#this is why i get stuck in last place in death matches

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to (or at least should) suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. As the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop....

...after this he drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Or, for the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when he doesn't react in the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. For Heaven. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And so for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3 (to I assume) even out the scores. Or... to deserve Crowley. Some people also want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he has (so thoughtlessly) done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book, my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I...did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating as well, and by furiously (but quietly) trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel I get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck (Crowley's 'What's the point of it all' at the beginning of S2). I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, but I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying from then on.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

How did Aziraphale spend the night after vanquishing the demons and starting a war? He had no idea where Crowley was. What happened to him. He was probably sick with worry that Hell just took him away. We didn't see him drink and cry, but surely, the worry must have been overwhelming. The wait for what will happen now.

ALL his worries over the Arrangement. Was he worried for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in S1, yes, we saw that. And what happened to the angel then?

He got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps. Why is he hurt? And why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, he doesn't deliberate, doesn't worry that he will Fall (although surely that must have been what he thought will happen if he survives this), there's no pomp around it, he thinks it and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was most likely gone. That he probably left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale? About his sadness?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. First of all, he was suppressing his emotions OUT OF LOVE. His main goal was always to keep Crowley safe. They simply couldn't run away or hoodwink Heaven and Hell. They had nowhere to go. They had no hope and yet they kept loving each other. That's courage. I know we all grew up with Romeo and Juliet and Heathcliff and Cathy and we FORGOT that those were CAUTIONARY tales. And this is not what Aziraphale wants for them. He would never allow himself to go so fast he would hurt Crowley. He feels guilty enough for agreeing to the Arrangement and for meeting Crowley at all when he knows they can be discovered and punished at any point. And Crowley knows it and RESPECTS it. He does not tolerate Aziraphale's decision to not go on a date and to hell with circumstances. He understands Aziraphale's reasoning and he respects Aziraphale's decision. Don't forget, they have NO POWER. They can't change Heaven and Hell. They can't stop believing in God and work on their religious trauma. Their Heaven and Hell are real places with real power and they both BELONG to them. Aziraphale's trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd probably never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress like Crowley does. He will learn to be more open, I'm sure. With his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. They got a little bit of freedom for themselves despite ALL odds. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * One more note on grief: (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, not at all. But asking how I am can only end up in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid, unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do). I think...this would probably work not just for someone who is grieving but also for someone who you know is dealing with depression for example or a serious illness etc. Edit 2. It's now almost (in 15 days) a year since my brother died. The random attacks of pain and grief have lessened and I have started to do more of the things I enjoyed before... and I am able to answer how are you questions without feeling like they are trying to mock me (the questions, not the people). So I suppose things do get ... lighter? More diffused? I'm not sure. Because it's still exactly as unfair that my brother has not lived this past year as it will be however many years I will be here without him I expect.

[locallixie]

housemates — lee know

> summary . how can you live your life peacefully with having your housemate constantly seducing you like that?!

> genre . smut, fluff, housemates au, forced proximity, housemate!minho, gn!reader.

> warnings . sexual tension, general sexual themes, minor language, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, tipsy sex.

(wc) > 6.3k

(sunny's note) ☆ "and they were roommates.” wanted to be sweet and cute, until lee minho is in the equation. sorry for the late upload, i had a really bad writing slump and progress was slow. but i made it!

You shouldn’t have agreed to this if you knew this was how it would turn out. What a mistake, your kindness that yourself and other has taken for granted. And currently stuck in a living situation that tested your patience every waking hours, your dormitory experience was no match for this.

Jisung had asked you for a ‘small’ favour a couple months earlier, about how his friend got evicted and was now homeless, wondering if you could let him stay for a while until he find a new place. First of all, that was not a small favor. Secondly, you didn’t even know this friend that he was talking about. And you were reluctant to let a stranger stay in your house right off the bat. You lived in a dorm before, but that was a dorm and not your own house.

“Please, [Y/N], just a couple months.” Jisung pushed over the phone, you could tell he was outside from the loud and slightly muffled noise that the speaker picked up upon.

Sighing, your soft spot for him would be the death of you. Agreed with hesitation, since you were glad you were out of the dorm life and regained your privacy, but it seemed that life had came to pull you back in. Jisung should be expecting your complaints if something bad happened between you and your new housemate.

From the first initial meeting, you got some of the weirdest vibe from this guy. Maybe it was the amount of black and leather he was dressed up in, or the bitchy look on his face that could kill with a single stare. How the fuck was Jisung friends with a person like this? They were the complete opposite of one another, the guy looked as if he committed first degree murders as his favourite past-time. What you meant was you were convinced that he was a sociopathic killer, and he was probably plotting yours and Jisung’s death soon.

For one person, he sure did had a lot of stuff. You three brought around eight or ten different sized carton boxes up to your apartment, not counting the two gigantic suitcases that he had to take a second trip with Jisung to go get. He must have been living in his old place for very long to have that much stuff, wonder why he got kicked out? Possibly because the landlord found the bodies with how sharp his eyes always glared at.

“Don’t worry about the rent, Minho can pay for his half.” Jisung reassured, starting his car. The engine roared loudly, it had been through a rough day of carrying all that stuff to here.

Before he left, Jisung told you one last thing. “Oh, and don’t be afraid to ask him for help around the house, Minho may look intimidating but he’s quite a sweet guy.” With that sentence stuck in the back of your head, he drove away. If you could even have enough courage to ask him to take the trash out, maybe that statement would be proven.

You did all the house chores yourself, you didn't ask for any assistance from Minho. Wether it was because you were used to having to do everything yourself, or he was just still as unapproachable as the first time you two met. But he too, barely talked to you. You heard his voice once or twice when he was on the phone, but he did not speak a full sentence to you and ought for short few words replies.

"Do you need any help?" Another voice emerged from behind your back, offering assistance.

You pulled the trash bag out of the can, "I'm good, thanks,"

"Whatever, suit yourself." Minho walked away. Not even a bit of small talk? It frustrated you of how aloof he was acting, he didn't want to get to know you at all. However, it pissed him off just as much, you would always shrug him off every-time he offered to help you. As you two had made it clear before, you hardly knew each other, and here you were living together as people of unfamiliarity.

You didn't know his last name, or how he met your three years best friend—Jisung. Neither did he held any personal information about you, he wasn't even sure which variation of your name was the correct one. Already a month has passed by and no one was willing to start up a conversation with the other person. This ice between you and Minho just kept getting thicker and colder.

Ranting on the phone, "I'm telling you, I can not get through him! I think he hate me!"

"Calm down, [Y/N], he doesn't hate you." Jisung reassured, sighing as this was the third phone call of the month that you were expressing your discontent for the same subject. "It's simple, just talk to him, even if it's small talk."

Hearing the front door opened, "Fuck, he's back, I'll talk to you later." You didn't let Jisung say 'bye', hanging up in the midst of his sentence.

Minho worked a nine-to-five job, you weren't sure of his occupation in particular. You got a sense of his routine, he would leave the house at exactly seven-fifty in the morning and usually came home around five or six—depending on the traffic that day. On few occasions, he was nice enough to bring food home for the both of you.

"Hey, you're back quite late today?" You asked, seeing the clock already hitting six at the moment.

He set down a few plastic bags on the table, "I got groceries on the way, I'll cook dinner." He explained shortly, bringing ingredients to the kitchen for preparation.

That was a first, he had never offered to cook before, much less thanking you for the meals you made for dinner. Guessed he was just hot and cold like that, and this was his way of showing his gratitude. You weren't mad, on what normal day would you have someone cook for you enjoy? You technically did everything yourself when you moved out a few years ago.

Watching his figure diligently cooking in the kitchen, it comforted you in an unusual way. He was like your own personal boyfriend—for tonight at least, he would cook and then sit at the table with you to eat, maybe he might even offer to wash the dishes. A fine, hard-working young man? Anyone who could scored him would probably be winning in life. You couldn’t hide your jealousy if he ever bring home a date.

He walked over to you, holding out a spoon with a small portion of thick orange liquid. Minho asked, “Try it, tell me if it suit your taste.”

The tangy flavour stood out immediately, he must have put something citrusy as it melt into your tastebuds. It was good, no, amazing even! This hidden talent of his was worth all the waiting you had done, you never knew Minho could be such a great chef. For a while, you thought this guy couldn’t possibly hold a knife correctly, yet you were proven wrong of your assumptions.

You nodded, the sound you made when encountered good food already told him enough. Everything smelled so mouth-watering, and the presentation was tempting you to devour everything in on sitting.

"Thanks for the food!" As soon as he placed the last dish onto the table, you immediately picked up your utensils. You could not hold yourself back when face with good home-cooked food, good home-cooked food made by an equally good-looking guy.

Minho sat down beside you—he usually sat across from you which kept a nice distance between the two of you—he was very close today. Asked he, "How is it? Good?"

You didn't hold back on your praises, "God, why didn't you cook sooner? This is actual heaven~!"

He simply smiled in a humble manner. Your face was a little puffed up when you eat, which he found quite endearing. Watching you stuffed your entire face with rice, sweet and sour ribs, and eggrolls. Flattered by how much you were enjoying it, yet concerned from how fast you were eating.

"Slow down, wouldn't want you to choke." He gazed at you as he advised.

"Unless you like it like that." Immediately, you started coughing profusely. A grain of rice flew up to your nose, making everything worse the longer it stayed stuck up there.

Minho patted your back, "Woah, are you alright?" Uh, obviously no?! You were coughing out rice over here, how could you even be remotely okay? And how did he expect you to be okay after that suggestive comment he just made? This guy was unbelievable. The smile laced with deviousness, as if he was silently planning something that would catch you off guard—which certainly did a minute ago.

He picked up a single rib and ate it with his chopsticks, he probably mind getting his hands dirty from that sticky sauce he used. How could Minho looked so graceful while eating while you were here devouring everything down like a fucking caveman. Work on your image a bit, would you? Especially when you were living with someone that wouldn't use their hands to eat ribs.

"Have you been talking to Jisung recently?" Minho suddenly questioned, setting down his bowl as to show respect.

You turned to him, confusion sitting on your shoulders and your heart sinking with a bit of guilt. By any chance, did he overheard your conversations? "Yeah, I have." Continued by another question, "What? Are you two not talking?"

Minho's eyes was bigger than you expected, now seeing him a bit closer from your distance from each other. It curved in a very pretty way, and glistened upon every reflections of his soul. You couldn't help, couldn't help but get a little sad every-time you gazed into his eyes, or when they would unknowingly stared back at you. He looked at you, as if through his eyes saw you as the most precious person to exist in the short timespan that was the human life.

"He haven't been answering my texts and calls, I don't know if he's upset with me or something?" Minho sighed, "Can you...just ask him for me?"

In a bit of hesitation, "Would it be a bit rude for an outsider to chime in? Whatever it is you and Jisung are going through, it's best if you two worked it out together...privately." You told, trying to offer other solutions.

Minho let out a tired breath, "I don't know, I'm not sure what I did wrong that made him upset with me, that's what I'm most worried about."

You patted his back, "Just talk it out with him, communication is key!" How ironic, you could hardly hold a conversation with him, and now you were here giving out communication advise? Unreliable source. You knew you shouldn't interfere with whatever beef Jisung and Minho was having between each other, but you were making it seem like you wouldn't ask Jisung for details. Or Jisung would tell you himself from how much he like to rant to you.

Minho flashed a genuine smile towards you, "Thanks, I owe you one!"

Your heart skipped a beat, just one enough for your whole system to go the very bit haywire. You were finally making some good progress with Minho, and his entire intimidating and remote façade all came crashing down when he smiled. Keep up the good work!

“Are you and Minho back on speaking terms yet?” The other line went quiet for a few seconds, you heard a sigh being let out.

Jisung replied with a question, “He told you?”

Fuck, your nosy tendencies were acting up again, it slipped out of you like a natural instinct. “No���um, yeah he did but I don’t know the details or anything! He was just wondering if you were mad at him or something since you stop contacting him.” You went on to explain, trying to tell Jisung that you weren’t intending to be impolite and simply wanted to help your friend out.

The other giggled at your tone of voice, of how freaked out he got you. You acted as if the people you were working for to take down started suspecting you to be a double agent, but unlike those action films, you were terrible at hiding the truth.

“My girlfriend don’t like the fact that I’m still friends with my exes, so she wiped out their contacts from my phone.” The whole problem was finally solved as the explanation came out.

Wait, one thing. “Minho is your ex?!” You exclaimed at the sudden realization.

Jisung was absolutely enjoying this from the other line, “What? You want him?” He teased.

Your face went red, denying the question thrown at you. This whole time, this was the relationship your housemate has with your best friend? And he had never cared to tell you about anything regarding this romance he once had? All these people do was lie. Struggling through your words, you outwardly rejected the idea. “No—! No– I don’t! I—!”

Jisung interrupted, “It’s fine, he’s all yours.”

You tried denying, “No, I don’t want him—!” Quickly being cut of by Jisung once more.

“And he’s a really great kisser—”

“Jisung, shut the fuck up!” You hanged up in embarrassment, throwing your phone away in a state of panic. Why would he tell you that? As if you needed to be more careful around Minho now that you knew these things about him. God, how did he expect you to continue living with this knowledge? Unlike Jisung, you saw Minho everyday of the week.

The door to your bedroom suddenly opened, “Are you okay? I heard a thud.” Minho was still in his work attire, a tad bit sweaty from the heated summer air, the first two buttons of his shirt were left undone. Solely from the condition of his appearance was in, you were mentally restraining yourself.

“Did you just came back?” You asked, begging that he didn’t heard your conversation with Jisung on the phone a few minutes ago.

He replied shortly, “Yeah, I’ll go shower now so we can eat.” Closing your door as he left without another word, left silently with knowing what you said earlier. He heard enough of your phone call, you were too caught up with talking that you didn’t hear the front door open. Minho was halfway across the hall to his room when he heard you shouted, his name fell out from your mouth as clear as day.

Oh, Jisung never told you that he and Minho were a thing? Now it was kind of awkward for the both of you. But if you wanted him, he wanted you too. He saw the way you would look at him, stealing glances from across the table. He was a very attractive guy, you were sure he wholeheartedly knew this, and he used it to his advantage.

Coming out of a cold shower, his hair was wet and dripping water down his back and shoulders, but at least have some respect for you by covering up his entire bare torso. At the dinner table? Was he going to be half-naked for the whole duration of dinner? He wanted you dead, you boldly claimed.

“So…how was work?” You opened up a topic, hoping he would start talking to fill the silence that was ongoing between the two of you.

Minho let out a chuckle, "Not fun." Handing you a pair of chopsticks and a ceramic bowl. That was understandable, he did looked quite worn out coming home after work.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking." You raised a question into his occupation.

He began picking up food from the many plates into his bowl, the wondrous scent controlled his chopsticks faster than his mind. Minho answered while pouring the meat broth over his rice, "I'm an accountant."

An accountant? Was that a code word for sex workers? No one in their right mind would go into accounting. Minho out of all people, worked as an accountant? You had no negative comments on his intelligences, or his work ethics. But accounting sounded so boring for someone as interesting as Minho, you thought what he said was a joke of some sort. Maybe he had a side hustle doing unconventional and dirty jobs.

"It's not fun, but I got bills to pay." Minho joked to lighten up the mood, filling in the empty pauses with yours and his joyful laughs.

He shook his head in a subtle yet prominent dissappointment, smiling to hide his actual emotion on his feeling of unfulfillment. "I wish I became a singer back then."

What he said piqued your interest, you looked up at him with a spark of excitement. Straight into his eyes, you asked. "You sing?"

His vocals was almost professional singer level, for a first in the short timespan of knowing him, you saw such happiness on his face. Holding the microphone as he sang you a love song, the amount of money you spent on that karaoke machine paid off. Minho wasn't wrong or thought too highly of himself when he said he should had became a singer, you would have said the same thing if you knew him sooner. And if he did, you would support him with your all.

The atmosphere got a bit hotter and hotter as the night went on, with alcohol entering the table as an uninvited guest. When a sensual song came on, the mood totally changed for better or worse. His loose t-shirt was showing some skin, it was too a little short as it was showing peeks of his toned stomach underneath. Your mind was going places, wether it was because of the alcohol getting you tipsy or it was your inner desires for intimacy.

Minho did not broke eyes-contact with you, in a hushed voice, stating that you were the only beauty he would keep in his sight tonight. Gently holding your hand in his, he placed it on his chest. Did you feel it? Under the warm and shaking palm of yours. His heart beating at a tiny bit quicker pace than usual, beating for you with all of these temptations in him.

"Minho, I should go to bed now, it's getting awfully late." You told, diverting away in a flustered mess. Yet, despite your attempt at diluting the air, Minho persuasion didn't seem to back down. Too heated, too close as you could now smell his liquor-laced breath.

Eyes half-lidded which made his desires just the more prominent, he was serious with no control. Before your lips could touch one another, a loud vibration emerged abruptly that pulled both of you out of that drunken trance.

Blindly grabbing for your phone, your eyelids were giving up as each minute continued to pass by. You didn't look at the contact name, the alcohol was taking over your system like a pernicious poison. A voice echoed out from your phone speaker, it took you a few seconds to register the other line’s speaking and its distinct frequency.

“Where is your report?! [Y/N], you are driving me crazy with your constant delays!” They roared at you, annoyed and angered.

You got off from your place on the couch, walking away with your phone in hand as you used your last few excuses to save yourself. “Seungmin, it’s not really a good time right now, can I call you back?”

Seeing you caught up with work on the line, he figured he would clean up this mess you two made on the coffee table for you. For a moment, he thought you felt it too. He might had read the room wrong, but the way you tried to avert from the situation felt almost like a reassurance for him. As if you wanted to go further with him, go little deeper, but you were unsure if he was onboard as well. He thought of apologizing, after you sober up more than the state you were in at the moment.

You swore, you couldn't remember anything from the night before. Went to bed at nearly one in the morning, woke up head-empty and half of the blankets and pillows were off your bed. Come on, you could confidently say that you did not exceed your limit. Yet as shown this morning, you had a rough night yesterday with the leftover liquor running through your veins.

You were absolutely dumb-founded when he said he was sorry for what happened last night, as if you remembered everything clearly to its very details. Let's see, you ate dinner, you talked, sang a couple songs out of boredom you assumed, then it all when foggy after that.

"What are you on about? I have no idea of whatever the hell you are apologizing for." Telling him straight up, you could not register anything he was saying to make any sense.

Frustrated, and a bit taken over by the shame from yesterday. "No, it's okay, you're better off not knowing anyway. Sorry for making a scene so early in the morning."

Minho finished the few last sips of his Americano, grabbing his laptop bag from under the dining table in a hurry. "I have to go now, see you again at six." He bid goodbye at the front door.

Before he go for the next ten hours, you told him tonight's plan. "I have a few friends over tonight, if you don't mind their companies."

"How many are coming?" Minho asked.

You tilted your head as you tried to remind yourself of the size of your party, maybe even the identities of your guests as well. "Just three. Jisung is going to be there too, if you want to see him."

You could forget anything, anything that you deemed important. But one thing that you couldn't seem to shake off your mind, as it has been bugging you ever since you knew of it, was the bygone romance Minho had with your best friend—happened to be Jisung. Now that you were non-actively trying to persue the guy, it left a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Though Jisung had affirmed that the past was in the past, you could court his ex-boyfriend all you want.

Minho looked down, "We'll talk later, okay? I'm late for work." Leaving things unfinished between you, he closed the door as he left.

You didn't work until around noon, you could work from home if you wanted, yet you still came into the office everyday since things moved faster with you being physically there. But after that call from Seungmin—head of your department, you were already considered brave for the mere thought of showing up. Despite how nice Seungmin actually was, his anger was incomparable to anything you had ever seen.

After your short shift, you went back home to get things prepare. On the way home, you had already picked up a few ingredients. Said ingredients were just a six-pack of cold beers and Gochujang sauce for the beef. The others wouldn't come for another hour, for the time being, you would have to get everything ready by yourself.

Pray to god that the table grill was still working today since you haven't brought it out for a good few years now, it was collecting dust in the very far back of your cupboard. The hangout had been planned for a little while already, you got most of the things a day or two prior.

Was Minho going to join you? His expression carried a bit of hesitation when you asked this morning, though you would be happy to have him if he did changed his mind. The more the merrier!

Hyunjin and Jisung came over just a tiny bit earlier than Felix, guessed he was caught up with some baking for desert. You and your friends were all gathered up together at the dining table, it felt crowded by how small of a space you had to eat for four people. Happy that Hyunjin’s beer wasn’t on the floor since it was standing so confidently at the edge.

“When is Minho coming home?” Jisung suddenly turned to you.

“I don’t know, usually he would be back by now.” You shrugged, just now noticing today’s abnormalities. Maybe something came up at the office, or he had something else he needed to do beside from work matter. Whatever it was, you just hoped he would get home safety.

Speak of the devil, not even ten minutes had passed and the front door softly rang of clicking keys. You came to open the door for Minho, meeting his slightly stunned expression. His glossy tired eyes under the dirty frames of his glasses gazed back at you, his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead as if he ran his way home. God, he looked rough, but so strangely enticing at the same time.

"Hey, we were just talking about you!" You beamed.

"Sorry, I'm late. My digital files got corrupted, so I had to get I.T to check that bitch out." Minho sighed deeply, you could imagine how long it took to resolve it purely from how worn out he presented.

The others greeted him at the dining table, getting a stool for him to sit since you were out of chairs. Minho was sandwiched between you and Hyunjin, one he knew, one he didn’t. He felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable sitting in such a tight spot, especially when yours and his thighs were rubbing against each other. He didn’t mind it too much, he liked you anyways.

“Ah, Minho! This is Hyunjin, and that’s Felix, they’re my college friends.” You introduced. Though he was a year older, they treated him with a casual formality. Felt more like meeting old friends than new people, your group broke the ice a lot quicker than he had previously expected. Soon you all were drinking and chatting, learning a bit too much about each other for the first meeting.

Felix tapped out, “No more, I’m driving tonight.” With Jisung following along as most had already decided to stop drinking, including you.

You placed your hand on the shoulder of the person next to you, “Are you still going? Damn, you must know how to handle your liquor.”

Minho stared back at you as you spoke to him, his eyes half-lidded like the night before. The first few buttons were unfastened, his bare and defined chest laid underneath the thin fabric. A sheer cast of sweat made his body glistened by the overhead light, his glasses was slowly slipping off his nose bridge which reflected the sweat even more than it should have. His face was flushed red and pink everywhere, flushed from a love confession of a drunken mind. Any minute now, he might just be making out with you.

His heart and guts was burning up with these carnal desires, if your friends weren't here, you could bet he would be fucking your brains out like how you so desperately wanted him to. He wanted you just as much, so shamelessly wanted you.

Minho leaned in suddenly, his lips and hot intoxicated breath lingered your ears. Whispered gently with his mellow, sleepy tone of voice, "When are they leaving?"

“We’re just going to have some tea and brownies, they’ll be on their way soon. Why do you ask?” You returned, asking in with a bit of hesitation in the back of you mind. Could it be he was overloaded enough, or did he not like your friends? You doubted the second one, since they had so much fun together. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

He didn’t further elaborate, ending the subject then and there with no other explanation. His intentions were unclear, as if he was hiding something from you but you couldn’t figure out what it was. Hopefully not something shady, or would leave you with a bad image of Minho. Keep it simple, he was probably tired and he needed a bit more peace and quiet. And he couldn't get any peace and quiet if your friends were here, right?

You wanted him to take off his shirt, take every single piece of fabric on his body off, let you admire all of his grace and beauty. Occupied with drooling over your housemate, the teapot seemed to had slipped your mind.

"Fuck!" Yelped you, the heat of the hot tea finally burned your skin.

Hearing pain from your voice, Minho and the others were already there to aid you. Especially Minho, he grabbed your hand into his as soon as he noticed. Luckily for you, the injury was minor and running it through cool water was good enough.

Minho really has you in a chokehold, metaphorically speaking obviously—unless. If you two did become a thing, would it be a little awkward? Maybe not for Jisung, but you were unsure of how or what to think in a situation like this. Though, despite how much you might try to push the idea away due to having quite a lot of repect for your best friend, you couldn't help yourself.

Seduction existed in his eyes and body language, it was subtle yet effective. An absolute disaster that the two of you also lived together, which pumped you up with an amount of hormone that a high-school student would have.

The way he dressed may be ordinary, office worker fashion. His shoulders flexing in his fitted button-up, straight dress pant hugging his thighs. His thick frame glasses further accentuated his winsome features. There was no exaggeration that he, for a definite, has a lot of admirers from work. You too, would be weak on your knees if Minho was your colleague.

It was around eight o’ clock by the time you finished up, which wasn’t late—at least to your definition—but tomorrow was still a work day. Especially for Hyunjin, who was flying out of the country for a business trip, of which it was crucial for him to leave early morning for his flight.

“I’m catching a cab home.” Jisung answered when you asked him how he was going to get home without a car, since the other two already left on their separate ways.

“No, I’ll drive you home.” You offered kindly.

“You drank a lot tonight, you really shouldn’t be driving, [Y/N].” Jisung denied, pointing out the slight alcoholic haze you were in. He wasn’t wrong, you were a literally beast with the bottle. However, you were awake enough to still talk normally and sort of think, like being half asleep.

Reassuring you that he would be fine on his own, and that he would be sure to text you when he arrived at his place. You knew Jisung for too long for you to be worried about him on trivial things, it simply felt like the right thing or a common habitual saying you had going on. You just wanted to take extra precautions since you both had been drinking the whole night, and there were quite a lot of problems existing because of it.

"Don't worry about me too much," Jisung soothed you once more. However he had no regards for what a sentimental moment that was happening between the two of you, immediately back to his ways of joking to dilute the air. "You should be worrying about if Minho can keep his dick in his pants near you."

You smacked him on his shoulder, "Shut up, he's right over there!"

"I mean...I see the way y'all look at each other, we all know, [Y/N]." He commented, giving you a playful look. You wanted to murder Jisung, and you would make it look like an accident too. Were you being that obvious about your feelings? But the way Minho acted around you didn't help too!

Jisung waved goodbye to you and to Minho—who was in the kitchen, washing up dishes and shot glasses. "I'll see you on Saturday for coffee if you can even get out of bed, bye!"

Nodding, as you watched him walk away from your apartment to the main elevator, realization hit later than expected. You yelled out in annoyance but Jisung would definitely laughed it off and ignore you. "Hey, we're not fucking!"

You had to stay up to finish a few reports and lone documents, so that meant you wouldn't be able to see Minho during his morning coffee. Coming over to offer another hand in cleaning up, it wasn't a big mess but was a mess nonetheless. You might take care of everything for Minho to get some well-deserved rest that he has been needing.

Minho turned around as he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Let me take it from here, you should be getting ready for bed by now."

"No, I'll help." Minho single-mindedly refused your offer. "And too, I can't sleep with this raging boner you gave me."

Too sudden, too out of nowhere, your neck snapped to him when you heard him said those words. His expression was neutral, as natural as if he had said and had done nothing wrong. Still washing dishes and bowls, scrubbing and rinsing like he has been doing the same thing for years. Did he heard himself at least, or was it a thought that went loose.

"Oh, sorry." What the fuck were you supposed to reply to that? Thank you? Was that a compliment in disguise of some sort? Feuling the fire even more, the desires becoming stronger and intense, he had agreed to throw away his principles already.

Minho inched closer to you, his eyes on yours as he asked nicely for attention. "If I tell you that I want to fuck you right here right now, would you be mad?"

Face flushed, hot as when you would place your hand on your tea cup to check the temperature. He was evil, disregarding your state of mental stability by saying things of the same kind so out of pocket. He, for a fact, waited for the right time to confess his sins. The kettle was boiling all night, the heat and steams were his deepest thoughts.

You turned off the sink, your hands cool and wet and smell of dish soap from the water. For a split moment, you were solely looking at each other, begging either one to make a move. Minho leaned in towards your direction, his bare forearms brushed gently against yours. The alcohol in both of your bodies made the moment all the more intimate, slowly yet steadily closing your distance between each other, breaking down the wall of sexual tension you had unconsciously built that stood with all its might.

The faint taste of his strawberry chapstick on your tongue, his lips was a little sticky but so soft that you didn’t quite mind. There was no way of stopping him, as you too, did not want to stop the thrill ride that was ongoing. Letting out heavy breaths as he sucked dark red marks onto your skin, lips painting your blank canvas. May he be the only alcohol you would get drunk on, let you drink him up like your sorrows and distress.

“Oh, Minho.” You breathed, moaning out his name as his hands rushing to take off your pants. Hot tongue making a line on your stomach down to your sex, freely as his mouth worked on you like how you dearly enjoyed his food. Both your legs resting on his broad shoulders just did nothing but helped spread you wider.

Your sweet voice singing out to encourage him, using his tongue in all directions that favoured you. Stomach knotting with alcohol and dinner and a heaven he had created for you, coming onto his lips, a result of prolonged temptations.

Every fabric that touched yours and his bodies that day were all scattered on the floor by second round. Never even seen your best friend naked, and here you were admiring his ex-boyfriend’s entire unclothed figure with no ounce of shame left in yourself. You could not keep your hands away from him, so greedily touching him in different places.

Neither could wait any longer, deciding to lay each other’s pride out on the dining table. Minho placed his lips on yours, closing his eyes yet still seeing the vivid image of you in his dark mind. With each passing second, his cock making its way into the very depths of you. You hugged him quite tightly, as if you haven’t scored anyone in a while.

Your eyes told him everything he needed to know, you body twitching and squirming under his embrace, the silent language that told him every one of your secrets. Thrusting faster and harder, wanting to hear you make some more music for his aching soul. Minho grabbed your legs, pushing them against your torso as his cock went deeper into you. You could barely keep your eyes open, or could you stay present with him. This pleasure felt like a dream, a dream that softly pulled you in.

Minho kissed your lips once again, “Baby, don’t sleep on me, I’m not done with you just yet.”

But as much confidence that he may has in him, he was nearing his high and coming apart for you along the way. Minho’s vocals were heavenly when he sang for you, and were just as heavenly when he came into you. He kept going despite being out of breath and tired for you, he started something and he was going to finish it.

Second time felt much more powerful than the first, almost like he gave his all. You could feel his seeds dripping out from inside of you, onto the dining table and even the chairs. Dirtying everything all over again, now you had more cleaning to add onto your list. Guessed neither of you were going to get any sleep tonight.

[kuni-is-daddy]

can you do a scaramouche or kuni x wanderer x reader threesome story? i love your writing btw!! (⁠^⁠^⁠)

Wanderer x scaramouche X female Reader

'Agree to disagree' : word count 1.5k

ScaraFicList

Cw: Minors do not interact past the cut! This is a nsfw post!

Remembering when wanderer talked about how he gets angry at himself all the time- Me when i don't post.😭

Kuni and scara would always argue with eachother for no reason- yet always agree with eachother when it comes to their shared love for you. "You want to take her to a vantage point for a date? Ugh. Could you think of anything more boring than that?" Scara lightly stroked his black pen against the paper, pretending to write Wanderer's idea on the list.

"Lets take her to that teahouse in inazuma, they have great black tea there." Wanderer nearly hurled at the idea. "Yes..Inazuma..." Scara mumbled. Truly a nation of filth, One he use to spend centuries yearning to overthrow. Oh how he'd love to see the look on his creator's face as he destroyed the grand narukami shrine, burning down the sakura tree with his electro flame as- "How ridiculous, is that pathetic nation really all my past self could think about? So much.. That i use a date as a excuse to destroy it?" Wanderer leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs while scara snapped out his daze. "You imbecile. Do you need your mechanical ears fixed? Thats not what i meant. But sure..Maybe that would be an even better reason for you to go. A fool like you could use a trip there instead of hiding in this nation of delusion and...-" Wanderer raised an eyebrow as scara ranted. "And...?" "I needn't say more, Thats all this place is. Cant believe I got stuck here of all places after you foolishly erased yourself. Did you really think the gods would listen to US of all beings?"

Scara got out of his chair, walking towards his reborn self and scoffing at the glowing vision under his ornament. "It doesnt matter, obsessing over that is a waste of time. What matters is that Y/N is safe now. When we're done with kusanali you can 'wander around' and see for yourself what beelzebul thinks of us- you. For all I care." Scara sucked his teeth and sat back down. 'safe from what..me?'. "Lets go to the vantage point first, Then go out for tea. But Not, In inazuma." He snatched the paper from scara. "Fine. Then I expect that you at least picked a decent spot."

Scara held your soft hand as the both of you followed wanderer up the cemented pathway, Heels clicking under your sparkling black dress to match their suits. Wanderer had his ornament on a upper pocket besides his tie, as scara had his on his belt. Of course..Wearing a dress this pretty would be a hassle to wash but it was nothing compared to hearing your two lovers bicker over them 'copying eachothers taste in clothes and gifts.' Just thinking about it made you giggle. Wanderer then broke the silence by wrapping his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him and almost stealing your held hand from scara. "The scenery is breathtaking isnt it baby?" "Yes! you picked out a great spot wand-" he cut you off, "Shh..No need to thank me though." Wanderer trailed his hand down to your waist. "You wearing this dress I bought is more than enoug-" Scara then pulled on wanderers tie. Giving a death glance to himself that made you gulp "S-scara! why'd you-" you shrieked. "Is this why you saved my plans for last hm? More of your pathetic and desperate attempts to show off for y/n?" Scara mocked. In an instant it was as if you we're sandwiched in between the two puppets chests, wobbling in your heels as wanderer everso tightly rubbed his hand along your waist while scara moved his hand ontop of wanderers. "Show off? Hah, Its childish for you to even think that. Is talking bad on yourself a kink of yours?" Wanderer smirked. You sighed and countined to look at the pretty sunset while they argued over your head.

The 3 of you arrivied at the teahouse Scara suggested, Beads of cor lapiz hanged along the white slicked walls as decor if it was freshly painted, along with plush cushions and chairs. "Guess picking a nice place is something your reliable on. Y/n why dont you wait over there while me and scara get our table ready?" Wanderer said, to which you nodded then sat at a nearby cushion. "So. Are you paying?" He asked, "Unnecessary, just put it on the northland banks tab and the fatui will-" the ballader bit his tongue. Since he erased himself the fatui wouldnt have any knowledge of giving him or receiving mora. "What? Tsk. Dont tell me we relied on that 9th ranked guy for mora?" Wanderer sighed. "I wouldnt rely on that mortal for anything. Especially on his affiliation with the doctor. I have my own mora. I guess Lessor lord kusanali gives you an allowance as they call it?" "Dont bother. I have a job unlike you, 'balladeer.' such a bygone title.." "Oh right...Running around sumeru for Buer is that-" The balladeer was interrupted by the waiter. "Hat guy, Scara. Why are you two arguing? This is supposed to be one of Ms Y/Ns special days." Scara rose an eyebrow, eyeing down the waiter "Who the fuck are you? Heh. The audacity some of you humans have. I cant believe I live around you-" Wanderer nudged at scara's side. "You fool. Look at her eyes." The waiters eyes we're glowing a slight green, with a stroke of neon green coming down the womans hair. Nahida hid her mouth behind her hand, giggling at the two. "Heheh sorry- I just wanted to check up on you two. Is everything going alright? Is she having fun?" Scara rolled his eyes. "Ugh.. If you tried any harder buer id start to think you actually cared." "We're fine buer. Y/n finds my past selfs immaturity amusing. You can stop with this stalking hobby of yours." The mini archon smiled, completely forgetting about the waiter and acting as if it was her own job.

--(Wanderer is referenced as Kuni.)

The 3 of you arrive to your home. You walked into your shared room, kicking off your heals then throwing yourself into bed with a heavy sigh while wanderer and scara locked up for the night. The both of them would feel so guilty for you being this tired and assume it's their fault. When you actually just had really long day. They'd knock on the door before climbing into the bed, only wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Wanderer sitting up in the bed while scara trailed his hand through your hair laying beside you. "Scara...kuni.. please im fine.. just a bit tired.." "No..that's not it.. we shouldn't have been arguing on our date...let us take care of you tonight y/n." Kuni tugged at your stockings while scara snickered at his pleads. "O-okay..just be gentle please.." you laid your head against the pillow with a clear view of scaras devious expression, he whispered in your ear "There's my good pet~" before smashing his lips against yours, making your legs twitch as Kuni climbed ontop of you, trailing his hands under your dress and towards your hips. "S-scara~ slow down i-" he placed your chin in his palm. "Shh... spread your legs for master" you parted your legs as you felt your stockings subtly rip with each pull. Before you could scold the two puppets again, scara pulled you into another kiss. Letting his tongue explore your sweet taste.

God he hated sweets but having it through you made it so much better he made sure to steal it from his present self. Kuni looked up from in-between your legs to view your head getting pushed into the pillow by scara as his hand trailed down to your clothed cleavage. Getting hard just at the sight of it, he pulled your undergarment aside. Your glistening wet folds causing him to lick his lips before digging his black painted fingernails into your thighs. You gasped for air as scara pulled away from another heated kiss. He rubbed his fingertip on his lip, looking at it to see your smudged lipgloss rub on his finger. The both of you stared at eachother, catching your breath until you felt a warm sensation though your lower body. "Ah! K-kuni..Fuck!!" Hearing you curse shot another wave of lust throughout their ears, you wanted them to be gentle but God the line holding them back from devouring you grew thinner and thinner.

Scara rubbed in circles on your cleavage roughly while Kuni's tongue swirled around your bud. Your shared bedroom echoed the sounds of your mixed pleads and their praise in your mushy mind. They we're both painfully hard. Scara began shifting in the bed for any type of friction and making Kunis tongue slosh inside you while he rubbed his finger on your bud, completely disregarding his 'breathing' just to moan endlessly into you, sending shivers throughout your body. "M-master..M' so close. Please don't stop! I-" "that's it pet.. louder, I wanna hear how good masters making you feel." "Hah...you taste so good baby~ want you to squirt all over my tongue.. be a good girl and let go for me..just like that~" Your toes curled as your thighs inched closer to kuni's head, reaching your limit and screaming out his name while your juices gushed onto his tongue and face. Scara sunk his face into your neck after hearing you plead out again, Cumming untouched in his shorts. You tried calming down from your high, breathing heavily until Kuni and scara pulled away from you, Unbuttoning and unzipping their clothing infront of you. Flustered you tried hiding your face with a pillow until you felt one of them straddle you by your legs, raising them up above his shoulders. Kuni laughed, pulling the pillow away from your face and replacing it with his aching hard on.

"Dont hide now Baby, This is your special night."

GOOD LUCK TO ALL WANDERER/KUZUUZUZU/KABUKIMONO/HATGUY/SCARA PULLERS. I HOPE HE COMES THROUGH THE SCREEN AND MAKES U FEEL GOOD. 👍🤭

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter seven || weapon

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 7.3k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The feeling of the breeze threading through the open door is refreshing given the tense air in the cabin. The smell of spring blossoms puts a smile on your tired features from yet another long night.

At some point in the night, you had heard Gojo come down the stairs, his steps approaching your door but after some sort of turmoil, he seemed to decide against knocking. You had wondered if he thought you were asleep, but since you’d woken up he’d been avoiding you. He had left breakfast on the table for you early in the morning at some point, retreating back to his bedroom before you had the chance to talk.

Every time he shuffled or moved in his bedroom, you’d freeze, a sudden uncomfortable air to being in the cabin with him. You’d asked him for space last night and he was certainly giving you that, but it didn’t make you feel any better about the previous day’s interactions with him.

As you sit at the table eating your breakfast, a knock at the door makes you jump. Pressing your palms flat against the table, you push yourself to your feet, but before you can make your way to the door, Gojo hops down the stairs. His hand ghosts over your shoulder and sends a shiver down your spine.

“I got it,” he tells you, his first words to you since your argument last night.

You sit back down, wanting nothing more than to talk to Gojo about the events of last night, but the presence of Yuta at the door prevents you from doing so.

“Morning, Sensei!” The boy grins cheerily, gripping the bag slung over his shoulder. He peeks into the cabin, shooting you a kind but wary smile. “Good, you’re both here. Can I come in?”

Gojo shoots you a glance, a silent question. When you nod, Gojo makes space for Yuta to enter.

“Hey y/n, how’re you feeling?” He asks, sliding his katana bag off his shoulder and leaning on the table beside you as he sits down.

“Been better,” you admit but shoot him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah I’m sorry about stabbing you, by the way,” he chuckles as he runs a hand through his hair.

Gojo had mentioned that Yuta was the one who stopped your draconic rampage a few weeks back, but it didn’t make it any less of a strange apology to hear.

You shake your head in embarrassment. “I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

Yuta and Gojo excitedly exchange a few words as Gojo flips the chair opposite you, straddling it as he casually rests both arms over the back of it.

“So listen, the higher-ups called for me,” Yuta frowns, glancing between you both.

Avoiding Gojo’s stare, your brow furrows in confusion. “Why call for a student?”

“Oh!” Yuta chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I’m a special grade sorcerer, so I’m a bit different from a normal student,” he exhales shyly. He watches as you nod, taking in a breath as his expression grows more serious. “Gojo, you know what that means, right?”

He hums, his blindfolded eyes very clearly locked on you in thought although you couldn’t see them. You’d grown more confident in your ability to read his expressions even when hidden, and the apprehension currently clouding his features was obvious.

“I see,” he hums, resting his chin on his arms.

“Do they know I’m awake yet?” You ask, fiddling with your fingers.

“No, Shoko’s keeping it under wraps.” Gojo’s foot begins bouncing as he’s deep in thought.

“So, can we keep stalling?” Yuta asks hopefully, pulling his knee up on the chair.

Gojo clicks his tongue. “If Yuta doesn’t kill you,” he points his finger in your direction, “they’ll send someone else.”

“Tsukumo?” Yuta cocks his head to the side. 

Deep in thought, Gojo shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. The Zen’in, if I were to guess.”

You weren’t overly familiar with the clans aside from Gojo, but you recognized the name. From what you had heard they were relatively ruthless and Nanami didn’t seem too fond of them. A conversation had come up that multiple students in Tokyo and Kyoto had roots there and had chosen to abandon them based on their treatment. 

“One Zen’in isn’t too bad,” Yuta muses. “We could handle a Zen’in.”

“I didn’t say one.”

“Oh.”

Tapping your fingers a couple of times on the table, you worry your lip between your teeth. “Would it be so bad for me to talk to the higher-ups?”

Gojo lifts his head, lips pursed. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, giving them a more disheveled look than usual. His leg bounces beneath him, a tic you’d started noticing more often. From what you could tell he seemed to do it when something was bothering him, but when it came to Gojo, things were always a mystery.

“Well…” Yuta chimes in when Gojo doesn’t answer. “It could work.”

“No.” Gojo’s voice is firm and earns surprised stares from you and the student.

“Why not?” You ask curiously, not having enough knowledge about the world of Jujutsu or the higher-ups to form an opinion.

“It won’t matter. And they won’t have you stand before them.”

“Can they… stop me?”

Gojo hums, shifting his jaw from side to side. “No, but-” He chews on his lower lip in thought, as though he’s grappling with something. “Give me a moment,” he sighs finally, getting to his feet and walking off to the washroom.

Your gaze follows the tall figure down the hall, fixing on the door as he shuts it behind him. Yuta sighs, mindlessly fiddling with his uniform jacket, one that was a stark white in comparison to the rest of the students.

“Miss y/n?”

You hum, turning your attention to Yuta.

“I think it could work,” he offers, shrugging his shoulders hopefully. “Talking to them, I mean.” He offers a kind smile.

“You think?” A flicker of hope shines in your eyes.

“They wanted me dead two years ago,” he chuckles. “Special grades scare them, especially Gojo.”

Even Miriko had been afraid of Gojo upon your first meeting, but knowing him now and seeing the way he interacted with the world around him, it almost felt like a crime to be afraid of him. He was so childish, you couldn’t envision a world where someone with a title of a ‘higher-up’ would be afraid of such a man. After all, surely they had to be powerful.

“Him? Why?”

“He’s the strongest.”

“So I’ve heard,” you sigh, getting awfully sick of that statement.

“The thing about Gojo is that…” he pauses, eyes flickering to the door as though he isn’t sure he should utter a word. His voice lowers as he continues. “I don’t think he’s ever really been one to listen or care about what they think,” he starts, “but they have to listen to him as the head of the Gojo clan.”

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You were familiar enough with the concept of the power the clans held, Gojo included.

“I think, though, what they’re really afraid of is the other side of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shoko probably knows better than I do, but…” His eyes flicker to the shut door again. “He’s a different person in battles. He’s willing to make sacrifices more than I think the average person is.” Your brow furrows, not sure where Yuta is going with this. “I think the higher-ups see him as a weapon, not a person. There’s no way he doesn’t know that,” his voice is small as he frowns. “I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

Your eyes widen at the revelation, thoughts racing through your mind as you take in what he said. Though you’d seen a more cold side of Gojo, even in battle you’d never once pictured him as any less of a person. Leaning back in your chair, you worry your lip between your teeth in deep thought, not sure which of the questions racing through your mind to start with.

On one hand, there was the question of who exactly Gojo had been ordered to kill. Did Yuta mean himself and Yuji? Or was there more to the story than just his students?

On the other hand, you weren’t confident that you qualified as someone Gojo cared about. Sure, he’d shown that at least now he was trying and there was a level of civility between you both, but him caring about you was another story.

“What do you mean ‘keep’ ordering him to kill?” You ask, leaning forward against the table, but before Yuta can say what’s on the tip of his tongue, the washroom door swings open and Gojo returns with a composed grin. Yuta’s eyes widen, his lips zipping tightly as he abruptly stops your conversation.

“Talkin’ about me?” He teases, stepping over the backwards chair to take his spot straddling it again. You roll your eyes at the cocky greeting despite him being right. “Why don’t we grab some food before we continue?”

Shooting a glance at Yuta, you nod. Maybe that would give you a chance to continue your conversation with him. Noting that you were still in yesterday’s clothes, the two men allow you time to shower, put your hair up and throw on more acceptable clothing, opting for a cropped shirt and joggers. You didn’t have the energy to put any more effort into how you looked.

Pushing the door open, you throw your old clothes into the guest room, slipping your phone into your pocket. Coming up to the table, you stand behind Yuta as you wait for the two to stop laughing over something.

“Ready?” Yuta asks with a smile, turning to look up at you.

Nodding, you look to Gojo to lead the way, his head fixed in your direction with pursed lips. Clearing his throat, he smirks. “Right! Tokyoooo!”

Yuta slings his bag over his shoulder, taking the lead as you stop to grab your sunglasses before unsteadily making your way after him. As footsteps approach from behind you, you feel something brush against your arm. The sight of Gojo offering you his arm catches you off-guard and you feel an embarrassing heat rise to your cheeks.

Somewhat begrudgingly, you take it and your small group has Ijichi drive them to a cafe not too far from the school that Gojo claims has the best mochi.

To your absolute delight, he was right.

Starry-eyed, you stare down at the treat, tongue gliding over your lips. “I gotta hand it to you Gojo, you were right.”

He hums in response, an uncharacteristically quiet response to what might even be a compliment, and when you look up at him he seems equally distracted. He’s worrying his lip between his teeth, gaze seemingly fixated on you, though you could only assume he’d spaced out or something.

Shrugging it off, you turn your attention to Yuta, who mutters, “Maki would love this, I’ve gotta bring her here sometime.”

You smile warmly at the thought of the students going out for food, just enjoying life. You’d grown so accustomed to sorcery that sometimes it was easy to forget they were all kids. They should be out enjoying life, not worrying about what curse would try to kill them next.

And yet that was exactly where your life had brought you. In fact, you were probably Yuta’s age when you forced yourself into isolation and lost your freedom. You grimace at the thought, training your attention on the mochi in your hands with a frown as though it was responsible for your loss of freedom.

You inhale sharply, forcing the thought aside. No need to feel pity for yourself when you were happy with how your life had been.

“I’m gonna grab some for my friends,” Yuta decides, getting up to stand in line.

With Yuta out of earshot, Gojo turns his attention to you. “I’ll arrange a meeting for you with the higher-ups.”

You tilt your head in surprise.

“I don’t want Yuta to stand before them. He’s just a kid.”

It’s strange to hear Gojo say something so protective, even when it comes to his students. His trust in them and their abilities was so great that you sometimes doubted his judgment when it came to them, but all that really told you was that there was something about the higher-ups that even he feared.

“I agree but… why the change in heart?” You ask, wondering why he’d decided to keep this from Yuta.

“I have a plan,” he tells you, leaning forward on the table. He attempts to slyly reach across the table and steal your last mochi, snickering when you try to slap his hand away but you’re met with Infinity.

“Why are you even using that? We’re in a cafe.” You grumble, watching him pop your last mochi into his mouth. Your conversation about Gojo’s plan is now long forgotten as you narrow your eyes at him.

“You never know,” he shrugs you off.

“You’re such a pain,” you grumble at his chipper laugh. “I was enjoying that.”

“Awh, were you?” He teases.

If looks could kill.

Yuta returns, brow raised at the looks being exchanged between the two of you. “Do you guys need a moment?” He utters uncertainly.

“No,” you force a kind smile.

After going over his mochi flavor choices, Gojo decides he needs to try some of them, getting back in line himself. Eagerly awaiting Gojo’s departure to continue your conversation from earlier, you unceremoniously flip towards Yuta.

“What did you mean, earlier?”

“Uh…” The boy’s brow furrows, the conversation clearly a passing topic for him, whereas for you it was the answers you were seeking. Or so you hoped. “Oh, about Geto?”

Your eyes widen as an image of the raven-haired man, pale and unmoving, in Gojo’s arms returns to your mind.

“Geto… Suguru?” You ask in disbelief. Of course, it made sense, but still it felt like pieces of the puzzle were missing. Gojo was a menace but even you could admit he wasn’t a monster. Geto, though, it was hard to make an argument for. Were they…?

“That’s the one,” he hums. “He once told me he was his only friend. I guess they were classmates with Shoko.”

At a loss for words, you lean back in your chair deep in thought. It had been a long time since you’d considered why it was that Gojo had seemed so desperate to have Geto back when he had inexplicably showed up at your gate.

Back then, you’d paid little mind to the melancholy laced between his words. The way he’d gripped the limp body in his arms with all the care in the world, how he’d begged for you to bring him back. You saw it now, clear as day. He had been in love and his tragedy laid in his arms, his wounds bared to you, of all people.

Yuta frowns, eyes trained on the bag of mochi in front of him. “He killed him a couple of years ago. Then when someone used his body, he had to kill him again.”

“He did some terrible things,” you reason, headlines of Geto Suguru’s actions coming to mind from when you were around Yuta’s age.

Still, you mumble a curse under your breath at the thought of having to kill someone you were so fond of. The horror of the idea tightens in your chest, digging uncomfortably into your heart as you shoot a glance at the cheery sorcerer ordering mochi with a boyish grin.

“That’s why he couldn’t kill you.”

“Hm?” You ask, unable to connect the dots between you and Gojo’s closest confidante.

Yuta’s head tilts sympathetically. “Maybe you should ask him about it,” he mumbles with a sparkle of mischief in his sunken eyes.

Pursing your lips, your confused expression remains as Gojo approaches your table.

“Alright! Ready?” As you and Yuta both nod, he makes his way around the table, reaching his hand out to help you up. Still lost in thought, you barely notice the way he effortlessly pulls you up by your forearms before snugly pulling you to his side, holding you up by your waist. You don’t bother to think about it, because Gojo’s always been one to invade personal space, and you need the help anyway.

The car ride back is filled with joyous laughter between Yuta and Gojo, though you can only watch the scenery go by as you try to make sense of what you know about the Limitless sorcerer. How many people had he lost? How many had he been forced to kill?

Why did everyone seem to see him as a weapon?

Pulling into the entrance of the school, Yuta thanks Gojo for lunch, his eyes lighting up when he spots his friends in the distance. His teacher urges him off to them, telling him the conversation about the higher-ups could be handled by you and him.

He bounds off happily towards the green-haired second-year who you recognize as Maki. She seems to soften when she sees him, smiling when he pulls out mochi for her before sharing with the panda (who is still an enigma to you), and the shorter blonde student.

“They’re cute,” you comment.

Gojo hums, smiling as he offers you his arm again. You take it as he leads the way back to his cabin, returning to your thoughts.

Yuta’s words clung to you like glue, unable to be shaken. Would Gojo even answer you if you did ask him why he didn’t kill you? Or would he give you another excuse? Would he avoid the question altogether? After all, you had asked him why he didn’t kill you when the higher-ups asked. By all accounts, it would have been excusable to most people given the damage you’d done. What was more surprising was spotting him waiting at your hospital bedside with sunken eyes and pale, tired skin when you’d woken up.

You’d never stopped to consider why he was so adamant on staying at your side. Why he had decided to take care of you, and not just keep an eye on you, but cook and clean too. Hell, even the way he helped you get around while you were struggling was soft, kind even.

Was it guilt?

Or… was there more to it than that?

Questions of Geto swirled in your brain as well. If they had been so close, what had happened? Had it affected him in a way he wouldn’t dare show others? Was his cheery act all a facade? A coping mechanism?

It was shocking how well his student knew him.

Coming back to the cabin, you kneel down to greet your excited pup at the door, squealing happily as he licks your cheek. He doesn’t even bother barking at Gojo anymore, clearly growing more accustomed to him.

“Miriko, you in there?” Gojo asks, half-sitting against the back of the couch.

“Can I help you, Six Eyes?” Her mouth appears on your cheek, your eyes rolling down to try to see it.

“You’ve got a week to heal y/n,” he says bluntly, removing his blindfold and tossing it on the table. His locks fall over his eyes and he shakes his head to clear his vision. “I have a plan.”

–

Days came and went with few changes besides an increase in your physiotherapy with Shoko and when Miriko’s cursed energy had finally returned, she was able to heal you fully. You had happily gone bounding down the faculty stairs back to the cabin where Gojo sat with feet up on the table, grinning as you excitedly bounded up to your dog and ran outside with him.

It was your first genuine, truly happy grin in a long time.

Too busy playing with Taro, you missed the way Gojo slyly followed you and leaned against the doorframe, ducking his head to fit properly through the frame as he watched you play with a rope toy with Taro. Stumbling back, you shriek in surprise as Taro lets go of the rope and you fall flat on your ass. You spot Gojo shaking his head in the distance, bringing his coffee up to his lips.

You’d gone a shocking amount of days with no real fight and only minor spats here and there when Gojo felt like being a pain in the ass, but there was nothing new about that. If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was irritating you. 

He seemed to enjoy it more as your mood and coordination both picked up, growing more and more teasing each morning as he would practice cooking eggs to your preferences.

This morning is no exception as he calls you inside. You take a seat at the table, thanking him as he serves your eggs. 

You raise a brow, turning your attention to him. “This is still burnt, Gojo. It’s almost impressive.”

“It’s not burnt! C’mon, it should be perfect,” he insists, spatula still in-hand as he rounds the table, only to spot that it was in fact a bit crispy as he invades your personal space when he leans in. “Hmm, it adds flare?” He insists as though he’s running out of compliments for his somewhat burnt eggs.

“I don’t need flare in my food, dumbass,” you tease, his eyes narrowing as he pouts at you.

“Maybe not in your food, but your personality could use some,” he mutters on his way back to the stove, surprised when you have not only the energy but also the movement necessary to lunge at him in a shockingly playful manner.

Gojo drops the spatula on the counter at the realization you’d lunged at him, dashing behind the couch in the living room. You stumble over yourself once but remain mostly dexterous as you face him on the opposite side of the couch. A boyish grin dawns his features as he places his palms on the arm of the couch, blue eyes gleaming playfully.

You feign to the right, before hopping over the couch, forgetting that he can, of course, teleport, as he disappears when you launch a pillow at him.

“Cheater!” You call over to him from where he’s now leaning against the wall with a sly smirk by the kitchen. You can’t help but smile at the infectious look, hopping down off the couch as you return to the kitchen. An overpowering smell of crispiness reminds you that Gojo was cooking when you dove at him.

He seems to remember at the same time as you both approach the pan with what was meant to be his serving of eggs.

“Do these ones have enough flare for you?” You tease as you both stare at the undeniably very burnt eggs in the pan.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” He teases with parted lips, poking your shoulder. Behind the guise of irritation, his eyes give away that he’s secretly enjoying your teasing.

“Speak for yourself, Satoru.”

Gojo’s teasing falls off as he stares at you in shock, his jaw practically dropping to the floor. Stiff as a board, he inhales sharply and rolls his shoulders, composing himself before you can notice the way you left him speechless. Never in a million years could either of you have imagined a world where you were on a first name basis, but whether it’s an accident or not, Gojo smiles fondly and lets you dump the eggs out.

“I’ll make new ones,” he says, clearing his throat. You sit down at the table again, eyes flitting over to your roommate as he leans down to grab new eggs from the fridge, his back muscles rippling from beneath his tight black shirt.

Your thoughts trail back to your conversation with Yuta and you debate asking the questions that remain unanswered, but it never seems to feel like the right moment.

“Hey, so listen,” Gojo starts, a more serious timbre to his voice. You give him your attention, tilting your head as he eyes you to see if you’re listening from where he stands over the pan. Still facing the stove, he continues. “I’m being sent on a mission, but you should be fine now that you’re healed.” You nod, not thinking much of it. You would still have one extra day to prepare for the meeting with the higher-ups when he got back, anyway.

“Must be a strong curse if they’re sending you,” you comment.

He hums in agreement. “The data they gathered on it estimates that it can negate the effects of cursed techniques.” He shrugs nonchalantly, a confident smirk donning his features. “Some sorta ugly humanoid thing I guess.”

The Thief cursed spirit?

You stare down at your eggs, repeating Miriko’s question aloud to Gojo.

“Hm? Dunno, I don’t have much more info.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Miriko appears on the back of your hand. You hold her up to face Gojo. “However I do not think it would be wise to send you.”

“Why’s that?”

“It sounds like a curse I knew once, it has the ability to temporarily disable and steal other techniques.” Her red iris darts to you, examining your curious expression. “You would be allowing it to use not only Limitless, but Six Eyes.”

“Nah, I’d win.” He grins nonchalantly, turning back to the stove and ignoring Miriko’s warning. “I’ll just kill it first.”

“You would be much wiser to send Itadori, he has no technique to steal and it shouldn’t be capable of reaching Sukuna.”

“It’s fine Miriko, I got this.” He grins again, shooting a confident look at the curse. She huffs before disappearing.

He is stubborn, she comments.

You chew your eggs, humming internally in response as you watch Gojo’s movements. You aren’t sure why, but a familiar anxiety settles in your stomach.

Do you think it can hurt him? You ask Miriko silently, spacing out as you speak to her.

Certainly. It did a number on me a long time ago. It’s unpredictable and very smart.

We can’t send a student.

It’s not very strong without a technique to steal. Itadori would be more than capable of taking it on alone.

You hum in thought, pulling Gojo’s attention from his eggs.

Could it… kill him?

Miriko pauses. I don’t know.

You swallow uncomfortably, poking at the remains of your eggs. A cursed spirit with a technique built to rival someone like Gojo. The anxiety begins to boil in your stomach, pulling your attention to the snowy locks of your roommate.

You suck in a breath as images flash through your mind of Kento. Of his smile, his warmth, his love. The way the light faded from his eyes when the curse pierced through him, when he lifted his arm to attempt to free himself, only to be pulled into a pool of acid, with nothing left of him but a blade.

Images of Gojo in the same situation settle uncomfortably in your mind alongside those of Kento.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, your breathing quickens and you stare wide-eyed at Gojo as words pour out of your mouth before you can think twice about them. “Please don’t go.”

Sliding his eggs out onto a plate and setting the pan aside, he turns to you with a raised brow at the meek tone behind your words. “Why? I can handle it.”

“I- I’m just looking out for you,” you stammer over your words, sitting upright. “Miriko thinks-”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts, waving his hand in the air with a scoff. “I’m the strongest.” There it is, that familiar phrase. The sentence you've heard uttered so many times that it makes your blood boil.

Anger begins to seep through the cracks of your calm facade, pooling in your chest and forming an uncomfortable weight that pulls you down. “For god’s sake, Gojo.” You sigh, watching with discontentment as he sits down to eat his eggs, pulling up his phone as he blatantly pushes away your concern.

Glancing up from his phone with a bite of eggs in his mouth, he hums questioningly at you when he sees the way your jaw is clenched.

“Can’t you listen to me for once?”

“What? C’mon, it’s not a big deal y/n. I handle shit like this all the time,” he shrugs nonchalantly, setting his phone down on the table.

“I know you do, but-” you pause, brow furrowed as you search for the words that will convince him, as stubborn a man as he is. “I just think- Miriko says-”

“y/n,” he interrupts, running a hand through his silvery locks. “I can handle myself, seriously. I’m the-”

“For fuck’s sake, I know!” You raise your voice, lowering it immediately as he glowers at you. “Just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you’re immune to everything,” you reason.

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters through his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest.

You stare at him in disbelief. Was everything you were saying going in one ear and out the other?

“For fu- Why are you being so stubborn?” Wide-eyed, you press on in hopes of getting him to listen. 

“Stubborn? Do you hear yourself?” His voice raises now too, clearly growing upset.

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt!” You raise your voice again, somewhat hurt at his lack of self-preservation.

“What does it matter? I’ll just heal myself,” he insists through gritted teeth, his voice edging on a growl.

You rub your hands over your face in exasperation. “What if you can’t? What if this thing is stronger than you think? What if-” Your words die on your tongue as the claws of anxiety begin to strike at your chest and your breathing increases, panic setting in thick. You take a shaky breath, balling your hands into fists in your lap to stop them from shaking. God, why did this keep happening? Why was he so insistent on arguing with you?

“You know what, whatever. I’m heading out.” Gojo gets to his feet, the clang of his plate rattling in the sink causing you to jump as it pulls you from your thoughts.

“Why is it so hard for you to listen to someone other than your goddamn self?”

He whips around, eyes flashing furiously. “You have to be fucking kidding me,” he spits. “It’s always something with you, I’m always doing something wrong.”

Hurt strikes you like a stake through the heart and you feel the familiar burn of tears brimming in your eyes. God damn it, not now. “I didn’t mean it like that, Gojo, I just-”

“Then what did you mean?” He hisses, swinging a hand through the air in disbelief. “Why does it even matter to you?” His accusation burns a hole through your chest and you don’t have time to think before words spill from your lips.

“Because I can’t lose you too!” You cry out, your arms hanging in the air before slowly dropping at your sides, your chest rising and falling quickly as you practically gasp for air, teetering dangerously on drowning in your own desperation. Because god damn it, why could he not listen?

The silence in the cabin is palpable, interrupted only by the incessant chirps of the summer cicadas. Even behind his sunglasses, you can see his eyes are wide, his jaw hanging ajar. Paralyzed at the sound of your words, he can’t manage to mask any amount of his shock. Satory Gojo, who you couldn’t seem to get to shut up most of the time, stood before you at a loss for words.

His shoulders fall, brow twitching as he finally processes what you’d just said. His lips part but he can’t seem to find words, shaking his head. His tongue swipes across his lower lip, your eyes flickering down to the motion for a brief moment.

“I- I didn’t realize…” He mumbles, clearing his throat. “I thought you didn’t care,” he sighs, ruffling a hand through his snowy hair.

“You’re so dense sometimes, Satoru,” you quietly chuckle, rubbing your hands over your face again. “Obviously I care,” you whisper, willing your voice not to waver as you bite your lip.

Quietly examining your face, the sorcerer inhales abruptly and walks back into the kitchen, his steps light as though he’s treading on eggshells. He eyes you for a moment before pouring a glass of water and sitting back down at the table, setting the glass down in front of you.

Gingerly, you reach for the glass, quietly thanking him for the oddly thoughtful gesture.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” His lips are pressed into a thin line, quietly observing the way your breathing begins to slow. A prolonged silence spreads in the cabin once again, neither of you daring to look at one another as though you’d been caught doing something embarrassing.

Then again, it was embarrassing to care for Gojo, sometimes.

Sighing deeply, Gojo leans back in his chair. “We can’t send Yuji alone. He’s not a first grade sorcerer yet,” he clears his throat, motioning to your hand as though he expects Miriko to pop out at any moment. “So… Why don’t we go over who should go with him

To your surprise, Miriko cooperates and you land on sending Kusakabe as backup, although Gojo claims he won’t be fond of the decision. Regardless, it puts you at ease as Gojo makes a call.

Leaning his head back, Gojo slides down in his chair. “I’m not dense.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say.”

He pouts, closing his eyes.

Neither of you know what to say. Your relationship has always been strained at best, but the charged emotions left hanging in the air make it hard for either of you to make sense of one another.

Letting out a deep breath, you lower your head. The weight of the morning’s argument exhausts you, and as you glance at Gojo, you realize he too seems to be succumbing to that weight, his breathing already beginning to steady as though he was falling asleep. You quietly chuckle at the sight. He really could sleep anywhere.

Deciding to take after him, you make your way to the couch and it isn’t long after your head hits the cushions that you’re out cold.

–

It was the day of the meeting with the higher-ups and your nerves were at an all-time high even though you had rehearsed what you would be saying to them. Gojo had insisted he go with you in case of emergency, though the intonation behind his words told you there was something more to his insistence on standing before the “old hags” as he so chose to call them.

For the first time in a while, Gojo was wearing his familiar all-black faculty uniform with a high collar, adorned with golden buttons. He also claimed he’d gotten you one, but when you told him Ijichi had never dropped it off he’d just pouted. So you had chosen to wear a fancier black dress with pink flowers that flowed just past your knees.

The sight of a single door had never instilled such nerves in you. It seemed to taunt you, sitting in a strangely barren waiting room, as though you were in a DMV.

Mindlessly bouncing your leg, you sneak a glance at Gojo, who looks calm as ever, his signature smirk donning his lips as he leans back in his chair, crossed arms behind his head. He may as well be the picture of confidence as usual, which on one hand is reassuring, but it also has you wondering whether you might accidentally disappoint him.

Catching your stare, Gojo peeks out from under his blindfold with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine,” he hums in a honeyed voice, smooth and calm. His blue eye is warm, white lashes blinking at you a few times before he replaces the blindfold.

You exhale, smiling thankfully at him. Since the day you’d called him dense, he’d seemed to catch on to your more minute emotions, actively trying to keep in tune with you. Every day he seemed to find new ways to make it harder and harder to even say you disliked him, let alone the idea you once hated him.

Nothing would change the fact that he was at all times a cocky pain in the ass, but what mattered was that he was trying. You were both trying.

As the time for your meeting rolls around, you wait in hopes that the door will creak open to a well-lit podium ready for you to speak at, but Gojo hadn’t prepared you for what awaited. Getting to his feet as the clock strikes the hour, the sorcerer springs to his feet, humming as he treads to the door and awaits your meek steps behind him.

Sliding the door open, he holds it for you before sliding it shut behind you. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the sights around you, the darkness of the room illuminated only by six dim lights, each pointed at a screen panel. The faint outline of a person can be seen behind each one, causing a shiver to run up your spine as you take your place in the center of the panels. All eyes on you, a frail feminine voice addresses you.

“l/n y/n. Your actions are called into question today,” she speaks. You turn to face the panel that the voice is coming from, glancing back at Gojo who shoots you a reassuring nod from the entrance. “For the damage you caused to the Tokyo Jujutsu Tech grounds,” she begins, “and for unleashing a special grade cursed spirit at full power.”

You swallow, staying silent. You’d been over this with Gojo. Do not speak unless spoken to. There’s a pause as they wait for you to speak up. Met with silence, an older male voice pipes in.

“Vessel, are you not responsible for keeping the special grade cursed spirit of death at bay?”

Turning to face the new panel, you swallow. “Yes, I am.” It pains you to say, just as much as it pains Miriko to hear, however every line is rehearsed. You just need to stay calm.

“Upon unleashing the cursed spirit at full force, you put not only faculty and students, but innocent bystanders in danger.”

“Kindly, sir, I was in control.”

Silence chokes you as you wait for a response. A deep and raspy voice snickers at you. “In control, eh? Is that why second-year student Okkotsu Yuta stabbed you through the head?”

You swallow hard. You knew the question was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I was in pain. We had discussed it before, it was premeditated.”

“Should that not be the responsibility of your equal rather than your student?”

Gojo remains unmoving as you nervously search for encouragement from him. He’s frowning now too, clearly frazzled.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer. “Gojo was unavailable.”

“I see,” a deep rumbling sounds as an older man laughs heartily, though you aren’t sure what’s so funny.

Maybe Gojo was right to call them hags. It wasn’t as far fetched as you had once thought, now in their presence. To think they had attempted to sentence two children to their death already, and you were potentially next.

“Miss l/n,” the first feminine voice addresses you again. Flipping to face her, you see a shadow shift from behind the dimly illuminated panel. “Do you have a defense in the case of the untimely death of a mother at the Yokohama hospital in 2008 resulting in the orphaning of a young boy?”

Memories come racing back through your mind, leaving a set of fresh wounds as deep as they had all those years ago. Like shards of ice, they pierce your skin as your blood runs cold.

This, you had not rehearsed. You’re not sure how they ever could have found out about the incident and it makes you shiver. Just how long were they watching you, secretly keeping an eye on you?

Your heart pounds hard against your chest as you glance back at Gojo. He’s frowning, his expression unreadable. The comfort you had hoped he would provide never finds you.

Taking a steadying breath, you steel yourself as you face the panel. “I wasn’t aware of my technique. It was an accident and I never caused harm again.”

The silence that stretches between you is too long, the uncomfortable sound of your nervous breathing all that can be heard. You whip around anxiously to face a different panel as a new voice speaks in a slow, low drawl.

“l/n y/n,” they begin, “as the Vessel of the cursed spirit of death known as Miriko, it is your responsibility to keep it at bay. You have proven on multiple occasions you are incapable of such a feat.” The voice doesn’t waver, the shadow of the figure straightening as they lift their chin, their voice booming. “On these grounds…”

You hold your breath. There’s no world where you’re off the hook based on what they’ve said, but still you hope.

“... We sentence you to death.”

A chill runs squarely up your spine at the words as you spin to face each of the panels. A low snicker sounds from a woman, followed by a grunt of approval from another.

“Gojo Satoru, you will kill the Vessel.”

Turning to face your assailant, your mouth runs dry. He stands unmoving at the entrance, hands in his pockets. Though blindfolded, you feel his gaze on you in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It’s as though the person staring back at you isn’t a person at all.

Yuta’s words echo in your mind.

“I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

It was undeniable at this point that, to some degree, you both cared for one another. Your argument a couple of days ago left little to the imagination in terms of how you felt about one another.

But would that be enough to save you? Would he deny them?

He slowly lifts a finger to his blindfold, pulling it down to rest at his collar. His eyes shine wildly in a way you’ve never before seen. His pupils are eerie pinpoints, unblinking as blue seems to tint the white lashes outlining his wide eyes.

Time seems to stand still as he raises a hand to face you, bringing his middle finger to meet his thumb. Swallowing hard, your breathing picks up and you bring your arms up in order to defend yourself despite the horror that roots you to the spot.

Why did it seem the world wanted you to suffer so badly? After so much time convincing yourself it was okay to be close to someone only to have them ripped from your grasp, you now faced the barrel of a loaded gun held by someone you had finally learned to trust.

You close your eyes as Gojo inhales, prepared to take his attack head-on but what meets you isn’t the pain of an attack. Rather, when you open your eyes, everything seems to happen in an instant. You don’t have time to register the way Gojo closes the distance between you, one muscular arm pulling you into his warm chest as he holds you tightly against him.

You feel the flexing of muscles against your shoulder in the arm he’s holding in the air as he makes a signal with his hand that you’ve never seen. His grip on your core tightens, fingers flexing around your shoulder as an unsettling anger seems to rip through the air around you.

“Domain Expansion. Infinite Void.”

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || thank you for reading as always! i had so much fun with that last scene and the egg scene ♡

[harmonicakai]

This Is Me Trying

Part 3 of the "Anyone Else But You" series

Pairing: Huening Kai x Reader

Summary: Being friends with Huening Kai would be much simpler if he didn’t give you butterflies all the time.

Tropes: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, angst, stylist!reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing, reader is insecure, mentions of death

A/N: I made a Spotify playlist for this fic if anybody wants to give it a listen hehe <3

“Remember how I used to be so Stuck in one place, so cold? Feeling like my heart just froze Nowhere to go with no one, nobody” —Magic, TXT

When the weekend comes around, you’re worried that you’ve hallucinated the entire situation, but when Kai knocks on your front door, he looks good. Really good.

“I–I like your outfit,” you say, taking note of the details. “It’s different from how you usually dress.”

“Yeonjun helped me pick stuff out. He said you’d like this.” Kai spins, allowing you to take in the full ensemble. He’s ditched his usual skater boy attire for a button down, slacks, and a chocolate brown wool coat that matches the color of his eyes.

“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” you say, shaking your head.

“Of course I did. You’re the coolest looking person I know.” Has he always thought that? “I don’t know how you do it every day, though. We probably spent hours picking out just this one look.”

“Every Sunday, I plan my outfits for the week. Sometimes it takes the whole day if I’m not feeling too creative.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is.”

“Why do you do it, then? I mean, you always look good, but does it make you feel good?”

You blink back at him. Nobody has ever asked you anything like this. You have no idea how to respond.

Kai can tell that he’s struck a nerve. “Sorry. I just meant that if it stresses you out, you shouldn’t feel pressured to do it all the time. There’s a lot to like about you besides how you dress.”

“Right. Should we get going?” you ask, fiddling with the hem of your cardigan. Suddenly you feel overdressed.

“Let’s do it,” he smiles.

All you can think about on the walk over to the concert hall is whether or not this is a date. It feels like a date. He’s dressed like it’s one.

He said he wanted to be friends, you remind yourself. Still, when he accidentally drifts close to you and your shoulders brush, you can feel your face heat up.

You sit together on the steps of the concert hall, people watching and pointing out your favorite and least favorite outfits.

“I like her hat,” Kai says, pointing to a toddler walking hand in hand with her mom. She’s wearing a fluffy beanie with bear ears.

“Maybe I can convince the team to let you wear one on stage,” you think out loud. “It would be really cute for a concert.”

“That would be so awesome, Y/N! But I don’t want you to think about work right now. Let’s just have fun today.”

“I’m always thinking about work,” you admit. “I’ve thought about clothes every second of my life for what seems like forever now.”

“You aren’t that old,” he points out.

“I’m one year older than you,” you remind him. He skipped the birthday party that Yeonjun threw for you last winter.

“Okay, I take it back,” he surrenders. “You’re old and should look into retirement soon.”

You know he’s just joking, but you can’t help but think that he’s right. Maybe you shouldn’t focus so much on what everybody is wearing all the time, yourself included. 

“Y/N,” Kai says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You jerk your head up.

“I used to play in an orchestra,” you blurt out, instantly regretting answering a question that was never asked. Still, you have Kai’s full attention, and the point of this is for the two of you to get to know each other. “I, uh, I played the viola, but I wasn’t very good at it.”

“That’s so cool! I play the piano!” You already know that. Everybody does, but you appreciate how he seems to have forgotten that he’s world famous. “We should do a duet sometime! MOA would love it.”

“Uh, I’m not sure MOA would love seeing you with a girl,” you deflect. You’ve seen what dating scandals can do to someone’s career.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees. You watch the cogs inside his head spin before a lightbulb goes off. “Maybe we can set Taehyun up with a fake one on Academy Reincarnation and you can play in the background. ”

“That… actually sounds pretty funny.”

“Ooh, Y/N, thinks I’m funny,” he muses, before turning away to face the busy square. “Seoul! Y/N thinks I’m funny!”

“Shh!” you laugh, cupping your hand over his mouth. You are not mentally prepared to deal with any crazed fangirls tonight. “We have to go inside, now.”

Before you can overthink it, Kai grabs your hand and the two of you rush inside, greeted by marble floors and draped velvets. It’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.

“Wow,” you sigh, taking the entire lobby in. “You know, I haven’t been here since I was a little girl. My mom would bring me here all the time. She played the piano like you. I always wanted to take after her, but I have trouble forming chords.”

“I can give you lessons, if you want,” he offers. “I have a keyboard in my room back at home.”

“I’d like that,” you smile back. You try not to read too much into being invited into his bedroom.

“Why don’t you and your mom go to concerts anymore?” Kai asks, hoping that it isn’t too personal a question. His anxiety grows exponentially as you take your time responding.

“She passed away when I was nine,” you say calmly. It doesn’t hurt you to tell people anymore. “I wanted to come because today is actually her birthday. My dad is really sensitive about it, though, so it was just going to be me. But I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Oh… Y/N, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t know what I’d do without my mom.” He stares at his shoes, guilt written all over his face. “I could’ve made things more special for you.”

“Don’t worry, Kai. It already is special,” you say, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “My mom would probably be happy to see me coming here with someone who loves the piano just as much as she did.” 

His face relaxes again, and he does very little to stop himself from grinning ear to ear.

After you take your seats in the back of the balcony and the lights begin to dim, a strange sense of calm overtakes you. 

Despite being in a crowd of strangers, sitting next to Kai in the dark and listening to the hum of strings as they warm up makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world.

Midway through the concert, you realize he’s still holding your hand. Maybe he’s like this with all of his friends, considering you’ve seen him and Soobin skipping down the halls hand in hand on multiple occasions. Still, you hope he never lets go.

—————-

Even though it’s technically your job, it’s a rare occasion where you actually get to dress the boys. Today, all hands are on deck for the filming of their upcoming album’s concept trailer.

“I can’t believe they’re making you wear a white sweater,” you sigh, holding up Kai’s outfit for the Dreamer sequence. “Everybody else gets such cute colors.”

“At least I get to stand out,” he grins, always looking on the bright side. He’s already got on his eyepatch, but it’s a little crooked. You walk over to fix it.

“Hold still,” you say, adjusting it into place and smoothing his hair down. “There we go.”

“Was I better this time?” he asks. You look up at him in confusion.

“What?” His face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath.

“I didn’t move this time. That night at the club,” he explains, “Well, you were telling me the story of when we first met. How I flinched and walked away and it hurt your feelings.”

“Oh. Yeah, you were much better this time.”

“I’m glad. I’ll try to be good for you, Y/N. I’m really sorry about before. I feel like I really wasted our time being so… weird. We could’ve been friends much earlier.”

“It’s okay, Kai, really,” you say, stepping back and handing him his sweater. 

“It’s not, Y/N. It was silly of me to be so nervous around you.”

“You were nervous?”

“I guess you don’t remember that part of the conversation either, huh?” he asks, pulling his t-shirt off. You’ve seen the rest of the group shirtless before, but Kai usually goes into the bathroom to change whenever you’re around. 

Your cheeks flush as you stare at his smooth skin and his broad shoulders.

“Uh, Y/N?” he says. While you were checking him out, Kai managed to get himself stuck. “I think my shirt is caught on my necklace. Can you help?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you say, working gently to untangle the fabric around his neck. You can feel how warm his chest is, reminding you of riding in the taxi on his lap. Eventually, you’re able to get him freed.

“Thank you,” Kai smiles. “I’m really glad you’re here. Everybody else is always rushing me.”

“I might get in trouble if you don’t hurry up, Hyuka.” You’ve never called him by a nickname before. It’s foreign to think about, but somehow rolls naturally off your tongue.

“Fine, okay, I’m ready,” he says, pulling the sweater on. The color actually compliments him really well. “Do you need to add any finishing touches?”

“Hmm, spin around,” you say, twirling your finger. Kai does his signature penguin stance and waddles in a circle, making you giggle. “No, you look cute.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve just said.

“You think I’m cute,” he smiles, doing a little happy dance. “Ooh, I’m the cutest boy in the world, huh?”

“Hey! I said you look cute,” you assert, crossing your arms in an attempt to play it off. He’s right, but you don’t want him to know that.

“Close enough,” he says, grabbing his crown off of the makeup table. “I should go. I’ll see you later. You’re the best!”

He pulls you into a hug, nearly lifting you off the ground. When you’re back on your feet, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek and leaves the dressing room. Yeonjun does it all the time, but it feels different coming from Kai.

Your hand moves to your cheek, lingering on the spot where his lips touched. Fuck. You might actually be falling for Huening Kai.

—————-

For the past two months, you and Kai have alternated picking out activities to do together. Last week, you taught him how to make banana bread. He almost set your apartment on fire.

Today, he’s invited you to his place to practice playing the piano.

You’re more nervous than you need to be. It’s your first time in his bedroom, but it’s completely innocent.

Except when you’re sitting on the piano bench together, knees and shoulders pressed against each other, and he’s got his hands placed over yours to help guide you, you feel butterflies in your stomach. That’s not how people who are just friends feel.

You’ve come too far to throw it all away over a stupid crush. He’s simply much too out of your league. Still, while he’s busy explaining chord progressions, you’re staring at how long his eyelashes are and how cute he looks when he’s wearing his glasses.

“Are you even listening to me?” Kai asks, pouting. “I thought you wanted to learn, Y/N!”

“I do!” you lie. “I am very interested in what you’re saying right now.”

“What did I even say?” He crosses his arms and furrows his brow in fake anger.

“Um…” you start. You know you’ve been caught. “I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

His face shifts to worry. “Is something wrong?”

“No! Nothing’s wrong. Let’s keep going,” you say, flipping through his binder of sheet music. “Oh, I love this song!”

You had never expected him to have the piano score to Night Changes by One Direction, but you aren’t complaining. In a way, TXT’s dynamic reminds you a lot of the long gone boy group. 

“This song is kind of like us,” he notes. You shoot him a confused look. It’s a love song, after all.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, your palms now sweaty. 

“I just think it’s kind of crazy how things changed between us.” That’s not really what the song is about, but you’re not going to tell him that. “I’m glad we’re friends now.”

“Oh, yeah, super crazy,” you say, exhaling. “I’m glad we’re friends too.”

“Y/N?” he asks, his face close to yours. Is he about to do what you think he is?

“Yes?”

“You have an eyelash on your face.” He brushes a finger across your cheek and holds up the lost lash with a smile. “Make a wish.”

You blow it away, vowing to never let him know that what you asked for was him. 

“I have to tell you something,” you confess. “I don’t actually want to learn how to play the piano. I’d rather just listen to you play.”

“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “I can do that. Should I serenade you, too, m’lady?”

“Yes, please,” you giggle. His goofy side is such a nice departure from the gloomy, quiet Kai you were used to.

You’ve heard this song probably hundreds of times, but Kai’s version feels brand new. As you watch his fingers dance across the keys and listen to his soft voice, the lyrics begin to seem like they were written just for the two of you.

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @deezbutz28 @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @stardustmooncakes @giaalorine @beomgyubabybear @niningtori @goquokka @csbenthusiast @moarmyjkhk @lizdevorak @sooberryworld @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[trenchcoat-turtle]

Summary: All of his brothers have found their person. Meanwhile he’s stuck pining for Leo’s girlfriend’s roommate. Why does the girl of his dreams have to be taken?

“Hey Raph!” I called as I walked into the lair.

“Hey, y/n. If you’re looking for Whitney, she and Leo are already in his room.” He snickered.

“Oh, yeah I was looking for her, but I definitely don’t want to accidentally interrupt anything.”

“With how long it’s been since they last saw each other, I wouldn’t recommend it.” He chuckled again.

“You guys have been really busy lately, huh?” I asked him.

“It’s been a tough couple a weeks.” He shook his head. “Foot activity just keeps growing. It feels like an impossible task to protect the city from them sometimes.” Raphael responded.

“I can’t imagine. You carry so much weight on your shoulders.” I replied as I placed a comforting hand on his arm.

His eyes lingered on mine before he seemed to shake himself from his thoughts.

“Anyway, enough about that depressing shit, how have ya been?” He asked.

“Well, I’m single.” I laughed. “Finally got the courage to break it off with him.”

A bright smile graced his green face.

“I didn’t realize you two were having problems.”

“Yeah we have been for a while. I found out that he wasn’t cheating on me like it thought. No, the reason why he is gone all hours of the night is because he joined the foot! I was so disgusted, I would have rather he had been cheating!” I ranted as I pulled a bottle of wine out of the overnight bag I brought with me.

“He what? He is a member of the foot now? Oh shit, just wait till I get my hands on him.” Raph spoke as he cracked his knuckles.

Then almost distractedly he asked, “You spendin the night?” He motioned towards my overnight bag.

“Uh, yeah if that’s okay with you. I don’t want to stay at the apartment alone tonight.” I shrugged.

“Well since you’re stayin, you wanna watch a movie or somethin?” He asked as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Horror?” I asked hopefully as I filled two cups with red wine.

“Do we ever watch anything else?” He laughed as he took the wine from my hand. He took a swig of the rich red liquid and made a face.

“What? You don’t like red?”

“Nah? What happened to the sweet white kind you always bring?”

“I thought we should be more adventurous.” I waggled my eyes as I spoke.

His mouth dropped open a little before he quickly gained his composure. He gulped down the rest of the wine in his glass.

“Let’s go pick a flick.” I stated and he followed me out of the kitchen.

After a short deliberation we decided on Evil Dead 2. We both got comfortable on the tattered couch. Him on one end and myself on the other. After the first death in the movie, I found myself inching closer and closer to him.

“I need to stretch my legs, do you mind if I lean against you and stretch out?” I finally asked him.

“Y-yeah of course.” He replied with a bit of a stutter before motioning me over.

I snuggled up next to his side and stretched my legs across the length of the couch. His arm came to rest around me as he pulled me close.

Halfway through the movie I had completely stopped paying attention. The only thing I could think about was how good it felt to be in his arms. I was relishing in it.

Was relishing in it, until Mikey came into the room.

“What is goin on with you guys?” He asked suggestively.

“Watchin a movie. What’s it look like numb nuts?” Raphael grumbled as he held me to his side to keep me from putting distance between us. He also sent a death stare at Mikey that made him get the hint. I’ve never seen him give up on teasing so quickly.

“Oh, right. Well, good night y/n.” Mikey replied before turning around and all but running from the room.

“What was that all about?” I asked with a laugh.

“You know how Mike is. Always tryin to play match maker.” He shrugged.

“And what if he was trying to play match maker with us?” I asked him as I looked up at his green eyes. I twirled the end of his mask in my fingers.

He gulped. “I won’t let him drive you crazy like that, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think he’d be pretty successful. On my end anyway.”

“You’re serious? A girl like you with a guy like me?” He scoffed.

I sat up and faced him. The movie all but forgotten in the background.

“Yeah, Raph. What is that even supposed to mean? You’re hot, strong, sweet, and funny. Why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”

He was speechless for a moment before finally saying, “You have no idea how long I have wanted you.”

“If it’s half as long as I have wanted you, I do think I have some idea.” I cupped his cheek with my hand. “I had been planning to break up with what’s his face for a long time because you are who I truly want. I was just afraid of what he might have done to me if I had.”

“You know I will always protect you. You ain’t gotta worry about him.”

I leaned in and kissed him. He responded back immediately. The kiss was needy and before I knew what was happening he was pulling me onto his lap.

He deepened the kiss and I felt a bulge through his pants. The skirt I had worn was pushed up around my thighs and I rubbed against his erection. He moaned against my lips further spurring my hips into motion.

Breathlessly I asked, “Bedroom?”

His response was to pick me up from the couch and carry me to his bed.

—

AN: sorry for any mistakes! I wrote this on my phone since my laptop is being buggy.

[notthecutesttrash]

Stop One

Content: On Halloween night you decide to meet up with your friends. Only to be stopped at the train station by a horrible sight.

Warnings: Drabble! Mahito, dark, blood, death, yandere.

Word count: 1151

There’s blood leaking towards your feet. You’re stuck in place, wide-eyed. Quivering helplessly as you grasp the scene.

Abnormally shaped figures that were once normal people scatter on the ground. All sickening sizes and colors range from purple to blue.

Your lips are pursed tight, watching as three- no five figures casually huddle around one another. One man has stitches all over his body, another with spiky hair, and the last wore a purple robe. The other two... aren’t remotely even human.

Where did this all go wrong? 

Just a few moments ago you were getting prepared to go out for Halloween. You just got off a call with your friends who invited you to a party, and you got yourself all dolled up, costume on, ready to go to the train station. Everyone around you had the same idea. Occasionally you’d get a nice conversation out of some funny cosplayers or women wearing catsuits. Hands wrapping around the metal bar, you were so captured in your talk you didn’t notice the train skidding to a stop. 

Your eyes are still caught on a lady beside you who is dressed in a bunny one-piece, adorned with matching ears. “I love your costume,” was the compliment you gave her, and she grinned, making a joke about how it was tight enough to rush off to the ER.

She then waved and you reciprocated kindly, mimicking the focus on the sliding doors. A little ding echoed as they opened and you waited patiently for everyone to begin strolling.

However a few seconds passed, and no one was still moving.

You blinked when everyone appeared rigid. Soon after sounds of shock exited people's mouths. Curiously, you had gathered onto the tips of your toes to see past the tall men in front of you.

You weren't able to see much, but your vision managed to catch a small flicker of red before your feet fell. A scream rushed out of someone nearby and you covered your ears at the sound. Ow, sheesh, did they have to do that now? 

Suddenly a figure pushed you to the ground by shoving your shoulders back. With that, the crowd followed, almost trampling you as they ran through the other door. A clear pathway to the scene was revealed, and you gasped in horror.

Blood was dripping down the sides of the pavement, spreading into a puddle that decorated the train tracks. A blue-haired man turned to the panicked crowd. He had a terribly unsettling ear-to-ear grin, and you rushed to your feet, sprinting the opposite way

A slurred mumbled voice erupted behind you. “Kill me, please, kill me.”

A weight slapped your back and you nearly tripped again. Turning, you saw a teal-morphed monster with mismatched uneven lids that were dripping with tears. Its hanging wide mouth opens to repeat the phrase, and you let out a screech as it neared you.

Your palms met the mush and drove it as far back as you could, dashing to the station's stairs. Others were desperately trying to achieve the same goal, and because of the mutual rush, you were pushed to the side.

Mustering a few steps through the mass, a pair of boots eventually slapped you in the ankle. You tumbled down the stairs and your head smacked against the pavement.

Your vision blurred, and the grunts that made their way out eased into nothing as your head lulled to the side. 

“Ugh, why do they always look the same before they die?” 

“Because they’re human.” 

“Yeah, and this is why I hate them.” 

Blinking groggily, you take a moment before managing to notice the ceiling lights blaring into your retinas. There’s an aching throb in your head and the voices that talk nearby have you wincing. Raising slowly to the sight, a small hiss escapes.

The figures ahead of you are too caught in their conversation to notice you.

At the stairs, there are dozens of bodies cascading against each other. All the people you saw shove you out of the way were lying dead in pools of their own blood. Because of the slipperiness, you're not likely to make a prompt escape there. There is a chance you might be able to dart past the group, but to where? The end of the station? And besides, there are 3 men, and 2... who knows what just standing there like nothing happened. That wasn't a good chance. Might even be worse than possibly tripping.

Steadily your palms press against the floor, readying yourself to stand. The movement of your arm shifts something to your side. Something heavy and slimy. You hold your breath as you observe a slain corpse poking your waist. Their neck is twisted horribly, and their eyes are rolled back, only white revealing. The thud of the head falls near you, echoing loudly. Gagging, you stuff your hand to your mouth, the horrified whimper escaping too quickly.

The room has an instantaneous heavy silence, and the group turns to you, a horrifying scowl accompanying their motion.

“Looks like you left one Mahito," one speaks.

“Aw really? I was sure I got them all.” The one with the rampant stitches glances your way. Sighing, he walks towards you. A gasp escapes as he nears.

You rush to crawl back, but you’re promptly halted by a wet squelch against your neck. Squealing out, the man laughs, pausing to watch the pitifulness. It's quiet as your gaze meets his and he smirks. Your pulse stammers and your mouth opens to plea.

He crouches in front of you, features a few inches from yours. It's then you can see the different colored eyes and the stitches clearly that adorn him. He hums, tilting his head.

"I think I like you. I'll keep you."

You're taken aback, completely frozen, yet he grins almost politely.

A scoff sounds from the group. “Don’t be ridiculous, we have no time for playthings.” 

The one with the spiky hair shrugs, “As long as I don’t have to deal with it."

Then another. The robed one beams nicely, though you struggled to find the sweetness in that one. “I don’t mind. Now, as long as you take responsibility and deal with it when she tries to escape.” 

The man in front of you scoffs. "That not's going to happen."

He smiles and leans closer to you, his fingers curling around your stained hair. “Because you’re going to be my pet now. Won't that be so fun?” He chuckles and you're on the verge of tears.

He pets your locks, almost loving the way it feels beneath his fingers and the way you flinch at the action. The tug at his lips stretches wider as he thinks of all the things he’s going to do to you.

And when you stared into those shameless eyes, you knew this was a fate worse than death. 

[turbulentscrawl]

Since you asked for some angsty stuff...Hunters of your choice (can Fool's Gold and/or Ithaqua please be included if you have inspo for them🙏) accidentally fatally injuring their SOs during a match? Maybe they're sad/guilty and they expect their SOs to be fine after the match but then it turns out this death was permadeath/their SO is gone for good?

You…you wanna make those two guys MORE unstable? I like you ewe

Warnings: angst, very intense emotions, extreme violence, character death

Fool’s Gold

The relationship between Norton and Him was as odd as it was volatile, but they shared some deeper-than-understanding connection to one another. Which was why he’d been chosen to break the news to his alternate self, against all his protests. It wasn’t fair. Norton and Fool’s Gold were, at their cores, the same person with all the same desires. The same loves. Norton was hardly given a second to process your death himself and now he had to put himself in front of the broken mirror who’d done it.

‘Fool’s Gold’ stood in that crooked, stiff way of his while staring down Norton with a goading smile. It was just them in the garden—in the spot everyone knew the two of you would meet on full moons.

“Get lost,” Fool’s Gold croaks out. “You know this isn’t your place.”

“Yeah, well, it will have to be for right now,” Norton spits back, crossing his arms tight. It’s a poor comfort, a poor self-restraint. “I’ve got something to say to you.”

“Important enough to interrupt my date night,” He cackles. He rolls his neck, body rumbling and cracking as the coals of his torso shift. “Get on with it, then. Then get out of my wa—”

“They’re dead,” Norton says quickly. There’s no sense in delaying things. No amount of sugar coating will help calm the wrath Norton knows the amalgamation of all his worst parts is capable of conjuring. Fool’s Gold tilts his head a fraction. His grin wavers. “For good. We don’t know how or why. But that last match with you this week, when you…. You killed them for good.” Norton doesn’t try to hide the venom in his voice, but at least spares his counterpart a recounting of the gory details. Of how you suffered, burnt and broken.

“The fuck they are,” Fool’s Gold growls. “You think I’ve got rocks in my head, too? There’s no such thing as death here. Where are they? They’re mad about that hit, huh? I told them not to body block for that--”

“They’re dead!” Norton shouts. “You fucking killed them! They’re gone—for real, forever! The sooner you accept that, the sooner I can fuck off and go back to ignoring your worthless existence!”

Norton was suddenly dangling in the air by a crushing grip on his throat, having been drawn into Fool’s Gold’s rocky hand by the very polarity that had saved his life so many times before. But they shared that, too, and now he was stuck with that dead, enraged eye staring into his.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” Fool’s Gold roars, coughing and spitting all the way. Norton is wheezing too, both of them to quiver and suffocate with hurt carefully concealed under the blame and hatred for one another. “If anything…if anything, you’re hiding them. Think you’re so much better than me that you can steal the one good thing I got? I’ll crush you. I’ll CRUSH you. I’ll bring down that whole worthless fucking manor right to the ground and dig them out myself if I have to—WHERE ARE THEY!”

“It’s…your fault,” Norton chokes out with his last breaths, looking into his own murky eyes. “If you’d…n-never…existed—"

Fool’s Gold slams Norton’s body into the cobblestone like a ragdoll, rumbling the gardens and covering the grass with moonlit blood.

Ithaqua

He was not a man known for his patience—especially when it came to you. Ithaqua had been unbearable to all the other Hunters since your match with him, first enraged, then worried sick, it was completely pitiful. Somewhere between a kicked puppy and a snarling badger. Now, it was the survivor manor’s turn to be subjected to him.

Ithaqua paced in front of the Survivor manor, twitchy and impatient. Anyone who stepped foot outside was whipped into his clutches by a gust of wind and interrogated. He didn’t understand why they all had to make this so difficult. All he wanted was his lover. His other half. Why were these pitiful dolls denying him that?

“Bring them out here,” he’d growled at the squeaky little dancer. She got off the easiest, and that could have been the end of things, if she’d listened.

“Where are they?” he’d asked the psychologist, crushing her throat in a clawed hand while her pet beat at his stomach desperately. He’d let them go, too, because they reminded him of you and him in some pathetic way.

The third wasn’t so lucky. The batter had the nerve to claim you were dead. He was no fool, he knew that didn’t happen. He knew you were inside that stupid building, probably locked away by the rest of these survivor maggots out of some twisted sense of ‘protectiveness.’ Who did they think they were, to keep you two apart?

“You killed them,” the batter spat up at Ithaqua, who loomed over his crumpled body. “You beat them to death…like you’re doing to me now!” Ithaqua laughed maniacally. He’d hit you, sure, but only because you threw yourself in the way of the little blind girl. He’d told you before not to do that. That he didn’t want to hit you, that he couldn’t stop a swing in motion! But you did it anyway and took a detention-ed crack over the head. “They’re dead for good! They didn’t heal, they didn’t regenerate! We had to bury a corpse for the first time ever!!”

That gave Ithaqua some pause. Irrationally, impossibly…he didn’t hear lies in the bleeding man’s words. Something inside Ithaqua snapped with the realization, the thought that you might well and truly be gone. Without word or smile, he raised his axe and brought it down on this survivor’s head. He splattered open like a pinched grape.

It made no sense for true death to happen now of all times. To you of all people. If it were real, though, then there was a reason. Something was waiting beyond this cage. You were waiting, alone.

And Ithaqua would send everyone to meet you there, himself included.

Antonio

Antonio had brought flowers for you, but it was Alva and Michiko waiting for him at your tea party spot in the gardens. They were his friends, but their expressions did not bode well for this visit.

“What’s happened?” he asks, without preamble. “Have they refused to see me?” In your previous match, one in which he was the Hunter, he had killed you. Quite brutally, in fact, though everyone knew by now that whatever happened in matches was not by his choice. It was the reason he’d gathered a bouquet for your meeting today. He wanted to beg forgiveness.

“I’m afraid it’s something else, friend,” Alva says. “Would you sit with us?” he gestures to a seat at the garden table. It’s your chair, the one with a little bow tied to the armrest.

“If it’s all the same, I think I’d rather stand. But if this is not in regards to my love, what is it?” He couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his stomach, despite the small reassurance that you weren’t ignoring him.

“I received some concerning news in my last match,” Michiko spoke. She finally met Antonio’s gaze, and he realized, finally, how exhausted she looked. Like she hadn’t slept in days. “It seems there’s been a change to the rules of the manor. Or perhaps…an exception.”

“Lady Michiko has been punished for nonparticipation,” Alva took over, having noticed Antonio’s focus. “She’s been plagued by night terrors for throwing her most recent match.”

“Why would you do such a thing? What change of rules could have compelled you to take such torture?” Antonio wonders aloud. He creeps closer to his friends, setting your flowers at your seat.

“The survivors were terrified they’d be dead for good if I killed them. They had…proof. I would not be the one to test the theory,” Michiko said. Antonio opened his mouth to question again, but Michiko’s stare cut him off. She gazed deep into his soul, or where it would be if he had one, and he understood. His throat suddenly felt as if there was a stone lodged in it. He fought against his stitched smile with all his might.

“They…?”

“They are gone, Antonio,” Alva said. “I am truly sorry.”

Antonio felt his thins legs quivering beneath him, and suddenly he was in your chair, having fallen into the seat Michiko slid underneath him. He touched the armrests, wishing your hands were there to hold instead. Alva placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a handkerchief with the other.

“You should get away from me,” Antonio told them. He felt his body slipping with his sanity. A dark hole was underfoot, opening to swallow his entire, grief-broken being. He didn’t think he could ever recover from this. His everything was gone, his life, his love, and now the light itself was being swallowed by a devil’s shadow. He knew Michiko was over his shoulder, ready with her knife.

“Let us worry about that, friend,” Alva said. “We’ll be here for you, one way or another.”

Maybe, Antonio thought, he’d get lucky in the coming struggle and be killed for good himself.

[givehimthemedicine]

i read the Lumax analysis and ngl i feel the same about Byler. why is Will practically doing all the work. Mike just ignores him, then Will speaks up, gets shut down. no apology to his face. then Mike has the gall to pull the "b-but you won’t abandon me, right 🥺?" card seconds before they move to Cali and Will eats it up.

Mike was scribbling his next letter to send to El, while Will was making a painting as a gift for him. when they reunite at the airport, Will is so giddy, and happy even when he spots Mike wearing the Minion suit. he is going in for a hug, fully expecting he’ll get one. despite the lack of phone calls he believes that Mike is gonna match his energy. he doesn’t. he is ignored. again. when Mike realizes he is losing him he swoops in to apologize. what do we get for rest of season? it’s just Will comforting, reassuring Mike and listening to his problems. he notices Mike being upset as they are burying the corpse and talks to him, he notices Mike moping as he reads El’s letter, etc. then the grand culmination - van scene.

i give Mike a pass for not noticing Will sobbing as hes muffling his cries with his hand and turned around. but what about before? when he was giving the van speech at times Will looked and sounded like he was 2 seconds away from bursting into tears. how did Mike not notice something was wrong when he was obviously paying attention to him. and if he did that’s even worse.

Jonathan being there isn’t an excuse. he could have said something, anything, subtly to check up on him or comfort him. he didn’t do that. "you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all. like she’s better for being different" ok so why are the Duffers so allergic to showing us that. when was the last time that happened. season 2? when Mike said it’s not his fault Will doesn’t like girls, that they are not kids anymore, him wanting to play DnD, which led to Will having a breakdown and destroying Castle Byers, his safe place and cry as he ripped up their photos and called himself stupid - was he feeling better for being different? or worse? did he feel uplifted by Mike shoving in his face how normal he is unlike Will? that he’ll never be like them? that they are moving on, being grown ups and Will is stuck? could some bully at school outright calling him a slur be as hurtful as the things his best friend, someone he trusted and loved said to him then? that he never received a proper apology for.

Mike gets free therapy sessions. Will gets a few crumbs of attention and affection when Mike gets forcibly separated from El.

Mike and Will aren't characters I pay particular attention to, so the townsfolk will please forgive my newborn take.

I absolutely see your point and agree Mike has had terrible PR with Will on many occasions. but while he's often an asshat when it comes to Will's feelings, I'll say at least Mike is regularly shown to be concerned for Will's welfare in the life-and-death-plot way, and is actively involved in making plans and taking actions that save him. (Mike's the one to rally the party to go out and search for Will. to insist he's alive somehow after they all saw his dead body. to build "hey let's make sure we don't also kill Will" into the MF-killing plans. etc)

that's where I think a comparison to lumax isn't so tight because I can't think of anything Max has ever done for Lucas's welfare on either a plot or feelings level. (the writing has never really given her an occasion to save or help Lucas the way he is for her.)

and for all his shit, we have also seen Mike be really good to Will on the feelings level (mostly thinking about his incredible loyalty in season 2 and the swings speech. his commitment to Will in the front half of the show is on par with that of Joyce and that's saying something). it sure would be nicer if that was more recent/consistent, but it has happened, which I can't honestly say for Max. the nicest thing Max has done for Lucas so far is allow him to be nice to her.

[angelofchaos001]

Stranded in the Rain - Chapter 1

Link to Ao3 (Chapter also under cut)

Link to Masterpost

Next (Adapting)

Chapter 1 - Beginning

GASP!

Hatchling shot upright, desperate for air. It felt like they had been choked out, maybe even to the point of death. Perhaps that's not the best train of thought, they realized. Death was just a grim reminder of the fact that they had been stuck in a loop. Space and time had gotten so warped and tangled with each other that no matter what they did, every time they met the end of their life, they would just come back.

Except . . .

Hadn't they ended the loops?

Hadn't they ended the universe?

I . . . I remember the big flash . . . But . . . Why can't I remember anything else?!

Panic seized the young hearthian as they fought to remember even the most basic information. What were they doing? What was their goal? Who were they??

Memories flooded back to them like a cyclone slamming them down. They remembered seeing it with their own four eyes. Finding the Eye of the Universe, being taken to a strange quantum realm where nothing made sense, gathering all their close allies they'd met on the journey to bring them together for one last song, before the big bang that they could have sworn killed them happened. Feldspar . . . Solanum . . . Everyone . . . It wiped everyone out.

Evidently, it did not wipe everyone out, because they were very much here and very much alive. Alive. Am I really?

They could cling to the memories of who they were now. They were Moissan, a Hearthian in the Outer Wilds Ventures space program. They had been exploring the solar system like everyone else. And they caught in a time loop because of a statue they'd linked to.

Oddly enough, they were even still wearing their space suit. That's new, they thought, checking themselves over. No injuries. No missing pieces. Just a full tank of oxygen and a jetpack ready to launch. They didn't have their scout, which was a little upsetting, but it seemed rather odd that they were in such a pristine condition now, waking up alone.

Alone.

Whenever they'd woken up before, they'd seen Slate sitting by the campfire, roasting a marshmallow. Even if they didn't know about the loops and tried to ground Moissan several times for apparent medical reasons, not seeing the familiar hearthian's face stung. There was no campfire, not even a smoldering pile of logs. No launch pad waiting for them on the rocky cliff, their trusty ship that had carried them so far on their journey absent.

Considering everything that ship had lived through, they were surprised it wasn't here with them when they had lived it.

Arrrrgh, the ship doesn't matter right now, they thought, slowly getting to their feet. What matters is finding out where I am. Clearly, it wasn't Timber Hearth. Everything looked too . . . damp, despite the abundant plant life. They reached out for what seemed like a fern, only for the plant to shrivel away from them with a rustling noise. They gasped, intrigued and in awe of the specimen.

All the plant truly did was raise more questions, though. If everything was wet, then it couldn't be the Hourglass Twins. There was plenty of solid ground to stand on and a lack of fog, so it wasn't Dark Bramble (thankfully). It seemed too stable to be like the collapsing Brittle Hollow, and Giant's Deep would have been far wetter considering the whole planet was an ocean. None of the moons - Not even the Quantum Moon - matched this unique location either. It almost reminded them of the Stranger.

Almost.

Around Hatchling seemed to just be walls and a very tight, cramped room. Small plants, almost like some kind of moss, stretched across the floor like a natural carpet. They almost felt tempted to touch it, but one of the most basic safety lessons was 'Don't interact with things you don't know about'.

Ignoring that rule is sorta what got me into all of this in the first place, isn't it.

Moissan really just didn't feel like taking off their suit for moss-touching purposes. Instead, they focused on the room. The walls, other than having strange flora growing along them as well, seemed fairly sturdy. They took a moment, curled up their hand, and punched at the wall to test it's integrity. OWWWW . . . Pain exploded in their digits as they uncurled them. Solid metal wall, got it. Owww, ow ow, why did I do that?

They'd been expecting dirt . . . maybe packed dirt, if they were lucky. Not full-on metal. They looked straight ahead of themselves, and saw the one wall that was different than the others. Embedded into the wall was a small tunnel, maybe about the size of Hatchling's head if they really squeezed themselves in there. Attached to it seemed some kind of contraption, something made of a smooth metal that looked . . . in a decently well-kept state.

Maybe this place has intelligent life on it. Naively, they found themselves hoping it was some kind of familiarity, such as another hearthian, a Nomai, or even an Owlk would be nice to see. No, stupid thought, they told themselves, facepalming. The Owlks didn't (couldn't) leave their dream world, and all the Nomai in the system had died from the Interloper and it's densely packed load of ghost matter.

Well, all but one. Moissan thought of Solanum again. They'd met her in such a strange place, such a strange time, and most certainly the last thing they ever expected to see. Guess it's really back to being 'all of them', though.

The big bang played out in their mind again. Had it been some kind of crazy dream? The heat and fire felt too real for them to believe that. They could recall every second in the blast, as few as there were, and the moment pain seared through every fiber of their being before becoming a pleasant nothingness. My universe was already doomed. It was a strange thought to come to terms with, being born at the end of a universe. If every path would lead to my doom, then I'm glad I could at least build something new for those after me.

If Hatchling survived, there wasn't really telling if the others had. The feeling of that one end felt so real. Was it because of the intensity? The emotions they felt in that moment of terror and awe? Perhaps because they knew that this time, they wouldn't come back? Removing the warp core from Ash Twin ended the loops, after all, and if nothing else, they had absolutely taken that core out. It just wasn't possible that this was another loop.

What else could explain this, though?

Too many questions buzzed in their head like angry flies, numbing their brain to anything else. They tried to ground themselves by looking at the tunnel again, studying the metal. It appeared to be some kind of mechanism of moving parts to close off the tunnel. Gears sat underneath large metal slabs, though they were currently quiet and still, not pulling anything along. On either side of the passage, there was small bits of interlocking metal that they guessed fit together to fill the small tunnel. But why?

They'd figure it out at some point, probably. They'd been spending their life figuring out mysteries, after all, hadn't they? A small mechanical contraption was nothing compared to creating another universe.

. . . How did every thought loop back around to the end of their world and the beginning of a new one?

Being alone with their thoughts wasn't entirely pleasant. For one, Hatchling was confused about a lot of things their mind had already entertained before. They thought that the release of death would be a nice closure to their action-filled life of solving the Nomai's greatest mystery. After all the trials, they could rest easy knowing that at least there would be something for future planets to exist in. Instead, they were both relieved and terrified that they were still alive.

Brushing past all the confused thoughts, though, being alone was what made things even more awful. In their travels, they had never been truly alone before. There was always the network of other explorers to chat with, Nomai scrolls to read, the Ship's Log to update and check over, and if they got lost too badly, the signalscope could at least bring them back to something.

Pulling out the device now did almost nothing. No matter what frequency Hatchling tuned into or where they pointed it, no readings popped up. It was almost like the horrible silence and loneliness they'd felt in the Eye, awestruck by the new setting but oh-so-scared of what lie in wait for them.

Most of all, though, Hatchling felt . . . sad. Nothing but true sadness lined every thought, thinking of the world they knew. Coming to terms with the inevitable end didn't mean they had to like it. But now, this meant that it was really just them on their own. Everyone else was still most likely gone, gone forever. For the first time since becoming a space explorer . . . Moissan felt like crying.

It wasn't like the frightened tears that threatened them when the anglerfish let out their awful, shrieking roars, certain doom following the noise.

Nor was it the happy ones they'd nearly wept when they saw everyone gathered together, playing their music one last time around a campfire.

It was just . . . sad. And lonely.

Did everyone else get to die with that last happy memory? If so, then . . . why not me?

Am I stuck because I'm the one who did it?

Because I knew about the looping?

Or am I being called out for a greater purpose, just like last time?

Moissan really hoped they weren't about to become the universe's favorite specimen to call on when in need. One lifetime of adventure was enough for them. They didn't want (or need) more stress to be the great unseen hero all over again. They sniffled once, then twice, before they felt the unfamiliar sting as their eyes watered. Can I do this alone? Whatever it is I need to do?

It felt as if every thought was too painful to read, too much for such a fragile heart to bear. Tears dripped onto their suit, rolling off the waterproof fabric as the reality of everything truly caught up to them. If everyone else had to die and yet I survived, me, of everyone . . . great trees, I'm sorry it had to be this way. It wasn't what I wanted. It was what had to be done. There wasn't any other option.

The song that almost brought them to joyous tears now haunted Hatchling like a ghost, sailing in the air around them and involuntarily forcing the air in their throat to form a faint humming along with it. Each part added a new distinct layer, the full song being beautiful enough in both sound and meaning.

The plucky, strong banjo that carried the melody. Riebeck may have been scared of space, but they were still bold enough to face that fear in some way or another.

A high-pitched whistle, giving the banjo a lighter partner. Age didn't take a toll on Esker, even if his place in life had come to the end of it's usefulness.

Droning and yet still warbling, the harmonica sang back to them. Despite their isolation and situation, Feldspar had been invaluable in their quest for the Eye.

Carrying the steady beat were those drums. Even if they had given Chert some existential dread, they had skill at their instrument, that was for sure.

Delicate and faint, the flute gave everything a new meaning. Gabbro really had tried their best, hadn't they? The only other one to remember the endless looping.

Cutting the noise clear, the key strokes of the Nomai instrument shone through. Solanum had been the last Nomai in the system, and without her, they weren't sure they would have made it this far to begin with.

Lastly, the haunting, ethereal strings of the Owlks made everything feel that much less real. The Prisoner, as Hatchling called them, was the one they had to thank for them being where they were now. If they had never let the Eye call out again . . . (That was not a reality Hatchling wanted to think about)

All seven of them.

Gathered at the fire.

Playing together.

Happily.

Moissan felt like curling up and waiting for death to take them all over again as more tears flowed, a long-dried well inside of them being opened and the water inside rushing out. Between the sobbing, they gasped for air like they would lose it, their vision a blurred mess as they tried to stop thinking about everything they'd lost. About the lives that had been so intertwined with theirs, only to be ripped away like nothing had changed.

Alone.

Alone and lost, with nothing but the feeling of a mistake clinging to my gills.

No matter how badly they wanted to find out where this place was, find shelter, and explore, look for any kind of familiar sight . . . they couldn't bring themselves to move. They just sank back down to the ground, the moss squishing beneath them as it stretched for the delicious tears that continued to fall. They couldn't bear the idea of getting out of this small, cramped box. They didn't want to stay, either, but this was at least safe.

Unless another supernova is going to happen in twenty-two minutes, in which case nowhere will be safe without my ship.

Why couldn't they think just one happy thought? One thing to help claw their mind out of the mental pit it was sinking deeper and deeper into was all they needed. The boost to get up, put their helmet back on, and try to find a way out to explore. But if felt like all they could do was sit there, lying on the floor, crying and mourning for the loss of friends, home, and sanctuary. Not even the knowledge that in the grand scheme of things, they had been astronomical in saving this place of existence, was enough to make them move. Every limb felt heavy, every bit of energy dedicated to sobbing and choking on air.

Did anything they do truly matter in the end?

What is my purpose here?

Hatchling found themselves almost wishing they were dead, happy with their friends in whatever kind of afterlife awaited them all (if there was one), rather than stuck here, confused and scared on what to do. The damp moss around them became a poor comfort for their weeping heart and soul, but it was comfort enough. As they continued crying, they began to tire. Lying on the ground, with somewhat spongy plants as a bed, sleep and it's numbing, peaceful bliss found a way to them.

-----

@mellow-mooon

@0silverbluedragon1

@corn-worshipper

@doodlebug091

@isnt-that-grape

@fishbone5

@dragonpurplecristal

@obsidianmage3

[bi-widower-dads]

bi-widower-dads' February Fic Rec: AUs

Thank you to everyone who submitted recs for us! We've done some sorting and collating, and we've got two posts for you: AUs and Canon-'verse - and a whole load of excellent fic for you to get stuck into while we wait for Barduil Month in April! So without further ado, here are the AUs for you, with a little bit about why our recommenders love them...

Header image by mod @piyo-13!

(a note about tags and trigger warnings: tags are selected from those on AO3 as being those that best describe the story for the purposes of this event; trigger warnings are supplied by the recommenders and may not be comprehensive - your mileage may vary. We've tried our best to include Tumblr handles wherever we can, but if we've missed yours out and you want it included, just let us know!)

One-shots

In the Wake of the Second Horseman by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | M | 2272 words | tags: angst with a happy ending, implied/referenced drug use, post-traumatic stress disorder - PTSD, implied warfare/violence | trigger warnings: mention of drug use, mention of violence in a war zone, PTSD, nightmares

Summary: When addiction threatens to consume Thran, his lover Bard is desperate to help - but Thran isn't. Yet in ending his relationship with Bard, Thran savages both of them, not just himself. Four years later, Thran's about to discover what remains from his cruelty. What he finds is a surprise - and humbling. What do you love about this fic? Even when things fall apart, redemption is possible if you give it half a chance. Out of tragedy comes hope and a chance for a better life.

love remains by likethenight / @nocompromise-noregrets | G | 11,093 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, grief/mourning, Thranduil never sailed west, mythical beings & creatures, folklore, alternate universe - reincarnation | trigger warnings: none

Summary: There is a legend in Dale, that somewhere deep in the forest that borders the city lives the forest king, an ancient being with a special care for archers, and for all things that grow. Bard, camping in the woods after his finals, finds a place that isn't on any maps and begins to dream of something - someone - familiar; and years later, after the heaviest loss he has ever had to bear, he goes back out there again, hoping to find something that might help him recover. What do you love about this fic? Absolutely beautiful fic, such a touching story and excellent writing!

Petrichor by b_ofdale_archive / @beesinspades | G | 14,598 words | tags: alternate universe - reincarnation, alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - bookstore, books and cats | trigger warnings: slight mention of past life character death

Summary: It's been six thousand years since Thranduil last laid eyes on his husband - Bard. The world has changed and the great Elvenking with it, lingering in the shadows of Men; as hope for a miracle festers within his heart that grows weaker with every passing day, the only thing keeping him going is a promise he made, many moons ago. What do you love about this fic? I love its overall theme, and the thought that Thranduil will meet Bard again. A lovely and poetically written reincarnation AU, well worth the read!

Multi-chapters: in progress

Love in a time of change by myeaglesong / @myeaglesong | M | 22,840 words | tags: eventual relationships, eventual romance, elf/human relationships, fluff, romance, slow burn, alternate universe - regency, oblivious Bard | trigger warnings: none

Summary: For the longest time, Thranduil has wanted to find a good match for his son, Legolas, to marry. His search leads him to consider Arwen for Legolas to marry, but what if Legolas has already got his eye set on another match that Thranduil may not approve of? What will will happen when Legolas finds out about his father's intentions to marry him off? What would happen when the question of if Thranduil were to marry again was to come up, who could he marry? What do you love about this fic? I am not usually one for Regency AUs but this one is so adorable, and between the kids and the dads there is plenty of potential for shenanigans and some tentative romance! I'm really looking forward to seeing how events unfold…

The Moth Effect by BiSquared / @scary-grace and Dogblessya / @dogblessyoutascha | M | 35,658 words | tags: mothman is real, mothman Thranduil, mothbaby Legolas, park ranger Bard, non-graphic violence, but there is still gore so you've been warned, twilight references | trigger warnings: mothman lore, gore

Summary: (in chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a mothman moving into your place of employment can have a large effect on the rest of your life. What do you love about this fic? I love the Supernatural/Horror element to it and Park Ranger Bard trying to make sense of all the really weird s**t that's happening around him. Lovely bits have to be the introduction of Mothman Thranduil and adorable Mothbaby Legolas. But best of all is that Mothman Thranduil isn't the weirdest thing happening in Olympic National Park 👀….

Vena Amoris by Patch / @patchoffeathers and Piyo13 / @piyo-13 | M | 72,843 words | tags: crossover with Dracula Untold, alternate universe - vampires, Bard is Dracula, canon-typical violence, slow build, alternate universe - some people live/not everybody dies | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard has a secret, one that stems from far to the east, in lands far forgotten and times long past. It's one that no one must know—but times are changing for the people living on the lake. Even for those who, technically, aren't alive. What do you love about this fic? The author does such a great job at merging Luke Evans' two characters here (Bard and Dracula) while still keeping Bard distinctly canon-shaped. Because Dracula!Bard is an immortal, there's a unique comparison of mythological immortalities and the relative costs of them that reflects back onto the plot.

show a little faith, there's magic in the night by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 342,922 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, slow burn, music industry AU, indie musician Bard, opera singer turned pop star Thranduil | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard Bowman's not the type to give up on his dreams easily, but when DJ Smaug's dirty tricks leave his family band stranded in Denver with a forfeit fee the size of Mt. Everest crashing down on their heads, there's really nothing to do but drink about it. The last thing Bard expects is to meet a beautiful stranger in a similar predicament -- and the last thing either of them expects is a rescue. Luckily for them, Thorin Oakenshield's feeling heroic this evening. What do you love about this fic? I am such a sucker for the rock scene (I've spent my entire adult life kicking about there) and it's not often I see it portrayed so realistically in fic (or indeed in original fiction). The characters are all beautifully drawn, the humour frequently makes me chuckle, and Bard going head over heels while trying to tell himself he isn't, it's not happening, not really, because he can't believe his luck, makes my heart go all funny.

Multi-chapters: complete

Followthrough by ofplanet_earth / @ofplanet-earth | M | 26,737 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - military, alternate universe - spies & secret agents, snipers, sniper Bard, military captain Thorin, mob boss Smaug, revenge, character death | trigger warnings: violence

Summary: Bard and his children have been living in a little cabin on the edge of Laketown for five years, hiding from Bard's dangerous past. But when that past comes back to haunt them, Bard will have to team up with Thorin and his company to face down his demons, confront the man who killed his wife, and fight to save the people he loves. What do you love about this fic? Great spies/military AU with Bard and the gang!

The grey sea and the long black land by Black_knight100 and Blueberryrock / @blueberryrock | T | 29,702 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - cruise ship, first kiss, angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending, eventual romance | trigger warnings: quite angst filled but has an eventual happy ending

Summary: Bard Bowman is thirty-seven years old, widowed and heckled, and he's had enough. If his children want a cruise trip with their lottery money, then so they will have. Bard will only have to work twice as hard to take them out of their little corner of the world. It has been three years. Three years of him raging, and sobbing, and grieving. Three years in which he has turned away from his children. Three years to reach this ship, to put together whatever snapped that day. And the first morning, Thranduil wakes up late. It is going fabulously. Or, in which the two meet on a ship, and there are ups and downs. What do you love about this fic? Thranduil and Bard getting together in the end

Modern Love by Shampain / @abner-krill | M | 65,267 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - coffee shops and cafés, alternate universe - human | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard is a down on his luck single father working a thankless job as a courier, eternally worrying over when his daughter is going to start sneaking out of the house with boys. As if that wasn't bad enough, his assignments delivering files to Greenleaf Acquisitions puts him in contact with Thranduil, a stern businessman whose only champion is his assistant, Tauriel. And finally, to make matters worse, his friendship with Bilbo Baggins sends everything else into a tailspin. The summer is just beginning, and it's going to be a weird one. What do you love about this fic? Lovely, lighthearted modern AU that is a delight to read!

hands; eyes; voice by bishkebab / @bishkebab | T | 70,163 words | tags: slow burn, alternate universe, accidental cottagecore, governess/single dad romance but make it gay, autistic Thranduil, Thranduil and Bard both have physical disabilities | trigger warnings: mention of autism, fire accident, PTSD

Summary: An isolated life in a too-small cottage was never what Bard dreamed of for his children – especially sharp, scholarly Tauriel and sensitive, insightful Tilda. But school is a distant dream for a large family living off the land – at least until a storm and the subsequent house fire bring a former scholar to their doorstep. Wealthy recluse Thranduil could never have anticipated leaving his family's manor for a shack in the woods and a single father with five – FIVE – children who can barely write ten words between them. But when disaster strikes, he is left with little choice – and maybe close quarters with a handsome widower won't be so bad after all... What do you love about this fic? This is a rare work of art in which Bard is the loveliest dad ever, stubborn, strong and gentle and Thranduil is an introverted autistic lonely lad. The author writes their story in a very poetical way and family is the main protagonist of the story, as is their small cosy cottage. I do love the gentle feeling this story conveys from the start. It feels like a warm cup of tea after a very rainy day and each word is carefully written. This story deserves to be read and reread and rereread. Slowly. (With a nice cup of tea. &lt;;3)

Those Colours We Share by b_ofdale / @beesinspades | M | 84,709 words | tags: alternate universe - soulmates, alternate universe - post-war, set in 1956, Bard owns an animal shelter, slow burn, fluff and angst, disabled character, asexual characters, period-typical homophobia | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Had anyone told them, Thranduil Oropherion and Bard Bowman would never have believed they would see the world painted in colours again. Until that fateful day of December 1956, when one little boy entered a former soldier's animal shelter. What do you love about this fic? I'm a sucker for two lonely people who find each other and forge a new life together.

Beast by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 132,354 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, mentions of suicide, slow burn, crime and investigation, bonding while working, romance, past problems | trigger warnings: gore, violence, abuse, human trafficing, child abuse, murder, suicide

Summary: Bard Bowman is the leader of a team of investigators trying to solve a very complicated case, when the serial killer they are chasing proves to have a far longer history than they expected the feds call in a profiler. Bard has never believed he could feel attraction again but now he does, how can he express what he feels when they are chasing a beast which seems to defy the very laws of nature? Can Thran feel the same way? The road to love can be bumpy, in special when it is surrounded by murders. What do you love about this fic? It is very exciting, very romantic and intense.

seeking a friend for the end of the world by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 238,799 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, apocalypse, road trips, family issues and family bonding, opera singer Thranduil, Bard and Thranduil are good parents who are having a bad year, or years | trigger warnings: disease-apocalyptic setting, zombies, major character death, medical injections

Summary: Between dealing with his boss, getting over his ex-wife, and keeping his kids fed and clothed, Bard has more than enough on his plate. He doesn't have time to worry about the frightening rumors coming out of New York City or the lunatic in his service bay who tells him to take his kids and run. But when he stops to help a mysterious stranger on the side of the road, he gets a lot more than he bargained for -- a sexuality crisis, a partner in crime, and maybe, just maybe, a chance for all of them to make it out of this mess alive. What do you love about this fic? Incredible worldbuilding and an edge-of-your-seat plotline! The bonds between all the characters are just beautiful, and it has great worldbuilding. The action is also really well written, and it does tension/dramatics right.

In The Woods Somewhere by Ias / @hubristicfool | M | 249,074 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, vampires, vampire Thranduil, mechanic Bard, blood drinking, slow burn, dark, angst, violence, horror, psychological horror, unhealthy relationships | trigger warnings: vampires, blood, angst, sexual content, violence

Summary: These country roads were rarely traveled by any that didn't need to. When Thranduil pulled up beside the man's stopped vehicle and offered him a smile and a ride, there was no one to see the man's grateful expression as he slipped into Thranduil's car. No one to stand by and call out a warning as the taillights were swallowed by the dark branches of the trees. What do you love about this fic? The writing is excellent

Angels and crooks by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 259,072 words | tags: sequel to Beast, alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, solving crime, family, violence, drug abuse, everyday life at a police station | trigger warnings: violence, abuse, dark stuff, murder, blood, evil, deviousness

Summary: Bard and Thran are getting used to their new life as a married couple, and their new responsibilities as a family. But they still have their jobs and my oh my does that bring some interesting situations and challenges into their existence. Having both experience and special gifts does help, but at times reality can be more bizarre than anyone can expect. What do you love about this fic? It is a good story with very interesting twists and many great characters

When The Pale Swan Flies by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 290,646 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, circus performer Thranduil, cabinet maker Bard, Thranduil's name is Luka, Bard's name is Taliesin (which is Welsh for Bard), slow burn, Thranduil needs rescuing and Bard is happy to do it | trigger warnings: sexual abuse mentioned, underage sex mentioned, prostitution/pimping mentioned

Summary: A year ago, when a carpenter met a caged bird, his good intentions left despair in their wake. Is he a fool to hope he can atone for his missteps? What do you love about this fic? It's got circus acts! It's got two sad men learning to trust and love again! It's got an epic visit to a grocery store! It's got bad guys getting their just desserts, and everyone else getting delicious Spanish teacake! It's got a cute little boy who finds his voice while making puppets! There's a sad short-story prequel to set the stage, as well! And who doesn't like a parade?

Season of Light and Shadow by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 914,703 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, Thranduil is a ballet dancer, Bard is a building super and welder (and artist), slow burn, NSFW, blended family | trigger warnings: momentary violence, momentary mention of drug use, adult bedroom games

Summary: It's the week before Thanksgiving. In an apartment building somewhere in the middle of New York City, the mood is far from festive. Upstairs in Apartment 5B, an injured ballet dancer is having a rotten day. He's lost his job, he's had to walk home in the snow and rain, getting thoroughly soaked and frozen in the process, and the radiators in his rooms are as cold as the New York City streets. He limps downstairs to vent his fury on the night super who didn't fix the heat. Downstairs in Apartment 2A, the night super is also having a rotten day. No money, three overtired and cranky children, a slapdash boss, and not nearly enough sleep. And now someone is pounding on the door like a SWAT team. When an angel knocks on the door of a saint, neither finds what he expects. But with a little luck, the upcoming holiday season might give them both something to treasure. What do you love about this fic? It's two lonely men forging a blended family! It's got ballet! It's got home renovation! It's got four cutie children! It's got cooking! It's got an artist regaining the wherewithal to make his art! It's got lots of cool side characters (ten points to everyone who spots all the Dwarves :-). It's got lots of steamy love! It's even got 3 short follow-up stories! What's not to like?????? This was my introduction to the world of modern AUs with these two, and oh, it's SO GOOD. The kids are brilliant and so realistically drawn, and the dads are - well, they're incredibly hot. XD And the development of the relationship between them is beautifully done, as they go head-over-heels for each other while trying to take things slowly for the sake of the kids…oh, it's great. :D

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Do you have any x reader soulmate fics? Preferably with the bad sanses:)

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Once More, With Feeling by TeaTinBlix (Mature, Incomplete)

It's a place where weird things happen, and kids go missing. It's a place where everyone grows up being told to stay away from. It's a place Frisk grew used to hearing scary stories about. But someone also once told Frisk that there was Magic on that mountain, and that if they were lucky, Mt. Ebott would grant them a wish. Any wish. And with Frisk's older sister, You, practically on death's doorstep, they were willing to take any chance they could. And as luck would have it, Frisk literally stumbled right into the Underground and had the adventure of a lifetime. However, by the time they were able to free the monsters and make their way back out to the surface, their new friends and their magic in tow, not even a wish could bring back what Frisk had lost. Because at the end of every single run through the Underground, no matter how quickly Frisk hurried, as the sun rose over the mountain You succumb to an illness you've been battling for a long time. So with one final Reset, Frisk goes back farther than they ever have before. If they can't bring the monsters to You... they'll bring You to the monsters! It's Frisk's last hope, and Your last chance.

Captive Hearts by oftheabyss (Explicit, Incomplete)

Do you ever feel like your life consists of disaster after disaster? You would have said no before, but when an unknown evil takes you hostage, you sense a dramatic change in your lifestyle approaching. First, you get kidnapped, then stabbed, and now you're being held captive by these intimidating (and hot) skeletons who seem determined to keep you safe for some reason. You can't help but ask how an ordinary human like you got roped into this mess. You have no idea that you're the soulmates of one of the most powerful groups in the multiverse. ... TLDR: The Bad Sanses (Nightmare, Error, Cross, Killer, Dust, Axe, and Lust) and their soulmate (Gender Neutral Reader).

You Are Filled With Kindness by Jackalope_Doodles (Mature, Incomplete)

You are Y/N L/N, a Kindness Mage that has been thrown to the wolves, er, the monsters. With a war going on throughout the land Y/N is half convinced that the Monsters must be better, but instead she's met with suspicion, anger, and a lot of hungry creatures. it doesn't take long for her to find her niche only for it to all be uprooted again and again as she takes different monsters into her life and into her soul, including her very own soulmate... Who tried to kill her as soon as he saw her. Great. ///// I'm not a great author, can't claim to be at all, but I enjoy to write and I enjoy seeing people's reactions. I normally keep all of my writings to myself but after the great response from Your World I felt inclined to share again once i had the time to write once more. I've started and restarted several different fics, but this is the one that's stuck around the longest. I can't promise to finish it, but I can promise to try.

Gravitational Pull by Sendryl (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Soulmates have always existed. Every sentient being has a soulmate mark, hidden from sight until their first moment of physical contact with their soulmate. Unfortunately, matches have been relatively rare for many centuries. Turns out there's a reason for that, and when the monsters come out from under the mountain, everyone finds out why. It's because a massive amount of soulmates were stuck in the Underground. Everyone says that soulmates are a wonderful gift from the universe, a lovely person meant for you and you alone. And while that's mostly true, it doesn't necessarily mean that your relationship will run smoother than anyone else's. It just means that you know you can make it work together. You meet your soulmate a few years after monsters emerge, and you know even before your first touch that you're in for a punny time!

His Starry Night on You by Witchcraftandwine (Mature, Incomplete)

some people have a picture on their body, a connection between them and the one who is meant only for them, these marks are soul marks. When your mark flares into beautiful focus after a life altering event you realise that while experience may have made you jaded against romance, fate had other ideas.

[ae-azile]

Progression, Chapter 22 Sneak Peek:

Between the two of them, Kim tends to sleep later than Chay. His body is hard-wired to stay up late, and on top of that, he tends to sleep lightly. The latter is something that has changed a little in the last two months. Sleeping with Chay is just better. Even when they had slept on the couch in Chay’s house - prior to everything falling apart - he slept better than he usually had. Now that they're together and Kim isn't waiting for Chay to find out everything and leave, he almost always sleeps through the night. 

So that's the only explanation for not hearing his phone ping the next morning. He sleeps right through it until Chay is gently shaking him awake. 

“We missed a few texts. I have been talking with Macau for a bit, but you should catch up and read them.”

Kim lets his eyes open as he sits up and grabs his phone from the nightstand. Even as he opens the texts from Macau and Porsche to read them, he can't quite comprehend what it means. 

Macau: Hey, why is my brother talking to Kinn on the phone?

Macau: I'm not hiding in some safe house to wait out another attack. The cell service was so shitty and the WiFi was non-existent. I was kept out of the loop until Porsche and Khun came to get me. Pissed me the fuck off at the time, but I went with them because I needed out of there, even if it meant death. 

Macau: That sounds like I didn't care about my brother. I did. They downplayed his condition until we got to the hospital. I didn't care about the shitty service after that, but it was horrible while it was a main priority and I didn’t know any better. 

Macau: He's now off the phone, barely talking, and cuddling with Paris, Valencia, and Pittsburgh.

Chay: Who are Valencia and Pittsburgh?

Macau: Hia’s and P’Pete’s cats, duh. 🙄 Took you long enough to answer. 

Chay: Who names a cat Pittsburgh? Who names anything Pittsburgh? 

Macau: When Hia and P’Pete got them, they agreed to each name one. Hia named the girl Valencia because it is a city that has the same starting English letter as his name. So P’Pete picked Pittsburgh for the boy because it matched the starting letter of his own name. They also got stuck there during a layover last year due to a huge snowstorm and it was the first time P’Pete ever experienced snow. I guess they even extended their time there a couple of days to enjoy it. Pittsburgh now has a special place in P'Pete's and Hia's heart. Anyway, the cat is white. Pittsburgh. 

Chay: I guess that makes sense? Also, why did you never say anything about being an uncle now? Kim and I would have sent you a present or something. Hia showed me a picture of Paris. She's really cute. 

Macau: I’ve been an uncle. Valencia and Pittsburgh have been here for a while now and are a lot quieter. Paris doesn't scratch at the furniture though, so that's nice. I think that's why she's Hia’s new favorite. 

Chay: That's definitely it. Let me know if anything else happens. 

Macau: wtf he and Kinn are on the phone again. What is going on???

Kim: 🤷🏻

As soon as Kim sends that emoji to Macau since he doesn't actually know, he moves over to the text group Porsche started with the two of them. 

Porsche: Kinn and Vegas talked on the phone for over an hour last night. I guess it went well. Kinn was emotional when I got back to the suite, but he said it went better than he expected it to go. 

Porsche: And they're on the phone again. Idk who called who.

Porsche: They're fighting over some game they played when they were kids and are choosing to be pissed off about that over literally anything else?

Porsche: Vegas hung up on him 😕

Porsche: Nevermind, he answered when Kinn called him back. 

Porsche: I don't know what is going on. Kinn is laughing about something. It's exhausting to keep up with. I am about to go hang out with Arm and Khun because they cause me less stress.

Chay: You can't. This is more important and interesting.

Porsche: Important, maybe. It isn't interesting when I can only hear one side of the conversation. You know two people who are interesting? Arm and Khun. 

Porsche: Also? Took you long enough to answer. 

Kim: 🤷🏻

“Is that all you have to contribute to both conversations?” Chay asks as Kim cuddles back into him, “You just found out your brother is on his second phone call with Vegas and that's the only thing you can say?” 

“It's their third conversation,” Kim mumbles, wrapping himself around Chay, “Vegas hung up on him the second time. See? I care. I paid attention to what I read.” 

“Kim,” Chay says, “This could be huge for your family. You may have some sort of reconciliation and be friends with your cousins again after years of animosity.”

“I’m not going to get my hopes up, but that sounds nice.” Kim says, but it is apparently not enough. 

“Kim. Call your brother. See how he's doing.” 

Kim glances up at Chay, “It sounds like he is probably on the phone.” 

Chay points at Kim's phone and keeps staring at him, “Try. If he doesn't pick up, ask him to get a hold of you later.” 

“Or I can just call him later,” Kim counters, “Or talk to him when I get home.” 

Chay lets out a huff, “I'm nosy, P’Kim! I want to know what's going on now! I'm invested, just like Hia is invested in us, as well as Arm and Khun-” 

“Pretty sure ArmKhun is his top ship now,” Kim says with a shrug, “And there is no romance between Kinn and Vegas, so it isn't really comparable-” 

“Maybe I get more invested in toxic family dynamics than I am in romantic couples!” Chay says, then literally rolls over Kim to grab the phone before handing it to him, “Call him. Now.” 

[nordschleifes]

chapter eleven — noche fria

➝ a bet puts charlie and fernando's entire future at risk.

➝ word count: 4k

➝ warnings: mentions of race incidents, death, hospital

➝ author's note: tagging @christianpulisic10, @alonsogirlie, @he-is-the-destined, @sunnytkm23 and @enaticosencantados as requested.

The last hour before the race was always the busiest. Mechanics and engineers were rushing back and forth, adjusting every detail so that both cars would be ready for the moment when the lights finally went out. However, for Charlie, that was the moment when she spoke to Fernando for the last time before he went to the car to get ready to do what he loved most.

She looked for Fernando, finding him with his overalls already done up to his chin. He was sucking down one of the nutritional supplement gels he always had before races. His head was down, like he was trying to mentally ready himself, but something about him looked sad, almost despondent. Charlie felt horrible about it.

After all, it was her fault.

Charlie didn't realize the true impact of her running away from him in Suzuka until she answered her phone late one night a week ago. Listening to Fernando, drunk and in tears, asking her why she couldn't be happy with him, was like having a knife stuck in her own chest. He didn't deserve to suffer because of her fear and insecurity.

Seeking courage where she didn't have it, she tried to calm Fernando down and tell him to drink some water and take something so he wouldn’t be so hung over the next day. In the end, it had been agreed that they would talk when they saw each other again, in Las Vegas. A week seemed like enough time for Charlie to figure out what to say to Fernando when the two of them were alone again.

“Forgive me for being a coward. Forgive me for being afraid of feeling something so overwhelming. Forgive me for not loving you like you deserve to be loved. Forgive me for not accepting that I deserve to be loved by you”, she mentally replayed every time their eyes met. However, Charlie hadn’t found the chance yet.

The week had been completely packed with engagements for both of them. While Charlie was focused on collecting data for the development of next year's car, Fernando had the tough job of promoting the race to the North American public. And that meant hours and hours of interviews, meetings with sponsors, lunches, dinners and brunches. Their schedules only matched at the engineering meetings and that certainly wasn't the right place to discuss their relationship.

The conclusion was obvious: they wouldn't have the time and peace they needed until after the checkered flag came down. That didn't help Charlie’s nerves, quite the contrary. The tension made her feel constantly on edge, feeling like she needed to vomit every time she remembered they’d need to have a serious talk about their relationship.  Something about the idea of Fernando not wanting anything to do with her anymore made Charlie want to cry.

“Focus”, she thought to herself, looking at the papers she had prepared in her hands with the last adjustments she had made to the strategies for the race. That was the last detail Charlie needed to go over with Fernando before he left the garage, but she was still hesitant. It was as if there was something wrong with the environment, something out of place that she couldn't say what it was but that disturbed her.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie walked to the corner of the garage where Fernando was standing, trying to ignore the nagging feeling inside her chest.

— Hi — she said, making the driver turn around suddenly.

— Hey — he murmured.

— I just wanted to go over today's strategies and confirm a few things before testing the radio.

Fernando nodded, dropping the supplement pack beside the helmet holder.

— Well, as we talked about, we will follow plan A, starting with mediums and changing to hard tyres in the window between laps 13 and 20. However, we have plan B, in case of safety car before 25 laps, which is a change to hards, and plan C, in case of safety car after 25 laps, that is a change to softs.

— What about my idea?

— Which one?

— Giving it everything during the first lap to gain positions — he said, running a hand through his hair.

— You know it's too risky, don't you?

— Why?

— Because no one has raced on this track before, Fernando. The tyres will be cold, there’s not much rubber on the track, it’s almost a needless risk.

— But if I don’t take the risk, I won’t be able to win.

— We can work with the pit stops, I'll talk to the people at the factory to confirm everything...

— Charlie, I'm taking my chances — he said, in a resolute tone — I'm not going to finish another race outside the points or worse, behind Lance.

She looked down at her feet, thinking of a compelling argument. In fact, starting the race in 11th was not a very encouraging prognosis, especially given the sequence of negative results that Fernando had been accumulating. After his victory in Japan, the driver only managed 8th place in Qatar, 10th place in Mexico, in addition to two retirements due to “imbecile” mistakes, as he’d called them. Fernando wanted to end the season like it started and he was willing to do anything for that, even taking a more aggressive stance than usual on the track.

— Okay — Charlie relented, looking up at him again — If you think that's the best option…

— I'm sure it's the best option — Fernando interrupted her, his face frozen in a serious mask, which made the driver look much older and stern. It made her miss his wide, mischievous smile, as well as his silly jokes.

— So we're going to give it everything on the first lap — Charlie said — I'll let the guys in Mission Control know and make sure the setup is right for the start.

— Okay — he replied, softly.

Charlie was about to turn around to head back to the engineering station when she felt something warm wrap around her hand. Looking down, she saw Fernando's fingers wrapping around hers. Then he gave her a gentle, almost discreet squeeze, and her chest was flooded with warmth.

The first time he had done that was at dinner with Flavio, when she was feeling anxious. When she questioned him about it, on the way back to Monza, Fernando stated that it was his way of saying he was with her, even if he couldn't say it verbally. Looking at him as he stood there, his eyes locked on hers, Charlie was sure that was what the driver had meant. He was with her. 

— Be careful — Charlie just said, before walking away from him.

After testing all the radio channels, she went over the updated start plan with the team based at the Technology Campus near Silverstone. Both them and Peter, the head of strategy at the pit wall, argued that this was not the best approach for the track, but Charlie defended Fernando's choice. She knew of his intelligence to carry out the attacks on the track and, therefore, she had complete confidence in the driver's capacity to recover the positions that he had not been able to get in the qualifying session.

— Okay, we are with him. After the first lap, we readjust the goal according to the positions gained on the track, okay?

— Perfect, Peter.

After checking which tires the other drivers would start the race with, Charlie opened the communication channel with Fernando again, looking at the window where the onboard of his car was.

— Fernando?

— Yes?

— Strategy confirmed your suggestion. We'll update you on the targets and times after the first lap.

— Understood.

— All drivers in front of you are on mediums. Behind you, only Hulkenberg, Ocon and Sargeant are in hards, they will probably try to lengthen the stint. The rest of the mediums will probably work with a single stop.

— Copy.

A few minutes later, the cars pulled out for the formation lap. As the AMR23 circled the almost artificial curves of the Las Vegas circuit, data began to appear on her screen.

— Starting the procedure, checking brakes — she said, seeing the green line on the telemetry graph in front of her drop, indicating he was slowing down — Now the five burn-outs.

After asking for one more brake to confirm that everything was ok, Charlie asked Fernando to be careful with the car's positioning on the starting brackets, as they had already given them quite a headache earlier that season. Then everything went silent inside her head, as it always did before the starts.

— Last car on the grid, last car on the grid.

Her focus was on the lights hanging in front of the drivers.

One, two, three, four, five.

And they went out.

The engines roared loudly, accelerating toward the first turn. Due to the short straight, there wasn't the mess she expected there, especially because it was a very tight hairpin. Going through the fast right-hand turn, he entered into the first straight, the green line skyrocketing on the telemetry graph.

— Okay, Fernando, strat seven, strat seven.

— Understood — he said, as he drove around the giant LED sphere lit up with the race logo.

With her eyes fixed on the screen with the lap times, the prognosis was encouraging, with Fernando having moved up four positions from the start and looking to close the gap to the Alpine of Pierre Gasly, who was making a great effort to defend his position on the curve that it was in front of the Palazzo Venetian.

— Gasly in front of you, distance 0.6, 0.6 — Charlie said, as the little green dot on her screen indicated he'd just entered the Strip — We don't have DRS yet, we don't have DRS.

— Copy — Fernando replied, while the line that indicated the car's acceleration went up as it passed through the track completely polluted by the city's luminous signs. The engine screeched in eighth gear, the speedometer indicating the car was in the 300 kilometers per hour range.

The distinctive outline of the replica Eiffel Tower at the Paris next was visible to the track, as well as the sign that was shaped like a hot air balloon. On the map, Fernando was approaching the end of the straight, glued to the Alpine, looking for the moment to overtake it.

Then Pierre slowed down to enter the chicane. But Fernando didn’t. 

In the blink of an eye, the car was airborne.

The onboard image showed the asphalt above the driver's head and the sky below, green bits of the carbon fiber fairing flying everywhere. So the track was below and the sky above and then vice versa, until the screen went black, indicating that the signal was gone.

— My God! — someone shouted, everyone on the pitwall gasped. Charlie heard nothing but eerie silence as the main broadcast showed Fernando’s car leaning against the protective barrier.

Charlie was frozen, her heart pounding.. In her ears, there was only the distant sound of the other cars, which had slowed down with the red flag that had been shown on the track. She couldn't react, couldn't do anything.

She was in complete shock from the image on the screen.

The AMR23 had become a twisted, unrecognizable mass of carbon fiber and metal. The only thing that indicated that it had been a car before was the two of the wheels, which were facing up. It was almost impossible to believe that, at some point, there could have been someone inside that completely destroyed chassis.

But there was.

“Fernando”, she thought, hurrying to open the radio channel.

— Fernando, can you hear me? Fernando? — she asked, waiting a few seconds for an answer. But Charlie heard nothing but her own heartbeat — Fernando, I can't hear you. I can’t hear you. Do you hear me?

More silence.

Through the screen, she could see the marshals approaching the car, their distant voices talking about leaking fluids and contacting the driver before pulling him out of the car for the medical evaluation. Something about that sentence made a lump form in Charlie's throat, and she pressed the button again.

— Fernando, I still can't hear you, I think you have some communication problem. If you listen to me, press the pit confirm button — she said, feeling her hands go cold, fear rising inside her. This couldn't be happening, not now, not like this — Please, pit confirm button. Please, Fer.

Silence.

Just silence.

The situation made her remember that Sunday afternoon in Australia, almost a lifetime ago. The sight of the black car spinning in the air accompanied by pieces of carbon fiber, styrofoam and gravel made Charlie sure that she had seen someone die in front of her. And worse than that, it was just the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to do anything but hold the air in her lungs as she waited for something she didn't even know what it was.

But once the dust had settled, Charlie was relieved to see the driver in the white overalls and tricolor helmet walk out of the shapeless mass that, a few minutes earlier, had been a car.

Fernando was alive. He was fine.

But unlike that day, there was no dust, no gravel. There was no driver. There was no relief. There wasn’t the word pit glowing green. There wasn't his voice saying he was fine. There was only debris strewn across the track, as well as a dozen marshals and the red medical car parked alongside. There was only anguish inside her.

“Come on, Fernando. Say something, please,” Charlie thought, as she felt her throat close in a tight knot. 

She couldn’t have lost him, not like this. She couldn't have watched Fernando leave without knowing that she felt the same way he did. She couldn't have let him go without hearing from her lips that she loved him.

And then, a ray of light lit up in the midst of the darkness.

Three of the marshals emerged from behind the ironwork, holding a white balaclava figure wearing a dark green jumpsuit through a series of straps used for rescues of that kind. Placed on an orange plank, she didn't need much to realize that Fernando was unconscious, the realization making her heart sink.

— Charlie — someone said beside her, the touch waking her from her nightmare-like trance. Turning her face, her eyes met Raúl's, who looked as worried as she did — Are you okay?

— Fer — Charlie stammered, feeling her eyes sting. The silence over the radio comms channels was deafening. It was the strongest sign that there was something wrong there — He needs me.

— What?

— He needs me — she repeated, ripping the headphones off her head and running across the pit lane without waiting for any authorization or offering justification. She wouldn't stand by while Fernando needed her by his side, after all she was his best friend. “The woman he loves”, she thought.

Racing down the halls of the paddock building in Las Vegas, with Alberto right behind her, everything was a big blur around her. In Charlie's mind, flashes of the first time she saw her grandfather cry came to mind. One of the saddest days of her life as a motorsport fan.

It was early evening in Northampton and the room was as quiet as the paddock. On the television in the living room, Steve Rider announced, in a somber tone, that Ayrton Senna had died that Sunday, in Imola. Charlie, a little girl at that day, got to see the crash earlier, but Jamie turned off the television shortly afterwards, saying it wasn't worth watching if Ayrton wasn't on the track.

Shock was evident on her grandfather's face. He was passionate about Formula 1 and even more about the Brazilian driver. As much as he had swapped the McLaren that Jamie loved so much for Williams, he was keen to remain a fan of the man and driver that Senna was.

— Grandpa, are you sad? — Charlie asked quietly, seeing his eyes glistening with tears.

— I am, my dear — he replied, sniffling.

— Why? — she asked, naively.

— Because I'm not going to see Ayrton anymore, dear.

— But, what happened?

Jamie gave a sad smile.

— He went racing with James in heaven, my love.

With her muscles burning with the effort she was making to get to the medical center, Charlie felt her eyes fill with tears. Fernando couldn't go race in heaven with James and Ayrton, as her grandfather had told her when she was a little girl. He couldn't die, not there, on that day, in that moment. He could only go when they were too old to think about cars. He could only go when they were living in a little house full of flowers overlooking Lake Lugano, when they had lived through everything they still needed to live together.

Their story couldn't — it wouldn’t — end like this

Both of them entered the circuit's medical center out of breath, finding the environment completely agitated. Apparently, Fernando had already been checked in, considering that the journalists present were crowded at the service desk, asking for more details about what was happening to the driver, until they realized that Charlie and Alberto were behind them.

She felt like a piece of meat thrown to piranhas. Everyone was on top of them, looking for a statement, a word, whatever it was they could offer at that moment. However, there was nothing to say. Not when her head only had one word, one face, one person.

— How is Fernando? — Alberto asked the receptionist, who seemed completely scared with the number of people there.

— Are you related to the patient?

— I'm his manager and she is — Alberto started to answer, hesitating for a few seconds, looking at Charlie with a sad expression. “He told him about Suzuka”, she thought.

— His race engineer.

— Oh, yes — the woman replied — Please come with me.

Led by her through the door that led to a narrow corridor, which continued with several doors distributed along it. Leading them along, she stopped beside a door whose sign indicated that it was an emergency room.

— I usually can't bring people here, but considering the reception is full, I think it would be easier...

— Where is he? — Charlie snapped, not allowing the woman to finish explaining. She didn't want to know why they were in the hall, she wanted to know how the love of her life was doing.

— Well, he's being examined right now...

— Is he okay?

— I just know that they were stabilizing him to do some imaging here. I can try to confirm some...

— Please check if you can — Charlie said without batting an eye.

The woman nodded before entering the emergency room, leaving her and Alberto alone in the hallway. The place was relatively quiet, the only sound being that of the journalists outside, reporting directly from the medical center. However, Charlie wasn't paying attention to their words, much less the movement of assistants and nurses through the corridor of the place. Her mind was there inside that emergency room, where there was probably a crowd around Fernando, working to save his life.

— Charlie? — Alberto asked, making her look at him.

— Yeah?

— Do you think Fer — he began.

— No — she cut him off, the image of a funeral coming to her mind. Charlie was sure she couldn't bear to see Fernando placed in a coffin, draped in the flag of Spain and Asturias, waiting for her to say goodbye. She'd rather die than endure the pain of living without him — He's fine.

— That was a bad crash, Charlie.

— Alberto — Charlie said bluntly — He's fine.

Silence stretched between them for long, agonizing minutes. It didn't make any sense to speculate what was going on inside the emergency room. All that was left was to wait for more information, trying to cultivate the hope that he was alive and, above all, well. She'd seen worse crashes where the drivers had come out mostly unscathed or with minor injuries. Grosjean's tank explosion in Bahrain or even Zhou's rollover at Silverstone had been worse than what had happened to Fernando. And they were both alive and well, pursuing their careers and their lives. But, they had left conscious of their cars, which had not happened with Fernando.

Everything pointed to the worst case scenario.

Then the woman came back through the door with a serious expression on her face.

— Is he okay? — Alberto asked anxiously.

— He has already been stabilized by the team, who have already carried out x-rays of his head and right leg…

— His leg? — Charlie questioned.

— He has a fractured ankle —  the woman said.

— Does he have any head injuries? — Alberto stopped her.

— At first we didn't find anything, but more detailed tests will be needed. They are preparing to transfer him to the hospital in the next hour.

— Which hospital?

— University Medical Center of Southern Nevada — she replied. That was all it took for Charlie to look at Alberto and, seconds later, leave the medical center, heading for the location indicated by the woman.

They had a chaotic trip to the hospital, both of them being questioned from all angles by journalists, hounded by photographers, and even personnel from other teams following after them, all in search of information about Fernando. Edo and Luis caught up to them, Charlie and Alberto drove the eight kilometers that separated the paddock building from the hospital in absolute silence. On the way, her mind continued to construct catastrophic scenarios, fear consuming her like an unrelenting wildfire.

The wait for news in the hospital lobby was long and agonizing. In a corner, Luis was talking to Fernando's father on the phone, while Edo and Alberto exchanged messages with Lorena and Fabri, respectively. Staring into the floor, Charlie felt completely alone at that moment. There was no one she felt safe with to share that pain, that despair, that fear.

Then, her phone vibrated in her pocket.

As she looked at the screen, Hannah's name glowed over the photo of Fernando holding Ron, who looked completely displeased with that. Touching the notification, Charlie's eyes filled with tears. “I saw what happened. Call me if you need to talk”, the message read.

Rising from the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, Charlie moved to a corner, away from the eyes of the three men who had come with her there, and placed the call. After two rings, she heard her therapist's voice, calm and reassuring, on the other end of the line.

— Hi, Charlie.

— Hi — she said, softly, as she felt her bottom lip quiver.

— I saw what happened on television. How is he doing?

— I'm not sure, they talked about him being stable and a broken ankle and something in his head, but I didn't pay attention — Charlie replied, feeling tears run hot down her cheeks. She had finally broken down — I'm so scared, Hannah...

— Scared of what, Charlie?

— Of losing him. Of having to put on a black outfit and see him in a coffin, with everyone crying around him. I won't stand it, Hannah, I won't be able to live without him — she continued, sobbing — And he'll never know it because I'm a complete idiot! A dickhead, a coward...

— Charlie, listen to me — Hannah said, interrupting her self-flagellation session — You need to calm down and focus on what you know about his situation. He's stable, he has a fracture and is being examined to see if he suffered any head trauma. That’s all.

— No, that’s not all!

— I know it's easy to assume the worst, especially with the history of the sport, but you have to trust the doctors and the safety devices. I know you're not religious and you don't believe in energy or anything like that, but maybe it's time for you to think positive. He will get out of this.

She sniffed, wiping her face.

— He needs to come out of this, Hannah, or… I don’t know if I will, either. 

[greyyson-but-no]

come with us

genre | fluff, humour

warnings | blood, arrows,

pairing | c!tommyinnit x reader; platonic!c!wilbur x reader

word count | 1.2K

a/n | didn't think I'd get something out before gcse's started but here we are. won't see you for a few weeks because of gcse's but with my (lack of) dedication to them you might get something...

the zombie fell to the ground as the last of my arrows flew into its dead flesh, finishing the job off. it’s death revealed the two boys standing behind it, brows furrowed at the sight of me, jaws slightly ajar. i simply lifted a hand up to my nose to wipe the blood away on my sleeve, which now had a deep rip in it from the cut of one of their arrows. i hadn’t seen which one had shot it but i’d find out.

one of them was much taller than the other. brown hair and a long beige coat dangling from the lanky figure. he had a number of scars thrashed across his face, a large noticeable one across his cheek and a sword hung against his back, backpack held at his side, probably only with the belongings the two of them had.

the other one was blonde, and much shorter than the other. they didn’t look alike enough to be brothers but i had an odd feeling they were. he had a red ringer shirt on, and trousers that were ripped beyond belief. this obviously wasn’t the first time they had gotten into a little bit of trouble, and i‘m guessing the last time they didn’t have me to save them. 

either way, for some reason they both looked as if they were in awe of me.

“you’re welcome.” i murmured, sniffing and walking to the zombie corpse to collect the arrows. 

the shorter one stuttered before gathering his words and speaking. “who are you? what team are you on? where did you come from? how have we never seen you before?”

“the names’s y/n, i don’t know anything about fucking teams or any of that shit, can’t remember where i’m from and i could not tell you. i travel a lot so you’ve probably not had a chance to bump into me.” i answered bluntly, not trusting either of them and wanting to leave as soon as possible. their lack of equipment did not match their look, since it seemed like they had been away from any good base in a while. 

“i’m tommy.”

“goodbye tommy.” i scoff at the boy, even though he was probably the same age as me. “i’ve got places to be.”

the taller one that hadn’t spoken stepped forward. “you don’t look like you’ve got places to be, y/n.”

“and who might you be?”

“i’m wilbur.” he stuck his hand out and i shook it, looking up at him. “we’re from a nation called l’manburg, it’s an honour to meet you.”

“it’s not an honour to meet you.” i send him a sickeningly sweet smile and pull my hand away. “now if you don’t mind, i really don’t care who you are nor where you come from, i’m just trying to survive and quite frankly, i’d like to leave.”

wilbur laughed a little under his breath, and was about to speak but was quickly pulled to the side by his younger, dragging him behind the nearest tree he could find. obviously, he thought taking him behind a tree would mean that i couldn’t hear him, which was blatantly incorrect.

“recruit her? to fucking what?”

“i think we should recruit her.” tommy spoke.

“to l’manburg, will! she’s obviously on her own and we know she’s good with that bow, unlike some of us. she could help us.”

“to l’manburg, tommy?”

“you literally nearly begged niki to join us and moped around when she said no. give me one disadvantage of her joining us. i bet you can’t find one.” the blonde insisted.

“how can we trust her? dream might have sent her to infiltrate l’manburg.”

“he has no reason to be suspicious of us, he has no need to send her, or anyone at that. i’m sure she’s trustworthy. anyway, why would she have saved us from that zombie if she wanted us dead?” he asked rhetorically. “come on, you know you can’t say no to me.”

there was a small moment of silence before wilbur audibly sighed and spoke again. “fine, but if she’s a spy, or does anything to give l’manburg a disadvantage then it’s on you.”

the two of them come out from behind the tree, tommy with a wide grin on his face and wilbur with a not so happy looking frown. they had no idea i could hear all of that conversation, so i giggled a little when tommy eagerly asked the question.

“i’ll take it.”

“did you want to come back to our nation and stay with us?” he phrased it, hand resting on the sword he had nestled into the holster at his hip.

“to l’manburg?” i asked, grinning gleefully at my mimic of wilbur’s words. their faces went a little pale, each jaw dropping slightly as they realised that i had heard, but i just laughed slightly. “why should i?” 

“because you look like you need a friend. and we haven’t got much ourselves but any help is welcome.” he spoke, sending me a soft smile that for some reason i had to return. 

i couldn’t control it. i hadn’t smiled in weeks, the last time being when i’d found a small rabbit that needed taking care of, and yet here i was smiling at this boy that had just offered me a place to stay. such a big part of me was sceptical of the two, but why would they offer me clarity if they only planned to run me over later? they wouldn’t. and i really did need the help. i hadn’t eaten in ages and my arrows weren’t going to last much longer. i’m sure these people had good protection back at whatever nation they hailed from. it would be fine. so i decided to trust them.

“okay. sure. i’ll come with you.”

“yes!” tommy grinned, wilbur rolling his eyes at the younger’s excitement. 

“on one condition.” i raised an eyebrow at tommy as he slowed, cautious of what my condition would be. “you don’t kill me and leave me in a ditch.”

tommy laughed, and i felt a little spark at his laugh. it had been a long time since i’d made someone laugh. “it’s a deal.” he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “i won’t kill you and leave you in a ditch.”

i shook his hand and nodded, smiling up at him continuously. 

wilbur cleared his throat. “if you two are done, the sun’s setting, we need to get back before it gets dark.”

“we’re done, will, don’t worry. come on y/n, to l’manburg!”

i laughed again, and followed the two of them as they headed off towards whatever nation that they were from, wilbur ahead of tommy as the younger one waited back for me to catch up. yeah, he really didn’t want to leave me behind. for once i was thankful that someone didn’t want to leave me behind.

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 21 ~ Blurry (out of place)

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW's: ANGST, omg the angst there’s so much o.o, flashback fun for everyone! 😅, brief nonspecific flashback to csa, panic attack(s), painful wound cleaning, wishing for death, unsure of what is real but not quite unreality so make of it what you will, oh shit-almost forgot: captivity tw, restraints tw :') been awhile since i needed those lol

WC: 4237

Taglist (😱 I remembered this time!): @clairelsonao3, @dont-touch-my-soup, @kixngiggles (i've been having trouble tagging you, but i wanted to put this up here in case you see and were wondering where your tag was)

In which reality is a bit fluid, folks, and no one is happy about it

AN: Including me, I was also unhappy writing this. I need that bunker to protect myself and also to piece my heart back together.

You know that whole bit about how things get worse before they get better? Yeah, that is this :')

Carr

Carr had plenty of time to review her options as she returned to the wreckage of their carriage to search for supplies. 

If she “stumbled” into the camp’s clearing, would the reaction be more favorable if she dressed as a man or a woman? Had it been long enough for the bandits to assume the other people in the carriage had died? Surely they had searched and been curious about the lack of bodies, though. Carr tapped a grimy finger on her lip, barely even seeing the gown she’d found stuck in a bush some ways from the crash site. 

Aside from the cut on her brow, Carr was also fairly sure she didn’t look like a survivor of the kindling strewn across the ravine. Which meant she could pretend to be a runaway, but… from where? Maybe she could get away with not wanting to say. Fuck if she could even remember the places they had visited. 

So. Girl or boy? Child or adult? Found on the outskirts of camp or by the guards on the fringe or just stumbling straight into the camp, bypassing the guards altogether? 

While she could physically pass as a child at first glance, it wasn’t a ruse she could keep up for long, and she needed these people to feel sorry for her and take her in. She wrinkled her nose and smoothed Orla’s dress out on the ground in front of her. It was torn in places, which was fine since Carr wanted it to look like she’d been roughing it for a few days. It would be too short, but not by much, so it might make her look… poorer. The material was still too fucking nice, though. Maybe if she got it dirty enough, no one would notice. 

Carr left the dress behind and returned to the carriage. Or what was left of it. After a bit of digging, she found one of Orla’s headscarves, this one a pale pastel blue. Perfect; the dumb dress was blue, so it would even match. She rolled her eyes at the thought. 

Her hackjob haircut was acceptable for a boy or young man but less so for a woman. She’d never cared about her hair before and wasn’t going to start now, but if she went with the fairer option of subterfuge, she’d need an excuse for that, too. Gods, this sucked. Why did that place have to be filled with what seemed like halfway-decent people instead of a bunch of lowlifes who’d look better with a few more holes in them? 

Which was another question. How many weapons could she get away with carrying? Carr ground her teeth, knowing very well she’d be lucky to justify just one, if it was found. 

Even if she went in posing as a man, she couldn’t carry as many blades as she had on her right now. But she’d all but decided on pretending to be a woman–it seemed more likely she’d just be killed straight off as a man–so one blade it was. She’d hide the others somewhere close to the camp so they’d be nearby if she needed them. 

She tried not to think of the last time she’d donned a dress while she stripped to her underclothes and pulled on Orla’s garments–which were slightly too small in the chest and shoulders as well as too short. 

The clothes she’d discarded served as a wrap for her extra blades; the only one she’d kept was strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts, which ended at mid-calf instead of her ankles. Each breath she took was stifled, and her range of motion was shit. This was starting off just wonderfully. 

It just needed to get her into the camp, she reminded herself. Too small clothes, chopped off hair, small and skinny with a bruised face… someone would take pity on her. They had to. 

Carr hadn’t caught sight of Resh in a day and a half. She’d spent all damned day watching the fucking camp. Now dusk was approaching, and she wasn’t willing to wait another night. She needed in now, and gods help these people if she didn’t like what she found. 

~~~

Resh

Resh’s head hurt–like ice-picks stabbing his eyes, vice-grip around his temples, skull about to crack like an egg hurt. 

The pain about drowned out the red-hot pulsing under his collarbone. The rest of his body didn’t feel all that great either. 

He groaned soundlessly and tried to curl up on his side.

Resistance. He couldn’t move his arms. 

Nothing but darkness greeted him when his eyes snapped open. Which his head appreciated, but his mind not so much. Resh yanked on his arm, but the motion had no effect except to send shards of agony lancing through his chest. Shit, his ribs… gasping shallowly for air, he stilled. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

The air went nowhere as everything he thought he knew splintered and warped, aided by the throbbing in his head. He was lying on something hard, in the dark, his limbs tied down, pain splintering through every facet of his being. 

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up. To not be back there. The last weeks couldn’t have been the dream. They couldn’t have they couldn’t! 

He started struggling again, hoping he would wake up if he hurt himself in real life, but a voice penetrated the weighted silence, its owner sounding as if the person was moving. Straining his ears, Resh paused, listening.  

“Burning pits, Lox, did you see his forehead? He’s a royal mage, we can’t be stealing royal mages!” 

A royal mage? Horror washed through him at the thought. Is that what the prince had done when he’d branded him? Claimed him for the Crown? Fuck; fuck! 

And who was that talking? No one spoke in his dreams but the prince, which meant… 

His stomach twisted. This was real? But then, the prince shouldn’t know about his magic, not unless he’d used it without realizing… He cringed as a vicious throb tried to liquefy his brain. It felt-it felt like a reaction headache–oh gods, what had he done?

“If such a thing even exists, we could surely ransom him. If not, could you imagine how useful a Kinetic would be? I’m not interested in killing people–I don’t want another such occurrence as what just happened. Robbing people is annoying, sure, but killing them will get us hunted down and exterminated.” 

The unknown voices moved on, becoming indistinguishable before fading away completely. The meaning of the words barely penetrated the fog of Resh’s panic, but one thing stood out. 

Ransom? But–he tugged on his wrists, wincing as coarse rope chafed his skin. Everything felt muddled and upside down and wrong and–Carr! Killing people? Carr killed people, but… that’s not what that person had meant, now was it. Resh’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might break through his chest. His eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness, his thoughts couldn’t…

Flashes of memory, purple light flooding a carriage. He had tried so hard to cushion them with his magic… Lightning speared through his head, obliterating the memory. Resh cried out, nothing emerging but a puff of air. 

Hot tears trickled down his temples, tracking down into his hair as his breathing quickened. He’d failed. If killing people was bad, if they wanted him so it wouldn’t happen again–it meant he’d failed, that Carr and his sister were–were dead. 

He keened silently at the thought until the pain in his chest left him too breathless to continue. His mind twisted again as he lay there, panting through the waves of physical and emotional agony. 

But was that–was that real? The carriage, the crash–had that happened? Or–he pulled on his arms again–was he still in the prince’s torture chamber, awaiting the man’s next godsforsaken sadistic whim? 

Resh shuddered, his heart beating erratically while his skin flushed hot then cold, leaving him clammy and even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t–he couldn’t… His thoughts scattered, his mind shutting down. 

As pain and despair dragged him back under, he couldn’t decide which reality would be worse. 

~~~

Carr 

Branches whipped past Carr as she ran, one etching a line of fire across her cheek when she misjudged the distance in the waning light under the Seleni Wood’s canopy. Shouts echoed behind her, and an arrow whizzed past, barely missing as it embedded into a nearby tree with an ominous thud. 

Fuck fuck fuck. She’d meant to get close enough to the camp to approach one of the women, figuring she’d have better luck appealing to them than just walking into a bandit camp and looking stunned, an easy target for archery practice. 

The perimeter had been guarded more heavily than she’d been able to tell from afar. Now, she was a moving archery target. Less easy, surely, but fuck it all, not ideal. Her heart thrummed quickly enough that the individual beats were indistinguishable as she ducked under a low-hanging branch and swung around a tree, heading deeper into the underbrush. She could get away, probably. But that would defeat the purpose, so she needed to allow herself to be caught. Without getting killed, preferably. 

But the men chasing her would tackle her, take her down. The thought made her skin crawl–would they stop there, buy the not-so-much-an-act she’d put on, or would they prove to be the brand of bandits she’d originally thought they’d be? 

It’s for Resh. She repeated the thought over and over as she “tripped” and curled up on the ground, covering her scarf-wrapped head. Her body quivered for real as she awaited either an arrow to the back or rough hands grabbing her. 

Thankfully–but also not–callused fingers wrapped around her wrists in a bruising grip, forcing her arms to the ground by her head as a large man dressed in patched leathers straddled her body. 

“The fuck,” he said, staring down into what Carr supposed were her saucer-wide eyes. 

Eyes that rapidly filled with tears as she put up a weak struggle against his hold. It took everything she had not to wrap her legs around the man’s waist and flip him off her–would’ve been hard to do in the stupid too-tight dress anyway, and moreover, would’ve been suspicious. But gods. 

“What’ve you got?” another male voice called from somewhere to her left. 

“A fucking woman,” her captor responded, gripping her wrists even harder. He moved, placing one knee between her legs, which effectively pinned them in place within the prison of her skirts. 

Carr went limp, focusing all her energy on convincing her body not to fight and flee. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the man could hear it. 

“Are there more?” a third voice asked. Crunching followed their question, the person moving with no care through the detritus of the forest. 

The man cocked a dark brow at her. “Well?” 

She shook her head frantically. “N-no. No. Please–” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth closed, swallowing against the tears thickening her throat.  

Rotten breath wafted across her face while a hand swept under her skirt. 

“That’s right, be a good girl now and I’ll be nice to you, I promise.” 

One hand pinned both her wrists now while the other swept over her body, then beneath her skirt, unerringly finding the blade strapped to her thigh. 

She shivered beneath the too-large body, her cheek throbbing where he’d already hit her, her wrists aching beneath his hold. 

Her wrists ached beneath the man’s hold as he held up the dagger and laughed. “Do you even know how to use this?” 

A mixture of rage and shame set her face aflame, and the cut on her cheek throbbed. Her breath caught. 

Dark hair curled around his face, framing amused blue eyes that quickly darkened with concern. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The hand covering her mouth after she’d screamed for help was too big. It covered her nose as well and she couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t 

She couldn’t breathe, the air she sucked in between choked-off sobs going nowhere as she battled her past to stay in the way too similar present. 

“Shit.” The man scrambled off her, calling out to his friends. 

The words he exchanged with them made no sense through the ringing in her ears. Pinpricks of white flashed before her eyes, and aside from tucking her hands beneath her chin, Carr didn’t move–couldn’t move.  

Memory flickered in and out of her mind’s eye–no matter what, it was always this one she was thrown back into. This one that haunted her dreams. This one that paralyzed her, highlighting how fucking helpless she’d been–

Carr pushed up with a wheezing gasp, flinching as hands reached out to help her. She was not helpless; she was just pretending. Pretending pretending pretending

A hand moved over her back, up and down, up and down, and she trembled, desperately trying to keep still and allow this strange man to comfort her. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m sorry about before, we thought… it doesn’t matter what we thought.” Leaning forward, he caught Carr’s eyes. “You with me now?” 

She nodded, averting her gaze so he wouldn’t see how much she wanted to turn and rip his hand off. Her skin prickled. 

“Look like you’ve been through it. You need help?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded again. 

Someone scoffed. Movement caught in her peripheral vision, and she twisted her head, rearing back. The man’s hand moved, tightening around her shoulder. 

“Just gonna take her at her word? Probably some thief putting on an act.” 

Her captor-turned-protector pulled her back against his chest. She made herself melt into him, pulling up her legs to make herself smaller while the new bandit glared at her suspiciously. 

“You didn’t see her when I had her pinned. No one puts on an act like that.” Her bandit’s voice dripped with derision. 

Carr couldn’t decide if it was directed towards her or the other man. Didn’t matter, long as he decided she was worth helping. Take me back, take me back, take me back, she chanted in her head. Her body shaking like a leaf was entirely unfeigned; the reaction disgusted her, but she didn’t suppress it, letting her fucking weakness serve its purpose.  

“She needs help.”  

“So bring her some supplies and send her on her way. We gotta get back to our post,” the suspicious one said. 

“More help than that!” her bandit responded hotly. 

Carr let a small whimper escape, pressing a hand to her mouth after in a show of embarrassment. Her bandit held her closer, and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine he was Resh so she wouldn’t do something stupid like pull his dagger and slit his throat. She wanted to crawl outta her skin. She couldn’t. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

“You gonna take responsibility for her?” another voice cut in. There was an extra layer of meaning beneath their tone that Carr didn’t trust in the slightest.

Shit, she’d forgotten about the third bandit. She snapped her head around, watching that one’s approach closely. Tall and slim, with toned muscles evident beneath gear in better condition than the other two, they moved fluidly through the brush towards her. Both her bandit and the suspicious one went still, waiting quietly as they studied Carr. Clearly, that one was the leader and would be the deciding factor on whether she was getting into the camp or not.  

Carr dropped her gaze when they crouched before her, jabbing their bow into the ground to lean upon. Their gaze felt like tiny bugs crawling across her skin, and she shivered. 

After what felt like forever, they finally nodded and stood, strapping their bow over their shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get back. Lox’ll have your hide for this, just so y’know.” 

The suspicious one huffed, sounding dissatisfied.

A thrill went through Carr as her bandit assisted her to her feet, but she kept her eyes wide and expression fearful. 

“C’mon,” he said gently, settling his arm around her shoulder. 

Ugh. But she leaned into him, allowing him to lead her back to the camp. Her eyes snagged on her dagger, shoved without care through the man’s belt, and her fingers twitched, itching to thieve it back. 

Not yet. She had to pretend a bit longer. For Resh. 

~~~

Resh

A cool cloth brushed over the sensitive skin of Resh’s forehead, waking him. 

His head didn’t hurt as badly, but gods, he felt like he was on fire, his flesh burning, set aflame from a single pulsing point on his chest. 

Subtly, he pulled on his arms, only to find they were still restrained. A shiver went through him, and the cloth pulled away abruptly. 

Resh cracked open his eyes to find a stocky figure sitting beside him, the lamplight flickering over their shoulder-length blond hair. He caught a flash of green as they turned their head to the side, and his insides froze over even while the heat scalded his skin. 

“Good, you’re awake,” the figure said, turning back to him holding a wooden cup. “You need to drink.” 

He shook his head, even though his mouth was dry, so so dry. No. No no nonono he wasn’t back with the prince he wasn’t he wasn’t he–

A hand gripped the back of his head, forcing it up as the cup was pressed to his lips. Liquid poured in, and he choked, unready. It kept coming anyway, so he forced himself to drink through the coughing. It was that or drown. 

“Good, that’s good,” the prince said. 

Resh sobbed as he was released, then pressed his lips together to suppress another bubbling cough. He squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to look at the rest of his surroundings. Unwilling to see white limestone, the final confirmation of his delusions. Real, this felt so real. Too real. 

But so had everything else! Carr, finally, finally talking to him in that meadow. Her small hands removing his gloves, resting against his cheek, soothing him after a nightmare. 

His sister, healthy, her hair growing, her skin losing its pallor. Laughing and joking and enjoying their journey. 

Had it really all been a figment of his imagination? A fever dream? He certainly felt like he had a fever. His heart cracked, the pieces crumbling as he came one step closer to believing the torture chamber was his reality. Maybe he would actually die this time, and it could all just be over. 

“He looks like shit,” a different voice said. Deeper. 

“Yeah, well. You shot him. Don’t know what you expected, really. Don’t think it hit a lung, at least, or surely he’d be dead by now.” 

He wished he was. Gods, how he wished he was.

“I need your help. Need to wash the wound out again, but he always fights, even restrained. Tore the stitches out once already.” 

A sigh, then hands clamping on his shoulders–his bare shoulders–pressing them flat against the hard surface he laid upon. Pain lanced through his chest, and he cried out soundlessly, trying to pull away. Another figure straddled his hips, pinning him down even more. 

“We’re just trying to help you!” one of them shouted at him, but he didn’t, couldn’t trust the words, especially as the liquid poured over his chest. 

He could feel it bubbling in the wound, the fire multiplied by a thousand, burrowing in to burn him alive inside now as well as out. He would’ve screamed, had the prince not ripped even that away from him already. 

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but I have got to clean out the wound.” 

Lies. He wasn’t sorry. Resh shook his head from side to side, straining, desperate to get away from it. Lies lies lies lies

“He hasn’t made a single sound, but he looks like he’s screaming.” 

“Have you seen his chest? This guy has been through some shit. I don’t like doing this, Lox.” 

“It needs to be done, or he’ll die. Do you want that?” 

The words washed over Resh, a haze of agony coating everything. They didn’t make sense. Who the fuck was Lox? But he blinked as the pain died down a little, saw the prince bending over him, and didn’t know anymore. 

What was real? This pain was real–but was it? Sometimes it wasn’t, he remembered, but then more liquid poured and his mind whited out under the blistering pain and his throat strained to make sounds it was no longer capable of producing. 

When he came back around, the shape of familiar words flying off his lips–please, no more, please, no more–someone was gently patting at his chest, saying the last words he expected. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m trying to be as careful as I can. Sorry.” 

Exhausted, Resh laid his head back down. His shoulders were no longer pressed down, and there was no weight across his waist. He opened his eyes but allowed them to skim past that person who was the prince who wasn’t the prince because they kept apologizing every time he flinched. 

A flash of blue caught his attention, just past the large man blocking most of the doorframe across the room. The room with whitewashed wooden walls, not stone. Or was it? Oh gods. He blinked. Hazel eyes peered under the man’s–Lox’s?–arm, there and then gone so quickly Resh wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. 

But he’d know those eyes anywhere, and his heart leapt. 

It just didn’t make sense. Nothing was making sense. 

The cup was pressed to his mouth again, and Resh swallowed this time instead of choking, grimacing at the sticky sweetness left behind on his tongue. The other man was gone by the time he finished, and so was the person in blue. 

It couldn’t have been Carr, then. 

It couldn’t have been anyway because if this was not the torture chamber, then Carr was dead. Orla was dead. He had as good as killed them, making them travel across the country with him. 

Resh turned his head away from the cup when it was offered again, and this time the prince not prince didn’t push it on him. 

He watched dully as they dimmed the lamp, then left the room, the sound of a lock snicking closed horribly familiar. 

And yet, he didn’t care. 

Worse, he decided as the room began to waver in his vision. As his heart caved in and left what felt like a jagged, fist-sized hole behind. As his chest heaved with the silent sobs he no longer bothered to hold back. This was so much worse. 

His crying sparked lancets of agony radiating across his body from the burning wound under his collarbone. Every stuttering gasp felt like inhaling shards of broken glass. He welcomed the pain. 

But whatever had been in the water fuzzed his mind, and his eyes eventually drifted closed, his breathing leveling off. The tears tracking down his temples followed him into his drugged sleep. 

~~~

Carr

Carr’s bandit marched her straight into the biggest of only three cabins in the bandit’s little valley, past the watchful eyes of probably most of the place’s inhabitants. 

Demex, he’d told her his name was.  

Well, Demex bore up against the scrutiny well, even as Carr cringed away from it. Maybe because she cringed, which he could very well tell with his arm around her shoulder, dragging her body into his side. She permitted it. She had no choice, now did she. 

For Resh. 

Demex bore up less well under Lox’s scrutiny. Carr flattened herself against the wall, ostensibly hiding behind her bandit while he got his ass handed to him, but really the positioning allowed her to see under Lox’s arm into the room he was trying to block with his body. Kind of. 

She caught flashes of someone moving around a bed. What looked like medical supplies on a nearby table, some bloodied bandages. 

And then–a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. Their gazes met for all of five seconds before the person at his bedside blocked her view, but Carr was certain it was him. 

Her heart sped up, her breaths quickening. So fast! She couldn’t believe she’d found him so quickly. And he was alive. Her knees buckled as relief sluiced through her, and all that saved her from sliding down the wall was Demex’s hand slipping around her waist. 

“Hey there, you alright? Rowan is a little busy right now, but they can check you out in the morning, if that suits?” 

“Alright,” Carr said faintly. She willed strength back into her legs. “Wh-what now?” 

“What now is you get to talk to me,” Lox said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.  

The only thing that stopped her from snatching her dagger back, burying it in this guy’s chest, and bursting into that room to get to Resh was that it appeared as if they were caring for his injuries. 

And the small matter that a move like that would certainly get her killed. But she would’ve done it regardless, if she’d thought it necessary. 

Not yet, she told herself, staring up into the eyes of the man who’d chased their fucking carriage down.

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