#when I tell you I don’t know whether to cry vomit or scream at the void

[patolemus]

i'm currently reading carpe noctem and i need someone to fucking sedate me

[ficclings]

LOST - CHAPTER SEVEN

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CHAPTER SEVEN

It was only as the torchlight flashed around the tunnel, that she noticed that there were in fact, multiple sacks of the undead sticking to the walls with thick greenish-brown liquid oozing from underneath them.

The liquid seemingly corrosive as she could see the skin falling from the bodies as they clawed at the skin-seal they were in.

She weaved and dodged around them, trying to ignore how much she wanted to throw up before skidding to halt when she heard both Minho and Felix suddenly start to scream in panic.

She hadn’t even realised how fast she had been, how far she was ahead of them.

“Don’t let go of me!” Felix’s deep voice cracked as he gripped tightly onto Minho’s hand, who was currently trying to keep his feet on the ground as a thick, long tentacle had shot out from a growth on the ceiling.

Her eyes wide, she rushed back to them, vision focused on the sharp teeth surrounding the base of the tentacle.

Looking around for something to break the tentacle with, she noticed that both Minho’s bat and Felix’s frying pan were scattered on the floor.

“I got you; I’m not letting go!” Minho shouted, tears now threatening to fall as he could feel both his grip slipping and his body rising.

“Hyung,” Felix whimpered, “I don’t want to die,” his eyes met hers and he felt like crying even more when she took a few steps back; in turn making Minho yell in annoyance.

“Help me!” he screamed before he suddenly found himself falling to the ground as his grip finally gave way, “Yongbok!” he watched as Felix was yanked upwards.

Felix felt like everything had suddenly gone into slow motion as he watched Minho get smaller as he was pulled higher.

And then, suddenly.

He was falling back down to the ground as the sickening sound of flesh ripping danced across the walls, the screams from the growth soon following.

Minho just about had enough time to steady himself enough to catch Felix, although it wasn’t graceful, he had his friend in his arms and for once, Minho allowed himself to just hold his friend and cry.

Felix held him tightly, sharing the tears as he searched for the hybrid.

The sound of throwing up allowed his blurry sight to finally spot her, a thick chunk of blackish green was spat out onto the ground; followed by more vomiting.

The sudden realising hit Felix like a truck.

“What did you do?!” he pushed himself away from Minho and ran over to her, hands quickly holding her face as he checked it over, “please tell me you didn’t use your mouth to cut that thing?”

She gave him an exhausted watery smile, her lips still stained with clotted blood.

“You were going to die,” she then looked a little to the left, where Minho was now standing with a look of thunder on his handsome face, hand white as he gripped both recovered weapons.

“You are a fucking idiot,” he snapped, and Felix turned to him with a frown.

“Hyung, stop,” he didn’t want an argument to start up in the tunnel when they were still surrounded by creatures.

Minho rolled his eyes in annoyance before roughly grabbing near the back of her neck and forcing her mouth to open so he could pour bottled water in it.

“Spit,” he said firmly, eyes practically burning like the sun as he tried to control his anger and panic.

She obeyed and cuddled into herself when she spotted all the gunk that came with the water and spit.

“Congratulations, Spots,” Minho replied sarcastically, “you have no idea whether or not if you have infected yourself,”

They had finally found a small, abandoned house just outside the exit to the tunnel and quickly made the decision to lay low for the night, although they were still able to hear the creatures screaming and moaning in the tunnel.

She felt awkward as she stayed in the corner with her legs to her chest, eyes occasionally flitting to Minho and Felix as a wave of shame washed over her.

Had she put them in danger? What else could she have done, there wasn’t anything else to cut that thing down!

“You need to apologise,” Felix huffed and nudged Minho with his elbow, “you know there wasn’t anything else she could do,” he added and rubbed at his stomach where the ache of being held by the creature was still lingering.

“Are you okay?” Minho asked with a deadpan expression, ignoring Felix’s words.

“Hyung,” Felix sighed and sat on top of the bag he had brought with a loud and exhausted thump, “look at her,” he was now scanning over his friend as her head hung low, her dalmatian ears swaying a bit as she shivered.

“She could be infected,” Minho slammed his hand against the wall, “I’m just being realistic, Yongbok,” he could see her out the corner of his eye lifting her head in shock at the noise, “it’s not like I want her to be infected, but she could be and that is something that you should be worried about!” he stared directly into her eyes as he spoke to Felix and she felt her heart still when she saw how concerned he was.

For her.

“She saved my life,” Felix replied and then moved to sit by her side, his hand quickly moving to pet the top of her head, noting that her tail was gently tapping against the hardwood floor.

Minho stood still for a moment as he watched the two of them huddle together before he silently moved over to them and laid down by their feet, his back to them.

Felix smiled slightly, knowing that his friend was worried for the hybrid but had no idea how to show that without being harsh and angry.

Though they were a lot quieter than usual, she couldn’t help but inwardly gush at how different the countryside was compared to where they lived.

“This place must have been so pretty with the fruit markets,” she sighed, and her ears pulled back on her head sadly, “loads of hybrids live in the countryside so it would have been so cool if I had been able to meet others,”

Felix’s thin fingers gently ran through her hair and tickled her ears.

“This is where Hyunjin Hyung used to film his dancing,” he chuckled as they had now come to a complete stop.

“He dances?”

“Like a superstar,” Felix grinned when he saw her ears wiggle in interest, “Minho Hyung taught him most of…well everything that he knows,”

At the mention of the other man, she diverted her eyes back to the empty market area, still a little afraid to even meet his gaze which was now boring in to the back of her head.

“C’mon, we need to keep moving,” Minho muttered and nodded his head forward, clearly knowing where they were going.

Felix wiggled his fingers at her waiting for her own hand, inviting her.

“Gimme those little hands,” he teased and started to silently giggle when she arched her eyebrow at him.

“Says you!”

*

Minho led them to the nearest gym, crouching behind a bench with the other two quickly following.

“Changbin’s gym,” he pointed out and Felix hummed in recognition, “they are really trying to get in there,” he frowned as zombies continued to claw at the glass, some already having broken through and slamming against a door in the back.

Bending forwards a bit, she smelt the air to try and see if she could detect what they were after.

An overwhelming feeling of nausea suddenly hit her, and she quickly cupped her hands around her mouth to try and stop herself from throwing up, the back of her skull feeling heavy.

“Drink,”

She flinched as cold plastic was gently pushed to her cheek, and she turned to see Minho next to her holding a bottle of water; eyes still trained on the small horde before them.

“Thanks,” she took a small swig of water and shook her head to try and get rid of the fog building up, “here,” she held the bottle back for him to take but he shook his head.

“I’m not sharing with you,” he explained coldly, and Felix shared a sympathetic look with her as she quietly put the bottle in her own bag.

“Hyung,” Felix hissed and elbowed him again, “stop,”

“There’s somebody alive in there,” she gasped and almost stood up in surprise before she caught herself, “they are scared but they are alive,” she closed her eyes to focus more, fully aware of both men staring at her.

One, no…two scared people?

I smell so many hybrid zombies, so many rodent hybrids.

Her eyes opened and peered over the bench with worry.

“Most of the zombies are rodent hybrids,” she explained as her vision zeroed in on a rat hybrid with torn ear and a rotting tail, green gunk leaking from a gaping wound on his upper thigh, “so they shouldn’t be overly strong to deal with but there are possibly two people stuck in there,” she turned to Felix and frowned a bit when she saw a flicker of hope appear on his face.

“It could be Changbin Hyung,” he whispered as he gripped his frying pan, practically bouncing on the flats of his feet.

Minho paused for a moment and then finally made eye contact with her, his harsh brown eyes causing her to both cower and blush under the intensity.

“If Yongbok and I get the hordes attention, you need to go and get to the back,” he seemed to have already made up his mind as he stood up and shook his bat around, “get going,” he ordered and then nodded to Felix who shared a worried glance with the hybrid.

“Be safe,” she whispered and quickly grabbed his face so she could kiss his forehead, her hands then grabbed Minho’s wrist, “you too,” she was staring at the floor, worried she would see disgust from her touch.

Minho stared down at her before sighing loudly and patting the top of her head quickly.

“Wait till they follow us and then go to the office room,” he recounted, “please wait for us to get back here before you leave,” he rolled his eyes as he saw Felix beaming at his words.

“Okay,”

She whimpered when all contact with both left her; watching in panic when they started yelling, snatching the attention away from the door in the gym.

They ran towards the boys, and she held back a scream of terror as one of the rodents reached for Felix, but the man quickly swung his frying pan down onto the hybrids head.

Minho grabbed Felix’s arm and practically launched the younger man in front of him as they began to run away.

“GO!” he yelled over his shoulder.

She sprinted towards the gym, jumping over the counter and flinching at the loud noise of the computer falling to the floor.

“Open up!” she knocked on the door with worry as she scanned around her once again, “please, I’m here to help you, please!” she begged, still nothing, but she could faintly pick up on whispers in the room.

She then yelled out the only other thing she could think of to let them know she was harmless.

“Ch-Changbin!”

Her stomach twisted in knots as she was surrounded by silence.

The door then slowly opened revealing a rather muscular man with sharp but kind eyes peering through the small opening.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, and she got a little distracted by a taller figure standing behind him, watching her with interest.

“My friend has been looking for you,” she explained, “Felix,” she quickly added knowing that his name along carried a lot of weight going by how Minho had reacted to the younger man.

“Felix?” the man from behind Changbin moved closer and she couldn’t help but notice how handsome all of Felix’s friends were; it was incredibly intimidating, “as in Yongbok?”

“As in Yongbok,” she felt odd calling him that but to see how their faces light up with smiles, made her feel as if she was helping; giving them hope, “he and Minho distracted the crowd around this door…so they’re…not here but they told me to wait for them to get back so we can all be in one group,” she knew she was stumbling over her words and she couldn’t stop her tail from wagging as her hybrid side was finding a lot of comfort in Changbin’s sheer presence.

“You should get in here then,” Changbin pushed the door and stepped aside to let her in; reminding her of staying in a room with Minho, “how do you know them?” he asked, shutting the door once she was safely inside.

“I live with Felix, and I was saved by Minho,” she smiled as she mentioned them and in turn, it made Changbin beam at her.

“So, you’re the hybrid he keeps texting me about,” the taller man chuckled, “you’re a dalmatian right?” he asked, sitting on the office chair.

She blushed and nodded.

“Hyunjin, you’re making her nervous,” Changbin laughed as he continued to watch her face get progressively redder, “but you are just as cute as Felix said,” he then paused with a thoughtful gaze, “is it offensive to ask if I can pet your ears?”

She couldn’t help the giggle that left her.

“It’s not offensive and yeah, just don’t tug at them,” she mumbled and chewed onto her bottom lip when Changbin gently pet at her ears; her tail still going crazy much to Hyunjin’s delight.

“If we find Seungmin, he is going to love you,” Hyunjin chuckled, his eyes widening as she suddenly turned and faced the corner, hands on her stomach.

“Are you okay?” Changbin attempted to get close to her again, but she quickly held up a hand.

“I just feel a little unwell,”

Her stomach was now twisting in a way that is did before being sick and the pressure on the back of her skull was back, making it difficult for her vision to focus.

“Hyung, do you have water?” Hyunjin’s voice was muffled as the two men searched through the bags that gym goers had left there, clearly in a panic.

“I have a few protein shakes,” Changbin ignored the ‘of course you do’ from Hyunjin and approached the hybrid currently breathing heavily.

“Here,”

His voice was so soft and she made the effort to look at him in thanks but waved her hand once more.

“I…I have water in my bag,”

Changbin nodded and made the decision to get the water for her.

“Such a gentleman,” Hyunjin threw Changbin a genuine smile when their eyes met.

Gulping down the rest of the water in the bottle, she then managed to refocus her vision and the pressure in both her throat and head, relaxed a bit.

“Sorry,”

“If you’re not feeling well, then you aren’t feeling well,” Hyunjin shrugged and then his lanky limbs got out of the chair, “don’t apologise,”

She finally turned around and nodded at him with a shy smile, slightly stunned at how close both were to her.

“Thanks,”

Changbin opened his mouth to reply but all three of them were then shocked by the rapid knocking on the door.

“Open up!”

Changbin nearly pulled the door off its hinges as he came face to face with both Minho, who looked exhausted and Felix, whose eyes were already watering as he gazed at his friends.

She quickly moved out of the way as Changbin pulled the two other men into what looked like, a bone-crushing hug.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but let out a yelp when Changbin turned and pulled him into the group hug.

“Of course we’d find you in the gym,” Minho muttered, hiding a smile as the hybrid watched his hands practically claw at the back of Changbin’s shirt as if he was just trying to hug him tighter.

Through all the happiness that was happening before her, she couldn’t help but focus more on the bubbling that was going on in her stomach.

She felt sick. Very sick.

[furidaimonia]

the fourth and second to last (fr this time) part of the series is here! this is going to be a long one so buckle up. thank you everyone for the love and hopefully you enjoyed :) stay tuned for the official official final! not proofread because i just wanted to get this out asap so be warned

part i. part ii. part iii. masterlist

leviathan x idol!reader: part iv

your heart pounded as you finally reached levi’s room, guilt festering in the pit of your stomach.

you’re not quite sure what he wanted to tell you, or why he left so suddenly (but then again you completely fumbled your excuse), but you knew that something was up

as hypocritical as it was, it felt like he was hiding something from you, and you felt confused, saddened, and kind of pissed off at the thought

what reason could he have to ever hide something from you? (… ignoring the hypocrisy ofc, this was about him rn 🫶🏻)

you raised your fist to knock on his door, but hesitated.

that was all he needed.

“i know you’re there. i don’t wanna talk to anyone right now, so just turn around and go back to your boyfriend or whatever.”

inside, levi was still sitting in his chair, but his game was long forgotten as he was completely consumed by his sin.

envy coursed through and seeped out of every scale of his devil form, his pupils narrow slits, his breath hot and ragged, his fangs bared.

all he could think about was your betrayal. you were his. his alone. didn’t you know you had promised yourself to him the moment his insignia appeared on the nape of your neck? did your pact mean nothing? did all these months mean nothing?

levi’s seething voice snapped you out of your daze, and you bit your lip again, the confusion building. what did you do wrong? even if it wasn’t true, did the thought of you having a boyfriend set him off?

you knew he was more susceptible to certain thoughts and behaviors as the avatar of envy, but regardless, you wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“sorry, but i’m staying, whether you decide to open the door or not. we need to talk.”

you sighed, gently resting your head on his door, closing your eyes. “please,” your words barely above a whisper.

you wanted to talk? fine, he’d let you talk.

his door opened suddenly and you were yanked inside, the entrance slamming shut behind you.

levi’s claws dug into the soft skin of your arm, threatening to draw blood as you struggled in his grip. he towered over you, his snake-like eyes void of all emotion as he stared down at your form.

“then talk,” he hissed.

you cried out in surprise and pain. he was visibly upset, but you didn’t know why. what was happening?

“levi, i don’t know what i did, but i’m sorry—“

“you don’t know? you seriously don’t know? oh, it’s just so convenient to forget about my mark on your neck?”

your eyes narrowed in confusion. what was he talking about? “you mean the pact? of course i didn’t forget about it, but what does that have to do with anything? can you please just let me go and we can—“

“it means you belong to me, y/n,” he snarled as his grip tightened. “it means you betrayed me by going out with some other guy, some human—“

“levi, stop, you’re hurting me!”

“do i mean nothing to you? was this just a game? were you just stringing me along this whole time just so you could go and break my heart?” his claws clamped down.

you screamed as scarlet dripped from your arm onto the floor, and the sound of your pain drew levi’s attention to where his claws sank into your skin.

his world stopped as he pulled his hands away, the tips covered in your blood. the sound of you crying. the smell of your fear.

the envy, the rage, dissipated in seconds, now replaced with horror. what had he done?

he stammered as he shrank, reverting to normal. he was going to vomit.

his ears started ringing as you backed away from him, trembling.

what had he done?

he reached his hand towards you in a feeble attempt to do something, anything to remedy the situation, but when you flinched away, his heart broke even more.

he hurt you. he didn’t even mean to, he was just so jealous���

why was he jealous? because you betrayed him—

how could you have known if he never told you how he felt? you should’ve known better—

but you didn’t. it wasn’t your fault, it was his. it was all his.

levi felt like he was suffocating as the walls of his room closed in on him, and he sank to his floor, stuttering.

when he blinked, his room was cold and empty, your warmth long gone. you had left ages ago.

on the opposite end of the house, you frantically knocked on asmo’s door. “a-asmo?”

after a moment, the 5th brother opened his bedroom door, yawning as he lifted his eye mask. “how dare you interrupt my beauty sl—“

his jaw dropped when he saw you cradling your bloody arm, and within seconds, he was patching you up on his bed as quickly as he could.

he was about to ask who would dare to harm you in this way, but when he removed a shimmering purple scale from the inside of your wound, his heart dropped.

at the sight, your sobs started up again, and he pulled you close to embrace you, rocking you gently. “y/n, sweetheart, i’m so sorry— what happened?”

you relayed your story, his eyes widening after every detail. and when you were done, your wound clean and bandaged neatly, he looked away, biting his lip. he knew something you didn’t.

“asmo?” you asked upon noticing his guilty expression.

he sighed, brushing the hair out of his face. “well…”

“well?” you gave him a look, and he smiled sheepishly.

“i don’t want to interfere, since this is something levi should be telling you rather than me, but… when he saw you had a boyfriend, it caused his sin to spiral out of control. jealousy, y’know? he wasn’t in his right mind. i’m not trying to excuse his behavior, and he definitely needs to apologize, but i doubt he wanted to hurt you. once you’re in that headspace… it’s hard to think clearly. it’s like your sin controls you, and all you can do is watch.”

you bit your lip. that made sense, as demons were certainly more prone to emotional outbursts, but that didn’t explain the meaning behind his words.

“what about all the things he said? he was really possessive…”

“well, that’s because he… uh… he felt threatened. you’re his best friend, and maybe he thought that you were replacing him… especially since you’ve been distant this past month and because you’re leaving at the end of next week, he got scared you wouldn’t or didn’t care about him anymore. and with your pact? that kind of makes it worse, given how special it is and all.”

you nodded, feeling saddened. why on earth did you have to make that excuse? you’d have to clear it up eventually, but you weren’t sure if telling him it was a lie was a good idea right now…

while levi’s outburst had scared you, now that you knew the likely reasoning behind it, you wanted to go find and reassure him (again). you had your own apologizing to do, as well.

asmo noticed the signs and rested his hand on your arm before you could get up, looking at you sympathetically. “i know you want to go find him, but give him a little space to cool off. especially after he scratched you up… i can imagine that he feels really guilty. he might not be ready to face you yet.”

you nodded, pulling the demon into a gentle hug. “thanks, asmo. for everything, actually. you’ve been a huge help.”

he returned the gesture, patting your head. “of course. be sure to visit me again before you leave. you deserve to have a makeover befitting your temporary departure from the devildom,” he beamed.

you smiled in return, sliding off his bed, ready to leave. “thanks, asmo. good night!”

“nighty night~!” he called, and once you disappeared down the hall, his door slowly shutting with a gentle creak, he grabbed his nearest pillow and screamed into it.

“these two are killing me, i swear…” he whined. “levi, please grow some balls already, for the love of diavolo.”

you headed to your room, tuckered out for the evening. friday was fast approaching, and you needed to rest for your last day of classes before finals.

determined, you brushed your teeth, did your skincare routine, changed into your favorite pj’s, then hopped into bed, waiting for sleep to take you.

… except it never did. you were lying there for what felt like hours, but when you rolled over and looked at your phone, only about 30 minutes had passed.

then another. then another.

by now, a good couple hours had went by, and it was well past midnight. there was no reason for you to be awake. usually, you were out like a light the minute you were under the covers. why wasn’t it working now?

you knew the reason. but asmo said he needed space…

you looked at your phone again. 2 am. was that enough space?

yes, you decided. it was.

before you knew it, your feet were carrying you down the hall towards levi’s room.

soon you reached his door, and readied yourself to knock, but realized something peculiar — his door was ajar.

you cautiously stepped across the threshold, peering around the corner. “levi…?” you called softly, your voice echoing ever so slightly in the aquarium confines of his bedroom.

you heard some shuffling before levi’s head rose from within his bathtub, the tear stains glimmering on his face like little jewels. his eyes widened, as did his mouth, but when he saw your bandaged arm, he let out a soft exclamation of horror.

“y/n, i’m so sorry—“ the apology slipped out rapidly, the words jumbling together.

“i didn’t mean to, i swear, i didn’t… didn’t realize—“ he lowered his gaze, sinking back into his tub.

“i’m sorry. i lost control, i don’t even know why… it’s stupid, i’m stupid. i’m pathetic. you must hate me…” he whimpered, sniffling as the tears started up again and as he began to curl back into himself.

while he rambled, you slowly moved closer to where he rested, and it was only when you were leaning over him, casting his form in shadow, did he stop and look at you.

why were you coming to him? why weren’t you running away?

he spluttered as you began to step into the bathtub, and he pressed himself against the wall opposite you in an attempt to create distance in the narrow space.

“what are you doing?” he squeaked as you leaned towards him once more, flabbergasted and flustered. “aren’t you scared of me? i’m a monster—“

his breath hitched as you pulled him into a gentle hug. “i’m not scared of you, levi. or upset. you’re not a monster,” you murmured, looking up at him.

he blinked in shock, and despite his whining as well as his protests that he was gross and disgusting and pathetic, he had pulled you close faster than he’d like to admit.

he could only hope that you wouldn’t notice how his heart was practically beating out of his chest.

“you’re none of those things. you’re my best friend,” you reassured him, and when you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest as your arms were wrapped around his waist, he was trying to fight the tears that were beginning to sting his eyes... and stop his poor heart from exploding.

“i’m sorry, levi… for being so distant and not being completely honest,” you looked at him with all the sincerity you could muster. “you didn’t deserve that, especially when you were so worried about me.”

levi nodded, but realized what you were saying.

“wait, y/n, no, i should be apologizing—“

“you already did—”

“no, i mean really apologize,“ he sighed. “i’m sorry for invading your privacy and just barging into your studio, for one… you were, err, obviously in the middle of something important. and i’m sorry for my outburst—“ he winced at the thought, glancing at your bandaged arm. “that was horrible, and completely unfair, especially since you didn’t do anything to warrant it, really… and i hurt you too, god, i’m just so path—“

you shushed him. “cut that out, you’re not, although i appreciate it. and hey, at least i’ll have something to remember you by now,” you wiggled your eyebrows. “imagine what everyone will say when i tell them i survived a brutal demon attack,” you teased, giving him a smug and playful look.

levi rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “are you trying to call me a weakling? that i was so easily defeated?”

you snorted. “well, in my defense—“

“i’m the naval captain of the devildom, y/n, i’ve downed thousands of ships in my lifetime, i could easily take you down if i wanted to,” he huffed, averting his gaze.

you shook your head slightly, chuckling. “yeah, i bet you did, mister.”

when he turned to you again, his heart jumped and lodged in his throat. the way you were looking at him with those eyes of yours, sparkling and half lidded…

his gaze lowered to your lips, plump and glossy from your impeccable care routine… he so wanted to kiss— wait, no, you had a boyfriend, what was he thinking? cut it out, he internally scolded himself, forcing his gaze back up.

“levi…” you hummed, and he blinked, caught by surprise.

“i think you wanted to tell me something?”

i love you.

“y’know, the super duper important thing that had you barging into my dance practice?”

oh.

“i, uh… well…” levi cleared his throat, remembering his original intentions. “no point in hiding it anymore, so…”

he smiled at you, the giddiness returning. “i got tickets.”

you stared at him, confused. tickets?

and then it hit you, and when he saw your jaw drop, his smile widened.

“that’s right. don’t ask me how, but i got soundcheck, barricade, and backstage.”

you opened your mouth to speak, but he brought his finger to your lips as if he was shushing you, and he chuckled a little.

“i thought i just said to not ask! anyways, the best part is, you’re going with—“

you pushed his hand away. “i’m not.”

levi blanked, smiling to divert the wave of hurt and confusion. “what? what do you mean?“

“i… i can’t. i’m already going with someone else…”

his heart sank. he could feel the wave of envy start up, and he felt sick, but managed to choke out “is it your boyfriend?”

“no, it’s not. i’m going with my group of earth friends… we’re gonna be traveling together for the break.”

“oh… that’s— that’s cool, yeah.” he was doing everything in his power to stop a flare up again.

“i’m sorry, levi. that sounds amazing, but i’ve been planning this trip with them for… so long now, it wouldn’t be fair to cancel on them.”

“yeah… i get it,” he scoffed, looking away, the bile rising in his throat… but what he really wanted to say was, “what about me?”

“yeah…”

“so… that’s it, then? you’re leaving after exams?”

you nodded, biting your lip.

“i see.”

and then it went quiet.

“… levi?”

the silence was deafening.

“levi.”

why wasn’t he responding? why won’t he face you?

“leviathan. look at me, please.”

whether it was on his own volition or because of your pact, he quickly turned his head, his eyebrows furrowed as tears streamed down his face.

you could feel your heart breaking, and quickly pulled him into a tighter embrace, tears forming in your own eyes as you placed your head right above where his heart rested, tuning in to the rapidity of its beat. the guilt was already eating you alive, but this was the metaphorical truck that finished you off.

levi couldn’t find the will to do anything but sob into your hair, holding you against his chest.

“i’m just—“ his voice broke. “i’m not mad… i’m just gonna miss you… so much,” he lied. well, it was only partially— he was definitely going to miss you.

you nodded, closing your eyes. “i’m gonna miss you, too… more than you know.”

“okay, well, i’m gonna miss you the most, soooo… there,” levi laughed into the fabric of your shirt, and you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes.

“yeah, yeah. is there anything else you wanna tell me while we’re at it, you big crybaby?” you felt him huff. “why do you care so much about my boyfriend, anyways?”

levi suddenly stopped sniffling, and you felt him tense up. bingo.

“i… i’m just surprised you never told me, is all! i’m your best friend, y’know? i should be the first to know about these things, duh.”

“mmm, i’m not convinced.”

levi thought for a moment. should he really tell you? would he really go so low as to homewreck?

the short answer is yes, he would. but not right now. this was a nice moment, and he wanted it to last a little longer.

“so… anyways,”

you bursted out laughing. “very smooth, levi.”

“shut up. i was only going to ask what you wanted to do… seeing as this is one of the last times we can properly hang out, i guess.”

“i’m STILL not convinced, just so you know.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n.”

the bickering went back and forth a little while longer before the two of you decided on a proper agenda: scavenge for dessert and one last binge viewing of galaxea content before it was time to hunker down for finals.

except… you really didn’t want to get out of this position. not only was it cozy, but his bathtub was also really slippery and ridiculously hard to get out of without stepping on each other.

that, and you could tell levi didn’t want to move, either. besides, it was so warm… and his hoodie was so soft… and his breathing was so relaxing… and the way his fingers brushed over the pact mark on the nape of your neck made you feel fuzzy…

before you knew it, you were waking up to the sound of his alarm. your body was sore, and you groaned as you struggled to move your limbs, but paused at the sight before you: levi, face soft and peaceful as he snored away blissfully, arms wrapped around you tightly as he hugged you close to him, your legs intertwined. most surprisingly of all, his ruri-chan body pillow was long forgotten, probably being slept on top of.

you couldn’t help but to trace his jaw with your fingers, softly carding them through his hair once you had mapped out his face. you felt heat burning your cheeks, and suddenly, there was only one thing on your mind.

has he always been this pretty? or did you just never notice before?

you felt a foreign emotion bubble in your chest, and you had to stop before… you didn’t know what, exactly, but you couldn’t risk it. plus, his alarm was starting to annoy you. how come he hadn’t woken up yet?

“levi,” you said a little too loudly, and his eyes shot open. you jumped back a little in surprise, but a smile tugged at your lips afterwards.

he rubbed the sleep away from his face, groaning in annoyance. “why did you… wait.”

he blanked, looking back at you. you were here. in his arms. in his bathtub. was it morning? was he dreaming?

he stared at you in surprise, his cheeks visibly turning the shade of a ripe tomato, and small giggles escaped you.

he looked down, only to see you were both fully clothed. of course. why wouldn’t you be? ahaha…

his alarm was starting to seriously get annoying, and he grumbled as he dug his phone out of the pile of pillows beneath you, turning it off the minute his hand closed around his device.

you both had a full day of classes and studying ahead of you, and knew you had to go and get ready, but… even after all of this…

you both weren’t ready for this to be the end.

due to your conflicting schedules, you’d be the first one done and would be leaving while levi would still be testing, so this was goodbye for the next few months.

you gazed at each other, communicating everything wordlessly, and as you pushed away, beginning to climb out of his tub, he grabbed your hand, squeezing it.

you squeezed it back, smiling as you started gathering your things, slowly making your way to the door.

you heard him sniffle again, and suddenly felt him pull you into him from behind, embracing you tightly. you didn’t even hear him get up.

“goodbye, y/n. don’t forget about me, okay?”

you turned your head to look up at him, the moment bittersweet. “i’d never forget about you, levi. how could i?”

stay, he wanted to murmur in your ear. stay, and let me hold you a little longer. stay, where it’s just us two. where i can have you all to myself. where you don’t have to leave.

but he didn’t.

the two of you stayed like that for a moment longer, before he suddenly let you go, gently pushing you away.

“alright, now go. before i start crying again,” he whispered, watching you sadly as you walked to his door, opening it.

the faint light from the hallway cast your figure in a golden glow, and the last thing he heard from you before you were gone was, “i’ll see you in a couple months, okay? i’ll find you at the concert, i promise. look for me.”

the days blended into each other, and the afternoon you were supposed to move out, levi kept himself holed in his room. he was supposed to be writing an essay, and as the timer slowly ticked away, he heard the muffled sobs and goodbyes of his brothers. mammon’s dramatics and asmo’s fussing stood out the most, but he could also pick out lucifer telling everyone he’d be back shortly as he would be dropping you off along with diavolo.

proctored test be damned, he closed his eyes, attempting to hear any trace of your voice one last time… but all he caught was the loud shutting of the door. you were gone.

as you were escorted to the portal gate, you expected to hear from a certain someone. they wouldn’t just let you leave, you knew they’d message you.

and when your phone buzzed, you peeked at the screen, a little giddy... but it wasn’t from who you expected.

the last message you got on your phone before exiting the devildom wasn’t from levi, but from asmo.

“you’re not being honest with yourself. i know you love him,” was all it read, chills shooting down your spine.

lucifer and diavolo’s voices blurred into the background as you shook their hands. what was he talking about? you were about to respond, but when you looked back up, you were standing in front of your company’s building, your devildom phone gone from your pocket, like it had never existed at all.

you were home.

[galahadwilder]

The Time I Got Reincarnated as an Evil Version of Myself

Chapter 2: Solitude

My AO3 is linked in my bio.

After Catalyst, Chloé’s life only got better. Now a full-time superhero, she managed to finally make new friends, forging bonds with the other members of her team. She’d repaired her relationships with her father and Sabrina, fallen in love, and welcomed a surprise sister with open arms.

Then she wakes up in a world where none of that happened. Where, after Catalyst, she only got worse, and lonelier, and more and more bitter.

The canon timeline, in fact. Or something close to it.

Chloé is the only one who remembers the other world. Her friends hate her, her relationships are destroyed, even her girlfriend has barely ever spoken to her. But that’s okay. Whether good or evil, Chloé Bourgeois has never—and WILL never—let anything stop her.

~

The feeling of Hawkmoth’s touch on her mind is hauntingly, nauseatingly familiar. She can feel him, rooting around in her emotions as if her were taking a shovel to her guts. Everywhere his influence touches, she feels deep, deep hurt well up, hurt that she'd thought long buried. One sickening caress from his tendrils and suddenly she’s five again, watching her mother leave. A flick, and she’s fourteen, seeing Adrien laughing with Nino, with Marinette, with Kagami, with someone else. A menacingly gentle stroke, and she’s eight, smacking Marinette’s macarons to the ground and not understanding why she wants to cry when the other girl bursts into tears.

She’s sixteen, and her mother reveals a whole other daughter who has seen more of Audrey in the last four months than Chloé has in a decade.

She’s ten, and she hasn’t seen her father outside of official functions since her mother left, hoping, hoping that maybe this year her birthday will be something other than empty gifts and strange grown-ups who don’t even look at her.

She’s fifteen, and her father falls silent when she tells him she is in love with a woman. She does not tell her mother.

And all the while, as he’s dredging up her worst memories, her own voice whispers in her ear—alone, alone, I’m alone, I’m all alone. Everybody leaves. They leave because I’m not good enough to make them stay.

It hurts, pushing against that voice, against those memories. Against the certainty that she has been abandoned, again. It’s like the migraine from this morning, only a thousand times sharper, and thousand times hotter, but she has to, she has to push, she has to speak—

“Run,” she snaps at the stunned Marinette, still trembling on the floor across from her. Marinette cannot be here when Chloé transforms. She has no idea what her power will be, but if Marinette gets hit first it’s game over.

”Chloé…?” Marinette says, straightening. Her eyes are full of concern, because of course they are, it’s Marinette, Chloé would expect nothing less, but god damn it the girl needs to be selfish right now and get clear—

“RUN!” Chloé screams, kicking the bathroom door open as best she can from her awkward position on the floor.

She barely manages to hold him off long enough to see Marinette leap to her feet and barrel out of the bathroom. As soon as the pink flats vanish behind the cheap birch, darkness takes her, and she’s floating in a black-purple void.

Miss Bourgeois, Hawkmoth says. Cast aside by everyone in your life. Nobody cares about poor little Chloé. She hears a sick smile in his voice. I care about you.

She’s enthralled, she’s sinking, but the part of her that’s still aware barely manages to avoid vomiting at the violation his words, his tone, imply.

There are other parts, though. One part of her wants to give up, to stop fighting, to sink into despair and just let Hawkmoth win. To let him do the hard parts. To let him take the pain.

The other part of her just wants to burn.

I am giving you the power to lock all those who defy you into unbreakable diamond, he continues. Nobody will ever leave you again.

You know what I want by now.

”Yes, Hawkmoth,” she whispers to the void, shaking. She’s not sure if she’s standing or sitting, if she’s there or here, if she’s trapped in her own mind or she’s still on the bathroom floor. But there’s one thing that catches her mind, throws her off.

Why diamond?

The last coherent part of her mind ticks away at that one question. The powers are always thematic, always related to the trigger. But she hasn’t done anything related to diamonds all day. She’s just—

Wait a minute. Princess Solitaire.

Princess cut. Card suits.

It’s a pun.

The laugh starts deep in her stomach, bubbling up through her chest like a clogged toilet before erupting from her mouth in a bomb blast of mad, almost feral cackling. It's not so much that the pun is funny—it's clever, sure, but there's little humor in it. But the sheer absurdity of it, the incongruity of getting smacked in the face with a pun when everything in her is drowning—

It's an anchor. She focuses, and suddenly the parts of her that want to surrender, to burn, are just that much quieter, that much easier to ignore. She focuses on that laughter, on the light. It feels so much like Adrien.

It's chemistry class, and she's just casually insulted Rose's fashion sense. It's barely a moment before she sees tears welling up in Rose's eyes, and she realizes that, while doubling down on the insult will make her feel less guilty, it won't help Rose. Apologizing is hard, harder than she ever expected it would be—she has to force it out, and it comes out stuttered, incoherent. She's tearing up herself by the end of it. But then Rose's eyes are full of hope and wonder instead of pain, and then Adrien's hand is on her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Chloé," Adrien tells her, and Chloé shatters.

It's the night of one of her mother's parties, and Audrey has spent the evening alternatively ignoring her or telling her that she wished Marinette was her daughter instead. She ducks out of the party early for the first time, running somewhere, anywhere, and finds herself at the bakery—the first place she could think to flee. Marinette is holding her, not even caring that Chloé's tears and snot are ruining the shoulder of her jacket.

"You're safe here," Marinette insists, and Chloé can only sob harder, because she believes it.

She's shaking on a fire escape, having narrowly escaped evisceration by another of Kagami's Akuma forms—by another Akuma that she provoked with a careless word. Ladybug and Chat are busy looking after Kagami, making sure she's okay, but Alya is sitting with her. Watching her. Chloé apologizes—there's no way that she's the person Alya wants to spend time with—only for the girl to take her hand.

"You're a bitch, but you're our bitch," Alya says, grinning, and Chloé feels her heart lift.

"Sisters?" Zoé says, holding out her hand.

"Thank you. For... apologizing," Sabrina manages, blushing, withdrawing into herself.

"We knew you weren't all bad," Alix smirks, punching her in the shoulder.

"It feels better, right?" Ivan says, meaty hand on her shoulder.

"I am... not unaware of the progress you have made," Kagami tells her, averting her eyes.

Well, Solitaire? Hawkmoth says.

She breathes in, carefully holding her knees against her chest. The void is... gone. She didn't realize she'd been pushing it back, forcing it to retreat with every memory she'd wielded like a baseball bat against the tides. She's back in the bathroom, still sitting in the same position. Still covered in plastic dust, dirty water soaking her clothes. The glowing mask still sizzling across her cheeks and forehead. It smells like ozone and burning meat.

You never have to be alone again.

She's not. She's not alone. She hasn't been for a long, long time.

Breathe out. Breathe in.

"Eat my entire ass."

Surprise, confusion, and indignation crash through the psychic link, burning inside her brain. He nearly gasps like a Victorian novel heroine. I... excuse me?

"Whole thing," Chloé says, nodding. It's satisfying, the realization that she's caught him so off guard in so many ways. "Just give it a good chew. Get some teeth in there." Carefully, negligibly, so as not to alert him, she shuffles sideways across the floor, feeling cold linoleum and broken plastic against her palms as she shifts herself away from the door, the one entrance to the room, so as not to block Ladybug out with her body.

Madamoiselle Bourgeois! Hawkmoth shrieks. You will do as I bid, or I will—

She reaches deep into her chest, grabs the feeling of Kagami's lips on hers, the feeling of warmth and safety and home, and pushes, slamming her superior will into his and snapping the connection clean in two. The mask explodes from her face, sending a pulse of energy across the room that activates every hand dryer at once, knocking her backward into the stall doors and slamming pain through her spine.

A flash of red bursts through the door. Ladybug, her yo-yo spinning, stares at her, stunned, as the air blowers drone in the background.

"Chloé?" she says. Chloé isn't sure whether that emotion in her voice is incredulity, pride, or concern, but Chloé thinks she likes it.

Enjoying it, though, will have to wait.

Chloé, dumped on the filthy bathroom floor, her whole body creaking with pain, gives Ladybug a weak smile. "Hi, Ladybug," she croaks. "I'd like to go to the nurse's office, please."

@emma-d-klutz @generalluxun @naresar @ninepostsstuff @grotesquewombat @erisluna35 @oblivionhold @all-peristeronic @chaos-has-theories @into-september @claws-and-bee-stings @279ital @drawing2cope @steelblaidd @ladybeug

[arachnixe]

The New Me

The water churns with the thrashing bodies of countless swimming parasites. It's hard to get a good look at them like this. All I can pick out is a handful of individual details—tendrils, rows of tiny teeth, beady eyes.

I have to put my arm in there and let one choose me.

I hesitate. Who wouldn't?

"All I have to do is let one of these latch on, and I'll be able to fight like you do?"

"It is more than that," the woman to my right tells me. "It is a sacrifice. To be a host to one of our young is a lifelong commitment."

She's slight of stature, but just the other day I watched her punch through a brick wall, masonry crumbling like loose gravel. With her human arm, too. Not even the one claimed up to the shoulder by her own, fully-grown parasite.

That arm is...grotesque. Inhuman. A mass of flesh with too many rows of pointed knuckles and elbows, throbbing muscles flexing in the wrong places, with skin that glistens as if perpetually moist. It's all I can do not to vomit when I look at it for too long.

If I accept the terms, that will, eventually, be my fate. Not even fully human anymore, but partially alien. But I'm tired of being scared, weak, alone. Tired of waiting for the boot to crush me. Tired of my body failing, bit by bit.

I make up my mind.

All the way under, at least down to my elbow, that's what they said. The pose is stiff and awkward, and I hold it long enough that I start to worry whether none of the larval parasites will choose me.

Then I feel the sharp pain piercing my wrist, and I jerk my hand out reflexively.

There it is. My very own parasite. No wider than a hand, for now, and wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet.

I groan in pain. "Is it supposed to hurt this much?"

"Oh yes," the woman says. "It takes a little time for it to integrate with your nervous system. Until then, well," She offers a reassuring smile. "It's going to get much more painful, I'm afraid."

A lance of pain shoots up my forearm. "M-more...?"

"Well, like any child with a lot of growing to do, it needs to eat."

"It's eating my arm?!" I cry out in alarm. My imagination fills with images of those tiny teeth ripping my flesh to shreds, and I panic, clawing at my arm to get it off, suddenly aware I made a huge mistake.

The other people here swarm me immediately, locking down my flailing limbs with unmatchable strength.

"I told you, friend. This is a lifelong commitment. No backing out now."

I feel a trickle of blood flow down my arm from my wrist. I scream.

"It's not just your arm either, silly," she says, kneeling close to me, stroking my face as though she could offer me comfort. "We send our tendrils all through the host, eating them and replacing them as we grow. How did you think we get like this?"

Oh. The strength of even their human limbs...they weren't really human limbs at all, beyond appearance.

"It replaces…" I take a breath, steady myself. Speaking through the spikes of pain is so hard. My thrashing is not wholly voluntary now. "Everything except the brain?"

She laughs as though I said something absurd. "Brain too! That part's quick to start but the slowest to finish. It has to be. Too fast and we can't properly reproduce our hosts' memories within ourselves."

Then… all these people. They're not people at all, are they? They're a colony of parasites wearing the faces of the long-dead people they fed on and replaced.

"I said it's a lifelong commitment, didn't I?" she responds as though I'd said the words aloud. "I just didn't say how short your expected lifetime would be after becoming a host."

She's very kind to tell me all this, so I know what's ahead of me.

"Are you done being fussy?"

Ah, I didn't realize the pain was gone. I flex my fingers experimentally, and in spite of the ongoing flow of blood, things feel… more or less normal. Even the fear has already died.

"Yes, I think we're integrated now," I respond.

She and the others help me upright. "Oh," she says, "I do want to tell you while you're still mostly human: really, don't worry. Your parasite will remember you when you're gone, okay?"

I smile. "I'm glad."

I don't know what I was thinking before. Her arm is beautiful.

[threeletterslife]

01 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up amidst a war with no recollection of your past. Faced with suspicion and distrust, you struggle to assimilate into a foreign nation—otherwise known as your home. But on your enlightening journey to search for your identity, you come face to face with the General of the Army.

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of blood and (one) brief mention of vomit, (very) minor character deaths, injuries (broken ribs & open wounds/stitches)

⨰ wordcount: 7.5k

⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)

⨰ a/n: thank you to the lovely @the-berry-named-ari for taking the time to beta-read!! i appreciate you!

⨰ series m.list | next

⧖⧗Circa Sapph⧗⧖

Red. You see red. It’s the first thing you see when your eyes peel open slowly—as if they’ve been sealed shut for hundreds of years. Red. Labored breaths escape your quivering lips, your heart beating frantically in your chest. Red. It ripples in your vision, hues deepening in color—almost sinisterly, almost like it’s mocking you. Red. It swallows your sight, strangles your throat, swamps your senses. Red. Like blood.

Suddenly you don’t think you can breathe.

You gasp, sitting up, your fingers ghosting around your neck. Immediately, a sharp abdominal pain pervades your entire body, cutting through your insides. Tears begin to prick your vision. It hurts. Something feels broken, and a newfound throbbing finds its way into your head. You wince, biting your lip to muffle a scream. Then, you freeze.

Red. It encompasses your vision again.

The air is hot and heavy, carrying the weight of death in its feeble arms. There are immobilized soldiers bundled up in white bandages seeping with crimson blood, desperate soldiers who are wailing, pointing up to the billowing red canopy of the tent and cursing or praying—you can’t tell which; and there are many soldiers who have ceased all sort of movement. You catch glimpses of their stone-cold eyes before someone drapes a white blanket over their still-warm corpses. Blood stains the dirt in ugly blots of color. And you watch, frozen, as men and women in scarlet uniforms cry for their families, their friends, their lovers.

Your fingers tangle around a chain around your neck, and it takes a lot longer for you to notice that it is not a restraining cuff but a dainty necklace with a pendant hanging from the middle. A diamond. The white jewel sparkles against your soot-covered skin, twinkling despite the blood and the gore. Something about it brings you infinitesimal comfort but it’s comfort nevertheless.

When you finally look down at your own body, you see a frail figure—bruised and battered—but in a much better state than the others. Your bandages have been freshly changed, and though you’re in pain, you feel fully cognizant enough to think: what the hell happened? How long have you been here? Where the hell are you? Asking questions is at least a step in the right direction. You stare at the red fabric of your uniform, head whirling with thousands and thousands of different theories and ideas. But in the end, the thoughts diverge to one critical conclusion: you are a soldier.

A soldier. You must be fighting for something, then. Whether it may be your honor, your nation or your loved ones, you must be a soldier for something’s sake. But it’s quite laughable. Fighting for a nation you can’t even recall. Even worse, your enemy’s face is a blank slate in your mind. How can you fight against people you don’t know at all? How can you let their blood spill on your hands when you can’t remember how they’ve wronged you and your nation? Or are you getting too ahead of yourself? What if none of your thoughts are true? How can you be sure of anything?—you can’t—not when you can’t even recall a single name other than yours.

But the more you try to desperately sift through your memories, the more you realize that you have none. Your head begins to throb again, and you clutch your necklace for moral support, hanging onto it as if it were your lifeline (and you’ll treat it that way until you figure out what the hell is going on). It doesn’t make sense. How are you a stranger in your own body?

“Your name, dear soldier?”

The deep, dulcet voice startles you nonetheless, making you shift in your cot—your body retaliates in stinging pain and you grunt, hands pressing immediately against your side.

“Oh dear, you’ve got a couple of broken ribs, so try not to press too hard on your abdomen, all right?” the voice speaks again. But this time, you catch the face of the owner: a kind-looking middle-aged man with a gentle smile on his lips. He dons a loose, taupe-colored uniform, the cotton fabric falling down over his knees and grazing his shins. His sleeves have been rolled up to battle the insufferable heat of the tent, and beads of sweat have collected on his forehead, which he quickly wipes away with the back of his surprisingly soft-looking hands. He then folds his hands delicately over each other and gazes at you with an amiable yet inquisitive look on his face. As if he’s waiting for you to reply to something he’d said.

Oh. Embarrassment washes over you when you realize he had asked you a question. Your name, dear soldier? he’d said. Huh. So you are a soldier. And after little thought, you realize you do remember something. Your hands drop from your side.

“Y/N.” It falls from your lips easily—almost too easily. “I think that’s my name.” If the man knew you before, he doesn’t make it obvious; instead, he gives you another soft smile and introduces himself.

“Well, Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you,” he says. “You were unconscious for five days so I’m happy to see you’ve finally woken up. I was getting worried that you might never… Never mind that.” He smiles again, revealing a pair of pretty imprints in his cheeks. “You know, your case was a miracle! The spirits must’ve wanted you alive.” He laughs a little at his own joke. “You were found unconscious on enemy territory with major injuries, but it looks like they spared your life. They never tend to do that. ” He trails off, his smile wavering a bit before he turns his attention back to you. “So, how are you feeling?”

How are you feeling? If only words could describe the panic, the confusion in your mind. How did you survive? Who is this enemy that supposedly spared your life? Why can’t you remember anything?

“I… don’t know.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” the man says with good nature. “You’re in great shape. Your injuries are healing quite nicely. In fact—”

“No, no it’s not that,” you say, shaking your head slowly. “I… I don’t know anything. I can’t remember a single thing from my past.”

The man’s smile flatlines. “Oh dear,” he says. “The concussion must have been worse than I thought.” He looks grim for a few moments as if to mourn the loss of his own memories and not yours—an empathetic man in an unsympathetic place. But he seems to grab a hold on himself because, in a few seconds, his grim look is replaced with a bright smile and a reassuring nod. “Don’t worry, though. Most soldiers want to forget. Here.”

Your eyes widen when you see a spherical bubble of water levitating just above his palm. It’s such a perfect little shape, and the man seems to be entirely in control of it. “You’re so dehydrated that I can feel it without my wielding,” he laughs, jutting out his hand.

Everything’s so fast-paced.

While you were asleep, everyone must have collectively run two laps around the whole nation, learned new things, fought new battles and developed a new sort of jargon impossible for you to discern.

You’re still trying to process what he said before. Most soldiers want to forget. You assume most soldiers would want to forget the contents of the battles, but you doubt they would want to forget about their husbands and wives, their children, their friends and their partners. You doubt they would want to forget the core memories that make up who they really are. The memories that provide them a reason to live when they’re trapped in this stuffy tent, where all they can see and smell is blood. Most soldiers want to forget. But you want to remember. Because without your memories, dammit, you know yourself as much as the person on the cot next to you.

Who even are you?

But to hell with that train of thought because now you’re processing newer information—information that puzzles you even more. “Wielding?”

“Oh dear,” the man says. “Here, take the water drop and I’ll explain.”

Take it? It won’t splash in your face the moment he lets go of it? There’s something especially spellbinding about this. A phenomenon you can’t quite explain. The man watches as you daintily pick up the bite-size bubble, and you stare curiously at it as if you don’t know what to do with it. It feels smooth, malleable and cool to the touch. The water reflects the little light in the tent, shining pastel rainbows on the palm of your hand. For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you poked it. Mess up its beautiful equilibrium. Would it splatter and lose its magnificent shine? Lose its form as a perfect sphere, lose its shape and memory?

You don’t ever want to ruin something as beautiful as that.

“Pop it in your mouth,” the healer says. “I enhanced it with some minerals that you might need. But you know, when I checked your blood four days ago, you’re actually exceedingly healthier than the average soldier. Sufficient levels in everything except vitamin D.”

Good to know, at least. Though a soldier missing their vitamin D sounds a little preposterous. But you’re sad to see the bubble go, wishing you could hold it in your hands just a small while longer. Yet your thirst wins over your childish desire. You do as your healer says, carefully slipping the water drop in your mouth to satiate your dry throat. Gingerly, you bite down on it, only for the water to burst on your tongue. It tastes like nothing, but the chilled liquid sweetens the inside of your mouth. The droplets soothe your palate and wash down your throat in seconds, leaving you feeling empty yet not so parched anymore. You chase after the feeling, hand crawling up to grasp the necklace resting by your neck.

“You don’t happen to remember your last name, do you?” the man asks. “I can ask one of the officers to check the records and see which sector you’re from. Maybe then we can figure out if you worked with other elements besides fire. You know, since all of our soldiers are fire mediums.”

“No, I don’t remember.” You didn’t even know you could wield fire. You didn’t know anyone could possibly wield the elements. But here this man is, a water ‘medium,’ claiming that you’re a fire medium. With this little knowledge, how could he possibly expect you to remember your surname? You’re still trying to process the fact that you can wield fire in the first place.

Fire. The word echoes in your head, over and over again. And for a moment, you swear you can feel the heat. You suppose it’s warm. Tender flames and ambient lights, a cozy spark in the cold of the night, a cardinal red glow accompanied by flickers of yellow and orange… Yes. You must be connected to fire in some way. The warmth swells inside you, consoles you, solaces your mind.

But then, your thoughts begin to wander. You begin to wonder what being a fire medium entailed: if you could conjure up bonfires with a flick of your hand, if you could boil water just by holding a container, if you could walk barefoot on hot coals with flames settled in your eyes. Did you cook using your own fires? Could you even cook? Have you ever accidentally burned someone else you didn’t mean to? But one thought leads to another, and naturally, you begin to wonder how you used fire to fight.

Your gut coils.

You glance at your palms, turning them over and scrutinizing them. As pretty as fire can be, you realize it is just as destructive. How many people have you burned with these very hands? How many have you scorched to death? How many have you killed?

Your blood runs cold.

“Um…” Your healer clears his throat, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts. “I just, uh, I wanted to let you know, though…” His face contorts. “There’s a chance you might have lost your connection with fire… If you didn’t even remember that you were a fire medium, then the chances are… I mean, you can always relearn but…” he trails off. “Memory loss tends to cut off the connection. It’s usually temporary.”

Usually. Something inside you breaks. Fire had been a part of your identity, and you thought you knew it. You swore you’d felt it within you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your face visibly falls. What does this mean? Are they going to kick you out of the tent as soon as you heal? Are you exempt from fighting in the war now? Or are they going to force you to mend your connections with your element?

“I’m sorry,” he says again as he watches your face distort. “I feel like I’m not explaining anything. You’re confused, huh? You know what?” A pause. “I’ll start from the beginning then. Um, how to start, how to start… Well, you see, the spirits shared the elements with us a long, long time ago: fire, water, earth and air,” he explains slowly. “Do the others happen to ring a bell?”

Another shake of your head.

“Oh no worries,” he says quickly, trying to assure you. “Well, dear, we’re in Solaria. Others call us the land of nature and nurtured, and it makes a lot of sense since we all work with one or more of the elements. I don’t really see ourselves as magicians, though, but other nations do. At least that’s what they thought the last time we opened up our trade. Circas and circas ago.” He shrugs. “We’re just mediums. Vessels that the elements use so we can be in close harmony with nature.”

Vessels. Harmony. Nature. You try to digest his every word, try to reach in the back of your head to see if any of it is familiar.

It isn’t. But you try your best to catch up on the things you’ve lost. “So you’re a water medium.”

“Most healers are,” he says. “But I dabble in earth too. Actually, I picked it up from living in Elu, and it comes in pretty handy whenever.”

Before you can even ask what or where Elu is, your healer moves on, pointing at the necklace you’ve been nervously twisting the whole time. “Oh my, what a pretty necklace!”

You nod in agreement, feeling the edges of the gem with the pads of your fingers. “Oh, thank you.” Your eyebrows twist. “I can’t remember where I got it, but it feels important. I think… I’m not sure, but I think someone important gave it to me.” It’s a slow, steady gut feeling. And at that moment, you can almost feel the warm fingers of another dancing behind your neck, clasping your necklace for you. But it’s probably just your imagination.

“Maybe a significant other?” he suggests.

You really wish you could say those words triggered some sort of memory hidden deep within you, but it doesn’t. “It could be.”

“Then why don’t we put your necklace in this case and hide it away under your cot?” he says, figuring a dirt-made container with the flick of his hand. You watch in awe as delicate leaf engravings crawl up the hardening case. With a flourish of shimmery mist, a perfectly circular knob configures itself on top of the lid. Soft brown and deceivingly smooth-looking like silk, the box rests against his palm, waiting patiently to encase your necklace. “Something as precious as that? You might lose it around here, dear.”

He helps you unclasp the chain from your neck, and you watch the shimmery jewel become enclosed in the pretty, engraved case. The moment the last of the golden chain leaves your fingertips, you feel a chilled cold wash over your body. It has nothing to do with the pain in your abdomen, and it’s not necessarily painful—just an unpleasant feeling. The moment the necklace is out of view, you begin to regret taking it off. Why do you feel so heavy without it? So… empty? Lost, even.

The necklace was a sign from your past—the present that would lead you back to your past. Whoever gave it to you—if someone gave it to you at all—would want to see it around your neck the next time you meet them. What if they can’t identify you without it? What if this necklace was a part of your identity? But that’s not a question of ‘what if.’ Because really, this necklace is the only clue connecting back to your past. No one is born with a sparkling diamond necklace around their neck. So where the hell did you get yours? What does it mean?—if it even means anything at all? Should you keep it on you at all times to help jog your memory? Should you refuse to hide it away?

No.

No, your healer’s right. Solaria is in a gruesome war. It’s best to hide your important belongings away, where there will be no chance of you losing them.

“Ah, young love,” your healer sighs. “It’s a pity we’re in a devastating war. For over a hundred years, I tell you. They’ll come back for you, though. Your lover. They’ll search for you until they finally find you again. I’d do that for my partner too. You know, I actually gave him a necklace—kind of like yours—except it was made of green jade. Spent 50 solarins on it, too. You know, I’ve never seen such a pure white gem like yours. It must be very rare.” He offers you another kind smile. “My husband’s waiting back in Elu, fixing up his little tea shop with our two cats.”

Your healer is quite talkative, and you bless him for that; the silence reminds you of your pain, but with Namjoon—he finally slipped in his name after an hour of talking—constantly filling up the quiet spaces, you’re kept well-distracted. You learn that he lived in the capital sector Elu until the soldiers came and asked for volunteers to work in the medical tents. He parted with his husband and his two precious kittens to make a living from the never-ending war. As he put it, ‘to heal so soldiers can, unfortunately, fight again.’ The pay is good, and he sends what he can back home. ‘We want to move out of the city and back to where we’re both from—Ara. We’re trying to save up for it. And maybe when this war is finally over, we’ll be able to do it.’ So he went headfirst into the medical tent, with no prior medical experience and just as little knowledge of the enemies.

“They’re magic folk too,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Darlaeans, from Darlae. We call it the Forgotten Kingdom. But supposedly their magic is older than ours, which is strange because you’d think working with the elements is as ancient as you can get.”

With Joon—he insists you call him that—on a generous three-hour break after pulling two twenty-hour shifts to treat the soldiers who came in after a particularly violent battle, he fills you in on as many things as he possibly can. You insist that he gets some rest, but as your healer, you’re only obligated to listen to him and not the other way around.

“I’ve been waiting and tending for you for five days, Y/N. I’d rather get to know you,” he keeps saying. Though there’s really not a lot about you to know. Namjoon seems to know that too, deep inside. So he tells you stories of his past. Whether it’s about the bubbling brooks and frozen lakes he grew up with in Ara or the warm, bustling capital sector of Elu, he always has something to say, something to paint a picture in your mind. Slowly, you feel less and less empty. Like his stories are your own and you’re taking them away to store forever.

“We have other sectors too, but I just think you can’t compare them to Ara. You know, during the wintertime, it gets so cold that you can see the frost that gathers at the tips of the plants. You should see the colors—lilac and pale blue and it’s just…” he sighs. “It’s beautiful.

“I miss it,” he admits. “But working here isn’t too bad, either.”

It seems as though things have calmed down in the medical tent. The brunt of the pain and death has passed, leaving the healers to catch their breaths and the soldiers in their cots to rest and wait for their bodies to recuperate. The air is heavy with sweat and musk but not so much with death anymore. Or you’ve just grown accustomed to it.

The red drapings of the tent don’t bother you as much. It had felt foreign at first, but now you realize this is the color you’ve probably seen countless times as a Solarian soldier. It is a color that proves you are alive. That every time you open your eyes, you’re still in this world getting treated on your cot and not wandering off to the unknown. The high ceiling of the tent gives you something to stare at, something to exercise your mind and keep you occupied. Outside, the wind caresses the red curtains, letting them flow gently—like a stream of blood.

But it isn’t too bad. It could be much worse.

“There are busier hours, you know, mostly right after one of the bigger battles led by our General. But it’s not too bad right now,” Namjoon says. “I like talking to the soldiers a lot. You learn so much about Solaria and the different sectors that make up our nation. Once you start asking, soldiers never really stop talking about their homesectors. I mean, our homesectors are our roots. It’s just like how I’m proud to be from Ara, you know? It’s really nice to hear that so many of us have something to fight for.”

He probably didn’t mean to, but his words deflate you. Something to fight for… Yet you can’t remember why you volunteered to fight for Solaria. Maybe you promised a lover back home. Maybe you promised a dying mother, a dead sibling. Or you wanted a fresh start to your life; maybe you were naïve and thought going to war would place meaning in your existence. Something to fight for.

You’ll have to fight for yourself. Fight to live, maybe. Fight for a nation you barely remember; fight against a nation you barely hate. When you can’t remember anyone else who has impacted your life, aren’t you the only one you can trust? But can you trust yourself when you don’t even know who you are?

Namjoon’s eyes soften as he watches your face contort with thought. “It’s best not to remember,” he says softly. “I meant it when I said most soldiers want to forget.”

In a way, he’s right. Not remembering gives you a chance to rebrand yourself. Create a new you. It erases your traumas—if you had any—does away with past pains and catastrophes and allows you to begin a new life. But…

“Do you know of any other soldiers who came back from the battlefield five days ago? Maybe I was friends with some of them. Maybe I—”

You just want to know who you are. Is it so bad to be curious? The pain, the suffering—you don’t care if it’ll hurt you again. Because those experiences were what made you your own person. Without them, you might as well be a newborn baby trapped in an adult’s body.

“Oh.” Namjoon interrupts, and for a moment, you think you’ve pissed him off with your persistence. In reality, however, with his eyebrows twisted together and lips pressed into a thin line, he looks worried. “It’s hard to keep track of all the soldiers who come in and out of this tent,” he says. He’s avoiding eye contact, but you don’t relent, staring at the side of his face until he looks up, hesitantly. Your eyes meet, his soft brown ones connecting with your own wide, hopeful ones. He fidgets. “Not… not a lot of soldiers survived that battle,” he says. He fidgets again. “Oh, for Sahn’s sake. It… it was a bloodbath. The Darlaeans were especially brutal that day. It was a miracle that you survived—a mystery even—and on enemy territory at that.” He looks up to gauge your crumbling expression, mirroring your forlorn look with his own countenance.

The last bit of hope within you melts away. What was the point of surviving when you don’t even remember the reason that you’re fighting? What was the point of being brought back to life when you’ll have to fight in a war you don’t care about? You may have been a Solarian, but you have as much attachment to your nation as a fruit fly might have for a bear cub.

You take a breath.

But it’s not that bad. It’s not.

You have your necklace—somehow the only evidence that you had some sort of a past. You have Namjoon, who seems friendly enough to help you get back on your feet. You have yourself. You were once lucky enough to be spared on the enemy’s territory; you’ll wait for another serendipitous window to get your memories back. The hope is seeping back in.

You’ll take time for yourself, heal, fight if you have to. But your ultimate goal will always be to find out who you are.

Soon, Namjoon leaves your side to tend the other soldiers, and it leaves you by yourself. With your back propped up against the headboard of your cot, you survey the tent. It’s calmed down quite a lot. Most soldiers are asleep now, their pains momentarily forgotten during their slumber. You watch the few soldiers who are awake. They look shaken, bloodshot eyes rapidly moving left and right as if an enemy soldier were going to ambush them at any minute. If you hadn’t lost your memories, you might be one of them.

But you’re calm. In fact, there’s no reason for you to panic. Not when you can’t recall what you should even panic about. Instead, you ruminate about other things. Things that don’t have to do with the war.

You long to step outside of this tent. You wonder what it looks like out there. Wonder what it feels like to smell something other than blood and sweat. Wonder what it feels like to wake up and not see red. Wonder if it’s beautiful out there, just like the way Namjoon described his homesector. Your eyes begin to flutter shut as your thoughts lull you to sleep.

Then, there’s a jerk of the red curtains. You get a short glimpse of an azure sky, golden sunlight, verdant grass, shedding trees getting ready for full-blown autumn, and you inhale a whiff of fresh air—pine, a hint of something oaky—but it’s all gone before you can react. Everything becomes hidden away by the drapes. It’s all red again.

When you blink, you realize someone had walked in—no, stormed—into the tent. A man. He has a slightly shorter-than-average stature with a surprisingly slumped posture, yet somehow, he radiates authority and strict business. It’s just something about his eyes—his charcoal pupils lost in the tenebrosity of his irises—eyes squinted ever so slightly as his vision sweeps cynically across the tent. When he blinks, a trail of wet blood rolls down over his eyelid, but he makes no move to wipe it off. Instead, he clasps his hands behind his back, and the action makes his chest jut forward. The motion draws your attention to the middle of his uniform, where a circular golden emblem rests so proudly. Your eyes begin to drift down to the aureate cords that dangle out of a silky sash tightly knotted around his tapered waist. His uniform is smeared with what looks like a mixture of fresh blood and dirt, which implies he’d just come out of a battle, but it doesn’t stop him from looking absolutely regal. For a moment, you wonder if he actually is royalty.

Whoever he is though, the atmosphere in the tent had shifted ever since he had walked in.

The barely conscious soldiers are now alert, gazing at the man with emotional looks on their tired faces. You recognize hope, admiration and faith. Even all of the healers had stopped what they were doing, bowing down with respect.

The man raises his eyebrows. “For the love of Sahn, stand up,” he sighs. “There’s no need to bow in my presence. I’m not your king.” His voice is surprisingly quiet, his tone soft like silk but also low and melodious. It’s not something you would’ve expected from his demeanor. But the healers obey him immediately, straightening their backs, and though they’re not bowed anymore, you can still see how much they respect this man. All sorts of murmurs, cries of pain have dwindled down to silence just to listen to his next words. He raises a hand. “We have men and women out there who are severely injured. Make room for them. Clear out the cots, call extra healers on duty. We need everyone we can get. You have two minutes. I’m warning you in advance.” He pauses for a second, eyes surveying everyone in the tent. For a moment, you think your eyes are going to meet, but just before they can, he turns swiftly and walks out of the tent.

“Two minutes!” a healer yells.

“Can someone get me some water around here?”

“Help me make some space, please!”

“For Sooht’s sake, get the extra bandages!”

“Do you think it was a bad one?”

“It must be. General’s bleeding.”

“I hope he lets us treat that.”

“You know, he refuses any sort of treatment until the last soldier’s gotten treated.”

The last healer had been Namjoon. After listening to him talk for nearly three hours, you’d be surprised if you couldn’t identify his voice. “The last few battles have been pretty bad,” he says.

“I’m not sure how much more our soldiers can take,” a healer replies.

“I’m not sure how much more we can take,” another says. There are nods of agreement but no one answers verbally.

It’s chaos after that.

The General with his jet black hair storms in again, carrying a passed-out soldier on each shoulder. A slew of others rush in after him, all lugging injured soldiers over their backs. It doesn’t stop.

The General barks orders. Your eyes follow him everywhere as he makes his rounds around the tent, assisting the healers who call for help. He’s the beacon of light for dying soldiers, and they request to see him in their last, declining breaths.

“Thank you,” he tells them, clasping their hands—or what’s left of them. “Thank you so much.” He waits by their side until the lights dim from their eyes, until their head grows limp and their breaths cease.

Most of the time, though, he’s demanding.

“You! You there, she’s vomiting blood—do something!”

“What in Sooht’s name are you waiting for??? Someone’s life is on the line!”

“Make room for more! Kindly shove over, she’s holding boiling water!”

“Quicken the pace! We don’t have all day!”

The smell of blood stings your nose again. But nothing breaks your focus on the Solarian General. As intimidating as he is, he’s got a fascinating aura—the kind where you can’t possibly look away. But maybe you should have minded your own business.

His sharp eyes meet yours.

The black dots of his pupils narrow, and the blood caked around his left eye makes him look more menacing than you’d like to see from your superior. Until you realize it isn’t the blood that makes you feel uncomfortable. It’s his deep glare.

Oh. Oh, shit. He’s glaring at you.

Within seconds, he marches up by your cot, never breaking eye contact. He seems to be sizing you up, looking up and down at your disheveled figure. It’s a little embarrassing. Both of you had fought in the war, but how does he retain his elegance and you cannot? How can he stare at you with so much contempt when you’ve bled your own blood fighting for him?

With his thin lips drawn into a tight line, it hits you that he might just never strike a conversation. But then he opens his mouth and speaks a line you never expected to come out of his mouth.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

His voice is quiet, and if you hadn’t been staring straight at him, you wouldn’t even have heard him. But he uses a dangerously soft voice. A voice that closely resembles a toxic viper warning his unfortunate victim before making a lethal strike.

I haven’t seen you before either, you want to say. But your throat becomes dry as sandpaper, so you opt to stay silent, cocking your head and watching his expression shift from puzzlement to suspicion.

“G-General,” a healer stutters awkwardly, diffusing the taught tension that had roped your necks together. “S-Sir—” He points at the trail of blood running from over the General’s eye down to the collar of his scarlet uniform. The single droplet blends in with his fabric, disappearing under the seams—the only proof of its existence is the red line it’d left behind. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yes, I know that,” he replies curtly. “I assure you that I’m fine. Her on the other hand…” His eyes narrow even more. “State your name, homesector and your mediums, soldier,” he barks.

Why hasn’t he seen you before? Does he expect to remember all of his soldiers? Why is he singling you out?

“Y/N, sir,” you say, swallowing a growing lump in your throat. “That’s about all I know, though… sir.”

He scowls. “What in Sooht’s name do you mean, that’s about all you know?”

“I lost my memories, sir.”

A pause.

“Bullshit.”

“S-Sir?” Your eyes widen as the General leans in, searching your face for clues. He must think you’re hiding something. He’s suspicious. But who does he think you are? And how can you answer when you don’t even know?

He gives you no warning when his fingers grab the collar of your uniform, lifting you up from your seat. You wince in pain, eyes squeezing shut momentarily.

“You’re lying,” he says. His voice is lower than before. “Tell the truth now and I may allow mercy.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

The General drops his hold on you, and you fall back on the cot, grimacing. On cue, two grim-faced soldiers show up behind him—how the General called them over, you have no idea. “Very well,” he says. He doesn’t turn away from you, but it’s obvious his next words are directed towards his two soldiers. “We’re taking her to the interrogation room.”

Interrogation room? What have you done wrong? What are they going to do to you? Did you commit a crime and lose all your memories about it?

It feels like daggers are ripping through your insides as the soldiers drag you away from your cot. In fact, you swear you hear a rip at your sides. You feel it, too. Your eyes sting with tears, but your throat is so dry that it’s difficult to make any noise. Instead, you bite down on your tongue hard—so much so that you taste the iron. And just when you think you’re about to pass out from the tortuous pain, a familiar voice cries:

“S-Stop!”

The soldiers halt. You’re given a moment’s rest. Your lips let out shivering breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your ears, your head whirling from the lack of oxygen.

“Namjoon,” the General says. “Try not to make a scene. I’ll be back quickly.”

“Sir, she’s in pain!” Namjoon’s jaw is slack, eyes wide open in horror. “She’s hurt! Where are you taking her? She needs to rest!”

“She’s a spy,” the General replies. “We have to question her to see what she knows.”

“Me?” the word tumbles out of you before you can stop it. Your world seems to shatter. All this time, you’d built a fantasy that you were, indeed, a Solarian soldier. That this was your land, your nation that you were fighting for. It never occurred to you that you would be otherwise. But hell, even if you were a Darlaean spy, how the hell would you know?

“I remember every soldier who has graced their presence in my army. I know a fake when I see one,” the General says.

“But sir, you ripped her stitches!” Namjoon exclaims, pointing at the blossoming red blood on the bandages around your stomach. Ah, that must be where your pain was coming from. “Sir, I don’t mean to object, but she’s human before anything else.”

“The Darlaeans don’t treat us as humans, so why should we treat them as such?”

“With all due respect, sir, she lost her memories.”

“And how do you know she isn’t bluffing?”

“I just—”

“Sir, I couldn’t detect it,” the soldier who had held onto you says with an obscene amount of duty.

“Detect what?” Namjoon asks, visibly and audibly distressed.

“You couldn’t?” The General pauses for just a moment. You can almost see the calculations flying through his head. “Did you double-check?” he asks the other soldier. She nods. He whips around to glare at you. “This one could be dangerous. They’ve never done something like this before.” His stare deepens. “Lost memories.” He scoffs. “Fucking bullshit. I don’t have time for this.”

“Sir, if there’s no evidence that she’s a spy, then she must be innocent,” Namjoon pleads. “Oh, dear, her stitches…” He tries to reach out for you but freezes when his General begins to speak.

“Namjoon, you’re too kind,” the General tells the healer. “This is war. People would do anything to win. Darlaeans would do anything to win.” He looks at you with scrutiny again. “You’re not a talker, are you? Perfect for flying under the radar. I don’t think you’re faking the pain, though. Self-inflicted, perhaps…” he trails off, eyebrows furrowing as he thinks. Then, his charcoal eyes scan your own—meticulously—as if your eyes hold the key to all of your deepest, darkest secrets. It feels like some twisted staring contest; one wrong move and you’ll be sentenced to doom. But while your eyes begin to water, the General’s remain dark and focused. You try to occupy yourself with something else—anything else to keep you from blinking. In your head, you trace the curve of his lash line, delineate the sharp curve of his inner corner, count his long lashes, feel lost in the swirling black pools of his pupils… The insides of your mouth suddenly become very dry.

Finally, finally, though, the General blinks and steps back, clearing his throat. Did he see something that you missed? Something that tells him that he can trust you momentarily? “Keep an eye out on her.” His two soldiers nod resolutely. “If she really did lose her memories, we’ll proceed with the necessary actions once she gets them back.”

You don’t know what to say. Or do for that matter. But you feel like you need to say something. Something to alleviate the tension. Something to prove that you’re innocent. “I’m… I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to raise suspicion.” You mean it. There’s a part of you that wants to scream how unfair it was for the General to cause you so much pain—just because he couldn’t remember your face. But another part of you understands him. It’s a war. People cheat, lie and trick. He’s just looking out for his own soldiers—that’s his job as the General. He’d rather be safe than sorry.

The General raises his eyebrows at your words. You’re not sure if you imagined it, but you think his hard eyes soften ever so slightly. And for a moment, he’s silent, as if he’s fighting between accepting your apology or rejecting it. He does the latter, however. “An apology won’t help anything.” A pause. He clears his throat. “However, I do apologize.” Your eyes widen. “You’ll have to bandage her up again, Namjoon. I know how busy you are, and I’ll trust your perception of her for the time being.” You deflate. He’d apologized to your healer; the fact that you thought otherwise is somewhat humiliating.

He glares at you one more time, daring you to try anything. The General doesn’t need to speak for you to feel threatened. His piercing gaze alone chills you to the core. “Get her back to her cot,” he orders his two soldiers before he turns and swiftly walks away. You stare at his backside, intrigued and a little frightened by his demeanor.

Namjoon lets out a deep sigh once you’re comfortably situated on your cot again, wounds cleaned and restitched. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

And this time, you have an answer other than ‘I don’t know.’

“Just a tad bit terrified.”

Namjoon snorts. “I meant physically, but emotionally’s great too. Don’t worry, though,” he says. “I know that the General can come off as an intimidating man. But he’s fair.”

Fair? He tried to march you off—open stitches and all—to interrogate you with little to no evidence that you were in the wrong. Is that really being fair?

On second thought, however, he’d spared you a chance. The General didn’t have to listen to Namjoon, but he did. He chose to heed the healer’s suggestion when he had the authority to do what he wanted to do. So you suppose he is fair. Or at least somewhat sympathetic.

“He’s been overworking himself, you know? He’s a medium for all four elements, so he’s got a lot of pressure to perform four times the number of tasks that others do. Plus, he’s the General. All eyes are on him,” Namjoon explains. “Though I’m not exactly saying sacrificing your health for the sake of interrogation was a good call… But then again, I don’t think he’s slept for three days, so we should maybe possibly excuse him if his judgment is skewed.”

“No, no, I really don’t have anything against the General,” you say. “I know where he’s coming from. It just… it bothers me that he didn’t recognize me.” Did you really have that little of an impact in the army that the General who remembers everyone can’t recall your face? It feels horrible to wake up, memoryless, and not have anyone claim that they know you. In fact, they can’t even recognize you—as if you turned up in this camp overnight and didn’t previously give up your life for your nation. What if you never meant anything to anyone around here?

“Don’t take it personally.” Namjoon places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “He could’ve easily missed you in the crowd. Maybe he accidentally skipped over your papers. He’s just tired and was being hyper-aware. That’s what fighting does to a person. Makes them suspicious of every little thing.”

“…Yeah.”

“The General’s very merciful to his soldiers,” Namjoon says. “But he does take a while to warm up to people. I remember when I first met him, I thought he hated me. He’d give me some particularly unwelcoming side-eyes, and I always thought I’d get kicked out of here because of it. Turns out he tends to give everyone the side-eye. You know, he even privately told me that he likes that I can personally connect with the soldiers who I take care of.

“He’s a good man, our General.” The healer looks proud, smiling wistfully. The memories keep him in a trance. For a moment, he looks lost in the depths of his past, eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly.

A pang of jealousy resonates within you. It’s a greedy feeling, tumbling out and reaching to grab at memories that aren’t yours to keep. The feeling grows, gnarling inside of the pits of your stomach and threatening to burst out of your throat. Yet one look at the kind healer with his soft eyes and gentle smile and it dissipates.

“Yeah… He must be.”

Joon’s memories are his to keep, and yours should come in time. One look at the kind man with his even kinder eyes makes you feel guilty that you ever felt jealous in the first place.

“Well, you should sleep, dear.” He smiles at you. “Your eyes are drooping.”

He’s not wrong. A strange tiredness suddenly washes over you—a fatigue you’d been ignoring since the moment you woke up, really. The heaviness spreads through your aching body, up to your throbbing head. And the last thing you see before your eyes flutter shut is red.

But red is your home now.

⨰ series m.list | next

⨰ a/n: thank you for reading the very first chapter of legends of darlaria! lod has been a series i've been plotting since november 1st 2020, and to finally see it being posted... it really does feel like a dream come true. i hope you enjoyed it! (and what's to come,,,)

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' initial impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

⨰ taglist: @shrimpmsg @chimchiekookie @eternita3

[keilemlucent]

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧  (minors do not interact) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating, 

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside. 

It is easier this way. 

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.  

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe. 

Acid stings your throat for hours. 

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.) 

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

 (You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

 You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

 Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward! 

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips. 

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks. 

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting. 

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom. 

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

 You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

I know everyone likes the "secretly good villain whumpee..." but what about when the villain was a rat- bastard with very few redeeming qualities... just being injured and sick and oh so broken. Just begging for mercy, even though they were so arrogant and vicious before.

I melt at those scenarios.

I agree with that. If the villain is secretly good, you might as well call him or her a hero- or at least a vigilante.

Vicious and Bloody

Warnings: gorey(?) description of injuries, maggots, blood, vomit, mention of people dying, pus, field medicine, bathing, vomit, sleep deprivation, pills (tylenol and ibuprofen), attempted murder, implied past torture, hallucinations, fever, delirium

~

There was no rational answer for the scene in front of her. Not even the greastest minds in history could comprehend it- figuratively speaking. It was just so peculiar, odd and out of place, that it was like from a different dimension.

The said scene would be absolutely mortifying to the squeamish soul. Between the blood and the vomit and the maggots, the sight was more than revolting.

But still, ignoring her instincts to gag and run, Civilian crouched down next to the poor man- not touching, of course, it would only irritate his injuries further and be disgusting on many levels.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Civilian asked the man softly, brushing back the part of his grimey hair that wasn't intoxicated by maggots or too much blood.

But in doing that, she realized that the man wasn't even conscious. Which, was not surprising and brought a small relief to the nervous civilian.

But it also revealed his identity. Even without the foreboding mask, his features unmistakably were those of the most feared and vile human of the city.

Villain.

"If you ever see Villain, call the heroes. If he so happens to be incapacitated, kill him or injure him further to limit his ability of escape or to destroy."

That mandatory lesson rang through Civilian's ears nearly as loud as semi's horn. It was every civilian's responsibility- whether they were a certified hero or not- to hand it or dispose of any being against the government.

Especially Villain.

Especially without any doubt Villain.

Civilian sighed and observed the injured man's face. It was her responsibility to do this, the city would thank her, applaud her.

She brought her hands to Villain's neck and squeezed. His breaths hitched, but he didn't wake, not even to the sensation of suffocation. Civilian squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing to rid her mind of the horrendous sight of his already crimson stained face growing even redder... his lips paling then morphing into a grayish blue...

Civilian gasped, drawing her hands away from his neck. The villain's eyes shot open as he tried to fill his lungs, but as he heaved and wheezed, they kept rolling up and sliding closed.

"Hey!" Civilian exclaimed, tapping his shoulder. Villain's eyes shot open and he looked at Civilian with an expression filled with the unthinkable.

Fear.

Villain's lip trembled as he tried his hardest to scoot away. He whimpered something unintelligently and weakly held up a hand as if to protect himself from futher harm- as if the shaking limb could do anything other than wave aimlessly in the air.

Upon coming to the conclusion that escape was impossible, the villain resumed a position of pointless mewling.

"Don't hurt me," he whined, tears streaming down his cheeks, making the small cuts sting and itch. "D-don't hurt me. I've been bad, please don't remind me. P-please." He shifted his head into his elbow and sobbed.

Civilian didn't know what to do with the scenario, so she just allowed him to cry until he was too exhausted to do anything other than whimper pained pleas.

When his eyes started to droop, Civilian wrapped her arms around his upper body and heaved him into a sitting position- somewhat shocked of how limp and pliable he was.

Then she stopped. What was she doing? Villain was the most notoriously evil person in the city, if not the universe. He killed hundreds, thousands even including men, women, and children. He was undeserving of any level of comfort, whether that be love, care, or compassion.

Yet someone had to be worse than him to put him in such a nasty condition.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, clinging to Civilian's shirt with all his might- as little as that was.

"I won't," Civilian promised, smiling down at the injured villain. The villain sighed and closed his eyes.

She had to help him now. It would be practically illegal to turn him in, or harm him even further. Well, metaphorically speaking.

Civilian dragged Villain into her house. Luckily, she owned a one-story, so bringing him to the bathroom was not too big of a deal- apart from the exertion on her slender arms, that was.

Immediately, Civilian stripped off the remains of his tattered clothing and sat him in the tub. Gingerly, she washed out the infection wounds, making sure all the maggots were gone.

After thirty minutes, she only finished the lower half of his body and his back and shoulders were much, much worse. It took another hour to get done with those.

Civilian took a second to catch her breath, she didn't realize how diligently she was working. The villain was completely clean, other than countless uneven holes that looked like someone grabbed his skin and pulled it out.

The next line of business was whether or not to give him stitches. Many of the remainding wounds were heavily infected and would benefit from being dried out.

Many of those infected wounds needed to be drained and removed.

Civilian sighed, thinking of her nursing classes. She had school tomorrow...

Someone was dying.

Someone with the name of Villain.

Civilian ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She ran in through the sharpener a couple times before heating it on the stove to remove bacteria. Here goes...

Civilian cut into one of the infected abscesses and carefully drained the pus out. She sighed and wiped her hands on a papertowel. She should really be wearing gloves...

Villain jerked, suddenly awakening with a shriek. His eyes saw the knife and he froze, staring at it for a long time, before erupting into unstoppable sobs.

"Don't hurt me! P-p-please don't... knife," he wailed, trying to curl into himself.

"Stop it," Civilian tried to reason, clenching her teeth, as she pulled Villain away from himself. He started to rock, back and forth... back and forth... back and-

"Hurts," he whimpered.

"I know," Civilian whispered, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm trying to help."

"No. Pain."

"No pain?" Civilian repeated, trying to make sense of what Villain's intent of the statically said statement.

"No pain," he murmured, resting his head against the tub. "Take away."

"I don't have anything for the pain," Civilian told him softly. "Some nyquil, but I'd rather give you tylenol for the fever."

Villain looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Please," he begged..

"It's just gonna make you tired, not take away the full extent of the pain."

Villain let out a strained sob and kicked out with his feet. Pouting in the most pitiful way.

"Just," Civilian sighed. "Just. It's gonna hurt."

Civilian leveled the knife to another wound and drained it. Villain writhed in the beginning, but stopped when he realized his fate.

By the time each major abscess was drained, Villain was barely conscious, his head lolling groggily against the bath tub. Civilian gulped. She would have to disinfect the wounds now, but she didn't have anything for it...

Salt water, a saline solution.

Villain's screams did not leave Civilian's memory for a while, even when he was finally asleep on the couch. Civilian aimlessly rubbed his hand, whispering to him as he slept, but it all felt wrong. So, so wrong. All the people he hurt never got the same level of care that he was receiving- as if they had any at all.

But at the same time, it felt right. None of Villain's victim's injuries were as extreme as his- they either died or went to the hospital. Whoever tortured Villain wanted him to suffer, not that Villain wanted people to not suffer...

Crap, this was confusing herself.

Civilian cared for Villain throughout the night. The open textbook on her kitchen table did not even remind her of her class in the morning. Nothing could, especially when someone so sick seeked her hospitality.

Villain's fever raged and he was fed more and more tylenol. Eventually, she started to put ice packs around his neck and major arteries, but he was still so, so miserable.

He started to hallucinate. Sometimes whimpering about a bat flying around his head, or laughing giddily. But one of these episodes really stood out to Civilian.

"Curve, curve," he muttered as his cheek rested against the mattress- for some reason he kept flipping himself to his stomach. "Fall."

"Then cave." The delirious, but intense gaze the villain had made Civilian wonder if he was trying to tell her something in his fevered state.

"Man hurt."

Civilian shushed Villain and gave him a quick sip of water with an ibuprofen tablet. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, scratching at the sheets. "Please."

"I won't, sleep."

Villain slowly, oh so slowly nodded as he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

Civilian took care of Villain as best as she could. She really needed to get supplies, but it was dangerous to leave the villain unattended as sick and injured as he was. Infection set in agai, fever rose...

Civilian groaned and rubbed her head. She had a horrible headache from stress and lack of sleep.

Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt...

When Civilian woke up, seven hours later, she found Villain shivering on the ground with vomit all over him.

"Dangit," Civilian groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Just dangit.

[sugawaraxo]

safe place

warnings: reader comes from an abusive household. will include both physical and verbal abuse.

characters: tadashi yamaguchi, satori tendou, tobio kageyama, tetsuro kuroo

request: hii!! can i request scenarios with yamaguchi, tendou, kageyama, kuroo (and maybe akaashi 🥺👉👈) with a crush on a girl who comes from an abusive household and how they would confess/help her? thank you sm🥺💗

an: i’ve been writing so much smut lately that writing fluff felt weird bahaha, but i hope you enjoy it! :)

yamaguchi

- there has been a dramatic shift in your personality since tadashi first met you

- and he notices it instantly

- though you pretend to be, you’re no longer the cheerful and bubbly y/n you once were

- and yamaguchi hates seeing you this way 

- so he debates whether he should bring it up for a long while, not knowing exactly what to say

- but when you show up to his house one day, shaking harshly with tears pooling down your face

- he knows something’s terribly wrong

“hi y/n.” tadashi says with a big grin as finally he opens his front door after hearing his doorbell ring a couple times. that smile quickly drops and forms into an expression rich with concern. his eyebrows furrow and his eyes widen as he takes in your appearance. you’re shaking violently and breathing heavily. your eyes are bloodshot from all of the tears that are quickly rushing down your face, dripping silently onto the concrete of yamaguchi’s front step as you avoid eye contact with him. you’re not quite sure why, but you’re embarrassed about crying in front of him. so your eyes stay locked on the bland grey of the concrete ground beneath you as you wait for tadashi to say something. 

“c-come in. it’s super cold, you can tell me what’s wrong inside.” he says sweetly, reaching out a hand for you to grab. he leads you into the kitchen, watching as you take a seat on the counter. then he grabs a kettle from the stove, pouring you a cup of tea with the water he was boiling before you had shown up on his doorstep. you two remain silent as he does so, neither of you being quite sure of what to say in this moment. so you let the stale silence consume you, only the delicate sounds of yamaguchi pouring the cups of tea filling your ears. once he’s done preparing your tea the way he knows you like it, he walks over to your spot on the counter and hands you the mug.

“careful, it’s really hot.” he informs and you smile softly at his concern. you take a small sip of the tea after blowing it to cool it a bit, sighing at how warm it makes you feel. tadashi always makes it so perfectly for you and you can’t help but feel extremely safe in this moment as he stands next to you silently, though his eyes are asking for an explanation. 

“my mom yelled at me again, but it was worse this time.” you sigh, tears starting to sting your eyes again at the recollection of your previous screaming match with your mother. 

“about what this time?” yamaguchi asks, locking his eyes with yours. his demeanor is soft but his gaze is harsh and you can tell he’s upset that this is happening again. 

“all i did is forget to wash the dishes and it led to her screaming at me that i’m a lazy, good for nothing piece of shit who leeches off of her for food and shelter. basically the usual spiel of how i’m useless and just take up space. how she wishes she never had me because then she’d have one less problem to worry about.” you explain, attempting to choke back the sob forming in your throat. you don’t notice since your eyes are focused on the mug in your hands, but yamaguchi’s own orbs are brimmed with tears. he sets his mug down on the counter beside you and moves between your legs so that he could be as close to you as possible.

“hey, look at me.” he says, but you refuse. you hate having him see you like this. it’s only happened once before and you swore it wouldn’t happen again but here you are, sitting on his kitchen counter while forcing yourself not to break down in front of him. after you disregard his request, he takes matters into his own hands. 

he cups the sides of your face timidly with both of his hands, them still being warm from holding his mug. he lifts your head so that your eyes meet his and you feel your heart flutter a bit. you notice the tears that have yet to leave his eyes, resting there but threatening to spill over at any second. instinctively, you reach up to wipe the tears away as you see them finally fall and he smiles a weak smile at you.

“you’re not useless y/n.” he starts “you are so, so special whether your mom sees that or not. i truly hate that she doesn’t. because if she could even just see a fraction of the most mesmerizing sides of you that i get to see everyday, maybe she would change. or maybe she wouldn’t. despite what she thinks, i know how genuine and kind you are. i know how beautiful and selfless you are. you’re far from good for nothing, i hope you know that. and if you don’t, i’m more than willing to help you realize just how incredible you really are, because i love you. i love you a lot y/n, and i hate seeing you so upset. so i’ll do whatever i can to make it better. i promise.” yamaguchi confesses. tears are streaming down both of your faces at this point. this is everything you need to hear right now and then some, and you feel completely at ease with yamaguchi’s words.

“i love you too tadashi, thank you so much. god, i love you.” you coo before lightly grasping the back of his head and pulling him down for a kiss. your action catches him off guard at first, so he’s a bit timid in terms of kissing you back, but after a few seconds he catches the rhythm and kisses you softly.

“you can stay here if you want, for as long as you need.” he offers, giving you a shy smile.

“i’d love that.” you smile back. 

tendou

- you and tendou have a very playful friendship

- always play fighting or teasing each other and whatnot

- the typical ‘we like each other and everyone around us knows we like each other but we’re completely oblivious so we don’t know we like each other’ type friendship 

- one day the two of you are at tendou’s house at the kitchen table “studying” (which really means “fighting”) as per usual

- tendou playfully hits you very lightly, not even a toddler would have been fazed by the slight shove

- but you wince roughly at the touch

- and tendou gets suspicious

“i barely even touched you, what’s up?” tendou asks for what seems to you like the billionth time. 

“it’s nothing, i was messing around. just drop it.” you huff, growing annoyed at tendou’s persistence in finding out what the issue is.

“the look on your face was clearly not a joke y/n, tell me why it hurt so bad? what aren’t you telling me?” tendou pushes and you’ve just about reached your limit.

“i said it’s nothing so just please stop fucking asking, ok?” you snap, though in the process you lift your arms to cover your face in aggravation. the motion raises your shirt a bit, allowing tendou to catch a glimpse of the huge dark purple bruise spread across your ribs.

“y/n. what the hell happened? that looks terrible.” tendou whispers, the shock of what he has just seen revoking his ability to speak out loud. you catch his gaze locked on your stomach and quickly remove your hands from your face, not even realizing that the movement had lifted your shirt. your face flushes to a sickly shade, all life leaving your body as you realize you can’t lie your way out of this anymore. you have never in your life had someone look at you with as much concern as tendou is now looking at you with, his eyes scanning your face dumbfoundedly as he anticipates your answer to his question. you sigh heavily, mentally preparing yourself for the draining information you’re about to tell.

“well um. i got into a disagreement with my dad.” is all you can manage to get out. you planned on explaining more, but just bringing it up makes your stomach curdle with fear and you feel as though you’re about to vomit. tendou notices and rests a comforting hand on your thigh, rubbing it in small gentle motions.

“he hit you?” tendou asks softly, trying to better grasp the situation.

“well he was drunk and i had an attitude with him, so he got a little worked up and ended up pushing me over. i fell and hit my side on the kitchen table on my way down. but it was just an accident, it’s ok. i made him upset and he pushed me. i just lost my balance is all. it’s not his fault.” you find yourself trying to defend your father and you don’t even know why. you know him pushing you wasn’t an accident. you falling and hitting the table was, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that your father just grunted at you as he watched you sob on the floor in agonizing pain before going back to his previous spot on the couch and finishing off his glass of whiskey. but you don’t want to tell tendou that. 

“y/n no, that’s not ok.” tendou’s voice breaks and your heart breaks with it. “accident or not, no man should be putting their hands on you like that. better yet, your own father. is this the first time he’s done something like this?” tendou asks, attempting to keep his voice steady but failing.

you shake your head no and tendou sighs, shaking his head in dismay. 

“i need to get you out of that house y/n. i’ll figure something out.”

“no satori, it’s fine. i’m fine. i can hold my own.” you argue.

“i’m not denying that you can, but i’d feel like the most terrible human being on earth if i let you go back there and something else ends up happening to you. so you’re staying here. my parents and i will figure out a way to take care of any legal actions that need to be made, but until then you are staying here and i will not let you argue with that.” tendou states firmly. although his words are firm, you can see in his eyes that he’s hurting for you. you couldn’t argue with him even if you wanted and luckily, you don’t want to. 

“thank you tendou, that means more to me than you’ll ever know.” you say.

“you don’t need to thank me, i care about you too much to see you get hurt. i want you right here with me so i can know you’re ok.” he says, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. you melt at his sweet gesture, and suddenly feel like everything will actually be ok. 

kageyama

- kageyama is very attentive and tends to notice things about you that the typical outside viewer wouldn’t pick up on

- like the way you’ve been spacing out whenever he speaks to you

- or the way you flinch whenever someone slightly raises their voice around you

- the way your eyes look tired and lifeless lately, despite the huge smile you may be carrying on your face

- he has a hunch that he knows what’s going on, so he pulls you aside after his practice that you sat and watched while doing homework to talk 

“hey y/n, can i talk to you for a second?” kageyama asks as he walks to your spot in the stands. you frown up at him, not really sure what he would want to talk about, but you shrug with a quick ‘sure’ and let him lead you behind the gym. you frown again because this is where he takes you whenever he has something serious to tell you, or when either of you are having a really bad day and need to express your emotions in private.

“what’s up?” you ask curiously, searching his eyes for any sort of hint of what he’s about to say.

“that’s sort of what i want to ask you. what’s up with you lately? i mean, you’ve been pretty good at hiding it, but i can tell something’s going on with you and it’s not good. i just wanna make sure you’re ok.” he says softly. you contemplate telling him what’s been going on at home, his gentle expression seems so caring and genuine. it’s difficult for you not to just open up to him and let him in. but you’re scared of what he might think or how he may react, so you bow your head down to avoid eye contact and mutter,

“it’s nothing really. school has just been a bit stressful is all.”

“you’re lying.”

“what?” you ask, lifting your head to meet his gaze once more. to you, your performance was believable. but kageyama’s been your best friend for the past two years now so he’s become somewhat of a master in knowing whether you’re being honest with him or not.

“you’re lying. what’s really going on?” he asks. he’s looking down at you with his deep blue eyes drowning in concern. you can tell he won’t let you leave without hearing the genuine truth, so you decide it’s for the best not to lie anymore.

“my mom hit me the other day and we haven’t really talked since.” you explain sadly, tilting your head down again. kageyama sighs at your confession because his hunch is correct, and he hates that it is. “we were arguing as usual, but this time she umm, she got a bit too carried away.” you continue. kageyama physically feels his heart break for you. he’s always known how terrible your relationship with your mother was from his first few weeks of knowing you. you would constantly tell him all the awful words she spewed at you in the heat of your arguments, and he was always there to comfort and reassure you afterwards. but it was always verbal, never physical so he wasn’t quite sure if him stepping in to try and help would do any good or just make matters worse. but hearing that it’s now escalated to physical harm makes his stomach ache.

“i’m so sorry y/n, i should’ve helped when i first heard about how she was speaking to you. that should’ve been my first sign that something like this would happen. i feel terrible for not doing anything.” he let’s out, his head now bowing along with yours.

“hey.” you say in an almost whisper, lifting his head up by placing your finger underneath his chin. his tear glistened eyes meet yours and you can feel the guilt radiating from his body which makes your heart shatter. “none of this is any of your fault. you did help me, ok? you’re the only person i’ve ever even told any of this to and you have always been there to comfort me when i do. you’ll never realize how much that means to me tobio. i appreciate you so much.” you explain.

his eyes jump back and forth between yours as he absorbs everything you just said. then his eyes glance down to your lips and linger there for a moment. yours do the same to his, both of you mentally questioning whether or not you should just go for it. eventually the pressure of the moment pushes you two together and your lips graze tenderly. kageyama’s hands find their place on your hips as your arms wrap behind his neck instinctively. the kiss is sweet and filled with so many emotions. most importantly, it’s filled with love. a kiss that you both have been craving for so long yet never had the guts to pursue. and finally, you’re able to give in. after a few moments you pull away, flushed and flustered a bit yet completely content.

“you can stay at my place tonight. we can figure out how everything will play out once we get there.” kageyama says as more of a question than a statement. you just smile and kiss him again in response.

you’re slightly worried about what the future holds, but having kageyama by your side will forever ease your nerves.

kuroo

- though kuroo can be a bit of a tease sometimes, he’s also immensely caring for those that he loves

- you being one of the people that he loves beyond words

- though he hasn’t confessed it yet

- means he’s very protective of you and would do anything to keep you from getting hurt 

- he’s always been your rock, and you his 

- so when he finds out that your parents have been emotionally damaging you

- he gets fairly upset

“jesus, i look so disgusting.” you say in what you think is a joking manner while looking at yourself in kuroo’s closet mirror. but the way kuroo’s head snaps up from his phone to give you a glare, you can tell he didn’t take it as a joke. 

“why are you always talking about yourself like that?” he frowns.

“like what?” you respond dumbly, knowing exactly what he means but really not wanting to embark on your trauma right now.

“you’re always referring to yourself as if you’re the grossest thing in existence and it hurts me to hear you say those things. is there a reason why you feel like that?” he asks, sitting up straighter on the bed to get a better view of you in the mirror. you sigh and turn to face him, walking over to his bed and sitting on the edge of it. 

“yeah, i guess there is a reason.” you admit, looking down at your hands as you fidget with them.

“well, what’s the reason?” kuroo asks. you look up at him nervously. you told yourself that this is something you would always keep to yourself because you don’t want to bombard others with your issues. but there’s something about kuroo that makes it immensely difficult not to just tell him everything. maybe it’s the way he fully listens to you whenever you have something to say. it’s like nothing and no one else around him matters but you and whatever you have to tell him. he always makes you feel heard and validated. important. something you never get at home. 

“it’s just my parents i guess. no matter what i do, i’m never good enough for them. i’m always trying so hard to impress them, make them happy. but all i get in return is being yelled at and told how much of a disappointment i am. do you know how hard that is? being the best version of yourself that you can possibly be and still not being enough for the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally? it hurts so bad kuroo, and it makes me feel like i’m nothing. so that’s why i’m always talking about myself like that. because it’s how i see myself, as nothing.” you tear up. hot tears begin rolling down your face uncontrollably as soft sobs leave your body. kuroo completely softens at your words, moving closer to you so he can wipe your tears with the pad of his thumb. he pulls you closer to him, your head tucked into his chest while his large arms suffocate you in his warm embrace. 

“i’m so sorry y/n. words can be so damaging, especially coming from your own parents and i really wish you didn’t have to go through that. because now you don’t even see yourself the way you should see yourself. the way i see you.” kuroo says, trailing off a bit on the last line. “i think you are the most captivating person i have ever met and probably ever will meet. every time i’m around you i just can’t help but feel this sharp pang in my heart which i can only assume is love. because i feel it when you’re gone too. you’re unbelievably amazing y/n, and insanely beautiful too. please don’t let your parents destroy that for you, although i don’t think they ever could.” kuroo finishes. 

you lift your head from his chest and look into kuroo’s kind hazel eyes as he looks back at you, flashing a small smile. 

“that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me tetsu.” you smile “and i love you too.” you finish causing kuroo to immediately go red. he was somewhat hoping you would have forgotten or missed his accidental love bomb, but how could you? you’ve been waiting to say the words yourself for who knows how long, so your heart almost couldn’t take it when it slipped from kuroo’s lips. 

“thank god.” kuroo laughs lightly, “now what are we gonna do about your parents?” 

“completely forget about them?” you joke, though in the back of your mind you’re somewhat serious. 

“i was thinking confront them and put them in their place, but that works too.” kuroo chuckles before lightly grasping your chin and kissing you. you’ve never felt happier nor safer than you do in this exact moment. 

[ninyard]

Heeey what do you think was that made Kevin finally leave the nest?

I wrote like a 2k word fic-of-an-answer to this one my friend but I wasn’t vibing with it! So I’m starting again. But same thing as the last draft of this answer; I think about Kevin leaving the nest ALL THE TIME

~

(“Keep mouthing off like a pair of fucking frogs.” Riko spat in English to them both. When Jean shut the door, “Do you think you’re better than I am?”

“Your ego will kill you someday.” He looked Riko in the eye. “I think you care too much about other people’s success to make yourself look better. You’re building your Court,” Kevin swallowed hard, still trying to hold his head up, gravity failing him as he started to tremble. “But you think it’s just guaranteed you’ll be on it.”)

~

Mandatory CW for The Breaking Of A Hand and Kevin Has Nothing To Live For. See also: the foxes are foxes and their lives are Fucked Up (suicide mention, overdose mention, panic attacks & drug use)

Okay.

Let’s. Talk. About. Kevin.

Idk if I’m allowed to say that Kevin is an underrated character. I really don’t think I am. But if I was allowed to say that I WOULD. I am so very passionate about Kevin I would absolutely die for him and he’s not even real. So let’s talk about his hand.

Can you even begin to imagine what was going through Kevin’s head that night? It looked like practice, then The Master talking about potential, then Riko is mad, then pain and blood and how do I get out of here? Then is it worth it if my life is over?

I think there probably was a minute where Kevin sat alone, covered in his own blood, just thinking there was no point in being alive anymore. His playing hand didn’t really look like a hand anymore, his life and reputation and everything he had worked for just pumping out of his hand and staining his shirt. He didn’t remember passing out but when he came to Riko was gone, and his body was running on fumes trying to keep the pain from overwhelming his system. He probably threw up, all over the locker room, his blood trickling through the tiles, the echo of his own screams ringing through his ears like a non-stop siren. He probably couldn’t really see properly for a little bit and he probably couldn’t move for a while, either. Riko was a foot shorter than him, but he made up for that difference by channeling every ounce of anger and jealousy he felt for Kevin into his feet to stomp the shit out of Kevin’s hand until he knew he would never play again. Jean found Kevin not long later, maybe a couple minutes, or an hour. Kevin begged him to get Riko out of his room. Jean wrapped Kevin’s hand up as best he could, and promised him to deal with it as long as Kevin was there when he got back. Jean had figured he was a flight risk, and knew if Kevin left, Riko’s French personal punching bag would come in handy to take out all his egotistical frustration on. Kevin promised he’d be there when Jean came back. Jean came back to his jacket and wallet missing, a tiny scrap of paper left on the bed, an almost illegible ‘sorry’ scrawled across it. He burned it in the bathroom sink before Riko could find it.

So Kevin’s in his car, and he’s driving. He doesn’t know where yet, and man, is he a hazard. Twice on his journey he nearly knocked out behind the wheel, his head bobbing as the pain begged his body to sleep. He probably had to pull over a couple times to be sick, or to have a panic attack, or both. I know he went through the stages of grief on that drive to Virginia. He probably turned on his radio at some point and laughed, how ridiculous he looked, how dangerous it was to be driving one handed. It took him double the amount of time it would normally have because he just. Had to keep stopping. There’s no way he made that journey in a solid drive.

But also I think he probably didn’t have a plan before he was driving. He knew the Southeastern district were holding the Christmas banquet that night, but that was a secondary thought. His first worry was getting out of the nest. His second worry was whether he was going to kill himself or not. The reason he didn’t just do it? David. The thing that pulled Kevin back off that metaphorical ledge was Coach David Wymack. The only other people who knew about his moms letter were Tetsuji, Jean and Riko. Kevin knew well that none of them would be calling up to break the news to Wymack if he died, and David would grow old and die without ever having known that Kevin Day was his son. David was the reason he was risking everything on busy streets and highways and whatever roads he drove too fast or too slow on.

So, he’s in Virginia without a plan. He doesn’t know what hotel David’s in, if he’s even still in Virginia, if the foxes even bothered to show up. So he looks at as many hotels as he could find. He narrows down the list by looking at the ones he knew the Class I teams frequented, and he called the all pretending to be David, looking for his rooms number. After the fifth call he found it.

Think about Kevin’s anxiety in the elevator, hand throbbing, not profusely bleeding anymore, but every minute that passes is a percentage off the chances he has at keeping his hand and playing again. His heart is racing, his head heavy, every fibre in his being screaming.

David calls out a “Hold your fucking horses, give me a minute!” when Kevin knocks on his door a second time after his first knock received no answer. David opens the door with Abby just behind him, and his face falls so quickly it could’ve hit the floor.

“Kevin.” He looks him up and down, not yet noticing the t-shirt covered in blood he had wrapped around his hand. “Kevin Day. Mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Abby pushes past him to unwrap Kevin’s hand. It must be some nurses instinct, to be instantly drawn to looking for an injury on a person. Kevin pulled it back as gently as he could, looking up and down the hall before asking so quietly it almost couldn’t be heard. “Can I come in?”

David makes small talk with Kevin as he shuts the hotel door behind him. What would he say? What could he possibly say to superstar Kevin Day, who he’d only officially met as a baby, when his mother was alive and he wasn’t destined for Court? He probably tried to make meaningless, awkward small talk until Abby shut him up to ask Kevin what happened. He just started to cry. Small whimpers into chesty, heaving, heavy cries, his body teetering on the edge of a panic attack. David had seen his foxes in bad ways before. He’d seen one of his kids convulsing on a stretcher after an accidental overdose, or a fox who’d choked on their own vomit after an intentional one. He’d seen his foxes in their worst moments, panic attacks and withdrawals, anger and sadness, pulling their hair out and on the brink of death. Something about this was the same but different. When Seth first overdosed on the team it was a cry for help, or when Janie admitted herself to the psych ward for a week, it was because she wanted to try. When Damien asked for a second, and third, and fourth chance David gave it to him because that was what Foxes deserved. It took him a moment of watching Kevin heave, snot and spit running down his chin, his hair falling over his face, his body shaking with anxiety, to remember that Kevin wasn’t a fox. Kevin was a Raven, and by god, that was so much worse.

I think we all know that Abby cares for her foxes like she’s their mother, but Kevin is just different. Abby had been seeing David long enough to know how much Kayleigh Day had really meant to him, and how much it hurt to watch Kevin do her proud. Now Kevin was sitting in front of her, his hand practically lifeless, his heart pouring out of every place it could. She tried not to look at David’s face as he paced the room, watching her patch up Kevin’s hand as best she could. Kevin only started to calm down when she handed him a bottle of Diazepam and some water.

And then Kevin whispers that Riko did it. David almost didn’t hear him. He nearly asked for him to repeat it until it hit him. Riko did it. Riko smashed the hand of his number two so badly it would take a long time for him to play again, if he even wanted to. Abby sent him a deathly glare when he mumbled to himself; “I’ll kill that little jumped up piece of shit”.

The rest is history; Kevin passes out not long after, David carries him to the bus, and they drive to the stadium to pick up the foxes. Kevin sleeps the rest of the way until the sun is starting to rise and they’re back in South Carolina. Kevin doesn’t stop crying on and off again for a couple days, and Abby had to hold him back from escaping more than once. After watching his anxiety consume him, and when he told her none of the Ravens were allowed to be medicated in any manner, she got him a script for some quick-acting anxiety meds for him to keep. It took him a week of energy-sapping panic attacks before she could convince him to actually take them as he needed them.

David took out a loan five days after Kevin had arrived into his care. He called Edgar Allan on the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth day. By the ninth day Kevin was released from the grips of Ravens. By the tenth day they had started the process of making Kevin Day a fox. I suppose it’s for the best Riko fucked up his hand so badly, isn’t it? At least it gave him the ability to fit into the eligibility criteria for being a Fox. Welcome to the club, Kevin Day, and prepare to be gravely disappointed.

[luxwritesfanfic]

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.  

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.  

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”  

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.  

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.  

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.  

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”  

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.  

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”  

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.  

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now.  You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.  

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.  

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?  

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.  

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.  

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.  

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.  

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.  

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.  

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.  

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.  

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.  

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”  

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.  

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.  

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.  

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.  

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

[sailors-diary-for-elise]

Reaching Out

SEE! SOMETHING OTHER THAN SMUT. Also this one is old and a bit dusty, sooooo warnings are gonna be to the best of my ability. ALSO. THIS IS ANGST AND HAS TRIGGERING THEMES. PLEASE SCROLL PAST IF THE WARNINGS ARE DISTRESSING TO YOU. I wrote this during a really difficult day and was just word vomiting tbh. I am also gonna state that this is a work of fiction and I am in no way a therapist or anything, so if something here bothers you I’m sorry this is just something I wrote mostly for myself.

Warnings: god this is painful but here we go. Reader is depressed and has anxiety, mentions of self-inflicted injuries (she punches a mirror...repeatedly-), blood, panic attacks, it takes a few of the members to restrain the reader so if you’re uncomfortable with that please don’t read this, this is honestly just a hard read imo so please read with care. Also, the reader hates herself and just doesn’t really think highly of herself at all sooooo yeah-

It was the fourth time this month. The fourth argument that could’ve and should’ve ended differently.

You’d come out of your room to find San off at practice or on some work related schedule, spend the entire day outside trying to break a horrible cycle in your mind, just to disappear again once he returned home. It was frustrating you both and causing a serious strain in your relationship.

On San’s side, he couldn’t understand why it was that you would fight against him trying to get you to come out of your room when you spent the entire day alone. Then there was his frustration when you would complain about never seeing him and yet would disappear and avoid him when he was available. To San, it didn’t make any sense. All he wanted to do was spend time with you and support you, but it seemed as though you were determined to shut him out. He watches you storm off to your bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he tries to recall the last time he’d come back from a schedule and had a nice quiet evening that didn’t end in you both screaming at each other. When he can’t, San grabs his jacket and walks out of the apartment with his phone and keys, planning on spending the night at the dorms so that you can have some space to cool off. Once he gets in his car, he quickly dials Hongjoong’s number, pulling out of the parking garage of your complex and letting out all of his frustrations and concerns. 

As he drove, San had no way of knowing how much you hated yourself for what was happening between you both.

What San didn’t know was that your depression and anxiety had been spiraling lately due to the pressure that had been placed on your shoulders from not only your work but from being the girlfriend of an idol that had become so famous. He didn’t know that every day you were terrified that, now that his future was so bright and secure, he’d no longer want you. That he’d leave you just like so many before had done, and that he’d realize you were no longer something of use to him. And finally, how you criticize every minute of your life, finding ways that you are failing even when you’ve done nothing but your best. It came to the point that waking up from dreams was physically painful, because you could control a dream and guarantee the people you love never turned their backs on you. San didn’t, or rather, couldn’t know this. Because to know this would mean you would have to tell him. And no one should have to bear this burden but you, and there was always that small part of you that was terrified of having your feelings invalidated. 

Your whole life people have toyed with you, accepting your depression only when it was convenient to them and berating you once the curtains fall. Some even went as far as to weaponize your emotions, tearing you down in an argument with something that was the equivalent to the beating heart in your chest. Yes they would apologize and you would eventually forgive them because people make mistakes. But the thing about words is that once they leave someone’s mouth, the damage is already done and there’s no amount of remorse or forgiveness that can repair it. That’s where you are now.

You slam the door shut, leaving all the lights in your room turned off, your head pounding after the screaming match you and San had just finished (rather, you ran out on and barricaded the door so he wouldn’t see you cry) and your face stained with tears. Not a sound left you as you curled up on the bed, biting your fist as a punishment for your body's betrayal of emotions. All it would take was one minute of silence and the entire apartment would be able to hear how you were feeling. In all honesty, you didn’t want San to see you cry. Because in your mind, you didn’t deserve to cry. You were the one who picked a fight. You're the one who made unfair accusations, using his career and passions as weapons against him. You were the one that hurt him in the same ways that had been done to you, falsely claiming that it was to “beat him to it and strike first.” 

The front door slams shut, and you work quickly. You unbarricade the door and peek out, making sure no one is there. Dashing across the living space, you reach the spare bedroom and lock the door, not seeing the need for such extreme measures as earlier. You then sit with your back to the door, listening for the sign of San’s safe return from the store. Your butt has just about gone numb when this occurs, the front door shutting softly alerting you instantly. You rise from your position, albeit a little slowly due to your cramped muscles, and shuffle to the bed. A knock sounds, and a decision has to be made.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake. Can you come to bed? You and I both know that neither of us can sleep alone anymore.” San mumbles through the door. You hear shuffling, and you hold your breath thinking he might unlock the door. You’re not sure though, whether you’re holding your breath in hope or fear. But all you hear is a thud, indicating San sitting down. “Look, we don’t have to talk. You don’t even need to look at me, it just feels better for both of us if I’m holding you through the night, because at the end of the day, we still love each other, right?” 

San’s cheeks are marked with tear streaks, eyes red and puffy as he waits for any sign of confirmation from you. He loves you more than anything else, so much so that he’d give up everything for you, and needed to hear that you still loved him as well. He holds his breath, hands covering his face while he waits for you to show him a sign that you’re even listening. That you’re even there. 

You tip-toe over to the door, gently crouching down in front of it and rest your fingertips lightly on the wood, near where his shoulder is supposed to be. It’s cold and unyielding, but this is the bravest you’ll ever be. You hear a sigh on the other side, almost as if he can sense your presence.

“You know, you don’t have to keep it all in. From the first moment I saw you, I knew that there was so much going on in your life that it’d take time to get you to trust me. And I still want that. I want to know what’s going on in your life again. I want to hold you as you're crying again. And I want to repay you for all the times you’ve helped me.” San whispers, his voice showing how much of a toll this has taken on him. “I know a lot has changed, I travel a lot, and it’s harder for us to go anywhere without me being recognized. But I promise you that my feelings for you, the amount of love I feel for you, it’s all still there. If anything, I love you even more now than before. I don’t want to lose you Y/N. I want to keep fighting for us and I just need you to reach out to me, show me you want this too. Open the door, even if it’s just a crack, and let me help heal those open wounds. Yes there will be scars and yes it will take time, but I’m willing to wait.”

At this point you have tears streaming down your face as you withdraw your hand. You don’t move though, despite your broken mind willing you to do so, you stay rooted in your spot. Sniffles break through the other side, showing how much San is hurting. You feel as though there’s a war going on inside of you, your heart begging you to open the door and stop this madness, but your mind resolute on keeping this wall up. 

“I. Can’t.” you croak out, bringing your trembling hand to your lips and nibbling your thumbnail as you rise slowly. “They were right, I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Who told you that?” San questions, confusion swirling in his head as he struggles to better understand where this was coming from. Standing, San presses his hands to the door, trying to open it only to find it locked. “Love, talk to me.”

“All I’ve been doing is hurting you, and I’m sorry. ” You whimper, your mind screaming at you to shut-up and not give away anything while your heart, your very being, is begging to be set free and allow him back in. “I, I love you, San.” And with that you rise, walking towards the bathroom attached to the room. You close the door, locking it and turning to the mirror to see your disheveled state. Tears stain your cheeks, your eyes have bags under them, and your hair is greasy and a mess from the lack of effort on your part to take care of yourself. 

Thoughts swirl and distort your reflection, harsh words clouding your mind. Some of the words surface from your past, some are from deep within you stemming from your lack of forgiveness for yourself. You don’t deserve forgiveness or a second chance. You don’t deserve him caring for you. You’re toxic. You do nothing but hurt him. Toxic. Toxic. 

You start screaming, starting in your gut and ripping out through your mouth, scaring the shit out of San who begins pounding on the door. You hear him calling out to you, but it’s muffled in your head as you continue to sob and scream at your reflection, running your hands through your hair before tugging on it out of frustration. The longer you look at yourself, the worse the feeling in your gut gets as the harsh words continue to tear you apart, worsening with each passing moment. With one last scream you pull your arm back and punch the mirror, desperate to feel something other than the all consuming self-hatred. And it works.

There’s a crack on the mirror with droplets of blood in the center. You bring your trembling hand into view, noticing your knuckles slightly bloodied and cut. The pain replaces all of the noise in your head, if only for a moment, and you become entranced by it. Raising your fist again, you punch the mirror once, twice, three more times before stopping to look at your handy work. The crack has grown and your hand is bleeding steadily, a couple of pieces of glass stuck in your knuckles. You’re ashamed of what and who you’ve become and raise your fist again when the door breaks down.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” San shouts, restraining your flailing and screaming form as tears stream down your face. Four pairs of hands are pulling you out of the bathroom, with San’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he pulls you on the bed. He immediately starts shushing you, whispering into your hair as he wraps his legs around you as well, restricting you so the others can clean you up and call an ambulance if need be. At this point though, he doesn’t need to as you’ve gone completely limp, sobbing into his neck loudly as the emotions you’ve kept hidden flood out in a wave that swallows you whole. “Shh baby, it’s okay. We’re here now and we’re not leaving you. I’ve got you, we’ve got you. It’s okay, it’s okay.” His voice is trembling, absolutely terrified by what he’s just experienced. It’s lucky that Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa arrived when they did or he might have been too late, having planned on coming to help San piece back together your relationship. It took Yunho and Seonghwa to break down the doors, and all four of them carried you out of the bathroom so you wouldn’t hurt yourself or them.

Soon, you run out of energy and are left whimpering and quivering in San’s hold, slowly coming to your senses as you hear running water, hushed murmurs, and the cabinet mirror (or what’s left of it) being opened in search of something. When the realization sets in that San, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho have seen you at your worst, your chest tightens and your breathing becomes irregular which are the first signs of a panic attack. Something San was familiar with but hadn’t seen happen in some time.

“No no no no.” San repeats, noticing the changes in your behavior and looking towards the bathroom. “Hongjoong! It’s getting worse!”

Immediately, footsteps can be heard heading in your direction, and a gentle face appears in the corner of your eye. Hongjoong slowly reaches forward, grasping the hand that had begun curling in on itself to the point of almost drawing blood and pulling it away from your chest.

“Sweetie, grab my hand and squeeze that instead. You won’t hurt me, I swear.” Hongjoong whispers, slowly working his nimble fingers between your clenched ones. It comes as a surprise to him when, instead of resisting, your hand flies open into a rigid position. “Shh… it’s okay sweet-heart. How about this. Follow this.”

Your hand is placed on a firm and warm chest, a slight bump hitting your palm and drawing your attention to the pattern. It’s his heartbeat. Hongjoong’s pulse creates a rhythm in your head, distracting you from your fears and disdain towards yourself momentarily while Seonghwa and Yunho both return to the room, one holding medical supplies and the other holding a bowl with warm water and a towel. Crouching in front of you, Seonghwa notices the hand on Hongjoong’s chest is the one that’s injured, glancing at San who is fighting back tears as he strokes your hair.

“Y/n-ah. We have to clean your hand. Put your hand on San’s chest, follow his heartbeat.” Seonghwa says in a firm yet kind tone. At this point, you’ve lost almost all self-awareness, too exhausted to fight anyone as you nod partially, removing your hand from Hongjoong’s chest to place on San’s. “No sweetie. The other hand.” Seonghwa instructs, a heartbroken smile crossing his face at the sight of you behaving like a toddler who skipped their nap. You look confused, bringing your hand to your face to inspect it, finding the streaks of blood and bits of glass as a few tears trickle down your face. 

You’re not sure how long it takes for Seonghwa to properly clean your hands, or when you got changed into one of San’s shirts that fits like a dress, but as you’re lied down on the bed with San, who’s watching you intently to make sure any slight changes on your face are caught immediately, you find yourself in an almost numbed mind-frame. Too exhausted and confused to comprehend anything around you. 

Your eyes slowly close, the occasional tear slipping out only to be swiped gently away by San. San, the last thing you see before you fall into a dreamless sleep. And you are blissfully unaware of what’s to come in the morning.

As you snore softly in San’s grasp, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, Yunho leaves the room to clean up the mess that has been left behind with Seonghwa following closely behind, most likely to comfort the younger boy. Hongjoong reaches forward to brush hair out your eyes and slowly strokes your cheek. Who knew such a small body could take this much pain? he wonders to himself, not even beginning to understand what caused you to struggle so much and break down so devastatingly. And that’s the only way to describe your attack. Devastating.

Like a tsunami, you receded from social outings and even your true love San, and once they realized what was happening and why you’d “changed” the wave had already hit. But his main question was voiced by San.

“Hyung.” San rasps out, looking up at Hongjoong with tears streaming down his face. “Why-or how did this happen? What caused this? What are we-what am I supposed to do?” 

San’s breathing becomes labored, almost as if the weight of the situation has sat fully on his chest. He chokes on a sob, looking at you in your angelic state while pressing a gentle and wet kiss to the top of your head while crying. He clutches you to his chest, rocking slightly and burying his face in your head. Hongjoong panics, thinking he’ll wake you but settles once realizing how exhausted you must be. “Why would she keep this from me?”

“San-ah, I honestly don’t have the answer to that.” Hongjoong mumbles, holding his own tears back with a few deep breaths before looking at the pair of you. He honestly considered Ateez his family, and you became his little sister that he felt he needed to protect from the world. If only he’d realized sooner how much damage the world had already done to you. “But I do know one thing. Now more than ever, she needs us.”

San looks at his hyung and leader, absolutely wrecked from the storm of emotions that flowed between you two. “How?” he croaks out.

“I’m not sure. But what I do know is that the storm hasn’t gone and that this is only the beginning of our journey.” Hongjoong places a hand on your cheek and his other on San’s hand, squeezing slightly in hopes of reassuring the younger boy. “I see how much you need her San. And how much she needs you. She’s scared San. More so than any of us right now. Which is why we have to stay with her no matter what. No matter what she might say or do to scare us off, we have to fight through it all and show her we are here for her. Because if we don’t.” Hongjoong’s voice cracks, revealing his true emotions and the toll this whole ordeal has taken on him. “We might lose her forever.”

San sits quietly, shaking slightly from the silent tears that are being shed and pulling you closer to his chest if that was even possible, crying himself into a slumber much like you did moments prior. Hongjoong rises, tucking both of you in like he would an upset child, and walking into the bathroom. The scene that awaits him is what finally breaks his own dam of tears, collapsing next to Seonghwa and Yunho who are both crouched down. They’ve hunched over, scrubbing the white tiles of your blood and throwing glass shards away in a paper bag. Upon noticing Hongjoong, Yunho drops what’s in his hands, embracing his leader and best friend. His tears fall as well, the sight of someone as strong as Hongjoong breaking down terrifying him. 

Seonghwa wipes the few stray tears before rising, quickly finishing the task of cleaning before ushering the two broken boys out of the room. He sits Hongjoon and Yunho down, pulling out a paper and pen and titling it “Y/n’s Healing.”

“We’ll make a plan, and take this journey one step at a time. Until Y/n’s finally healed.” Seonghwa states, immediately writing steps and plans he’s already come up with in his head. And so the journey begins.

[lebenspurpur]

Violence - RZ Michael Myers

Ehem, TW very violent and suicide. I watched "Antichrist" (2009) and it really inspired me. So yeah be cautious while reading. Female reader as well.

Pairing: Michael Myers x female reader

Summary: Michael finds out about reader’s secret.

Warnings: Heavy Violence, Suicide, I watched "Antichrist" (2009) and it really inspired me. So yeah be cautious while reading.

********************************************************************************

It hurt. A lot.

You've never felt it before.

It's not the warm, clenching pain that you feel when you get a cramp. No matter if its cause was overexertion or something more pleasurable. Such pain crawls up and down your body, it aches and numbs you. Disable you. This pain doesn't disable you.

It wasn't hot pain. Burning yourself hurt like a bitch. The heat, the red boiling skin. The horrid throbbing of your own body's frightful wailing for help. This pain doesn't throb.

It churns your insides. It makes you question whether you want to vomit or immediately scrape your stomach out of your frail skeleton.

You imagine your nails digging into soft skin, warm flesh yearning to relieve the pain you can not bear any longer. They crawl around like little bugs, gripping kidney, lungs and bowel. When they find your stomach they clench and scratch, rip it open like a present and get greeted with white oblivion, space that is unused and empty.

But what did you expect with a knife stuck just a few inches next to your belly button. It sticks out like something that doesn't belong to you. Its surreality calms you, numbs you.

But the worst thing is the torment, the torture inside your skull. It screams, it wails, it cries at you to fight. To prevent the harm that has already been done.

This had been yours. This life. This innocence feeding off of you, relying on you.

And you let it go.

It's too much, you're hazy, you can't think. So many emotions, feelings and thoughts. What should you concentrate on? You don't know, you can't tell.

Reality is what you make it to be.

Right now reality is pain.

Your horrifying sobs scare even him. They're deeper than your usual voice. It's warm like honey and sunlight and when you sing it feels like home. That voice is gone and you don't think it's ever going to return.

Your sobs are paralyzing and grievous and repelling and you hate them. They come from somewhere very deep inside of you, a place that went untouched for so long you don't even remember what it looks like.

You want to bash your skull in. You want to see the red blood, the specks of brain on the white porcelain of the bathtub next to you. You want to vomit because of the revolting sight and feel it leaving your throat. You want to die.

Why are you smiling?

You're full on grinning, the corners of your mouth turned upwards in such an unsettling way. Your cheeks hurt from the amount of pressure you're putting into your expression.

You knew. The knowledge makes you happy, a bitter distressing feeling that sends chills down your spine.

You knew he'd do this. From the second you looked at the test. You leaned over the sink, eyes teary and a hand covering your bashful grin and you laughed. You laughed louder than ever before. Never have you felt such joy, such childlike wonder before.

Then you cried. You screamed, you wailed and you shouted at the empty wooden walls, desperate for someone to listen, to hear and to help.

No one answered your cries.

Your breathing has calmed down, the horrendous sobs quieted.

Your expression is numb, apathetic.

The blood on your abdomen and on the floor is pretty. Such a beautiful sight. It fits so well to the mint and white tiles you had bought together. You remember the afternoon. It was one of the only times he ever left the house with you. You sauntered around the city, hands entwined. Like lovers.

He chose the tiles. You remember his masculine hands tying his long hair together, how you swooned at the simple action and how butterflies immediately erupted under your skin. He scoffed at you.

Your hands draw lazy circles on your tummy and you giggle at the sensation. Sticky, lukewarm blood coats your fingertips and you rub them together, feel the wetness. In other times this would've aroused you. Not today.

You think back.

The big hoodies. The pants you had to stitch up because they were getting small. The glow.

They say pregnant women glow. You saw it.

The golden shimmer on your skin and how it somehow softened everything around you. The gold made you immortal, godlike and frail in its own weird little way.

Now the gold has left. Red replaced it. Tiny little scrabbles with a red pen. Disturbing faces, circles and little bugs. They rip the paper, that's how forceful they're made.

Michael is still standing above you.

He doesn't show guilt. Or remorse.

There's no sign. No sign that he's human, that he cares. You figure he doesn't. Maybe he never did.

Rage overcomes you, blinding excruciating rage and it boils you from the inside. You can only see the anger now, it covers your vision.

You scream as loud as you can. You cry as you tell him how much you hate him, how much he destroyed your life. You wail at your dead child, his dead child.

Michael doesn't move, you didn't think he would. He just stares. You don't even know if he's listening.

The weight of your situation pulls you down. It is too late now. There's only one thing you can do. This plan circled in your mind for ages, now the time has come. You're jot afraid anymore, you're eager.

Sweat breaks out and runs down your bloodied arms as you move your hands. With as much force as possible you pull.

It loosens with a repugnant squelch, the blade still coated with your child. Your reason.

A smile breaks out on your features for the last time. You smile and you laugh and it's genuine.

It lasts for a while, even after the blood around your neck has dried. Michael carries your lifeless body away, he's careful not to lose your head. You cut deep, he's proud and somehow surprised.

Not in one second does he believe that this is his fault. You knew. And you still didn't get rid of it. That was your problem, not his.

[plush-rabbit]

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 6: Pitiful Reflections In The Mirror

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: If you’re still reading this, I’m so sorry for the long wait

Prev.

You can feel eyes on you. Never blinking, always watching, you feel something- or more accurately- someone watching you. It could be all in your head. Of course it would be all in your head- he doesn't have the time to watch you. And, from what he told you, his friends, or rather teammates, don’t know about you either. You’re still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But, it doesn’t matter. You realize that. No matter what happens now, all of it is out of your control. Freedom will always be a mockery to you, you can go and hang out with friends, work, lay around in your home, but it won’t ever be your home, you can’t ever go and hang out with your friends with the certainty that he isn’t watching, that he isn’t lurking in your home and peeking through your thing, you can’t promise to yourself that he doesn’t have connections to the real world, to the civilian world or hero society. You’ll always be watched, never a moment of peace, always fearful that he could be watching you. You can’t ever be yourself alone, you can’t lie in bed and waste the day away. It makes you sick. You want to vomit, you can feel your stomach churn but you are unable to do anything about it.

The only silver-lining to this is that he cares for you- in his own way and not the way that you dreamt of when you would consume media. He promised he wouldn’t hurt you. Right? You frown. You can’t remember if he did that or not. You can only remember his eyes. Those red colored eyes, unforgiving, murderous eyes that are stained with blood, eyes that hold false innocence when he looks at you. A part of you wonders if you would have actually liked him if he weren’t himself but you quickly scowl at the thought. You don’t want to romanticize him. You don’t want this situation to be painted with pink.

It’s all too much too soon. It’ll always be like this. You want to ask him more. You want to know why. You want to pass him off to someone else and make it their own problem.

Thunder booms outside, a deep rumbling that always comforts you and it still does. You stare at the sliding door that leads to the small balcony. Water drips against it, soothing and constant, a steady pace that does not falter and does not pick up speed. The movie you were watching on your laptop has been paused long ago, the killer’s face frozen on a screen that slowly dims and goes black, your reflection against it. If you try hard enough, you can hear the drips against the formed puddles. There is only silence, the clock in the room tics and tocs, the time moving forward, staring at you, the eyes of the cat-shaped clock moving back and forth. You rise from your seat on the couch and walk towards the sliding door, the blanket wrapped around your body and you think for a moment that things are okay, that what is going to happen, is something for you to worry about in the future. Water races down to the base of the door and you cheer internally for one droplet, smiling when it merges with another and gains speed.

For just a moment you are alone. You think that whatever he has or has not implanted in your home- small cameras, listening devices, anything of that sort- does not exist. Your lips are dry and acid pools in your mouth and burns your throat. The rain is soft, beating against the earth as people scurry home. You see children clad in raincoats and rainboots, splashing against the puddle and enjoying their youth, you see lovers walk hand in hand, you see the lone person with an umbrella held tight in their hand. In the reflection, you see yourself- heavy eyes fresh with unshed tears, worry-bitten lips and a sickly glow around you.

“I,” you start off slow and break the tranquility in your home, “I need to write down a list of questions.” You lose your breath quickly, huffing and puffing by the end of your sentence. “It’s-” you want to find out more about him but you can’t even say the words out loud- “I’m insane.” You stare at your reflection, and it’s becoming harder to breathe. “I can- I can go away. I can reject and scream and cry. I can pound on the walls and call for a hero.” Your voice cracks and tears pool in your eyes. “So why don’t I?” Why don’t you? What’s stopping you? “He isn’t here right now. I can-” your voice falls into a low whisper- “I can do something.” You cry and it feels like a waste. You are unable to find a reason to push away from him even though the reasons are clear. You feel sorry for the man that you saved from the streets, bleeding and unable to fight back. You thought that he was cute and thought about him, you let him stay in your home and you reason to yourself that it’s valid to want to find out more about him, but all the same, he is a villain, he has eyes red like blood and pale skin adorned with scars, he has rough hands that grip you with an unwavering hold and lips that are cracked. He is someone full of pain and cruelty, and yet, he promises nothing but love towards you.

You stagger back to the couch and you have to close your eyes. You can’t stare at your reflection- you can’t bear to see yourself deteriorating away. You can’t look at how utterly alone you are. You curl in on yourself and let tears fall and this is all your fault. You don’t know what’s stopping you from seeking out help. You don’t know why you convinced yourself to not tell a soul. You don’t know why you have to be so alone right now. You have no one to talk about this with. You sob and turn your head so your tears catch on the cushion of the couch, the blanket pulled tighter around your body and you are alone in this. You are alone for the cold and rainy night.

Your door creaks open and you don’t know whether to sit in your pitiful state, to hope that the intruder feels uncomfortable enough at the site of your brokenness to leave or if they would put you out of your misery. The door shuts and you close your eyes and bite the insides of your cheeks until it’s painful, the soft flesh tearing when you tighten your jaw. You whimper and hug yourself closer and you can hardly breathe and you don’t know what you hope for, what is a better option- for him to show up and try to comfort you or an intruder to commit a heinous crime. You’ve cried about being alone and now that someone has stepped into your home, you fear the attention and comfort of another.

The couch creaks and hands touch your face, cloth and skin that mix and catch your tears and you’re staring at him, red eyes that stare at you and his mouth moves but you are unable to hear. Confusion must linger on your face and he’s rubbing his thumb over your cheeks, catching tears. His ring and pinky fingers are clad in black, his nails painted black as they drag against your cheekbone. The fabric is soft, tracing against your jawline as it catches fallen tears.

“Did someone hurt you?” You shake your head “no”. “Was work difficult?” Another negative answer. He sighs and his head dips down. Your crying has gone from sobbing to snivelling. “Are you overwhelmed? With this-” he clears his throat- “our relationship.” He’s so careful with his words and you can only nod your head. He’s silent and you’re terrified. You don’t know who he is. You rescued an injured man, thinking you were doing a good thing, that you were putting something good out in the world but you couldn’t have thought that this would happen. That he would be a villain.

He’s quick to wrap his arms around you and you’re stiff for just a moment with wide, fearful eyes as you squeal in shock. He’s warm and smells like rain, droplets of rain lingering against him and your need for comfort takes over as you immediately fist your hands into his hoodie, pushing yourself closer to him. You lay your head on his shoulder, facing his neck that is lined with faint scars and red lines. You breathe in heavily, the scent of rain and musk filling your lungs. His hold on you is tight as you lay against him gasping and whining when he shuffles under you, pulling you closer to him, legs bumping into each other, and he’s nothing short of polite, hands still as they rest on your back, never sliding below your shoulder blades.

Maybe there’s something wrong with you. There has to be. Because just as he finally settles, you lean towards him. You tell yourself that it’s only because you’re human and you’re in a vulnerable state and you crave the contact that he gives you, you crave the only comfort you’ve received in a long time and you cry softly tears burning as they trace down the curve of your face.

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s quicker than you are. “You always cry because of me.” You can’t deny that. “Have you ever cried like this before?” His words are tight, holding back anything spiteful that he can say and you can feel the press of his hands push deeper into you. You’re unsure if he’s trying to steady himself or try to warn you of your next answer.

Your eyes open, only meeting black and the soft, pale blue of his hair and you nod your head. “Yeah, probably.” The blanket is heavy above you. “Maybe not for the same reason but I have.” Maybe if he weren’t a villain you could have liked him as well. You may not be a romantic, but you can appreciate the tropes when you’re faced with them. “Tomura?” You still call him by his name. His name is nice, you find it to be pretty, and you want to believe that he wouldn’t hurt you, that he would keep his promise.

“Yes?” His arms are tight around you, outside of the blanket and you worry that he is cold.

“Why did you visit?” He walks in, comes into your home acting as if he is welcomed, and you lay above him. A part of you wants to continue crying, to reach a part of his humanity and have him leave you. Another part that you don’t want to recognize, believes that liking him will be much easier. That it will be easier than having this continous stream on mental torture. “This- I could have put a trap or something. Let you be caught by the authorities so I wouldn’t have to deal with you.” You roll your lips, wetting them with your tongue and you hold onto him as if he is your lifeline.

“I missed you.” You hate how your body heats at the words. You were sure that if it were anyone else, you would have flushed and hugged the person back, but instead you lay there with furrowed brows. His chest rises with an inhale and dips with an exhale. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anybody or felt the way that I feel for you for anyone else.” His heartbeat quickens and you wonder if he’s aware that you can feel it, that you can hear the pulsing, the thump in his chest as it echoes in your ears. “It’s an odd feeling. I mean it when I say that you showing me kindness made me fall for you. It’s a sickness that I don’t understand. I don’t want to kill you, I don’t want to let you go. You’re so pretty and I just want you to stay with me. Do you remember when you brushed my hair?” You nod and he continues. “Do you remember what you said about being a good person?” You whisper a soft “yes”. “That’s why I keep coming by. I know you wouldn't have contacted them. I’ve put so much trust in you that I’m sure you would never break it. I’ll keep watch over you just to make sure you’re safe because I trust you.” Your heart beats against your chest, and heat flames against your body. “I want to tear this hero society down, to have it burn and crumble under me and the ones who follow me. I want nothing more than to rid the world of heroes.” For some odd reason, you don’t find his words chilling. You blame it on the exhaustion. “But I want to protect you. To keep you safe, perched on my lap, protected and pure.”

You stay silent and so does he. He offers no more words, no more words of persuasion, or declaration of love. You think that this would be a nice parting, to have him tell you some spiel about he has to leave you to keep you safe, but, for the first time in a long time, you’ve been offered comfort, you’ve been offered love and it’s warm and addicting and when you think of him leaving, it hurts. It actually hurts. And so, you pull yourself closer against him, fixing the blanket and he stays quiet, his eyes watching you until you fix the blanket and drape it over your body, and over his arms. He’s silent, and when you fix yourself above him, lowering your body until it’s flushed against his, he turns to his side and you go on yours, and you hold onto the faded black sweatshirt that smells like cheap alcohol and cigarettes.

The rain fills the room and you can hear your phone vibrate, it's muffled and low, and while you have curiosity, wondering who it could be so late into the night, you also don’t want to move. He wants to keep you safe. He’s intimidating, stalking towards you, watching and you know that he has killed, you know that his hands reek of death, that the ash of the world is embedded in him, staining his soul and being with everything bad, but he promises to keep that away from you. He holds you and instead of fear, it’s an odd relief that makes you feel weightless, stomach light and shoulders loose, tears finally dried in a room that flashes bright, white light. To anyone who were to peep into this moment, they would see two lovers embracing, chest-to-chest, arms around each other, blanket covering both, and you’re against the cushion while he teeters on the edge, he keeps you safe from the cruel fall to the floor. You can feel his lips tentatively press against the top of your head, and you don’t fight the smile that rises. You don’t try to bite it down, you accept that it’s easier to love him, to befriend that lonely individual who offered you a shoulder, someone who would understand you, someone who has shown to have no grievances as you talk about him.

“I… I think it's easier to hate you than it is to love you,” you whisper, a tightening in your throat as you let the words out. “There are so many reasons to dislike you, you know? You’re cruel, you’re mean, you’re a villain, you’ve killed people.” You lick your lips and you’re unable to find more reasons. You don’t know him, and you fear that when you do, you’ll start to fall for him.

“Anything else you want to add?” He questions, his voice matching yours. You can feel his eyes on you. “I won’t get mad at you. I know you would have been less than willing for this relationship so the least I could do is answer any of your questions or hear you out.”

Tomura Shigaraki holds you, and it’s comforting. He’s tall and lanky, thin arms that are covered with faded black, hold you, and you are kept safe, long after you’ve fallen asleep. He forces himself to stay awake, wanting to relish in the moment for seconds longer. He wants to hear the soft breaths, wants nothing more than to hold you, to let the memory cement in his head that you chose to fall asleep beside him, that you kept him under the same blanket as you sleep in.

All the questions in your mind suddenly blip out of existence and you lie there with closed eyes, sleep clinging onto you in it’s thick grasp. You can only think of one question, one thing to satisfy you for the night where you’ve accepted Tomura’s presence. “What’s going to happen? I mean- what happens to-” you pause, trying to find the correct word, “us” feeling too strange and “relationship” not yet something that you are ready for- “whatever we have if you get caught?” Your heart slows and your stomach drops. “Or what happens if I get caught? I don’t think I could survive prison,” you mutter, “I like bubble tea a bit too much.”

His hold on you tightens by a smidge. “I won’t get caught. I’d rather than have that happen.” A chill runs down our spine at his words. “And if you get caught, you lie between your teeth. You tell them I blackmailed you and if that doesn’t work, I’ll get you out of prison.” His hand finds yours, cloth and calloused fingers against yours as he holds it tight. “I’m not going to let you rot in there. I’ll find a way to break you out of anything. I promise.” His thumb runs over yours as if to solidify the promise. You nod your head, a yawn tearing through your body, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Are you tired?” You nod, shifting yourself against him, your leg sliding in between his. “Get some rest. I’ll protect you.” His lips are against the crown of your head. “It’s been a long night for you, I’ll stay here and keep you warm.”

-

You awake without Tomura, blanket pulled up to your shoulders. You awake alone. Your phone buzzes, muffled and heavy sounding, with a heavy body, your arms and legs kick from underneath the blanket, and by the time you’ve made your way out, the buzzing stops.

Surprisingly, you are fine. You are groggy, but you are fine. You are warm, body still heavy with sleep, mind finally starting to awaken and you are okay. That’s the thing that surprises you the most. You understand that he wouldn’t hurt you, that has finally gotten cemented into your head and it fills you with a different kind of relief. You’re glad to know that you are under his protection, you’re glad that for whatever will happen in the future, you’ll be protected in a way that matters to him. You rise slowly and stretch your arms over your head, the sun shining through the blinds and the birds singing a sweet song as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {Epilogue}

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Fluff, 

Words: 2.2k

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

NOTE: DO NOT COME FOR ME. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤️❤️

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

If the public ripped Chris a new asshole when the odds seemed ever not in his favor, they massacred Ana once the facts were revealed. When it came out just how low Ana had gone in her efforts to get your husband, the world turned into a colder place. The tabloids ran endless pieces on what a horrible person she was. They were relentless when it came to nitpicking not just her behavior and actions, but they even went in on her acting. You could have said you felt bad for her, but you didn’t. Not one bit.

 The support that came out for you and Chris was heartwarming. Everyone seemed to want to wrap the two of you in a cocoon of support and love. You received well-wishes from fans and supporters, and even celebs sent floral arrangements, all expressing their support for you. The narrative that was spun was the diabolical plot of Ana and jilted ex Christiano who concocted a plot that was to end with Ana getting Chris and Christiano kidnapping you. Most of the details were released to the press, though you and Chris had both tried to keep as much of it under wraps as possible. Neither one of you wanted to continue dealing with it. You just wanted to move forward and focus on better things—happier things.

 Because Christiano had broken into your home and attempted to cause harm to its residents, Chris’s actions were seen as self-defense, and Chrisnao’s death ruled an accidental result of self-defense. Though the White family were distraught once they were faced with the severity of Christiano’s actions and continued plans, they didn’t have the heart to put you through any further trauma. You’d suspected it was Christina’s doing, and a floral arrangement from her a few weeks after the incident proved your suspicions.

 You’d been friends with her first, and it was a friendship that survived the end of your relationship with Christiano. This was her way of letting it be known that her brother did wrong. A month after the incident, her statement shed light on Christiano’s mental health and revealed he’d been struggling for several years since the break-up. She made no apologies for his actions and didn’t try to make him seem like a victim. She was adamant about letting the full truth be seen. She did offer an apology to you, Chris, your families, and your children.

 For her part in the plot, her actions of physically trying to kill you, not knowing you pregnant at the time, was what sealed Ana’s fate. She was sentenced to jail, and it wasn’t entirely the sentence of a privileged woman. It was one of a criminal who showed no remorse for their actions. She was given nine years behind bars, and because she was living and working in the US on a visa rather than citizenship, after the completion of her sentence, she would be deported to Spain. 

Even film studios were distancing themselves from her at record speed. All the roles she had been considered for quickly changed their views and voiced wanting you to have the roles. It was sort of poetic to you. She hated you because you were black, and you didn’t deserve all you had, including your career and husband. In the end, she was the absolute furthest from your husband, and now everything that was hers would be yours.

 You and Chris were on a flight to Massachusetts two days after the incident. Neither of you were suspects; there was no reason for you to remain in LA, so you quietly packed up what you wanted and made arrangements to pack up the house for the foreseeable future, then went where both of you felt like you belonged. You left any details about your career plans to your manager to close. Everyone seemed to understand the want you had to step back from work and Hollywood, especially when the news was out that you were going to be parents.

 That was the only thing Chris seemed to care about. He was on a mission to keep you comfortable, happy, and taken care of. From the minute he carried you over the threshold of the home he’d built for you, it felt like a fresh start, a new beginning meant just for the five of you.

 He was there beside you every morning, patting your back as you vomited because of your morning sickness until you were four and a half months along. He was there for every single appointment. He read every book you did to prepare for the remainder of your pregnancy and life with twins. He was there preparing you lunch every afternoon, there massaging your feet and back at the end of every night. He was there to lather on the cocoa and shea butter to your growing belly. He was there to compliment every stretch mark you received because of your quickly stretching skin. He was there to kiss each of them while telling you how much he loved each and every tiger stripe, as he called them. He was even there for you when none of your clothes fit you, and he offered you all his cable-knit sweaters, hoodies, sweatpants, and button-downs.

 When your belly became so big you couldn’t see your feet; he put your shoes on for you. When you couldn’t get up without looking like a beached whale, Chris was there to carry you wherever you wanted to go. There rarely went an hour that went by where he didn’t strip you to worship your body as if you were his scripture, and he worshiped you and you alone. Not a day passed where you didn’t feel loved, desired, and protected.

 Through it all, you decided that therapy was beneficial and a powerful enough tool to bring you back together that you wanted to continue. Dr. Danquah was thrilled having the two of you as clients again and, because of your progress, saw no need for you to see her more than twice a month to keep the lines of communication and the roots of love and passion ever strong. The love you felt for Chris and the connection you felt to each other only deepened throughout your pregnancy.

 Just when you thought you couldn’t love him anymore, he did something to prove you wrong. Every day you found something more to love. If it wasn’t his fun-loving nature that was on display every time he played with Dodger, it was his outdoorsy adventurism with the way he bounded from the bed once the sun rose to drag you on another of his nature walks so he could photograph the trees or the hills. If it wasn’t his romantic side with how he prepared candlelit baths every night that posed as a prequel to dinner by candlelight and the most passionate session of lovemaking, it was his undercover, not so undercover freak antics with him wanting to christen every single room in the house and a few spots outdoors with your lovemaking. At nights when he thought you were sleeping, you heard him talking to the babies as he caressed your stomach. That was what you loved most. His sheer love, devotion, and adoration for his children and the strong protector that resided in him. he was the only one for you.

 “Push Riah.”

 “Don’t fucking tell me to push. You push!”

 Chris snorted, and you wanted to kill him. His hands rubbed your belly before he kissed your jaw from his position behind you in the tub in your bathroom.

 “I can push with you, but you have the babies in you. You have to show them the way.”

 You groaned, and it echoed in the hallowed bathroom.

 “You can do this, Uriah,” Lisa encouraged, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze.

 You looked across to your mother, who nodded, hoping to steel your nerve. Chris kissed your ear.

“Come on, dragonfly. You got this. Bring our babies into the world so we can spoil them.”

 And you can change all the poop diapers?”

 Chris snorted again. “I don’t recall making any such promise.”

 You squeezed his hand with everything you had. He groaned and hissed from the pain.

 “Ah, ah, wow. Okay, I see my error. Yes, all poop diapers that you don’t want.” You released his hand, letting him relax somewhat.

 “Use that, baby. I know it’s hard. I know it hurts, and I’m sorry.”

 “This is your fault,” you pointedly accused.

 “Yes. My fault. I take full blame. I’m sorry.”

 “You owe me so big for this, Evans.”

 He nodded, agreeing with you. that was when the pain intensified at levels that made you regret choosing a natural birth at home.

 “Oh fuckity, fuck. So big, Evans!”

 “You’re crowning. Do you want to come over here and catch your baby, dad?”

 Chris moved from behind you and got into position between your legs. His eyes widened, clearly seeing the baby’s head. The excitement around you was palpable, and it gave you a burst of energy to get the baby out. You grabbed your knees, hunkered down, and pushed because whether you were supposed to or not. Your scream was loud, and the screams of those around you picked up. They shouted to you, encouraging you to keep going and not to stop. The look on Chris's face suddenly changed, and you saw the tears in his eyes.

 “Oh my god, Riah, I can—I can see—oh baby, I can see a face. come on, Dragonfly, one more push.”

 You screeched out and fought through the intense burning you felt, and in seconds the crying of a baby echoed in the bathroom.

 “Aah, oh my god, Riah, it’s a girl. She’s here,” Chris elated as tears rolled down his cheeks.

 You smiled widely as Chris held your daughter and cut her umbilical cord before he placed her on your chest.

 “Oh my god!”

 She was perfect, with a full head of hair that was the color of Chris’s and cheeks so plump you were tempted to pinch them. You only had a moment to place a kiss on her forehead before you felt another stab of pain that made you shout again. The second midwife took the baby from you so you could focus on pushing out her sister.

 “She’s right there, Uriah. You’re doing incredible, baby,” your mother informed.

 “I’m thinking three good pushes, Uriah.  When you feel the urge, push.

 You instantly felt the urge to push and returned to your previous position and pushed as hard as you could. This push was just as painful as the first one, but you felt this push accomplished more.

 “Good push, her head is out. One more, and she’ll be out,” your first midwife said.

 The look on everyone's face was one of anxiety and excitement. The sounds of your first daughter’s cries had died down, and the only thing that could be heard in the room was your panting, screeching, and grunting.

 “Fuuuuuck!”

 You managed to push your daughter out, and her cries filled the bathroom. Soon, it was not one baby crying but both of them.

 “You did it!”

 Lisa and your mother both kissed your cheeks and forehead, happily congratulating you and telling you how well you’d done while the midwives cleaned the babies to bring them to you. When Chris came up beside you, your mothers backed away, giving you a few moments together. Chris kissed your forehead.

 “You’re incredible. You did so good, dragonfly. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed you once, then twice, and nuzzled his nose against yours.

 “I love you so much.”

 “Did someone order two perfect babies?”

 The midwives placed your daughters in your arms.

 “This is baby A; she was born first and her sister.”

 Your tears flowed freely as so much emotion filled you. Love in it’s purest form washed over you.

 “Chris. They’re beautiful.”

 “Of course they are. They look just like you,” Chris said, kissing your temple.

 A comfortable silence fell between you as you admired your newborn daughters.

 “Any decision on names?”

 You smiled and ran your thumb across the baby’s brow in your arm.

 “Yeah. How do you feel about Nova and Rae?”

 Chris’s face lit up as his smile spread so wide that you wondered if his face would split in two.

 “I love them. Nova and Rae Evans,” he uttered. You nodded and couldn’t help but choke up, seeing the emotion on his face.

 “Chasing dragonflies,” he whispered the meanings of the names you’d discussed weeks ago before his lips met yours for a tender kiss.

 With his forehead pressed to yours, he whispered again. “Rumor has it you’re going to be an amazing mom.”

 You smiled and looked at him before pressing your lips to his for a quick kiss. “Rumor has it you’re a DILF.”

 Chris laughed so loud it startled your babies, making them stir and cry. You joined in laughing with him, unable to keep your sublime happiness under wraps any longer.

 “Rumor has it you two will have siblings in record time,” Lisa said slightly above a whisper.

 Everyone in the room laughed, not knowing how true those were most likely were. You and Chris gazed at each other with longing and love in your eyes. When Chris kissed you again, this time taking his time to do it properly, completely and heartily, you knew his mother’s words would be the truest spoken.  

                                             The End!!!!!

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[viastro]

despite everything, it’s still you | wen junhui

ミ★ synopsis: in which you only have eyes for your best friend, but he sees everyone else.

ミ★ genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, some fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of vomit and drinking

ミ★ word count: 3,897

ミ★ pairings: junhui x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! i actually scrapped this last night when i first wrote it, but i came back to it a few hours ago and actually finished it. this isn’t one of my favorites, but i think it turned out better than i originally thought it would. so as always, please give jun lots of love !! and i hope you guys like this one <3

“Aren’t you tired?” You turn your head to see Minghao staring at you with a pitiful expression on your face. Squinting, you respond, “Of what?” 

“Of being lonely.” You scoff, turning away and going back to typing on your computer as Mingyu and Minghao lose their shit beside you on the couch. You don’t even know why you invited the two stooges to your house as you did homework, but alas. 

you were lonely.

“I should’ve never invited you guys.” You mumble as you add the last few sentences to your essay. Mingyu giggles, walking over and wrapping an arm around you as his apology. While Minghao steps over and puts his face close to yours, giving you a big smile. 

“Forgive us queen.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Damn.” Mingyu mutters, raising a hand to his heart to feign offense. The corner of your lips tilts up at Mingyu’s reaction, and Minghao claps his hands. “She forgave us.”

“Aye, now I didn’t say all that-”

Minghao and Mingyu stop you as you turn around, hands raised in your direction. You stare boredly at the two as they give you a mischievous smile. “You forgave us, you can’t take it back.” 

Letting out a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, grinning at your two friends who are now discussing who gets to choose what movie. Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of your door opening, and the three of you turn to see Jun walking in with the containers holding the fried chicken. He lets out a grin at the sight of you guys, and you quickly call him over so that you can begin devouring the food he brought. 

The four of you have been friends since your first year at University. What started as a group project in your guys’ film course, became a three year long friendship that you all hope will last until you’re all old and wrinkly. 

Jun quickly settles himself down beside you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in greeting, and you let out a soft smile. He gives you a grin, “Did you finish your essay?” 

You nod your head, and he lets go of his hold on you to throw a thumbs up your way. You let out a laugh, and run a hand through your hair, before turning back towards the chicken. 

Your guys’ friendship all began when the four of you got paired for that group project. However, you were attracted to Jun from the moment you laid eyes on him on the first day of class. When the four of you all got closer as friends, you decided to let go of trying to go after him. Especially when you found out how popular he is among the ladies and gentlemen at uni. 

His popularity has only grown since freshman year, and he’s been with his fair share of different people. You claim to be over him, but it’s you simply just ignoring the warmth in your heart whenever he pulls you into a hug, or the pain whenever he introduces his new fling to you. 

It’s your biggest secret that you’ve been harboring, and Minghao is the only one that knows. He wasn’t even supposed to know of your feelings for Jun, but he stumbled in on you crying on the floor after Jun left on a date with this one girl a few months back. 

In your defense, you were incredibly stressed with midterms and seeing Jun go on a date with another girl that isn’t you, really set you off the edge from that stinky week in general. However, Minghao refuses to believe that you being stressed was the main cause for you crying over Jun going on a date. 

So that’s why you ignore Minghao’s gaze when Jun hands you the crispy part of the chicken you always enjoy most. You turn and give Jun a smile, and he fondly knocks his head into yours. “It’s your favorite part, right?”

Nodding your head, you place it into your mouth, and Jun grins happily. He turns back towards his food, and takes a big bite of chicken as the four eat in a relative silence. Mingyu glances over at Jun, letting out a mischievous smile. 

“How was your date?” You freeze slightly, and Minghao notices, his eyes trailing over to your rigid form. Jun chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he wipes his hands on a napkin. Leaning back into the couch, he lets out a breath. 

“It was good. She was actually more funny than I expected.” Jun explains briefly, and Mingyu nods his head. You stay quiet as you eat, knowing that if the two end up going on a second date, you’ll have to meet her in the near future. 

“She kinda reminded me of you.” You pause, turning to see that Jun is staring at you with a fond smile on his face. You raise an eyebrow, pointing at yourself with the drumstick in hand, and Jun chuckles, nodding his head. “Yeah, you.” 

“How?” Minghao asks, and you shoot him a glance. Minghao just waves you off with his hand, and you widen your eyes with more urgency, but he chooses to ignore you. Jun thinks to himself for a moment, before chuckling. 

“Yn’s humor is really weird, you know. Remember the time she just laughed to herself about that video of a bird jumping off a building?” You snort at the memory, raising a hand to your mouth to try and hide your laugh as you remember the video. Jun turns to you with amusement painted over his features, and he points at you with his thumb, “See? She’s just giggling from the thought of it.” 

“It was funny!”

“You sadist.”

“I am not a sadist!” You exclaim, and Mingyu purses his lips. He turns his head away and takes a sip of water, while Minghao takes a bite of chicken. You squint at the two, before turning to Jun and seeing him also avoiding eye contact with you. “I’m not!” 

“Anyways…” Jun begins, and you roll your eyes. He chuckles and pats your head before continuing, “Aiya was kinda like yn, in a way. She laughed over silly things, and made good jokes, so the atmosphere was nice.” 

Your mood drops slightly, and you turn away. Mingyu changes the subject by bringing up the time he saw you painting a meme of kermit on a canvas, and you laugh at the memory. Jun turns to glance at you when he hears your laugh, and he smiles softly at you. 

Minghao bites the inside of his cheek, wondering when the two of you will finally realize that you’re a perfect match so that the pain on both sides will stop. He’s the middle ground, with him knowing that you love Jun, while also being able to tell that Jun is in love with you based on the fact that everyone he goes on dates with is so oddly similar to you. He just questions whether the two of you will be able to realize that fact.

And with that, Minghao smiles, holding up the remote to turn on the TV. “Well, let’s watch a movie.” 

Your head is laid over a sleeping Mingyu’s lap as you drunkenly listen to Aiya and Jun laugh together. You open and close your eyes slowly, staring up at the colorful lights displayed on the ceiling. You begin to wonder how many shots of soju you had, but you’re unable to come up with an answer when you hear Jun’s angelic laugh across from you. 

The music is loud and it hurts your head. You question how you were able to let the boys convince you to come to the party their friend Jungkook is throwing. However, the answer is simple. Jun gave you that smile of his and outstretched his hand towards you, telling you that he wants you to meet Aiya tonight. You wanted to decline the invite and stay home, maybe have a self care night as you knew you were going to simply have an aneurysm at the thought of Aiya and Jun. The thing is that you can’t ever say no to Jun, so that’s how you’re here now.

At a party you don’t want to be at.

With Jun and his potential new girlfriend sitting right across from you as you try to sleep on Mingyu’s lap because you couldn’t walk straight anymore. You were originally going to get another shot of soju, but Minghao threw you over his shoulder and brought you back to their group, laying you down on the already passed out Mingyu’s lap so that you can just go to sleep instead. It’s not working though, because every few seconds you hear Aiya’s giggle and Jun’s laughter. 

And you hate it.

Aiya’s a nice girl, and you think she’s incredibly beautiful. You don’t blame Jun for wanting to date her, you would’ve gone for her too if you weren’t so hung up over Jun. You’re sure that the two of you would’ve gotten along, but the pain from seeing her and Jun was too apparent that it made it hard for you to try and initiate any close friendship. You don’t think she minds though, as she’s been attached to Jun’s arm the whole time. 

Minghao glances down at you, and he finds you wordlessly staring up at the ceiling. He purses his lips, turning to look at Jun to see him having a pleasant conversation with Aiya. Not even noticing the state that you’re in, let alone care. So Minghao stands up from the couch and bends down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. You turn to glance at Minghao, and you see the sad smile on his face. 

“Wanna go home?” He asks you, and you nod your head. He helps you sit up from the couch, but you move too fast, and you feel the alcohol coming back up. Minghao’s eyes widen at the lack of color to your face, “Wait yn-”

You vomit over his shoes, which leads to a chorus of screams from Minghao, and Mingyu waking up to the sound of said screams. Next thing you know, you’re being carried by Jun into the bathroom, and he’s setting you down on the counter. 

“I hope Hao doesn’t hate me.” You mumble as Jun wets a paper towel from under the sink. He lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Hao could never hate you.” 

He begins wiping the area around your mouth, making sure to get rid of all the traces of alcohol. You stare into his eyes as he concentrates on cleaning you up, finding them to be his most beautiful feature even through your drunken haze. Jun feels your intense stare, and he glances up into your eyes, feeling his heart rate quicken slightly. He keeps eye contact with you for a moment, and you wonder if he knows. 

does he know how much i love him? how could he not after all this time? 

Jun looks away first, coughing into his shoulder. He grabs the mouthwash from the cabinet, pouring out a bit into the cap and handing it to you with a soft smile. “Let’s gargle some mouthwash, okay?” 

After you’re sure that you no longer smell of vomit, the two of you step out of the bathroom. You’re about to walk down the stairs when you see doors leading to a balcony down the hallway, so you turn the opposite direction and head towards it. Jun raises an eyebrow, following after you. 

“Yn, where are you going?”

“Fresh air.” 

“You can get fresh air when we head to Minghao’s car. Come on, I’m taking you home.” Jun states, reaching out to grasp your wrist, but you pull your arm out of his grip. Jun’s slightly taken aback, not used to you reacting like that before. However, he blames it on you being under the influence. You open the doors to the balcony and walk up to the ledge, resting your hands on it as you stare up at the stars. 

Jun walks up beside you, turning to glance down at you as you close your eyes. He lets out a breath, seeing how the moonlight illuminates your features. You open your eyes, and Jun frowns when he sees tears fall down your cheeks. He reaches out and grasps your face with both hands, turning you towards him. “What’s wrong?”

You swat his hands away, but Jun refuses to let go. The tears continue to stream past your face, and Jun grows more concerned by the minute. “Yn?”

You close your eyes and push Jun away, and he feels a sense of shock hit him. You’ve never been so physical with Jun, and he’s confused as to why you’re pushing him away now. You glance up at the sky, and at this moment, you wonder if the stars are laughing at your fate. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No.” You mutter, and Jun tilts his head to the side because he knows when you lie. The two of you are best friends, you know each other's mannerisms now.

“Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” 

“Yn, you’re lying.” Jun states, and you look away. You stare down at the ground over the ledge, watching the sprinklers turn on and begin watering the grass. Jun bites the inside of his cheek, attempting to reach out to you, but you step away. 

“Yn. What did I do wrong-”

“I love you.” You confess, and the words die in Jun’s throat at your confession. 

“I’ve loved you for years, and it hurts to know that you’ll never love me back. It hurts so fucking bad whenever you introduce me to your new fling and I have to put on a fake smile.” You explain, and Jun stands there in silence. He watches as you hurriedly try to wipe away the tears continuing to fall from your eyes, but it’s not working. You let out the most sad smile Jun has ever seen, and he wants nothing more than to take away the pain you’re feeling. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jun asks, and you scoff, turning away and looking back up at the stars. He frowns at your reaction, and you begin to wonder if the stars could ever be brighter than the galaxy in Jun’s eyes. 

“Yn?” You turn to glance at Jun, staring into his eyes, while his trail after the tear falling from your left eye.

You decide that the stars are no rival to Jun’s galaxy. 

“How could I tell my best friend that I love him, when he’s never even noticed me.” You state, and Jun shakes his head frantically at you. You squint at him, and he reaches out to grasp your hand, but you pull away again. 

“Yn-”

“Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong? How am I wrong when all you’ve done since the beginning was introduce me to the people you go on dates with, huh? How am I wrong when you’ve never once caught onto the fact that I love you.” Your sadness slowly turns into anger at the way Jun stares at you in shock. You shake your head, trying to wipe away the tears that continue to fall past your eyes, wondering how many tears you’ve shed for the man in front of you.

Jun just can’t help but stare, feeling his own heart break within his chest at how stupid he is. How he never noticed. How he never admitted that he loved you. How he dated around to try and fill the void in his heart that can only be filled when he’s with you. How is he so stupid?

You cover your face with your hands for a moment, feeling pathetic at the fact that you can’t stop crying. You finally look back up at Jun after a second, and you shake your head at him. You take a step towards him, and point your finger directly over his heart, and look up into his eyes. 

“Despite everything, it’s still you.” You whisper, and Jun’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to think of the words to say. While you just stare into his eyes, the tears continue to fall past your own.

You question whether or not the love and sadness you see in his eyes is just a reflection of your own.

“But it’s not me for you, right?” You ask, and Jun doesn’t respond. He’s internally quaking at the fact that you love him, but you don’t know that.

So you take his silence as his answer, taking a step back, you give him a sad smile. Running a hand through your hair, you turn to walk off the balcony and back into the house. Your hand rests on the doorknob when Jun finally speaks. 

“It’s always been you.” You freeze, hand clutching the doorknob when you turn to look at Jun. The moonlight casts a glow over his skin as he stares at you, and you come to the answer that the love and sadness in his gaze isn’t just a reflection of your own.

“What?” Jun takes a few steps towards you and grasps your hand. You stare down at your connected hands, and you wonder why you pulled away in the first place.

this whole hand holding shit is nice. 

“It’s always been you, yn. I love you, and I’m so, so sorry it took this long for me to finally tell you.” Jun confesses, and now it’s your turn to just stare at him in a shocked silence. “I’m so sorry for all the tears you’ve shed, and all the pain I’ve caused because of my own stupidity.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- I was stupid. I never thought you would give me the time of day, or-”

“Have you seen yourself?!” You sputter, and Jun shrugs in reply. “You’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen! And when I got to know you, I saw you as the most perfect human being.” 

“I just! I didn’t know! I’m stupid yn, you know this.” Jun says with a little laugh, and you can’t help but giggle back, shaking your head at him. Jun lets go of your hand so that he can reach up and grasp your face with both of his hands, wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. 

“So please stop crying. You shouldn’t let yourself cry over me. I’m not as great as you think considering the fact that I couldn’t even tell that the girl I’m in love with loves me back.” Jun mutters, and you let out another giggle, causing him to smile. You shake your head at him, and he leans down, resting his forehead onto yours as the two of you stare into each other’s eyes.

“I’m stupid, and I know this is so long overdue. But if you’d let me, I’d like to take you out on a date.” Jun whispers, and you let out a smile at how ridiculous this all is. Just a minute ago, you were pouring out your heart to this man under the assumption that he didn’t love you back on the balcony of Jungkook’s house. Speaking of Jungkook’s house, you pause when you remember who Jun came with. 

“What about Aiya?” You ask, and Jun purses his lips at the thought of her, and you scrunch up your nose when the action causes him to peck the tip of your nose.

“She kept seeing me take glances at you throughout the night. So when you threw up over Hao’s shoes and saw me immediately stand up, she told me to be with you. She said it was rather upsetting how I go for everyone else when it’s obvious that I only have eyes for you.” Jun mutters sheepishly, and you decide that you do like Aiya. She’s cool.

“She did not lie.”

“Nope, not one bit.” Jun agrees, and you chuckle. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment in silence, and Jun leans back so that he can get a glimpse of your whole face. He smiles fondly at the sight of the sparkles in your eyes.

“So, what do you say?” Jun asks, and you find a smile breaking out over your features as you nod your head.

“Yes Jun, I’d love to go out with you.”

“Fucking FINALLY!” You and Jun jump apart at the sudden voice, just to find Mingyu and Minghao standing by the balcony doors, with Minghao holding his shoes in a plastic bag. You mutter out a quiet apology, and Minghao raises his hand up towards you, basically saying that it’s okay. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Jun asks, his hand resting on your waist, and your heart does a a fucking windmill within your chest. 

“Long enough to know that you two stopped being stupid.” Minghao answers, and Mingyu lets out a sleepy smile. You purse your lips at Minghao’s snarkiness, but then remember that you just threw up on his shoes. 

“Anyways, can we head back to my apartment now? I just wanna eat ramen and watch Train to Busan or something.” You and Jun turn to glance at each other before turning back to your two friends. 

“Yeah sure, but you know how yn gets when we watch that movie.” Jun says as the four of you begin walking off the balcony. You pinch his side, causing him to chuckle. 

“It’s not my fault that shit hurted.” You mumble, and Mingyu grins. The four of you walk down the stairs and out of the house after bidding goodbye to Jungkook, who is currently vibing with Taehyung in a corner of the room. 

Minghao glances down at his throw up shoes in the bag, before turning back towards you and Jun, seeing the two of you walking with happy smiles on your faces. When you all finally reach the car and step inside, he lets out a sigh, and the three turn to look at him.

“I guess we have yn throwing up on my shoes to thank.” Minghao jokes, and the three burst into laughter while you profusely apologize for vomiting on Minghao’s sneakers. He pats your head, “It’s okay. You and Jun finally being together makes up for it.” 

Jun tilts his head to the side, “Really?”

To which Minghao turns in the driver's seat to glance at Jun in the backseat beside you, and he shoots him a death glare. “No, that only applies to yn. You owe me new shoes.” 

Jun rolls his eyes, cursing Minghao under his breath as he rests his head onto your shoulder, and you smile softly. You press a kiss to the top of Jun’s head before closing your eyes. Jun closes his eyes as well, a smile displayed on his features.

After a few minutes of silence into the car ride, Minghao glances up into the rearview mirror, just to find you and Jun fast asleep. With his head resting on your shoulder, and your head resting over his head, and he lets out a quiet chuckle. 

You and Jun are finally happy.

And Minghao couldn’t have wished for anything better.