#they all have a form of tunnel vision---at one point or another---in this fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ahsokathegray · 2 years

Text

I Bleed the Same || Sixteen

Pairing: Rexsoka

Summary: Ahsoka and Rex try and make sense of who and what they are after Order 66 occurs. Figuring out what to do with themselves, they remain together for a period of time before parting in their own directions.

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of Order 66, ptsd, injury, death, and future nsfw situations

Word Count: 4,762

A/N: *side eyes ao3* anyway, this chapter is packed full of sensitive material. starting off strong with an O66 nightmare, mcd only in the nightmare, mentions of ptsd, pregnancy (not ahsoka, I won't be doing rexsoka pregnancy in this fic), as well as some light masturbation. happy reading :)

read on ao3! / series masterlist

His blasters were pointed directly at her, arms shaking, unwilling to bend, unwilling to redirect their aim. The look in her eye — the utter betrayal — ricocheted within his veins like blaster fire, burning him up from the inside out. Tears pricked in his eyes, his vision beginning to blur. He wanted to seep into the trail that the lone tear had streaked down his face, anything to obstruct his view of her, anything to increase her chances of escape, her survival of him.

“Stay back!” he warned her.

A firm hand placed itself in the neck of his armor, holding him in place from behind, a thumb pressing into the plastoid between his shoulder blades. Rex flinched. A taunt rang in his ears, “I told you. I fucking told you, Rex. But no one wanted to listen to me, did they? Look at you, blasters pointed at the only thing more precious to you than your weapons. Gotta love that irony, huh brother? I told you to remove your chip and you didn’t. Now here you are, fighting the control, fighting your own mind, about to collapse underneath the sheer weight of it, about to kriffing kill her! You could’ve been awake, you could’ve not given the order had you done what I did. You could have saved them all.” Fives laughed darkly behind him, refusing to show his face.

No one else seemed to hear him. The troopers behind Ahsoka planted their feet, fingers impatiently waiting on the triggers.

Rex growled, unable to move from his position, “Get where I can see you, trooper!” He wanted to punch off the smug grin he knew his brother to be wearing. Footsteps sounded behind him, echoing in his ears as Fives made a wide circle, rounding where the Captain stood between the bridge and the briefing room. He came into Rex’s peripheral and everything around him froze. It was as if time had stopped. Hyperspace was no longer a breathing tunnel of stars and systems, being reduced merely to a light source. The men behind Ahsoka were frozen in their positions, blasters still trained on her, all while they sported those orange-painted helmets with her markings on them.

And Ahsoka stood in front of him, unmoving, eyes consumed with hurt, for yet another friend has turned their back on her, making an inexcusable misuse of her trust. Her hands were placed defensively outwards instead of reaching for her lightsabers, trusting that he will lower his weapons.

He forgot all about Fives as he stared back at her, betrayal’s keen sting etched into her features. The look on her face was branded into the backs of his eyelids — brow markings pinched together, mouth agape.

His muscles ached. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t put the blasters down. He wasn’t in control.

“You’re about to shoot her and it’s all your fault,” his brother’s voice rang loudly.

Rex snapped his attention over to where Fives was, the clone coming to stand to the right of Ahsoka’s frozen form, stalking closer and closer. Any urge to sock Fives in the jaw dissipated completely. In front of him was not the Fives that he remembered. This wasn’t the brazen man who dripped with charisma, effortlessly picking up the ladies. He wasn’t wearing his signature cocky grin or striding along the bridge with confidence. He wasn’t leaning up against some surface coolly while he waited for some prank to play out. He wasn’t laughing, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t making anything into a joke as he usually did.

He was dead serious.

Fives looked frail, shoulders slumped forward, eyes wide, head shaven with a Kaminoan dressing still attached to the chip extraction site. Fives looked terrified. Fives wasn’t scared of anything. The Fives that Rex knew was fearless. This wasn’t that man.

“Fives,” Rex called, his voice laced with worry, “Fives, listen to me.”

The man shook his head fervently, chuckling in a way that made Rex’s skin crawl, “No. You’re gonna listen to me, now. They can’t shoot me this time! If you would’ve just listened to me, you wouldn’t be aiming at her. You should have gone farther than just submitting a lousy grievance report. Remember how this plays out, Rex? These men all received the directive, the order you gave! Ahsoka wouldn’t have had to release Maul. The men wouldn’t have to die. The two of you wouldn’t have to dig a grave for every trooper you could manage to find, knowing there were men aboard that would have no peace. You said it yourself, you knew a grievance report would fall on deaf ears. Why didn’t you just listen to me? Why didn’t you remove your chip? If not for me… Then why not for her?”

Rex’s features furrowed, “It wasn’t my place. I would’ve ended up the same as you!”

“And what about her? I know all too fekking well, that had she asked you, had she discovered the plot instead of me, that you would’ve removed it without as much as a second thought. Right? To right your wrongs from back during her trial? That little tattoo between your neck and back is the only proof I need to answer my question. Yeah. Think you can hide that little tribute forever, do you?”

The Captain’s eyes watered, more tears threatening to spill, teeth clenching together as he yelled at his brother, “Watch your mouth, trooper!”

“Trooper? Don’t stand there and tell me it wasn’t your place to remove your chip! Getting that tattoo — your Commander’s facial markings — wasn’t your place!”

Rex’s jaw flexed, his deecees thrashed in his hands, his muscles stretched and taut from trying to fight the directive, “I got it removed! She removed it! I didn’t kill her!”

Fives grimaced, “Didn’t you?”

The room spun around him, time resuming. His mind finally gave way to the relentless pressure behind his eyes, splintering under the incredible force. Fives had disappeared, his last question deafening in Rex’s ears.

“Find him. Find him. Fives. Find him! Fives!”

Rex’s fingers kissed the triggers, wrists flying upward with the release of hot plasma through the muzzles of his twin blasters. His vision turned red with hatred, with a cold nothingness for the woman in front of him. He shot again and again and again until his fingers began to ache.

“Rex!” Ahsoka called.

“Don’t you see?” Fives’s voice echoed once more, his body no longer present, “You’ve already killed her. She saw everything she needed to see in that moment, trooper. She knows what you are, what you’re capable of… and she will never trust you again.”

Smoke surrounded him, along with several of his brothers — all with their buckets on, shielding their faces from him. He could make out Jesse’s helmet through the smoke and electrical embers as Ahsoka fell, head hitting the table, her lekku bouncing with the impact. Her eyes were still open. Blood sputtered out onto her lips as she choked out his name, “R-Rex.”

“NO!”

~~~

“Rex, please wake up,” Ahsoka pleaded, shaking his shoulders violently. His skin was blistering to the touch and shone with perspiration. The Captain’s eyes were moving around wildly from behind closed lids, thrust deep inside of a REM sleep cycle. She shook him again, coming closer to gain better purchase on his bulky armor. His sleeping form was sitting leaned up on the couch, head tilted back. Ahsoka climbed haphazardly into his lap, desperate for any sort of contact or pressure to wake him from his nightmare.

He whimpered softly, closed eyes wrinkled and squeezing as he threw his face from side to side. Rex began incoherently crying out what sounded like, “No, no, no, no!” She couldn’t quite make out the rest, but upon first entering the room, she’d heard him whisper “Fives”.

Ahsoka let out a huff of air, bringing her hands up to his face and frantically grabbing him to keep him still, begging him to return to her, “Rex!”

Nothing.

Her eyes closed and she exhaled slowly, prepared to slow her heartbeat and tap into the chaos that was the Force, just as she had done in the Tribunal’s medical bay. She was prepared to make that link into the established bond, a Force-bond she hadn’t known to even exist up until Rex lay surrounded by her and the droids with the men at the door. The words presented themselves to her, ready to be spoken, when his eyes abruptly shot open, wide pupils shrinking at the sudden presence of light. Her hands were clammy with his sweat, still gently pressed to either side of his face.

His eyes never left hers, relief flooding his senses that they were open, that they were blinking, that she wasn’t hurt, that they weren’t back aboard the Tribunal, that he hadn’t actually killed her.

In his raised position, he was now very close to her. Ahsoka also seemed to become aware of how their chests were heaving, breaths mingling, sharing the same air. Rex shifted his gaze downwards, finding that both his hands were clutched tightly to her hips, the fabric of her dress gathered between his fingers. She was in his lap. Why was she in his lap? He felt a touch of stimulation and began drawing away from Ahsoka, a blush creeping up from below his collar as he removed his hands. He swallowed, mouth becoming dry as he spoke breathlessly, “Sorry, Commander.”

Ahsoka’s parted lips closed, profusely apologizing as she scrambled from his lap and regained her footing, realizing only now that the innocent action had made Rex uncomfortable. She smoothed her battle dress and stood awkwardly in front of him, “You were having a nightmare... I was worried about you.”

He shifted on the couch, adjusting his position to sit in a way that relieved some of the pressure below his belt. Clearing his throat, he spoke again, “You were worried? What was I…”

There was a hefty pause, embarrassment filling the space between them.

“You just started shaking, sweating badly, and…” she stopped, not wanting him to know just how much of his private dream she’d been privy to.

“And?” Rex repeated, still slightly out of breath, his eyes trained on her.

She held her arm, looking down before she met his gaze again, “You were talking.”

He became very still, eyes peering up at her under knitted brows, one arm along the back of the couch and the other grabbing the edge of the armrest, his legs parted. He looked…

Ahsoka blinked and rid herself quickly of the unexpected appreciation of such a mundane stance, revealing what she heard in a whisper, “I think you were talking to Fives.”

Stang, how much did she hear?

Rex ran a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. He’d been lucky so far, if one could even call it luck. The nightmares Fives spoke of as he lay dying, the ones every clone had — no brother an exception — had truly gone. Fives was right. Turns out, Fives was right about everything. Rex hadn’t had one nightmare since he and Ahsoka became fugitives. However, dreams only come with sleep, which he had yet to do very much of.

He had wondered what would take the place of the old nightmares, but was apprehensive to succumb to slumber’s volatile nature and uncover that mystery.

This. This had apparently taken the place of the old ones.

Rex’s skin both burned and held a chill. A shiver went up his spine as a bead of sweat ran down his temple, running across the removal site. Ahsoka was looking at him again, expectantly, big blue eyes full of concern. He gulped, closed his own and nodded at her, “Yeah.. Yeah, I was. I’m fine. Thank you.”

Ahsoka pressed her lips together and walked back out of the room, not knowing what else to say to him. The only cure for embarrassment was time spent alone, so she decided that she would give Rex some space.

He gripped the arm of the couch with more pressure and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. There was no need to ponder his dream, he knew why he’d had it. He just hoped it wouldn’t come back to revisit him, become a pattern. The den was dark and quiet, blinds closed and lamps switched off. Cut had been kind enough to offer him somewhere to rest his head. After his brother had fixed the hole in his pauldron, Rex grew to become quite exhausted. Guess that’s what a full stomach will do to you. The meal had warmed and settled him, unlike his old diet of Republic-issued ration bars. Somewhere along the way, the nightmare took hold of him and whisked him deeper down than the food induced coma had.

He looked down and groaned, his inevitable erection still painfully present. Even after she’d left the room, the effect that she’d had on him lingered. She was sitting in his lap! Who was expected to wake up to that and not react this way? Rex glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t see anyone down the hall. More importantly, it sounded as if they were all outside. He contemplated what he was about to do. Once it was done, there would be no revoking the action. The very clear line of their friendship will have been definitively crossed on his end and he would never be able to look at her the same way. Rex fought with himself. She was his best friend and yet… recent events had painted her in a different light. He had begun to crave from her something that he wasn’t meant to.

He wasn’t supposed to want it, especially not with a friend, especially not with his Jedi Commander. He also supposed that the once strictly enforced GAR regulations no longer applied to him. The clear lines that defined this friendship with Ahsoka, were now in need of a new definition. They were no longer soldiers. They were no longer comrades in battle, only seeing one another when the Republic ordered it so. They were now something else entirely

He didn’t have a General to report to anymore, he didn’t have a Commander, no chain of command, no rules in which he was held against, no one to enforce the fact that this was wrong, no one to stop his hand.

He didn’t have to hide it from himself.

What was between them was altered forever. They’d saved one another unlike before, he’d been the medic and patched her up, cleaned her wounds while she lay bare in his arms, and held her closely as she cried. Just him and her. The abundance of closeness, of trust, of emotion, of intimacy had all worked to spark a deep-rooted need within him.

These were all very unconventional happenings that had occurred between them. It was only natural that thoughts such as these presented themselves, right? Wasn’t it only natural that these things began to rattle in his brain after thrust put into such positions? Was it not a matter of time before something like this arose?

Rex turned his attention back to his lap and gave in, accepting that he would be less of a man for it. In the span of a few days, everything had changed. The codpiece that had been constricting him, making his very natural reaction rather painful, was quickly and quietly removed. His legs parted a bit wider and Rex placed a gloved hand on top of himself, through his blacks, before he could use logic to talk himself out of it. All reason was chucked out the door.

His eyes squeezed, brows furrowing with the contact. He began palming his stiff erection through the material, lips parting at the memory of Ahsoka in his lap. Finding a rhythm, he started to recall the feel of her hands on his face, her weight shifting around on him. He wanted to memorize how her legs had spread to settle on either side of his own, knees apart and controlling her movement.

Without having to see it, Rex already knew his blacks were damp from the initial excitement. His manhood throbbed at the recent memories he was feeding back to himself, the head of his member swollen, desperate for release. He applied more pressure with the base of his palm and a quiet moan escaped his dry lips. Rex shot a glance once more to the hallway. Still empty. Nevertheless, he knew he couldn’t revel in the pleasure in the way he so desperately wanted — needed — to. This had to end quickly. His hand increased the pace on his aching member, frantic to reach the point of conclusion. It had been a long time since Rex had last expelled the tangible result of his arousal and it would likely be a long time until the next.

Picturing his hands on her waist made him buck his hips. She had been so warm and soft. He drew shallow breaths as he neared his breaking point. The memories of her body on his were so intoxicatingly fresh. Rex could still feel how close she was, feel her breath tickling his jaw. He’d never been so close to her.

Ahsoka was his absolute undoing.

He began to replay the tender moments on Jabiim, the amount of skin the rain could touch, her gentle fingertips along the wound on his head.

“Rex?” Ahsoka called, the sound of her footsteps coming down the hall drew him from the memories he’d wrapped himself in. The echo of her voice told him she was coming closer. Ahsoka’s voice. The sound of her calling his name at that moment was the saving grace that brought him down from the nearing climax. This was wrong! What was he doing? His codpiece was swiftly replaced, clicking softly back into its rightful position. What was the plan? Rex was swarmed with shame, a sense of clarity returning to him. Had he learned nothing from the nightmare? Ahsoka was the most precious thing in the universe... and he'd pointed his pistols at her. Fives had told him everything he needed to know. Fives... Rex's chest tightened. Ahsoka and all of his brothers... Was this just some backwards, desperate attempt to cope with all that had occured?

Ahsoka appeared behind him, rounding the couch to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I felt… I thought you were having another nightmare. I came to check on you,” she revealed quietly.

He sighed, “I’m fine. I-I wasn’t sleeping.”

She smiled and exited the room as quickly as she’d entered. The inescapable guilt found its way In his veins, sinking its sharp talons into his flesh. Something in his heart withered, deciding then that was the first and last time that something that like would ever happen. He was thankful she’d walked in before he could finish.

The tension and pain of the last few days, along with Cut’s false observations, the amount of tender touches, and Ahsoka’s innocent worry had all confused him — construed his view of her and their strong friendship. Blame could only be placed on the culmination of those events and his own poor curiosity. In the wake of what was soon to be a massive mistake, he was able to think more clearly. He didn’t want to rack up in his life’s most bitter regrets in the span of less than a week. Almost betraying her, killing her, was number one on a list he had no desire to continue building.

He had been right about one thing, however. He’d never be able to look at her the same way again without feeling the immense guilt over what he had almost done.

Though, that feeling had already been true before today. Every time he looked at her now, he saw the frightened young woman aboard the Tribunal, stricken with the treachery of her dearest friend and what she saw from behind his pointed blasters.

~~~

Ahsoka walked back down the hallway, approaching the front door. She could’ve sworn he’d been having another nightmare. The Force could be a tricky thing. Despite having distanced herself from it, the apparent Force-bond that she had with Rex was still ever present inside of her. It had pricked at her fingertips and settled into her chest like a deluge of intuition. It tugged at her, compelled her to seek him out.

She and Anakin had a bond as well, the only one she knew of until a few days ago in the medbay.

It had alerted her twice today that Rex had been experiencing a state of alarm. The first time, she knew it to be true. This time, he’d been unwilling to divulge details. She brushed it off. If he wasn’t having a nightmare for the second time, then she decided that she must be reading too far into it. Their safety — his safety — was priority number one. If anything was going on with him, she’d be the first to know about it. She wasn’t going to lose him, too. Whatever was in her power to do for him, it would be done.

Her boots met grass once again as she went to retake her spot beside Suu. Ahsoka sat back on the ground and inhaled the fresh air, feeling the sun’s warm beam upon her face. Rex had slept through lunch, causing her to have to face being without him for a bit longer. It wasn’t something she liked much at all. It inspired a fit of nerves within her.

Master Yoda had lectured about the dangers of attachments on several occasions. These were lessons she’d not forgotten, but had remembered all too well. She saw its signs in Anakin from the time she was first assigned to him, how he slowly became more comfortable with exhibiting the side effects of forbidden attachment along with disregarding the statutes that all Jedi were held to in general.

She had also disregarded the rules in his stead, following his lead and taking them for guidelines rather than concrete regulations. It had caused her some headache already, but nothing as severe as what Anakin experienced.

Like Master like Padawan, if Lux Bonteri was any indication.

Ahsoka couldn’t quell the memory of one lesson in particular. She’d learned, later on as a youngling, that one of the more severe side effects of attachment was something called separation anxiety. It was especially present in those who have shared trauma together, which is why it was so imperative to learn in the midst of wartime. She tapped her fingers on her knees relentlessly as she chewed on the realization that she might be following Anakin’s teachings too loyally, whether it was purposefully or not.

Suu smirked, “You know, I don’t think he’s going to evaporate on that couch.”

Ahsoka laughed dryly, “I know that. I just can’t seem to settle down. He really threw me for a loop earlier.”

The woman continued cleaning the crops in the basket in front of her and watched as her children played and her husband tended to the livestock, “Cut was the same way. Back when he first started living with me, he had nightmares every single night. Apparently all the clones have them, but he said these were worse. The specifics, he’s always left out… but the dreams haunted him for a very long time. He’ll still wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night on some rare occasions. I’m sure Rex will be the same way, though I can’t imagine how such an abrupt end to the war will affect that. The two of you were in it a lot longer than Cut was. It’s a safe bet to assume what the two of you went though will either join or replace the nightmares he’s used to.”

The younger woman’s expression fell. No wonder he’s not been sleeping. Ahsoka’s features pinched together as she digested Suu’s insight. She’d heard of this before, though hadn’t experienced it herself yet. One has to first leave the fight for that part to kick in, and she had yet to become uninvolved. Even when she left, her heart had never truly backed away from the fight. She and Rex were experiencing the end of the war together, awaiting the aftermath in more ways than one. It was quite possible that the beginnings of post-traumatic stress were wiggling their way into Rex’s head. She’d only ever heard of it happening prematurely to a few clones, the ones who got sent back to Kamino or demoted in rank and taken off the battlefield.

Now, it was happening to Rex.

Suu placed a comforting hand on top of Ahsoka’s, “There is nothing you can do, Ahsoka. Take it from me, I have tried and tried. You just have to let him ride it out.”

“How long did Cut have these nightmares?” Ahsoka inquired with a soft voice.

“Well, like I said, he still sometimes has them,” she thought aloud, “but the worst of it lasted right before the two year mark.”

Ahsoka nodded and began to pick up the meilooruns they’d harvested, plucking off stems and cleaning them of dirt. The kids attached a wagon to R7 and now had him pulling them around the yard. She giggled, “They sure do like R7.”

Suu looked up and laughed with her, “Yes, they have become rather fond of your little droid.”

“You could keep him if you want,” Ahsoka offered suddenly, “Rex and I… we don’t have much use for him. I want him to go somewhere he’d be cared for and have a proper role to fill.”

The other woman smiled and shook her head, “They’ve already asked me if he could stay. But, we have no need for a droid here. Cut isn’t too fond of them, either, no matter if yours did serve the Republic or not. Thank you though. I do appreciate the offer, Ahsoka.” The two sat in silence for a beat, enjoying the sunshine and working diligently to get all the fruit prepared for use. “You can have one now if you’d like,” Suu gestured towards the basket of clean fruit, “Meilooruns are their sweetest when they’ve been freshly picked.”

Ahsoka picked one from the pile and took the fruit past her lips, biting down.

“Delicious?” Suu asked, an eyebrow cocked under the brim of her hat.

“Very,” Ahsoka exclaimed, wiping her mouth, “Would you like one?” She picked up another fruit from beside her and offered it to her host.

Suu kindly shook her head, “That’s okay. I’ve had them plenty of times before, besides, they’re not the healthiest thing to indulge in while you’re pregnant.”

The younger girl ceased her chewing and swallowed, “You’re pregnant?”

“Shhh,” Suu warned, placing a finger in front of her mouth, “I haven’t told Cut or the kids yet.” A coy smile blossomed on her lips.

Ahsoka’s features lifted, “But… how? I thought—”

“We thought the same. As it turns out, the clones aren't exactly shooting blanks. Best to be careful.”

Best to be careful? That was suggestive!

A dark blush settled into Ahsoka’s cheeks, the chevrons in her lekku deepening by a whole shade. She began to stammer, “I-I we aren’t… It’s not like that. Your observations are wrong. Rex and I are just good friends.” Her head turned to look behind her, making sure that Rex hadn’t chosen then to join them.

They were still safe within their private conversation. Thank the Force.

Ahsoka’s breathing quickened enough for Suu to notice. The older woman managed to turn even more pink in her laughter, “Relax, Ahsoka. I’m not making any assumptions here… just telling you to keep it in mind is all.”

Picking up her meiloorun, Ahsoka took another bite out of the sweet fruit. “Thank you, but Rex and I are just friends. I’ll be sure to pass that information along to him for his own… personal knowledge,” she replied, the last words tasting bitter on her tongue.

“You were once a Jedi. You know the Ashla in a way that the majority of us never will. I don’t have to be the one to tell you to listen to your gut over what’s up here,” she remarked, pointing to her head. She then gathered the last of the fruit into her basket and took it inside her home, leaving Ahsoka speechless on the grass.

#rexsoka #rexsoka fic #my fic #I bleed the same #ahsokathegray

5 notes · View notes

dinogoofy · 3 years

Text

Erron black/F! Reader

Old friend.

This one took a little bit, sorry if it's not quite as quality as my other fics!

MAJOR TW for Guns, threats, and Kano being a dick to precious puppies.

You and Erron black had grown up together. Two kids brought closer by horrible lives. Sharing the scraps of food you had with each other. Ranting about awful parents, ranting about school. In your teenage years, you were the one to patch him up after fights. He was the one to beat the shit out of your bullies. The two of you hated that town and everyone in it. You used to think the two of you would stay as thick as thieves forever. Your paths only split when you wanted to live a normal life. Live the peaceful, country way you had seen so many others do, but never grew up with yourself. Erron, however, only wanted money, glory. He wanted to take the back roads and do all the things normal folks wouldn't dare to get his fill.

You didn't understand his choice to be a mercenary, but it wasn't your choice to make for him. Whatever life he wanted to have was good enough for you as long as he made it out of that shitty town. He didn't contact you much. He only really showed up on your doorstep when he was dying and needed someone to patch him up. But at least he was coming to see you, right?

With a sigh you stepped into your little country home, smiling slightly at the immediate sounds of your fur babies running to meet you. A blur of orange fur rushing to thread between your legs and trip you, while your sweet pound mutt waited patiently for you to set your keys on the key rack.

"Hey boys." Chester meowed at you rather loudly, only to take off when you leaned down to pet him. The crazy feline darting under Archie's body as he happily waited for his own pets. It was easy to smile at the warm welcome, immediately a little more relaxed after finally getting home. You stretched at the door, setting your bag down to head into the kitchen.

The first thing you settled on was giving your boys their long-awaited scoops of food, both of them sat down neatly next to each other. Only Archie waited for your go-ahead, Chester already digging in by the time you gave him a laughing "Ok, Archie."

You patted your mutt before taking some leftovers out, eyes catching on the printed photo of you and Erron from senior year. It's been a few months since last he came to visit. The thought made you a little sad. But the memory of the photo gave you a nostalgic, happy feeling. With an arm slung around his shoulders, and a goofy look on your face, Erron was the complete opposite of you. The goof pretended to be annoyed at your antics, but you could see the slight smile at the corner of his lips.

"Come on! Just one photo. It's not like it's going to kill you, Erron."

"It's not going to kill me, no. But I might end up killing you."

"Pfft- yeah right."

Your smile grew a bit wider. You sat down at the table alone as you finished your dinner. Erron had always been a strange one. Always tough, trying to be unfeeling. Not wanting anyone to be close. Not wanting any affection besides the one-night stands and the women he infatuated. Always the one to flirt, but never with you.

No. Not ever with you. You smirked. He always acted differently around you. More nervous, more fidgety. You'd been in love with him since before you even knew what love truly was. And you had known for years that he loved you back. You had just been waiting for him to admit it. You'd scoffed at yourself time and time again for not making the first move, but Erron wasn't ready for that. You didn't think he was, at least. You just wished he had gotten therapy like you had asked him to.

The scraping of your fork against your plate was your only indication that you had finished eating, you definitely spaced out a bit. You always did when you thought of Erron. Maybe he would visit soon. Maybe you should stop thinking that to make yourself feel better.

The plate clicked lightly against the floor when you set it down for Archie to lick before you set it in the sink. By the time you turned off all the lights and headed to bed Chester was already asleep on your pillow, Archie curled up in his own bed next to the nightstand. You moved the orange tabby slightly to the side so you could lay down, and he yelled in protest the way that annoyed kitties do. It was easy to slip into a comfortable sleep with your boys next to you.

The sound of your sweet Archie growling a feral warning was what woke you up that night. You shot out of bed, ripping off the covers and grabbing the shotgun from under your mattress. Archie never growls. An unhinged bark sent a jolt of panic through you, along with Chester, who woke up to sprint under your bed and hide. Archie certainly never barked. Not like that. Not in that way. Something was wrong. You clicked off the safety and cocked the shotgun.

You moved slowly at first, creeping your way over to the sound of Archie's growls, but when he let out a sharp whine, your vision went white-hot with rage.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DOG!" You shouted, finally turning the corner and into the living room where two figures lurked. The lamp was still on, and as your eyes adjusted you could make out the masked face of Erron, and the form of some asshole looming over Archie with your baby backed into a wall.

Erron didn't respond at all at the sight of you. The unknown figure by your dog stood up slowly and whistled.

"You did say she was a feisty one." You scowled, keeping the gun pointed squarely on the man.

"Erron. I don't know why you're fucking here, but please tell me you don't know this asshole so I can just shoot him." Erron rolled his eyes at you. The figure laughed, moving away from Archie, who sprinted over to you so that he could cower behind your legs. Your eyes were trained on the figure as he proceeded to sit in your own fucking armchair.

"Name's Kano. Leader of the black dragon." The black dragon. The group of mercenaries that Erron had joined. Why the fuck did Erron bring this guy into your home. Erron called your name.

"Set the gun down, sugar." You didn't take your eyes off of Kano.

"Respectfully, Erron, I don't think I will." Kano laughed, but you didn't think anything was funny. Erron called your name again, strutting over to you carelessly. Archie growled as he got closer. He set a hand on the gun, pushing it down.

"Calm. Down." You huffed but gave in. Sending your friend a nasty look as you lowered your defense. Erron wouldn't willingly let you be in danger. There's no way he would. You had to remember that.

"We came here for some help. 'Know that cave at the edge of your property?" The cave? You found it when you had just moved in, part of an old interlocking set of mining tunnels carved out of the land in the early 1900s. When you checked it out at first, it was Erron who actually went with you. You had a fond memory of fucking around in the tunnel, only to find an old elevator next to a dead-end tunnel with bloody handprints and markings that trailed across the wall and into the elevator. That was enough to get the two out of there. What would they want with it?

"What about it?"

"Those runes we found in it match what a client is looking for. We just want to check it out, and get outa' you're way." You laughed, glancing between Kano, who was currently putting a cigarette out on your favorite chair- and Erron, who still stood next to you in an almost defensive manner.

"Am I supposed to believe that there's no catch to this? No killer secrets? No blackmail?" Kano snickered, standing from his chair and walking over to you. You stood strong, but the beating of your heart sped up. You hated feeling afraid.

"The catch is, you show us the cave, and we leave your little buddy here alive." You scowled, and Erron sighed deeply at his boss, knowing already that he had started something.

"First of all, you don't get shit if you threaten my dog, asshole. You piece of human sh-"

"Just think of it as a favor between friends." Erron interrupted. You frowned at his words. His paycheck was definitely depending on it. Your thoughts split In two different ways. One, the fact that he's using your friendship to manipulate you into doing him a favor, two… it felt relieving that he still thought of you as friends.

You finally gave in, sighing and relaxing almost completely. Archie nuzzles your leg before running off. You turned your head just slightly to watch him out of confusion when a sudden yank catches your attention. Kano had snatched your shotgun straight out of your hands. Erron stiffened next to you.

"I'll take that!"

"You-!" Erron held out back just as you went to lunge at Kano. You struggled against him for just a moment before he gave you a bit of a push to set you back. What had gotten into him?!

"Ah ah ah! Sorry, Sheila, there's no way we're gonna let you keep this on you. Erron?" Kano taunted. You went to yell in protest but only yelped, Erron's hands suddenly holding onto your arm.

"Just comply. It'll be over soon." Erron whispered. You grumbled in protest but didn't fight it as they took you from your warm house.

Kano walked proudly ahead of you and Erron while navigating to the cave. Fucker didn't even know where he was going. You had been scowling the whole time, a surprising feat while Erron was around. Speaking of which, His hand on your arm had softened its hold, but the strangest thing was that he still wouldn't look at you.

"This is your idea of a visit?" You mumbled to him. He shook his head, his heavy steps landing on a twig he forcefully snapped as you walked. He was definitely in a mood.

"This' a business trip, hun. Wouldn't be here if it weren't for that." You snickered.

"Yeah right. You'd end up here eventually." You said the words but didn't quite believe them as you walked. "Don't think you could stay away if you tried."

"-And I tried." You ignored the painful sting in your chest, going silent before shouting another set of directions to Erron's dipshit boss. You could almost feel Erron's gaze change as his eyes remained on you.

"-look, I didn't want you to get caught up in all this. It's bad enough that I'm here now." The words made you frown slightly. You elbowed Erron in the side, trying to make a little light of the situation.

"Better than Kano coming out here by himself." Erron laughed.

" 'Betcha you'd've killed him the moment he stepped into your house."

"I almost did." You couldn't see Erron's smile through his mask, but the happy look in his eyes was infectious. You couldn't help but blush a bit, walking closer to him. His hold on your arm was loose and comfortable at this point, and you couldn't make yourself break out of it.

"You lovebirds done shit-talking or what?" God, you hated this Kano guy. The rest of the walk was silent. After about 30 minutes of almost tripping on fallen limbs, you finally made it to the cave.

"Quite a big place for such a little property, huh?" You didn’t respond to Kano. Ignoring him as Erron guided you to walk past him.

"Oh don't be coy. Where'd all that fire go?" Kano was taunting you again, but both you and Erron ignored him this time. Erron spoke over him when he tried to speak a third time.

"Which way d'you go from here?" You laughed.

"You think I know? I try to stay away from this place as much as I can. Haven't been here since you were with me." Erron furrowed his eyebrows, taking a moment to click a flashlight on. He looked around for a moment, before setting out in a direction. Kano followed behind, a little too close to your back for your liking.

Shivers ran rampant across your skin when you finally found the elevator. Kano pushed past you forcefully, knocking you off balance. Erron caught you with a steady hand around your waist. You relaxed in his touch, and once again pushed forward.

"Ahh! Look at that beauty!" Kano took out a camera, and you flinched at the flash.

"I'm sure the client won't mind if we keep a few copies of the pictures to ourselves, now would he?" Kano laughed. Being around Erron was nice, but you were losing your patience. It was late, you had work in the morning, and you were just plain tired of this black dragon bullshit. You didn't notice when Erron's arm fell away from yours.

"Look, I showed you the cave. Just give me my gun, and let me go back to bed." Kano snickered at your words, Erron loomed behind you.

"I don't think you'll be going far." Kano spat on the ground after he spoke, you scowled.

"Excuse me?" Kano's smile was gritty and disgusting. He whistled at Erron, walking past you with your shotgun held loosely in his grip. You contemplated snatching it, but when you whipped around-

It almost felt like you couldn't breathe. You were staring down the barrel of Erron's pistol for a long moment.

"Look kid, we can't have someone like you knowing about this cave thing, it's too risky and all that blabber, you understand. You've been such a delightful host and all, but it's time for you to go." Kano laughed.

"Can't tell any divine dipshits about our little meeting if she's dead anyway, now can she Erron?" Erron had never been so out of focus before, his stomach wringing in knots. He hardly knew what to think as he pointed the gun at you, something he'd never thought he'd ever do.

"Hey?" A little voice called out. A little face leaning down to peer at the little boy with his head buried unto his knees. He hardly glanced up.

"Hi." He had murmured so quietly.

"Do you want to share this sandwich with me? You look lonely."

"Erron?" Your voice quivered. Panic was written all over your face. His finger lingered on the trigger as his chest squeezed.

"Sit still, dumbass." You squeezed his bloodied arm.

"That shit burns!" He hissed out. You laughed at him, dabbing at the large cut he had gotten from some idiot with broken glass on the school grounds.

"Well duh. It's isopropyl alcohol. It's gonna burn like hell." He was cute when he was confused. You laughed.

"It disinfects the wound, Erron."

"... I knew that. I'm not fucking stupid." He had grumbled.

"Nothin' personal." He finally spoke. The words hurt him as they came out.

"That's not how you use a rifle." Throwing popcorn, at Erron, you quickly stole the remote to turn the volume up.

"Shh! Just shut up and enjoy the movie. Westerns aren't exactly supposed to be realistic."

"Well I can't really enjoy an unrealistic western, can I?- he's holding that wrong-"

Your face started to shift from panic to anger as kano patted Erron's shoulder, walking back into the rickety elevator.

"Panicked now, aren't ya Sheila? Want to beg? Or are you the proud sort?" You snarled at him.

"No." You said stiffly. "No. I want to see you do it, Erron." Kano laughed from the elevator. Erron remained stiff, his smooth voice taking a moment to come out.

"Look, you don't know-"

"I said do it, Erron!" You snapped, stepping closer to the cowboy. He didn't step back, his hand didn't waver. You stepped close enough to him that the barrel of his pistol pressed to your forehead.

"Go ahead! Be Kano's little lapdog. Shoot me." You spat, the adrenaline working its way into your system. "Shoot me and say goodbye to all the FUCKING years I took care of your ass and bury me in that shitty town we grew up in Erron!" Erron's stone-faced seriousness finally broke, and even though he was wearing a mask you could still see the rage in his eyes as he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and forcefully yanked you closer to him. He kept the gun pressed to the side of your head.

"Do you have any idea who you're provoking? You. don't. know me. anymore. Sugar. You don't have any idea what I'm capable of!" You let out a curt laugh.

"You and I both know I still do." You snarled. Both of you went silent, the tension crackling between the two of you. You could see the panic that hid under the steely overlaying emotion in his eyes. Only Kano's ongoing childish taunts remained.

"Well then, Erron? Get on with it!" Erron's stiff posture remained, he spoke to Kano, but his eyes remained on yours.

"Fuck off Kano." Kano didn't take that well.

"Excuse me? I'm your boss, dipshit. You can't just-" All of a sudden, Erron pushes you back, reels around, and shoots through the spaces in the old metal elevator, the bullet hits the back of the wall, and ricochets through the old, decaying pulley rope that held it up. Kano looks up in horror and rage. His screaming and cursing faded as the elevator launched down and crashed to the very bottom of the mine.

All is silent. All that can be heard is your labored breathing from all the shouting and adrenaline.

"Still want me to shoot you?" Erron asks. Speaking smug words with a tone only you could recognize as him trying to hide his panic. You scowled again. Walking over to him with tears stinging at the corner of your eyes.

"You're such a fucking asshole!" You shouted, punching him in the shoulder. Erron didn't flinch.

"And?" You couldn't stop the tears now. All the pain, and heartbreak, and sadness rushing out at once. You weekly hit his shoulder one more time, and grappled him into a hug, burying your face into his chest without being able to stop your sobs. Erron stood stiff. After a moment, his arms slid around your waist, and he held you back tightly.

"Kano's gonna kill you for that." You laughed through the tears. Erron didn't respond. His hand left your side for only a moment, and when it held onto again he had taken off his mask, letting it drop to the floor. Erron buried his face into your hair, holding you a bit tighter than before.

It was quiet again. Erron squirmed after a moment.

"...I wouldn't have buried you in that town." You snorted, not taking your face out of his chest, biting your nails into the fabric of his shirt just a bit.

"So you admit you would've shot me?" Erron didn't react to the words. He only sighed into your hair, lifting a hand to pinch your ear. You pulled yourself out of his chest with a laugh, and his hands settled on your waist. You wiped your tears, your nose, and tried to make yourself a little better. It didn't really work. Erron could see that. He lifted a calloused hand to your cheek anyway.

"Just because you've come to your fucking senses doesn't mean I'm not still mad." You sniffled, smiling still as the bitter words fell out of your mouth.

"Yeah, well you should be. Kano was being an asshole anyway. That's the only reason I let you go." Erron coughed, you raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not buying it. He rolled his eyes, huffing through his nose.

"... Maybe not the only reason." The smile returned to your face, and you rolled your eyes at him this time. At this point, it was almost like he didn't realize it himself.

"God, you're really not fooling anyone, dumbass." Erron scowled, about to retort when you decided, Fuck it. And clutched his face to pull him into a kiss. He didn't respond at first, stiff and uneasy. Always so stubborn. After a second or two though, he melted into your lips, pulling you closer. It was hard to hold on to all your anger when he was just so kissable. He'd get his ass beaten for this little stunt. You would make sure of that, but right now all you wanted to focus on was the relieving kiss you had waited so long for.

#mk erron black #erron black x reader #erron black imagine #erron black reader insert #mortal kombat x reader #mk imagine

133 notes · View notes

chibi-tsukiko · 3 years

Text

Five More Minutes

A Malec fic inspired by the song "The End of the World" by Billie Eilish because it’s all over TikTok and I can't get it out of my head.

I hope you like it 🙈

click on title to read on AO3 or scroll below

Tag list : @legendofconsullightwood @themostawesomehuman @littleturtle95 @tobeornottobetequila @morgnstern @zfoxdraws @bookworm-jedi @magnus-the-maqnificent @banesbitch @fair-but-wilde-child @beclynn-herondale @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @youngreckless @thomaslightwood @runecarstairs @high-warlock-of-brooklyn @itsdaughterofthemoon

Magnus wakes to a high-pitched beeping. He flicks his wrist to silence the sound, keeping his eyes closed. The room is dark, but he can feel the warmth of the sun on his back as the first rays peek through the curtains. For a second he thinks the sound was an accident, a hallucination even, but then he feels the bed shift beside him. Guilt pinches him as he realizes he unconsciously shut off Alec’s alarm, but he shakes it off. He’s exhausted. They both are. Life has never been easy for them, but this past month has felt like every obstacle got together and hit at once. It’s been nonstop. Quality time has become getting dressed together, a quick kiss goodbye at the door, dinner, when they can both manage it, and the few brief moments before sleep takes hold. Neither of them are ungrateful for the roles they’ve earned, Magnus couldn’t be prouder, but they have needs too. Alec isn’t the only one who gets grumpy without his morning cuddles. They’re in desperate need of a vacation, and the second Magnus finds a window amongst the chaos, he’s whisking them away. Far away. Someplace tropical, with no cell service.

He feels a gentle press of lips on his temple, he hums, and presses his face into the pillow, hoping the bed will swallow him. And then more beeping starts. This time, from his own cellphone.

Magnus groans as he reaches to shut the accursed noise off right as the water from the shower starts. He flops back down onto his stomach, muffling a whine. He’s not ready yet.

Five more minutes.

——————————————————

He should really take a break, Magnus thinks as he summons two more books from his library. He’s been at this for days. When was the last time he slept? Tuesday? What day is it now? It doesn’t matter. He slides the plate of food Alec had left him this morning aside so he can set the books down; it clinks against the other plates. He should really just move them to the kitchen. Stepping around his desk towards the cabinet on the other side of the room, he nearly trips over himself. You need sleep. But he can’t stop. It’s been almost a week now since Catarina had come to him about a strange sickness she’d been encountering at the hospital. A week since Alec had been tracking a series of magical explosions that had been occurring throughout the city. A week since they’d started discovering the bodies of children in the streets. Almost a week since Magnus finallyconnected the events. Too long. Now he was in a race against time. He adds more ingredients to the potion and gives it a quick stir.

They haven’t found the coward whose chosen to experiment on these children. When they do, Magnus hopes to have a moment alone before Alec hands them over to the Clave. For now, Magnus can at least put his skills to use and create a cure for the illness before it claims more lives while his anger festers.

He flips through another book, while simultaneously sending one back to the library, and summoning three more. He barely registers the press in his wards, the shuffling of feet, or the hand on his shoulder. Alec says something to him, but he doesn’t really hear. He nods, answering to what, he’s not sure. He leans back over the cauldron, giving it another stir. He’s so close.

Five more minutes.

————————————————

They’ve been here for hours. Magnus is nursing his third drink of the night, his eyes never losing sight of the server as he weaves around the other guests. Despite how often he complains about attending High Warlock meetings, he’d rather listen to those old fools reminisce than another false retelling of the Claves’ accomplishments. Magnus does his best not to correct them, he even bites his tongue when they slip in a snide comment or two. It’s not worth it, he tells himself. Alec stays by his side the whole time, unwavering, but Magnus doesn’t miss the way his shoulders sag in relief each time their conversation with officials gets interrupted. Or how he squeezes Magnus’ hand whenever someone remarks about the company he keeps.

It’s nothing Magnus hasn’t heard before, nothing he doesn’t prep for before these gatherings, but that doesn’t mean Alec deserves to hear it. He can’t do anything too outlandish, but he can cause a few drink spills. Alec catches him a few times and Magnus hides his smirk behind his glass while Alec nudges him with his shoulder.

By drink number four, Magnus is at his breaking point. He’s counted the tiles on the floor a dozen times and he’s got a tension headache forming at the back of his skull. Suddenly, Alec is tugging him away, mid-conversation, cutting through the crowd, unconcerned by the sideward glances. He finds a quiet corner at the end of the hallway and Magnus starts to ask what’s wrong, but Alec kisses the question from his lips, crowding him against the stone wall.

Magnus gasps when they part, his fingers curling into Alecs jacket as he presses their bodies together. Alec’s breath is hot against his throat and Magnus has to stifle a moan. Alec shifts to cup Magnus’ face with his hands, sliding their lips back together. It’s gentler this time, slower, and Magnus hums into it. Then all too soon Alec is pulling back, Magnus keeps his eyes closed, leaning forward to chase after the kiss. Alec mutters something about returning to the event, but Magnus isn’t ready yet.

So he wraps his arms around Alec’s neck and kisses him, soft and languid.

Five more minutes.

——————————————

Magnus’ ears are ringing. His once quiet loft, now echoes with a cacophony of shrieks and giggles. He leans against the door frame of his bedroom, a warm smirk spreading on his face. He watches his heart as it twists, turns, and jumps on the massive king sized bed. A tangled mess of ivory, chestnut, and cerulean. In his hundreds of years, he never imagined he would have this. He longed for it, hoped for it, but never expected it. Yet here it is, right in front of him. Who knew the world could fit on a single mattress. Who knew that centuries of life would pale compared to moments like this: Sunday afternoons watching his husband play with their sons.

Sons. He has sons. He’s married. The words send fireworks through his body, he never tires of saying them. He feels so full.

Alec flips both boys onto their back and moves their shirts subtly before blowing raspberries on their stomachs. The room explodes with laughter, and god Magnus wants to drown in the sound.

Alec catches his eye and sends Magnus a knowing smile. Their boys immediately tackle the distracted Shadowhunter, chanting for Magnus to join them. He knows that this time is fleeting. He’s heard from Catarina’s experience, seen it himself each time Jocelyn brought Clary to his door. Children grow fast. Soon they’ll be moving on and moving out, starting their own lives. If Magnus blinks, he might miss it. So he relishes in these moments where he can step back and soak it in. He leaps onto the bed, basking in the euphoria he’s found, gripping it like a vise.

Five more minutes.

—————————————

Magnus can’t breathe. He’s dizzy with nausea, and there’s a throbbing sensation at the back of his head. He’s vaguely aware of the surrounding commotion. His mind registers voices around him, but they’re muffled as if he’s being held underwater. He feels heavy, like someone has tied anchors to each of his limbs. Everything seems to move in slow motion, and Magnus can’t make heads or tails of it.

Amongst the haze, his focus finds his husband’s face. He’s beautiful, Magnus thinks. Not just in his features, the softness of his skin, the hue of his eyes, but in his soul, his stead-fast nature, and the way he loves. Magnus can’t believe how lucky he is. His vision tunnels, fading black from the corners, and he closes his eyes to gain composure, only to snap them back open in a panic. Afraid he’ll miss something.

How did they get here? It was supposed to be their day off. Magnus had planned a full day of lounging on the couch, but the universe had other plans, it seems. He should have silenced Alec’s phone.

The world tilts on its axes, and Magnus wills himself to stay in the moment. The hand in his is hot, he squeezes it, desperate to commit the feeling to memory. Alec’s face blurs and Magnus is quick to blink, tears smearing the kohl around his eyes. He looks disheveled, he’s sure, but he can’t care. He just needs to focus.

Please, he begs as another wave hits him.

Five more minutes.

#please let me know what you think!#🙈🙈#malec #malec fic #my writing #magnus bane #alec lightwood #tsc #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #max lighwood bane #rafael lightwood bane #emsfic #emsfics

85 notes · View notes

yesttoheaven · 3 years

Text

AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

#neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet #neil #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson imagine #tenet fanfic #tenet imagine #ives tenet #tenet #neil tenet one shot #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson one shot #neil tenet x y/n #x y/n #amor fati #eternal return

88 notes · View notes

chocosvt · 5 years

Text

⚬ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader | purge!au ⚬ word count: 15,728. ⚬ warnings: weapons, death, drugs, blood. ⚬ genres: ANGST, spicy/nsfw scenes, fluff to mend the heart, romance, action, and whatever else you could fathom lol.

✧✎ synopsis: the annual purge was a system of purification, alleviation, a supposedly psychological device in which people found a moment to unleash their indignation. you never purged until you met mingyu, a boy whose warmth was just as palpable as his darkness. you begin to fall for him, which means involvement with the evil he’s managed to attract.

✧✎ a/n: longer note at the end of the fic! sorry i’ve kept this in the vault for AGES bc i couldn’t figure out how to write in the ‘twist’ or whatever the fuck. you’ll know when you get there. anyways this is for @mihgyu (sorry it freakin took so long!) and @solgyus as they are my Resident Mingyu Stans. i also changed the title bc i thought... yknow... it fits better!

You had always wondered what life was like for the previous generation, the generation who grew up without acquaintance to the annual purge. It was an alien concept if any concept at all, one so foreign and inexplicably bizarre that the cogs in your mind would start jamming against each other in a struggle of comprehension. The education system had groomed its pupils into believing it was the only plausible way to recover from an economic collapse, feeding into gullible and malleable minds the possibility of clearing rage through bloodshed.

When your parents disappeared at dawn, leaving nothing behind but the sound of a lock clicking shut and a note advising you to stay away from the windows and doors, it could be assumed they’d return at morning with crimson-stained clothing, crusted lacerations, and heavy weaponry sealed taunt to their hands; or maybe they wouldn’t return at all. Yet you were taught to believe that was okay. At least if you didn’t have your family, you had your friends.

At least if you didn’t have your family, you had Mingyu.

As much as you despised admitting to yourself, Mingyu meant to you what the moon meant to the tides, what the sun meant to the meadows. He kept you in perpetual motion, allowed you room to recuperate and blossom into a much stronger version of yourself after your father never came home. When he lost his job your family lost its momentum. The last you ever saw of the man was his backside as he slipped through the door frame, a chortling in the evening air, a black revolver clasped to his hand.

He seemed to disappear alongside your mother’s sanity. She isolated herself and pushed everyone away, even you, the only person capable of nurturing her. In school you’d learned that the purge was supposed to bring purification, it was responsible for cleansing humans of the everyday stresses that slowly crushed them flat. Purging allowed them happiness; a twelve hour capsule to unleash what the law prohibited three-hundred-sixty-four days a year.

Yet when you looked to your mother, you didn’t see any traces of happiness or fulfillment, just an empty shell that sat with sunken eyes in her rocking chair, mumbling to herself like a toddler. Before you even had time to find closure after your father’s disappearance, your mother suffered a similar fate, abducted through the windowsill by a maniac who sought vengeance for the crimes committed beneath your father’s hand. He was a stingy businessman who often scammed to make his money, therefore collecting a myriad of enemies.

Notably, you didn’t start purging until you met Mingyu. The first time you’d ever used a gun with malicious intent was when you ran into the man responsible for abducting your mother. The kick-back from the trigger had you stumbling across the watered asphalt, the silver slick rain that caved down from the clouds washing away the minuscule spatters of his blood that blew onto your face. As he slumped down against the red bricks, the animation draining slowly from his eyes, he spluttered,

“S-She’s dead, she payed for your father’s incompetence, his greed.”

In complete lifelessness you lowered the weapon, not realizing how close the distant gunfire sounded until Mingyu had to drag you away by the wrist. He murmured his condolences to you when the air was tinged with less bloodshed, carefully nuzzling you into his chest when the reality of what you’d just done had come spiraling forth, leaving a slap so brutal across your face the burn seemed more realistic than the raindrops hitting your skin.

You felt disgusting, enclosed in a body that had been consumed by the purest form of hatred, and there was nothing you could do to evade the feeling of that ugly gun pressed into your hand. But within that same moment, hot tears pumping onto Mingyu’s shirt, you understood a certain satiation that tempted so many people to do what you had just done.

“We can’t stay here,” You felt the vibrations from his deep voice against your cheek, coolness stinging the heated flesh of your face when you lifted your head to meet his gentle eyes.

“Gotta keep moving, alright? It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

Mingyu’s composure was definitely an admirable trait. But then again, he’d been exposed to this environment long before you ever questioned purging. At that point you had felt completely numb, allowing him to wind you through the crevices and shadowy tunnels building the foundation of the city, your vision blurred by a mixture of salt and rain water. You felt safe with Mingyu, though it hadn’t always been like that. Before your friendship you were an outsider to the boy, harbouring nothing but a tiny crush toward him and his handsome face.

In fact the first time you’d ever spoken to Mingyu, it was after his fight with Wen Junhui, one of the most infamous, cynical purgers you prayed to never meet.

Two Years Ago –

“I’ll kill you if you come near her again!”

“Is that supposed to scare me?!”

You’d never seen a fist fight in real life before, and you were positive that was a good thing. A large crowd steadfastly increased around two tall, venom-eyed boys caught up in their alcohol. They were spitting profanities, threats, and whatever else their clouded minds could formulate within the gap of the other’s speech. The party had been rather lackluster before that point anyways, so like the congregation swarming to the centre of the room, you etched into the crowd and managed to stand just inside the inner circle.

“Shit – sorry,” you squeaked as you were suddenly shoved into the girl beside you. Your face became hollow like a crater on the moon when you saw that it was Mingyu’s girlfriend.

“What am I supposed to do?” She mumbled whilst biting her nails, “I didn’t know how to stop it.”

“Stop the fight?”

She continued babbling, “Junhui kept coming on to me and Mingyu saw. They’re both competitive, boggle-brained idiots when they’re drunk. I don’t know what to do.”

Her name was Yang Yeeun, born and raised by parents maintaining such wealth that rumours began circulating their bloodstream was crushed rubies. You could see her pearl earrings flashing behind the straight black locks framing her small face. You don’t think she ever took them off. Her father manufactured security systems for the purge; however, the most recent release had been proven to bore many defects and flaws. She didn’t care, as long as she got a slice of the wealth.

In the beginning, Yeeun and Mingyu’s relationship came as a slap to the wrist. How could two people reaping such difference in personality become so close? Yeeun was frank and staid, with cold, cindered eyes that never displayed an eclipse of emotion. Her complexion was just as pale as the pearls she wore and her heart swam darkly.

Mingyu was her polar opposite.

Sure he was intimidatingly tall, but any menace he constructed with his height was easily derailed through his bubbly nature. He was what you call, “a gentle giant,” and anyone who contacted him for more than a brief period understood this. The warmth was in his honey-brown gaze, the velvet of his tanned skin, the sepia tones that were shaggy in his hair. When he spoke you could feel the gravel roll beneath your feet, and when he said your name heat would flood your face like steam throughout a hot spring.

Again, Mingyu and Yeeun made a bizarre couple, yet he loved her so deeply you swore the dark coverings in her heart had peeled back a little.

You kept in mind, a little.

“They’re fighting over you?” You questioned carefully, trying not to exaggerate your words so that it seemed utterly impossible for her to be worth fighting over.

“Yes,” Yeeun gritted, her eyes darting around the crowd, strangers pressing into the circle, allured by drunken shouting, “can’t they wait until purge before they start ripping into each other?”

Wouldn’t it be best if they didn’t rip into each other at all?

“Like you said, they’re drunk and stupid,” you opted for the latter choosing.

Mingyu’s mellow stare had been licked over by enraged flames, the remaining liquor still pumping through his system and warming his blood until it sizzled. His fists were balled tightly, fangs peeking past the taunt snarl on his lips. Junhui appeared calmer, though the bar of composure was quite low to begin with. The unkempt ends of his midnight black hair were shaking, his sharp nose crinkled, and his stare so impossibly intense that you were nauseated a vein on his neck might become engorged and pop.

As interesting as it would be for you to witness your first fist fight, you knew it wasn’t a wise idea for these two to start swinging at each other.

You set a hand on Yeeun’s shoulder, “maybe you should stop thi—,”

Suddenly, her palms encased her mouth as the last few words of toxicity were spat between Mingyu and Junhui, the crowd erupting in brazen cheering as the two lunged for one another in a flash of blurred colour. Your jaw was permanently unhinged, your body set in stone, attention completely spellbound under the boys who were viciously entangled. The world seemed to spin at a snail’s pace whilst the fight flickered faster than lightning. At one point Mingyu had Junhui shoved up against the wall, one hand nearly ripping through the boy’s black-collared shirt as he tore his free fist back and swiftly launched it forward. The hard ridges of Mingyu’s knuckles connected with Junhui’s eye, his head smashed back into the drywall so that an indentation remained.

“G-Get the fuck off me, Mingyu!”

“You fucking asked for this, dumbass!”

In another fuzzy whirlwind of movement, Junhui managed to push Mingyu backward and onto the snack table, bowls and bottled alcohol spilling across the floor with jade shards of glass scattering in flurries. Junhui drew his fist into Mingyu’s face, the collision splintering against Mingyu’s brow bone. You could see the speckles of blood flying off Junhui’s hand as he curled his fingers into another ball, preparing to throw once more. Panic encompassed you from every angle; it drowned you above your head until the crowd’s bellowing became a muffled choir to your ears.

You could hardly breathe as your sights shifted to Yeeun, the girl with her hands still clasped to her mouth, doing absolutely nothing.

Was that a smirk hidden behind her hands?

She really did have a dark heart. By the looks of it no one was going to intervene. You were most likely the soberest person in attendance. Even if it downright petrified you, letting those two get their hands so bloodied it would look like they doused their arms in red paint wasn’t a viable option.

“Hey!” You barked, slowly etching your way into the clearing, “what the fuck is wrong with you two?! Get off each other!”

Mingyu and Junhui were still a violent mass now buckled to the floor, anger and alcohol swelling through their bodies like a drug. You felt your knees wobble, as though a tight fist had an ironclad grip on your entrails and was squelching them around slowly. Junhui had Mingyu pressed to the floor, and raised in his arm was a sparkling shard belonging to a smashed bottle. You didn’t know what it was, but something inside compelled you to react. In a mere instant you were ripping the shard from Junhui’s hand and screaming at the top of your lungs, the crowd’s cheering turned to hushed whispers.

“Enough!”

Your chest was heaving, fingers grasping the glass piece tightly enough that thin lines of red began dripping down your hand. Junhui and Mingyu had peeled themselves apart, the deep marring of hatred etched so profoundly into their eyes you’d never be able to forget it. Yeeun suddenly blossomed with emotion after standing on the outskirts smirking into her palm, the girl bounding toward Mingyu and snaking her arms around his neck like she’d been downright sobbing with worry the whole time.

“C’mon, Gyu,” she gritted, “we’re leaving.”

Thanks for the help.

You were tempted to call.

The fight between Mingyu and Junhui might have stopped, but the party continued to thrive. You were wandering through the upstairs hallway as the wooden floorboards jolted beneath you, driven by incessant music that became a furthering echo. Fresh blood had yet to stop streaming down the grooves between your knuckles, pooling from the lacerations of that jagged, glass shard and wetting your warm skin. You continued seeking for a bathroom, any room really that might contain a first aid kit, or at least some water and tissues that would help to clean your hand.

Each room was either occupied or locked. A defeated sigh ghosted from your lips as you stood at the end of the hall, weakly knocking your healthy hand against the last door. Scarlet drops were creating a puddle on the wood whilst you waited, until the brass handle jiggled and you were stepping back in shock that someone had actually acknowledged your presence.

Of course, the person doing the acknowledging had to be Yeeun.

“Oh! It’s… you.” She murmured. Behind her slim frame you could see Mingyu sitting on the sink, holding a cloth to his eyebrow.

“It’s me,” you replied, desperately wanting to skip the small talk and use the first aid kit. Didn’t she say she was leaving?

Yeeun finally noticed the red pathways on your hand and nodded, “I see you need to get yourself bandaged up.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You hummed, trying not to sound impatient but utterly failing.

“Well… I’ll be right back then. Just so you know there’s no gauze left.”

“That’s okay, I don’t think I’ll need an—,”

“I’m going to look for some!” Yeeun called as she squeezed her way past you and began trudging down the corridor, “be back soon!”

Mingyu tossed you a lopsided smile when you entered the bathroom. You kicked the door shut with your foot to drown as much noise as possible. Though the small barrier didn’t do too much in regards to sound, it certainly made the bathroom feel one-hundred times smaller. Or maybe it was solely Mingyu and his gargantuan height. Perhaps it wasn’t any of those factors and you were just feeling nervous to be enclosed in a private space with him. Either way, your face turned into magma and you felt like swallowing sand. Without saying a word you turned on the sink and let the cold water stream between your fingers.

“Hey.” He began.

Oh no. If you initiate conversation with me there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’m going to fall in love with you.

“Thanks for intervening. You kinda saved my life there.”

You scoffed whilst scrubbing the dry scarlet from your wrist, “I think you could have taken him.”

Mingyu took the wet cloth from his brow and folded it over before reapplying pressure to his own wound, sighing deeply. “Fuck this. I hate getting drunk.”

Fastening your teeth into your lower lip, you remained silent and continued swirling around the bloodied skin until the red currents seemed to all drain away, down the white porcelain. You winced a little because there was indeed a stinging sensation, but it was better than allowing the cuts to get infected. Mingyu’s curious gaze was watching the scene intently, and with his body propped right next to the sink, there was really no easy way to avoid your feelings other than to talk with him.

“How’s your injury?”

“I don’t know, how is it?” He peeled the damp cloth from his brow bone. You could see that directly in the centre the skin had spilt, a little ways above the brow and a little beneath it, bright pink flesh gleaming from between the dark hairs and tanned skin. It would definitely leave a scar.

“I’m no doctor, but you might need stitches.”

“Seriously?” Mingyu grimaced. “That fucking sucks.”

You scoffed. “That’s funny. The same kid who socked Junhui in his eye is afraid of getting a few itty bitty baby stitches.”

Mingyu pouted, his thick brows then slanting downward which made him wince petulantly. You couldn’t suppress your chuckling, turning off the sink with a coy smile playing along your mouth.

“I’m joking.”

“I know.” Mingyu said. “I’m sure everyone’s gonna start saying he’ll rake my eyes out at purge.”

You laughed at that too, though deep down you both knew it wasn’t anything flowery to laugh about. Junhui was the definition of nefarious. Similar to Yeeun his family danced in riches, their security systems were top-notch, and his access to weaponry and blueprints of the city could be in his hands within minutes. People worshiped the ground he walked on, but it wasn’t because they liked him. It was only sensible to play nice to the person capable of taking your life away in a single breath.

Of course, Junhui’s reputation made him a prime target, yet despite all the people who secretly wanted him dead, it was difficult to even lay a scathe on his amber skin.

In your eyes it was better to avoid the boy altogether. That way you never gave him any reason to seek out your oblivious-self during the annual purge. Mingyu had crossed that line to the fullest extent. He laid more than an innocent scathe on Junhui; the boy had given him an entire fist to his pretty, supposedly untouchable face. Feeling your heartbeat thump widely, you quickly willed to change the subject.

“Do you see any cloths? Or Kleenex? Anything?”

Mingyu frowned. “Sorry, nothing.”

You shook your arm out over the sink to shed some water droplets, yet the blood still continued to bead. Mingyu looked sympathetic. He presumed it was his fault you were even injured in the first place.

“Yeeun’s getting gauze.”

“I think I’ll be okay—,”

“Wait!” Mingyu suddenly piped. “This might be super awkward but—,” the boy’s tongue peaked out between his pink lips as he gripped the end of his white t-shirt and gave it a tear, pulling off a strip of fabric.

Your cheeks began crackling and your palms felt oddly clammy, “M-Mingyu, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the boy said, “this shirt’s old and busted anyways. It’s better than walking home, dripping blood everywhere.”

You smiled softly and stared at the floor.

“Here! I’ll even wrap it for you.” He purred, gently reaching for your arm and twining the white material like a roll of bandages around your hand.

Forgetting about his own spilt brow that began clotting with blood, Mingyu finished his dexterous work with a tender glance that made your stomach flip, his chocolate bangs falling endearingly before his eyes. After shaking the fringe away, he gave you a thumbs-up.

“Now you look like you just got into a fight.”

“Right, because I’m the first person everyone suspects to start a fight. You hit the nail on the head with that one.”

Mingyu chuckled at the heavy sarcasm, blinking his pretty lashes at you with such warmth you keened to melt like an ice cream cone. You supposed after that moment, Mingyu might not be nearly as brutal as his drunken, love-induced mind influenced him to be. For a fleeting moment you even doubted that this was the same boy with his own kill-list. His eyes glimmered like diamonds catching a shaft of light.

“That’s something only time can tell.” He purred

Two Years Ago –

When Mingyu and Yeeun broke up, it was like the universe took its cue to make everything in life feel unreal. If their romance was nothing more than a mirage, then had romance ever existed in the first place? At least to you, it routinely appeared as though Yeeun’s heart had never been within the same realm as Mingyu’s. There was always an island of separation between them, one little ploy that prevented the couple from truly clicking like puzzle pieces. That ploy was exigent in the form of onyx hair, a sultry voice, and bottomless eyes.

In other words the obstacle was Junhui. Yeeun started dating him no less than a month after the break-up.

Mingyu, he was crushed; taking the point of devastation and expanding it an extra nine yards. In contrast with Yeeun’s heart, his was always wide open, warmer than a summer fire and more embracing than sun rays. You swore she would be the girl he took to meet his mother, the girl whose finger he delicately touched to slide upon a silver loop. A part of you crumbled each time you saw them together, before the break-up, and even more so after the party.

Remembering how his rough fingertips skimmed the wet (and surely burning) skin of your hand as he wrapped the cloth around it did something peculiar to your mind. Reminiscing on the soft timbre of his chuckles made your head spin, and replaying the manner in which his eyes twinkled as he gazed at you through his thick bangs brought forth fluttering in your stomach. It was what you were daydreaming about even after their infamous break-up, fingers clacking against the keys on your laptop whilst you finished an essay in the library. To your dismay, the thoughts were scattered by conversation at the table behind you.

“Think Junhui is gonna gut Mingyu at purge?”

“Probably not, Mingyu would be expecting it. And it’s not like he’s hopeless. Did you hear about how he stabbed someone to death in the tunnel last year?”

“Yeah. But Junhui’s clique practically owns the purge. They’ll tear your fuckin’ house down if they can find it.”

“…True. Those two seriously have some bad fucking blood. Do you remember the rumours about how Junhui sho— ”

Unable to listen any longer without this horrendous churning against the walls of your stomach, you shoved your laptop into its carrying case, swung it over your shoulder and began shuffling between the book shelves. Your stare traced the floor whilst a pummeling sensation thundered into your ribcage. Mingyu didn’t seem like the type to kill, though you didn’t know him personally, and perhaps he had matters of vengeance that crooned for redemption. This tiny hope inside you flickered, prayed that Mingyu was unlike Junhui, the kind that tortured for torture’s sake, the kind that shoved a pistol beneath your jaw because you looked at them funny.

Suddenly, you collided with someone. Blinking upward, you gazed at the body you’d walked into, Mingyu, who was in the midst of pulling out a book.

“Sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You apologized.

You hadn’t seen him for a while, but he looked healthy, a bit tired perhaps, but mostly healthy. Dressed in comfy clothing, a grey hood drawn with his earbuds plugged in, he popped one of the speakers out and lent a small smile. His eyes were slightly veiled by his earthy bangs, the coarse fronds wavy in front of his forehead. His scent was a concoction of something tropic mixed with cannabis, and when he spoke his voice was lower than usual.

“Were you leaving?” Mingyu asked.

Yes.

“No, no. I wanted to finish my essay somewhere that wasn’t... back there.”

“Oh,” he sighed, “seemed like you were in a rush.”

“I was just thinking.”

Mingyu stuck the book back into its gap and smiled, “about?”

You sniffled. “What?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Obviously you were not going to admit that you just overheard conversation about Mingyu being gutted under Junhui’s hand, about Mingyu supposedly cramming a knife through whoever’s chest during last year’s purge, about Mingyu’s history of participation in the annual mayhem that plagued the country like a sickness each year. Now that the purge was on your mind, a dark worry skulked in the shadowy crevices of your brain, yet it seemed to dissipate just as quickly as it arrived when Mingyu stared at you so gently.

“How much I hate essays.”

He nodded. “That must be it.”

Without thinking, you blurted, “what happened with your eyebrow? Did you get a scar?”

He simply carded back the bangs covering his forehead and poked at the nick with his finger. It would have been courteous to receive a warning that he was going to reveal his forehead. He had no clue how powerful a mechanism it truly was, how badly you wanted to kiss that tiny scar after seeing the slit through his brow. Swallowing the flushed heat that arose in your throat, you grinned with a closed lip.

“Well, it makes you look like a badass if that’s any comfort.”

Mingyu let his hair flop back into place and laughed quietly. “What’s up with your hand? That cut looked so nasty.”

Looking down at your fingers, you probed the faint lines of where the glass had sliced your skin, engraved almost, like a stone carving.

“Kinda. It doesn’t look as cool as your eyebrow slit though. And you’re way less busted than Jun. His eye is still purple.”

For a brief ellipse you simply embraced the opportunity of being alone with Mingyu. That some higher deity had taken pity on your life barren with romance and granted you this precious exchange to add to your vault of daydreams. The more his hoarse voice lapped at your ears, surely roughened yet equally soothing, you felt your chest create a burrow for him, a gap that only he could fill. It baffled you, that Yeeun could break his heart. But it didn’t surprise you. She was built from titanium, similar to Junhui, and together they were hawks that would make prey of everyone.

“Trust me,” Mingyu said, “it wouldn’t make me feel any better if we were matching.”

His jaw clenched, and his stare slipped to the floor for a transient moment. A nearly imperceptible breeze tickled up the back of your neck, causing you to rub at the fine hairs as Mingyu’s usual aura slowly dissipated into a much darker nuance. You gulped, attempting to laugh something of comfort back into the air.

“There’s a lot we could match in, like... bracelets! Or a necklace! Or one of those couple t-shirts... Not that we’re a couple,” stuttering helplessly, you felt electricity tingle in your cheeks, “I was just thinking about matching stuff and that popped into my hea—”

“It’s fine.” Mingyu responded, the storm clouds cast in his gaze finally ebbing away. He smiled, and a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“You’re pretty cute y’know? I don’t think I’d mind.”

1 year ago –

You never spoke commonly to Mingyu about the idea of purging until you were thrust into the political nightmare on a whim, a stupid, stupid, moonstruck whim. The few times the morbid topic arose seriously, neither of you had enlightening stories to exchange. A bitter knot lodged itself into your throat the night you reiterated to Mingyu about the tragedies concerning your parents; the disappearance of your father and the abduction of your mother, a tearful lining glossy in your eyes.

You’d never seen Mingyu express such grief when he returned the storytelling.

He moved out from his parent’s house when he was eighteen years old, his best friend, Minghao, making the journey alongside him. Faintly, you remembered Minghao, more or so from your high school days when you shared the same last period art class. He had always been rather subdue, never really speaking with anyone apart from Mingyu, though there had was a handful of times where you caught him and another boy, Wonwoo, skipping class together. Apparently Wonwoo didn’t have a very good home life. He’d supposedly been forced into purging since middle school, and his psyche never quite recovered.

You never even saw Wonwoo smile apart from when he was with Minghao.

However, one day that boy from your art class just disappeared, and the rumours hadn’t stopped swirling since. It was a common fact that Minghao never purged. He didn’t have any bad blood with anyone either.

Not that you were aware of.

In the beginning stages of Mingyu’s purging he used to commonly venture with a group of three friends. Wonwoo happened to be one of them, plus another named Jihoon (who you could recall dawdling around in the background of the party) though Mingyu never named the third. He described it as being pure, inexplicable dread. They were constantly finding themselves in gruesome situations that forced their true colours from camouflage, how they stole burning glimpses of the other when the night came to an end and blood was caked to their clothing. The purge had tainted all of them, some more than others, whether it be with drug addiction, eternal madness, or an unhealthy fascination to mend so seamlessly with the evil that they personified it.

However, genuine fear pitted in the core of your stomach when Mingyus’ fists had clenched in his lap, his features distracted by a look of anguish as he sucked in a breath and spoke in an unsettling, distant tone.

“It was four of us in my car. I was driving, Wonwoo and Jihoon were in the backseat, and he... he took up the passenger seat. It was different... How he reacted to the purge... The rest of us were still somewhat fearful of it but he almost thrived in all the destruction. We were even talking about going purging without him the next year, but...

Mingyu had to clear his throat.

“I guess Minghao was waiting for me to come back to the house. He probably wasn’t even waiting on me specifically, he had this little crush on one of my friends, Wonwoo. They were always messing around together. Minghao probably got excited when he heard us, so he came outside, onto the grass... But then I heard the pop of the gun out the open window... I just... I don’t fucking know if he thought Minghao was a maniac or... If he was on drugs or something... But, God... He just —“

You didn’t allow him to say anymore when his words became warped, when his voice cracked and his eyes split like a sheet of broken glass. Minghao didn’t just disappear - he was killed, and Mingyu knew who was responsible. Instead of pressing him for details, you reached for his hand, rubbed your thumb along his knuckles, made sure he knew that you were there for him.

And yet you had been thrust into the setting of the same picture during your first purge, the first time you had ever experienced what it was like to harm someone, turning their existence into an irreparable patch in the universe.

This is your emergency broadcast system, announcing the commencement of the annual purge.

At the siren, all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve hours.

All emergency services will be suspended.

Your government thanks you for your participation.

“This is going to be your entire fault if I die tonight, Mingyu! I just want you to know that!”

“Relax. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

It was nothing short of chaotic. Pitch blackness shrouded the skylight like a heavy cloth, the distant rattle of gunfire and screams sitting heavy in the air as you raced down the street. The horrendous acts were most commonly centred to the city’s heart, where prime businesses, rich corporations, and notorious killers congregated to create havoc. Still, that didn’t make you any less petrified, your nails sinking into Mingyu’s hand like dog’s teeth. Fights were slowly beginning to litter the sidewalk, a store going up in orange flame and hissing embers now glinting behind you.

“I knew that we weren’t going to make it back to your place on time. I knew it was stupid that we even questioned going out on purge in the first place - Ah!”

You shrieked at an unprecedented decibel as two men came tumbling out of the alleyway only meters away from your feet, your body slamming into Mingyu’s backside when he cemented himself to a halt. The men payed no notice to you, entirely engulfed in their own world of vengeance through bloodied fists and messy punches.

“This way.” Mingyu’s words were like a breeze in the midst of a hurricane.

You hardly registered he’d even said anything until his grip lurched you forward and you were stumbling to the opposite side of the street. Then, your jogging pace skyrocketed into running, the breaths just squeezing from between your lips and the pain in your chest aching so potently you felt like vomiting. Your stamina was breaking faster than glass. You couldn’t afford to run any longer.

“M-Mingyu, can we please stop?”

The boy didn’t seem to have a choice as your fingers began unclasping from his hand, your body collapsing on the concrete staircase belonging to the city bell tower. Mingyu anxiously carded his hair back, his eyes moving hyperactively down the street only to be greeted with more and more violence consuming his vision. Gunshots seemed to thunder from every direction, splintered shouts joining hymn. Large trucks blared down the black pavement with ominous members hunched in the open cap, holding weaponry and wearing masks of painted wood.

The boy squatted down, his palm firmly encasing your cheek and keeping your head up.

“I’ll give you a minute. But then we have to keep going. It’s too dangerous to stay in one spot.”

You stared into Mingyu’s face with a tiresome expression, the bronzed and gleaming hue of his skin reflecting the fire that crackled in the distance. His touch became sterner as he moved in closer, his eyes no less than a few inches from your own.

“Trust me, I know you’re exhausted. We’re gonna be at my place soon though, okay? You just gotta hold tight for a little longer.” He pressed his forehead against yours, and met your gaze head on. “I’m going to keep you safe, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

An intruding shout echoed a little too closely down the street, engendering you to choke on your own heartbeat. Mingyu growled in irritancy, pivoting his head and glaring at the stranger who stepped from an alleyway. Rather than looking frightened (you were on the verge of sobbing bullets), Mingyu’s forehead crinkled angrily, the tiny scar that cut through his brow beginning to slant.

“Stay put.” Mingyu commanded you.

There was a colder lining to his tone that you’d never heard before, malevolent and icy. As soon as his touch fell from your cheek, you knew his hands were about to tend to a much different matter. Your mind implored for you to look away, yet your heart waned for the exact opposite. The man was scraggly and a bit stockier than Mingyu, a mischievous intent welling in his movement as he seemed to dance back and forth like a hummingbird. He wore a smooth, white mask and a heavy brown coat that bore many unidentified stains, a long, curved blade in his hand.

“You’re just a kid,” the man taunted, “it’s always the younger crowd that get so riled about the concept of murder, think they’re all that, but they drop faster than flies when it comes down to it.”

Mingyu didn’t waver. “You should keep talking if you want that knife poking through the opposite side of your throat.”

You inhaled stiltedly. This was definitely not the same Mingyu who smiled with the power of a burning star, his mannerisms filling your chest with laughter and his golden eyes bathing your face with heat. You thought back to the library, the conversation that drawled behind you. This was the Mingyu they were talking about. You had a feeling that the innocent projections in your head were close to changing.

The man chuckled and pointed his knife, shaking it at Mingyu, “you’ve got the same cockiness as that rich China boy’s little clique. I’m sure you’ve heard about them. They’ll be flocking to the streets any minute now.”

Mingyu spoke gutturally in response, the disgust and repulsion so thick in his voice you almost couldn’t recognize it. “Don’t you fucking dare compare me to him.”

The man chuckled darkly, “hit a nerve, did I?”

You weren’t sure what happened next, mainly because it all happened so fast, a series of swift movements (on Mingyu’s behalf) that resulted in your pulse fizzling like hot oil. Ultimately you were going to be exposed to murder one way or another, though watching it reflect in the glassy curve of your own eyes left behind a deep scarring. The man lurched at Mingyu with his hefty blade slashing for the chest, most likely assuming that because of Mingyu’s height he would be quite slow and lack agility.

However, that was severely not the case, to the man’s dismay more than anyone else’s. Within the span of sixty measly seconds Mingyu had tripped him onto his back, snatched the blade from his grip and wedged the knife directly into the man’s windpipe, exactly as he said he would do.

At that point you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. Mingyu’s breathing was level as he rose from the man’s waist, a burgundy pool of blood bubbling at the neck where the blade had punctured skin. Mingyu lifted his jacket, pulled the knife out, and attached the weapon through his belt. He spent an extra few moments patting the fresh corpse down until he uncovered a small revolver hidden in the inside pocket on the man’s coat. When Mingyu handed you the revolver in means of protection, you didn’t realize you were shivering.

“Now,” he pronounced, “we’re going home.”

And at the time you believed him.

Until thirty minutes stretched into an hour, an hour into two hours, three hours, four hours. The chaos that was the purge had encompassed you both. This supposedly psychological device controlled you like a ventriloquist. Violence sneered at every turn and eventually an unspoken conclusion emerged; that it was easier to join chaos than it was to run from it. Later that night everything came full circle.

You were the one pointing the weapon, aiming the silver barrel into the face of the man who had broken in your home and abducted your mother last year, on account of stupid, petty crimes your father had committed in the past. Seconds before touching the trigger, all you could picture was his face swathed in moonlight, the horror that clawed in your stomach when you ran down from your room that night to see him yanking her out the smashed window.

And when you felt the release of the bullet, it became emboldened that it truly was a small, cruel world.

Present –

Squeezing one eye shut, you held the black gun with both hands and aimed the muzzle toward a tree stump that acted as your target, a cheek pressed into the taunt muscle of your shoulder as you inhaled a steadying breath. Delicate winds blew across the meadow, each strand of grass rippling in a hypnotic wave. The horizon lay beyond the tree trunk, a bleeding yellow sun submerging quietly behind the endless terrain, casting a honeyed glow to speckle like rain droplets upon your face.

There was not a single sound apart from the grassy fronds tickling against each other, your concentration solidifying to a mar in the tree bark. Then, your finger ghosted over the trigger, a sharp burst echoing into the pale yellow sky and causing a distant congregation of birds to take flight. The bullet struck the wood, right where you had envisioned the lead entering.

“Look at you,” the tension keyed into your bones drifted away, exiting your body in a shallow exhale once Mingyu’s prideful tone filled the spaces between the winds, “your shot may be even better than mine now.”

After lowering the firearm to face the earth and switching the safety on, a demure smile danced across your lips. Mingyu’s arms were strong and looping carefully around your waist, hauling you back into the broad expanse of his chest. He buried his face into the smooth plane where your shoulder met your neck, his soft locks feathering along your jaw. You giggled the second his lips kissed your shoulder, evening sunlight spilling across the meadow and encouraging heat to caress your skin.

“The student becomes the teacher,” you purred, “I even remembered to turn the safety on this time.”

“You’re damn right you remembered to turn the safety on,” the boy quipped sternly, his palms gliding downward to grip your hips and spin you around, “you almost took my kneecap off the last time.”

Furrowing your brows, you pursed your lip at him petulantly, “can we stop talking about that? It was a mistake you big idiot.”

“I know, I know,” Mingyu cooed, “a very, very, very dangerous mistake.”

You rolled your eyes as he unwound the black firearm from your fingers. He walked toward his jacket that sat on the blanket you’d strewn across the grass, making sure to place it back inside the pocket.

“You still need some more practice, but I think for today we can call it quits. How does that sound?”

The boy then fell back onto the blanket with his head titled to the side, his eyes staring up at you winsomely. With the sun flaring behind you, the vibrant streaks set the grass aflame, making it appear as though Mingyu was sitting in the centre of a fire. His skin twinkled like golden silk and his canines peaked between his lips in a smirk. Shrugging your shoulders impetuously, you stumbled toward the blanket and fell into the boy’s lap, squirming against his broad body until he became pinned beneath your weight. As though he were a glass vase, you gingerly swept your finger along his scarred brow.

“Sounds fine,” you hummed, “since I kinda wanna makeout with you right now.”

“I love how straightforward you are, baby.” Mingyu confessed with his intoxicated gaze drinking in your image, already imploring for a taste of the strawberry balm that defined the pretty arches of your mouth.

Unable to quell how your body yearned for him, you gave your eyes a toss and pressed your lips to his. Mingyu craned his neck forward in immediate desperation to feel more pressure against his mouth; however, he soon gave up his craning and allowed his elbows to give out beneath him. His hands snuck beneath your shirt, to which he placed soft squeezes against your ribcage, fingertips skimming lower and lower until they were running along the back hem of your shorts. You continued to straddle his waist as the kiss drawled further, rhythmically slow and sweet.

You didn’t think it was humanly possible for your chest to be so encompassed with fondness, yet here you were, brushing your digits through Mingyu’s tresses, pressing your forehead to his, encasing his lower lip between your teeth to experimentally tug until the flesh swelled and glistened in garnet. You weren’t really sure how you started dating, it just sort of happened. It was perhaps an escalation of lingering touches, infatuated glances, and hot, fever dreams that kept you both slamming awake at blue midnight.

After your first purge together, the connection between you strengthened, like welding two pieces of molten iron into one. It was an experience that ruined you, stripped you of any innocent fragments still clinging to your bone, and once the night came to an end and you were sitting on Mingyu’s bed with blood spatters sopped into your cloths, you burst into tears. Strangely, you weren’t sobbing out of pain, mortification, you were sobbing because you could. It was the only accurate way to depict the weird melancholic, hopeless lump in your throat.

You squeaked as Mingyu grew impatient of your slow kisses. His want was increasing and he couldn’t bear to hear the quiet mewls that kept slipping from your mouth. His strength effortlessly allowed him to flip you on your back, his mass keeping you slack against the blanket as his lips dotted your jaw, your ear’s cusp, until he craved to taste more of the natural salt on your skin and his kisses ventured further down your throat.

Mingyu began suckling at a sensitive patch near your pulse. The warmth of his tongue combined with his teeth, and you felt him scrape his canines sharply against your skin. It wasn’t until the boy nudged his thigh between your legs that your fingers lurched into his scalp, tugging the earth fronds tightly. You couldn’t help but buck up against him, summoning a growl from his chest that only made him press his fangs into the soft skin with more force; not enough to actually break the petal-thin flesh, but enough to leave deep, possessive indentations. The ecstasy drumming in your veins was insatiable.

And yet, you knew it couldn’t progress.

With a fragile whine you placed your hands against Mingyu’s chest and gave the giant a small push, his mouth regretfully detaching from the beautiful marks he was intent on leaving all over your body. He spoke coarsely, breathlessly, when his rosy face surfaced from your neck, though the glaze in his eyes had quickly softened out of fear he’d made you uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong? I wasn’t being too rough, was I?” He gathered your hand in his and kissed along your knuckles apologetically.

“No, not at all,” You mumbled, still dealing with the blare of crimson running through your veins, “I just… Don’t think we should, do it, in a field.”

The hollow grooves in Mingyu’s features immediately flushed with solace, a large sigh escaping from his chest as he allowed his head to tumble into your shoulder.

“Thank God, I thought I hurt you or something,” he heaved in relief.

Your heart sang wildly, knowing that he truly was a boy gentler than butterfly wings and softer than cotton. It was difficult to imagine him as the same boy who ruthlessly shoved a blade through a man’s windpipe, allowing thick trails of blood to slide from the open wound and create morbid puddles on the hard cement. The evening air seemed to turn cooler, the wind’s peaceful lilting now picking up with more vigor. Mingyu collapsed at your side, one of his long legs still tossed over your waist as you stroked his hair.

With the sun halfway behind the horizon, you gulped whilst watching the yellow sky fade into watered, fierce shades of orange.

“Mingyu?” You hummed.

“Yeah?” His warm breath scattered in a ticklish manner against your neck.

“What’s going to happen with you and Junhui?”

Mingyu stiffened instantly. Nibbling on your lower lip, you watched with sincere eyes as the boy lifted into a sitting position. You joined him, closely monitoring the contours of his face that had surely twisted at the mention of the sinister purger. There was no room to blame Mingyu for harbouring such distaste toward the boy. Junhui did swoop in and steal his ex-girlfriend fresh after the breakup and run purge night like he invented the device himself.

Still, you wondered if there could be something more. If there could be a more profound explanation for why the air was so stale between them.

“Nothing is going to happen,” Mingyu said flatly, “are you scared?”

Caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you stumbled over your syllables for a painful second, his gaze turning back to wrack you curiously.

“N-No, I was- I just- I was only wondering.”

“He’s too obsessed with himself to care about me. Don’t worry, okay? Nothing is going to happen, baby.” Mingyu said in a much lighter tone, his signature, canine smile quirking along his lips.

Despite his calm protrusions, you could sense that something murky was swimming behind the curve in his eyes. The boy leaned backward and planted his lips against your forehead, leaving a small, adoring kiss. Shaking away the ominous tension that came with simply speaking the purger’s name, you grasped for Mingyu’s hand and smiled.

“Let’s head back into town.”

He set his jacket as well as the blanket in the backseat and climbed to sit at the wheel.

“Don’t forget about that, y’know,” you reminded him whilst gesturing to his jacket, “it’s not like there’s a gun in there or something.”

“A gun with the safety on.” He replied sheepishly, to which you simply huffed and stared out the window.

You stopped Mingyu when you were no less than a block away from your new apartment building, the tires crunching to a halt beside the common coffee shop.

“I’ll get out here,” you told him, “I’ll be fine to walk back to the complex. I just really want caffeine.”

Mingyu leaned over and pushed the car door open for you, his palm tenderly grazing your thigh as he found your lips. He gave you a quick goodbye kiss, and you felt flowers bloom between the bones of your ribcage.

“Text me when you get home, alright?” He reminded when you slid from the passenger seat.

Scurrying into the coffee shop, you already had an idea of what drink you’d like to get. As you stood off to the side waiting for an employee to call out your coffee, you fell into a slight trance, your eyes casting mistily across the cozy atmosphere whilst the sky began darkening beyond the clean window panes. You thought about Mingyu, how laughable it was that you were dating, and yet you knew you loved him like ink loves to kiss paper.

Hm, you chuckled inwardly, that girl sitting in that booth by the window, she looks like Yeeun, and that guy beside her really resembles Junhui. That’s funny.

That’s funny.

That’s… funny…

“Order 24, half decaf, two sugars one cream.”

To your inexplicable terror, heart-twisting dread, and every other repulsive emotion that could have cloaked you in that moment of realization, the couple sitting at the window booth was indeed Junhui and Yeeun. The employee called out your order again, this time a little louder, drawing customers to look left and right with puzzled glances. The nefarious couple was sitting across from two familiar faces, one with jet black hair brushed away from his forehead, the other disquieting with how vacant his face appeared, a grey beanie pulling back the fronds from his porcelain features, and a lollipop shoved between his lips.

It took you a minute, but you eventually recognized the lollipop boy as Wonwoo. He looked insanely different compared to your outdated, high school memories, where he was just a scrawny, fox-faced boy with the straightest black bangs you’d ever seen, always running around next to Minghao, getting pink in the face when the younger so much as smiled at him. It was evident that purging had completely hardened his face, his aura, to which he developed an almost sinister light. Whoever he was now, he definitely wasn’t the same boy. Jihoon sat next to him, impatiently spinning a stir stick between his fingers.

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving. Mingyu’s words rang in your head.

Are you scared?

Craving nothing more than for a sinkhole to form beneath your feet and swallow you whole, you did the sole thing your body permitted you to do; walk sternly out the coffee shop and pretend you never ordered a single thing.

God - I hope they didn’t see me. That would be the last thing I want, for Junhui and his purging buddies to have anything to do with me.

Jihoon and Wonwoo with Junhui was odd. Had they always been friends? Junhui never attended your high school either, rather he used to be a student at a prestigious private school you couldn’t ever dream of getting into.

Your apartment was close. You could distinguish its height amongst the low-cut buildings lining the sidewalk. If you just walked a little faster, you could be up the cement staircase, swinging open the glass doorway, and be safe within the front lobby. Titling your head back you quickly ogled at the sky. It wasn’t completely black yet, but there were distant tinges of dark, oily colours that pressed down like a heavy thumbprint amongst the grey. The wind picked up behind you, slamming into your backside in menacing howls.

Finally, you’d reached the cement steps—

But it was too late.

His tone was smoother than a crystal ball, lower than baritone, and incredibly seasoned at feigning genuineness. Hearing your name cascade from his mouth that was deceivingly shaped as a heart made your breath flatten. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but it was too late to pretend you never heard his chant. Unwillingly, your body pivoted like a stone statue, your foot taking that one victorious step back as it left the staircase.

“You walk so fast, you could have been sprinting.”

“Exercise is good.” You nearly wheezed.

For the first time, you realized just how tall Junhui was, his body appearing as a shadowy mass as the wind blew the tails of his trench coat. His brows were slanted, lips quirked, his irises so rounded you could hardly see the white bits. He was handsome in the way that some people found graveyards entrancing. It was the eeriness that allured you.

“You left your coffee.” He stated.

“I realized I had somewhere to be.” You tried to hold his gaze, but it was impossible to evade the nervous eye fluttering.

“As anyone would, it’s getting late.”

The wind whistled between you, dark clouds swirling above your head as though the sky were a witch’s cauldron.

“I think it might rain,” you said meekly, “are you looking to ask me something?”

Junhui took a step forward. He’d never been this close to you before, maybe a few inches away from the tip of your nose. Your gaze tripped to his eye, the eye that Mingyu had driven his clenched fist into that one night, causing Junhui’s head to thrust back against the plaster. You swallowed the salty brick in your throat.

“I heard you like to purge now.” Junhui said with a smile. You swore his caramel gaze glinted with excitement.

Your blood froze. How did he know about that? Junhui saw through you like a translucent piece of plastic. He saw how you inwardly panicked.

“I was surprised,” he cooed, “you don’t seem like the type… But I suppose all that running around with Mingyu changed your morals.”

Your heart was beating at such a frantic pace you feared it may dislodge itself from your chest and land in your mouth.

“I’m so elated you found purpose,” his midnight fronds then fell mischievously before his eyes, keeping the candor of his secrets hidden from you, “the purge is a time of cleansing intended to help people like us find a little alleviation in the world. That one person whose been causing you grief? You won’t have to worry about their disgusting discrepancy that makes you so infuriated. It’s quite healing,” Junhui purred, “if you ask me.”

It felt as though someone just ripped your tongue from between your teeth. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to. A splash of rain thumped your forehead, and yet you allowed the cold bead to trickle along the side of your nose and run onto your cheek. Junhui’s hand delicately raised, his thumb caressing the droplet away. He stood closer now, eliminating any room in which the wind could whisper through, his bangs tickling your forehead as his onyx pupils bore through your heated face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking toward your lips through his heavy lashes, his fingers pointing your chin upward, “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt just because Mingyu can’t take care of you.”

“I-I trust him,” You managed to squeak, though it required every bone in your body to summon equal modicums of courage.

“C’mon,” Junhui seemed to taunt, “you know who I am, right? I can have any weapon, any blueprint, any ctv footage I want directly in my hands, and all it takes is a single phone call.” He grinned wolfishly. “Besides, Mingyu doesn’t have the most durable history of looking out for others.”

His grip on your chin hardened like steel, heart-shaped lips pressed lightly to your ear’s cusp, “you do know what happened to Minghao, don’t you?”

Your body turned more frigid than ice, the warm blood that pumped beneath your skin running colder with every second that Junhui stood, seeing straight through you and to his old friend he’d hurt so dearly. You instantly grew sick to your stomach. The universe beyond Junhui’s shadow was spinning wildly, darting in nauseating circles like a carousel. The images came in flickers; the truck pulling into the driveway, the window cranking down, the crack of the gun as its bullet pierced a shape in the darkness. No wonder Jihoon and Wonwoo were friends with Junhui. He had been the other person in Mingyu’s car.

You felt lightheaded, like you were going to faint.

“I’ll let you go, but just consider your options. Really, truly consider them.” Junhui murmured. “I’m sure you have some personal contentions kept covert beneath that kind tongue of yours. Given your participation, I know you can upheaval your need to feel purification. If you’re wise, you’ll cleanse with us, with me, as you are entitled to.”

Without a single ripple Junhui broke away, his touch drifting like the edges of a silk blanket from your cheek. Immediately afterward, a disturbing burst of wind whipped between your bodies, inducing a long shiver that crept down your spine and fizzled at your fingertips. Your throat felt like cracked sandpaper and your chest bottomed out with a horrendous, wrenching fear.

Junhui knew that Mingyu didn’t fear him, but he knew that you feared him, and he knew that your fear would grow to consume you now that you’d been introduced to the devastating truth.

The radio was on, high-pitched static and monotonous advisement rasping through the car’s sound system. It was clear that in time, there would be a chorus of other harsh noises leaping to fill the sky, any pockets of oxygen, and the spaces that lingered between your hazy breathing. Yet in the dense heat, you could care less.

This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of The Annual Purge, sanctioned by the government.

It was hot, burning. The air felt like scorching linen that pressed fire into your skin. Mingyu’s teeth scraped along your collarbones, the thin layer of flesh that mapped over them singed with bruises and bites and kisses that still glistened.

Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.

The radio continued to blip. Your fingers tangled through his earth-toned tresses, gripping the thick strands and tugging on them as your throat started to ache. The windows were splotched with oily fingerprints that had been left earlier, when you first climbed onto his lap.

Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Your legs quivered over his thighs, his hands guiding your hips with such a brute strength that the pain welled into numbness and everything that surrounded you seemed nonexistent, save for where your bodies connected like a jewel to its staff. His forehead fell on your shoulder, groans muffled as they brushed your hot skin. He continued to hit deep, and you knew you couldn’t hold on for much longer, the sparks catching a foreshadowing flame

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.

It was then, when your weight came down on his lap for the final time, his hips stuttering upward at the perfect moment, that your head tossed back and you felt the energy rip from your body in a single scream. Mingyu wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you flush against him, working the pleasure for all its worth. You then buried your face into his neck, a soft sea of your whimpers filling the thick air whilst Mingyu emptied inside you, filling you with warmth.

Police, fire and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7am, when the Purge concludes.

For a moment, you just needed to close your eyes and breathe in his scent, hear his heartbeat, feel the familiar heat spread throughout your abdomen. He squeezed your hips tight, and his words were barely audible, attempting to drown over the radio’s static as well as the heavy breaths from your lungs. You heard them, even if your ears really had to strain to decipher the syllables whispered at the peak of his sensitivity. Mingyu said he loved you, and he meant it with every ounce of his soul as he felt your body shake in his arms.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and a nation, reborn.

And you would have meekly hummed the words in return, if the sudden cacophony of a siren didn’t shred the air like pastry, startling your system that had just come down from the best cloud nine experience you could ever fathom. It would have been wondrous to bask in the afterglow, to trace patterns on his biceps and run your lips over the scar in his brow. It had all been purloined from you in an instant. Though your centre still ached, you crept off his lap and into the passenger seat, cleaning yourself up as best you could.

“Here,” Mingyu held out his jacket that he’d tossed in the backseat, probably since your training in the fields, “it’ll keep you warm if it actually rains tonight.”

“Thanks.” You murmured whilst slipping the fabric around your body, noting that something a little heavy was inside one of the pockets. You remembered the gun was still inside. Suddenly, Mingyu started the car, the engine purring lowly and musty clouds of exhaust puffing into the empty parking lot.

He tapped the steering wheel with his palm, “where should we head?”

When the sirens faded away, you looked to him and smiled, “wherever you want.”

The red sun seemed anxious to disappear, for its rays cracked across the sky like bloodied, broken ice, hurriedly pushing itself further below the horizon as Mingyu drove into town. The Purge never introduced an easy atmosphere to stomach, yet tonight, you felt the bile in your throat was more acidic than usual. Maybe it was because you knew a huge secret, one that tied Mingyu’s hatred to Junhui’s existence.

You didn’t confess to Mingyu anything. Every word that seeped like a venom from Junhui’s lips was sealed within you, and only you. It was already painful enough for Mingyu to brace through such a traumatic incident. There would come a time when he told you his reasons for hating Junhui, and that time had yet to come.

Even so, the terror was exhausting. The first few nights after your encounter with Junhui, your slumber was plagued by gruesome nightmares, his comfortable laughter, and the black fire that seeped in his eyes as though he were some underworld creature. You’d slam awake in a cold sweat. At times you’d be so drenched that you needed to take a shower before going back to sleep, that is, if your mind allowed you to. Sometimes you would phone Mingyu and lie to him, tell him you needed to hear the brass in his voice as your nighttime spell.

You never told him about the nightmares, the panic, or the anxiety. Now the Purge had returned after its position was quelled in the nation for a year. Your head turned to glance more thoroughly out the window after you flitted past a man holding an axe tool, a painted mask shielding his face.

It didn’t take long for the streets to begin flooding with people of the same stature, and if their eyes of thirst were hidden behind costumes, then it became more than evident in the weaponry that adorned their guises. Mingyu seemed calm as he stared out the dash, his eyes giving away nothing that would hint toward his inner complex. You sighed and let your cheek rest in your palm, your gaze unable to stop tracing each and every person that emerged from the dark crevices.

About forty-five minutes had passed, driving around the quieter outskirts of the city. Looking into the side-mirror, you watched as the occasional killing occurred behind you.

Mingyu smiled. “The night just started and you already look like you’re over it.”

The echo of a gun pierced the air. You cringed slightly.

“I don’t know if I’m over it or not. I guess I’m thinking about how I’ll ever suppress witnessing senseless murder, y’know?”

The boy gently stuck his arm out, across the glove compartment, his thumb stroking your cheek for a fond moment.

“We don’t have to hang around. I can drive up to the field where we’ll be away from the worst of it. What do you want, baby?” He asked.

You scratched at your knuckles and puffed through your nose. “I don’t even know what I want. Am I supposed to feel this way?”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, “what way?”

“Melancholic, sorta like everything seems pointless. How do you feel?”

Mingyu took a wide turn to avoid a collection of smashed bottles that glinted on the road, increasing the vehicle’s speed steadily as the chaos increased. Like your first Purge, you saw the distant glow of burning buildings appear across the lake, at the other side of the city.

“I don’t even know if I can describe it anymore.” He shrugged.

You turned your head to look at him, deciding to ask something rather abrupt, but a topic you were curious on nonetheless.

“Why did you start purging?”

The boy’s canines pushed into his bottom lip as he probed his mind.

“Because I was friends with someone who wanted to. Even involving yourself once makes enemies. You can’t hide from it after that.”

Staring at the side of his face, you felt almost dirty for knowing a pivotal piece belonging to Mingyu’s past.

“Were you friends with Junhui?”

There was a thick silence as you waited for Mingyu’s response.

“At one point, yes.” He admitted, his words sounding distasteful.

You shifted up in the seat, stretching out your hand to rub Mingyu’s bicep.

“I don’t care if you were. I know you aren’t the same as him, and that this night changes people. You don’t let it consume you like he does.”

Mingyu took a turn through a wide alleyway to avoid a hostile situation escalating at the far end of the intersection. You didn’t get a good look as the sky was continuing to lose its orange light, but the flash of the group’s masks and weapons was convincing enough to take a different path.

You couldn’t help but note that Mingyu’s eyes had become slightly watered.

“It was never about purification,” he told you, “I never had any specific target, or someone I detested. Neither did Jun. But he comes from a family that relies on purging as their income. His mom designs weapons and his dad works for some underground branch, assigning bounties. He just isn’t the same as us. I was lucky if I could even hold a gun in my hands without trembling. I had to learn how to desensitize myself. For Jun, it was almost natural.”

A familiar sickness made your stomach twirl.

“It’s sad he had to grow up like that.” You sighed, glancing out the window whilst Mingyu remained silent.

A few minutes later, and you were laughing. “I didn’t mean to make the mood so terrible. I was just wondering.”

“I know,” Mingyu said, his lips curling warmly, “I can’t blame you for being curious, baby. I just don’t think back on my past all that much.”

He then gave you a thoughtful look, and your chest started fluttering embarrassingly fast. “I like focusing on right now, where I have you.”

It was quiet again, to which you let your thoughts roam astray.

You pictured the night your father disappeared, the night your mother’s life was taken away from her when she wasn’t even capable of defending herself. The feeling of coming down the stairway to broken glass, spilt moonlight, and a dirtied face lugging her away couldn’t be compared to any pain. And daring to unlock that enraged, bitter half of yourself, you thought to applying pressure on the trigger that killed the man responsible for her death.

Those memories influenced your appreciation, your gratitude, toward Mingyu, the boy who you had always admired at a distance, never knowing he could be so tender and benevolent. It was possible that you could have turned out similar to Junhui if you let your indignation take control. Seeing how Mingyu always remained so grounded helped you keep your footing, and you hoped there never came a day when you started looking at the world how Junhui did.

All of sudden, your musing was shattered when a pick-up truck roared from an alleyway and soared into the street, plumes of grey smoke pumping from its pipes as the tires screeched against the asphalt.

”Mingyu, watch out!” You screeched, gripping the steering wheel.

At the same time, Mingyu veered away from the truck, your heart nearly tearing a hole right through your chest as the head of your vehicle rammed into a light post. The collision jolted your body forward, though the seatbelt kept you strapped in and unscathed. Mingyu cursed through his teeth.

“Fuck, are you okay?” He rasped.

“I-I’m fine. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” You replied shakily.

Mingyu’s facial expression relaxed for less than a second. He appeared ready to oblige, though casting another inspection into his features relayed a nauseating truth. Suddenly, Mingyu’s hand gripped the back of your neck and he forced your head down between your legs. You heard it, the crisp echo of a gunshot. Except there was no bullet that punctured the glass and made fragments rain over your body. There was no dent in the metal door either. The barrel was purposely aimed to a different area, and as the second shot fired off, you felt like passing out.

They’re shooting at the tires.

Mingyu whispered to you with a coarse urgency, “this way!”

He’d managed to open his door, your only choice of escape a labyrinth of alleyways that lay beyond the mangled car. The alleys were dark, damp, and most likely rife with impending danger. Your throat closed in when you attempted to swallow. You could see the blade that Mingyu had collected from the console, already tight in his hand. Licking your leathered lips, you squirmed out his side after he’d gone through. He was squatted down, waiting for you.

Just as you joined him, you cast a glance above Mingyu’s head, your blood turning into ice as a slim figure appeared around the back end of the car. It was a man, dressed in a black raincoat, long and glossy. He was wearing a dirtied, white mask, where kohl paint was runny down the large eyes and the mouth was outlined in a red marker. Next to his side was the long barrel of a shotgun, and you felt unimaginably dizzy. Mingyu immediately identified the terror that leaked into your gaze, and with a thick gulp, he dared stare over his shoulder.

“Hey Mingyu,” the stranger mumbled, taking the pointed chin of the mask and tipping it upward, revealing a fox-like face, “long time no see.”

Mingyu wrapped his fingers around your hand and stood up slowly, ensuring your body was sheltered by his size. You breathed as quietly as your vandalized chest would allow, your diaphragm keening to erupt.

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu echoed, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you or anything.” The boy said, his voice very deep and smooth. The depth reverberated in your chest and made your skin crawl.

“Are you crazy, dude?” Mingyu growled. “You shot out my fucking tires.”

Wonwoo scratched the nape of his neck. “I was just following orders.”

You had no idea what was happening. The only piece of concrete knowledge that hadn’t been fogged over in tangible fear was that you could still hear incessant firing in the distant, chaotic screaming and rioting. Looking down to the blade that glinted in Mingyu’s palm, you were able to plant a little reassurance in yourself knowing of his skill and ability to stay grounded. Keeping your mouth shut, you held Mingyu’s hand in a vice grip.

“Following orders from who? What are you talking about? Are you wired?”

“It’s understandable you would think that,” Wonwoo sighed, “but I’m not. If I were though, your death might be a little easier.”

“Since when are you supposed to kill me?” Mingyu sounded flat out bewildered.

It was then that it dawned on you: Mingyu really had no idea Wonwoo was still a part of Junhui’s brigade.

Grinding your teeth together in contemplation, you finally decided to swallow the grain in your throat and break the truth. Getting close to Mingyu’s ear, you whispered to him what you knew, no matter how much of a fable it may be perceived as. Visibly, his body stiffened. His fingers gripped the blade’s handle with an unprecedented rage.

“What are you doing?” Mingyu implored, candor in his despair. “Even after what he did to Minghao? What the hell is holding you to him?”

“It’s nothing personal, but as you know already, Junhui is filthy rich,” Wonwoo gloomed, cocking the barrel once more, “and he’s promised me some things.”

Mingyu clenched his jaw. “You mean more of those drugs he keeps stealing from his dad’s lab? Wonwoo, what the fuck happened to you? The last time I heard from you, you were getting clean, you were going to start fresh!”

There was an unorthodox twinkle in his black stare, oddly full of emotion, hurt, repressed pain that cut deeper inside than out.

“I tried,” Wonwoo stated, a slight anger tainting his voice, “I went to three different rehabilitation clinics. I took a vacation to the rural springs and received lessons in guided meditation and bought myself a journal so I could document my success in getting clean. And you know what? I haven’t touched that journal since the day I fucking bought it. Tell me, Mingyu. How the fuck am I supposed to care about staying clean, how the fuck am I supposed to care about anything when I saw the love of my life get fucking shot right in front of me?”

Mingyu shook his head in disbelief, “Wonwoo, I--, I know that was horrible, I know that hurt you and--”

“Just shut up,” the elder interrupted flatly, “maybe today I’ll actually feel something when I put this barrel between your eyes.”

It was impossible to stand by and remain silent. Chewing on your bottom lip, you gathered a modicum of courage and poked your head around Mingyu’s shoulder.

“So you’re going to kill us just because Junhui wants you to? That’s how you’re going to live the rest of your life? Listening to his psychotic fantasies about purification and entitlement?”

Wonwoo narrowed his eyes at you, his jaw taunt.

“I know you loved Minghao, I know your life hasn’t felt the same since. Minghao was Mingyu’s best friend too. You weren’t the only one who lost somebody. Do you think when I came downstairs at fourteen years old and saw my mother get pulled away through the window that I wasn’t upset, angry, confused at the world? Junhui just sees you as a pawn to delegate the matters he doesn’t want to dip his hands into, but you’re a real person. Wake up and act like it!”

For even just a fraction of a second, Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped, his finger that was feathering the gun’s trigger drifted from contact, and the stoic cloud in his eyes fuzzed a little. You were starting to feel confident. Yet just as easily as the feeling came to you, you were caught off guard by an arm that slid around your neck and lurched you backward, against a hard chest.

Mingyu barked immediately, his blade drawn and eyes wildly dilated as he turned to face the person responsible for holding onto you. Biting the inside of your mouth, you squirmed and thrashed and kicked, until something cold pressed into your temple and suddenly the energy evaporated from your body like dew droplets on an August day.

Mingyu’s voice sounded rusty as he gaped again. “Jihoon?!”

Wonwoo piped up suddenly, and his eyes turned cold once more. “Be careful, dammit. She’s the one we can’t afford to bruise up.”

Jihoon’s arm was now wrapped around your neck, pressing against your windpipe and causing your air supply to falter. You knew it was a gun that was poking sharply into your temple.

Mingyu’s gaze was wild and rife with fire. He growled between his teeth like a wolf. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Jihoon.”

Wonwoo stepped forward and shook his gun at the boy who was closing off on your breathing. “Junhui wants that one,” he pressed the snout of his weapon into your chin, “alive.”

Jihoon sulked, his voice rumbling in his chest, “So what’s our fun tonight? We kill Mingyu and then pack up?”

You wriggled again in Jihoon’s arms, tempted to gnaw right into his wrist. “Can we not kill anybody?!”

“Calm down,” Wonwoo instructed, “I hate shouting. If any of you shout I’m planting a bullet in your brain.”

“You’re such a bore,” Jihoon whined, pressing into your windpipe with more force, painting speckles of white across your vision. Mingyu was bubbling with rage, like a teapot left on the burner for too long, his teeth clamping down so tightly his whole face was aching.

Wonwoo used the muzzle of the gun to tip your chin toward the moonlight. “A word of advice. Stop struggling and you won’t get hurt.”

“H-He’s hurting me,” you attempted to coherently spit past the pressure concocted against your throat. Jihoon was issuing enough force to make your eyes water and your head spin. Mingyu piped up, but Wonwoo was swifter and beat him to it.

“Lighten your grip.” He told Jihoon.

“I’m not even holding her that tightly!” The boy protested. Wonwoo’s face didn’t crack. He just repeated himself with an underlying menace.

“Lighten. Your. Grip.”

“It’s all pretending! Can’t you see? They’re trying to distract you so Mingyu can shove that blade through your back. Don’t be so fucking soft, Wonwoo. Look! I’m hardly touching—“

Bang.

Wonwoo dug his gun right into Jihoon’s forehead and pulled the trigger, the strict barrier against your throat immediately releasing. A fresh gulp of air hastily entered your lungs as you stumbled, Jihoon’s body folding onto the sidewalk from the corner of you eye. Mingyu quickly caught you, cupped your face in his hands and wiped the beaded sweat at your forehead. He kept whispering to you that you were okay, repeated the words in a soothing, husky mantra, his thumbs stroking your jaw in comforting sweeps. The ringing in your ears was unfathomably painful, it stung and stung and stung.

“Well,” Wonwoo announced with a despondent sigh, setting the gun over his shoulder, “I really do hate yelling.”

Mingyu’s kissed your forehead briefly. Your lips were still dry and they struggled to form a word of thanks to Wonwoo. The boy shrugged.

“He was holding you kind of tightly.”

Mingyu gasped, “no fucking kidding.”

Wonwoo sighed. “I guess I don’t expect to live much longer now that I’ve gone and wasted my companion here with my last few bullets. Not to mention I have prolonged the existence of your life, Mingyu, which I was strictly ordered not to do. It was nice to meet your little partner in crime too.”

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu questioned whilst gathering you into his side.

“I didn’t follow through on my order. I can’t bring myself to do it. ” Wonwoo mumbled. “We’ll catch up in the afterlife or something. Maybe where you’re going is different than where I’m about to go. You’ll probably be with Minghao while I deservedly rot. One of life’s many mysteries, right?”

There wasn’t much of an opportunity to process the situation, not when a gunshot echoed from down the alleyway and pierced the boy in his temple. The shotgun clamped in his hand clattered against the cold, concrete sidewalk, and his mask clattered off his head. His body joined the likes of Jihoon who’d been staring up at the night sky with dead, glazed eyes, a trail of red leaking down his nose. Your head pivoted and you felt a surge of vomit climb to the back of your mouth, for the person behind the trigger was Yang Yeeun, her pearl earrings flashing against the silver moonlight.

“Horrendous.” Her accent was thick with venom, heels clicking down the alleyway as she stalked in her black trousers and white dress shirt.

Intimidation sweltered against your skin at just her attire. The fact she dressed expensively for the night proved she wasn’t expecting to get in any confrontation that would result in her own blood being spilt.

“I expected Jihoon to cause trouble, but not Wonwoo. He was so promising. I guess he really did need drugs to stay sane.”

She stepped over a corpse you hadn’t noted lying face down in the alley, growling between her teeth.

“Filthy,” Yeeun remarked without a grain of empathy, “nothing but filth.”

Mingyu gripped your wrist and you felt your body stumble behind him. Keeping your arms drawn against his back and softly breathing, you inhaled the musky scents of damp, nighttime air and car exhaust. Though you couldn’t directly see Yeeun, her voice was still audible, lacquered in such a feigned delicacy it reminded you of Junhui. Mingyu hadn’t said a thing. He didn’t have to speak for you to know his heart was decaying.

“There’s my sweet boy.” Yeeun cooed. She was close now, so close you peered between Mingyu’s legs and saw her shiny heels standing in blood spatters.

She regarded Mingyu like they were still together, like they still reflected the image of romance that was envied by so many people, you included. Her arm extended, pale, numb fingers brushing along his amber cheek. You wanted to scream at her to never touch him again. It was her own mistake to let Mingyu go, when he was positively in love with her and preached their future with honeyed words, like an artist who preaches with paint.

“You know, I miss you,” she hummed, tracing the flint of his jaw, “I’m so terribly sorry you had to witness your old best friends get a bullet to the brain, but, that is what happens when tensions are high, and, you know, we can’t afford to let many errors slip past us. Now, let’s not let that put a damper on the night. It’s still young, and so much has yet to happen. How about you come with me?”

You knew there was a handgun she was keeping pressed to her leg right now, and that if neither of you complied, it would be put to good use. Mingyu hadn’t opened his mouth. His lips were tight and his eyes were concentrated. Maybe he was trying to scheme.

Yeeun stretched out her gun and let the muzzle clink with Mingyu’s knife, trying to push the weapon from his hand.

“Just drop this and follow me, sweetheart. Due to these unforeseen events, there’s been a change and your presence has been urgently requested.”

Quicker than expected, Mingyu complied. He let the blade untwine from his grasp and rattle against the ground. If he did have some sort of plan, you were hoping that giving up his only weapon was part of it.

“She can come too,” Yeeun purred, “Junhui wants to see both of you.”

Yeeun trudged behind you, her weapon drawn, a manicured nail feathering upon the trigger just in case one of you attempted something of trickery. Tall, grimy buildings surrounded you, leading up to the black sky, where the stars gazed down in lamentation. Mingyu’s fingers were wrapped around your wrist with such steely strength that you felt your circulation dwindle, though the tiny, tingling feeling would never surpass the fear that sat like a pound of tar in your stomach. Similar to your first purge, tears pushed at your ducts, though there was a certain exhaustion shrouding your body that prevented them from falling.

Despite your unstable condition, the possibility of death snickering right in your face, the wavering thought that either Junhui or Yeeun could imbue a torturous fate, you were worried about Mingyu.

Yeeun was playing him expertly. She knew it wasn’t her heart that cracked after their breakup, it was Mingyu that suffered independently. Only he bit the nail, only he felt the salt mix with his wounds, and only he would welt in self-contemplation over a love that he nurtured, alone. If it came down to it, and your life was on the line, would Mingyu hesitate? Would he be afraid of hurting someone he used to treasure so dearly? You didn’t doubt his affections for you. His heart was strong, but what if Yeeun’s deceit was stronger?

The labyrinth of alleyways had finally led you to a dead end. Your wrist shook in Mingyu’s grasp, for the man nonchalantly leaning against the solid wall was none other than—

“Junhui,” Yeeun cawed, “you won’t believe what the fuck just happened. Wonwoo popped Jihoon. He’s dead, should have brought more crew instead of displacing them like we did.”

She finished her sentence by fitting her gun right snug at the back of your head.

Junhui spat onto the floor before he unstuck himself from leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark trench coat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, “using Wonwoo and Jihoon was a squander anyways. I could have concluded both their lives at a much more efficient pace. I’m guessing you took care of the traitor?”

Yeeun cackled, “right though the side of his head. He fell like a stack of cards.”

“It’s a real disappointment,” Junhui huffed, “since the beginning Wonwoo and Jihoon have shown the utmost loyalty for me and my craft. But, I guess this just demonstrates how purifying this device truly is. We’re ridding the streets of scum, aren’t we?”

Mingyu released your wrist, and you felt like a bomb had just dropped to the soles of your feet. His lips parted and his voice was deep. Hearing him speak allowed your heartbeat to calm, even with Yeeun’s gun taunt into your hair.

“The streets will never be rid of scum until you’re over and done with.”

Junhui cocked his head, his mouth falling open and his eyes twinkling as though a tiny flame had ignited in their inky depths.

“And here is the biggest traitor of them all!”

Junhui tossed his head back and ludic laughter echoed into the compressing air, “how do you suppose you’ll rid me, Mingyu? Are you going to give me another black eye? Curse at me? Damn me to hell and back because of what happened that night? Damn me behind my back because I took Yeeun away from you? The girl you once loved and valued with your every essence?”

It was then that Junhui shifted his sights on you, his lips pulling wide in a smile.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware Mingyu, but your partner and I exchanged a very compelling conversation a while ago. I guess word never got around to you.”

Junhui’s boots dragged over the crumbs of dirt and asphalt that littered the ground, his presence nearing closer and closer. When you tried to lower your head, Yeeun’s gun pressed with a stricter force into your scalp, filling you with enough fear to keep your gaze straight.

“You’re very fortunate, Mingyu. To have such a pretty thing to call your own.”

Junhui’s hand reached for your chin. His touch was colder than the dark shadows that masked his soul, and it engendered a shiver to slither along your spine.

“Don’t put your hands anywhere near her!” Mingyu seethed, to which Yeeun instantly switched her gun to point against the back of his skull.

You could see his jaw clench from your peripheral vision. But Junhui didn’t listen, and his thumb pushed down on your bottom lip as though he intended to brand your skin with his insanity. He spoke lowly, smoothly, confidence lathered into his every syllable.

“Do you know why I did it?” Junhui stared into your eyes and asked.

“Dd-did w-what?” You warbled.

“It wasn’t because I was jealous of Wonwoo and Minghao, or because I had some personal contention against the boy. I didn’t even think when I pressed the trigger. I spent the whole night adding so much blood to my hands, that the moment I saw another shadow move, my body just - it just acted for me. Like it was an instinct. I wasn’t sad... But I wasn’t happy. I only knew I was no longer myself... I was someone stronger, someone enhanced, and that is the greatness of this evening!”

Junhui clutched your shoulders and shook them, his eyes alight with a certain derangement that petrified you to your core.

“You’re reborn! Don’t you get it? You’re no longer tied down by the concept of goodness, and your free will is truly free. When will you two realize that--”

Out of nowhere, Mingyu shoved into your side so aggressively you stumbled sideways and collapsed on the sooty ground. The air was knocked from your lungs and your heart pumped like it had been electrocuted. Fuzzy splotches of colour coalesced before your watered vision, projecting nothing but an obnoxious blur. There was shouting, the loud crack of a harmless gunshot, and scuffling that emanated from every direction. Before you could separate the blacks from the blues, something cold wrapped around your wrist and dragged you backward. Then, your entire body was thrust up against the brick, scrapes and bruises already forming on your bare skin.

When your head stopped spinning and the world dulled down from reflecting three versions of the same image, you were shuttering, whimpering, as Junhui held you firmly against the wall.

Across the alleyway you could see that Mingyu had Yeeun pressed to the floor, his palm covering her throat whilst he took advantage of his weight to keep her slim frame still. He fought to unwind the firearm from her fingers, but when he did, the weapon was digging into her forehead. You wanted to scream at him to pull the trigger, to fucking end her already, even if your throat felt like it had been scraped of all moisture and scrubbed with a pad of steel wool. You heard Junhui snicker, his mouth twisted cynically. It was evident what he was thinking, for it was identical to your own thought.

“Like hell you’ll do it!” Junhui screamed.

If it came down to it, and your life was on the line, would Mingyu hesitate?

Love. It was just as much a weapon as it was a comfort. And as Mingyu stared down at Yeeun, silver pearls of water slipping from her brown eyes, the eyes he had fallen for, you felt consumed by terror, that your life may truly end at this exact location. Mingyu proved your doubts were transparent and his finger jammed against the trigger. Except – there was nothing, nothing at all. The gun had no ammunition left. Yeeun sighed heavily.

“Don’t do this,” she mewled, still wriggling beneath him, full-fledged tears pumping down her flushed, scarlet face, “I never meant to hurt you. It’s just – you wouldn’t understand why – he didn’t leave me any choice!”

Mingyu released his ironclad grip over her throat and used his fingers to sweep the stray hairs from her eyes.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He abruptly snapped. “You lie through your teeth like it’s the only thing you’re good for. You don’t love anyone or anything. I bet you lost that silver spoon you were born with, huh? Daddy’s security systems aren’t as bulletproof as he thought they were? So you had to run to Junhui?”

She gargled slightly on her own saliva, coughing a bit of foam, though she never tried to respond.

Mingyu lifted Yeeun’s head in his hands. Squeezing your eyes shut didn’t make the snapping noise any less gruesome. If anything, it only amplified the sickness building in your gut, it only amplified Junhui’s enraged storm of cursing as his companion’s body went limp, her eyes stained with not even a smidgen of regret. If there was any regret at all, it was that she couldn’t have killed you herself. Hope began trickling back into your body, and, taking advantage of Junhui’s distracted vacancy, you attempted to give him a swift kick.

And yet that thought was a mistake in itself. Junhui lost his composure, his sophistication.

Your struggling only encouraged the anger spilling inside him, prompted him to uncover a blade that was hidden inside his coat, its silver gleam reflecting off your eyes for a millisecond before you felt its sharp edge nuzzle into your skin, somewhere around your stomach. A surge so violent and unbridled soared through your body, forced you to lean over the blade where your eyes soaked up the unholy sight of Junhui’s knuckles pale as snowflakes wrapped around the handle. You spluttered out nothing but air, watched as dark liquid began seeping from the wound and wetting your shirt.

Junhui took it upon himself to slowly, ever so slowly, extract the knife from its crevice, his teeth grinding together as just the point remained in your flesh. Then, he dug the blade back in through its opening, giving the weapon a slight twist.

When Mingyu had risen from Yeeun’s corpse and tore Junhui away from you, a silent sob wobbled off your lips. At some point that your mind was too fogged to remember, you were sitting, slumped against the wall as thick, grey storm clouds crowded the night sky. When you could no longer find solace amongst the stars, your gaze flitted across the alleyway, to where Junhui and Mingyu were a vicious tangle of limbs that punched and kicked and pulled. It reminded you of the party, the stupid party that had somehow preluded your path to cross with Mingyu’s. They were shouting at one another, at war for Junhui’s knife that kept slipping from their grasps like butter.

Wincing, you stretched an arm to fold over your stomach, attempting to apply even the meekest amount of pressure to your wound. Your brow furrowed when something hard nudged against your arm, a harsh weight that seemed to sit inside your jacket.

Well, it wasn’t your jacket, it was Mingyu’s.

Chewing down on the inside of your mouth, you ignored the pain that cut through your every nerve and fought to wind your hand within the jacket, fingers poking and shuffling around until they brushed the pocket stitched to the inside. Despite your battered condition, you nearly yelped when you gripped the handgun, the same gun that you’d used to practice your aim in the fields. There was not a moment to squander, nor a moment to think. Your whole body screamed as you drew the weapon from its pouch, fingers slippery with blood as you fought to turn the safety off.

Your entire arm shook like a brittle leaf in mid-autumn, yet you still held the gun forth, your head banging, your vision blurred, bile pushing and stinging against your throat. Junhui had Mingyu pinned to the grit, his boot heavy on Mingyu’s wrist. Raised in the air was the knife, stained with red globs of your blood. It was just like the party, except it wasn’t a tiny glass shard sealed between Junhui’s fingers. It was a literal hacking device. There was nothing you could do to stop your arm from shaking. You had no more ammunition apart from the bullet left in the gun.

What if I miss, what if I miss Junhui and hit Mingyu? What if I hit Junhui but it isn’t enough to stop him? I don’t think I can do this. I can’t I can’t I can’t—

“So,” Junhui barked, his vocal chords strained and hoarse, “where’s your little guardian angel now, huh? If it weren’t for your girlfriend fucking getting in the way two years ago, you would have had it, Mingyu. But now there’s no one to save you. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. Finally, I’m entitled to purge how I’ve always wanted.”

The tears finally erupted from their ducts, streaming down your dusted cheeks and dripping at your chin. You felt like a child, a blubbering infant.

But it wasn’t worth it to lose Mingyu.

You weren’t entirely sure what happened when you sucked back the distracting binds of your self-doubt and clamped the trigger down. It didn’t register that the bullet had struck Junhui’s head until his body collapsed off of Mingyu’s lap, lying lax on the pebbles like a sack of flour. It didn’t register that you had saved Mingyu’s life until the first few cold splashes of rain thumped against your forehead, dampened your lashes, and trickled along your scuffed flesh. The gun dropped from your fingers and the whole world went black.

The next time you awoke, you were faced with a pair of glimmering, penny eyes that rapidly blinked, tiny crinkles mapping along wet, amber skin. An instant pain jolted into your gut when you attempted to fidget, and a whine nearly tore itself from between your cracked lips.

“Don’t try to move,” you heard a rough voice, “stay still as best you can.”

“Mingyu?” You croaked, reaching upward to stroke his cheek.

His fingers coiled gently around your wrist, bringing the scars that were carved like ancient hieroglyphics to his lips. The second he pressed kisses to the old wounds, you smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake,” he rasped, his eyes soft, gleeful, “you fucking saved me, y’know? It’s because of you I’m still here, still breathing. All because of you.”

Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Wait… So, I’m not… dreaming?”

Despite Mingyu’s earlier advisement to stay still, you forced your body upward, though you faced immediate repercussions as a jarring bolt struck you in the stomach. Mingyu attempted to make you relax once more, but you refused to listen to his cooing. Distant thunder rolled in the distance, and you could see a pale glow beaming behind the flossy clouds that shielded the sky. Seven o’clock was probably on the brink of arrival. You were still in the alleyway. Casting a glance toward your new wounds, you noticed that Mingyu had wrapped his jacket tightly around your waist.

“Now would be a good time for lots of gauze, right?” You smiled.

Mingyu settled his palm delicately at the back of your neck and pushed your lips together, a smile slowly dancing along his mouth as he felt your fingers thread through his locks. Just like Mingyu had predicted, a misty rainfall was spraying from the early morning sky, infinitesimal droplets of glass sitting upon his skin as though he were a springtime rose. You kissed his lips again, and again, and again, until the pain in your stomach became too much of a distraction and your head was falling to the crook of his neck. Stealing a glance around the alleyway, you couldn’t help but notice that Junhui and Yeeun’s bodies had been laid beside each other.

You thought about what Wonwoo had said.

Maybe where you’re going is different than where I’m about to go. One of life’s many mysteries, right?

Well, at least Junhui and Yeeun would share an eternal fate in the one place they truly belonged, and it wasn’t exactly a mystery where that place was either.

“Mingyu,” you reached for his shirt and gave it a small tug.

He peered down at you through the fanned arch of his lashes.

“Are you still in a lot of pain, baby? I wish I could take it all away from you. I’m sure the medical services will be here soon, I promi—“

“I love you.”

Mingyu stuttered over the humid air. “O-Oh – I, um, I – I love you too… But, I think you already knew that.”

A molten blush crawled up from the column of his neck and flushed throughout his face akin to a raspberry burn. Though it ached to giggle, you couldn’t evade in doing so, your eyes turned to crescent moons as more golden splashes of dawn light ebbed through the clouds. Somewhere in the distance, you no longer heard gunshots, incoherent slurs, riots and the skid of tires creating friction against pavement. You heard the whirr of emergency sirens and helicopter wings, medical services beginning to flood throughout the city like a creek. It was over. Mingyu was still tangible, warm, smiling whilst he pressed kisses against your forehead.

You don’t know how, but you survived the chaos, you survived Wonwoo and his ludic friend, Jihoon. You survived Yeeun and you survived Junhui.

You survived the Purge together.

✎ a/n: ugh. this is just one of those fics where you become v attached to the characters. i was able to write this quicker than expected (MINUS THE STUPID TWIST THAT STUMPED ME) bc i was truly invested in the plot, and i rly adored every moment of it. actually, this fic was supposed to be posted ages ago, i think last year? but last year was terrible in terms of my health and wellbeing, so i kinda forgot this fic existed as i went on my hiatus. anywho, in my opinion, the first purge film was the best.

i haven’t watched any of the newer purge movies tho, so they could be good! since im a horror/thriller fan, i liked the aspect of vulnerability the purge brought and how it forced ppl to invest in their capacity for violence, especially when the ppl they loved were involved. obviously - only for the fic lmao. bruh, during a real purge i am going to lock myself in the crawl space with a blanket and some cheerios. ALSO!!!! A HAPPY ENDING!!!!!! be proud of me!!!! this was an adventure!!! i hope you can enjoy the story as much as i!! hearing ur thots is appreciated as always!

#mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #mingyu au #mingyu x reader #svt scenarios #svt angst #svt smut

1K notes · View notes

kaminobiwan · 4 years

Text

indulgence

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: Obi-Wan tests the waters of his feelings for you.

a/n: Oblivious pining turns into….well, just plain pining! I’m so happy you guys liked my first fic, so here’s another glimpse of Obi drowning in feels loll (I promise these two will graduate from this stage eventually). Again, thank you so so much — your support and feedback is so touching, more than you know! You guys are the best!

It’s a long trip back to Coruscant from Saleucami, and for once, a moment of peace imbues the Jedi cruiser as it travels through hyperspace.

After losing the trail of General Grievous on the backwater planet, Obi-Wan and his troops had been picked up by none other than the Resilient — your flagship — and he’d had the sense to think himself lucky as he approached you, looking at home in command on the bridge.

Obviously, he’d been vexed that he’d failed in capturing Grievous. But the frustration had melted away once you’d laid a hand on his shoulder and reassured him that he’d have another chance.

Then you’d forced him to join you for a late-night snack and catch-up session in your cabin after he’d been patched up and you’d finished the last of your duties for the day. “Some time alone,” you’d insisted. “When’s the last time we’ve had a minute to ourselves without the Padawans?”

Obi-Wan hadn’t needed any convincing.

Here, in the intimacy of the small room, it’s easy to forget your ferocity and sheer effectiveness on the battlefield as you sit cross-legged across him, contentedly munching on a blumfruit tart from your secret stash on the Venator. Happy, as if you hadn’t just clashed with Grievous yourself in an untamed explosion of lightsabers the day before.

You’d come to his rescue — again. This time, with Master Gallia as she’d saved him from the ruptured air lock while you’d taken on the droid General.

He’d given up on keeping count at this point.

Instead, he’d taken to repaying you in small ways, like gifting you the Endorian pastries you were currently eating, or quizzing each other on planetary politics whenever your spare hours coincided — a habit the two of you had formed in your early years of training. (Though now, Obi-Wan suspects that it’s more of a disguised attempt at getting him to sit down and rest once in a while. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he appreciates it — at least that way he can play it off as appeasing you rather than him taking a break from his duties.)

It was the least he could do for you. He’d seen the barely concealed worry in your eyes when he’d left in pursuit of Grievous, the way the tension had visibly left your body when he’d returned to the fleet shortly after.

It wasn’t that your concern was misplaced. He did tend to get tunnel vision when it came to the monstrous cyborg. As his closest friend, you’d been apprehensive at his blind determination to not let the General escape.

But the curt way you’d told him to come back safely had made him feel guilty. Even though he had done as you’d asked, he’d made a mental note to review as many political and military updates as you wanted to after his debrief.

Plus, it was a professional excuse to enjoy a private tradition with you. Obi-Wan could almost fool himself with the excuse that the occasional quiet nights you’d spend together were purely intellectual.

What he’d never tell you, though, was that he sometimes liked to purposely answer questions wrong just to see the gleam in your eye as you’d supply the correct explanation. Your enthusiasm was achingly contagious.

“Senator for Malastare?”

It’s the tie-breaker question — you’d accurately remembered the capital of Haruun Kal seconds prior.

“Senator Moe?”

You shake your head. “Senator Aak,” you wrinkle your nose at the name, and Obi-Wan smothers his amusement. “Took office when Aks Moe was assassinated on Aargau. I remember because he kicked up a fuss about the failed negotiations on Trandosha.”

Obi-Wan raises his brows in recognition. He’d known that, at least. Just before the war, you’d been sent along with Oppo Rancisis to facilitate a peace treaty between Trandosha and Kashyyyk, but the mission had ultimately failed. Obi-Wan had heard the story from you dozens of times, to the point where he was almost able to recite it himself.

Still, he’d never been able to stop you. It would be a lifetime before he’d tire of hearing you recount your adventures, and he’d been the one to ask every time, anyway. Even if all he’d wanted to know was if the Caamasi peace officers you’d travelled with really did smell like Corellian whiskey.

(They did, according to you. Or rather, Corellian whiskey smelled like them.)

“He’s not the biggest fan of the Jedi.” Your voice cuts through his thoughts and brings his attention back to the conversation, back to Senator Aak. “Seems to have it out for Master Rancisis.”

Obi-Wan hums pensively. “I see you’ve gotten over your dislike for the old master.”

You blink at him in surprise, but it quickly washes away to a bitten smile. “I never disliked him, I thought he disliked me. You know how hard it is to read Thisspiasian facial expressions.”

“Isn’t that a little —” he begins on a joke about species, but the look you give him is enough to silence him in a heartbeat. Regardless, the air between you is charged with mirth.

“I respect him, greatly. He’s one of the best tacticians in the Order. I certainly hope you haven’t been spreading any rumors about him because of me.”

“More like the oldest tactician,” he mumbles, but you still match his grin.

“I’m serious! Maker knows how much of a gossip you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He feigns theatrical offense at that, and you throw the wrapper of your pastry at him playfully. He bats it away with a laugh, and observes you appreciatively as you get up to discard it properly. Every time. He knows you can’t bear to leave even the smallest of messes. Part of your ‘leave-the-galaxy-better-than-you-found-it’ ideal, he supposes. It’s one of his favorite things about you.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t said a thing. Your secrets will always be safe with me.” He emphasizes sincerity at the end of his sentence, and it’s a thrill to even push the boundary of platonic conversation. Even if his true meaning is hidden by layers and layers of restrained camaraderie. You mean more to him than you’ll ever know — he’ll always be loyal to you.

In his contemplation, he misses the way your cheeks burn.

“I’m having tea with him soon after we return,” you murmur softly, without the humor of before, but your eyes remain bright with affection. “You should join — I think you’d like his stories. Did you know he turned down the throne of Thisspias when he was just a knight? He could have been a Blood Monarch, but he abdicated to stay with the Jedi instead.” It almost looks like you’re searching for something in his gaze as you speak. “Kind of admirable, isn’t it? All he gave up for the Code.”

….He doesn’t know what to say.

Stars above, is this your way of telling him it’ll never happen? Do you even know?

Thankfully, his brain goes into overdrive as his heart stutters. “Of course,” he finds himself replying. “Of course, it’s very selfless of him.”

You smile roguishly. “Though I’m sure he indulges himself in other ways. We can’t all be perfect devotees like you.”

And just like that, the practiced composure he usually reserves for everyone else is gone again, replaced by the warm familiarity you always surround him with. He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I assure you, I’m not perfect,” he says, gently, like your touch on his shoulder as you pass. “Far from it. I myself have certain indulgences that might surprise even you.”

“Oh?” Your voice rings with delight, and he chases your presence, leaning your way. “Do enlighten me, Obi-Wan, of what the person that knows you best is supposedly not privy to.”

If only he could tell you. He’s simultaneously dying to confess and unwilling to sacrifice your steadfast friendship with an admission that would undoubtedly change your relationship forever.

You begin to clear off the small table you’d both been gathered around, and he watches you comfortably in lieu of responding. “I’m only teasing. I don’t mean to put on more pressure on you than you already do yourself —” he rolls his eyes at that, “besides, I’m not sure I even want to know how you manage to get your hands on blumfruit tarts with all the trade regulations in the Outer Rim.” You settle down next to him, in a position he knows you’ll be in for the rest of the night if he doesn’t leave. And he doesn’t plan to — if you let him, he’ll spend the entire ride home by your side, shoulder to shoulder until the blue streaks of hyperspace fade into the blinking lights of Coruscant. Before settling into a comfortable silence, you nudge him fondly. “I’ll take it to be one of those indulgences.”

“Yes,” he whispers, as you relax against him. “I’d say this is one.”

He’s not talking about the pastries.

#rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #THEY ARE SUCH NERDS HEHE!!#i like to think that obi-wan studies in his spare time #and what better way to study than with a partner?#that you may or may not be in love with?#anyways i love you guys #thank you so much for the support #as always i hope you enjoy!#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine

512 notes · View notes

tokyoghoose · 4 years

Text

something that never was

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: even if it's a lie - matt maltese*, a soulmate who wasn't meant to be - jessica benko, the less i know the better - tame impala, id rather go blind - beyonce ( cadillac records ), the house we never built - gabrielle aplin*, i cant make you love me - dave thomas junior, i go crazy - orla gartland, blow my brains out - tikkle me, hidden in the sand - tally hall

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating,

summary: the coldness he radiates gets the best of you, ultimately leading to the end.

announcements!

i dont really see daisuke cheating unless it was a misunderstanding or smth, but i liked the idea of this fic. Let me know what you think!

you can tell i didnt write this in a sitting lol. Im vv sorry if it's hard to follow!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

There's a warm body beside you, yet the bed feels cold. The arm around your waist feels almost as foreign as the face in front of you. It hurts to look at him, to feel him. It hurts to even be around him. He's so beautiful but he feels like half the man he once was. It's disheartening.

Maybe the saying, what you don't know can't hurt you is correct because you were feeling the repercussions right about now. Curiosity really did kill the cat, and at this point, you don't even know how to get satisfaction from it. How does one bring up cheating to their partner? Especially when the partner is like Daisuke.

He likes to brush things off without paying a price except for whatever was in his bank account, the type to hand you a card and say 'go get yourself something pretty.' And it wasn't like he was a bad lover, in fact, it was very easy to fall in love with him. He has a charm about him that's magnetic, one glance and suddenly it's impossible to look away. Or at least that was your experience.

With the final confirmation that closing your eyes will do nothing other than bringing pictures into your head, you turn your back to him and try and distance your body from his. It doesn't do anything to help when he pulls you closer subconsciously, except for maybe it makes you want to cry.

You'd confront him tomorrow, you decided.

If you need to.

———

The pace you set is leisure and if kt wasn't for the poor nail bed quickly coming to nothing, it'd seem like you weren't completely losing your head. It's all you can think about. Daisuke out with some girl—who you know for a fact isn't his sister, and who is all over him. He didn't even make a move to push her off! He hates that kind of attention so if he didn't object it, then he was asking for it. He wanted the girl on his side. In fact, for someone who insists the other person sits across from him at a restaurant- he looked quite comfortable with her nearly in his lap.

Maybe you're overthinking this, y/n.

The door clicks open and your ears strain to hear the sound of Daisuke's dress shoes. He's rather indulgent when it comes to dressing wear and the shoes were practically silent, even with the short heel on the back.

"I'm home." He says to no one particular, taking off his trenchcoat and hanging it on the rack beside the door. He stops his path to the bedroom when he sees you frozen in place and staring in the living room. He merely quirks a brow, going to take off his suit and tie.

Suddenly you can't speak and you have tunnel vision. It's unfair how calm he always looks—it's almost smug like he knows everything about you and more. Like he can read your mind and tell you your darkest thoughts and when you'll die because let's be honest, it'll probably be by his hand. Maybe you should back out now before you can say anything. Forget it all because what if you're mistaken? The more you think, the more weight is added onto your shoulders and the more it pushes you down, down further into the hole you want to crawl into. Maybe you should let it because all you want to do now is escape his piercing gaze. His eyes are studying you, taking in your form and the cogs in his brain are turning to find an explanation as to why you are standing there like a psychopath and not welcoming him home like you usually do.

You feel like you're drowning. Is the light getting dimmer? The black around your vision only seems to close in around Daisuke and you try to look anywhere else but his face. There's water in your ears, the popping of them only intensifies until you can feel it pounding into your head with faint static.

Am I going to pass out?

It's not until his hand comes down gently on your shoulder that the closing circle of vision widens out and suddenly all the imaginary water rushes from your ears. You glance down at his rings before back up him, barely catching the end of his words.

"Are you alright?"

He's never been one to beg, so you would have to answer now or he'll leave it be for the rest of the night and probably months after until you're like this again.

"I-can we talk?"

He eyes you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and keeping his brow raised before nodding, slipping his tie off around his neck, folding it neatly into the palm of his hand. He gestures for you to start the conversation, going to the minibar curving around the kitchen and living area.

When you don't reply he urges you on, "Why so tense? Did something happen, darling?"

It'd seem like he didn't really care from how cold his voice was, but you've grown accustomed to the monotone to know that he truly is concerned for your health. He genuinely wants to know why you're acting so odd. It only makes this so much harder? You're wrong- you have to be. This must be a sick trick your brain has played on you. Or he must be playing some sick trick.

Anxiety settles itself into your gut and it seems like it won't leave anytime soon.

"Daisuke, are...- are you cheating on me?"

His eyebrows finally go lax but he doesn't look up from unbuttoning the cuffs of his white button-down. His fingers fidget at the buttons and instead of the previous loose form, his hand forms a fist.

"I- "

"Why—exactly, are you accusing me of this?"

His gaze sends chills down your spine. He's offended but he doesn't offer a defense. Suddenly your mouth is dry and you lose all your words? How exactly were you going to tell him you stumbled across him and some woman in a restaurant and practically stared them down for fifteen minutes.

You decide the bear it and swallow a lump that has formed in your throat.

"You were with a woman earlier this week snd well, the displays of affection that I saw were not very like you. You've been gone for long hours and even if you blamed it on the new job, Daisuke—you never tell me anything. Is she for a case? Are you using her for information? Go on, tell me about it. Give me a reason not to accuse you."

You regain your confidence but it falters when you meet his indifferent expression. You'd prefer it if he looked angry and the silence that fills the room is deafening and the tension suffocating.

"I can't tell you anything about our cases-"

"I'm your partner! What am I going to do? Rat you out to whoever is breaking the law? Why would I even how those connections, Daisuke?"

Daisuke inhales deeply through his nose like this whole conversation is a burden on him and you can't help but feel like a burden too. Was this relationship not worth the time to talk this out? One hand grips the bar and the other pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You aren't my partner, you're my fiance. My partner and I work together. So, no. I can't tell you about the cases."

You want to rip out your hair. This isn't about his stupid job or his stupid partner. This is about the dumb fucking restaurant and the dumb fucking woman who was hanging off him.

He can't actually be this dense!

"It's not about that! Either you aren't getting the point or you keep changing the subject because it's true!" Your voice rises in pitch, your confidence failing and turning more so into desperation. But you aren't crying yet. There are no tears and your eyes are dry and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of a Kambe.

It's like the beginning of your relationship all over again. A protective barrier around yourself so you don't get hurt and offended by his cold shoulder. Was it so bad to think you've moved on from that feeling? Why is it so difficult for him to just comfort you and push back those fears? Is he that emotionally stunted? You may not know much about his past and his family, but damn— at least you're trying to work through it with him. Can he put out a little more effort?

All he does is pour himself a glass. All he does... is pour himself a glass.

"You know what- forget it. If you're so entitled and so emotionally reserved that you can't even talk to me without a drink first, then I guess we'll talk about it another time—when you don't look like my voice gives you a headache."

Daisuke actually looks taken back by your words and you suddenly feel bad for hitting a sore spot. He may not have shown it often, but he doesn't particularly like not being able to show his true emotions; no matter the reason being.

"Y/N, wait.."

But you're back on adrenaline just as soon as he felt a drop, pushing past him to get to your coat. You just needed to calm down before you said something you'd truly regret. Words tended to stay in his mind much longer than they were intended to.

"I'm staying at my mother's. Don't call me, don't text me, don't come near me until you're ready to tell me what the hell you were doing with her. "

When he doesn't say anything more and you can practically hear the cogs in his head turn, you make your way out there door, making sure to slam it shut.

You slip on the coat angrily, slamming open the door without sparing him a glance but waiting for him to say something. Anything. Were you being too rash? You shake your head and scold yourself, mentally. You can't just turn around now, not after an outburst like that. He has to learn something from this.

Irrational or not, hopefully, his true colors would show.

#daisuke kambe fic #daisuke kambe fanfic #daisuke x reader #daisuke kambe x reader #daisuke kambe imagine #daisuke imagine #balance unlimited x reader #balance unlimited fanfiction #balance unlimited fanfic #balance unlimited imagine #balance unlimited #fugou keiji balance: unlimited imagine #fugou keiji x reader #fugou keiji balance: unlimited #fugō keiji balance: unlimited x reader #mickie writes

734 notes · View notes

princess-of-the-corner · 3 years

Note

Another thing that large portions of the ML fandom does that is really irritating (I'm not the same anon as before their ask just made me think of this) is lumping instances of bad writing in with character flaws. I remember forever ago someone sent you an ask that said something about Lady Luck and Scarlet Lady both being in character for Chloe depending on what episodes you pulled that characterization from bc of how inconsistent the writing is, and that can be applied to every character in the show being treated not as characters, but as plot devices by the show.

The class 'turning on' Marinette in Chameleon and blindly believing Lila's ridiculous and easy-to-disprove stories? Bad writing (and poor animation choices in the opening scene where all of Marinette's friends hostilely glare at her) that dumbs down the class to make Lila seem like a threatening antagonist instead of putting in the effort to write her as an actual master manipulator like she's portrayed. But more salt fics than I can count use this one episode to paint the whole class as fickle golddiggers who take advantage of Marinette's kindness, which directly contradicts two season worth of characterization.

Alya being so dead-set on helping Marinette get together with Adrien that she doesn't notice Juleka is basically having a panic attack in Reflekdoll? Character flaw; Alya has been shown to get tunnel vision when she's focused on something multiple other times (not realizing that Chloe can't be Ladybug bc she's been saved by Ladybug before in Lady Wifi, being so excited by having an interview from Ladybugs 'best friend' that she doesn't think to check if Ladybug is actually friends with Lila and if she's okay with that info being made public in Volpina, etc) and it's something she could work on and that can be expanded upon to make some compelling content.

It's infuriating to see these characters be used as nothing more than plot devices and have their established personalities be overwritten at random just for the sake of cheap lazy drama, and it's even worse to then see those instances be used to demonize them.

OH yeah definitely!

I think at one point I wrote up a whole thing on this but I can’t for the life of me find it.

BUT YEAH

There’s a difference between a Character Flaw and Bad Writing!

Ayla is 100% an example of this! She is stubborn and kind of tends to steamroll things and doesn’t think of consequences! This is shown off a lot! She doesn’t notice Juleka in Reflektdoll, she was so focused on finding out LB’s identity that she never stopped to think what would happen if that was publicized, she’s so determined to be helpful with getting Adrienette together that she can drop the ball on other things.

Those are all character flaws.

Alya taking Lila’s stories at face value, even telling Marinette the ‘a good journalist checks her facts’ is the bad writing. Because even if caught up in the moment, and knowing Lila’s lies are more believable in-universe, she shouldn’t have said that at all given the situation.

Same with the other classmates and that whole mess. Why should they have that ‘oh a napkin can totally gouge out an eye!’ line when someone could just have pointed out that reflexes overpower pain, so Lila could have easily caught that with her ‘sprained’ wrist?

Marinette is similar!

She can make snap judgements thanks to her own biases or wants. She ignores Chloé in Antibug because she doesn’t like her. She does dumb things because she’s worried someone else might get Adrien’s attention (ruining the Adrien and Chloé dance in Bubbler, stalking Adrien and Lila in both Volpina and Onichan, sabotaging Kagami in Animaestro and Ikari Gozen, etc). She also has a different, more naive perspective. She has such wonderful loving parents, so it’s hard for her to imagine awful parents a child should get away from, even when faced with Audrey or Gabriel. This also has her not question authority figures, which leads to her going along with Fu’s poor mentoring methods.

However, Marinette still being unable to even form a sentence around Adrien by season fucking three? The way in Chameleon that she just.... didn’t tell him that Lila was doing more than telling entertaining lies? That’s bad writing.

20 notes · View notes

stillebesat · 4 years

Text

Catch Me (If You Can) -Part 1

December Drabbles Day 17 Sanders Shorts: Remy Sanders Sides: Logan Blurb: Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick. Fic Type: Sick!Fic, Guardian!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Sickness, Fainting, Mentions of Religion Taglist in reblog.

He tried to push open a pull door. That’s how Remy knew he was in trouble.

“Gurl. Seriously?” He rasped, wincing at how his voice sounded like he’d been stranded in the Sahara Desert for twelve years.

That wasn’t good.

He needed to sound perfect. Perfectly uncaringly carefree that is. No one needed him sick. No siree. No. Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick.

The fact that the words ‘PULL’ were dancing right in front of his bloodshot eyes and he’d still tried to push open the freaking door was beside the point.

Remy swallowed in a failed attempt to soothe the fire burning his throat to a crisp as he drew up his flagging energy to pull open said door. Pushing would have been so much easier. Taken less energy. Energy Remy was barely managing to keep above empty at the moment. No, if the cool glass door had only allowed him to let his weight fall against it in order to gain access into the local cafe that the interwebs claimed had a cure-all chicken based chili that could fix any illness within the hour, they both would have been much better off.

Hopefully this was more of a fifteen minute cure. Remy would be spending the last of his money on this soup. He didn’t have an hour to feel better. Not after being laid up in his closet sized bedroom for the past two days with nothing but water in his apartment. He had places to be, a midterm exam to nail and a delightful after party to attend.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Remy walked-he did not stagger!-inside and paused to take in the place as the first nauseating wift of eggs and bacon hit his nose.

Quaint.

That was the first word that came to his spinning mind. A quaint little cafe that practically screamed fifties country diner. Warm. Inviting. Probably run by a white-haired grandmother who adopted all the college kids as her precious grandchildren and piled their plates high with food to ensure that they got a ‘proper meal.’

At least that’s what he thought normal grandmothers did. His old hag had lived off of bread and butter for so long Remy doubted the creature masquerading as his granny knew other food existed. She certainly hadn’t when he’d been forced to stay weekends there as a kid.

Focus.

Remy tugged at the collar of his jacket, already feeling sweat running down his back and prickling on his forehead. Too Warm. Grandma needed to turn on the AC.

Focus.

There were far more of his peers hanging out here than he’d expected, doubling vision to be ignored, and he did not want to make a fool of himself by throwing up two steps inside the building.

Remy took a shallow breath to avoid smelling more eggs. This soup better be heaven sent, because if it smelt anything like whatever was currently cooking...he doubted he would be able to keep it down.

“--lp you?”

Remy blinked, lowering his sunglasses as he turned to the singular cadentic voice that cut through the buzzing in his head and promptly forgot that his lungs worked.

If the soup wasn’t angelic, the help certainly was.

Tall, lithe, with sharp sapphire eyes accentuated perfectly by a pair of glasses. The man standing at the counter was like the handsome stranger one meets in a romcom. That or one of those cherubic angels -minus the tropey golden locks- he’d been forced to stare at whenever the old hag had dragged him to church.

Remy pushed his shades back up, hiding his bloodshot eyes. What sort of deal with God had this Grandma made to have such a dark haired handsome glass of yesness working for her?

The man raised a singular perfect eyebrow. “Can I help you?” He repeated in that same melodious voice.

Remy nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak without sounding like a harpy in the face of such a wonderful tone.

Focus.

First approach.

Sticking his hands in his jacket pockets, Remy sauntered -he did not sway not at all, he was in perfect control of his balance thank you- up to the counter and leaned against it, offering his most dazzling smile to the man.

Moment of truth.

“Hey, honeycakes.” He said keeping his tone low to prevent the rasp in his voice from being heard. “Where’s your Halo? Cus you, my dear, are quite the Angel.”

Nailed it.

The man pursed his lips in a thin line, his head moving in the slightest of shakes. “Unfortunately, we’re out of honey cakes, sir.” He said, tilting his head to the display of desserts in the glass next to him. “But our triple death by chocolate cake will send you,” his hands moved to form air quotations -who did that anymore?- “over the edge.”

Ooo was that a threat or an invitation? Remy flashed another smile, tugging at the collar of his jacket. So warm in here. “So long as you’re there to catch me, Honeybee. I’ll gladly leap over any edge for you.”

The man adjusted his black rimmed glasses, moving to the register. “So you want the cake then? That’ll be $3.58. For here or to go?”

Seriously? Remy gaped before clicking his tongue in exasperation and straightened, only to grab the counter to keep himself from falling backwards as his legs nearly buckled.

Focus Darlin. Get in. Get out. Get healthy. Flirt later.

“Actually.” He flinched as his voice grated in his ears. He swallowed, again lowering his tone to hide the soreness of his throat as he rested his elbows on the counter. “I came for your ah--” He flicked his eyes up to the menu overhead, briefly lowering his shades to squint at the wiggling letters. “Chicken Chili a la Cluck.”

A spark of recognition flashed in the Angel’s eyes. “Ah, you are under the weather?”

“Wha--NO!” Shoot. Was it that obvious? “No, ma’am!” His voice cracked as Remy jerked his hand up in the scout salute. “On my honor it's for a….” He trailed off. Well that was a pretty pickle. How the blazes could he lie if he was promising on his honor?

The man crossed his arms the faintest of smiles appearing on his lips. “Let me guess? A friend?”

Was that excuse used a lot then? He shrugged, shivering as a chill ran down his back. Geez, Grandma had cranked the AC up a little too high now. The place was going to freeze over any second. “I just wanted a taste of home-made soup is all.” He managed, rubbing his arms. “To go.”

Handsome remained silent, seemingly staring straight into his soul, bright blue eyes analyzing him like a hawk about to swoop down upon a rabbit.

Geez. He was no rabbit! Remy fixed a smile on his face, ignoring how his gums ached. Don’t show weakness. Not in front of his peers. He was fine. He totally didn’t feel like his knees were going to buckle at any second. Not at all. He could hold it together for a few minutes longer.

Abruptly the man nodded, releasing Remy from his analyzing stare as he pushed his glasses up so that the glare of the lights overhead on the lenses hid his eyes.

A pity. He could stare into those glorious eyes all day long.

“Of course, Total is $4.78 for the half size.”

Perfect. He only had a five anyways. “Ah, Sugarbee, truly you are an angel to provide me with such an affordable price for homemade goodness.” He purred, shifting slightly to fish out his limp wallet from his back pocket. This soup better be divine. If he kept up this conversation much longer his throat truly would catch fire.

The man raised an eyebrow, holding out his hand. “I am not the one to thank for deciding prices, sir.”

Sure sure. Grandma was the one who did, sweet soul that she was, making things affordable for all her poor adopted college children.

“I’m sure if such an angelic being such as yourself set the prices then they would be even more heavenly.” Remy swallowed wishing the soup already was in his grasp as he finally pulled out the crumpled bill, fingers betraying him by trembling. “Even so, you can keep the--”

The Angel’s cool fingers brushed his own, feeling like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer’s day. Remy’s breath caught in his throat, hazy mind short-circuiting at the unexpected touch. How he wanted to take those hands and-- GET A GRIP REMY! “--change.” He choked out, dropping his hand to the counter before he did something even more stupid than pushing on the pull door.

Smooth. Real smooth. Geez Gurl. Keep it together!

But that didn’t stop his fingers from tingling, nor from the room suddenly feeling like a sauna. What had happened to the arctic temperatures freezing him two minutes ago?

The man huffed, slipping the five into the till. “Your soup will be out momentarily, sir.” He said, dropping the coins into the nearby tip jar with an all too loud clink. “If you could step aside so I could help the next customer in line?”

Remy glanced behind him, lowering his glasses. Internally he cursed as he took in the gaggle of people he could barely focus on. Shoot. When had they come in?! He usually was more aware of that sort of thing.

“Relax, Specs.” Said the guy right behind him, wearing a simple red shirt that showed off nicely toned arms.

Specs? What an ugly nickname. The Angel behind him was far more than his glasses.

“I don’t mind the wait.” Red flashed a smile to Remy. “It’s not everyday I get to witness someone flirting with you.”

Really? He had to have misheard that. “Who wouldn’t flirt with him?” Remy asked, casually straightening slowly enough that his vision wouldn’t tunnel. “Honeybee here is absolutely…” He gestured to give himself a chance to swallow back the agony rising in his throat. “Divine.”

Red’s grass green eyes sparked with humor as he looked beyond Remy. “So I keep telling him.”

“You tell me yes, and we both know you’re prone to drastic exaggeration.” His Angel stated, barely twitching as the chef rang the bell, placing a to-go bowl within range for ‘Specs’ to reach if he would simply turn around and grab Remy’s food. “Now are you going to order or are you just here to antagonize me at work again?” He asked.

“Mmmm. Gurl. No. No.” Remy shook his head, whirling to fully face his cadentic Angel and promptly regretted it, placing a hand on the counter as his knees almost buckled. Hold on. Hold on. He was fine. “Ah--” He forced a smile to his face, fighting to see through his darkening shades, to look into those wondrous eyes. “Red here---no---doesn’t lie. You are an….an….ange--” The words suddenly felt heavy on his tongue as the diner tilted, the pressure of the cool marble top fading from his fingers as he fell backwards.

“HEY!”

A band of ice wrapped around his wrist, jerking Remy upwards. His eyes fluttered open enough to see his Angel lunging over the counter, one hand holding his, the other clenching onto his jacket, saving his head from hitting the tile floor.

Well how about that?

“You…caught me.” He whispered in stunned disbelief as his Angel’s bright blue eyes seemed to fill his entire world before everything went black.

To Be Continued Part 2

#Catch Me (If You Can)#December Drabbles #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Remy #Logan #Sleep #Logic #Sick!Remy #Sick!Fic #Guardian!AU #sickness tw #mentions of religion tw #fainting tw #December Day 17

65 notes · View notes

yourfinalbow · 3 years

Text

Ack anon I'm sorry. Tumblr ate your ask and I'm 🔪 But I saved your ask to put on the Google Doc so don't fret! I have it!

“Hi Ghastie Ghast, I wanted to share a prompt with you lol. I decided to go more holiday theme’d because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit.

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

Please enjoy this prompt lmao”

The nickname made me -_- but hi Little Gray Circle Dude With Sunglasses! Thank you for sending me this! I had fun writing it. I'm assuming you wanted a Destiel fic, so that's what I wrote! (Also bonus points for Saileen as a background ship?) I sort of strayed a little from the prompt and the tone gets heavier as it goes on… 👀 I also accidentally wrote more than intended, so you can read it on Ao3 if that's easier. (And maybe give it a kudos because you’re the best?)

Title: Black Coffee Derangement Syndrome

Ship(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy.

(Basic) Tags: Fluff, Slight Angst, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean/Cas, Established Sam/Eileen, Using black coffee as a metaphor for hypermasculinity, With a whip cream style topping of internalized homophobia. *Finger guns.*

Warnings: Coffee gatekeeping and small sections of fluff that are as sweet as Cas’s Starbucks order. Also I’ve been to Starbucks once. Maybe twice? (Also a single mention of a drug that's commonly found as white powder, the non-descriptive comparison of Sam’s stupid health stuff with emesis, and use of the name that the figurehead for Germany in WW2 bore, just to be safe.)

Rating: T? Maybe? For language?

Word Count: 9k+

Quick thanks to my awesome beta @walksinstarllight! They are a poet and a writing sorcerer (wizard without a hat), and the only reason this fic even makes sense so please go shower them in kudos. (You can find their work here.)

Another thanks to @internetintroverts, who described a peppermint mocha to me in like 300 words because I drink black coffee and know nothing of anything ever. You can find their work here! (There's an Easter egg of one of their fics in this one hehe.)

The first thing Dean did when Cas got back from the Empty was give him coffee.

Okay no.

The first thing he did was fall into Cas’s arms and grip that stupid trenchcoat until his knuckles turned white. Shaking and laughing with hot tears streaming out of his eyes, he told him he was an asshole for leaving him like that. And to never, ever do it again. With blurry eyes and all other thoughts hazy, he told Cas he could have it, he could have what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. He told Cas he loved him too.

But then the next thing was coffee.

Caffeine is a hunter’s number one best friend, and since Cas was human again, Dean knew Sam was going to come at him with his stupid green health drinks and herbal tea. As Cas’s knight in shining armour, (a title used by Dean and Dean only), it was his duty to protect him from the disgustingly liquified rabbit food.

Now he expected Cas to like black coffee, you know, like a normal person.

But no, oh no. Apparently, he was dating a heathen.

Dean had to actually rub his eyes the first time he watched Cas fix his own coffee. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape.

Cas was leaning on the counter, humming some song that Dean could neither recognize, nor would he approve of, thank-you-very-much.

(Ok it was Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and it's entirely possible he's listened to it once or twice but he still doesn't approve of it, thank-you-very-much.)

He held his yellow and black striped, bee-themed ceramic mug Eileen had bought him in one hand, and the entire five-pound bag of cane sugar in the other. And there he stood, happy as can be, pouring it directly into his mug.

Dean rubbed his eyes again.

And not even like, a normal amount either.

He just kept pouring, and pouring, and Oh my god he’s still pouring. Dean thought. It would honestly be more believable if it wasn’t sugar at all, and instead was in fact Cas’s secret stash of cocaine.

Dean might actually have to put sugar on the grocery list after he was finished.

His thoughts traveled back to Ishim doing the same thing with his coffee, in the tiny little diner Cas had set up as a meeting place. Dean had barged in that day, not thinking of his brother mocking him, or the possibility of danger inside. His vision was as tunneled as his thoughts focused only on Cas, not caring about anything else.

By that time the following day, Dean thought they were both going to die. The bloody and uneven sigil on the wall, Cas no more than ten feet away. Not quite within a comforting reach. The room was spinning from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the words being spat from Ishim’s mouth.

“You blast me away, you’ll blast away every angel in the room. I’ll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he’s hurt. He might live, or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall.”

He almost lost Cas that day.

The blood rushed to his ears as his instincts sought out the mark on the wall. Ishim had told him to roll the dice, but in his head he couldn’t look past the chance of rolling a one. Watching the acrylic cube bounce until it decided Cas’s fate. There was no dilemma, there wasn’t even a decision to be made. He would always choose Cas over himself. Silent acts of care he could never vocalize.

An inability to speak formed from fear and cowardice. Like a lion in his stomach scratching at the words until they fell back down his throat.

And it was that inability to speak that led Cas to think he was nothing more than a tool for the Winchester’s to use.

He almost let Cas believe he meant nothing to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Cas set down the bag of sugar and picked up the pot, the glass making a small clink as it hit the top of the coffee maker. “Goodmorning Dean. Would you like any coffee?” He greeted cheerfully, turning around like he hadn't just put enough sugar to make a pound cake in his coffee.

“Uh.” Dean was still caught off-guard by Willie Wonka over there. “Sure Cas.” He took the coffee pot from his hand and muttered a thank you.

“So,” Cas started while Dean reached into the cabinet for his own mug. “What ingredient do you suggest I put in my coffee this morning?”

“Uh...I don't know man. I drink my coffee black.”

“Yes I know you’re boring Dean, but you can still help me not be.”

“Black coffee isn't boring it's-”

“Dean, if you say ‘manly,’ I will sit you down and make you eat only spinach and kale for a week.” Sam said, walking into the kitchen, hair still spiked up from sleep. He used one hand to sign the words, his other one occupied by Eileen, who was sleepily shuffling closely behind.

Dean looked aghast. “I would starve.” He attempted to sign his indignant response, hands moving sloppily while holding both his mug and the coffee pot.

“I think that's the point.” Eileen said, laughing. She looked at Cas. “Is Dean gatekeeping your coffee aspirations again?”

“Yes.” He answered, ignoring Sam’s laugh and Dean’s huff of exaggerated outrage.

“Have you tried cinnamon?” Sam suggested. “You like Dean’s apple pie, and that has cinnamon in it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sam. Dean told me not to ever take cooking advice from you.“

“And I stand by that.” Dean interjected suddenly.

“I can cook!”

“Ehhh…” Eileen’s comment bought her a look of betrayal. “Though Sam may be right on this one, you might like it.” She shrugged.

“See.”

Cas pondered the thought for a moment. “Perhaps I will then.”

“Do we have nutmeg?” Eileen said, breaking away from Sam’s grip to check one of the cabinets. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, intending to look through the spice rack, knowing exactly what his girlfriend was getting at.

“You better not mess up my damn kitchen.” He said quickly. “Or you're organising them all next time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well Dean would never let him organise the kitchen. Eileen looked through them, carefully turning the bottles around until the labels faced her. She pulled out the cinnamon and clove while she was looking for the nutmeg.

“Found it.” Sam called from the other side of the kitchen, walking over and putting a hand on Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said with a smile, grabbing the plastic spice jars.

She individually tossed each one to Cas. “Use these, it will taste like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“And don't forget the milk.” Sam added.

Cas scrambled to catch the spices, successfully grabbing two of them out of the air, the third one intercepted by Dean.

“What’s a pumpkin spice latte?” He looked at Eileen before snatching the bottle of cinnamon from Dean.

“It's a famous drink you can get at Starbucks.” Sam answered.

Cas tilted his head to the side and squinted at him. “What's a Starbucks?”

“You know, the coffee shop Alex and Patience drag Jody to all the time.” Dean said.

“I’m pretty sure Donna drags her there too.” Sam added. “Something about girl’s date night out.”

“The one Claire says is for ‘basic bitches’?” He lifted his hands, forming air quotes as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Dean answered, quietly laughing. “That's the one. She’s probably right, too.”

Cas carefully put the different spices in his coffee, eyeing the mug warily. His light brown coffee now had specs of...stuff in it.

(And unbeknownst to him, there was also a small pile of sugar at the bottom, the coffee so saturated it wouldn't dissolve any more.)

Eileen laughed at the look on his face. “It's good, I promise.”

Sam turned to look at her. “How would you know? Most of the time you get hot chocolate and spike it with bourbon.”

“You’re the one who gets a Pink Drink.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What?”

“It's strawberry and coconut milk, and it's delicious.”

“Sure it is Sam.” Eileen jabbed.

“So what I'm getting here is that not only have you two been to Starbucks often enough to have a regular order, but Sam gets something called a ‘Pink Drink’?”

“No…” Sam started, trying to find a way to defend them. “Sometimes we…”

“...Make our own drinks.” Eileen snapped her fingers as she finished for him, attempting to save them from the endless stream of good-natured insults Dean would throw at them otherwise.

“Well you two are a real Martha Stewart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, except she's a convicted criminal.” Sam attempted to snark back.

“So are you!”

Before either of them could respond, Cas shoved his mug into Dean's face. “You have to try this, Dean. It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

Dean carefully grabbed the hot mug from Cas and took a sip. He was right, it did taste kinda like pumpkin pie. He took another sip, letting the pleasant flavor sit on his tongue. The different spices mixed perfectly together.

“I mean it's… okay.” He lied.

Dean contemplated his pumpkin themed food options. “Though I would rather just have pumpkin pie.”

Cas took his mug back. “Fine. More for me.” He said with a smirk, mimicking the look Dean gives him every time Cas says he doesn't want anymore bacon, before taking another sip of the makeshift pumpkin spice coffee.

Dean smiled at him, setting his own mug down and moving Cas’s out of the way to pull him into a kiss. He could smell the nutmeg almost as much as he could taste the cinnamon on his lips.

“Mmm we should bake pumpkin pie tonight.” He said, pulling away just enough so he could talk.

“I would like that.” Cas answered. “All four of us could make pie. According to the 'mom blogs', as you call them, it would be a good family bonding exercise.”

“That’s right. And if they want any pie, they gotta help make it. That means more for us if they refuse.” He grinned.

“A win-win situation, really.” Cas smiled before tugging Dean close so their lips met again.

“I love you.” Dean muttered.

“I love you too.” Cas said softly.

Behind their backs Sam and Eileen were fake-gagging at their sickly sweet interaction, but secretly just glad the two of them had finally gotten over their stubborn (and oblivious) selves.

Sam was honestly overjoyed to see his brother finally happy. He would even go as far as saying finally willing to be himself, too. (Not that he would ever say this outloud. Sam can practically see Dean’s eyes roll farther back into his head than should be possible at the words.) All four of them had gone through more shit in the last few months than any normal person would in their entire life. They were all just lucky to be alive, and with that, learning how to savour the little moments of overly sweet normalcy.

(And the pumpkin spice-life Dean had secretly been longing for since they were little kids.)

So of course they were going to help bake pie.

---

“I want to try Starbucks.” Cas said the next morning, both of them still in bed.

Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I ask why, or is this one of those, 'I'll tell you later’ disasters like with the slime ingredients?”

“I want to try all the human things that I didn't get to try last time.” He said offhandedly.

Dean pictured Cas’s hurt face when he had told him he couldn’t stay, smile broken as Dean’s own heart shattered from the look the newly-human angel was giving him.

He wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that Cas himself wasn’t the reason, but the lion in his stomach clawed the words down faster than even the thought of ruining Sam’s chances at survival could.

With a pang of guilt from the memory, Dean pulled himself closer to Cas and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to preserve as much warmth and comfort as he could until they had to inevitably get out of bed. “Only if you let me sleep like this for thirty more minutes.”

Cas smiled. “Oh, are we making deals now?”

“I’d sell my soul for you.” Dean said cheekily, which earned a glare from Cas. “Believe me, I know.”

After a beat he went on. “Fine, you have a deal.” Before Dean could celebrate by tugging the covers over their bodies, Cas added another clause to their agreement. “But... in true Crowley fashion, you have to seal the deal with a kiss.”

Dean lazily threw his arms into the air. “Victory.”

He turned over, pulling himself upwards until he was just inches from Cas. Cradling the angel-turned-Winchester’s head in his hands, Dean placed his lips on Cas’s, melting into the touch as he felt the other man’s arms wrap around his torso.

When he broke away from the kiss, Dean found himself face to face with the most beautiful smile he had ever laid eyes on, one born from adoration and love. Cas’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, but for once it wasn’t a sign of confusion when met with some obscure eighties rock reference. It was a tiny expression of care, and it was one that was truly Cas. Not Jimmy’s, not even one Cas had picked up from him or Sam. It was completely and wholly Cas, and a completely and wholly human thing to do.

He realized Cas had been doing that long before the Empty stole his grace.

Dean smiled back at him, relaxed. Like taking in a deep breath after being under murky water for forty years. He brushed a loose strand of soft, brown hair into its place, before falling back into his spot and closing his eyes. “Crowley would be proud.” He whispered with a soft laugh, smile deepening as Cas joined him.

When their quiet laughter died out, there was a pause, air stagnant and in its own sleepy haze

“Oh and Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes not failing to glow with their unusually bright, green pigment. He took a deep breath, the lids of his eyes already started to slowly fall back down again.

“The slime wasn't a disaster. You enjoyed it.”

“I did.” He muttered sleepily, a loose smile forming on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. Cas laid there, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, contentment and admiration showing itself in every feature on his face.

This was more than he could have ever wanted.

---

“Dean. Dean wake up.” Cas was excitedly whisper-shouting in his ear like a kid on Christmas morning. It was exactly thirty minutes later, (he had counted), and Cas was ready to get moving.

“No.” He answered back, mimicking Cas’s tone.

“But you’re like a cat.” He teased. “You're on me and I can't get up.”

Dean sighed. “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It didn't take much convincing.”

Dean rolled over to give Cas a playful glare, but was met with the saddest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen, completely throwing him off his guard.

“I'm going to kill Sam for teaching you that.”

Cas just continued to give him that look.

“Fine.” Dean relented, sitting up with a yawn and thinking about how he will now never be able to win another argument.

“Get dressed.” Cas said excitedly. “We're going to Starbucks.”

“Hooray.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, but a smile creeped on his lips.

They walked out of their room together, heading towards the bunker’s library. Dean slid in one of the chairs, turning Sam’s still-open laptop around and waking it up.

Cas, meanwhile, turned to a random page of the lore book resting on the table and started reading in an attempt to pass the time.

The sound of Dean typing filled the air. “So, I just looked it up, and do we have to go to Starbucks?”

“Yes.” Cas said simply, not looking up from the book.

Dean groaned. “Cas there isn't one in the county, let alone Lebanon. That's probably why Sam and Eileen make their own.”

“Where's the closest one?” Cas asked, his blinding, blue eyes glaring at the back of Sam’s computer like he was trying to will the coffee shop to be near.

“I thought it was across state lines and in Nebraska at first, but it looks like there's a small one in a town called Washington. It's about 80 miles from here.”

“Let's go!” Cas excitedly straightened his trenchcoat and headed towards the door.

“Or, we could leave Starbucks to the fourteen year old girls.”

Cas turned back around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure their entire demographic is fourteen year old girls, staff included.”

Alright, smartass. Dean thought, struggling to hide a smile.

Cas walked out the door, expecting Dean to follow.

“It takes an hour to get there, our coffee’s going to be cold by the time we get home, and it's freezing outside.” Dean muttered under his breath, but he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up, willing to follow Cas to the ends of the earth if it meant he would stay with him.

Not that he was going to enjoy this trip. In fact, he was currently doing the opposite of enjoying, and they hadn’t even gotten into the car yet. Starbucks. Starbucks. Really, Cas? Of all the places he wanted to go, it had to be Starbucks. He couldn’t want to explore humanity through Target or something?

Even Claire wouldn’t be caught dead in that place, with all the frou-frou toppings, elaborate drink mixes, and colourful, drizzled syrup. The people who go to Starbucks are the kind of people who like coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee. Teenage girls who might as well just be drinking whip cream, and that was without considering the seasonal drinks they fawn over.

Seasonal drinks that shouldn’t legally be allowed to be referred to as coffee.

Dean couldn’t believe he ever agreed to this, but still, he begrudgingly followed.

---

Using the GPS on Cas’s phone, (Dean said his insane directional skills helped out too), they found the Starbucks relatively easily once they were in the little town.

They parked the Impala, and Dean looked at the modern building. The green lettering contrasted with the tan plaster walls, spelling “Starbucks.”

He heard Cas get out, his feet making a crunching noise as they hit the gravel, and watched from across the top of the car as he started towards the coffee shop. Dean looked at the building warily, reluctance painted on his face.

Cas was telling him some random fact about a bird he saw, but Dean could only think about his reputation that was about to shatter like a vase dropping on tile floor.

Reputation with who? He didn't know.

Well, he had a vague idea, but chose not to let his thoughts wander that far.

It was okay. This was fine. He could swallow his pride and-

“Ooh. The peppermint mocha looks good.” Cas was reading the limited edition drinks on the drive-thru menu as they traveled across the parking lot.

Dean was going to barf.

They walked into the building, immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of excessive amounts of flavoured syrup indoused coffee. Dean glanced around the well-lit building, taking note of the many different people there.

(He wasn’t about to have any black-eyed minions reporting his Starbucks order to a very judgmental Queen of Hell.)

Cas pushed Dean’s protesting body into the line, looking pleased with the many different options written on the menu overhead.

He enjoyed the small touch of Cas’s hands on his back, moving him forwards to the line, but was grateful Cas was careful not to let them linger there too long.

He was still wary about doing… this, in public.

He knew Cas was patiently waiting for him to be ready, so he didn't know how to tell him that he might never be.

The teenager working the cash register interrupted his train of thought. “What will it be for ya?”

“I would like a peppermint mocha please.”

“Alrighty. And you?”

“I'll take just a black coffee.”

The barista looked unimpressed. “And your names?”

Dean grinned. “John and John.”

“No relation.” Cas added.

The barista just sighed. “How do you want me to differentiate the two of ‘em then?”

“Oh you can put ‘John Bonham’ on mine.” Dean replied.

“Comin’ right up.” Their tone didn't change, still just full of apathy that could only be perfected by the work of a burnt-out teenager.

Dean and Cas walked down to the end of the counter and towards the pickup section. “Now tell me, Castiel.” He stressed his partner’s name. “Who’s John Bonham?”

Cas sighed, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a grin. “John Henry Bohnham, affectionately referred to as ‘Bonzo’, born in 1948 and was most well known for being the drummer of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’.”

“Mmm very close, but unfortunately you forgot the word ‘best’ in front of ‘rock band.’” Dean smirked before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“You should have said I was ‘John Bon Jovi.’” Cas said, smiling.

“Why? Because you’re only good at this sometimes?” Dean closed the gap between them.

As soon as their lips met, Dean pulled away instinctively, realization hitting him like a hunter with a bat as his eyes widened in terror. “I-I'm sorry, I didn’t...” His words faltered as he looked around at the people sitting in the coffee shop, all of which were paying no mind to them.

He felt sick, guilt gnawing at him from a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, it's okay Dean. You know I'm perfectly fine with public displays of affection, and no one else even saw us. There's no need to apologize.”

“Yeah-h.” He said shakily. Before he could figure out who he was apologizing to, a voice from behind the counter called.

“I have an order for a mister ‘John’ and ‘John Bonham’.”

“That's us.” Dean spat the words out quickly, turning around to take them from the barista’s hand. He rushed out of the door, the small tinkling sound of the welcome bell and the blood rushing to his ears drowning out the sound of Cas’s call from behind.

He sat in the front seat of Baby, knowing he was being childish. Dean took a shaky breath and tried not to think about it.

About what the hell he was thinking, kissing Cas out in public like that. The judgemental eyes- black or not- that were watching. He thought about what his father would say, mind instantly going back to a moment in his childhood he has tried to forget since it happened, wondering where he went wrong.

About the time John had caught him and Lee, ignoring the weak excuses Dean was stuttering out. Skipping town faster than they had done in years.

About how the left side of his face had been a yellow-ish purple for weeks following, and the sore spot on his arm from where he caught the pavement as he flew towards it.

About how he had told Sam he just fell on a hunt. “Don't worry kid, you should have seen the vamp when I was done with him.” He swung his fist around in slow motion, pretending to punch an invisible enemy as his little brother giggled in childish bliss.

About how John never looked at him the same. The disgust in his eyes, harsh words on his lips.

About how he vowed to never disappoint his father like that again, and their joint hatred for that part of him. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they could agree on.

About how somewhere, somehow, he had decided Cas was different. That he somehow didn’t count, and that losing him hurt so much, was such an egregious pain, he wanted as much of Cas as he was allowed to have. And how that was something insurmountable stronger than the twisted, sick feeling John had placed in his gut.

He remembered something Cas had told him once: “Hatred isn’t a natural trait, Dean, it’s a learned one. A baby isn’t born with the ability to hate, it’s passed on from one broken soul to another. Love, love however. That’s something different altogether.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey Cas.”

“I love you.” He got in the passenger's seat, taking his coffee from Dean’s still frozen hand.

“I love you too.” He whispered absentmindedly, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but thoughts from the past. His mind fighting an internal battle, logic telling him that what he had with Cas wasn’t wrong, and even though everything from fate to God had tried to wedge itself between them, it was still the most right thing he had. And he knew that, but his dad’s drunken, booming voice echoed throughout his head, telling him that he was dirty. Telling him the Winchester men had no place for someone like him.

“You better stop that now, boy. Bad things happen to you when you’re weak.”

At the time he had taken that as a warning, rather than a threat. But now Dean wasn’t so sure.

It’s not even that his Dad was particularly religious. He wasn’t told that it was a sin, or that he was going to Hell. Though it’s not like that particular statement would have been wrong. He thought with a bitter laugh.

While the thoughts in his head were screaming mercilessly, the drive home was in a simple silence. The only noise being Cas’s occasional sip, and the sound of soft fabric rubbing against skin as Cas moved his hand in small, comforting motions against Dean's back.

When they got to the bunker, Cas, who was genuinely impressed that Dean managed to drive them home without crashing into a tree, pulled Dean out of the car and gently shook him out of his self-imposed stupor.

“Your coffee's cold.” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean blinked a couple times, clearing the fog from his mind, before laughing along with him. “And who’s fault is that? You were the one who insisted on traveling across the state to get it.”

“Do you want some of mine?” Cas asked. “There's a little bit left, and I held it next to the heater. It should still be lukewarm.”

“No thanks, Cas. I can go make some in the kitchen.”

“But what if I want you to try it?” Dean glared at him. “Don't make me do Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’ again.”

“Okay, okay. You win.” He put his hands up, mimicking a surrender. “I'll try some of your stupid, Christmas cookie, candy-cane flavoured coffee thing or whatever.” They started walking towards the entrance to the bunker.

“Peppermint mocha?”

“That's the one.”

Cas laughed at him.

“Oh just, give it here.” Dean said. He took a long sip from the disposable cup. He could taste a vague hint of whipped cream mixed in with the coffee, its light fluffy texture sticking to the last swallow of smooth liquid in the bottom of the cup. The chocolate and espresso rested on his tongue, and the peppermint was strong and refreshing. He took another sip.

“Does that face mean you like it?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “No.” He opened the bunker’s door and started walking down the metal stairs.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don't.”

“You took a second sip.”

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs first, and walked over to the War Room table to set both coffee cups and his keys down.

“So? I was trying to make sure I properly understood the flavour. Since when is that a crime?”

“You wanted to properly understand a flavour you didn't like?” Cas walked up to Dean and pulled the nearest chair out to sit down.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” Eileen asked from the library.

Cas clenched both of his hands into fists, putting the right one on top of the other. He made small, circular, stirring motions with his right hand. “Coffee.” He signed swiftly, movements fluid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She spoke the words.

“What makes sense?” Sam asked, walking in from one of the hallways, making sure Eileen could see his lips before speaking.

“They're arguing over coffee again.”

Sam glanced at both of them, before his eyes reached the two cups on the War Room table.

“Wait a second… Dean?” He looked at his brother, before turning to face his best friend. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?” Cas answered.

“Did you two go to Starbucks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, we did!” Cas sounded way too excited to be referring to coffee. “I got a peppermint mocha, and Dean tried some and liked it.”

“I did not.”

“I don't care what coffee you like, Dean. What I do care about is that you went all the way to Starbucks, and didn't bother to ask if we wanted to come.”

“Not cool Dean.” Eileen walked in, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

“I might have thought about buying you two drinks, but there was no way I was ordering yours with a straight face.” He looked at Sam. “And it's an hour away, they wouldn't have been hot or cold or whatever they're supposed to be by the time we got here.”

“Well then we'll just have to go back, all four of us.” Eileen put simply.

“It's an hour away.”

“We know.” Sam added.

“Let me say that again, in case you weren’t listening. It's an hour away. For coffee. That isn't even that good.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas said.

“Yeah I'm definitely with Cas on this one.” Eileen agreed while Sam nodded along.

“No. There's no way I'm getting back in Baby to drive all the way to Starbucks again.”

“Fine. We’ll go get our own.”

“With what car?” Dean said, very sure of himself.

Sam snatched Baby’s keys off the war room table, which in hindsight was probably something Dean should have expected.

“Let's hope Sam doesn't have too many shots of espresso.” Eileen said, faking concern. “I would hate for your baby to pay the price.”

“Fine. I'll drive you.” Dean grumbled while Eileen double fist-pumped her win.

Cas looked very pleased with the thought of getting to try more coffee.

---

They left shortly after, the drive over painful for everyone except Dean, who listened to the same four songs on repeat the entire hour.

(It’s their own fault, really.)

---

“Can we please listen to something other than Bob Seger on the trip home?” Sam complained as he slammed shut the door to Baby’s backseat.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get shotgun.” Dean said, closing his own door. “Besides, driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cakehole.” Sam mouthed the words along with Dean, having heard the speech a million times before.

Eileen and Cas got out, neither one of them had any desire to input on their squabble, and were instead engaged in their own, quieter discussion.

Both brothers continued to argue until they walked into the Starbucks.

“Ah. There's the scent of overpriced coffee I missed.” Eileen joked as she took her first breath inside the building, using her hand to waft the smell towards her.

“What are you getting?” Cas asked Sam.

“I want my usual, and Eileen, what are you having?”

“Hot chocolate with espresso shots please. This place doesn't sell liquor.” She shook her head sadly and Sam laughed. “Good thing I brought my own.” She winked at them, opening her jacket just enough so they could see the inside pocket and showing off her flask.

“Oh, now that would be a Starbucks I would go to.” Dean said.

“You two wait in line.” Sam pointed to Cas and Dean. “We’ll save a table.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but they walked away before he had the chance. Cas leaned over towards him. “Don't worry. I'll order Sam’s.” He very conspicuously winked.

Dean smiled at his attempts of regular human interaction, before over-the-top winking himself.

“Can you order for us? I need to talk to Sam about something.”

“Sure thing…” Cas had to think before finishing his sentence. “...buckaroo.”

Dean outwardly cringed. “Keep trying, you'll get there eventually.” He patted Cas on the back, which was slightly moving in a chuckle.

It was good to see Cas filled with so much simple joy. Face creased from laughter rather than stress, he seemed so much lighter. Happier. It was only a small sliver of what he deserved, but it was something. Maybe he could live with driving an hour to get what he assumed was half-decent coffee.

“What would you like?” Cas asked him, eyes still filled with a sparkle that only comes from gaining something you thought you lost.

“Uh.” He thought about it for a moment, almost considering branching out into the unexplored terrain that was the dark green menu with small, white text, before shuddering at the thought.

“I think I'll take that expensive black coffee I didn't get earlier.”

Dean was not going to turn into one of those people, if he had any say about it.

Cas walked into the line, leaving Dean to scan the room, furiously waving Sam over when his eyes found their booth.

“Sam.” He sounded like he was trying to whisper, but his volume raised far higher than that. The patron closest to Dean gave him a look before turning back to their work.

“Sam, come here, it's urgent.” His brother turned to look at him, rolling his eyes before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want?” He said once he reached Dean.

“Sam. Help. What do I do?”

“About what?”

“About what kind of coffee Cas is having.”

“Oh god, Dean let it go. He's not going to only ever drink black coffee. Contrary to popular belief, former angels do actually have souls.”

Dean ignored the implications that he didn't have a soul, too distracted by Cas. “But look.” He motioned his head towards where Cas was standing, next in line to order. “He’s eyeing the weird fruity drinks.”

“Dean. It's Cas. The man’s favorite food is PB&J. What did you expect him to have, taste?”

“Alright that's rich coming from mister Pinkity Drinkity or whatever the fuck.”

“You walked into a Starbucks and ordered black coffee, I don't think I'm the wrong one here.”

“Wait, wait. Shut up. Quiet.” He hit Sam on the shoulder in a childish attempt at getting him to stop talking so he could listen.

“Ow. That hurt.” Sam muttered, before turning to watch Cas, which Dean was already doing.

“I would like to try a…” Cas methodically scanned the menu again. “A ‘Passion Tango Iced Tea,’ please.” The barista took no mind to the excessive air quotes.

“It's not even coffee.” Dean said to Sam, clearly distraught. He turned to look back at Cas.

“And your name sir?”

“Lizzo.”

Dean threw his arms up into the air. “I can't believe this is the man I love.” His voice cracked like he was holding in tears of anguish from listening to Cas order.

Sam just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Right, and he’s the dramatic one.

“Aw. You're in love.” Sam held his hands up, forming a heart and mocking his brother.

“Oh shut up. What are you, seven?”

“Is Cas your gay thing?”

“You shut your mo-”

“What are we gossiping about?” Eileen whispered, cutting Dean off and causing them both to jump.

“We're not gossiping.” Sam said indignantly.

“Sam started it.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“This is where I call you two ‘asshats’, right?”

“It's ‘assbutt.’” Cas said, walking up to them and catching the tail end of their conversation. “And that's my line.”

Cas handed them each their drinks, before excitedly trying his own. He put the plastic cup up to his mouth, almost missing the straw. When he swallowed the cranberry-colored liquid, his face relaxed in pleasure.

“I know this one isn't coffee, but it's really good.”

“We didn't get coffee either.” Eileen said. “So don't worry, Dean's the odd man out here.”

Dean glared at her before trying his own coffee, and well, it was coffee. The point of buying expensive caffeine still went straight over his head.

The four of them went over to their thankfully-still-available booth and sat down. Dean and Cas sat on one side, both instinctively choosing the side that faced the door, with Sam and Eileen sliding into the seats directly across from them. They sat there, talking about nothing in particular, and certainly nothing of importance, before falling into the natural art of storytelling.

Aside from killing monsters, that’s what hunters did best. Sitting around and sharing stories. As tiring and dangerous as their lives were, some hunts were worth sharing exaggerated and hyperbolic versions of, especially over drinks.

Sam’s favourite story to tell changed every time, and one would almost be inclined to believe that most of it wasn't real, but the wildest parts also caused the most merriment. (Dean pretended he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, sparing Sam by not telling the other two how it actually went down.)

Eileen shared of her time in Ireland. “Foreign country, foreign monsters.” She said with a wink, telling of creatures neither Sam nor Dean had even read about.

Dean’s favourite story to tell, aside from the fact that he killed Hitler, was the time he got to solve a mystery with everyone’s favorite talking dog. And yeah, all three of the people that sat at the table had heard both many times before, but that didn't matter, it was still enrapturing to hear them again.

Cas had millenniums to choose from, but always found the most interesting hunts to be the ones with the Winchesters. He also had many hilarious stories about his adventures with Crowley, but he was less fond of those.

“I remember once, Dean went on a hunt with Dad.” Sam started. “Nasty vampire, it got a hit or two on Dean. I think you guys went with another hunter. Young. About your age, actually. Uh…”

He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name. “Lee. That's it.” Dean looked up from the coffee right as Sam said it. “Do you remember him?”

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Cas, who was used to admiring every minute detail of Dean's expression and posture, didn't miss the ever so slight, yet sharp, inhale. Or the way he swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the small lump from his throat.

Dean noticed too, internally rolling his eyes at his own reaction.

“Yeah it's been a while, but I remember him.” Dean was blatantly ignoring Cas’s burning stare from beside him, and the fact that he had stabbed Lee through the chest just last year.

Cas made sure no one was watching before gently placing a hand on Dean’s thigh. Knowing it would comfort him from both intuition and experience. Dean stiffened under the touch, but after realizing no one could see where Cas’s hand was, he visibly relaxed.

“What happened to him?” Eileen asked innocently.

“Oh uh, a hunt I think. Most of us go that way, I assume he was no different.” Technically Dean dealt the final blow, but it was the entrancing call of the monster, greed, and the life Lee and Dean had both secretly wanted, that caused his former-friend’s downfall in the end.

“Yeah.” Sam said solemnly, suddenly lost in his own thoughts, most of which were riddled with grief.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of their many losses wash over them like a tidal wave.

One made of espresso and milk rather than the rough waters of the sea.

---

The ride back was more manageable, Dean allowing them one song choice each, complete with a warning to pick wisely.

(They all very cheekily chose the songs they knew would bother Dean the most.)

---

Full on coffee, cookies Dean bought for them at Starbucks, and brimming with contentment, (as well as the fact that they spent half the day in the car), Cas suggested to Dean that they “hit the hay” as they stepped back into the bunker.

They laid there in silence, breathing in scents of comfort, coffee, and each other, until Cas eventually drifted off to sleep.

Dean, however, continued to lay there. Thinking.

He remembered the first solo case John sent him on.

Something curled inside his gut.

They had been two nuns, their fate a product of hate crime. Put to death for simply being themselves.

Dean didn't blame them for coming back as ghosts.

He remembered the words - ones he would soon learn were slurs - that John would spit out like acid.

Or offhandedly toss like they didn't bear enough weight to shatter the window of a person's self-image.

It had taken him almost forty years to realize that very same window inside of him was in sharp, jagged pieces. Cutting anyone and everyone who came near.

It had taken Cas dying to start picking them up again.

He turned to look at the man next to him, relaxed and blissfully sleeping. His chest moved up and down rhythmically, and Dean slowed his breath to match until he fell into a surprisingly peaceful slumber.

---

When Dean woke up, the other side of his bed was cold.

He didn't panic, knowing full well that Cas probably ran to the bathroom, or was pouring another mountain of sugar in his coffee.

Losing Cas again to the Empty had ripped him apart, but months of spending every night with his partner left him with less nightmares and waking in cold sweats then he had since before Hell.

Dean also learned that his own presence was enough to fight off the demons of solid, black goo that plagued Cas’s head at night.

He was finally starting to understand why life seemed to lose all meaning when Cas was gone, and from there he could slowly start to rebuild both of them.

Dean heard soft padding noises as socked feet walked down the hall, and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "S'your room too, Cas. You don't have to knock." He laughed, words slightly slurred from just waking up

Cas walked in, wielding two mugs of coffee and a proud look shining in his eyes. “I made us coffee.” He said triumphantly, handing one of the mugs to Dean.

“I put chocolate and peppermint in your coffee.”

Dean fake-gasped. “You monster. Ruining the integrity of my drink like that.”

“I'm a human, you ass.” Cas responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I know you liked mine yesterday.”

“I did not.” He said, discontentedly crossing his arms. “I only drink coffee that's as black as my soul. Darker than the night sky. Hotter than the bunker’s computer when it overheats. As manly as-”

“Oh, just drink your damn coffee.”

“Fine.” He groused. “But I'm not enjoying it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, before setting his mug on the bedside table and sitting down behind Dean. The bed creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Is this why you and Sam never use umbrellas?” He joked.

Dean laughed.

Cas rested his head on the crook of Dean’s neck and whispered. “You know you don't have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Dean asked softly.

“You know.”

“That I don’t like flavoured coffee?” He said with a snort.

“Sort of.” Cas hugged him tighter. “No one’s going to think any less of you Dean. You’re allowed to like the things you like.”

“I know.” He resigned.

“John isn't here anymore.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” The words barely came out as a whisper, hot tears betraying Dean’s eyes as they silently leaked out and ran down his cheeks.

He tried to wipe the tears away, hearing his Dad’s voice in his head and knowing he was being stupid.

Dean couldn't help but think of himself as a small, living-room window, from an old, dilapidated house. Stained yellow with age. Cracking from wear.

He let the drumming of his Dad’s words in his head be drowned out by Cas’s voice.

He couldn't unwrap the fuzz from around him, so he didn't know what Cas was saying, ears seemingly filled with cotton. It was just the knowledge alone that he was there. That he was holding him and whispering comforting words into his ear. That even as a human he could heal Dean at his lowest points, and still see him as the brightest, strongest, soul.

You don't really know what a picture is going to be until it's done.

Maybe that window is a beautiful stained-glass portrait.

“Uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “What-what do you have?” He indicated Cas’s coffee by angling his head towards where it sat on the nightstand.

“I made iced coffee.”

Dean just looked at him, astounded, eyes widening. “You mean it’s not hot?”

“Yes, that's where the ‘iced’ in ‘iced coffee’ comes from.” He said very seriously.

They both sat in silence for the next hour, peacefully drinking their coffee and enjoying the presence of one another.

---

When they got out of bed and ventured into the rest of the bunker, they found Sam and Eileen in the library.

They were sitting in adjacent chairs, with Eileen laying her head on Sam’s shoulder and reaching for her water bottle on the table. They were reading a book together, but Eileen shook Sam indicating she had seen them walk in.

“Goodmorning.” She greeted cheerfully.

“Mornin’.” Dean pulled up a chair across from them, and watched as Cas did the same.

“What are you two reading?” Cas asked.

“The Men of Letters’s Bestiary.” Sam said.

Dean snorted. “Ah. Doing a little light reading are we?”

“We're thinking about filling in some of the pages.” Eileen added.

“Yeah, for all of the stuff they have here, it's surprisingly empty.” Sam continued flipping through some of the pages, most of which were blank.

“Heh. I should put you in that thing, Cas.”

Cas let out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m a good example of an angel.” The sarcasm was masking something else in his voice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve always been my favourite angel.” Dean only realised how sappy he sounded after it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rest of them are dicks.” Eileen added.

Cas smiled at that, seemingly back to normal.

“Right, well you three can do that, I'm off to the Dean Cave.”

“Or…” Sam started.

“We could go back to Starbucks.” Cas finished, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah... that's not where I was going with that, but I like where your head’s at, Cas. We should definitely go back.”

“Eileen?” He asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Dean?”

Dean pressed his mouth into a thin line and glared at him. “Yes, sure, fine. But we're not making this a daily thing.”

“That's fair.” Cas agreed. “It's probably not very healthy.”

He went to grab his wallet and keys before Sam could start his speech on the nutritional value of green things, and Eileen snatched her water bottle off the library table as they all got up to leave.

---

Dean gave up on letting them choose the music after snickering and requesting “Friday” by Rebecca Black for the third time in a row.

(It wasn't even Friday?)

---

Dean stepped out and closed Baby’s door in the parking lot of Starbucks an hour later, kicking the loose pieces of gravel on the asphalt for the third time in two days.

“We might as well just live here.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I wouldn't make that offer if I were you, Cas looks like he’d be totally on board.” Sam laughed.

Cas went and stood beside Dean as they started walking towards the building, smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, question genuine and free of all malice.

“Nothing.” Cas answered, smile not faltering.

His eyes revealed nothing but pure devotion for the man he was staring at. A silent promise, one without pressure, that he would be standing there, and Dean could take the leap anytime he wanted.

Dean was slowly inching towards the end of the diving board.

---

“I think I'll just drink my water.”

“Oh that's exciting.” Sam joked. “If I got you a lemon to go with it, would you be able to handle that?”

“Don't talk to me about my drink, when yours is a vivid green puke colour.”

“Hey, at least it actually has a colour. And a flavour at that.”

Dean couldn’t believe those words were coming from the same man who drinks exactly a hundred and one ounces of water a day. (Which, according to Sam, is the recommended amount for males, as stated by the Institute of Medicine.)

(Dean didn’t care.)

“Fine then.” She turned to look at Dean. “Get me the strongest thing on the menu.”

Dean laughed before turning to Cas. “Let's just go get in line before we suffer at the hands of the Leahy like Sam.”

Sam and Eileen went to look for a place where they could all sit again, playfully bickering the entire way.

While he was standing in line with Cas, Dean looked over at his brother, and found him and Eileen sitting at a small table in the corner.

Cas was still helping him learn ASL, so he caught parts of their conversation.

“If Jack is in every drop of rain, do you think he's in your water?” Sam signed, trying to contain his laughter.

Eileen pushed her water away with a look of disgust. “You’re lucky I love you.” She answered back.

“I know I am.”

He watched her silently laugh before turning back to look at Cas.

They really did have it good, didn't they?

“What are you ordering, Dean?”

Dean stood there silently, contemplating. He internally weighed his pros and cons, mind leaving the menu entirely. While there was still a lot of shit he had to work through, (shit he had been actively not working out his entire life), there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

He would always choose Cas.

“You know what?” He reached out and grasped Cas’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about being less boring. What ingredients do you suggest I try?”

Cas smiled warmly, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes. “They have a cinnamon flavoured one. That’ll be almost like apple pie.”

“Will it really?” Dean’s tone was dismissive, but there was a smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam told me.“

“Not that I trust Sam’s judgment, but okay, I think I’ll take one of those.”

“I'm going to have a real pumpkin spice latte this time.” Cas seemed very pleased with the aspect of buying something they could make it home, but Dean wasn't going to fault him for it.

The patron in front of them finished ordering, clearing the way for Cas and Dean. The barista from the first time they went caught sight of them and made a face. “Wait a minute. I think I know you two.”

“Yes, we came here yesterday.” Cas helped. “Well, we actually visited twice, but you weren't working the second time.”

“Right... John and John, how could I forget?”

“This time we're ordering for four though.”

“I would like a…” Dean squinted at the menu, looking for the cinnamon flavoured coffee. “‘Cinnamon Dolce Latte.’ And my devilishly handsome friend here will take the pumpkin spice version.”

“And what are the other two drinks and names?”

Dean whispered something in Cas’s ear. “I'll drink the coffee, but I won't budge on this one.”

“That's okay Dean, you’ll get there eventually.” He whispered back.

The barista looked unimpressed with them. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry. The tall one with the stupidly long hair,” he pointed towards Sam, “is getting…” he trailed off before looking to Cas for help.

“I don't know, man. It was something sickly looking. Cold? Green? Possibly tea?”

“And Iced Green Tea Latte?” The barista suggested.

“That's the one. His name is Jimmy.”

“And the lovely lady sitting next to him would like the strongest drink you have. Her name is Robert.”

“Her name is Robert…?” He slowly pointed towards Eileen, sounding unsure of himself.

Or them.

“Yup.” Cas said.

Eileen gave a little wave from across the room.

He gritted his teeth in a very clearly fake smile. “Coming right up.”

They paid for their coffee and picked it up, taking the travel cups across the room and towards Sam and Eileen.

Cas took a sip from his pumpkin spice latte, gleefully smiling. “As much as I like trying different drinks, I think I might start just getting this one. It's my favourite.”

Sam leaned over to Dean, neither one taking their eyes off of Cas. “Should we tell him the drink is seasonal?” He glanced at Sam, before staring back at his partner, whose face was beaming like a literal ray of sunshine.

Dean’s face softened. “Nah. Let’s not ruin his moment.” He took a sip of his cinnamon coffee and damn, it was delicious.

Nothing at all like apple pie, but still delicious.

Cas walked over to him, making eye contact in a silent question. Dean nodded with a small smile, and Cas took his hand.

“I love you.” Cas whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

They didn’t whisper to hide, and it wasn't because he was ashamed. It was because that exchange was just for them.

Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas.

Now that was to tell everyone in the shop that his devilishly handsome friend was spoken for.

Slowly, the sun would come out and shine through the stained-glass window, shadow portraying the picture of an angel.

And alright, fine, Dean could admit that he enjoyed the peppermint mocha.

He thought about it for a moment, before giving a light chuckle, realising something.

“What?” Cas asked, turning to look at him with a soft smile resting on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean whispered, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. He took a sip from his coffee, relishing in the warm and cozy flavour enrapturing his tongue.

He was only thinking that maybe, just maybe,

Cas had changed him too.

---

Bonus Epilogue:

Dean held the glass door open for the other three, and they all walked out onto the asphalt, laughing, and making their way towards Baby.

The street lamp overhead flickered, and all four of them froze.

“Did anyone happen to get the salted caramel macchiato?” Dean whispered.

---

-This fic on Ao3 (Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.)

-Writing Tag

-Ao3

-Request fics/drabbles/ficlets. (Please)

17 notes · View notes

salmonthestoryteller · 3 years

Text

The Widow of the Web

A Roswell New Mexico/Krull AU Fanfic (Part of the fic Destiny) The group traveled out of the swamps the next day. The new area was full of tall mountains and rich forests, though none as vibrant as the area around where the Emerald Seer had lived. Towards dusk, Valenti called a halt to the excursion - near one of the tallest mountains in the area.

“The Widow’s place isn’t far.” She explained. “But I must go alone from here.”

“I could go with you, at least the entrance of the cave-” Kyle began.

Valenti shook her head. “No, this is a journey it’s best I take alone.”

The cyclops seemed to hesitate, but nodded. “When will you return?” He asked her.

“...If i’m not back by sunrise, I won’t be back.”

“You shouldn’t bother. She won’t help you.” Rosa crossed her arms. “She helps no one but herself.”

“I understand your anger. I was angry, too, once.” Valenti told her.“

She deserves her fate.” Liz had approached as well.

“Perhaps. But perhaps she deserves redemption, too. Perhaps we all do.” With that she started towards the mountain.

Alex watched the group talk, feeling very much as though he was missing something. “Do you know anything about the kingdom that fell?” He asked Max.

“Very little. It was before I commanded the armies. I know there was a battle, and a fire that rampaged Sky’s land - your weapons or our magic, I couldn’t say which was the cause. In the separate kingdoms' histories we each blamed each other for their fate.” Max offered. “I didn’t think you were the sort to read histories, let alone from my kingdom.” Alex admitted.

“I didn’t always want to be a warrior. In the end, though, I had little choice.”

“I understand. I didn’t always want to be a warrior either.”

Max placed a hand on his shoulder, a moment of understanding between them, and left his side to go speak to Isobel.

Alex hesitated a moment, before joining Kyle where he stood watching the direction Valenti had gone. “I didn’t know you knew each other.” Kyle hesitated a moment before replying. “She’s my mother.”

Alex froze at the words, shock clear on his face. “I…”

“They led the armies of Sky together. Sky had a trade agreement with Slate in those days. They didn’t join in the war against Antar, but they didn’t have any agreements with them either. Your father demanded the right to pass through Sky’s lands to attack Antar, and was refused. That didn’t stop him. Sky became a battleground - it’s lands ravaged and it’s leaders dead or scattered.”

“I… didn’t know…”

“Why would you? Sky hasn’t existed for over a decade now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t your father, Alex of Slate. You don’t have to apologize for his wrongs.”

Alex saw the pieces come together in his mind, he glanced over to where Liz and Rosa were talking with Maria and Jenna. “The Emerald Seer was once Sky’s seer, wasn’t she? Valenti and your father the army leaders. That makes Liz and Rosa Sky’s lost princesses, doesn’t it?”

“You have a sharp mind. I don’t think anyone else has figured it out yet.” Kyle told him.

“Who, then, is the Widow of the Web?” Alex looked at him, frowning.

“...” Kyle looked back to Liz and Rosa, and Alex closed his eyes as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

-----

The cave opening was dark, but Michelle didn’t bother to light a torch. The path was a simple curved path, easy to traverse even in the dark. And once far enough in, a strange ghostly light illuminated from where the tunnel expanded.

There was no bridge, no ledge. The cave opened to a fall into darkness below. But stretched between was a gigantic web - it’s fibers lighting the area with a pale luminescence. And in the center was what looked like a large sac - domed and completely opaque. There was no sign of anyone living. No breath of wind, no sound.

“I seek the widow!” She shouted out into the emptiness - hearing her own voice echo from the walls.

“Enter here and find death.” A voice replied softly, but still managing to echo around the room.

Taking a deep breath, Michelle moved onto the webbing carefully, using it to slowly make her way towards the center where the mysterious domed sac was. Partway across, she heard a sound like a chime, looking up she spotted a spider - gigantic in size, and made of looked like crystal. It was crawling towards her along the web. She hurried along the webbing, but soon realized it would reach her long before she could make it to safety.

She turned towards the center. “Helena!” She shouted out.

“Who knows my name?”

“It’s Michelle, Helena!”

Inside the dome a shadowy figure reached out to an hourglass on the table, slowly she turned it - the sands beginning to drop slowly inbetween the two chambers slowly. Outside, the spider was frozen in place. “I give you this time…”

Michelle hurried forward along the webbing as fast as she could, pausing briefly as she tried to make her way around a wrapped shape. Reaching out a curious hand, she pulled away part of the webbing - a skeletal face looked out at her from the cocoon. Wincing, she moved onwards. Inside the dome, the sands began to run out. The spider’s eyes watched her progress, and she when she glanced back she saw it slowly begin to sway - regaining movement.

Climbing upwards, she pulled out a knife - hacking away a few of the strands. As the last of the sands dropped to the bottom chamber, and the spider leaped forward after her - she grabbed onto the loose webbing and swung across an open portion of the web - landing safely inside the domed sac. The spider ceased it’s movements, but didn’t retreat. It waited.

Michelle pushed farther into the strange structure - finding the hunched form of Helena inside, her face covered by a black veil.

“I was young when I last heard that name.” Helena told her.

“I was young when I last spoke it to you.”

“And my face was as beautiful as my name…”

“And we all loved you, with all our hearts.”

“Yet you were all so busy.”

“There were duties, Helena.”

“Rubbish… Rosa is his daughter, you know.”

“I guessed it.”

“Did you know I invited Jesse’s army to cross our lands?“

Michelle took in a sharp breath at the words, not having expected them. “But you said nothing…”

“My anger needed an outlet. I arrogantly assumed I could control the situation. This is my punishment.” Helena glanced at her, then away. “I know you can never forgive me.”

“I cannot forgive myself, I have already forgiven you.”

“How can you forgive the woman who is to blame for the man we both love dying?”

“...If I could not - could I see us now, as I saw us then?” Michelle turned to the mirror, concentrating. The glass shimmered, and in it was a picture of the two of them - laughing in the corridor of a palace. A crown was on Helena’s head, and Michelle was dressed in leather armor.

“...And allow me to see through your eyes…” Helena paused, pulling away the veil - her face matched the young queen who seemed so happy in the mirror. “Your vision is your gift to me.”

“And your vision can be your gift to me.” Michelle told her. “The black fortress - where will it be tomorrow?”

Helena’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “At sunrise it will appear in the iron desert…” She blinked, returning to the present. “But this knowledge is useless to you - there’s no way out of here.” When Michelle glanced at the hourglass, she shakes her head. “It can be turned only once - it is the lure of the web.”

“A young prince is being held in the fortress. An heir of ancient power. Another young prince seeks him. Hopeful, innocent. The ages we were when… we all loved so deeply.”

“You ask for something I cannot give.” Helena tells her.

“Then the other heir of ancient power will also grow old and alone in a place of darkness. This whole world will be a place of darkness.” Michelle reached out to take her hands.

Helena clung back - her expression torn. She turned to the hourglass, pulling her hands away and reaching out to pick it up. “These are the sands of my life… use them and the Crystal Spider will have no power over you. But your own life runs out with the sands...”

“What about your own life?”

“...I give it to the new heir of ancient power…” Helena held the hour glass up, and brought it down on the table - smashing the top to pieces. Outside the safety of the dome, the Crystal Spider gave a sound like a scream.

“I cannot stop the sands…” Michelle mentioned as Helena poured the contents of the hourglass into her palms.

“You cannot stop time.” Helena replied. “Go now, quickly.”

Michelle hesitated a moment more, gazing at her, then she hurried out of the dome - finding her way carefully along the webbing. The spider began to approach and she held up her hand - the sands dripping steadily out of it. The spider froze in place. She glanced back at the dome, just making out the figure of Helena inside, holding the broken pieces of the hourglass - then she turned away and made her escape from the cave.

Once she’d disappeared out of the cave entrance, the spider approached it - pincers working angrily - it then returned to the dome - it’s legs slowly cracking the structure and the connecting webs. Within moments the entire web broke, both the spider and the sac falling into the abyss below….

To Be Continued….

Notes: While I still managed to use some of the lines and plot points of the original movie, a lot of things are altered here to fuse with RNM. It’s an 80s movie, and in the original couple is Lyssa, the captured princess, and Colwyn, the Prince trying to rescue her. Gideon is the Old One - whose place I fill with Valenti. There is no third kingdom, and the Cyclops has no real connection with Gideon. Gideon, however, has a different connection with the Widow of the Web.

The original phrase is “A girl of ancient name will become queen, she will choose a king and together they will rule our world, and their son shall rule the galaxy.”

The name of The Widow of the Web in the original movie is Lyssa. Gideon was her chosen king. He neglected her, and she murdered their son in her anger. Her placement in the web is her punishment.

Gideon says the exact line, “I cannot forgive myself, I have already forgiven you” to her. But her line about the captive of the Beast is: “What of your own life?” “I give it to the girl who bears my name.”

The reveal of their history is a very dark, but very powerful and wrenching moment in the original movie. I’m not sure I matched it with this take, but I tried.

#malex #alteraroswell2021 #krull au #rnmfic #This fic is my pure self-indulgence fic and will be finished no matter what #rnm fic #roswell new mexico #fanfic

9 notes · View notes

cxmetery-gates · 4 years

Text

VALOR - DARTH MAUL

PROLOGUE: FREEDOM

SUMMARY: Ucilla Zykoff, a troubled Padawan, and her Master are sent to protect Duchess Satine Kryze alongside Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. However, an ambush leaves Ucilla wither her first taste of freedom. WORD COUNT: 2k NOTES: I told myself not to make a Darth Maul fic. Oops. I also told myself to just make my OC human and definitely do not create a race of near-humans. Didn’t do that either. I’ll be posting a ramble about Ucilla’s species in the future! WARNINGS: sci-fi violence, kinda angsty?

VALOR MASTERLIST

THROUGH THICK CLOUDS OF DUST and an onslaught of armored fighters closing in, a racing heart hammered as erratic as the blaster fire pointed in her direction. Wrath encased the young girl, white-hot rage allowing for her power to extend to the weapons stationed in her hands. A fuchsia hue lit up her surroundings as each blade swung, a bubble appearing as if forming a shield to deflect the oncoming storm.

Ucilla Zykoff huffed at a lock of loose icy blonde hair that attempted to block her vision. Her palms were beginning to perspire as she worked beside her Master, blocking blaster fire and reflecting them back into the chest of her enemies. The rebels were no match against two well-trained Jedi, so her bewilderment as to why the Mandalorian terrorists were not aware of their eventual defeat was only natural for the hot-headed Padawan.

A beam of scarlet missed Ucilla's head by an inch. Recalling the time a blaster bolt constrained her to rely on a splint for a month, Ucilla, with her teeth bared, swung her lightsabers at great speed and agility, projecting two rounds through a pair of skulls.

The Jedi Council sending Ucilla and her Master on this mission was inevitable. Growing concerns about a civil war was on the rise caused by a heritage-based splinter group stirring up problems, leading Mandalore to grow more and more worried. To diffuse the tension between the planet and the traditionalist Mandalorians, the Council sent two of their best Jedi along with their Padawans to take care of the situation and to protect the future Duchess.

Peacefully and civilly, they were told.

One of Ucilla's lightsaber penetrated upwards through the ribs of a human who flew too close, the other blade thrown to dismember another while slicing through their jetpack.

Well, at least she tried.

Following traditional Jedi styles of dueling did not come as naturally as the offensive for Ucilla. As a Youngling, Ucilla was routinely reminded that the light side of the Force should control her movements rather than relying on defeat or death as her enemy's outcome. Ucilla guessed her aptitude for aggressive maneuvers was why Adi Gallia was assigned as her Master. Adi Gallia was one of the best of Jedi Masters: focused, determined, and, perhaps most importantly, strong with the light side. It would not have surprised Ucilla to find out the Jedi Council were hoping Master Adi would rub off on the girl.

Ucilla deflected another torrent of bolts, the swing of her two purplish-red lightsabers creating a haze around her lithe figure. Not too far away, the Padawan spotted her Master, a cobalt saber cutting through attacks as if this were nothing more than practice.

Amidst the battle, Ucilla suddenly felt vibrations beneath her feet, the tremble of echoes. Her mind was mostly focused on the assault, but her species' sensitive senses allowed for the Padawan to identify the peculiar shifts in the ground: the reverberation of what sounds like footsteps in a tunnel.

Confused, Ucilla willed herself to focus on the dirt, throwing herself behind a fallen building to lay close to the ground, pressing her ear into the rubble. As impossible as it seemed, Ucilla felt the quakes beneath the earth of Kalevala as terrorists moved in and move out, both above and beneath the surface. Suddenly, there were scattered explosions, the dirt beginning to loosen and with her sharp senses, Ucilla could sense what her Master could not.

Per his instruction, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Duchess Satine Kryze took a speeder to the rendezvous point, their hide-out on Kalevala. What was supposed to be an investigation into the seeming ghost town turned into the battle Ucilla and the two Jedi Masters face alone in the center of the city― nearing the heart of the next attack.

"Kriff," swore Ucilla, bouncing up to her feet. During the ambush, Ucilla and Master Adi became separated from Master Jinn. Before their separation, Master Jinn made the remark that this could have been a trap to capture the Duchess while in search of food and supplies. Ucilla, ever the pessimist, agreed with the Jedi Master's assessment, but she wasn't prepared for the explosions erupting under her feet as the Mandalorians' attempt to usurp the future ruler.

In hindsight, the action makes complete sense for their war-hungry kind. Looking at where she was, to blow up an entire city just to undermine four Jedi is in ancient Mandalorian style, after all.

Her thoughts shifted to the Padawan and Duchess. Both Jedi Masters ordered Obi-Wan and Duchess Satine to head back to their hide-out before so much as a scout found them. Now, Ucilla wondered how long they were in the enemy sights. Fearing the worst, Ucilla could only imagine the fight Obi-Wan and the Duchess found themselves in now.

"Master!" Ucilla cried out, rushing towards Adi. The two Jedi make haste to hide behind debris. With their backs against the dusty, fallen pillar, Ucilla took several deep breathes before facing her Master. "There's a tunnel system beneath us, and from what I've learned about these traditionalists, I don't think they're just for soldier transportation. I think the Mandalorians are setting off bombs to destroy the city."

Master Adi nodded. "They want to take over Kalevala the only way they know how: through destruction."

"Unfortunately," Ucilla growled, ducking her head as a shot skimmed over the pillar. "We need to get out of here. I sense something worse than blasters if we do not leave."

The Tholothian give an aspirated exhale. "Try to retreat to the alley," Master Adi responded. "From there, we will find Master Jinn."

Ucilla looked behind her where Master Adi's eyes were trained. An alley could be spotted but there was a far and wide opening between them and safety. But orders were orders, and a good Padawan listens to their Master.

The Jedi leap from their position, finding an assault of beams pointed in their direction. Ucilla could not tell for sure, but it seemed as though the number of Mandalorians multiplied by tenfold. Even with two fuchsia sabers, Ucilla thought another just might help.

And perhaps it would have: Ucilla fell to the ground with a yelp when blaster fire shot through her left shoulder. The sensation burned every charred piece of flesh that the fire dug through until it shot through the other side.

The blonde Scaki shot backwards on her back, rolling to avoid further hits. Unlike ever before, an indescribable shade of red passed over her vision, turning her agonizing pain into raw power. Had her Master had the time, Master Adi most likely would have scolded her Padawan for using the Force to propel a dozen advancing Mandalorians straight into the buildings so fast that they had no time to scream before death took them.

"Ucilla!" the Master cried, scarcely lifting her eyes from blasters. "Are you alright? Can you get to safety?"

The voice of Master Adi broke Ucilla's concentration, a good thing for everyone.

Grunting with a shake of her head, Ucilla stood, attaching one saber to her belt while the other continued to block incoming attacks. "Go," the Padawan shouted, "I'll cover you, Master."

As though the earth below let out a large exhale, the ground beneath the square quaked, a rumble coming from the underground. For a moment, Ucilla, Master Adi, and the rebels ceased all fire as their balance became lost.

No one found their ground again. With another mighty roar, the earth was close to collapse. Ucilla knew this, so did Adi.

The Force was hesitant with Ucilla's desires, as if pleading not to. Ucilla was not after a suicide mission, but the fear of her permanent death did strike a punch to her courage. As long as she planned it timely, she would survive.

And she was right.

Just moments before, Ucilla Force-pushed her Master several meters away and, no more than a few seconds later, Ucilla found herself running away from the collapsing earth, yet still caught amongst the rubble. Using all that she was trained in as well as the gifts of her species, Ucilla dug through the rubble, ensuring where she lied would not allow for rubble to completely crush her.

Ucilla's heart was loud in her eardrums. Darkness encased her no matter where she was. Her golden eyes were attuned to the dark, yet no shapes could be spotted in the enclosed space. The air was thick in dust, heavy in uneasiness. It was moments like these where Ucilla wished she had paid more attention in her training. Though mediation was an easy skill, the impending doom disrupted all her thoughts, slicing through any kind of call she attempted to push out.

No matter how hard she tried to call out to her Master, Ucilla came to realize no one was coming to help her. It was not long before Ucilla felt her Master slip away, no doubt joining up with Master Jinn and Obi-Wan to relocate with the Duchess.

She should have known the Jedi Master would not come to search through the rubble. There were matters far more important than a Padawan: cities to protect, battles to be fought, innocents to save. The Jedi were sent to Mandalore to protect the world and the rulers from the rebel group, and Ucilla's passing would not hinder such plans. The Scaki girl would be remembered for her bravery and self-sacrifice.

Shock eventually took over. Before long, all Ucilla could feel around her was the dirt in the callous of her fingers and weight of stone trying to collapse. As though her breathing stopped entirely, Ucilla's racing heart, thoughts, and very life also seemed to slow down. The Padawan almost felt dead as she lied in a state close to rigor.

A great feeling entered her as she found strength to move. Fearing that she would perish alone under a fallen city, anger and preservation finally unlocked her lifeless body. Her hands pressed against the stone slabs, nails dig into dirt, and shoves force the rubble around her to lift away, creating an opening for the moons and starlight to fill the void.

Ucilla was cautious as she ascended. No life could be spotted according to her senses, but she was still not completely convinced. When her hands gripped the edge of the ground from where it fell, she pushed herself over, only to end up lying face up in the dirt, her breathing hard and muscles shaking.

The stars that dotted the sky looked similar to those above Coruscant. All constellations began to look alike after seeing so many skies on so many worlds. She found no home in the night sky she watched as a Youngling, and now, as she watches the interstellar clouds on Kalevana, Ucilla realized she never had a home. All she had was a cell.

It was not long before Ucilla let out a laugh, her golden eyes watching the stars shine down on her. Her pale hands reach up to cover her mouth, a giggle escaping between her fingers. It was only then did she feel the tear-stained paths on her cheek, but by that point, it was unclear whether those broke free amidst her turmoil or as she relished in her newfound joy.

So, this is what freedom tastes like.

Ucilla found her golden eyes lost in the fields of stars and nebulas. Just as them, she had no obligations, none to abide by or listen to. She had herself and that felt like enough.

As Ucilla walked towards where she came, she stumbled across her discarded cloak. After brushing away the dust, the now-presumed-dead Padawan slipped her arms through the sleeves then pulled the hood over the top of her head. Ucilla stuffed the lightsaber attached to her belt into the inside pocket in as she leaned down to grip a discarded blaster.

Kalevana was not completely desolate. All planets have populated cities full of inhabitants who want nothing to do with wars or Jedi business. That was what she planned to find, and Ucilla was apt to have her way.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

TAGLIST:

@bonesaldente

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED, LET ME KNOW!

#valor #darth maul #darth maul x reader #darth maul x oc #maul #maul x oc #maul x reader #star wars #star wars prequels #chapter 1 #ucilla zykoff #mandalorians #mandalore #the clone wars #clone wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #crimson dawn

30 notes · View notes

quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

Good Stuff

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 3,700

Summary: You had a rocky relationship with Bucky. This fight ended badly.

Warnings: Extreme angst (a couple illusions to smut)

A/N: You guys showed a lot of love to my last angsty-song fic, so I wrote another to rip your heart out! This song is called “Good Stuff” by Griff. It’s amazing and I put my own twist on it at the end. Sorry in advance, this one killed me too.

...

The beginning was pure bliss.

Laying in bed with him, cooking with him, laughing with him. You wish that you could go back and wrap that all in a box with a pretty bow on top to save for a rainy day – you wish you could feel that feeling again.

You’d never felt so free. Those moments where the only thing you had to do was look into his blue eyes, sparkling with life, crinkles forming around the corner of his eyes as he laughed hard. It was a genuine laugh; you’d been with him long enough to know that from a polite chuckle. You’d only seen him laugh like that around you – only you. Not when it was his friends, not when it was a group of all of you; it was reserved for those moments with you, laying in bed with the sunlight bouncing off his golden skin.

Oh, I try to rewind Every scene in my mind And for you, I’ve got tunnel vision And I’ve blocked out every collision

Even the little stuff felt like the world could stop right there and you’d be satisfied. Like you could just live the rest of your life in his arms and forget about everything else in the world. Oh, you wished.

One night you two baked a cake. “Come on, “(Y/N),” he laughed, grabbing the spatula out of your hand, stirring the contents of the bowl rapidly. “There’s no way this is enough frosting.”

You swatted his arm, laughing softly. “How much frosting do you really need, it’s one small cake.” He rolled his eyes and lifted the spatula out of the bowl, licking it clean. “Save some for the cake!”

He dropped the utensil in the sink, grabbing you with both hands and hoisting you up on the counter. “It’s sweet. I like it.” He pressed a kiss to your lips; he tasted like chocolate buttercream. “Sweet like you.”

You rolled your eyes this time, laughing at his sappy remark. You stick a finger in the bowl, tasting it off your finger. “It is pretty good, not to pat myself on the back,” you hummed.

Bucky swiped his finger in the frosting a laid a fat blob on the tip of your nose. You gasped, swatting his hands away. “Aww,” he cooed, grinning widely. “You look so cute like that.”

You tilted your head to the side, returning his grin, coating your fingers in frosting that you ran down his cheek. You took him by surprise, Bucky’s mouth falling open with laughter as he suddenly grabbed your face and licked the tip of your nose.

One afternoon you two went on a walk. The first official day of spring and it wasn’t raining. You warmly welcomed it, the first day in a week that it hadn’t stormed. You pulled Bucky out of bed that Sunday morning, slipping on your shoes, and dragging him out the door. He didn’t protest at all on the way, seeing you so excited to enjoy the spring weather was better than sleeping-in. He’d choose you any day over sleeping.

You two walked hand-in-hand down the path in Central Park, sipping on the coffee you got from Starbucks on the way. You walked around in silence, maybe pointing out the blooming flowers on the side of the path or the budding trees.

He had spent most of the morning looking at you, a smile pulling at his lips as you stopped to stare at everything on the way. He told you he thought it was the first time you’d seen a flower with how excited you were. You’d blushed when he told you that, smiling, but muttering a soft “sorry.” And he grabbed your cheeks in both hands and smooshed his lips against yours.

“Don’t ever be sorry.”

One morning you woke up to him kissing a line down your chest. Your hand found the top of his head, running your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the chestnut strands. “Good morning, baby,” you giggled, his lips now pressing the underside of your breast, continuing downwards.

He hummed into your skin, letting his tongue drag against the soft skin of your stomach, pressing a final kiss to your hip bones. “’Morning,” he murmured, taking a hand between your thighs, spreading them open with ease – as if you’d ever stop him.

He nuzzled his face between your legs, his stubble scratching at your inner thighs. You moaned at that feeling and let out a long breath as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your core.

And that’s the good stuff. The stuff you’d die for. You tried to think about that stuff often: the memories for which neither of you had a care in the world. It was just the two of you in love. You spent your nights reliving those memories, only the good memories. And it made you laugh, thinking about them, because you then remember all the fights you’d have, too. At that point, they were stupid – revolving around minuscule things, to which the entire subject would be forgotten within an hour. And if you were able to relive even just one happy memory with him, you’d never fight with him again.

We were fighting fires every night when you met me And it’s not fair at all So after everything Why’d you leave me with the good stuff, babe And forget about the mess we made?

It was easy to say that now, hindsight obviously having the benefit of the doubt. You were so deeply in love. He loved you, too – you knew it, you could feel it. But with love, comes hate. With love, comes jealousy.

It happened when he flirted with the waitress. He insisted that he wasn’t flirting; and maybe he wasn’t technically flirting, but the lighthearted comments and witty banter felt different. You didn’t know particularly why it made your blood boil at the time, but it just did. You’d glared at him for the rest of dinner, arms crossed over your chest, leaning back against your chair. He glared right back, obviously aware you were pissed, but rolling his eyes when you told him why.

“I wasn’t flirting with her,” he almost laughed. He couldn’t believe that was the reason you were mad.

Not having a valid argument, you stayed silent, biting the inside of your cheek, mumbling a “whatever.” Maybe it was that fact that he was joking with her so easily. Not only did it take him years to get out of his shell, it took him so damn long to open up to you. The awkward phase lasted almost two months. The two of you barely flirted in the beginning of your relationship. It took work to get him to return to the charismatic, charming boy he was before the war. It was work that you put in. And now he’s going to throw it back in your face by showing it off to some girl.

It happened when someone looked at you too long. It was at the bar; you’d gone along on a double date with Sam and the girl he was seeing. The four of you had lovely banter, and everyone thought the night had gone well until the man at the bar stood three feet away from you. You’d barely paid him any attention, instead joking around with Sam and his girlfriend.

Bucky wasn’t paying attention to the group anymore, instead glaring at the man beside you, staring you up and down. You turned to Bucky to see him staring at the man. And as soon as you turned your head towards the stranger, he met your eyes and flashed a smile at him. You pressed your lips into a tight line, sending him the good ol’ fashioned white person smile (look it up). You felt Bucky’s arm snake around your waist, dropping his hand to rest directly on your ass.

It was nights like those that ended up in arguments on the drive home. The logic didn’t make much sense, it was more of just a yelling match: who could scream the loudest. It was you and him picking pointless arguments about nothing, hollering things at each other that you’d regret in the morning.

Those fights ended up with the slam of the front door, Bucky following you up to your shared bedroom, jutting a hand in the door frame before you could lock him out. He strutted towards you murderously, such that you were backed up against the wall. His hand snaked up to your jaw, firmly tilting it such that you had no choice but to look up at him. “You don’t hate me,” he practically growled after you spat those words to him. You didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, you dropped your eyes from his straight ahead of you, meeting eye level at his chest. You huffed air through your nose, slightly tilting your jaw, testing his grip. There was no way you could move any muscle in your body. “I’ll show you,” he grunted, pinning your hips to the wall with his.

He lurched your jaw up forward, your neck viciously stretching, not having any more height in you. He met your mouth with a hot, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth. Your hands flew up to his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt and pulling his chest somehow closer to yours. His hands raked down your back, grabbing your ass harshly, before hoisting you up off the ground. Before you could even wrap your legs around his waist, he threw you down onto the bed, which felt like it was three stories below you.

You both were quick to undress yourselves as he crawled on top of you, holding your neck firmly as he met your lips for another messy kiss.

Every morning after a round of heated hate-sex, all the emotions from the night before had faded away. The two of you woke up with sorrow filled eyes, purple and red marks littering necks, chest, and thighs. He would reach his hand up to stroke your tangled hair, thumb brushing over your cheekbone as you frowned. “I love you,” you clarified, wishing you could take back your words from last night. As much as you regretted telling him you hated him mid-argument, nothing stopped you. Every single time, nothing stopped you.

“I know, baby, forget about it.”

When we lost one another That’s when I rediscovered My memories in the clouds But no feet on the ground Cause I know I should forget you Why can’t I just regret you? Oh, wish that my mouth didn’t smile when I think of you

“(Y/N),” your sister coos warmly, sitting on the edge of your half empty bed. “You need to get up.”

You didn’t have anything to say. There was nothing to say. In fact, you’d said too much. If you never told her that Bucky was gone, you wouldn’t have to be sitting here, listening to her drone on about this for the millionth weekend in a row. “I’m not going,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow your head was currently stuffed in.

She sighed, standing and slapping her legs against her thighs, startling you. “You need to get out of bed and meet this guy. I already told him I’d bring you for lunch.”

You scoffed. “Well maybe you can just tell him I died or something,” you sigh, rolling on your back and letting your arms and legs starfish onto the bed.

“Don’t say that.” Not like you cared, you hoped that you actually had jinxed yourself. Maybe death would be better than lying in your once shared bed alone. It’s been a year since the last time you saw Bucky – over a year: one year, one month, and sixteen days. You still don’t know what happened. One year, one month, and sixteen days later, and you were still wondering.

That’s probably the worst part. Just because you never got any closure. All in all, you didn’t think you wanted closure. If you’d gotten closure, you’d be over him. You wouldn’t be reliving all the good stuff like you still do every day. Hell, even the bad stuff became good stuff. As much as the jealously sex hurt (hurt emotionally, in a bad way; hurt physically, in a good way), you still couldn’t help but miss it and bite your lip every time you thought about it.

“He’s never coming back to you,” she whispered, probably not intending for it to pierce your heart with the pain of a thousand knives the way that it did. But she was your sister, that’s what she was here for. “You need to move on.”

You still didn’t move. There was no moving on to do. Nobody could make you feel such a rush of emotions as he did. You hated it, the rollercoaster: love to hate to love. You wished that it was all love. But that’s not the way life works.

Maybe it would’ve been easier if you’d never met at all. He made it clear that he would be hard to love. How could he say that, and then love you with such vigor? Its like he said it just to hurt you. But he’d never hurt you – until now. Until he vanished from your life forever; it was an Avengers thing. You could almost roll your eyes thinking about it.

Your mother came over later that week to hit you with the tough love. “What are you going to do, (Y/N), seriously?” You simply ignored her question and continued mixing the sauce you were making for dinner later. “You’re just going to be alone forever?”

You dropped the spoon and turned around to face her, holding your arms out in defeat. “What do you want me to do, mom? Go out and marry some fucking loser just so I’m not alone?” She stared at you with a scowl. “Every day wish that I loved him?”

“You’re so dramatic,” she scoffed. “You don’t know whose out there if you don’t try.”

“Mom, I don’t want to try! Do you understand that?” You were screaming, hopelessly yelling, pleading for her to grasp this concept. As soon as you realized you were yelling, you shut up. God, is this how you sounded when you yelled at Bucky? At least he yelled at you back – your mom just sat there judging you. “Listen,” you huffed, your voice now fifty decibels lower. “I just can’t.”

Oh, I wish that my mouth didn’t smile when I think of you But you left me with the good stuff, babe And I know that it’s a crying shame It’s a million times harder when I don’t hate you When I don’t hate you

“Would you just shut the fuck up!” You yelled at him, shutting the front door behind you. “I wasn’t even looking at the guy.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, before getting heated again. “You were basically eye-fucking him across the room.”

And that’s how it started that fateful night one year, one month, and sixteen days ago. You and Bucky went out for date night, a new restaurant/club uptown. It was swanky, you thought you’d enjoy a fun dinner; maybe drink a little bit, let loose. You’d always loved it when Bucky would put his hands on you in the club; his metal hand would travel up and down your side, while his flesh hand traced along your hip bones and grab your ass. Bucky never had fun like that. He grew up in a time that dancing meant face to face, bodies six inches apart. He wouldn’t dare to drop his hand to a girls backside, let alone grab her ass in the middle of the dancefloor.

Maybe it was the new Bucky – the twenty-first century Bucky, that was a bit of an exhibitionist and voyeur. The two of you didn’t go out a lot, but you knew that this was something he enjoyed every once and a while, and you were more than happy to let him run his hands all over you. He loved that scene, but as soon as anyone else so much as glanced at you, he lost it.

You let out an exaggeratedly loud groan. “Shut up! I barely even looked at him!” You were met with an eyeroll from him. “Even if he was looking at me all night, I can’t help it! What did you want me to do about it? Be like you and beat the shit out of him in the middle of the club?”

That’s what got the two of you kicked out of the club. He dropped his hands off of you, clenching his fists at his sides, and sauntered over to the man. Before the man could say anything – or hold his hands up in defense, even – Bucky nearly broke his jaw. One swift fist to the face and the man was on the floor. You ran over, yanking Bucky’s arm before he could go in for another punch. When the bouncer stepped over, you had no choice but to quietly apologize and leave, dragging a fuming Bucky behind you.

“You say that as if you didn’t enjoy the show.” You swallowed hard and bit your lip. You couldn’t technically lie to him – he knew you’d thought it was hot. Obviously, you could admit you did find it a bit arousing. And you knew Bucky could smell it on you.

“You didn’t have to break his fucking face; you’re the one who wanted to go to the club in the first place.”

“Sure, (Y/N). I don’t even know why you’re defending him, anyway. He was staring at you with his fucking disgusting eyes. If I knew you liked being watched so much, I would’ve suggested we go to the strip club so you could hop on stage.” His deep voice echoed throughout the living room.

“Shut the fuck up, James. I hate you.” With that, you crossed your arms over your chest and stomped your way to the bedroom. You slammed the door, and not a second later, you heard the front door slam the floor below you. That sounds about right. This had been a recent development. Sometimes when you fought, you’d have angry, jealous sex afterwards – it was passionate, painful, and a burning reminder that the two of you belonged together. Other times, when you two said particularly vile things to each other, he left. He stepped out to clear his head. He’d come back in the early hours of the morning (after spending a sleepless few hours in his bed at the Avengers Complex) and spend the rest of the morning having make-up sex, filled with breathy I’m sorry’s and I love you’s; bodies molded together, sharing space, time, and air.

You sat awake in bed, more pissed off than anything else. It wasn’t the worst he’s ever said, to be honest. You knew he was buzzed and pissed off. You’d said worse than that to him, too. But it was routine: fighting, yelling; making up and making love. It was simply what you did.

Not thinking too much more about it, you laid in bed, completely exhausted after the evening you’d just had. This is exactly what happened every time. You shut your eyes for the night.

Bucky didn’t come home the next morning. You woke up to the sun shining in your eyes and the other side of the bed empty. He didn’t come home that afternoon, nor that night. Not the following day, or the day after.

I hate you.

The last thing you said to him.

But I don’t hate you.

And in another life, yeah Do me a favor and try To leave me broken and bitter So moving on’s a little quicker

You shivered from the cool breeze; it was getting late. The sky was darkening, the sun shining on your skin now gone, replaced with cold goosebumps. You picked at the grass blades in front of you, as you sat cross-legged on the frigid, hard ground in silence. It was the first official day of spring, and man, it was unseasonably brisk. You would have to get going soon, they closed at dusk.

You made a pile of pulled up grass in front of you. It had now been officially two years since you last saw Bucky. Since you’d thrown around those nasty words like they were nothing; as if they’d held no weight in the world – that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

You regretted that night everyday for the last seven hundred and thirty days. You felt bad – so bad. It weighed on your heart every second of the day. So much so that you’d grown to hate yourself recently. That’s the only person you should’ve ever hated anyway (or at least said it out loud). You never actually hated him, and you know that he knew that. There was no way he couldn’t know you were just saying it. Saying it with no meaning behind the words.

But you couldn’t change it. You kept thinking about the pain it must have caused him after he left. Maybe you should’ve reached out. It was always you waiting for him to come home. But then again, it was he who decided to leave in the first place.

Since that night, you stayed quiet. You didn’t want to meet anyone new, didn’t want to give your heart to anyone else. Talking to others felt like a chore. It just didn’t have any worth anymore. There was no point in finding someone else because he wouldn’t – couldn’t – be Bucky. After all, there was no one who could rile you up like he did.

You picked up the pile of loose grass and threw it up in the air, watching as the breeze took it away. Just like Bucky – taken away. Right from the tips of your fingers.

You sighed, standing up and wiping the dirt off the back of your jeans. “Hey, Buck,” you whispered, patting the top of his gravestone. “If you can’t love me for forever in our next life, don’t bother. I can’t go through this twice.”

#bucky barnes #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #fic #fancition #captain ameri #angst #bucky fic #bucky x you

107 notes · View notes

chipper9906 · 4 years

Text

The Best Laid Plans - Chapter 9: Where It Began

LINK TO CHAPTER 1

Pairings: Kylo Ren/Rey, Ben Solo/Rey

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 7,480

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress

Chapter Preview:

Rey nodded, letting her eyes flutter shut and taking a deep breath in to prepare herself. She exhaled slowly, feeling everything that surrounded her. The searing wind of Jakku batting against the baked metal of her AT-AT, the sound of hairless rats scurrying in underground tunnels miles and miles away, the bustling activity of the rare settlements scattered around the desert. The energy of it all existed around her, within her, was her.

And there was Kylo. Somehow nothing like her, and yet entwined with her. He was like a pulsating, glowing beacon within her vision, a mass of brilliant white with veins of jet black sneaking through, clinging to him like vines, digging in hard and refusing to relinquish their grip. It was reaching out to her, twirling around her, letting itself brush along her but never quite being able to hold on. Looking at him now, she knew him like she knew herself. There was nothing he could hide from her, and the fact that he was so willingly baring himself to her like this was a show of trust she couldn’t even begin to grasp.

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Chapter 9: Where It Began

Rey has encountered many experiences in her short life. Some experiences that have been experienced by many others, some only a rare few get the privilege to be a part of. Sure, there are countless other scavengers out there - not just on Jakku - who performed the same tasks every day as she did. And she’s sure there are plenty of others that have been abandoned by their parents and left to fight for their own survival. Not quite as many people have had a resistance droid carrying a map to the Luke Skywalker roll into their lives. And not everyone has been led to an ex-stormtrooper, who would then help them to escape from a pursuing group of stormtroopers onboard the most famous ship in the Galaxy (that, admittedly, she had once mistaken for garbage.) Not so many people have had the privilege to study under Luke Skywalker, to hold and wield a saber – not just any saber, but the saber that had once belonged to Anakin Skywalker, and then passed onto his son, Luke Skywalker.

She’s lived through every one of them, and she’s here now to tell the tale, isn’t she? Well, the point she was trying to make is that those experiences help her to be prepared. Ready to tackle anything that comes away.

Except, she had never planned for Kylo Ren, heavily inebriated on brandy that she had coaxed him into drinking, to say what he had just said to her. Above all else, she hadn’t been expecting to find herself wanting him to act on his words. He hadn’t moved – not yet. His lips were tantalizingly close to her own, so close that she only needed to tilt her head up a few millimeters and he would get to find out the answer to his question. His hazy brown eyes repeatedly flickered down to her waiting lips, struggling to focus on her eyes when they flicked back up.

It feels more like instinct than her own willpower that she finds herself leaning into him. His lips barely brush against hers, another wave of brandy scented breath filling her senses when it hits her. She stops, how exactly she isn’t too sure. She has a hand on his chest, gently nudging him back as she pulls her face away from his, shaking her head as she does so. She can just about see the cloudy confusion behind the drunken haze in his eyes – worst of all, she can see the clear sheen of hurt as she pushes him away.

“We shouldn’t…” Rey tells him quietly, dropping her hand away from the warmth of his body. “You don’t want this. Not really. You’ve had too much to drink, you… you’re not acting like, well, you. It would be wrong of me – of us – when we’re like this, I… You would regret it so much once you sober up.”

Kylo blinks slowly at her in his confusion, taking the time to process the words in his intoxicated mind. “What?”

Rey sighed heavily, scooting further back on her bed until her back hit the wall. The pain swelling in Kylo’s chest grew heavier the further she pushed herself away from him. “This is for the best. Trust me. You’d hate me otherwise.”

“I’d never-,” Kylo begun, but stopped when Rey shook her head at him.

“You can’t promise that. Not with us.” Rey stated firmly. “And this isn’t a decision you can make in your current state. Chances are you won’t even remember this tomorrow…”

“Okay.” Was all Kylo could say in response to that because it seemed like this was an argument he just couldn’t win. Rejection was never fun, but he wasn’t going to push Rey. Not with this. No matter how much the ache in his chest worsened with her rejection.

“I’m sorry…” Rey had practically folded in on herself, tucking her knees to her chest and peering over at Kylo worriedly. “We just can’t do this. Not while you’re drunk.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. It’s fine, I’m fine, I just-,” Kylo stumbled to his feet, nearly knocking over a misshapen light fixture next to him as he stood. “I, uh… I think I should go. To my ship, I’ll just…”

This was exactly what Rey was worried was going to happen. Something that fractured the fragile relationship blooming between them that would only serve to push them apart instead of bringing them closer together. She had thought maybe she could have prevented it, but it appears she’s only done the opposite. She wants to tell him no, that he doesn’t have to leave, he’s always welcome in her home - but Kylo is staggering out of the door to her home before the words can even have a chance to form in her head, and she’s left with her mouth open and a hand outstretched towards his retreating form.

Rey let her head fall into her palms with a groan. She dug her fingers into the corners of her eyes, willing for the waves of dizziness to pass quickly. She can barely think when her head is swimming like this. Rey lets herself slide down the wall until she hits the somewhat scratchy but relatively soft blankets of her bed, wincing at the bulky object lodging itself into her side. She bends her arm awkwardly to reach at her back, yanking out the bottle she had discarded to the bed during their conversation. She gives a small grunt as she reaches to place the mostly empty bottle on what can barely count as a bedside table before collapsing back into the bed and rubbing a hand over the pressure she can feel building in her skull. This was the non-fun part of drinking, she supposed. Nausea and regrets.

Lots and lots of regrets…

* * *

Rey had never been in such pain in her life.

If this is the price she has to pay to get drunk, she’s never getting drunk again. That’s something that’s probably said by every sentient creature that’s ever drank before, but she stands by her words.

There must be a microscopic creature swinging a hammer around with reckless abandon inside her skull, because that’s the only scenario that fits the agonizing pain going on inside her head. The interior of her home had never seemed so bright, the thin streams of sunlight piercing through holes in her rusting ceiling blinding her even through closed eyelids, adding to the sharp pain that was set behind her eyes. Her mouth was dry – unbearably dry, like someone had replaced it with a piece of sandpaper. Good thing she still has some water left in the reserve…. This is too much suffering for the supposed fun of last night.

Ah. Last night… Oh, she remembers that. She would probably have had to drink to the point of alcohol poisoning to have forgotten that. Perhaps Kylo has forgotten it? She isn’t sure if she wants for him to have forgotten… On one hand, it would make this whole mess easier. He’d probably be a bit confused about the whole situation, though. In fact, she isn’t entirely sure where he went. She had just about picked out the words ‘my ship’ in his jumbled mess of words as he hurriedly left last night, but that could easily mean he got on his ship and took off. Which, if he did, she’s going to have to scold him harshly for the next time the Force connects them because you absolutely should not under any circumstances pilot a complicated spare faring piece of machinery whilst drunk.

Rey forces her eyes open, immediately wincing at the light that assaulted her senses. She pushed herself out of bed, peering at the world through squinted eyes whilst groaning quietly at the ache that ran through her muscles. She only stumbled a few times on her way to the water reserve, quickly pouring herself a canteen of thankfully somewhat cooled water.

It was the most refreshing drink her life, the cool liquid seemingly lessening the ache in her head with every swallow. She felt more alive now, at least. And not like she was right on deaths doorstep. She gave a weak glare in the offending bottle’s direction, wishing to never see or taste that bitter amber liquid ever again. She passes by it, ambling over to her workshop bench and then she stops there, staring down at its surface as she places the canteen of water down.

Her saber stares back at her, its sleek dark metal standing out atop the polished silver metal of her worktop. She can still barely believe it, even now. She was sure Kylo and herself would have got to practice sparring with it today, but that seems unlikely now. She doesn’t know when she’ll get to see him again… She sighs softly, scooping up the saber from the workbench. Rey rolls it around across her palm for a moment, testing the weight and overall feel of it. That’s when she catches sight of a shadow at the doorway from the corner of her eye that hadn’t been there before.

Her finger was moments away from spinning the ignition wheel to her saber, nearly dropping it at the sight of Kylo Ren stood at her doorway. She could see his chest heaving under his many layers of clothing, breathing heavily as if he had ran the whole way here; which seemed likely, seeing the sheen of sweat plastered to his forehead.

He didn’t look panicked, though. At least, she couldn’t sense that from him. So, it was unlikely he was running from something, or that they were in any immediate danger.

“Ben?” Rey asked, turning briefly to place her saber back on the workbench before turning back to him. “I thought you had left?”

Kylo had managed to get his breathing somewhat back under control. His fingers fidgeted by his side, swallowing harshly before he spoke.

“I’m not drunk anymore.”

‘What is he talking about?’ Is the brief thought that passes through Rey’s mind. It’s brief due to the fact that her mind goes into overload as Kylo Ren storms towards her, encases the sides of her face in his giant hands, and crashes his lips into hers.

She let out a surprised squeak against his lips as Kylo pushes her back, feeling the hard edge of the workbench digging into her lower back as she collides with it. This was new, something she definitely hasn’t experienced before, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. It seemed deep-seated in her mind, something primitive that took over her body. She drops her saber on the workbench behind her, reaching up Kylo’s back and tangling her fingers in his black locks. She leans into him, her other hand trailing up his front and resting on the solid muscle of his chest, feeling the heat that bled through his shirt.

Kylo’s hands had slipped down, one arm curled around her hips and the other resting between her shoulder blades, a constant pressure that tugged her towards him. Rey parted her lips, breaking away from him to take a breath before Kylo quickly surged forward and reclaimed them with his own. A small whine slips out of her, barely audible after being swallowed by Kylo’s lips. She feels the gentle scrape of his teeth dragging down her bottom lip, accompanied by a shiver sliding down her spine. Her fingers involuntarily clench and tug at his hair, eliciting an unexpecting throaty growl from Kylo that nearly had her legs give out from underneath her.

It wasn’t until Kylo had pulled away from her that she felt like her mind had come back together and her body was back in her control. Her lips felt swollen and warm, and probably looked about the same as Kylo’s did: cherry red and plump with a sheen of moisture. The drunken haze was undeniably gone from his eyes, but had been replaced by a much different one; dark pupils expanded until his iris was no more than a thin rich brown circle that surrounded the inky blackness, darting across her face as he waits for her reaction.

“Wha… What just happened?”

Maybe not the most intelligent words to have come out of her mouth, and probably in the worst of situations, but there they were.

“I kissed you.” Kylo spoke slowly, almost framing the straightforward statement as a question. He looked genuinely concerned for her mental wellbeing, so that was nice at least.

“…Why?”

His concerned look only deepened. “Because I wanted to? And maybe it’s foolish of me to assume, but I presumed you kissed me back because you wanted to?”

She did. Oh no, she did, didn’t she? It hadn’t even crossed her mind whether she wanted to, let alone if she even should.

“I… Yeah, I guess I did.”

She could see the relief clear as day on his face at her words, felt the tension of his muscles drain away beneath her fingertips that were still resting along the back of his neck.

“Good, because then I can do this again.” Kylo had leaned forward again before she could even blink, their lips slotting together perfectly like they were built to be. Rey had to fight against every fiber of her being not to just melt right back into him, into the deliriously addicting silky heat of his mouth, because it would only lead to trouble if all Kylo needed to do to shut down her mental capabilities was kiss her.

“Wait-,” She barely managed to get out in the brief second their lips parted, nearly forgetting what the rest of her sentence was supposed to be when Kylo runs his tongue across her bottom lip. “Ben, wait.”

Kylo does pull away at that, looking about as unhappy about having to stop as she was, even though she was the one who stopped it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just… Is this the best idea? Not even taking into account what I want, or what you want, but thinking about how messy this could get.”

“Messy?” Kylo repeated her words in a question. “Why would it get messy?”

“Maybe because I’m a Jedi in training, and you’re the supreme leader of The First Order? The time we’ve spent together so far, it’s… well, I suppose it’s what’s led to this moment, hasn’t it? But it can’t last forever. I’m going to have to return to my duties someday, as will you. This war will continue, Ben. And we both pledge our allegiances to different sides. Battles will be fought. We’ll have to join those battles. How will we both be able to step onto the battlefield, both as enemies and as… as…”

“Lovers?”

That word didn’t sound adapt enough, but it managed to get a fierce red blush to creep up her neck and spread across her face, so she supposed it was good enough. “Yes. This is going to complicate things, in ways that will impact more lives than just our own.”

“We’ll find a way.” Kylo said firmly, raising his hands to wrap them around her arms and give them a light squeeze. “This is my specialty - working with I’ve got to make the plan work.”

“The plan?”

“This one, right here.” Kylo replied. “I’m not willing to walk away from this, Rey. All my life, I’ve done what others have wanted me to do. For once, I’m deciding what I want. And you’re it, Rey. Question is – do you want the same?”

“Ben…” Rey whispered his name under her breath. “It’s more complicated than that. Even with where we are now. If I was forced to fight you in battle… but… but I couldn’t just abandon the resistance either.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. What happened the other day with my troopers, that isn’t something I can repeat. It’s an unnecessary loss to the First Order-,”

“And a loss of life.” Rey stressed. Kylo so desperately wanted to point out that he knew that, that he couldn’t stop thinking about that, but he just… couldn’t. Couldn’t let himself admit that to her. “And isn’t that proving my point? What are we going to do if we get caught again? Either by your people, or by mine? It doesn’t matter how careful we are, you can never completely rule out that happening.” Rey continued.

“No, we can’t.” Kylo agreed. “But why would they have anything to suspect, if all they see is you and I in the midst of battle?”

Rey frowned up at him. Didn’t he hear a word she had said earlier? “Ben, I already said, I can’t fight you-,”

“And I can’t fight you.” Kylo quickly continued. “People can be easily fooled, though. I’m quite talented in manipulating people, and you might not want to admit it, but so are you. A few flashy tricks with the help of a Force, a blur of color from our sabers… They’ll be none the wiser.”

“You want us to… fake fight?”

“It’s the only solution.” Kylo stressed. “We can both continue our lives as we were but keep alive this new fire that seems to have sparked between us. I want to see where this takes us, Rey. I want to keep this little piece of happiness to ourselves.”

Rey stared up into those auburn eyes that were locked onto hers with such intensity that he must have committed hers to memory by this point. There was so much desperation hidden within them, all of him laid bare for her to witness, ready to either be elated by her answer, or be completely torn down.

“Okay.” Rey finally answered after a few too many seconds of unbearable silence for Kylo.

“Okay?” Kylo dared to ask.

“Okay.” Rey repeated, a small smile curling at the corner of her lips. “We’ll give the plan a shot. We’ll try and make it work.”

Kylo responded by crushing her into her chest, squeezing one arm around her entire body and delicately holding the back of her head with his other hand. Rey chuckled softly into his shirt, dropping her arms down to reciprocate the gesture and squeeze Kylo tighter. His heart was beating a steady rhythm under her ear, if not a bit faster than usual, and Rey let herself enjoy this brief moment of being held by him without questioning the somewhat flimsy structure to this plan.

They could make it work… right?

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Rey jumped back from Kylo at the shrilling noise, looking around for the source. Her eyes drifted down to the Holocron attached snugly to her wrist, her heart jumping at the sight of the General’s name along its surface.

Kriff, how long had it been since her last check-up with the resistance? If she doesn’t answer this now, they’re going to worry. Questions will be asked. They may even try and track her down. But this isn’t exactly a call she can make with the Supreme Leader of the First Order in view.

“Quick-!” Rey hisses at him, shoving Kylo out of the way, much to his immense confusion. Rey kept shoving him until he reached a particularly shadowy corner of the AT-AT that would hopefully keep him concealed from his mother’s sharp sight. “If she sees you, this plan will have failed before it’s even started!”

“If who sees me?” Kylo tried to ask, but received a sharp hush from Rey in response. He does as he’s asked anyway, pushing himself back into the corner as far as he can go. Rey seemed to have a legitimate reason for her worry, so it seemed like this was going to be a ‘do as you’re told and ask questions later’ kind of scenario. He got the feeling it was going to be like that a lot in their relationship…

Rey practically fell into the wobbly wooden stool by her workbench, the chair nearly toppling over in her haste to get seated. She gave a quick glance to Kylo in the corner to her left side, who could only shrug his shoulders at her in response. This could only end poorly…

Rey swiped across the Holocron to accept the call, swallowing nervously to compose herself as General Organa popped into view. Thankfully, it appeared that the General was in her private room, rather than the officer's room, where sensitive information may have been on display. As far as Leia knows, Rey is still isolated on the hardest to reach place in the Galaxy… she would have no reason to have to hide any information.

“Rey…” The General said her name with such warmth that it was impossible for Rey not to smile, even through the nerves churning up her stomach. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, General.” Rey replied, letting her eyes wander over to Kylo. Kylo had turned as stiff as a board, that look of indifference he was so efficient at throwing up back on his face. In a blink, he had turned from a normal, emotional person to Kylo Ren. Seeing him like this, she couldn’t help but worry what information Kylo may try to take from this.

“Something wrong, Rey?” The Generals inquisitive voice brought Rey’s attention back to the Holocron. “You seem distracted.”

“Uh, no, I’m fine. I, um… I thought I heard something moving outside, but it’s nothing.” Rey rushed out her response, coming up with an excuse on the fly. “Everything okay back at base?”

“As well as can be.” Leia answered with a somewhat strained smile. “The First Order’s still hot on our heels. We may have to move our base of operations soon, try and throw them off our trail…”

“Finn mentioned that last time.” Rey noted, giving another quick glance over to Kylo, who was showing no reaction to this conversation. “He also said you had gained some new members? How are they settling in?”

“As well as can be, given the circumstances. They’ve been under the First Order’s thumb for so long, nothing more than average citizens… actively fighting against their oppressors instead of simply opposing them in secret is quite a jump in lifestyles.”

“And what of the stormtroopers you took in? Are they still under watch?”

“Not anymore.” Leia answered, and Rey could actually spot a hope-filled smile on the Generals face. “We sent them out on a covert mission recently. Reconnaissance. The more information we can gather from under the First Order’s nose, the better.”

“You’ve sent them back? Isn’t that a bit risky?”

“It won’t be for long.” The General assured her. “And they have full communication with us at all times. This mission wasn’t ordered, it was offered – volunteers only. Each and every one of them stepped up for it. And since we’ve lost our usual source of information-,”

“Wait, what?” Rey interrupted the General, grabbing the edge of the workbench and pulling herself closer. “Are you talking about the spy?”

The words had slipped out of her mouth before she had even had a chance to think them through properly. How could she have done that? How could she have mentioned of the First Order Spy, the one big advantage the resistance had over the First Order, when the supreme leader was stood in the same room?

“They ceased contact with us last week. They usually check in every few days, supply us with some tidbits of information, but now they’ve gone radio silent.” Leia continued, not picking up on Rey’s internal freak-out.

It wasn’t like Rey could just change the subject, at least not without arising Leia’s suspicions. Besides, it was too late to do much more damage than she already had. Kylo now knew there was a spy amongst his ranks. “Do you think something happened to them? Someone in the First Order that could have found out about them?” Rey asked.

“It’s a possibility… to tell you the truth, we simply don’t know. We’re hoping they’ll get back to us in the coming days, but we can't rely on them and their information for everything. We’ll have to find our own ways, which is what we’re doing.”

“Do we have any idea who the spy is?”

“No.” Leia answered. “From the information they’ve given us, it’s either someone high up in their rankings or someone who has a lot of reach. They never even send us the messages themselves – it’s passed along to a middle man who gets the information to us.”

“Maybe there’s a delay with the middle man?” Rey suggested. “Or maybe they’re struggling to find another middle man to pass the information along?”

“Could be, Rey. We can only wait and see.” There was a momentary gap in their conversation, one where Rey suddenly felt like she was under the General’s scrutinizing gaze. “How are you, Rey?”

“I’m… I’m good.”

“That’s it? Just ‘good?’ It can’t be easy being all alone out there.”

Oh, if only she knew…

“It’s not too bad.” Rey answered with a weak smile. “I mean, of course I’m missing you all terribly… as well as missing getting to watch Finn and Poe bumble awkwardly around each other.”

That managed to get a laugh out of the General. “They are rather oblivious, aren’t they? I can’t help but wonder when those two will figure it all out…”

“I’m sure they will one day. Hopefully when the Galaxy is in a more… stable state.”

“Which it will be.” Leia promised. “But… you’re sure you’re alright, Rey? Nothing you need to talk to me about?”

Rey’s heart jumped in her chest, involuntarily looking back over to Kylo once more. Kylo’s face was set in stone, his vision fixed on the Holocron of his mother with a look that made Rey’s chest constrict with fear.

“Nothing that I can think of, General.” Rey answered, hoping Leia couldn’t sense the slight catch to her voice as she spoke.

“Nothing at all?” The General continued to inquire, much to Rey’s annoyance. “Not even the reason why you’ve decided to leave Ahch-To?”

Dammit. Dammit, Dammit, Dammit. It was stupid to assume the General wouldn’t have found out… probably just one look at her surroundings and she would be able to tell something was different… Kylo had finally reacted to their conversation, his eyes darting over to Rey with his eyebrows raised, mouthing the name ‘Ahch-To’ to himself, like he was devoting the same to memory. She had done exactly what she set out not to do – to give away the location of a precious Jedi island to the one man who sought to wipe out anything related to the Jedi.

And yet, that stubborn piece of hope still remained firmly planted in Rey’s chest that it didn’t matter. Because Kylo was changing, wasn’t he? The sudden shift in their relationship had proven that. He knew doing anything to that island would hurt her, and Kylo would never do that to her… right?

“I was actually kind of hoping to keep it a surprise.” Rey had to think on her feet once more, reaching across the workbench to grab hold of her saber which she had discarded when she was doing something that she can’t think about without her face going red and alerting the General once again. “But I suppose now is as good as ever.”

Rey held up her saber to the Holocron for General Organa to see. The older woman's eyes went wide, alight with excitement as she laid eyes on the new weapon. “That isn’t my brother's saber…”

“No, it’s not. It’s mine. Crafted from my old staff and some spare pieces of scrap – which is why I came back home to Jakku. It’s where I am right now, actually. I’ve been working on it for the past few days – completely forgot to check in with you. Sorry…”

The General smiled at Rey’s sheepish apology. “Try not to let yourself get too distracted in the future.” Leia lightly reprimanded her. “But I suppose this is a worthy project to be distracted by… Where did you learn how to do such a thing?”

“The Texts.” Rey’s mind thankfully came up with an answer that made sense. “Your brother had a few Jedi Texts stored in his home that I was able to salvage.”

“The Jedi Texts?” Leia asked in disbelief. “Luke was forever frustrated by those books… We stopped our training before I could ever get to them – he always put them off, saying I needed more experience first, but truthfully I think he still didn’t have a complete grasp on them.”

“I can see why.” Rey replied with a breathy chuckle. “They’re not the easiest of reads.”

“They’re not written to be. Yet, you seem to be handling them quite well.”

“I wouldn’t quite say that.” Rey corrected. “I’m only getting bits and pieces, but it’s slow progress.”

And that was the truth. She hadn’t made much progress with the texts, but there were still some. Nothing to do with building sabers of course, that was the lie, but she had come across some interesting subject matters that she wanted to delve deeper into. Something she had never heard of being used before…

“If it’s enough to be able to build a saber by yourself, then I would say you’re doing fine with them.” Leia complimented Rey with a proud smile on her face, which made it all the more painful knowing the lie Rey was feeding to her.

“Thank you, General.” Rey said with a weak smile. “I know you’re all concerned about me, but I promise I’m okay out here. Really. And I’ll always be ready to drop anything and come back to base whenever you need me.”

“Ah… well, you’ve just made the reason for my call a lot easier.”

Rey straightened up at this, feeling her heart rate kick up as she racked her brains for what the General may have meant. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not yet.” Leia answered ominously. “That mission I mentioned earlier? With the troopers undercover? We sent out another unit to accompany then, gather information on a First Order held settlement currently under heavy watch. We believe there’s a contact currently trapped there who could provide us with some more ships.”

“For what price?” Rey asked, because no one ever gave anything for free in war.

“We don’t know yet. That’s why we’re going to send out a scouting unit to see if we safely and efficiently liberate the settlement. I need you to-,”

“It’s better to brief me when I get back, General.” Rey quickly interrupted Leia, cringing at the disrespect. It wasn’t like she had an option, though. Kylo would have heard every detail of the plan from where he was stood. “When we’re face to face, not over this.”

“That’s probably for the best.” General Organa agreed, to Rey’s great relief. “I need you back here in about three days, if you can make that.”

“I can make that.” Rey agreed. “But… are you sure you don’t need me back earlier?”

“I believe you might be a bit of a distraction for the resistance upon your return. I need everyone’s complete focus, especially in the next few coming days.”

This did nothing but pique Rey's interest even more, but she would have to wait until she had returned to the resistance to ask, when there isn’t an extra pair of ears listening in on their conversation. Or at least, that’s what she hoped. She can never entirely control when the Force decides to connect Kylo to her…

“Three days it is, then.” Rey settled on.

“Three days.” Leia repeated in a firm voice. “Keep yourself out of trouble until then, okay?”

Rey couldn’t help but let her eyes drift over to Kylo at that. Keep out of trouble, huh? She was already deep in it…

“I think I can do that.”

* * *

The stillness they found themselves in after the call had ended was stale and uncomfortable, to say the least. Rey had assumed the time after a relationship comes to life would be a bit more light-hearted than this, but then again, you don’t usually receive a call from your new partner's mother – who also happens to be the General of the Resistance, which happens to be opposing the army your new boyfriend is the leader of. They never were going to get a normal start, were they?

“Three days…” Kylo mumbled into the dead air, still hidden away in the corner of the room, having not moved a muscle the few minutes it’s been since the call had ended. “Three days. Then you go back.”

“Seems so.” Rey said in somewhat of a daze, staring down at her hands in her lap.

“Seems important.” Kylo added, finally stepping out of the shadows, illuminated by the streams of light making their way through the damaged ceiling. “Important enough to need a Jedi, anyway.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.” Rey told him with a strained quality to her voice, already wondering how badly she’s screwed up. “I should have known something like this would happen…”

“It wasn’t really something in your control-,”

“Except it was.” Rey interrupted harshly, more frustrated with herself than anything. “I knew I had to call in, and I let it slip from my mind completely. I hate having to lie to Leia… After all she’s done for me…”

“And I’m sure you’ve done a lot for my mother as well.” Kylo pointed out. “Such as being willing to drop everything and return to her without even knowing what you’re walking into.”

“It’s the least I can do for her. And for the Resistance. I said I’d be there whenever they needed me – I don’t intend to break that promise.” Rey insisted. “I imagine you’ll be called back soon too, then.”

“Most likely.” Kylo concurred. “If the Resistance is planning something that requires you, then my officers will probably be calling me back to base for an urgent meeting.”

“You seem very confident in your officer's ability to know the Resistance’s every move.”

“It’s their job.” Kylo pointed out. “If they couldn’t do their job, they would be replaced.”

Rey snorted sarcastically at him. “Yeah, and I imagine being demoted doesn’t just involve being placed in janitorial staff, does it?”

Kylo didn’t answer that. He let his eyes drop down to the floor, then turned his head away from her completely. Rey wasn’t sure what that meant.

“So… I guess the whole ‘fake fighting plan’ is going to come into play sooner than we expected, huh?”

“Seems that way…” Kylo said in a hushed voice, a surprisingly sad twinge to his voice.

“What are you going to do?” Rey asked him. “Head back to… wherever the First Order is right now?”

Kylo looked back at her now, eyebrows furrowing as he regarded her with a bewildered look. “You’re not leaving for three days.”

“…So?”

“So, neither am I.” Kylo stated like there was no other option. “Every time we separate, we won’t know how long it will be until we get to see each other again. Face to face I mean, not just over the Force. Until I absolutely must go, I will make sure to savor this time I have with you. However long that may be.”

Yep. Rey was definitely in trouble…

“Three days, huh?” Rey asked playfully. “I’m not sure I can handle that much time with you without killing you.”

Nothing brought Rey more pleasure than seeing how hard Kylo was struggling to keep his laughter at bay.

“We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? I think you can handle another three days.”

“I guess we’ll see. Three days… What’s your plans?”

“Not sure about a plan, but… I think a trip to Ahch-To would be nice.”

And just like that, their playful banter had turned to the feeling of someone pouring ice-cold water down her back. She had nearly forgotten about him having heard that part of her and Leia’s conversation… Kylo could easily pick up on the sudden shift in her expression, frowning at the worry he could see on her face.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rey shot down his suggestion, turning away from him and back to the workbench. She picked her saber back up, finding it was easier to stare down at it rather than look into Kylo’s disappointed and pained eyes.

“You really don’t trust me at all, do you?”

Nope, never mind. The hurt in his voice was so much worse.

“This is more than just trust.” Rey argued, placing the saber back down and forcing herself to look at him. “Ahch-To, it’s… it’s the only connection I truly have left to the light, to the Jedi. It’s where my path truly began. I would be betraying Luke by risking its location. Even you knowing the name is more than I should have given…”

“That still doesn’t explain why you don’t want me there.”

“It’s not you specifically, Ben!” Rey snapped in her frustration. “If the First Order found out-,”

“Why would they find out?”

“Because…” Because why would they? Unless, as Kylo said, she didn’t trust him? She supposed that was the question, wasn’t it? Would Kylo find a use for Ahch-To that the First Order could benefit from? Did she somehow assume that Kylo’s presence would be enough to somehow taint the island? That seemed ridiculous, now she thinks about it… But still, it felt… wrong. Ahch-To was the shelter for the light, the one place of respite for the Jedi. There must have been thousands upon thousands of years of history on that island, of the many Jedi that once stepped foot on that island that have been long forgotten to history. It seems much too disrespectful for her to purposefully bring the one man who’s set on ending the Jedi….

“Let me show you something.” Kylo’s gentle voice brought Rey out of her thoughts. He gestured with his head as he stepped away, leading her over to the make-shift couch he had sat upon the night before.

Rey waited for Kylo to sit down before taking her own seat, shifting so she was facing him. Kylo leaned towards her, ducking his head to meet her eyes and make sure her line of sight was focused on him.

“You remember the first time we spoke face to face?” He asked her.

“You mean in the interrogation chair?” Rey asked, and wow, their relationship really did start oddly, didn’t it?

“Yes. You may recall how I tried to search through your mind for the answers I was searching for. And then you threw everything off by searching through my mind.” Kylo said, waiting for Rey’s nod in response before he continued. “I want you to do that to me again, Rey.”

Rey glanced down to see Kylo was offering his hand to her, his black gloves removed to reveal tanned and weathered skin, his palm facing towards her. Timidly, Rey stretched out her own hand, softly placing her hand down into his. Her fingers curled around the back of his hand the same time as his fingers wrapped around hers, swiping a calloused thumb tenderly over her knuckles. The second her skin touched his, everything seemed to melt away. Kylo had her full focus, like all of her senses were tuned into him, and him alone.

“Ask me something, Rey. I’ll give you my answer, and then you search within my mind. Find out If I answered truthfully. For someone of your abilities, it should be no problem.”

“Do you still love your mother?”

“Yes.” Kylo answered immediately, a muscle under his right eye twitching as he answered. Something about the weird, glazed look in Kylo’s eyes made her uneasy as the words poured out of him. “I always saw my inability to cut my ties with my parents to be my biggest failure. Killing my father did nothing to solidify my allegiance to the Dark, it just left me empty and torn in two. I know the path I’m on will only lead to either my death or my mother’s. If it’s the second, I don’t know if I’ll be able to be the one to do it.”

This was… weird. She didn’t need to search within him to see if he was telling the truth. Rather, the truth seemed to be spilling out from him, perhaps even without his consent. It was… it was kind of like Kylo wasn’t really there, pushed to the back of his mind as she pulled whatever she needed out from him.

It was weird, and it was uncomfortable, and she knew deep down that she shouldn’t be doing this. But she couldn’t help but ask him one last question…

“Are you still drawn to the light?”

“Every day.” Kylo answered with just two simple words, but it was all Rey needed to hear. In a snap, the dream-like daze on Kylo’s face was gone. His eyes cleared and focused, jumping back into the pilot's seat – more like forcing himself back into the pilot's seat – the skin around his face tightening as he clenched his jaw. He ripped his hand out of her grasp like she had burnt him, a wary and surprised look coming into place.

“It’s not very fair of you to take advantage of my trust when you’re not willing to give me the tiniest bit of yours.” Kylo muttered darkly, somehow looking at her both in disappointment and in awe of her power.

“I… I don’t know what came over me, I just… I couldn’t stop myself.”

Kylo glanced up at her as he rubbed at his hand, brushing over the patches of skin where Rey had touched him. Strangely, Rey could also feel a hot, tingling sensation like burning ants running under her skin, only on the spots where Kylo had curled his fingers around her hand.

“You got what you wanted though, didn’t you?” Kylo asked, pulling his glove back out from his pocket.

“I… Yes, actually. I think I did.”

Kylo snapped his glove back into place, raising a brow in question as he looked up to Rey, who had swiftly stood from the couch. His eyes followed her as she headed over to her workbench, grabbing her saber from the table and attaching it securely to the holder on her side. She turned back to face Kylo, gesturing her head at him like he had done not too long ago.

“Three days left together… and I’ve already spent longer on my old home than I wanted to. You’re right- I don’t trust Kylo Ren. But I do trust Ben Solo. I trust that man to come to Ahch-To with me, to keep the location of this sacred place hidden from anyone. I want to spend those three days with you, Ben. But it’s not my decision whether you come to Ahch-To with me. It’s yours. So, tell me – am I going back to Ahch-To alone?”

Kylo responded by standing from the couch, reaching her side in only a few steps and kissing her like they had done it a thousand times before. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the swooping sensation in her stomach whenever his lips are on hers, and she hopes she never does. Rey’s in so much trouble… and she can’t find herself to care.

Kylo broke away, running his hands up from her forearms to her shoulders and giving them a tender squeeze. “I told you I’d be there every step of the way, didn’t I?”

Link To Chapter 10

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #ben solo/rey #kylo ren/rey

11 notes · View notes