#they've been staring at you for the past few hours

[pinknyellowblob]

pov: you're a bug

[sunnami]

you'd be the love of my life when i was young

summary: gryffindors wear their heart on their sleeve when they fall in love. slytherins keep their heart locked far away to keep it from breaking.

pairing: poly!marauders x reader (sirius x reader, remus x reader, lily x reader, and james x reader)

tags: slight angst, fluff, lucius malfoy, happy ending

note: i have a chemistry quiz due in 50 minutes but this takes priority. . . i haven't written in a while so forgive my rusty writing skills, they've only been let out from the basement today. not proofread, we die like the marauders. (title is taken from the song, 21 by gracie abrams, because that's roughly around the age jily die. hehe.)

They said when you fell in love with the right people, everything would fall in place after.

What a load of bullshit.

You had come to a conclusion one winter morning, laying in the Gryffindor common room dressed in your woolly, green jumper. You rested on the worn-out leather seat, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you stared at the ceiling, thinking about how it was going terribly wrong. How funny it was, that the 30th of December greeted you with an existential crisis instead of presents and hot chocolate. 

There was something quite wrong with you, you had noticed for the past few months. 

Every time Sirius Black smiled at you, showing off his pearly canines and the crinkles by his deep-grey eyes, you would experience a painful, tightening sensation in your chest — like someone was squeezing at your heart. Most people knew Sirius Black, the prankster, but you were lucky enough to know Sirius, the kind and spirited boy who had a heart that loved fiercely more than anyone you knew.

Cosy afternoons found you in the library with Remus Lupin, and a strange feeling would erupt in your stomach whenever Remus leaned down, and you’d catch a whiff of pine needles and fresh mint. Shaggy, blond hair falling over his eyes as he came to life, talking about your common love for muggle books. He made time feel like an illusion, minutes fading away into hours as the two of you shared stifled giggles, cheeks numb by the time you left the room. 

And James, oh James Potter. It was difficult to describe what you felt with him — but with James, the brightest colours in the world couldn’t even compare to him. James was like putting on a pair of brand-new eyeglasses and seeing everything clearly for the first time. And without a doubt, you knew that James would never let you get hurt. But these days, you were weak in the knees as you’d see him across the Great Hall, waving at you excitedly as he bellowed your name, and to come and sit next to them. 

Last, but certainly not the least, Lily Evans. Her sweet, airy voice was a warm hug on a cold day. And her actual hugs were second to none — don’t tell Sirius, however, he liked to shift into Padfoot to steal Lily’s title as the queen of cuddling. Lily flowers were delicate, she was anything but. The spitfire of Gryffindor, who would raise her chin and defy anyone who would harass you for hanging out with them. 

(“You’re our emotionally constipated Slytherin,” said Lily as she mushed your cheeks, cooing when you tried to glare at her, and the three boys guffawing in the background. They liked to tease you often, being a year younger than them.) 

Were you dying?

That was the only plausible explanation to your palpitating heart and rickety knees. 

No, it was definitely not because you had gone and fell in love with your best friends. 

That was absurd. 

You had tried venting to Lucius Malfoy once. Narcissa often doted on you, sneakily leaving treats on your desk before she left for her class, and fussing when you got sick — which was quite often. That meant, when you weren’t with the marauders, you were trailing after the Slytherin power couple, or Severus.

(Lucius curled his lips in disgust, Narcissa sipping tea by his side, failing at hiding her knowing smirk. “I am above such childish matters,” hissed Lucius, scowl deepening when Narcissa laughed heartily, looking happier than she had been since returning home for the holidays. “I do not know why you’d even think to come to me for this.”

You huffed. 

Maybe you’d try Severus next. 

Naturally, he stormed off the moment Lily’s name fell from your lips.

Your resident seventh-years were confusing.)

Fortunately, you were stripped from your thoughts when the entrance to the common room slammed open, the paintings clamouring as they were disturbed from their slumber. One by one, the marauders piled inside the room, a string of melodious laughter and boisterous conversations following their arrival. Hastily, you sat up, heart thudding against your ribcage. Silence, you wretched beast, you told it. Don’t let them see how I burn for them.  

“There you are!” Sirius came into view first, grinning widely as he crossed the room to reach you. “Who said you could be this pretty in the morning, love?” 

Ba-dump!

Sirius plopped down head first onto your lap, manoeuvring your hand to comb through his hair as he sighed in contentment. “Bloody hell,” He exhaled shakily, “Last night was the worst one we’ve ever been through.” 

Your fingers ghosted through the new scar etched across his sharp cheekbones — it was nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix, but you still didn’t like the sight of them bruised and wounded. Swiftly, Sirius grabbed your hand and intertwined your own with his. “I’m sorry,” You whispered. 

Sirius chuckled tiredly, tightening his hold on you, as though you were a tether that kept him afloat in his sea of nightmares. 

(And you were. If only you knew.)

“It’s not your fault,” said Sirius. 

Then, your eyes landed on Remus limping towards you, his bare skin littered with scrapes and marks, supported with an arm around James’s broad shoulders. He sent a toothy smile your way, despite the tired lines on his forehead and deep bags beneath his eyes. “Waited up all night for us, huh?”

“I just couldn’t sleep knowing you guys were out there,” You whispered sheepishly. “It’s too dangerous, what happens if something goes terribly wrong, and it costs you your life? We need to tell someone.” 

“Everyone who needs to know, already knows.” Remus bit down a pained expression as he sat by your side, head lolling on your shoulder. “This is the best we have for now.” 

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

Before you could reply, Remus turned his head, lips feathering against your exposed skin. His voice was low as he said, “‘Sides, it’s our job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

“Well, I apologize for interrupting your job,” You whispered back harshly, wondering if that was all you were to them, a younger friend they felt the need to look after. Oh, how mortifying that would be.

James chuckled from behind you, bending over the back of the couch, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering for a few moments that felt like an eternity. “You’re too adorable,” said James, tweaking your nose. “Our angry, little Slytherin.” 

“I’m not little.” You glowered at him.

“Perhaps not.” James smiled cheekily. “But you’re ours.” 

Often times, you had wondered how the five of you came to be so tight-knit, knowing their disdain for most of the Slytherins. 

(Little did you know, you smiled at them once in Potions, and they were a goner.) 

Something stirred deep in your belly. 

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t say things like that, James.”

People could get the wrong idea.

You could get the wrong idea.

“Well, why not?” Lily appeared in your peripheral vision, the scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh rain filling the room. Like the three boys, her skin was sallow from lack of sleep, but her bare face and blinding grin left your heart racing. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

It could be, just not in the way you wanted it to be true.

You sighed. “Class is going to start in a few hours, I should get going.” 

“Or,” James began wickedly, throwing a thick blanket onto the floor by the fireplace, and tossing a bunch of throw pillows at Sirius’s face. “We could have a sleepover right here.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Lily merrily, stealing James’s blanket as she placed a pillow beneath her head. 

“I really have to go—” You reasoned pathetically.

“Stay,” whispered Sirius without even opening his eyes as he curled his lithe fingers around your wrist. “You being here makes us feel better.” 

They were too cruel, saying all these sweet words, not knowing how it drove knives through your heart. 

James yawned as he laid on the carpeted floor, hiking the blanket up to his shoulders as he threw a leg over Lily, pulling her close to his chest, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “D’you have your textbooks with you, love?” He asked you drowsily. 

“No,” You answered, any other words lodged in your throat. 

“That’s fine.” James hummed. “I’ll just get the cloak and sneak into the dungeons later to get the books for you.” 

“Sleep,” Remus urged you, unaware how you shivered at his words. 

“You can’t be comfortable like that,” You told him in disbelief, watching his neck bend at an angle to lay on your shoulder. 

“Trust me,” said Remus gently, eyelashes tickling your skin, “I’m right where I want to be.” 

You had grown silent for a few beats, unaware how Sirius’d opened his eyes, staring at your worried expression. 

(How could one person be so perfect, he wondered.)

“You alright, darling?” He reached out to trace the curve of your jaw with his thumb, the palm of his hand holding your face as though you were a pureblood’s antique treasure. (Mine, mine, mine, his heart screamed.)

But like the Slytherin you were, you lied as easily as you breathed.

“I’m fine.”

As you laid in between Remus and Sirius, watching the peaceful rise of Lily and James’s chests, you had come to a daunting realization. 

You were irrevocably and agonizingly in love with your best friends. 

And because fate liked to spit in your face, the four of them were already in a beautiful, committed relationship. 

Who were you to get in the way of that?

—

They would understand, you convinced yourself. 

They would understand that you had to stay away from them. You had to protect your heart and keep it safe. The marauders were a dangerous bunch, and they had played the biggest prank on you, and by Merlin, would you fall for this particular prank over and over again if it meant you could hear their voices and fall into their embrace. 

But you couldn’t stay. They would only crush your heart otherwise. 

If Gryffindors wore their heart on their sleeves when they fell in love, Slytherins protected theirs with every fibre of their being, locking it in a cage where no one else can have the power to break it. 

Like what any love-stricken teenager would do in the face of heartbreak, you began to ignore the objects of your affections — ignoring the way your soul called out to theirs. 

It wasn’t as obvious the first few days. You would escape their company under the ruse of studying for McGonagall and Flitwick’s practical tests. 

(“They’re notoriously difficult after all,” You told them, a nervous laugh accompanying your lie. Peter eyed you curiously, noticing small details the others could not see — your quivering lips, your nails digging into your palms, and the way your eyes wouldn’t meet any of theirs. “I just don’t want to fail.” 

You could have cried at the way James held the back of your head as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ll do well, love. You always do.” 

“You can study with me, if you want,” Remus quickly offered. “I’m not as good as James in transfiguration, but I can definitely teach better than those two.” 

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed in mock offence.

“Thanks, it’s sweet of you to offer,” You told them, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “But—”

“Say less, darling,” Lily interjected kindly, wrapping her scarf around your neck. She smiled at you, holding both your cheeks in her palms. “They’re the worst lot to study around, I know. Just don’t study too hard, okay? Take breaks, have a cup of tea now and then, and remember it’s okay to ask for help — don’t give me that face — if it gets too overwhelming, just ask. We’re here for you in every way you need us.” 

Oh.

You were well and truly screwed. 

“Thanks,” You croaked.)

But it was getting harder and harder to come up with excuses. 

(“Wotcher!” Sirius grinned, encasing you in a tight hug after bumping into you in the corridor. “Haven’t seen you in a while, busy bee. Fancy a lunch with us in Hogsmeade?” 

You scrunched your nose, red and bitten from the winter frost, stepping away from him and ignoring the way his face fell. “I. . . I can’t. I’ve got practice with the Frog Choir.”

Sirius shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “S’alright. I can wait and pick you up right after, then we’ll swing by that shop you really like—”

“I can’t, Sirius,” You interrupted harshly, wrapping your arms around your chest as your gaze dropped to the ground. “Sorry. I just. . . I’ll just catch you some other time.” 

Sirius flinched. “Sure, love. Other time, yeah?”

But only the wind replied.

Saturday came, and along with it was the long-awaited match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. James, decked out in his uniform, bounded over to you at the Slytherin’s side of the Great Hall, oblivious to the death glares some of your housemates had sent his way. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you from your seat. 

“It’s Quidditch day, pidge!” James tilted his head, awfully resembling a lost, confused puppy. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? It’s the game of games! Even Remus is announcing the game later.” 

You bit your lip before responding. “I’m not going, James.” 

“What?” He furrowed his brows. “Why not?” 

Ever since you had become friends with James Potter in your first year, you had never missed a single game of his. Except for the one time you had fallen sick during his match against Hufflepuff — and the moment he knew you were ill, the game ended in less than two minutes, by his sheer determination to get by your side quickly and make sure you weren’t alone. 

You sighed. “I don’t know, James, I’m just not feeling up to it today.”

It was a big, fat lie, and he knew it too. 

You didn’t go to his match later that day.

It was one of the biggest losses James had ever experienced — he wasn’t talking about Quidditch.)

Your housemates were beginning to realize was something was off as well. They might not be particularly fond of the Gryffindors that captured your heart, but they were fond of you, and they guarded their own. 

You had a stare-down with Regulus Black in the common room — and you weren’t about to lose — before he blinked and asked, “What did my brother do?”

“Nothing,” You replied, pretending to be engrossed with your herbology textbook. 

Severus rolled his eyes before plucking the book out of your hands. “Spit it out, woman. We’ve had to watch you mope around pathetically for days now. It’s irritating the rest of us.”

You sniffled. “Then just leave me alone! No one asked you to check up on me!”��

“Unfortunately, we can’t.” Severus took a seat beside Regulus. With a pained grimace, he said, “So you can. . . pour your heart out to us.” 

“I can’t.” You wailed. “I’m a Slytherin, we’re the worst at that.”

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true. We’re hopeless.” 

“But,” He raised his wand, “We do speak in jinxes and curses.” 

“Don’t you dare!” You blubbered, wiping at your tears — but somehow, without having to express it in words, they understood, and you had felt lighter.

Still, you missed them. 

“This is pathetic.” Lucius enters the common room, Narcissa holding onto his arm, watching the scene before him with blank eyes. “Black, Snape, get out, you’re only making whatever this is, worse.”

Narcissa was by your side in an instant, dabbing at your wet eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief that cost more than your life. “Hush now, darling. What’s wrong, hm? Was it that idiot cousin of mine? Don’t worry, Lucius can tell his father, and we’ll have them begging at your feet by tomorrow.”

You cried louder. 

“I jest, I jest.” Narcissa softly chuckled, pulling your hair away from your face as she tugged you close. “Please tell us what’s wrong. It’s been awful seeing you like this for the past few days.”

Lucius sat on the loveseat across you, resting his feet atop the glass coffee table. “Yes, I beg you — do as she says, for the love of Merlin. But, really, what else did you expect, associating yourself with that ragtag of miscreants?”

Narcissa glared at him.

Lucius raised his arms in surrender. 

Narcissa clicked her tongue before returning her attention to you, eyes softening at your tear-stricken face. She smiled, albeit sadly, as she said, “Perhaps, I know what is wrong.” She gestured to the way you clutched at the front of your shirt. “It is the matters of the heart, is it not?” 

You nodded weakly. “I love them.”

“And they, you,” said Narcissa. “So, what is wrong?” 

“I love them!” You hiccuped.

“Unfortunately.” Lucius handed you a tissue. “The whole of Hogwarts knows this already, so I do not understand why you’re blowing snot all over my fiancé’s robes about it.” 

“They don’t feel the same way about me,” You confessed with a sob. 

Lucius stared at you incredulously. “Please do not tell me that you are this daft.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked him through narrowed, teary eyes, Narcissa rubbing the tips of your numb fingers from crying so much. 

“I did not sign up for this.” Lucius rubbed at his temples as he stood up. “I will only say this once, so make sure you are listening. Those Gryffindor idiots are so disastrously in love with one another — let me finish, damn you — and if you cannot see that they love you too, then it is your own fault. It physically pains me to see the way they smile when you are near. They would move the earth for you, and they would shake the heavens for you.” 

—

Gryffindors must have hearts made of steel, because you didn’t know how they could be so brave, to look fear right in the eyes and say: I’m ready. 

Because you surely weren’t. You were headed towards your usual spot in the courtyard by the clock tower, legs heavy and swell deep in your throat. Then, you found them, looking so achingly beautiful under the sunlight, huddled together for warmth as they smiled and laughed at lame puns and mistimed jokes. 

Did you have a place with them? 

You were about to find out.

“Hey,” You greeted once you were right in front of them. A month of evading them, and now you were here. It was like finding a piece of your soul that you had lost.

(For them, seeing you was like finally being able to breathe again.) 

“Hey,” said Lily, devoid of any warmth, and that broke you. 

Bravery was poison, you decided. A trap for weak-hearted fools like you. 

Sirius shot James a look before clenching his jaw. “No choir practice today? No study sessions with Cissa or Reg? Wait, no, I’ve got it. Slughorn’s dinner party? Or is it detention with McGonagall today? Does her highness finally feel up to talking to the peasants?”

You inhaled sharply. “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

But this — is what you deserved. You had hurt them badly, so it was only right for them to stomp on your heart for everyone to see, just as you did to them many times this month. 

A sob tore from your lips as you swivelled on your heels, ready to flee the scene and never show your face to anyone else ever again. Yet, before you could leave, Remus clamped his hand over your wrist. 

“Why?” He stared at you, searching for anything that could explain your sudden behaviour. Remus looked at you with such emotion, tightly holding onto you — but never enough to hurt, because Remus could never be capable of hurting you. He’d die before he would ever cause you pain. 

 (You made him feel unafraid of the moon.) 

“Was. . . was it something I did?” Remus asked, laying his wounds bare for you to see. “Was it me?”

“I love you!” You shouted in the midst of panic — you had never wanted to cause Remus to doubt himself. Your loud declaration had caught the attention of some, but you stood on, curling your fists firmly. You needed to do this. 

“I love you.” You said once more, breathlessly, staring right into James’s eyes. Such a beautiful shade of hazel. “I love each one of you. And it. . . it hurts right here.” Tears dripped from your eyes to the side of your chin as you splayed your hand over where your heart rested. 

“Because you don’t feel the same.” 

The four of them simply gazed at you, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. 

You took that as confirmation for what you had been fearing all along. 

“And that’s okay if you don’t,” You snivelled, unable to see clearly with the streams of tears in your eyes. You thought of how Sirius melted at Lily’s touch and how Remus was the anchor to James’s wild streak. How they all complemented each other and fit perfectly like puzzle pieces. “Just give me a few months, and I’ll get over it. It’s a stupid crush anyway, it’s my fault. The four of you are perfect together, how could—”

“Shut up,” James hissed before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. Cherries and pumpkin pasties. He kissed you deeply once more before pressing his lips to your eyes, desperately washing away your tears with his devotion. “Was that it? We could have been doing this ages ago.”

“What?” You rasped, knees buckling at the weight of his gaze.

James only smiled, stealing your third kiss. 

Sirius pulled your hand, his arm encasing your waist as you stumbled to his chest. Like James, he kissed you fervently, like he wanted to chase off all your fears and doubts. His lips were warm against yours — firewhiskey. You wanted to be burnt by his flames again and again. He held you close, committing every inch to memory. 

(You were art that he wanted to worship.)

He kissed your forehead. “We love you, daft girl.”

He kissed both of your eyes, chuckling when a new wave of tears came. “We have loved you ever since you burnt my mother’s howler in fourth year, and gave us poorly-knitted sweaters for Christmas.” 

“I love you,” said Sirius. “As certain as the spring that arrives after winter, I love you.” 

You snuffled. “I. . . I don’t understand.” 

Remus stepped in your line of sight to place his jacket over you — it was Sirius’s leather jacket, really, but Remus liked to claim it occasionally. He bundled you in earmuffs and rested his chin atop your head, exhaling in relief. “I thought it was me.” 

You shook your head, clinging to the front of his shirt. “No, never. It was me. I’m sorry.” 

Remus grinned wolfishly, eyes swooping down to your kiss-stained lips. (There you were, standing in the snow that threatened to melt, eyes rimmed with tears, hair wildly ablaze from the cold breeze, cheeks damp and red — but how devastatingly beautiful you were.) “May I?” 

You nodded. “P-Please.”

Blueberries and dark chocolate. Remus whispered against your lips, “If it wasn’t already clear, the feeling is bloody mutual — we love you, just as the moon loves the sun enough to chase after it every day.” He grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart, you were surprised to see him holding back tears of his own. “All my life, I thought I was this monster who didn’t deserve to live. But you, all of you, make me selfish enough to want to belong here.” 

He kissed you desperately, words of adoration and love falling from his lips. 

Finally, your eyes settled on Lily. You waited for her reaction with a bated breath. 

You hadn’t expected for her to burst into tears as she rushed over to you. 

“Don’t you ever do that again,” said Lily angrily before circling you in her embrace, burying her nose in your hair. You hugged her back, drowning in her scent and warmth. “You are deserving of all the things you want, so don’t run away — if you run, we’d follow you, idiot girl.” 

Then, Lily captured your lips with her own. 

She tasted like happy endings.

note: 4k words and 6 hours later, here we are! let it be known i was THE poly marauders enthusiast years ago. i always wanted one with lily in the polycule so here we are. this is me manifesting my college romance, y'all. look away. anyways, i hoped u enjoyed it!! brought a smile to your face and all!! might make a part two for more fluff and to establish more relationship dynamics since this was written on a whim ;D also i planned a cute scene with peter as well, so i'll just write that in part two el em ay yo.

[helloilikepurple]

Danny Fenton is fourteen when he dies. He's fifteen when he ceases to exist.

All traces of Danny Fenton just gone. No records, no photos, no memories. It's like he was never born. Naturally, without Danny to turn on the portal comes no ghosts, so no Danny Fenton also means the GIW never came to be. Time is carefully set back on Amity Park. There are no longer any ghost sirens, charms, merch, or cracks in the pavement from Vlad knocking him out of the sky or scorch marks on the side of buildings from Skulker's stray shots.

The Fenton's only have one child, a smart, ginger woman who's pursuing psychology in some top-league out of state college like Harvard or Yale or Brown. There's no little brother to keep her confined to the little town in nowhere Illinois where she was born.

Sam and Tucker never became friends, because there was no Danny Fenton to bring them together.

The Fenton's portal never turns on, so they focus their research on the ambient ectoplasm in the air around them. They become leading scientists in clean energy. Ectoplasm is the perfect resource; endlessly reusable, infinite supplies that never deplete, no negative effects on the environment.

Danny Fenton is no one. There is no Danny Fenton. There never was.

And the world is better for it.

Danny doesn't exist, there is no place for him, nowhere for him to go.

This was the only way to stop the GIW from starting a war with the Infinite Realms. It was the only solution.

It still hurts.

Danny is fifteen. He has no last name anymore, no family, no friends, and no home. He could live in the Ghost Zone, but he doesn't want to. He's still human, even if it's only half. He doesn't want to go. It feels final, like turning his back once and for all on all he knew and was.

So he does the only thing he can think to do and watches the stars.

In the frozen tundra, no one around for miles, Phantom lays in the snow and stares up into the speckled darkness. He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. He stays so completely still he's entirely dead.

The snow doesn't bury him. The sun never rises.

It doesn't stop snowing.

Danny doesn't exist.

He's dead.

What is he supposed to do now? Go and be Prince of the In Between? He doesn't want to. He wants to go home. He wants to cuddle up with Jazz and play Doomed with Sam and Tucker. He wants to hug his dad. He wants his mum to sing to him like she used to when he was little enough they still tucked him into bed.

Maybe he just won't do anything. Maybe he'll just stay here forever, not Danny or Phantom and far from alive. Just nothing. He's nothing. Nothing and no one.

---

Nobody can see the sun.

It's still there, of course. All you need to do is leave the atmosphere and bam, there it is. On Earth though? No sign of it.

It's like they've fallen into an eternal night.

Best part?

It's caused by very powerful magic.

Listen, Batman has a lot of patience. A lot. But it's been two weeks of this, Zatanna's off-world, Constantine's only just answered his goddamn phone and the planet has collectively decided panic is the only course of action. He's been Bruce Wayne for a collective ten hours in the past fourteen days. It's ridiculous.

Thankfully it only takes Constantine a few minutes to track the source to somewhere in the Antarctic after he finally shows up.

[jjbalice]

Martyr's Folly

Summary: Yunho helps and comforts the reader after they've accidentally cut too deep.

Genre: a hurt/comfort Yunho x reader oneshot

Word count: 4.81k (15-20 mins)

Trigger warnings: semi-descriptive self-harm (blood, cuts, use of blades - nothing too crazy, though, don't worry!), panicking, crying, mentions of relapsing, lots of pet names, nicknames, and physical affection lol, Yunho is a blessing

A/N: This fic is pretty personal since I've been struggling with not feeling valid enough because of the way I SH, which isn't the stereotypical kind you see in movies and such. In a way, it's an attempt at scaring myself from buying any actual blades mixed in with the comfort I crave whenever I slip up, I guess.

Baby cuts. Cat scratches. Damage dealt within the epidermis and the higher half of the dermis. Whatever you want to call it.

For a few weeks now, that's exactly what has been slowly but steadily appearing on your feet and lower calves. Or re-appearing, rather. A bad habit from the past coming back to haunt you all over again for no apparent reason.

No but seriously, what reason for doing this is there? You're happy, you have a stable part-time job on the side of your studies that are also going great, and an incredible boyfriend with whom you've just celebrated a 6-month anniversary. No real issues in your life as far as you can see.

Sure, sometimes you get caught up in a fight with your friends or parents, or even with Yunho, or maybe some of your insecurities hit extra strong on some days. But all of that is normal, right? Just some passing obstacles that get resolved in a few days tops.

So why are you here, at 3 am, staring at the husk of a person in the mirror? Why is your head so empty yet incomprehensibly full at the same time? Why are your hands all fidgety, getting ready to strike any moment?

Truth be told, you have no clue.

This was supposed to be a lovely weekend for you. You got off work early on Friday, securing enough time to pack your stuff at your dorm before heading to Yunho's apartment for a sleepover. He's been trying to convince you to move in with him after your anniversary, saying how it would be both cheaper and closer to your university. Both of those arguments are true, and yet you remain stubborn, wanting to keep your independence for just a bit longer.

Alas, Yunho has no choice but to respect your decision and settle for weekend sleepovers in the meantime.

And even those are great! The two of you get to talk for hours and play games, cook dinner together or order in and watch TV... Mainly, though, you get to cuddle and snuggle to your hearts' content (and maybe even do a bit more than that, if the opportunity and want arises).

That's also one of the main reasons for your hesitance over this whole... relapse thing.

Because of Yunho and his affectionate nature towards you, hiding the traces of your renewed habits became much more difficult. You couldn't cut where you used to before, all of those areas feeling way too exposed now.

And so, you settled on the bottom of your legs. Anything a pair of longer socks could easily hide without too much questioning from your boyfriend. Let's just say your feet are cold all the time now, even though summer's just barely starting to end.

Is it satisfying to harm there? No, not at all. The area is too small and angular, and the pain-to-mark ratio is nowhere near optimal. Everything feels too bony and stings more than other places, and all you get from it are the faintest of scratches.

But anything to at least partially quell the urge, right?

Well, not exactly.

If the razor blade hidden within the confines of your duffel bag was any proof, your methods weren't exactly effective.

You've never used an actual razor blade before, never even planned on trying it since you knew about the dangers of using it and how everything could get out of hand within seconds. Sure, the scissors and other sharp objects you've used until now weren't exactly perfect either, but they didn't put you at as much of a risk of going to the ER.

...So why did you buy the blade then?

Well, it was pretty cheap, first of all. You could just buy it, think about using it, and then throw it out without feeling too guilty about it, right? Not to mention how it helped you feel more valid about harming, even if you haven't used it yet. Self-harm is always depicted as razor blades on wrists, so even just owning one somehow helped you feel a bit more valid amidst the disappointing scratches on your leg.

It's been a week since you've bought said blade (or 5 blades rather, as they came in a pack - what a steal!). During that week, not much has happened to it. Right after you paid and got your receipt, you tossed the paper into a nearby trash can and stashed the pack of blades into your wallet. And there they were even later tonight, as you quietly crept to your bag to retrieve them, careful not to wake Yunho up.

But let's rewind back a bit. Back to where today's misfortune started.

Just like with everything else lately, you don't know why the urge to indulge washed over you specifically tonight. You and Yunho have spent such a fun evening together, lounging around and enjoying each other in whatever way felt right.

And yet, the moment the lights were turned off and your boyfriend spooned you from behind, holding you close while his breathing slowly evened out, it was as if something had shifted in the air. An overwhelming sense of emptiness washed over you, making you feel both completely dull and overstimulated. Yunho's arms around you felt both like an anchor and a vice, the opposing feelings adding even more to the already rising chaos in your mind. You were suddenly overly aware of every part of your body, as if your own skin was calling out to you.

You didn't want to.

You knew you had to.

As gently and quietly as you could, you unwrapped yourself from Yunho's embrace and got up. He let out a soft sigh at the loss of contact, and you had to admit, you already mourned it too.

Sneaking into the bathroom, you closed the door before turning on the lights. Avoiding the reflection in the mirror, you began searching through the cabinet under the sink. You didn't want to see yourself right now. If anything, it would just add to the confusing conflict raging within you, and you really didn't need that.

Rummaging through each shelf one more time, you let out a frustrated huff. There was nothing you could use. Well, save for the expensive-looking razor Yunho owned, but you really didn't have the patience or coherency to take apart your boyfriend's belongings.

It's time, then.

The return to the bedroom was a bit stressful, as you couldn't decide between searching through your duffel bag there or bringing it with you to the bathroom. Both options seemed too noisy right now, causing you to awkwardly loom over the bag for a few moments, chewing nervously on your bottom lip.

In the end, you decided to just risk it, crouching down to begin unzipping the top. Strangely enough, you kind of hoped Yunho would hear it and wake up. Maybe the shock of being caught would stop you for the time being and you could just go back to bed.

To both your luck and dismay, Yunho didn't wake up, his biggest reaction being the slightest stir of the sheets.

With your wallet in hand, you walked back to the bathroom, your steps a bit bolder this time. Now that you knew Yunho wouldn't wake up so easily, you didn't pay as much mind to the noise you were making.

In a weird way, you were upset. Upset he didn't wake up. Upset he didn't magically realize what your new obsession with socks could possibly mean. Upset he wasn't there to stop you right now.

But along with the upset came a strange feeling of calm. Joy, even.

He doesn't know. Nobody has any idea you're doing this right now. Nobody cares enough to find out anyway. You're free to reign over your body as you please, especially if it will finally shut down the confusing mess of emotions boiling within you.

It will, right?

It's 3 am. You're staying over at Yunho's apartment and he's currently sleeping in the bedroom next-door. You finally gather enough courage to look at yourself in the mirror, but it's rather disappointing. The shell standing in front of you doesn't bring up any emotions anymore. It doesn't even look like you, you think. Maybe this isn't you, after all. That's what you like to tell yourself whenever the moment is over, that this isn't actually the real you harming yourself. This is someone else taking hold of you and your upcoming actions.

You sit down on the cold bathroom floor, a razor blade in hand. When did you unpack them? The small paper packaging and 4 other blades are lying right next to you. Huh. Guess you did just now.

You don't bother taking off the socks. A precious thing like this shouldn't be used in such a shitty spot anyways.

Then again, you also don't exactly want to die right now, so the wrists are off-limits. Sure, you want to feel more valid and that place is the most stereotypical one to cut, but you're already holding the blade you thought you'd never dare use, so that's enough "progress" for now.

Now that you think about it, the thighs sound pretty scary too. You've always heard of some major arteries being located in the thigh. Perhaps you shouldn't risk it there then. Not yet, at least.

And so, like a coward, you move back to your lower leg.

To your defense, you do go considerably higher than usual! You pick a nice spot that's vaguely in the middle of the side of your leg, where your shins and calves would meet.

Deep breaths. You can do this. Just brace yourself and-

...

...

Oh fuck.

No, no, no nonono-

You knew the risks, you knew you should watch out for the pressure when using a razor blade for the first time since it's so much sharper than any pair of scissors you own, but somehow even the lessened pressure you put was too much.

Within seconds, blood started flowing to the surface. You dropped the blade, making it fly in a random direction as your hands trembled.

Your eyes welled with tears as, despite the blood, you could see a gash way deeper than any cut you'd ever made until now; you could literally see two parts of your skin split-

You're gonna throw up. Or faint. Or both. Oh fuck.

The first drops of blood fell onto the tiles just as your own tears pooled over. Your chest heaved with your labored breathing. You didn't know what to do.

Should you go to the ER? Will it stop on its own? Should you wake Yunho up? Oh god, you should probably wake Yunho up, shouldn't you.

Wiping your tear-stained face as best as you could with your shirt, you crawled over to the bathroom door. You were too scared to walk, afraid you'd faint if you stood up so suddenly.

As you sat by the door, another sob wracked through you. You couldn't calm down, you were too scared of what might happen if you didn't take care of the gash in time. And yet, you couldn't help but fear what might happen if you woke Yunho up. Now that you think about it, maybe it will just stop on its own and you can hide it for the rest of the weekend and then you'll just make up a story of how you got into an accident at work and-

One look at the trail of blood behind you was enough to get your hands on the door handle, pulling the door open on your second try. The door handle flew back up with a loud bang as you dropped back down, but the door was open at last. You pulled it fully open from where you sat, taking a few shallow breaths once you did so.

"...Y/N?"

Now. Now he wakes up. Not at any point before you could have done this. Now.

In the back of your mind, a strange feeling of anger bubbled up. Somehow, you wanted to blame Yunho for not getting to you sooner. But the second you realized what your brain was trying to do, you felt another pang of nausea hit you.

Yunho was not to blame in the slightest. This is all you. You started this, you went through with it, and now you're crawling back to him for help. Don't even try to put any blame on him, no matter how much easier it would make this whole thing to stomach.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

Right, he was awake. The shuffling of the sheets coming from the bedroom confirmed as much.

You tried to call out to him but choked on another sob instead.

All of your fear of being seriously hurt and needing help immediately shifted, transforming into the most heart-wrenching wave of guilt imaginable. Just what have you done? Why are you burdening someone else with this? Are you really going to make him see this?

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the first footstep. All the raging panic hit you anew, making you speak before you could think.

"W-wait!" You cried, an unknown feeling of desperation clutching your chest. "Please, please don't come here, please."

To your surprise, the footsteps actually stopped.

"...I'm waiting, but please tell me what's going on," Yunho replied with obvious unease.

Well, uh. You haven't exactly thought this far, have you?

"O-okay, I, well, I," you stumbled over your words, trying to work through the mush of your brain to come up with anything even barely comprehensible. "I did something really bad and I think I need your help but you have to promise not to be mad. I don't know what to do but please don't be upset."

Selfish. That's what you were. Even amongst all this chaos and pain you were about to drag Yunho into, all you could think about was saving your own face and evading consequences.

"Y/N, I'm sorry but I'm coming in," Yunho suddenly announced, and the footsteps resumed. "I need to see if you're okay, I promise I won't be mad."

There was no escaping it now. You could only brace yourself for the worst, whatever that would entail.

Two feet stood before your hunched-over form. You didn't dare look up, you didn't dare see what he was feeling.

As carefully as he could, Yunho stepped around you and further into the bathroom. You heard the scraping of metal across tiles before the cabinet doors opened. A towel, a first aid kit, and a medium-sized, colorful box appeared before you, along with your boyfriend in his cozy pajamas. Still, you didn't dare look up.

Wordlessly, he propped your injured leg up as gently as he could, as if he was handling the finest china in the world. Placing the dark grey towel under it, blood immediately rolled down and seeped into the material.

"Okay, this might seem a bit weird, but just- I'm not an expert or anything, far from it, really, but-"

As Yunho rambled nervously, you watched his hands tear open a pack of pads. Ever since your sleepovers became a more regular thing, he'd made sure to keep some in his apartment at all times in case of an emergency. Never had he thought he'd use them in this type of emergency, though.

You watched in confusion as he pulled out one of the pads, opening it and double-checking which side was sticky and which was dry. Unable to hide his worried grimace as he got closer to the wound, he pressed the cotton pad against it.

"I- I probably have something better in the first aid kit to stop the bleeding, but while I look through it, just hold that down to the cut, okay?"

You nodded weakly, deciding not to ask any questions and just let your boyfriend try to fix you. Not that you could say much anyway, not with the way your throat had dried and closed up from all the anxiety.

You silently kept watch as Yunho fumbled through the red bag, noticing the slight tremors in his hands. When you looked at his face, however, it appeared surprisingly neutral.

Ah, so he was trying to stay calm to not worry you any further, but on the inside, he was freaking out just as much as you, if not more. Great. You didn't think you could feel more guilt than you already had, but guess not.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long," he spoke up again, "Mingi would get injured all the time before he'd moved out - you know how clumsy he can get - and I, uh, haven't exactly taken the time to re-organize everything. Sorry."

Your lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, along with a hushed "It's okay, babe".

Yunho's eyes shot up at your words, mirroring your soft smile with his own. Pausing his search for just a second, he leaned over and planted a quick, reassuring kiss on your forehead. "You're right. I'll take good care of you, don't worry. After the first accident Mingi had here, I bought some steri-strips... They should still be around here somewhere, but we threw the original packaging away, so they're just a bit hard to find."

You hummed in understanding, hoping you could ease at least some of his worries by showing him you were doing alright.

Somehow, the moment Yunho appeared in the doorway, all of your previous panic stopped. It was as if through his presence, the jumbled mess of worries surrounding you had split into two. Yunho had graciously shouldered the worries about your physical state, while you focused on keeping his mental well-being in check. All of the fear about his reaction to this situation as a whole was still there, of course, but for the time being, you'd managed to shove them to the back of your mind. It was something to worry about later, when the two of you could calm down and properly talk to each other.

For now, all you had to do was just worry about Yunho while he worried about you.

"Finally!" Yunho sighed in relief, fishing out two small packs of steri-strips. "Okay. Let's do this, then."

But as he shuffled closer to your leg again, he paused.

"Wait, I'm sorry for assuming," he began while opening the first set, "but you don't want to go to the hospital, right? They'd obviously do a much better job than me, but since you said you needed my help, I just, I guessed that- you know. Should we go to the hospital instead?"

You immediately shook your head no, making Yunho smile faintly, glad to have read you right and that he wasn't wasting time trying to play hero.

You were thankful he didn't insist on taking you to the hospital. You knew it would probably be for the best, but right now, in your state, you couldn't even fathom going. You were terrified just crawling to the door to beg for Yunho's help, let alone driving to the opposite part of town to have complete strangers examine you.

"Right then," Yunho sighed, mentally steeling himself for the next step. "Can you feel your leg fine? Feeling faint or anything?"

You just shook your head, slowly easing the pressure you held on the cut. "I'm okay, I think. Just a little shaken up still."

Yunho nodded thoughtfully, helping you unstick the bloody pad from your hand. Luckily, it seemed that most of the bleeding had stopped, at least for now. "It's okay, I'm a bit out of it too."

"Sorry for making you do this," you whispered sincerely, but Yunho quickly stopped you again.

"Don't be sorry, Y/N. I know you didn't mean to do this. You wouldn't have called for me like that if things went down the way you wanted them to."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything after that, feeling your throat tighten as a fresh wave of tears rushed to your eyes.

You averted your gaze as Yunho began cleaning the area as gently as he could before placing the strips down, helping hold the wound shut. Four strips helped the cut close up, and then two were laid on top of them to help everything stay put. Despite no professional medical training, you swear your boyfriend could do anything like an expert first-try. Well, considering him saying something about treating Mingi's injuries, he might have actually trained a bit already. Either way, you could feel your nerves easing a considerable bit at the sight of the gash finally closed-up.

"There we go," Yunho said contently, giving your other leg a gentle pat. "Just stay put a little longer, okay? I'm gonna clean up a bit in here."

Oh, that's right.

You were so out of it you completely forgot about the blades scattered around, the blood dripping across the floor, the towel, pads, first aid kit, everything.

Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your breathing. It has mostly returned to normal, but you could still feel a lot of tightness in your chest.

"Hey now, don't go falling asleep on me, okay?" You heard Yunho calling out to you a few meters away, making you peek one eye open.

He was kneeling by the sink, scrubbing at the dirty tiles. When he noticed you looking at him, he flashed you a quick, comforting smile.

"'m not falling asleep," you protested, "I'm just resting a bit, sorry."

"It's okay, I was just a little worried."

Yeah. That's definitely one way to put how Yunho was likely feeling right now.

But that could be dwelled on and discussed later. For now, all you had to do was sit still, breathe deep, and stay strong.

...

"You still with me, princess?"

You opened your eyes again, this time to find Yunho sitting in front of you. You don't know how much time has passed, too focused on pacing your breaths, saying the alphabet forwards and backwards, thinking about your favorite TV show moments - anything to calm down, really.

When he saw you were still fully awake, he pulled out a gauze bandage with a small smile. "We should be fine with just the steri-strips, but let me wrap this up for you to be one hundred percent safe, okay?"

You let him do as he pleased, trusting his judgment better than your own at the moment. As he bandaged your leg, you looked around the room, noticing everything was back the way it was before you'd entered.

"I put the, uh, the blades away for now," Yunho continued, a nervous edge to his tone. "I didn't want to just throw them away without permission, but leaving them out here in the open didn't seem like a great idea either. Sorry if it seems distrustful, it's just... you know."

"You're scared I might do it again," you finished for him, making him nod hesitantly. "It's okay, I get it."

It was honestly surprising how easy it was to talk to Yunho about this. Maybe it's because he already saw the worst of it, maybe it was the way he took such gentle care of you, or maybe it was just his entire attitude about this so far. Caring, non-judgemental, open to listen.

"Alright then, I think we're done here. Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Before you could respond, you were picked up by a pair of strong, warm hands. You wanted to object for a split second, but on second thought, maybe it was in your best interest not to move too much right now.

A few moments later, you were laid back down on the bed, a soft kiss pressed to your temple before you were shrouded in your blanket. With a whispered promise of returning again, Yunho rushed back to turn off the lights and close the door, enveloping the two of you in darkness. You waited a second, two, and then the bed dipped behind you with a quiet creak.

"Come here." Yunho's arms wrapped around your waist from behind again, holding you closer than before. "Is this okay? Should I give you space?"

"It's fine, Yuyu."

His chest shook with a small chuckle. "Oh come on, don't call me that right now." He somehow snuggled up even closer to you, pressing his face into your neck. "I'm already emotional enough as is."

A beat or two of silence passed between the two of you before he spoke up again.

"Was this," Yunho paused, hesitating for a second, "was this the first time you did something like this, or are there... more?"

You sighed. "Well, this was the first time I've messed up like this and used an actual razor blade, but in general? There's been a few instances, yeah. Most of them happened years ago, but lately, it started up again."

Yunho stayed quiet this time. As the silence stretched on, you began to grow worried. Is this the moment where he gets mad at you?

A sniffle broke through the air, quickly followed by another. The hold around your waist tightened.

"It's the socks, isn't it?" Yunho barely choked out, voice trembling.

Never have you felt so guilty in your life before.

"I thought it was weird, I wanted to ask you about it, I really did," he sobbed, burying his wet face further into your shirt. "I didn't want to make you feel bad about it if it was genuinely just something you preferred, so I held back, but it worried me anyway. I should have asked so much sooner."

"Yu..." You tried to turn around in his embrace, but he stopped you, not letting you see his tearful eyes. "Honey, it's not your fault in the slightest, please don't beat yourself up about it."

"But I should have-"

"Just listen to the same advice you gave me, hm? You never wanted this to happen, you wouldn't be so torn up about it otherwise. It's really not your fault."

With what you assumed to be a watery hum of agreement, Yunho nodded into your back.

You tried to turn around again, and this time, Yunho finally let you. You watched as his silhouette sat up, reaching around for the tissue box on the nightstand before wiping his tears and blowing his nose.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, crumpling the tissue and putting it away, "you're the one hurting and I'm making it all about myself."

You tutted softly as he laid back down, shuffling closer to him to drape yourself over his broad chest. "That's not true, Yun. I know this is really hard on you as well, you have all the right to be upset. Please don't hide it just because I'm also in pain."

"Okay," he accepted, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

The room stayed quiet for another few minutes, save for the faint rustling of the sheets as you intertwined one of your hands with his.

"If it's okay," Yunho croaked in a careful, ginger tone, "could we maybe talk more about this tomorrow? I feel like I have over a million questions right now, but I don't want to overwhelm you when you should be resting."

You let out a small, sleepy chuckle. "Yeah, that sounds good. I think I'll also feel a bit better if we talk about this some more tomorrow. It's a bit embarrassing even now when I know that you know, but I trust you enough to share this part of me, I think."

Yunho leaned down to kiss the top of your head, making you smile. "Thank you, you have no idea how much that means to me. And please, never feel embarrassed about this. Just because this stuff is not talked about enough doesn't mean your feelings are wrong or not valid. We'll figure this out together, I promise. No matter what it takes."

"Okay. I look forward to tomorrow," you said, pressing a quick peck to his sternum before lying down again. "Goodnight, Yuyu."

"Goodnight, love."

Please, don't hesitate to reblog or comment!! Any kind of feedback is much appreciated!! <333

(Also would once again like to say that this was not meant to romanticize SH in any way, and I hope it did not come across that way. Take care, everyone <3)

[firewasabeast]

The Dinner

This is going to end up being a 4 part series on Meeting the Parents, where each part can be read individually. You can read on ao3, or continue below.

It was a few months after the wedding before Margaret and Phillip could get back to Los Angeles for another visit. They arrived two days before Halloween, wanting to go around the neighborhood trick or treating with Jee. It was the first year she'd really understand the holiday, and they were excited to experience it with her.

On their first night in town, Tommy and Buck were coming over for dinner.

While Tommy had briefly met them at the wedding, it wasn't more than a handshake and a hello before Jee was pulling her grandparents in one direction, and Evan was pulling him in another.

And now Buck was playing with Jee in the living room while Tommy helped plate the rolls.

“How do you feel about officially meeting the Buckley parents, Thomas?” Chimney asked, leaning against the counter.

“I was fine until Evan woke me up with a powerpoint presentation on what to and not to do.”

Maddie, who was fiddling at the table, looked over at Buck. “He's joking, right?”

Buck shook his head. “You can never be too prepared.”

Maddie rolled her eyes before turning to Tommy, a smile on her face. “Don't worry about it, Tommy. They've mellowed a lot over the past few years. Not perfect, obviously, but better.”

“Is that why you've reset the table five times?” Chimney asked, grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge.

“Hush.” She tilted her head, staring at the centerpiece before moving it slightly to the left. “Seriously, Tommy. You'll be fine.”

There was a knock, and Jee squealed as she jumped up and ran to the door.

Everyone trailed after her, Tommy moving to Buck's side.

After a prolonged hello to Jee, they greeted Maddie and Howie before moving on to Buck.

“Hi Mom, Dad,” he said, a hug for his mom and handshake for his dad. “You remember-”

“Thomas,” Tommy interrupted, holding out his hand to Margaret first. “Nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.”

Buck but at his lip, trying to prevent himself from bursting into laughter. It was so interesting seeing Tommy like this. He was usually so calm, cool, and collected. His nerves very rarely appeared, so it was like a special treat when they did.

“Oh, come here,” Margaret said, bypassing his hand and wrapping him in a hug.

Tommy returned it, looking at Chimney with wide eyes.

Chimney himself looked surprised too, which felt like a good sign.

Once Margaret was finished, Phillip shook Tommy's hand. “Good to see you too, Thomas.”

They settled in and Tommy took what felt like the first breath since this morning. Maddie grinned at him with two thumbs up, which made him feel even more relaxed.

He'd never been so anxious to meet the parents of someone he was with before. Honestly, he'd only done it a couple of times. Once in high school, when he met the parents of the girl he took to prom. She ended up ditching him for her friends about halfway through the dance, so he never had to see them again.

Then there was Joey's parents. A guy he'd dated on and off after he first came out. They were... not a good match, but he just so happened to be at Joey's house when his mom showed up out of the blue. One awkward brunch later, he and Joey broke up for good a few minutes after she walked out the door.

Maybe that's why he was so nervous. The two times he'd met someone's parents, it ended in a breakup.

He couldn't think like that right now though.

Everything would be fine. He could do this.

*****

Dinner went surprisingly smooth. Most of the attention had been on Jee during dinner, but she got bored before dessert and headed into her bedroom to play.

That's when the questions started coming in.

“So, Thomas, Ev- Buck mentioned you also work for the fire department,” Margaret began, “but at a different station?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes, Ma'am. I'm a pilot at Harbor Station. It's about twenty minutes from the 118... or an hour with the traffic,” he added, getting a laugh from both Buckley parents.

“Dangerous job,” Phillip noted. “Rewarding though, I'm sure.”

“Oh, yes, Sir. Very rewarding.”

“So, you and Buck don't ever really get to see each other at work?” Margaret asked.

“Sometimes. I work ground ops every once in a while and we'll see each other. But when I am in the air, Evan likes to take pictures and send them to me,” he added, smiling over at Buck.

Margaret and Phillip shared a glance. Even out of the corner of Buck's eye, he could see his parents looking at one another. He knew they were silently discussing the fact that Tommy gets away with calling him by his given name. Something he'd steadfastly reminded them not to do.

He waited, heartbeat rising, for them to bring it up.

Instead, Margaret smiled. “So, how'd you two meet?”

"He flew us through a hurricane to rescue Cap and Athena."

"Buck." Maddie eyed him, a silent why would you say that?

He knew how protective his parents were. How they hated to think of him in danger. How saying something like that could cause tension between all of them, especially with Tommy.

Buck simply shrugged. "It's true."

"It's alright," Margaret reassured them. "Phillip and I are learning to come to terms with the fact that the job Buck has is a dangerous one. But life's a risk, right? We- We know you're taking every precaution to be safe."

Tommy reached out and rested his hand on Buck's thigh. "Yes," he agreed. "And technically we didn't fly through the hurricane, we flew through the outskirts of a hurricane."

"And Tommy's overly qualified," Chimney chimed in, for good measure. "That's why I asked him to take us. It's also why I claim to be matchmaker."

"Well, seeing as you're all in one piece," Phillip said, folding his hands on the table. "Why don't you tell us more about this helicopter-matchmaking adventure?"

The conversation continued for a while. It wasn't all focused on Tommy, thankfully. They went around the table swapping stories and sharing anecdotes. They never even batted an eye when Tommy moved his hand to Evan's back, rubbing softly. He did it almost unconsciously, nearly freezing up when he realized it. He had been told that the Buckley's weren't homophobic. But it was one thing to not care with other people, and another to not care with your own kid. However, their reaction, or lack thereof, was the final confirmation that Tommy needed to know everything was okay and they truly didn't mind.

*****

When it was time for Jee to head to bed, she demanded Uncle Tommy fly her to the room like a “helichopter” so, of course, he did. Then she demanded her mommy, daddy, and Uncle Buck read her a story together, so Tommy headed back out to the living room with the Buckley's to sit and chat.

“She calls you Uncle Tommy,” Margaret said, nearly beaming.

Tommy smiled. “Yeah, that started a couple months ago. I think she knows it's a surefire way to get me to say yes to whatever she asks. Evan jokes me about it all the time.”

“Okay, I have to ask-”

“Margaret,” Phillip warned.

She waved him off. “I'm just asking.” She leaned in close, almost like she was about to reveal some deep, dark secret.

Tommy sure hoped that wasn't it. He'd heard all about their last deep, dark secret.

“He lets you call him Evan. How'd you manage that?”

Tommy fought to hide his grin. “That's how he introduced himself when we met,” he explained. “Once I realized no one else ever called him that, I tried calling him Buck, but he gave me a funny look and told me to stick with Evan.”

Tommy knew Evan didn't hate his name. Knew others called him by it sometimes. He also knew that his parents calling him Buck was important to him. A way to show they were finally listening to what he wanted, and they were respecting him.

Tommy almost expected this to be where the trouble came in. Maybe this is where the Buckley's stuck up their nose and asked what made him so special? Evan had warned him about it during the presentation that morning.

They didn't do that though. Instead they looked... happy? Excited even.

“You a basketball fan?” Phillip asked, opting for a change of subject.

“Yes, Sir. Love it.”

“Professional or college?”

“I prefer professional, but I watch both.”

“I've been wanting to go to a game for years, but it's a little boring to go alone. We're coming back in a couple months for another visit. You and I should find a game.”

“I'd love that.” Tommy couldn't seem to agree fast enough. The fact that his boyfriend's dad actually wanted to hang out and spend time with him made him feel like he was in a dream world. “I think the Lakers usually play in Vegas that time of year. I could fly us out for a game,” he offered with a shrug. “I go there pretty regularly.”

“Uh oh,” Margaret joked. “Wrong thing to say. He'll be taking you up on those offers all the time.”

“That's fine with me,” Tommy assured her. “I love to fly. Evan and I go on little trips every time we have a few days off together. He's always finding new places for us to go within a couple hours of here.”

“Tell you what,” Phillip said, tipping his beer toward Tommy, “you fly us there, the tickets are on me.”

“Oh, you don't-”

“No, no. I insist.”

“Just nod and say okay,” Margaret faux-whispered.

Tommy laughed, but nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good. Now, if you'll excuse me,” Phillip said, setting his beer on the coffee table before he went to stand. “I need to use the restroom. Be right back.”

Once Phillip had rounded the corner to head down the hall, Margaret scooted closer to Tommy, a smile playing on her face. “You don't go by Thomas, do you?”

Tommy let out a breathy laugh. “No, Ma'am. No, I don't.”

She nodded. “I figured. Tommy, then, right?”

“Yes, Ma'am. Thomas is fine though, if you prefer it.”

She reached over and patted him on the arm. “No, Tommy is what you go by, Tommy is what you'll be called. And please, call me Margaret, and my husband Phillip. No need for formalities.”

“Yes, Ma'- Margaret.”

“You're a good man, Tommy,” she said, her face serious but sincere. “You're good for Buck.”

Tommy could feel his heart swell. “I'd argue he's good for me.”

“You're good for each other,” she compromised. “I've never seen him so happy, so settled. He may think I don't know him, and maybe I don't as well as I should, but I know that.” A happy blush rose on her cheeks. “I have a funny feeling you'll be calling us Mom and Dad sometime soon.”

Tommy felt overwhelmed. He'd never expected her to say anything like that, but he loved the sound of it. He was right near having to blink back tears as Buck walked out into the living room. “Jee caught Dad on his way out from the bathroom,” he said to his mom. “She's asking for you now.”

“Off I go,” Margaret said with a giggle, giving Tommy another pat before she got up and left.

Buck sat down beside Tommy, tilting his head when he saw the dazed expression on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, wrapping Tommy's arm up in his.

Tommy smiled at him, then leaned over and gave him a kiss.

“Mm,” Buck moaned in surprise, the kiss ending with a pop. “What was that for?”

“I just... I've had a really good night. And I love you.”

Buck snuggled closer to him, laying his head on his shoulder. “I love you too.”

As he rested there, Buck went over the night in his head. There had been no awkward moments. No moments where Buck felt embarrassed or upset.

Tommy never had to defend him or himself.

They had even managed to be alone with Tommy for an extended period and Tommy seemed... happy about it?

His parents actually got along with Tommy really well.

Buck was glad.

He was glad his parents liked Tommy.

There was no problem.

He wasn't jealous at all.

Honest.

[transmascaraa]

Readers lover heard a scream from the readers room - instantly alarmed, they go see just what the heck happened to find that.... ....the reader was building one of those mini-lego sets (If you've ever seen sanrio Lego stuff, like smaller Lego than usual) and was screaming from anger as they've been searching for one piece they just can't find for the past hour.

multiple characters headcannons!

building lego isn't easy.

characters: gaming, wanderer, xiao x gn!reader

author's note: sorry for the lack of posts guys🤷‍♂️ life is tough but we'll get through it💪 anyways i love the silly idea‼️ ENJOYYYYYY

☆ Gaming

-you we're building your legos in peace until you realized that you were missing a piece.

-well, you lost it somewhere, because you could've sworn it was there when you were checking if you had all the parts.

-after a bit of searching, you just scream and lay down on the floor helplessly.

-ofc he got concerned, so he immediately came to the room.

-"WHAT- WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT'S WRONG, MY LOVE?!?"

-he's freaking out.

-after you explain everything to him dramatically, he decides to help you.

-it takes a while to find it, but you eventually find it under the bed.

-he continues building with you from there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✧ Wanderer

-you were looking for the final piece.

-you've looked absolutely EVERYWHERE.

-it just wasn't there.

-so you gave up, and just screamed and laid flat on your back, on the floor, once again.

-he was worried what the fuck could be happening, so he came to the room, and then looking at you laying down.

-"what the fuck is up? why'd you scream?"

-he looks annoyed.

-you start dramatically telling him how you're trying to find the one missing piece but you gave up.

-he stares at you blankly, until he points mext to the lego box, right beside where you were sitting.

-"you mean that one?"

-"OH MY- YOU'RE RIGHT! THANK YOU SO MUCH SCARA I AM SO GRATEFUL TO HAVE YOU IN MY LIFE-"

-he just left the room thinking of how weird you were, not understanding how he fell for you in the first place.

-maybe it's the weirdness that he was missing in his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♡ Xiao

-again, trying to find the last piece.

-a few minutes of hopeless trying, until you just screamed.

-he quickly appeared in the room, kneeling down to comfort you.

-"what h- what happened?"

-he doesn't know how to really react, but he tries his best to show this true feelings, worry and concern.

-after you explain everything to him, he's a bit confused.

-you're screaming because you can't find a piece of plastic-

-whatever, he helps you.

-he doesn't continue building the whole thing with you, but he does help you FIND it.

-he'll still be confused after helping you, but at least you weren't screaming anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i like this one

okay but the idea was so fun

HOPE YOU LIKED IT‼️‼️

| @keeyisbored | @mariaace <3

[hanjsquokka]

Tangled Earphones - [ Han Jisung ]

🩷 SYNOPSIS : Jisung doesn't remember the last time he had a crush but he does know that he definitely has a crush on you now, even though he's known you for less than an hour and hardly spoken ten sentences with you. He's never going to see you again after this but that doesn't stop him from falling head over heels for you. (part of valentines collab with @stayconnecteed )

GENRE : fluff, strangers to potential lovers

PAIRING : han jisung × fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING : mild cursing

WORD COUNT : 3K

This was probably the first time Jisung honestly hated his job. Well… maybe hate is a strong word. Sure, composing is fun, maybe a little frustrating — but he never hated it. Sometimes writer's block made him want to drive his head into a wall. But he never regretted becoming a composer. Okay, maybe he didn't hate composing. He hated the current artist he was working with. What a pain in the ass. Even though Jisung clearly told him he'd work on it after a few days, the guy seriously had no chill! Because of that, Jisung had to take a different bus to Tongyeong without his friends. A trip he'd been waiting anxiously for nearly a month. It was the first trip to finally make it out of their group chat.

His friends from college planned a week at the scenic town for a reunion since it had been a while since they've spent time together. Like the good old days. They would go on hikes, maybe relax at the beach and have fun. Jisung missed those days where the eight of them would live in a dorm and make ramen at three in the morning, their midnight car drives as soon as the oldest of their group, Chan, had gotten his license and taken them out. Jisung missed them so much. He's never been the same since then. Those guys changed his life. Then, it was never the same thing every day. Now… it was the same old routine — wake up, go to the studio, go back home and sleep. He was excited to find that small spark again with them.

But life didn't work that way for Jisung.

Luckily, there was an early morning bus and he managed to book the last seat available. Early morning meant a grumpy Jisung because he absolutely despised waking up before the sun did. In his opinion, it should've been illegal. It gave him flashbacks to college when his gym-crazy friend Changbin used to drag him to workout and strengthen his core. Why Jisung needed core strengthening when he was a music major student was still a question to him. It was still dark when he arrived at the bus depot. After enquiring about his ride, he had to go wait along with the rest of the passengers.

With his earphones blasting music, he waited on the cold metal benches for his bus to arrive with his leg bouncing anxiously, looking at all the texts in the group chat from all the other guys. It looked like they had a lot of fun since his phone was blowing up with blurry selfies and shaky videos of them. Jisung was typing a reply when he caught a whiff of lavender drift past him. His head shot up, only to be met with the back of a girl's head. For some strange reason, his heart sped up a little.

Then he caught a look at your face when you turned around as an employee spoke to you. Goddamn. His ears turned red as he continued staring at you. Even though he couldn't take his eyes off of your face, some part of him registered the ACDC shirt you were wearing over sweatpants and the beaded phone strap around your wrist as you waved your hands around while you spoke. He couldn't pull his eyes away until an announcement came over the speaker of his bus’ arrival. Between the clambering of the other passengers, Jisung lost you in the crowd.

With his duffle bag in hand, he made his way to the bus. In the outside air, his breath fogged out in front of him, his previous irritation of the early morning trip returning to him as he walked down the narrow aisle of the bus after the other talkative people eager to start their journey.

Jisung would've probably remained in a sour mood the entire four hour journey, earphones plugged in and staring out the window at the passing scenery if you hadn't gotten on the bus, immediately locking him in a trance again. Ba-dum. The lyrics of the song started to fade out, only the thumping of his heart rang in his ears as you drew closer and closer to where he was sitting. Could it be… that you were going to sit in the empty seat next to him? When you passed him, his chest deflated a little but you backtracked, looking at your phone and then at him. Your lips were moving, the pretty pink of your chapstick catching his eye as you said something, but he didn't hear anything.

Earphones!

He pulled them off, noise immediately filling his ears and he slightly cringed at it. “Your bag is in my seat.” You repeated for what it looked like the fourth time. His face burned red as he realized his overly packed duffle was indeed laying on your seat. Hastily muttering an apology, he got up and opened the overhead cabin to shove it up there, wishing he could do that to himself because clearly you noticed him staring at you like a creep. Once he got in his seat again, you sat down, your arm brushing against his, setting his skin on fire. “What were you listening to?” You asked softly, turning to him. Jisung stared at you blankly, feeling like a goldfish as his mouth opened and closed but no words came out. You chuckled. “You seemed so into it when I was speaking to you…”

“Chase Atlantic.” He managed to say, pushing his glasses back up as he looked at you. God you looked so much prettier up close.

Your eyes seemed to sparkle once he said that, a breathtaking grin forming on your face. He never ever wanted to erase that image from his mind. “Wow, I love Chase Atlantic too.”

“Really?” The normal Jisung seemed to be back in function because he was talking to her like he would with anybody else.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “They make up about ninety percent of my playlists along with Tate McRae and Kard.”

“Oh, I know Kard! They have that song uh…” He racked his brain. Don't make yourself a fool, Han Jisung. “Icky?”

“Yeah.” You nodded again.

The bus roared to life, pulling out of the bus depot and onto the road. The two of you fell into silence, the short-lived conversation about music artists died out. Jisung stared out the window, not knowing how to continue speaking with you in a way that didn't make him look like an absolute creep. Jisung wasn't a guy to like a person romantically very easily. He was quite reserved and valued the importance of his relationships with people. He wasn't one to go around and have one-night stands or flings because his heart didn't work like that. If Jisung loved, he would love with his mind, body and soul. He would place his heart in his hands, only to get hurt in the end because these days, no one seemed to want a heartfelt, serious relationship.

Plus, his job required him to spend most of his days hunched over a laptop in a dark room.

He doesn't remember the last time he had a crush but he does know that he definitely has a crush on you now, even though he's known you for less than an hour and hardly spoken ten sentences with you. You've caught him, with just a smile. A smile that Jisung was completely enamored with as he snuck glances at you every now and then as you texted someone. The darkness outside was actually helpful, he could see your reflection in the window. He didn't understand how it was possible for someone to look like a goddess wearing nothing but sweats and a t-shirt. You could probably make a trash bag the latest fashion trend.

The first hour of the ride was peaceful. Most of the passengers were asleep. He didn't dare sleep. No, if Jisung slept, he would drool and he would snore. He's had countless embarrassing stories from his friends and he'd rather not make a fool out of himself in front of you. Especially when he had to sit next to you for the entire bus ride. He took off his earphones to enjoy the quiet for a while, only to be met by soft humming coming from you. It looked like you were doing it unknowingly, your eyes focused on the book you were reading. Maybe you felt his gaze on you because you met his eyes, making him blush once again although this time, a pink hue overtook your own cheeks as well.

“Sorry, I didn't realize I was doing that.” You muttered apologetically, embarrassed that he had caught you humming to yourself.

“It's okay. I don't mind.” He tried to reassure you it was fine. When the awkwardness didn't seem to fade away, Jisung reached into the pockets of his black hoodie and pulled out a packet of watermelon flavored bubble gum. “Want some?” He asked, offering the open pack to you. You nodded, taking a strip and popping it into your mouth. Jisung followed suit and tucked the packet away into his pocket again. “Would it be awkward… if I asked for your name?” Can you not go three seconds without screwing up?

“It's Y/n.” You smiled at him, a genuine smile that eased his anxiety. When it came to you, he doubted every syllable the moment he uttered them. He was determined to make a good impression on you, though he may never see you again once these four hours were over. “What about you?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.”

You repeated his name. It sounded so much better coming from your mouth. He'd record it and play it again and again for the rest of his life. Honestly, he could listen to you say anything and still love it. Your voice was like a soothing melody for him. A tranquil tune that placated the raging voices in his head. “Are you visiting family?”

“A reunion with my college friends. I haven't seen them in a long time, so I'm pretty excited about it.”

“That's sounds really nice. I'm visiting my brother. He's always too busy with work so I make it a plan to stay with him for a week when I can.”

“Is he older than you?”

“Mhm. He used to be such a prick when we were kids.” Jisung smiled at that. He too was used to sibling rivalry. His brother and him never really saw eye to eye until they entered adulthood. “Things are so different now that we barely see each other.”

Jisung quickly learned you were pretty easy to talk to. The way you spoke about the topic, the way your eyes seemed to shine in the rising sunlight that was seeping through the windows — Jisung was sure he missed a few paragraphs of your ongoing conversation, too captivated by your mere existence beside him. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest that was swelling with affection the more the two of you bonded.

When the bus stopped at a rest stop, you were eager to get up and walk around for a while, claiming that you've always hated sitting in one place for too long. Surrounded by trees and the highway in front of them, you sipped on the canned coffee he bought in the store for the two of you. He couldn't help but chuckle as you swung your legs back and forth on the picnic table top you were sitting on while he sat on the bench and looked up at you with the goofiest smile on his face. He was down bad and he knew it. How had you captured his heart so easily? And it wasn't like you were trying to. That was the beauty of it. You were merely being yourself and that was enough for Jisung to fall head over heels for you.

Jisung was going to make sure the tracks he was composing for that artist he was angry at earlier were his best works to date because if it weren't for that guy's impatience, he would've never met you.

“Shit… my earphones.” You nearly turned your handbag upside down when the two of you were back on the bus after stretching your legs.

“Did you lose them?” He asked, looking on the floor.

“No… I haven't used them all day. I think I left them at home.” You frowned.

Jisung had an idea. A terribly brilliant idea. This trick worked all the time in movies. If it could happen in movies, then Jisung could also make it happen in real life. “W-We could share mine? I-If you want t-to?” He stuttered out, fishing his forgotten earphones from his pocket, only to find them in the most tangled state he's ever seen them in. A blush grew on his face as he tried and miserably failed at untangling them.

“Let me try.” The simple contact of your fingers brushing against his hand sent jolts of electricity through his body. His gaze lingered on your delicate hands, the smoothness of you skin contrasted by the chipped purple nail polish on your fingernails and the single ring that adorned your left middle finger. You managed to untangle the earphones with ease. “And… if you're okay with sharing, then I don't mind either.” Maybe his brain was completely fried at this point, but he could've sworn you turned a little pink too.

“Cool! Uh, you can choose anything.” He opened Spotify on his phone and handed it to her.

Time flew by quicker than Jisung would've liked it to. His heart sank to his feet as they entered Tongyeong, the bus pulled up at the depot and stopped. He felt numb as people began deboarding the bus. All he could hear was his heart thumping in his chest. Was this it? The end to his little crush? It was highly unlikely he would ever see you again. Sadness was bubbling up inside him, clawing at his throat. He could barely choke out a goodbye as you left and hugged your brother who was waiting for you. Jisung's mind reeled at the intensity of the emotions he was feeling.

He couldn't get you out of his mind the entire week. Sure, he might have stalked you a little and found your Instagram handle, but it wasn't enough. He needed to see you. He needed to see the smile — face to face. He wanted to hear your laugh. He wanted to be the reason for your happiness. He wanted you. Because he liked you. The revelation made his brain hurt. He met you and fell in love with you within five hours. That had to be some kind of record right?

He tried to enjoy himself with his friends. But in every crowd, he was looking for your face. When they went hiking. At the beach. While wandering down the streets in the hot sun. All his efforts were in vain. It was like you never even existed. A fragment of his imagination. He was going delusional. The more time passed, the futher he believed it.

The bus ride home was going to be painful. Once he made sure his bag was secure in the overhead cabin, he slouched in his seat. When he reached for his earphones in his pocket, he found them in a tangled mess again.

“You know… you should start putting a rubber band on those.” His breath hitched. Ba-dum. Time slowed down as he looked up, only to be met with you, a knowing smile on your face as you sat down next to him. “Did you have fun on your reunion?”

His felt like a goldfish all over again. The connection from his mouth to his brain fried as he tried to give you a response that wasn't gibberish. “H-How?”

“What? Did you really think I was going to leave you behind like that?” His response only made your grin grow wider. “I was looking for you all around town, you know?”

“I was too…”

“Really? And here I thought you forgot me.” You chuckled.

“I don't think I could ever forget you.” He whispered, his heart going crazy in his chest as you leaned closer to his face. His throat dried up as he swallowed hard. Eyes unblinking, trying to calculate what you were going to say. “I think I like you Y/n.” He breathed out. “No... I know I like you.”

“I like you too.” You leaned even closer. “Now kiss me, stupid.” Let's just say Jisung was more than eager to oblige.

©hanjsquokka | copying, translating or republishing my work is strictly prohibited

[maybeelse]

Supermarket Stillness

There's a mildly embarrassing shelf tucked away in the back of the supermarket, past the jars of pickled spells and the bottles of five-hour-Stillness. It's part of the store you've always been dimly aware of, but why would you ever need to buy some freeze-dried Purpose?

Well, today you have a reason.

You don't linger in front of it, just grab the first vacuum-sealed bag that looks right and try not to meet the cashier's eye as their hands blur through scanning it and all your other groceries.

You're sure they've seen far worse. It still sucks.

---

Back at home, your house-guest's wings twitch as she stares at the proffered bag.

"Seriously?"

"I just, I thought ... you said you needed some?"

"Yeah, but not this shit. I've tried it before, it's barely better than an MMO." She pauses for a moment, eyes you. "Or methadone."

"... oh."

"Like, I appreciate the thought," she continues as her broken halo sways above her head, "it just wouldn't help me at all. I'm sure it would blow you away, you've never even tried it, have you?"

You shake your head. "No, uh, everyone always said not to."

"Ha! They were probably right. Little thing like you's better off not fucking with that part of of the world."

"... yeah."

After that the conversation trails off into the usual day-to-day space-filling, words that hardly matter and mean less; a pantomime of connection.

You tuck the little vacuum sealed bag in the back of a cupboard (it cost too much to throw away, no matter how useless it is!) and try to forget about it.

---

Time passes, as time is wont to do.

Your house-guest leaves a few weeks later.

It's nothing to do with you, she explains. She's grateful that you were able to give her a place to stay, she's never liked having to rough it with the feral angels. But no matter those fleeting moments stolen in the depths of night, she needs something more than you can give.

She mentions that she's going across the city to live in one of the witch-houses, a place where she thinks she'll find what she needs. You wish her well, of course you do, and then ...

Your little apartment is empty again.

She stops replying to your texts after a few weeks.

That's how it goes, isn't it? There's hardly anything something like you can offer to someone like her. You're just a freeze-dried, mass-produced substitute discarded as soon as something better comes along; a worthless thing sinking deeper into depression's spiral.

A month later you're using a sudden upswing to clean out all the junk that's accumulated in your cupboards—all the almost-empty boxes, the dented cans and expired jars; the detritus of your dreams of Doing Things In The Kitchen—when you stumble across the bag of Purpose again.

It really doesn't look appetizing at all, even with the bright words and little cartoon halo on its label. Really, what were you thinking trying to offer it to a proper angel?

You really should just throw it away, but ...

You pause right before tossing it into the can.

Because, really, it would be a shame to just waste so much money on something you never try, wouldn't it? It would be a Waste, and that's so very close to a sin.

Just one taste couldn't hurt, just the tiniest morsel. Just to know what you've been missing out on. It'll be fine.

[writeoffside]

DOCUMENTS AND DESTINIES  

♯ battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader - 1/?

summary: An unexpected visitor comes to your work to check out the history of his company, which leads you both to a tense search for the much needed files… Which is pretty tiring for you.

warnings: none - just swearing

info: english isn't my first language, i apologize in advance for all the mistakes (if there are any!)

a/n: working on part 2 now hihihi

The time went slowly when you were stuck in the office. The uncountable amount of times you've checked the clock is absurd. 

Papers are all over the table, every single document staring at you back. The highly reflective colored highlighters sitting at the side of your desk. Nearly at their lowest as they've been used so many times in the past few hours. The documents are full of names, places, words, numbers and other symbols. Some names are unknown to you, some familiar. 

A sigh escapes your lips, turning to the side to look at the clock on the other side of the room.

It was finally reaching the time you were mostly looking forward to. 

5:58, the clock read. 

"Thank god," you whispered out to yourself. Slowly gathering all the papers from your table and closing the work laptop in front of you. All the papers are quickly gathered on top of each other and put into a dark purple-colored folder. The color is slowly ripped around the edges of the folder as it has been in use for a very long time. A white — now dark pastel brown like color sticker is in the middle of it. The sticker is pulled at the edges,

but still stays on. Your name written on top of it, written with a dark blue pen. You don't have the heart to switch the folder with a new one. It holds too many memories. 

In a quick time, all of the things you've had on your table are safely packed and put inside your bag. All the documents are starting to overflow your folder, which ends up taking the whole space in your bag. You know well that your shoulder is going to be hurting pretty badly when you come back home with the bag draped over it. 

Your boss had barged inside your office just a few days ago with multiple folders on top of each other in his hands. When he dropped them all onto your table, it felt like the table itself would drop as well and break down just there. 

He started talking about how he needs the documents to be checked, corrected, and put out into mails, then returned... And more instructions were flying onto you from his mouth. Which you've totally ignored, but gave him a nod as you pretended to listen to his instructions. The amount of documents there could be counted into hundreds and hundreds.

Now, thankfully, you were about to just go home and enjoy your night by yourself!

Or so you have thought.

As you were about to move your chair back to the table and make your way out of your office, a knock sounded on your door. Which sounded completely different from the knock your boss' usually gives you on your office door.

With a deep sigh, you made your way towards the door and pushed it open. The person who was standing behind the door was someone that nobody in the entire building would expect.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

"Daniel's not here," you quickly muttered out the first thing that came to your mind. Mentally slapping yourself for such an answer. Of course, your boss wouldn't be there... In your office.

"I'm not here for Mr. Meyer... The receptionist told me that you are the only one in the building with the keys to the archive. Is that so?" He asked lowly and looked back to the hallway that he most likely came from. 

"Oh! Yeah... I am the only one with the keys," you chirped, backing away from the door and walking back into your office, "I was just about to go home, but thankfully, you caught me just at the right time!" You laughed your sentence off awkwardly. He remained silent and with no other expression. His stoic' expression remained unchanged.

You opened the drawers of the cabinet, which was near the table and fumbled with the drawer, which keep the keys safe. Finally opening it and pulling out the set of keys that could open the multiple doors of the archive. The keys rattled with a sound as you picked them up from the drawer. 

Then in just a moment, you closed the drawers, stood back straight, and looked over to Mr. Wayne, who was still standing outside of the office. Now fidgeting with his fingers, with his head hung low. He stood here, waiting, with no intention to move inside the office to retrieve the keys himself from you.

He was wearing a dark set of brown pants, which weren't skinny nor baggy. A white pastel-like blouse underneath a matching dark brown jacket with its front opened. The little cufflinks with 'W' could be seen on the cuffs of the blouse. His shoes were peeking out from the bottom of the pants. His dark hair was falling into his face and his pale white skin was showing off.

You shuffled back outside and closed the door of your office. Your belongings still inside as you'll have to take the keys back and lock them up back into the drawer after you come back from the archives.  

"Okay... We can go now, this way! Down the stairs and then to the archive doors," you told him as he looked up to meet your eyes. His expression still hasn't changed since he knocked on your door. 

Both of you made your way towards the staircase with no words uttered between each of you. The steps echoed around as both of you walked down. The sound of your heels hitting the stairs echoed down the staircase. 

"If I may ask, Mr. Wayne... Why do you need to go to the archives? Is there something wrong with the documents we've sent back to the Enterprises? We can—" You were quickly cut off by his husky voice.

"No. There's no problem with the documents we've received," his voice cut your rambling quickly, "I've found something else... In the older documents. What my father might still have stored down there, in your archives... I need to check them out for certain reasons," he informed you as you reached the end of the stairs and started walking through the long, hardly lit, hallway. 

The walk to the archives felt endless.

The sound of your heels hitting the tiled floor started to echo around the hallway once again. His walk was steady and his steps were long. The awkward silence felt like it grew with each step you both took. You had to walk even quicker than before, to catch up next to him. 

"Here it is," you told him as both of you stopped in front of locked doors with a black bold writing on it 'ARCHIVES' and a smaller text underneath which said; 'RESTRICTED AREA; NO ADMITTANCE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' 

The keys jiggled as you looked through them to find the right one for the first door. The key had a little red cover on it with a little black bold number one, '1' written on it. Meaning that it's for the first door of the archives.

You unlocked the first door and turned to Mr. Wayne to let him in first. With a nod, he entered the room and walked deeper into the room. 

"Your father's documents are stored in the more 'locked up' side of the archives, the much more important side," you told him as you closed the door behind you. The room is filled with drawers, shelves and boxes full of important documents, the scent of old paper making its way to your nose.

You quickly make your way towards him, where he's standing by door with '2' written on it and some smaller text underneath it, which you don't care to read as you've been there multiple times before.

You unlock the door and let him in first again. Closing the door after the two of you. You look over as you see him stalk over to the next door at the end of the current archive room. 

God, this man has no patience.

"What's up with your father's documents, though? They've been checked, even multiple times and on different occasions... And your father, he used to—" You started rambling to him as you approached him but you were, once again, quickly cut off by him.

"I know. But I have to check something on them. For personal reasons and also to check up on our history, the Wayne Enterprises' history, with others... I know what I'm doing," he snaps back at you sternly, now looking straight at you, into your eyes. His brows furrowed. 

The tone that he spoke to you in, was no close to respectful, nor close to being polite. A scoff wanted to make its way out of your mouth, but you rather kept it shut. Your lips press into a thin line as you watch him look back at the door he waits for.

You unlocked the third door and let him in first again. He stops and looks over at you for a split of a moment and then he's turning his body away from you and heading inside, leaving you standing by the door alone. 

With another sigh, you make your way inside, closing the door after you. 

You made your way towards him, where he was standing. He was standing by the drawers with a big red 'W' written on the label, peeking from the side of the drawers. All of the drawers marked with red 'W' contained all the documents from the Wayne's. 

"You can... Um, check the documents you need. Just put them back into their place, where they were placed before," you told him as you watched him open the first set of archive drawers to check through them.

A few minutes went by, he put out about five files out onto a table next to him. He went through every single document and file, flipping through every page he came across. 

"Who's this?" He suddenly asked. His finger stopped at a certain part of the document he was reading at the moment. 

You stood up from the very much uncomfortable chair that you were sitting on. You made your way towards him and looked over to the documents that he was holding.

He lowered the documents to your height and his finger hovered above a certain name.

Scott Starkey.

His name was crossed out with a black marker. In every sentence, his name was mentioned.

You looked up to meet his eyes and then back down at the name, "He used to be close with your father. He worked hard to reach a position as your father had... Or at least one close to him. He was so ambitious and hungry for success as he, your father, had," you started telling him. Bruce's eyes stayed on you.

"His ambition to get to that position literally consumed him and morphed it all into one huge obsession. He fought against his own limitations. He didn't know when to stop... His friendship with your father started to tear, he couldn't understand why your father had achieved so much so effortlessly. His admiration turned into resentment, anger, and total hatred against him," you told him as you looked up to meet his furrowed expression. His stance was now noticeably different, he was standing straight as he listened to you.

"He dug so deep into your father's personal life. Scott started to spread your father's secrets and things about his personal life, your father's reputation wasn't going to end well for him, or anyone in the Wayne Enterprises if he would have continued," you sighed as you stopped for a moment.

"What happened to him?" Bruce suddenly rasped out into the silence with his question. He looked into your eyes and then down at the documents, which he was holding in his hands. A deep frown on his face after hearing thr backstory from you.

"I don't really know..." you mumbled out to him. Your mind going blank now. They never told anyone what had actually happened to him, he just left everything behind and never came back.

He completely disappeared.

Bruce hummed and closed the file quickly. The dust flew into the air. Floating around the two of you. The files haven't been opened for a long time now. 

A cough made its way out of you from the dust. You waved your hand around to get the dust away from your face.

Meanwhile, Bruce turned his body away and opened the next drawer, and took out the first file of documents, reading and listing through them. His brows were furrowed in concentration, eyes running over all the words, numbers, and symbols written on the paperwork.

You went back to sit in the chair you sat in moments prior. You didn't take your phone down there, so you've got no idea what the time currently is. But you know one thing and that is that you should have been home for at least an hour now. Not at work, sitting in the archives, on the most uncomfortable chair ever, and with the Bruce fucking Wayne.

You try to sit comfortably on it as you watch him go through another opened file, which is more of a yellowish color. Must be an older one than the other ones. 

As you watch him closely, you can feel your eyelids getting heavier. Your head slowly falls forward, hanging lowly. Your eyelids flutter shut and you can feel yourself drifting away into the darkness.

The sound of traffic and the rhythmic hum of a car wakes you up. 

You slowly come to your senses and open your eyes to see the road of Gotham City, full of traffic, in front of you. The rain is falling against the car.

The car. You're in a car. 

Your head quickly shoots up to look at your surroundings. You blink a few times as the very unknown and unfamiliar surroundings come into focus. 

You're seated in an unknown car in the passenger seat, with a seatbelt on. The interior of the car is black and looks way more luxurious than your car does. 

You look to the side and you finally see the driver of the car. 

Bruce Wayne is sitting at the driver's side, holding the steering wheel. His side profile is up to your eyes as you watch him from your seat. 

His eyes suddenly flicker to yours and you can see a slight hint of a smirk coming up on his face. And then it's quickly gone.

"You're awake," he says, his eyes returning to the road ahead. 

"Where... Where am I? I was at the archives. Where are my things?" you groggily ask as you push yourself away from the window that you were leaning against the moments before.

"Wait! The keys! I didn't put them back, didn't lock the doors! Oh my god, Daniel's gonna kill me!" The realization suddenly comes onto you and dawns slowly. You recall your last moments when you were at the archives; sitting in the chair, slowly falling asleep while he checked through the files. 

Bruce sighed softly at your rambling, "I locked all three doors. As well put the keys into their place and locked your office," you looked over to him once again as he talked, "your things are in the backseat, don't worry."

You slowly looked over to the backseat and saw your coat and your bag on the seat, with the dark purple folder peeking out. You smiled to yourself. 

Then the silence filled the car they were in for a brief moment.

"Thank you... For taking care of the things and taking me with you," you said to him after a few brief moments. 

You see him give you a small nod, his gaze never moving from the road and traffic ahead. His hands turn the wheel to the side as the car moves to the left. You recognize the street you're driving through.

"Wait— How'd you know where I live?" You ask him as you watch the buildings and cars go by through the window. 

"A friend of yours told me… Angus?" He answered, his eyes flickering to yours for a moment. His expression is much softer than back in the archives.

"Oh! Angus, yeah..." you sigh as you lean back into the seat, the tiredness creeping back onto you. 

You watch the buildings go by and then another turn comes. Then you see your apartment building just a few buildings away from where you're right now.

"This is me," you point out to the building you're nearly at. The building looks like any other ordinary building in Gotham.

Bruce nods as he slows the car down and parks near the curb, in front of your building entrance.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door of the car. Your feet meets the pavement and you stand up. Your body aching from the sleep.

You softly close the front door behind you and make your way toward the back door to get your things out. 

You're met with Bruce standing by the other side of the car, with your long coat and bag in his arms. He walks around the back of the car and hands you the items.

"Thank you," you utter to him softly, taking the items from his grasp, "for everything you've done for me today. Means a lot," you smile up at him.

You're so sure that you saw the corners of his mouth turn a bit upwards. A smile wanting to creep up onto his face. 

"No problem," he says after a long pause. He nods his head and leans against the back of his car, his arms folded over his chest, and closely watches you stand. 

His tone was steady but his eyes and posture said differently. His eyes held a hint of something even more. A very subtle, small smile coming up onto his face couldn't even be seen. 

An awkward silence took over your small conversation. 

You shuffled from side to side on your feet, looking down to the ground before meeting his eyes once again.

"So... Well, I should probably... I should probably head in," you say with a small smile to him, clutching your bag and coat to your chest.

"Oh, yeah... Of course!" He quickly replied with a shake of his head. As he pushed himself off the car.

You gave him another shy smile and turned yourself around to leave, walking up the stairs to the entrance of the apartment building. As you reached for the door, you looked back and lifted a hesitant hand to give an awkward wave to him.

Turning back and opening the door to the building. Your steps finally met the surface of the tiled floor of your apartment building's first floor.

You take a quick glance over your shoulder and catch your eyes with him once again. 

Then he lifts his hand as well, and a very hesitant wave comes back to you. A smile plastered on his face. His smile grows as he watches you disappear into the apartment building. A warm feeling spreading through his chest. 

With a final glance at the building, he walks around and gets back into his car. The childish smile not leaving his face at all. 

The whole ride back is quiet. But he can hear his heart beat so loudly inside of his chest. As he drives, he can only think of one certain thing. His mind is stuck. 

He only thinks of you.

PART TWO

bruce wayne fic is here! i'm so obsessed with battinson hahahah

give it some love if u liked it thank uu <3

[malk1ns]

Most definitely talking about Sid's upcoming heat and Sid's yapping that he doesn't need any help but Geno knows he will get a call the first night of a whimpering and desperate Sid

👀

"Stop scenting me," Sid snaps the second Zhenya sits down.

Zhenya rolls his eyes. He hasn't even caught his breath from his last shift. Fuck this altitude, and honestly, fuck the Avs too, Sid's cozy little friendship with MacKinnon be damned.

"I'm serious," Sid continues, scooting down the bench to make room for Rusty, who practically dives over the boards to avoid a too many men. Zhenya obediently scoots along with him, grabbing Rusty around the waist to keep him steady.

"Thanks," Rusty wheezes, and Zhenya pats his shoulder before turning back to Sid.

Sid's glaring at him. He hates being ignored under normal circumstances, and it only gets worse when he's careening towards heat—a fact that Sid is strenuously denying.

"Sorry," Zhenya says, making his eyes big and ducking his head. "Smell good, Sid, can't help it."

Sid's eyes narrow. After so many years, he's wise to Zhenya's tricks, and he's apparently not far enough into pre-heat to fall for them anyway. Zhenya adjusts his mental calculations forward a day. "I don't know what you think you're smelling, but it's not me. I'm not due for another two weeks, and we talked about this. I don't need you this time."

"Okay," Zhenya says placidly, tapping Sid's knee. Sid's cute when he gets all worked up and indignant like this.

"Hey—" Sid sputters, probably picking up Zhenya's amusement, but then coach is tapping his line in, so Sid can't do anything but glare as he swings over the boards.

Zhenya watches as he swings a big arc towards the goal, changing direction so abruptly that the d-man shadowing him loses an edge and hits the ice. Sid turns to snap at the guy, and Zhenya readjusts his math again, this time back a few hours.

Pissing Sid off always makes things move faster.

-

They drop the game in OT, but that's okay. They played well, better than they have since the trade deadline, and the shock of losing Jake is finally starting to wear off. Sid doesn't look hollowed-out whenever he looks to his left any more, and Bunting is the exact type of yappy, determined presence on Zhenya's wing that he's always played best with. The postseason is still a reach, but suddenly the games they're playing seem like they mean something again, and that's all Zhenya wants, really.

Playoffs are nice, but Zhenya's old enough now that he doesn't live and die by each individual season anymore. If he can keep his production up for a few more years, avoid major injury and quiet the people who constantly call for him to be traded, he'll be happy.

Well. That, and getting Sid to finally admit that what they've been doing for nearly two decades now isn't just friends helping each other out. But Zhenya can be patient on that front.

Seeing Jake in Carolina colors is hard, and Zhenya discreetly wipes his eyes during the tribute video. Sid doesn't bother, staring up at the enormous new jumbotron with shiny eyes. The win makes it easier to stomach, though, and Jake stops by the locker room after the game, lingering well past when the Hurricanes' bus must have left for the hotel.

He and Sid talk for a long, long time, tucked away in a hallway while Rusty and Zhenya linger, ready to head off any media that comes this direction. They're left alone, though, and when Jake finally slips past them, he's knuckling at his eyes. Zhenya politely doesn't mention it when he pulls Jake into one last hug.

Sid's marching for the parking lot, and Zhenya has to hustle to catch up with him. When he draws even, he practically trips over his feet—Sid smells ripe, fertile and alluring, like he's minutes from dropping into heat. Surely he feels it by now.

Sid slides him a sharp glare. "Don't fucking start," he mutters, angling away when Zhenya leans towards him. "You were right, okay? But it doesn't mean anything."

Zhenya takes a deep inhale and consciously steps to the side, giving Sid his space. "Call if you need," is all he says, cutting towards his car and speeding up before he can give into the impulse to manhandle Sid back to his house and his bed and keep him there.

"I won't!" Sid calls across the garage. Zhenya shakes his head.

-

It doesn't always go this way. Sometimes Sid invites him back, sends him texts like i think it's starting soon and would you mind...? as if any alpha in their right mind would turn Sidney Crosby in heat down. He gets squirrelly when it happens too many times in a row, though, acts like Zhenya's going to hold him down and bite his claim into Sid's neck without permission, and tries to put distance between them.

It never lasts, though.

Zhenya's in his pajamas and glasses, settling in with his Kindle, when his phone rings.

"G," Sid whimpers over the line, and Zhenya sits upright, the sound of a distressed omega plucking at his instincts even at a distance. "G, where are you?"

Zhenya fists his hand in his duvet. "You say you don't want," he says carefully, listening to Sid's gasps, wondering if he'd managed to get something from his toybox or if he fell into it so fast that he's using his hand. Sid doesn't take care of himself like Zhenya would if they were mated, and he's come over more than once to Sid on his belly and whimpering because his own fingers don't get him right.

That's what Zhenya's always been for.

"I didn't mean it," Sid whines, voice muffled. "G, I need you."

Zhenya pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. Not even ten, and they have an off-day tomorrow. "Sid, you say I stay home this time," he says, but he's throwing his blanket back and getting up. "You change mind?"

"I was lying," Sid moans, frustration edging into his voice. "I was...G, please, you..."

He's falling deeper into it now. Zhenya hesitates; Sid had sounded so sure, more than usual, but...

"Geno," Sid says, practically a sob, and the decision is made. There's only so much his own instincts will allow him to ignore, and Sid calls him every time—if he didn't want Zhenya coming over, he shouldn't be calling.

It takes Zhenya a few tries to remember Sid's new door code, but when he steps inside, the smell of Sid's heat practically bowls him over. Zhenya has to stop and breathe, adjust to the overpowering sugar-and-marine salt permeating the air, before he can walk without stumbling to Sid's bedroom.

"Oh, Sid," he says, pausing at the doorway.

"Please," Sid begs. He hadn't gotten to his toys after all, and he's practically twisted in a pretzel, two fingers stuffed inside himself while his other hand strips his dick. He's come once already by the mess on his stomach, but his dick is so hard it's purple, and his face is twisted in agony, not pleasure.

"Shh," Zhenya croons, voice dropping to alpha-register all on its own. He's across the room and stripping his clothes off before he's even registered it, but when he gets hands on Sid's torso Sid takes in a deep, shuddering breath and relaxes.

"G," he mumbles, looking up at Zhenya through tear-damp eyelashes. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," Zhenya murmurs, gentling Sid onto his back, pushing at his shoulder until his hand slides free. His fingers are shiny with his own slick, and Zhenya pauses to suck them clean, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Sid watches him, chest heaving, and when Zhenya lets Sid's fingers drop from his mouth, Sid trails them down Zhenya's face and chest, resting his hand over Zhenya's heart. "I'm here now," Zhenya says, leaning down to kiss Sid. "I'll take care of you."

"Yes," Sid sighs as Zhenya slides into him, letting his legs butterfly out and his head loll to one side.

Zhenya stares at Sid's neck, exposed and there, and practically bites through his lip, fucking Sid harder. He wants to bite Sid so, so badly, has for years, but Sid always pulls back just when they're on the precipice of turning this into something more, always ices Zhenya out when it starts to feel too serious, and Zhenya's not going to push—it has to be Sid's decision.

Something of what he's feeling must be leaking through, because Sid opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are blurry; he's deep in it now, and every exhale is a half-purr as Zhenya's knot starts to grow and catch at him with every thrust. "Mmmm," he moans, the perfect picture of an omega submitting to his alpha, but the way he tilts his head to expose his neck is all purposeful, as is the way he coyly looks at Zhenya.

"Sid," Zhenya groans, grinding his teeth. He can't stop himself from dropping to his forearms and getting his nose into the crook of Sid's neck, licking frantically over Sid's scent glands. The smell of them blooms in the room, heady and intoxicating, and Zhenya's thrusts go ragged and desperate as his knot swells. "Sid, please." He feels drunk, he doesn't even know what he's asking for, opening his mouth around the meaty muscle where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

Sid's hand is at the back of his head, but he's pushing, not pulling Zhenya back, and Zhenya's teeth dig into Sid's skin. His "bite me" is barely audible, but it's the loudest thing Zhenya's ever heard, echoing over the roaring of blood in his ears and their breath.

He bites. The world falls away.

-

When Zhenya swims back to consciousness, his knot still hasn't gone down. Somehow, Sid had managed to get them on their sides, and he's petting over Zhenya's sweaty back, nuzzled up against Zhenya's chest and humming.

"Sid?" Zhenya croaks, eyes flying open when he remembers. "Oh, fuck, Sid, I—"

"Shh, it's okay." It's Sid's turn to soothe Zhenya, purring until Zhenya's heart slows down. Zhenya's nostrils flare as he inhales, and all he can smell is happy, contented omega.

"We..." Zhenya's floundering, head spinning as he tries to put the pieces together.

"I asked you to do it, bud," Sid says. He sounds quiet, but sure. "I wanted it. I was..." He sighs, and Zhenya can feel him shrug. "We can talk about it later, but...I was talking to Jake, and he said, you know, we're lucky—it doesn't matter what happens, because in the end we always have each other. And then I got home, and I was thinking about how he's right. You've had plenty of chances to leave, and you never did. And you always come when I need you. So...it felt stupid, to be pushing you away still."

"Sid," Zhenya groans, half infuriated and half overcome with fondness. If they weren't still knotted together he'd pin Sid down and bite at his sensitive, ticklish stomach as punishment until Sid was laughing and kicking him away. "You say to me when you think these things, like, don't make me come run over so late, scare me like I do what you don't want."

Sid shrugs again, and now he smells smug. "You always come when I call," he says, and Zhenya can't even argue that point.

He wouldn't want to, anyway.

[defectivehero]

home where

"Are those single-use plastic bags?" The villain huffs, leaning forward from the hero's open windowsill. The hero's heart leaps out of their chest and they stumble backwards, very nearly falling over in bewilderment.

They place a hand over their chest as they regain their breath. "What the hell are you doing here?" The hero demands, staring at the villain casually sitting in their window.

"You really shouldn't leave your window open unless you want visitors," the villain sighs in lieu of an answer. "Practically asking me to break in." They tap their fingers along the frame of the window.

"Wow, okay, blaming the victim," the hero huffs, their mind spinning. They are somewhat convinced that they're dreaming—and that they'll wake up in a few hours, sweat-soaked and gasping for breath underneath their linen sheets. "And what was that about the bags?" They ask.

"Look at that bag of bags," the villain points at the clever contraption hanging on one of the drawers of their kitchen, turning their nose up at it. "Disgusting. And everyone thinks I'm the villain." The hero tries to process that statement for a moment.

"You are," the hero responds, staring at them in disbelief. "You kill people. All the time." Hence their appearance on several old-fashioned "wanted" posters and more modern newscasts.

"At least I'm not killing the entire earth," the villain gestures flippantly. "Get some reusable bags, you monster."

The hero promptly ignores the latter half of their statement, instead focusing on their accusation. "That's a huge exaggeration," the hero sighs.

"Okay." The villain shrugs. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Complacency is very dangerous when it comes to protecting the environment."

"You're such a fucking hypocrite," the hero responds, crossing their arms over their chest. "Your invention last week probably created enough nuclear waste to sink this entire city."

"Okay, rude," the villain scoffs. "I use sustainable energy sources, of course. Nuclear power is a no-no."

The hero blinks at them once, twice. "This is so weird." They remark aloud, bringing a hand to their arm and pinching at it hard. Surprisingly, nothing happens. Either this is a very vivid lucid dream... or it's reality. The hero isn't sure which would be worse.

"Your dreaming mind isn't nearly quick enough to predict me, dear," the villain says, swinging out of the window and landing on the floor noiselessly. "Besides, knowing you... your dreams are probably plagued with memories of the people you couldn't save."

A ragged breath is torn out of the hero's lips at the unexpected remark. The reminder is entirely unwelcome. They don't want to think of all the victims they failed—all the families they ruined. The hero desperately tries to suppress their quickly spiraling thoughts. "Why are you here?" Their voice is slightly more breathless; the villain is quick to notice.

"Do I need a reason to visit my enemy?" The villain grins, leaning closer. The hero doesn't bother hiding their discomfort, stepping to the side to enforce the distance between them.

"When you visit my home, yes," the hero remembers to answer in a few seconds. The villain's grin morphs into a dangerous smirk, and the hero is suddenly assaulted with the inexplicable conviction that they've made a grave mistake.

"Oh, you don't have to pretend this is the first time I've visited," the villain remarks casually, rhythmically tapping their fingers against the counter. "I've always known where you lived. You should know that by now."

Everything—the dull hum of their kitchen appliances, the traffic outside—descends to a tense silence. The hero's stomach churns as they think back to the inexplicable occurrences that have taken place throughout the past months: their water bill going up without reason; groceries going missing; takeout food appearing when they don't remember buying it. They had dismissed them as slips in their memory—they've been busy at the agency. But now that they really think about it...

"That was you," the hero chokes. Their heart is suddenly racing in their chest. They have never truly had privacy, have they? They suddenly feel very vulnerable. "Why do you keep sneaking in here?!"

"Well," the villain drawls, as if the answer is obvious. "It's easy, for one. You don't even have locks on these windows." The villain laughs as their eyes find the several windows in the room. "It's closer, sometimes. You have a lot more first aid materials than I do... You get the idea." They shrug nonchalantly.

The hero stares at them in shocked silence. "You've practically been living here," they breathe, a note of frustration leaking into their voice. Their head is spinning. Pain is starting to stretch through their temple and down their jaw from from how hard they've been gritting their teeth.

"Okay, now you're the one exaggerating," the villain says. "I'd hardly associate a few house visits with living here." They pick at their nails, as if entirely unbothered by this turn in conversation. It's clear they're entirely unapologetic about invading the hero's space.

The hero still feels the visceral need to convince the villain of the gravity of their invasive actions. "You used my shower," the hero accuses, with equal sentiments of embarrassment and irritation.

"I was bloody," the villain shrugs. "And your shampoo is nicer than mine."

The hero frowns. The farther they look back, the more they realize just how long the villain has been visiting. The villain's visits explain everything: things left in slightly different places than the hero remembers; doors unlocked when they should be locked; and... "Oh my gods, that's why my fucking washer hasn't been working! You broke it, you asshole!" They exclaim.

"I didn't break it!" The villain immediately argues, having the audacity to look offended. A guilty expression rises on their face as they avert their eyes. "I just... didn't know how to use it." They trail off, a sheepish grimace on their face.

The hero focuses on taking a deep breath in, exhaling slowly. When they speak again, their voice is deceptively calm. "Get out." They point to the window from which the villain entered.

The villain doesn't look surprised by the sudden dismissal, and somehow, they are agreeable enough to head over to the window to leave. "I'll be back," the villain says when they reach the windowsill, glancing over their shoulder and sending the hero an unreadable look.

"I know." The hero says defeatedly, letting out a long-suffering sigh. A hint of fondness escapes their voice and they hope their enemy doesn't notice. They know there's no convincing their enemy: it would be a futile effort. They have never been able to persuade the villain to do anything—and the hero doubts that will change now.

"Oh," the villain responds, staring at them in mild surprise, as if they hadn't expected them to admit it. "Okay then. Bye." They send an awkward wave over their shoulder and disappear. The hero stares at the empty window for longer than they should, before closing it and locking it. They're not sure why they're bothering to lock it—a simple lock won't keep the villain away.

Sure enough, three days later, the hero wakes up and walks out to their kitchen to find a pile of reusable bags on their counter. "You really need to get your priorities in order." The hero says. There is no one in sight—yet, somehow, they know the villain is listening.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

_______

me, unloading the groceries this morning: damn it, i forgot to buy reusable bags. i've been meaning to buy those. me, an hour later, sitting in front of my computer: what the fuck did I just write. and why did I write it.

did I overdo it with the banter? probably. do I care? ......only a little.

is the title from the sir chloe song? ....i plead the fifth.

thanks for reading!

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[steddieas-shegoes]

from garage to library

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'in the garage'

rated t | 601 words | cw: mild language | tags: they're really just trying to make it, they're all idiots

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

Jeff's tired of being the only one with a garage, and he's tired of hearing the neighbors complain, and he's tired of his parents making them rehearse at 3:30 in the afternoon.

It's the least metal time of day.

It's also the hottest time of day, and the fan blowing hot air at them may actually be more detrimental than if they didn't have anything at all.

Eddie is laying down on the concrete, shirt up to his chest and hair spread out above his head. Gareth is leaning over his drum kit, groaning every few seconds as if he's in pain. Frankie went inside ten minutes ago, face flush and shiny with sweat.

"We can't survive like this," Eddie grumbles. "It's too fuckin' hot."

"I'm not sure what other options we have." Jeff sighs as he rolls his sleeves up. He should've just worn a tank top for practice. "I'm the only one with a garage."

"If we practice right after school, we can do it at my house," Gareth offered. "There's not that much room, but it's better than dying in this garage."

"We aren't gonna die."

"Speak for yourself!" Eddie yelled from the ground, sitting up and glaring at Jeff. "I can barely feel my fingers. Do you know what guitarists need to be able to play?"

"Let's just go get some lemonade and then finish up," Jeff ignored Eddie's question.

"Fingers! They need fingers, Jeff!"

"Are you guys still out here?" Frankie said from the doorway, sipping on an ice cold Coke, looking much better than when he'd left them there to suffer.

"Yes, we're trying to have band practice. You remember our band?" Jeff was done. The heat was too much, this was too much. "But I'm calling it. We can't practice like this. Let's try again next month."

"Next month?" Eddie gasped. "We can't wait until next month to practice."

"What else do you suggest?" Jeff threw his hands up. "We have nowhere else to practice and we can't do it out here in this heat. We aren't even practicing anyway!"

"What about the library?" Gareth asked.

"The library. The place you have to be quiet. Right. Brilliant." Jeff shook his head. "Any other great ideas or is that the winner?"

"Don't be an asshole," Gareth rolled his eyes. "They close early every weekday for different clubs to meet. Their Tuesdays are open and my mom knows for a fact they've been having trouble filling it. If they can't fill it, they have to stay open later and none of them want to work the later hours. So. We'd actually be doing them a favor."

"And you think they'd just give a key to a group of teenagers in a metal band?" Eddie asks.

"I think that if it means they don't have to work past dinner time, yeah, they would."

They all stare at each other, then around at the garage, air so thick they can almost see it.

"Fine. But only until it cools down. Acoustics will be weird in there," Jeff finally says.

"Rehearsing at a fuckin' library. That'll be fun to tell Rolling Stone someday," Eddie says as he joins Frankie inside.

"Better than nothing at all," Frankie shrugs as he closes the door.

"Hopefully, they don't kick us out after one time," Jeff says as he closes the garage door and turns off the fan. They're definitely done for the day.

"If they do, we'll find somewhere else." Gareth pocketed his drum sticks. "Gotta have some bumps in the road to make our story more interesting, right?"

[kotton-kandy953]

━ 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙳

➛ various!yandere!male oneshots x fem!reader

title page┆word count: 2k┆warnings: cursing, description of a dead body, HEAVY blood/gore depictions, implied torture, manipulation, murder

FRIGID ━ boyfriend ! shoto todoroki x fem ! reader

⤷ 𝕿𝕳𝕰

bloodied teenager cut his pretty, Heterochromic eyes at the red mess he had made below himself. He lifted his hand, wiping the blood off his bottom lip with his thumb.

His hands were clad in black gloves.

To not leave fingerprint evidence, maybe?

His chest rose and fell rapidly. Deep, heavy breaths escaping his lungs, the only thing keeping his tired figure going is pure adrenaline.

And the thought of his beautiful girlfriend.

Even so, the boy still felt burning hatred for the pathetic being by his feet.

With a sigh, he pulled back his hood and wiped the sweat off his forehead. His short, half white and half red hair being revealed.

He ran a hand through it, getting the two-toned locks out of his face only for them to fall back in place.

The half-and-half boy thought it was all over until the body below him began to squirm and writhe in agony.

His gaze quickly jolted to their direction, clenching his teeth in frustration.

"P- please! Spare me!!..." The person lying at the teen's feet called. The teen only stared dead at them, his eyes void with all human feelings and emotion.

He wasn't thinking straight, all he could think of was how much this person made his girlfriend happy. How they made her smile.

How they managed to comfort her when she was sad or angry.

How he wished he was the only one allowed to do that.

The more those thoughts rushed back and forth in his head, the more he lost control.

It was sending him straight over the edge.

He subconsciously clenched his left fist, smoke emanating from it.

He could care less about their pathetic pleads for mercy. About their cries as he makes their blood paint the ground red.

"...please... j- just let me go!" They shouted, choking and gargling on their own blood in their mouth. Tears streamed down their bruised face, along with blood rolling down their nose.

The boy rolled his eyes at his pleading victim. He could've sworn he had already tortured and beaten them enough for them to be bleeding out on the ground, dead — or dying, at the least.

They should've died of blood loss minutes ago, he thought with his stoic expression still present.

His face was unfazed and uninterested in their desperate weeping and begging for mercy.

Their face was bruised and broken, as if they were beaten up over and over again.

Not saying that's not what has been happening for the past few hours.

Their body was weak and it even hurt for them to breathe, but the boy could care less.

Sighing his eyes, the teenage boy finally spoke, "Shut up."

He lifted his right foot and kicked the person's stomach. They jerked in pain and coughed up more blood, knowing that they couldn't fight back against him.

The boy had the power to kill them right then and there. He could have even killed them from the start.

But he didn't.

He's going as slow as possible on purpose.

He wanted them to suffer.

To suffer for all the moments they've spent with Y/n.

To suffer for all the moments they made Shoto resent them even more.

"You've lost too much blood and you're probably in indescribable pain," The boy reached down beside their body, grabbing a large golf club he had set down not too long ago.

"You're not going to live much longer."

The boy activated his quirk on his left side, slowly heating up the metal golf club, making it flush a soft shade of red.

He lifted it up above his head with a death grip, his eyes locked on the person below him.

"So I might as well put an end to your suffering already."

• • •

You placed your phone back down onto your bed after it went back to voicemail.

What the hell, Shoto!?

It has been two, no, almost three hours since you last heard from your boyfriend Shoto Todoroki.

He had promised to arrive at your home by 2pm but now it's almost five.

"What the fuck could he possibly be doing!?" You sat down on your bed while scrolling through your contacts list until you found his.

"And why couldn't he just text me sooner to let me know that he'd be late!?"

You angrily read at the texts you spammed him only a few minutes ago. He had left you on delivered for hours which isn't very common for him.

Calm down, clam down... You took a deep breath, he probably just misplaced his phone!

Your attempts at calming yourself down worked for a little, before you started thinking of the worst possible scenarios.

But there have been many disappearances lately... you placed your phone in your jacket pocket, and everyone that's been going missing has had some sort of relation to me...

You felt your heart pounding against your chest, But that doesn't mean Shoto was kidnapped!

You slowly stood up and walked towards your bedroom door.

He would never let himself get kidnapped...

...Right?

You swung your bedroom door open and ran to your front door. You called out to your parents that you were leaving, but you left before they could even uttered a response.

I have to get to Shoto's house as fast as I can!

• • •

Shoto grunts as he swings the red, hot, golf club down onto their already bloodied  and broken body. More blood splatters on his face and black hoodie as he repeats this heinous action in cold blood a few more times.

Finally, he lifts the club and rests it on his shoulder.

"Shit..." He muttered quietly to himself, "...I must've lost track of time."

He kept his cold expression as he licked the splattered blood off his lips.

The persons face, or what was left of said person, was mangled and beaten far beyond recognition. It was just a disgusting , gory, mess.

He dropped the heated golf club onto the ground, causing it to clang loudly against the cement floor of the basement. The large club fell right beside the mutilated corpse beside his feet.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Shoto used his ice power to regulate the temperature of his body.

After doing so, he kneeled down beside the body and grabbed their wrist. He was checking for a pulse or any other signs of life.

nothing.

Finding out that they were gone, a very soft smile, crazy, appears on the boys face.

He dropped their broken wrist and stood up, his slight smile growing wider.

Once standing upright, the heterochromic eyed boy coldly stared down at the crimson mess he had made beneath his shoes.

His eyes were dark, full of resentment and zero remorse for the heinous act he had just committed.

More blood than one could ever imagine coming from another human oozed around the corpse. Shoto slowly took a few steps back to avoid staining his shoes further.

Shoto's smile softly faded as he wiped the blood off his face, only smearing it further. He slowly took his gloves off and threw them on top of the bludgeoned dead body.

He walked over to a stack of boxes and grabbed his phone, examining each and every text and call notification he received from you.

Y/n is still waiting for me at her house... he thought as he read the texts you sent.

"She's probably worried sick..." he mutters to himself, "...This took way longer than anticipated."

The heterochromic eyed male turned around and placed his phone is his pocket, preparing to leave the basement.

He glanced up at the stairs, and what he saw made him freeze in surprise.

"Sh- Shoto..." said a trembling and crying female voice. He took a step back, almost tumbling on his own two feet.

"Y/n..."

You were about to run up to your boyfriend and hug him, but what you had saw shook you to your core.

Blood.

It was everywhere.

Crimson blood was all on the floors and your boyfriend's pretty face.

And on the dead body lying only a few feet away from him.

You placed your hands on your mouth, the strong, disgusting, stench of blood made you feel dizzy.

Shoto put on his normal, neutral expression but you could tell there was an emotion he was masking behind it.

What was that masked emotion, exactly?

You didn't know.

But what you did know was that your seemingly loving boyfriend has turned into a cold-blooded monster.

You ran to the bottom of the stairs, keeping a distance between you and your bloodied boyfriend.

Tears streaked down your (s/c) face, you couldn't ever believe that he would do such things as this.

You choked back sobs as he reached his hand out to you.

"Y/n..." He begged, "Y/n, listen to me..."

Shoto started to slowly take a few steps towards you. Before he got any closer you backed away out of pure fear.

Your hands fell limp at your sides. "Wh- Why the hell should I listen to you!?" You shouted at him with clenched fists.

He relaxed his expression once more and shoved his hands back in his pockets.

He tilts his head and asks, "What are you—"

You stomped your foot to the ground, "-You know exactly what I'm talking about, dammit!!"

You paused, biting your lip as tears of frustration rolled down your cheeks.

"You went on hiatus for three goddamn hours and when I finally find you... yo- you're..." you trailed off.

"Just let me explain..." He took a step closer and you took a step back once more. You both repeated this until your back hit the wall behind yourself.

You mentally cursed yourself for not retreating up the stairs and calling for help

He reached his hand out to caress your face, you flinched at the feeling of his red-stained hand against your soft skin. He stared deep into your (e/c) eyes, his filled with pure love and adoration for you.

The way he touched and looked at you made you feel sick to your stomach. How could someone brutally murdered another human being and still manage to act as if nothing happened.

How psychotic could a person be to do that!?

"I wouldn't kill somebody without a proper reason, Y/n." He said quietly, almost a whisper.

You brought up your trembling hand and took his off your face. The more he touched you the more disgusted you felt.

"Then... then why?" You muttered, "Then why did you do it...?"

Shoto Todoroki takes note of your expression and body language.

You were deathly afraid of the boy— no, the monster standing in front of you.

He didn't want to make it worse by telling the truth. That he killed an innocent person out of pure jealousy and love for her.

That would make him sound crazy.

So he lied.

He lied to you about everything.

He sighs quietly, "The many unexplained disappearances... the one who mangles their face beyond recognition... was them."

He silently gestures to the mutilated corpse behind him.

You look beyond Shoto's shoulder, your petrified eyes rested on the brutal murder scene. You tried your hardest to resist the urge to throw up right there.

You fixed your gaze in his mismatched irises. "B- but you still murdered them without proof of them being behind this!"

He reassuringly placed a hand on your shoulder, "I do have proof, Y/n."

He glanced behind himself, "They even tried kidnapping me, Y/n."

His eyes locked with yours, "You have to believe me."

You looked him in the eyes, they were sincere and full of love. And there was no visible sign of him being dishonest.

I should trust him.

Shoto would never lie to me...

...Right?

Back to Title Page?

[lost-between-letters]

Let's Go Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x wife!teacher!Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @lelapine

Word Count: 1,220

Summary: you work as a teacher at the local high school and often stay later than you mean to. Luckily, you've got a husband who checks his watch regularly

A/N: this isn't spell checked (as almost everything I write) so read at your own risk. Also, sorry if the ending feels off, i couldn't decide where to cut off (and yes, that student is who you think he is, I couldn't resist)

"I just don't know how I'm supposed to see this stuff on my own," Steve raked his hand through his hair and stared down at the essay lying between them, "I'm sorry Mrs. W."

Y/N sighed and put down the red pen she'd used to circle in the more outstanding motives in her copy of Macbeth. They've been through various versions of this exchange now over the past few weeks. "It's okay, Steve. Not everyone's going to major in English lit."

"But I've got to pass this class!" There was a desperation in his voice she hadn't expected. The poor boy looked about two D minuses from outright begging.

This wasn't how Y/N envisioned her night to be going when she heard the knock on her classroom door. An hour after her last class. Steve had been coming to her fairly regularly for his essays once she'd realised that he'd need the extra help, but today, he was downright frantic.

So she refrained from putting her head on the table right next to his and instead forced her tired eyes to stay open and show the trust she had in him and his admittedly mediocre english lit abilities. They were enough to get by, and Y/N knew that not everyone of her students would get the appeal of her subject.

"And you will," Y/N said calmly.

"But I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing!" Steve told the wooden table. His voice was muffled by his hands.

"Who does anyway?" A voice came from the doorway.

Y/N looked up sharply, a surprised smile spreading across her face. "Sam! What are you doing here?"

Sam smiled right back at her and walked until he could look over at what they were working on.

"It's late," he said simply, hands coming to rest on her shoulders, "and I got worried."

Oh. Y/N checked her watch and came to the realisation that, yes, she'd just spent the last three hours here. Instead of home. Where she had been supposed to be about two hours ago.

Steve's head shot off the table, eyes wide. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Mrs Winchester."

"It's okay," she said, looking up at her husband as guilt settled behind her ribs. He must've been waiting for her, "I'm happy to help you."

"I think you both need a break, though," Sam said and squeezed her shoulders.

Steve all but shot out of his seat and gathered his things. His hands were frantic, almost shaking. Y/N watched him, a frown on her lips. She had noticed that before on Steve. "Yes, sir. Sorry for keeping Mrs Winchester so long."

Y/N got up as well, gathering her things as Sam stood there and watched them, brows furrowed in concern. It was clear that that wasn't a thing he'd come prepared for. Finding her slumped over a stack of papers to grade? Wouldn't be the first time. But a teenager falling over his feet apologising for needing extra classes? Not so much.

"It's okay. I kept my teachers back plenty, must've driven them half mad with all my questions." He was putting on his 'Dean-voice', Y/N noticed with a smile and tucked herself into his side. It had been a long day.

"Always been a curious one, that one," she agreed as Sam took her bag from her shoulder, "he keeps asking me questions about you guys' papers even now. Total nerd."

"Guilty as charged."

That did the trick. Steve laughed, and his shoulders sunk just a fraction.

They walked out of the building together, Sam telling Steve a few heavily censored stories about his own school time. Y/N listened in, nodding along whenever Steve looked to her for confirmation and otherwise stayed quietly tucked under Sam's arm.

Once they reached Sam's car, Y/N all but collapsed into the passenger seat. And stayed there.

Sam chuckled when he saw her almost lying there and ran his knuckles over her cheek, soft amusement in his eyes. "Long day?"

"Too long," she groaned and turned into his touch.

"Then let's get you home."

Y/N hummed in agreement.

For a while, there was only the rumble of the car, and Sam's even breathing that broke the silence. It was such a domestic moment, his hand now resting on her knee, the dark scenery passing her window, that it was becoming a fight to keep her eyes open. Y/N surrendered easily and rested her head against the window. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Anytime, baby."

Y/N hummed again and suppressed a yawn.

"That Steve kid," Sam stopped and looked at her sideways, worry in his eyes, "is he alright?"

"hope so," Y/N yawned again and wiggled a bit until she was in a more comfortable position, "he's gonna pass my classes 'nd I'm tryin' to check in on him as much as possible."

"Something we'll have to keep an eye on?"

"Nah, just shitty parents and bein' a teenager, I think," Y/N mumbled, "'m gonna rip his dad a new one if i get to meet him, though."

Sam snorted. "Remind me to be present for that."

Y/N nodded and rested her head back against the window. That day would be a good day.

At some point, Sam turned on the radio and let the familiar tunes wash over both of them. His eyes were steady on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on her knee, a solid presence. It wasn't a long drive back to the bunker, but it was enough time to create a comfortable little bubble that Sam found himself sinking into. If he hadn't been driving, it would've surely lulled him to sleep at some point.

And that was exactly what it did to Y/N. She was sleeping peacefully by the time they got home, so Sam shut his own door quietly and walked around to the passenger side.

He carefully untangled the strap of her bag from her legs and then leaned over to gather her up in his arms.

Y/N huffed softly once he picked her up but only turned into his chest with a quiet "Sam?"

"I got you, Baby," he murmured and kissed her forehead.

She sighed, apparently satisfied with that reply, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Sam carried her slowly to their room, making sure not to jostle her too much now that she was sleeping. Once there, he carefully placed her down on the bed and crouched to take off her shoes before draping the duvet over her curled up body.

He was just about to go and get ready for bed himself when Y/N sat up, blinking up at him confusedly. "Where're you goin'?"

"Brushing my teeth," he smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on her nose, "get back to sleep."

Y/N pouted and pulled the blanket higher. "Hurry."

Sam did just that and climbed into bed with her not two minutes later. Dental hygiene was overrated anyway.

It didn't take long for Y/N to wrap her entire body around him. Actually, his head hadn't even fully hit the pillow yet. He chuckled quietly.

"Love you," Y/N mumbled into his neck, apparently oblivious to his amusement.

He kissed her hair and wrapped his arms around her waist, getting comfortable as well. "Love you too."

"Night Sam."

"Night, Y/N."

[starlemonbunki]

In the mood for some angst? Here's some bsd men x terminally ill reader🩷

Dazai:

• Atsushi notices that everyday, Dazai leaves work early to go...somewhere. it's not like the guy is the type to follow a schedule so he can't tell where exactly he's been going lately. When he asks he just plays it off as a joke, tho he does notice how his gaze seems to be so distant lately.

• turns out, everyday these past few weeks Dazai has been visiting you in the hospital. He always comes with a sweet little gift, nothing extravagant, maybe a flower he knows you like or a cup of coffee from a place you used to frequent.

• he would spend hours with you, just the two of you in that sterilized little hospital room, talking about anything and everything. His demeanor is nonchalant, yet more soft and sensitive to you. He's always had a soft spot for you after all.

• when he learned of your condition he didn't try to "cure" it or "fix" it. He decided that he will love you and stay with you and make you feel like nothing has changed as much as he can. He keeps up with the jokes, the gifts, and tries to make you feel as normal as you used to feel.

• you notice how he stares at you more often, how he looks deeper into your eyes when you talk. As if he's trying to memorize every feature before it all goes away.

• he's decided that once you're gone, is when he will go too. He doesn't want to live without you. He laughs to himself a little bit, a soft, gentle chuckle, at the thought. "It's not the way I would have wanted, but now I finally get to die with you."

• he thinks he's so good at keeping this plan from you. That he's hiding it completely out of your line of sight. But you know Dazai. You know him better than anyone. You know how much he loves you. And the day you part ways your last wish to him is that he continues to live, to move on, to be with his friends and do what he wants to do. And once you're gone, he never thinks of suicide again.

Chuuya:

• at first, he does everything he can to find a cure. He spends thousands on doctors and doctors all specializing in your condition. But they all say the same thing. It can't be cured.

• you notice how much this is eating him up, how he's been more cranky, more irritable, he's never resting. He barely even gives time to visit you at the hospital as he's always on the search for a new doctor who will finally tell him what he wants. That there's a way out of this, a way for you to continue being in his life. But to no avail.

• your request is final, it's the last thing you ask him for. You want him to rest, to give up, and to just enjoy the time you have left. At first he's speechless. His eyes are smaller and wider than you've ever seen them. It feels as though his heart had stopped beating, his blood stopped pumping, and the world just went quiet for a second.

• then there comes the anger. The frustration. How can you just ask him that? To let you go? To just stand by as this stupid illness takes you away? Don't you know how much you mean to him? Don't you care?

• Chuuya doesn't visit you for a while after that. He spends time alone. Not even drinking the wine he loves so much, the bottles he had been saving for a special occasion, the ones with you in it. He stares blankly at nothing, thinking of nothing. The world could end right there and then but he would still be in this state. At least we'd go together, he thinks.

• meanwhile, you remain at the hospital, in the same bed, in the same room. A part of you is happy, because now Chuuya can move on. He can forget about you and finally be happy, happier than he'll ever be with you. You smile at the thought. You used to think that this time would be full of tears. But you were never one to cry. Neither was Chuuya.

• it's sunset. The end of the last month your doctor said you had left. Your body has weakened, you can't even get out of bed. At this point they've stopped trying, stopped filling you with meds and serums and shots. Stopped plugging you into machines and machines and machines. There are no more pipes around your body. No more wires. No more tubes. They've decided to let you go peacefully, and make you feel as if you were sleeping in your own bed, in your own home.

• on the last day, Chuuya is there.

• he stands at the doorway, calm and collected. He enters the room without a word. All he does is sit next to you, and take your hand in his. You look at him and smile.

• "I'm here, doll." He says.

• he wants to apologize. To atone for leaving you alone for so long. For forcing you in this room by yourself. But he knows you hate apologies. He just wants to spend the last remaining moments he has with you, with you.

• as he's sitting on that little chair next to you, watching your breathing get slower and slower, softer and softer, your life force fading away, he examines your face. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. He examines how your hair is fixed into the way you always did it, as if nothing has changed.

• he wants to say something, the last thing you will ever hear.

"I won't forget you,",

"I'll never leave you,"

Something like that. But he doesn't.

Instead he sits and watches you, in complete silence. He only realizes now that you two have been so loud and noisy the whole time you've known each other. Simple conversations are said in such loud voices, but you both loved it that way. But this time, you both decided it would be quiet. Peaceful. A contrast to the unusually loud and vulgar lives you both have lived. An end to a chapter.

Fyodor:

• Like Chuuya, Fyodor isn't one to give up so easily. He goes beyond doctors, or medicine, or anything so ordinary.

• he goes for the Book.

• the one thing that can change anything. All of this. He can give you a better life, one without all the dirt and bloodshed he had associated you with. One where you're happy, living in the house of your dreams, with all the things you've ever wanted, happier than ever.

• a life without him.

• Fyodor loved you too much to watch you get tainted by his own filth. He always thought it was too late for him, but not for you. But now you don't have all that time. Now he has to erase everything. Erase every part of you that was dirtied by him. With a new life free of him, you would finally, truly, be happy.

• He's off on dangerous missions. Making all sorts of enemies. All to do the last thing he could to make you happy.

• "Fedya," you called, your voice as sweet and soft as it always was. He snaps out of his trance, not realizing his gaze was so far away. "Yes, dear?" He answers, hard, sharp eyes softening upon seeing you. "Come here," you ask.

• he stands up from the chair he was sitting on across the room from you, and walks to your bedside. He puts a hand on your pillow, careful not to touch you. He knows very well that your unique condition is not one that is contagious. Even if it was that wouldn't be the reason he isn't touching you. It's all symbolic, he doesn't want to dirty you any more than he already has. He wants to keep this valuable, albeit cracked little porcelain doll in this state, before it slowly disappears.

• "Hold my hand, Fedya." You tell him. Breaking from his symbolic gestures, he takes your hand in his, caressing you with his thumb as he does so.

• "I want you to do something for me," you ask, not meeting his gaze. "Of course, dear." He answers almost immediately. He knows you never ask him for anything unless it was really important.

• "I want you to stop looking for that book." You say. Fyodor's eyes widen a little, a frown almost forming on his face. But he's smart enough to not need a reason. And he knows you well enough to know you don't want a sappy little conversation between the two of you filled with tears and cries.

• It takes a moment, but he smiles and nods. "Okay," he says. "Anything for you, myshka."

• your final moments are spent with him telling you a story, reading from a book you used to love. It was in Russian, and he would read it to you as a pastime before going to bed together. Even after you're gone, he keeps reading. All the way until he finishes the book. He closes it and looks at you. Your eyes are closed, your mouth is slightly open, as if you were just asleep. He gets up and kisses you on the forehead, and doesn't leave until the doctors come in.

Ok that's all! And sorry but usually when I say "bsd men" I mean these three idiots who I love with my whole heart and my whole pussy🤗 also sorry if some were kinda out of character, especially fyodor, I haven't seen him much in the anime yet since I haven't gotten to s5😅

[esamastation]

Part thirty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty

-

They've landed in Wutai after a frankly miserable plane ride in a windowless, seat-less troop carrier - which, why even call it a troop carrier when it's clearly not designed to be carrying people? The thing is filled with boxes and stuff, there was barely enough room to move!

Guess that's what happens with last minute takeoffs - you get what you get.

The first few minutes onboard were fine and kinda novel - being on a plane at all was kind of a mind trip, because, heh, plane, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, eat your heart out! But then it became just hours upon hours of boredom in a rattling tube of metal. Sword flying is clearly a superior mode of transport.

"We will have your things delivered to wherever you're going to be staying," Reno says, waving them off the plane, hiis attention fixed on one of the bigger boxes. "Rude, come give me a hand with this…"

"We should -" Rude starts to say, looking at the SOLDIERs.

"Yeah, yeah, now come give me a hand with this."

Angeal gives them an awkward, slightly relieved smile and then claps Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We better get out of the way," he says, and together they exit the plane.

Sephiroth had been bracing himself for a warfront, Angeal had even told him what to expect, but he… didn't actually know what that entailed.

Shinra troops had taken over a small town at the foot of Tamblin Mountain sometime in the past and are now using it as their forward base. That's where they land - in a dirt runway cut into the forest, just by the town. And it's…

It reminds him of old movies, the mixture of vaguely mixed Asian style buildings, with these modern canvas tents pitched in between them and on the roads. There are trucks that totally aren't jeeps that have worn grooves into soft  streets, unprepared for such traffic, making everything messy and muddy. They've erected fences all over the place, sectioning parts off, and there are  floodlights everywhere. There's also  robots patrolling the place. 

In the distance, on the rolling hills somewhere to the west, there are rice paddies and behind them mountains. All around them there's a lush wall of green that looks almost like a rainforest. It actually might be rainforest! It would fit the allegory!

The mental, ethnic vertigo is so strong for a moment that Sephiroth doesn't know which way to turn to look. He doesn't know what to think. Mostly he just feels kinda… unnerved.

Angeal returns to his side before he even realises he'd gone somewhere. "I talked to the Colonel. Come on," Angeal says, clapping him on the shoulder. "They've set up a place for us. We'll… debrief there."

"... Hn," Sephiroth answers, and follows him.

There's a lot of Shinra troops milling about, infantry mostly, but some SOLDIER Seconds and Thirds too. They all stop to stare. Some of them look excited, but most just look tired and dirty and worn.

Sephiroth wonders if the Colonel is in charge of them. Actually, it might be that they're now in charge of everyone here! They're SOLDIERs First Class. Isn't that the highest rank? He can't remember if Sephiroth being a General was fanon or canon, but hasn't he been involved with the war since the beginning?

Would he have to give orders now, orders to march, to fight… to kill?

Angeal shows him to a house that was clearly someone's home before Shinra took the place over. It's a single room with tatami floors and rice paper walls, and the military bunks clash with the aesthetic horribly. Their pillows are clearly seat cushions.

There's a fancy looking kimono stand that's being used to hang bags and ammo satchels.

"What happened to the people who lived here?" Sephiroth can't help but ask, staring at the stand and wondering where the kimono had gone.

"They abandoned the town ahead of the troops," Angeal says.

Sephiroth looks at him and then at the room. Did they really, or is that a nicer thought than they were all executed? "... Right," he says and picks up the seat cushions from the bunk, piling them up in the corner - wondering if there was a table here, and what happened to it.

"Are you alright?" Angeal asks.

Probably not! "What's our mission here?" Sephiroth asks, picking up bags and satchels from the stand and carrying them outside.

"... We have a day to acclimate. After that, there's a number of things that need to be accomplished," Angeal says, subdued, and takes out his phone. "We can start slow - there's no major engagements being planned just now, no one will mind."

"Mn, and what does starting slow mean?" Sephiroth asks, as he picks up stuff around the hut and gets rid of it.

"Well, there's a number of monster extermination requests around here - Wutai wildlife is high-level, and it's rumoured that they're being intentionally bred by Wutai people. They've been attacking patrols."

Sephiroth gets rid of most of the random crap in the hut and then considers the bunk beds. They're ugly and probably unpleasant, but… they have to sleep somewhere. 

It takes just one swing of Masamune to improve the situation immensely.

"Um," Angeal says as Sephiroth finishes separating the beds and moves one of them to the other side of the hut. "... Why?"

"I am not sleeping in a bunk bed," Sephiroth says simply and looks around. "... Do you think they have folding screens around here?"

 Angeal arches his brows. "I don't know for sure. I suppose we could ask around? I think there's a storage house where they've put the collected, um," he clears his throat. "Things that will be sent to Midgar eventually. Maybe we can requisition some of it."

Things to be sent to Midgar…  that's nice. That's a nice way to say the spoils of war, huh. 

Sephiroth looks away. It's the way of war, he knows that, nothing unusual about it. It happened in PIDW too - cut out all the smut and stupidity, and all Binghe did was plunder and loot and pillage. When he wasn't being handed tributes, anyway. It's just par for the course! Right? Right…

"You…" Angeal starts and then sighs and puts the phone away. "How about I'll go get a screen for you, if there's any available. Do you want anything else?" He sounds very indulgent and understanding.

"Two screens. And a table," Sephiroth says without facing him, feeling like a sullen little kid being placated. "... Thank you. Can you ask someone to get rid of the - stuff outside?"

"I'll take care of it," Angeal promises. "You just… take a moment to make yourself comfortable, okay? There's no rush."

Aka, pull yourself together, man, you're looking really pitiful right now. Thanks, Angeal-bro.

Sephiroth's waits until Angeal is gone before sinking down to sit on one of the beds, putting his head in his hands.

Though they'd not seen much from the plane, what with it not having windows and all, he can see it in his mind's eye now. Burned villages smoking in the jungle, scorched fields, muddy paddies ruined. He'd never cared much for any kind of war stuff, but he'd seen his share of first person shooters and letsplays.

It all feels very real all of a sudden.

And he's supposed to be the Big Bad here! The Demon of Wutai! Who knows how many people he's already killed in this war! And sure, it is a war, and that's what happens, and yeah, he has killed before as Shen Qingqiu, but -!

Going to war on behalf of the America-allegory of the situation? The invader, the hostile occupier, the - the evil planet-sucking dystopian megacorporation?!

Dragging his hands down his face, Sephiroth sighs and looks up.

There are calligraphy scrolls hung up on each side of the door. One reads Integrity and the other Honour. Sephiroth stares at them miserably for a long moment.

Yeah.

He's so going to end up defecting here, isn't he? Four days, four days in this world, and he's doing to fuck up the whole plot, right here and now. It must be some kind of record! But where the fuck will be even defect to? The Demon of Wutai, hello?! The locals probably want his head on a spike!

"I am so fucked," he mutters wretchedly and hangs his head.