#wish you knew that ill never forget u as long as i live

[alexandriaellisart]

you think?

[bitterbutblue]

our times

turns out, you're the fortune i want to keep most ☆ multi x reader

~ this is a multi x reader!! hatssun was talking about writing angst and i really said omg my turn! sorry hatssun ur idea was so good and it works so well w yukong and feixiao... ill credit u so hard bro i swear. WVERYONE BE PREPARED FOR WHEN THINK FAST DROPS🙏🙏🙏

UMM ALSO THE FEIXIAO ONE IS SOLONG FOR NO REASON LOTS OF DIALOGUE SORRYYYYY

characters: feixiao, yukong, ruan mei

 song: 小幸運 - Hebe Tian ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

i was too busy chasing shooting stars in the sky ☆ feixiao

The day Saran ran away, something in you ran with her. The day Saran ran away, you didn't know if you would ever see her face break into a smile again, or if you would see her hanging the next day. The trace of her slowly faded with time, but even when you finally had the guts to bolt for it she was still the only thing on your mind. That day, you didn't mind if you died running, because it would've been better than staying there but alive. You didn't mind if you died running, because you died with her on your mind.

God knows how many decades had passed since the Luofu took you in. You only count days in how much your heart ached for her. Eventually it dulls down, it goes from a sharp thud to a muted nudge every time you see a dash of silver hair in the crowd or a sharp but soft smile on Jing Yuan's lips. You've heard of how far she had gotten, and you wished it didn't hurt so much to hear about it. You forced yourself to forget about her, because you couldn't keep living every day haunted by her. You were finally able to live your days how you wanted to, even if it meant without her by your side.

"Yukong, can you run these by the general for me?"

You were absentmindedly sitting at your desk, filling in whatever forms the general had sent to you about all the legality things they had to sort out for the Wardance. You spin your pen, signing your name down and ticking the last of the boxes. You huffed at the lack of response from the woman who should be sitting across from you.

"Yukong?"

"She's not here."

You look up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and the world decides to take a break for a moment. In that small fraction of a second you feel yourself going back in time for decades until you are standing face to face with the young foxian, bruised and battered with an undying flame in her eyes. She is now much taller, her face pale but not the sickly kind that she harboured before. Her eyebags faded, hair flowing as if it had been just washed- a sight you never saw before in those camps.

She looked healthy, she had everything she wanted.

So why did she look like she was about to break down in front of you?

It wasn't fair.

"Saran?"

She only nods, standing with her arms by her side like a fool who doesn't know how to speak. She clears her throat, moving to cross her arms so she looked less awkward standing in front of you.

She wears clean clothes, she smells of petals.

Her scent of blood long faded, but you feel the pain behind her stance.

"How have you been?" Is all she asks as she eyes your desk warily, as if not knowing how to approach the conversation.

"Well. You?"

"Good enough."

Your old banter had long faded now, your previous ability to make each other laugh despite knowing the imminent death that looms over you two every day.

"Neergul died."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

It's like talking to a wall, or to just a mirrored version of yourself with how either of you refuse to look at each other.

"I never knew if you died or not until I came here."

Your shaky voice finally cuts the tension that has been simmering for far too long. She swallows, looking up and you know she is holding back tears because she has only ever looked up when the night sky is open and she can see the stars that granted her hope.

"I found out you became general. I was happy for you."

She says nothing.

"Why didn't you reach out?"

The edge to your voice has her breath knocked out of her lungs for a second as she tries to formulate an answer. She tries to weave incoherent thoughts and jumbles of emotions into a sentence and it's much harder to be done than she realised.

"I couldn't."

Of course she couldn't. Why would she admit to you how much of a coward she was? Knowing she had abandoned you after kissing you goodnight that evening.

"Why?"

But you want answers. It's not every day your presumed dead lover comes back to see you after years and years of crying yourself to sleep and hoping that in another future you could be in her arms without having to fear for your life.

"I was scared."

The general cannot be scared, or show any signs of fear in any situation- especially emotional situations where they need to stay calm so that people can feel secure around her but right now it all falls apart.

"Of who?"

"You."

"Why?"

You really did not like to raise your voice but you couldn't help it- she infuriates you. From the moment she flooded your heart you realised why love and hate go hand in hand because you hate that you love her.

"Why now?"

"I don't know."

Is all she manages to stutter out after an incredulous minute of silence and you just sigh.

"Why didn't you come find me?"

Her question has you going speechless now.

You were a hypocrite.

"I don't know."

She just nods with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I don't regret what I did that night."

You squeeze your now-fisted hand tight, taking a deep breath in to try to not only steady your voice but calm your racing heart that threatens to beat so hard it shatters in your chest.

"But why? Why make me love you for decades if you never planned to return?"

"I wanted to return. I always did."

Her words come out much more rushed than she intended it to come out. You feel your world shatter in that moment as you speak your next words.

"You never moved on?"

She steps closer.

"I dreamt about you every night. Under the sea of the shooting stars."

You shake your head, quickly wiping away at your own tears and she has to take a sharp breath in so her tears don't fall.

"Don't say that." You whisper "We can't. Please."

She looks at you, more intensely than ever as her voice quivers.

"Why?"

You shake your head.

"It'll only hold us back."

You still adorn matching scars from the torture you both had gone through in those camps. She is the scar on your heart, and you are the scar on hers.

"We can't." Is all you say.

She turns around and you want to pull her into your arms, you want her to be able to look at you but from that moment on, the look on her face as you ended what it was and what it could’ve been would be the face you see every night you close your eyes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

somewhere in the sky i could not see, was you ☆ yukong

The evening Caiyi died in her arms, Yukong vowed to never see the skies again. That was the same evening you went missing, the same evening she breaks down because how can she lose two of what she loved most in her life within the blink of an eye? The reason for her to wake up every morning, the reason she smiled even through the roughest of the days- now faded into nothing but memory and a distant bitter taste in her mouth.

You were not presumed dead, only missing. The false sense of hope had Yukong staying at her desk for hours every day, going through files and files, records upon records to try and maybe find some trace of you somewhere but after years of searching she finally gave up. She had to care for Qingni for Caiyi, she had to keep loving you because if she doesn't then she feels like she's lost herself.

It was the day Qingni flew to the skies when she finally looked up once more. She looks to the planes to see her daughter flying the same path that doomed her from wanting to live but the sky was the reason she had the two people who made life worth living. It was that day a plane crashed and Yukong felt the familiar, sickening feeling from decades ago as she runs to the sight. She's panicked, flustered, heart racing and feeling like throwing up as she pushes past crowds amongst crowds-

She doesn't know if she should scream or sigh in relief when they pull the lifeless-looking figure out of the starskiff. The model was old, the same she used in the war where she lost....

You. The figure they pulled out was you and she feels like she's going to be sick. She runs up to them, asking if you're okay and the medics are telling her to back off but she needs to know. She puts her head down, ear against your chest and almost sobs when she hears your heart thud weakly. It's so soft she really could've missed it but she hears it.

"Oh baby..."

She whispers as she cradles your head on her lap.

She sits by your side in the hospital until you wake up. She doesn't move, doesn't eat or drink or anything unless Qingni drags her to the bathroom or to the cafeteria. She holds your hand weakly, squeezing it every once in a while to see if you'd respond.

A cough jolts her awake and she quickly scans the dark, dimly lit room to find you- blinking weakly as you scan the room wearily.

"Oh, oh my god."

She quickly gets off her chair, rushing by your side.

"Are you okay? How are you feeling? Nurse-"

"Yukong."

She never thought she'd hear her name fall from your lips, to hear her name mumbled out so softly and hoarsely again.

"I'm here, I'm right here."

You don't say anything as you close your eyes, taking in a deep but pained breath as you close your eyes. She can feel her hands go cold, trembling violently as she tries to calm herself down. Her fingertips feel like they've been dipped in ice water and her throat feels like its closing up violently.

"You're here."

Yukong couldn't help the sob that escapes her lips at your words.

"Yes, yes baby. I'm right here."

The tears are already falling before she can even bother trying to control them, and she can already feel herself slipping away when you smile softly at her because she had always been a fool for you. She put the whole world down for you and she would lift it up for you if you needed it to be lifted again.

"I- I came back."

"You did, you did baby, you're back." She whispers, finally moving to take your hand in hers. You feel so much smaller, your hand much rougher than it used to be and when she finally takes in how scarred you are she feels like breaking down.

"Wanted to see you..." you whisper weakly, voice shaking as you look directly into her eyes.

Your eyes were nothing like the eyes she used to look at every night before she drifted off to sleep. Now they were hollow, every trace of who you once were has faded into the past that only resides through her dreams.

You were back, but you'd never really be back.

She just squeezes your hand gently as she tells herself it's okay, telling herself that you're physically here and you were somehow still alive and that's all she's been praying for since the day you fell.

So why does it hurt so much?

If all she's ever wanted was to have you back in her arms, why does it hurt so much to have you back now? Looking at her with a smile that no longer meets your eyes and a sense of coldness washing over her like a suffocating blanket every time she sees you.

She still loves you.

She still loves you and it hurts that her lover has died, reincarnated into a broken version of who she once loved. But she doesn't care. She will learn to live with the cold if it means being able to hold you once more. She would spend as long as she needs, puzzling every piece of you back together until you are able to smile at her without the history of all that happened haunting your every waking move.

She vowed, from that moment on, she'd start looking at the sky again because the sky brought you back. Every evening she stares up at the moon, watching it dim the lights to another day, and whisper her gratefulness to have her lover back. Every evening, she brings you out to look at the moon, the same moon you looked at during the two decades apart where the only thing you had together was the moon draped in the sky that she was too scared to look at.

"I love you."

You just lean your head against her chest.

You just listen to her heartbeat, and with each thud the cracks in your body begin to renew themselves- you would never be who you were, but you would always love her.

"I love you too."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

every scene was you ☆ ruan mei

The day she left, she vanished. No note, no text, nothing. Ruan Mei had become nothing but a shadow on earth when she decided to leave your house and you questioned if it was even worth searching for her at that point.

She had always been obsessed with aeonhood, aeons, power- whatever. You knew she was. Yet you still loved her for it, and she always promised you that one day you two would be able to love each other for eternity, for as long as you wanted to and until time itself faded into nothing but what was a mere idea of the past. She held you close that evening when she promised you, your head resting on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you.

A week later, she vanishes.

Lab empty, notes packed away, it was like as if your house had gone back in time to before you met her with how empty it all was. You called her number, texted her phone, contacted everyone she knew which was not a lot but you still tried because you loved her.

The day she revealed herself as the 81st member of the genius society, you felt your entire being shatter into pieces of who it once was. That was why she left you. Ultimately, Ruan Mei was selfish, and she had always been a selfish person.

You were foolish for loving her.

But you couldn't stop.

By the time you finally encountered her again, your history had become just a speck of dust in her mind but it was still your reason for hurt. It was still the reason why getting out of bed was a bit harder and why looking in the mirror hurt just a bit more than it should.

"Oh, it's you."

Her monotonous voice has you wanting to squeeze her throat, strangle her until she can't speak but you don't move. You stare at her, her lack of reaction, her poker face and you just swallow.

"How are you?"

That was the only sentence you could manage out and if you looked closely enough, you could see her eye twitch slightly as her throat tightens- her composure begins breaking at the sound of your voice.

"Well." She nods. She sounds too composed to you despite all the pain she is desperately trying to hide. She hates you for making her feel this way. She hates how weak she feels when you make that face at her, when your eyes widen and your mouth tightens into a line, body tense and breathing shallow. "You?"

She notices how your body tenses even more at that question, how your eyebrows begin to furrow as your face grows pink from anger.

"Not very good."

"Oh."

Her response had you fuming even more. How she was so careless and thoughtless towards you and how you felt drove you off the walls. She doesn't give a shit about you, why would she even ask?

Because you don't see the guilt that eats away at her heart every night as she stares at the photo of you that she has on her bedside table.

"Congratulations. You did it. Genius society."

It came out bitter and harsh, and Ruan Mei doesn't flinch but she feels this twist in her gut that's too unfamiliar and too painful for her to fully register. She doesn't understand this feeling. She wants to, because she wants to know how to stop it.

"Thank you."

You scoff at her response, physically unable to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you stepped closer to her, jabbing a finger into her chest.

"You're a fucking bitch."

She hates how her heart leapt at the feeling of your touch, she hates how your words actually manage to hurt her when it really shouldn't be affecting her at all. She's been called so much worse, so why does this, coming from you, hurt so much?

"Is this because I left?"

How can she be so dense?

"You left without saying a word! You just disappeared off the face of the earth, I don't hear from you saying where you are. I don't know what happened, I thought I did something wrong, but no- I remember who you are. A narcissistic bitch who only cares about herself."

The last part hurt more than it should've.

"I don't only care about myself."

You can't help but falter at how soft her voice suddenly goes as she looks down, not making eye contact as she shifts her bodyweight from foot to foot.

"I really cared for you."

Those words shouldn't affect you. You should've moved on from what happened almost twenty years ago now but you can't. You just stare at her and you hate how you feel tears start to form in your eyes as you blink violently, trying to hold it back.

"Don't say that to me."

She goes silent.

"I hate you."

She looks down and you don't see the tears that well up in her eyes.

"I really hope you succeed. I hope you get everything you've ever wanted."

She doesn't even get to see your face for the last time, because by the time she finally gets the courage to look up you were already gone. Your last words to her haunt her every time she begins her studies, or every time she tries to focus on figuring out creating a new life species. She knows you didn't mean it, yet she can't help but want you to notice her just one last time.

Maybe this time, she could fulfil her long broken promise to you.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

@44rtem idk ifthis is the ruan mei content u wanted... but here u go <3

[earlysunshines]

⚠️ WARNING - long ask ahead, don't tell I didn't warn, sorry in advance guys 🤟

IM ERWITING THIS AS I GO ON THE FIC, which means omw to work, which means ill be all day thinking of this dani BC THE "the woman has a few moles on the right side of her face" GOT ME GOOOD yeees I love mo dani little moles sooo much.

(this all may be out of place? is just comments bc I'll probably explode if I dont write it down already so,,,

A CHET BAKER CD?? OUCH you have a good taste (played jazz for a while after it cause I was already wanting to hear since hanni recent live listening to the lp she brought, that was such a great live)

loved the way you played with the shelter 'care' word bc of the kang going first AND it was so funny haerin going like "your girl is just that way if you want to know" she is a little menace

ok so beach jazz scene, just got chills from them looking at each other and singing the same line cause I put to play the song too yk immersion, AND ARRURGH THE slip up and calling dani beautiful oh pls n dani still staring like i can imagine her goofy little teasing smile at yn bc of It oh oh they're so in love,, im just getting started aren't I?

yn just noticing dani has been talking about her when minji mentioned likejjhh giiirl I knew since haerin mentioned the same line dani had said about yn eyes. n ooooh you didn't continue the twinflame book c'mon (loved the bit of it)!!! it was getting interesting

also really important part; the way you always highlight the action of dani tilting her head squeezes my chest everytime i. swear . im weak for it

THEY KSSED 😭😭😭oh dani's tatto they're- WELL THEY KISSED !!! UARGH cuties

okaywait was so engaged reading that I forget this here, so the bathroom scene remind ME about the time thing, tbh I think you did this all fluffy scenes on purpose making us forget abt the plot, funny how wait this about to be big, like since when I read the summary I got surprised with this concept of death time tattoo, usually is 'time until you meet your soulmate' kinda of thing SO never read this plot before AND since the start I was like, afraid? of finishing this one like idk it it all comes to a end yk? idk shit you made me thoughtful, going back to read

OOP CLOSE THE DOOR??🫣? IM SEATED oh to hold danielle waist and and...😔 "maybe im your twin flame"YOURE😭MO DANI 😭 YOU ARE arhg youre giving me anxiety my dear writer

NOO YN don't isolate yourself oh if you're giving us another heartbroken dani im about to cry

LAST THEN 48 HOURS??? WAIITWAIT I want my fluffy where is fufflism

just thinking abt hyein ms lee and haerin starring at yn like 'is she dead??' gave me such a good laugh ngl

oh you... you made they death day on 722? ah....I swear I thought they were going to die without knowing abt they're soulmates like urgagrhggggsgghh lemme finish this up

before I cry with this little happy alternative universe I wanna say that I LOVED the way everything evolves around the beach, like since her parents till yn on th way of dyin,g it felt so right, the 'day off' where they spent all day gave me a thought like 'oh ms.lee surely planned it bc she knew dani walked on the morning' for me it was planned☝️🤓 (beabadoobee - beaches) <3

...to be honest I dont even know what to say to this one bc this all was just comments so yeah..im...this was good, good. literally spend all my shift thinking about finishing this one, the concept really got me good,, I.. maybe smth personal but i've been so...overloaded for a while so this one hitted soo close and made me want to,, live.. I think I just need a mo dani marsh in my life too

anyways😮‍💨 #really great, #changed my life, #made me cry, they're so many thoughts going on as a write this.. you're truly amazing. wish you a amazing day/week/weekend you deserve the best only!! 🫶

-with many admiration, 🤟

for this long wonderful lovely feedback i will provide. alonnnggg. reply and details plus insights HOORAAY im so glad to hear from u i absolutely love your responses u make me smile always

NO YWAAHAH HER MOLES I LOVE THEEMEMM they’re my fav feature other than her long eye lashes and smile and wait i love every feature muahahhaha

i loooove chet baker i have a like 8 hour playlist that has a lot of his music on there along with others ima. fiend for jazz i live for jazz festivals omfg and i need to find clips of hanni listening to music what!! i didn’t know this happened on her live…

no bc my fav thing ab these fics is that it’s lit up to me i thought i was the funniest person adding “kangs kare” im so #wordplay put me in coach

OMFG JAZZ Scene has some more behind it actually no it doesn’t i lied but basically i was like trying to just write and listen and the jazz playlist was lit on and CHET BAKER played and it was it’s always you and omfg i just ugh i started daydreaming and stopped writing for a moment LLOOL idk jazz makes me really lovey and dovey and emotional i think it’s beautiful it’s like a warm embrace or your lover tracing their fingers over your skin

aahahhshdh i think dani si the type of person to not shut up ab someone she likes and like she won’t even know she likes them yet but everyone around her knows LOL and mmmm detail the first thing dani said was “you have pretty eyes” and i tried to make that the first thing she said in the ending bc they’re twin flames and shit and aahhh repetition and similarity in universes … i’m rambling

ALSO this is so embarassing i had to literally search the difference between soulmates and twin flames and read a small article about twin flames and EVEN WORSE i had to make it sound professional and whatnot bc i had to quote on quote make a book in my fic ?-?:?: if yk what im saying but yeah that was a pain… cannot go on any longer i started making shit up FORREAAALLL all of that was pulled out of my ass i swear

NO BC PPL TILTINT THEIR HESDA IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME AND JUST PERKING YHRIR HEADS LIKE ANY MOVEMENT OF PPLS HEADA is so special to me it shows attention to details and emotion and desire to KNOW and be present in the moment and it’s just… so reassuring despite it being such a small gesture and i have realized over the years that i do it subconsciously with people i love and strangers that i click withINLVOE TJAT DETAIL i will use it in every fic ever idc if it’s repetitive i don’t care. i often tilt my head and whatnot bc im actually very nonverbal in real life usually (im just tired all the time) so i usually hum or give short responses and use my head to gesture the rest of what i need to convey liek this is so important to me guys…

I LOOOOVE writing kissing scenes but also no bc they get repetitive and yeah and also that tattoo hehehehsjwhhd i had to soft launch dani having the same tattoo LOL

i tried to make the whole death thing a little less repetitive and kind of brush over it until it got worse and worse and more serious and the whole concept was cheaply influenced by a movie where the two love interests know that they’re dying bc of their sickness but then i added a set, concrete date for dani and yn to die LOL idk lowk my creative juices were being juiced with this one… i was THINKING … and yeah i tried to fit in as many details and things that you���d have to remember form the beginning or middle idk i just rly like how i structured this one (the pacing is stilll iffy to me but wtv( bc i tried to have things tie together well and whatnot

makeout scene had me giggling and blushing while reading it was inspired by the anon who sent a makeout ask like smth ab “imagine making out w dani for the first time” and originally it wasn’t going to be there but i think it added to their bond and tension and lalalala yeah

no i couldn’t make them.die without knowing they’re meant to be but i had to try to figure out how to make the reveal angsty and i was like might as well have them figure out before they die and SOEAKJNG OF WHICH it took me a good amount of time while at work and making drinks to think of a way for them to die idk this story was so spontaneous and changed a lotLOL

and yes the whole beach thing was lowk inspired by summer strike bc i like the small town environment and how cute the beach is i haven’t even finished the drama im on ep like eight and haven’t watched since a few months ago LOL but i think the beach is just so calming and small towns r just sooo relaxing and nice compared tot he city (that being said i will always be a city girl…) idk beach city energy is just so wonderful and fits dani bc she grew up in newcastle and her whole vlog kinda gave me ideas for the world building and whatnot

i’m glad u love it!! and also just to mention ab the whole personal thing and living

i project a lot into my work and what i put down on the doc. idk if u can tell but i see a lot of beauty in things because i feel like its not worth dying if youre missing out on the intimacy of being loved and loving back plus just general interactions and platonic bonds built (ex: hyein and mrs lee) so like ywaaahh im glad you want to live!! there’s so much out there to experience and trust i understand exactly how u feel i looooowk have a lot of my own problems but writing helps me point out my dreams and things i find wonderful which makes me happy and then ppl enjoy the things that i romanticize and it makes me so so so so happy LOL

did u actually cry like many ppl r saying they cried or shed a tear and idk if i beleive it bc is it REALLT. that sad and emotional (maybe i just critics my writing tm) but yeah IM SO HAPPY THAT U ENJOYED!!!

u have a great week too you’re so sweet and i always love seeing your asks and feedback seriously, thank u!!!!

[tellllaura]

Tell Laura

Becky Kill says: Just talking about you and it made us smile about the laughs we had. Thinking of you always. miss you xxx

Becky, school mate, New Malden says: Laura was anyone’s perfect child, really good at sport, really clever, always happy and although she was ill, I think she was one of the happiest people I know. Love her forever. You’re always in our minds. Laura love you. 

Laura you have been gone for over 2 moths now but I still find it hard to believe you have left us. You may not be in sight but you will always be in my heart from the day I met you and forever. School just isn’t the same while our not here. But I am sure you are happier where you are, because you are put out of this suffering wish you were. Love you.

Miss you 2222 much Laura. As soon as you get online, Whose name do you look for first?When a slow song comes on the radio,Whose face comes to your mind? by Becky Kill - | Miss you 2222 much

Natasha says: I really miss you. It’s not the same without you, even though we didn’t talk much I still feel there’s something missing. I always remember you walking into ‘Saturn’ with a big smile on you face. You are still a part of everyone’s lives in Saturn even though we can not see you, we still feel you and hear you. Lot’s of love Natasha.

Natasha Skliar-Ward, New Malden says: Laura was always happy and laughing her head off! I miss her loads… I was in her tutor group ‘Saturn’. I remember when we were in Room 52 (our old tutor group), there was a blue chair, which was for the teachers, but we all always wanted to sit on it. Laura would always be sitting there and all tried to get to it , but we never could :-). Laura was very popular. Everyone knew her. She always had this big smile on her face. I am sorry for your loss, but NO ONE WILL EVER FORGET HER !

Ivancica, Marko, Oliver, Katarina i Zeljko jaran says: Dear Laura, we miss you very much. You will be forever in our thoughts and in our hearts. You always knew how to make us smile. Knowing you gave us even more affection for children. I remember how happy we were when you started school and always laughing at your imitations and performances. We would love that you are with us now to share together happy moments with our own children.

  Draga Laurice, uvijek ces biti sa nama u mislima; veoma nam nedostajes. Uvijek si nam uljepsavala zivot i kroz tebe smo jos vise zavoljeli djecu. Voljela bih da si jos tu sa nama da dijelimo sretne trenutke sada kad i mi imamo djecu, kao sto smo bili sretni kad si ti krenula u skolu i tvoje prve imitacije. Nikada neces otici iz nasih srca. Vole te tvoji London, 30 Oct 2008. Richard, the Magician fr London says: In two hours I spent with Laura, I gained more enjoyment then in many years. It was like we shared magical moments together.

Olja auntie says: My only niece, my love, my beautiful doll, I miss your smile so much.A time has passed, but I still can not accept that you are not with us. Tears and time don’t help. Pain in my heart is even bigger.May the angels carry you on their wings. (Ljubavi tetkina, nedostaje mi tvoj osmeh. Lutko moja, zar je vec godina prosla? Tesko je prihvatiti da te nema. Suze i vreme ne pomazu. Neka te andjeli nose na krilima, duso tetkina! Da li ce ova tuga ikada proci? Strasno puno mi nedostajes. Spavaj s andjelima. Voli te tetka! Dani i meseci tako brzo prolaze, ali vreme ne pomaze. Velika tuga u mome srcu je jos teza i bolnija.)

Zvezdana, London says: Laura, my beautiful girl, I miss you my angels so much. Days and months are passing but I am stuck in place of sadness, stuck in time and memories. Look after each other… My dear Laura, it is hard to describe my longing for my little Luka and you. Words can’t express countless pages my soul in silence write for you both, letters that only we mothers can read in deepest part of our hearts. Our angels, we love you forever, you are always in our hearts!

Nikita Patel, New Malden says: Laura, it’s been over just a year since you’ve gone. I know that everyone is missing you loads. The School isn’t the same without you. I miss walking in the maths and seeing you sitting there with a big grin on your face. I was never close to you, but whenever I did talk to you, you could always make me smile. You’ll never be forgotten. r.i.p babe. love you xxx.

Bianca, Momentum, Kingston says: A year today Laura that you passed away. I have some wonderful memories of you that I will treasure. Your ever smiling eyes would lighten up with excitement if were talking about things. I know that we shared both happy and sad times together but the happy ones stay with me.

Rebecca, Kingston Vale says: I will miss you very much Laura and I will never forget you and the good times we had together at primary school. There isn’t a day when I think about you, and I will always have the memories of me and you, as I have a picture of us on my window still when we where in year six. Rest in peace! xxx

Aimee And Daraysa, Yr 11 Students At Coombe Girls School : Rest In Peace Laura We Didnt Really No You That Well But I Remember Talking To You Once At School. We Always Used To See You In School With A Beautiful Smile On Your Face! It Is A Very Sad Loss! We Were Very Shocked When We Heard The Terrible News! Rest In Peace Laura!

Abbie, Kingston says: I didnt know Laura that well, but I do know she was loved a lot at school! I also go to Coombe and where ever Laura went every one smiled!! Laura will always be in our hearts!!

 (Martha, New Malden)…We weren’t really friends, but I found this site it really brought tears to my eyes. It’s so sweet. We do miss you loads. Can’t believe you’re not in class anymore. Hannah, Kingston says: Laura it’s so hard to take in that your gone. I still can’t get over the fact that I will never see you again. I expect you to just walk into school with that massive smile on your face that you always had. I will never forget you Laura and you will always be in my heart. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of love from Hannah, Kingston .

Karen Jenkins, Navesink, NJ says: May God bless and comfort you dear friend in grief. I, too, lost my child to death. A death unexpected but final. My prayers and comfort to you in this long hard road we travel.

Leila, London says: Hey Laura. We all miss you sooooo much. I’ve never lost anyone I know and it was quite hard for me because of it. Even though we didn’t talk much, when we did it was soo fun. Break will never be the same without you.

Lizzi, Gibraltar says: Hey Laura. I Cant Believe Your Gone….Nobody Even Told Me You Were Ill Coz You Know I’m Livin In Spain At The Moment And That Made It Hard For Me To Contact You…I Sent You A Few Letters When I First Moved Her And I Still Have The Letters You Sent To Me. Sometimes I Get The Feeling Your Watching Over.I Remember When I Was Still in Coombe Me And You Made That Graffiti Alphabet Up… and Your Tag Name Was Joker And Mine Was Band…. Ha ha….That Was In Chemistry. Well I Miss You Lotz Now & Forever!

**Tetka **says: BLAGOSLOV Blagoslovi ovo maleno srce, ovu nevinu dušu što je nebesa privolela da zemlji poljubac daju. Ona voli sjaj sun?eva svetla, ona voli lik svoje majke. Ona nije svikla da s prezirom na prašinu gleda, ni za zlatom da ?ezne. Prigrli je na svoje grudi i blagoslov joj daj. Ona je došla u ovu zemlju gde se stotinu raskršca racva. Ne znam zašto je baš tebe izabrala medj’ tolikim mnoštvom, na tvom pragu se obrela, za šaku te dohvatila, za put upitala. Ona ce te pratiti uz smeh i pricu i bez senke sumnje u srcu. cuvaj njeno poverenje, vodi je pravo i blagoslov joj daj. Položi šaku na njenu glavu i moli se da, iako talasi podnožju sve silniji prete, dašak s visina ipak sleti, da sobom ispuni njena jedra i odvede je u luku mira. Ne zaboravi na nju u svojoj hitnji, nek’ se u srcu tvom svije i blagoslov joj daj.

Becky, school mate, New Malden : Just a little poem form me to you, To say how much I will miss you, And how much I love you. These days its not the same. In school, out of school And around every corner I turn. We sit there in our lessons just waiting. Waiting and waiting ……But I guess we will be waiting a long time now. We don’t see you just walk through the door with that grin on your face. No more turning around in maths, No more putting the blame on Heather No more you? Just wish I could spend one more day with you, One more hour in your company, One minute will be one minute longer. It’s not fair that it had to be you, But I guess it was your time, You’re put out of your pain and suffering. Love you Laura And you will never be forgotten. I think about you everyday. I hug my pillow that you gave me for Christmas last year. 

Becky Kill, 2007: Take my hand we will make it I swear. When u hear your phone ringing who do you hope is calling. Whose name makes your stomach drop when u hear it. When you see her. It feels like your heart has just skipped a beat. Who is the person u miss so much. You would do anything to bring them back. Do u realise wt u r 2 me? What you are always going to be. You are the one I miss the most. Everyone else will always be my second best. There will never me another you. I miss u is that obvious. Love is when u miss sum1. As soon as they have left your side you cud listen to them talk all night. And never get tired of hearing there voice. When the sound of her name. Sends chills down your spine. When you imagine her face, the second you close your eyes. I love you. I’m going to miss you forever. I cant stop missing her and I never will. Once upon a time A bad thing happened 2 me………..It was the day u left me xx Trust me we I say……………..I miss u because……..I mean it. 

[ajdrawshq]

22 and 30! (I don't know if I sent a viddy game one last time!)

22 - A game ending that's really stuck with you

kh2!!!! ill never forget the day i beat it myself for the first time.. my lil bro was there with me watching.. and im not even kidding it took me exactly 7 tries. the music, the fights, the cutscenes!!!!!! the entire sequence from the point u open the door to the credits is tattooed to the inside of my brain at this point, and its gotta be the most replayed section of any game ive ever done bc of how much ive been obsessed with it since i was little. kh2 ending my beloved..

special shout out to pmd sky tho. that one will also live with me forever :') and 999 for reasons im sure u understand skxbksjsjjs

30 - Game you think you'll finish next?

depending on which i decide to play next, either monster hunter rise or persona 5 royal!! i have them both downloaded but im waiting for mhr to actually come out for xbox tomorrow(?) n im super excited for it!! ive been wanting to play p5r too but bc of how big it is ive been putting it off for a bit,, i wish i knew how long itll stay on game pass so i dont accidently wait too much :/

[sungbeam]

[𝟏𝟏:𝟑𝟐𝐏𝐌] — park sunghoon x gn!reader

0.5k words, fluff, a moment in time w hoon

a/n: i do enjoy writing soft moments a lot more recently tbh :/ kinda weird to not be writing angst all the time tho lol i hope u all aren't tired of the sleepy time drabbles yet jsdbdk

"I didn't know you wore glasses."

Park Sunghoon glanced up from the pages of the book propped open in his lap while his knuckles rested against his lips. It was quite the picture, and you leaned against the doorframe to the bedroom with an ill-concealed smile. 

He chuckled. "Oh, well, I usually wear contacts during the day, but once I've showered, I…" he gestured to the thin, silver lenses seated on his pretty, sculpted nose. The image enhanced with his slightly damp, silver-blond hair just barely hanging over his frames. 

"They look cute on you." You had just finished showering after him, your body clad in a simple T-shirt and pajama shorts. You padded over to the bed and climbed in beside him. "What're you reading?" You mused while slipping under the covers. 

Sunghoon adjusted the blankets, throwing them over you. He rested his right hand over the book to keep his page, but then pulled you into his chest with his other. He hummed, hand running gently over your back. "Just this book."

"Don't be embarrassed. I can read what's on it." You poked his stomach teasingly, your cheek squished against his chest. Your eyes glanced over the words and ink on the pages, but they quickly drifted closed as you let yourself sink into the smell of Sunghoon's body wash lingering all over his skin and clothes. 

All the while, Sunghoon combed his fingers through your wet strands and inhaled the aroma of your shampoo and conditioner. He was addicted to the scent—he'd even made sure to buy you a set of your soaps for his bathroom for moments you wanted to shower here and stay over. (And he hoped you would do it more often, because if he was being completely honest, moments like this he wished he could freeze in time.) 

Sunghoon chuckled softly; he knew you were already settling in for sleep, rather than an evening of reading with him. You'd had a long day. "I'll tell you in the morning, bubs. How about that?"

You yawned, head nuzzling into his chest. "Hm, okay. Read to me though? Your voice is nice."

If you'd seen the pink dusting his cheekbones, you would have never let him live it down. 

Sunghoon cleared his throat. "Oh—sure." 

He skimmed the page for the place he had stopped at when you walked in, but as he opened his mouth to begin reading, his ears picked up the faint sound of your soft, even breathing. He couldn't help the slight tilt of his lips. 

"Sweet dreams," he murmured, brushing the hair from your forehead, then adjusting the blanket draped over you. 

Sunghoon bookmarked his place and set the novel aside, folding up his glasses next to it on the nightstand. He simply couldn't resist curling up with you now. The lights were turned off, the room was doused in serene silence, and Sunghoon gently found his place with you in his arms.

a/n: more cuddles yeah ik 🤕 don't forget to rb and/or tell me ur thoughts !

enha m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @staysstrays @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @yedammi @rnjfy @jaehunny1428 @w3bqrl @smolpeyy @otchae @luv4vernon @shakalakaboomboo @ashxxkook @parkjusing

[tojisun]

I saw that the requests are open :) how about toji who can't move on from his wife dying and then he gets a relationship with the reader (like a year or two) but like i said Toji can't move on so he sometimes cries in his sleep begging for his wife and he still wears his wedding ring, then the reader left and toji regrets it (change everything you want, it is an angst to fluff 'cause for the life of me I can't handle sad endings :)) thank youuu

HI! okay so i finally finished this request, im sorry it took so long. and now im sorry it turned out super long. i enjoyed writing this piece, thank you so much! i tweaked your request a bit so that it feels more comfortable writing it, i hope u like this <3

working title: between the pages

toji x fem reader

content warning: mamaguro had to be named and she is going by kaori in this fic, there is an oc who would appear quite often, book references, au - no curses, legal age gap, character death references. // word count: 7.1k

There is a saying stored somewhere in Kaori's books (those that Toji never really bothered to read until now) about misery.

He doesn’t quite recall how it goes so he spends his free time, and he has a lot of those these days, browsing the worn pages of each book that amass dust in her shelves to see if he could find it. Toji doesn’t know what it is that drives him to search for a measly quote or why he even wishes to know what it says. He wonders if this is all an empty motion—an attempt to drown out the pain and to forget about her absence. A routine that dulls the sorrow and mutes his senses.

Some days, he forgets that she is gone.

Most days, it is all that he could think about.

Then, Saturday morning, a minute before four a.m., Toji finds what he had been looking for.

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

What a cruel thing to read.

───────────────

After Kaori’s funeral, the Fushiguros took most of her possessions with them, leaving only a select few that Toji had fought for.

They never really did like him for her, after all. Only Kaori’s mother, now an old weeping woman who is rendered ill after her daughter’s death, had been warm to Toji. Maybe because he was Kaori’s husband and she was her only daughter, the youngest of her eight children, which made her love Toji despite the sourness from her husband and her seven boys. Or maybe because she had seen the lovelessness that Toji had grown up in and wanted to be a mother for him too. Whatever the reason may have been, it had long sizzled out because Toji knows he’s failed her.

So when she sat him down, quiet and aching and mourning in a way Toji had never seen before, especially not from his own blood, Toji knew what she would ask from him. And he knew what was the right thing to say.

“Son, we’d like to bring the boy home with us.” Her voice was broken, exhausted, small and weak. She rubbed her aged hands together, refusing to meet Toji’s eyes. She smelt of anguish and guilt. Just like me, Toji thought.

“We’d love to raise him as our own. And I think that, well—Toji-kun, I think it’s what she would’ve wanted for him too.”

Toji’s breath hitched and his eyes began watering almost immediately. It was playing dirty; to bring Kaori’s name and her wishes as if a weapon that was forged against him.

But even if she was wrong and that Kaori would have never liked this, Toji knew that the boy would truly fare better with them, instead.

What could Toji give him other than heartache and his own shortcomings? How could he love their son when he could barely love himself? What—

What is there to live for without her?

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” she repeated. “Did she get to name him?”

No, Kaori had not. She died too quickly, too soon, leaving Toji when their family was just completed. She had only glanced at the boy, tickling his thin hair and pressing a light kiss on his chubby cheek, and then she was gone.

No. Kaori was not given the privilege to.

So instead, Toji thought of the time in their living room, his wife sat by the open balcony doors to feel the brush of the wind as she rubbed her belly, humming a song to fill in the silence. Toji remembered how she had looked at him upon his entrance, beckoning him close to gently take his hands, shaky as they were, and press them flat onto her belly. Toji remembered the little kick that he felt through her skin, just a little nudge, and her giggles at Toji’s wide eyes.

“Our blessing,” she told him before smiling so full and bright and filled with so much life.

And Toji knew that was enough. For him, for her, and for their little baby. It was enough for a sentimental name, one that would allow Kaori’s memory to live on.

“Megumi. Kaori wanted to name him Megumi.”

His mother-in-law was quiet after that, and Toji wondered if she realized that she was taking the last of Kaori’s remnants from Toji’s life. Then, he wondered if that was truly the right call.

───────────────

Toji reads Kaori’s books religiously, chasing after the ghost she left in between the worn pages of her favourite books. He gets to know her again, relearning who she is through poems and prose, and putting together these new pieces—these glimpses of Kaori’s soul that she had left—in hopes of having more of her.

It is madness, some might say, but Toji thinks it is just his grieving.

The months crawl by, but they do move. There is a quote somewhere in her books about these slow hours, and Toji pretends that he does not have it memorized in spades.

“That’s what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.”

The words come to Toji like the wind; plain and unseeing, but irrevocably heart-wrenching. Is this what she wanted to happen when she left those books? To have Toji be haunted by words that should not have made sense, as if they are lifelines that he is desperately clutching onto because what else of her is left for him if not those?

“You left me,” he says, tracing her name chiselled amongst the others in the Fushiguro family grave. “You said,” his voice hitches, “you said that we’d raise Megu—the boy together. Then you went back on your word and left us both.”

The wind blows and the leaves rustle, and Toji has never felt more alone in this world.

“How do I live without you?”

There is no reply. There hasn’t been one for a year now.

Toji waits, straining his ears because maybe some superstitions are right. Maybe the wind does carry her voice and maybe then she will finally answer him. Maybe there is something to be heard in the cemetery. Maybe her ghost is beside him, after all.

But there is nothing. Toji stands up and leaves.

───────────────

He finds their picture tucked in one of her older books. The pages of this one are frayed and bent, as though it had been drenched in water and despite the careful fixing, it never really did get restored. But he knows this book: it’s the one she’s always held close to her being. A favourite, perhaps, or a carrier of sentimental values, those that date even before meeting Toji.

He never really got around to reading it then—the wound was too fresh, too deep—afraid that if he were to finish the book, then it was like the last piece of Kaori was truly gone.

But tired from work and jittery from pain, Toji flips the book open. Then, that is where he sees it. An old photo of them together, taken from one of those cheap photo booths that she had forced him into.

In the picture, Kaori had her head resting on Toji’s shoulder who encircled his arms around her, tucking her underneath his chin. Toji remembers pressing her impossibly closer, snuggling her on his chest because Toji wanted a reminder. Wanted proof that he is loved and spoken for.

He gingerly plucks it from in between the pages, stroking a finger at Kaori’s smiling face.

(He willed himself not to read what was on the page, but his eyes were faster than his mind. “I want you to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like—.”

Toji tears his eyes away, focusing on Koari’s picture instead.)

Toji never really forgot her face, gods he doesn’t know if he ever will, but it’s been too long since Toji had seen her look so alive. He studies her face, trailing his eyes at her smile and at the crinkles at her eyes and at the shimmer of her lips and at the rose of her cheeks, and sears it all to his memory.

A choked sob makes its way from his throat.

He flips the picture, remembering Kaori scribbling something at the back and—yeah, there it is.

In careful hiragana, Kaori wrote, “My love and I.”

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and the tears come easily, painful sobs wrenching themselves from his throat as he drowns at the sorrow once again.

───────────────

It’s been three years (six months and nineteen days) since Kaori’s death, and Toji still thinks there is not much left to live for himself.

Stumbling to survive, he has long given up on trying to find a semblance of joy, a sliver of hope, in this lonely world.

Kaori’s mother stopped giving him updates about Megumi (sometimes, saying his name hurts Toji in ways he cannot explain; it’s like being reminded of what was taken from him, what is irrevocably gone), and Toji tries to pretend that he understands why. Granted the boy was not told of his existence, but Toji thinks he still deserves to know even a glimpse of his son’s life. Of Kaori’s son. But they have changed their numbers and cleansed themselves of Toji, leaving him to mourn on his own once again.

He flips a page.

“Is that Sputnik Sweetheart?”

Toji peers up from his lashes to look at you, seeing awe sparkling in your eyes as you sweep a look at the book in his possession. Selfishly, he wished that no one else had read Kaori’s books; that these are something only she and Toji knew, a secret they share, a language no one else can decipher.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Read it?”

“Me? Nah,” you say, chuckling. “Could never really go through Murakami’s books, they’re too long and loaded.” He smiles at that, thinking, yeah, they are. He’s always wondered how Kaori ever finished them so quickly when Toji is lumbering page to page, rereading certain passages just to fully soak them in. “My ex loved them though, s’why I could recognize that,” you add.

He grunts. You tilt your head at the empty seat in front of him. “Can I?”

He casts a quick glance at the cafe, brows furrowing at seeing how packed it had gotten, before turning to you and nods.

“Sweet,” you say, collapsing at the chair and sagging in comfort.

Toji takes that time to study you. You are years younger than him, that’s the first thing he notices. Maybe ten or so years younger? You look like it. You’re short too. Well, shorter than him. You look tired; haggard in a way that he only remembers seeing from Kaori, back when she was still in college and cursing her professors. Then there’s this aching in your eyes that Toji doesn’t want to acknowledge, doesn’t want to see lest he is reminded of himself. It was this type of longing trapped in your eyes that never seemed to have healed, just dampened. It was there when you were talking about your ex, a heavy feeling that you pushed away quickly. But Toji has familiarized himself with the flickering sorrow.

He knows. You’ve lost someone too, huh?

“So how far along are you in that book?” You ask, shrugging your winter jacket off and hanging it on your chair.

“Finished it.” Toji picks up his coffee and sips to avoid saying more, but you smile at him, undeterred, and go back to fixing yourself up, unwrapping your scarf to let it hang loosely around your shoulders instead.

“Must be a good book if you’re rereading it,” you say, chuckling lightly. He gives another grunt before turning back to his book, and he sees you shrug from his peripheral, not taking offence at his dismissal.

Not that he cares, but there is nowhere else Toji can go to right now. Snow began pattering outside the cafe, and despite that the streets are still busy and full of people, and home is—there hasn’t been a place like home for him anymore. So he is grateful for your polite conversation, but he is more thankful for your silence. It seems like you two need solace, after all.

He returns to his book and you start fumbling about in your laptop before pulling out textbooks and notebooks and cleanly piling them on your side of the table. Your coffee (iced caramel latte, too sweet and kind of impractical for the cool weather) has begun perspiring as you lose yourself in your work, forgetting about your drink, and Toji pretends that he is not watching you from the corners of his eyes. He pretends that seeing you work does not feel like coming close to normalcy again.

There is an hour left before the shop closes, but Toji packs up to return to his apartment. You look up at his clamour before returning to your notes, notebooks sprawled open as if it was not enough that you have your laptop with you. He walks to the trash and dumps his empty coffee cup before sliding to the door. He pauses. Then he walks back to you again.

You look up once more upon hearing his steps, confusion clouding your gaze as you tilt your head in wonder. He speaks before you could. “Good luck with your work,” he says. He hovers, waiting.

“Oh,” you utter, confused. “Thank you?” You phrase your reply like a question and Toji’s lips quirk in amusement. He nods, a silent goodbye, then he walks out, this time for real.

Before rounding the corner, he turns to cast a quick glance at the shop again and feels a quiet type of elation when he sees you looking back at him. He raises a hand—another goodbye; he wonders what prompted it—before turning at the corner and disappearing completely from your view. He wonders if you mirrored his silent farewell.

He thinks you did.

───────────────

He returns to the cafe two weeks later.

It is late and the wind is a lot more biting, stinging his ears and nose. Toji’s face scrunches when he finally makes it to the shop, breathing in the familiar smell of coffee beans and too-sweet pastries. It’s quite packed again, everyone milling about to avoid the winter winds.

Then, he sees you.

Much like before, you are sitting at the same table, on the same chair. Your books are open again, this time you are scribbling in your notebook instead of typing away in your laptop. Your coffee cup—you’re still drinking iced coffee, it seems—is empty, leaving a mix of melting ice and cream-coloured leftover brew.

He turns to the cashier and orders two coffees, one hot and one iced, for him and for you. Toji tries not to think about the impulsive decision he made, choosing instead to bask in the warmth of the shop as he waits for the barista to finish up with his order. He does not notice it, but his eyes stray and linger on you, watching the way your hair curls behind your scarf and the way your back slouches deeper every time you write.

He huffs a humoured laugh when you thump your head on the table, hand fisted around your pen looking as if you have given up. Just like Kaori before, he thinks.

He pauses, dread filling up his heart. No. No.

When his name is called, Toji grabs his order and briskly walks out the door. Only when he is close to the train station does he realize that he is still holding onto the iced coffee. Toji throws it in the nearby trash can and scurries off into the platform.

───────────────

He visits Kaori’s grave.

It feels wrong, somewhat. It feels like he came to her because he is guilty. Guilty of thinking of another woman, guilty of comparing her to someone else. He places the flowers on the stone, but it just feels like an apology. Like an excuse. He tries forming words in his mouth, but they all burn at his throat and leave him empty.

Toji doesn’t quite know what to call the feeling—lies, Toji hears himself rebut, you know what it is—he just wants to unlatch it from his being and discard it away. He would rather feel hollow than feel this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but he cannot find it in himself to say what he is sorry for.

He watches as the snow piles up on the stone, dropping onto the flowers that he brought and clumping together with no abandon. There is a certain silence in the cemetery, but Toji welcomes it, anyway. It allows his veins to simmer and it lays the paths for Toji’s mind to wander.

He finds that he often loses himself in this place, almost like a plea for Kaori to come and take him with her.

Toji hears the crunching of snow as tiny shuffles make their way close to Kaori’s grave, and he waits for them to move away and skirt around him but they don’t. Instead, the padding of boots stops a few feet away from Toji, almost hesitating in the way they hover at his right. Curious, he looks up and sees you.

“Oh,” he hears you say, blinking at him, your soft voice tinged with surprise. “It’s you!”

He chuckles before he can stop himself. “Yeah. It’s me.”

There is a pause as you figure out if you were to stay or walk away, unsure if it is overstepping if you inquired any more of his time there or if it is rude to just continue on your way. Toji sees these thoughts dance across your face, his scarred lips tugging up in amusement (endearment), so he makes the choice for you.

“Visiting someone?” Toji asks and urges you to come closer. You take gentle steps, careful and quiet as you move to stand beside him.

He sees you eye the Fushiguro’s grave, reading all the different names carved on the stones. Toji wonders if you’ve seen Kaori’s name and just knew that the other half of his soul, the better half, is now dust.

“Yeah,” you finally say. He blinks when you utter a name he doesn’t recognize.

“What?”

“That’s, uh, that’s my name? We never really got to introduce ourselves last time,” you reply, scratching your cheek, embarrassed.

Toji grunts in understanding. “Fushiguro Toji.”

You turn to the grave in question. Toji shakes his head. “I’m visiting my wife.” You make a low noise at the base of your throat, nodding your head slowly.

He clears his throat. “How about you?”

Then there is this wobbly smile on your face and Toji thinks, I know how it feels.

───────────────

There was a man sitting at your usual table, grumpy as he flipped a page from a book that you are too familiar with.

(Flashes of Teruma’s bright orange hair danced across your irises, and for a moment it was like he was there with you again.

“Baby!” He would call you as he always had, and you would be weak on your knees because he’s alive, alive, alive.)

There’s a scar at the corner of the man’s mouth, long enough that it spanned both of his lips, and he oddly looked good with it, you thought. Then you remembered that it is rude to stare at people and so you forced your eyes to meet his, and saw pools of green flaked with glitters of gold. He was reluctant to allow you to sit with him.

That’s fine, you just wanted to get through your Geography homework, anyway.

He didn’t speak much, choosing to read his book again. Likewise, you zoned into your work and focused in earnest. Time trickled and ran, but every flip of a page from the man’s book sent you reeling back in time.

(Cheeky smiles and rough palms.

“I’ll come back soon,” is whispered on your lips.

“Okay,” you kissed back.

But he never did.).

When the man wished you well with your work before ambling away, you could not help the way your lips stretched into a smile.

What a gentle giant he was.

. . . . . . . . . . .

A couple weeks later, you saw Gentle Giant again. You saw his mirage from your spot, and you watched as he walked away from the shop, his steps looking rushed and almost frantic. The two cups of coffee in his hands sloshed at his brisk movements, and you just wished that whatever he was speed-walking to was worth him spilling his drinks.

Belatedly, you wondered if the other cup was for someone else.

You stared at his quickly retreating back until he rounded the corner, and disappeared from your vantage completely. Then, you turned back to your godforsaken paper, cursing your professors and the educational system.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Gentle Giant’s name is Toji, and he lost his wife. He hasn’t told you much, but you still want to tell him about Teruma. So you do.

You tell him about the boy who you’ve loved for six years, two of which were spent loving his ghost. You tell him about the breakup, the mutual understanding shared between you two before he went to Detroit. You tell him about Teruma apologizing, about you saying it is okay. Then, shakily, you tell him about the plane crash, the one that was on the news two years ago. You tell him about the funeral held for the boy whose body they never recovered.

“I was gonna marry him,” you say. “I was so sure that I was gonna spend the rest of my life with him.”

Toji does not mention the tears on your cheeks or the way your breath hitches or the tremble of your hands. He does not offer apologies or any placation, and you know it is his kindness. Silent, like everything else about him.

───────────────

Toji tells you about Kaori. He thinks it is to make it fair, after all you told him about Teruma, but really, he just wants to let the pain out. He sees how light you have felt after, and Toji yearns to feel that free. There is an aching in his heart that has festered and aged, and Toji wants, even for a bit, to let go. So he does, and he starts by telling you about his wife.

Toji loses himself in the memories, closing his eyes as he relives his moments with Kaori. It’s been years but she is still bright in his mind, concrete and alive, almost as if Toji could just reach out and feel her warmth again. Anguish thrums in his veins as he tells you about their son, but he bulldozes through because he wants the good memories. There is no more of Megumi that Toji could call his own, so Toji traces Kaori’s books, instead, and tells you their significance.

This is when Toji feels you come alive, springing like a bud and uncurling outward to meet him in his ramblings. You pipe in about Murakami’s books, excited and nostalgic at the same time. He tells you about Kaori’s frustrations—“Too much open-ending, apparently.”—and you tell him about Teruma’s—“He calls them poetry.”—and Toji feels like he’s found a kindred in your aching soul.

The ghosts surrounding you two must think you guys are fools; to be licking each other’s wounds as you recount your lives with your beloved. But so be it, Toji thinks, because he’s finally found a semblance of peace in his life.

He thinks of Sputnik Sweetheart, how this all started, and he remembers: “It came to me then. That we were wonderful travelling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits.”

How fitting, isn’t it?

───────────────

It becomes a regularity for you and Toji to meet in the cafe, Murakami’s books in his hands and your textbooks (and notebooks and laptop) in yours.

The meetups start quietly, letting the tension bleed out and allowing comfort to seep through. Then the greetings come, these ones more genuine. You share something about your life, and Toji listens. He is more reserved, only saying things that have no follow up questions, but it seems you do not care about his plans because you always find a way to make him speak more.

Often, Toji finds his voice wearing down after those meet-ups with you, and he does not remember a time after Kaori when he’s spoken this much. He feels elated, alive, and living.

Sometimes, it’s still a struggle to go about life without Kaori.

Sometimes, he forgets it as long as he’s with you. And if that isn’t terrifying.

He learns who you are past the stress of university exams and incoherent cursing at whoever pissed you off at work. He unveils your person deeper, seeing what you’ve become after trying to heal around Teruma’s passing. Toji sees someone who he wants to be like.

You laughed when Toji uttered this to you. “I’m a mess, Toji-san!” You said, clutching your stomach as laughter pittered off from your throat. That’s another thing that Toji learns about you: you say his name like it is milk gliding at your tongue.

“I di’n say you ain’t,” he remembers answering. I just want to feel more than sorrow, he added as an afterthought. He wonders if you knew what he wanted to say back then.

It seems like you always do.

───────────────

Spring air turns a lot hotter, welcoming summer earlier than anyone has anticipated. The only good thing that came out of the upcoming humid season are the flowers that grow in bigger and cheaper bundles.

He grabs white chrysanthemums for Kaori, you brought Teruma orange gerberas.

There are more people in the cemetery these days, plucking out weeds and cleaning their family graves as they welcome the new season. Toji helps you clean Teruma’s and you both hover at Kaori’s, offering a short prayer.

“Who knows?” You begin as Toji walks you to the station. He lives on the other side of the city, but it is still too early and Toji doesn’t want to be alone again. Not yet. “Maybe Kaori-san and Teru are reading Murakami’s books wherever they are right now.”

Toji snorts. “You believe in the afterlife?” He pushes his hair back, noting that it’s grown longer again and that he needs to cut it soon.

You shrug, humming quietly, and looking away when Toji meets your eyes. “I’d like to think that there is a better place for the dead. That there’s a place where the people we love are happier. Because why else would they leave us, you know?”

Toji blinks, quiet and stunned. Then, he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

And it sounds a lot better, kinder, than what Toji used to believe in. Because if there is an afterlife, then surely Kaori is at peace and she is happy and she is no longer hurting.

So maybe, with this in mind, maybe Toji can begin letting go. Because if Kaori is in a better place, then maybe Toji doesn’t need to be haunted anymore.

(Because if Kaori is happy then maybe he can be too—)

───────────────

A year and a half spent with you, chasing away each other’s loneliness and submerging yourselves in books that are left behind by your most precious ones, has passed when you tell him that you love him.

Toji turns to you in surprise, watching the blush on your cheeks as you stop walking, waiting for his answer. Your eyes are steady as they gaze back onto him, your face schooled into a mask. He notes the falling leaves around you two and the wind that blows from his back and the way your hair sweeps away from your face and how you tremble, having always been weak to the cold.

His first thought is, You look good even in autumn.

Then his next is, I know.

“Are you asking me out?” Toji finally asks, grimacing when his voice breaks at the end, and swallowing to dislodge the lump stuck in his throat.

You shrug, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and Toji watches, mesmerized. “If you want,” you say. “I mean, if you want to be in a relationship with me, that’s great. If you don’t, that’s fine for me too, Toji-san, we can just remain as friends. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. Have been in love with you.” You coughed, blushing and looking away, shy all of a sudden.

There is strength in your voice that Toji cannot seem to shake.

(Later, when he looks back on this day, Toji will recognize that it is fortitude; it is courage that you have gathered in your arms and had lain in front of him, asking him to make a choice. Asking him to choose you.)

And he thinks that he’s known this day would come. He’s waited for this day to come. But Toji knows his faults, he has known them before any other could. For many nights that he was sleepless, Toji spent the time tracing the fractures in his being and knowing that there is something wrong with him. That there is something he cannot get through, something he cannot let go.

“I don’t think I can ever forget her,” he tells you, honest and broken.

“I didn’t expect you to,” you answer. “I don’t think we can love wholly again, but I still want to try with you.”

Oh, Toji thinks, you understand. You understand in ways no other had, in ways no one was willing to, and Toji thinks that maybe that is enough: that he’d feel safe in your arms and that he’d get to be happy again and that he wouldn’t be alone anymore. And he wants to. With you.

So he trudges close to where you stand, where you wait for him, and clasps his hand with yours and shyly says, “Please take care of me.”

And when you send him a smile, the one that has always been for him, Toji wills his heart to calm down.

───────────────

Nothing changes much between you two, except for the relearning of boundaries and stumbling into new ways of expressing the bubbles in your hearts, the ‘I love yous’ that are echoed. Sometime back then, Toji thought that he was doing something wrong—it was a relationship unlike Kaori’s, yes that he knew, but it was also different from all the others—until you eased his worries and told him, in an utterly fond voice, that your shared love parallels a friendship that is eons stronger.

“As long as you’re happy,” you said to him, holding onto his hands as you two lined up to pay for the bouquets, lilies for Kaori and freesias for Teruma.

“I am,” Toji replied before he leant down to press a soft kiss at the crown of your head. “And you?”

You craned your neck to look up at him, your smile wide and genuine, and whispered, “With you? Always.”

Toji’s heart swells at the memory.

Loving you, Toji thinks, is easy and light. It is built on trust and friendship and camaraderie, bearing a depth that no one seems to truly understand. A depth that people often passed off as being each other’s rebound, each other’s second choice. But neither you nor Toji think of your relationship this way.

Not when love brims from your lips, pouring your heart out with each kiss, each confession, all of which Toji reciprocates. Being with you is like finding light in the darkness, like feeling hope after the chaos, like being home once again. But it is also like a dandelion amidst the grass or a mug tucked at the very back of the cupboard; like slotting himself by your side feels natural and just right.

───────────────

There is a sound that tickles your senses, one that you try to bat away but it comes with vengeance. It starts off quiet, a whimper, and you try to drown it back, turning to sleep once again. But the sound grows louder, more desperate, more hurt, and there is nothing else for you to do but jolt awake, gasping as if you were submerged in water.

You think you dreamt of Teruma—orange hair, rough palm against your cheek, a static voice announcing a series of names, the feeling of dread, then, the dropping agony at hearing his—but the recollection fades as you turn to Toji, seeing him weeping at his sleep.

He is haunted—like me, you think, like me—and you crawl close to him, urgency steeping in your veins. “Toji-san?” You call. He whimpers but does not stir, and he turns his head away, his face scrunching in pain.

You caress his cheeks, hands gentle despite their tremors. “Toji-san,” you say, panic clouding your voice. “Come back to me, please.”

Please, Kaori-san, give him back to me.

Toji does not wake, curling on himself, instead, as tears continue to run down his cheeks. You do not let him go, voice washing over him even when he cannot hear you. You try shaking him and slapping at his shoulders, hoping the pain that his body feels is stronger than that of his heart. But you know. You know he is there, seeing Kaori leave again.

Toji continues to slip deeper into his dreams, lost and hurting. “You are okay,” you whisper, pressing kisses at his closed eyes, willing them to finally open. “You’ve been doing better, so come back here, Toji-san. To me. With me, like always.”

It takes a few more torturous minutes before he gasps awake and sits upright, his hand clutching where his heart rests. He wheezes, gulping air hungrily, before choking on a sob. He turns to you, calls your name in a quiet voice that breaks your heart, and you open your arms, not trusting your voice to comfort him. He collapses onto you, pressing his face on your shoulder as he wails, shaking, clutching you tighter as if afraid that you too will leave him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you reply. “You’re okay.”

Toji shakes his head, but he does not say anything else and lets the silence go on as he holds you close. You don’t mind, choosing to run your fingers through his hair, and letting him come back down from his dreams.

“What if we’d never work out because I’m not—I still remember her. Sometimes, I still miss her,” he finally says, breaking the silence.

You flinch and Toji must have felt you tense because he pulls back from your arms, sliding until he is sitting in front of you. He ducks his head when he sees the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. There is silence between you two, letting his words stew. You inhale sharply when his hand twines with yours, tugging, almost begging.

You sigh from your nose. “What do you want to do, Toji-san?”

“I’m sorry,” is what he says instead.

You shake your head. “Tell me. Let’s talk this through.”

He slumps forward, bowing down into himself. Your hand twitches, wanting to pull him in an embrace again, but you take his silence and allow him space.

“I love you,” he begins, voice steady and sure, and your heart flutters. I know, you want to say, but you see how he tests out the words on his tongue, hesitant and stiff, and so you wait. He squeezes your hand. Thank you.

“I'm terrified. Darling, I love you but why can’t I let go of the pain? It’s like, I allow myself to be happy but then I remember her and then I miss her all over again.” He sighs, almost a hiss, and he lets one of your hands go to push his hair back, agitated. “And I want you with me, god knows I don’t want to let you go. But am I worth it?”

You huff a humourless laugh. “Always.”

“Baby—”

“No,” you interrupt, “Toji-san, listen to me. You are always worth it, worth my love.” His breath hitches at your words and you smile as he pulls you close again, this time sitting you on his lap. You sweep his hair away from his face and plant a kiss on his forehead, and another, and another. Precious kisses for your most precious person. “So worth my everything,” you mutter.

Toji hugs you tighter and rests his head at the crook of your neck. His big hands envelop your back and you feel so small like this, as if Toji could just tuck you close in the pocket of his chest, in his heart. At the same time, Toji looks so vulnerable. Shaken. Afraid. Your Gentle Giant folded so close to you, almost as if begging you to tell him why he should stay—

Your mind screeches to a halt. Oh, Toji-san.

“I dreamt of Teru tonight,” you start, clearing your throat when your voice shatters. Toji doesn’t move, but you know he’s listening. He always does. “I dreamt about him a few nights ago too. There are days when I miss him too much that I forget he’s gone. Then there are days that it’s all I could remember. Four years of being with him doesn’t just go away, it seems. He is seared into my memories, after all.”

The more you spoke, the more Toji tenses, freezing as if he could see where you are going with this. By the end of it, his head hovers in front of you, eyes searching for something within yours. He lifts a hand to cup your cheek and you nuzzle his palm, resting your smaller hand on top of his.

You are almost breathless when you continue, as if desperate and frantic. “But it doesn’t mean I love you any less, Toji-san. I miss Teru, but I love you. And for me, that is enough.” You whimper when he brushes a stray tear away from your cheeks. “And I need to know if you feel the same, Toji-san.”

You barely got the last of your words out before Toji is pulling you in for a kiss, warm lips meeting yours in a heated tangle. He pulls and pulls, pressing you impossibly close, his touch scorching your skin as he devours your doubts away, and you know, there and then, that he loves you just as much.

When you pull back, gasping, Toji touches his forehead with yours. “I do,” he says, voice as broken as yours. He says your name, then “I love you so.”

He kisses you again, this time slower but not any less intimate. “‘M sorry for what I said,” he whispers. “‘M sorry, my love.”

You kiss his cheeks and his nose, skirting away from his lips, and quietly giggling as you press a kiss on his chin instead. “I’m okay,” you say. “We’re okay.”

He hums, low and soft. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you reply. You grin. “‘And this love is about to carry me off somewhere.’”

He chokes on a laugh, one that you note is fond, after recognizing the reference. “It’ll carry you to me, hopefully,” he says cheekily and kisses you once again. You laugh, carefree and happy, as if a load has finally been lifted off your chest.

───────────────

Teruma’s death anniversary is today.

Toji knew even before he opened his eyes, sensing the ache in the air even before he could look at you. Toji turns to your side of the bed, not surprised to see it empty. He fumbles for his phone, checks the time, and stands up to prepare for the day.

He quickly leaves the apartment and speedwalks all the way to the flower shop. A worker greets him the moment the wind chimes sound, smiling as Toji makes his way to the counter. The owner looks up from his flower arrangements and sends Toji a smaller smile upon seeing him. Toji buys carnations and baby’s breaths, and walks out the door after telling the man that yes, Toji would greet you for him.

He takes the train and doesn’t bother with all the stares that people give him, tracing, instead, the familiar route toward the cemetery. He quickens his steps, almost jogging with how fast he is moving, sincere in his desperation to be with you through this.

When Toji gets to you, you are muffling your cries behind your palms, shaking as if you are about to collapse. He rushes to your side, afraid that you will, and you startle, turning to him. Toji’s heart breaks at the grief painted on your face, and he pulls you in for an embrace before you could utter a sound.

The flowers in his hand jostle and some of the petals fall, but Toji doesn’t spare them a thought as he rests a hand on your head and wishes that this helps even for a bit.

“I’ve got you,” Toji says. “I’ve got you.”

───────────────

“I’m home! Anyways, look what I found!” You scream as soon as you arrive, and Toji blinks at your excitement.

“Welcome back,” Toji greets, smiling fondly as you jump beside him, plopping yourself so close to him. You pull your bag to your lap, fumbling about, before pulling a worn book.

“I found this in the thrift store,” you say, showing him the book excitedly, lips stretched into a wide grin. “I wasn’t gonna buy it, but look.”

You flip at the pages before thrusting the old book under Toji’s nose. He picks it up, confused as to why you were showing him a book you know he’s read already, but then he catches sight of it.

“Is this—”

“It is!”

“And it was just in the thrift store?” Toji asks, still not looking away from Murakami’s autograph.

You laugh, nodding your head frantically. “Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’. “Thought you’d love it.”

Toji turns to you and grins. “Well, I love everything you give me.”

“Aww, Toji-san! You’re such a sap!”

He rolls his eyes goodheartedly. “And you’re such a brat.”

“Mhmm. But you still love me, anyway.”

Toji smiles and finally, finally, pulls you in for a kiss. Then, “That I do, baby.”

(book references, order based on appearance):

1Q84, 1Q84, Norwegian Wood, Sputnik Sweetheart, Sputnik Sweetheart — all are written by Haruki Murakami

[cafedanslanuit]

♡   —   pairing: eren x reader

♡   —   tags/warnings: mentions of cheating and alcohol. side aruani and yumihisu. honestly just a feel-good fic, with humour and fluff <3

♡   —   a/n:  honestly, this is the most “romantic comedy” fic i’ve ever written and i love it <3 shout out to @ofoceansandtombstones​ that beta read this one mwah thank u

♡   —   masterlist

There was an ill taste in your mouth that wouldn’t go away, no matter how many drinks you had. And you already had more than a few. From your spot on the table, you could see your friends dancing and having the time of their lives. You really wished you could join them. Nevertheless, you had wasted all your energy forcing a smile and clapping along during the ceremony. Once you had arrived at the hotel reception with the rest of the guests, you had slid a bill to a kind waitress and told her to keep the drinks coming. 

Ymir and Historia were dancing in front of you. Stoic, sour-faced Ymir couldn’t help but smile as her sweet girlfriend twirled and giggled, her cheeks red and eyes just the tiniest bit unfocused. Next to them, Sasha, Jean and Connie were owning the dance floor, moving in sync to the happy music. A grin formed on your face as you saw Connie lifting Sasha up and her almost falling to the floor. Jean was holding his stomach as he laughed loudly.

On a nearby table, Mikasa looked over at them, a small smile on his lips. She was sitting next to her girlfriend, who was holding her hand as they watched their friends dance. You saw her girlfriend leaning over to her and whispering something in her ear, to which she chuckled. It was so strange -and so beautiful- to see Mikasa laugh that it took you aback. And apparently, also the girl she was with, because her lips slightly parted as she watched her in awe.

“How���s the party animal doing?”

You looked up and saw Eren staring down at you with a funny expression. He was wearing black dress pants and a white shirt. The first two buttons were undone, and he was carrying his suit jacket over his shoulder and a beer on his other hand.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye out for everyone,” you replied with a shrug. Eren scoffed and took the seat next to you on the empty table, leaving his jacket on the nearest chair.

“I mean, I know attending your ex’s wedding isn’t bound to be a good time, but you’d think you would try to put on a happy face.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hey, at least I’m here.”

“After Mikasa tried her best to convince you during a whole week,” he said. You turned your head to Eren, eyes wide open. “What? Of course she told me.”

“That little… That’s it, I’m going to tell her girlfriend about that one time Mikasa got drunk with us,” you muttered angrily, standing up. Eren was quicker and pulled you back to your seat.

“You and Armin broke up a year ago. Why are you so upset he’s moving on?”

Before you could answer, the music stopped and the dance floor erupted in applause. Eren and you watched as Armin and Annie walked in between their guests, greeting everyone as they made their way to the bride and groom table, covered with a pearl cloth and decorated with the finest flowers. Every detail screamed elegance and you knew Armin had been the one to decide most of it. It had his taste written in every napkin and strategically placed flower.

Armin’s smile was almost too big for his face and if you had to guess, those small red marks on the external corner of his eyes meant he had been crying just a few minutes ago. You rolled your eyes. So sentimental. On the other hand, Annie’s smile was far less noticeable, but for someone who always repressed her public displays of emotions as much, that little smile must have felt heavenly to her new husband.

Husband. You took a big gulp of your drink.

“I’m telling you this because I care for you,” Eren said, redirecting your attention to him. “You’re looking like a petty ex.”

“Rather be petty than a cheater,” you shrugged, finishing your drink. You gestured to the waitress and she immediately walked to you, handing you a full glass. Thanking her, you wasted no time in taking a sip.

Eren’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Armin never told you why we broke up, right?”

Eren scooted his chair closer to you and you bit back a laugh.

“He said you just weren’t good together,” he said, trying to remember his friend’s words. “And you said something similar when I asked you back then. Where does this ‘cheating’ thing come from?”

You let out a long sigh. “Maybe it wasn’t cheating. Not by definition, at least. But when your boyfriend starts dating someone else a week after you broke up a two-year-long relationship and he gets engaged four months later… you draw your own conclusions,” you explained, taking another sip of your drink and making a grimace. “Fuck, this one’s strong.”

After not getting a response from Eren for a long moment, you finally turned to look for his emerald eyes. You could almost see the numbers flying around his mind, trying to make sense of everything you had just told him. It was endearing.

“Wait, no-- wait,” Eren gestured at you with his hand. He stopped himself again and took a sip of his beer. “The first time Armin told me about Annie was in February. I remember it clearly. We were shopping for Mikasa’s birthday gift and then he went to pick something for Annie. And you guys broke up around Halloween, that’s the time I found you crying-- in Jean's backyard during our costume party.”

“We had a big fight at that party. We hadn’t broken up,” you clarified with a smirk. “He broke up with me after Mikasa’s birthday party. The same party he convinced me not to attend.”

Eren’s face dropped once all the pieces clicked together. He turned his body to look at the bride and groom table, where Armin and Annie were taking a sip of their champagne glasses and talking to each other enthusiastically, while the rest of their guests kept dancing.

“That son of a bitch,” he breathed out. You burst out laughing at his reaction. “No, I mean it! I really thought you had broken up during that Halloween party! You didn’t upload any more photos together, I don’t even remember even seeing you together--”

“I told you, we were fighting and… not in the mood for photos or public dates. Most of those months were spent at his apartment, fighting over really, really stupid things or just not texting each other for days,” you explained. “Honestly, when he broke up with me he made the decision I was too afraid to take. He was right, we weren’t good for each other anymore. But... fuck,” you chuckled icily. “I wish he would have broken up with me before getting with Annie.”

Eren listened in silence, his eyes still on his friend. You gave him time as you kept drinking, your gaze drifting to your friends again. You really wished you could have the energy to join them and forget Armin and Annie. It was true you didn’t love him anymore, yet seeing them together only made you remember how you had been fooled by someone you thought loved you the most.

You had had many dates ever since, but no one ever stuck. It was fun, getting someone’s attention for a couple of weeks, but then you couldn’t help but ghost them, putting up shitty excuses like wanting to focus on yourself and not having enough time to spare with them. You had lost so many amazing opportunities with both boys and girls that a couple of months ago you had decided to stop dating at all. It was lonely for sure, but at least you didn’t find yourself feeling guilty for not being able to open yourself up emotionally for someone else.

“Want to get back at him?”

You turned to Eren so fast you almost hurt your neck.

“What?”

“I have an idea. Just play along,” he explained, standing up.

“Eren, hey, what are you--”

“Everybody! If you could give me a minute please!”

You watched horrified as your friends started turning to you and Eren, confused at the commotion. Eren kept waving his hand, gathering more and more people’s attention, Armin and Annie included. He even gestured to the DJ to lower the music and she complied. In a few seconds, all the guests of the party were looking at you, who was still sitting down with a confused expression, a drink in your hand. Once he deemed enough people were looking at him, you saw him fumbling with his hands nervously.

“Eren,” you called for him again in a whisper, but all he did was take the drink you had in your hands and put it on the table.

“Sorry for interrupting, I know a lot of you were having a lot of fun dancing. But all I’m asking is one minute of your time. I hope that’s okay with you guys,” he grinned back to the bride and groom table, where they were as confused as all the guests around. “I have something really important to say.”

“Eren, no, you can’t tell them about--”

“No, no, give me a moment,” he hushed you again. The DJ walked to both of you and handed an inalambric microphone to Eren.

You didn’t like how devilish his smile turned.

“Great, thanks, this is much better,” he told the DJ, who just kindly smiled at him. “Anyway, I don’t want to take much of the bride and groom’s time, so I’ll try to be concise. The thing is…” he said, turning to face you. “I love you.”

Your mouth flew open as you heard multiple gasps coming from the guests. Yet, you couldn’t bother with looking anywhere but Eren’s eyes. What was he doing? Since when did he have feelings for you? If he wanted to say something, he could have easily said something a few minutes ago, when--

Just play along.

Oh.

Your questioning glare turned into a big smile and you noticed Eren softly nodding at you.

“You already know how much I love you. Honestly, I never get tired of telling you so. And hiding our love from our friends has probably been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Sorry about that, Mikasa,” he said, gesturing to the woman.

You could imagine your friend’s dumbfounded face, but you knew better than to turn and check for yourself. You knew you wouldn’t be able to hold in your laughter.

“So I’m here in front of all our friends and some other guests I don’t know to ask a simple question.”

In a swift movement, Eren got down on one knee. Your hand flew to cover your mouth, trying your best to hide any trace of laughing on your face. The flash of the cameras startled you for a moment, but that only meant Eren’s plan was working. The excited murmurs and squeals only fueled Eren, as he pulled up a ring and showed it to you. You immediately recognized it as one of the rings he had been wearing a few moments ago. 

“Would you marry me?”

A huge, honest grin made its way to your face and you nodded quickly. You grabbed the microphone Eren was holding and spoke right into it.

“Yes, I’ll marry you!”

You hadn’t listened to a crowd erupting in applause and cheers as loud as the guests at Armin’s wedding when Eren slid his ring on your finger. Once again, the flash of the cameras were right into the both of you as you leaped into his arms. He stood up while holding your body close to him, even giving you a small spin and you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

When he finally put you down, the music resumed and all your friends began running to the both of you.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you whispered to Eren, holding his face between your hands. He laughed.

“Kinda ruined the reception, huh?”

“When the fuck did this happen?” Jean inquired as soon as he reached you.

“Dude, why didn’t you tell us?” Sasha whined, with a small pout. “But congratulations!” she quickly followed, hugging you tightly. As you hugged her back, you felt someone taking the hand that was now wearing Eren’s ring.

“This is one of your rings,” she noted, shooting Eren a dirty glance. He lifted his hands in surrender.

“Hey, I didn’t plan this! But I will get her a prettier one soon,” he said, winking at you. You laughed and shook your head.

“Nah, I like this one,” you replied. You shared a knowing grin and soon it was Connie’s turn to hug you.

While you were hugging your friend back, you saw in the corner of your eye Armin getting up from the table and starting to walk to both of you. Your smile immediately vanished from your face and once Eren caught it and followed your eye trail, he understood the reason why. You heard him mutter a curse before he pulled you from Connie’s embrace.

“Well, we’d love to stay, but my fiancée and I want some time alone.”

“C’mon, you haven’t told us yet how you got together!” Sasha complained.

“Next time, we promise,” you hurriedly assured her.

Eren picked his suit jacket from the table and before Armin could reach your group, you quickly walked away, exiting the hotel. Eren whistled to a taxi and you jumped inside, telling the man behind the wheel to drive. Loud laughter filled the vehicle as soon as it began moving.

“How-- how did you even have this idea?” you asked him, holding your stomach as you laughed. “Dude, Armin looked so upset, we totally stole his thunder.”

“That was the plan,” Eren shrugged, a winning smirk on his lips. “Knowing the gang, everybody’s going to be talking about us and the engagement for the rest of the party.”

“Remind me to never have you as an enemy,” you chuckled, leaning back on the car seat. Letting out a long sigh, you took off Eren’s ring and handed it to him.

He shook his head. “Nah, keep it. As a souvenir of today,” he winked.

“Thank you,” you smiled. You put the ring on your thumb this time, since it was too big for your ring finger anyway. “You didn’t have to do this at all, and yet--”

“It’s okay,” he assured you.

“No, really. It’s just-- I’ve been having a tough time since the breakup,” you admitted. “To have you doing this for me means a lot. Makes me feel someone really cares for me. I never said anything to anyone back then because Annie is also a part of the group and I thought…”

Eren leaned his head towards you.

“You thought…?”

“I thought you would pick her too. It’s stupid, I know,” you shrugged, turning your head to Eren. “But Armin had just broken up with me and a week later he was already in public with Annie. Back then, I thought everyone knew we had just broken up and if no one had said anything was because they didn’t care. So I just… stopped hanging out with all of you as much as I did before.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” he muttered.

“You did?”

Eren nodded. “That’s why I asked Mikasa to pressure you into coming to the wedding. I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“You could have just asked me to hang out, you know,” you teased him. Eren chuckled, pushing some of his loose hairs behind his ear.

“I think we know by now I don’t take the conventional route.”

“Yeah, all of the guests know that too,” you quipped, making both of you laugh.

This time, when the laughter came to an end, you realized how close your faces were. Your noses were almost brushing as you both were lying your heads on the back of the car seat. You looked into Eren’s emerald eyes and noticed he wasn’t looking away from yours either. Was it the alcohol that made his cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink? If it was, then you could say the warmth crawling up your face was its fault too. It had to be the alcohol, or else, you would have to also ponder about the reason your heart was beating out of your chest at having your friend so close to you. He was handsome, he had always been and you knew this. But why were you losing all your composure just now?

A brief look at Eren's lips gave your thoughts away and, in less than two seconds, he was pressing his lips against yours.

For a spur-of-the-moment kiss, as you thought this one was, it was rather soft. Eren kissed you as if he thought you were the most expensive and fragile thing he had ever seen. But of course, this was just a product of the adrenaline and the fact that -as far as you knew- he hadn’t been dating anyone as well, right?

Your small theory crashed and burnt when you felt his hand softly cradling the side of your face. No. This wasn’t an adrenaline kiss, neither one that you gave without a thought. Maybe it had been unprompted and maybe you hadn’t seen it coming, but it sure as hell seemed he did. Eren’s lips gilded against your with ease, revealing a soft tenderness you didn’t know he possessed. You kissed him back, matching his rhythm as you softly pressed your hand against his chest.

Eren pulled away from you softly, and if his longing eyes were any indicator, a bit reluctantly.

“Hi,” he breathed out, making you grin widely.

“Hi,” you replied. You gently caressed his cheek with the knuckles of the hand that was previously resting on his chest. Eren took it and kissed your palm, making your heart flutter.

“Sorry to interrupt kids, but where are we heading?”

The voice of the taxi driver startled you, making you pull away from Eren. He chuckled at your reaction and then looked back at the man.

“Take us to that pizza place near the central park. Gotta have a celebratory dinner with my fiancée,” he said cheekily, taking your hand into his. You squeezed his hand back, his ring digging a little on your skin.

“So young and engaged already? Congrats!” the driver said, turning left and heading towards the direction Eren had given him.

“Thank you!” you smiled brightly at Eren while he took your joint hands to his mouth and placed a kiss on your knuckles.

A part of you knew you weren’t taking that ring off anytime soon.

[sweetsbfreex]

my baby, my baby

brought to u by me watching IW for the millionth time

Summary: You ask Steve for one thing before the fight against Thanos (IW), but for the first time in however long he denies you of fulfilling this wish.

Warnings: language?

Pairing: Nomad, Bf!Steve x thanos daughter!reader

-

He was manning the quinjet, not all the way true. Sam was flying the jet to Wakanda, Steve slumped in his seat beside Sam, in deep thought. His chin is set into his palm, his arm sitting up on the armrest, and his palm covering half of his mouth. Looking further down his leg was jittering steadily.

What would happen next was a pretty big deal, none of you on the jet knew what could go wrong. So obviously tensions were at an all time high in this cooped up jet. 

You rise up from your seat between Wanda and Nat. Walking yourself behind Steve’s chair. Your pointer finger taps his embellished shoulder, separating him from his apprehensive thoughts. He looks up at you and the creases that were once prominent in his forehead evaporated. 

You don’t utter anything, only nudging your head behind you. 

Follow me to the back.

Is what’s reciprocated when he too gets up from his seat, letting Sam know he’ll be up front in a second. Once you turn, he follows you down the small aisle to the side “room” away from all the prying ears. 

Finally.

You step into the room first. You weren't going to lie, your heart was beating with so much force and it only grew as he walked past you into the room. You close the door behind you, turning, so you're facing Steve's attentive figure. 

You only smile at him to some extent, prompted to show there were no ill intentions to asking him back here. When you see how nervous he looks, as you take his hand seating the both of you to a bench against the wall.

Your knees tenderly touch. He clears his throat coercing you to go on, raising an eyebrow in confusion. 

“You alright doll?” he asks you, in a gentle manner. Taking the already linked palms shifting it from your lap to his. His other hand blanketing your combined hands. 

“I’m okay. Are you?” you ask the question hesitantly, raising your spare hand to move aside the hair that fell over and veiled his eyes. You desperately wanted to make sure you got a good look at his face. You loved his face.  

His cheeks go plump in a charming smile, and his hand squeezes yours back. 

His hair was long. Longer than you would’ve ever imagined Steve would let it be. Either way you loved every inch of the gold locks. Yet, everytime you told him how much you loved it, despite his insecurity and slight annoyance with it. He'd always fall into a rampage down memory lane. Telling you how his late mother would've hounded him about the upkeep of his hair.  

You adored that about him too. Loved, that he loved so hard and so full. He’d never forget the ones he loved no matter what. 

“I’m swell, you don’t need to worry about me” he tells you. 

You didn’t believe him one bit and you weren’t going to push him about it. You knew how he was...stubborn as ever. But, it was also ,by and large, your job to worry about him–– after loving him of course. Contrary to what he would say (Which was vice-versa.)

“We’re gonna be okay...okay? But I have something to ask you. And you can’t get mad.”

“I’m not promising that, but we won’t shout. We’ll talk it out–– whatever it is”

It was the best you were going to get from him and time was closing in on you guys being able to be like this, anway.  

“I know how you are, but this is a really critical thing we're fighting for here. So, unless I'm in some type of grave danger. I don’t want you worrying about me on the field. No matter what...Make sure he doesn’t get that stone.” Your voice lets you down towards the end, starting to get scratchy and low. 

He stands up in no time. His hands going to his belt, then to his hips, he finally raises one hand to run against his beard.

His facial hair, another thing in the endless things you loved about Steve Rogers. 

When the stubble he usually shaves away kept growing into a full beard, it surprised you both. You in a hot kind of way, he became more adoring by day when decided to stop shaving. 

You walked in on him one day. He was facing the scratched up mirror in a bathroom in a dingy hotel room. Running his fingers against his face, the other clutching onto the edge of the counter. Tilting his head back and to, eyes shifting as he looked over his face. It was another part of the effect of the serum he didn’t expect would happen. 

Telling you a story as he wandered down memory lane again. How he had problems growing stubble as a sickly kid–– so behind on puberty. He even watched Bucky grow his first “stache” at sixteen, but that came to an abrupt stop when Bucky’s mother made him shave it off. 

Steve thought It was weird to think that he could now also.

You were still sitting on the bench. Swiveling your body so you were facing your boyfriend, looking up at his fidgeting build with care. 

Feeling like a child waiting for their parents to dispute whatever impending punishment they would grant. 

“Why would you ask me that?” he finally, finally disrupts his silence. Scoffing at the offensive question. 

He doesn’t look at you with anything negative, only confusion.

“Because. I don’t want you jumping in front of whatever it is in front of me...I know him, he’s my dad. He’ll do anything to get what he wants, even if it means I die.”

When Steve told you that it was actually Bruce calling and told you what he said. He looked at you baffled when the shirt you were about to put on dropped from your grasp.

Once you told him you had knowledge of Thanos and how you knew him, there was a pregnant silence in the air.

If anything it filled the rage towards Thanos in Steve even more, by the time you finished. 

“Are you listening to yourself?” he questions you in disbelief, lips stuck in a sneer.

“Please. Just please, angel.” you maintain.  

You don’t answer either of his questions and he truly hates that. He stays silent for a bit watching your seated figure, looking up at him with the saddest eyes you’ve ever given him. His puzzled eyes shift down to your bobbing leg and your hands wringing together with so much speed and anguish.

He could probably throw up right now.  

And when he shifts his eyes up again, you keep that same look on your face waiting for him to say anything.

He sighs dejectedly, dropping his hands to his side, and walking himself back over to you. He sits closer to you than before. Extending a gloved hand to caress your cheek before fixing the flyaways from your sleek ponytail.  

“I can’t. You’ll always be my priority, and I won’t promise something like that sweetheart” he tells you this languidly. His thumb starts to rub circles against your cheekbone, to calm you down, when he catches the way your eyes widen at his admission.  

“Steve!” your voice breaks. So shocked, you can’t hold back the tears that build up and fall slowly over your face. 

You couldn’t believe this. He’s supposed to love you. Time and time again he’d always remind you how much he loves you and how he’d do anything for you–– too hard to say no to you, his words. Thinking this over you pull your face away from his hold, looking down at your taut hands. This wasn’t a silly death wish. You had to make sure your father didn’t get what he desired, no matter what. 

He hates having to watch you cry, but he doesn’t have much of a choice now. He needs to stand his ground, there was no way he would be arguing about this. And he does this, grabbing your face with a light hand,  so you were face to face again. 

"I love you so much. And if I have to choose between letting you die and Thanos losing. Or you living and watching the universe crumble, you know exactly what I'm gonna choose. I'm not losing you, not if I have anything to do with it"

Albeit how dumb it sounded, there is no notable instance in his life where’d let you perish over him. 

“You’re not thinking this through” you hiccup.

“It’s you, isn’t it? There’s not much to think about”  he smiles at you and as you look at him you can see his eyes glazing over. 

His statement only causes you to cry more. You feel nothing but the pain in your heart and the repositioning of your body. It takes you a moment to realize you’re settled on his thighs sideways. His well built arm warmly wraps around your shoulder, your temple rests against his shoulder, and his lips are placing light kisses to the crown of your head. 

You incline your head, “I love you too much” you say in an awed whisper, raising a hand to twirl in the strands at the back of his collar. Following that, you let your hand spread across the back of his neck pulling him down for a kiss.

“After this we’re done okay? We have our pardon and are going to buy whatever house you want to get. I’m gonna buy you the prettiest engagement ring money can buy, Gonna get whatever animals you want,” you chuckle at that part.

If there was one thing Steve learned while living incognito with you is that you’d save any animal if you were able to. Always stopping whenever you passed by any animal in need in the drary streets. Looking up at Steve, who’d always have to remind you that neither of you could give it the life it deserves right now. Opting to only go to the nearest convenience store to buy whatever safe animal food in sight. 

His hand immediately clutches your face to wipe away the tears that fell without pattern. His smile grows fonder when you do the same.  “‘Can paint the house whatever we decide...maybe even get a house big enough to fit the kids we’ll have?” he tells you the last part in such a timid manner, bearing one of his hands to clutch yours. His thumb running over your knuckles at full tilt. 

The only thing you were able to give him was a stunned look. So shocked you were unable to react like a normal person. 

You squeeze his hand tight only being able to stutter a “really?”

“Of course. I want to have a bunch of small Rogers with you, wreaking havoc around our house” he admits this to you, carrying out such strong eye contact. If his hand didn’t slither down your back, supporting you up and grounding you, you’d jump in glee. 

Fuck. Neither of you had talked about this, but you were glad that you both were on the same page about his. You felt terrified but in a good way, wanting to wholly get this over with and start this dream life with Steve. 

“And this is all gonna happen, because everything is going to go well. We’re gonna win, I don’t want you thinking like that or asking me something like that ever again. Thanos will never be on our list of priorities ever again.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I can’t wait to start that life with you” you respond, winding your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his with force.

He pulls away without notice to place hasty kisses to your cheek, loving the giggles you emitted. Even so, the energy in the room shifts too soon when Sam knocks on the door. Steve allows him entrance. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to land Cap”

Steve responds by nodding his head once, stiffly. Letting him know he’d be out in a second. 

You get off of his thighs, so the both of you were standing chest to chest. He claps your worried face. Pulling you into him with little force, so his lips could fall to your forehead, nose, and lips. 

“Remember what I said and be safe, I love you”

“I love you” you recite, bringing his hand down to kiss his covered palm.

With that he envelops you in his arm, his cheek resting against the top of your head. Both of you breathing each other in. Your shoulders relaxing at his loving touch. 

He’d do whatever needed to keep you safe and if it ended in his death, then so be it. You’d do the same for him in a heartbeat, there was no point in either of you arguing this one out. 

––––

Everyone was tired, it seemed like this fight only dragged on with the never-ending monsters. But, with the help of Thor (of course) it seemed like things were only getting positive from there. With the way he rendered lightning, destroying things into dust, you were ready to end this once and for all.  

And when a cloud of grey smoke appeared out of thin air, and a large titanian appeared. You knew this would either be the ending or the beginning of all these troubles. 

“That’s him” you falter, turning to Steve. You give him a quick once over, nothing the way he eyed your father. A menacing, scary look on his face and the furrow of his eyebrows only grow. 

“We have eyes on Thanos” he says into the intercom.

It’s like time stands still for a few seconds, no one moves a muscle. You haven't seen this man in years. You feel as if he doesn't recognize who you are as he glances over everyone, like they're roaches in his kitchen. 

Yet, in a blur, everyone takes their chance on Thanos. Trying their hardest to somehow, someway take this Titanian down. Bruce gets thrown with a shout, Branches entwine Nat, and Sam drops from the air smoothly. 

At some point you hear the grunt of Steve, who somehow gets some punches in, his hands clutching the gauntlet. He shouts from the hefty weight and in a swift motion is stock-still on the ground from the punch he endures. 

“Steve!”

Without a choice you run towards Thanos, your adrenaline kicking in. Kicking in punching only to use your hands to grasp around the metal. You knew towards the end; you were no match for him. 

“Please! Please don’t do this. Dad please I’m begging you” you plead profusely, but he only looks down at you emotionless. “Please, please, please” you cry, your head hangs low for a bit before you raise it up again. “This won’t fix anything! You–– you…JUST TAKE IT OFF” you scream, knuckles colliding with the gold.

You try so hard to think of anything to turn his mind, but he only looks at you like a stranger. Not the little girl he recruited and used to look at with some kind of affection. His type of affection, if you could even title it that, affection. 

Sure, he raised you to be a ruthless killer and thief, but you’d do anything in this key moment to change his crooked mind. 

“You don’t get to call me that again. You chose your path...I always knew you’d be the one to let me down the most” he says all this with so much venom. 

You cry as you're lifted in the air, by his gauntlet hand, and thrown against the bark of a tree. 

You're in a daze. The only things securing you back is the hand against your cheek and a booming, choked up "no". Hearing it a distance away.

You open your eyes to see Steve in front of you, your name on his lips almost incessantly. But when you open them, your eyes quickly move to Thor. Who’s a few feet away from the two of you, shocked and angry. The remnant of smoke in the air. You knew he did it.

“We lost?” you ask Steve, tears already forming in your eyes, as he carefully lifts you to his feet.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer you, though. 

“Steve…?” It’s Bucky, You both look towards him to see him fall slowly, disappearing into a brown dust. 

You both look on, shocked all while Steve tries to drag himself and your weak body to Bucky. But it’s already too late. 

“Buck?!” Steve calls out, but there’s no answer.

You watch on in disorder, stomach plummeting with every second that pasts.  Your eyes catch Wanda looking onto Vision's body in sorrow and as you do, she turns into brown dust.  It was frightening and you were speechless. So much happening around you, you weren’t sure where to look. You weren’t who was going away. 

The hand against your spine, holding you up, starts to feel faint and a headache you had suffered from earlier comes back, but ten times stronger. 

“My head hurts” you tell him, your words come out slowly as your mouth starts to feel numb. You drop your head to his shoulder. “Stevie...I can’t feel your hands” you blubber, chest heaving as your breathing picks up. Everything was happening so, so fast. 

He lifts your head, “Hey, you’re alright sweetheart, you took a hard hit. Just a bit banged up, gotta stay awake in case it’s a concussion” he reassures you.

You don’t believe him and when you look down at your right hand to see it crumbling away little by little. You lift your wrist up, hand gone. You look down to see the brown dust below your view. 

You didn’t want to go. You had merely planned your dream future with him. It wasn’t fair your father would be the one to rip that away from you.

“No. No, you’re alright, stop that” he condemns, bringing your other hand to his bruised lips imperatively. Watching as it climbs up and up, half of your shoulder  already gone. 

“I’m scared. I love you so much Steve”

“I love you so much doll, feel like we’ve been saying it all day” he tries to joke, eyes roaming all over your face. He had to make sure he had your face recognized to a t, even if it was in a manner of pain. 

And you do the same. You weren’t sure where you were going. Were you even dying?! You couldn’t tell, all you knew was Steve and some of your friends wouldn’t be where you were going.

You laugh despondently, low, and mirthlessly knowing how much he needed that laugh at the moment.

“No. I’m gonna––” you start, but never get to finish, because at that moment. In a flash, he’s left with the sight of the soot falling in a sway, like leaves tumbling to the ground. Staring at him gloved palms to see nothing of you there any longer. 

He does nothing but stand there for a few minutes, recollecting the exchange. Not only was his best friend gone, but so was his best girl.  

He had one fucking job. Keep you safe at all times. Not only did he let the whole universe down, he let you down. You were gone. He can only think about the moment you both had on the jet, telling you, you had nothing to worry about. Because you guys were going to win and now she is gone.  He let you down in the worst possible way imaginable. You were gone…

He repeats this to himself, losing hope each time that you would be back in just a second. 

He turns around to see his friends observing him and once he notices that Sam is no longer among the group it only increases his agony. 

“Cap?” Nat mumbles.

“FUCK!” he breaks. Ripping the gloves off his hand before he sets himself against the ground–– his body feeling heavy. His head is in his hand, body heaving roughly as he cries quietly.

Everyone is stunned and takes a step back to give his face, not remembering the last time they’ve seen him this broken or the last he’s had an outburst resulting in a curse word. 

He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to live with this guilt or without you by his side. In spite of that,  there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to try and find a way to bring you back.

– – – – 

realized while writing thing i am not creative...this (beginning) was literally a scene

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

[rabbitreader09]

Hello, can I request angst headcanons of vtsom characters reacting to their S/O who died out of incurable illness? You can choose which characters u want! Feel free to reject this ask!

Surely! I haven’t written angst in a while so im very sorry if this is rusty but ill still try my very best! For this i decided to use Victor, Vincent, Albert and Draco <3

VTSOM Angst, characters reaction to their s/o dying of an incurable disease

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Victor <3

He’s obviously devastated, he adored you more than anything else, in his eyes you were so strong and brave and just wonderful. But then one night you just broke down in his arms and …died. And the worst thing was, you knew it was gonna happen, you just didn’t tell him.

He was angry, sad and frustrated, he didn’t understand why you couldn’t let him prepare for the loss, why you lied to him, but then he realized, if he knew… he might just have made the last few weeks of your life hell, and eventually, he came to terms with your lie. He knew you tried everything to make the last days you were together count, and he will never forget these happy memories.

It‘ll take him a long time to accept your death, he just wished you could come back. Though after some years he came to terms with it, he realized he had to accept that you had passed on, and he wished that you were in a better place now, that does not mean he will stop tending to your grave every day though.

He kept most of your belongings, and he will hold onto them forever, not for any specific purpose, just because he thinks you‘d be happy that he takes care of your stuff.

he thinks about you every day, though he tries to remember the good memories only, and a part of him will always love you…

Vincent 🖤

Of course you didn’t tell him, and you were sorry for that, but it was better that way. If he had found out before you died it would have made everything worse than it already was, thats why you just gave him the most affection he could ask for, even if he got annoyed.

You died peacefully in your sleep and left a letter for Vincent to find, he at least deserved and explanation, it told him about your medical records and a long apology and love letter, all you hoped was that he could forgive you.

His intial reaction was shock, utter shock, he wasn't prepared for something like this at all. He'd lost a lot of things, even his human body, but he'd never comprehended losing you.

He wasn't just caught in grief, but in anger as to why you had to lie. Why you didn't let him know anything. He understood deep down, but other than victor, he will always be a bit bitter about it.

Without you life just felt… empty, boring, dull… besides victor you were the only person he felt connected to, he could understand and feel the joy that radiated from you, you made him feel warm and welcomed, but now? The world had gone back to grey, like it has always been, but only when it was back he realized how much he hated this dullness, without you life was… almost unlivable.

Even with you being gone, he left all your stuff where it was, he still slept on his side of the bed, left your clothes in his closet and even left a plate for you at dinner sometimes. He missed you bitterly, and he always will a little, the wound will heal over the years but there will always be a scar left.

Albert 🍬

He was just in pure distraught, he was the only one you told what was happening, that you were dying and there was nothing to do about it, it wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with death, after all he knew the face of it quite well, it was more just… living a life without you, he loved you deeply and he had gotten used to you being around him at all times, but being without you? At this point it felt unimaginable.

He didn’t show you his sorrow though, more, he just wanted to make the last few weeks of your life calm and nice instead of stressful and full of guilt. With you not knowing when it was over you two really lived every day like it was the last, and despite the circumstances, you were both happy.

Even when you started feeling weak and dizzy, he cradled you in his arms and told you everything would be alright, he knew what was to come, your skin turning colder and colder as you body got weaker, until you finally closed your eyes to rest, this time forever.

He was very much prepared, but that didn’t stop it from hurting, he packed your belongings up and put them into pretty containers to keep them safe forever as well as washing pretty much everything in the house once, for some it may have seemed nice but he couldn’t stand having your scent linger around him, it was just too painful.

He wasn’t really sad nor angry, just empty, he started spending many days in silence, things just felt odd without your voice, he read the books and watched all the movies he could remember you talking about, he might even start making you up in dreams just to have the littlest piece of you still with him.

He will never stop thinking about you, ever, but he will accept your death eventually, he knew it had to come at some point, and sometimes, it might feel as though you were still there… somewhere.

[xenteaart]

Black Tights and Other Things

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: It was initially insipred by a request about Five seeing Reader wearing a dress for the first time but I lost it, and also took the request in a completely different direction lol. I deeply apologize, I suck at writing requests honestly.

The actual summary: Five catches you dancing and has a little epiphany.

Warnings: this fic explores ideas of femininity and is very likely not gonna be a good read for gender non-conforming folks, so sorry about that.

GIF not mine! if u know the owner pls let me know so i can credit them

Note: it was mainly based on my own experience and i guess i just had to reflect on it smh and Five literally has more of a featured role in this ngl :’D

also yea it fits into my Commission AU so just a reminder, they’re both in their 20s.

P.s. ladies, dance in your underwear in front of a mirror, don’t deprive yourself of reconnecting with your inner,,, divine. lol i’m not in a cult i promise it just feels very good

The one thing you’d missed the most, apart from hot showers, fresh food and other obvious life-saving necessities, was music. During your stay in the absolute nightmare that your post-apocalyptic life was, you weren’t fortunate enough to stumble upon a record player or, in fact, anything that was even remotely fit to produce sounds resembling melodies. Sure, you did play tin cans and pieces of wood out of boredom, making very simplistic copies of actual instruments out of them, like drums or a xylophone, but it was barely enough to satisfy your craving for proper music.

So now, being a Commission recruit and having your own flat and access to the wonders of civilization, you couldn’t help but take advantage of all the things that you’d been longing for, one of them being music.

You and Five were having a very well-deserved day off and decided to reward yourselves with some nice filling dinner. Five volunteered to do the grocery shopping for the ingredients while you chose to stay indoors, and when he came back, holding bags full of goods in his arms, the image that he was met with stopped him dead in his tracks.

You were only wearing your underwear and a pair of black half-transparent tights, which sort of looked like you were getting dressed but got distracted halfway. The outfit itself, or lack thereof, wasn’t at all an unusual occurrence, considering how each other’s nudity and physiology hardly ever bothered either of you after years of doing whatever it took to keep the other alive.

It was your dancing that took Five by surprise. As he eyed your figure briefly, he took notice of how the line of your tights was sitting on your waist securely, framing your form in a flattering way and defining the curves that you got after gaining some weight you’d been desperately missing.

In your days in the apocalypse, you felt like your body was your prison. Or rather, you were a slave of your own body. It needed food, sleep and warmth to keep living, and your entire existence was narrated by the weak and needy vehicle that you had to take care of. There was truly nothing pretty about dull and brutal survival.

Right now, however, you felt yourself regaining control as you were no longer your body’s servant and instead it was yours. It was healthier, stronger, and it was complying to your every wish and command.

As your entire being, mind and flesh, surrendered to the raw ecstasy of your dance, you completely forgot there was anything at all in the world besides yourself and the music, the waves of which you were surfing so smoothly and naturally that the slight clumsiness and awkwardness of some of your movements were only adding to the charm.

There was no choreography behind the action; your every swing and turn being mindless and somewhat intuitive as you allowed yourself to dissolve into the tunes of the song you were dancing to.

As Five was looking at you silently, he was struggling to put his finger on what exactly was so special about what was happening but he knew there was clearly something.

You didn’t really think of yourselves as a boy and a girl, or a man and a woman. Back in the apocalypse, there was hardly anything left of the norms you’d learnt in your before life, which meant you were merely two human beings, completely stripped of their gender identity and expression, and it continued to be the way you perceived each other even after getting back to the normal (well, more or less, all things considered) world.

The concept of having some sort of intrinsic differences was getting more and more blurred as you saw each other as perfectly equal, which you totally were. Equal, however, did not mean the same, and that was exactly what you both tended to forget in your day-to-day life.

As Five was watching you move to the music carefree, he came to realize he was witnessing what he never knew was there in the first place.

It was fair to say that after spending so much time together Five basically knew you inside out. He knew you were caring and thoughtful. Outspoken, ill tempered and tough were a crucial part of the package as well, but right now he felt like he was getting a glimpse of this new unfamiliar layer, looking past everything he thought he knew about you before.

It was the unconditional femininity that was deeply embedded in the very fabric of your essence, burning with radiance like an exploding supernova, and the best thing about it was how blissfully unaware you were of its presence. Right in this moment, it seemed you didn’t have a care in the world and were simply dancing like no one was watching.

There was something so powerful about your inherent feminine nature mixed with how untamed yet tender and perfectly reliable you were, that Five didn’t even notice he’d been holding his breath.

He didn’t want to startle you and disrupt the flow you were so clearly lost in, literally immersed in some other dimension that he had no way of ever coming in contact with. It was yours and yours only, and it was beautiful.

Five was just standing there, leaning against the doorframe utterly mesmerized by how your body was seemingly guided and led by an invisible force. It took him a good couple of minutes to realize that this force was coming from within you, and the sheer unfiltered power radiating from your figure was, in fact, you all along. And he finally saw you for what you were. A woman.

“Oh, God,” he thought to himself, unable to deal with the sudden surge of feelings and thoughts that were overwhelming him all at once.

[puppywritings]

sometimes they come back - qian kun (ft. huang renjun, dong sicheng, wong yukhei & johnny suh)

⇢   synopsis: kun was distraught when he lost his brother sicheng at a very young age. sixteen years later, he’s moved on from his trauma and made a living as a high school literature teacher. however, with the entrance of a troubled young student, along comes reminders of his brother’s gruesome end and somehow, kun feels a daunting link.

⇢   word count: 9.3k ⇢   trigger warnings: swearing, nightmares, trauma, mental illness, death of a family member, demons, blood, murder, one instance of semi-graphic gore.

⇢   a/n: so this is the longest thing i’ve ever written and i worked pretty damn hard on it. quick disclaimer that although i made renjun very evil i still love him ❤️ (and evil renjun is kinda sexy but u didn’t hear that from me) anyways this story definitely fits in the horror genre and may be disturbing for younger readers!! based on stephen king’s short story sometimes they come back but deviates from the actual plot. see the trigger warnings above and proceed with caution.

⇢   part of @takitaro​ and @starryqian​‘s stephen king collab! thank u for allowing me to be part of such a fun project:)

⇢   taglist: @badwithten​ @sandaigdigan-reads​ 

masterlist

Sunday.

The clock read 03:26 when Qian Kun woke up from his nightmare, panting and covered in sweat. Long ago, this was a familiar occurrence. Long ago, it was strange if he didn’t wake up like this. But, long ago, this all ended. It had been fourteen years since the nightmares stopped - so why were they happening again now?

Shaking, Kun got out of bed and trudged downstairs to the kitchen in the house where he lived alone, and had done for many years now. He flicked the switch to boil the kettle; there was no way he was getting back to sleep any time soon. His toes tapped anxiously on the tile floor while he sat at the table, picking at a hangnail on his left thumb. Why now, all this time after he had recovered, was he being forced to relive his brother’s murder as he slept?

The kettle boiled with a click, and Kun jumped. He huffed, hand on his chest, and went to prepare his drink. Coffee, black. He couldn’t take anything light or sugary, not that night. The sharpness of his beverage bit at him, and it was what he needed - a sensory distraction from the images currently filling his mind. His brother Sicheng, just thirteen years old; the light leaving his eyes as he went limp in Kun’s arms; the blood flooding out of his stab wound, bathing them both in crimson; the greaser gang dispersing, leaving Kun alone to yell, bawl, and beg. Kun shuddered, swallowing back nausea. God, he wanted to forget. But he knew he never could.

(Timeskip - 16 years earlier)

The weather had been fair on the afternoon that Kun lost his brother; the sky was blue, cloudless, and the air was practically alive with all the opportunities for young boys to find fun. The afternoon had begun much like any other. The young Kun and Sicheng, revolting against the idea of spending any time inside while the sun was shining, had set off towards their favourite diner, just a few blocks away. Kun remembered every detail exactly - he had relived the event every time he fell asleep for years afterwards - his brother’s bright blue t-shirt, the freckles scattering his cheeks, the frayed laces in his favourite sneakers. Sicheng was still small at thirteen years old, not yet having hit that growth spurt he was waiting for. In their neighbourhood, plagued with crime, bullies, and greaser gangs, Sicheng’s size put him at a disadvantage. Kun, though not huge himself, always felt protective over his younger brother, and had gotten into many a fistfight in his defence. That fated day felt perfectly normal, up until the moment they turned onto the diner’s street.

Fourteen-year-old Kun sighed. Swarmed around the entrance of their beloved diner was a group of greasers, complete with coal-black leather jackets and huge, hulking motorcycles.

“Come on, let’s go,” Sicheng said, hands tucked in his pockets. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“No,” Kun said abruptly, and Sicheng looked at him in surprise. “I’m sick of living my life in fear of these idiots. They don’t own the diner - we can just walk right past them and go inside. They can’t stop us.”

“Are you sure? What about little Shotaro?”

This made Kun pause. Everybody knew the story about little Shotaro. In the next town over, a boy a few years younger than them had been beaten to a pulp, almost killed, over a ridiculous turf war that he hadn’t even been involved in. Kun clenched his jaw, angry at the injustice, thoughts of the incident only spurring him on. He had more confidence that day than perhaps ever before.

“They won’t touch us.” Kun truly believed this. The group in question, a few years older than the brothers, had never caused them harm before. The most they had done before was chase them, and once spat on them, which had been an awful humiliation indeed, but Kun didn’t think they’d be bold enough to hurt them - it was all an act, a front to look tough. “Let's go,” Kun said with an edge of determination, and Sicheng followed him closely down the street.

As predicted, the greasers weren’t happy when Kun and Sicheng approached them - far from it. A boy, around seventeen or so, eyeballed the boys as soon as they got close. He scoffed when he saw that they weren’t stopping. “Yo,” he barked. “Diner’s ours today. Turn around.”

Kun puffed out his chest despite his nerves. “No.”

The greaser laughed incredulously, elbowing his buddy in the side as if sharing some ridiculous joke. He turned to Kun and Sicheng, looking down at them as though they were ants on the sidewalk. “Hold up. The fuck did you just say?”

“I said no,” Kun held his ground, fists clenched to keep them from trembling. Kun bravely chanced a look up at the greaser and was unable to read his expression. It was somewhere between disbelieving surprise and rage; his eyebrows were pulled tightly downwards, and his mouth was agape, showing a snaggletooth. 

Kun felt Sicheng tug on the back of his shirt, holding onto his brother to ease his anxiety. He spoke up, following his older brother's lead. "We only want to get some milkshakes," he spoke with a tremor to his words. "Let us in."

There were sniggers and sneers from the group of greasers. "No means no, kid. Get lost," the ringleader spoke, leaning in close to Sicheng where he stood huddled behind Kun. "Before I make you wish you were never born. You don’t wanna fuck with me today."

Kun scoffed. "You wouldn't hurt us."

The ringleader raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kun, before stepping back, rolling up the sleeves of his leather jacket. "Grab him, boys."

Before Kun had the time to process the instruction, a pair of arms grabbed him from behind. He pulled, trying to break free, but it was to no avail. With the older boys being bigger and stronger, Kun's struggles were useless. Terror flooded his system; he had been wrong. The greasers weren't afraid to hurt him. They hadn't even hesitated. He had gravely misjudged their threat levels. As Kun grappled with the older boys, Sicheng watched. As if in slow-motion, Kun saw a fist, tightly curled, thrusting towards him, marked with a dark birthmark. 

He heard the crack in his jaw before he felt the blinding pain. The pain was white-hot; it spread throughout his face, scalding his bones and making him groan. The greaser hit him again, and again, busting his nose. Kun felt dizzy with the pain, and his vision blurred.

"Let him go!" Kun heard Sicheng stick up for him as he went limp in the greasers' iron hold. "Let him go, you… y-you…"

The greaser laughed. "Spit it out, kid."

"You bitch!" Sicheng managed, almost panting with the effort.

Kun looked up to see the greaser gaping - Sicheng had managed to genuinely shock him. There was a fire in his eyes that Kun noticed despite his hazy vision. Still detained, Kun watched as the greaser reached into his leather jacket. He saw a silver flash, and naively wondered why he would wield a comb in such a threatening way.

It wasn’t until Sicheng was on his knees, crouched over and clutching his abdomen, that Kun realised it hadn’t been a comb.

“Jesus Christ,” gasped the greaser holding Kun back. He stepped back, releasing Kun, who fell onto his hands and knees. 

“S-Sicheng,” Kun gasped, unable to breathe. Sicheng’s blood poured onto the pavement, and Kun felt it on his hands, warm, as he crawled towards his brother. Distantly, Kun noticed the crowd of greasers disperse, fast, but all he could focus on was Sicheng. 

“Ambulance-” Kun choked out, unsure who he was calling to. “Somebody get an ambulance!”

Kun caught his brother as he collapsed, wheezing. “Sicheng, no- I- you can’t-”

Sicheng’s eyelids were heavy and they struggled to remain open. Kun knew it was too late - there was too much blood on the ground, on Kun. Sicheng went limp in his arms, his eyes went glassy. Kun screamed.

Kun suffered from a dark and heavy grief after losing Sicheng. The world seemed bleak and pointless for some time. He couldn’t understand why he was being made to live in this world, a world without his brother and best friend. What cruel hands of fate would ever take away such a young, innocent life? Plagued by nightmares, Kun trudged through the next few years. 

However, as is inevitable when it comes to the resilient nature of mankind, Kun managed to move on. He went to therapy, vanquished his demons, and held Sicheng close to his heart. He stepped out of the shadow that grief had cast upon him, and vowed to live a better life than the one Sicheng had, the one that was cut far too short. He worked hard, went to a good college, and moved out of the area that was haunted by nightmares of gangs and crime. 

Sixteen years after losing his brother, Kun had made quite a life for himself. He taught literature to wealthy children at a prestigious private school. The school was nothing like the one he and Sicheng had attended in their youth. Kun taught the children of politicians, CEO’s, people with money. The students Kun taught were free of leather jackets and motorcycles, and their pockets had never seen switchblade knives. They thrived in an environment that nurtured its students, looked after them and educated them. Kun lived a calm life, a stable life. He went to work each day and there wasn’t a steel-toed boot or studded leather glove in sight. He was in peace -

Monday.

Until that week. Kun rubbed his eyes as he yawned, stretching his legs, stiff from sitting at his kitchen table for such a long time. Not a single nightmare about his brother’s death for fourteen years, and now, out of the blue… Kun had dreamed of Sicheng’s death every night for a week. It was as puzzling as it was concerning. Kun blinked tiredly, looking up at the clock on the wall of his kitchen. He jumped - he had been sitting there all night. He stood, going to his window and pulling back the curtains. It was true; morning light illuminated the dew drops on his lawn, which was littered with small birds twittering away to each other. He put on another pot of coffee; it was only an hour until he had to leave for work.

Kun had had the week from hell. Each dream had been different; in some, Sicheng roared at Kun, blood gurgling from his mouth as he cursed his brother for failing to save him; in others, Kun was stabbed alongside his brother. Some dreams were a perfect replica of the actual events. One thing remained unchanged, though. Kun never saw the face of the attacker. He knew it was just a matter of his brain blocking out details to protect him, but it frustrated him at times. Kun could never hunt the man down, not even if he wanted to. He could walk past the man on the street and be none the wiser.

His house had begun to feel like a prison; he had spent each night either waking in a cold sweat, or sipping coffee at his kitchen table when the threat of nightmares was too daunting for him to even lie down. And he had spent his days recuperating. A dreadful headache had been afflicting him, and he had taken the whole week off work. Now, however, he knew he had to return. Though still exhausted, and with a dull pounding tormenting his head, Kun was very aware of how easy it was to slip back into a depressive slump. He believed that the normalcy of his work environment would soothe him, and that the darkness that had built up in his home could be shed by a nice, regular day at work.

Or so he thought.

Kun felt uneasy throughout his day at the school; there was a darkness hanging in the air, albeit a darkness only himself picked up on. He coasted through the day, serving mediocre lessons and dodging his students’ questions of, “Where have you been, Mr Qian?” and “Were you sick, Mr Qian?”

Something was off. There were dark clouds that lingered at the edges of his vision, always staying in his peripheral, never quite coming into view. There were cold spots that sent chills down his spine, and whispers that were too distant to decipher. Kun tried to brush off his paranoia as a lingering side effect of the built-up sleep deprivation he was facing, but he simply couldn’t deny the fact that something just felt wrong.

All too soon, the school day ended. Students filtered out of the building, and Kun was alone with his thoughts yet again. Resting his forehead on the cool wooden surface of his desk, he allowed himself a very self-indulgent groan, an attempt to release his frustration and restlessness. It didn’t work - not that he actually thought it would. Kun knew that he could use the excuse of catching up on work to remain in his classroom for a good few hours. However there was a limited amount of work he could stay behind to carry out, and he would have to return home soon enough, back to the darkness and the nightmares. 

Kun stood, stretching his aching muscles, and idly looked out of his classroom window. Winter was approaching - though only just past four in the afternoon, a grey gloom was already beginning to fall as the sky darkened. He would go home now, he decided. At least there he could set the fire going, change into a warm sweater, and make himself dinner as he worked. Kun donned his favourite brown coat, picked up his worn briefcase, and departed his classroom.

“Mr Qian.” Kun stopped on the way to his car when he heard his name. His head whipped around at lightning speed; one could say he was a little on-edge.

“Principal Suh, hello,” Kun greeted his boss.

“You’re feeling better, I hope?” the principal spoke as he caught up with Kun, who faked a smile and nodded. “Great. I was hoping to catch you tomorrow morning but since I’ve got you now; there’s a transfer student, he’ll be in your first-period class tomorrow. I only feel the need to warn you because…” the principal paused, taking a measured sigh, as if trying to find the best words to use. “Well, he’s a bit of a problem child, it seems.”

Kun nodded and smiled at all the correct intervals, clenching a fist inside his pocket to cope with the frustration of how badly he wanted to get home. 

“Nothing we can’t handle,” the principal continued, “Nothing we haven’t seen before. Rich kid lashing out to get daddy’s attention.” Kun gave a cynical laugh. “Huang Renjun. I’ll give you his file tomorrow morning.”

Huang Renjun.

Kun recognised that name from somewhere. He began to think back, but was pulled sharply from his thoughts by a searing pain in his jaw. It was deeply reminiscent of the injury he suffered from all those years ago, during his brother’s accident; the dislocated jaw he sustained when the wretched greaser had hit him.

“Right,” Kun commented distractedly, plastering that fake smile upon his face once again. “See you tomorrow, Principal Suh.” The man smiled, giving Kun a hearty pat on the back before departing. 

Kun hurried to his car. The pain in his jaw was worrying, and it only became more intense with each passing moment. He couldn’t think what could’ve brought this on - surely not repercussions from his previous injury, which had healed fine and hadn’t shown a single problem in sixteen years. He drove home, the ache hanging over him like a thick fog. Once there, Kun fell into his bed, passing out just as the pain became paralysing.

Tuesday, 6:03am

Kun awoke the next morning, feeling as though he hadn’t slept a wink, despite the thirteen hours he had under his belt. Groggily, he brought a hand up to his jaw, rubbing it tentatively. No more pain. That was relieving. Still, even with the lack of pain, he wouldn’t consider the morning particularly pleasant thus far.

Kun had dreamed again that night. Another nightmare replaying Sicheng’s death. This dream, however, had been different from any other before. The faceless entity who stabbed his brother had a name. The name was never spoken, never outright stated, but Kun knew it to be true; his name was Huang Renjun. 

Kun sat up, rubbing his tired eyes. He had a bad feeling. Come on, Kun, be rational, he willed himself. This was just his brain feeding the day’s information into his dream. Obviously there was no link between Kun’s new student and the bastard who killed his brother sixteen years ago - obviously. The logical part of Kun’s brain believed this completely. But he had a gut feeling that something was very, very wrong. He couldn’t shake the feeling, and it laid heavy in his stomach like a stone. He couldn’t shake it as he made breakfast, and he couldn’t shake it as he washed his face and dressed for work. It overpowered even the pounding in his head, which was rather powerful itself.

Kun knocked back some painkillers; he couldn’t take another day off, as he had used up all his paid sick days until the end of the semester. Even if he did have another sick day available, Kun didn’t think he would take it. He had a real feeling of dread, entirely surrounding Huang Renjun, transfer student and alleged problem child, guest and visitor to Kun’s nightmares. Call it morbid curiosity, but Kun had to meet the boy. He wondered if these feelings would go away once he met the student. Kun imagined it, all dread and darkness dissipating when he saw that Huang Renjun was just a regular teenage boy, albeit a little troubled.

Maybe it was just the pessimistic devil on his shoulder, but he doubted it. Everything lined up just a little too nicely for his liking - the return of his nightmares, the unshakable feelings of both dread and paranoia, the ache in his jaw, and the entrance of this child. God, Kun felt like a madman, but it truly felt linked to him.

A while later, Kun was still pondering these things as he paced up and down the staff room, clutching his coffee mug a little too tightly.

“Morning, Kun.”

The greeting was innocuous, harmless. But Kun, like a skittish horse, jumped out of his skin and allowed his mug to fall to the ground, shattering. Kun sighed.

“Woah, sorry,” Yukhei apologised, surprised and worried. “Didn’t mean to scare you there.”

“It’s okay,” Kun waved it off with a shaky smile. “Way too much caffeine in my system.”

Yukhei, gym teacher and Kun’s friend, silently helped him clean up the mess. Kun was thankful, and displayed his appreciation with another smile that he hoped seemed genuine.

Kun looked up, after sweeping up some smaller shards, to find Yukhei looking at him inquisitively. “Are you doing okay?” the taller man asked.

“I- Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing fine.” Even to his own ears, Kun didn’t put on a very convincing show.

“Burnout is a real thing, bro. You gotta take care of yourself.”

Kun’s heart raced a little, at the receival of some genuine human concern. He hadn't realised the effect it had had upon him, isolating himself for that week-long period. Kun nodded, trying hard not to tear up. “Thanks, Yukhei.” 

“I think Principal Suh was looking for you, by the way,” Yukhei mentioned offhandedly. 

The kid’s file - Kun had completely forgotten. In a display of perfect timing, the bell sounded, signalling the beginning of first period.

“Shit,” muttered Kun. 

Yukhei gave Kun a supportive pat on the back. “We should have a catch up soon, man. You know where I am if you need anything.” 

With that, Yukhei was gone, presumably to teach a class, and Kun followed after him, out into the crowds of tired, blathering teenagers. He supposed he’d just have to read the file whenever Principal Suh was free to contact him.

Kun’s classroom was full by the time he reached it - had he really taken that long? he wondered distantly. His students were a little rowdy despite the early hour, seizing the lack of supervision and taking full advantage of it, chatting to each other noisily. They hadn’t noted his arrival yet, so Kun took the opportunity to stand in the doorway for a moment, unseen and undetected. He glanced around the room, and his eyes fell upon his new student easily. 

Huang Renjun. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Where his classmates dressed appropriately in the uniformed navy blazers, Renjun wore a very prominent black leather jacket. Kun swallowed nervously. The boy was facing away from Kun, speaking to his peers, but he knew it was him. Taking a shaky breath, Kun stepped into his classroom, pushing through the panic brought on by one of his triggers. The leather jacket, far too reminiscent of his youth and the traumas he endured there, had had a profound effect on him, but he had the necessary coping mechanisms to deal with it. He inhaled deeply, paused, and exhaled.

Kun cleared his throat as he entered the room, and the chatter quietened. “Excuse me,” he spoke, his voice clear and bold, pointedly avoiding looking at the boy. “I know you’re new here, but you can’t wear that in class.” Still keeping his gaze away from the student, Kun removed his coat and pressed the power button to boot up his computer.

Huang Renjun remained silent, although another student, Haeun, spoke up. “What are you talking about, Mr Qian? He’s wearing the uniform.” 

Kun blinked, finally taking another look at Renjun. The boy had turned around and was, in fact, complying entirely with the uniform code. Blazer included. No leather jacket to be seen. A few students snickered at Kun’s mistake. Luckily, he knew he wouldn’t get mocked too much; most of his students respected him highly. He was well-liked, generally. They would let this mistake pass.

Renjun wasn’t looking at Kun. His gaze was pointed straight down towards his desk, face hidden behind long bangs.

“Oh. Right. I apologise, it must’ve been a trick of the light.” Kun gave a sincere apology. Though he was paranoid, exhausted, filled with dread, he wasn’t going to forego his manners.

“No worries, sir,” Renjun forgave him easily. He sounded like a regular teenager, Kun thought, although he wasn’t sure what else he expected. The student looked up at Kun, using his hand to flick his hair out of his face. Kun noted the mark on his hand, the dark birthmark. He began to feel dizzy; he knew that mark. 

Out of nowhere, Kun felt that pain again - that white-hot, blinding bite in his jaw. It reached out its burning tendrils, spreading all throughout his face. Kun stepped back, staggering almost, as he cupped his jaw apprehensively. Kun was still looking at Renjun, who moved his stare, looking directly into Kun’s eyes.

Renjun’s eyes were black. No whites, no iris. Pure, solid black.

Though Kun didn't think it was possible, the pain intensified. Grey spots danced across the classroom as his vision went spotty, fizzling like static on a television. Kun swayed, reaching out to grab the edge of his desk for support but missing it entirely, catching thin air instead. Heavy as a stone, Kun fell to the ground, passing out.

The last thing he saw was Huang Renjun glaring at him, a malicious smile on his face.

Tuesday, 9:53am

Kun's eyes snapped open. The fluorescent lights above his head were harsh, and he winced, blinking. He was lying down; where was he?

"Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling, Mr Qian?" The school nurse, Joohyun. Right. He had passed out in class.

Kun sat up abruptly. Huang Renjun - that piercing gaze, the menacing grin. 

Nurse Joohyun spoke to him again. "You passed out during first period. Do you remember that, Mr Qian?"

"Yes," Kun confirmed, rubbing his jaw and reminiscing of the pain prior to his fainting spell. It was now entirely painless. "Migraine," Kun materialised his excuse on the spot, "They've been bothering me lately."

"Ah," Joohyun nodded in sympathetic understanding, talking as she prepared Kun a cup of water and passed it to him. "Nasty things. You should go home and rest for the remainder of the day. Will you be able to drive yourself home?"

"Yes, thank you." Kun didn't realise how thirsty he was until the water passed his lips. He drank it gratefully.

Nurse Joohyun departed, leaving Kun in the quiet once again. He finished his water and left the school with haste. Once in his car, he allowed himself to fall apart a little, unseen. When he threw his head into his hands, he found that he was shaking, trembling. Was this it? Was he going insane?

No. Kun’s mind was sharp. He knew it was still intact. He always had been a logical man, and so he remained. He only believed in what he saw, what he knew to be the complete truth. And even now, when the very truths of reality had become so dark and twisted, he knew that what his mind believed was the absolute truth.

He kept his eyes trained directly on the road, focused straight ahead as he thought. He had to be rational here. In completely untenable circumstances, Kun had to remain tenable. In this utterly illogical situation, Kun had to think logically.

He laid the facts out in front of him: sixteen years ago, his brother was stabbed. He suffered from terrible grief. He went to therapy, grew up, the nightmares went away. He worked hard, got a good job, and moved on. Everything was okay. Right?

Then the nightmares returned. A new student arrived at his school, Huang Renjun. He started getting splitting pains in his jaw, right where that bastard punched him before murdering his brother. The student featured in his nightmares. He had the same birthmark as that killer. Kun made eye contact with Renjun and passed out. And the student had looked at him with that expression, that malicious smile. A look of pure evil.

And so, illigocial, irrational, implausible, untenable as it was, Kun knew it to be true. Sixteen years ago, Huang Renjun murdered Sicheng. And now, sixteen years later, Huang Renjun was a student in Kun’s class, not having aged a day.

Kun was home before he knew it. He went inside, but didn’t rest. He didn’t sleep, didn’t close his eyes for longer than a blink until the next morning.

Wednesday.

Kun felt unsafe in the school. He was angry; how dare this entity make him feel so uncomfortable in his own place of work? He felt the lingering darkness, even when he was surrounded by students and faculty. It smothered him like a blanket of smoke, impossibly heavy and making him choke.

Kun wasn’t teaching Huang Renjun’s class that day. Yet he was still terrified. Paranoia tinged his vision, altered his very perception of reality; every student that entered his classroom was Renjun, until he blinked and they weren’t. Every sudden movement was a punch flying towards his jaw, until he shook himself and there was no threat. He was completely on edge all day. 

While Kun was exhausted, he was also overwhelmed with the energies of a thousand different emotions. He was terrified, paranoid, furious, devastated. He couldn’t believe that he was back here, replaying Sicheng’s death in his mind over and over. This piece of shit, this monster - he was here solely to fuck with Kun. And the worst part of it was that he was succeeding. Kun felt defiant. He couldn’t let this thing ruin him. Not for a second time.

Kun looked around. The sun was shining brightly, but he didn’t feel its warm rays. He stepped on a piece of bright pink bubblegum, flattened on the pavement, but his shoes didn’t stick. He looked up; thirteen-year-old Sicheng was looking back at him.

Oh, fuck. Not again.

Kun wished he could grab his younger brother by the arm and march him back home, stopping the imminent events before they even happened. But the picture was already in motion. Before Kun knew it, he and Sicheng were stood before the greaser gang. 

“Diner’s ours today. Turn around,” barked the ringleader, Huang Renjun.

Wait, Huang Renjun?

Surely enough, the boy from Kun’s class was in front of him, in all his greaser glory - leather jacket donned, hair slicked back, snaggletooth displayed in a mean snarl. Slowly, the other greasers melted away, ceasing to exist in this dreamland. Even Sicheng evaporated. Only Kun and Renjun remained.

“What the fuck do you want with me?” Kun asked, his voice dripping with equal parts anger and desperation.

Renjun shrugged, smiling smugly. He looked as though he were playing his favourite game. “You’re fun to mess with, Kun.”

“Fuck off,” Kun bit back. “Haven’t you messed with me enough?”

Renjun laughed. And laughed, and laughed. The hideous melody went on for far too long, and Kun winced at the sound. “I’ve barely even begun messing with you, Kun! Wait and see, how depraved you’ll get. People do funny things when you push them far enough.”

Renjun stepped closer to Kun. Somehow, the child towered above him. “And I- Can’t- Wait-” each word was punctuated by a tap on Kun’s nose, “To see what you’ll do.”

Kun tried to slap his hand away, but missed. “You’re sick,” he spat, “You’re a monster.”

“Well, duh,” Renjun scoffed. “You’re just stating the obvious here, Kunny.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Kun hissed, stumbling backwards. He turned, running down streets that were so familiar yet so distant to him.

“You can run,” Renjun’s voice followed him, “But you’ll never escape.”

Kun woke with a start, panting in his bed. His usual calming mantra of “It’s just a dream,” did nothing that night. Kun knew that it was far more than a petty nightmare. This was real - all too real.

Thursday, 11:12am

Kun had Renjun’s class again that day, and he was determined not to let the child hurt him. He had it figured out, or so he thought; don’t look the kid in the eyes, don’t speak to him, don’t even acknowledge his presence. And then Kun would be safe. This was all a game to Renjun, and Kun would not be playing. He simply would not engage.

The class began relatively smoothly. Though it was late morning, the sun hid behind thick clouds which produced a healthy drizzle, darkening the world and giving the background noise of rain against the classroom windows, pitter patter. Kun worked hard to ignore the heavy weight that hung over him, and the dark energy that Huang Renjun exuded from the back of the room. Nobody else seemed to pick up in it, but Kun sure as hell did. He could've collapsed under its pressure, it was so heavy. But he remained strong, resisting toughly against its darkness.

Kun gripped a paperback tightly in his hand. Macbeth. A text he knew well, and found easy to teach.

"So," Kun explained to his class, "As she desperately tries to rub away this invisible bloodstain, we see Lady Macbeth-"

"Sir." Kun was interrupted by Renjun. He ignored it.

"We see Lady-"

"SIR," Renjun interrupted again, raising his voice.

Kun looked around the classroom. Nobody else seemed perturbed by the boy's yelling, nobody so much as batted an eyelid. They all looked rather bored, staring off into space or doodling in their notebooks. Part of Kun wondered whether anyone else had actually heard what he did.

He gave a level sigh. "What is it?" he answered the boy. Kun refused to speak his name, refused to even look at him. He kept his eyes directed down towards the book in his hands, and he noticed his knuckles turn white with their grip. 

"Why are you staring at me?" Renjun's tone was lazy, playful. He was toying with Kun. Driving him to his limit? Daring him to snap?

"I'm not staring at you," Kun responded, remaining calm. It wasn't easy; Renjun's darkness was overwhelming, pulsating in the air, making Kun's head throb. It brought out the worst in Kun. Oh, how badly he wanted to throw the boy across the room. But he wouldn't. He would stay calm.

"Yes, you are," Renjun argued, and Kun could hear the smirk in his voice. 

"I'm not," Kun denied.

"You are," Renjun returned.

Kun dropped his book, which fell with a slap onto his desk. "I haven't glanced at you once this whole lesson," he snapped. Kun cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure - if one could consider this shaky state composed. "We see Lady Macbeth's descent into madness. Now, can anyone tell me-"

"Well that's strange."

"Can anyone tell me how-"

"Why are you avoiding me, Kun?"

"Huang, go to the principal's office."

As soon as Kun spoke that name, the deep, dark energy that had been smothering Kun for the past twenty minutes permeated his body, penetrating his very soul. He shuddered. It was dark; so very dark. It was as if by speaking his name, he had let the beast touch him. He had let him inside, he had been infected.

"Fine," Renjun said, standing up. His desk was empty, unlike the students that surrounded him. He had no notebook, no notes. No pencil case, no pens. With nothing to gather, he marched straight to the door.

Kun, in a moment of weakness, or perhaps just a moment of pure stupidity, glanced at the boy for a split second before he slammed the classroom door behind him. A split second was all it took. 

Again, Renjun's eyes were fully black. He grinned at Kun, but it was very much unlike the menacing grimace he had displayed a few days prior. His teeth were bared, rows and rows of razor-sharp fangs, needle-like in nature. They were sheer white, polished and shining, piercing Kun's heart from ten feet away.

The door slammed, shutting him out, but that split second was long enough to instill fear in Kun's deepest core, absolute terror. The external darkness eased a little once he was gone, returning to a low hum of evil energy, but Kun was shaking as he resumed the lesson. 

As expected, Renjun's behaviour had gone entirely unnoticed by the rest of the class. They didn't even seem disturbed by Kun's raised voice - he was extremely glad about this. He had a deep integral belief that it was wrong to yell at his students. He would have been kicking himself. But he knew Huang Renjun wasn't a student. It wasn't a teenage boy, it was something dark, dangerous.  a powerful entity from god-knows-where.

Kun gave his students a task to complete at their leisure, and took a seat at his desk. He gripped the heavy oak, trying to still his shaking hands. Maybe he ought to go back to therapy, he considered. But where would he even start? With the death of his brother? With the return of his nightmares? With the entrance of Huang Renjun. 

No, he dismissed the idea. No competent therapist would believe him - he would be sectioned and medicated after a single session. Plus, whatever was going on was solely between him and Renjun; it was completely unseen and unacknowledged by anybody else.

Kun sounded delirious, even to himself. Nothing in science or logic could possibly provide an explanation for what was happening. But he knew it was real. He knew. Huang Renjun was something cruel, something sick. Something that had crawled right out of hell, directly to Kun's doorstep to torture him. He would figure this out, he vowed. He would rid himself of this beast.

Thursday, 3:49pm

The end of the day - Kun had made it. He let himself relax in his desk chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. He had to admit, he was rather proud of himself. Yes, he’d had a minor run-in with the boy, but he’d managed to diffuse the situation and rid himself of the problem. And, more importantly, he hadn’t passed out this time. Kun scoffed at the hilarity of it all - what a ridiculously low standard for a good day, reaching 3pm without suffering a fainting spell. He would go home and treat himself, he decided, by cooking a comforting stir-fried beef dish.

Knock, knock, knock.

Kun sat forwards with a jolt, gripping his desk tightly for some form of stability. He hated living in this near-constant state of fight-or-flight - it could easily be a quiet freshman, coming to ask questions they were too shy to raise in class. It could have been a colleague, a parent, any number of harmless guests. Despite all of the possibilities, Kun’s mind went to the worst place. He was certain he knew who it was. God, don’t let it be him. 

The door swung open in a dreadfully slow manner. Pale fingers wrapped themselves around the door, which gave way to reveal none other than Huang Renjun; just Kun’s luck.

“What do you want?” Kun asked the boy, hackles raised.

Renjun didn’t respond. He closed the door behind him, and the click sent shivers down Kun’s spine - what was he doing? Kun could only watch, frozen, as the boy moved. He grabbed a chair from behind a desk, and brought it to Kun’s desk. The shiny metal squealed as it was dragged across the floor, making Kun wince. Renjun sat on the chair backwards, facing Kun and leaning his arms on the backrest. He rested his head on his arms, looking up at his teacher. He was the picture of innocence; wide eyes, a small mischievous smile present on his lips. Kun only sat in silence, waiting for the boy to act. He was action-ready, prepared to bolt (or even fight) should Renjun do anything drastic.

Kun wasn’t sure how many minutes passed before Renjun spoke. Until that point, they had simply been staring at each other, Kun with a panicked look in his bloodshot eyes and Renjun clearly enjoying the effect he was having on the older male. “I’m sorry for upsetting you today,” Renjun said. Kun didn’t reply, only moving his hands to his thighs, digging his nails inwards to ground himself. “Why do you have it out for me?” Renjun spoke again.

To an outsider, the scene would have been simply heartwrenching. Renjun, a very obviously damaged adolescent who had been hurt by the world many times, looking his teacher in the eye and asking why, pleading almost, begging to be treated right for once in his young life. He sounded like a sad, broken young man; innocent, confused, curious. 

Kun knew it was a ruse.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kun denied, his voice low and flat. He gathered some papers on his desk and shuffled them. He busied himself, so as not to get lost within Renjun’s dark energy again. If he were to pass out here, completely alone in the classroom, he had no idea what would become of him.

Renjun continued his sad little boy pretense, flashing dark puppy-dog eyes up at Kun. “I didn’t do anything to you,” he cooed. “I’m just a kid, right?”

Kun was certain that Renjun was playing games with him now. He knew that Kun knew. “You’re not just a kid,” Kun snapped, snarling at the boy in front of him. He threw the papers back down on his desk, rolling backwards in his chair to put distance between himself and the child. The sky opened up all of a sudden, rain pouring from the heavens.

“C’mon, don’t be mean,” Renjun drawled. “Play along, Kun. I’m just a kid… Right?”

“I’m going home,” Kun stated abruptly, standing up and preparing to remove himself from the situation. Renjun began to cackle, but Kun did everything he could to shut the boy out. He picked up his briefcase and slung his coat over his arm. A dash of thunder cracked through the sky, and Kun jumped.

“I left you a surprise there,” Renjun spoke, his voice playful.

Kun turned, running out of his classroom and sprinting down corridors. What the fuck had that bastard done to his house? He was barely even aware of the rain once he reached the school’s exit, though it drenched him in a matter of seconds. In the mad dash to his car, his hair fell flat with the rain, sticking to his forehead, and his shirt clung to his body, turning see-through. He rifled through his coat pockets, hunting for his car keys. 

To the stray students that lingered after school hours, Kun probably looked deranged. But others’ perceptions of him were the least of his worries at that moment. He had no idea what Renjun was capable of - he had no idea what Renjun even was. A ghost? A demon? Something else? He truly didn’t know. He had to get home, and fast.

Kun was panting when he reached his house, worked up into a complete frenzy of anxiety and agitation. He swung into his driveway hastily, not wanting to lose any precious time perfecting his parking. Half on the driveway and half on his lawn, he stepped out of his car, staggering.

His front door had been completely torn off its hinges. Kun’s hands met his hair, tugging in helplessness. The door itself was laying haphazardly inside the doorway - if you could even call it a door any more. It was in two pieces, ripped apart. Shards of glass and wood were discarded all around. What the fuck had the monster done? 

Kun dreaded to think what this looked like to his neighbours. The elderly couple to the left of him must have been terrified to see that beast rip through his house like a hurricane - how had the police not been called yet?

Kun gritted his teeth as he entered his house. He knew he had drawn the curtains that morning, but they had been pulled shut since. He squinted, eyes adjusting to the darkness as he fumbled for the light switch with shaky hands. He almost whimpered when the light flickered on. His armchair had been flipped, and his couch was torn, littered with slash marks, made by a knife or even a pair of claws. Kun looked around the room in horror - this was his home. He felt so attacked, so violated. 

His eyes fell upon the mirror that hung above his fireplace, and he was forced to hold onto his ruined couch to save his buckling knees. Scrawled across it, in burning crimson, was his brother’s name, “SICHENG.” 

Kun couldn’t breathe. He looked through the letters to his reflection. He looked every bit as distraught as he felt. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, which he supposed he hadn’t, not properly. He looked like a man whose life was falling apart.

His home wasn't a safe place for him any more. Physically nor emotionally. Kun darted around his house, grabbing an old duffle bag and filling it with essentials - a change of clothes, his toothbrush, phone charger. He supposed he didn't need his keys, not when any old stranger could wander inside from the streets. After a moment of deliberation, he threw in his largest kitchen knife too. 

Fifteen minutes later, Kun pulled up at a dying establishment, parking his car a little more neatly this time. Elliot Motel read the faded sign, desperately in need of a paint job. The place was deserted - Kun wouldn’t have been surprised to see a tumbleweed rolling past. But it was remote, and it was a place away from his home where he could lay low and hide out until he figured out what to do.

The bored receptionist hadn’t spared Kun a second glance, for which he was grateful. Once in his allocated room, he double-locked the door and pulled the curtains tightly shut. He didn’t even dare turn on the light, for fear of the yellow glow being visible through the curtains. Although it would come as a shock to him if the place even had working electrics. The dark was better; it gave him a sense of anonymity, and it kept the cockroaches hidden from his view. 

Kun perched on the end of the bed, resting his head in his hands. He could hear his heart hammering, the pulsating sound rattled around his head and he could feel it. He couldn’t think straight - his only emotion was blind panic. He leapt up from the bed, too much energy to stay seated. He paced back and forth in the dark, almost tearing out his hair in terror.

Hours passed but Kun couldn’t settle. His brain was going a mile a minute, darting from one place to the next. He was frazzled, and he had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do. He was angry, enraged that this demon would fuck up his life and his home like this. He was terrified, and he felt as though he may be ambushed or attacked any minute. He couldn’t think straight. And exactly as the clock struck midnight, the phone in his dingy motel room began to ring.

Kun yelped, the harsh trilling ring boring into his soul and making him jump. He scrambled to the old rotary phone, tightly gripping the handle and pulling it close to his ear. He heard nothing at the other end, other than very faint static.

“Hello?” Kun spoke. His own voice shocked him - he sounded so unstable, like a scared little boy. The same scared little boy who would wake up from nightmares of losing his brother all those years ago.

A rattling noise came out of the receiver. After a few seconds, Kun realised it was the sound of somebody breathing. Even yet ragged breaths, loud and crackly through the ancient telephone. Kun knew exactly who it was.

“I know it’s you, bastard,” he hissed into the phone. He was met with more silence. Kun was furious. This monster was ruining him - look at what he’d turned him into. A grown man, a man who was esteemed and well-respected. Crouched on the floor of a dingy motel, clutching a telephone, his once neat shirt and trousers now rumpled and sticky with sweat. This couldn’t go on any longer, Kun decided.

“Meet me at the school. 3am. We’re ending this.”

Thursday, 2:34am.

Kun was ready. It hadn't been easy - he'd been through hell and back - but he was prepared. He knew what had to be done, and he was willing to do it.

In the hours since the dreadful phone call which had riled him up immensely, Kun had darted all over town. 

To the library, where he had left a broken window in his wake (and he could only hope that his makeshift mask would be enough to save him from breaking and entering charges). He had encountered a dusty section he had never noticed before, which was strange in itself. Being a teacher of literature, the library was a place he frequented, though this section he had never happened upon. He was convinced it only bore itself to those in need, but that fact was neither here nor there. He had rifled through the section, leaving pages torn and books scattered, something he never would have done in his normal life. But he did the research he needed to do, and got the exact knowledge he required.

He had driven back to his house, which no longer felt like a home, to pick up one of the few precious belongings of Sicheng's he had left - necessary for the sacrifice. He had paroled the streets, searching for a stray animal. He never would've harmed an animal but the blood of an innocent creature was needed. He pulled though, apologising deeply to the stray dog which yelped and bit at him.

And there he stood, in the middle of his classroom, clutching his duffle bag which was filled with the most mismatched assortment of offerings. Raising Demons, the book which had proven most informative, Sicheng's red woollen scarf, a vial full of dog's blood, the butcher knife from his kitchen. He looked like a hot mess and he knew it; his shirt was untucked, most of the buttons now undone, and he had lost his tie long ago. He was panting, and he couldn't seem to find his breath no matter how long he stood still. 

He looked around his classroom. It was empty, but soon that would change - and that wasn't a comforting thought by far. God, he was wasting time, he thought as he stood there dumbly. But where the fuck did he start?

He ran to action, shoving away the desks that surrounded him, creating a clearing in the centre of the room. He threw open the cupboard at the back of the room and pulled out the old stereo that lay dormant in there. He messed with the dials, twiddling them back and forth until static blared out. He flinched at the sound, but it was no louder than the blaring panic that had been reverberating around his skull lately.

Not wanting to waste another minute, Kun sprinted to the front of the room, grabbing a marker pen and setting to work on the floor. As meticulously as he could with his shaking hands, Kun drew a pentagram, tainting the floor of his beloved classroom. He yanked open his duffle bag, trembling as he placed the items around the pentagram. He picked up the stolen novel, Raising Demons, and jumped to the page he had dog-eared. 

Well, Kun thought to himself, No time like the present. 

He recited the passage, focusing heavily - he couldn’t get a single word wrong. “Dark Father, hear me for my soul’s sake. I am one who promises sacrifice. I am one who seeks vengeance of the left hand. I bring blood in promise of sacrifice.”

A wind picked up in the classroom, dark clouds materialising and flying around the pentagram in a tight circle, a tornado of evil.

Kun had thought he’d witnessed true darkness in the presence of Huang Renjun; he thought he had seen what evil really was. He had been wrong. True darkness, true overwhelming power, true and pure evil, was what he had summoned before him. Renjun was nothing in comparison to this beast. Kun felt sick. 

A voice spoke to him, hissing and spitting, from deep within the clouds. It was deep, grating, abnormal. “What do you ask of me?”

Kun looked down towards the ground. He didn’t want to peer too deeply into this void that had materialised - he knew that anything he saw would scar him deeply. Its energy was horrific enough. This wasn’t a sight he wanted to see. He spoke as clearly as he could, raising his voice to the demon. “Rid me of the spirit that plagues me.”

“Then give me what is mine,” the voice rumbled back.

Kun nodded, trembling. He kneeled on the floor, picked up the butcher’s knife. He placed his hand on the floor, all fingers curled under his fist apart from his pinky finger. He closed his eyes, whimpering as he braced himself. Kun raised the knife and brought it down fast. He yelped; the pain was immense, but he knew he hadn’t yet severed the bone. He took a second hit. A third. A fourth. Again, and again. As Kun screamed, the appendage finally detached. 

He reopened his eyes, recognising the blood splattered across the floor as his own. He used the knife to nudge the detached appendage into the pentagram, his nausea intensifying. Blood was spurting from his hand at an alarming rate, and he clutched it close to his chest.

The voice spoke again. “It will be done.”

Kun looked to the clock in his classroom, just as it turned 3. Renjun appeared in the doorway with that now-familiar evil smile on his face. Kun’s vision was spotty, but he could still see Renjun’s grin fall instantly. He couldn’t read the expression on the thing’s face. It could have been rage. It could even have been fear.

“No,” Renjun roared. “What have you done?”

The tornado picked up, and Kun flew flat on his back with the intensity of the wind. A pinprick of light spawned in its centre and Kun had to shield his eyes from it, hiding in the crook of his elbow while his other hand was still clamped close to his chest.

“No! No! Fuck you, Qian Kun!” Huang Renjun shrieked, until… silence. Everything was still. Kun sat up, dizziness wracking his senses. For the first time since the whole ordeal began, he felt something similar to calm. The room was quiet, still, and empty, save for himself. The demon he had summoned was gone. Huang Renjun was gone. The quiet disoriented him; he felt like it had been a while since he truly experienced quiet.

Kun picked up his knife once again and cut along the bottom of his shirt, wrapping the material tightly around his stub of a finger in an attempt to slow the bleeding. He felt faint - he knew he’d lost a substantial amount of blood. He stood, staggering out of his bombsite of a classroom and stumbling into the hallway. He bent, heaving onto the floor, bile burning his throat and mouth. He probably needed to get to a hospital, but how would he explain himself?

Kun felt a pat on his back - a warm, comforting gesture. Wiping saliva from his mouth and chin, he looked up, and found himself staring into a pair of friendly brown eyes, surrounded by aged wrinkles. Something inside Kun simply knew that he was a kind figure, a peaceful figure.

“It’s gone now, son,” the old man spoke, his voice croaky. Kun merely stared at him, wide-eyed, as he talked. “I’ve had students like that one before. They feed on your energy, eat away at you. Look into your past to find the best way to torture you. But it’s gone now. It’s gone.”

Kun stood up straight, or as straight as he could manage in his current condition. He didn’t recognise the teacher standing before him. “Who are you?” he panted, squinting at the other man.

“Don’t worry about me, son, I’m long gone” the man responded with a wry smile. “I taught here long, long ago. Just listen to me - my God, son, if you take notice of one thing in your life, let it be this -” the man leaned in close to whisper in Kun’s ear. Kun closed his eyes, listening as closely as he could despite his faltering consciousness. “When you involve yourself with something like this, sometimes they come back.”

When Kun opened his eyes again, the man was gone.

Kun wobbled outside, breathing in the night air as if he’d been deprived of oxygen for weeks. It was over, the weight on his chest was gone. He could breathe. He could live. All he could do now was pick up the pieces. But the old man’s words echoed in his mind,

Sometimes they come back.

[longitud-de-onda]

piece of your heart

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; javi takes you out dancing and drunkenly starts saying things in spanish that you can’t understand rating; t warnings; alcohol, drunkenness (and the vomiting that comes after), unrequited feelings (or not?), and angst. word count; 2.4k requested; by two anons. requests under break. a/n; combined these two requests and wrote this on a plane. there’ll be a part two 😉

“javi request where he takes the reader dancing 🥺 something similar to the dance in 3x1 of narcos thank u sm and ur the best !! 💖”

“You are at a bar after work with Steve and Javi. Javi asks you to dance with him. He is drunk & kind of grinding on you and he starts to say some things in Spanish. You don't speak Spanish very well, and assume he is saying lewd things, but when you go home, you remember some of the things he said and you put them in Google Translate and he is actually confessing really sweet things like he loves you, you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, an he is so screwed.”

“So, tonight? Wanna go out dancing with some of the others?” Javier has just walked up to your desk and sat on top of your work, staring you down.

“Dancing? No thanks,” you tell Javier.

Going out dancing with Javier Peña? That involved alcohol and lowered inhibitions and you aren’t ready to do that. You’ll admit, having him here, asking you to go dancing with him, it hurts. You can imagine in another life, one where you weren’t living in Colombia and meddling with international politics in a way even the US President would likely disapprove of, you could be brave, step up and tell Javi how you felt. But you were both in a line of work that didn’t allow for relationships, and catching feelings was the worst illness that could befall you.

And you had caught the virus.

“Come on, it’s been a hell of a week for everyone. There’s about seven of us, going over to the disco downtown, we can get plastered, forget about work, have a bit of fun?” he smiles at you, and you shake your head.

“Not tonight, Javi,” you say. “Anyway, it’s Friday, and we work tomorrow.”

You’ve said yes before. That night sucked. You watched him flirt with every woman in the bar, watched him make out with a young woman in a booth. You cried the entire drive home, and on your way up to your apartment, you passed his first-floor apartment and could hear the moans coming from inside. There was nothing crueler than wanting someone you couldn’t have, someone who would sleep with anyone, except you.

The feeling had weighed heavy on your heart for a long time now, and while it was easy to avoid the man, given that you worked in different departments, he managed to find a reason to visit you. Sneaking him classified documents. Helping him with a wiretap. Doing background checks. And every time he asked you’d comply if only to get a few extra minutes of his presence. A bit more time where that smile was directed at you and not one of the many other women in the building. A few moments where you could pretend that he cared.

“You sure? It’s not really a night without my favorite CIA agent,” he says, putting on the sly grin he uses to bend anyone’s will. The one he uses to get informants to reveal a bit more than they intended.

You want, so badly, to say no. To not force yourself to survive another night of suffering. But you’re weak and probably a masochist. And there’s the fact that he’s asking you, begging you, to come with him. To spend time with him. Even if it means you’ll end the night in tears, historically you’ve never been one to turn down time with Javier, no matter how much it hurt, and you weren’t going to stop tonight.

“Fine, but you’re buying the first round,” you agree.

“Good!” He jumps off of your desk. “It’s gonna be great. See you at eight.”

“Eight, okay...”

He leaves the room, a bit more bounce in his gait, and you smile to yourself, knowing that you were the reason for his excitement.

The day passed slowly, you had too many reports to read through and not enough coffee could keep you going. When you finished for the day, you were one of the last ones still in the office, and you headed home, looking forward to a shower and some warmed up leftovers for dinner.

You don’t have plans to drink too much. You don’t want to be hungover at work, and you had a tendency to spill secrets when wasted. With Javier around, that wasn’t something you wanted to get involved with. Still, you make sure you’ve got enough food in your stomach and drink some water so that the inevitable multitudes of shots you’ll be coerced into drinking don’t go straight to your head.

At eight, you’re waiting in the foyer of the complex, along with Steve, Connie, Marta, the current ambassador’s secretary, and Anthony, one of the other DEA agents that lived in the complex. You were going to be meeting another 5, apparently, at the disco. It was turning into quite the evening, especially considering that you had work the next day. You were told the plan was to take two cars over, so two groups could head back whenever, and if you were too drunk, it was close enough you could probably walk or just take a taxi if things went south.

Javi is obviously rushing as he bursts out of his apartment, still buttoning up his shirt. You let your eyes roam over him from the back of the group. He had put some effort into the look for the evening, a nice pair of slacks than he usually wore, and he had done something with his hair.

It makes you feel more than a bit self-conscious of how unimpressive you look before you mentally slap yourself. You’re not here to impress Javier. You don’t need to put in an effort, even if you did he still wouldn’t go for you.

“Ready?” Javier asks, and you all exit the building.

Two hours into the evening, you’re sufficiently tipsy after a couple beers. You had resisted Connie’s multiple offers of shots, but you didn’t stop her from dragging you onto the dance floor for a solid hour. You’re sweaty and a bit tired already, back at the bar where some of the guys in your group are gathered.

You watch as Javier starts knocking back shots of tequila with Anthony, something you weren’t expecting. He was always the one to slowly sip at a glass of whiskey over the night, or drink beer. He must really want to get drunk tonight.

You slip onto a barstool and order a bottle of beer. Javier is a couple feet away, and he’s already acting like he’s lost all control, and you worry about his fate in the morning. He wasn’t usually this careless with his alcohol.

He sidles up next to you, “Y/N! We should go dance.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, trying to pull you up off your seat.

“Javi, no,” you say. You should be jumping for joy. Happy that he actually wants to spend time with you. But you know that it’s only because he’s so incredibly drunk.

“Please, darling? I didn’t invite you out so that you could sit here.” he drawls out, his Texas accent appears in moments like this, and you wish it didn’t make you feel things.

He drags his hand down your bare arm, wrapping his fingers around your hand and pulling you up.

“Okay.” You must hate yourself.

He pulls you through the crowds into the center of the dance floor. Arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you yelp in surprise.

“¿Todo bien, compañera?” he laughs in your ear, something light and fluttery.

“Javi you know I don’t speak Spanish,” you say, bowing your head.

“You should, it would sound so beautiful coming from you,” he says and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he’s so far gone he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

He starts to sway to the music, and his hands on your waist radiate heat straight through your dress. The whole disco is hot, but you feel even warmer wrapped up in Javier. The music thrums through your body, and you look up at his eyes, glittering with the almost-goofy smile he wears.

You want to imagine that this is real. That he’s here, hands all over you, because he wants to. You wish you could move your hands down from around his neck, or pull him in tighter, and not regret it tomorrow morning. You know you’re going to wake up tomorrow alone in bed, remembering how much could have happened if Javier cared, and that he will wake up, probably with someone else, someone who’s in this very room right now.

That thought almost makes you let go of Javier and run away, but he pulls your hips into his, rolling up against you. He lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core, and you close your eyes tight, hoping you’ll open them again for this to be just a dream.

Instead, you open them at the feeling of his breath, hot near your ear.

“Eres tan hermosa, Y/N,” he says.

You don’t know a word he’s saying but you’re pretty sure you have an idea of what he means. He’s grinding up against you, drunk and probably horny, like he is most nights, the words likely meaning something about how he’d like to take you here on the dance floor. Something disgusting and quick and meaningless.

“Me vuelves loco.”

But you’re too tipsy to get caught up on that. You want to pretend he’s saying anything but what you know he’s going on about. Want to pretend his arms aren’t slinking lower down your back until they brush over your ass. You want to believe he’s doing it because he wants to.

You decide it’s better to let go for the night. Maybe you can pretend. Just for an hour.

The music washes over you, and you move your hips along with his, and while he takes the lead, you follow, dancing as if you knew what you were doing.

“Cuando bailas así, no quiero que todos estén aquí,” he groans, “Quiero estar a solas contigo.”

If only you knew what he was saying. If you knew exactly what sort of lewd things he is saying, maybe it would be enough to knock some sense into your head and leave him on the dance floor. But you don’t.

Thank god you don’t.

It means you get to dance in his arms for a little bit more.

“No sabes, porque tu español es una mierda, pero estoy con tantas mujeres para que pueda intentar olvidarte,” he says, “Es tortura, tener alguién tan perfecta como tú, tan cerca, pero tan inalcanzable.”

When he speaks Spanish, he sounds so different. Sometimes, like now, it’s like he’s reciting a love poem. Other times, like when you hear him talking to the police, he becomes someone commanding and aggressive. Not like the Javier who spoke English to you, smiled, and sheepishly asked for favors.

“Nunca ha funcionado, no puedo olvidarte,” he says.

“Javi, you know I don’t understand you, right?” you say and he responds by thrusting his hips into you again. You bite your lip, and it only becomes more painful as you feel his bulge against your body. You’re just another body for him. And that is a sobering realization. You’re about to cry and you’re glad he’s looking over your shoulder and can’t see your face.

“Deseo poder besarte,” he whispers in your ear, “Te quiero.”

You were so stupid to fall for such a man. It’s killing you.

With one hand still on your ass, he brings the other one up, palming your breast. The moan you involuntarily release shocks you enough to push him away.

“Javier,” you say, panicking, “I can’t—“

Before you say anything more you see the twisted look on his face, somewhere between completely ravaged and utterly lost. You turn and, pushing through people, go back to the bar, where you order a shot which you quickly down before sitting down and letting the tears fall.

After fifteen minutes of looking like the saddest person in the disco, the bartender takes pity on you and gives you a glass of water and some tissues. You thank her.

The night had so quickly turned to shit. It was so much worse than previous ones. It was a torture you couldn’t handle anymore.

“Y/N!” screams a voice in your ear, someone drunk and loud.

You turn. It’s Marta.

“What?”

“It’s Javier, he’s outside puking. You’re the soberest of us you need to take him home.”

Shit. Of course this would happen.

“Fine, but take care, Marta, I don’t want you not making it home tonight.”

She thanks you and disappears into the throngs of people.

You settle your tab and Javier’s and go outside. Javier is sitting on the curb, keeled over and emptying his guts onto the stone streets.

If your heart didn’t hurt so much, you’d laugh. You hadn’t known anyone over the age of 30 drunk themselves to this point.

“Javier?” you say.

He looks up and starts to say something, but you can see the regret on his face flash upon opening his mouth as it only brings on another wave of nausea. You look away.

When he finishes, you say, “Come on, Javi, let's get you home.”

He tries to stand and you have to dive into his side to stabilize him. When you’re in a position where you can support his weight, you guide him towards his car.

You strap him into the passenger seat and reach your hand into his pocket, finding the car keys.

The ride home he stays silent. He hasn’t said a word to you since he was whispering in your ear on the dance floor. You suppose he has a fair reason to not open his mouth now though. Probably doesn’t want to soil his own vehicle.

You get him into his apartment just fine, set him up with a glass of water and make him take some pain meds.

“Don’t die on me Javi, no choking on your vomit overnight, okay?” you say and he nods.

Back in your apartment, you sit down on your couch. You should go to sleep. You need to be at work in 7 hours.

But some vicious part of your mind reminds you of the words Javier had said. You curse your curiosity and pull out your Spanish dictionary.

You only remember three phrases, “quiero estar a solas contigo,” “deseo poder besarte,” and “te quiero.”

As you look up the words, your eyes widen. Quiero: I want. Estar: To be. Solas: alone. Contigo: with you.

Shit.

Deseo: I wish. Poder: to be able to. Besarte: to kiss you.

Fuck.

The last one requires you to look it up in the phrasebook. ‘I want you’ didn’t feel right. When you find it you almost drop the book on the floor.

Te quiero: I love you.

next part

translations;

¿Todo bien, compañera?

Everything okay, partner/colleague/girlfriend?

Eres tan hermosa

You are so beautiful

Me vuelves loco.

You drive me crazy

Cuando bailas así, no quiero que todos estén aquí. Quiero estar a solas contigo.

When you dance like that, I don’t want everyone to be here. I want to be alone with you. 

No sabes, porque tu español es una mierda, pero estoy con tantas mujeres para que pueda intentar olvidarte

You don’t know because your Spanish sucks, but I’m with so many women so I can try to forget you

Es tortura, tener alguién tan perfecta como tú, tan cerca, pero tan inalcanzable.

It’s torture, having someone as perfect as you, so close, yet so unreachable. 

Nunca ha funcionado, no puedo olvidarte 

It’s never worked, I can’t forget you

Deseo poder besarte 

I wish I could kiss you

Te quiero. 

I love you

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​

[sunflowerhae]

Lifeboat

N.J (2k)

A/N• this is purely indulgent. It also has quite heavy themes, but at this point are any of us surprised. I want to make something clear, the reader doesn’t do what she does bc of what happens with her and Jaemin (I’m trying not to spoil). I mean, that’s just a tip of the iceberg type situation. That being said, if you are having similar thoughts as our dear reader, please call your countries suicide hotline, and/or talk to someone you trust in your life. ALSO, I am not trying to romanticize any of the topics I wrote about, I’m trying to show that even the people that seem to have it all can be just as lost and broken as the rest of us, also that the most important thing you could be to a person is someone who asks them if they’re okay. Sometimes, that’s all a person needs - Someone to listen.

READ!⚠️angst, suicide,character death, drugs, heavy self-hating words, depiction of depression/mental illness, not specified, but insinuates⚠️

{🎵SOTS☁️; Lifeboat, Elle McLemore}

The world seemed to close in on you as you stared at the boy who stood before you with a hardened gaze in his eyes. While you only stood a good 3 feet away from him, you could feel the anger and helplessness radiating off of him, transferring itself onto you in sadness and heartbreak.

“Why?” Was the only thing you could manage to get past your lips.

“Y/n, it’s not that I don’t like you, of course I do. We’ve been dating for 2 years, but I’ve just been... uncomfortable almost the whole time. It’s not your fault, it’s just, your life. I can’t handle being with one of the most popular girls in school. You seem to have it all figured out, and everyone loves you, and I feel pushed to the side sometimes.” You didn’t understand why Jaemin was mad, but the small space under the bleachers where you both stood was enough to suffocate you to the point where you didn’t care to ask.

He didn’t understand.

They never understood.

No one.

You wanted to fight to save your relationship, but the words choked into the back of your throat, just like they did when Soojin would bully people in front of you, and you wanted to scream at her and pull the other person into your arms and whisper that it will all be okay and apologize apologize apologize, but you stayed rigid on her flank, silently trying to survive until you could get to Jaemins arms, or to the bottom of a beer bottle at yet another house party you were constantly forced to attend with your other two friends.

You choose to swallow your spit, and ask him, “is this because of soojin? Did she say something to you?” You knew your “dear” friend had a certain distaste for your long term boyfriend, because - as she had worded it - his kind doesn’t belong next to someone that Soojin had deemed acceptable enough to befriend (you); “His kind” being not necessarily the most popular. Him and his other friends were amazing people, and you wished you would have befriended them on the first day of freshman year, instead of the blonde girl in your Art 1 class that always had a red scrunchie. When Jaemin introduced you to them, you could tell they were hesitate to let you into their life - what with your position within your schools hierarchy system. You honestly didn’t blame them. However, after a while they warmed up to you, and you felt like you finally fit in with people. You thought these people would become your life long friends; long after you’ve left high school and forgotten all about the life you unwillingly lead.

You suppose that is no longer the case.

“No, yes, god I don’t know, y/n. It’s just, everything! You have friends that are bitches, and I never know when you’re just going to leave me and spread some terrible rumor about me!” He was silently yelling now. It was after school, and the football team was on the field - the other side of where you stood - practicing. There were people running on the track, cheerleaders practicing next to the field, leftover students wondering the grounds. Everyone was living, moving on with their lives and turning along with the Earth - why did you feel frozen? Why did you feel like nothing was ever going to keep moving and be okay and the world was never going to be beautiful again?

“Is that what you expect me to do, Jaemin? After two years of knowing me, is that what you think of me?”

“God, y/n, maybe! I see who you align yourself with so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a bitch just like them!” You understood he was just hurting, like you, but that didn’t make the words hurt any less. You took a couple steps back from his figure with slow nods, before turning around fully and booking your way to your car.

Jaemin watched your retreating figure with tears curling into his eyes. He left not long after you did, still thinking about you on the way home. He didn’t know this at the time, but that was the last time he ever saw you. His first love, his first heartache.

You felt guilty.

You always did. You always had this insistent chewing at your intestines; this constant voice in your head telling you that everyone was better than you, and that you didn’t deserve the praise you got for being a good person.

You tried to fight the words and the icky feelings off with trips to the volunteer center - usually with Jaemin. You went that night, hoping that this constant pain in your heart after hearing jaemins smooth, venom-filled words would choke back and leave your system, like the terrible feelings usually did when you helped people. However, no matter how many people smiled at you, and no matter how many lives you got to help, the feeling only grew more and more.

You are worthless, y/n.

You only do charity work for your own need.

No one likes you.

You’ll never be loved.

Not even Jaemin loves you.

These ill thoughts were a normal occurrence for you. Usually, Jaemin would lay you down, rub your stomach, and whisper in your ear how beautiful you were to him, inside and out.

You were a nuisance and a waste to him, y/n.

The feelings never left, and you could tell people knew something was wrong with you, so you chose to leave the center early. On your way out, a familiar face had asked you where Jaemin was. You pretended you didn’t hear them.

Your room was dark. Usually, if you couldn’t have Jaemin, you would go to your parents. However, they were away at a dinner event for your mother’s work. You would never go to Soojin, and while you loved Haeyong, she had a tendency to tell Soojin about what you two privately talked about; always trying to get brownie points with the blonde girl who seemed to secretly hate her. You figured there was someone you could go to, and it didn’t hurt to try.

Y/n [10:57pm] u up???? I kinda need someone to talk to rn hAha. Read

Y/n [10:59pm] hello? 👉👈 Read

Y/n [11:02pm] Haechan why r you leaving me on read bro?? Ik he’s your best friend, but we don’t have to talk about him, I just need someone to talk to pLS pls. Read

[MISSED CALL FROM Y/N] 11:02PM

Haechan [11:03pm] listen y/n we shouldn’t talk anymore, I’m sorry. You were a good friend, but Jaemin was and always will be first to me. And he’s right, we never know when you’re going to do a 180 on us and tell all of our secrets to everyone. We can’t - and never have been able to - trust you. I’m sorry, really. You’re a popular girl. You don’t need us, you’ll forget. When we became friends with you, we didn’t really want to, Jaemin kinda forced us to, I hope u understand. :/ we’ll forget about u, u forget about us. Deal? Read

Y/n [11:04pm] um ok. Sorry for bothering you all, have a good night Read

Y/n [11:03pm] when will u be home?Read

[MISSED CALL FROM Y/N] 11:04PM

Mom [11:06pm] not for a while, ask Jaemin to come over if you’re scared of being alone. Read

Y/n [11:06pm] mom i hate to be annoying but can u and dad come home rn??? I need u Read

[MISSED CALL FROM Y/N] 11:06PM

Mom [11:08pm] are you dying? Has someone broken in? Are you unsafe?Read

Y/n [11:08pm] um,,,,no Read

Mom [11:10pm] well then no y/n. You know how much this award means to me, I’ve been constantly working lately and finally might get recognized for it. If I leave now, I might not get it. Can whatever you need wait? Read

Y/n [11:11pm] Um yeah. I love u Read

Mom [11:12pm] u too💖 Read

Why were you never first?

Why was there no one who asked you if you were okay?

If there was, what would you say?

See y/n? No one likes you.

You’re a bother to them.

Maybe you should fix that.

Maybe if you made their lives easier, they would love you.

You didn’t deserve their love, but maybe?

Maybe the pills could love you.

They were always there for you.

Maybe, they could help others love you too.

Love love love love.

Maybe.

Maybe.

They say your parents found you in bed.

They thought you were sleeping. I mean, all your lights were off, it was late.

But in the morning, when your mother came to wake you up and saw that your eyes were wide open, well....

They found the note on your desk across the room.

It was dated a year before.

You had written it a year before.

Everyone admitted that it was such a beautiful note. Heartbreaking? Yes. gut-wrenching? Of course. But beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

They gathered everyone into the gym the next day in intervals. Freshman, who didn’t understand what was really happening, but had heard your name and definitely knew who you were, and could put two and two together.

Next, the sophomores. Like the freshman, they only had heard of you. Some had met you, some cried. You were kind, they knew.

After them, the juniors. Chenle and Jisung were sitting in the corner. Jisung was sobbing into Chenle’s lap, while silent tears fell down the olders’ face. You had always been willing to play video games with them, and were such a kind hearted person. They remember last night, when they were all sitting together and haechan had read your texts you sent out loud, and all of them were so busy feeling for Jaemin, that they blindly informed Haechan on what he should say. On how to break your heart. Chenle wished Haechan had called her.

Finally, the seniors. Soojin and Haeyong sat in the back, as always. They were both upset because you had not been answering their texts.

Renjun, Haechan, Jeno, and Jaemin were sitting on the other side. They had not been told what the assembly was about, but when the teacher got the call about it, halfway through math, she sat at her desk for a couple of seconds with her head in her hands. They knew whatever the assembly was about was not good.

Haechan was the first to react out of the four.

He whispered your name silently with wide eyes rounded on his face. His mind went to the first time you met him. You played him in a round of Overwatch to get him to warm up to you, and easily beat him. Besides Jaemin, he was probably the one you were closest to.

Jeno just kept looking at his lap with evident tears denting dark spots onto his jeans. Renjun, who was sitting next to Jaemin, couldn’t take his eyes off the boy to his right, terrified that he would faint.

Jaemin felt sick. He knew he looked pale, and his head felt a bit dizzy. He tasted metallic in his mouth, and finally registered that he was biting the inside of his cheek so hard, he was drawing blood. He wanted to leave, but he was too far up on the risers to get down.

Soojin cried. It was uncharacteristic of her, but at this point she didn’t care. How had she not seen it? Was she that self centered that she had really not seen it on you? Her best friend?

Haeyong wished you had called her, wished you had told her. But why would you? She knew she didn’t deserve to hear your heartache, but she still wished.

They read out your note. Your beautiful, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching note. They read it. And the student body listened.

I float in a boat

In a raging black ocean

Low in the water

And no where to go

The tiniest lifeboat

With people I know

Cold,

Clammy and crowded

The people smell desperate

We’ll sink any minute

So someone must go

The tiniest lifeboat

With people I know

Everyone’s pushing

Everyone’s fighting

Storms are approaching, there’s no where to hide

If I say the wrong thing

Or I wear the wrong outfit

They’ll throw me right over the side

I’m hugging my knees

And the captain is pointing

Well who made her captain?

Still, the weakest must go

The tiniest lifeboat

Full of people I know

The tiniest lifeboat

Full of people I know

Lemme know if you’d like a part two? Idk. Like I said this is purely indulgent so it’s not that good sorry :///

[pronouncingitwang]

s1 archives crew | 1.7K words | basically tim and martin think sasha and jon are dating and have a Time about it to my specific amusement

[INT. BUBBLE TEA SHOP]

[BACKGROUND: PEOPLE CHATTING, BAD DANCE MUSIC PLAYING OVER THE SPEAKERS]

TIM

(bitter, reminiscent of a cup of black tea that’s been steeping, forgotten, for an hour) I hope they’re having a good time

[PLASTIC HITTING PLASTIC, LIKE SOMEONE IS JABBING AT HIS BUBBLE TEA WITH HIS STRAW AND FAILING TO CATCH ANY PEARLS ON THE POINTY END]

MARTIN

(bitter, reminiscent of a cup of black tea that’s been steeping, forgotten, for two hours) I don’t.

TIM

(heh) Wellll… It’s more that I hope they’re having a good time, until something about the way Sasha talks reminds Jon of his grandmother, and the thought is so awful that he starts wishing it weren’t a date.

[ON THE WORD “DATE,” MARTIN LETS OUT A SOFT GROAN]

MARTIN

(glum) Cheers to that.

[THE TAP OF TWO PLASTIC CUPS AGAINST EACH OTHER]

MARTIN

(wistful) What do you think they’re talking about right now?

TIM

(glum) How smart and perfect they are, probably.

That, or work.

MARTIN

I don’t even know if Jon’s capable of not talking about work.

TIM

He was, back in research. (contemplative) He and Sash always got along swimmingly, but I never thought…

MARTIN

(oddly agitated) I didn’t even know he swung that way. Do you think— (lowering voice to a whisper) is it possible Sasha’s his beard?

TIM

(laughing) What, he needs her help staying closeted from us? You know, come to think of it, we are both such raging homophobes, so—

MARTIN

(laughing, but still tense) Yeah, alright, alright, lay off it.

[SILENCE]

TIM

Are you alright? You look… really wound up. Like, shaking.

MARTIN

(agitated) I’m fine, I just— (words bursting out) Look, I’m sorry, but—what does Jon see in her? Like, Sasha’s my friend, and she’s great, but—

TIM

(trying for lighthearted but landed on “stern”) Going to have to stop you there, Marto.

MARTIN

What? Oh, right, right, I’m sorry—

TIM

How about some ground rules. I don’t talk shit about Jon, and you don’t talk shit about Sasha.

MARTIN

Y-yeah. That sounds good.

[AWKWARD SILENCE]

MARTIN

I hope… that Elias calls Jon down to the Institute for an emergency live statement before they’ve even ordered food?

[CLINK OF ICE, A CUP BEING RAISED]

TIM

That’s the spirit!

-

[INT. ARCHIVES, THE ARCHIVIST’S OFFICE]

ARCHIVIST

I know you said, but your wording was ambiguous earlier, and I’ve gotten this wrong before in the past—this is strictly platonic, yes?

SASHA

(amused) Yes, Jon, I promise I’m not trying to steal your virtue—

[SPLUTTERING NOISES FROM THE ARCHIVIST]

SASHA (CONT’D)

—or your heart.

ARCHIVIST

That’s, ah. That’s good to hear.

SASHA

God, Jon, if I knew you were going to be this flustered over “My corkscrew wound hurts, so you’re taking me out to dinner because I said so,” I wouldn’t have asked.

ARCHIVIST

No, it’s perfectly alright, I’m happy to—

SASHA

If it helps, I’m also aromantic as hell.

ARCHIVIST

Oh! That’s, well. (inhale) (enunciating each word clearly and sincerely) Thank you for telling me, Sasha.

SASHA

(laughing) You can stop making that face, I haven’t been hiding it, or worried about your reaction or anything. I only really figured it out recently. I haven’t even told Tim yet.

ARCHIVIST

(awkward) Ah. Well, either way, I’m glad that you found a label that works for you.

SASHA

So am I.

ARCHIVIST

(abrupt) I’m… I’m asexual. Not that it—but I thought you might like to know.

SASHA

Nice!

[SOUND OF A HI-FIVE BEING EXCHANGED]

SASHA (CONT’D)

And you’re right, I do like to know.

So, you ready for Aspec Solidarity Dinner?

ARCHIVIST

I thought this was Sorry You Got Stabbed Dinner.

SASHA

(with exaggerated gravity) Sometimes, things… can be two things.

ARCHIVIST

(heh) Fair enough.

-

[INT. BUBBLE TEA SHOP, SEVERAL HOURS LATER]

[LESS BACKGROUND CHATTER THAN BEFORE]

MARTIN

(dreamily) I hope they both get food poisoning. Not— (correcting course) not anything too bad, just… unpleasant enough that their neural pathways start connecting the idea of a romance between them with feeling sick.

TIM

(mock-offended) What, you think getting food poisoning with someone means you can’t stomach the sight of them again? And here I was thinking we were friends!

MARTIN

Well, we weren’t on a date, then. The logic works out differently. You don’t make me ill, but the idea of stakeouts does.

TIM

I mean, we could.

MARTIN

Could…?

TIM

Go on a date. A proper one.

MARTIN

What, like, to make Jon and Sasha jealous?

[BEAT]

MARTIN

Shit, Tim. I’m—

TIM

(quiet) I was just thinking a date in general, but—

MARTIN (CONT’D)

—so sorry, that was so inconsiderate—

TIM

(overlapping) No, no, it’s alright. It was… stupid to ask. I know how much you like Jon.

MARTIN

And I thought you were—I thought—Well, you just spent an hour talking about how you were interested in Sasha?

TIM

Doesn’t mean I can’t have other interests.

MARTIN

Right. I mean—

TIM

Let’s just agree to forget about it.

MARTIN

I mean, it’s not that I don’t—

TIM

We’re having fun, right? Let’s keep having fun.

[SILENCE]

MARTIN

(quiet) So you really want to forget about it?

TIM

Martin, what does that even me-

MARTIN

I don’t know! I just—Can we talk about it tomorrow?

TIM

... Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.

[MORE SILENCE]

TIM

(with forced enthusiasm) Hey. I just had an idea. Do you want to get really, really drunk?

-

SASHA

(laughing) And then— (laughing harder) they just hung up on me! Just like that!

ARCHIVIST

(engrossed) What did you do then?

SASHA

Called them back, of course.

ARCHIVIST

No.

SASHA

It was my favorite sweater, Jon, I wasn’t going to let it rot just because Tim left it behind while trespassing for you!

ARCHIVIST

So now it’s my fault, too?

SASHA

Absolutely. I think you owe me, oh, at least two more dinners for that.

ARCHIVIST

(audible smile) That can be arranged. Though, (hesitating) I don’t know if that’s… wise.

SASHA

(mildly exasperated) Listen, Jon, just because you can technically fire me now doesn’t mean we can’t still spend time together.

ARCHIVIST

Well, yes, but—

SASHA

You’re my friend, Jon. I missed talking to you.

ARCHIVIST

(somewhat touched) I… also consider you a friend, Sasha.

SASHA (CONT’D)

(smug) Besides, I know you’d never fire me, anyway.

ARCHIVIST

From a professional standpoint, I can neither confirm nor deny that.

SASHA

Ha! Knew it.

Movie at mine after we—sorry, after you—pay?

-

[INT. TIM’S FLAT, SEVERAL HOURS LATER]

[SOUNDS FROM THE TV]

MARTIN

(earnest, clearly inebriated) I can’t believe David broke up with you! That was so mean! How could anyone be so mean to you?

TIM

I can’t believe Jon’s so hard on you. I know you didn’t get a degree, but you work so hard, Marty. It’s not fair.

MARTIN

(sighing) ’Least he’s pretty.

TIM

So pretty.

MARTIN

Just wanna hold his hand.

TIM

(daydreaming) Sash has nice hands.

[SILENCE AS THEY FANTASIZE]

MARTIN

(coming back to himself) This isn’t fair. You’re hot! People should be getting weepy over you!

TIM

And you’re hot and you write poetry! We should be the fucking office heartthrobs!

MARTIN

Fucking David.

TIM

Fuck that guy. Or don’t, actually.

[TIM GIGGLES]

MARTIN

What?

TIM

Your face is so red, Marty. (contemplative) Sash’s favorite color is red.

[DRUNKEN SILENCE]

MARTIN

(whispering) Hey. Hey, Tim.

TIM

Yeah?

MARTIN

Y’know what you should do?

TIM

What?

MARTIN

You should text her.

TIM

Nuh. No way.

MARTIN

You should!

TIM

Only if you text Jon.

MARTIN

No, no, Tim.

TIM

Yes! Where’s your phone? Gimme.

MARTIN

(whining) Tim, no, he’s my boss, Tim!

TIM

It doesn’t have to be weird! Either you write something and send it, or I do.

[MARTIN RECOILS IN HORROR]

MARTIN

Fine.

-

[INT. SASHA’S FLAT]

ARCHIVIST

(puzzled) I just got a text… from Martin.

SASHA

(with a mixture of surprise, anticipation, and amusement that can only come from suspecting something that Jon doesn’t) Oh? What does it say?

ARCHIVIST

It says, um, (spelling out the typos) “hpe ur date went well an no food poisonig”?

SASHA

(laughing) Sorry, what?

ARCHIVIST

I really don’t see—W-wait. (fast) When Prentiss had Martin’s phone, she kept talking about a stomach bug—do you think this is her again? Is he in danger?

SASHA

(suppressing laughter) I really don’t think it’s Prentiss.

ARCHIVIST

How can you be sure? We should probably go to the Institute, or at least call Elias, or—

SASHA

Martin’s fine, Jon. I just got a text from Tim about him.

ARCHIVIST

Oh! Well, that’s a relief.

SASHA

(giggling) Listen to this: (enunciating each word) “me n marty r soooo drunk i miss u an i thin ur lauh is pretty also lrgally u have 2 tell me if bossyboss is a good ksser ok byeeeee.” And then, five—no, six exclamation points.

ARCHIVIST

Good… kisser? (horrified) Wait, do Tim and Martin think we’re…

SASHA

(giggling) Apparently so.

ARCHIVIST

Should we—should we correct them?

SASHA

Well, yeah.

[BEAT]

SASHA (CONT’D)

(sly) On Monday, that is.

-

[INT. TIM’S FLAT]

MARTIN

He said, (reading off his phone) “This is highly unprofessional, but yes, Sasha and I are passing a—” Passing? Tim, they’re still…

TIM

(with a deep and heavy sadness completely at odds with the actual words) Damn. Get it, Sasha.

MARTIN

(continuing) “—a perfectly pleasant evening. It was kind of you to ask.” (despondent) Tim. I hate this.

[BEAT]

MARTIN

Tim?

TIM

(flat) I just got a text from Sasha.

MARTIN

(dreading the response) What’s it say?

TIM

See for yourself.

[THEY LOOK AT TIM’S PHONE IN SILENCE]

MARTIN

(quiet) I’ve… I’ve never seen Jon with his hair down before.

[MORE STARING]

TIM

They look fucking adorable.

[MORE STARING]

MARTIN

Jon looks so happy.

TIM

So does Sash.

[A LONG MOMENT OF CONTEMPLATION]

MARTIN

(inhale) (determined) You know what? (exhale) (forcing the words out) I’m… I’m glad they’re having a good time.

[A LONG SILENCE]

[TIM GROANS]

TIM

(glum) Yeah. Me too.

-

bonus:

[INT. SASHA’S FLAT]

SASHA

Aw, look at this.

[FABRIC RUSTLING AS JON SHUFFLES CLOSER]

ARCHIVIST

Is that…? Oh. Well, they certainly look alright. No worms, or… Michael.

SASHA

I’m just glad Martin has a place to crash tonight other than Document Storage.

ARCHIVIST

I mean, I can’t imagine that Tim’s couch will be that much better than the archives cot.

SASHA

(heh) Tim’s couch, right.

[BEAT]

ARCHIVIST

(surprised) You think…?

SASHA

That they’re sleeping together? I mean, I don’t know for certain, but Tim’s talked to me about Martin before, and…. well, let’s just say I “strongly suspect.”

[DEAD SILENCE. THE ARCHIVIST FEELS HE IS CLOSE TO AN EPIPHANY, BUT BATS IT AWAY. ALTHOUGH HE NEVER REACHES IT, THE GRIEF THAT WOULD ACCOMPANY SAID EPIPHANY IS STILL FELT ACUTELY]

ARCHIVIST

(flat) Oh.

[sweetiejunie]

idk if requests are open rn, but an angst/fluff soulmate au with Beomgyu would make me really happy. If requests aren’t open then it’s okay^^

—.✿ฺ—

Rewrite the stars

Summary: you weren’t meant to be together. And it freaked you out. But beomgyu? He’s always been your rock.

Genre: angst, fluff

Beomgyu x reader

A/n: huehue thanks for the request anonie!! First time i wrote a soulmate fic 🥴 but hope u enjoyed! I tried :’)

=====================================

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. Beomgyu watched as you laid in his arms, staring at the red string tied around your pinky. He knew this was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be with him. But he loved you, and you loved him.

It was a fluke that the two of you met. It was a fluke that you fell for each other. But that faithful day he decided to ignore his instincts, was probably the best decision he’s ever made.

You hated that you lived in a world where ‘soulmates’ existed as a concept. You had always thought it was just a social construct, but you can’t ignore the disapproving looks you got while you walked down the streets hand-in-hand with the boy that wasn’t fated to be with you. Why couldn’t the thread be tied around his pinky instead of some stranger you haven’t met? Faith, and the universe, just had to be a bitch.

Beomgyu, on the other hand, he never cared. He loved you, and that was all that mattered to him. Who cares about what others thought about you? Everyone around him told him that it wasn’t right, but nothing ever convinced him. He swore to be by your side no matter what, and it was a promise he planned to keep. On the days when you started to doubt your relationship, he was there. On days when the harsh reality of society got to you, he was there. He was there with you through thick and thin.

“You’re overthinking about the piece of thread again,” he suddenly spoke, knocking you out of your dazed stated when he caught you playing with the string around your left pinky.

You blushed, hiding your hand in a fist as you apologised, “Im sorry.”

“No need to apologise, my love.”

Beomgyu truly was the sweetest. Through all your panic and doubt, he still chose to stay with you and never expected anything in return.

Even the time you almost broke up with him because of everything people were telling you. How you weren’t fated to last or how he was going to leave you once he met his real soulmate. After all this time, that day is still engraved deep in his mind, stuck with him like the plague. After all, the most painful memories are the hardest to forget — the day he almost lost you.

That evening, beomgyu invited you to dinner to meet his parents. You had been dating for a while now, and he thought it was the perfect time for the most important people in his life to finally meet. There was just one small catch, okay, a pretty big catch. Since you weren’t soulmates, his parents weren’t biggest fan of you.

“Why would you agree to that? You know your parents aren’t typically that fond of me. Now you want me to sit barely a feet away from them for, gods knows how many hours?”

“Come on y/n, don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine, and I’ll be with you the whole time, alright?” Beomgyu replied, pouting at you, hoping that tonight would be the night his parents saw just how loving and kind you were. He wanted so badly for you to get along, but that proved to be just a wish.

“Fine, only for you. But don’t you dare leave me.”

As the night went on, beomgyus parents didn’t do anything too out of the ordinary, asking the usual interrogating questions any parent would ask the significant other of their child. But through the night, you had half a mind that every now and then they would glare at you. Then again, you were extremely nervous, so it could have just been you overthinking or your overactive imagination. But the moment beomgyu had excused himself to use the washroom, your suspicions were confirmed.

“Ill just be a second,” he whispered to you as he pushed he chair back.

The moment he was out of sight, his mother spoke, “listen, y/n. I’m going to be frank with you. I think you’re a really nice girl, but i want you to leave beomgyu,” venom evident in every word.

Her statement caught you off guard, and the only respond your brain could process was, “huh?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s clear that you two are not meant to be together. After-all, you aren’t soulmates. No amount of love can fix or change that.” She paused, only to continue when you didn’t reply, “and i just want the best for beomgyu. I’m sure you do too. One day, I want him to be able to find true love without being held back by anything... or anyone.”

Her words rang in your head over and over again. Were you really just a burden to beomgyu? Was he really going to leave you one of these days?

“I- er- Excuse me. Sorry, i have to go. Ill see myself out,” you stated, your head hung low as you hurried to gather your thing. “ Thank you for the dinner.”

You made your way to the front door, clicking it shut behind you. Ignoring the sound of the bathroom door opening and beomgyu’s voice as he called your name. Worried, confused, maybe even desperate. In the minute he left, his entire world had come crashing down in front him.

“What on earth did you say to her?!” He yelled at his parents. But before they could answer, he was sprinting out the door after you.

“Y/n!” He called out, running towards you. “Wait! Please!”

He reached out to grab your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you turned to face him, the tears running down your face were bullets to his heart.

“They’re small minded people,” he began, grabbing your hands, holding them tightly. “Why do you care what they think-”

“It’s not just them,” you interrupted. “It’s everyone.”

“Not me,” his expression soften when he realised you were starting to sob harder. His thumbs running over to back your hands assuringly.

“It may not be written in stone,” he said, referring to the thread tied around his own pinky. “But i know you’re meant to be mine.”

“Beomgyu...” you trailed off. You hated how fate made you question your future with him. You hated how you always put beomgyu in that position. But you couldn’t help it. “No one ever looked at you the way your parents looked at me. But they’re right, you and i, this isn’t meant to happen. Eventually, you would find your true soulmate. Isn’t it better we end it now, before it’s too late and one of us ends up getting hurt?”

He stood there, staring into your eyes. His grip on your hands never faulted, afraid that if let you go, he’ll never see you again. A millions thoughts ran through his head, but all of them wasn’t the right thing to say. All, expect one.

“I- i love you,” he chocked out.

“Beomgyu...“

“No, don’t. I can see it in your eyes that you love me too. Isn’t that enough? I promised to be by your side. What matters the most is what we think. And we love each other, thats more than what others can ever say about us. Just because this stupid string says we’re not supposed to be together, doesn’t mean we can’t still write out own ending. Don’t leave me, please.”

“But beomgyu, they’re your parents.”

“I dont give a shit. If they can’t accept me and whatever and whoever i love then... then that’s their problem.”

You couldn’t speak, chocking on your sobs as you looked into his eyes. You pulled him in for a hug, and that was all the response he needed before hugging you back.

Bringing himself back to the present, he smiled, admiring the sight in front of him as you stared up at the clouds. Since that day, the road with you was no where near a smooth ride. But from the moment he saw you, he knew that you may not be fated to be with him, but he had to love you with everything he had, for as long as he can.

The journey to be with you may have been long and difficult, but he was glad it was so tough. Cause if he hadn’t gone through hell to get there, he might not have learnt the lessons he did. And he would carry those lessons with him. He loved you through all the hard times, every stupid fight, every pang of jealousy or boredom or uncertainty that came your way. And he would continue to do that, until the very end. Admittedly, beomgyu didn’t know what the futures holds for either of you. But he knew that it included you.

.

.

.

=====================================

Hope you liked this! Not completely happy with this but thought it was still worth posting. I tried ㅠㅠ

Masterlist