their luxurious and memorable parties. you’ve attended plenty of them. while you and mingyu may not get along, his sister and mother are genuine sweethearts, some of the kindest and most welcoming people you know.

if only you could say the same for the asshole you’re about to spend the evening with.

after checking your makeup in the pocket-sized mirror for a final time, your driver opens your door so you can step out of the car, which leaves you on your own in front of the stairs.

mingyu originally mentioned he wanted to pick you up at your home like the gentleman he very much claims to be, but you very quickly shut the idea down and told him you’d just meet him at his family’s mansion.

so here you are.

attending a gala only a month after your father’s funeral must seem like an… interesting choice, to say the least. the people you come across express their condolences and ask if you’re doing well — you wonder if the sentiment is real or not — and you tell them you’re here because it serves well as a distraction.

you’ve become an excellent liar over the years.

as you’re standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing, you observe the people on the dance floor below. those who aren’t dancing are chattering, the noises of clinking glasses and laughter filling your ears.

most of the time, you’re able to somewhat enjoy this life. but the truth is that it can be as exhausting as it is glamorous.

but with your last living parent gone, you do feel a sense of freedom, even if it is lonely at times.

not like you didn’t feel lonely when he was still alive.

you didn’t love him or care for your father. you cared for the hope that someday he would change. that he would show you he did care for you, even a little bit.

but that day never came.

he was primarily an investor, so at least you haven’t been burdened with having to take over a business or anything like it. having no siblings either, you feel like you should take this opportunity to start fresh; focus on building your own career and use your father’s money for things he’d never approve of.

suddenly, you spot your date in the midst of the crowd, breaking you out of your train of thoughts. his half-long hair looks pretty on him, you have to admit, the few strands in front of his face paired with the tailored, navy suit giving him the appearance of a model.

he’s currently talking to an older woman who clearly seems to adore him, the smile he puts up making her give him a gentle, loving squeeze on his upper arms. like always, no one is able to read the bitterness you feel as your face remains neutral.

growing up in your restricted social circle of the country’s wealthiest families, your group of peers wasn’t extremely big. you all went to the same primary school, same private high school. mingyu was always one of if not the most popular kid at school. an effortless ace at every fucking thing. everyone loved him, be it your peers or their parents.

you wouldn’t say you weren’t popular. quite the opposite, actually. your best friend was the queen bee of the school, as she was always striving to be the best in everything. top of the class, highest achievements, a true perfectionist at heart. bold, definitely a bit judgemental and classist too, but once she’s your friend, she’s the sweetest girl in the world. she did like to dabble in some drama with others if it came onto her path.

and you were the opposite. you preferred to steer clear of any drama, much preferring to watch it unfold from the sidelines — as you usually just didn’t care enough to interfere with it — and you were never quite as talkative as your best friend.

the sentences leaving your mouth are always quick, direct, sharp and without stutter. you’re masterful at small talk, even though you hate it. you know how to play people like a fiddle. your father made you use your manipulation skills to good use rather frequently.

many consider you cold and calculated.

which is true, of course. but you still have a heart, even if it barely beats.

the outburst you gave mingyu after your father’s funeral must’ve come as a shock to him. no one has ever seen you in such a vulnerable and weak state, and out of all the people who could’ve seen it, it naturally had to be him — and that makes you uncomfortable.

once he’s finished his conversation, he looks in front of him, then up at the balcony — and he locks eyes with you.

you give him a look of acknowledgment, but that’s it. he doesn’t seem to mind, though, still shining as brightly as ever, making his way up the stairs as fast as he can. “i’m sorry i wasn’t at the entrance to greet you, i didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

“it’s fine.”

he glances up and down, admiring the dress you chose. “you look gorgeous.”

the deeply dark green dress with its boat neckline, long and fitted sleeves and intricate gold embroidery makes you look elegant. with the dress itself already being quite the statement piece, you chose to pair it with dainty earrings, your hair half-up and curled.

“thank you.” you don’t bother saying anything about his appearance. he must be used to it at this point.

“can i get you something to drink?”

you test the waters by throwing in a joke. “what, planning on poisoning me?”

his eyes flicker for a moment, stricken by something you can’t quite place, which makes you blink at him. his flirtatious and charming self returns within a mere second, and he proceeds to snicker at your joke. “i could, but where’d be the fun in that?”

rolling your eyes at him, you take his arm once he’s offered it, keeping in mind you’re doing this for the inheritance.

the time goes by quicker than expected. he introduces you to some of the people he’s close with, tells you stories you’ve never heard before, even asks you about yours.

a few of his friends come by as well, surprised to see you by mingyu’s side. most people your age here know that you and him have never quite gotten along, to put it lightly.

when they subtly ask about it, mingyu tells them he insisted you came to distract yourself from the death of your father, and that you could probably use a party.

it raises more question marks as to what his motive is for asking you to be here tonight. what is he gaining from this? he hasn’t humiliated you yet. if anything, he’s only spoken of you highly, save for the little snark he keeps between the two of you.

it’s strange. really strange.

after a while, once all the guests have been drinking a bit, you decide to set your own plan in motion. this might be your only chance to snoop around here, as you doubt you’ll find yourself in here again anytime soon.

you’re literally invited in his home — you’d be a fool not to check his room.

unfortunately, just as you try to disappear from the crowd, mingyu extends his hand to you. “dance with me?”

just as you’re about to refuse him, you remember that this is the one night you have to be nice to him, all so he can give you the inheritance that was meant to be yours in the first place.

with a small sigh, you slide your hand in his, at which he grins triumphantly.

before you know it, you’re in the middle of the room together, and he has his one hand on your lower back, the other hand intertwined with yours. he’s smooth with his moves, you have to admit.

the question has already left your mouth when you process it. “why am i here? i’m sure there’s a reason i needed to be your date tonight.”

mingyu cocks his head at you. “i think you’ve had to endure a lot the past couple weeks. the incident, the interrogations, the press, the shit with the inheritance — i’m impressed you haven’t lost your mind yet.”

“how do you know i haven’t?” you ask, and he twirls you around, his hands feeling like they’re burning on your skin. “wasn’t my breakdown after the funeral enough to prove you otherwise?”

“well, looking back, i should’ve probably left you alone in that moment. but i did think about what you said, and you can correct me if i’m wrong, but i feel like your father and our ties to him were what made us hate eachother so much. now that he’s gone, maybe we can… i don’t know. tolerate one another.”

you make sure to hide your confusion from him. does he really not see it? sure, the main reason you’ve always despised mingyu was because of his relationship with your father, but you weren’t exactly best friends before that either.

even putting it like that would still make it the understatement of the year.

if he actually pictures the two of you becoming friends, though, he’s lost it.

unsure of what to tell him, you give him a shitty excuse to escape the conversation. “i’m just gonna use the ladies’ room, if you don’t mind.” you let mingyu know, and he nods at you in acknowledgement, caught off guard by you leaving so suddenly.

so you walk off, the voices of the people and the music in the hall fading into the background as you trail off.

now that you’re alone, you can finally go check his room.

it’s harder to navigate the mansion than you thought. hallways that all look similar, god knows how many rooms — you hope you won’t get lost here.

one of your best friends is good friends with mingyu’s sister, and so she knows the place like the back of her hand. when you asked her for the layout of the place, she did think it strange, but you told her she had nothing to worry about.

mingyu’s bedroom and study are supposedly on the third floor of the east wing, and the party takes place in the west wing.

so that’s just fucking great.

your best friend did warn you that he most often keeps his doors locked whenever visitors are present, so to ensure you could get in, you snatched the key from his pocket when he was dancing with you earlier.

it almost makes you chuckle when you think about how easy it was.

when you’ve finally arrived at what seems to be the door to mingyu’s room, you double-check the environment around you to see whether anyone’s following you, and when it appears to be safe, you shove the key into the lock, twisting it.

you exhale when realizing it’s the right key.

entering the room, you quickly shut it behind you, taking in the sight.

it’s raining outside, which you take notice of through the large windows. several paintings adorn the walls — you didn’t know he was a lover of art — as well as some photos of him with his family.

the room is surprisingly tidy, his clothes all neatly folded on the wooden planks in his closet and the drawers underneath. the few books he has sitting on top of the cupboard are gathering dust — you suppose he doesn’t like to read all that much.

of course he doesn’t.

his king-sized bed seems soft and comfortable, and the room smells of the cologne and perfume he always wears.

you blink a few times, realizing you’re dwelling too much on details that are not a priority right now.

which is enough to snap you awake, a rush of adrenaline moving through your veins as you look for anything interesting. files, documents, notebooks — anything.

you find his agenda in a drawer of his desk. with slightly trembling fingers, you move the pages back to the date of your father’s death, as well as the days before that.

as you’re caught up with doing so, you momentarily forget the first rule of breaking into a forbidden space: never turn your back to a door when you should be watching it.

“you know, i’m starting to think you agreeing to be my date came with ulterior motives on your side.” you suddenly hear mingyu’s voice behind you, at which you turn around, looking a bit too guilty for comfort.

your voice almost gets caught up in your throat, but you keep your composure. “if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t plan this.”

“it’s alright.” he responds, closing the door behind him smoothly, as if he doesn’t want you to see it. “you still think i had something to do with your father’s death, don’t you?”

“i’m not sure. i don’t see why you would, now that you’ve given me the inheritance. what other motive could you have?”

all mingyu does is clench his jaw at the rhetorical question. then he snaps out of it, his eyes trailing to the desk you’re currently leaning on. he takes a few steps closer to you, and you raise a brow, waiting in anticipation what he’ll do.

his face is suddenly very close to yours, and you’re almost convinced he’s leaning in to touch you when he reaches for the drawer behind you instead. “well, as a matter of fact, i did have something to show you.”

that surprises you.

“your father always carried a little red notebook with him. it’s the only part of the inheritance i didn’t give you, solely because i wanted to show you myself. there’s a few strange scribblings in it, with locations and numbers, and look at this—” he opens it up in front of you, pointing at the paper with his index finger, “apparently he felt like he was being followed just days before he died. maybe the police is right and he did get murdered.”

“yeah, i already figured he probably pissed off the wrong guy.” when he looks at you hopefully, you shrug. “what?”

“we should check it out, right? find out who killed him.”

you immediately shake your head at his suggestion. “no.”

mingyu’s whole body language changes, genuine confusion overtaking his features. “what do you mean, no?”

“he was caught up in all kinds of shit, things i never wanted to be a part of. that’s no different now that he’s six feet under.”

“are you not the slightest bit curious who killed him?”

“frankly, no, i’m not. i’d say whoever is guilty did me a favor.”

despite your valid point, he persists. “okay, then how about this — what if this person would come after you for whatever reason? don’t you want to know who you’re dealing with?”

you narrow your eyes at him. “why do you care so much, mingyu? i’m sure this is something you could manage on your own.”

the sudden question surprises him, so he shrugs. “maybe i’m not sure why. but i do. and you know i did care for him.”

“why don’t you just let the police handle it?”

“because they don’t know this world — and we have access to places, people they wouldn’t even know where to find or how to deal with. have you talked to the detectives? they’re amateurs.” he answers, pausing before taking a step closer to you. “he’s dead either way, doing a small bit of research might be interesting. who knows what you might find.”

“and you wanna do this with me of all people because...?”

he rolls his eyes at the question. “you were the only other person directly affected by it. c’mon, am i really so bad that you can’t even deal with me for a little while?”

the fact that you just give him a deadpan stare tells him all he needs to know.

it makes you bite your lip. you don’t feel like doing this at all, certainly not with mingyu of all people, but he appears to be ready to do this with or without you.

besides, you do feel up for a little adventure.

“fine, i’ll bite. hypothetically, what if i were interested in finding out who killed him?”

the young man in front of you tilts his head. “then i’d suggest we work together and do some digging.”

pursing your lips, you watch his pleased expression when he notices you’re actually considering it. “why do i feel like i’m gonna regret this?”

“maybe you will. maybe you won’t. we can go right back to hating eachother after this, but for now, we’ll be partners. deal?”

your eyes linger on the hand he’s stretched out to you, and even as you’re hesitant to take it, he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

with a sigh, you shake his hand. “okay. deal.”

v. PARTNERS IN CRIME

“for someone so organized, he sure as hell has a lot of unnecessary shit lying around here.” mingyu mutters, searching through the drawers of the cupboard.

you scoff in agreement. “tell me about it.”

the two of you are rummaging through your father’s study in your home in an attempt to find anything interesting as to what he might’ve been up to the past few years.

so far, you’ve had zero luck with it.

you already figured there’d probably be nothing of interest here, but mingyu insisted, said it would be stupid not to. so here you are.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t be as stupid as to just leave traces of his criminal affiliations lying around in his study.”

mingyu shrugs while simultaneously looking into a drawer. “you never know.”

“he was an asshole, but he was a smart one.” you mumble to yourself as you go through the little notebook mingyu just handed you a few minutes ago.

he watches you with curiosity. “can i ask you something?”

without looking up at him, you give him a rather direct response. “i’m sure you’ll ask me regardless of my answer to that question.”

ever so indifferent, he thinks. if anything, one thing about you he is actually fond of is your unfiltered attitude. more people should be like that. “you said you’d never forgive me for what i did to you."

hearing those words makes you look up at him. you’re surprised he’s taking an approach this straightforward with you. “i know what i said.”

“is there nothing i can do to at least make things more civil between us?”

god, you’re sick of him already.

instead of outright telling him you hate him more than anyone else you know, you cross your arms over your chest and fire a question right back at him. “why do you want things to be different between us? don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over it, now.”

mingyu pauses a moment before he answers you. “i thought about the things you said, when you were upset with me, and i realized i’ve made your life harder without having intended to do so. and yeah, i am losing sleep over it.”

while he does appear earnest, you don’t exactly trust him, so all you do is shrug your shoulders.

he wants to say something right when his phone rings. once he picks up, you figure it must be something business-related, judging by the tone of his voice and formal language.

an apology directed at you leaves his mouth as soon as he’s hit the red button on his screen. “i’m sorry. an important business meeting was moved and i promised my mom i’d be there.”

you’ve met mingyu’s mother a few times, at events. she’s the ceo of a very prominent hotel business. many of the highest ranked hotels around the world are under her care, and she clearly knows what she’s doing, since her business has been thriving for many years at this point. you remember it was her who took over as ceo after mingyu’s father passed in a car accident when he was younger.

“then you better get going.” you tell him, your face not pulling a single muscle. you hope he didn’t think you were going to ask him to stay.

he nods at your words, taking the jacket with his initials embroidered in the tag and slinging it over his arm. “yeah. i’ll call you.” he says, going out the doorway, yet your voice makes him halt in his tracks.

“mingyu.” you say his name to him, an unfamiliar feeling on your tongue, and he turns to look back at you.

he awaits your words, catching the subtle warning in your eyes as you refer back to the question of his you had yet to answer.

“we may be working together now — call us associates, or even partners in crime — but once this is over, we’ll go right back to strangers. let’s just keep this… somewhat professional.”

you find he can be surprisingly hard to read from time to time, for a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. after blankly staring at you for a few seconds, processing the words, he just offers you a little smile and a gentle response. “okay.”

and he walks off, only leaving you more intrigued than before.

for two days, it’s complete radio silence from mingyu. all he asked you over text was if you’d been able to find anything in the study, to which you replied with a simple no. he didn’t say anything else.

you sincerely thought this whole investigation of yours wasn’t actually gonna lead to anything, that it was useless — until now.

it’s eleven o’clock, dark outside, the metronome ticking in the background of your living room as your eyes are glued to the screen of your laptop.

you just got a notification from the bank that someone made a significant withdrawal from one of your father’s bank accounts, one that still needs to be signed over to your name.

question is, who the fuck has access to your father’s bank account besides you?

no one. supposedly.

staring at mingyu’s contact in your phone, you twist your lips, unsure of whether to call him about this or not.

going against your gut, you press on his phone number and wait for him to answer the call.

nothing.

for good measure, you call him a second time. same result.

then it hits you. you spoke to wonwoo last night — he mentioned something about him and mingyu going out together this evening.

wonwoo, thankfully, does pick up his phone. “hey. what’s up?”

“hey. are you with mingyu right now?”

“yeah, why?”

“where are you?”

“uh—” he stutters out an address in the middle of the city, clearly confused by the urgency in your voice. “what’s going on? what do you need mingyu for?”

“well, it’s hard to explain. anyway, i’m coming over.”

“he’s kind of—”

you quickly interrupt him by hanging up. taking your wallet and car keys, you head out. the address wonwoo’s given you is located in the club scene downtown, and you make it there in no-time with the navigation on your phone.

parking your car across the block, you get out and check your phone, heading to wherever wonwoo and mingyu currently are. you usually tend to go for the clubs at the other side of the city, as the vibe feels a little different here, but you’ve been around the neighborhood a couple times, so it’s not entirely unfamiliar to you.

when you arrive at the club, you catch the sight of your friend leaning against the stone wall outside.

jeon wonwoo, all handsome in his expensive jacket and sleek shoes, looks surprised when he notices you of all people coming up to him, even though you told him you were coming. his voice is soft when he greets you. “hey. you gonna tell me what exactly you’re doing here?”

shrugging your shoulders, you put your hands in the pockets of your black coat. “you said you were here with mingyu. i gotta talk to him.”

“right now?”

taking note of his baffled reaction, you tilt your head to the side. “yes, right now. i don’t care if he’s occupied.”

wonwoo brings a cigarette to his lips, pushing the pair of dark-rimmed glasses higher up his nose. “what’s going on with you and him, anyway? i thought you hated each other.”

“we still do.”

“well, something’s changed.”

“believe me, wonwoo, i don’t like him any more than he likes me.”

all he does is narrow his dark eyes at you.

just when you want to open the backdoor to the club, wonwoo stops you. “you do know what kind of establishment this place is, right?”

frowning at him, you open the door just the slightest bit to check whatever he’s getting at, and once you catch sight of the pink and red lights, sensual music and metal poles attached to the ceiling, you momentarily close the door again.

right. this must be one of those clubs that are hidden from the prying eyes of non-customers, to give the illusion there’s nothing going on behind these walls, giving the rich clients some privacy in their activities.

you roll your eyes. “when you said you were going to the club, i didn’t think you meant a strip club.”

“i was about to tell you when you hung up on me.”

“so why are you out here and not in there with him?”

“because i wanted to smoke and he felt like heading into a more secluded space. with company, no doubt.”

oh, this is gonna be fun. since kim mingyu pretty much ruined your life, the very least you can do in return is ruin his night. you briefly chuckle to yourself. “alright. well, have fun smoking.”

“you’re still going in?” he calls after you, and all you can do is scoff.

“you think i care whether kim mingyu’s gonna have a good time or not?”

“forget i asked.” he responds, the hint of a smile tugging at his facial features. “i’ll wait here ‘til you get back.”

you shoot him a knowing smirk before stepping into the club. remaining in the background, you scan the area to see if there’s a glimpse of him somewhere.

at the other side of the bar, a man seems to be on watch in front of a separate hallway, so you figure that’s where the jackpot is.

not bothering to look back at the bartender, whose gaze trails after you, you head over to where you need to be, which is where you’re stopped in your path, as expected.

“these are occupied private rooms, ma’am.” a bouncer tells you.

“look, sir, i…” you begin, coming up with some bullshit excuse to get past him, “i’m pretty sure i saw my boyfriend just go in here with a dancer. all i want is a confirmation, i’m not looking to start drama.”

before the man can respond, you wordlessly hold up a small stack of hundred dollar bills between your index and middle finger, waiting for him to take the bribe.

works like a charm wherever you go.

his demeanor changes once he sees the money. “what’s he look like?”

“tall, dark medium-long hair, brown eyes, pretty handsome — though that’s probably subjective.” you shrug, adding a little fake smile to it. you can get far in life with a little charm and money.

the few generic features seem to be enough for the bouncer to know who you’re talking about. he takes the money from your hand, pointing his finger at one of the more secluded rooms in the back.

“go for room number six.” he says, stepping to the side so you can pass him.

thanking him, you head into the back, the heels of your ankle boots clicking against the floor.

the rooms have their matching numbers on neon signs above them. your eyes curiously take in everything they see, but all rooms grant the people in them privacy with the use of frosted glass.

once you’ve made it to the room with the number six on the sign, you take a breath while your hand rests on the handle.

you enter the room soundlessly. the broad space is dimly lit with its soft lights, a mixture of yellow, pink and red almost convincing you that this place is a mere fever dream.

mingyu is seated on the velvet red couch, his legs spread with a girl in skimpy lingerie dancing between them.

yet his eyes are on you.

with his head tilted down, he looks up at you from beneath his lowered brows, peering right past the bare hips of the girl as if she’s not dancing in front of him at all.

you catch a hint of intrigue in his features. he reaches inside his pocket to hand a small stack of money to the dancer in the exact same way you did with the bouncer only a minute before, and the girl leaves you to your privacy.

“hello to you, too.” he says, not bothering to move a single muscle as he remains on the soft couch.

“next time, answer your damn phone.” you scold him, staring him down with the coldest glare you can muster, and mingyu’s not sure why, but he relishes in it. it doesn’t happen often that someone treats him like this.

“i was occupied.” he casually answers, his hand running through his dark locks.

“well, not anymore.” you grin, handing him your phone to show the photo of the bank transcripts. “apparently, my dead father just took fifty grand out of his account.”

mingyu furrows his brows at the screen. “where?”

“all the way at the other side of the city. question is, who else has access to his account, aside from me?”

“we should go and check the footage.” he says, shrugging his shoulders, and he finally gets up, towering over you again. “i know someone who’s with the municipal authorities, i’ll make the call.”

“right now?” you ask, referring to how deep into the night it is, at which he raises his brow.

“yes, right now. this is the best clue we’ve come across so far. don’t you agree?”

“i do. i just thought you cared more about, y’know, being occupied.” you emphasise the last words with a waving hand, gesturing to the girl that was previously dancing on him, and his flirtatious nature comes right back to him as if it never left.

“why? wanna give me a show before we leave?” he smirks, getting closer, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of you, to see what’s lurking underneath your closed-off persona.

fine. both of you can play this game, you think to yourself. “what, are the girls here not enough to get you off?”

“is that a yes?”

“why would you want a lap dance from a girl you can’t stand? i may not like you, mingyu, but i didn’t think you’d stoop so low to go after any woman with a pulse.”

“i feel flattered,” he smiles, eyes trailing down to your exposed collarbones, finding it ridiculously hot in here, “and i don’t particularly like you, either, but we both know you’re gorgeous. besides, i’ve seen you dance at chan’s club. you looked good.”

his honesty almost stuns you in your place. you didn’t think he held that kind of physical attraction towards you, yet it makes you feel good — because you think he’s fucking hot, too.

such a shame that he’s an asshole.

but still, there’s no time to dwell on his words. you have a reputation to uphold and a murder to solve, after all.

so you lean in, whispering your decision. “in your dreams.”

jesus, mingyu thinks, do you even remotely know how much sex appeal you have? it makes him beyond impulsive. “did you know studies have shown that sleeping with someone you can’t stand is arguably the best thing ever?”

you sarcastically reply to him with the exact same tone. “did you know you’d be so much more bearable if you just kept your mouth shut?”

“what? it’s part of my charm.” is all he says in return, snickering a little over your response, and you merely roll your eyes.

“we’ve got a different idea of charm, then.”

“okay, fair enough.” he shrugs, still maintaining the minimal distance between your bodies. “so what do you find charming? i’m dying to know, really.”

“i like men who don’t feel the need to pay for a woman’s touch.” the reply comes fast and sharp as a blade. “i hope you pay them generously, since they have to put up with you out of all people.”

“she didn’t touch me, though. it’s a strip club, not a brothel.”

“how noble of you.” you humorlessly chuckle at him, attitude turning more playful.

“mhm.” mingyu nods his head, the rest of his words sounding lower and suave. “tell me more. c’mon, i’m curious. i gotta know my partner’s preferences, right?”

the look you give your current partner is something. you decide to indulge him this once, face inching closer to his, just to keep things interesting. “i want someone who won’t hold me back. someone who will accept me for who i am — uninhibited.”

there’s something you can’t quite place flashing behind his eyes. it’s close to intrigue, but more intense, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen it in anyone else’s eyes before.

“good to know.” he breathes out, as if your words stole his breath, and you come to the realization that maybe, there’s more to kim mingyu than you thought.

now that he seems to be pretty much speechless, you raise your shoulders. “so, are we heading out or should i tell the dancer to come back in?”

he stutters out a reply, and you find it funny how his attitude is constantly going back and forth between a flustered mess and the most confident guy in the room.

once you’ve returned to the backdoor where you got in, you see wonwoo is still outside, his cigarette put out on the ashtray beside him.

“you leaving?” wonwoo asks, waiting for either of you to answer.

“yeah. duty calls.” mingyu replies while putting his jacket on.

for what it’s worth, wonwoo is actually a dear friend of yours, and one of the few people you show physical affection to, so you give him a kiss on the cheek before walking off. “catch you later, okay?”

he nods, catching mingyu curiously watching the exchange, and when you walk off with him, wonwoo notices him put his hand on your lower back, which you proceed to swat away.

a mere twenty minutes later, you and mingyu are seated in your car in an empty parking lot, looking at a screen displaying street security footage of the bank where the withdrawal was made earlier tonight.

mingyu’s friend seungkwan, who works for the authorities, sent you the footage, and as you’re looking it over, he’s on the phone explaining his observations. “he was wearing a mask and a cap, so we couldn’t recognize him. the car he drove has a license plate that doesn’t match, so likely stolen. he drove from a nearby parking garage to the bank, withdrew the cash, got back in the car and then parked it right here, about six blocks further, in the business district.”

the building the car is parked across is one you’d recognize any time of day. it’s where your father’s main office is — or was — one of the places he never allowed you to get into, or anyone for that matter. it was the only place where he got the peace and quiet he wanted.

you turn your head to glance at mingyu, giving him a knowing look. “that’s where my father’s main office is.”

“you think the guy’s gonna try to break in?”

“if he got his hands on the passcodes and proceeds to wait before the building he always worked in, then yeah, i do.”

you nod in agreement, because he makes a fair point. mingyu looks at the worried expression on your face and decides you’ve gathered enough information now.

he thanks seungkwan and tells him bye before hanging up, then turning his focus to you. “whoever that guy is, if he’s planning on breaking in, we gotta beat him to it.”

“you wanna break into an office on the seventh floor located in a building that neither of us are allowed into? they won’t even let us pass the front desk. i know because i’ve tried.”

he shakes his head. “trust me — we’ll find a way in. i’ve got an idea, but it’s not gonna be easy.”

vi. WE’RE NOT SO DIFFERENT, YOU AND I

the following days are spent analyzing and memorizing blueprints, tracking the people entering and exiting the building and checking security in the hope of finding some kind of loophole in the system.

trying to get in through the front door is too risky, so you’ve opted for the roof instead, because there’s several buildings so closeby that you can get into either of the buildings next to it and reach it from there. you’ll get in with a classic heist movie tactic you pray works in real life as well.

ventilation shafts.

so now, you’re both in dark and practical clothing to attempt breaking in. because your plan is mediocre at best.

as you watch from the rooftop of a currently unoccupied office building nearby with a binocular, you face-palm yourself the moment you notice the security set-up is different than anticipated with the blueprints, meaning the ventilation shafts are most likely not accessible. “well, fuck.”

“what’s wrong?”

you hand the binocular to mingyu, and he mimics your previous actions, huffing in annoyance when he sees it too. “shit. what do we do now?”

“nothing.”

“what?”

“our plan was already risky enough, but now that we pretty much don’t even have a way in, we’d be stupid to try. we only have a fifteen-minute window before a security guard comes up the roof again.”

“that’s plenty.”

“it would be, for like — a swat team. we’re amateurs. at this, anyway.”

“speak for yourself.”

“oh, i’m sorry, have you done anything remotely on this scale before?”

“well… no.”

pinching the bridge of your nose, you roll your eyes to yourself. “we should’ve brought wonwoo.”

mingyu is quick to respond with a sarcastic comment. “and tell him what, exactly? ‘hey, we need your help breaking into one of the best-guarded buildings in the city so we can snoop around and try to find a clue leading to a killer’?”

“well, i don’t know if you’ve noticed, gyu, but we quite literally have no other options.”

“we could always try the front door. you’re still his daughter, they might let you in.”

“i really hope that wasn’t an actual suggestion, because if it was, it would highly diminish the idea i have of your intelligence.”

“is this your way of telling me you think i’m smart?”

“well, currently, i think you’re being an idiot, so no.” you retort, stealing the binocular out of his hand again. “god, i’m starting to respect criminals. this shit is difficult to navigate around.”

mingyu chuckles as he adjusts the black baseball cap on his head. “there has to be another way. maybe we could—”

“—get in through an open window.” you interrupt, handing the device over to him. “you see the glass window in the roof of his office? it looks like it’s ajar.”

once he sees it too, he tilts his head. “it’s almost too easy. it’d have to open manually, otherwise we’re screwed.”

you can only shrug. “it’s only a modern interior on the inside, the building itself is older, so the odds might be on our side. besides, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“can’t argue with that.” he agrees, checking the other buildings around to figure out the best approach.

you watch him as he’s distracted. he’s fully going for the whole partners-in-crime thing you’ve got going on with him, yet a part of you is still unsure what his motives might be.

but for now, you’ll just focus on the task at hand.

every fifteen minutes, a security guard comes up to the roof, checks everything, stays for a minute or two and leaves again. you’ve been keeping track of it. as soon as the one currently on duty closes the door to the staircase behind him, heading back down, you both start a silent timer on your watches, getting to work.

one thing you discover doing said task is that jumping from roof to roof is really not as easy as they make it seem in the movies. if anything, it’s pretty scary, even if they are relatively close to eachother.

the jump from the last building to the one you need to be on top of has the biggest gap, and mingyu takes a solid leap, landing ever so gracefully.

you shuffle your feet for a moment, making the mistake of looking down. mingyu notices your hesitation and tries to encourage you the best he can. “it looks scary, but it’s a relatively easy jump. i swear. that’s gotta mean something coming from a person with a fear of heights.”

clenching your fists, you try to steady your breathing. “don’t you lie to me, kim.”

there’s something strangely charming about you using his last name whenever you’re scolding him. “c’mon. i’ve always thought you were fearless. you’re not gonna diminish the idea i have of you, right?”

curse him for using your words against you like that.

clenching your fists, you bite your lip, the worst case scenario going through your head over and over.

“just go back a couple steps. steady your breathing, and then you run. okay?”

you don’t respond to his words but do as he says anyways. the jump isn’t even that far, you’re just afraid of tripping.

but you won’t go out embarrassing yourself in front of kim mingyu. your pride is too strong for that.

so you take a deep breath and make a run for it, jumping over the gap and landing on top of the other roof, far away from the edge. mingyu laughs triumphantly. “good job.”

“thanks.” you smile as he helps you up to your feet, and you dust off your jacket, proud of yourself for going through with it.

the two of you walk over to the glass window, and you kneel down, inspecting the lock. thank fuck — it’s so simple that all you have to do is click it open. you’re guessing they probably thought the security walking around was enough.

with your hands covered in gloves, you wiggle them through the gap and crack it open, after which mingyu takes the lead. he lets himself drop into the office silently, looking up at you as a gesture for you to follow him.

you attempt to do the same as him, but you figure he must have strong arm muscles, because you’re barely able to hold yourself up the way he can. he notices your struggle and moves to stand underneath you.

“just let go. i’ll catch you.”

“are you sure?”

he nods, his arms up as if he’s waiting for you to jump right into them. “yeah, yeah. i got you.”

not entirely convinced, you try to drop onto the floor in a way you can still hold yourself up, but mingyu proves himself true to his word when he catches you as easily as drawing his next breath. he looks you in the eye while he has you in his arms, his senses feeling heightened as your clothed skin touches with his.

then you tap on his shoulder, and he lets go of you.

the office is bigger than anticipated. the moonlight from outside is bright enough for you to not need a flashlight, so that’s beneficial.

mingyu is awfully quick on his feet for someone as tall and bulky as him. he’s quiet in every step he takes, which is useful in a situation like this.

while he begins to look through a bunch of drawers, you open cabinet after cabinet, going through some documents that don’t really contain anything interesting.

you turn to look at the desk and the painting on the wall behind it. it’s nothing spectacular — your father never had much of an appreciation for art, so you find it strange he’d even have it up here.

out of sheer curiosity, you try to check if there’s a secret stash behind the painting like in those crime movies.

you have to refrain from laughing when your eyes fall onto the safe in the wall. “hey. gyu.”

he turns around, his entire demeanor changing when he sees what you’ve found. “you’re kidding.”

the safe has a surprisingly easy system. it has four dials, so you need a code with four numbers to get access to whatever’s inside. you change the dials to your birth year for fun, but naturally, it doesn’t work. hell, mingyu’s birth year might have a better shot.

while you try out every combination you can think of, mingyu gets the little notebook out of his pocket — the one that was part of your father’s inheritance. he flips to one of the last pages. “try 9-3-6-8.”

going with his suggestion, you rotate the dials until they have the right numbers, and you hear a click. blinking a few times, you turn the small crank wheel beside the dials and open the safe.

there’s not much inside in terms of quantity, but the things that are in there are no joke.

two gold ingots, a stack of files and a loaded handgun with a silencer attached to it.

“what the fuck was he up to?” mingyu asks rhetorically, inspecting the pistol with care, and you shrug, grabbing the files to put them into the bag you took with you.

“i don’t know, but we should hurry up. we can look at whatever all this is later. clock’s ticking.”

he figures you make a good point, so you hold out your bag, and he puts all of the safe’s contents into it.

you’re both scared to death when you suddenly hear voices coming from the other side of the door. you immediately zip up your bag and close the safe back up, putting the painting right back in front of it.

footsteps come approaching your direction, and you realize you don’t have enough time to get back out of the office without being caught red-handed, so you’ll have to find a place to hide.

just as you’re about to go sit underneath the desk, mingyu doesn’t hesitate to grab you by your hand and pull you against his body, both of you hiding in the small gap between the bookcase and the wall, which is right next to the door.

you almost jump in your place when the door is opened by a security guard, and mingyu puts his hand over your mouth to make sure the guard doesn’t hear you.

thankfully, you’re hidden right behind the door now that it’s opened, but your heart is fucking pounding as your chest is pressed against mingyu’s, and all you can focus on is him.

he’s suffocatingly close to you.

the situation forces you to look at him so closely — like never before. your attention trails down from his dark eyes to the litte mole on the bottom of his nose, the shape of his lips, and the glimpse you catch of the silver chain adorning his collarbones.

it’s the first time you see how big of a man he is. he’s been working out a lot in the past few years, with considerable results — standing this close to him highlights the contrast between his frame and yours.

the footsteps leave the office not long after, and the door closes. you’re finally able to breathe properly when he releases his palm from your mouth, and you inhale and exhale deeply.

“you alright?”

“yeah. that was just — scary.” you respond, cracking a little smile.

he nods, neither of you really moving in your places yet. “you can let go of me, y’know.” mingyu whispers, sounding entirely unconvincing, and you frown before looking to your hand that’s apparently been clutching his jacket this whole time.

“oh, yeah. sorry.”

“it’s okay.” he assures you, pointing to the ceiling. “we should probably head back.”

you agree and sling the bag over your shoulders, on your back. he gets onto the desk first so he can climb out the same window you used to get in, and once he’s gotten up the roof again, he extends his hand to you so he can pull you up.

it doesn’t go smoothly. he’s a little clumsy, but he manages, so you take a breather once you’ve made it out of the office with him. you close the window in the exact position it was before you opened it, and you make it to the safety of the rooftop where you started just twenty minutes ago.

as you quickly go down the stairs of the abandoned building to reach the ground floor, he laughs triumphantly. “holy fucking shit. i can’t believe we actually pulled that off.”

you smile at him with adrenaline still rushing through you, heart still pounding in your chest when you realize what you just did.

and honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever felt that… alive.

a mere fifteen minutes later, you’re seated in a half-empty diner with him. he’s across from you in the booth, elbows on the table as he fiddles with his fingers.

while he looks around the place, you take the files you found in the safe out of your bag so you can look them over.

as your eyes fall onto the first page, you frown.

mingyu notices your gaze. “what’s wrong?”

you switch to the other file folders before scoffing to yourself, realization hitting you. “you gotta be fucking kidding me. they’re tabs he kept on the people around him. the staff at home, his driver... even me. and you. well, looks like he didn’t trust you completely.”

before he can even reply to the subtle dig, you slide the folder with his name on it across the table, and he opens it up, noticing a huge chunk of information on him neatly stashed away in separate documents. there’s even candids there that must’ve been made by a private investigator.

“i knew he was paranoid, but this takes the cake.” you mutter, and you throw the folders back into your bag, and mingyu hands you his so you can take it as well.

“well, this sucks.” he sighs. “those files aren’t of much use, so now we’re back to square one.”

you tilt your head. “that’s not entirely true. we might be able to check where the gun came from, or whose name it’s registered under.”

mingyu hums, lifting the cup to his mouth, whispering a compliment, not really expecting for you to hear it. “smart girl.”

with your bag zipped up and everything off the table again, it’s quiet between you and mingyu for a moment.

“god, i’m starving.” he says as you wait for your food to arrive, and where he’s slightly fidgeting in his place, you sit completely still, looking at him with a frown. once he catches your gaze, he raises a brow at you. “what?”

“do you do this often?”

“eating in a cheap diner?”

“trespassing. breaking in. illegal activities. whatever you wanna call it.”

he shrugs. “occasionally. keeps life interesting, y’know?”

the casualness in his attitude makes you scoff. “sure.”

“you don’t agree?”

“i didn’t say that.”

“no, but then again, you don’t really say much at all.” he says bluntly. he doesn’t mean it as an offensive statement in the slightest, but it would’ve probably sounded better if worded differently.

for a moment, he thinks his impulsivity must’ve upset you, seeing as you remain silent for a moment.

then you laugh at him. the sound is completely new to him, yet strangely soothing to his ears.

“you’re bold, i’ll give you that.” you snicker before taking a sip of your coke. “but i assume you don’t have an issue with people who are on the quieter side, since you’re besties with wonwoo and all.”

mingyu mimics your facial expressions. “yeah, i prefer being around quieter people more. but i didn’t—it came out wrong. i meant, you don’t really, like... show who you are. if that makes sense. even back when we were in high school, you were like a mystery. you still are, to me.”

“is this what this whole partnering-up thing is about? you wanting to unravel the mystery about me? because if it is, i’ll give you credit for the creativity.”

mingyu tilts his head. “well, it’s a little more nuanced than that.”

“if you wanted to get to know me, why didn’t you try years ago?”

“have you met you?”

you roll your eyes. he smirks at you, enjoying your company quite a lot, anticipating whatever it is you’ll say in response.

“you wanna know something, mingyu?”

“yeah.”

“you’re telling me i’m the mysterious one, but i’d say that’s you.”

his playfulness falters a bit, and he shows his confusion instead. “me?”

“mhm. you’re popular, good-looking, charming, all of that — and i think you’ve got layers to yourself that no one even knows about. characteristics no one would ever dare imagine when they think of you.”

his breath hitches in his throat. “why do you think that?”

twisting your lips into a pout, you put your drink back down on the table. “wouldn’t be any fun if i outright told you, would it?”

mingyu narrows his eyes at you. you just shrug, as if to tell him he’ll figure it out, if he’s smart enough.

and he welcomes the challenge.

“okay.” he smiles, biting his lip when he leans back in his seat. “but, hypothetically — what if you’re wrong about me? what if i don’t have those layers you’re talking about?”

you eye him up and down, remaining quiet with your arms crossed over your chest. you’ve always had that attitude. like you know more than everyone else, as if you’re the smartest person in the room. usually, you are. and yet you’re never smug about it, unless someone challenges you to be — you’re always calm, cool, collected. stoic. the fact that wonwoo of all people called you an ice princess years ago says enough.

“i’d be sorely disappointed.”

“so you have high expectations of me?”

“in a way, perhaps. though you’ll have to work a little harder to impress me.”

“tonight wasn’t enough?”

“it was a start. we still loathe eachother, remember?”

“right. i’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

sure, you and kim mingyu hate one another, but he still makes you smile the most anyone has in ages, and you make him feel more alive than anyone else has.

vii. FRIENDS CLOSE, ENEMIES CLOSER

“i’ve got bad news.” you say, tapping your nails on the coffee table in your living room as you have mingyu on speaker.

“okay. do tell.”

“the gun isn’t registered, so we pretty much only have the files as evidence.”

“yeah. i doubt your father put those files together himself, since they seem like the work of a professional. we might be smart to seek out the private investigator who gave him the intel.”

you know he hears you sigh at the other end of the line, and your response hardly sound convincing. “yeah, i guess.”

“what’s wrong?”

it’s quiet for a moment. you speak up with a tension rumbling in your chest. “maybe we should just quit, gyu. i don’t feel like what we’re doing is actually going anywhere. we still don’t have a proper lead.”

then it’s his turn to remain silent, and you swear you can hear his breath shudder. “we’ll get there. it just... takes some time.”

“you sound a little too sure of that.”

“i just think it’d be a waste to not continue after the stunt we pulled last week.”

“what’re we gonna be doing next? breaking into the national bank?”

“something tells me you’d find that exciting.”

well, shit. have you become so transparent that kim mingyu of all people can tell the truth about you?

“maybe i would.” you grumble like a child admitting defeat.

the sound of his laughter echoes through the phone. it subconsciously brings a small smile to your face.

“look, i have a meeting ‘til five. i can come by after to brainstorm about things, pick up some food on the way. are you free tonight?”

“yeah. text me when you’re on the way here.”

“yes, ma’am.” he jests, saying he’s got to go before hanging up. it leaves you to stare at your phone for a minute. a past version of yourself would never believe it if you said mingyu would ever get close to you in the way he has over the past two months. it’s been a strange time. it’s come to the point you’re pretty sure you don’t even hate him as much as you used to.

maybe you don’t even hate him at all anymore. maybe.

but something about admitting that to yourself feels scary, so you put your thoughts elsewhere while secretly looking forward to having him come over again.

it’s a quarter past five when he sends you a message, letting you know he’s picked up the food and on the way to your house, and a mere twenty minutes later, you and him are seated in the lounge on the first floor as he tells you about his day – all while shoving a dumpling into his mouth.

what interrupts you, however, is the noise of your doorbell. mingyu frowns instantly, and you mimic his expression, because you weren’t expecting any more company. “who’s that?”

“no idea.” you shrug, so you get up from your seat, jogging down the stairs with mingyu following you, simultaneously chewing the food in his mouth.

checking the screen beside the door that’s connected to the doorbell, you notice a familiar face standing outside.

“isn’t he the main detective on the investigation?” mingyu asks rhetorically, his body language changing to something more stiff. “what is he doing here?”

“good question. i certainly didn’t invite him, but the guy at the front gate probably told him i was home. fuck — you have to hide.”

“hide? why?”

because the detective thinks you still hate mingyu, so seeing him here would make your story hardly plausible. “because he can’t see you, obviously. get upstairs and stay there. i’ll distract him.” 

“are you sure?”

“yeah, so go!” you push him back with your hands on his chest, and he seems hesitant to leave you by yourself, but he eventually jogs up the stairs again to get out of sight.

the inspector smiles only as a formality. you do the same. you haven’t spoken to him since you indirectly accused him of being an asshole, a while before your father’s funeral.

“good evening. i hope i haven’t come at a bad time. may i come in?”

“i have to take a business call soon, actually, so another time would be—”

“i won’t be long. i assume you’d like to have an update on the investigation?”

well, fuck. he’s got you there, so you’re forced to let him in, but you don’t let him wonder and gesture for him to sit down in the living room, on the couch. you move to take the seat directly across from him to ensure his focus is on you, instead of on the huge staircase behind him.

“am i still at the top of your list?” you ask. when the man tries to find the right words to respond, you scoff, filling in the blanks. of course you still are. “but you have no evidence.” 

“it’s not about evidence — moreso the lack thereof. i’m stuck with two people who each have a solid motive, an alibi that’s far from foolproof, and an important tie to the victim. you cannot deny that.” 

“is this another interrogation? because this is all off-record.”

“not an interrogation. i was just wondering something – back when i spoke to you last, before your father’s funeral, i asked what you could tell me about kim mingyu, your father’s former associate.” hearing him say his name makes you anxious, yet you pull every possible muscle to hide it. “you spoke of him as if he were the devil himself. you clearly hated him, perhaps more than you hated your father.”

“and?”

he pulls something from the inside of his jacket, and you discover they’re a few candids, photos taken of you with mingyu while out in the city. well, that’s just fucking great. you’re gonna have to make use of your top-notch acting skills here.

“i’m sure you wouldn’t mind me asking why you’re suddenly seeing someone you claim to hate as much as you do.”

the blankness of your face dissolves as you adapt a more playful and sassy persona. “you came all the way to my home for this? a few photos?”

“a few photos of my two main suspects together for a reason i cannot think of, yes.”

“you can’t think of a single thing? really? no offense, but i was under the impression you were at least a little clever.”

the man stares at you as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. that can only mean one thing – he’s falling for your act.

what an idiot.

you lean forward in your place, the dry smile remaining on your face. “i fucked him. several times, actually.”

he narrows his eyes at your statement. “i thought you told me you hated him.”

“oh, i do. but a good hate-fuck is the best way to release some frustration. you should try it sometime.” the sound of your voice is monotonous as you utter the words in one go.

“i’ll keep it in mind.” he sarcastically responds with a fake smile, and you copy his body language, pleased to see you’ve made him somewhat uncomfortable.

he clearly wants to change the subject, but you don’t feel like continuing this conversation any longer. “if you’ll excuse me, i really have more pressing matters, so i trust you can see yourself out.”

the inspector huffs a bit, but he knows better than to overstay his welcome. he wordlessly allows you to let you walk him to the door before turning around. “i hope you know who you’re dealing with. not everyone is who they say they are.”

leaving you confused, he looks at you a moment, proceeding to walk out your front door, after which you close it. did he know more than he was willing to let on? what a strange visit.

when you finally decide to turn around, you see mingyu standing in the middle of the stairs, looking a little baffled, at which you roll your eyes.

“why would you tell him that?”

“would you have preferred it if i told him the truth?”

“would that be so bad?”

you scoff, passing him on the staircase. “see, this is what i mean when i say you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

mingyu follows you back up to the lounge. “i’m just saying — maybe it’d make us look less suspicious.”

“it’d do the opposite, gyu. trust me.”

“okay. fine. but out of all the things you could’ve said, why that?”

“well, it made him uncomfortable, making it easier to get him to leave early. and, well… you know what you look like.”

the last sentence really grabs his attention.

“what i look like?” he repeats, knowing damn well what you’re getting at, but he’s eager to hear you spell it out for him.

“well, you’re somewhat good-looking. it’s one of your few strong points, actually.”

“so you think i’m hot?”

“didn’t quite say that.”

“no, but you implied it.”

“not really. you may be conventionally handsome, gyu, but attraction is a whole different thing.”

“oh, c’mon. admit it. i’m willing to, so…”

“do i need to remind you i said we’d keep things professional? which you agreed to.”

“god, you’re so tough.”

“part of my charm. maybe that’s why you like me so much.”

“i never said i liked you.”

“no, you didn’t have to.” you scoff, laughing at him, and mingyu feels the corners of his lips curling up — because you’re right.

then, as you plop down on the seats in the lounge again, you sigh as you look at the papers scattered across the table.

“you know, it’s been weeks, and we still haven’t got the slightest clue who’s the killer,” you frown, fingers resting on your collarbone, “and if i’m being honest, i doubt we ever will.”

mingyu briefly narrows his eyes at you, proceeding to take his laptop out of his bag. you watch curiously when he silently types away at his keyboard, then turning the device around and clicking on the play button.

suddenly you hear your own voice, and the words — you said those during the interrogations. how the hell did he get his hands on those recordings?

he seems to be able to read your mind. “i’ve got a contact in the force. he sent me the sorted files of everyone who was interrogated. we should probably listen to them, right? after all, we know more about the situation than the detectives.”

blinking a few times, you shrug and nod in agreement, so he increases the volume and presses the button again.

the following two and a half hours are spent listening to the recordings and taking notes of important things. you’re only halfway through them, but doing this the whole time really sucks you dry of energy.

at a certain point, you press the pause button and get up from your seat, moving to the liquor cabinet a few meters away. “you like a good whiskey, right?”

“yeah. how’d you know?”

“i observe and listen. that, and i heard you say it to wonwoo one time.”

he chuckles at your words, watching you take the bottle with two glasses and set it down on the table.

once you’ve poured the liquid into the glass, he takes what you offer him and down it in one go, after which you give him a judgemental stare. “seriously?”

“sorry. had a rough day.”

your gaze softens, and you pour him a second glass as he holds it out. “why?”

“i just… haven’t been feeling great lately. not really sure why.”

well, that’s interesting. “your conscience eating away at you?”

his eyes widen an uncharacteristical amount, and your face is blank for a few moments until you crack a smile. he laughs it off, squeezing his hands together, which you take notice of.

“guess you could say that. no, i don’t know. my sister’s been stressed and she won’t tell me why, which is odd ‘cause she always comes to me — and my mother’s been overworking herself, and i’m worried for her.”

pursing your lips together, you cast your eyes down for a moment.

for some reason, you feel a sense of repulsiveness whenever mingyu speaks of his family like that. as if it’s a reminder of what you didn’t have.

but you don’t show it.

“sounds tough.” you reply, not intending to sound distant — you just find it difficult to know what to say.

what you fail to recognize is that mingyu sees it. he sees your struggle and the emotions you think are so deeply hidden underneath the surface. they actually are, to be honest, but he’s come to know you and with that the way you hold yourself. and he’s suddenly able to read you better.

you’re made of sharp edges only — broken glass on all sides.

he takes another sip of his drink. you down yours in one go.

“can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

mingyu’s eyes curiously follow your every move, the alcohol in his system making him bolder. “how are you holding up?”

“me? ‘m fine. why do you ask?”

“i think mostly ‘cause i’ve asked you a lot of questions, but not that one.”

the words make you silent for a moment, and you let out a knowing sigh when you realize what he’s getting at. “i told you i was glad he died, gyu.”

“i know. but even if you are, you can still find it difficult to deal with.”

you inhale and exhale slowly, leaning back against the wall for a moment, staring into nothing. “i’m not sad that he’s gone. i never will be. but there’s things i wanted to ask him.”

when you don’t continue, he asks you to. “what things?”

“things about my youth, my mother… hell, maybe even about you.” you shrug, chuckling for a brief moment, but the sound is gone as soon as it came. “but i think, mostly, i’d ask if he saw himself in me.”

mingyu is intrigued by your answer. “why would you wanna know that?”

you shrug, your tiredness contributing to you opening up. “because maybe i’d hear the answer i want to hear, and not the one i currently have. my worst nightmare has always been to turn into him.”

“you won’t be like him.” he tries to tell you, but you shake your head.

“i already am. i hated him to the bone, and yet i act like him, sound like him, handle things like him — because he taught me everything i know. at the end of the day, i am my father’s daughter. there’s no changing that.”

“you’re not a bad person. he was.”

“how would you know? he was nice to you. stand-offish, probably, but nice.”

“you don’t think i had an idea of what kind of person he was? i cared for him, but i knew he could be harsh. i caught some bits and pieces when he… yelled at you after our high school graduation.”

you have an almost visceral reaction as he mentions the incident. your father had yelled at you after the graduation, because the best student of your class got a prize on the big podium, and it wasn’t you. and that as a result made your father angry, because being in the top five wasn’t enough — because it should’ve been you.

it was always supposed to be you.

“why did you even want to be around him at all? if you knew how much of an asshole he was all this time.”

mingyu stares at the wall for a few seconds when he thinks about it. “he came into my life when i needed it the most. but looking back, i feel guilty. i shouldn’t have cared for someone like that.”

“like what?”

“someone that cruel. he didn’t deserve to be loved or cared for, not in any way.”

“can only good people be loved?” you ask in return, and he seems positively surprised at your question.

“you’d find love for a bad person?”

“mingyu.” you say his name in a brief chuckle, and it steals his breath away. “do you think you have that much of a choice over who we love? we don’t. that’s what makes it so complicated.”

he seems to grow increasingly stressed with each thing you say, much to your surprise. “but would you want to love someone like that?”

looking away from him for a moment, you think his words over. “if that person was good to me, and had the same values… yeah, i would. trust me, the few people i care about are no saints, and yet i’d go to hell and back for them.”

“am i on that list too?”

you meet his eyes, and his expression is so beautifully genuine, full of raw emotion you’ve never seen him show before. it’s then that it finally hits you — kim mingyu actually cares about you.

the worst thing is that you just might care about him, too.

so you gently smile at him with a light shrug of your shoulders. “maybe.”

he reciprocates it, his brown eyes blown wide as he gazes at you. “i’m glad. you’re on my list too, y’know.”

“am i?” you tease, and he nods cheerfully, happy to have verbalized his appreciation for you. “well, i didn’t really see it coming, that’s for sure.”

your words bring mingyu’s thoughts back to the death of your father, the rift you accused him of causing between the two of you. a wave of guilt comes flooding in once more.

“look, i… i know you may not believe me, but i genuinely feel sorry for what happened. for taking something from you. despite the things i saw and heard, i really was too stupid to see that your dad treated you as badly as he did.”

staring him right in the eye, you don’t fail to catch the earnestness in them. “it’s alright. you’re not half as much to blame as i’ve tried to make myself believe you were.”

the words intrigue him. “how come?”

swallowing the lump in your throat, you press your lips together. “because he didn’t care about me. he never did. maybe he was different before my mother died, maybe he wasn’t. i wouldn’t know.”

mingyu tries to hold his ground as he watches you get emotional. he remains quiet in his spot next to you.

“can i tell you something?” your voice is hesitant and almost inaudible, like a child who’s trying to tell their parent they did something wrong.

when he silently nods, you continue.

“you wanted to know why i hated you, right? well, i...” you pause in an attempt to find the right words, “i felt invisible to my father. like i didn’t matter — i was treated like nothing more than a tool to improve his businesses. but you... he treated you like a son. like a person. and i spent years trying to figure out what i did wrong and you did right, and i just... i didn’t get it. i still don’t. but whatever it was, i was jealous that you had it and i didn’t. and everyone loved you and praised you, be it our friends or their parents. everyone in our social circle. from my point of view, no one had ever uttered a single bad word about you, and then when my father began to take a liking towards you as well... i just hated you. you were my perfect scapegoat.”

the guilt on his face is clear as day. when he parts his lips, you already know he wants to apologize again, but you shake your head, speaking up first.

because you don’t hate him anymore.

“mingyu, there was nothing for you to take away from me to begin with. long before you were even present in his life, he didn’t care for me either.” with the corners of your lips turned down, you continue. “i did everything he asked. perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect social life. but he didn’t care. it’s not often i say people have no heart, but he just… he just didn’t have one. for his job, perhaps, for his business partners — but not for anyone outside of his work. i just didn’t think that would go for his own child, too.”

you reach for your forehead, trying to take his attention away from your face, running your hand through your hair while blinking your tears away. why are you telling him all this?

but it just feels so good to finally get it all out.

“you did the best you could.” he tells you, and you nod with watery eyes.

“i did. and somehow, none of it mattered.”

when the first heavy sob leaves you, you try to hold it back, not wanting him to see you break down.

he doesn’t let you. he moves to sit next to you and takes you into his arms, and for the first time in however long, you let yourself break. the tears are your acknowledgement of the pain it has caused you over the years, the damage that will never quite heal and always follow you wherever you go.

you’re not sure why you’re falling apart this easily. you hardly ever cry anymore, perhaps a few times a year, and you usually feel strong enough to hold it all back when you’re in front of others, but this time — this time, you just can’t.

“it’s alright, sweetheart. it’s okay. you’re alright. he’s gone now.” he whispers into your ear as comfort. “but you’re not alone. not anymore.”

his heart shatters when he internally makes the comparison between the loving family he grew up in and the lonely, broken family you could hardly call home.

“why wasn’t i enough? why didn’t he like me?” you mutter to yourself, having lost control as you cry into mingyu’s neck, clinging onto his body as your chest aches.

“because he couldn’t. he didn’t have it in him to care for anyone. that says more about him than it does about you.” he responds, gently stroking your hair, even pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel… cared for. like you truly matter to someone.

something that feels scary, perhaps even strange, but good.

mingyu’s big arms cage you into his hold, a comforting feeling. to be honest, you wish you could stay with him like this for the whole night. maybe even longer than that.

he rubs your back, feeling the pain in your chest as if it were his own. he’d take all of it if he could. you were damaged in a way that no one deserves, and seeing how much it still affects you and most likely will in the long term, that tears him apart.

the heavy ache in your chest subsides, yet you still cling onto him. you feel the most at ease you’ve ever been with anyone.

“thank you.” you mumble, giving him a tight hug with you wrapping your arms around him ‘till he’s almost suffocating. “i needed that.”

“anytime.”

you eventually finally come down from your breakdown, body slightly twitching as the last tears silently roll down your cheeks.

with your head in his lap, you lay on your side, closing your eyes for a while as the pain in your chest slowly subsides. he’s still rubbing at your clothed skin, and you’re curious if he’s aware it does wonders for calming you down.

“i’m sorry for yelling at you, gyu. after the funeral.” you speak up, voice still raspy. “i was wrong about you.”

mingyu feels his throat tighten up. “it’s okay. i was wrong about you, too. we have more in common than i initially thought we did.”

you wipe your tears away and move to sit upright, finally feeling confident enough to look him in the eye again. “like what?”

both of you are tired. everything that’s happened the past weeks has definitely been causing some sleepless nights for both of you, and with all the alcohol and emotions running high, you’re both feeling a tad drowsy.

he runs a hand through his dark locks. “this part of society — i think it’s exhausting, a lot of the time. full of noise, small talk that’s supposed to hide how cold half these people are, social pressure, all of that. but here, at home, it’s quiet. maybe a little too quiet. the thing is, i have my friends and family that i care about more than anyone else, but i still feel… hollow. like i’m missing something.”

you nod at him. “you can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely.”

“yeah.” he sighs. “do you feel it too?”

“well, i may not have a family, but i have my friends. and they mean so much to me, and i can talk to them if i need to, but… yeah. i feel it too.”

he wonders if you feel the same connection that he’s feeling right now. he’s drawn to you like a damn magnet.

mingyu already knows he’s a goner when he gently puts his hand on your cheek. he feels electrified by your presence, your voice, even the way you look at him.

he needs you.

“maybe we can be lonely together.”

his words are enough for your breath to hitch in your throat. you doubt you’ve ever wanted to have someone as much as you do now.

and so you cross a line you never thought you would and press your lips to his, desperately needing his touch.

the kiss is harsh but slow, as if you’re aching to taste eachother. his hand makes its way to the back of your head, the other on your back to pull you closer to him.

his heart might as well be lurching out of his chest. god, he feels that excitement and nervousness as if he were his teenage self sharing a first kiss with his crush — yet whatever feeling is clouding his mind is something darker and deeper, something that transcends what he can describe with words.

he kisses you like his life depends on it. once you’ve both pulled back to get some air, looking the other straight in the eye, it’s like you’re silently admitting that the relationship you share is more than just being partners.

it’s something that comes alarmingly close to love.

the moment is harshly interrupted when his phone rings. he blinks a few times before rolling his eyes at the timing, as he’s still half on top of you.

you can do nothing but wait underneath him as he takes the call, and when he closes his eyes and releases a sigh, you know it’s not positive.

“alright, thank you.” he says before hanging up, turning his focus to you. “the alarm at my apartment in the city was triggered. i gotta check it out, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine.” you mutter out, suddenly unsure of how to talk to him now that you’ve crossed the line that you have.

but mingyu is much more straightforward. his gaze is warm and intense as it finds your eyes, and he wants nothing more than to stay here with you. so he shows you that.

just when your lips are about to touch again, he smirks, gently holding your chin. “i’ll be back for this.”

with those words, he catches his breath and gets up from the couch, after which he jogs down the stairs, and half a minute later, you hear the front doors open and close.

the sound allows you to release the breath you’ve been holding.

what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

the second half of this fic will be released in a couple days time. thank you for reading. let me know if you enjoyed it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[a-bit-of-a-mindflip]

June/Painted Doll aesthetic 🎡

[stylistiquements]

There was the silence and there were the stars | Corpse husband x reader -Among Us AU

Among us AU : There was something. Something in the silence and the harsh coldness -that only space was capable of- that turned your brain into a sarcastic and bored mess. Maybe that’s why you found yourself so interested by any sabotage pulled on the crewmates, maybe that’s what made him so interesting to witness. He was different from the rest of you. Different to an extend you were about to understand.

❚ Word count : 4.2k ❚ Warning : A bit angsty but you will get that fluffity fluff and touch starve feeling you require I promise ; swearing ❚ Note : there will be no mention of death or killing as it is basically a real life Among us, just some shenanigans. Y/C : your/color

A/N : This little thing was inspired by -⭐️ anon. It was a fun thing to write even though it took me way too long because I asked my brain “sir may I pls have the focus capacity I need” and brain said no (: so yeah, this is litteraly just me ranting n complaining about space. This is a bit angsty but as what if is way too happy for me that was a nice opportunity. I hope you won’t mind and appreciate it anyway. As always just let me know. As it’s my first time writing like a one shot thingy I’m really curious to know. Also it’s supposed to be proofread but if you find any mistake just take ur glasses off. Thanks. Enjoy the wild ride. 

You met him again. He was fixing wires while you were downloading some files on the computer. Difficulties happened regularly around here; various oddities that occurred from time to time, sometimes a few times a day. It would go from doors closing mysteriously to no electricity, you never knew which one it would be. Those inconveniences used to draw a smile on your lips, a grin you tried your best to hide from everyone else. The sound of the urging siren resounded in your head like a call, reviving the last spared spark left in your brain. At this point, you were pretty sure it was one of your crewmates’ doing, too many coincidences for any other options to be left. You didn’t mind though. The game started months ago but still amused you to this day. 

He never let a word escape his mouth. To your awareness, no one knew anything about him, no one had ever heard the sound of his voice which you could only dare to imagine since the two of you met. It felt silly, you fabricated this voice inside your head, a half-finished melody you played to keep your mind busy. It would have sounded just as an old piano would. So slightly out of tune that maybe, if you didn’t care enough or wished for it not to be true, you wouldn’t even notice. 

You called him black. It resonated with the color of his suit and the darkness that emanated from his soul. Not that he looked like a mischievous character, but rather like someone who would have been gnawed by life for years. A shade that reminded you of the bittersweet feeling 4 AM forced you to taste. Describing that presentiment was a challenge you couldn’t take. It was one of those things that had to be felt, not narrated. 

Shit.

He caught you staring again. How could you look any other way? There was something with him that appealed to you, that pulled your eyes toward his direction every time. Probably only a peak of unwarranted curiosity you couldn’t really be blamed for, probably the oh-so mysterious aura that floated so carelessly around him. He always had this way of sneaking in and out, just as if he was nothing but his own shadow. 

Yet, being near him was easy. Silence only felt comfortable when he was in your surroundings. The whole world stopped existing -and it had in fact since the first day you two met.

He had dark charcoal hair which fell so perfectly in curly strands around the two horns that crowned over his head. Paired with two ruby hued eyes, he truly was a sight for sore eyes. A wicked and breathtaking beauty, so unique it gave you the impression that he wasn’t even human. 

He used to hop in a vent after finishing his tasks. As if his true home was there; a secret hideout for him and him only. You didn’t even know it was a thing before you watched it with your own eyes. Who wouldn’t blame him. If you could have escaped that warmth deprived place too, even for 5 minutes, you would have. 

That’s why you never asked any question about it nor tried to investigate further. Being stuck in space was only a kid’s fantasy, nothing a fully conscious adult would inflict to themselves. Which, in itself, was pretty much self-explanatory about everyone’s mental condition in here.

It was also a pre-established rule, no questions. No one ever expressed it out loud, but you would have to be a fool not to guess it. Every crewmate grew accustomed to the deadly silence only space had to offer. A giant timeless hole where nothing really happened. With nothing but the smell of technology and the constant purr of engines as the only distractions left. See, living in a spaceship was no ordinary lifestyle : days and nights melted into each other until it became nothing but a groundless concept. The crewmates perceived it as comforting for some reason. You used to shrug it off, no questions. How unethical would you be to disturb their peace? 

If you had to be honest, you would probably say that you felt bad for Black. Nothing like pity, but being alone in this stark and brutal silence for this long must have been pretty life-consuming. That’s why, even though it made your cheeks and the tip of your ears flame up in a raw and unforgivable tint of pink, you always kept looking into his eyes for one more second after he noticed you. Just to be sure he knew that he wasn’t alone in this shit hole. You stared into the depth of those ruby eyes, hunting for silent answers to questions you weren’t even sure of in the first place. He never quivered, only stood motionless until his task was completed. Just locking the eye contact. After that, he always ran away as silently as he existed. Leaving your head disturbingly empty. 

Every single time. 

Something changed one day. You were about to prepare some test samples when it happened. He jumped off a vent and you followed his movements from the corner of your eyes, too distracted to remember about the task that was assigned to you. He ran to the door and proceeded to shut it. Within the last second, the one that always lasted hours, he put an index in front of his mouth. Silently asking for you not to say a word. And before the steel door could obstruct your vision completely, you noticed a smile on his lips. A smile that made the whole spaceship turn inside out, draining the blood out of your body in a painstaking, almost sore way. There you stood, intoxicated by stupefaction and trapped as a cat. 

Black mutated you into a self-depreciating joke : in here, you were only interestied in the impostor. The only one who made your day a little better was the one giving nightmares to the others. 

It was him, from the beginning. It was him and he smiled. A grin that twinkled maliciously from his lips to his eyes, wounding your heart in an insoluble way. It made every prejudice you had about him crumble : he was no longer that miserable existence you sensed he was but a quiescent sun that could radiate all around him once unleashed into the world. How did he do that? How could he be both the tunnel and the light at the end of it?

When red came to the rescue, she described you with a glare. She judged you in the not-so-pleasant way. You could always count on those glares to know their opinions about you. Because their judgment would have to be expressed one way or another. She thought you looked suspicious, with your half poured concoction into a hand and the rest of it in the other, just staring blankly into the void. You wouldn’t blame her for that. 

It stuck with you for days, filling your empty mind with the sight of a smile that could no longer be experienced. The scene shamelessly repeated itself in your mind until it became nothing but a progression of disassembled images, forcing you to taste the astonishment over and over again. The problem was, you hadn’t seen him for days. And, even though you wanted to know what happened, you couldn’t ask. That was the rule. 

What would you say anyway ? Black is the imposter and I watched him close medbay’s door ? Yeah, I don’t think so. You should have stopped him in the first place -and you would have if you weren’t just mesmerized.

So, you took each day -or night … or piece of time, whatever you wanted to call it since it was no longer existent- with composure. Forcing yourself to do any task with a meticulousness that didn’t look like you. Just to make sure your brain was busy enough not to think about it or him. Being trapped in a place and being trapped in your own mind are two different wrestles, yet in here those two intertwined perfectly. Just like the rest of it, it didn’t even make any sense : the guy smiled at you for ten seconds and here you were, an absolute clutter of questions and recollection. You were probably just too bored and he, as always, was the perfect distraction. That must have been it, right?

You walked in admin. Your heart skipped a beat before your eyes could process who stood in front of them. 

Look what the cat dragged in. 

His hair twirled flawlessly above his face, almost hiding a grimace that indicated so transparently his mind. You leaned against the door frame and crossed your arms, unabashedly watching him as he swiped his card frantically while sighting heavily every time that “bip” of failure rang. 

Eventually, he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. You tried anyway, staring at him as if he was some sort of work of art that needed to be decrypted. From the way his chest moved heavily under the pressure of the irritation to the way his glowing eyes witnessed you. This expression on his face gave him a funny look, a scowl which made the laugh that tickled your throat hard to hold back. 

“Y-you have to do it slower. Otherwise, it won’t work” you stuttered. “I guess it’s harder since …” 

You walked to him carefully, so carefully you forgot your words. Just as if he was a wild animal who could run away if scared. Making sure no step would fall out of line. He was so close, so close, maybe if you tried to catch him this time he would stop running away. 

“Since it’s not my job, right ? Is that what you were about to say ?” he asked with a low voice, a voice you would have never dared to picture for him. Not the broken tone you pictured but a melody so sweet and so unique it felt like it was made just for your ears to enjoy, taunting you to dive into his mind.

“Do you need help” ? 

“I- hum- You’re not supposed to help me, you know ?” he stuttered, visibly amused, judging by the way his eyes wrinkled under his smile. 

“Are you gonna lock me in the room once again ?” He shook his head as a chuckle escaped from his lips. “Then who cares” you finally breathed.  

Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you grabbed the card. You tried to appear unbothered, hoping so intensely for the swipe to be a first try success. That way, maybe he wouldn’t notice the way you breathed heavily under the weight of your pounding heart. But those red eyes piercing through the depth of your soul were hardly bearable for those like you who suffered from unbeknownst afflictions. 

You grew aware of his every move, the way those eyes fell on you, the perfume that emanated from his skin, the sound of his slow yet noticeable respiration.

You gave him his card back and he captured your fingers in the palm of his hand, making it impossible for you to escape his grip. Hiding those blushing cheeks from a sight that seemed to see everything was a defiance only the proudest people would be capable of. It wasn’t your case, but you counted on preserving the last sane cells left in your body. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” You whispered, avoiding any eye contact.

“I know that.”

 A simple answer that would never be enough to satisfy you. Yet, before you could review the best option of an answer, he left. Just as he always did, he walked away silently -still this time it seemed to last an eternity- while you just stood there inertly as you watched his black silhouette disappear into the endless gray hallways. 

You finally caught the breath you had been holding this whole time. Leaning over, you observed your reflection into the screen of the digital tablet as you rubbed your hands together, hoping for that strange spike of electricity that ran through your fingers to fade away quickly. A mess.

“There you are, Corpse” green said as he sat cross-legged in black’s secret place “I’ve been looking for you.”

Corpse was the name green chose for Black, feeling like it would be the most suitable image for the one who always worked in the shadow. Not the most refined nickname, yet black ironically related to that. Silent as a Corpse, he thought. A level of sarcasm that amused him and which probably led to him immediately falling in love with it. 

Corpse observed the little sprout on the top of Green’s head. It floated lightly and followed his every move. What a little freak. Just a thing deprived of any sort of self consciousness, out of this world just like he felt he was. Corpse remained fixated on it, hoping he could get as self-aware as it was. The last impromptu reunion he had with you was nothing he had planned, nothing that should have happened. He wouldn’t exactly call it a mistake and still, he had no one else but him to blame.

“Did something happened with y/c ? You seem a little flustered.” Green asked, pulling Corpse out of his overflowed mind. 

“I don’t know, I think I kinda fucked up.” He replied with a shrug. “I’ve been spotted.”

“Was it really a mistake ?”

Green was the only one who was granted with the privilege of learning how to understand Corpse. Because, deep inside, they grew up to be the same kind : the kind that didn’t belong here. Two sides of the same coin. 

Green’s social intelligence, on the other hand, Black didn’t like it that much. Thanks to that guy, he would be able to work comfortably in the darkness, where no one could see him, but it also meant that he saw clearly what was going through Corpse’s mind. Actually, it didn’t take him too long. 

What was the surprise when he realized it was you who lived rent-free in his thoughts? See, in Corpse’s eyes you were different from the others : too conscious about the reality that happened before yours eyes. It made you interesting to observe. What a delightful sight it was to watch you rolling your eyes in your crewmates’ face, to notice the serious look you had when you were focused on a task, the way your eyes sparkled every time a new sabotage was made. He wouldn’t track you, yet he would never resist a peek once your paths crossed. It happened often, more than you actually realized.

Yet, Corpse was no fool. You and him never belonged together. You were destined to a bright destiny and he was the obscurity. That’s why he was more than careful not to get too close, not to see his bare mind get burnt under the exposition of those peculiar feelings in the pit of his stomach. 

That’s why his previous reaction made no sense to him. But what could he say? You took him aback when those words were directed at him. You made his short-circuited brain unable to be sensible anymore. He just wanted to know what your touch would feel like under his fingers. Why was his skin blazing with electricity now ?

Corpse swallowed it all. From the blossoming feeling inside his body and mind to the warmth and the softness of your skin. He couldn’t feel that way. “I’m not really sure.” he finally said, as honest as he could be with himself. 

He would spend his next few days planning with Green, cornering you to a small part of his brain. You couldn’t be there, you had no right to be. The game was progressing faster than they anticipated it. It made him thrilled, accepting the challenge no one but the two of them could bear. 

However, a new unwanted seed grew into his mind. The idea that, maybe, you were only by his side in this game. That, maybe he would never be able to witness your existence in the real world.

“Have you ever noticed how weird the stars look sometimes ?” Corpse asked as he joined navigation. You jumped and your mind turned into a scattered place stuck between a task you battled to achieve and the proximity left between the two of you. Your heart beat in rhythm with his echoing, never ending footsteps. Still you had, indeed, noticed. “It’s like they’re not even real” you answered with a smile that made your voice higher. A melodic lift that betrayed your intention of ever finishing your job. 

When you finally looked at him, his lips moved into a satisfied curve. Shivers tickled your arms and your neck. Maybe because he was just standing so perfectly still in front of the glass window. So perfectly still that, among all those celestial bodies, he appeared to be the most beautiful one.  “Mind keeping me company for a bit?” Your mouth betrayed you when the question escaped your grip. But Corpse snorted faintly and shook his head.

“From all the people in here you want to spend time with me ? That’s probably not your wisest decision.” He said as he tried to muffle a high pitch laugh with a hand that covered his mouth.

See, that’s the words he had been afraid of since the first time he saw you. The words he would have to turn into derision since he knew he would have no strength to refuse. Yet, you stood there with those glimmering eyes and those eyebrows that arched in a strange manner, cutting every single inch of air out of his lungs. Even if he wanted to say no -and he should- he wouldn’t have been able to.

It was never meant to happen, not judging by your two so hostily opposed nature. Fuck that shit. Who cared about that speech when you were here and you were so beautiful?

You moved closer to him, a strenuous and slow tense that shouldn’t be disregarded. You’ve had seen the same scenery for months yet never it made you feel the same way as you did at that very moment. Because those balls of lights floating into the void shimmered in his ruby hued iris just as a dozen of fireflies would. He made your world a little blurry, narrowed to his presence at your side.

“You forgave me really easily the last time we met.” He noticed. “That’s a little sus if you asked me.”

“Well, what can I say ? You’re the only distraction I have left, so I’m not really in the position to hold grudges.” You shrugged sarcastically. 

“You’re really funny, I have to concede that” he said as his smile made its way to his eyes. 

Your brutally honest words intertwined with his chuckles and crewmates never heard the spaceship as lively as that time. That time when you got to discover who Corpse really was. A man who hid his blooming existence behind a silence.

“Why did you stay silent this whole time ?” You dared to ask before the silence fell upon the two of you, a silence that maybe you wouldn’t be able to endure this time.

“Because I never wanted to lie”

“I- ...hum- there’s really nothing I could say against that, right ?”

With every grin, every chuckle, every abrupt eye contact, your proximity kept embedding his mind a little deeper until you stole the stars’ show completely. It’s no good, you held his breath hostage when he realized he could feel the warmth stemming out of your skin. So tempted to get closer and witness it with further clearness. 

Thus, he lifted a hand that starved connection. He tried to close the gap between your two touches so prudently, so discreetly that you didn’t even notice. A touch, that would go beyond his movement, more like a proof he needed to make sure someone like you really existed in a shithole like this.  

He was so close. 

Yet, the alarm rang before he could embrace the object of his desire. “Better check that out quickly” you said with a sigh. Somehow, it felt peculiar just knowing that, this time, you were the one running away. A sense of some sort of joke played by space. As if space hadn’t done enough. When Green cut the communication, he couldn’t realize -If only he knew the double meaning of that sabotage. Ah, the irony of it all. 

“I’ll see you soon” Corpse informed you, more of a promise than a farewell and he stayed there long enough, staring numbly at his hand.

You ran until the communication room, holding this bittersweet feeling on the tip of your tongue. You tried to swallow it and almost found yourself praying that no one would arrive before you could. This way, maybe your fugue would make more sense. 

Blue was already sitting on the floor, trying to find the good frequencies. “I’m already on it.” she said on a plain, monotone voice. Of course, she fucking would be. 

Now what was left to do ? Corpse was probably already gone and-and the silence … the silence had returned. A dead, cold, cruel silence. It tested out your nerves, built up some pressure down your throat that made keeping your composure barely possible. Corpse slipped between your fingers again. The game was no longer a funny and pleasant diversion from the plain, austere daily life you had. You grew tired of that cat and mouse game. You just wanted him.

After going back to the oh-so empty navigation room, you completed your tasks. And you were finally done. You wandered around for hours, days -who knows-, searching for a purpose. 

The game was coming to an end, you could feel it. Something in the air changed, it became dryer than ever. Unbearable on your skin that ached for something you couldn’t apprehend. The crewmates were agitated, everyone kept running around day and night just to make sure the last tasks would be completed as soon as possible. New difficulties were triggered almost as soon as the last ones ended. Chaos. 

Just as if he wasn’t ready to end the game so soon, as if he didn’t want to get the hell out of this place as much as you did. From time to time, you almost found yourself eager to ignore the alarm. Taunting him one last time by neglecting his call. 

Maybe that way he would show up, maybe that way he would stay with you. Yeah, maybe that way he would stop being nothing but an ephemeral being that almost made you wonder if you finally gave up on your mind to the silence. Because at that moment he only felt like a chimera your brain created to protect you. Because you were just so fucking bored.  

You gave up on that idea, turning on the CCTV as you sighed. Just to see more colorful suits running around, trying to hold their shit together for what appeared to be the ultimate hour. Despite all the sabotages, it seemed like your number made your strength. You imagined Corpse’s face, probably piqued. A dark frown covering his pretty eyes. It made your lips twitch for a second. Who knew it would end this way ? Definitely not you. 

Yet that amused smile faded away when you heard the familiar sound of the door closing, locking you in yet another time. You rolled your eyes and turned around, unprepared to witness who locked themselves with you. His body laid against the door, guarding it as his chest moved frenetically under the weight of his rushing breath. 

“This is the end” he whispered frantically under his breath. He doesn’t look as worried as you thought he would, but it didn’t matter. You moved impulsively toward him, never stopping until he snaked a hand around your waist and slipped the other one in your back. That way, this time, there were no escape. 

He let his head rest in the hollow of your neck, soaking the divine and comforting warmth you had to offer. His warm breath on your skin sent shivers through your body which responded by squeezing him a little tighter, holding him as close to your heart as humanly possible. You could feel his, beating so fast.

“This is the end.” His whisper grounded on your skin. 

He lifted his head to dive into your eyes with the same sweet smile you offered him. The one which expressed the happiness, the relievment it felt to embrace him. 

“If it were for you, I would do it all over again.” You said, pressing your forehead against his, sharing a breath as you closed your eyes. One last attempt to memorize everything about him. You sensed his smile, so wide you didn’t even have to look at it to see. He left a trail of kisses on your cheeks and your hand wandered in his hair as a faint gasp escaped your lips.

Corpse looked back at you. And then, as his thumb drew light circles on your cheek. With glowing eyes that translated all the adoration he felt for you, he whispered “Maybe it was just meant to be”. And then, he closed the distance between the two of you, brushing your lips softly at first before capturing them completely once he was sure you felt the same way as he did. A kiss that tasted like 4AM and home. 

“I’ll find my way back to you, my love. I’ll find you in the real world.” He promised.

[ofmythsandmadness]

to be called beautiful | d.h.

❛ do you ever miss, having someone around to love you?❜

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SUMMARY: vigilantes!au. you push the boundaries of your relationship, and ask for a wish you know won't be given back. (or — it's late, and after another night of patrol, loneliness sets in deep.) WARNINGS: slightly nsfw??? mentions to sex, no descriptions. it's not a sexual story, just a part of an inner monologue. WORD COUNT: 2.6k+ NOTES: reposting this in hopes it shows up this time (pls pls pls i'm gonna cry). i've been writing a whole other series that is a totally different writing style, but i've been trying to work out my emotions in small, focused pieces like this one when i can't focus. i might develop this into a small ficlit series of it's own, bc i think it's kinda fun — but we'll see how this goes.

THE BEAST THAT IS YOUR LONELINESS has been your burden for too long to say.

It's hold on you is a familiar ache, one you've felt for years, like a chronic tight tugging on your heart that refuses to give in no matter what you try. But you still refuse to name it for fear of coming to terms with the implications of it all. That you're really alone in this life and you're terrified of what that means and the fact that you can't have what your childhood stories promised would be yours.

Like the fool you are, you cling to the idea that it's just passing notions. You'll get over it one day. The flitting daydreams of a fairytale romance better fit for a vanilla Hallmark flick suck, but one day they won't hurt so bad. You'll numb and find a way to fill the void. And you try, you really do, pushing it down for the quick release of meaningless acts and walks of shames and cold bedsheets.

Sex is a toxic friend. You choose it's pull when your heart aches most and the loneliness begs for your breath to the point where every gasp of air is a privilege, not the bare minimum. It's not what you crave. There's no romance, no love. It's a trade and one that always leaves you feeling robbed of something you're not sure you ever even had.

You rarely remember their names. You know they probably won't remember yours. And why would they? The shudders, the whimpers, the cold moans that amount to nothing but crumbs of a supposedly passionate act only pass an hour, then they're gone. Or you're gone, if you're lonely enough to risk it. A bit of fun, a breath of pink and white and the feeling of someone pulling you closer, begging for your skin against theirs.

And then, it's all grey again. And you're alone at your apartment, washing your body free of the marks some stranger dared to press into your wilting skin, wondering what it would feel like for a lover to kiss you that same way. Running your fingers over every inch that has been caressed by so many faceless guests, trying to hold yourself in the way your foolish heart pounds for. But it's never enough. Your hands don't cup your flesh, don't mould and kiss and promise the carefully knitted lies any lover had dealt you in the past. And you're as cold as ever when they fall back to your sides. Nothing enflames your skin like you wishes it could — like those you wish would.

It's a discontent you live with. Just as you're sure millions of others do. That's what life is; you push yourself through the day, through your mundane day job and your taxing nighttime hobbies (because you sure as hell can't claim what you do as real work if your only pay is in blood and tears). You cling to the good times that happened too long ago to remember clearly, and make the moments that you're alone with your thoughts as small as possible.

But there's no time to consider all that now.

You scrunch your face up as tight as you can, squeezing your eyes shut to the point where you see stars, exploding like confetti in some absurd black void that hides behind your lids. For a moment you hold the pose, watching the stars erupt, until the position hurts too much and you have to release.

Surroundings blur and then clear as your eyes readjust from their disassociation. You stare blearily at the random coffee shop you and your 'associate' chose for the night. It's just as generic as the last five visited, a thousand shades of brown and red and weary smiles the bored baristas wear just for a cheap check that'll barely cover their asses. It's worn and empty; no one's hear except the two of you and the workers who probably hate you for being here so late.

Normally, you would feel like an asshole staying so late. But you can't bring yourself to move, or even suggest to. It's all too heavy. And even if it's in brooding silence, you don't want to leave your partner. Not yet, you beg the universe, just a few more minutes.

And, speaking of—

"What's got you so blue today?"

You blink. Look over to him, only to see him already watching you.

There's really no point lying. He always unravels you too quickly, too easily — it's the detective in him, unravelling anyone and scooping their truths from shivering flesh. Some sort of childhood trauma response he developed into another super power.

You used to hate it. Now...if you concentrate hard enough, his sharp gaze feels like one of a lover's.

"Don't know what you mean," you tell him, foolish and flustered. "I'm just fine."

"Bullshit. You've sighed a dozen times in the last five minutes."

"Tch. No I haven't."

"Did too!"

His teeth glint, white and clashing against the full pink of his lips. You wish you could denounce all the times you wondered what it would feel like to have them graze against your keening skin — but not even all the gods could cleanse of you of those thoughts. Those desperate, pleading, melancholic memories stain; he can't see them, but you do when you look close enough. And you can't escape it, much as you try.

"Seriously, though. What's up with you?"

Your gaze falls down to your hands, eager to escape his allure, though it's not a great distraction. It only makes you more bitter, really, taking in all the flaws that litter your weaponised limbs. They're calloused from a million fights. Your knuckles are scarred, aching from wounds you reopen every other night. A thousand scars from a thousand scrapes, cuts, slashes and grazes linger on once perfect skin. You don't know how many there are, anymore, only that you wish you could wipe them off. Start over, have a clean slate. Erase all your mistakes and be beautiful again.

"I'm just tired," you lie. It's tense and pitiful; you know you've screwed it up the second the words leave your lips. "S'all."

"Ri-i-ight, and I'm the goddamn queen of England."

The absurdity of his retort makes your lips twitch. It's not enough for a smile, your self-inflicted misery makes sure of that, but it's a seed of something. "Wow. Didn't know I was in the presence of royalty."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it."

"My apologies, your highness."

"Shut up, you little shit," he grumbles, but it's as soft as you get from him. It's practically a cry of love — or your foolish mind paints it as such. You take his teasing insults as promises of adorations and his arguments are poems of lust and infatuation that tug on your heartstrings in ways you know they shouldn't.

You're partners, for crying out loud. Professional coworkers (if you call the bloody mess you two create work). You don't get to miss him, or crave him, or love him like you do.

"Something happen to you?"

You watch his own hands fold and unfold on the table. The long, delicate fingers stand out on a man like him; someone who paints himself in only sharp angles and cutting lines. But you think they match him well. They promise life. Bleed hope, even in the raised scars that lace his skin like your own. You've watched those fingers grip a blade, launch it into flesh, pull and push and dig and rip and take and committed acts of atrocity most people would run from. You know he probably thinks of his hands the same way you do. But you think they're beautiful.

"Nah. It's...it's nothing. Really."

You can't see his face, but you imagine his narrowed eyes and furrowed brows asking for an answer you're just not willing to give. "C'mon, just tell me. Can't be that bad."

Your body laughs. You hear it from some place far away. It's cold and hoarse; you wonder how long it's been since you've heard a genuine laugh from yourself. You wonder if he notices (and wishes he did, foolishly, frivolously...).

It's probably stupid, but you go for it.

"You ever miss having someone?"

Something creaks; his chair, groaning as he shifts his weight. One of his fingers taps against his empty coffee cup; idle music for a restless soul.

"Like, in what way?"

"I..." Your nails dig into your palms. This was a mistake, but one you have to follow through with. He won't accept silence after something like that. "In the cheesy, domestic sorta way? That whole, havin' someone to come home to, someone who you can talk to, someone who..." the words stick like molasses in the back of your throat. Try as you do, they refuse to give themselves to him, so you have to substitute. "Just, someone who likes you, past your body or, or whatever."

"Oh."

"Sorry." It's your turn to shift in your seat, awkwardly searching for something to occupy yourself with as this uncomfortable energy you've created carries on. But your cup's empty, and you don't have the cash to ask for another overpriced latte. "Forget about it. Let's talk about somethin' else, yeah?"

He doesn't answer that. In fact, he doesn't say anything at all for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if you've just crossed the line of no return. You can't bring yourself to look at him, hell your cowardice is painful enough to make you wonder if you should just make a run for it, say au revoir! to the bond you've built with this knife-obsessed robin hood and crush your heart forever.

It's tempting, and you consider it, but then he fills the silence.

"I miss Eudora sometimes."

Finally, your gaze tilts up. Your eyes meet his lips. He's not smiling anymore.

You guys don't talk about exes together. It's a forbidden topic, same as family or childhoods or the number of people that have cut you open and bled you dry for fun. It's too personal, and in this line of work, personal doesn't fly. But you know Eudora Patch, because this line of work requires a couple run ins with people like her, and because your partner in crime has never learned how to stop his emotions from bleeding into his expression.

"Not because I still love her, but y'know..." his fingers wave aimlessly. "It was nice, when it worked. I liked having someone to sleep with. In a non-sexual manner." His lip curls a little. "Guess the sex part was nice too, though."

You nod. "Yeah, I get that. It's...it was nice, having someone who knew you. Who wanted to make you feel good, not just for themselves but 'cause that sort of things matters."

"Mm."

"Y'ever consider pursuing that sort of thing?"

He shakes his head. His adamancy is a truck smashing into your heart — though you know you should have expected no less, it still hurts. "I can't. It never works, with people like us. Y'know?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." You want to say more. You probably should say more — but you doubt he wants to hear your woes about intimacy, and the pathetic ways you crave affection you probably don't deserve. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

His brows knot. "Why're you asking? Someone do somethin'?"

"What? No."

"Cause, like, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"I'm fine," you promise, and without thinking, you reach across the table to pat his hand. To reassure him like one would a lover. But just before your fingers meet his, the bitter reminder that he's not yours sets in and you draw back. Your hand falls a couple inches from his own. "And I can take care of myself, if I wasn't. Don't worry."

He chuckles mirthlessly. "Y'sure about that? You're still the dumbass that tripped over her own feet twice walking down an empty sidewalk, and—"

"—oh, you are such an asshole, why can't you just—"

"—so if you need someone to cut a bitch, I'm available."

You soften slightly. Try to smile, even if it's a false promise and probably hangs like a broken door on mismatched hinges. "I appreciate that. But I'm okay. Think I'm just tired, and a little lonely."

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue; it speaks before you can shut your lips around it. "You're fine as a partner against crime. But you're not anything otherwise, are you?" It feels like a taunt. You hadn't meant it to be — though, maybe you had.

If he takes your jeer poorly, though, it doesn't show on his face. He's still smiling and watching you, eyes simmering with a joke you wish you were in on.

"It doesn't matter though. Having someone's too complicated, 'specially for fools like us. Sometimes it's just..." you don't have a good answer. Not one he'd want to hear, anyways. "I just miss it sometimes. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to, or eat breakfast with in the mornings."

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Was nice, having another body around."

"Yeah. Ha. I," you stutter out a chuckle. Tug at your lip, nibbling at the cracked skin that comes with your long nights. "No one prepares you for how lonely adulthood is. Like, I'm half tempted to make friends with the takeout guys, just so I have a friend at all."

"We're friends."

"You know what I mean," you mumble, swallowing the bitter 'are we?' that almost makes its way off your tongue. "It was just nice when I had the time, to have a person around. Someone to like, hold hands with, or-or call me beautiful, sometimes. I-I can't remember the last time called me that, any..."

Fuck.

You hadn't meant for that last confession.

He wasn't supposed to hear that. It's too personal, too personal, too fucking personal for someone you don't even know.

Everything trembles; you're shaking like an avalanche, ready to sweep it all away under some snow drift. Never to be seen again. But you can't do that, there's no taking back the way your voice cracked as it reaches it's last word, and how your hand slips into a fist, ready to charge even though there's no punching your way out of this fumble.

You crack. Stumble out of your seat. Before he can talk you're moving, throwing a couple bills (too many for your poor wallet, you'll pay for that later) down and mumbling something about heading home. Your head's spinning and you just want to sit down again, pretend like this never happened and ask about some meaningless moment in a meaningless day that you wish could be yours and his, not just—

"—text me when you're goin' out again," you say, high and nervous. "I'll be around."

You turn.

"You don't have to leave."

"I got work tomorrow. Early."

"Thought you had the day off?"

Fuck, la deuxième acte. "Taking a shift for someone."

"Oh." He doesn't believe you. He would be a fool to. But he agrees anyways. "Okay."

"See ya, Kraken."

He doesn't answer you back. It's probably better that way.

BONUS

Many hours later, you're in bed, finally dozing off. You've rinsed off the filth of the night and resigned yourself to a barely adequate rest alone, too tired to consider what usually makes your mind race. It's been a long day; let future you contemplate all the ways you've screwed up.

Just as you're about to fall asleep, however, there's a small ping! that immediately wakes you up A notification sound reserved for only one person.

You groan but still roll over. Your heart may be a humiliated, burning mess, but it still beats for him, much as you've tried to stifle it.

kraken // 2:36 am. you available at 11p tomorrow?

kraken // 2:37 am. got word somethin going down at east docks, wanna check it out before it gets bad.

Relief is a sweet blessing. You exhale and smile into the darkness. He's still a professional, even if you seem unable to understand what that means.

you // 2:40 am. for sure. meet me at my place whenever and we can prep.

You leave it at that. Whatever he has to say after that, cannot be too important to waste your precious hours of sleep. So you roll over and shut your eyes and let yourself forget about the empty space that fills your place.

It's a decision you regret the next morning, when you wake up and realise what you missed.

kraken // 3:31 am. you ever get lonely for someone, feel free to let me know.

kraken // 3:32 am. might not make a great boyfriend, but i'll eat breakfast with you. so long as you're cooking.

A/N - I had a whole idea for two tired vigilantes (like what Diego does in season one, but partnered up) who both are really lonely and tired of life and all it's shit, and rely on each other more than they'll ever admit, and...I'll probably never write it, but this was a fun bit of that. two lonely emotionally deprived assholes who can't accept that maybe they can be loved and the person who wants to is right in front of them. :)

[sporadicerratic]

Reach Out and Touch Someone

This is my very first fic I have ever posted anywhere. For KingDings week 2021. This is prompt #2, “Heartache” I’ll come back and name it something serious later I swear I hope y’all like it pls be kind ty

Pit. Pat.

Only the quietest of sounds echoed in the dark space as the king carefully wiped the surface of a small stone coffin with a soft, damp cloth. Careful to catch the inside edges of small, green heart embossed into the center, he diligently scrubbed every inch of the surface; the sussurus of each pass punctuated by his occasional sniffles.

Once all dust had been eradicated from the top of the coffin, the king leaned close to the heart and gave it a soft touch, one that could even be considered tender. “I’m sorry,’ he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Pit. Pat.

Cloth into the bucket, swirled around and wrung out. The fur on his hands was soaked through, and the water was making it’s way down his forearm, but he hadn’t brought another towel to dry the coffins, or himself. There was work to be done, and a small coffin with a light blue heart that had gathered dust.

Had he not been so focused on his task, King Asgore might have noticed the faintest flickering in the corner behind the coffin with the purple heart on it. The darkness trembled and shivered, as did the figure peering through it to watch the king performing his sorrowful task.

Gaster knew that he didn’t have the strength to do more than pierce the void today, but how he wished with all of his might that he could be there to comfort his dearest companion through this, one of his most difficult duties as king. Before he had fallen into his creation, he had urged Asgore to let someone; ANYONE else tend to the coffins, but Asgore had refused. The corners of his eyes had crinkled up and his brow had furrowed in the way that made Gaster want to take him into his arms and never let go, despite the fact that he could only hug one side of his mountain of a goat. “Thank you, Dings,’ he had sighed, “but it was my own brash actions that put those poor children into those coffins. I could never,” here he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers, “I could never ask anyone else to have anything to do with them. This is my responsibility.” He looked up, eyes glassy. “But, I thank you, my dearest friend. Come. It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we walk in the garden, while the sun is shining?”

Gaster’s hand practically disappeared into that of the towering king of the Underground, but his grip was gentle and his fur was soft, oh, so soft. If Gaster closed his eyes, he could almost remember the way it warmed the bones of his hollow hand, and the way that warmth spread to make his quivering, fractured soul feel almost whole again. Asgore was so full of love that he generously showered upon all of his subjects, and Gaster felt privileged to be a common recipient of what he secretly hoped was a little more, or should he say, a little different than that he showed to everyone else.  He only wished that he could share some of the burden that the king refused to ever let drop from those massive shoulders.

Pit. Pat.

Gaster was gently brought out of his reverie and back to the present as the king moved to the last coffin; the one with the purple heart. That human hadn’t offered much resistance; throwing the one item they had managed to bring into the underground; a simple notebook, and fleeing into a cavern in Waterfall. Every day that Asgore had to fulfill his promise to the monsters of the underground was a true test of his resolve. He always held it together until he made it back to the throne room; smiling and waving to the cheers of his subjects who saw the flickering soul cupped gently in his hands as nothing more than a sign of hope; not as the last surviving piece of a living being.

It was Gaster who took the soul from his hands as he collapsed, sobbing, into the flowers. It was Gaster who quietly encased it in a glass cylinder, and eased the broken body of the human from Asgore’s grip. It was Gaster who sat with him for hours; days; sometimes weeks, rubbing his back, holding his head in his lap, whispering gentle words of encouragement and love, making sure that he ate, and keeping him warm through the night when he refused to move from the spot where he fell.

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pit. Pat.

Asgore’s tears fell upon the last coffin, and as he tried in vain to wipe them from it’s surface, his will finally broke, as did the silence. He collapsed with an ugly sob onto the little coffin, arms wide enough to hold the entire thing in his embrace. “I, I’m s-so, I’m, s-so so sssso so ss-so sorrr-ry, little one,” he gurgled into the wet stone; smearing snot and tears with his ineffectual soaked cloth, and then his bare hands.

Something in Gaster snapped. He had spent months gathering enough energy to even open this portal, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to be by his king’s side when he needed him, even if he couldn’t manage a corporeal form. He shoved what little he was composed of against the taut membrane of the barrier between the void and reality, gasping as it sizzled and burned around the tips of his ghostly phalanges. Passing through even with a body was painful, but without one? He struggled to keep himself coalescent as pure fire danced along every part of that was slowly oozing through the gateway between realms. His head swam as the searing pain consumed his mind, but he forced his eyes open and fixated on the sound of Asgore’s heart-wrenching sobs; of those quavering shoulders that he ached to embrace.

With a terrible modulating scream and a pop he erupted from the void, only to stumble directly through the coffin, the king, and halfway into the back wall. A form. He had made it through, but without any kind of physical form. The barrier had consumed too much of the energy he had worked so hard and so long to gather.

“My king,” Gaster spoke aloud. Asgore’s shoulders continued to shake as he rained tears upon the coffin, though his sobs were slowing. He showed no signs of having heard Gaster at all. Gaster’s face fell, and then slipped slightly as the damned DT in his system asserted itself. Well, if it was going to make itself known, he was going to make use of it, damn it. He was determined to give his dear Asgore SOME sort of comfort.

“GOREY!” he practically shouted, doing everything he could to wrap his arms around Asgore’s back, and phasing slightly into his body. It was warm. Oh, it was so warm.

Asgore sniffled and looked up with a start. “Dings?” he whispered into the darkness, whipping his head around, and then spinning his entire body so his back was to the small coffin. Gaster inhaled sharply as the king’s face passed, unseeing, through his own. After glancing around a bit more, Asgore slumped, his face in his hands. “Of course,” he rasped in a forlorn tone that melted Gaster a bit more, “Of course he’s not here. I’m losing it. I’m losing it.”

“I’M HERE, MY KING! I’M HERE!!” Gaster carefully moved so that, if he had had any kind of solidity, his forehead would be pressing against Asgore’s. He pushed with every bit of will that existed within him, forcing it into the words. If he cannot feel me, at least, at least let him hear my voice, he thought.

“Ahhh Gaster, god damn it. I miss you so, so much. Why did you have to go and leave me like that, Dings? Why did you have to go away?”

Asgore’s voice trailed off as he laughed through fresh tears that coursed through the fur on his face to gather in his beard.

If Gaster had had any sort of form at all, he would have been crying as well. The most he could manage was to melt further against Asgore’s body; the determination he felt reducing him to half of his normal stature. “I’m sorry, Gorey. I’m sorry, I’m here, I swear it. You aren’t alone. You aren’t alone.” His blob of a hand passed through Asgore’s giant paw again and again as Gaster struggled in vain to manifest.

Asgore leaned his head back and wiped his eyes. “Dings,” he whispered, “if you were here, you would tell me that this defies all logic, and that I’m being absurd again, and that I probably need to eat something, but I could swear that you’re in this room with me right now. And, I, I could really, really stand for you to be in this room right now, Dings, I really could. So, I’m gonna talk to you anyway.”

Gaster’s face froze, and then a wide grin spread across his features. “I would like that, your majesty,” he whispered back. “I would like that very much.”

Hours later, Asgore’s gentle snoring filled the tiny room. He had spoken of love, and loss, and longing; of family and friends, and the many, many things he felt were so far out of his reach, and Gaster had heard it all. As his king had become more and more weary, Gaster spread his loose form over him in an embrace that he put every ounce of whatever determination he had left into making warm, and then fell asleep himself.

Had Asgore been awake, and had he squinted really hard, and had he even thought to look, he might have been able to make out the barest, glitching outline of ghostly, hollow skeletal hand resting on top of his palm.

[queenk00k]

Across the Aisle - Rafe Cameron

a/n: here’s the prologue my friends. please enjoy - i hope it gets you excited for my first proper chapter. as always, i really welcome reblogs/comments/messages/asks as it motivates me to get this shit done!

summary: 

Olivia Spellman is your classic rags-to-riches story; a twenty-seven-year-old living the revered American Dream. With an absent father and a single mother working her way up from the Cut to Kook status in North Carolina’s Outer Banks, Olivia knows what it’s like to work hard for what you want. She finds herself stuck in a job she hates, with more passion than she knows what to do with and a burning desire to finally make something of herself.

Enter the race for North Carolina’s 3rd Congressional District. If Olivia can make it past the Democratic primary, all she needs to do is beat out a young Republican with a track record of failure – her ex-boyfriend Rafe Cameron.

Olivia is determined to win, no matter what, and she knows she has her district’s best interests at heart.

But Rafe Cameron, backed by his wealthy father Ward, is no stranger to fighting dirty.

With a history of dark secrets uniting them, how far will the former lovers go to win?

And what happens when they realise that maybe, just maybe, that spark is still there?

warnings: mentions of death, drug use, mentions of blood

MASTERLIST

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

It all happened so fast.

Nothing was supposed to happen at all.

Not like this.

It was just meant to be like every other Friday night they’d spent together.

Olivia had heard that when faced with a near death experience, you’re supposed to see your life flash before your eyes. Your childhood, your loved ones, happy memories – almost like a film reel of all the experiences you took for granted that you were about to lose.

Olivia thought that sounded like bullshit. She hadn’t seen her life’s film reel as they hurtled towards the thick oak tree, no, she was too panicked to think of anything at all, too high to even really comprehend what was happening.

The group was on their way to a frat party after pre-gaming at Olivia’s apartment off campus. It was a given this pre-game involved white powder, organised into neat lines with a black American Express, a product of the company Olivia was keeping since she started college the previous fall. She hadn’t set out to join the party scene, not one to waste the opportunities her mother had worked so hard to give her, but Olivia’s boyfriend was convincing and charming, and she was in love.

Not that any of that seemed like it mattered now, since “being in love” didn’t seem like a reasonable excuse for letting someone clearly high out of his mind get behind the wheel of a Range Rover.

Olivia climbed out of the mangled wreck, hands shaking and bloody (she wasn’t sure if was hers or someone else’s), and stumbled across the bitumen, the strewn glass sparkling up at her as if were taunting her. She blinked away tears, but they fell anyway, thick and hot down her flushed cheeks. Her throat constricted as she sobbed, as she willed herself not to hyperventilate and make the situation worse.

It was a fruitless attempt, of course, as Olivia whipped her head around, panicky, looking for any signs of life from the others in the car. Of course, she could have walked back over to the garbled mess of metal and looked for herself, but she couldn’t bear it. Olivia couldn’t bear the thought of what she might see – her friends, or admittedly even worse, her boyfriend, dead.

The only clarity Olivia had was that this was undoubtedly the last time she would ever touch drugs, no matter the outcome of the night.

Olivia shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans clumsily, the cocaine making her jittery, and was relieved to see her iPhone still worked despite the smashed screen. She dialled 911 with shaking hands, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood as she waited for them to pick up.

She answered the operator’s questions almost robotically, terrified to give herself away, but she couldn’t avoid the situation for long.

“Have you, the driver, or any of the passengers taken any illegal drugs tonight?”

Olivia was silent, before she finally answered quietly, “yes.”

“Ma’am, I can’t hear you, I’m going to have to ask you to speak up,” said the operator, who had a comforting, almost motherly tone.

It made Olivia feel even more ashamed.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, we all have,” Olivia said more clearly, her voice still raspy. She must have screamed more than she realised when they crashed.

“Okay. Do you feel safe enough to wait on the side of the road for the emergency services to arrive?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you ma’am, ambulance and police are on their way. You sit tight now.” And with a click, the operator hung up and left Olivia alone with no one else around but the car full of her friends who she couldn’t bear to look at.

The ambulance and police cars arrived soon enough, their loud sirens jolting Olivia out of her pacing alongside the road.

In a frenzied blur, paramedics were covering her in the warm foil she had only ever seen in the movies and were making their way over to the mess of a Range Rover. Olivia could do nothing but watch as they shouted, placing her friends’ bodies onto stretchers and wheeling them into the waiting ambulances.

As a black body bag was placed onto a gurney, the sound of the thick zipper reverberating inside Olivia’s skull, all she could think of was that it must have been instinct that had her reaching for Rafe’s hand in those final moments.

tagging mutuals and ppl that seemed interested:

@thevortexclubposse​​ @stargazingstarkey​​ @sortagaysortahigh​​ @shawnssongs​​ @ims0golden​​ @jjsmentalpolaroids​​ @jjmbanks​​ @jjmaybcnks​​ @void-maybank​​ @girlsru1eboysdroo1​​ @milaonthemoon​​ @thatjohnd​​ @rafecameron​​ @pogue-writings​​ @diverdcwn​​ @sunnypogue​​ @harrysbbby​​ @ptersparkers​​ @anonymous0writer​​ @outerbankslut​​ @bricksatanakinswindow​​ @storiesbymads​​ @pit-zuh​​ @drewstarkey​​ @starlightstarkey​​ @butgilinsky​​ @moldisgoodforyou​​ @softstarkey​​ @maybankiara​ @sofiesshitshow​ @yeslifeofateen​ @obx-saltlife​ @outrbanks​ @summerpogue​ @prejudic3​ @milamaybank​ @oopmyheartwent-obx​ 

pls message if you want to be tagged in this series!

[platonicavengers]

Slowed Down

pairing: avengers x fem!reader; platonic!bucky x reader; platonic!sam x reader; platonic!wanda x reader; platonic!peter x reader

word count: 790 :/ sorry

warnings: general sadness, poorly written angst, a lil swearing, post-infinity war ouchieness

author’s note: somebody pls request something fluffy bc all ive written is angst bruh. ALSO this can be read as a part 2 to within seconds or as a stand-alone, whatever u choose :) also if anyone wants me to rewrite this but make it gender neutral then i def will!! i wanna make sure everyone can read my writing :) i love u all sm

summary: you wake up in the soul world after being snapped from existence, but you soon learn that you aren’t alone.

my masterlist | read it on ao3 | read it on wattpad

The feeling of their body slowly fading away was easily the worst pain Y/N had ever experienced. It felt like each individual molecule was being torn apart, one by one, unrelenting until they were completely gone.

But that wasn’t the worst part of it all.

The worst part of it was waking up inside the void-like Soul World.

••

Y/N awoke with a start, gasping desperately for breath. Their hands shaking wildly, they rapidly patted down her body, making sure what they were experiencing was real, and not just something their imagination created.

When they realized her body was in fact, completely intact, their shaking hands went to their hair, gripping it tightly as they sucked in a deep breath. They exhaled shakily, loosening their hold slightly.

Where the hell am I, they thought to themself, and what the hell happened?

They slowly stood up, stumbling a bit, but catching themself before they could fall. Glancing around, they watched as dozens more people started appearing around them. Their eyes widened, taking a step back. It was then that they remembered what had happened, what brought them to where they were. Tears prickled at the back of their eyes, but they willed themself not to let them fall, at least not until they understood more of the situation.

Inhaling deeply, they took a few steps in a random direction. But before they got far, someone appeared in front of them. Someone familiar. As their eyes locked on the long brown hair before them, they couldn’t stop themself from running towards the figure.

Bucky.

He barely had time to register what was happening before they latched themself onto him, burying their face in his chest. Once Bucky composed himself, he held them just as tightly, many different emotions floating through him all at once. He was glad he wasn’t alone in wherever-the-hell-he-was, but he wished that Y/N hadn’t been taken there as well. And despite being upset that they were there, he was glad that they wasn’t alone, either.

A few moments later, Y/N pulled away, wiping away a tear from their cheek. They sniffed, before clearing their throat, “B-Bucky, where are we?”

He shook his head slightly, a sad smile on his face, “Not sure, but we’ll get outta here eventually, I’m sure of it.”

Just as they nodded, a voice from behind Bucky startled them.

“Any idea what the hell’s going on here?”

Sam.

They stepped away, quickly embracing Sam in a tight hug just as they did Bucky. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around them.

Letting go, they stepped aside, playing with their fingers to help with their nerves as they listened absentmindedly to Bucky and Sam’s conversation.

Y/N was broken from their thoughts as they heard footsteps approaching them, and they turned so fast, they could’ve sworn they got whiplash. But they felt their eyes tear up again as they saw Wanda running towards them. The two met halfway in a tight hug, neither of them being able to hold back their tears. They stayed like that for almost two minutes before slowly pulling away.

“Y-Y/N, Vision-” The redhead started, but she couldn’t finish her sentence. She looked to the ground, unable to stop the new wave of tears.

Y/N felt a pit grow in the bottom of their stomach, but they refused to let themself cry, “I know, Wanda. I know.”

Eventually, the pair walked back over to Bucky and Sam, only to see a shorter figure with them. They sped up their pace as they realized the figure was Peter.

As soon as Peter laid eyes on Y/N, he quickly ran into their arms, sobbing loudly. They was quick to hug him back, one hand combing through his hair, and the other resting on his back.

When his sobs only grew louder instead of calming down, they started whispering soothing words in his ear, trying to reassure him.

Eventually his sobbing turned to hyperventilating, and Y/N quickly brought him down to the ground with them, sitting to the right of him, “Hey, Peter, can you look at me, please? I need you to take deep breaths honey, in and out. Okay, can you do that? Just follow my breathing, okay?”

Y/N managed to calm him down after a few minutes, and the other three joined the pair, sitting down around them. Sam sat on Y/N’s other side, Wanda next to Peter, and Bucky next to Wanda. The five of you sat there, silently, for about ten minutes before Wanda broke the silence.

“So what do we do now?”

You glanced at her, grabbing hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly, “We wait. We wait for everyone else to get us the hell outta here.”

[naturallytom]

Before You Go (Spencer Reid x reader)

a/n: this is for @dontshootmespence​‘s 8k writing challenge!! i haven’t written for spencer in a hot second so i hope you guys like it!! 

warnings (pls pay attention to these): heavy implications of suicide and struggling with mental illness, death, grieving, angst 

if you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, i encourage you to call the national suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-8255. please never forget that all of you are so so loved and my inbox and messages are always open if you need a friend or some encouragement💗

prompt: grief + before you go by lewis capaldi 

please reblog/leave feedback!!

I fell by the wayside like everyone else I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, but I was just kidding myself Spencer watched nearly emotionlessly as the casket was lowered into the ground. The casket that held you. His best friend. He stood there for hours that seemed to drag on for days. He stood there until the last person left the service, leaving him alone. It was then that he allowed himself to fall to his knees, hot tears streaming down his face. Anger filled his veins and suddenly all he could think was “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” Who was he kidding? Of course he didn’t hate you. He loved you. You were his best friend. He couldn’t hate you if he tried. But he was still angry. He was angry that you left. He was angry that you felt like you couldn’t tell him what you were dealing with. Most of all, he was angry at himself for not picking up on the signs sooner. 

Our every moment, I start to replace 'Cause now that they're gone, all I hear are the words that I needed to say He couldn’t concentrate. Hotch gave him time off to deal with your death but even with his days empty for once, he couldn’t concentrate on any of the books he was trying to read to distract himself. Memories of you and him flooded his mind, but every time they popped up, they were quickly replaced by words that Spencer needed to say, but didn’t get the chance. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t say them when he could. He knew everyone could hurt under the surface of what they present to the world, but he genuinely didn’t think it was you that was hurting. You were so bubbly, so lively, so seemingly happy. No one could have guessed that you were dealing with the worst kind of pain underneath it all. 

So, before you go Was there something I could've said to make your heart beat better? If only I'd have known you had a storm to weather So, before you go Was there something I could've said to make it all stop hurting? It kills me how your mind can make you feel so worthless

The thoughts plagued Spencer. Every day and every night it was like a constant cycle of wondering what he could’ve said to help you and the complete feeling of helplessness of not knowing you were battling such awful demons. He kept trying to think back and remember any signs he might’ve overlooked but every time his brain came up empty. Yet every time he couldn’t help but think that if only he had known, maybe, just maybe, you’d still be here today. He wondered if there was anything he could’ve said to make it all better for you. Logically, he knew that wasn’t possible and it killed him knowing that your own mind made you feel as shitty as you did. But he wished there was a magic word that would’ve taken your pain away. He would’ve taken away your pain in a heartbeat. 

Was never the right time, whenever you called Went little by little by little until there was nothing at all

The weeks before your death you called Spencer. You called him when you were done with work and it seemed like it was never a good time for him. “Sorry this case is really bad and they need everyone- I’ll call you back, alright?” “Max and I are planning a date for that day, does a different time work?” “It’s just not a good time right now, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “But I promise you, once I get some free time, we will have a day to ourselves, sound good?” You stopped calling after a while. Our every moment, I start to replay “Spence come ‘ere!” You called, sitting on your couch. “The movie’s about to start!” “The popcorn’s almost done!” He replied, the timer going off right as he said that. He chuckled, hearing you groan impatiently. He knew you were dying to see this movie, but it still amused him when he walked into the living room seeing you pouting. “What took you so long?” You grumbled playfully, Spencer rolling his eyes. “The delicious popcorn you’re eating.” He remarked. “Gonna hit play?” “Hell yeah.” You replied, grabbing the remote. “I’ve been dying to see this movie.” “I know.” “Well you should. I’ve been talking about it for ages.” You chuckled. “You have. I haven’t forgotten your rambles about it.” He smiled. “You truly are something special.” Spencer woke up in a sweat, hot tears pouring down his face, similar to the day of your funeral. It wasn’t the first time this happened. Replayed memories of the two of you came back in his dreams. It was bittersweet- he got to see you again. You were laughing and smiling and full of life but when he woke up he was faced with the harsh reality that you weren’t here. 

You weren’t with him on your weekly movie nights, rambling about how a movie got something wrong or endlessly praising something they did right. You weren’t at a team party, filling the environment with laughter and telling bad jokes. You weren’t telling Penelope about a cute puppy you saw walking down the street on your way to get coffee before work. And reality was, you’d never do any of those things again. Spencer let the sobs wrack through his body. Loud, heaving sobs filled his room and he cried until he thought he couldn’t cry anymore. And then he cried some more. He knew about the five stages of grief. He had told too many families of victims that it was normal to feel angry or in shock or depressed about their loved one’s death. That the grieving process took time and everyone experiences it differently. He understood all that, but why did it feel so abnormal for him? It felt like he was in a never ending cycle of denial, anger, and depression, but never quite getting to the acceptance stage. It felt like he had been grieving for years when it had only been weeks. Still, he felt like he should’ve been ready to go back to work by now. Yet every time he talked to JJ about it, he broke down and every time Morgan asked him how he was doing, all he could manage was a very weak “I’m fine,” which Morgan knew meant that he was not fine. The team all understood. You were Spencer’s absolute best friend, you were with him nearly all the time when the two of you weren’t working. They understood it was an extremely sudden change for Spencer. Having someone with you all the time to them not being there at all with no possibility of them ever coming back was something they saw happen far too frequently. Spencer tried a couple times to go back to work and each time everyone on the team would ask him if he felt ready to be back and he said yes but every time the case was introduced, he would break down. JJ and Morgan thought it’d be best for him to see the team in a non-work setting. No one could deny that what they do wasn’t an easy job, especially not while you’re grieving. So they organized for each member of the team to pick up a different type of takeout (each kind one of Spencer’s favorites) and they would it bring it by and have dinner as a team- something they didn’t do as much as they hoped. Once they were all gathered outside his apartment, JJ knocked and they all waited patiently for him to open the door (like they hoped he would). When Spencer opened the door greeted by the team, each with a different kind of his favorite takeout in their hands, confusion took over his features before tears filled his eyes and a soft smile formed on his lips. Wordlessly, he opened the door and let each member of the team in, each of them giving him a hug and a small smile. And for the first time in a long time, Spencer felt like the void that was left when you died was slowly starting to be filled.

[charmmycolour]

Answer questions about Dakavendish pls UwU

YES! I love any excuse to talk about my dorks!

1. Who kissed the other first?

Cavendish.

I know, I know, but hear me out! Let me put a short and a long answer because the long one is long.

Short answer: Cavendish kisses Dakota for the first time without realizing, because he’s simply too excited and not thinking properly. And we know how touchy he gets when he’s excited.

Long answer (you can skip): It’s a personal headcanon that in the future Cavendish alone will get a better job at PIG, and at Dakota insistence he will accept. There’s a ton more to that hc, but basically at some point Cav would be in danger and, in his usual fashion, Dakota would rush to save him. But because they are trying to blackmail PIG and Cav is now important, they kidnap Dakota.

Cavendish tries to convince PIG to send a team to save Dakota, but Bob is all “he’s just the janitor, we can’t waste resorces on a rescue mission for him. Don’t worry about it!” and Cav is FURIOUS, but can’t really do anything about it and he’s too scared to go on a rescue mission on his own. This is too dangerous and he’s clumsy and insecure.

So Cavendish is mopping alone, not knowing what to do. At some point, Milo, Melissa and Zack find him and unaware of the situation just ask where is Dakota. And Cav is like, I can’t tell them the true! They would want to help and get worried, and I can’t involve three innocent children on this. So he lies and tells them everything is fine and Dakota is doing his own thing somewhere else.

But since the topic is there, Milo mentions Dakota is a cool guy and the rest agree. Cavendish, still on his "everything is fine" act tries to act like usual pointing Dakota's flaws "you won't say that if you had to work with him, he's messy, irresponsible, impulsive, always hungry, has no sense of fashion..."

But then he starts to trail off "and he gets excited with the smallest of things, can you imagine? I guess that's quite admirable on it's own way, but... I mean, I don't hate him, Dakota can be pretty helpful sometimes. He knows how to act under pressure, can talk his way out of situations, made our job a lot less boring, and to be honest, he's quite funny, even with that odd sense of humor; and he's the most loyal person I have ever know, he's kind and  witty and selfless and..."

He ends listing all kind of virtues and the kids look at each other and Melissa goes: "Wow, someone likes-likes Dakota, uh?". And Cavendish is just "What? No! I don't... I would never... Dakota is not..." then he suddenly is hit by the realization and just stares in the void, eyes wide. And Melissa of course would tell Zack "I told ya" and he would give her five dolars, because they absolutely have a bet going about this.

The kids will leave saying "Tell Dakota we said hi!" and after a few more moments of existential crisis, Cav would change to absolute determined and will go "I will" and decide to save Dakota on his own. And he goes and is BADASS CAVENDISH rescue mission.

And THEN, when he finally gets to Dakota, and sees him, and screams his name and hugs him, he kisses Dakota out of pure joy, and then smiles at him and says “Milo and his friends said hi”.

END OF LONG ANSWER

2. What was their first fight about?

We know it was about using the training car to get burritos hehe

3. Who sleeps in the couch more often?

Once they had a proper bed? Absolutely Dakota. Cavendish gets super huffy and Dakota would rather use the couch that listen to his complains (also Dakota probably don’t have problems sleeping everywhere, not because of the place at least.)

4. Who drinks coffee and who drinks tea?

Easy one! Cavendish drinks tea, Dakota drinks coffee.

Although I will say Cav secretly puts a lot more sugar on his tea that the average person would find acceptable, and despite his sweet tooth in other deparments, Dakota likes his coffe very bitter to keep him awake.

5. Who goes grocery shopping more often?

Dakota. Cavendish had been so sheltered all his life that he’s blissfully unaware on how much money food cost, or what is truly needed in a house. If you let him go shooping, he ends getting too much, and half of it totally unnecessary.

On the other hand, years and years of poverty had made Dakota an expert of how to buy cheap. However he also buys a lot of unhealthy food, but fortunately Cav is improving that part.

6. Who brings breakfast in bed?

Dakota does so often, the thing is that his concept of “breakfast on bed” consist mostly of a cup of tea and whatever sparse pastry was around at the moment.

Cavendish only does so on rare ocassion, but when it happens, he gets flowers, the most fancy breakfast he’s able to prepare and a a sweet note, if not some small detail. He takes the gesture very seriously.

7. Who sleeps first?

Cavendish. He enjoys routine, wakes up at 6:30am every day and it’s in bed at 9:30pm. By 10 he’s sleeping.

8. Who watches the other sleeping?

Dakota has bad sleeping habits, but it’s mostly due to night terrors and nightmares. He often watches Cavendish sleep, just happy he’s there, and he’s alive.

He also enjoys watching him mumble on his dreams, except when it’s about Hildegard or any of the other previour crushes of Cavendish, which Dakota hates. Not as much because the jealousy but at the fact Cav always gets rejected and hurt on these dreams.

9. Who met the parents in law first?

Assuming they ever get to see their families again, Dakota would be the one meeting Cavendish parents for sure. In fact, I’m not even sure Dakota wants to ever introduce Cavendish to his abusive mother and probably absent father, if father at all.

10. Who does the laundry?

Sunday is laundry day (Dakota doesn’t wear much on Sundays!), and the shorter man is the one that takes care of it. Putting clothes on a washing machine it’s easy, so he jumped at claiming the task inmediatly.

Plus he can pretend there’s no clean clothes he can wear for the day...

11. Who washes the dishes?

Cavendish, altough Dakota had to teach him because he hadn’t washed a dish before in his life prior to his job at BoTT.

12. Who clean up the house?

Cavendish. Again, he needed some help, but now he knows how to keep the space clean and tidy, he WILL keep the space clean and tidy. Dakota really don’t care much for order, but Cav can’t live without it.

13. Who washes the car?

You can bet Dakota not only washes the car, but absolutely does a lewd spectacle of it. There’s always more water and soap over him that over the vehicle.

14. Who brings take outs?

Both of them take turns, as take out is one of their favorite things. Sometimes Dakota just appear with them without warning, though.

15. Who calls the other to ask if they want something from the street?

Dakota is always too loud “Hey Cav, Cav, what do you want?? I take a large or an extra large?? What’s better? Cav, Cav, CAV!”

Cavendish often wants to sink on the ground out of embarrassment.

16. Who’s more likely to make plans?

Count on Dakota making plans on the spot and making most of the day. Cavendish has problems with changes, but still obliges because, well, it’s Dakota.

17. Who dreams about a big wedding?

Cavendish always had imagined his wedding as the most big, fancy, white party in the world.

Dakota was unexpected on that plan, of course. Wearing white around him can’t end well, Cavendish knows it. But somehow... he doesn’t care as much about the wedding anymore.

Dakota didn’t even want to get married, but now the idea looks a lot more appealing, if only to have the change to carry Cav around on his arms.

18. Who breaks the cups?

Cavendish, actually, all the time. Too clumsy for this world.

19. Who holds the umbrella?

When raining starts, Dakota usually silently puts the umbrella over Cavendish, which more often than not doesn’t even realize it’s raining and what Dakota is doing for several minutes. Dakota ends wet a lot, but he don’t care. When Cav finally realizes, though, he makes sure to put both of them under it and hold the umbrella, since he’s a lot taller. Dakota is thankful because his arm was starting to hurt.

20. Who takes the other to the dance floor?

Cavendish is a good dancer, but he absolutely never dances on his own volition. Dakota drags him to dance every time, and every time, Cavendish ends enjoying it.

21. Who does the big romantic gestures?

I think sacrificing yourself hundreds of times to save the other’s life counts as a big romantic gesture, so Dakota.

Cav tries his best, but is misfortune doesn’t help. Not that Dakota cares.

22. Who’s more likely to serenade?

Dakota. Not only has he the better singing voice, but he can make songs in the spot. Plus he likes to fluster Cavendish serenading him in public.

23. Who forgets the wet towel in bed?

You can bet Dakota does and you can bet Cavendish nags him for it.

24. Who don’t pick up things when they fell?

Dakota. What’s another thing in the floor?

25. Who keeps losing the keys?

Cavendish is CONSTANTLY missing everything. He don’t even understand why, his order is impeccable! Meanwhile Dakota, that thrives on his own messes, can locate any item in seconds.

26. Who sings the rap part?

The idea of Cavendish trying to rap anything is making me laugh too hard, so Dakota.

27. Who pretends to be sad just so the other will cheer they up?

Dakota is always cheering Cavendish up, although Cav is genuinely sad. It’s possible that he gets more pouty than necesary just to get Dakota’s attention, though.

28. Who wakes up ready for a maraton?

Cavendish does exercise every morning. Dakota hated it, until he discovered Cav wears a really ridiculous and tight 80 workout aerobic outfit for it. Since then, he wakes up early too only to watch Cavendish doing exercise in front of the TV.

29. Who buys them tickets for shows?

Cavendish. He insist they need to do more cultural things. Half of the time they end leaving at the middle and going to some childish activity instead, though.

30. Who choose the movie?

Oh, they are always bickering about who is choosing the movie and who has better taste. True is, both have terrible taste.

31. Who says ‘I love you’ more often?

After the first time (that took more than ten years!), Dakota finally feels free to say I love you, and will absolutely use it. Dakota reminds Cav he loves him several times a day for the tiniest of things.

Cavendish is more reserved, if only because he still gets flustered with the idea. He likes his words to hold a sense of uniqueness, and so he limits his love words to the most intimate or romantic moments.

32. Who keeps waving at people after they got engaged?

Half the city knows all the details about Dakota’s ring, because he can’t stop himself from bragging about Cavendish to everyone.

33. Who uses the most ridiculous nicknames for the other?

Cavendish is not a fan of pet names and only uses Dakota, and sometimes Vinnie or at most dear. Dakota don’t extend the courtesy to him.

Dakota calls Cavendish every pet name under the sun. Babe, handsome, amore, casanova, cutie, cupcake, muffin, sugar plum, sweetie, tesoro mio... even mister hot stuff or sexy pants.

Cavendish hates it.

He tried to make ridiculous names for Dakota, but Dakota loves every one of them. So now Cav calls him teddy bear.

34. Who’s responsible for date nights?

Date nights, as an event, is mostly Cav’s job. He organizes wonderful dates, but gets frustrated quickly if anything goes wrong, so Dakota spontaneous nature it’s a blessing.

35. Who wakes up one day and decides to stay in bed?

That’s Dakota 90% of mornings.

And 85% of the time, Cav doesn’t let him.

Sometimes, though... a few extra cuddles can’t hurt anyone.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Pariah

This was an absolute blast to write.  I find that the interactions between the different cultures and battles scenes are probably the most fun to write, in my opinion.  Here, we have more Vir and Cain.  We are introduced to Conn, so shenanigans will most definitely ensue.  I’m not quite sure if they’re the type of shenanigans you’re thinking of though...

As always, none of these characters belong to me.  Enjoy the story!

Aboard the Omen

Things had gotten better.  Tensions were much lower, thanks to Simone’s suggestion that Cain watch the Omen’s ground forces and Vir take up the Commissarial duties of the Valhallans.  Both groups seemed to be more comfortable with each other.  There were still competitions, of course, and they were still exceptionally competitive, of course, but they had lost their malevolent edge.  Much was still to be learnt, however.  Each side still retained quirks and habits that, to the other, seemed exceptionally odd.

The common Imperials were still xenophobic.  A lifetime of teachings and practice couldn’t be changed in a matter of days or weeks.  While both Vir and Cain preaching tolerance certainly helped, it did not eliminate the problem all together.  It had gone from ‘I’m going to possibly shoot you on sight’ to ‘stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.’  A definite improvement, all things considered.  

There were still other oddities, as mentioned before.  Not counting the posting of armed guards, any crew member of the Omen could instantly tell where the Valhallan quarters aboard the ship were.  As benefitted ice worlders, their comfortable ambient temperature was slightly higher than freezing, and they set the air conditioning in their section of the ship to match.  Vir found himself wearing heavy winter gear when he stayed with them for extended periods.  He was also fairly certain there were a couple of them camped out in the cooling ducts, but there were no reports of damage or any mechanical problems, so he decided to let that slide.  

However, Admiral Vir and his crew were a lot better off than the Imperials, seeing as they were used to strange and occasionally egomaniacal aliens aboard their ship.  They had open minds.  

To the Imperials, everything was just so… bizzare.  It was like being in a completely other dimension.  Here, aliens and humans got along.  Talked together, fought together, laughed together.  The Admiral was not a distant figure of authority, but instead more like a wise and older friend, ready to help you along any path you chose.  Hell, the ship’s officers talked with the crew.  You could actually see them walking through the halls.  On Imperial vessels that transported soldiers, the Naval crew stayed in their area, and the infantry in theirs, with only the high ranking officers speaking to each other.  

Then there was the ship itself.  Like any proud naval personnel, the crew of the Omen liked to brag about their vessel.  Apparently, it was brand new.  Brand.  New.  Only in service for a year or more.  What kind of ship was that?  Usually, the troop ships of the Imperium were in service for centuries, if not millennia, and the Naval fighting platforms even longer.  The oldest vessel Cain had ever been aboard was the massive battleship Throne Eternal, built during the days of the Great Crusade, some ten thousand years before.  

Perhaps it was the fact that the ship was brand new, but it was so incredibly clean.  The hallways were neat and sterilized.  There was no accumulated grime.  No comforting iconography.  From the outside, the ship looked like a brick.  It was all steely grey metal.  It was so strange.  So foreign.  So distinctly… un-Imperial.

But, in the end, despite the oddities, it could be said that things were a lot more calm aboard.  And so, it was with no small amount of alarm that Admiral Adam Vir remembered that Conn was aboard the ship.

Conn was an alien, which would have already put him on the Imperial’s bad side.  But that, in and of itself, was not the problem.  You see, Conn was a starborn, quite possibly the most unusual alien species in the galaxy.  Ghostlike, they were small, white, and lived in the cold void of space.  Accustomed to the blackness, they could not survive in any areas with gravity’s pressure without external help.  But, much like an annoying infomercial, there was more.  Starborns were natural telepaths.  They could read the minds of almost any living being.  Conn in particular was quite annoying about it.  He reveled in the sensation of knowing everyone’s deepest secrets, and made no qualms about being nice about it.  Most of the crew, Adam in particular, found him, to put it mildly, extremely annoying.  He was kept around because he wasn’t truly malicious, despite indications otherwise, and his usefulness outweighed his flaws.  

Vir had a sort of… connection with Conn.  Due to an unfortunate accident that resulted in the loss of his eye, part of his brain had been skewered, making it easier for him  to communicate telepathically.  The strangest part of all of this was the fact Vir hadn’t heard from Conn the entire voyage.  That was definitely not a good thing.  Who knew what sort of mischief that could be wrought.  He was fairly certain that Conn was not missing because he was wise enough to stay hidden from the Imperials.  No.  Something else was afoot.  

So, with trepidation, he began his search.  

Conn was not in any of his usual haunts.  He wasn’t floating around annoying people, wasn’t where he usually lurked in the medical bay.  No one had seen him.  Not the engineers, the doctors, the marines, or any of the bridge crew.  How very odd.  It seemed as if no one had heard from him from the moment they had set off.  So Vir had to do it the old fashioned way: wander around the ship, thinking as loud as he could to attract Conn’s attention.

It was only when he started to go in the passageways closest to the exterior of the hull that he started to get a response.  

Conn?  Conn?  Can you hear me?  Where are you?

I can’t hear…  Emptiness.  Void.  Nothing.  Nothing.  He’s nothing.  Nothing!

Conn?  Where are you?

The darkness.  Alone.  Pain.  Can't hear voices.  Can’t hear thoughts.  

Conn!  Where are you?  What’s wrong?  I can’t help if you don’t tell me.  

Slowly, through the telepathic link, he started to see where Conn was.  Outside the vessel.  Starborn were more comfortable and could survive in space.  Conn was known to go in and out of the airlock of his own free will… but that didn’t explain why he had been there for so long.  It also didn’t explain the strange mutterings and thoughts.  

Adam?  You’re here.  You can hear me.  Good.  Not alone anymore.  Something was very wrong.  Conn was a jackass, through and through.  Vir had never heard thankfulness and relief from him before.  

Yes.  I’m here.  He tried to make the thought as reassuring as possible.  Conn, what’s wrong?  What is the problem?  

It’s him.  The closest thing to a mental hiss came with that word.  He’s nothing!  Pain.  Misery.  Alone with my thoughts!

Conn-

The void!  Blackness.  I can’t hear anything!  I can’t hear!  

Conn.  Calm down.  

Yes!  Yes.  The second yes was much more calm.  

You can’t hear others’ thoughts?  Is that it?

Yes.  A vigorous telepathic nod.  

Why?  I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before.

It’s because of him!  The thoughts were becoming hysterical again.  He snuffs it out.  He’s a void, a-

Conn!  Stay focused.  Who is he?

He- ARGHH!  The mental connection was abruptly cut as a searing pain shot through Vir’s body.  He collapsed to his hands and knees.  He felt as if he did a long time ago, wounded and feverish during the Drev War with no painkillers.  His mind was white hot, his body wracked with agony.  The edges of his vision started to turn black.  No!  Don’t pass out! rebelled some far away part of his mind.  

“Admiral!” said a voice, seemingly far away.  He focused on the voice.  Deep breaths.  Come on.  Stay conscious.  The blackness receded.  The voice got stronger.  

“Admiral, sir!  Are you all right?” asked someone hesitantly.  Vir shifted his weight to his side and clutched his head.  What the hell happened?  

“Yeah, I think I’ll be alright,” he murmured.  He shook his head to clear it of any last vestiges of pain.  “What was… doesn’t matter.”  He turned, and found himself face to face with a most unexpected individual.  Jurgen, the Commissar’s aide.  

“Good to know that you’re alright, sir.”  A grimy hand reached out and handed Vir a data pad.  “The Commissar wanted me to give you this.”  

“Ah, yes.  Personnel rosters.  Thank you, Jurgen.  I won’t take up any more of your time.”  Jurgen saluted and walked away, leaving Vir staring, perplexed, at the pad in his hands.  

Vir lay on his bed, gazing at the ceiling.  He couldn’t sleep.  The mystery of Conn’s telepathic severance was dancing through his mind.  What was he talking about?  Some sort of void…  Some strange monster, lurking in space, perhaps?  No.  Think logically.  Go through this step by step.  What do you know?  First, Conn was isolated.  There was something severing his telepathic communication.  Second, that something was a someone.  It was a he.  Third, this hadn’t happened before the Imperials had arrived on board.  Therefore, logically, this person was one of the Imperials, causing the cutting of telepathic communications and pain to anyone using them.  Okay.  Good.  We’ve established that.  Now what?  Who was doing it?  Were they even aware they were doing it?  How was it even possible to do something like that?  Some strange technology?  Possible.  That made sense.  Perhaps they had fought some telepathic aliens in their galaxy, and developed something to stop it.  

But, still.  He squirmed slightly.  How… who… what… why?  None of this made sense.  How to get to the bottom of this mystery?  He couldn’t figure it out, so perhaps someone else could.  Cain?  Cain would probably know.  But did he trust Cain?  That was an entirely different matter.  It could be on Cain’s orders.  Hell, it could be Cain himself.  Cain’s aide?  Out of everyone aboard, Vir had a nagging feeling that something was wrong with that man.  Plus, the pain had only started when Jurgen had come close to him… 

So… Jurgen, then.  Most likely suspect.  But how?  How could he find out?  Hmm…

A search of the Imperial quarters and armory yielded no results.  He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.  While their equipment was strange, everything he found had been earlier explained to him.  Nothing.  So either it was a device small enough to hide on a person, or it wasn’t a device at all.  Conn had said he.  Perhaps it had nothing to do with technology.  

Vir decided, therefore, to have Katie and Kril, the ship’s doctors, to test every single one of the Imperials for anything strange.  HIdden behind the facade of making sure they were disease free, they all had a physical examination done, and blood and tissue samples drawn.  It was… less than helpful.

Kril did the equivalent of a human sigh as he put down the blood readouts.  Katie was still studying them with perplexity.  

“So, did you find anything out of the ordinary?” asked Vir.  

“That’s the problem.  Everything is out of the ordinary,” replied Kril.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that- well, let me explain.  So, you know how evolution works, right?  Over time, all organic species naturally evolve.” “Yes.  And?” asked Vir.  He didn’t see where this was going.

“So, Drake gave you timelines for all of our galaxies, didn’t he?  He says, and from what I can tell, he’s right, that our timelines split somewhere around the year 2000.  Now, every single one of our galaxies is in a different time since then.  Most of the other galaxies are around the early second century C.E., in human measurements.  Ours and Drake’s are in the early fourth centuries C.E.  Cain and the Imperials are from 40,000 C.E.  Plus, none of them are from Earth, whereas most everyone else we’ve met is from Earth or from a planet close enough to Earth for the evolution tendencies not to be affected in any major way.  So, to sum up, most of them are from an ice planet 38,000 years in the future.  We have no idea what we’re seeing here.  All of these genes are very different from the human’s I’ve studied before.  I can’t tell what’s abnormal or not.  I could figure it all out, but it might take a month or more.”  Wonderful.  Vir sighed.  

“Thanks for trying Kril.  I guess I’ll have to figure this out some other way.”

Now he was back in his bed, mulling things over.  This had to stop.  He couldn’t allow Conn, annoying as he was, to suffer like this.  Conn was, after all, part of his crew.  There was no other solution.  He had to see Cain.  But, what if Cain was doing this, or it was being done on his orders?  Vir looked over to the suit of Iron Eye armor resting gently in its place.  He walked over, and started to buckle on the plates.  This had a liability to get messy.  

Cain looked up at the sharp knock on the door.  Jurgen hadn’t stopped whomever it was, so it must be Vir.  

“Come in,” he replied politely.  Sure enough, Vir walked through the door into his borrowed quarters.  “Admiral Vir.  A pleasure to see you.  What brings you here today?”  Vir shifted, slightly uncomfortable.  This was going to be awkward, at the very least.  “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you, though.”  He gave a slight cough.  “I wondered if I might talk to you, however.”

“Of course,” replied Cain.  “What about?”  Vir scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh, well, there’s no easy way to put this.”  He took a deep breath to compose himself.  “You see, there are some crew members that you haven’t seen before.”

“I rather had the feeling.  More… aliens, no doubt.”

“Heh.  Yes.  However, there is one in particular.  He is of a, uh, most peculiar species… well, he can read minds,” finished Vir lamely.  Cain looked up sharply from where he was sitting, fingers moving instinctively for his weapons.  

“What?”  

“Yes.  You heard me right.  However, that is not the problem,” concluded Vir.

“And what would the problem be?” asked Cain warily, his hand inching closer to his sidearm.  

“The problem is, he can’t.  There is something or someone aboard this ship that blocks his mental communications and causes him untold agony.  Now, while I personally find it annoying and distasteful to have my mind read, especially by him, he is in quite a lot of pain.  This only started when you boarded.  I’m not sure what is causing this, and I am not insinuating anything, but it has something to do with someone in your regiment, and I would like it to stop.”  Cain stared at him with a calm and considered look.  

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Admiral Vir.  I know nothing about aliens, so it could be something wrong with him,” he replied.

“I don’t think so,” said Vir.  “You sure you don’t know anything about this?”

“No,” replied Cain.  Vir sat up from his chair.  One more card to play.  

“Absolutely sure?  Not even anything that has to do with, say, your aide?”  Cain looked up at him, this time with a completely neutral expression on his face.  

“I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Admiral.  Good day.”  Damn.  Fine.  Got to go out on a limb here.  Vir leaned over the table, his earlier expression of calm gone, replaced with the attitude he assumed around unruly subordinates.

“Don’t bullshit me, Cain.  You know what’s going on.  And I will find out eventually, with or without your help.  So if you want me to trust you, you’re going to tell me now.”  Cain sighed, stood up, walked past Vir, and locked the door.  Vir tensed, hidden Iron Eye servos whining, ready for any sudden movements.  There were none.  Cain stood face to face with Vir.  He’s tall, idly mused some unnecessary part of Vir’s brain.  Cain drew his pistol and held calmly out at his side.

“You are not going to tell anyone what is said here.  If you do, if any sort of word of this gets out in any way, I will kill you,” he said in a deadly serious tone.  He looked around, then sighed.  “My aide, Jurgen, is a blank.”  Vir gave him a look that plainly said ‘elaborate.’  Cain suddenly got a strange look in his eyes, then raised his gun a fraction.  “If his powers work on your xeno telepath… then that means it has some sort of connection to the Warp.”  The pistol came up, pointing directly between Vir’s eyes.  “So now, you are going to tell me everything.”  Vir struggled to remain calm.  Cain wasn’t going to kill him, yet.  He was fairly sure this was just another misunderstanding.  

“I don’t know anything about any Warp.  Conn is a straborn.  They are born in space, and they can read minds naturally.  That’s it.”  Cain still looked as if he were going to put down the gun, then looked up sharply again.

“Innocentia nihil probat,” he murmured.  “Jurgen!  Get in here!”  The door opened, and Jurgen stepped through.  Apparently he had the key.

“Yes, Commissar?”  Cain turned to Vir.  

“We are going to search your ship.  If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.”  Vir opened his mouth to make an objection, which Cain forestalled with a raised hand.  “I learned a long time ago that it is better to explain too much caution than bleed for not enough.”  He put a small communications node in his ear, then keyed it.  “Colonel Kasteen, ready the regiment.  Search the entire ship for any signs of Chaotic taint.  This is a precaution, but you know what to do.”  Cain turned once more to a bewildered Vir.  “Tell your men to stand down.  If they resist, they die.”  He stepped back, then gestured towards the door.  “After you.  And, remember, our conversation was still confidential.  If you tell anyone, you die.”  

A cliffhanger.  I know.  Originally, I didn’t intend for it to end like this, but this is the way the story went and this is how this scenario would play out of the conversation actually took place.  Above all, I strive to remain as accurate as possible to how these characters would actually interact, so that is why this went the way it did.  I will have the ending to this up as soon as possible, so don’t worry!  Wherever you are, have a great day.

[mistymark]

the one with the anniversary.

part of the one year anniversary drabble project // mark lee x reader // 1.5k words // masterlist // send requests here

summary; in which mark forgets your anniversary, but its okay because so do you

warnings; angst, profanity, pure devastation

requested; yes :) - @shizziebo said “Could you please write a scenario with 21. For mark???”

notes; another request done ??? // also pls dont hate me for the angst I realised like 80% of the prompts are angsty as fuck // prompt is; “we aren’t even in the same book, let alone on the same page.”

You couldn't believe how shit it felt to realise your boyfriend had forgotten about your three year anniversary. But you also couldn’t believe that it felt so much worse to realise you’d forgotten about it as well. 

It was after work, you’d come home late because you were working on a project overtime with your team. It was 11pm and you walked in the door, your apartment having been untouched since the morning, as was expected. Mark still wasn’t home yet, probably out studying at the library or hanging out with his friends, and you felt kind of relieved to have silence for a little bit, feeling almost at peace after a hectic day at work. 

That was until you walked to grab a cold drink from the fridge, the (mostly unused) calendar on the fridge only having mark’s dentist appointment and another key date on it; your anniversary. Surprised, you double checked the date on your phone. Sure enough, it was your two year anniversary with your boyfriend, and you had totally forgotten. 

Pulling out your phone, you sent him a quick text, “what time are you going to be home?” 

He responded almost instantly “ill be home in the morning, Johnnys pissed and I wanna make sure he gets home okay. that alright?” 

You tell him that of course it’s okay for him to take care of Johnny. However, there’s a sinking feeling in your chest as you realise that neither of you had remembered. 

Last year, you'd both been excited to celebrate your first anniversary, organising your celebratory dinner and planning it weeks in advance. You’d sent each other texts jokingly warning the other about what would happen if they forgot, but, of course, neither of you did. You’d talked about it on your dates, asking each other the dumbest questions like “do you think the anniversary date will be better just because it’s important?” and “does this mean were married now?”. 

As you thought about it, you realised something else, too. Truth be told, you hadn't been on a date with mark in over a month. You both were happy to say you were busy and just postpone it - a movie you'd both wanted to see you ended up seeing with a friend the day before the screenings closed. Mark watched it with his friends at Johnny’s place a few weeks later. 

You hadn't thought that maybe you'd been drifting apart until now, when the change in your relationship that had occurred in just a year was so evident. You sat at the kitchen counter at almost midnight, your head in your hands as you tried to think of the last time you'd done anything normal couples would do with Mark, frustrated tears rolling down your cheeks when you couldn’t think of anything, only realising for the first time that the fact that you loved him so much was no longer enough to sustain a relationship with him.

Mark didn’t remember your anniversary until he managed to get Johnny into his bed, a hefty task for someone much shorter than Johnny. Still drunk, Johnny mumbled, “I’m sorry you’re spending your anniversary with me and not with your girlfriend.” 

Mark spun around in the doorway, “What?” 

“It’s May 4th right? Star Wars day. That’s your anniversary isn't it? I remember you told me last year. You’re both huge nerds so it’s fitting,” Johnny drunkenly laughed, his face contorting in pain as he rolled over, his head spinning. “You can take the couch if you like. I need to sleep.” 

Mark nodded as he closed the door softly. He sat on Johnn’ys couch at almost midnight and pulled his phone out, staring at your text, asking when he was going to be home. 

He typed out a few messages before deleting them all, dropping his phone to the floor and lying back against the couch. His arm rested across his face as he tried to drift to sleep, the thoughts running through his head preventing sleep from taking him until much later.

When he got home the next day, you had already left, and despite living with you for almost a year, it took mark way too long to figure out where you'd be. He debated on whether to surprise you with something, but decided against it when he realised he would just be doing it because he felt obliged. He sent you a text, “can we talk?”

You received the text as you were exiting the bathroom, and quickly responded, “yeah. ill be home in about two hours. you?”

His response was simple, void of emotion, “okay.”

You knew you needed to talk to him, but you still dreaded the conversation. You knew you loved him. So so so much. You also knew it wasnt enough.

-----------

“Did you know our anniversary was yesterday?” You ask Mark, placing your things on the kitchen counter. Your tone isn’t harsh or accusing, but the question still makes him wince.

“Yeah,” he said, he briefly looks up to look you in the eye. “Johnny told me.”

“Johnny told you?” You furrow your eyebrows. Fancy the only person who remembers being your boyfriend’s best friend. “At least he remembered.”

“You didn’t, right?” Mark’s suddenly worried you hadn’t forgotten.

“No,” you sigh. You’re standing at opposite ends of the kitchen, staring at each other, “I didn’t.”

“That’s kind of concerning, isn’t it?” He tries to smile a little, but you can tell it’s forced.

You nod your head, biting your lip in thought, looking at your feet.

“I feel like-,” he starts.

“We’re drifting apart,” you finish for him, and his eyes meet yours in understanding.

There’s silence for a moment, “I really love you, y/n.”

You chuckle sadly, and at his words you can feel tears prickling your eyes.

“It’s just not working out. For either of us.”

You nod in agreement, and your silence makes him want to cross the distance between you and embrace you, hold you tight against him and tell you it’s going to be okay, that you’ll get through it.

He doesn’t. “I love you, too, Mark,” a single tear slides down your face, and you see Mark glance up at the ceiling, clenching his jaw to stop any tears from falling from his own eyes. “I think we should call it.”

His eyes snap to yours. He’d been predicting this - planning this, even - but it still hurt to hear you say those words.

“I think we should break up,” you nod to yourself, as if to further persuade yourself of your own decision.

He hums in agreement. “I wish we could work this out. Us, I mean,” he says, his voice small. He looks around your shared apartment, the small habitat in which you’d coexisted. 

The kitchen bench that he’d breakfast at every morning, always sitting in the seat on the right because you always sat in the left, even on the morning you weren’t there to eat with him. The couch you used to watch movies on together, cuddled up together under a blanket on a couch that could barely fit you both. He couldn’t even remembered the last time you'd watched a movie together. The calendar on the fridge, looking dejectedly empty, a stark contrast to the months previous, covered in fun outings and dates that you’d planned together.

“I think,” you start. Suddenly, you don’t know how to phrase your thoughts. “I think the fact that neither of us seemed concerned until our anniversary proves that we need to do this. That we can be happy without each other.” You give him a sad look when you see him clench his eyes shut briefly, whispering, “We’re just not on the same page, you know.”

On the other side of the kitchen, Mark sniffs, blinking rapidly, refusing to let himself cry; not when you were right. “We’re not even in the same book; let alone on the same page.” He pauses, in lost in thought for a moment. “I’ll stay at Johnny’s for a bit,” he states decisively, but there’s a slight choked up feeling in his voice as he attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’ll grab a few things for the week. We can sort out the apartment contract next month.”

You nod. Silence settles over you both as you think to yourselves.

Suddenly, Mark is closing the distance between you two, his arms wrapping over your shoulders to pull you against his chest, “I’ll miss you.” You can hear how choked up he is, “So fucking much.”

Finally letting the tears fall in quick succession, you let out a shaky breath as you bury your face in chest, fingers clutching at his sweater, knowing it’ll probably be the last time you’re able to touch him like this.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Half a Man

Title: Half a Man Prompt: ‘Half a Man’ by Dean Lewis Pairing: Destiel (Dean x Castiel) Warnings: angst with a fluffy ending Word Count: 1.5k

note; okay so i heard this song and my mind immediately went to destiel, and what was intended to be a drabble turned into an actual oneshot lmao, hope u enjoy (pls forgive any typos, it’s 2am as i write/post this)

Masterlist

The first time they kissed, Dean hoped that it would last forever.

The moment Castiel’s lips met his own, every doubt seemed to melt away, every reason that this could never happen scorched to nothing beneath the fire of the angel’s touch. Dean’s lungs burned, but with Cas’s insistent lips on his, he felt as though he were breathing for the first time.

Cas was the first to pull away, and Dean’s lips followed the angel’s, desperately seeking to close the cold space that had opened up between the two of them. Cas smiled, and the little breath Dean had snatched up was knocked again from his chest.

How long had he been dreaming of this moment? Dreaming of Castiel’s arms closed around his body, holding their chests flush, the angel’s breath fanning over his lips with a delicious warmth that had him putty in his hands? Dreaming of the overwhelming familiarity being flipped on its head as a new world opened up for the two of them, a universe brimming with possibilities that all ended with finding solace in one another?

The answer was easy to find - he’d been dreaming of this moment since the minute Castiel’s blue eyes bore into his soul, unravelling the thoughts even he himself couldn’t acknowledge within mere seconds of meeting. After barely a conversation, the angel already seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”

He’d been right - and yet, Castiel had saved him from far more than just the tortures of Hell. Cas had saved him from himself, countless times. And now, it was time for Dean to return the favour; to save the angel he loved so intensely that it rocked his soul. Dean had to save him - even if it killed him.

“We can’t,” Dean mumbled, his eyes settling on the floor. He couldn’t bear to see the light dissipate from Castiel’s gaze, but he felt the pain radiating from his body as though it were a physical force. It slammed into him like a truck, breaking over him like a wave that dragged him back into the depths of an agony he had become all too accustomed to. Dean refused to look up - he’d rather go back to Hell than face the anguish written into his love’s eyes, carved into the slope of his lips that had mere seconds ago been bruising against his own.

“Why not?”

Castiel’s gruff voice held the beginnings of a challenge, though it was heavy with a torment that sliced into Dean’s heart more violently than a blade could ever hope to.

“I can’t- I can’t give you what you deserve, Cas. You don’t... you don’t want me,” Dean whispered, voice hoarse. He swallowed, throat like sandpaper as he futilely tried to summon moisture over his dry tongue. 

“That’s not your call to make,” Cas said gently, his large hand running down Dean’s shoulder. He felt the warmth even beneath his jacket, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to give in and let himself drown in the angel’s affection.

“I’m a sinking ship that’s on friggin’ fire, Cas. You deserve someone who can love you - really love you. How can I give you all of me, when... when I’m only half a man?” 

Dean chuckled dryly, the sound falling flat as it died on the tip of his tongue. Castiel’s hand found his, their fingers interlocking like the final pieces of a puzzle. Dean finally dared to raise his gaze, and nothing could have prepared him for the onslaught of despair that crashed into his chest at the look in Castiel’s eyes.

“Let go of my hand, Cas,” Dean whispered. Cas’s jaw tensed, and suddenly the cold was crawling over Dean’s knuckles as the angel withdrew his touch, leaving behind an empty space that lodged itself into Dean’s chest, a void that swallowed up the mangled remains of his heart.

“Dean, if you don’t want to pursue... this, then I understand. But don’t you dare claim to be anything but a hero,” Castiel said firmly. Dean allowed a shaky breath.

“I’m not a hero, Cas. Maybe once - maybe, a long time ago, but now... Now I’m just broken. There’s no fixing me, no making me whole again. I-I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice was thick, and he vaguely realised that these were the hardest words he’d ever had to force from his lips.

Castiel bowed his head solemnly, and Dean was grateful, if only that he didn’t have to see the pain in his eyes - the pain that he had incited.

“I see.”

The angel’s voice rang with defeat, and Dean felt the tears creeping up behind his eyes. He blinked them back and ducked his head, sighing shakily as he heard Cas take a backwards step, boot echoing on the bunker’s floor. When he dared to look up again, Castiel was long gone.

It was only when he was alone that Dean finally let himself break.

Dean grabbed the nearest object - an empty beer bottle - and threw it against the wall in a fit of rage that burned through his veins and temporarily ate away the agony writhing in his chest. He watched as it shattered against the hard surface, spilling onto the floor in a mosaic of glass shards that glinted in the dull light and reflected Dean’s pained gaze back at him a thousand times over. He clenched his jaw, refusing to cry as he composed his expression and stormed from the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and though his palms blossomed with blood as his fingernails dug into his skin, the eldest Winchester didn’t notice.

There were far more potent pains on his mind.

He didn’t know quite where he was headed until he was slamming the door to his room behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame. Dean took another shaky breath, biting his lip to restrain his emotions as he reached for the bottle of whiskey at his desk. He hastily downed a shot, the burn of the liquor replacing the burn of the tears he refused to shed.

He would not cry.

Dean flipped the switch on the wall, blinking as he became entrapped in the cold artificial light that bled into the room. He raised a shaky hand to rub his jaw, his fingers idly tracing his lower lip as he recalled the moments leading up to their fateful kiss.

He remembered the words that he had thoughtlessly blurted out, the result of one drink too many and the overpowering sense of longing that had crashed into him at Castiel’s smile - at the crinkle of his eyes, the wide stretch of his lips that he had imagined against his all too many times before...

“Dammit, Cas, I love you.”

He’d barely even noticed that he’d voiced his thoughts when suddenly Castiel’s mouth was falling into place against his, and for one moment everything had felt right in the world - as though every second of the last ten years had been leading up to this one perfect, blissful moment. But of course, he had to go and ruin it.

Dean had been running his whole life, as fast as his legs could carry him - running from his demons, from himself, afraid of what he’d find if he sat still a moment too long. At least now, he knew - he’d relaxed a moment too long. Long enough to spill the words he’d vowed he’d never share, long enough to draw Cas in, to dare to dream that he’d finally find happiness.

Happiness?

Dean scoffed. As if he deserved such a luxury.

He dragged out his desk chair, collapsing into it as he pressed his face into his hands, eyes squeezing shut as he cursed himself. He hadn’t just hurt himself, not this time - he’d hurt the one person he’d never wish pain upon. 

He’d hurt his angel.

“Hello, Dean.”

The familiar voice had Dean’s head rising eagerly, and his heart broke at Castiel’s wary stance in his doorway.

“Cas.” The word fell from his lips like a prayer, a name his lips felt unworthy of forming.

“Dean... you’re not broken. Whether or not we continue with... this, it’s important that you know that. You’re not broken - you never were.”

Dean swallowed hard. Don’t cry.

“You’re wrong, Cas,” he rasped. “I’m beyond help. Don’t- don’t give your heart to me.”

“It’s too late for that,” the angel replied with a wry smile. “It’s been yours from the moment I dragged you from perdition.”

Dean clenched his jaw, and his eyes fell shut. He licked his lips, shaking his head to himself, but Castiel’s words still echoed in his mind.

You’re not broken - you never were.

Maybe he was right. Maybe there was hope for him, yet.

Maybe, all this time, he hadn’t been running from himself but, in fact, towards someone else.

For the first time, Dean allowed himself to consider that, maybe, there was some truth to Castiel’s words. When Dean found a home once more in his angel’s arms, he felt his tears finally spill down his cheeks and seep into the coarse fabric of Castiel’s trench coat.

And when they kissed for a second time, Dean finally found hope - and perhaps, this time, it really would last forever.

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme @kina666 @liviaolivia @simplyxparker @helpmeluci @demonsofhunting @bee-happy-buzz-on

Dean tags: @polina-93 @justagirlinafandomworld @coupleofgoons

if you’d like to be added to any tag lists just let me know !!

[glorywaited]

Hello! I'm just asking for RP purposes- you said in response to an ask once that there's some things in canon regarding Cass you don't agree with. I'm just curious if there's anything you've voided entirely from your portrayal?

voided completely ?? i can’t think of anything i havent try to just put a lot more thought into tbh. i try to stick to canon as best as i can. i just do NOT like the direction s3 is going in ?? n i’ll talk about it but

if ur not caught up on s3 pls avoid the rest of this !!

i don’t rly like too much that she’s gothel’s daughter – i thought the reveal was incredibly lazy && predictable writing tbh ?? it’s just honest to god boring to me. though i’m not out here hating on the idea or anything – it’s what we got, it’s what i have to work with. but we were given a boatload of problem that she have in the song crossing the line && s2 gave us a lot of problem she already had. she’s suffering on the shorter end of the divide in classes n TBH it’s HARSH n it sucks n she’s dealt with a reality hitting her incredibly hard in the great tree where she thought she was equals with a princess who ended up pulling rank && it reminded her that she has a specific place because she got yelled at despite someone else bringing up the exact same problems && not getting yelled at && subsequently humiliated in front of everyone by a villain she had warned about && then getting physically hurt by her best friend.

there’s a LOT i can go into about the great tree alone tbh but that kind of hurt doesn’t go away EASILY it’s HUGE trauma && that sticks with u forever no matter how much u try to just get over it. especially for someone who doesn’t talk about her feelings && emotion !! she internalises a lot n places blame on herself && then that stews over time && being shown her past && shown that it wasn’t just her it was SOCIETY && it was ALL THE TIMES she got continuously denied over && over && over despite HOW HARD she worked TIRELESSLY for her goals, for the things she wanted, for just common AFFECTION && recognition. she gets called the “ iron handmaiden “ in s1 because that’s ALL anyone thinks of her – a handmaiden. it’s a HUGE spit in the face && she’s been boiled down by literally everyone around her as just a servant. even adira calls her one.

so she has no OUTLET she have no CLOSURE on anything or any way to take it out because she doesn’t talk about things so she starts blaming other people && rapunzel very specifically because she’s the easiest to place blame, she’s the one who has most recently hurt her both mentally && physically though it wasn’t on PURPOSE but those things can hurt like they are && that’s where cass is coming from.

now you can take gothel completely out of the story && she still has a million reasons that are way more justifiable && way more sympathetic than just being angry about gothel who SHE KNOWS hurt rapunzel to the point of ptsd && killed eugene. she KNOWS all of that so it rly makes less sense ?? i GET missing a parent even when they’re toxic BELIEVE me i do on a personal level but they don’t write it well. they don’t write it realistically && end up dragging it on instead of bringing up every issues she has that she mentioned in crossing the line. 

so i tend to just put more DEPTH into her reasoning && take what we were given in crossing the line. part of it is her mother, yes, but to me it shouldn’t have been given the shining spotlight && she shouldn’t be throwing around victim blaming because ?? that’s just not the cass we’ve been shown throughout the series. she always cared about raps, she always sought to give her FREEDOM && she hated other people using raps in any way especially for her magic. she was the one that sneak her from the castle to give her room to breathe, to give her her freedom back because she KNEW she was locked in a tower for 18 years.

ANYWAY this was long winded to say no i don’t really void anything out completely that i’m aware of but i do put in more depth to her, i take what’s given to me even if it’s scraps && i write the depth i want to see. && tbh i see her as having some serious ptsd as well as depression, anxiety && huuuuge abandonment issues – i have the same disorders listed && ptsd has the nasty side effect of anger && lashing out sometimes especially when u don’t kno how to deal with things or there’s no outlet. && her abandonment issues are A HUGE CAUSE of the way she acts – stoic, icy, keeps pushing people away && doesn’t want to become attach, isolates herself && reverts to sarcasm a lot. when i watch s1 the first time i said to my friend ‘OH SHES GOT HUGE ABANDONMENT ISSUES’ from just the way she acts n s3 came n proved me correct n i love that.

I’LL SAY THO the only thing i’ve voided out is that cass did NOT leave raps to die in that cave with the poison. she hesitated, she looked back && she sent rocks to open the cave up again while walking away. that’s it lmao because i just !! that very much upset me && i thought she was coming back

BUT i hope this answer ur question bhdakjsmd i’m sorry i never shut up lmao i can write books on her hahhh 

[gavetawrtes]

on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now? hmmmmmm

describe yourself in a hashtag? #cancelled

if you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be? david harbour obviously pls also it has to be in an r-rated movie so it can be truly enjoyed and replayed in my memory forever

what’s one thing people don’t know about you? my gender usually akdljska

what’s your wake up ritual? jump out of bed scared and sweaty bc i was probably having a nightmare

what’s your go to bed ritual? fall a sleep in my chair while watch youtube videos, somehow end up in my bed ??

what’s your favorite time of day? dusk

your go to for having a good laugh? gus johnson

what’s the biggest surprise you’ve ever had? its a bad thing so i’m not sharing bc i don’t wanna bring the mood down

heels or flats/sneakers? boots

vintage or new? vintage vibes~~

who do you want to write your obituary? someone with a sense of humor that can make my ghost laugh

style icon? the things that a divorced dad would wear are what i usually base my clothing choices on

what are three things you cannot live without? david harbour content, food probably, a good drink ( i’m an alcoholic, leave me alone. ) 

what’s one ingredient you put in everything? cream cheese. it’s the best thing any man has ever made, you cowards

what 3 people living or dead would you want to make dinner for? david harbour, my friend c, and my friend eli and my friend scarlet ( i choose four fight me ) ( also probably they would get food poisoning or else they would have to dine fancy burgers bc that’s all i can make. ) 

window or aisle seat? window

what’s your current tv obsession? narcos !!!! holy shit its so good 

favorite app? probably some of those [ insert place ] idle. i have played like all of them literally

how would you define yourself in three words? dumbass, horny and a little problematic

favorite piece of clothing you own? that one hawaiin shirt that lets everyone know i like women

a must have clothing item that everyone should have? boots. everyone just looks better in boots. this is an objective fact. fight me

a superpower you would want? mind control. i would be the worse villain

what’s inspiring you in life right now? the monster energy drink i’m having rn

best piece of advice you’ve received? be who you are and say what you mean because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind

best advice you’d give your teenage self? sex and alcohol are not the same as therapy pls go to a doctor; also you have adhd, knowing that will change everything

a book everyone should read? the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. no reason really its just fun. people should have more fun

what would you like to be remembered for? being david harbour’s prettiest girlfriend or or wagner moura’s prettiest girlfriend 

how do you define beauty? ' Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.” ‘ that whole ass chapter btw ?? Donna Tartt wrote it for me personally and no one else

best way to take a rest/decompress? have sex 

favorite place to view art? from my computer screen hmm love me some distance

if your life was a song, what would the title be? relationships are extremely complicated and i think my dog knows it ( that’s a real song btw sdklfjalk it’s in portuguese tho )

if you could master one instrument, what would it be? guitar

if you had a tattoo, what would it be? ' a partir desta data, aquela mágoa sem remédio, é considerada nula e sobre ela — silêncio perpétuo’ which kinda means ‘from this point on, that pain for which there is no remedy, is considered null and void, and about it — perpetual silence’ 

dolphins or koalas? dolphins bc i’ve been told that i laugh like them

what’s your spirit animal? this kinda feels like a problematic question

what’s your favorite board game? zombiecide

what’s your favorite color? pale blue

least favorite color? no such thing

diamond or pearls? diamonds

drugstore makeup or designer? whatever i can find faster so i can leave the store

coffee or tea? coffeeeee

dark chocolate or milk chocolate? dark chocolate

stairs or elevators? elevators

summer or winter? winter

you are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat? pizza. just change the toppings ;)

a dessert you don’t like? paçoca

a skill you’re working on mastering? telling people to fuck off when they hurt me

best thing to happen to you today? i got a new plot with a friend i love very much :) also i headcanoned a lot with another friend i love very much :)

worst thing to happen to you today? i got anxious bc i have to lseep in like 1 hour

favorite smell? its like one specific fragrance of one specific perfume that my parents wore in one specific vacation and its like my only happy childhood memory; also cotton candy

hugs or kisses? kisseesss

if you made a documentary, would it be about? why are people Like That

last piece of content you consumed that made you cry? sdklfja this is so dumb but okay like i was watching extraction and david harbours character died and i know that he was bad in the movie and he had a total of 9 minutes of screen time but i’m emotionally attached and i can’t see him suffer okay ?? so yes that made me cry

lipstick or lipgloss? hmmm none

sweet or savory? sweet

girl crush? that one teacher that works in my department but never spends any time in the teachers room. please step on me with those heels thanks

how do you know you’re in love? i think about them and my heart skips a beat and i go skfjsdlkjfdsklj

a song you can listen to on repeat? anything from zimbra

if you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be? .........david harbour’s girlfriend. listen leAVE ME ALONE I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING BUT I 

what are you most excited for/about this time in your life? c’s birthday

tagged by: @dancsmiths tagging: @scarlet i forgot your url but if you see this its u @estelasrps

[phases-of-the-fallen]

Explanation

fandom: alternate timeline of Dreamswap by kai

characters: Waning Crescent, Comet

warnings: cursing, mention of murder and death, 

word count: 2,112

Summary: Waning Crescent and Comet talk about what’s upset WC so much.

“So, are you going to tell me what in the fuck happened on your last mission that freaked you out so badly?” Comet asked after he sat down in his boyfriend’s lap, nuzzling into the other’s chest a little bit. “It’s going to bother me until you spill, and you know it helps to tell someone else about whatever is going on, so that we can figure out how to deal with it.”

Waning Crescent swallowed hard for a moment, fidgeting with his hands for a couple of moments, rolling the pen that he’d been using to sign paperwork for a couple of moments before saying “I had gotten a report that Full, Half and New Moon was in Underswap 7651. I went to check out the report alone, as that particular timeline has been under the protection of JR for decades, and New Moon at least should have remembered that, as I’ve captured him there twice. Although the tacos there are some of the best in the multiverse, so perhaps… That’s why they were there.”

“Uh-huh. Having a run-in with those three - even if they did manage to escape you - shouldn’t have scared you that much though. You’re still all wound up by what happened…” Comet pointed out, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist, wishing he could pet the other’s wings, but the other’s wings were currently intangible so that he could sit on the chair without needing to be on the edge of the seat.

“.... How much do you know about Full Moon? Like his past, before you two met?” Waning Crescent responded - he wasn’t deflecting. He was going to explain - he just wanted to know if Comet had known that Angel had been bonded with a determined spirit and hadn’t told him.

“That his timeline was that endless void that you found the both of us in. He was grieving about something, but he never told me what. Apart from that, I know nothing more about his past then you do… Why? Did he do something weird again?” Comet responded, frowning a little and waiting for Crescent to get to his point.

“Ah… I… I accidentally killed Full Moon. He jumped in front of my claymore as I intended to pin down New Moon and I couldn’t get my blade away in time, and… My blade pierced his soul and he died.” Waning Crescent explained. His voice failing him for a couple of moments “And then a determined spirit - one who Full Moon had apparently had absorbed their soul, appeared and offered their soul to New Moon, who… Who took it. A strange, purple button appeared in front of New Moon and he… He resurrected Full Moon in front of me. Full moon had just finished dusting, and he… He’d come back. New Moon started to laugh and I… I fled the battlefield.”

Comet was still for a very long time, or so it felt to Waning Crescent, before he cleared his nonexistent throat, saying quietly, his voice a little shaky “Okay… So New Moon can resurrect people and has a Determined Human’s soul backing his power now. That… That could be bad, but we’ve dealt with monsters who have absorbed multiple human souls, and -”

“New Moon is not a monster. Neither am I. We have the physical appearance of skeleton monsters, but that’s as far as the similarities go. You’ve seen the shape and color of my soul, Comet. One of the constants in this multiverse is the shape and color - or lack thereof - for monster and human souls. New Moon and I… We were created by the previous guardian of emotions, as she… They? Were dying. She summoned the both of us. We are the… We are positive and negative emotions - and the magical power behind them, given form and substance. I… I may be able to show you my true form, if you promise not to freak out on me.” Waning Crescent explains quietly, fidgeting more intensely with the pen in his hands. It was almost impossible to not look at Comet directly, given that the other was still in his lap, but he was just barely managing it.

"Uhh... Okay? Promise me that like... Your body won't... I don't know... Disintegrate or vanish when you do? Or that you can switch back?" Comet responded after a moment's hesitation, trying to process what his beloved was saying. Waning Crescent had said that he was the guardian of positivity, but he hadn't really known what the other meant. None of them did - though they all felt the uplifting effects of his aura. 

"No, my body won't disintegrate - but as my true form contains the essence of my soul as well as all of my magic, my physical body will go limp and even grow cold and void of my magic, if I leave it for too long. Though that shouldn't be necessary. You may want to get off of my lap, as my physical form will be unable to hold you close during that time." Waning Crescent explained quietly.

“I… Okay then. Thank you for the warning.” Comet responded, part of him wondering if he should maybe convince the other not to do this. This felt… A little bit strange and like the other was making an impulsive and probably bad decision, and he was processing everything else that Waning Crescent had told him.  Comet got up, taking a couple of steps back. “So… You can… You can show me your true form, if you want to.”

Waning Crescent nodded, letting his eye lights fuzz out as he gathered all of his magic into the core of his body, first his soul taking shape, before he pushed himself further from the body. It had been quite some time since he’d done this last, and it was a bit of a struggle at first - but eventually, he was in his original form - a yellow-colored ball of condensed positivity magic and awareness. He floats over to Comet, gently coming to rest on one of the other’s shoulders, letting out a soft trill. He pulses a bit of magic through Comet before returning to his skeletal form “So as you can see… It’s not that a powerful monster is in possession of a determination soul… But…”

“A… A Guardian has absorbed a human soul. And I’m guessing that neither of you have ever done that before - and if the previous guardian did, she or they didn’t ever write down whatever the fuck happened, and if it’s possible to undo it without causing damage, since the two of you still have that weird destiny bond thing that makes it impossible to kill New Moon without it also killing you.” Comet finished, frowning a little bit. 

He had known that there was something odd about boss - but he hadn’t realized just how unique Waning Crescent was - were there other Guardians in the multiverse, perhaps hidden in obscure timelines? Protecting… Who knew what? “But… You mentioned New Moon being in possession of a Button - considering the fact that when he used it, that world didn’t Reset, he doesn’t have the ability to Reset a timeline - thank the fucking stars, as that could cause a shit load of trouble. He used it to heal Full Moon - which will be annoying to try to capture them, since with a press of a button, they’ll be back to full health again…”

“I… You’re right, of course. I probably just overreacted. They have a powerful healing ability that could potentially be a great hindrance, depending on if New Moon can resurrect dead criminals and decides to try to do so in order to create chaos… It’s unlikely, though. He mostly just flees and hides with his companions.” Waning Crescent mused “And no, there are no records of a Guardian absorbing a human soul, not to my knowledge. The previous guardian of the… Of the emotive balance was contemptuous and very wary of mortals - chasing away any who attempted to live near them. They were periodically attacked for the power they held, and was eventually struck down in a battle - though they were able to kill their attacker, before they created us.”

“Huh.” Comet remarked - he’s pretty sure that Waning Crescent is leaving out a few key details, but he’s not going to push for more than the other is willing to share. He already knows far more about the true past of the both of them than… Probably anyone else in existence, with the possible exceptions of Full and Half moon, depending on how much, if anything, New Moon had told them of his past. “So, what’s the plan with the three assholes?”

“I’ll update the orders for the undercover operatives. To watch out for any on The List, but for them to not approach New, Full, or Half moon under any circumstances, and if they are in a timeline for more than a couple of hours, to report directly to me, so that I… I can observe them directly.” Waning Crescent decided, nodding a little to himself firmly, before he asked “Does that sound reasonable to you? We can hope that his new powers only extend to that resurrection ability, but until we know for certain…”

“It’s best to limit the potential damage that New Moon could do, if at all possible. It’s going to take time to spread those new orders throughout our network, but I’ll be sure to send it to the regional heads myself.” Comet responded, turning partially, intending to leave.

“Absolutely not - for one thing, I need to make sure to write down and encode those orders… And another thing is, don’t think I haven’t forgotten that your appointment with Healer Ara regarding your pregnancy isn’t today in less than an hour and a half.”

“Oh come oooon! We’ve known that I’ve been pregnant for what? Two weeks now, at most? I’ll be fine.” Comet huffed, pouting a little that he’d been caught out so easily. He was excited to be carrying a soulling… But all of the information about what he could and what he wasn’t going to be able to do as the pregnancy continued was more than a little daunting “Hey… So uh… Since you’re not… Not a monster or a human, do you think that will affect the development of our soulling?”

“I… I don’t know. It’s one of the things that we will need to discuss with Dr. Ara and their Obstetrics team.” Waning Crescent answered honestly. He was worried about how the soulling would continue to grow - and he knew that Comet was as well.

“Yeah… Still not sure how I’m pregnant in the first place… ‘s not as if I have a soul…” Comet muttered, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He’d kind of assumed that he’d be unable to have kids that way, because of his condition. 

“But the deep scans showed that you did have one at one point… And again, that’s some of the things that will be gone over in that appointment today. Do you remember that Dr. Ara took a sample of your magic to have it tested?” Waning Crescent prodded gently. 

“I… Yeah, you’re right. I’m just… I’m so nervous about all of this - th-though I am excited as well. We… We’re going to have an ankle biter all our own. Look out multiverse, because our kid is going to be one hell of a force of nature. That much I can feel.” Comet answered back, rallying himself after a moment, his eye lights a pair of stars - one yellow, the other blue and purple, a grin appearing on his face.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Waning Crescent responded with a fond smile appearing on his face, hugging his beloved boyfriend in close, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. “Now… Help me word the updated orders correctly?”

“Eh… You know that sort of thing is not my strong suit. Point me at an AU and tell me who to stab? I’m good. Tell me who to threaten and scare? I’m good. But the whole… Leading a secret service and army with a silver tongue? That’s all you, boss.” Comet grumbled, though he did follow the other back to the desk, claiming Waning Crescent’s lap as soon as the other sat down. It was nice to be close to the other like this, and he hoped that the obstetrics appointment would answer a lot of the questions that both of them had. This new healing ability of New Moon’s could be a pain in the ass… But shouldn’t prove to be too much of a danger...  Right?

[winteriron-trash]

The Fires We Were Forged In [Part 1]

A/N: Okay, I lied again. Here’s another canon-compliant Endgame story. Sort of, I guess. Yes, the Loki and Bucky story is coming soon, it’s still getting edited a bit but for now, I wanted to post this idea that came to me when I saw a post circling of texts Peter sent to Tony’s phone post-Endgame. (If someone has credit pls lemme know, I can’t find it) So, here this is. Stick through the angst for the ending, I promise it’s worth it. :) I can’t tell how many parts this will have without spoiling the ending, so just read on. I’m not self-centred about my writing but I promise this one is good.

Warning for Endgame spoilers and all that. Enjoy!

-

Peter wasn’t the best at coping. In fact, if there were a scoreboard kept, he was pretty sure he’d come right in last at the worst at it.

And sure, no one blamed him. No one blamed anything except for themselves, really. Peter felt it in the looks anyone wore whenever… that name was mentioned. Everyone, even people who weren’t involved, found a way to blame themselves. Carol wished she’d been the one to use the stones. Rhodey wished he’d stopped Tony. Pepper wished she’d intercepted the gauntlet to keep it away from Thanos. Steve wished he hadn’t ripped the Avengers apart.

Everyone blamed themselves because really, how else were they supposed to cope? How else were they supposed to handle the fact that the Earth’s best defender was gone, and they had to live to watch him go?

It hurt. It hurt worse than the burn in Peter’s throat when he screamed himself raw. It hurt worse than the bloody, bruised, probably broken knuckles Peter got from angrily punching the stray suit he came across when they were cleaning the workshop out.

Peter was horrible at coping.

He was gone. Tony. Iron Man. Tony goddamned Stark, the man who’d built his own legacy with scrap metal and a genius smile. The man who believed in Peter when no one else would even look at him. The man who killed Thanos and saved the universe, even if it cost him his life.

The man who fucking left Peter alone and sobbing at last nights because why the hell did Peter deserve to lose another father figure? Let alone, one like Tony?

Peter blamed Tony, and that was maybe the worst part of it. Everyone else blamed themselves, but Peter saw through it. No matter who’d’ve done what, Tony was the one who had to do it. Strange even said so. Tony Stark had to die for the universe to live.

Fate was a cruel thing. And Peter blamed Tony for being selfless enough to comply with it.

Still, Peter didn’t hate Tony. He just… he missed him. Same as everyone else. Peter tried his best to put himself back together and move on. He was an Avenger now, that was his job.

And it wasn’t so bad. Morgan was adorable, Harley was cool when he wasn’t being a dick, and Nebula was so much kinder than her metal exterior let on. Peter had a new family, one that mourned with him and didn’t blame Peter when he had to leave the room whenever someone even said Tony’s name.

They understood. It was as infuriating as it was comforting. To be surrounded by pitying looks and shoulder pats and soft voices asking Peter if he was okay.

No, Peter was not fucking okay.

But he tried to be. He tried to cope and find what helped him feel a little saner and put together even in his worst moments. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all he had.

Peter’s best and possibly also worst coping mechanism ended up being texting Tony.

Well, not Tony. Tony’s old number, that was now just a void for Peter to scream into when he needed it.

Peter remembered when Tony gave him that number. The idea of having Tony Stark’s personal number in Peter’s own phone was something that had Peter bouncing off the walls for days. He relished in it, sending Tony constant texts that started out as Spider-Man updates, but digressed into just random things that happened to Peter and he felt the need to tell someone about.

And Tony always answered. To every single text. Sure, the answers were brief sometimes, just a few emojis and a ‘good job, kid’ if it was something like Peter telling Tony he aced a test. Sometimes the answers were longer, more heartfelt when Peter admitted he was scared of his role as a hero. Tony was always there.

So sometimes it was just nice to send a text to a dead number, and imagine what the response would be.

Peter would send anything, really. Some days it’d be test scores, the next it’d be a picture of Morgan attacking Harley with his own potato gun while Nebula tried to suppress a smile in the background. There’d be heartfelt texts, sometimes. Ones of Peter promising Tony how much everyone remembered him, and how his sacrifice was so worth it, seeing all the happy families reunited.

Peter thought if he promised Tony that his sacrifice was worth it, maybe Peter would start believing it too.

Even if Peter could never really accept that the loss of a man that great could ever have a price.

Which was why Peter had his bad nights. His awful nights where everything hurt and all he wanted to do was destroy anything he could get his hands on, just hoping to feel something.

Those nights, the texts were angry. They were a jumble of words and letters of Peter yelling at Tony, demanding why he’d left his family behind, telling Tony that they didn’t fucking win, that nothing could ever be a win when Iron Man was dead. It was a desperate plea for help, at it’s core.

Peter was trying to pull his act together though. And it was going… well. He’d gone sixteen days, seven hours, and forty-three minutes since he was texted Tony’s dead number. The last text he’d sent had been out receiving his early acceptance letter from MIT. He was doing well.

But Peter was bad a coping.

So when a bad night came again, like they always did, Peter was curled up in the corner of his room, sobbing. He’d already punched a hole in his wall and broken a mirror. Peter ignored the glass. And the blood.

Instead, he grabbed his phone, with shaking hands, opening the last contact he should be opening like this.

Oh well.

The text Peter sent was hardly coherent. There were spelling errors, mixed up words. It didn’t matter. All that matter was the page long angry rant of pain as Peter yelled at Tony for leaving them all behind. Demanding that Tony come back, begging Tony to come back.

Why wouldn’t he come back? Why did everyone else get to come back?

Peter was crying so hard by the end of the text he wasn’t even sure if he sent send before chucking the phone onto his bed. He hugged his knees and sobbed, pushing himself further into the corner.

Peter hated everything. He hated Tony, he hated Thanos, he hated the Avengers, he hated Spider-Man, he hated-

The phone chimed.

Peter was so genuinely confused, he stopped crying for a second. His screen was lit, and from across the room, he could see the notification for a new text message.

Feeble, awful, senseless hope built in Peter as he crawled on his hands and knees through broken shards to grab the phone. It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t be him, but there was a part of Peter that wanted, so fucking badly. An awful selfish part that made Peter hold his breath as he took three tries to unlock his phone and open the message.

‘I’m really so sorry, but I just got this number. I think you’re looking for someone else.’

Oh.

Peter wanted to scream again.

The only thing he had left of Tony and even that had been taken away from him. The universe really did hate Peter, didn’t it?

With a soft sniffle, Peter managed to type out an apology and a promise to not contact the number again. Even as typing the words out made his heart feel like a twisted coil in his own chest.

‘It’s fine. You wanna talk about it? You seem like you need to let some stuff out.’

Peter paused. He did want to talk about it. Especially to someone who didn’t know him or anyone else that he knew. Just… a stranger.

‘Yeah. That sounds kinda nice.’

‘Cool. You’re talking about Iron Man, right? We all miss him. It hurts, having to see him everywhere but know he’s not really here.’

‘Yeah. It really sucks.’

‘Did you know him personally?’

‘He was my mentor, I guess. I looked up to him so much.’

‘Not to go out on a limb, but are you that spider kid in Queens people keep talking about? Everyone said that he went up into space with Iron Man when the first attacks came.’

‘It’s Spider-Man.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

Peter didn’t realize his face was dry of tears until he smiled. Actually smiling, without hiding anything underneath it felt… nice. Really nice.

‘You can’t tell anyone you know Spider-Man. I’m an Avenger, you know.’

‘Like people would believe me anyway. An actual Avenger? Have you met Pepper Potts?’

‘Mrs Potts and I talk all the time. I’m really close with Morgan.’

‘Yeah, their kid, right? This has really gotta suck for her. Losing a hero is nothing like losing a father.’

‘I know how she feels. I think she understands it a lot more than people are willing to admit. No one wants her to have to grow up this fast.’

‘How can she not, being surrounded by superheroes like you?’

‘Fair point.’

Peter spent the rest of the night texting the… new person.

And the rest of the next night.

It became a kind of routine. Peter never asked anything about the person, and they never really offered the information. They both seemed fine with that, really. Even though Peter still didn’t have the heart to change the contact name, it didn’t hurt as much, or even at all some days, when he saw it. His new friend was funny and smart enough to keep up with Peter, always teasing him about whatever he was on the news for that week.

And always being there for Peter in his worst moments. In the moments where all Peter could manage to say was ‘I hate him I hate him I hate him’ over and over again until his fingers were numb, they stayed with him.

It was better than any therapy session Aunt May dragged Peter to.

Peter did feel bad about it, some days. Dumping all his problems on this random person, no matter how much they assured Peter that it was fine, as long as they were paid back in information about his suit. Which Peter didn’t care enough not to share because it was really cool, to be honest.

On the week Peter was packing up for MIT, he found himself complaining to them.

‘Moving for college sucks. It’s stress and too much work.’

‘Mood. I’m in my first year at MIT, it doesn’t get any better once classes start.’

‘Wait, really? MIT?’

‘Yup. Jealous, spider boy?’

‘Not really, it’s where I’m going too.’

‘For real? Nice job. He’d be proud of you, you know.’

Peter smiled softly at his phone. ‘Yeah, I know.’ He thought a quiet moment. ‘Hey, since I’ll be there in a week, how about we meet up?’

The few seconds it took for Peter’s message to be read, then to watch the typing were agonizing.

‘You sure you’re okay with some rando knowing your secret identity?’

‘You’ve helped me through so much, I feel like you already know me. Let’s go out for coffee, it’s the least I can do. Please?’

Another agonizing pause.

‘Fine. But I pick the coffee place.’

Peter grinned.

Peter and his texting buddy planned their coffee meet up for a few days after Peter officially moved into his dorm room. He’d sent a selfie so they would recognize him, which got Peter a snarky comment that he looked just as dorky under the mask that made Peter laugh.

If Peter thought the anxiety of moving into college was bad, it had nothing on meeting his friend of months for the first time. A friend that he didn’t even know the name of.

Oh god.

Peter arrived to the coffee shop ten minutes early and spent five of those ten minutes feverishly checking that he got the right place and time and date. He chose an outside table, so hopefully, he’d be recognized more easily. Since he couldn’t exactly look out for someone he didn’t know the face of.

Peter spent the next five minutes playing on his phone, switching from app to app, not having the concentration to commit to anything.

After that, he began counting the minutes that his friend was late.

What if he’d been set up? What if it was just a big joke? What if they were going to scam him?

At seven minutes in of internal panicking, Peter’s attention was pulled from his phone by shouting.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! The professor would not shut up! I ran here, I’m so sorry!”

The young woman standing in front of Peter’s table did look like she’d run there. Her dark skin was flushed with adrenaline, frizzy black hair in a mess falling out of her hair tie. She blew it out of her face with a scowl. The woman practically threw her stack of binders and lose papers onto the table, revealing the Iron Man shirt she was wearing that hung loosely, slipping off of her shoulders.

Peter gave her a long, blank stare. “Are you…”

She plopped down in the chair across from Peter. “Hey, spider boy.”

Peter smiled so wide it hurt. It’d been a while since he’d worn a smile like that. “It’s just Peter. Peter Parker.”

The woman smiled back, extending her hand across the table. “Cool. I’m Riri Williams.”