#they’re carted off to the circle and they don’t come quietly

[flashhwing]

having horrible dark au thoughts about Templar Carver and Tranquil Hawke

[concretevampire]

Building Holes

Part One

mike schmidt x afab!reader ☆ 8.9k ☆ no use of y/n and no reader description ☆ meeting for the first time; people being humans; adult themes; no serious warnings

A/N: I’ve been a FNAF and Josh Hutcherson fan since I was in middle school so this feels necessary. updates for this story will be (mostly) regular. English is not my first language.

You can see the panic in his eyes before he probably even thinks about it.

You don’t know him. Of course you don’t, he’s just a guy who happened to be standing in front of you at the check-out line.

But you feel bad. Really bad.

The cashier: they look disgruntled. Annoyed too. You can hardly blame them though– crying children irritate people– but you can’t help but be irked. Whoever this guy is, he’s obviously trying his best.

And what can you really do when something like this happens?

Some glittery, pink, thingamajig was right in the little girl’s line of sight and kids don’t like the word “no”. It didn’t help that he barely glanced at her when he told her off mundanely; quietly, eyes trained on the scan of item after item.

So, she’s throwing a fit. A torrential, hysterical, fit.

She can’t be older than nine, you think. And him, maybe a college student. An odd pair, but the world is filled with those. They’re so human it almost hurts; a gasp for air, a vase that’s older than you are; autumn leaves on concrete, the curve of a dandelion.

He’s processed his panic now, going pale as he spins to look between the girl and the cashier. Bag the groceries or calm her down?

The cashier looks more exasperated than anything else now. Impatience billows like drying laundry in their chest, wafting dew toward you.

A particularly pitiful sound shrieks from the girl and the thought that you want to go home enters your mind. It’s selfish, especially as you watch this guy bend down onto one knee, his thumbs wiping away the tears that muck the girl’s cheeks; muttering apologies and gentle pleas to quiet.

The fluorescent lighting of the store deepens the shadows underneath his eyes.

You decide then that your groceries aren’t really an emergency but the only thing you’ve got in the fridge is pickles and frozen pizza. You could make do but you don't want to.

“Do you want me to bag your groceries for you?” You ask, side-stepping past your cart and to The Guy, who’s precariously offering hushed solutions to the girl’s self-imposed grief.

He looks up; between you, his girl, the cashier, then the box of cereal on the counter that sits soundly.

Blue and unbothered.

Back to you. His eyes shine so brightly, you find yourself convinced he’s on the verge of tears. That’s just how he looks, you realize. Dark, dark eyes– condors and tarmac– and the twinkle of artificial light in them.

He nods weakly. “If you don’t mind.”

You shrug and walk past him, to the end of the cash register.

There’s Chef Boyardee, Donettes, Yummy Dino Buddies; they all get bagged– one by one– together. The Guy comes to stand next to you, now holding his girl; her ruddy, sobbing face tucked warmly into the crook of his neck. She’s clinging to his OMSI: Pacific Marine Camps t-shirt, snot getting on the printed Spicebush Swallowtail.

His dark eyes follow your hands as you set aside the eggs.

“Thank you,” he says, but you’re barely halfway done. He’s earnest about it though; gaze on your jaw as one of his warm palms rubs firm circles into the girl’s back.

You shake your head half-heartedly. “It’s okay,” you tell him.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I offered.”

He goes quiet, glancing towards the cashier a couple of times nervously. “Most people wouldn’t.”

“I dunno,” you set the eggs on top of the Donettes and whip open a new bag to place milk and Kraft Mac n’ Cheese in. “Stuff like this happens all the time.”

The little girl’s sobs have receded into hiccups and sniffles, still crying, but quiet.

The cashier picks at their nails.

When you finish bagging The Guy’s groceries, you give him a smile. Something that you hope is reassuring. Warm: the apple cider you had a week ago bubbling up on your cheeks.

Then, you return to your cart and the cashier begins scanning your items.

The Guy lingers.

A minute later he’s offering to pay for your groceries.

“You’re acting like you’re in debt,” you tease with a bewildered smile, borderline grimace.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

When you exit, he follows; pushing his cart with one hand, holding the girl up with the other. She’s not crying anymore.

The pair follow as you step over a mess of expired coupons that have been trodden into a fine paste over the parking lot’s concrete. Baby wipes: two for one.

“You’ve gotta let me repay you,” he implores.

You shrug a shoulder.

He opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find the right words. And there probably aren’t any, but you can’t tell him that. That’s something he’s gotta figure out on his own. You throw the back of your car open and shove groceries in.

He watches quietly.

“Thank you,” he then says, stubbornly. Like you’re a tornado; flightless fog and feathered ozone, a nightmare, something so earnestly destructive.

He has no clue how to approach it. You.

You turn to him fully, the air turning more yellow between the two of you as the evening deepens. The sun, a molten yolk melting and dipping into the bread of the Earth’s foundation.

He’s handsome— strong arms, broad shoulders, sharp jaw— and entirely constructed by hard-headed exhaustion.

Awfully young to be taking care of a girl like that, you think, but shit happens.

Shit always happens.

You close the trunk of your car.

“Good luck,” you tell The Guy, waving softly.

He’s quiet but he begins to step away, and the girl finally looks up– still clutching onto his shirt. Her dark, dark eyes glue stickily to yours: a gooey, feathered, glittery, arts n’ crafts project.

You smile at her, something you hope is reassuring. She sniffles.

“Thanks,” he says, moving further away, “you too.”

•---------•

“Happy Birthday.” You present the manilla folder lazily to David. He raises a brow.

“Those aren’t the divorce papers, are they?”

“Um,” you bring the folder back to your chest– an evil, rectangular teddy bear– and flip it open, “‘Complaint for Divorce’ in parentheses, ‘No Children’,” you look back at him. “I dunno, could be.”

He groans and reorganizes the staplers on his desk that have already been neatly placed at the corner. Twenty-degree angles on top of ninety-degree angles. All aligned in minimalist, careful, simplicity.

Perfect.

“I’m glad someone’s getting some amusement out of my divorce,” David groans, flipping drawers open and closed. Looking for something imaginary, something that will keep him busy. An object that will be an excuse in the future for his own failures.

“Our divorce,” you plea sarcastically, “You’re not gonna be my brother-in-law any more.” As if it ever mattered.

“Why are you here anyway?” He asks, finally straightening. One of his thick brows raises. “And not her assistant?”

“She wanted the personal touch.” You joke, setting the folder down on his desk. It feels incriminating when you hold it yourself as if you’re the one holding the gun up to their marriage, pulling the trigger. David eyes the folder warily. He reaches a skinny hand out, flipping through the papers tentatively.

His tendons swing and swell like frantic waves under his tan skin.

“I guess one nice thing about marrying a lawyer is that paperwork’s never a problem,” he mutters.

“And there are copies.”

“Oh, joy!” He exclaims, but then slumps in his chair, temples balanced in his palms. He’s awfully small like this. Crumpled at his desk. His blue and green argyle tie, a ruined knot at his neck. Gray suit, a poor stitch of used paper towels surrounding his frame.

Something about seeing a man so weak feels sacrilegous. Feels like a taunt. Feels like God is sitting on your shoulder and giggling.

It doesn’t help that his desk is so pristine. Neat where David is fucked. A nameplate sits perfectly in the center: DAVID CASTILLO VICE PRINCIPAL, it screams, confident.

“I should go,” you say when he doesn’t twitch from his hunched position for sixty seconds.

He nods, then shakes his head, then pinches the bridge of his nose as if a spider’s unfurled its legs in the cave of it. “No,” he starts, “No, um,” he glances at the divorce papers and looks away just as quickly. There’s a picture of him and your sister hanging on the wall to his left. He stares at the frame. “How about I take you out to dinner? Or something?”

“Sure,” you shrug.

“Okay.” David inhales deeply.

It’s quiet. A clock on his wall ticks, again and again, impending itself into your skin and his soul. “Do you want me to wait outside?” You ask, pointing a thumb at the door.

“Please,” he mutters.

The school is empty. The ‘Welcome Back to School!’ display is still up in the lobby, even though it’s mid-September and a chill is starting to ghost the air every few days. A janitor scoops up a leaking trash bag, throws it over his shoulder, and rolls the bin into the hallway.

You stroll past a wall absolutely littered with papers; drawings hung up like samara fruit in waxy colors. Lots of suns with smiley faces and brown, pea-bodied dogs. Theres a family of rainbow turtles and a wonky drawing of Ariel from The Little Mermaid. You recognize a dragon and a field of camels too. It’s endearing.

David wanted kids. Your sister didn’t.

That’s not the reason they’re getting a divorce but it’s one of those little microcosms that sums up why.

One little minute passed but it changed the hour. Changed the day too, maybe. Or the week. The month. For all you know, even the year. That’s what happened with them.

Just one minute. That’s all it takes.

You expect the cafeteria to be empty like everything else but it isn’t. There’s a woman sitting near the entrance with barrel hips and kinky, salt-and-pepper hair that's clipped back viciously in a bun. She smells warm, like peaches and laundry detergent; shea butter too.

A spice you only dream about.

The woman looks up at you from her book– something by Toni Morrison– and her brown and pink lips purse at you.

For a second she looks mean, but her hands seem so soft; so, so soft; the color of warm, brown egg shells. Her nails are lacquered in a hazy shade of lavender that reminds you of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the taste of milk with honey.

Sweet potato pie.

“Are you here for Abby Schmidt?” She asks, her voice low and smooth like the afterthought of a lullaby. Her eyes then turn to a girl sitting at one of the cafeteria tables. She sits alone, her dark hair hanging in rivulets around her ears and jaw, and she scribbles mindlessly with crayons on paper.

“No,” you tell her, adjusting your messenger bag a little. “I was just dropping something off for Mr. Castillo.”

The woman closes her book. Her eyebrows are thin. Neat stitches arched above wrinkles. “Are you a friend of David’s?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Okay,” she relents and opens her book again. You smile fractionally and nod, even though she doesn’t see.

Your footsteps echo against the linoleum as you walk deeper into the heart of the cafeteria. The girl doesn’t look up from her work, even as you approach, and you find yourself standing behind her. You’re looking over her shoulder at her art, arms clasped behind your back.

“I like your drawing,” you utter. The girl— Abby— turns to look up at you. Her eyes stick to yours.

“Thank you,” she says, trading a green crayon for a pink one. Then she looks back up, assessing you like you’re a division problem she hasn’t quite learned yet. “I like your jacket.” She settles.

“Thanks,” you say genuinely, shifting on your feet, “Can I sit with you?”

Abby nods and scoots over as you join her. She keeps coloring. Your eyes scan her drawing some more.

Two scribbled figures. Both with dark hair, and dark eyes, and smiles. One is taller than the other, and you can tell that the shorter one is herself: she’s wearing the red overalls in her drawing. The taller figure sports a green sweater— deep green.

Evergreens, ferns; huckleberries falling off the branch.

“Is that your dad?” You ask, hand waving towards the taller figure. She shakes her head.

“That’s Mike. He’s my brother.”

You nod. “Is that who you’re waiting for?”

“Mhm. But he’ll be here soon.” She checks the little purple watch on her wrist like she’s the president of the United States. “He’s usually late.” She turns to you. “Are you waiting for someone too?”

You guess you are. “Yeah.”

“Are they late?”

You shrug. “Sorta.”

Abby then narrows her eyes at your face. “I know you,” she says resolutely.

“Do you?” You ask, propping your head up with a palm as you rest your elbow on the cafeteria table.

“Yeah. You’re that lady who helped Mike at the grocery store.”

Your brows twitch upward, an interested leer wide on your lips. Abby looks suddenly familiar. Dark, dark eyes and fluorescents catching on them.

You’re surprised she remembers that at all; not only because it happened back during the tail-end of July, but because she was sobbing through the whole situation. She only saw your face for a solid five seconds and still recognized you as That Lady.

Smart girl.

“Yeah, that was me.”

She assesses you again; but more like a bird on a tree. “I’m Abby.”

“Nice to meet you, Abby.” You introduce yourself too. She beams and turns back to coloring. You watch and then ask, “Can I draw with you?” and Abby is quick to shove a paper and brown crayon in your hand.

She seems very pleased about the development.

Ten minutes later she’s frowning at your purple cow-dog-unicorn-thing and shaking her head. “I don’t think it looks like a cow.”

You look down at your work with her.

“Maybe if you squint? It’s abstract.” You narrow your eyes and bite the flesh of your cheek, doing what you think the high masters did when they made shit too.

She tries a squint and then frowns harder. “No.”

You laugh. “Well, maybe it’s my own animal.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Hmm. Wanna help me think of one?”

“Umm,” Abby tilts her head this way and that, the curls of her hair springing as she does. “I can’t think of anything.”

Before you can reply with something funny, someone runs into the cafeteria, panting. It’s The Guy. Mike. Her brother.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Harris, I-“

The woman ignores him, flipping another page in her book. He sighs and swallows, turning towards Abby. Then he looks flatly at you.

Abby stares– unwavering– as he walks over, hands crossed neatly over one another on the table. Mike takes her scrutiny like it’s orange juice with pulp while glancing strangely between her face and yours.

“Mike,” she starts. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I know, um,” he looks vaguely towards you. This feels like a routine and it feels like you're breaking it.

Abby introduces you. “This is the nice lady from the grocery store.” She supplies. His eyes widen momentarily, suddenly putting all the pieces of the past and the present together, a jigsaw falling into place. His eyes trace the slant of your nose, the curve of your eyes; linger on the pocket above your lips and the eve of your jaw.

Mike clears his throat and straightens his back. “I didn’t know you worked here?”

“I don’t,” you say, and look at your purple abomination. “A family member does.”

Mike nods and momentarily loses interest, walking around the table and grabbing Abby’s backpack. He slings it across his shoulder. It’s phenomenally tiny on his sback and you realize just how small Abby is. And the little pack is so bright against him too; shining in reds, and yellows, and deep blue cerulean against the gray-green of his jacket.

Abby stands, gathers her drawings (yours too), and grabs Mike’s hand when he offers it. There are bandaids on his thumb and pointer finger, bruises like nightshade crawling from underneath the torn brown.

But Abby doesn’t look away from you when Mike makes it for the exit. She makes an annoyed, high-pitched sound from the back of her throat and glues her eyes to yours desperately.

He stops, head knocking back to stare at the ceiling tiredly, before dropping to look at her. “What’s wrong?” He asks her gently.

“Wanna go to Sparky’s with us?” Abby asks you, with no regard towards Mike. Like he’s an imaginary presence. His eyes go wide though, catching the light like moths as he stares tight-lipped and in utter horror at the back of Abby’s head.

And then he comes to terms with it, frowning between you and her.

“Um,” you start, then scoot closer to Abby in your seat. Your eyes level with hers. “I think that’s something you need to ask Mike about,” you settle gently, hoping its the right thing to say.

She whips her head to look up at him. “Can they go to Sparky’s with us?”

Mike clears his throat; shifts his stance like it’ll suddenly root the words into his mind; adjusts the strap of Abby’s bag on his shoulder.

“Maybe later,” he decides.

“When?”

“Abby. C’mon.”

“When, Mike?”

You rise from your seat. “Are you free Friday?” You ask him, head tilting. He purses his lips at you, jaw working, and then seemingly gives up.

“After four, yeah.”

“Great. Me too.”

“Okay.”

“Friday at five then?” You beam down at Abby. “Sparky’s right?” Back at Mike. “That’s on 65th and Jefferson?”

“Yeah. Sure, sounds good.” He says, but you don’t believe him. He’s got this barely-there wince on his face like there’s a nail in his shoe.

He’s sorry, you realize. Sorry about Abby; sorry that he’s supposedly forced you into this. You shake your head at him with an easy smile.

It’s okay. But he doesn’t believe you either.

You feel like he’s the type of person who’s always on his own page. Not because he wants to be but because he’s worried that other people can’t read between the lines. Can’t look deeper, past the words and into the real meat of it all.

Or maybe Mike’s more comfortable ripping the book apart than letting anybody settle down into it with him.

He leaves.

Abby waves at you, a flutter of little fingers as she walks out the door too, trailing behind Mike.

David shows up five minutes later.

His tie is situated perfectly around his neck; firm and rigid into the confines of his freshly buttoned suit. He smiles at Mrs. Harris and she asks him how he is. David says he’s fine. You wish he didn’t have to lie but he waves you over like his life is a dream and you accept that this is the reality he wants. And that you’re, in some way, a part of it.

Dinner with him is a blur. The week is a blur.

On Friday, you almost forget that you’ve committed to go to Sparky’s but one of your coworkers mentions how her daughter has a ballet recital; and you’re suddenly reminded of Abby.

Reminded of the fact that there’s now apparently a child in your life that is affected by your actions.

You think for a moment to talk about Abby but remember suddenly that you don’t really know a thing about her. You don’t know whether she prefers apple juice or orange juice: what her favorite cartoon is: or if she’s still using kid’s toothpaste.

Abby’s not your kid or your little sister, and that fact doesn’t change even if you think she’s cute and funny.

You wonder what she’s drawn today.

Maybe she’ll show you. You think about how small she is and if her little eyes will stare into yours, hop-scotching across the strange adult sadness you can’t seem to shake off on warm, overcast days like today.

You drown out thoughts with the radio while you drive to Sparky’s.

It’s a hard place to miss.

It’s just outside the center of town, and the flat-topped building sits under a large neon sign that says “SPAKY’S GIL & DINR” because the owner can’t really afford to fix the letters that don’t light up anymore. The smiling, cartoon dog– Sparky— doesn’t light up anymore either.

He’s got bird shit on his left eye.

You’re five minutes early when you open the glass door to the diner. A bell tinkles, signaling your arrival.

Mike and Abby have already situated themselves in one of the gray laminate booths. They sit on one side together. Abby’s got her head down, already scribbling at a paper with a green, broken crayon. Mike’s looking out the window, an arm across the back of the booth behind her. Calm, reserved.

A little, yellow teddy bear is propped up between them.

Mike only turns your way when you sit down across from him. Abby looks up from her drawing immediately, her head jolting up. Her grin is palpable, like strawberry shortcake, when you say hi.

“You came!” She exclaims, grip tightening on the crayon. It might snap.

You smile. “Of course I did. I said I would, didn’t I?”

Abby nods and returns to drawing; her arm moving twice as fast as it was before you came.

Mike makes eye contact with you. His eyes then drop to linger on the collar of your shirt, reading the hem like an instruction manual, before raising again.

You’re not sure what he learned from the stitching.

Something by The Doors is droning on the speaker; fuzzy, blurry, like fog. Jim Morrison moans out “Let it roll, baby, roll~” and your foot taps along.

“Did you just get back from work?” You ask him, shrugging your jacket off.

“Yep.”

“What do you do?”

“Construction.” Something you could’ve guessed, judging by the Carhartt pants and steel-toed boots.

“Nice,” you say, authentically.

He nods, then says, “How about you?” like the words are gumming to his teeth.

“Boring stuff,” you wave Mike off and watch Abby trade for a blue crayon. She’s humming along to the music. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face and turn your head back to sit eye-to-eye. He raises a quizzical brow. “Seriously,” you implore.

“You don’t have a job,” He says simply. He’s not really bothered by the notion that you’re unemployed.

“I do,” you huff, “I just,” so you tell him about it. He looks tired while you talk, occasionally eyeing the ketchup and continuously rereading the label while actively pretending not to. But he’s an honest, good sport about it; at the very least trying to seem interested. Mike nods in all the right places, giving “yeahs” and “mhms” when he should.

In the middle of your drone, the waitress comes.

She’s fifty-something, with chalky eyeliner bleeding under her eyes; her ginger-dyed hair is pulled back in an impressively messy beehive. You easily imagine royal honey dripping from the split ends. She smells like stevia and tobacco. The name tag on her chest says “Susie”.

Susie blinks at you warmly and tiredly. “What can I get for you?”

Mike orders first, orders for Abby– who barely flinches at the mention of her name– and then you order.

Susie leaves without writing any of it down.

Mike turns back to you, tense. “You don’t mind paying for yourself, right?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” you joke, but he doesn’t really smile. Abby suddenly looks up from her art and leans in your direction, a little valence electron swarming into a new orbital. Her small shoulder pushes into Mike’s bicep. He stills her with a soft look like he wants to pillow her in peach fuzz and call it a night.

“Do you like your job?” She asks, sitting up on her knees. The hand Mike has resting on the booth moves to fix her sweater to her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch.

You shrug a little. “It’s okay.”

She seems troubled. “Why do grown-ups never like their jobs?”

You stifle a laugh but shake your head. “I’m not sure about that. There are a lot of grown-ups who like their jobs.”

“I don’t know any.”

You glance at Mike.

He’s wincing at her words– scratching at the skin behind his ear– looking properly embarrassed. They’re a funny pair; like pickle relish and peanut butter. Weird fishes swimming and circling together because they have nowhere else to go. They know this routine; know the angle of each other’s currents.

“There are,” you assure her. Your eyes drift toward the drawing she abandoned. “What do you wanna be when you’re grown-up?”

She shrugs and tells you “I dunno,” like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “This boy, Jesse, in my class, he wants to be an astronaut.”

“Do you want to be an astronaut?”

“Sure. Space is cool. And the moon is pretty.” Abby looks towards the ceiling as if it’ll break apart and reveal Mars.

Your fingers reach tentatively for her art and when she doesn’t protest, you take it fully. You hold her work up with two hands in front of your face like a mask. “You don’t wanna be an artist?” You ask with a sly smile, peeking around the drawing. She shrugs again and Mike rubs her back a little.

You face the paper.

It’s a grassy scene; blue sky, yellow sun wearing sunglasses. Five figures are the subject; Abby in the middle and then two other children on each side of her. On her left; a redhead boy with a hook for a hand and another boy in a top hat. On her right; a blonde girl in a pink dress and finally, a boy in blue with bunny ears.

You put down the paper to look at Abby. Her eyes are wide, expectant. Mike’s are the same.

“Are these your friends?”

“Yes!” Abby exclaims and leans on the table to look at you closer. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” you grin, pleased.

Mike shifts awkwardly. “Imaginary,” he clarifies. “Imaginary friends.”

You give him a private, amused smile. He relaxes a little.

Abby hands you a blank paper. “You should draw your friends.”

You obey, picking up a crayon, starting with yourself. Mike watches you carefully, eyes on your hands, sometimes trailing the curve of your eyebrows and the fall of your lashes.

“You’re good,” he says as Abby hands you a pink crayon– which you take dutifully. You draw a flower while sending him a wry smile, shaking your head. “I’m serious,” he implores, but you can hear the joke behind it.

“Sure.”

Then you finish coloring your jeans in and lean back to think.

Friends. You could draw your sister. But she’s not a friend. She’s your sister, and a lawyer, and a now ex-wife, but she’s not a friend.

David isn’t a friend either.

Dinner with him was quiet and he’d broke down into tears (again) by the end of it. You paid for the bill out of pity. You think that’s probably the last time you’re ever going to see him.

The waitress drops your food off as you start to outline the shape of red overalls.

Abby chews deftly on her chicken nuggets and leans into Mike’s shoulder while he dips his burger into a heaping pool of ketchup: the two of them eye your drawing together. You’re reminded of this photo you saw once in a Nat Geo magazine of two dark-eyed owls burrowed together.

You bite a smile.

When you’re done coloring a green sweater, you straighten and pop a self-satisfied fry into your mouth.

Abby wipes her hands off with a napkin that Mike hands her and takes your drawing. She gasps when she sees. Mike’s brows raise and you reflexively hope he doesn’t hate it.

“It’s us!” Abby says excitedly, vibrating with joy. You take a bite of your food and nod. She turns to Mike, huffing, and very seriously tells, “This is for the fridge.”

And finally, Mike smiles, almost snorting. But all he does is nod and say “Sure is,” between his bite

“You even drew my overalls.”

“I did,” you say. “They’re totally cute.”

“I like the flowers you drew around us.”

“Pretty, right?”

Abby looks so happy you could scream.

By the time both Mike and you are done with your food, her eyes haven’t left the drawing. And you must be doing something right because at some point Mike smiles at you.

Quietly. Mostly unseen.

Mike is comfortably out of your reach but he flutters in and out of your grasp fleetingly; a moth seeking light, heat, maybe something more. When he lands, you don’t close your fingers; only hang your palm open and let him decide if he wants to stay.

Maybe you are on the same page but you’re not sure if he knows it.

When the check comes Mike suddenly offers to pay. You refuse, waving him off and sticking your card in with his.

Susie comes to pick it up and then returns five seconds later, wishing you a nice day. You walk out of the diner as one big group– Mike holding the door open for you and Abby– and you find yourselves stuck under neon signs.

Mike looks at Abby carefully. “Can you wait in the car for a second?” He asks. She looks immediately offended, wanting to say no.

He looks exhausted.

Abby glares at him, then looks sadly at you before walking away and clambering into the back seat of his Honda Accord.

You turn to Mike and he turns to you when the door slams shut.

“Thank you,” he says immediately like he’s been holding it in his lungs the entire time.

“It’s nothing.”

“No,” he urges, “seriously. Abby, she,” he glances at the car, “she has a really hard time with people. Shit, I have a hard time with her too and I’m her brother.” Mike takes a deep breath. “She really likes you.”

You’re quiet for a second, letting the shadow in your eyes escape and mingle with his. “I get it.” You tell him. “Kids are…” you scuff your shoe against the pavement, “hard. Big emotions, little bodies, ya know?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He exhales. “You’re good with her.”

“I was a weird kid too.” You tell Mike with a grin.

Something like a smile is offered as he shakes his head. “You, uh,” he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans and glues his eyes to the ground. “You wouldn’t mind meeting up again?”

You take a deep breath. This is a lot.

You should say, “Yes, I do mind,” but honestly, you really don’t. You’re not bothered by their company. You like both of them. Mike’s got something sad about him though; constantly in the eye of a storm, waiting for the hazard to hit again. And Abby’s Abby: sweet.

“It’s just, she doesn’t really,, click. But she did with you. And I know she’s gonna wanna see you again.” He elaborates.

“Sure,” you breathe, blinking. “Do you want my phone number or something?”

Mike nods. “Yeah, that’d be good.” He gives you his phone and sniffs when you enter your digits and hand it back.

You step away, steeping yourself deeper into the night. “See you around?”

“Yeah,” he nods and turns to his car. Abby rolls the window down, thin arms circling quickly, and peaks her head out.

“Bye!” She calls desperately as the engine starts. She probably thinks she’ll never see you again.

“Later, alligator!” You call back, waving.

She grins toothily and Mike asks her to roll the window up as they pull slowly out of the parking lot.

•---------•

Mike doesn’t contact you for the next two weeks. You expect it.

By the third week, you’ve settled that he’s realized just how odd this situation is and won’t call you ever. Something like disappointment aches awfully in your chest but you brush it off as a human reaction to the departure of warm summer evenings.

October is right around the corner and you’re starting to feel it.

The days are getting crisper; dirt turning to mud, dew on the grass, leaves turning orange. There’s also a bug going around at work and you’re not spared of its spread.

You wake up one morning with a scratch in your throat, an ache in your head, and a clog in your left nostril. You’re not really that sick; after a cup of coffee, you feel better. But your psyche still feels like it’s made from popsicle sticks and cotton balls.

You take it to the pharmacy before work.

There’s Nyquil and a row of untouched Dayquil next to it. Concentrated Tylenol and Cepacol. Zyrtec and Claritin. Dimetapp. You take the Aspirin and Nyquil and shlump towards the counter.

Mike is there, looking casually fatigued in front of the check-out counter, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you say, the inflection of a question in your voice; the hesitance that maybe Mike wants to be ignored. Remain unseen. Unperceived. He jolts a little at your greeting and doesn’t relax when he turns to face you.

“Hey,” he says back. He takes a glance at your hand. “Sick?”

“Just a runny nose.”

He nods, takes a nervous look towards the empty counter, and then scratches at the growing stubble on his jaw.

“How ‘bout you?” You ask.

His eyes won’t meet yours. “Just some medication.”

You nod and look slowly toward the rack of non-prescription reading glasses. There’s a glittery, red pair at the very top– so small they could probably fit in the palm of your hand. “How’s Abby?”

Mike relents a little, shoulders going from concrete to rubble. “She’s doing alright. She asks about you sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, that drawing you did? She loves it.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s a quiet spell– the two of you looking in your own directions– and when the pharmacist finally shows up, paper bag in hand, Mike nabs it and leaves.

Then you step forward to pay, a polite smile on your lips, eyes flicking to your watch to take a mental note that you need to get to work soon.

Mike’s waiting for you outside the pharmacy; awkward and dark against the white overcast. It’s foggy this morning. You don’t know how he isn’t cold, only wearing a pair of jeans and a Foo-Fighters t-shirt that’s a little tight around the arms and chest. That makes you swallow.

You slow to a stop in front of him.

“I was gonna call you,” he sighs. “I got busy.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you wanna,” he raises a hand, then drops it uselessly, “do something with Abby soon?”

“Sure.”

“She’s got a half-day on Wednesday. We could take her to the park?”

It’s a good plan. You don’t know why he sounds so unsure. “Get her outside before it gets too cold to?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathing a little easier.

“Sure, I’d love to.”

Mike straightens his back a degree. “You know Marylheights Park? It’s close to the school.”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Is one okay? Or are you working?” He suddenly realizes.

You shake your head. “I can come by on my lunch break.”

“Alright. Great. See you there.”

You smile, nod, step away a little, and then leave– abandoning Mike under the eave of the pharmacy.

True to your word, you show up at one o’clock in the afternoon at Marylheights Park. Mike and Abby are already there– he’s sitting on a bench, wearing a flimsy black hoodie and she’s bundled up in a pink and red jacket, a beanie knitted in a cacophony of colors on her head.

She runs over when she sees you, a heap of colors on the breeze, a smile bright on her face.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” She exclaims, tripping a little on the bark-chip. You see Mike twitch and then falter when she catches herself.

“You okay?” You ask, reaching a hand out for support if she needs it. She grabs your fingers, tight, as she leads you toward the playground. There’s a couple of other kids with their parents playing too.

“Do you like my hat?” She asks, stopping in front of you to show off.

“I love it.”

“Mike made it for me.”

You glance at him. He’s slouched lazily on the bench, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She dawdles around you, skipping and humming as she climbs the monkey bars. “I saw a turtle today.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it was really cute.” She hangs off one of the bars, letting herself swing back and forth. “Lauren brought it for show-and-tell today.”

“What did you bring for show-and-tell?” You ask, leaning against a post with your arms crossed.

“My friend.”

“Your friend?”

“He’s in my backpack right now.”

You nod like it makes perfect sense. “When I did show-and-tell I brought my big sister.” It’s not true but it's funny to think about.

Abby looks at you wide-eyed and a flock of Canadian Geese honk above you; black and white, obnoxious angels. “You can do that?”

“Duh.”

Abby drops from the bar and stares at you. “You’re lying to me.”

You grin. “Maybeeee.”

She rolls her eyes the same way that people do it on TV and suddenly walks away when she sees a round of Lava Monster is starting up. It’s a weird, convoluted game you used to play all the time. You’re suddenly upset that you forgot the rules; as if it didn’t used to be one of your favorite things in the whole world.

You sigh and meander over to Mike, sitting next to him.

Your eyes stay on Abby as she toddles along the play-structure in the middle, unsteadier than you like. Mike hands you a brown, paper bag wordlessly. You raise a brow and take it.

Inside is a white-bread sandwich in a ziploc bag, a juice box, and a folded note.

“What-”

Mike cuts you off. “You came on your lunch break.” You raise your head to look him in the eye. He’s so hard to read sometimes. ”Hope you like turkey and cheese.”

You beam, flushing between joy and embarrassment, and grab the juice box. There’s a cool guy surfing on it. “Thanks,” you say, stabbing the straw into the top. “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs and turns to watch Abby. She clambers across the slides to avoid being tagged. Some of the other kids yelp and scream wordlessly.

“I owed it to you,” he breathes, his words turning to a puff of vapor in front of his nose.

The two of you split the sandwich in half and you don’t miss the way Mike watches you pick at the crust. When you eat it anyway you hear him puff a sharp exhale of laughter through his nose, shaking his head.

The game filters out and Abby makes her way to the swings, shoes toeing the ground as she sits.

Your fingers lift the note from the bag when you finish eating— unfolding to find a small, crayon drawing, no bigger than your hand.

A purple cow, better than yours, and actually tangible as a cow. Impressive.

“Abby did that,” Mike says, chewing. “She said you need it.”

You close your eyes, amused and overjoyed. Your fingers fold the little piece of paper back up and place it carefully in your bag, in a place you know it won’t be ruined. “God, she’s so sweet,” you huff, hand clenching. You’re not sure what to do with yourself.

You feel like husked corn; chipping paint in a parking lot. Like the curl of peeled apple skin.

“She has her moments,” Mike says gently, almost smiling.

Abby starts spinning herself on the swing, twisting and knotting the chains together and then letting them unravel to leave her in spirals. He frowns at that.

“Abby,” he calls, fixing his slouch on the bench, “quit it! You’ll make yourself sick!”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He grunts. She grins at you and waves. You wave back. She goes back to swinging normally; progressively higher and higher. Another kid ambles over to join her wordlessly.

Mike frowns and shakes his head, first at Abby, then at you. “I’m starting to think she likes you more than me.”

You snort at him. “I’m an adult who isn’t an authority figure in her life.”

“Still.”

“She adores you.” You tell him. You don’t really know either of them well enough to say that but you’re sure of it. You’re sure of it not only because you said it but because Abby’s a sweet, smart kid. She’s got her problems but she’s generally well-behaved. More importantly, she seems happy.

Unbothered, by whatever situation she and Mike are in. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing pretty good.

And maybe she doesn’t look at Mike like he hung the stars but she certainly treats him like it. The thing about kids is that they’re brutally honest:

If she didn't like Mike, you’d know.

He stares at you for a second longer than you’d expect him to and turns back to watch her.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Side by side. Almost shoulder to shoulder. Abby sometimes comes over to take a break, or ask what you thought of her drawing, or tell Mike what she wants for dinner. It’s peaceful. Quiet.

Okay.

Some parents leave. Some new parents show up. The two of you stay.

At some point, you glance down at your watch and panic floods your synapses.

“Shit,” you mutter, standing up. Mike raises a brow. “I’m really sorry but I’ve gotta get back now. I’m gonna be late and-“

“Don’t worry.” He tells you easily, fixing his posture so he isn’t slouched under your eye. You smile apologetically. Abby runs over from the slides, panting, her wide eyes expectant on yours.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I have to get to work now.”

“But you’ll come back right?”

You bend down to her level, fix the hat on her head so that it sits evenly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” She sighs, seemingly relieved, but the trace shadows of upset are still visible in the gleam of her eyes.

“Have fun with Mike?” You tell her, rising. You linger despite yourself.

“Later alligator?” She asks like a wet mutt as you start the walk to your car.

“In a while crocodile.”

You wave and she waves back. Mike keeps his eyes trained on you, raising a hand too. Your smile widens.

•---------•

Your older sister is the prettier, smarter, more put-together version of you. The version of you that you pretend to be.

She doesn’t laugh and she doesn’t smile, and you can’t tell if it’s because she genuinely can’t feel joy or is afraid of getting wrinkles. You’re sure it’s a mix of both. She lives in this big, minimalist penthouse suite that you’ve only been in twice; her heels have red bottoms. She has avocado toast for most her meals and the hoops on her ears are real gold.

In short summary; your sister has got it good. You’re pretty sure she’s miserable.

She tells her assistant, Christa, to get her a coffee and Chrsita offers to get you one too with a sweet smile. You want to say “Yes,” but she looks awfully close to having a mental breakdown. You tell Christa, “No, thanks,” smiling gently back.

When she leaves, you turn and stare at your sister’s pursed lips.

You drove into the city for once and your sister could only make time for you to come and sit in one of the stiff chairs she has placed in front of her cocobolo desk; the chairs for clients. You look around her office.

It’s neater than David’s and ten times bigger.

Vast and white. A tundra of dreams scotch-taped together.

“You were almost late.” She says, annoyed, eyes stuck to the papers in front of her.

“Sorry, I had to get cough drops at the pharmacy.”

“You’re sick?”

“Just a sore throat.”

You lean forward to poke her cheek. She squawks and slaps your hand away, scandalized and disgusted.

“That’s disgusting!”

You laugh and she steels you with a hard glare, a scoff caught in the back of her throat. “I do wash my hands,” you tell her.

She shakes her head and drums her perfectly manicured French tips against the heavy table. You tuck your own hands under your thighs. You like her nails; you want yours to look like hers but they’re inconvenient for people like you. Real people, with real lives and realistic, boring jobs.

But it's nice to look at them, especially on your sister.

“Heard from David?” She asks as if she isn’t divorcing him. Like he’s a houseplant that you’re taking care of while she takes a quick business trip.

New York. London. Shanghai. Amsterdam. Seoul. You’ve seen the photos.

“Nope.” You bite your lip and Christa comes with the coffee. A cappuccino that she places in front of your sister. Black. Tiny, little cup. Christa gives you a dazzling smile that has you grinning back at her fully, like an indulged schoolgirl. And then she’s gone; clicking off to document review in her little black heels.

Your sister glares at that.

You look her over.

Look at the way she’s curled her lashes and glossed her lips. Her shirt is buttoned straight– stiff and crisp around her neck. There’s a little permanent divot between her eyebrows and the white light of the office washes her out.

“You look tired,” you say flatly, a fairly normal thing to say to a woman who’s a criminal lawyer for an inner-city law firm.

She barely looks at you. “Thanks.”

And then it’s her turn to look you over. You’re sure she doesn’t like what she sees. She rarely does. “Have you been eating?”

“Of course I have.”

She stares for a moment longer before saying, “Just checking.”

Someone knocks on the door and peaks their head in– a young man with dark hair. Bright hazel eyes. She glares at him wordlessly and he makes eye contact with you before shutting the door quickly. You watch her scoff and then carefully pick up a pen before signing the papers gently; like hemlock and hummingbirds.

Your sister. Elegant.

You tilt your head.

She starts. “So, any luck-“

“Oh, can we please go five minutes-“

“I was going to ask-“

“-without talking about-“

“-about your job!”

“-things I know you don’t care about!” You stare at her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. We won’t talk about it.

You smile. “I like your shirt.”

“Fuck off.” She flips open a stack of papers with a fit of impressive anger, scribbling something hotly in the margins.

You know she doesn’t hate you but sometimes you have to wonder.

She’s mean and a bitch; but she constantly worries— and she worries more about you than anyone else. More than she ever worried about David. Which says quite a bit about what the two of you have done and put up with for one another.

Your sister: less of a counterpart, more of a weird black shadow of a half-twin. Not the moon and the sun; but a tree and the ferns that grow underneath.

Your sister stares at her cooling cup of coffee and looks into your eyes like they’re blurry. “Do you need money?”

Her solution to everything. A pretty good one, you won’t lie. “No.” You say quickly, waving her off.

“So everything’s good then?”

“Yeah. Good. It’s all good.”

She raises a brow but looks away to read something.

“How about you?” You ask.

She sighs heavily and stares at the wall. “Well,” and for a moment she doesn’t look like your sister. More like any other woman– any other person experiencing life for the first time. She’s thinking about her job and her home; the wonders and horrors of burnt toast and manilla folders. Of sending people to jail or keeping them out of it. Of going to bed in her 1200 thread count, Egyptian-cotton bed set.

Then she blinks, as if remembering who she is, and suddenly your sister’s sitting in front of you again.

“It’s alright. Fine. Boring.”

“Makes sense.” You tell her with a nod.

“How’s Mac?” She asks off-handedly, eyes on her work. Mac. Full name Tarmac. The stray cat that’s been haunting your house for the past couple of years. A dumb, skinny little cat who loved you with all of his heart.

“Dead.”

“What?” Your sister exclaims, wrist dropping to the edge of the table, pen still in hand. “How are you not,, a wreck?”

“It happened a few months ago.”

“God.” She finally takes a sip of her cappuccino and clears her throat. “Well, just don’t get upset one night and, I dunno, drink yourself into a sobbing mess.”

You grimace. “Says you.”

She sends you a hard glare. “Don’t.”

“I’m not the one who had to be bailed out of-“

“When are you going to stop bringing that up?” She groans. You laugh a bit now, dropping your head towards your lap and your sister looks properly embarrassed. “I passed the bar, have a Porsche, and have a personal trainer, ya know!”

You laugh harder. You can tell she finds it almost funny too but is raging too hotly to care.

“And then I had to-“

“Stop!” She exclaims.

You leave her alone but still giggle through it, fingers pressing against your lips in a complete failure to contain your amusement.

There’s another beat of silence.

She takes another sip. You watch her. Christa comes by again with a new, impressively thick stack of papers for your sister and walks out.

“Where’s your shirt from?” You ask your sister, eyeing it. “It’s nice.”

“Balenciaga.”

Pricey. The white, simple, button-up shirt she’s wearing probably cost her more than a hundred dollars.

“Is it cotton?” You ask her, leaning forward for a better look.

“Yes.” She side-eyes you warily. You lean back. “You better not steal it.”

“I’m not going to!”

“You’ve done it before.”

You roll your eyes.

Your sister finishes her coffee off in silence. It’s awfully quiet for a law firm. You wonder if her office walls are sound-proofed.

At some point, she tells you she has a meeting and that you need to leave. She’s in a good enough mood to at least walk you out herself.

In the firm’s garage building the two of you wait for the valet to bring your car.

She looks strange, sad, lonely. You love her. But you don’t know what to do about it because she gives you no place to put it. That’s just who she is. Her person. Being in a constant state of distress is part of her identity and really, there’s no escaping it. Self-imposed, mortal limbo.

“You’ll be okay?” She asks gently, like for once she means it.

“Yeah.” You tell her, tender. Human. “You?”

“Of course. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry about your divorce.” You finally tell her. You didn’t say it at first when it was too new and too fresh. When she was more concerned with paperwork than emotional damage.

She shakes her head like the mention of it is merely a fly in her face. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to thank you for bringing those papers to David.”

“Anytime.”

“It’s just, you live nearby and it would have been easier for you to do it than Christa, and-“

“Seriously.” You cut her off. “It’s fine.”

She sighs and looks you over. It’s a long, extended look of softness. Mike looked at Abby the same way. But it’s a rarity from her; one that has you giving her a confused smile, hands going into the pockets of your jacket— the nicest, crispest one you own— as she stares.

“What?” You ask.

She steps forward, raising an arm, and you step back. She huffs, annoyed. “I wanted to give you a hug but you ruined the moment.”

You scoff incredulously. “You’re so weird.”

She glares. “Fuck you.”

The valet comes with your car.

Shitty, and old. Reliable and well-loved. Needs an oil change.

You step around to the driver’s side and the valet places your keys warmly in your palm. Your sister stays in the spot you left her in.

“Bye.” She says stiffly.

“See you soon.”

She glances at the valet. “Right.”

“Give me a smile?” You joke. You see her right hand twitch to flip you off but with the audience she contains herself. All she gives you is a deep-seated, disappointed frown and a shake of her head.

You grin and step into your car before driving off.

Even as you pull out of the garage you can see her standing still in that over-priced button-up shirt; arms wrapped around her torso, watching you go.

You tell yourself she’ll be okay but when a song from your childhood plays on the radio you doubt it.

Nostalgia will kill you before she ever does.

[pearbunny]

the bucket list ✘ [twelve]

series masterlist | prev | next [ ❀ spotify playlist ]

summary: Fly to Korea. Check. Buy a bouquet of flowers for a stranger. Check. Have said stranger come along with you to accomplish your bucket list? Well that wasn’t on the list, but falling in love was. 

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: 18+ [MDNI] strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, fluff, angst, comfort, eventual smut. 

general warnings:  tourist!mc, adult themes including but not limited to: suggestive content, nudity, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of death in later chapters, overarching theme of mental health, eventual smut.

word count: 5.5k

chapter content: heavy on the food this chapter, it's a dinner party after all! Lee Know Seungmin Changbin Jisung interactions! Alcohol consumption, Robin's back! little moments of vulnerability, a very short mention of a character's passing, friendship, friendship, friendship!

author’s note: we love friends

The apartment is quiet as you scroll through the list of recommendations that Lee Know sent you. Everything looked so intimidating, but Lee Know insisted that it would be fine, especially with both of you in the kitchen. Next to you, Jisung is on his laptop looking at options for drinks tonight.

“Do you want just one drink or do you want to offer a couple?” Jisung’s finger flicks the mousepad, looking through pretty pictures of the cocktails. 

“Well,” You tear your eyes away from your phone, peering over to his screen. “There’s only going to be five of us here, right?” 

Jisung nods simply, eyes never leaving his screen. 

“Maybe we can find one that everyone likes?” You question, looking at him for confirmation. 

“Let’s see, then.” Jisung grabs a pen, scribbling down notes on a notepad to his right. “Lee Know will want something that pairs well with the food. Seungmin likes beer. Changbin doesn’t like beer.” Jisung laughs at how incredibly difficult catering to his friends’ alcoholic beverages of choice is turning out to be. 

You quietly heave a sigh and give him an anxious smile, “Why is this so hard?” You run a hand through your hair and scrunch your face before placing your forehead flat against the surface of the kitchen island. 

Jisung laughs, if only to ease your stress, and rubs a soothing circle on your back. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll make something and they’re going to have to like it. They won’t have much of a choice.” He shuts his laptop and places his notebook on top of it, hopping off of his chair and bringing it back to his room. “If anything, I’ll just grab a beer for Seungmin.” 

You raise your head just in time to catch him disappearing into his room. “Thanks, Ji.” 

He comes back into the kitchen in a change of clothes, ready to head out. “Anytime,” Jisung looks down at his phone quickly, then places it into his pocket, heading towards the door. He opens it and Lee Know is on the other side, hand raised up mid knock.

“Oh, hey,” You perk up at the sight of Lee Know, your saviour that would help you get through the main part of the dinner party: food. “Perfect timing!” 

Lee Know comes inside and kicks off his shoes by the door, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, looking at Jisung. “Did you check my location again?”

Jisung gives a sheepish smile and waves goodbye to the both of you as he steps out, “Gonna’ go meet up with Changbin and Seungmin!” He closes the front door behind him. 

Lee Know and you make your way to the grocery store, opting for a simple pasta and steak combo with a salad and charcuterie board as appetizers. You push the shopping cart in front of you, letting Lee Know guide you through the aisles. 

“Thank you,” You suddenly say, turning into the oil and seasoning aisle right behind him, “for helping me out tonight.”

Lee Know looks over his shoulder before turning his attention back onto the aisle’s shelves. He reaches for a green glass bottle of olive oil. “I should be thanking you for helping Jisung out.” He places it in the cart. 

“What do you mean?” You’re quick to follow after him as he walks to another aisle. 

“Jisung’s circle is small, he can’t come to us with everything. I feel like you’ve been a nice change for him, someone else he can rely on.” Lee Know turns into the pasta aisle. 

“It’s nothing really,” You shrug your shoulders, trying to brush off the praise. “How did you become friends with Ji?” 

He places a large pack of spaghetti noodles into the cart and comes around to your side of the cart. He nods his head forward towards the produce and places his hand on the side of the cart, helping you push it. “Chan.”

“O–Oh…” The answer almost catches you by surprise and as if you feel like you’re tiptoeing around the subject, you slow your pace while pushing the cart, adding a little bit of resistance on Lee Know’s side. 

He looks to you with a small smile before looking ahead again, pulling the shopping cart next to the aisle with all the leafy greens. “It’s okay. I can talk about it.” He picks up a head of cabbage, turns it around, then places it back. “I met Chan after Jisung did. I think I was almost nineteen when I met him. He was so clingy and stubborn,” Lee Know says this as if he’s annoyed, but when you pay attention to his facial features, they’re soft: eyes full of admiration and respect, the corners of his lips turned slightly as he reminisces on an old friend, “But in a good way. In the best way. Changbin met Chan before me, but was introduced to him by Han. The three of them clicked so seamlessly together, it was a wonder how they hadn’t known each other their whole lives. Seugnmin joined us shortly after I did.” 

He furrowed his brow, this time leaning into the frustration, “Chan, Changbin, and Hannie I could handle. Whenever Seugnmin came around they really knew how to test my patience.” Lee Know laughs it off in the end though. 

In the time he tells you all of this, he’s placed lettuce, carrots, and radishes into the cart; all ingredients for the salad. Lee Know takes you to the bread aisle and you follow him without even thinking about it, engrossed in how he spoke about him and his friends. “We were all friends. Individually and as a group. We all had different bonds with one another. So it really hurt when Chan passed.” He paused for a moment, fighting the tightness in his throat. “But Jisung and Chan… Chan was his hero. He probably felt hurt the most.” 

Chan was his hero. 

Something within your chest hurts at those words, like they were pulling at your heartstrings. You can’t help but to relate. Holding someone on that pedestal of ‘hero’, made you believe that nothing could harm them, they were indestructible. So when your hero falls, when you’re hero is no longer superhuman and the reality sets in that this person you’ve idolized is just a person like you, it’s tragic. 

You’re left alone in the bread aisle, stuck in place, and you only realize this when Lee Know comes back into the aisle when he found you were no longer behind him. He clears his throat, gaining your attention with raised brows. He makes his way to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ve come a long way since then.” 

You nod your head and let Lee Know take the shopping cart, pushing it towards the check out. You walk beside him, your hand lazily on the side of the cart. Lee Know places some of the groceries onto the counter, looking at you with a small smile. “Thanks again. For being someone that can be there for Jisung.”

The front door opens and Jisung comes through, back first, carrying in a small dining table. On the other end of the table was Changbin. You can hear him from down the hall with how loud he was shouting. “It smells delicious in here!” 

Behind them, Seungmin closes the door with a kick of his foot, in his arms a cardboard box filled with supplies from Loudmouths. “Why do you always have to yell?”

Changbin laughs and brushes Seungmin off, following Han into the small area he has for dining, placing next to the existing table. They scoot it closer so that the edges are touching. All three of them stare at the tables side by side. 

Seungmin is the first to say something. “I told you it was taller.” 

Han releases a huff of air through his lips, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Yes. We know. You were saying that the whole ride back.” 

To alleviate the tension, Changbin pulls both of them close, wrapping his arms around their necks with a little bit of pressure to pull them close. “Guys, calm down. This is okay.” He places his palm on the new table they brought in, just barely 2 centimeters taller than the other. He places some weight on it, and when it doesn’t creek or tip over, he knocks twice on it for emphasis. “See? Sturdy. It won’t be falling apart on us in the middle of our dinner.” 

You smile from the kitchen island, slicing your apples for the pie, a soft hum of classic rock playing through the television just audible enough to fill in the silence. You and Lee Know worked well in the kitchen together; granted it was mostly just you staying out of his way, but he made sure to tell you what he was doing and often asked for your assistance with chopping or washing things and asked for your opinion regarding flavors. 

As Lee Know checks on his steak on the cast iron skillet, he looks over at the large pot of pasta boiling in water. “Y/N, can you check on the pasta?” 

“Oh, of course!” You quickly abandon your chopping board and go to the boiling pot. With a ladle, you attempt to grab a noodle, but fail. Jisung observes you from the tables and laughs when the noodle splashes back into the pot. He makes his way to you, picking up a pair of chopsticks from a drawer, grabbing a noodle effortlessly. He blows on it, steam coming off, then bites a piece off. He offers the rest to you and you give him a quick nod before shoo’ing him out of the area. 

The whole thing is so incredibly domestic, it makes Changbin giggle like a school girl, Suengmin rolls his eyes albeit with a smile on his face, and Lee Know’s expression softens. 

You start on the sauce and once the aroma fills the room, Changbin is by your side. “Do you need any help?” 

You give him an appreciative smile and nod your head to the apples. “Do you mind cutting those up for me?” 

Seungmin laughs, “As if. He just wants to be the taste tester.” He takes your previous place by your bowl full of apples, knife in hand. “How should I cut these?” 

“Thin slices.” 

You sit at the table, the spread of food in front of you and the table decorated by both Seugmin and Jisung upon your request. There was definitely an attempt: a tablecloth and runner placed over both of the tables, placemats at every seat. In the center was the food: Pasta, steak, garlic bread, and a cucumber-radish salad. 

Your eyes water in anticipation as Lee Know starts to cut the steak. “Lee Know, this looks so good!”

Lee Know shakes his head, nonchalantly. “I didn’t do much. You actually did most of it. I just made the steak.” 

Changbin looks around at the table, noticing that everyone is in their seats – which by the way were four proper chairs and Jisung’s desk chair since he didn’t have a set of five – except Jisung.  He was at the kitchen island, making a bunch of cocktails for everyone at the table. “Are you almost done? I’m hungry!”

Jisung sighs, feigning annoyance, though that’s given away with the small smile on his lips. He pours the contents of his shaker into the last two cocktail glasses. “Help me bring these over.”  

Changbin gets up from his chair quickly and helps Jisung bring two over, leaving Jisung to balance two in one hand, one in the other. They go around the table, placing one at everyone’s table seat. Changbin gets back in his chair, scooting it closer to the table. His eyes follow Jisung as he makes his way to his own seat. Once Jisung sits down, Changbin smiles brightly. “Now, we eat?”

You give him a playful laugh, then nod. “Let’s eat.” 

Surprisingly enough, Seungmin is the first to grab a serving of food. This makes Changbin mad, switching  his plates with Seungmin to effectively be able to eat a forkful of pasta first. Seungmin clicks his tongue and points his fork at him. “What does it even matter if I eat first, it’s not like we’re taking turns!”

Jisung speaks up, his voice loud to talk over Changbin and Seungmin who were already bickering back and forth. “If you were just going to do that, what’s the point of waiting for everyone to sit down?!”

Lee Know leans over to you, seated at your left and sighs heavily. “You see what I mean?” He clears his throat before raising his voice even louder than Jisung’s. “Hey! Can’t we just have a nice dinner for once?”

The three other boys quietly look between each other. They settle back down in their seats, each with some variation of a small pout or huff. Lee Know gives them a sickly sweet smile before placing food on your own plate. 

Once everyone has some food on their plate, Seungmin raises his glass in the air. “Thank you for the dinner!” 

Changbin  raises his own glass. “To Y/N for getting us under one roof to have a nice dinner instead of us ordering Chicken Takeout.” 

Lee Know chuckles, glass raised. “To Y/N’s spontaneous trip to Korea. Come visit us, soon.” 

Jisung and you steal glances at each other before you raise your own glasses. Everyone brings their hands towards the center in a cheers and takes a swig of their drink.

Seugnmin makes a face. “Ah, what is this?”

You set your glass down with a smile, looking at Jisung. “French ‘75?” 

Jisung nods and stuffs his hands in his pockets, a little shy. It was the drink he made for you back at Loudmouths. 

Seungmin places his drink towards the middle of the table, forcing a smile. “I think I’m okay.” 

You can’t help but to laugh, quickly standing up and going to the fridge. You come back to the table with a beer in hand. Seungmin’s face lights up and happily takes it from you, twisting the top open and taking a sip. “This is more like it.” 

At that moment, your phone rings. You answer it, putting the phone up to your ear. “Hey Robin. Everything okay?” 

Before she can answer, Changbin clears his throat. “Who’s that?” 

Immediately after, Robin asks a similar question. “Is that Jisung? Who are you with?” 

Jisung answers Changbin, “Friend from home.” 

You answer Robin, “Jisung and his friends.”

Changbin yells, loud enough for Robin to hear through the receiver. “Have dinner with us!”

Robin, on her end, presses a button to make the call a video one. You quickly answer and Robin is in her bright pink striped pajamas, hair up in a silk bonnet, and thick-lense glasses. The camera is facing you, so you twist your body  to put the rest of the boys in frame. Changbin, Jisung, and Seungmin wave while Lee Know stares. Immediately, Robin takes off her bonnet and tosses it aside, fixing herself quickly. She clears her throat. “Oh, hey!” 

You give her a small look before turning back around so that you’re the only one she can see. “It’s early for you.” 

“Yeah,” she chuckles nervously. “I just wanted to see how you are. How things are going, you know.” You smile with a shake of your head, knowing exactly what she means. She wants  more details about whatever is happening between you and Jisung. “But I also wanted to know when to pick you up at the airport.” You frown a little, trying not to think about that. You just wanted to have a nice dinner. 

Robin picks up on the miniscule mood shift on your face and recalls the invitation Changbin threw at her. “Hey, why don’t I make breakfast for myself and we can all have a meal together. It’ll be like I’m there with you guys!” 

Changbin gets up from his seat and grabs your phone, placing it against the bowl of bread on the table on the far end. “That sounds perfect!” 

You don’t overthink it and instead, let it happen. You smile a little, imagining a life where Robin was actually there having dinner with everyone, your best friend and your new friends getting along. Before your mind goes into thinking about your return flight, you tune back into the conversation at the table which consisted mostly of Robin trying to get information out of Jisung and Changbin and Seungmin answering for him, leaving Lee Know laughing at how embarrassed Jisung looked. 

“So you let a complete stranger stay in your place?!” 

Seungmin laughed, “Yeah, that was my idea.” 

The night goes on, people get tipsy, everyone gets louder. Even Robin who, when both you and Lee Know questioned her choice to drink alcohol so early in the morning, said, “Mimosas were made for the morning. If they didn’t want me to drink, they wouldn’t have made it a thing!”

“Hey, Robin, how is Y/N like back at home?” Changbin leans towards the phone’s camera.

“Ugh,” Robin dramatically rolls her eyes, taking another sip from her mimosa. “She’s always been kind of….” She pauses to think, trying to find the right words, “Type A? Throws herself into work, projects, won’t see her for days because she needs to meet a deadline. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a very hard worker!” Robin sighs and disregards the fact that you’re in the room. “ 

“But,” Robin continues, placing her chin in the palm of her hand, smiling into it. “She’s my best friend. She’s thoughtful and caring. I can always count on help. There are rare times where she just gets to be herself which I think is more carefree, more relaxed, less anxious.Once in college, she was pulling an all-nighter studying for a final and I called her at 3am because I was drunk and I couldn’t find my way home. She came to get me. I mean, I think we were only 4 blocks away from the dorms, but still. She didn’t have to!” 

You laugh, recalling that night. “Robin. You were one block away. You said you were on the other side of town and I was about to head over there, but I found you on my way to the parking garage.” 

Robin waves her hand in the air, dismissing the details of it all. “Okay, but wait, that proves my point! You would have gone all the way to the other side of town!” 

“What are her bad habits?” Seungmin snickers. Throughout the course of the night, you find that Seungmin is an absolute menace; the instigator of the group. 

Robin answers quickly, a little too quick to your liking. “She doesn’t sleep enough, she cracks her neck all the time because she’s sitting at a computer at her desk job 40 hours a week, she drinks way too much caffeine–” 

“One of us, one of us!” Seungmin chants. 

“–she says yes to almost everything so she often takes way too much on her plate, she’s one hundred percent a workaholic–” 

You clear your throat, loudly, trying to get her attention. When Robin starts, it’s hard for her to stop. “Robin, can we go back to how I’m a nice person?” 

Robin rolls her eyes with a smile. “Her biggest flaw is that she doesn’t let people know how she’s really feeling and doesn’t ask for help. I feel like Y/N has made this person of who she’s supposed to be in her head and if she’s not that, then she feels like she’ll just fall to pieces.”

As Robin speaks about you, a frown starts to settle on your lips. You didn’t know how obvious you were being. You thought you hid it well. You look around the room, worried about how the others may think about you now. Jisung particularly is looking at you with a sad look on his face. He hates that you’ve had to basically put yourself on auto-pilot for you to keep going.  

Lee Know shifts in his seat, playing with the leftover food on his plate. Hearing about you and how you are in your typical environment reminds of him Jisung used to be. He feels a little uneasy, thinking about his own best friend during those times, but finds solace remembering that Jisung pulled out of it. He doesn’t know you well, but he hopes you either have already or will find your way.  

“She’s a gem, she truly is. So I will throw hands if someone comes for my girl”. Robin shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly as she sips again on her mimosa, casually waving the butterknife she was using to spread her avocado on her toast in view of the camera.

Changbin nods. He gets it, that’s how he feels about any of his friends. At the end of the day, if they were in trouble, he’d be there in a heartbeat. 

Suddenly, a sweet aroma fills the air. Changbin inhales deeply and his whole face lights up.  “That smells like dessert!” 

As you make your way to the oven to take the pie out to rest, you call over your shoulder.  “Apple pie!”

Jisung sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, “We went apple picking yesterday and I was wondering what we were going to do with all the apples. I told her, I'm going to be eating apples even long after you’re gone! Honestly, I was thinking of bringing some apples to the cafe or even the bar so that they wouldn’t go bad, maybe there’s a cocktail i could make that I could garnish with apple slices.” 

Suengmin laughs at Jisung’s rambling.

Robin gasps, voice a little higher with how tipsy she is. “Y/N made you guys her apple pie?!” 

“I did, but it probably won’t be ready for a while. I’ve got to let it rest, so maybe I’ll just send it home with you guys.” 

Robin whines, “Man, you better make me a pie when you get home! I swear, guys, it’s so so good! It will ruin every other apple pie for you ever because nothing will taste as sweet, as perfectly soft and gooey with that perfect amount of crunch in the crust as her apple pie!” 

Ever the queen of dramatics, Robin places her head down on her dining room table. 

A couple of simple drinking games ensues, Robin opting out since she had mentioned she had errands to do and that she still wanted to be a functioning human being in broad daylight. Eventually, Robin leaves, citing that a little tipsy shopping never hurt anyone. 

You check the time, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It was already 2am. 

“Pie!” You exclaim, standing up and steadying yourself on Jisung’s shoulders before making your way to the kitchen. Everything is a little wobbly, but mostly funny, not only to you, but to the guys too who are laughing at you between asking if you were okay and if you needed help. 

“Nono, it’s okay!” You reassure them. You don’t want to interrupt whatever riveting conversation they were having. 

“Jisung is so bad at sports!” Seungmin blurts out, laughing immediately after. 

“Oh he’s terrible!” Changbin doesn’t join in the laughter and instead groans, tossing his head back in his chair, arms dangling at his side. 

“Hey!” Jisung playfully stomps his foot on the ground, gently banging his fist on the table. “I’m not that bad! We just never had even teams before so I always volunteered to sit out.” 

“You can’t kick a ball to save your life!” Changbin yaps back. 

“Take that back!” Jisung’s brows furrow. 

“Hannie, you can kick a ball as far as Seungmin can throw you.” Lee Know tries to stifle his laughter, opting to give Jisung a raised brow in suspicion. Eventually, his lips twitch and it gives out, no longer concealing his laughter. Changbin points and laughs at Lee Know’s slip-up which in turn makes Jisung laugh along with them. 

As you cut the pie and place them on paper plates for everyone, you take the time to observe the four of them. Sure they were bickering, but it looked like banter between best friends. You could see the small up turn Jisung’s lips that eventually evolve into a gummy smile as his eyes turn into half crescents, head tossed back in laughter.  Seungmjn’s eyes start to crinkle at the sides whenever he grinned wide, smile lines showing in his cheeks.  Changbin’s high-pitched cackle as he braces himself against the edge of the table, the front two legs of his chair lifting as he balances himself on its hind legs, his whole body shaking in merriment. Lee know’s brow isn’t furrowed, no menacing smile, he just watches the younger three with an admiring expression on his face, giggles escaping the grown man every so often that would become a full-on belly laugh. 

You bring the first two plates of pie over to the dining table before Jisung scrambles out of his chair to help you. You thank him and place the two slices in front of Changbin and Lee Know. This time, Changbin takes his spoon in hand but waits for everyone to be seated. 

Jisung brings the rest over, placing yours in front of you as you take your seat, then Seungmin’s and thin his own. 

Changbin looks around the table and the moment Jisung even touches the back of his chair, he takes a spoonful and shoves it into his mouth. His eyes roll to the back of his head. “Oh my god, this is so good.”  He quickly shovels in another spoonful. 

Seungmin takes a small bite before going into the kitchen, straight for Jisung’s coffee maker. “This would be so good with an Iced Americano.”

Lee Know eats his pie quietly, smiling between bites. When Changbin looks around for more, he offers Changbin his place and gets up for another slice of his own.

Jisung takes a piece of his slice and brings it over to your lips, his free hand underneath to make sure no crumbs fall to the floor. The pink tint on your cheeks from the alcohol deepens and you lean forward to take the bite. You sigh in relief, tasting how delicious it truly was. Sometimes you get worried that people are just being nice about your desserts, but you could firmly say that this was one of the best apple pies you’ve ever made. 

Right after, Jisung takes a bite of his slice and similarly to Changbin, melts into his seat, his posture slouching as he nearly slides off of his desk chair. “Robin was so right, I’m going to be dreaming of this apple pie the rest of my life.”

Seungmin comes back with his iced glass of Americano, leaning his head down between yours and Jisung’s with a smug look on his face. He’s enjoyed watching the two of you for the majority of the night: the way you and Jisung will catch each other’s eyes and hold your glance for just a beat longer than normal friends would, how Jisung lets you know he’s right behind you with a gentle hand at the lower part of your back, the couple of times of times you’ve slipped your hand under the table to rest your hand on his thigh whenever he got a little too loud, a little too excited, in an attempt to avoid another knock on the door from a neighbor complaining about the noise . “Just get married so you don’t have to leave.” 

It was a light hearted joke, you knew that. 

So why did it kind of sting?

Seungmin is at the sink, finishing up the last of the dishes. Jisung and Lee Know are struggling to get Changbin out the front door as he sways back and forth. Changbin waves goodbye to you and Lee Know offers an apologetic smile. “Have a safe flight.”

You wave them goodbye, “Make sure he gets to the car safely!” 

The door closes behind them and Seungmin laughs, drying his hands on a towel at the sink. “He had a lot to drink tonight.”

“Three drinks?” You lean yourself on the counter, chuckling lowly. 

“Hey, three drinks is a lot for some people.” He laughs with you, then holds up his hand in an oath-like way. “I’ll get him home safely. He just needs to sleep it off.”

“Good. Get yourself home safe too, it’s late.” You glance at your phone, noticing the time. It was nearly 4am. “Hopefully you’re not starting shift at the cafe tomorrow.”

Seungmin shakes his head, gathering the to-go boxes of pie he had made for himself. “Nope.” His fingers play with the seams of the box, a little bit of awkward silence filling the air between you. “Um,” Seungmin hesitates for a little, then clears his throat, as if finding his words finally. “Hey, I’m not going to pretend to know what happened, but I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”  

Seungmin really doesn’t know anything about your life. Just your name and the story about your spontaneous trip to Korea. Jisung kept the details of your life private, only letting Lee Know that you were going through a hard time. But Seungmin knows enough about loss to know that it’s important to check on the people around you. He knows you’re only here for vacation and that it’s coming to an end, but he wishes that weren’t the case. Though Seungmin would never admit it, he trusts in Jisung’s sense of character and if you were someone special to Jisung, you were someone special to him, too. 

You offer him a smile and he takes it for what it is. A little sad, but mostly hopeful. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Seungmin nods, satisfied with your answer. “I know this whole trip for you was mostly unplanned and you definitely didn’t expect to meet 3 highly obnoxious men – and me, of course –, but I hope you can consider us friends.” 

You can’t help but give him a genuine wide smile. “I do.” 

“Good.” Seungmin quickly grabs your phone beside you. He gives it to you so you can unlock it, then takes it back, entering his details in. “Friends reach out to each other and ask for help.” He reaches out his hand for you to take your phone back. “No matter where they are.” 

You take your phone from his hand and place it on the table in front of you, staring at it momentarily before looking up at Seungmin. 

Just then, Jisung comes back through the door, running his hands through his hair. “How is Changbin the biggest and most fit out of us but such a lightweight?” 

Seungmin laughs and takes his to-go boxes with him. “Because at the end of the day, he’s just a big baby.” 

Jisung pats Seungmin on the shoulder as he heads out. “You good?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’s had to drive Changbin home. He’s often the designated driver in these situations. “Getting Changbin home is not the issue. Getting him upstairs and into his bed is.” 

The door closes behind him and it’s just you and Jisung in his apartment. 

Jisung walks over to you, placing his hands on your hips. “I hope it wasn’t too much for you. I know my friends and I can be a lot.” 

You smile and shake your head, your hands sliding up his chest to clasp together behind his neck. “No! Not at all! It was fun. We basically stayed up –”

Jisung raises a quizzical brow at you. “What’s wrong?”

Your smile grows wider as you recall the leather bound notebook in your bag. “Stay Up All Night Talking. That was on my mom’s bucket list!”

Jisung brings you closer for a hug, wrapping his arms around the small of your back. “We got to accomplish not only something on your mom’s list, but yours too.” 

You lean into him, sighing contentedly. You close your eyes and Jisung starts to sway you to the imaginary tune playing. You want to stay in this moment forever: dancing in his apartment, the morning sun starting to peek through the tall buildings in the window. 

“Jisung?” “Hmm?”

“You’ve got some really good friends around you.” You mean it, he really does. You can tell how much Lee Know, Changbin, and Seungmin care about him. You’re happy, too, because leaving him was going to hurt a little less knowing he was surrounded by such love. 

Jisung chuckles and it echoes in his chest, tickling your ear. “They’re your friends now, too.” 

You take a moment to let that sink in. Changbin, Lee Know, Seungmin are your friends. They have shown you, a complete foreigner to them and their country, nothing but kindness. Jisung, too. Especially Jisung. He has made the past two weeks fun, exciting, spontaneous. But he's also made it safe, warm, welcoming. With the end of your trip coming up, you are unsure of what it means for you and Jisung, but regardless, you know that you have a friend in him.

ending author’s notes: the more i've worked on this chapter, the more I've become pretty excited for the next two. I've always known how this was going to end, but I think writing this one has really shaped the next two. See you for the next chapter!

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[your-averagewriter]

Memories of you.

Summary: Even after years, Bertholdt’s death is still hard for (y/n), it’s hard for her to accept that he’s gone. Reiner tries to help her through it but new knowledge is found out when the pair are sent on a gone-wrong mission to Paradis Island. 

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: Swearing, blood, violence, death, spoilers for season 2-4 I think.

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“Bertholdt.” I mutter quietly to myself stumbling over the letters as I stare down at his grave. It’s not much of a grave, only a plank of wood circled by pebbles I’ve placed there previously. He’s not even buried here, his body won’t even be returned to us, to his family it will remain with the Scouts. 

“Why-why did it have to be you?” I say crouching down, placing a boutique of white flowers and picking up the dying ones. “Why? Why? Why?” I say wiping the stray tears from my eyes.

I hear footsteps behind me but can’t bring myself to look away his grave, I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Suddenly, I feel a warm hand on my shoulder followed by a soft voice.

“(y/n)...” Reiner whispers, slowing stroking over my shoulder. “(y/n) you can’t stay here forever.” He says, careful of my fragile emotions.

“I can’t bring myself to leave him.” I say slowly placing my hand ontop of his. “I can’t just leave him here.”

“(y/n), he’s not here.” 

“I know, because the Scouts killed him and ate him! He’ll never get to come home! Never get to see his family ever again all because of them!” I say kicking the stones by his grave around in anger. “And I will never get to see him again!” I say as Reiner grips tighter on my shoulders trying to calm me down and stop me from destroying the grave. 

I fall to my knees, the tears now become angry ones as I start scraping at the the kicked around stones desperately trying to put them back into place. I start to realign them and every now and then wiping the tears from my face. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” I whisper quickly to his grave as I neaten the stones and straighten the plank of wood.

“(y/n), please…” Reiner says kneeling down next to me wrapping his arms around me, trying to stop me scrambling around. 

“Why was it him? Reiner, why did they kill him? Why? Why…” I say turning to Reiner and letting him hug me.

“I don’t know…(y/n), I don’t know but he’s not coming back.” He says slowly whilst I’m engulfed in his arms, in his warmth.

For minutes the air is filled with silence but a comfortable one, only an occasional sob from either of us can be heard in this empty forest.

“(y/n), we have to go, we’ve got a meeting.” He says starting to stand up.

“I know, just one more minute.” I say taking a deep breath and he nods. “Bertholdt… I don’t have the right words to say to you and I don’t know whether I ever will but know this: I will avenge you. I will make sure you are remembered and honoured as you should be.” I stand up and reach for his hand. “Let’s go.” 

--------------------------Later on Paradis Island--------------------------

“I want to go home.” I say to Reiner as his arms are wrapped around my torso.

“I do as well but if we don’t finish our mission there won’t be a home to go to.” He replies softly.

“I know but do we have to work with them?” I ask indicating to the Scouts. 

“Yes. Try and get along with them, I was good friends with some of them, they’re good people.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” I say walking off but tugging him by his hand with me. 

“Let’s go over the plan again.” Armin says as we’re all sat around planning our next attack, we need more supplies and food so we have to ambush a Jaegerist base. We go over the plan again. Me, Jean and Armin are the getaway/lookouts whilst everyone else is involved in various different ways with the heist.

We all pile into the cart and sit in our respective places. I sit next to Reiner and tighten my belt whilst other prepare the plans and weapons.

Finally we get to the base and me and the other two are left just inside the forest whilst the others split up to ambush the unsuspecting enemies. 

“So you’re Scouts?” I ask genuinely curious about their stances on things whilst polishing my knife. They nod. “You know a Scout killed my best friend.” I say referencing Bertholdt but not naming him.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jean says and both of them have uncomfortable looks on their faces.

“Yeah, it was a while ago now.”

“What was his name?” Armin asks with a sad look on his face.

“Bertholdt…Bertholdt Hoover.” I say and watch as they both visibly tense and seize up at the mention of his name. I push myself off of the tree I was leaning on but keep shining my knife. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” They both deny quickly.

“What? Do you know who killed him?” I ask them with wide eyes. Armin looks to the ground whilst Jean refuses to meet my gaze. “Who was it? Who killed him? Tell me.” I pause. “Please, if you know who it is, please, I can’t rest until I know who killed him.”

They both stutter and stumble over their words, no coherent answers or even words.

“What? Please, I’m begging you. Tell me who it was.”

I walk towards them but not too close and Armin chokes out an answer.

“It-it was m-me.” He says, tears brimming in his eyes.

I step back then stand still, frozen in place as my eyes gloss over with unshed tears.

“You?” I say, my voice croaking. “You killed him?” He nods timidly as his tears fall to the ground. “No, you didn’t.” I say shaking my head but I’m met with Armin’s nodding. “No, no, no. Bertholdt, no, you killed him?”

I’m met with assurance that it’s true from a distraught, bent over Armin and an on-the-verge-of-tears Jean. 

“You took him from me? You took him from his family? I can’t even bury him because you ate him! I can’t even take his body home! I’m never gonna see him again because of you?” I question accusingly. “You’re a monster, Marley was right all along, you truly are all devils!” I shout at the both of them as I hear the others emerging from the forest but I don’t care and start to run at Armin. 

I tackle him to the ground and start punching him in the face, his nose starts to bleed and it only spurs me on more. Reaching for my knife, I hear yelling from behind me as I dragged away from him.

Someone grabs my knife and throws it away out of my reach.

“Calm down, (y/n), calm down.” I hear Reiner whisper in my ear.

“I’m calm, I am so fucking calm right now.” I say with my usual neutral face but this time tear trails pathe their ways through my face followed by more. 

“Why did you attack him?” Reiner says after either hugging me or restraining me, I can’t tell.

“He’s a monster, they’re devils just like Marley said.”

“What are you talking about? These used to be my friends.” He says confused as to what prompted my attack.

“He killed Bertholdt… The blonde one.” I signal to him with my head.

“I know,” He says and pauses as my face screws up.

“You knew? You knew and asked me to work with him. He killed my best friend and you assured me that they were good people. He was your friend too!”

“I know, (y/n), it was hard for me to, but Bertholdt isn’t coming back, I’ve had to accept that and you will too”

“I need time, time by myself please.” He nods, kissing me on my cheek before leaving me slumped against one of the trees. 

I sat there for hours, through the night into the morning. Reiner brought me breakfast in the morning which I rejected.

“You need to eat, we have a long day ahead of us.” I shake my head.

“I want to speak to Armin.” He sighs.

“You know you won’t be able to after last night.”

“I don’t want to attack him, I just want to speak to him.”

“Okay, I’ll try and convince them although it’s unlikely you’ll be allowed to be along with him.”

“I don’t care, I just want to speak to him, please?” I beg.

After about ten minutes I hear people walking towards me, two to be precise. Armin and Mikasa.

“You try anything and you’re dead.” She says matching my cold expression.

“I just want to talk.” I say my voice cracking as I bite back the tears, the thought of Bertholdt dying too overwhelming for me in this fragile state..

They both sit down in front of me and I notice the very obvious weapons, a warning from Mikasa probably. 

“You ate him, right?” I say slowly and Armin already looks uncomfortable.

“Yes, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Can you see his memories? That’s what happens when the titan is pasted on, right?” I ask praying that his answer is yes.

“I can, All of them, including the ones with you and Reiner.” He says trying to show a small smile.

“Can you tell me about them, can you describe them?”

He looks a bit confused by the odd request but does so anyway and narrates Bertholdt’s life to me as I relive all of the experiences we shared. I lay back on the floor and look up at the canopy of trees above. Closing my eyes I listen closing to Armin’s descriptions, the colours, the feelings all of it as I imagine I’m back with him right this moment. 

“He smiled as you gave him a stone, it wasn’t just any stone, it was a heart shaped stone with both of your initials engraved in it. The memories a yellow fuzzy colour, a happy memory, a favourite of his perhaps.”

“Can you say that all again, please?” I ask turning to him with a sad smile on my face. Wiping away the tears, he re-reads the memory to me describing it perfectly.

It becomes clear to me that Armin is now my connection to Bertholdt, what was I thinking trying to kill him? I would’ve lost Bertholdt completely. 

Now he’ll be with me a little bit longer.

-

AN: It’s been a while since I last posted, I’m really sorry to those who haven’t got there requests yet I’ve just been busy with my freelance writing and exams. I hope you understand.

I hope you enjoyed this!

Everyone else excited for AoT Season 4 Part 3 (that’s catchy) in January? I know I am! :)

[teddy06writes]

Can I request a Sapnap x Karl x Quakity x Y/N ? I just like polyam ships and your Sapnap x Karl x Y/n just made me want more

Ee hee, thanks for the request

Sapnap x karl x reader x quackity (THE PEOPLE ARE ENABLING MEEEE)

trigger warnings: swearing, panic attack

premise: you and your boyfriends are out shopping/ trying to get kicked out of a target when you run into your asshole ex, when he starts to bother you your boys take care of it

(y/n/n)- your nick name

(also we’re pretending covid isn’t a thing)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“(y/n)! We are gods!”  

You turned at Alex’s call, snorting upon seeing he and Karl T posing while standing in the target cart, Nick balanced on the front, also t posing.

You laughed at your boyfriends, quickly taking a picture before Karl started to wobble and fall, “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Yup!” Karl grinned as Alex helped him out of the cart to avoid falling.

You shook your head, quietly putting the picture onto your twitter with the caption, ‘look at these nerds <3′

“You guys are gonna die from idiocy some day.”

“Not when your there to save us.” Nick countered, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“If anything they’ll get dragged down with us.” Alex scoffed.

“Tragically,” You muttered, “Did we actually come here to do anything but solicit?”

Karl giggled, “Well I thought we were just terrorizing the people of Target.”

“The only thing we actually needed was more notecards.” Nick reminded helpfully.

You smiled, “At least one of you is useful.”

“Hey!” Alex protested, “We’re useful too!”

“Sometimes.”  Karl giggled again.

“Betrayal!” He gasped dramatically as Karl threw his arms around his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, “Well, if your useful too then, help me find notecards.”

Alex sighed dramatically, grabbing one your your hands and intertwining your fingers, “If we must.”

Karl grinned, hopping back to sit in the cart, “Lets go then!”

Nick rolled his eyes, muttering something about being ridiculous, before moving to the push the cart, you and Alex moving along beside them.

~~

A half hour later found many random unnecessary but still necessary items piled into the cart around Karl, and note cards had still not been found.

You were hallway through the seasonal section when you sighed, “Alright this is taking too long, I’m going to actually get the note cards, I think they’re just down there, try not to break anything.”

Karl chuckled, “No promises.”

You smiled and headed out of the isle, towards office supplies.

“Well, well, well, (y/n), fancy seeing you here.”

You froze in the middle of grabbing the biggest package of notecards, trying to keep your hand still as you turned, “John,,, uh hi?”

Now, John wasn’t the worst person, no your relationship wasn’t necessarily bad, but towards the end it definitely took a turn for the worse. When you’d first brought up breaking things off he was, less than thrilled, leaving the last few weeks of your relationship a battle field of screaming matches that consisted of little more than his yells.

“It’s been a while.” He smiled.

“Uhh, yeah, it has been.” You began to fidget with your fingers, eyes darting back up the isle towards where you’d left Nick, Alex and Karl.

“Let me guess, still single?” He laughed, “Yeah it would make sense, I’ve only pulled like one person since you.”

You glanced down, “Uhh, no actually.”

John frowned, letting acid drip into his voice, “Oh, I guess the were right when they said you always moved on fast.”

“It- it- it- it’s been a year and a half?” Your attempts to keep your voce steady began to fail, “And, I’ve only been dating one of them for a few months.”

-It was true, Alex had been the last one to join your relationship a few months ago-

His eyes narrowed, “You’re not telling me you’re still on the stupid polyamory thing are you?”

You cleared your throat uncertainly, “um, y- yeah, I have three boyfriends.”

He rolled his eyes, “There's no chance you’d ever fucking pull three people. Hell you barley even managed me.”

Your gaze stayed trained on the tile floor, unspeaking.

“It’s clear you haven’t moved past fucking your way into a relationship.”

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as your breathing quickened, deep down you knew it wasn’t true, as a group you all respected Karl’s asexuality, even once, over some late night conversation of cuddles and lazily traded kisses, going so far as to promise that the relationship would remain entirely romantic if it made him more comfortable, and it had.

Still, there was a nagging in the back of your head, telling you that John was right. There obviously was only one reason they kept  you around.

“That really is a shame,” You felt his hand rest on your shoulder, “I know I would stay with you for more than that.”

“Get your fucking hand off of them or I will rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!”

You were simultaneously relieved and flooded with more anxiety upon hearing Nick’s voice.

“Who are you?” John asked skeptically.

“Their boyfriends, who the fuck are you?” Alex spit.

He laughed, dry and harsh, “So you’re the fucking idols who thought you could get away with dating (y/n), not that I care their very-”

“No, you shut the fuck up!” Nick cut him off before he could say anything else advancing up the isle towards him, “Why the fuck are you bothering them?!”

They continued a back and forth exchange, as you slowly slid down to the floor, nails pressing tightly into your palms, breathing far too fast.

“Hey, hey, (y/n/n), (y/n/n) look at me.”

You opened eyes that you didn’t realize had been screwed shut to see Karl kneeling sitting In front of you, looking worried.

“Can I touch you or no darlin?” He asked softly, almost making you forget the yelling happening only a few feet away.

You bit your lip, quickly shaking your head, the tiny seed of doubt John had planted in your mind starting to grow.

“Okay, that’s fine. Can you breath with me? In for seven, hold for 4 out for 8, yeah?”

After a moment of trying to breath in sync with him, you held out a hand, and understanding Karl took it, moving to pull you into his arms, “In for 7, out for 8, just like me alright?”

You all but melted into his touch, doing your best to breath normally again.

“Get the fuck outta here man!” Alex yelled.

“You’re gonna regret this.” John sneered.

“No,” Nick said firmly, “Your gonna regret messing with our partner if you don’t fucking leave.”

After you heard footsteps hurrying away you felt Alex settle on your other side, “You alright baby?”

“Their starting to breath normally again.” Karl reported, running a hand through your hair.

Nick sat down on Karl’s other side, and you all stayed sat on the floor of the offices supply isle, Alex sending death glares to anyone who tried to ask you to move.

Eventually you sat up, sniffing.

“Who was that?” Nick asked softly.

“My ex.” You murmured.

“Why was he bothering you? What did he say?”

“Stupid stuff,” You muttered, rubbing at your eyes, “C’n we go home now?”

“Of course Darlin.” Karl assured, standing up and turning to help you up.

~~

Later, back at the apartment, after everything had been put away, you all ended up in a cuddle plie on the couch, and that seed of doubt was beginning to shrivel with every pass Nick’s hands made through your hair, every small circle Alex absently traced into your palm and every tiny joke Karl made about the movie playing.

“Guys?” You asked softly.

“Yeah?” Alex asked.

“I love you.”

Karl grinned, “We love you too.”

Alex pressed a kiss to your knuckles in understanding and Nick  hummed in response.

The tiny seed of doubt was gone.

[mrs-gucci]

Subliminal Pleasures {anesthesiologist!Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! thanks to my good friend @safarigirlsp​, I finally wrote my first darkfic. thanks for ruining me a little bit, Shannon! ;) I’ll warn you now, this is honestly the darkest thing I’ve ever written before, and at first I was a little nervous, but I’m surprisingly pleased with how it turned out. and hey, it’s called fanFICTION for a reason, right? 

**THIS IS A DARKFIC THAT CONTAINS DARK THEMES/CONTENT!! please read the warnings and tw’s before proceeding!!**

warnings: smut. non-existent medical practice ethics. kylo’s a bad doctor, but damn, he looks good doing it. mentions of a medical procedure. some fingering. light dirty talk. masturbation. praise.

tw’s: noncon (but it’s not unpleasant, if that makes sense?). somnophilia.

word count: a touch over 2k

When you came into the hospital today for your dental surgery, no makeup and clad in baggy sweats, you weren’t prepared to meet anyone even remotely interesting or attractive, much less the anesthesiologist. 

And, when he walked into the room, your heart immediately skipped a beat, maybe even two.

He was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen before. Handsome seemed like an insult and injustice to his beauty when it came to the broad, raven-haired god. He wore a very stern expression as he sat over in the corner of the room in a stool much too small for his great size, gathering his tools. 

“Hmm,” His eyes scan the file. “Miss Y/N?”

You nod over at him.

“That’s me.”

He turns back to preparing himself for surgery. “I’m Dr. Ren, the anesthesiologist.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Ren.”

A silence stretched between the two of you, the only sounds coming from his movements or your adjusting positions on the paper-covered seat. Then, he speaks again, voice even deeper and somewhat huskier than before. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Have you ever previously been put under for a medical procedure, or otherwise?”

“I have.” You reply. “Although I didn’t think that I’d need it for this type of procedure?”

He turns around in the stool, a small smirk on his expression.

“Would you like to be awake when your teeth are hammered into pieces and pulled from your mouth?”

Normally, you would’ve laughed at this joking question, but his delivery and sinister demeanor chilled you to the bone.  “N-No, not really.”

“Then you’ll be put under.” He simply states, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before handing you a fabric gown. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Strip and put this on. The snaps should be on your left shoulder, otherwise you’ve put it on incorrectly.”

Looking into his eyes takes your breath away, out of captivation or a bit of fear, you were unsure. He holds onto the gown a bit too long before releasing his grip, eyes lingering over your face before walking out of the room with commanding footsteps.

Despite his chilling intensity and seemingly emotionless demeanor, you still found yourself incredibly attracted to him. There was something...magnetic about him, like the mysterious aura surrounding him draws you in. The warm tingle between your thighs was undeniable as you stood and removed your clothes, tucking them in your bag off to the side before slipping the gown on over your mostly nude body.

Dr. Ren comes back in as soon as you lay back on the chair once again, his timing impeccable. He puts on a surgical mask and rolls the equipment over on a small cart, parking it next to your head.

“We’ll put you under now.”

“W-What?” Your eyes widen. “But the doctor hasn’t even come in yet.”

He glares down at you.

“Must I remind you who the medical professional in the room is?”

“No, sir.” You shake your head, lips pursing as your eyes dart away.

The mask is placed over your nose and mouth.

“Breathe in and out deeply, count to ten.”

Your eyelids grow heavy almost immediately as you begin taking deep breaths, letting the invisible medication into your lungs. 

“One...two...three...four...five...s-six...sev-seven...eigh...t...”

Kylo grins when you’re finally under, body limp as you sleep peacefully under his influence. He loved his job, loved having complete control over someone’s consciousness, loved having the power between life and death.

His cock hardens in his pants as he reclines the chair so that you’re now laying flat. You don’t move a muscle, and he quickly removes his latex gloves along with his mask, tossing them into the bin.

He’s never had a patient like you before, so beautiful, so docile and obedient, so...seemingly innocent. He wants nothing more and would take great pleasure in absolutely ruining you, turning you into his pretty little slut.

The doctor wasn’t even here yet, as you were his first surgery patient today, but Kylo knew without doubt that he needed time alone with you. He needed to have his way with you.

With one last flicker to the locked door, he brings his hand down beneath his trousers and wraps it around his hardened cock, groaning under his breath with the first pump. Your vitals are stable as his other hand begins popping the snaps of your medical gown.

He pulls it open and lets it hang down over the side of the table, exposing your body to him. All you’re wearing is your undergarments, and yet, Kylo’s length pulses in his hand at the sight. You’re truly a sight to behold, even with your intimate areas covered.

You squirm just a bit when the doctor’s large hand grazes over your ankle, but he knows he won’t wake you, not completely anyways. His hand trails up over your calf, then over your thigh, climbing until he reaches the underwire of your flimsy bra. 

There’s not enough time to remove it, to expose your pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze, but he spreads his large hand over the mound, squeezing it gently. In your unconscious state, your back arches slightly and a soft sigh escapes your lips under his touch. 

His hand pumps his cock faster as he bends down and presses a few kisses to the fabric over your nipple, walking around to give your other breast a similar treatment. Then, he walks to the foot of the table and mounts it, kneeling between your legs. 

Both his hands spread out on your inner thighs, gently spreading them apart before tracing his thick, calloused digits across the crotch of your panties. You squirm again, hips subconsciously rocking up to meet his touch.

“That’s a good girl.” He purrs, rubbing small, lazy circles on your clit over the fabric. “Even like this, you still want it. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Kylo dips his fingers beneath your panties, cock twitching under his pants as his fingers swipe through the considerable amount of slick there. He finds your clit, rubbing it gently, enough to stimulate but not disturb you.

“Look at this...you’re absolutely soaked for me, little dove, and you don’t even know it.”

His hands grip your hips and lift them up as he slides your panties down, revealing the glistening treasure that lay below. He lines a single finger up with your entrance, then pushes it in, growling softly when your cunt clenches.

You stir just a bit, but not nearly enough for him to worry. He lifts his digit up inside you, enjoying the way your hips suddenly jerk as he rubs over the spongy surface of that special spot. Then, he pushes another one of his fingers inside of you, hearing a soft whine from beneath the mask.  

He begins fingering you gently, just enough to prepare you, making sure not to force you back into consciousness. Soon, it became too much for him, and he pulled his digits out gently, observing the slick that coats the two fingers. He brings them up and takes a quick whiff, cupping his clothed erection and squeezing as his tongue pokes out to lick some of the substance off, hips bucking forward at the semi-sweet taste.

“Oh, little one, you’ve got such a tight little pussy. And you taste so good, just as I knew you would.”

The young doctor wipes the rest off on the paper below, then makes quick work of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to expose his aching length. It bobs in response, desperate for attention as another bead of precum forms over the slit. His finger spreads the semi-transparent substance over the fat mushroom head, groaning breathily. 

After giving his thick length a few strokes, he brings it down to rub through your slick. They buck forward out of instinct when he slides over your puckered entrance, wanting so badly to be buried inside of you. 

His body leans over you, one hand next to your head as the other lines himself up, aiding in direction as he presses his hips forward, burying himself inside your wet welcoming walls. His eyes flutter shut as he bottoms out, but quickly snap open when you moan.

Luckily, you hadn’t woken up with his intrusion, and he takes a long sigh of relief before drawing back and pressing forward again slowly. The table trembles on its legs, bolts creaking as he fucks you steadily but gently, extra cautious of your vital signs and level of alertness.

Part of him wishes that you were awake, that you could see what he was doing to you and enjoy him, but the feeling of knowing that even unconsciously, you were still wet and tight for him was one too good to resist. It was all so arousing; an ego feeding greater than his regular days work could ever offer.

Your face scrunches in pleasure with more rolls of his hips, moaning and whimpering each time he buries himself inside you. They’re all so gentle, your noises, and Kylo finds himself lost in each quiet breath.

“Good girl--fuck--oh, good girl.” He says quietly, using every bit of his willpower to keep from pounding into you. “Such a good little cunt, taking my cock so well.”

You tighten around him, then, and he growls, fists clenching next to your head. His teeth grind together as he picks up the pace ever so slightly, feeling his climax approaching quickly.

“T-That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

His head hangs, eyes squeezing shut. He’s close, now, and his own noises get a little bit louder and a lot more frequent as his balls begin to pull and tighten.

“Gonna cum, little dove, you’re g-gonna make me cum so hard with this tight pussy.”

Unbenounced to him, you wake up slightly, eyes opening just a crack. You see him on top of you, body flexing with each thrust, and you feel the obvious intrusion in your lower half. You’re surprisingly not bothered by it, nor do you feel uncomfortable with it. Before you can think on it further, you slip back into the blackness.

He can’t cum inside you, he knows that, so just as he teeters on orgasm, he pulls out as gently as he can and drags his pulsing cock against your lower stomach as thick white ropes paint your soft skin.

“O-Oh y-yes...so good, d-dove.”

Kylo takes himself through orgasm and right into oversensitivity, pulling away and sitting up when this happens. His length softens, the extra skin re-covering his head as it does so. He tucks himself back into his pants, prepares a wet cloth and wipes the cum from your abdomen before pulling your panties back up over your used cunt. 

His fingers quickly re-button your gown and he runs a quick hand through his hair before the doctor comes in, completely oblivious as to what’s just happened. Kylo greets him nonchalantly and takes his place off to the side as the doctor begins the surgery.

Your eyes flutter open lazily, grogginess hitting as you awaken a couple of hours later. Immediately, you feel the pain in your mouth, but more noticeably, you feel a certain ache in your lower half. You have no recollection of what you saw, as this memory is now trapped in your subconscious, but somehow you just sort of knew what’d happened.

You’re disgusted at yourself that you don’t mind the idea, that you don’t feel violated or like you’d been assaulted. You should feel those things, he did those things without your express permission, but...you don’t.

In fact, you feel as if your feelings for the mysterious doctor have grown even stronger. The gaping hole he’d left, the orgasm he’d robbed you of, just ached to be fulfilled. It was an itch you couldn’t scratch, sensations you couldn’t recreate on your own.

Only he could satisfy this desire, this need. 

And, as you sit up slowly and the doctor debriefs you, you know that you must fulfill this new destiny: Find Dr. Ren and make him yours once again.

[45percenterthen]

Belated bday fic for bearer of cursed fruit facts @seraphlm and thee plant dad cas truther @cactuscas !! Love u guys v much, happy bday <3 (ao3 link here)

“Fuck’s a horoscope again? It’s like, stars and shit, right?”

He bumps Cas’ elbow, who’s squinting at one of his fern-looking-things like he’s experimenting with horticultural telepathy. The saga of the fern-thing has been turbulent, to say the least. It’s wilting a bit, leaves curling in on themselves like tiny fists. Cas has spent the past few days carting it from one window ledge to another, muttering to himself about humidity levels with a familiar air of irritated devotion. Dean reckons the whole underground bunker situation probably isn’t helping. It’s well travelled, though, for a plant. Dean thinks it should be more grateful.

Cas nods, releasing a leaf with a sigh and sitting down next to Jack. “Indeed. Stars and shit.”

Jack’s engrossed in some magazine, finger tracing the words as he reads. Cas reaches for the edge of the page to hold it taut for him, and Dean can practically see his other hand itching for his phone. Diagnosis time for the fern-thing. Dean’s never seen a favorites bar so wholly taken up by gardening websites. Dean’s pretty sure the definition of true love is pausing Die Hard to read an article about potting soil drainage.

“Do you want to hear yours, Dean? It’s for this week.”

“Sure, kiddo.” To be honest, Dean thinks the concept of fate can very much, actually, go fuck itself. Jack looks delighted though, so he keeps it to himself. He stirs a bit of extra butter into the eggs because that’s the way Jack likes them, dutifully not looking at Cas to avoid a depressing conversation about his cholesterol levels.

“Oh! It says you’re lucky this week, Dean!”

“Awesome, bud! Time to stock up on the scratch cards, eh?”

Sam chooses that moment to come lumbering in. The state of his hair suggests a sleepless night, or that a recent localized hurricane that targeted his bedroom only.

“Hi Sam! We’re reading horoscopes. Dean’s an Aquarius.”

“Oh, cool.” Eileen had been delayed on a salt and burn with some of the new-hunter-network people. Sam looks suitably mopey about it, forlorn housewife that he is. “Mercury’s in marmalade, and all that.”

“Aquarius is ruled by Uranus,” Jack continues, and Sam instantly chokes. On air, apparently. Bastard.

“One more time, Jack? Dean’s ruled by his –”

“You’re a child, Samantha.” Dean looks around for the nearest something-painful-not-fatal to throw at him. Plant’s a no. Instant divorce. He glances at the eggs, but decides he doesn’t want to spend his morning getting egg yolk outta the tile grouting.

“Dude, oh my – I should’ve just checked your horoscope,” Sam walks over to the fridge, catching the Mary Berry’s Baking Bible that Jody sent them for Christmas in mid-air. “Would’ve saved us a talk.”

“Eat your pineapple and shut up, man.”

“Did you know that pineapples are technically berries?” Jack says. Dean wonders if Cas introduced him to WebMD-for-plants. Or maybe this is just a side effect of being The New God on the block. Berry omniscience. “Well. The outside bit is. Bananas are berries too.”

“That’s weird,” Sam closes the fridge door. Stares into his bowl like he’s offended. Dean’s offended Sam eats nothing but fruit in the morning. “After the heaven rebuild. You should, like, fix berries.”

Jack turns to Cas solemnly. “Should I fix berries?”

“Perhaps you should concentrate on heaven, first. Then we can see about berries.”

“I don’t want to ruin the fabric of our established universe,” Jack says, and Dean’s struck, once again, with the sudden realisation that he’s making eggs for the most powerful entity in Creation. Mondays, man.

“I don’t think Chuck had any such purity of intent in mind,” Cas says darkly, pouring more milk into God’s glass for strong bones and teeth, and yeah, Dean’s pretty keen to steer Cas away from that particular line of conversation.

“Hey, what’s Cas’ horo-whatever?” He takes the eggs off the heat and walks over to the table, leaning over to see what the hell magazine this is, actually. Looks Rowena-y. Is the Queen of Hell sending his son-God care packages? That’s one way to establish diplomatic relations.

He rests his hands on Cas’ shoulders, stroking his thumbs at the neckline of his t-shirt when he feels tension. He decides against pressing a kiss to Cas’s hair. Just ‘cause he’s with a dude now, doesn’t mean he’s gonna be all gay about it. Cas’ left hand comes up to cover his own. Their rings clink.

“Cas doesn’t have a birthday, though.” Jack frowns at the page slightly, apparently looking for the section on fallen angel anomalies.

“Then we’ll have to pick one –” Dean starts, just as Cas says, “September eighteenth.”

Cas tips his head back against Dean’s chest, peers up at him. He’s got dried toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. Dean grins stupidly at his upside-down face. “September eighteenth, yeah.” Something swoops in his chest. Cas is earnest, and it’s unbearable. He loves at full volume, and Dean’s as grateful as he is undeserving. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. Tradition, and all that.

Jack taps the page. “It says you’re a Virgo, Cas!”

They’re still staring at each other as Jack starts reading aloud. Dean brushes hair off Cas’ forehead and thinks, for once, he’s landed himself the permanent kind of happy. Dean’s pretty sure he’s loved him for years and years, quietly, achingly.

There’s the sound of cutlery against ceramic, and Dean looks up to check Sammy’s not weeping into his fruit bowl out of sheer girlish pride or whatever. He’d made it six words into his best man speech before the waterworks. Dean’s never letting him live it down.

⁂

“So,” Dean says later, after Sam’s gone to collect Eileen from town, and Jack’s off on heavenly refurb duty. “My lucky week, huh?”

Dean circles his arms round Cas’ midriff. Lets his chin rest on his shoulder, because he can, and also to check Cas isn’t half-assing the washing up.

“Apparently so.”

Dean hums. It’s funny. They’re married. And yet moments like these, the big ones, still manage to make him a bit nervous. It’s stupid. He’s hardly gonna say no. But Dean supposes they’ve never managed to get anything in the right order. Two deathbed confessions amidst a decade of friendship. An ‘I love you too’ echoing off brick in an empty room. Two kids co-parented before they even kissed, and they were already living together when they started dating. Someone get Nicholas Sparks on the phone.

“Perfect week to put an offer down on a house then, right? That one on the lake?”

Cas drops a fork into the bubbles. He turns his head to reply and Dean takes it as an opportunity to kiss what’s within reach. The smile lines around his eye, his temple greying with the proof that Cas loves him. He’s all in. Dean is too, terrifyingly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude.” Dean nods at the fern guy. “Your plants would appreciate the sunlight, right? And there’s a room for Jack.”

Cas spins in his arms, leaning against the sink to look Dean in the eye. Dean grabs at his soapy palm, intertwining their fingers, confident in his sappiness when no one’s watching.

“I know I always say Sammy didn’t make the most of his college experience, but dorming in my forties isn’t exactly what I meant –”

“You’ll miss him, though.”

“Of course, man. Lived with Sam my whole life. But,” Dean relinquishes the hand to cup Cas’ face, “I kinda wanna do my own thing now. With you. So, move in with me, Mr. Winchester? Somewhere… overground?”

It’s so off-your-feet sweepingly romantic Dean feels like he deserves a medal. Maybe this is their karmic justice after the proposal debacle.

Cas is smiling at him, soft and sweet. “Okay, Dean.” He puts wet hands around his waist and Dean doesn’t even care that it’s seeping through his t-shirt. “Lake house it is.”

Dean leans in, kisses him three times in response. He lingers on the last one, smiling against Cas’ mouth. Cas knows what he means.

[sooibian]

Catch These Hands

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader

Description: Living with Baekhyun comes with its own challenges

Themes: Fluff (surprise!!!!), established relationship, make up artist and masseur Byun, a little bit of byuntae, and one (1) Eminem reference lol

Prompt: @/notyourenglishprofessor : You SAY you didn’t eat in bed but these crumbs say differently.

A/N: Happy Birthday @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ !!!! here’s your biggest pet peeve woven into a bbh fic! Hope you enjoy it XD

Word count: ~ 1.7k

Nights out have never agreed with you. It’s 2 a.m. and your feet hurt from the heels, your head hurts from the drinks, your little black dress (your best friend sure does have a penchant for party clichés) is mocking your food baby, your makeup feels clumpy - maybe you overused the setting powder but you wouldn’t know because the complex art of blending cosmetics has always eluded you. How do they make it look so easy in YouTube tutorials?

As you’re keying in the passcode to your apartment, despite all the malaise, a sudden surge of comfort courses through your veins at the thought of your adorable boyfriend asleep in a clean, cozy bed, engulfed in warm and fresh sheets that exude the fragrance of a spring meadow - courtesy of your brand new laundry detergent. You imagine he is dressed in his snuggly pajamas, with his lips slightly parted, dark hair tousled, and your ostrich plushie clutched to his chest. Ever since you started living with him, you’d never spent a night away from home but the one time you returned after a weekend long Neuroscience conference, you found your plushie resting in the comfort of his arms. The next morning he insisted that he didn’t know where it came from.  

‘Time to catch him red handed’, you smile to yourself.

Kicking off your heels and scraping your hair up in a bun, you tiptoe to your bedroom and the faint melody of Baekhyun singing in a highly expressive croon falls upon your ears.

Tell me you’ll love again, come back to me again..

He should’ve been long asleep and while you can’t wait to crash out either, you allow yourself the pleasure of eavesdropping on his heavenly vocals that always sound especially sweet when he’s wrestling sleep. Until..until you hear it.. the sharp crunch of plastic which sends you barging into the bedroom with exasperation painted across your features. 

Baekhyun clamps his mouth shut. 

Instead of jumping out of bed to wrap you in his arms, he uncharacteristically stays burrito-ed in his duvet, fixing you with an apologetic gaze. Elbow crushing the pillow underneath him, shoulders crouched, lips pursed, hair dishevelled, pajama bottoms scrunched up to his calves, he tries to blink away the very apparent guilt in his eyes. Your ostrich plushie lay on your side of the bed as if its neck had been snapped like a popsicle stick. 

As you loom over him, lower lip wobbling, he pushes his weight further down the pillow but the tail end of the red Orion choco pie wrapper teasingly peeks from underneath it, glimmering in the cozy golden lighting of the bedroom, already chuckling at the drama that is to ensue.

You’re too tired for this.

Without a word to him, you grab a bunch of blankets from the dresser, shut it with a loud bang and stomp out of the room while Baekhyun’s bearing is that of a frozen frame. As you’re questioning your life choices and are about to vent your frustration on the irreproachable couch, your weary gaze finds the bane of your existence again - crumbs. White, inelegant fragments of food conspicuous against your tan sofa.

They say the more you try to avoid something, the more you create it. This was unequivocally the worst quote you’d ever read. You created nothing! You were not the one to leave this slew of crumbs on the sofa neither did you leave a pile of crumbs on the bed! It was all Baekhyun! 

You’re way too tired for this.

Drowsy, you lie down on the floor, curled up in the many blankets, although still cautious as your piercing eyes doggedly probe for more evidence of Baekhyun’s insolence. Surprisingly, the rug was clean-ish. It was almost as if he had planned on you sleeping on the floor tonight. This thought fuels the rage bubbling in the pit of your stomach so you force your eyes shut to avoid a shouting match this late in the night. 

The shuffling sound of footsteps grows closer and you’re determined not to give him the satisfaction of even a glance. The sound comes to a halt and you feel a gentle caress of warm fingers ghosting over your cheeks which is quickly replaced with a smooth and cool touch of a cotton pad against your eyelids, cheekbones, jaw line, with a distinct scent of micellar water wafting in the little to no space between Baekhyun and you.

You continue to play dead as he’s quietly and deftly taking your makeup off while delicately holding you up by the back of your neck and you coyly move your face from side to side to allow him better access to every inch of your skin.

“Too much setting powder”, he whispers.

Darnit!

“Still so pretty”, he remarks in his dulcet voice. Your head now rests in his lap and he’s gently moving his thumbs in tiny circles under your brows, working his way from inside out and continuing the movement all around your eyes and ending back at the bridge of your nose, almost lulling you to sleep.   

At this point every cell in your body is waging a war against your now weakened spirit that’s continuing to disregard him yet you find yourself revelling in his mellow affections.

“It’s a rookie mistake. Not to worry, baby, I’ll help you get it right the next time.” He reassures, planting a soft kiss on your pout.

“Right”, eyes still wilfully shut, you chastise him, “maybe when you find the time from eating in bed.”

“Yah! Don’t be like that.” Baekhyun whines, prying your eyes open with his fingers, not-so-gently.

You smack the back of his hand and sit up cross legged facing him. He stretches his hand out to pat your head and you smack it again invoking a look of pure confusion in Baekhyun’s soft features. His hand is now barely an inch away from your lips and he commands with a raised brow, “Now kiss it better.” 

“Ew!” Your hand strikes the back of his, again. “How many times do I have to tell you not to -”

“Not to eat in bed!” Baekhyun completes your sentence with a deep sigh, “I know and I wasn’t -”

“Do not lie to me Byun Baekhyun!” Warning him, you wag your finger as annoyance betrays your voice, rendering your pitch shrill. Dusting the corners of his mouth with the pads of your fingers, you sneer, “These crumbs say otherwise. You know I hate it when you eat in bed! It’s ...It’s….disgusting! And -”

“And?” 

“You always ignore my post-its!”

Baekhyun huffs and runs a hand through his hair. Letting on a forced smile, he reasons, “We’ve been living together for three years now. I think it’s time you stopped leaving ‘do not eat’ post-it notes on everything you buy!”

Tilting your head to the side, you explain animatedly, “First of all, you won’t let me buy snacks on our grocery runs because they’re unhealthy or whatever and you want to bring about a stupid dietary reform in the household which, by the way, is failing miserably - ”

“Yah!! We’re still in January, don’t be such a pessimist!”

“Do not interrupt me! The few that I do manage to sneak into the cart are mine and mine alone!”

“It’s just that..the ones that you buy taste better”, he mumbles, unveiling the most powerful weapon in his artillery - the pout.

“That is the most ridiculous thing that’s come out of your mouth today aside from the crumbs! I imagined you’d be...”, it’s nearly 3 a.m. and you’re starting to descend into a fugue state, “you’d be...curled up in bed like a...like a... cooked shrimp with a plushie clutched to it’s chest!”

Visibly offended, he flicks your forehead and bellows, “Cooked shrimp!? It’s called the fetal position. Look it up!”

“I know what it’s called!” Your livid expression eases into a rather ill meaning smile, “My apologies, I took you for a grown man.”

“What in the world - I am a grown man!” His lips stretch into a wide grin and the tips of his fingers tease the sensitive spot on your neck, “would you like to see?”

“You’re disgusting, Byun Baekhyun! A grown man does not eat in bed!” You smack the back of his hand. Again.

“Strike four! You’re obligated to kiss it better now!” 

Tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of his hand dangling so close to your face. “I’m tired”, you cry, burying your face in your hands as exhaustion and exasperation take over, “I really need you to stop eating in bed.” 

“Babe, I -” His eyes grow into large brown circles at the sight of your distressed state and he freezes.

“I feel like the crumbs will, like, turn into ferocious ants and nibble at my skin while I’m asleep”, you break into full blown sobs and Baekhyun takes you in his arms, holding you tight against his warm and comforting frame and patting your head to calm you down.

“Hush, baby”, he sing-songs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! You go get changed into something comfortable and I’ll dust the bed, okay?”

“Can you change the sheets instead?” Sniffling, you ask him with wide, pleading eyes, a sly smile playing at your lips.

His eyebrows shoot upwards and he exclaims, “It’s three in the morn-”

“Please?” You sing-song, a little too loudly.

He lets out a deep sigh, “Okay! I’ll change the sheets.”

With his slightly dispirited face sandwiched between your hands, you ask cheerfully, “And you promise to never eat in bed again?” 

“I promise to never eat in bed again.” A dejected Baekhyun says to his knees. 

“And you won’t steal my snacks?”

You had now started to push your luck with him, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

He flicks your forehead a little harshly this time making you squeal. “Can you stop with the stupid post-its, already?”

Rubbing your forehead, you surrender and get up. “Fine! I’ll go shower now.”

Baekhyun wraps his arms around your waist. Nuzzling your neck, he coos seductively, "I’ll join you.” 

“Byun Baekhyun!”

[peach-the-owl]

Exu crew and an artificer kid? The crew enters the kids home town and they don't seem that happy about it but doesn't say anything, everyone goes different ways to shop/explore/etc and while everyone goes their own ways the kids old bullies pull them into an alleyway and just bully them breaking anything kid made/name calling/pulling hair just being unbelievable mean. The bullies all freeze, then kid looks over their shoulders and sees the whole group behind them looking intimidating, the bullies run away while the other ask what's going on and try to comfort their child.

Wow this was longer then I expected SORRY!! I hope you have a wonderful day ❤️

There’s no need to be sorry for an idea 😁 I hope this turned out good

(Second piece to deal with a bullying theme, dang)

Fine Craftsmanship

ExU Crew & Child!Artificer!Reader

The trip to Byroden was a longer one then you first thought, having to make a few pit stops to rest and restock on food, but it did have its perks, giving you time to work on some projects while on the road. They weren’t anything huge, you wanted to surprise everyone in the group with a personally crafted item, everything was fine at first until you recognized the town you were currently approaching.

"Are you alright (y/n)? You seem a bit jumpy." Dorian comments, having noticed your fidgeting hands. You take a quick second to calm yourself before replying.

"I’m fine, this is actually my hometown. I haven’t seen it in awhile, you know." He gives you a small nod and gets himself a better look out the window.

"If you’re from here that means you know where all the good stops are right?" Dariax asks excitedly.

"I’m still a kid, I wouldn’t know what’s 'good' in your opinion." You stare blankly, it was a bit strange sometimes to be one of the smartest people in the group.

"Right, right. No drinking for you." Dariax says, as if he already knew all this. You playfully roll your eyes at him and smile a little, maybe this wouldn’t so bad after all, so long as you stayed close to everyone. You enter the town and find a good place to park the Glitter-Shitter (I can’t even write the word with a straight face) before making your way into the marketplace and instantly Opal is off browsing the different shops and stalls of the market, dragging Fearne along with her and Fy'ra Rai trailing behind them, telling everyone to meetup in an hour. Dorian heads over to the tavern hoping to sweet talk the folk there for some food for the road, Dariax tagging along most likely to grab some drinks and test his luck with some gambling. Orym had disappeared from your sight entirely, heading off to do his own thing if you had to take a guess. You sigh unsure of where to go, now just hoping things go by quickly and without trouble as you sit by the wagon pull out some tools and continue to tinker away at a small gift you were making for Fearne for a while, placing your mind into a false sense of security.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to come home." You hear a chillingly familiar voice spite at you and look over at the three people you were hoping not to see. There was Marty, Hamna, and their self proclaimed leader Fion (I just made up some names here, idk), they used to terrorize you relentlessly until you’d finally had enough and snuck on that cart to Emon, which lead to the adventure you were on now, a story come full circle in the worst way to you. You get up quickly hoping to dash over to where Opal and Fearne where looking at some sparkling necklaces for protection, you don’t move quick enough as you’re yanked back by your hair by either Marty or Hamna as Fion covers your mouth to avoid you shouting for help. Once pulled into a nearby alleyway, away from public view, Marty and Hamna each restrain one of your arms. You thrash and struggle to try and free yourself, managing to loosen their grip slightly only to get socked in the jaw by Fion giving the other two the chance to readjust their grip into a more secure position, trapping you.

"Let go! Leave me alone!" You shout as you continue to squirm to try and free yourself.

"Awww, and what are you going to do if we don’t?" Marty teases. You wanted to cast something to no avail with their tight grip preventing you of freeing yourself and grabbing your tools.

"Look at them," Hamna laughs, "they’re too weak to even break free." You glare at them. Fion walks over to you and starts rummaging around your bag, mindlessly throwing around the various items you’ve worked on for a long time to make.

"What’s this supposed to be?" They ask, holding up a hair clip you had intended to give to Opal.

"That’s for my friend! Put it back!" You shout a little too loud for their liking and the two holding your arms use their free hands to cover your mouth, muffling your words or cry’s for help. The one holding the hair clip looks it over in their hand before looking you in the eyes and snapping the item in half.

"Oops, sorry. My hand slipped." Their voice dripped with sarcasm. They continue to rummage through your bag, or look through the small pile of items they threw out of it, pulling out items you wanted to give to everyone as gifts. Every time they’d inspect one item, they'd just as quickly break it, smashing it on the ground or snapping it in their hands. You struggled and tugged against the two still holding you back and muffling out your voice, but it was no use, you were restrained, unable to call for help and left to helplessly watch as they destroyed your hard work. As if things couldn’t get worse, they pull out your tools, the literal lifeblood for your magic, look you straight in your eyes and while struggling a bit manage to break them too.

"Awww, they’re crying like a baby." Hamna laughs.

"That’s because they are a baby." Marty continues.

"If you really want to cry like a baby, we’ll give a reason to cry." Fion eggs on, getting the other two to harshly shove you to the ground. You curl into a ball preparing for the worst, you wait a moment and when nothing happens you peek up to see the three of them frozen in place with fear in their eyes. You adjust yourself to have a look over your shoulder and see everyone standing with intimidating looks on their faces.

Dorian stared daggers at the bullies, while also subtly fiddling with his handaxe. Opal twirled her knives in her hands, magic sparking at her fingertips, and if you looked closely enough you could see a faint glow emit from her necklace. Fearne stood tall, her snake staff coming to life and hissing at the three, Mister well perched on her shoulder screeches, purposely showing the fiery interior of his mouth. Orym takes a step in front of you, acting as a shield for you while placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, you knew well enough he wouldn’t actually draw his sword on the other kids, but they didn’t know that. Dariax on the other hand looked very ready to strike at the three, holding a tight grip on his spear.

"Are you hurt bad?" Orym asks quietly, looking over to you. You shake your head giving an equally quiet "no".

"I’m not a fan of people hurting my little friend here." You hear Dariax say, now fulling pointing his spear at the others, the three each take step back. You finch at the feeling of being suddenly lifted off the ground, finding yourself in Dorian's arms, he gives you a concerned but reassuring smile.

"Let’s get out of here!" Fion commands and the three turn to leave but are stopped when Fy'ra Rai blocks their exit, her eyes burning into them with fury.

"You’re unjust actions should not be left unpunished. You dare to put down this child as if they are weak, when it is you three that are the weaklings. Knowing you would never stand a chance alone you group together and single out the ones you see as vulnerable. It is sad and pathetic, now leave while we still show you mercy." Her voice held such a powerful tone to it, it almost felt like the ground itself shook at her words. Fion, Marty and Hamna scramble over each other before running off, one of them crying for their mommy.

"Who where those children? Do you know?" Dorian asks. You let out a long sigh and explain to everyone a bit about your life when you still lived in the town.

"What’s all this stuff here?" Opal speaks up, staring at the broken pile of items.

"I wanted to surprise you all with some gifts I made, but now their all broken." You sigh sadly.

"You made theses for us?"

"I tried to, I know they aren’t that good but you’ve all been so nice and carding to me, I wanted to retune the favour."

"That’s really sweet of you." Fearne smiles, giving you a pat on the head, you smile a little at this.

"Why don’t you just fix them? I’ve seen ya do stuff like that before." Dariax butts in.

"I would, but they broke my tools too." You pout.

"Well that’s easy, we'll just buy you some new tools." Dorian states, shuffling you in his grip a bit to have a better hold on you. You look up at him with big hopeful eyes.

"Really? I don’t want to bother you."

"It’s no bother at all, your our little genius, the last thing we’d want are some small town jerks preventing you from ever thinking that." He proudly proclaims, getting affirmation from the others. Fy'ra Rai walks over and gently lifts your chin up to look at her.

"Listen to me little one, you are much stronger then you'd ever believe, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise." You give her a small nod, not entirely sure what she means but finding her words encouraging nonetheless.

"You know what? I do remember seeing these really awesome looking tools, while searching for a cloths shop. Here I’ll show you." Opal brightens up a bit, grabbing and dragging Dorian and by extension you off into the market again.

"Opal!" Dorian calls in surprise, holding tighter to you so you wouldn’t fall. You just giggle at the two, looking over your shoulder to see the others hurrying to catch up.

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 16

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 16

Chapter Summary: Meet the family

Rating: 18+

Warnings: None for this chapter

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12} {Chapter 13} {Chapter 14} {Chapter 15}

"How well does she do on flights?" Henry asked quietly, nodding for Faye to slide in first to take the window seat.

"She gets sick on longer flights." Faye explained as he sat down in the aisle seat, resting the snoozing child in his lap, her chubby cheek pressed against his chest as a small bit of drool tumbled from her lower lip.

"It's a little under an hour, do you think she'll be ok?"

"She didn't get sick until after the third hour when we came to England."

"Hopefully she'll just sleep the whole time." Henry sighed, smiling fondly at the child snoozing on him. To say he was excited to introduce his girls to his family was an understatement. He had been practically vibrating with giddiness for the last two days. That in turn wound up Kal and Briar, which meant no one wanted to go to bed. Faye had counted herself lucky to get the child tucked into bed and finally asleep before 11pm the night before. Certainly not enough time for any sort of decent rest before their 6am flight. She could also tell Henry hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, the dark circles under his eyes a dead giveaway, no matter how many times he insisted he was fine.

Maybe they could all catch a nap during the flight. That sounded incredible, though Faye wasn't sure if her nerves would allow her to actually sleep. Henry had assured her over and over that his family would love her, but she had a nagging voice in the back of her mind that kept asking her 'but what if they don't?' Would Henry leave her if his family didn't like her? What if they didn't like Briar? She could be a bit much at times. Maybe they would think she was an awful mother who couldn't control her child. She just had to keep reminding herself that Henry wasn't like that. He wasn't a controlling abuser. He wanted to see her happy. He actually loved her and she was slowly learning how to be loved in return.

Henry reluctantly slid the child from his lap and into her seat before take off, buckling the now grumpy toddler in while Faye gave Briar her stuffed bunny in an attempt to pacify her for the time being. That only resulted in the rather amusing image of an incredibly angry looking toddler hugging a very well loved stuffed bunny, glaring daggers at the seat back in front of her. The second the fasten seatbelt sign went off, Briar was back in Henry's lap, smugly snuggling back into his chest with her bunny tucked under her arm.

"I swear, she likes you more than she likes me." Faye sighed, shaking her head at her daughter.

"I never tell her no." Henry shrugged, giving the child a small squeeze.

"I've noticed." Faye grumbled.

"How do you expect me to say no to that face?" Henry challenged, nodding down to where Briar was already sleeping on him, her cheek squished up against his chest, more drool slowly soaking into his shirt.

"What if she wants to do something dangerous?"

"That's why I have her wonderful, strong, beautiful mother nearby." Henry smiled at her, chuckling at her annoyed look.

"So what are you gonna do with any future children?" Faye shot back, not missing the way Henry's entire demeanor lit up.

"I'll just have to follow your lead." He offered, trying to tame the smile from his face. This was the first time she had mentioned any more children since their scare, and just the thought was enough to make him dizzy with excitement.

"Breastfed that kid for a year and a half, and this is the thanks I get." Faye grumbled to herself, moving over to the middle seat to use Henry's bulky shoulder as a pillow.

"As much as I'd like to say I'll help you every step of the way, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be useless when it comes to that."

"Such a shame, your tits are bigger than mine."

"They are not." Henry scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Mmhmm. Mine only look nice when I roll them up into a bra so you can't see how deflated they are."

"They're the perfect size for my hands."

"And your tits are still bigger."

"Fine, but I still don't think I can breastfeed a baby." Henry relented, his face heating up when he realized the flight attendant had made it to their row with the drink cart. Her look of confused horror was one Faye would remember for years to come.

"I think we're good." Faye half laughed, Henry dropping his head in embarrassment. Sometimes people just walk up at the wrong time in a conversation.

Faye was apprehensive at first when Henry told her his brother would be picking them up from the airport. What if he instantly didn't like her? Would he just leave her there or something? It would make for a very uncomfortable car ride to say the least. Thankfully Niki and his wife turned out to be just as nice and accommodating as Henry kept assuring her they would be. Naturally, Niki stuffed his younger brother into the back seat, allowing his wife to stay up front in spite of her half hearted protest. Faye had the feeling this was an ongoing thing between them.

The sight of a toddler seat in the back, hooked in and ready to go made a strange happiness swell in her chest. Faye was grateful they had taken steps to keep her daughter safe, while Henry was slightly annoyed that he was now crushed even more. With a simple look from Niki's wife, Faye understood that this was just how the brother's were, antagonizing each other whenever possible. Niki wasted no time filling Faye in on a few stories from Henry's childhood, telling her about the time he brought a turtle home and tried to keep it in the bathtub to hide it from his parents. Then he moved on to the time he split his pants at his cousin's wedding when he was fifteen and spent the entire reception trying to talk to the bridesmaids with his underwear showing. The last one he squeezed in before his wife stopped him was when they were all younger and buried him in the snow, having convinced him that's how an igloo was built.

No one hesitated to get out and start unpacking the car once it was parked in front of a rather quaint looking house, Niki tossing Henry's bag at him, Henry 'accidentally' shoulder checking him into the back of the car good natured retaliation. Niki's wife had already gone inside to announce their arrival, giving Faye a chance to talk with her daughter before meeting everyone.

"Now remember sweetie, we need to be on our best behavior for Papa's family today, ok?" She reminded, crouching down and straightening out her daughter's jacket.

"I a good girl." Briar stated firmly, nodding her head in self assurance as she grabbed her mother's hand with her mitten covered fist.

"Yes, you've been a very good girl, even though I can tell you're really tired. I'm very proud of you, sweetheart." Faye praised, giving the child her stuffed bunny before leading her after everyone else.

"And then-" Simon wheezed, pausing to catch his breath through his laughter. "And then Henry comes back inside, covered in mud, sticks in his hair, and he's just like "well, he's not under THAT bush!'." Faye wiped a tear from her eye, holding her aching stomach. She had lost count of the stories that had been retold, everyone seeming to take a turn at ribbing each other. Henry even told the story of Faye accidentally gluing her hand to a makeup brush when she was trying to apply prosthetics. It felt almost too easy settling into his family. He had been completely honest, they were very accepting.

His mother was warm and inviting, pulling her in for a hug and whisking Faye off to the kitchen, putting a glass of wine in her hand before she had even said hello to anyone else. It felt so good to be around a family again. Faye had been close with her parents and her siblings, especially her twin sister, and it was times like this that reminded her of what she had given up to chase her dreams. She had promised to try and be home for Christmas, but life got in the way of her going back the year before. Now it was coming up, and she was wondering if Henry would be alright with going all the way across the ocean just to meet her family. Were they really that serious? She knew they were pretty serious, having moved in together, but she didn't have any prior experience to compare her current relationship to.  Would he want to spend Christmas with his family? They were all really nice and probably always spent the holidays together. Would she be interfering with a tradition by asking him to spend Christmas with her family?

"So how did you two meet?" Marianne interjected, everyone suddenly shifting their attention to the couple.

"Uhh... met at work?" Faye offered up, turning to look up at Henry to see if he had anything else to add. Always the eloquent half of the pair, Henry had plenty to tack on, telling them about how this sassy little makeup artist wouldn't give him the time of day no matter what he did to get her attention. He'd tried talking about her tattoo's: nothing. He'd tried talking about the show: nothing. He'd tried to ask her about her life: nothing.

"It wasn't until Briar's birthday that I got anywhere. I swear, if you weren't such an awful baker, you would have never even looked my way. Poor Briar made sure everyone knew you were no good at it too. Briar!" Henry called, smiling when the little girl came running in the room, a dinosaur in one hand and the other covered in a sock. "Briar, how's mummy's baking?"

"Yucky." Briar informed flatly, the adults roaring in laughter while she rushed off to go play with the other children again.

"She's actually managed to simultaneously burn and completely undercook a tray of brownies once. It was amazing."

"Wasn't that also the time I mixed up the salt and the sugar?"

"It was." Henry confirmed, pressing an adoring kiss to her temple.

"That reminds me of the time you accidentally used garlic powder instead of nutmeg in the apple pie one year." Piers turned toward his wife, laughing at her loving glare.

"Alright, alright. Enough." Simon jumped in. "We all know what needs to be discussed. Who is stronger, Superman or the Incredible Hulk?" The entire family seemed to groan in unison; this must be an age old debate.

"Superman, obviously." Henry scoffed.

"No way, the Hulk is indestructible!" Niki threw back.

"So is Superman." Charlie pointed out.

"A little bit of kryptonite and Superman is useless." Simon intervened.

"What are the odds of having kryptonite on hand, though? If we're going to be using weaknesses, when Banner couldn't shift into the Hulk during Infinity War should definitely be brought up." Faye countered.

"But we're not talking about Banner, we're talking about the Hulk, as in he already shifted." Niki complained.

"Didn't the Black Widow have some lullaby thing that turned him back?" Charlie mused.

"Come on, Faye. We all know you're just siding with Superman because you're sleeping with him." Simon teased, Faye rolling her eyes in response. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

By the time they returned home just two days later, Faye was utterly exhausted but filled with joy. His family was so warm and inviting. They actually liked her. They didn't look down on her. They didn't question why Henry was with someone like her. They just accepted her and her daughter as one of their own. Two more to add to the Cavill Clan.

Now that they were back at home, it felt almost empty compared to the jam packed house they had just been in. Kal was all too happy to meet everyone at the door, his food bowl still full from the last visit from the dog sitter while their mail was stacked neatly on the kitchen table waiting for them.

Henry left the bags by the bottom of the stairs to take up later, sorting the letters into two separate piles. A large envelope addressed for Faye caught his eye, curiosity prompting him to bring it straight to her.

"What's that?" Faye asked, tossing the clothing from the bags into a laundry basket.

"I don't know. Looks important. Maybe it's informing you that you just became Queen a small unknown country."

"I've always wanted my own country." Faye chuckled, ripping the envelope open and pulling out the papers inside, her face falling more and more with each passing second. Her blood ran cold as teardrops stained the paper.

"What? What's wrong? Faye, you're starting to worry me. What does it say? Is something wrong?"

"My ex... my ex is trying to sue me for custody of Briar."

@weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay  @nostalgicb-txh

[hedgiwithapen]

Prompt: Prosper, post-canon, "no one is coming to save you" they are, though

The sun sets and the band of travelers stop, circling the carts, setting the watch fire, trailing a silver thread around the whole thing. The soup pot boils, and the warriors crack a few jokes as they pass around a bottle. Their hands never stray too far from their swords and axes. There are gaps in the songs of crickets and nightbirds. One of the captives, a young gnome in chains that weigh more than he does, cries for his mother. “Hush,” the leader of the slavers snaps. “There’s no one coming to save you, so you best stay on my good side.” His hand closes around the hilt of his greatsword in clear warning. One of the other prisoners, a tiefling teenager with a collar that keeps her in silence to prevent any magic that might slip from her tongue, scoots as far as she can in the circle they’ve all been penned up in, trying to offer what little comfort she can give. It isn’t much. She’s not even sure what she would say, if she could. But the little boy stops crying, and the crackle of the fire warms them enough that they will not die of cold. Not yet, anyways.

The fire doesn’t die away in the night, though the slave-sellers don’t waste the spells or the wood. A few mutter about fey magic, but they're grateful for the warmth, too. The full moon breaks through the low clouds in a few places, but not enough to illuminate the open plain any better than the fire. Long shadows twist behind the slavers on guard and the wagons as the cloud cover scuttles across the sky and the fire dances. An owl calls out, in the distance. A bell rings faintly. And the fire explodes. Two of the kidnappers die, turned to ash and charred leather and molten metal, in the time it takes to breathe in. Any alarm they might have sounded dies with them, though it’s not needed. The burst of light is enough to wake their companions, and the captives shrink as close to one another as their bonds and iron pickets will permit, trying to stay out of range of whatever attack has reached this far south. The gnome wails again, and the teifling wants to cry with him, trapped with no hope of defense. The leader of their captors unsheathes his sword, and the moonlight and firelight meet on the blade, glowing bright with magic. The arrow, straight from the shadow, catches in his armor. As he charges at the hidden attacker, bellowing, the fire turns from scarlet to silver. The sword slices through air, and he drops, the black hilt of a dagger visible between the pieces of his armor. “I told you there would be no second warning,” comes a voice from the fire and the shadow, where no one stands. The shadows grow darker and the fire blazes brighter with a roar. Three of the remaining warriors run, and make it a dozen yards before a giant, gleaming stone falls through the clouds and crushes them. The rest of them die with daggers of shining black glass in their eyes or throats. The prisoners hold their breath against the stink of smoke and the fear, waiting for whatever creature has declared this place off limits to turn on them. Instead, the crystal boulder moves, and melts away into the form of an elf. The fire softens into emberglow, and a tiny figure steps across the ashes. A little white stoat runs before her, twisting against the hands of the crying child like a playful cat. The obsidian thief, one of them whispers. It must be, who else travels by flame and kills with glass and steals away slaves? She’s smaller than expected, a halfling with a jeweled quiver and a belt of knives. Her stoat is nearly half as big as she is. “Please,” one of the older captives says, quietly, a word that’s done none of them any good in weeks, when they see her reach for that belt. “Safe now,” she says, and the moonlight shows a scar circling one wrist, revealing the metal in her hand to be not a blade, but a lockpick. “Free, now. I came for you.”

[swimyghost]

I decided to write a little ficlet about @self-insert-nonsense Resident Evil Village OC Elise. I hope y’all enjoy

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He did it. The famous Ethan Winters actually did it.

Elise had tried to pull him out of the Dimistrescu estate while he traversed the castle, but her foolish nieces had been chasing him around like chickens without their heads. She had elected to catch him if he managed to make it outside.

She was heavily regretting her decision.

Elise watched as the beastly form of her sister, a form she never knew existed, smash its way out of the castle to pursue the man. She tried to climb up the walls to stop either one of them from killing each other. That plan failed as Ethan fired his last sniper shot into the once-powerful Alcina Dimistrescu’s head, sending them both crashing down from the tower they were standing on and landing on the stone bottom. The sixth member of the strange Cadou bearing family waited until the Winters man fled the scene to see if what she had witnessed was true.

“Sister?” she muttered quietly, stepping over the broken stone. “...Sister? Lady Dimistrescu? ...ALCINA!”

The mixture of dust and its crystalline counterpart cemented her worse fears. Her older sister, the vampiric lord, Alcina Dimistrescu, laid dead. She froze only for a moment before rushing to search the rest of the now eerily silent castle, praying to anyone that could hear her pleas that the three Dimistrescu daughters were alive. 

First, she found Bela, next Daniela, and finally, Cassandra. After seeing the remains of the last of Alcina’s kin, Elise had to choke back a cry. Her cries were referred to by her lover Heisenburg as Banshee Shrieaks, though her brother Moreau called them Siren Screams. Whatever her wails were, the Irish lord had to keep her true feelings buried within as to not alert Ethan that someone remained. Despite her reluctance to show her inner emotions, Elise’s brain was forcing her to remember every detail she had in regards to the Dimistrescu family.

Meeting Alcina for the first time. The tall vampire woman comforting her after being injected and surviving the Cadou parasite. Watching as three little botflies grew into beautiful young ladies. Tea parties, balls, hunts, every moment flooded her senses.

“That bastard!” Elise howled, smashing through a nearby window and climbing down the now empty castle’s walls. Heisenberg’s plan was already going to shit. Her lover wanted the Winters man as an ally for his uprising against Mother Miranda, the Ruler of the Lords, and Elise.

“That creepy crow bitch needs to go down,” he told her after all the lords returned to their domains. His factory wasn’t technically her home, but Heisenburg hated the fact she lived so close to his extremely Miranda-devoted brother’s land so they arranged for her to make the metalsmith’s home hers. “She’ll kill us once Eva is revived. I can feel it.”

Elise had traced circles on his bare sweat covered chest, only partially listening. “So, we’re going to release the army? Just like that? You’re a fool if you think that’ll work.”

“What?” he snarled.

“Let’s see,” Elise began to count on her fingers, “not only is half of that BSAA group knocking on our doorstep, but Captain Boulder-Puncher and his lackeys are hiding in the shadows, and that girl’s father is walking around free. Something you let happened.”

Heisenburg snorted. “All a part of my plan. You’ve heard the rumors about the Baker’s residence, haven’t you? Ethan Winters will aid us. He just needs a little encouragement.”

“I suppose that’s where I come in?”

“You’re the fastest out of the two of us. Besides, you can get near that mega bitch’s castle without being killed on site. That is where you chased him to, right?”

“It’s not like he wasn’t going to go there anyway,” Elise huffed. “If I was a man looking for his kid, a giant fucking castle in the middle of the mountains is the place I go to first.”

Heisenburg had let out a small chuckle, reaching for his cigar. “I guess you’re right.”

Elise stopped him and pulled his face close to her, her eyelids half-closed. “I’m going to need some… Encouragement, if I’m going to be running around after another man.”

Her lover let out one of his famous wolf-like grins. “And I’ll be happy to provide.”

All of that talk was worthless to her now. The Fifth Lord wished she would’ve slapped some sense into her man but it was too late now. Her sister the “mega-bitch” and her daughters were dead and Elise had no clue where their killer might’ve run off to. She crashed landed onto a pile of snow, sending white flakes all over the landscape.

“Impressive form as always, Miss Brighid.”

Elise whipped her head only to be greeted with the smirking face of a monstrously obese man. He had hidden away in a wooden cart and was currently scratching at his stomach mass. Elise bared her teeth at the man. “I don’t need your commentary, Duke, I need answers.”

The Duke didn’t seem phased by the woman’s harsh tone. “Always straight to business, just like your main squeeze, Lord Heisenburg.”

She could feel her eyelid twitching. “Duke.”

“Right, I’m guessing you’re looking for Mr. Winters?”

“Mister Winters?” Elise snarled.

“I treat all my customers with respect, Miss Brighid.”

“He’s a customer!?”

Elise never understood why Mother Miranda allowed this behemoth to roam the village. He held no alliance to anyone and sold to anything that held a purse full of Lei. Even after years sent replicating the files and notes Mother Miranda had on everyone and everything slightly related to the village and her cause, barely anything was written about the strange merchant. The most both Heisenberg and Elise managed to gather was that “The Duke shall be allowed to do his business with little supervision as he provides valuable goods for both the villagers, the Lords, and [Mother Miranda’s] cause”. Regardless of what former feelings she held for The Duke, the current Elise was struggling to not rip his throat out.

“But of course! The man has things to sell and items to purchase for his little journey.” The Duke explained, talking to her as if she were a child who needed her hand held.

“Those items led to my sis- Lady Dimistrecu’s death! She is- She was- Argh!” 

Elise buried her fingers into her scalp. Her mind was seemingly whirling and spinning as it struggled to process its surroundings. Her feelings fluctuated from feral-like rage to sheer confusion to inescapable sadness. The Duke noticed and leaned in, his caravan creaking as he tried to look at the distressed woman’s face.

“I see the Cadou is still inflicting its poison into your brain. Are you feeling… What did Lord Heisenberg say… Fragmented? Perhaps I have a salve that can help settle your-”

“Shut up! Just shut up before I-”

The woman couldn’t finish her threat as a burning sensation rose in her throat. She gagged and stumbled backward. Elise managed to angle her head in just a way so the puddle of magma she vomited up didn’t touch herself in any way. Both she and The Duke watched the magma rapidly burned away the snow and dead plant life. Elise returned her gaze to The Duke and noticed the man was grimacing.

“Pardon my crudeness, Miss Brighid, but that was revolting.”

“I don’t take any pleasure either, Duke,” Elise replied, still trying to catch her breath.

“Luckily none of the locals saw that. The rumors about you have grown even nastier as of late. I believe they’ve begun to call you the- forgive my language -the Lady Whore and the Faux-Lord.” The Duke said with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“I know what you are trying to do, lardass!” Elise hissed. “Screw those mortal bastards and their pathetic drivel! They’re all gonna die anyway so what’s the point of trying to piss me off!”

The Duke chuckled. “This is funny. The old Miss Brighid would’ve instantly run to the village to invoke some personal justice against those who soiled her good name.”

“Well the old Miss Brighid didn’t have a killer father running amok, now did she?” Elise ground her teeth. “Speaking of, where is he? Where is the Winters man?”

The Duke leaned back and picked at his teeth with the help of his pinky nail. “I believe Mr. Winters was headed towards Lady Beneviento’s residence.”

Elise’s blood ran cold at that name. Her sister Donna Beneviento didn’t have any of her other siblings’ regenerative powers. She sadly had to rely on the body’s natural healing process and the medicine she crafted from her flowers. If Winters managed to land a clean shot on the silent maiden…

She has Angie and her hallucinogens if anything were to go wrong, she’ll be fine! Elise tried to convince herself. She had seen men who were the pinnacle of mental and physical health turn to sobbing, fragile-minded shells of their former selves due to Donna’s plants. Maybe she could get the jump on Winters instead of the other way around. But that wasn’t a bet she was willing to make.

I’ve already lost four family members, I cannot lose more! 

“It hasn’t been a pleasure seeing you, Duke,” Elise glared at the man. Before he could say anything, the Cadou wielder shot off towards the mountains where her sister’s manor lied in wait. The cold nipped at her skin but Elise persisted.

I need to hurry. Screw Karl’s plan, I need to protect my family!

[notyourdayrdream]

Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)

Day Five, Side A: Austere

read it here on AO3

A/N: brief mention of Kurt being kissed without consent in season two of Glee

(also! for this two shot: Kurt and Blaine met at Dalton, but never dated.)

“What if we went to Coney Island Saturday?” Brittany exclaimed at their weekly potluck, completely out of the blue. Nobody had even mentioned the theme park. Though, to be fair, nobody begins half of the conversations Brittany throws them in.

For some reason, everyone agreed, even Rachel. She said taking a break from the hustle of Broadway was exactly what she needed to be ready to continue her role as Fanny on Monday.

Outvoted, Kurt reluctantly sat between Blaine and Sam on the subway ride to Coney Island, legs shaking the entire time. It wasn’t that he hated carnivals. It was the opposite, actually. When he was younger, his mom and dad took him to the Ohio state carnival. It’s one of the last memories he can fully remember of her, her long blonde hair braided back as she threw a plastic ball at a stack of milk cans. Anything for her kid, especially one who desperately wanted an oversized dragon plushie.

No, he’s nervous because he has a date at eight.

Kurt met Oliver at a coffeehouse near the Vogue office, he was the barista who served him his drink. Oliver’s number was scribbled on the receipt. It was all very cute, and his friends agreed when he told them the story.

They texted back and forth a week before Oliver asked him out. Kurt happily agreed, hoping for a calm day before getting dressed and heading out to a fancy dinner. Now though, he won’t even have enough time to shower the smell of hotdogs off his body and be on time.

So Kurt’s scrolling through Oliver’s Instagram (not at all like a creep,) when Artie pats his shoulder. “There they are,” he points ahead as the rest of his friends stumble to them, chatting animatedly about the rollercoaster they just went on.

“You know, when you said ‘let’s go on a ride,’ I didn’t think you meant the one with a huge drop,” Rachel says, gripping Santana’s arm so hard it might fall off. Her hair is wind whipped and messy.

“C’mon Rach, you could’ve sat with Kurt and Artie if you wanted,” Mercedes says from behind her, arms wrapped around Sam’s waist.

“Did you guys have fun?” Kurt asks from the bench, carefully closing the app so he doesn’t accidentally like an old photo. “Rachel looks like she just died.” This is why he didn’t go on the ride.

Blaine sits beside him on the bench, his eyes gleaming with a sort of childlike wonder. He’s a total adrenaline junkie. “It was amazing, she’s overreacting,” he whispers not-too-discreetly. Kurt giggles.

“Let’s split up,” Santana suggests. “I wanna go on another coaster, and the park closes at six. We can grab dinner after?”

“Unless you’re Sam and Brittany, who already ate,” Artie chides. His camera rests on his lap, storage filled with videos and photos of their trip.

“Hey! Cotton candy is not one of the five food groups!” Brittany sticks out a blue tongue at him, Sam does the same. Their respective partners laugh.

“I have to leave soon,” Kurt reminds the group, checking his phone another time. Five thirty-two.

“Wait, never mind guys,” Santana alerts, appearing to be suddenly anxious. “Kurt has to get his brains fucked out at eight, so we can’t have dinner.” Both Blaine and Kurt wince.

“Too far, San.” Mercedes cringes as her and Sam make their way down the boardwalk steps and to the beach. The others shake their heads in similar disgust before going their separate ways. Rachel pushes Artie to the outdoor arcade with plans to win a bagged goldfish. Brittany pulls her girlfriend by a sticky hand to the older wooden coaster.

“So…” Blaine knocks his shoulder as they walk down the boardwalk. The gel has completely left his hair throughout the course of the day, curls hanging just above his eyebrows. “Whatcha wanna do?” Kurt spies him eyeing the Wonder Wheel beside him.

He shakes his head, not waiting for the question. “No.”

“Please?” Blaine pleaded. “You haven’t been on anything this whole time.” He sidesteps a tiny toddler crying over a fallen ice cream cone.

“I didn’t want Artie to feel alone!” Kurt defends himself. Which was true, most of the coasters weren’t accessible for him, so they spent the time bonding over the grossness of carnival food and looking at footage from the day.

“We’ll Artie isn’t here now,” Blaine replies, voice dropping an octave. “So come on the ferris wheel with me.” He bats his eyelashes for extra effect. Kurt’s stomach swoops.

Blaine has a way of doing that to him. In their near five year friendship, he’s made Kurt’s stomach tie up in knots more times than he can count. He won’t deny he used to have a crush on him in high school; he was preppy and chivalrous and oh so cute in his bow ties and blazers.

Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he sighs. Blaine cheers next to him, mumbling ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’ in the same deep voice that makes the blood rush to Kurt’s face.

Okay, maybe the crush wasn’t entirely dead. But it’s completely normal to have crushes on your friends. Friendly crushes.

Since the park is soon to close, the lines weren’t too long anymore. Kurt and Blaine move up first in line after only five minutes.

The ride operator turns to them. Her hair is bordering on orange. “You guys want an outside or inside car?” Her voice has no expression, and she looks two more button presses from quitting her job.

“Outside.” Kurt and Blaine say at the same time, followed by a quiet laugh.

She eyes them. “Alright.” She presses another button, and the outer ring of ferris wheel carts rotate downwards until an empty one comes to the bottom. “Enjoy the ride.”

Blaine and Kurt slide into the seat, sitting on opposite sides of the enclosure. The ride jerks forward and up, until they’re halfway around the ride. “Are you okay? Your face is really pale.” Blaine asks, eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt squeaks, closing his eyes to avoid looking down. Even though the car is supposed to be stationary, it rocks just a little as it moves up and down to complete its first circle.

Blaine thinks for a moment before saying quietly, “You’re afraid of heights?” He jumps a little in his seat, and the car rocks with it. Kurt’s stomach drops.

“I am!” he snaps, opening his eyes. “Stop moving so much.” The city is lit up around them, the sound of cheers from the rollercoaster whizzing by below him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Blaine stills himself. “I wouldn’t have made you go on if you had told me, Kurt!” He looks so worried that Kurt feels bad for even mentioning his fear. It’s completely irrational anyway, he doesn't even have a reason to be so scared. It’s just the fact he believes no human needs to be up one hundred fifty feet high.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he tries to console Blaine (and himself). “It’ll be over in what, three more minutes?” He can last three more minutes. Hell, he’s lasted an hour listening to Rachel and Santana argue.

And then the ride stops. At the very top.

It takes a minute for the two of them to realize this isn’t supposed to happen. “Why’d it stop.” Kurt says. His body feels like it might melt onto the floor. “Oh my god, no.”

“We’re stuck.” Blaine groans, which, thanks Captain Obvious! Those two words are confirmation that this is actually the absolute worst day ever. “I’ll call someone.”

Rachel’s ringtone beats him to it.

Kurt can’t hear much of the conversation, but from the looks Blaine throws his way, he knows it isn’t good. He cracks his knuckles as a way to distract himself from the slight sway of the cart. Passerbys the size of ants point and look up at the malfunctioned ride.

Blaine clicks the end call button. “Okay, good news first, ” he begins, pocketing his phone. “Rachel and Artie talked to the operators, and they’re working on fixing the ride.”

“Bad news?” Kurt presses. Blaine likes to do that thing where he gives good news then bad news, but the latter is always so bad the good news pales in comparison. He’s done that ever since they met. It’s silly, but it’s Blaine, so Kurt loves it.

“Bad news is that it might take thirty minutes, maybe forty-five.” Blaine cringes from the other side of the cart, waiting for Kurt’s outburst.

“No.” Kurt snatches his phone out of his pocket. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” He feels tears prick at the back of his eyes. He’s gonna be late. “I’m gonna miss my date!” He groans, and yeah it may be a little over dramatic, but he hasn’t been on a date with someone in months. He was really excited.

Expecting sympathy from Blaine, he glanced over at him. He’s glaring right back at him. “What?”

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now?” Blaine says abruptly. “God forbid you miss your date.” He rolls his eyes with more venom Kurt’s seen in him ever. It freaks him out and angers him at the same time.

“Okay, what’s your problem?” He retorts, eyes narrowing. Blaine shrinks back a little at the stare, but doesn’t stop glowering.

“You’ve been going on about this stupid guy the whole day, complaining about how you have to go home, I’m so sick of it!” Blaine continues. His voice grows louder by the end.

“He’s not stupid, okay?” Kurt doesn’t know why he feels like he has to defend Oliver, but he does anyway. “And you’re the main one who wanted me to go out with him!” This whole situation is confusing him.

Blaine huffs indignantly and crosses his arms. “Maybe I don’t want you to anymore!”

“Why not?” Kurt presses. He’s never seen his best friend act like this. He almost seems jealous.

“Because I like you!” Blaine cries, eyes wet. “Jesus, couldn’t you tell?” His face is red now, flushed up to his neck.

Kurt flinches. “Please stop yelling.”

“I’m sorry.” Blaine immediately backs down, curling into himself. “I like you, Kurt. I’m sorry if that freaks you out, but I do.”

The sun is starting to set now, casting what feels like the entire world in an orange haze. The ocean to the right of them glimmers, couples walked in tandem along the shore. To the left, the skyline of Brooklyn appears austere and somber from so high up.

“How long?” Kurt says finally, eyes settling on the horizon and the rolling waves.

“How long what?”

“How long have you liked me?” He doesn’t know if he wants the answer.

There’s a pause until Blaine eventually murmurs, “Five years.”

Kurt’s heart drops. “Blaine.” Why didn’t he say anything? Oh god, this is horrible.

“I just, I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship by admitting anything,” Blaine explains, rubbing the nape of his neck. “It’s a lame excuse. But—yeah.” And he resides back into silence.

It is a lame excuse, Kurt thinks. Of course it wouldn’t have ruined anything. He had a crush on his stepbrother, for Christ’s sake. “So why did you want me to go out with Oliver so bad?”

“I thought, maybe, if you started dating someone I could get over you,” he laughs to himself. “That obviously didn’t work.”

Kurt just stares at him for a moment until he makes up his mind. “I’m coming over there.”

Blaine jerks out of his thoughts. “N-no, don’t come any closer,” he stammers. “You’ll mess up the balance of the car.” He looks terrified. Kurt can’t decide if it’s sad or adorable.

He rolls his eyes. “I won’t mess up the balance of anything.” Kurt stands slowly, holding his arms out to his sides. He takes the three steps to Blaine’s side of the car quickly to get it over with, shaking the seats. When he falls into the seat, Blaine steadies him by the waist. The touch shocks both of them, and he snatches his arm back.

They sit shoulder to shoulder, neither of them daring to move. It’s what feels like hours before Kurt takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts. “Do you remember when we first met? And I was having trouble with Karofsky? You texted me a single word. Courage.” He turns to the side. Blaine looks absolutely disheveled, sweating and curls getting frizzier by the minute. Weirdly, he looks gorgeous.

Blaine snorts. “Yeah, that word got you sexually assaulted.”

“No,” Kurt shakes his head, choosing to ignore the way his heart stops from the words. “That word saved me. You saved me, Blaine.” He would’ve never stood up for himself without that text. It got him through McKinley and Dalton and NYADA to this day.

“I’m always going to care about you. And I’m sorry I don’t… like you the way you like me. But I used to,” Kurt admits, now nervous like must’ve been. That secret was supposed to go to the grave. “And maybe I can again.”

Blaine meets his gaze, an emotion Kurt can’t quite place swirling around his eyes. “Okay.” He smiles, and though it is wavering, it’s also hopeful.

There’s a jolt, and the wheel starts turning again. It’s dark now, the sun fully disappeared below the horizon. The sky is a mix of purple and black and blue, a bruise painted among the stars. Kurt hears cheers from the other cars as they reach the ground below. “Okay.”

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s Notes: A character study for my AiB OC, Minami Yamane. The story takes place months before the main events of the series.

Edit 4/27/2021: I edited the chapter and added a few more paragraphs to highlight how desperate Yamane's living conditions were before the Borderlands. Some of the changes include more scenes of her happily pillaging stores because she never had plenty of groceries before, and changing her apartment into a 1R apartment.

I

everybody's looking for something / some of them want to use you / some of them want to get used by you

Mice and rats are vermin.

They are filthy, scurrying little creatures that will take anything they can lay their little paws on. In an urban city such as Tokyo, they thrive outside the human view, in the dank, dark underbelly of the bustling city.

They have no place in polite society, and neither does the girl running from an accessory shop in the populated streets of Harajuku.

It was just supposed to be a simple swipe. She had been shoplifting for quite a while now, ever since her parents threw her out and cut all her access to their money.

Yes, this little mouse wasn’t always one.

This happened all because she no longer wanted their control on her life anymore.

“You’re going to take Business Administration and take over the family business,” they would always remind her, drilling it into her thick skull since she can remember. But screw that, she’s not about to let them decide what she will be any further.

Now, look where that got her.

Scurrying, panting, and her feet skidding against the sidewalk, she ran into a busy boutique, blending in with the crowd. She almost ran into a baby carriage, muttering a quick apology to the annoyed mother pushing it. Eyes alert, she spotted an open storage closet an employee had left open. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she slipped inside, and shut the door.

Outside, the police are asking around if they had seen a girl with her description. Heart in her throat and pulse rapid, the mouse bit back a curse when the woman with the baby carriage pointed at the storage closet she’s in. Their footsteps approaching, she was bracing herself to slam the doors open once they’re within range.

But the lights flickered, and the officers never came.

Dark, damp, and musty, she’s a rat in a cage. Her only source of light was the faint sunlight that streamed through the glass storefront, seeping into the corners of the door. It was so quiet; too quiet. She swore she can hear her own heartbeat and the sweat rolling off of her skin.

With caution, she slowly opens the door, and the previously populated boutique is deserted. Not a single soul was in sight. Anxiety and bewilderment made her pulse quicken even more.

“Where the hell is everyone,” she mumbles to no one.

Confused, she runs out of the store, to the streets. The city is bustling no more. Everyone vanished.

If this was some kind of sick joke, this little mouse was not having it. She takes out her cell phone from her bag, only to see that it’s dead. Cursing, she runs back to the store to find an outlet, and plugs her flip phone in, to no avail. It’s still dead. She looks around and sees that all the displays are powered down.

Electricity is gone, and so is the water, she found out when she went to the bathroom in plans of dousing herself awake. All utilities had been cut. Taking a moment to compose herself, the mouse left the store once more to walk around. The streets are deserted, cars lining up in the desolate roads. Some of the windows are rolled down, and the mouse reaches in to unlock the door.

Turning the keys, she tried to get it to run, but to no avail. With a baffled look, she looks around in the car. Beside her was a plastic bag, still warm to the touch. A fried chicken sandwich is nestled inside, along with the receipt, a half-eaten bag of fries, and a few packets of ketchup.

She takes that, steps out of the vehicle, and begins eating while making her way back to her apartment, occasionally checking inside cars to see if anyone’s inside.

Everyone is gone, and no one is watching.

Relief replaces the little mouse’s horror upon realizing that among those gone are her landlady. “If she’s gone, I don’t have to pay rent anymore,” she gasps to no one in particular, and a smile slowly spreads on her lips.

“I don’t even have to pay bills anymore. I don’t have to watch out for security guards and cops.” The mouse starts laughing at that point, palming at her forehead. 

“Ha! I can finally do what I want now.” Her laughter was equal parts bitter, and cathartic.

Upon arriving to her apartment, she realizes that the chicken sandwich would probably stave off her hunger for the afternoon. She still had her bike and her delivery bag with her from work, and an idea forms in her head. She doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but if no one is around to watch her… she might as well do the thing she’s best at: take.

She will need to survive while waiting this out, after all.

Riding her way to the nearest convenience store, the mouse stuffed her bag with canned and non-perishable goods, filling it to the brim with groceries she normally couldn’t afford. From behind the counter, she takes several plastic bags and fills it with frozen goods, and dumps that in the front basket of her bike. The food probably needed to be heated up, so she made it a point to check for a butane stove. Luckily for her, there was one in the back, along with a few canisters of fuel.

Giddy, she bikes her way back to her apartment, unloads her haul, and comes back for more.

She targeted the water next, but found it too heavy for the bike. Not willing to leave the goods behind, she grabbed a shopping cart and filled it to her heart’s desire, until it was almost too heavy for her to push. The mouse carted the goods back to her apartment, exhausted, but genuinely relieved for the first time in months.

By the time that the sun is down, the mouse is sitting happily in her apartment, sorting through groceries that would last her weeks, if she’s careful with them. The mini fridge was still cold despite the lack of electricity, so she stuffed the frozen goods inside, the door barely closing due to the amount of content inside. Once littered with cobwebs, her pantry is now full with various dry goods and snacks. Some of them couldn’t even fit in the shelves, so she put them in the bedroom instead, which doubles as her living space, separated by a divider from the kitchen.

A contented grin on her face, she takes a breather and opens one of the snack cakes she took, and a box of coated biscuits.

The mouse finished her snacks blissfully, not one care in the world as she devoured them.

When she was walking back to fetch her bike from the convenience store, a billboard lights up, catching her attention.

She was in for a world of danger.

Two weeks later, the mouse stays in her apartment, her nest in this strange new world, tending a shoulder she bruised days ago. She quietly thanked herself for scouring the pharmacy after her first game.

The last one she participated in was a Three of Diamonds, and she almost didn’t make it out. It was good to see other people, but she had witnessed them die right before her eyes because of a wrong answer, and plain selfishness.

It was a game held in an abandoned variety show set. Get the answer right, you get to live to answer the next. Get it wrong, you have to work with the other contestants to survive a game of hole in the wall... or fall in a pool of acid. Contestants will take turns answering questions, and they weren’t allowed to coach each other.

The contestants were Mugi Nakamura, a high school girl in a swim team, Taro Kobayashi, a salaryman and father of two, and the mouse herself, Minami Yamane, a part-time seamstress in a factory by day, food courier by sundown, and a full-time troublemaker.

It was going so well. Yamane had gotten all of the questions right, and so did Nakamura, but Kobayashi made a mistake. The curtains drew back, and the wall revealed a single, round hole near the bottom. Time was running out.

Eyes haunted, Yamane looked at her reflection in the mirror as she pressed the compress against her shoulder, the dark circles under her eyes deepening, and so did her frown. There are some things she wished she could scour from her memory.

Kobayashi was willing to throw the two girls under the bus, despite Yamane insisting that they can all survive it if they formed a straight line and curled into a deep bow. Disgusted by his selfishness, Yamane shoves the salaryman aside and dives through the circle. She turned around to see if Nakamura followed suit, but the only thing she saw was her body dissolving in the pool.

Their pained, agonized cries filled the room, and Yamane couldn’t tear her eyes away. The last thing she saw before she got a “game clear'' was Nakamura’s faux fingernail floating to the surface before getting eaten away by the acid.

Around her, makeup and trinkets that she couldn’t afford on her salary littered the desk, her small sources of comfort and joy. Empty packages of frozen foods lined neatly up in her trash can, and so did the empty cans and bottles. Yamane was beginning to run low on her supplies. She will have to scavenge farther from home. That wouldn’t be a problem. On days that she isn’t risking her life on a game, she started working out to improve her stamina, and improve her odds of surviving these games. Spade games were the most physically demanding ones.

The little mouse is starting to get used to this life. There are no parents to tell her what to do, and no expectations from society, but in return, she will have to risk her life playing these treacherous games.

After tending to her shoulder, it was time for Yamane’s nightly routine. With make up wipes, she’d wipe off the makeup off of her face. She undoes her twin buns, and brushes her hair down; thankfully, it wasn’t time to wash them yet, and her shoulder hurts. Cleaning herself off with a towel and a little water, Yamane changed into cleaner clothes and went to bed, nestled in pillows and sheets she snatched from a nearby mall’s home section on the way home from the Diamond game.

There were other people loitering about when she made her haul. The initial relief she had upon meeting people in the games were replaced by paranoia after that game with the salaryman. Purging the mental image of their dissolving bodies off of her mind, she pulls the covers over her head and curls into a fetal position.

Her ears perked up when she heard footsteps in the kitchen.

“Shit, did I forget to lock the door?” Yamane thought to herself. 

Listening intently, she approximated the size of the person intruding her home through their footsteps, something she learned to do while living under the scrutiny of her family. They were light.

Like a child’s.

Carefully getting out of bed, Yamane tiptoes her way to the kitchen, and clamps her hand over the intruder’s mouth.

“Don’t make a sound,” she hissed, and she can sense the fear coming from the small body. Yamane spins the intruder around only to see a young girl. Judging from her height and prepubescent looks, she might be in early middle school. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

“Oneesan, I’m so sorry for trespassing, but please, I’m starving. I saw you walking away from the grocery store with a huge haul a few days ago-”

“Great,” she thought.  People are starting to notice her hauls.

“Out. Get out now.”

“B-but please! I don’t know what else to do. I’m not a thief, but I’m so desperate… I’m so hungry.”

Taking a deep inhale, Yamane eyes the girl. She’s rail-thin, her uniform is soiled, and her hair is a tangled mess. Her lips are dry from the lack of water, and her hair is dull from the lack of proper nutrition. Groaning and rubbing her face, Yamane relents.

“Fine, take what you need and go.”

“Can I please stay with you?”

Yamane scoffs. “What? I don’t have time to look after a kid.”

“I can’t find my parents. I have no friends to talk to. It gets scary at night without all the lights too. Please, let me stay.”

Yamane should be kicking this girl out. Instead, she’s now handing her a pillow over as the kid ate dinner on the floor couch in her room. It was nothing special, but Yamane went through the trouble of preparing something somewhat healthy for the girl, despite her reluctance in letting her stay. Begrudgingly, Yamane tosses her a blanket too.

“This help’s not for free. You’re going to have to make yourself useful if you want to stay with me. And if you try to steal from me, I won’t hesitate to hurt you,” Yamane says, sitting on her mattress right across the couch.

“I promise I’ll be good.”

“What’s your name? How old are you?”

“Fumiko Sato. I’m twelve years old.”

The mouse’s expression softens against her will. Yamane thought someone that young shouldn’t be in a world such as this. Sure, it suited her, but it didn’t suit the preteen sitting on her couch. A girl her age’s problems should be about school, crushes, and which accessories she should wear tomorrow, not a brutal survival game.

“I’m Minami Yamane. Twenty three. How many days do you have left on your visa?”

“Two.”

“Shit”, Yamane thought. “I’ll have to bring her to a game soon.”

“Go to sleep. You’ll help me scavenge tomorrow, then we’ll go to a game.”

“Thank you. I’ll do my best!”

Without uttering another word, Yamane goes to bed, pulling the covers over her head. It’s been a long time since she looked after someone else. Exhaling slowly, her mind wanders back to home.

“I wonder how Mai and Riku are doing”, she thought.

A photograph of her and Mai, her little sister, sits on a desk, with a picture of an infant boy attached to it. Mai would have been nineteen now, and Riku would have been three. Such a huge age difference between the siblings, a result of her father remarrying after her and Mai’s mother died.

Yamane didn’t even visit her funeral.

Not wanting to waste precious minutes she could’ve used to rest on thinking about the life she left behind, Yamane got back in bed and closed her eyes.

The next morning, she woke up to the smell of food.

“Good morning, oneesan,” Sato greeted, setting rice balls and two cups of instant miso soup on the table. Yamane checks out the stove, and the butane is almost out. They’ll have to look for more. Without electricity, it’s a precious commodity, especially if they want to continue having hot meals.

Sato says her grace, and without saying a word, Yamane sits and eats the food prepared for her. The middle schooler was looking at her with expectant eyes as she chewed on her rice ball.

“These are good. Thanks. I hope you rested well. We’re going to the train station to get you a bike, then we’ll go to a grocery store father from here for goods.”

Sato nodded and they spent the rest of the meal in peace. After freshening up and getting dressed, Yamane tosses Sato her thermal bag. “Be alert around strangers and stay close to me.” Yamane instructed her as Sato strapped the bag on. “For now, you’ll be riding on the backseat.”

Nodding, Sato follows her down the apartment complex’s stairs, feeling secure for the first time in days. She gets on the bike, and wraps her arms around Yamane’s waist as they ride to the train station.

Meanwhile, Yamane’s mind wanders back to her little sister. They used to ride like this when she was a little younger, before her parents forced her to go to university for Business Administration. Five years ago, on her eighteenth birthday, she and Mai snuck out of the house to celebrate with her friends. They ate shabu shabu together and Yamane had her first taste of liquor.

They never heard the end of it when they got back, and Yamane got a few bruises from the beating she had to endure, but it was a precious memory.

Yamane and Sato arrived at the train station, and took a bike from the rental booth. This one had a child’s seat at the back, which was decent for groceries too. The bike is Sato’s bike now.

Today’s haul was bountiful. Aside from necessities, Yamane even managed to score some box dye. Her highlights were fading out. Sato also found clothes her size, and a mild, fruity cologne for teenagers, then she placed those in the front basket of her bike, along with some sweets she was previously wasn’t allowed to eat too much of.

After sorting the groceries and having dinner, Yamane and Sato sat in the older girl’s room, where the younger girl helped the older one dye the fading red streaks of hair, just like her friends did.

“Maybe having this kid around isn’t so bad”, Yamane thought to herself. She’ll have an extra pair of eyes to watch her back now. Sato helped her rinse her hair in the bathroom sink and they laughed together.

“Alright. Time for some rest,” Yamane says, running a towel through her hair, sitting on her mattress. “We need to participate in a game tomorrow to extend your visa.”

“Okay. Thanks again for everything, Minami-neesan.”

Secretly, Yamane’s heart leapt from being called older sister again. But she would never admit it. She convinced herself that she’s only using her as a pack mule.

The next night, they arrived at a game venue. An arcade. A laser tag arena, to be precise.

The two of them took phones from the table, and waited for other participants. There was a rowdy group of four boys, all high school age, and judging from their appearances, they must be delinquents. Or perhaps, in this world, they have the freedom to act tough now. Sato stepped a little closer to Yamane, feeling uneasy.

Then, two men arrived.

The group of boys fell into a hush at their arrival. Yamane kept her head straight on, but she was looking at them from the corner of her eyes, her field of vision obscured by her shades. Sato, on the other hand, was trembling beside her.

One of the men was wearing a black patterned shirt, part of his shoulder-length hair tied, and on his face were various piercings. He was toting a gun, and he shoved one of the highschool boys aside, brusquely telling them to get out of his way.

The other was the quiet type. He was taller than the other man, shoulders broad despite his wiry build and bad posture. This one had tattoos on his face, wearing a sleeveless cloak with the hood up, and he carries a katana.

“Where did he find a fucking katana,” Yamane thought to herself. If there’s one thing she couldn’t find on her hauls, it was decent weapons to defend herself with.

Yamane pretends not to notice them, but Sato is staring at the two men outright. The younger girl pulls at Yamane’s sleeve urgently.

“Oneesan, they’re scary.”

“Don’t give them any attention. Focus on the game.”

Sato keeps quiet, fidgeting and sweating. The preteen made the mistake of looking at them again, and she tugs on Yamane’s sleeves once more.

“Oh God, they’re looking at you!” Sato whispers urgently, wrapping an arm around Yamane’s.

Yamane tilts her head, and sees that they are indeed looking at her. The one with piercings is openly leering, his tongue slipping out of his mouth, revealing another piercing. The one with the tattooed face was harder to read. His mouth was slightly open, twitching on one side.

“Let them stare,” she tells the younger girl.

“Just what I needed,” Yamane muttered, a wave of discomfort washing over her. “They look dangerous. I hope they’re not perverts,” she adds, shielding the younger girl, and Sato couldn’t help but take another peek.

“Ew, they do kind of look like perverts, oneesan. Especially that one with the piercings.”

“Then let’s not attract their attention.”

Yamane pulls her jacket’s hood over her head, then she folds her arms and looks away. She knew better than to provoke them.

A third man catches up with the two. Then, Yamane notices it; the tag on their wrists with numbers. The other two had them too. Were they a team?

Yamane had no time to think when the final contestant arrived, a balding middle-aged man. He took the last phone, and the synthetic voice flooded the room.

“Please proceed further into the arena.”

Instead of the usual laser tag equipment, they were met with real firearms, along with some melee weapons. The sight of them made Sato squirm, and Yamane herself was disturbed. There are written instructions to take as many weapons as they desire.

The delinquent boys eagerly reached for the guns, leaving Yamane and Sato with none. The two intimidating men and their third companion didn’t need them, and stayed in their spots, watching the two girls pick a weapon. Sato sheepishly opted for a pocket knife, while Yamane quickly reached for the daggers. They came with leg holsters which she strapped on her thighs.

She can feel the two’s gaze burning her back as she bent over to adjust the straps.

“Great. They are perverts,” she thinks to herself, straightening and looking over her shoulder to give them a chastising look.

The monitor comes to life, and the synthetic voice crackles through the speakers. The participants’ faces were on the screen, where they are divided into two teams. Team A consisted of the four delinquent boys, and the middle-aged man. Team B consisted of Yamane, Sato, and the three men with the bracelets.

“Please sort yourselves accordingly and proceed to your team’s base.”

Yamane didn’t know if she should be relieved or concerned that she got sorted with those two. She stands next to the one with tattoos. Her shades obscured her eyes, which trailed on his arms, observing the ink. A muscle flexes as he unsheaths his katana; he looks like he possesses a wiry strength. Then, he turns to her, slowly, and Sato squirms beside her. Yamane only pulled her shades down slightly and stared back, raising an eyebrow.

The tense moment was shattered by the synthetic voice once more.

“Registration closed. There are currently ten players. Difficulty: Seven of Clubs.”

“Seven? That’s difficult, isn’t it?” Sato asks Yamane, and she hushes her.

“Game: Elimination. Rules: Work with your team to eliminate the opposing team. Clear condition: Team with the most number of members left by the end of the time limit wins. If there are equal numbers of participants from each team, everyone loses. Time limit: thirty minutes.”

“Wait, wait! Elimination? We’re supposed to kill the other team? Minami-neesan this is bad!” Sato exclaims, pulling on Yamane’s sleeve again.

“Calm down, calm down! We just need to survive until the thirty minutes is up,” Yamane hushes her, pulling her closer.

“That’s right little mice, you two better hide,” the man with the pierced face interrupts them. “Don’t get in our way.”

“We have no intentions to,” Yamane replied sharply, before whisking Sato away to look for a hiding spot.

Yamane looks over her shoulder one last time, and the tattooed man gives her one last curious look before walking towards the arena.

“These thirty minutes are going to be hell.”

[frostmarris]

Ensnared

ZetsuSaku - Monster Hunter AU

notes: this was supposed to be a drabble for an ask request but i got hella into it and 7500 word later, here we are

enjoy!

: :

She's on day five of her cross-country trek, with no actual sign of the beast besides the aftermath of its attacks. Normally she sticks to bounties on monsters she's familiar with - rabid werewolves, feral vampires, giant ogres, and demonic beasts - but the Royal Council in the capitol city has promised her a hefty sum for the head of the creature that's ravaged eleven villages already.

Well, not her personally. It's a general bounty that any monster hunter can cash in on, but she knows a majority of the hunters who had initially set out have either been killed or abandoned the quest altogether. She's been tempted to quit as well since it was a full two weeks of tracking and following other hunters' trails before she finally caught up and then another week of hunting when the trail went cold. 

But the bounty is a price she couldn't say no to, so here she is, a full kingdom away and still at least an entire day behind her quarry.

There hadn't been many first-hand accounts of the beast's attacks but, from what she's been able to gather, it sounds like some sort of forest spirit. Sprouting from the earth itself, commanding the plants to do its bidding, and always disappearing into the woods once it has had its fill of destruction and makes its escape. 

However, last time she checked, forest spirits don't tend to eat humans.

Sakura clicks her tongue to urge her horse onward, peering out from under the hood of her cloak to watch the trees that lined the sides of the road, searching for movement. The fae blood in her veins sing at the presence of Danger in this forest and she's not one to ignore her instincts.

She'd left the small river village - the location of the creature's latest attack - yesterday morning and had crossed the plains to reach the forest to the west. Reports from the village survivors had claimed that the monster had gone south-southwest, bypassing the plains entirely to disappear into the woods, but Sakura is thinking further ahead. The nearest settlement lays here to the west, with not a single town within a week's travel southward. She'd been mapping and tracking the trail of carnage enough to note that, while the monster's path wasn't straightforward, it was undoubtedly heading to the ancient Faewood forest - one of four on the continent - on the other side of the mountains.

Her father hails from the eastern forest - where the trees are taller than castles and wider than houses, with red bark that smells like honey, blue-green leaves bigger than her head, canopies that are always blooming with flowers, and roots that rise out of the ground to make bridges. She grew up in the Spring Court with her fae father and human mother until she eventually set out on her own, taking up this business of hunting monsters and visiting lands she'd never even heard of.

To the west lies the forest of the Fall Court and, while she'd love to see the canopies who's colors rival those of her home, she intends to stop the beast before it can disappear into the Faewood. 

Her calculating has been meticulous. She's measured out how much time passes between attacks and accounted for distance between villages, arriving at a rough estimate of how fast the beast can travel. Having figured out how much ground it can cover under a certain amount of time has led her to the conclusion that she'll have a full two and a half days to bunker down in the village ahead before it makes its arrival. If it's traveling purely through the forest that surrounds the southern half of the plains, it will take it a while to reach the town, giving her enough time to prepare.

All she has to do is make it to the village by nightfall and wait.

: :

Sakura settles down for the night in her room at the inn, satisfied with her prep work thus far. She's planted several of her spy poppies around the perimeter of the village, tiny dots of red amongst the browns and greys of buildings that will warn her of any signs of approaching magic. Her weapons are sharpened and her belly full with her first warm meal in two days, the dining hall and tavern below still loud with the evening's patrons.

She'd met with the village leaders shortly after stabling her horse to warn them of the attack she's expecting in two days' time, finally convincing them after she had shown her extensive mapping of the monster's previous sightings. They would announce a curfew in the morning to give their citizens the best chances of staying safe without eliciting a panic and had given Sakura their permission to set up her traps.

The creature's attacks always came at night, with its victims caught unawares as they travel the streets of their home. Oftentimes there were multiple kills, as one meal a night didn't seem to be enough to satisfy its hunger, but it had yet to break into any homes or buildings.

So, as long as none of the villagers stayed out past the impromptu curfew, there should be no casualties.

She lays restlessly under the covers until, eventually, she manages to fall asleep, dreamless but peaceful and undisturbed until morning. Sakura awakens with the sun and is quick to dress and set out to search the town and its surrounding woods to get a better lay of the land. The villagers give her a wide berth, but she's used to it and pays them no mind, instead focused on making sure she knows every nook and cranny and path in and out of the town.

The monster would likely come in from the south, but she wants all of her bases covered, unwilling to let the beast escape her blade.

She takes her lunch in her room, prepping her tools and supplies to lay her traps later that evening, when the townsfolk are in their homes and less likely to bother her. Her sword never leaves her side out of paranoia as she works by the light of the sunset and the moon as it rises and she eventually returns to the inn once she's satisfied with her work, a little frustrated to find a few too many patrons still hanging around in the tavern. Sakura had hoped the villagers would take the curfew seriously, but at least they weren't out on the streets.

Still, she would shadow them once they were finished with their merrymaking, ensuring that everyone got home safely. Her traps wouldn't activate without her magic, but she didn't need any curious drunks disturbing her work.

So, Sakura takes up a seat in the corner of the tavern, keeping to herself as she eats her dinner and maintains a watchful eye on the rambunctious guests. They mostly avoid her, only sparing a few side-eyed glances, but one of the men is drunken enough to stumble towards her table, his grin a little too friendly and his words too slurred. She's polite in her refusal to join him at their table and ignores his attempts to persuade her as she suddenly stiffens, her gaze becoming far-off as her poppies call to her.

There's movement in the woods north of the town, the scent of the supernatural caught on a breeze and carried to the flowers she'd planted. They sing in a language none of the humans can hear, warning her of something approaching through the trees.

Sakura stands abruptly and shoves past the drunkard, headed for the door to the tavern and looking to the innkeeper with a serious gaze.

"Lock the doors and stay inside," She calls, the fierceness behind her green eyes leaving no room for argument. The innkeeper pales as she draws her sword and the drunken man, now a little annoyed at her dismissal and not seeming to feel the changed mood in the room, approaches her, calling her a few rude names.

She places a delicate hand on the center of his chest and forcefully shoves him back, sending the man halfway across the tavern and onto the bench at his companions' table. They all stare at her with wide, shocked eyes and she turns, nodding to the innkeeper as she steps out onto the street. The doors are hurriedly shut and barred behind her and she slinks into the shadows, headed for an empty cart next to the blacksmiths. She hops onto it with ease and leaps higher still to access the rooftops of the town, running near silently across shingles and thatched roofs until she arrives at the northern edge of the village, where her poppies are singing the loudest.

She crouches low in the shadow of a chimney, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she eyes the trees. It's too early and the wrong direction - had she miscalculated the monster's traveling speed? Had it decided to circle around the village and come in from the opposite direction? Perhaps it was smarter than she had first anticipated.

Sakura is completely still for about five minutes until she finally sees movement, her expression becoming even more confused as she spots a wolfbeast through the trees, its grey fur catching the moonlight through the occasional break in the canopy.

Her eyes are the only things that move as she watches, catching sight of another huge wolf, slinking quietly through the trees and brush, and then a third and a fourth. Her eyes cut up to the moon to confirm that it isn't full, but these wolves are too large and oddly shaped to be normal animals. 

It's a pack of feral werewolves, too far lost in their transformations to turn human ever again, and they're headed straight for the village. 

Surely this wasn't the beast she'd been tracking for nearly a month. She'd been so sure it was some sort of forest spirit based on the reports she'd heard - a creature of the woods, its body split between black and white with golden eyes full of hunger.

But, as Sakura watches the pack cross through the less wooded area and into the small northern wheatfield, she notes that one of the wolves is pure white. It's an odd coloring, yes, but not exceedingly rare.

Her bewilderment grows when one of the beasts exits the tall wheat stalks and she sees pitch-black fur and golden eyes.

She's still unsure if this is what she’d been hunting or just a very strange coincidence, but Sakura isn't about to let the pack attack the village.

Still hidden in the shadows, she watches three of the wolves climb the low stone wall and pass the buildings to enter the town while the fourth, the white one, disappears to circle the perimeter. Her poppies keep her altered to its location and Sakura follows after the pack as they head down one of the streets, searching for a villager still out late. She runs across the rooftops from shadow to shadow as clouds pass over the bright moon, a twitch of her finger making the mimic bells down one of the alleys ahead begin to jingle.

They chime with the sound of laughter and the wolves take the bait, their ears twitching as they head in the direction of what they presume to be a pair of drunks returning home. Turning a corner, they enter one of the side streets and crouch low, almost as silent as Sakura's steps.

The laughter is coming from around another corner some 30 feet ahead and they approach their presumed prey cautiously, ready to make a quick kill and not alert the sleeping town. Normal wolves would typically go for the livestock, but the past lives of the werewolves makes them crave human flesh, desiring that which they have lost.

They've obviously picked up the scent of the bedsheet Sakura had snatched from the inn before the staff could take it to be cleaned and they draw closer to the alley corner, a low growl building from the black-furred leader. She crouches on the roof of the building at the corner and waits until they've reached the intersection, barely giving the pack a moment to realize the alley with the laughter is empty before she sends a burst of her magic and activates the trap they're standing on.

The wire netting hidden under layers of dirt between the cobblestone path springs to life, fully ensnaring one of the smaller werewolves and part of the one with black fur. The third wolf managed to jump aside to avoid the trap and Sakura clicks her tongue in annoyance when the leader manages to free itself before the sharp wire can fully constrict. The dark red blood that splatters on the ground is proof that it had at least been sliced up fairly well and the fully trapped wolf howls in pain as the netting tightens around its restrained body.

Before the two beasts can try to assist their packmate, Sakura leaps down to land on it and, in one fluid motion, stabs her sword through the top of its skull. It instantly falls still and she removes her blade as the two werewolves roar, standing tall on their hind legs in a mockery of their lost human forms. They charge and she flips backward to avoid the swipe of a huge clawed hand, the rest of the street they'd been traveling on at her back and the alley to her right.

Her poppies warn her that the white wolf is coming to answer the pack's call and she ducks to avoid the snap of a snarling jaw, kicking out her leg to swipe the grey-furred wolf off its feet. She swings her blade and manages to catch its belly as it turns and scrambles back onto its paws, screaming in pain as the silver threaded through the core of her sword reacts with its flesh.

Werewolves can recover from even the most gruesome wounds when they're dealt by normal blades, but silver is the one thing they can't heal from.

It clutches at its middle, a burning ache filling its body from the touch of silver, and lunges wildly at Sakura. It's lost in its rage and pain and attacks without caution, growing more furious as she dodges its claws and fangs. The black wolf manages to circle around to her other side and swipes at her back, catching her off-guard and ripping through her cloak, leather brigandine, and tunic to reach her flesh.

Sakura curses and twists away, ducking low and diving into a roll to put some distance between her and the pair. She pops up into a defensive stance with her sword raised, rolling her shoulder and flinching at the pain shooting up her back. The cuts aren't too deep, but werewolf claws always sting.

Fortunately, she can deal with a few scratches - it's the teeth she has to worry about.

She hears the white wolf approaching from behind and leaps upwards just in time as it sprints at her angrily, backflipping in the air to bring her boots down on its back. The force drives it to the ground and she plunges her sword through its shoulder, missing its neck by inches.

Sakura grins viciously as it screams, but the wolf she'd nearly gutted tackles her with a burst of unanticipated speed, its head barreling into her stomach and knocking her off its packmate before she can remove her sword. They both tumble and roll backwards, landing in a heap, and jaws snap at her face as Sakura tries to get on her feet again. Her weapon is still buried in the white wolf's shoulder and she snatches the dagger holstered on her thigh, ignoring how the grit of the stone street irritates her injury.

The grey wolf is on top of her, its eyes glowing with fury as she braces her feet against its chest to keep its jaws from reaching her and ripping out her throat. Her strength surges with a burst of magic and she kicks it off of, her body rolling and twisting until she's got one boot firmly planted on the ground and her other knee braced under her. She swings her arm upwards as the werewolf lunges and stabs her dagger up through the bottom of its jaw, grunting under the weight of its body as it collapses. Sakura quickly shoves its corpse off of her and returns to her defensive stance, brandishing her silver knife.

The remaining pair of beasts - the stark contrast between their fur is rather haunting in the moonlight, she notes - stare angrily at her, the white wolf clutching its mangled shoulder and blood dripping from the other's maw from where the netting had caught it. She pants as she unclasps her cloak, letting it fall, and all three hunters watch each other, waiting to see who would make the next move.

Sakura's gaze flickers to the side to spot her discarded sword, too far for her to grab before they could reach her, and she clutches her dagger tightly in her fist. Her body lowers slightly as she tenses and the wolves growl in fury, their fangs bared and their gazes dripping with malice. She turns on her heel moments before they drop to all fours and she sprints down the street, listening to the wolves racing after her.

She avoids the residential area and cuts through the market, less concerned with a few broken crates, to head for the west edge of the village. Sakura dives over a stall, the cloth canopy hanging over it brushing against her back as she flies through the opening and lands with a roll. She glances back as she hears the wolves simply barrel through it, sending splintered wood flying, and keeps running. Following the main road that cuts through the center of the town, Sakura spots the west entrance and urges herself to run faster, needing to get closer to the woods.

She can feel hot breath on the back of her neck and she drops to the ground suddenly, ducking and curling to roll across the ground for a quick second before she kicks her legs out as the white wolf looms over where her body had been. It's caught off-guard mid-lunge and Sakura’s kick to its chest sends it flying into trees, crashing into a sturdy trunk as it gives a pained yelp. It lands upside down with its back against the tree and Sakura springs to her feet, avoiding a swipe from the black wolf.

The white beast is still while she slices her dagger at the remaining packmate, ducking and dodging its attacks but not landing very many hits herself. An uppercut to the chin catches the wolf by surprise enough for it to stumble backwards, giving Sakura enough room to spin into a roundhouse kick. Her leg connects with its side and it's sent into a different set of trees from the force, its body smashing right through a large sapling. The other wolf seems to have regained its senses but, before it can get back on its feet, Sakura drops into crouch and slams her palm against the earth.

Thick vines burst out of the forest floor, quickly ensnaring the werewolves. They wrap around their limbs, chests, and necks, binding the black wolf to the sturdy trunk of an oak and dragging the white one to the ground. Each vine they manage to get their teeth around or break with sheer strength is replaced with two more, completely restraining the monsters until they're immobile. She lets out a relieved sigh and stands, watching as the wolves roar and howl their frustration.

Sakura turns, knowing the vines will hold true while she retrieves her sword, and heads back into the village. The commotion of her battle has woken most of the town and lights begin to appear behind shuttered windows, a few brave villagers peeking out of their doors to see Sakura passing by. None fully exit their homes, still wary of danger, but they begin to grow curious enough to more openly watch her as she finds her sword from where it had been discarded and heads back to the west entrance, her expression grim. The werewolves are right where she left them and their growls turn ferocious at the sight of her blade, realizing her intentions.

She heads for the white wolf first, its gaze too focused and intelligent for her comfort as it lays pinned to the earth, completely still and staring at her with fury. She's only a few feet away when it suddenly shifts, it's face turning just barely more human as its fur thins enough for actual skin to peek out. 

The partial transformation, a last ditch effort that likely took a lot of willpower, shrinks its body a full size, allowing it just enough time and space to pull free from the vines and lunge at Sakura. It can't hold the transformation long and almost instantly returns to its wolfbeast form, its claws skimming Sakura's shoulder as she dodges as quickly as she can, caught off-guard.

She's knocked off balance and lands on her back, one hand firmly planted on the ground and her fingers curling into the dirt. The white wolf leaps at her and a thick tree root surges out of the earth at Sakura's silent call, spearing the beast through the chest and exiting out the other side in a spray of blood and flesh.

The werewolf's horrible scream is answered by a roar from the black wolf, still pinned to its tree and forced to watch as the tree root drives through its packmate's chest to dig back into the ground. Thoroughly immobilized but still living despite the hole in its body, the white wolf screams and claws at the root, its gaze frantic and furious as it watches Sakura rise.

She pants, holding a hand to her shoulder, and approaches carefully. As she straightens up, she brandishes her sword in both hands and takes a breath.

Sakura twists her torso and swings, decapitating the werewolf with one clean slice.

There's an enraged roar from the black wolf and she's startled when it manages to break through its bonds with sheer strength, dislocating one of its arms in the process and likely breaking one of its legs, judging by the horrible snap Sakura hears. Her connection to the vines was broken when her hand left the earth, so there's nothing to try to snatch the wolf back again and she drops into a defensive stance, cursing under her breath.

The wolf stands, panting and staring at Sakura with furious golden eyes as it clutches its still-limp arm. Bloodlust is radiating off of its form as it watches the hunter that killed its pack and she glares back, ready to end the fight.

But she's surprised when it suddenly turns and disappears into the woods, leaving Sakura to chase after it through the trees.

Sakura curses again and breaks into a sprint, but, three hours of hunting later, she's lost its trail and is forced to return to the village, frustrated with her only partial victory.

She's unaware of a different set of golden eyes in the trees, watching her every move.

: :

The village leaders may be convinced that the werewolf pack was the monster she'd been hunting, but Sakura isn't so sure. Even if she had miscalculated when it would arrive -

(Which she did, she just didn't know that yet.)

- it still didn't explain the dissimilarities between the reports she'd heard from the other villages and the monsters she had fought last night. It didn't make sense.

And there was still the problem of the lone wolfbeast that had escaped.

So, Sakura stays an extra four days in the village, routinely checking the perimeter and searching the woods for any signs of danger, in case the forest spirit finally makes its appearance or the black wolf returns. The villagers become less wary of her but she still tries to keep her distance, admittedly flattered by the gifts she finds outside the door to her room.

On the morning of the fifth day, Sakura finally packs to leave. There's been nothing out of the ordinary and she worries that maybe the creature she'd been tracking had skipped this village entirely and gone to wreak havoc in another. It would be another four day's ride to the next town and she didn't want to waste more time waiting for something to happen. She's supplied with more food than she needs and is given quite the send-off by the thankful villagers, their calls and cheers making her smile under the hood of her cloak.

Her horse seems eager to be traveling again and he breaks into a canter once they're on the road, the village eventually disappearing behind the trees. Sakura rides all day with just a quick break around midday for lunch, unable to keep her suspicious gaze from traveling to the woods lining the road. It's well into the evening when she comes across an obstacle on the road and she dismounts to inspect the massive fallen tree blocking her path.

It's too tall and wide for her to risk trying to guide her horse over so she leaves the road and enters the trees to the right to look for a path around. Several smaller trees had been crushed under the huge oak and she doesn't find the base of the trunk until she reaches the river, clicking her tongue in annoyance. The current is too rough and the water too deep for her to cross, even on horseback, so she backtracks and tries the left side of the road.

The canopy of the oak had landed in a large thorny thicket, the wall of brambles rising above her head and extending out further into the forest. She isn't sure how far off the road they have to go to find a way around it, but going through is certainly not an option. Even the shortest of the thorns are two inches long and, as she's in unknown land, there's no telling if the plants were poisonous.

Sakura kneels in front of the dangerous brush, her horse standing just a few feet behind her, and presses a hand to the earth, hoping to convince the plants to part and allow them safe passage. To her frustration, however, the brambles refuse to budge and she sighs, standing and turning to grab her steed's reins.

She follows the edge of the thorny wall on foot, growing more concerned the deeper into the woods she's forced to travel. It's not a straight line, fortunately, and the bramble begins to curve upwards, giving Sakura hope that she'd reach the end of it soon. It's half an hour until she finally finds a break in the thicket, the thorns thinning out enough for her to carefully guide her horse through with a sigh of relief. They barely make it five steps before there's a sudden rustle and groan behind them and Sakura spins around to find that the hole in the bramble wall has closed, barring off the way they'd come. The thicket seems to shudder, brandishing its sharp thorns, and Sakura steps back, wary and angry.

The forest seems to come alive with sounds now, a breeze dancing through the canopy overhead and the trees groaning as their branches bend and wave in the wind. Each rustle makes her horse more and more anxious and Sakura struggles to calm him, speaking softly and keeping a tight hold on his reins. It's more than just the noise frightening him - she can feel it too, that disturbing aura that had fallen over the woods, filling Sakura with worry as well. She tries to keep calm and her gentle words seem to eventually do the trick and he settles down, shaking his head nervously but not trying to pull free any longer. 

She lets out a relieved sigh but barely has a moment to relax before a sudden loud snap to her right startles her horse enough for him to rear back with a frightened whinny. Sakura leaps to the side to dodge the flailing hooves as they land heavily on the forest floor. The horse breaks off into a run, heading deeper into the forest and leaving her behind as she scrambles to her feet with a curse.

Sakura races after him with only a moment of hesitation, not wanting to get lost in the woods but unwilling to lose her horse. She manages to keep him in sight but, when the brush grows too thick, she reluctantly picks a tree and climbs its trunk with unnatural ease. Carefully running along the branches and leaping between them, she manages to recover the distance she had lost and follows her horse through the canopy, aiming to get ahead and drop down onto the saddle.

The trees of her home were much larger and sturdier than this forest and she'd grown up with little worry of something breaking under her weight as she traveled by treetop, assured that she would never fall. 

But these woods are small in comparison and there are too many thin and flimsy branches, so her pace is slower and more careful than she would like. Still, it's the only chance Sakura has, so she continues on, startling when a branch suddenly moves under her foot.

A branch trips her and she's falling before she realizes what had happened, reaching out blindly to try to find something to grab and stop her descent as smaller branches scratch at her face.

(She'd later be annoyed when she comes to the realization that the larger branches actively moved away from her hand.)

Something grabs her ankle and stops her just feet from the forest floor, her leg aching slightly from the sudden halt. Sakura glances up in surprise to see a vine wrapped around her boot but, before it fully registers, the vine suddenly loosens its hold and she's dropped the rest of the way, landing with a yelp. Hissing as she sits up and rubs at her sore neck, Sakura freezes and hurries to her feet as she hears something rustling through the brush around her. She'd landed in a relatively clear area but the canopy of leaves is thick overhead, blocking out most of the moonlight except for the stray beam here and there.

There's the crunch of leaves and the snap of a twig and her hand flies to her hip, startled when she doesn’t immediately feel the hilt of her sword. She looks down in shock to confirm that her sword is missing and glances up at the canopy overhead in horror, spotting her blade, scabbard and all, caught in the branches.

Sakura's attention snaps forward once more as she hears movement ahead of her and she crouches defensively, her other hand slowly moving to the dagger still strapped to her thigh.

She stills entirely as a pair of golden eyes appear in the darkness, her heart pounding in her ears and a cold pit dropping in her stomach. The eyes are unblinking as they stare at her and the forest falls unsettlingly silent. Sakura's breathing sounds too loud in comparison and she holds the golden gaze, unwilling to look away for even a moment.

Nothing moves for a full minute but her dagger is in her hand within moments as the creature suddenly surges forward and breaks through the brush. She'd been expecting snarling jaws and black fur but is met with sight of a more human-shape, a blur of black and white when it passes through the rare beam of moonlight.

In the second it takes Sakura to raise her knife, a thorny vine snaps forward from behind to wrap around her wrist, making her gasp as her arm is yanked backwards. She twists to dodge the tackle from the creature and the vine gives a sharp yank, leaving her shrieking as it pulls her arm at an odd angle and twists. Forced to drop her knife, Sakura turns and spins to right the angle of her arm and catches a glimpse of the creature disappearing into the brush again.

She hurriedly grips the vine wrapped around her bloody wrist, hissing at how the thorns seem to grow to dig deeper into her skin, and bares her teeth as she sends a surge of her magic through it. It burns and shrivels at the intense energy, the length wrapped around her wrist turning to ash while the rest of the vine quickly pulls away to slink back into the darkness.

Sakura's hands burst into a green glow as she quickly heals the worst of her wounds, the cuts from the thorns still stinging. Panting, she glancing around cautiously but, as she moves to grab her knife, she's yanked backwards as something catches the end of her cloak.

She lands hard on her back and is dazed slightly when she hits her head, but the feeling of her cloak being pulled and restricting around her throat quickly brings her to her senses. Sakura glances up and back, panicking, and sees the thorny bramble from earlier clutching the end of her cloak, dragging her backwards into the brush. Her shriek is choked and cut short and she scrambles to undo the clasp around her neck, leaping away and gasping for breath as she lands on her knees.

But she's not given a moment to rest as something tackles her from the left, gold eyes appearing as she's knocked hard onto her side. Large hands find her shoulders and she's forced onto her back, sharp, pointed teeth catching the moonlight as the creature looms over her in a crouch.

Claws dig into her shoulders, making her hiss, and Sakura takes in the sight of a mostly human face - half black and half white, split right down the middle. she can't resist her shudder as it lowers its face to drag its tongue over the exposed skin of her neck. Up from her collar and over her jaw to her cheek, catching blood from one of the scratches from her fall.

For a monster that eats human flesh, its breath smelled oddly like pine.

The grin that spreads across its face is terrifying and Sakura manages to pull herself out of her frightened stupor, tucking her knees against her chest and rolling back on her shoulders until she can slip her legs up between their bodies. She wraps them around its neck, ankles locked behind its head, and squeezes, twisting her hips sharply to throw it off of her. It seems surprised by the action, growling angrily as it rights itself, and Sakura rolls into a crouch, having put a bit of distance between her and the monster.

It sits up on its knees, moves one leg forward to plant its foot in a half-step, and raises its hands, fingers clawed and curled inwards. Teeth bared, vines suddenly surge out of the darkness behind it and dart towards Sakura with frightening speed, covered in wicked looking thorns.

Sakura drops from her crouch to her knees and slams both of her hands onto the ground with an angry scream, demanding the forest to obey. The vines stop their assault just inches from her face and Sakura stares past them to glare heartedly at the black and white creature. It seems shocked that she'd managed to wrestle control from it and those golden eyes stare back at her.

It pushes its body forward slowly to test her strength and the barrage of vines in front of her twitch but don't otherwise move. They stay locked in the stalemate and Sakura takes the moment to look the creature over more thoroughly.

Besides its odd coloring and the sharp teeth and claws, it looked almost completely human. Most of its - his features are lost on the black half of his body but she can clearly make out the sharp jaw and high cheekbones on his white half. His ears are pointed at the tips, much like her own, and his messy, grass-green hair is kept short and shaggy. She's surprised to find him actually partially dressed, his black pants likely hiding a multitude of bloodstains in the darkness of the forest.

His head tilts as he inspects her just as closely for a few moments before that grin returns and he presses forward again, still knelt several feet away from her and unable to regain control of the vines.

Sakura's mind is racing for an escape from this situation but she's startled when he suddenly speaks

"You smell of the forest," Comes his voice, his tone surprisingly soft - until he continues and his voice takes a raspy, harder turn. "But you taste like human."

Disturbed, Sakura barks out a sharp reply.

"Who are you?" Her eyes narrow, sweat beading on her brow and her fingers digging into the dirt from her desperate attempt to maintain control of the vines still pointed at her. "What are you?!"

His expression turns curious before his eyes light up, his grin stretching unnaturally far across his face.

"You wish to know me? Give me your name and I'll tell you mine."

Sakura's eyes narrow and her lips curl in a dry smirk, her own green gaze glowing briefly in the dark.

"Nice try, but I won't fall for that." Her fingers dig deeper into the ground and the vines pull back from her slightly, surprising the odd monster. "I was raised in a fae court - those old tricks won't work on me."

He blinks for the first time since he'd attacked her, his grin falling but his lips still parted just enough for her to see his teeth. His hands lower and the bloodlust that had been radiating off his form disappears almost entirely.

"You're like me," He says incredulously and Sakura nearly stumbles forward as the force she'd been bracing her body against to keep the vines in check suddenly dissipates.

Her eyes go wide for a moment before she catches herself and her expression turns furious.

"I'm nothing like you, monster." She hisses, digging her hands harder into the ground until they're mostly buried under the earth. She sends the wave of vines racing back at him, barreling into his chest and sending the faecreature flying backwards into brush.

Sakura can't spot her dagger anywhere but her sword is still caught in the branches overhead so she sends another surge of magic into the earth, the nearby trees shuddering and untangling their branches. Her weapon falls free and she leaps to her feet, quickly catching it and breaking into a sprint as she spins around to face the opposite direction.

She's undoubtedly lost and her horse is gone for good but she needs to get out of this damned forest.

Her breathing is haggard from her panic and she runs as fast as she can, desperate to put some distance between her and the strange monster. Just enough for her to get a brief moment of respite before she faces him again.

She won't return home empty handed.

Sakura barely realizes her screaming instincts aren't her frazzled nerves before something suddenly charges out of the darkness to her right and slams into her, a vicious snarl filling her ears and rough fur against her face. All she sees is a blur of black as she crashes into the ground and tumbles with her assailant on top of her, sharp claws digging deeply into her back.

Through her scream, all Sakura can think is 'Great.'

She manages to kick the familiar werewolf off of her, only a little satisfied at the sound of its ribs crunching from the force, but it takes a chunk of her flesh for its efforts. Sakura manages to get her feet under her and lets out a shout of frustration, unsheathing her sword and keeping ahold of the scabbard with her free hand as an impromptu weapon. 

Panting, she can feel thick rivulets of blood dripping down her back to puddle under her on the forest floor and she grits her teeth. A bright green glow bursts from her back for a partial healing, trying to at least stop the bleeding, and she watches the wolf as it crouches low and slowly circles her, fury behind its gold eyes.

She's feeling drained and nearing exhaustion, but Sakura refuses to die here.

When her vision just barely starts to swim, she abruptly cuts off the healing and turns, keeping the werewolf in her line of sight. Its hackles are raised and its claws dig into the dirt as it slowly walks around her on all fours, its eyes wide and feral.

Sakura ignores the pain in her body and brandishes her sword, her gaze darting from its shoulders to its paws to its eyes to its legs, searching for any tensing of muscles or signs that it's about to attack. Its back claws dig a little deeper into the earth and she braces herself, ready to dodge and defend when it strikes.

The wolf lunges forward and rears up on its hind legs as it sprints at her, a ferocious growl echoing through the forest and the beast just a couple feet away when a blur of white and black tackles it from the side, sending both bodies careening away from Sakura and into brush.

She stands there in shock for a moment before she races after the two monsters, finding the faecreature pinning the larger werewolf to the ground. His teeth are buried in its throat and the wolf rakes its claws angrily down his back as it tries to kick him off. Both beasts are snarling and growling as they rip into each other and Sakura is unsure what to do. She startles when the wolf finally manages to get a good grip on him and flings the faebeing over its head in her direction.

Moving on a whim, she lunges to the side and catches him with her scabbard-holding arm. When he looks at her with that split-color face, gold eyes full of surprise, she simply nods and rights him. A furious roar pulls their attention back to the wolf and it charges in a wild, unguarded attack.

Almost simultaneously, Sakura and her unlikely ally drop to a knee and send a flurry of tangled vines flying out of the forest brush behind them, his hands raised while her palm is slammed against the ground. The barrage of strong vines hit it square in the chest and wrap around its torso before the wolf can be sent flying backwards. They constrict tightly around its throat and the werewolf howls as the thorns dig deep, brought to its knees as the vines thoroughly restrain it. 

The faecreature stays in place, his fingers curling inwards, and Sakura rises with a stony expression, a breeze dancing through the forest to blow her escaped hair back as steps forward. She drops her scabbard to wrap both hands around the hilt of her sword, forcing her breathing to be even as she stands to her full height despite the wounds in her back. The wolf gives one last enraged roar and she strikes, stabbing her blade forward and into its maw to punch through the back of its skull.

It instantly stills after one last choked growl and Sakura yanks her sword back out of its mouth, her shoulders slumping as her exhaustion begins to set in. The vines slowly release their tight hold and disappear back into the earth. She turns and isn't sure if she should be relieved or worried to see the black and white creature standing behind her, looking over her intensely.

"...thanks," She eventually says, giving him one last nod before starting to make her retreat. She was too tired to fight anymore tonight and she wanted to get away before he decided to try to kill her again.

"Wait," He calls and Sakura curses herself for pausing and glancing back. He holds out his white hand, her dagger resting on his palm.

"You dropped this."

The raspier voice makes her shudder but she turns, lips pursed as he smiles at her. 

She honestly shouldn't have been so surprised when, as she reaches to retrieve her knife, his other hand darts out to snatch her wrist. Sakura hisses under her breath and tries to pull free, but his grip is strong and he pulls her a little closer, golden eyes searching her face as his smile falls.

"I'm Zetsu," He says, his voice soft and full of a yearning she doesn't understand. His grasp around her wrist is gentle despite its strength and he reaches his free hand up to caress her face, his touch light and delicate and too familiar for her tastes. Zetsu's thumb runs across her cheek and he brushes a few stray pink hairs away from her face, pulling her closer still.

"Please," He whispers, begging almost desperately as both of his voices speak at once. "What is your name?"

She can't seem to bring herself to look away from his gaze, her struggling stopping as she stares up at the strange being. She wets her split lip, blushing when the movement makes his eyes flicker down to her mouth, and finds herself reluctantly answering.

"I'm Sakura."

[ninzied]

things you said when you were scared

for @frank-kastle​. [ao3]

There are a lot of terrible things in life. Death. Taxes. Dirty cops. The list goes on and on. But right now, hospital coffee probably ranks up there amongst some of the worst.

“I swear this was brewed in the tenth circle of hell,” says Foggy to no one in particular as he pours himself his fifth cup for the night.

He dumps in a generous number of sugar packets, and some of that awful instant creamer stuff for good measure. It clumps at the top as he stirs, and has an unpleasant powdery texture when he takes a sip and almost burns his tongue off.

“God, that’s…not good,” he says with a grimace, and heads back to the room.

The hospital’s quiet this late in the evening. After the bustle around shift change at 7, Foggy hasn’t seen many people around. There’s one guy here now, checking in up by the front desk, but other than that it’s been—

“I’m here to see Karen Page.”

Foggy freezes on the spot. He could pick out that gravelly voice anywhere. Which feels like a pretty weird thing to admit, but it’s true.

“Friend or family?” The nurse behind the counter is asking.

Frank Castle looks intensely at the nurse and says, “She’s the only family I got, ma’am.”

The nurse gives him a sympathetic smile, and hands him a sign-in sheet and a pen.

He scrawls something onto the paper, and exchanges it for a bright red visitor badge that matches the one Foggy is wearing.

The nurse tells him the room number, and points helpfully down the hall where Foggy is standing.

He doesn’t know whether to wave or to run in the other direction, the end result of which is that Frank finds him lurking awkwardly behind a meal cart just outside of the room.

“Hey,” says Frank.

“Uh,” says Foggy. “Hey…y.”

“How is she?”

“She’s asleep,” says Foggy, and Frank’s eyes narrow.

“Asleep in what way?” His voice is dark and low and not to be trifled with.

“Right,” Foggy says hastily. “I see how that could have been misconstrued. She’s fine, she’s just sleeping off the anesthesia. The doctor said everything went pretty smoothly.”

“Good.” But it looks like Frank won’t quite believe it until he’s confirmed it for himself. He scans the small glass pane in the door, visibly relaxing a little when he sees her sleeping on the other side.

“So did Matt call you, or?”

Frank says, with a perfectly straight face, “Left a voice note, actually.”

“He did?”

Frank gives him a flat look. “What do you think.”

“I honestly have no idea,” Foggy tells him. “Not sure anyone does. Well, except for – you know.” He gestures at the window, but Frank’s already turned back to her, brow creased.

“I’m going to get some more coffee,” says Foggy. “Do you want anything?”

Frank is still gazing into the room. He rubs one hand over the other, but doesn’t make a move for the door. “What?” he asks, entirely distracted.

“I’m going to get you some coffee,” Foggy tells him firmly. He turns around and heads toward the little waiting area again, making a point not to look back when he stops by one of the vending machines.

He’s deciding between the red and blue Doritos when he hears the soft click of the door latch closed. He goes for the blue, and then takes a seat in one of the armchairs for a while.

He winds up falling asleep with the bag of chips unopened in his lap. It’s about one in the morning when he comes to, and it takes a moment before he remembers what he’s even doing here.

There’s a hell of a crick in his neck, which he supposes a cup of that truly terrible coffee won’t make any worse. As he waits for it to brew, he wonders if Frank is a cream and sugar kind of guy. Probably not. But Foggy had tried it black at first, and it was not a bad approximation of how he imagines motor oil would taste.

Frank is hunched over by Karen in the half-dark, chin in his hands when Foggy walks in with two cups of coffee. He thinks Frank might have fallen asleep, but as the light from the hallway slivers into the room he looks up, his expression registering genuine surprise as Foggy hands him one of the styrofoam cups.

“It’s not—” Foggy starts to warn him.

Frank downs the stuff without even blinking, and if that’s not a sign of someone who’s capable of murder, then Foggy doesn’t know what it is.

“Thanks,” says Frank quietly, and sounds like he means it.

“Sure.” Foggy hesitates for a fraction of a second before sitting down in the chair next to him. He sniffs at his own coffee and almost chokes on it.

“You not gonna go home to your lady?” Frank’s voice has gone so low that it’s practically inaudible. “It’s getting late.”

“I…” Foggy doesn’t know how to put this delicately, so he just tells him outright: “I don’t want Karen to wake up alone.”

Frank looks hard at him in the dim moonlit glow of the room, but it doesn’t appear to be out of anger.

“She won’t.”

“Okay.” Foggy nods. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He pauses before getting up. “Do you want the rest of this?”

“Thanks,” Frank says again, and takes the cup from him.

Foggy’s almost at the door when he looks back. Frank’s reaching for a pocket in his jeans, pulling out a tattered old book that Foggy hadn’t noticed before.

He turns to a page that he’d marked, and starts reading quietly to Karen as Foggy slips out and closes the door behind him.

…

He returns the following morning with a trayful of coffees and some get-well-soon flowers that Marci had insisted he buy on the way. The coffees are from a deli down the street from the hospital – nothing fancy, but they have to be better than the crap that’s served here.

He fumbles with the handle a little while trying to juggle everything, but manages to get a foot inside before leaning his weight against the door and—

He thinks he’s hearing things at first.

But then he hears it again – the distinct sound of laughter, and as Foggy brushes some of the lilies out of his eyes he sees Frank and Karen there, both awake, and both smiling at him.

Laughing. Not smiling, Foggy corrects himself. The Punisher is laughing at him, and he has no idea how he’s even supposed to begin responding to that.

“Need some help there, counselor?”

Frank looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. He also looks like he couldn’t care less. Foggy blinks at him, feeling like he’s looking at a completely different person than the one he’d seen just a handful of hours before. Last night, Frank had been his usual tense and taciturn self. Foggy knew he’d been worried. But he’d also thought that that was just how Frank was.

Now, he looks – he looks like any other guy when he smiles. He looks relaxed. Happy. Relieved.

Huh.

Frank stands up to assist him, and Foggy can’t help but notice that he has to let go of Karen’s hand in order to do so.

He goes for the coffee tray and says, utterly deadpan, “Not trying to poison me this time?”

Foggy can only stare at him for a moment. “He’s got jokes.” He looks at Karen, still in some state of disbelief. “He’s got jokes. How are you feeling?”

“Like it hurts to laugh,” says Karen, but she’s beaming at him as he sets the flowers down at the bedside. “Those are beautiful. Thank you.”

Foggy’s momentarily distracted by the book next to her. He catches a single word – Brontë – before she puts it aside out of view and accepts a coffee from Frank with gratitude.

Frank sips at his own cup and then says to Foggy, “Not bad.” He sits down on Karen’s other side and takes her hand without another word.

“Good,” says Foggy. He meets Frank in the eye. “I’m glad,” he tells him, meaning more than just the coffee. Then he clears his throat, and gives Karen a quick peck on the cheek goodbye.

“I should get going.”

Karen gives him a smile. “And I should get my appendix taken out more often.”

“Too soon,” Foggy frowns.

But then he looks at the way they’re looking at each other – Karen with a fondly exasperated expression, and Frank on his part looking dutifully contrite but also like he’s never going to let go of her hand.

They’re also looking at each other like they’re the only two people in the world right now. And so Foggy sneaks out with his coffee, and lets them.