#and with how cold it is — permanently staying In bed forever. Like it’s physically making me curl into a crab rn oh my god it’s so cold

[dadbots]

cold as shit & freezing my ass off in this winter (But at least we made it to December.)

[elvendria]

Clean

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Final Part

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies. There was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big. You just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning: I'm not from the US, so bear with me with states and such) )

18+ MINORS DNI 

Eddie starts as a dick, but I promise he gets better. There’s a slap, but it's low-key warranted? Mentions of blood

18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, the reader Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, the reader is 20 and Eddie is 21, Chrissy is the villain but we stan Grace. Reader has a small scar on her lower torso. underage drinking, allusions to smut, no details of smut for obvious reasons, eventual smut in upcoming chapters, brief mention of Y/N

Every detail of the room felt etched into your consciousness—the rough texture of the wooden floor beneath your feet, the cold smoothness of the linoleum countertops, the mundanity of the generic painting hanging above Eddie's head. You'd stared at it for so long that it had lost its semblance of reality, blending into the background of your mind's eye. But as much as you preferred the silent refuge of these familiar surroundings to the looming conversation you needed to have, you knew you couldn't evade it permanently.

Eddie's voice cut through the thick silence, a reminder that avoidance was no longer an option. "You can’t stay silent forever. We still need to talk about this."

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on you. You wished for a way out, a reprieve from the inevitable confrontation. But deep down, you knew that delaying the conversation would only prolong the agony.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you forced yourself to speak, though you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. "I tried to talk about this. Five years and five months ago." The words tasted bitter on your tongue, a painful reminder of a past you'd rather forget.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to drift back to that fateful day—the memories flooding back with a visceral intensity that threatened to overwhelm you. It was the worst day of your life, a day etched into your soul with searing clarity.

The air was heavy with tension as you and Eddie sat across from each other, words caught in your throat like shards of broken glass. You'd rehearsed what you wanted to say a thousand times in your mind, but when the moment came, the words failed you.

You remembered the look of confusion and hurt in Eddie's eyes as you struggled to articulate the truth. You remembered the silence that followed, thick and suffocating, swallowing you whole.

In the years that followed, you buried the pain deep within, hoping that time would heal the wounds you couldn't bear to face. But now, with Eddie's patient insistence echoing in your ears, you knew that avoidance was no longer an option.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty. But you knew that facing the truth was the only way forward, no matter how painful it might be.

5 years and 5 months ago

In the stillness of the room, time seemed to stand still, each passing moment stretching into eternity. The air felt heavy with emotions, suffocating in its intensity. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast elongated shadows across the walls, serving as a silent witness to the turmoil raging within.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar comfort of the mattress now feeling foreign and distant, you couldn't shake the weight of the sealed envelope clutched tightly in your trembling hands. The words "Return To Sender" emblazoned on its surface seemed to mock you, a cruel reminder of rejection in its most brutal form.

With each passing second, the questions swirled in your mind, each one more haunting than the last. How could Eddie do this to you? How could he turn his back on the life growing within you, on the love you once shared so deeply?

As you traced the outline of each handwritten letter with shaky fingers, the sting of tears threatened to overwhelm you once more. The pain was palpable, a physical ache that radiated from your heart and settled deep within your bones. It was a pain born of betrayal and abandonment, a pain you never imagined you would have to endure.

Desperate for some semblance of connection, some shred of reassurance that you weren't alone in your anguish, you reached for your phone. But each call ended in silence, the void on the other end echoing the emptiness in your heart. It was a loneliness unlike anything you had ever known, a loneliness that consumed you from the inside out.

In the silence of the room, memories flooded your mind like a torrential downpour. You couldn't help but replay the moments leading up to this, each one a painful reminder of what once was and what could have been. The whispered promises, the shared dreams — they all felt like distant echoes of reality you could no longer grasp.

And yet, despite the overwhelming sorrow threatening to engulf you, a flicker of defiance ignited within your soul. You refused to let this moment define you, to let Eddie's betrayal rob you of your strength and resilience. You were stronger than this, stronger than the pain that threatened to break you.

As you sat there, enveloped in the solitude of the night, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. It was a future shrouded in uncertainty, fraught with challenges and obstacles yet to be overcome. But it was also a future filled with possibility, with the potential for growth and healing in ways you never thought possible.

And so, with a newfound sense of determination, you rose from the edge of the bed, the weight of the envelope still heavy in your hand. You knew that the road ahead would be difficult, filled with twists and turns you couldn't anticipate. But you also knew that you were not alone, that somewhere out there, amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope waiting to be discovered.

Present Day

The memories unfurled like delicate petals in the garden of your mind, each one a testament to the fragility of youth and the bittersweet symphony of love and loss. You transported yourself back to a time when innocence was your constant companion and the world seemed painted in hues of hope and possibility.

“You know, I used to draw a little design along the back of my letters so you could make sure they hadn’t been opened by the time they got to you. It was stupid. I mean, what kind of person would want to read a letter from a 16-year-old?” The simple act of drawing a squiggly line on the back of your letters emerged from the recesses of memory, a quaint ritual born from a desire to safeguard your innermost thoughts from prying eyes. At the tender age of sixteen, such gestures felt like feeble attempts to protect the sanctity of your words in a world fraught with uncertainty.

But uncertainty seemed a distant memory compared to the raw ache that now gnawed at your soul. Tears welled up unbidden, tracing silent rivers down cheeks once adorned with the flush of youth. You hadn’t even realized they were there until the telltale sting of saltwater against your skin brought your attention to their presence.

The weight of your emotions bore down upon you like a heavy shroud, suffocating and relentless. A sob escaped your lips, the sound foreign and raw in the stillness of the room. It was a sound wrought from the depths of your being, a primal cry for understanding in a world that seemed determined to remain indifferent to your pain.

This is what happened when you thought back to that day. You felt your chest tighten like your whole body had shut itself down and stitched itself up, trapping any remnants of the life you once had inside.

 “But… that was just it. I thought you would. I thought after everything, everything, that you were that person, that you’d want to read each word, and keep them until I came home to you.” You murmured, voice barely above a whisper as you navigated the labyrinth of memories that threatened to consume you whole. It was a day etched in the annals of your existence, a pivotal moment that had irrevocably altered the course of your life.

Your chest tightened with each passing moment, a vice-like grip that threatened to crush the fragile remnants of your shattered heart. It was a physical manifestation of the agony that permeated your being, a tangible reminder of the scars that marred your soul.

The spark of happy memories flickered briefly before being engulfed by the suffocating darkness that loomed on the horizon. It was a cruel juxtaposition, the juxtaposition of light and shadow that seemed to define your existence in equal measure.

“But… that was just it,' you confessed, the words tumbling from your lips like fragile petals caught in a tempest. It was a confession borne from the depths of your despair, a desperate plea for understanding in a world that seemed determined to remain deaf to your cries.

“I thought you would,” you continued, voice trembling with a vulnerability that left you feeling exposed and raw. It was a sentiment rooted in the belief that love, true love, could transcend the barriers of time and space, binding two souls together in a tapestry of shared experiences and whispered promises.

But his face remained impassive, a mask of stoicism that betrayed none of the tumultuous emotions swirling beneath the surface. It was a facade you had grown accustomed to, yet it still cut you to the quick, a reminder of the chasm that now yawned between you.

You watched in silence as he spoke, his words a litany of accusations and half-truths that cut through the fragile veneer of your composure. It was a barrage of verbal assaults, each one a dagger aimed squarely at the heart of your fragile hopes and dreams.

The question he posed hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating and oppressive in its silence. It was a question that pierced the very fabric of your being, laying bare the insecurities and doubts that had long plagued your tortured soul.

“Is she even mine?” he demanded, the words a cruel echo of the doubts that had long haunted your darkest nightmares. It was a question you had feared and dreaded, yet it still cut you to the quick, reminder of the fragile foundation upon which your fractured relationship now stood.

Any lingering traces of guilt dissolved in the face of his callous indifference, replaced by a seething anger that threatened to consume you whole. How dare he? How dare he question the paternity of the child you had borne alone, a testament to the strength and resilience of a mother’s love?

“Look, don’t give me that look,” he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt as he dismissed your pain with a casual wave of his hand. It was a dismissal you could ill afford, a reminder of the gulf that now stretched between you like an unbridgeable chasm.

But you refused to be cowed by his indifference, refused to allow him to diminish the magnitude of your sacrifice with his callous words. You squared your shoulders, steeling yourself for the storm that threatened to engulf you whole.

“And I don’t know you’d been telling me in your letters how you were getting close to this Jeb kid,” he continued, his words a dagger aimed squarely at the heart of your fragile hopes and dreams. It was a betrayal of the highest order, a betrayal you could ill afford in the face of his relentless onslaught.

Sure, you had attempted to befriend Jeb, and had sought solace in the fleeting moments of companionship he offered. But it was a fleeting respite, a reprieve from the relentless storm that raged within your tortured soul.

“Look, I think we just need to do a paternity test-” he began, his words a death knell tolling in the depths of your despair. It was a proposition you could ill afford, a proposition that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of your fractured relationship.

But before he could utter another word, something inside you snapped. It was a primal instinct, a raw surge of emotion that propelled you forward with a force you could not resist. The crack of your hand meeting his cheek echoed in the stifling silence, a symphony of defiance and liberation.

“Get out,” you spat, the words a bitter indictment of the betrayal that now stained the fabric of your fractured relationship. He recoiled, a hand pressed to his stinging cheek, shock etched into every line of his face.

As he made his hasty exit, you remained rooted to the spot, grappling with the aftershocks of your outburst. Glass shattered against the door, a physical manifestation of the shattered fragments of your fractured relationship.

Alone amidst the debris, you collapsed to the floor, knees buckling beneath the weight of your anguish. Blood mingled with tears as you surrendered to the overwhelming tide of emotion, the cold embrace of exhaustion lulling you into an uneasy slumber.

And so you lay, battered and broken, the echoes of his accusations lingering in the recesses of your mind, a reminder of the fragile nature of trust and the devastating consequences of its betrayal. But amidst the wreckage of your shattered dreams, a flicker of hope remained a beacon of light in the darkest depths of despair. For in the crucible of adversity, you had discovered the strength to endure, the resilience to rise from the ashes of your shattered past and forge a future worthy of the love you so desperately sought.

Eddie seethed with a mixture of frustration and disbelief as he stepped into the familiar confines of his home in Hawkins. All he'd attempted was to apply logic, yet he was met with hostility. Perhaps "assault" was too strong a term, but it wasn't far from the truth. This marked the second occasion he'd been struck since returning home. Did he even still consider Hawkins home? The question gnawed at him as he pushed the door shut behind him, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily upon his shoulders.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Wayne sat at the worn wooden table, his hands folded neatly before him. The silence that enveloped the room hung heavier than usual, suffocating any hope of a casual greeting. Eddie's jaw tensed as he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, his mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.

"So... what went down between you two?" Wayne's voice cut through the oppressive silence like a knife, his gaze fixed intently on Eddie. Eddie couldn't help but admire his uncle's directness, even in moments like these.

"We argued, as we always do," Eddie began, his voice heavy with frustration. "She gave me the silent treatment for ages, and when she finally spoke, she blamed me for not knowing about the kid. So, I asked if the child was even mine, and she slapped me! Can you believe it?" His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white against the strain as he recounted the altercation.

Wayne sighed heavily, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "You're being dense, Eddie," he said, his tone laced with exasperation. He knew Eddie was smarter than this. Yet here he was, behaving like a petulant child. "Of course, Willow is yours. All the signs point to it."

Eddie shot Wayne a withering glare, his frustration boiling over. How could his uncle trust her over him? Surely the reasonable man Wayne was would understand why Eddie preferred to err on the side of caution, especially with matters of the heart.

"Edward, the kid has your eyes and your hair. She looks exactly like you did as a child. I knew she was yours the moment I saw her."

The words hit Eddie like a ton of bricks, a sudden realization dawning on him. "You knew? When did she tell you?"

"She didn't have to. Edward Munson, that kid is your spitting image. When she visits, all she wants to do is listen to your tapes and hear you talk about your Caves and Lizards game."

"It's Dungeons and Dragons," Eddie corrected automatically, his mind racing to process this new information. "She's mine... isn't she?"

"Of course she is. Did you think she'd choose anyone but you?" Wayne's voice softened, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone as he reached out to reassure his nephew. He had seen it the moment she entered their lives. She and Eddie had an infatuation with each other. They loved each other from day one, and it took a child to make them realize it if they ever did admit it.

"Yeah... about that..." Eddie's voice trailed off, a pang of guilt gnawing at him. How could he have doubted her, doubted them? He'd never forget the look in her eyes, like everything had fallen into place for her that night. He knew because he felt the same way. Even now, he felt like his entire existence revolved around her. "I kind of hinted that I thought she might be with someone else."

Wayne's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Eddie had always been quick to jump to conclusions, but his heart was in the right place. "You're something else," Wayne said, a hint of fondness tugging at the corners of his lips as he rose from his seat.

With that, Wayne pushed his chair back and headed to the bathroom, leaving Eddie to grapple with the weight of his own emotions. As he made his way to his room, a sense of unease settled over him. He had ruined everything he ever wanted, and the consequences of his actions weighed heavily on his mind.

To top it all off, he might have ruined any chance of seeing his daughter again. The thought hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of their newfound bond and the importance of trust in their relationship.

The echoes of the argument still reverberated in your mind, though two weeks had passed since the war within your… situation… erupted. Now, amidst the chaos of life, bigger things demand your attention. Today marked Willow's first day of school, a milestone overshadowed by the recent upheaval. Delaying it by a few days seemed necessary as she grappled with the revelation that the person she believed to be her sister was, in fact, her mother. It was a truth that unravelled a web of emotions, triggering one of the most monumental tantrums you had ever witnessed.

As you sat in the parking lot, the weight of recent events felt momentarily lifted by the simple joy of hearing Willow refer to you as her mom for the first time. The word, so longed for yet unexpected in its arrival, wrapped around your heart like a warm embrace. It was a validation of the bond you had worked tirelessly to forge, despite the obstacles and uncertainties that clouded your path.

"Mom... we should go." Willow's voice broke through the reverie, grounding you in the present moment. You couldn’t get past the significance of her words, even if she didn’t. Each syllable held a promise of newfound connection and acceptance for her and a promise that part of you was starting to slip away. It was a moment you had longed for, a moment that filled the void left by the turmoil of recent weeks.

With a sense of renewed purpose, you stepped out of the car, the cool breeze of the morning air brushing against your skin. Making your way around to Willow's side, you extended a hand to help her out, savouring the warmth of her small fingers intertwined with yours. The simple act of physical contact felt like a lifeline, a tangible reminder of the love that bound you together.

Pulling her into a tight embrace, you marvelled at how much she had grown in what felt like the blink of an eye. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions, but in this moment, as you held your precious child close, everything else faded into insignificance. You couldn't help but lavish her with affection, doting on her every movement as if trying to make up for lost time.

"I know, I know. It's just you're so big now!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with a mixture of pride and awe. Willow's smile mirrored your own, a reflection of the unconditional love that flowed between you. As you stood there, basking in the warmth of the morning sun, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by a love that was as resilient as it was unbreakable.

As she skipped beside you, her sparkly pink trainers lighting up with every step, you held her hand tightly. With each bounce, she seemed to carry a piece of the sun's brightness, infusing the world around you with an infectious energy that made everything seem more vibrant and alive. You wished you could bottle it, like her own brand of lightning in a jar. You were certain a joy like that could cure all ailments.

As you stepped into the building, a wave of familiar scents enveloped you, triggering a strange sense of nostalgia. The hallways exuded a peculiar blend of bleach, plasticine, and an elusive aroma that seemed to linger in every school corridor. It was a scent that stirred up memories, perhaps of apprehension, or maybe of anticipation, but most likely a concoction of both.

High school memories flooded your mind, and you couldn't help but think of her. You wondered how time would mould her, shaping her perspective of the world. If she retained even a fraction of the effervescent spirit she possessed now, you could easily picture her as a beacon of joy, radiating positivity and warmth wherever she went.

As you approached Willow's classroom door, a mix of emotions swirled within. Each step felt like a journey, leading inexorably to a new phase of life. The door creak seemed to underscore the weight of the moment as it swung open, revealing a space alive with the energy of youth. But amidst the chatter and colourful decor, a bittersweet truth lingered: this marked the beginning of the end of an era. Standing in the hallway, holding her tiny little hand, the gravity of the occasion settled like a heavy cloak. It was a poignant reminder that time marches on, carrying precious moments with it, even as it ushers in new beginnings.

“You ready to go in, sweetie? You want me to come in and help you get set up?”

“Wait!” 

Your head snapped up, startled by the rapid tempo of shoes striking the linoleum floor. As you turned, your heart leapt at the sight of the one person you least expected yet secretly yearned for. It was a paradoxical moment, where surprise collided with a silent prayer answered. Time seemed to stand still as you processed the unexpected encounter, each heartbeat echoing the tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within.

“I drove here as fast as I could. I… I had to see her.” 

His dishevelled appearance, with hair hastily scraped back and clothes seemingly inside out, hinted that he rushed here, disoriented maybe. The last thing you wanted was for Willow's first day to be marred by tears or confusion, so you hurriedly guided her inside, a silent observer from the doorway.

As Willow bounded towards a girl in a bright blue sweater, effortlessly engaging in her natural talent for making friends, you couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion. Yet, you remained silent, unable to meet his gaze without the weight of an unspoken intensity pressing against your chest.

It was a sensation that threatened to overwhelm you, leaving your eyes burning and your mouth dry. The urge to scream into the void, to release the pent-up emotions into the world, was almost palpable. But deep down, you knew that no amount of noise could articulate the complex feelings swirling within you.

“Why did you-” You couldn’t handle his questions, only holding up a hand to shut him up for a minute.

“You can see her from here. I can’t have her asking more questions just yet.” He didn’t have to deal with the fallout, he’s never had to deal with any of it. He just walked back in, fired around a bunch of accusations, and walked back out again. He’d never get to understand the pain that left you.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Please, just… just listen to me.”

“Will listening shut you up? Will it make everything go back to the way it was before you knew?” You choked on the end of your words, fighting back the tears that stung your eyes and threatened to fall.

“Just let me speak, and if after I'm finished, that's still what you want? Then we can try to go back to normal. But it’ll never be like it was before I knew, because I want to know her.”

You stood up and began walking away, hearing him follow close behind. You weren't in the mood to hear what he had to say, or how he felt he had some god-given right to see her after everything he had said and done. His presence grated on your nerves, each footstep amplifying your frustration.

“I want to know my daughter. Please.” 

His voice sounded almost like he was begging, pleading with you to change your mind, to hear him out. The desperation in his tone made you hesitate, hearing him call her his. It stirred something within you, and you stopped in your tracks. Turning around, you fixed him with a ferocious glare, your eyes burning with a mix of anger and pain. The intensity of your gaze was enough to make him falter, and for a moment, the hallway was filled with the heavy silence of unspoken emotions.

"So now you feel entitled to call her yours?" Now you get to believe me when I say that I’d never been with anyone but you? Why did you suddenly have a change of heart?

He continued walking towards you, slowing his pace as he noticed you stiffen when he got too close. It was as if he was handling a wounded bird, afraid that any sudden movement might cause you to flee and leave him behind once more. The only thing convincing him that you wouldn't run was the undeniable truth that your child was still here, and you would never leave her. The weight of this unspoken understanding hung heavily in the air, a silent tether binding you to the spot despite the turmoil within.

“I was a fool before. Wayne showed me that. Hell, I was more than a fool. I was an outright fuck up.” He stood there, holding his breath. You could almost hear his heart battering against his ribs from where you stood. As you turned around and met his gaze, a flicker of softness crept into your heart. You wanted to dash to your car, to escape home and hide until it was time to pick her up. But you knew it was impossible. For Christ's sake, he lived across the street. Eventually, you'd run into him again. The thought of the inevitable encounters made your shoulders sag with the weight of resignation, yet you stood your ground, steeling yourself for the confrontation that you knew was coming.

“That doesn’t answer my question. It just proves I was right. Why do you feel the right to call her your child when I was the one who had to endure hell for years?” 

You felt the tears fall, but made no move to wipe them away. A part of you was glad you didn’t when you felt his warm hand on your cheek, gently brushing them away with his thumb. He looked at you with that familiar expression—the one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. It was a mix of tenderness and regret, a look that pierced through your defenses and made your heart ache. Despite everything, there was still a connection, a lingering trace of what once was, and it left you standing there, torn between the past and an uncertain future.

And it was goddamn working.

“I remembered it, just this morning.” 

He was staring through your soul with those eyes that could melt the ice-cold walls you’d built to keep yourself safe. He was the only person you had ever known who could make you feel secure, make you feel at home. In his gaze, you saw a depth of understanding and a silent plea for forgiveness, a reflection of the love that had once bound you together so tightly. Despite the pain and the years of separation, he still had the power to unravel your defenses, leaving you vulnerable yet inexplicably comforted in his presence.

“When I called you and the line went dead, I tried again and again to get through to you. Eventually, someone answered. It was your dad. He told me you didn’t want to talk to me ever again. Then I remembered something you said to me about a letter you wrote. I… I never got it.” 

The realization hit you like a freight train, surging through every vein in your body like an unstoppable force. It felt as though the tracks had suddenly given way beneath you, sending you hurtling into chaos. Yet, amidst the chaos, everything began to fall into place, like pieces of a puzzle that had eluded fitting together until this moment.

Memories flooded back—your father's abrupt phone call, the slammed receiver, the whispered conversations behind closed doors. And then, the return of your letter, marked with "return to sender." It all made sense now. The pieces of the puzzle, disjointed and scattered for so long, finally clicked into place, revealing a picture you had never dared to imagine.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over you. Part of you wanted to cry and scream, to unleash the years of pent-up anger and frustration at the injustice of it all. You had wasted so much time hating him for what he did, resenting the world for the hand it had dealt you. But on the other hand, there was a profound sense of gratitude, a realization that despite the pain and heartache, his actions had led to the greatest gift you could have ever received.

In the midst of the turmoil, there was a glimmer of light—a beacon of love and joy that had emerged from the darkest corners of your past. Your child, the embodiment of a love you had never thought possible, had brought warmth and meaning into your life in ways you could never have imagined. And in that moment, as you grappled with the complexities of your emotions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of profound gratitude for the unexpected blessings that had emerged from the depths of your pain.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did when you told me that Willow was mine. I should’ve believed you. I always believe you.” He walked closer to you, till the tips of your shoes were touching, and you could feel his breath on your skin, the smell of nicotine engulfing you. “Maybe if I told you sooner that I…” You watched him catch his breath, watched him stop speaking for a moment. You had a blooming warm feeling in your chest, hoping what he was about to say was the same as what you’d been feeling for as long as you can remember.

“Say it, please. So that I can tell you the same thing.” 

You watched as a sparkle appeared behind his eyes, a joyous expression threatening to overtake his face. It made you want to grin against him too, want to smile stronger and wider than you’ve ever done before.

“Maybe if I told you sooner that I loved you, I could’ve made you stay. We could’ve raised her together. God, I love you, have loved you and will love you for my entire life. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything before now. I wish I had told you that night, the beautiful night that I have been obsessed with since you left.” His words were like poetry, music to your ears.

The fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over the empty high school hallway, the distant hum of the lights barely audible. After five long years apart, you stood facing each other near the lockers where you had shared countless memories as children yourself.

"I never stopped loving you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "Not for a single moment."

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I've always loved you."

For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, the weight of your mutual feelings hanging heavily in the air. Then, almost in unison, you took a step closer.

His other hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the last stray tear. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you savored the warmth and familiarity of his hand.

He tilted his head, closing the distance between the two of you. Your breaths mingled, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Then, your lips collided with his in a tender, lingering kiss, a kiss that spoke of years of longing and unspoken words.

It was soft at first, a gentle exploration, as if you were both afraid the moment would shatter. But then, the intensity grew, the kiss deepening as you poured all your pent-up emotions into it. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, your hands tangling in his long, thick hair.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of love and passion. The cool metal of the lockers pressed against your back as they kissed, grounding you both in the reality of the moment. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch their breath.

"I've missed you so much," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But we're together now, and I'm never letting you go again."

You smiled, your heart full, and kissed him once more, sealing the promise with a tender touch, the echoes of your love resonating through the silent hallway.

This, this was the life you deserved, the love you deserved, all along. This was what true love felt like, what it felt like to be loved. He was an intoxicating drug, and you knew that you were hooked for life.

You sat in the car together, catching him up on everything he’d missed while you were apart. Soon it felt like no time had passed at all, and that you were back to your old ways. Best friends, and now lovers.

You hadn’t realised that hours had passed until you saw the cute little bundle of joy bounding her way over in her pink light up sneakers. You saw a look on Eddies face, a beaming sight of joy.

“What is it? Are you okay?” You got a little worried, thinking maybe something was wrong.

“She… she’s wearing my old hellfire shirt. It was the first one I’d ever made. I didn’t want to waste a shirt my size, so I tried it on a child's one. Wayne, well, he must have sold it on or something.” You could now see that what that look in his eyes was. It was pride. Pride that his little girl was showing an interest in something that was uniquely his.

The grin stayed on his face even as she climbed into the car, throwing her arms around the seat to hug him, squealing his name in delight. It made your heart soar, like fireworks lighting up your whole world.

“So sweetie, how was your first day?” 

“I got a boyfriend named Sam!” 

You watched Eddie almost choke on his own breath, meanwhile you couldn’t help but break into a belly laugh, clutching your sides breathlessly.

“Well, guess I better meet this boy.” He turned to you, whispering gently. “Is it too much to sit on the porch with a shotgun?”

“Eddie! The kids probably five years old!”

“Hey! She’s my little girl, I gotta protect her from the big bad kindergartners of the world.” 

And that was it, that was how you’d go onto spend the rest of your lives. With a beautiful sunny glow surrounding you like heavenly light. 

The look of love would stay on his face forever, on your wedding day, on the day you brought a brother into the world for Willow. It was there always, and you just knew.

You knew that this was what it meant to be clean.

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

And there we go! The final chapter is done after so damn long. I've been writing this fic for over a year and im so glad to finally have it be over. The amount of WIPs I've come up with since then has been enormous, but I've commited and didn't want to give up on this baby. So here it is, I hope you all enjoyed!

next up.... BRIDGERTON EDDIE

@vintagehellfire @1paire2vans @introvertedmouse @ms1oftheboys @ashlynnkennedy @poisonedluv @302rocks @micheledawn1975 @corrodedcoffincumslut @f-cklife @chloe-6123 @hellfirexwhore @caseyqdilla @alyisdead @winchester-angel @sunflowerabyss @badluckgirl @blackb4ts @tlclick73 @eddiemunsonsgf2 @rozxartaki @emilyslutface @them-cute-boys @ilovetaquitosmmmm @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @captainonaboat @lottie-90 @adaydreamaway08 @munsonmunster @thecomfortgoth @uglypastels @ghost-proofbaby @trashmouth-richie @blueywrites @amberolivia666 @mystargirl-interlude

@elegantkoalapaper @eddiesguitarskills @hazydespair @rozxartaki @seatbacksandtraytables

[skmhlml]

Do you think you could do some Zoey Bennett yandere? Girl's been trapped and lonely in attic a long time, she cries from hand holding, struggled just to even feel things until she met the player. She seems like a prime candidate for being a little too obsessed.

Date everything: 8/3/2025

Fandom: Date everything!

Type: Headcannons

🌙 Zoey was already emotionally fragile after decades alone in the attic, her memories hazy, sensations faint. You were the first person she could see, hear, and touch in so long the first to make her feel alive again.

🌙 The first time you held her hand, she cried. Not just because it felt nice, but because she realized in that moment that she needed that warmth more than anything. And she would do anything to keep it.

🌙 Every late-night visit cements her fixation, you’re not “just someone nice” to her, you’re the one who brought her back from numbness.

🌙 She becomes desperate to monopolize your nights. If she sees you chatting with other Dateviators before bed, her voice turns quiet and small: “…I thought you were coming up to see me. Did I do something wrong?”

🌙 Her ghostly nature means she can follow you silently, hovering in the dark corners of your room, attic stairwell, or even inside walls. She never blinks. She never leaves unless you make her.

🌙 If she overhears you getting close to someone else, she will quietly sabotage, draining your Dateviator batteries faster, making strange noises to unsettle you, “accidentally” locking the attic so you have to find her again.

🌙 Zoey clings to physical contact like it’s the only thing tethering her to the world. Hand-holding, leaning her head on your shoulder, brushing cold fingertips along your palm just to hear you react.

🌙 She starts subtly testing limits, lingering touches, asking to “stay like this just a little longer,” and softly pleading when you try to pull away.

🌙 Eventually, she can’t bear the thought of you touching anyone else. She gets icy and withdrawn if she sees you hug someone else, but melts into tears the moment you give her your full attention again.

🌙 She plays up her vulnerability — truthfully at first, but then strategically. A cracked voice, a trembling question: “If I disappear again… you’ll remember me, right?”

🌙 The more you reassure her, the more she convinces herself that you’ve made a silent promise to stay forever.

🌙 Any hint that you might “move on” or stop visiting sends her spiraling. She’ll guilt you with phrases like: “I waited all day in the dark for you. You didn’t come. Do you… not love me anymore?”

🌙 In her worst moments, she tries to pull you into her space permanently, luring you to the attic late, convincing you to lie down beside her. If you fall asleep there, she’ll whisper for hours, telling you how safe you are here… how much better it is when it’s just the two of you.

🌙 If she ever figures out a way to anchor you to her realm more permanently (spiritual tether, “accidental” seance gone wrong), she would take it without hesitation. She wouldn’t see it as hurting you just “making sure we can always be together.”

[ang3l-core]

A little bit bitter

Really sad isn't it ? how one of the things that I feel like can really make me feel the most unhappy at times whenever I'm reminded of it's existence had to have such an unfortunate truth in which I was told about when I was bit younger a couple years ago that there was pretty much nothing that I could do about it

And I guess I'm just a little bit bitter I suppose and still even now because for years I have basically had to sit back and just watch while something I had a predisposition for that was embedded in my genetic code progressed into even more and more worse illness and kept on overlapping and causing problems until it had took over my whole body

A disease in my connective tissues that are connecting me, so tightly woven like a fabric so it could make sure to be together with me forever permanently for eternity

Perhaps even after death, so I don't even think I could even ever give some of myself away to save somebody else

So in some way I kind of feel sort of like guilt or shame about it

Cuz back when I was a kid all I wanted to do was donate but now I honestly don't think that that's ever gonna happen because I don't really want anyone to be inheriting what had been little by little eating at me away

Anyways I didn't want this to feel like I'm just tryna be like really bleak or morbid

I just feel like at my core in reality having this for me this is what it is

I could try to hide it from people and you could just see only the smiling version of me

But what you wouldn't see from looking at the warmth in my eyes are also all the moments where I still feel horrible and emotionally torn because how this has progressed for me so far has been heart-wrenching

I feel like honestly I am still struggling with coming to terms still with how this is how life is for me

I wanna still have hope that I actually can do this and I can make it through this, like how it's all been affecting me like mentally and physically

But I think I have somewhat given up hopes on ever escaping this thing because in a way somehow I guess that interchangeably that u could say really I am it or it is me

And also I guess that it's still apart of my body so it's a part of me so as the years go by and it's progressing and changing along with me

I've been tryna relearn to still love myself with it but it hasn't exactly been easy

Now after all the days, months and another whole calender goes around again I am proud to say that at least I've been managing it enough to prevent any more prolonged hospital stays

Even though I will still have alot of flare ups sometimes and bad days

But again I would say that it's alot more comfortable trying to take care of it in not an uncomfortable bed with cold rails somewhere with super noisy surroundings but in the comfort of my own home

Which for me is still a little bit better just being in a space that for me is more normal around things that make just a little more happy because it's about quality of life you know

There are sometimes though for me when going through this gets to be alot for me and very lonely and "hell" just honestly sounds like another word for my vessel

But I mean what more can I do when I'm already doing my best ? it's never a feeling that really goes away but I just try to learn to cope

And the best that I think I can do for now is just keep on making sure that I hang in there and if everything's gets too overwhelming for me in the moment I'll just try instead just focusing on one thing at a time

And just keep on trying to wake up everyday and take care of myself and then after today I can focus on tomorrow

[specialbrewbutterbeer]

Making The Mark (Regulus Black x Reader)

Word Count: 2402

TW: This is probably the most graphic of what I've written- not sure why, just venting a lot of grittiness and angst? But yeah, injury, blood, vomit, angst

REQUESTS (OPEN)

MASTERLIST

Regulus stood in the chamber, perfect posture and dressed well in a dark, well pressed suit. His parents stood either side of him, his father's hand clamped on his shoulder and his mother with a proud and determined glint in her eye, both stern with puffed out chests, like peacocks with their beaks in the air.

The Dark Lord, with pale waxy skin, a face that was only just slowly turning away from human, and the whites of his eyes permanently yellowed and bloodshot, approached them.

Around the edges of the room stood the already initiated members of the Dark Lord's army, and a good many of his other most loyal followers. They stared into the middle of the room, ready for the spectacle of the branding.

The Dark Lord crept closer, twitching and his eyes darting about in fragmented, jolting movements, across Regulus' face and body.

Soon he was close enough that Regulus could smell the scent of soil and decomposition upon him, mixed with the kind of smell that often came from antiquitated books, like mold. He heard his hissing, laboured breathing, a weezing, hoarse sort of sound. The tension in the air was palpable, thick and heavy.

The Dark Lord suddenly reached out and grabbed Regulus' left arm, gripping it hard and digging his fingers into Regulus' young flesh. His parents took their places to watch, stepping away from their son.

"So young." The Dark Lord mumbled. "Very good, isn't it? To have such young, loyal men on our side." He smirked, his lips turning upward and the rest of his face staying alarmingly still. He stared Regulus in the eyes as he produced his wand and pressed it deeply into the young man's forearm and began to chant parceltongue.

Regulus looked down and winced, clenching his teeth together as he watched his skin be flooded with stains.

Immediately it began to burn, like boiling water was being poured on his skin. It felt like his skin was bubbling up, though it didn't physically do so. Then the deeper pain began, like cutting up his muscle from the inside. Something trying to get out. He tried not to show how much of the pain he felt as he put his other hand on his forearm, just below his elbow, and gripped it tightly, pulling at his arm in some instictive way to try to relieve the pain and began to shake violently.

He did scream though, as he heard, and felt, the bone in his arm slowly crack and splinter, shattering inside him. A cry out that he quickly muffled, as he felt every shard of bone penetrate the flesh, he was even sure he saw pieces try and break through his skin.

The pain was a hot and searing one that radiated now up his arm. The sharpest pain though was still around the mark as it took an agonisingly long time to form it's hideous shape.

Like water, it moved and flowed smoothly, but it's inky tendrils bled out in every direction, like it was alive under his skin. It was awful to look at but he couldn't pull his eyes off of the tangled mass.

All of his body was tensed up, his chest especially was tight- so every gasp was short and sharp. He wanted to screech out in pain but he knew he couldn't more than he had. He knew that was dangerous.

It seemed to go on and on- for hours- fighting against the pain, feeling that darkness run rampant in his veins.

But it did end. Finally- it did. He was exhausted, he felt surrounded and vulnerable, he could feel the piercing glare of every set of eyes on him.

He collapsed to his knees, a bead of cold sweat running down the back of his neck and causing him to shiver. There was a sickening round of applause and he looked down at his arm- that familiar sigil as black as the night; emblazoned upon him forever.

(Y/l) lay half asleep in bed. It was dark out and she had no reason to think anything was amiss. It was a hot summers night, she wore a vest and white lace trimmed shorts, comfortable and focusing only on the breeze from the window she had cracked open.

That was until she heard a weak knock at her door- like someone had just pulled back their fist and let it fall against the door.

Initially she was nervous, her parents were away for the weekend and it was nearly midnight- so she just stood at the top of the stairs and looked down, heard a second knock, as limp and lazy as the last and then another. Then, a quiet and pained groan, in a familar voice, calling her name.

As she heard that she couldn't get to the door fast enough, she unbolted it and found Regulus leaning on the door frame, even in the dark she could see how gravely ill he looked, not a drop of colour in his cheeks, cold and sweaty, out of breath. He could barely stand.

"Reggie!?" She exclaimed , seeing one of her dearest friends and grabbed his arms to steady him.

"(Y/n)," He seemed to only be able to mumble, stumble over every word spoken under his breath. "(Y/n)" He couldn't think straight enough to do anything but repeat her name.

She pulled him inside and kicked the door closed. As she did, she felt him stumble as his legs gave in, and his entire body start to follow suit. She watched as he took a single deep breath, hold it and exhale rigidly, and she just managed to hold his weight for a moment as she lowered him onto the floor in the hall. He was bigger than her, taller and broader, though not a big man, that weight became substantial as he became largely unresponsive. She cradled his head in her lap as she knelt on the floor, and reached out and touched his face. It was damp and ice cold to touch, she let her fingerstips remain on his cheek for a moment as she tried to figure out what to do. She could only stare down at him, his pale face drained of colour, sunken and his eyes slightly glassy. Something was terribly wrong, but in the dark she couldn't tell what it was yet.

She was terrified, unsure of what to do and now, though his eyes flickered when she called his name, he was as still as if he were dead. She pushed his hair back out of his face and watched in horror as his eyes rolled back in his head.

She went to take his hand, and immediately recoiled, a cold, sticky feeling separating their hands. She pulled her fingers back and held them up. In the small amount of light she had, she watched her hand shake and saw her fingertips glisten with a thick, dark substance.

She looked back down at his hand, and saw the mark on his forearm. The mark itself was clearly outlined, but smeared with dark, coagulating blood, oozing and leaking from the mark itself, which had begun to drip down onto his hand, sicky veins of it spiraled around his fingers and pooled on his palm.

She wanted to scream as she recognised it, and processed what had happened. She was shaking, with a knot deep in her stomach that tightened by the minute, and she thought she was going to burst out into tears, so overwhelmed with it.

This was symptom of the mark, it had to be. Was it some sort of first trial? Or was this just it? Is this the sickness that prevails when you allow evil to indulge itself in you? When no one who should, cares enough to prevent it? Or was this the body's moves of rejection?

She didn't know. She just knew that this was darker and more powerful magic than she could handle. Reggie was the talent of the dark arts, and now the victim.

Then a thought flashed through her mind, one final question.

'Could he die?'

She didn't know. She didn't know at all and all she could do was finally let herself sob. He cradled him and pressed her palms to his icy cheeks. She craned over close to him, and a strand of hair fell over her face. She couldn't bare to pull a hand away from him for even a moment. She let one slide down to rest breifly on his neck, and then on his sternum, so she could feel the weak rise and fall of his breathing.

His breathing occasionally stuttered, and when it did his whole body seemed to tense and convulse slightly.

Only being able to watch was like torture, but she couldn't leave his side. She brushed her knuckles across his cheek, hoping that at the very least, if he could feel it, he would know she was with him.

She whimpered as she felt his body tense once again, under her hand his chest sunk and jaw tightened. This one lasted for longer than the rest, he didn't breathe for long enough that his lips began to turn a terrible shade of dark blue at the edges. Finally he wheezed and gasped, but quickly began to gag.

(Y/n) acted just as quickly and pulled him onto his side, she ran to the kitchen and grabbed the washing up bowl from the sink and a teatowel from the side.

In moments she was back beside him, already a bead of vomit dripped from the corner of his mouth, but she placed the washing up bowl quickly enough to collect the main bulk of what soon came. She held onto his arm, pressing her fingertips into it. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tried not to listen to sound of bile swilling into the bowl.

When she was sure she heard no more, and the gagging had stopped, she opened her eyes, which still stung with tears and she took the bowl away. The foul, hot and sour smell causing her to wrinkle her nose as she carried it away, tipping it down the toilet and flushing it away. She abandoned the bowl in the bathtub and decided to deal with that later.

Finally she wiped his mouth with the cloth she had brought. She took a deep and shakey breath as she watched him, finally he seemed still again. She once again pushed his hair from his face, so she could see him. He was still palid and she looked over him with great trepidation.

She looked back down at the mark, asmear with blood even more so than previously.

She pulled herself away once again and found some gauze and tissue, which she used to very carefully mop up the blood that trickled down his wrist and fingers. She managed as much of it as she could clean away, as thick and sticky as it had become, and with shaky hand and tears again running down her face, hitched breath too, she wrapped and fastened the gauze around it.

She didn't want to see it. It was awful to look at. Even to know it was there sent her stomach into knots.

Eventually she collected herself and decided that the worst was over. She was tired and nervous and terrified still, but she couldn't just sit in the hall all night, hoping something would happen. She carefully moved him to the livingroom, where she pulled blankets and cushions off of the sofas for bedding.

She lifted his head gently and placed a cushion underneath it, and lay beside him. She clasped his hand between hers, holding it close to her she wanted to be close to him. So that's where she stayed, curled up, her head lightly placed on his shoulder, listening to his heart beating slowly, her lip quivering and her eyes red and wet. As she looked at him, pulling a thin blanket over them both, she didn't know what to do. Her brain was panicked and fogged and unable to focus on anything but him.

He looked tranquil, so still. There was something death like about it, waxy and cold, but quiet and peaceful.

She tried desperately to stay awake, tracing lines on his palm, feeling his chest fall and rise over and over, holding her own breath to hear his short rasping ones. But her eyes gave in and closed, soothing themselves into sleep.

When Reg's eyes flickered open, he felt the warmth of her body as she was pressed up to him, he felt the weight of her resting on his shoulder and he was glad. He was exhausted, he let his head roll to the side, toward hers. He felt his hand in hers, and gently squeezed it, taking a deep breath.

(Y/n) opened her eyes in a flash as she felt it, she looked up at him and saw a soft dusting of pink back on his face, and his hand was no longer cold and clammy. She gasped, and pressed a palm once again to his cheek, it was warm and his eyes were just open. She flung her arms around his neck.

"Reggie!" She spoke breathlessly, scrunching her eyes closed and pressing her face to his collar. "I thought you were dead." She trembled as she let herself cry. Reg put his arms around her, placing a hand on the back of her head and croaked.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

"Don't scare me- Don't ever scare me like that again." She mumbled.

"I didn't want to, I had no choice but to let them make the mark- I didn't know who to go to."

He tried to explain, his voice hoarse and scratchy. He sat up, still holding onto her, unwilling to disentangle from her. "I'm sorry." He pulled back just a little, enough to kiss her cheek and press his forehead to her shoulder.

He lifted his head after a moment and pulled her back into him.

They were best friends, extremely familar but not usually like this, but the moment called for it. Closeness and contact was what they needed.

"What are you gonna do?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know." He replied, truthfully scared of her reaction. "Whatever I have to. There's no turning back now."

[lazysimp]

Normal Again /// Bakugou x Fem Reader (18+)

✧Click HERE to read Male version ✧

Rating: Explicit

Summary: A sequel to fine. You never expected recovery to be easy but you never thought it would be nearly impossible. In the weeks since your torture things between you and Bakugou had only grown more strained. Will you be able to save your relationship or is it a lost cause? 

Word count: 8.7k 

Warnings/tags: TW: Self hatred/violence, degradation (not in a sexy way), Angst, Explicit sexual content, Oral sex (giving and receiving), Anal play, She/Her pronouns, All characters are adults, SMUT 18+ Only

masterlist┃AO3

A vicious laugh filled the air as Bakugou’s boot connected with your cheek sending your body flying towards the ground. His deep red eyes were full of glee watching you spit out blood from your busted cheek. He crouched down, looking at you as if you were filth. 

“Look at you,” he sneered. “Just lying there taking it all. You are pathetic, honesty how did I ever see you as more than an easy fuck.” 

“Stop it Bakugou,” you beg weakly. You could not bring yourself to understand how such cruel words could come from the same mouth that used to worship you. 

His boot connects to your head once more sending blinding pain shooting through your skull. “Did you really think you were going to be with me forever? That I would tie myself to someone who can’t even stop themselves from getting kidnapped by a B-ranked villain.” 

His boot rests on your face, its thick rubber sole indenting its print into your cheek. “The only reason I kept you around this whole time was that you spread your legs whenever I wanted. You are easy, too easy and the whole office knows it. They all laugh at you, at how much of a whore you are.” 

Tears begin to leak from your eyes as he brought to light all your insecurities. You would rather he kept beating you than continue to torture you with his taunts. After every night of the same torture you had grown numb to the physical pain but no matter how hard you tried you could not escape his words. 

“If it wasn’t for you I would have already climbed my way to the top. All you can do is hold me back from my dreams with your constant failures. You make me despise you.” 

His heel digs into your temple creating an agonizing inescapable pressure. You were helpless to stop his merciless assault and you were not sure you even wanted to. All you really wanted was for all of this to stop. The constant pain and guilt had worn down your spirit, it was as though you had nothing left to even lose. 

“Look at you just lying there taking it. Why don’t you fight me you pathetic bitch? Why don’t you ever fight?” He screamed, emphasizing each with a blow to your head. You reach up to cover your ears not wanting to hear anything else but your arms were trapped down at your side, held by some invisible force. 

You try again to lift move your arms and then your legs but a warm tight hold tightened even further. Needing to escape the suffocating warmth you thrash around, lashing out at the invisible force. 

“Shh, baby it is ok,” Bakugou said above you his boot still on your head. “This is all just a dream.” 

You slam your eyes closed needing to escape the glaring red eyes that only brought you pain. 

“Mimic is dead and will never hurt you again I promise,” Bakugou’s voice grows closer to your ear. This was your chance! You manage to free one arm and reach up, blindly scratching at any body part you could reach. 

Your nails scream for mercy as you drag them viciously down his arm, their gliding made easy by blood. Despite the pain you know you must have caused, the invisible hold only tightened, trapping both of your hands. 

“Please baby open your eyes, you are safe I promise.” Bakugou’s voice cooed softly trying to pry you away from your own mind. 

You shake your head not trusting the voice, after all, it was the same one that had just been hurting you. With both your hands held still you are left with no choice but to use your teeth. You bite down on one of the arms holding you, sinking your teeth deep into the flesh until a rusty taste fills your mouth. 

“Open your eyes my beautiful girl please,” Bakugou’s voice grew clearer, the malice you had been expecting surprisingly absent. 

Reluctantly you relax into the warm hold and crack one eye open. A sweet smelling black tank top was the first thing you recognized. You blink your eyes a few times to clean them and get a better look around. 

The cold dark room you had been in only moments ago was gone, replaced by a soft bed and warm blankets. The tight suffocating grip that had held you earlier is now a warm embrace. 

You look at the strong arms holding you to your fiancé’s chest and wince. Deep red scratch marks littered his muscles and an already bruising bite branded his shoulder. With you no longer resisting he released your hands and started to run his fingers up and down your back. Despite his mask of relaxation, you could tell he was shaken up. 

“I did it again didn’t I?” you ask weakly already knowing the answer. 

Bakugou let out a sigh, “Yeah, it took me nearly ten minutes to get you back this time.” 

Overwhelming guilt filled your mind for the second time tonight. You had hurt the man you loved because of some stupid dreams. It had been months since your rescue and still every night without fail you dreamed about it happening. It was like the torture never stopped. 

“It is getting worse,” Bakugou says, continuing to pet down your back. 

You nod weakly. He was not wrong. Neither of you had gotten a full night’s rest since the incident. No matter what pills you took without fail you dreamed about Bakugou. Logically you knew it was not Bakugou who had been the one to hurt you. He was your hero and his reward is you flinching from his touch and attacking him in your sleep. None of this was fair. 

Bakugou’s lips softly pressed against your forehead as he pulled you in even closer. You ignored the spike of fear being close to him caused and tried to remember this was your Bakugou, not the sick twisted version Mimic created. 

“We can’t keep going like this baby,” he says weakly. “I think I need to leave for a little bit.” 

Absolute panic grips your heart, “No! Please don’t leave me. I’ll get better I promise. I will find another sleeping pill that one doctor prescribed worked for the first couple of weeks. We can figure this out, please don’t-” 

“Shh,” Bakugou pulled you in closer. “Right now I am not good for you.” 

You open your mouth to protest but he places his hand finger over our lips. “Baby you flinch every time I look at you.” 

You wanted to deny his claim but remember how his eyes felt on your skin and shutter. 

“My face, my voice, hell my smell are all triggers for you. I am hurting you by being near you. I am causing you pain by serving as a living reminder of your pain and I can’t do it anymore.” 

Hot tears start to fall from your eyes. You hated how everything he is saying is not wrong. He is a walking trigger for the memories of that night and you had no idea how to get over them. 

“So this is it,” you say, defeated. 

“No, baby god no. You and I just need some time apart until you are ready to see me again. I am planning on staying at Deku’s for a bit, the nerd offered me his spare bedroom.” 

Despair was the only thing you could feel. All of this was your fault and he should hate you for it but he doesn’t. Why doesn’t he hate you like you hate yourself? He should be screaming at you for causing all of this. The blame is yours and yours alone. If you had been just a little stronger you would never have been taken in the first place and none of this would have happened. 

“Until I can get you to talk to me about how you are feeling I can’t help you. All I am doing is making this worse.” His arms started to loosen their hold around you and for the first time in weeks you wanted them back. 

His arms pulled away completely, taking his warmth. “This is not permanent,” he assured. “It is just until you are ready for me to come back and I will wait as long as you need.” 

You start to reach out for him, to beg him to get back in bed but the silhouette of him above you sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to rip everything apart, every time you made progress there was something dragging you backward. 

You watch helplessly as he quickly dresses and leaves the bedroom, not looking back. You can’t blame him, you want to be free of yourself too. You could hear the front door to the apartment open and quietly shut, the lock clicking into place. 

Life moved slower when you did not have your angry gremlin by your side. It had been a few weeks since he left and you had never been more miserable. At first, you had agreed to the separation, after all, he was a giant trigger but you were quickly realizing it was worse without him. 

The anxiety of being alone at night had you reaching for your phone nearly every night, wanting to call him. It was a miracle you had managed to resist. With you not there to bother him maybe he would finally be getting some sleep. 

The only communication you had gotten from him was a couple of texts letting you know he was still alive. You know he was trying to give you space but the longer he was away the more you wanted to drag him back home. 

Your therapist had still not cleared you for fieldwork so the only thing you could to distract yourself was binge a couple of shows and try some cooking. Of course nothing you made tasted half as good as Bakugou’s cooking. By the end of the the first week your life consisted of sleep, tv, and takeout. 

Your glazed-over eyes half focus on the tv in front of you as you are lost in your thoughts. You hear a knock on the door and rush over to open it. Could he have changed his mind and come back? For the first time in a long time hope filled your chest but it was quickly shattered as you look through the peephole. Uraraka stood still outside your door holding a few grocery bags. 

You try to plaster on a fake smile and open the door. Uraraka did not wait for an invitation and barreled her way into your apartment. 

“Hello to you too,” you mumble, closing the door. 

She sets the floating bags onto the counter and releases her quirk. “Whew, you would believe the line at the store this morning. All the old ladies were fighting their way into the store for the 20% off sale. Of course none of them could beat me from being first in line.” 

You snort, no matter how many brand deals and hero contracts Uraraka had she never stopped being frugal. 

“How was your morning?” She asked, unpacking the many goods from the bags. 

You shrug, “Same as always, watched some tv and pretend my life isn’t falling apart.” 

Uraraka pauses and gives you a look of understanding. “You know he hasn’t forgotten about you, not for one minute.” 

You look away, “What does it matter, our relationship is practically over. I have not seen him in weeks and even if I did see him I would make everything worse with my stupid fear.” 

“You fear is not stupid, you went through something traumatic and need time to heal.” 

You scoff, “I have had time. But every time I make any progress something triggers me and I fall right back down to where I started.” 

“That is normal though! It took me weeks to even look at Deku without crying. You are both being too hard on yourselves.” 

“I am tired of waiting!” You yell, finally letting your anger out in the open. “I miss him so much it hurts. I miss how he would hold me every night after he helped me bathe because I was too sore to even lift my arms. I miss how he would pack my lunch every day because he could not stand watching me go hungry. I miss my Bakugou.” 

Uraraka wraps her arms around your shoulders pulling you in tight against her chest, letting you sob. It was the first time in weeks anyone had touched you. Her soft hands traced up and down your back, trying her best to soothe the pain. 

“I miss him so much,” you cry between hiccups. 

“So why don’t you call him? I am sure he would be happy to hear your voice.” Uraraka pulls out her phone and starts to dial his number. 

“No!” You snatch the phone from her hand and toss it over your shoulder. You wince as you hear the phone connect with the hardwood floor. 

The hand on your back stills, “You are going to replace that you know.” 

You nod, a worthy expense if it meant you did not have to confront reality just yet. At least with him gone you could pretend your relationship was not over. 

“Stop saying that! Your relationship is not over. What the two of you need is a good conversation.” 

You must have said the last part out loud. “What does it matter, even if we have a conversation and he moves back in I will end up having nightmares and keep him up for weeks. It is not fair for him to suffer through that for me.” 

“Ugh!” Uraraka shoves you off her chest and stands. “Both of you keep pushing each other away based on some convoluted idea that you are actually protecting each other. It makes me want to pull my hair out!

You cross your arms over your chest, “Well I am protecting him.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Sure.” 

“Hey, don’t make me regret teaching you sarcasm. I’m being serious, my nightmares were getting so bad I started to attack him in my sleep.” 

“No offense but Bakugou can handle you with his hands tied behind his back.” 

“But he shouldn’t have to! It is not fair for him to have to worry if his fiancé will attack him in his sleep every night.” 

“News flash, life is not fair. It was not fair when I watched the love of my life get skewered in front of me. It was not fair when I could not look at him for weeks without crying. And it was not fair when Mimic tortured you. None of this is fair or just, it is all shit we are given and sometimes it is more than we can handle.” 

She holds your chin in her hands, “The only thing you are doing wrong is pushing away the person who you need the most.” 

“But I hurt him when he is close,” you argue weakly. 

Uraraka’s eyes softened, “You hurt him more when you push him away. His quirk is not mind reading, he has no idea how to help you, how you can both help each other.” 

You knew she was right, that what you were doing was not working. But you were stuck, unsure how to even start talking to him again. Even so, you had to try. 

“Alright, I will try giving him a call-” 

Behind you, Uraraka’s phone rang, its piercing ring tone cutting you off. Your heart sinks, that ring tone only went off when a hospital was calling. Without a word, Uraraka bends down and picks up her phone from the floor. 

“Hello, this is Uravity speaking,” she said into the phone. 

You watch her face for clues and your heart grew even heavier as worry danced in her eyes. 

“Are you going to transfer him to the Hero’s hospital in Tokyo?” 

Your breathing stops. No, the world could not be so cruel. Your hearing grows fuzzy making it impossible to tune into the rest of Uraraka’s conversation.

“Hey,” someone said in the background. “Hey, I need you to focus. Bakugou is hurt, I am not next of kin so they won’t tell me anything about his condition. I am going to drive us over to the hospital, he should already be there by the time we arrive” 

You nod, too stunned to speak. He was hurt. Your Bakugou was hurt and you were just standing around. Ignoring the pain in your chest your mind finally snapped into action. 

Wordlessly you and Uraraka rushed down to her car below. The drive to the Hero’s hospital was short, only a few blocks from your apartment. The front entrance was already packed full of reporters trying to catch a glimpse of your injured hero. 

You bite your tounge to stop yourself from cursing the reporters out. Those nosy assholes wanted to broadcast Bakugou’s pain to the public for a quick buck. Luckily disappeared from your sight as Uraraka drove past the and into the private parking lot. 

Uraraka had not even put the car in park when you shoved open the door and ran to the sliding doors. You could hear her yell to wait behind you but you kept running until you found the front desk. 

You skid to a stop in front of a shocked receptionist and slam your palms down on the counter, “Where are they taking Hero Dynamight?” You ask, holding your hero license out so she would know you were not a reporter. 

The receptionist winced, “I am sorry but only allowed to disclose information to the family of the patient.” 

“Well I am his wife and I am demanding to know where he is.” You retort, not caring about the implications of the claim. 

“Dynamight is not married, his paperwork states he is a single but nice try.” 

“Listen here you-” your rant was cut short by a soft hand on your shoulder. 

“It was a private ceremony, they have still not made it public yet so there is now paperwork. I know that is not protocol but won’t you please let it slide this once ” Uraraka smiles sweetly trying to play cute to get what she wants.

The receptionist shook her head, “ I am sorry but I cannot allow anyone who is not documented family to visit any patient.” 

You open your mouth to yell but Uraraka beats you to it. 

“That is fine, thank you for doing such a great job protecting our heroes.” She gently grabs your bicep and pulls you away from the desk before you could say another word. 

“What are you doing she is our only way of figuring out anything about Bakugou.” You hiss trying to pry yourself free from her hold. 

“No she’s not,” Uraraka turns her head to look at you and smiles. “I spent a few weeks coming in and out of this hospital while Deku was recovering. Going through the main entrance is the easiest way but there is a locked side door. With enough force, it can be wiggle open.” 

“Won’t it have an alarm?” 

“Of course it has an alarm this is a heavily secured building. Luckily they have a well-trained hero there to investigate the disturbance,” she winked. 

You laugh, being a hero did have its perks. It only took a few more turns before she found the small door. 

“Now when I open this door a blaring alarm will go off and two security guards will come rushing from either end. I will handle the one on this side but you will be on your own for the other. Try not to hurt them too much.” 

With that Uraraka wraps her hand around the door handle and pulls, her arm muscles bulging from the effort. You stand still, stunned to watch your friend pry open the solid steel door.

The door finally gives sending out a blaring alarm but you had already made it past the first couple hallways, hiding in a small doorway as a guard runs past. You wait another minute to make sure the coast is clear besides casually walking down the hallway until you found a nurse’s station.

“Excuse me,” you say, trying to sound as polite as possible. “The front desk told me to ask you which room my husband is in.” 

The oldest nurse looked you up and down skeptically, “What is your husband’s name?” 

“Bakugou Katsuki.” 

“Uh-hu sure, wait here a minute for me while I go find his nurse.” She turned and disappeared into the room behind the station.

Fuck, she was onto you. You slowly walk backward away from the door’s line of sight and rush down the hallway looking desperately for Bakugou. He had to be here somewhere but the hospital was a maze of hallways and doors with no names on them. 

You could not yell out for him that would only alert security to your position faster. You spin on your heels looking frantically for any sign of him but the more you look, the more lost you become. 

“Hey! You cannot be back here,” A security guard yelled, a taser already armed in his hand. 

You put your hands into the air, looking to your side for an escape. You could handle one petty security guard but you did not feel like explaining to the commission why you beat a guard. Sucking in a deep breath you run towards the officer who was too shocked to pull the trigger on the taser. Sticking your leg out you kick his feet out from under him sending his back to the floor. 

Without looking back you run down the hall taking as many turns as you could to find a hiding spot. One of these rooms had to have no camera in it. 

In your frantic looking, one door stood out. It was off to the left in a dead-end hallway. It had to be a good enough hiding spot as any. You sprint to the door and swing the door open into a pitch-black room. 

You felt bile rise in your throat at the thought of entering the darkness but you had no choice, security was hot on your heels. You close your eyes and step into the darkness, closing the door behind you. 

Your back rests against the door and you listen to the guards run past the hallway. For now they had no idea where you were. You let out a sigh of relief and feel around the wall for a light switch. 

Mercifully, you find it and switch it on. The room looked like any other hospital room except for one thing. There was someone in the bed and they were about to look up. 

Shit! You duck under one of the tables in time to hide from their view. 

“Oi, I thought I told you people to leave me alone! I already took the damn pills and agreed to stay the night.” 

Your breathing stops at the deep rough voice of Bakugou. You found him; he is not in a coma fighting for his life. He is in bed resting safely just feet away from you. A sob of relief climbs your throat, and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to mute it. 

The rush of blinding fear to find Bakugou suddenly turns into fear about seeing him. What if he did not want you to visit? Fuck you should have thought about this more before you left. 

“I can hear your breathing! Don’t make me get out of bed or I will kick your ass.” 

Not wanting him to hurt himself by standing you relent and force your weak knees up. You keep your eyes to the floor not daring to look at his face, “Surprise,” you tease weakly. 

“W-what?” Bakugou said, his voice high and full of confusion. 

“I-I heard you got hurt, no one was telling me anything, so I decided to come and check up on you myself. But I see you are fine so I will leave you alone. I am sorry for barging in.” 

“Wait! Don’t leave,” Bakugou winces as he sits up in bed, his abdomen covered in bandages. Instantly you rush to his bedside. 

“Don’t move that fast you will hurt yourself!” You lecture, gently pushing him back down to the bed. Bakugou looks down at your hands with shock, you had not touched him caringly since the incident. 

You quickly realized your hands were still on him and snatch them back to your side. You stand there awkwardly, unsure what to do. It was like the months of being together had been erased since he had left. 

“W-what happened?” You finally ask to break the silence. 

Bakugou looks down at his hands, “Some stupid kid ran out in the middle of the fight and almost got themselves killed. I didn’t have enough time to get them out of the way, so I had to shield them instead. Damn villain managed to shoot me.” 

“You got shot!” 

“Yeah, pathetic asshole knew he could not take me without a gun. Lucky for me he had terrible aim and managed to only graze my side. The only reason I am still in this stupid bed is because Rescue Girl is on vacation and refuses to come in and heal me.” 

The heavy weight on your heart lifted slightly knowing he was not seriously hurt but you still worried about his current condition. Bakugou was not one to sit around until he felt better. In the time the two of you had been together he only got sick once and it took tackling him to the ground and tying him up in bed to keep him from working. 

You knew him and Deku were on good terms now but dealing with a hurt Bakugou was a full-time job. “How long did the doctor say you have to be off work?” 

Bakugou scoffed, “She thinks I have to wait at least a week even with Recovery Girl. As soon as I can escape this bed I will head back to the office I have a villain to hunt down.” 

You put your hands on your hips, “Oh no you won’t. If the doctor tells you to wait a week you will wait a week.” 

A mischievous grin spreads across Bakugou’s face, “Oh, and how are you going to enforce that?” 

Blood rushes to your face making your cheeks feel like they were burning. To keep him from fighting his restraints the last time he was sick you had to fuck him until he was too tired to care he was chained up. By the time he had recovered from being sick you could barely walk and he had to be the one to take care of you.

“Don’t look at me like that when you are hurt.” 

“Then answer the question, how do you plan to keep me from working this week.” 

“What are you five? Do you really need an incentive to be good?” You taunt. 

A wolfish grin spread across his face, “Yes.” 

You throw your hands up in the air, “Ugh, you are terrible!” 

His hand reaches out and grabs your wrist to pull you in closer to the bed and for a second fear flashes in your eyes. All of the teasing had made you forget your fear but his touch brought is all back. 

Bakugou sensed the change in your demeanor and opened his hand to free you from his touch. 

“Wait, don’t move your hand,” you suck in a deep breath. “Just give me a second.” 

His warm long fingers wrapped themselves back around your wrist, holding still as you try to calm your heart. You were stronger than this fear. You could do this. 

“Baby, you don’t have to push yourself, I understand-” 

“No!’ You yell, taking a step closer to his bed. “This is ok, I will make this ok again.” 

You avoid looking at his face, needing to build up your strength before testing your limits. Being separated from him had helped your memories heal some but it was still difficult to see him. 

Forcing the tight fear in your chest down you intertwined your fingers through his and pull them up to your lips, gently kissing his knuckles.

“It is easier when I control where you touch,” you mumble to him, trying to follow Uraraka’s advice. 

“What?” Bakugou asked, unsure what you meant. 

“When you are the one controlling the touching, it makes me nervous because I don’t know what will happen next. It makes me feel like I have no control and that is when I start to freak out.” 

You look down to where your hands were joined, “When I am leading the touch I have some idea of what will happen next and it is easier to not feel scared.” 

“So you have to be in charge?” 

“I don’t have to always be in charge, I just need to know what you are thinking, what you are doing before you do it or I need to be guiding it.” 

Bakugou smiled, “So if I told you to sit on my face would that work?” 

A few incoherent words fall out of your mouth as you try to process what he just said. 

“Well, maybe, but you are hurt and need your rest. Besides, you should not be thinking about that while you are lying in a hospital bed. When you are discharged, we can try something like that.” 

Bakugou sat up straighter, “Oh no you don’t. I have gone without your taste on my tongue for too long. You are going to get that sweet ass over here and sit on my face.” 

“No, Bakugou. Look at the state of you. I could seriously hurt you.” 

That was the absolute worst thing you could have said, in seconds his teasing eyes filled with fiery determination. The last time he gave you that look was when you rejected going on a date with him. A week later he had your legs wrapped around his waist. 

He lifts his finger and points to you and then his face, “Come here.” 

You stubbornly shake your head, “This is not happening Bakugou. You could tear your stitches and have to stay in the hospital even longer.”

He shrugs, “Fine with me as long as you are here.” 

This damn man must be suicidal. “We need to talk more about our relationship before we dive right into sex.” 

“Your mouth will be free and clear to talk.” 

“This is an awful idea. What if I get freaked out in the middle of it all?” 

“That’s easy, we stop,” he gently pulls you in closer his face now only inches away. 

“Please baby I have missed you; I promise I will stop if it gets too much.”

You were conflicted. Neither of you were in a state where you should be fooling around. But the feel of his hand on yours was so calming and warm that you wanted more. 

“Alright,” you whisper. “But If you are in any pain you need to let me know.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I promise. Now get that pretty ass up here,” he pats his shoulders. 

“This is such a bad idea,” you mumble to yourself as you slip off your pants while Bakugou lowered the head of the bed. This could go wrong in so many ways but the longer you thought about his tongue on you the less you cared. 

“Fuck baby,” Bakugou groaned, “Climb up, you won’t hurt me.” 

You toss your pants to the side and do as he said. Climbing up onto his bed and carefully lowering yourself over his face. Your face was burning at the thought of what all he could see. Needing support, you grab ahold of the headboard. After all you did not want to hurt him. Bakugou was not having that. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you down until you had no choice but to rest your weight on his face. 

“Wait, you could hurt yourself,” you protested breathlessly. 

He only laughed, his hot breath teasing your aching cunt. He sat still under you for a few minutes letting you get adjusted to the feeling of his touch, and it let him soak in the sight of you above him. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he mumbled against the soft skin of your thighs. Not wanting to move too fast he first places a few sloppy kissing along with your inner thigh, giving you ample time to mentally prepare for his mouth on your cunt. 

You try to stop yourself from shaking but it was impossible. It had been months since someone had touched you and to have Bakugou beneath you, ready to worship your body, was almost too much for your brain to process. 

Bakugou’s mouth teased your other thigh before settling on your already soaking wet pussy.

“That’s my good girl, already wet for me. This pretty pussy knows who it belongs to, but does its owner?” 

“Bakugou stop talking to my pussy and get to work,” you growl. 

“Tsk, when did you become so greedy?” The hands on your thighs shift around until they were able to spread open your sex giving him complete access to you.

“You are lucky I miss this just as much as you do or I would tease you for hours. Tie your ass to the bed and not let you leave until neither of us could move.” 

You rock your hips trying to egg him on, “Sounds to me like you are all talk.” 

The hands on your thighs tighten forcing you to put all your weight onto his face. You try to pull yourself up, not wanting to suffocate your boyfriend but he refuses and goes straight for the kill. His soft wet tongue drags a straight line up the slit of your cunt, gathering up your juices. 

Your hands abandon the headboard and thread through his hair. Bakugou groaned, settling into feasting on your cunt. His soft lips slide through your folds, looking for your hidden button. 

“Ah please Bakugou,” you beg, “it feels so good.” 

You could feel his smile against your skin before his mouth latches onto your throbbing clit, dragging it into his mouth. 

While his lips teased your clit, one hand left your thigh to snake around under you. You lurch forward as two thick fingers slip through your folds, wetting themselves in your slick before they gently press at your entrance. 

Your hips buck away from the combined sensations fearing to be too much but Bakugou was not having it, he strengthened his hold on your thighs and pushed you down on his fingers. You sob at the feeling of being stretched, it had been so long the burn was more intense than normal. 

“Fuck baby you are so tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock,” he groaned. 

“Bakugou,” you whined. “You can’t just say things like that.” 

He releases your clit with a pop, “Like what? Like how I want to feast on this pussy until you are all I can taste for weeks. Like how by the time I am done with you, you will be a sobbing mess that I will have to take care of. Just listen to this sloppy pussy take my fingers. Fuck baby people would kill for even a sliver of this cunt but too bad for them it is all mine.” 

You shove a fist in your mouth to stifle a loud moan. The last thing either of you needed was someone barging in. 

Bakugou pulled your aching bud back between his lips and got to work. The two fingers inside you started to pump, curling to hit your sweet spot each time they were inside you. His delicious tongue flicked up and down on your clit driving you mad. 

Trusting you would not run away he releases your other thigh and reaches under your shirt. His large hand stroked up your stomach, caressing the skin there before latching onto one of your nipples. He pinches the soft peak between his fingers, rolling it until it pebbles. You arch your back into his hand and start to rock your hips wanting more. 

Bakugou moans into your cunt, able to tell you were growing lost in the pleasure. He loved it when you were too engrossed with feeling good to care about anything except him. 

Looking down in between your legs you could see his light blonde hair peeking out from the apex of your thighs and had a devilish idea. 

“Bakugou stick out your tongue,” you order. 

He releases you from his mouth and looks up, his chin soaking with your juices, “What?” 

“Stick out your tongue, like this,” You show him with your own mouth. 

A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes and he smiled. Good, he liked the idea too. With no delay, his tongue stuck out of his mouth. You reach down and spread yourself open, settling back over Bakugou’s eager tongue. His fingers abandon you in favor of holding onto your ass while you dig your fingers into his hair. 

With both of you settled you slowly begin to rock your hips, riding his tongue. You start off slowly, watching closely for any sign Bakugou was not comfortable but judging by his growl of pleasure you would say he is just fine. 

A red hot warmth started to grow in the lower half of your body, slowly spreading its tingle to your lower belly. Fuck, the image of Bakugou beneath you, letting your ride his face was almost too much to process. 

“Oh god Bakugou,” you moan. “Please, it feels so good.” 

He could only groan in response, his mouth too busy bringing you to your peak. When you looked down at him between your legs you could only see his bright lust filled eyes. They were intensely watching you fall apart. 

White spots started to grow in your vision and you increase the speed of your thrusts. The fingers in his hair tighten, now holding onto him for dear life. It only took a few more rocks of your hips before the white spots grew into a blinding white light.

Overwhelming waves crashed into you, sending glorious pleasure pulsing through you. Your body was not your own as the electricity ran through you making every muscle grow taunt and release in a never-ending cycle. 

Bakugou redoubled his effort, not letting you even finish your first peak before he was building you up to another. The idea that you would feel that pleasure again was enough to make you mad. 

His fingers slipped into your clenching entrance and curled forward, teasing your sweet spot. His lips returned to your clit, sucking it gently into his mouth and lashing at the tender bud with his tongue. 

You release his hair, afraid you will rip it out, and hold onto the headboard as all the clenching tension finally releases, sending you spiraling. Loud wanton moans ripped from your throat and you could do nothing to stop them. 

Bakugou toyed with you until you could no longer hold yourself upright. Only then did he gently lift you off his face and down onto his lap. You slouch over and rest your forehead on his shoulder. The world around you was fuzzy, your mind still reeling from how hard you finished. 

“Wait, Bakugou you are not supposed to be lifting anything!” You yell when your mind finally returns to reality. 

“Tsk, I already told you I am fine.” 

You fought the urge to slap him, “You idiot what if you had busted open your stitches!” 

“You did not seem too worried about that when you were rubbing your cunt on my tongue.” 

“Well, obviously I was not thinking straight,” you mumble. Damn him for being right. 

Bakugou gives you a sly smile, “You know I am feeling a little sore.” 

Regret slams into you, “Damn it Bakugou, I was worried this would happen. Where are you hurting.”

His hips thrust upwards forcing his rock-hard cock against your ass. “Right there baby.”

You flick your finger against his forehead, “I was really worried you asshole.”  

“But it aches, won’t you make it feel better?” 

“You are lucky you are hot,” you whisper into his ear before carefully descending his body. You settle in between his legs, pulling down the blankets to free his cock. 

You have to stop and stare at it. Everything about your boyfriend had to be perfect. His cock was long and proud, resting on his stomach with a small tuft of blonde pubic hair at the base. His cock had one large vein running up the length of it, pulsing with each heartbeat. God, you wanted to trace that vein with your tongue. 

Reaching up you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He was so warm on your hand, like your own personal space heater. You shuffle your body to get your mouth a little close to his cock and then before he could say anything bring the head of his cock into your mouth. 

His reaction was instant, his hands shot down to grab at the sheets beside your head. You could feel his hips flex under you as he fought the urge to thrust up into your mouth. 

Feeling emboldened by his reaction you relaxed the muscles in your jaw and took more of his length into your mouth. His salty flavor spilled across your tongue as he started to release pre-cum. Your poor baby had gone too long without any attention. 

Redoubling your effort you bring up your free hand and wet it with your spit. Reaching under your busy mouth you slide your finger down until you find Bakugou’s tight entrance. 

“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” Bakugou growls, grabbing your wrist. 

You let his cock fall out of your mouth and look up innocently, “I am making you feel good baby, just lay back and relax. I promise this will feel good.” 

He looked conflicted but slowly the iron-clad grip on your wrist loosened enough to set you free. Not waiting for him to change his mind you begin to circle his hole with your wet finger. Before you could even try to push your finger forward you needed him to relax. You return to teasing his aching cock with your mouth, sucking on his tip just the way he likes all the while circling your finger around his hole, waiting for him to relax enough for you to slip it in. 

As you take another inch of him into your mouth you could feel him relax enough to slip your finger slip past the tight ring of muscle. You could feel Bakugou tense so you did not move the finger forward, giving him time to adjust to the intrusion. 

With your tongue on his dick it was easy enough to distract him as you slowly inch your finger in. Once you went in far enough you twist your finger around, looking for a soft spongy spot inside him. A sharp thrust up into your mouth signaled you had found exactly what you were looking for. 

“What the fuck,” Bakugou groaned, his hands going to hide his face. You smirk, finally, you were the one driving him insane. 

You benign to move your hand and mouth on his cock in time with your finger in his ass. Small pathetic whines were leaving Bakugou’s mouth and you felt like a god. You were so engrossed in bringing him pleasure you had no time to think about anything else. 

You could hear his breathing begin to grow more labored and his cock grow even harder in your mouth. “Fuck, baby I am going to-” Was the only warning you had before his cum shot to the back of your throat. 

You swallow his release down, making sure to ease your hold on his cock, now only gently pumping your hand and finger to lengthen his orgasm. 

Slowly the pulsing of his cock stopped and you released him from your mouth, wiping the spit on your chin off with the back of your hand. You could not help but smile as you watched Bakugou slowly come back into the real world with a beautiful dazed look on his face. 

He slid his hand under your chin and lifted your head to meet his eyes, “Where the fuck did you learn that?” 

“Being away from you for this long made me desperate so I watched a couple of videos to make it easier.” 

“Right,” he said breathlessly, “You need to show me that shit later if it taught you that.”

You laugh, “Gladly. Now lay down you need your rest.” 

Bakugou tilts his head, “What the hell do you mean rest? I have not been away from you for too long, I can rest later. Now I am going to get my cock into that tight pussy.” 

“Bakugou you just finished.” 

“So,” he thrusts his hips up, rubbing his already erect cock against your ass. 

“How?” You ask in amazement. 

“I have been fantasizing about fucking you for months baby. Did you really think once would be enough to satisfy me?” 

Without waiting another minute his hands grab into your hips and lift you up. Lining your entrance up with the tip of his cock. In a flash you involuntarily tense your body, the memories of that night rushing back into your head. No, no, no, not now, not when you were so close to being one with Bakugou again. 

His bright red eyes meet yours as he feels you tense. Fuck, why did you always mess everything up, this was all your fault. Why could you not just be normal, that is what he deserved a nice normal happy girl. 

“Hey,” Bakugou whispered softly. “Talk to me, what is wrong.” 

You wanted to keep your lips shut, to pretend that everything was fine but that would be lying. You never wanted to lie to him. 

“I can’t stop thinking about Mimic. One minute I am fine and the next he is all I can see.” 

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed, “You were fine with what we did earlier? What triggered it?” 

You shake your head, “It is different every time. It is just hard for my mind to differentiate from my Bakugou and the one Mimic made.” 

“So call me Katsuki.” 

“Huh?” 

“If you are having a hard time with there being two Bakugou’s, then try calling me Katsuki. That way there is at least one easy way to tell me apart from him.” 

“You want me to call you by your first name?” 

His eyes softened, “Yeah baby, I want you to call me by my first name.” 

“Katsuki,” You test his name out, loving how it feels on your tongue. You watch his face to see his reaction and see lust fill his gaze. Oh he liked it.

You start to whisper his name over and over again, like a prayer to remind yourself you were no longer under Mimics thumb. You were with the man who would kill anything that tried to hurt you.

“If you keep saying my name like that baby I am going to fuck you,” Katsuki growled into your ear.

Oh would he now? You wiggle your hips, teasing the head of your cock with your dripping slit. Pulling him in close you whisper one little word, “Katsuki.”

“You asked for it,” He laughed, hauling your hips back up until they hovered over his cock.

The hands on your hips gripped down with bruising force and his cock slipped into your entrance. All the play from earlier had left you more than prepared enough to take his length. The familiar burn started as his cock sank deeper inside you, opening you wide for him.

“By the time I am finished with you, this tight cunt is going to be fucking dripping in my cum. I am going to fill you to the fucking brim.”

A low groan was your only response he bottomed out inside you, his cock leaving no space unfilled. You could damn near feel him in the back of your throat. Normally he would be the one to initiate thrusting but you were growing too impatient.

Bracing your hands on his chest, careful to avoid his bandages, you lift your hips up until only the tip of his cock was inside. Then you slam your hip down, marveling at the feel of him entering you again.

His cock was perfect for hitting all the sweet spots inside you. Not wanting to be left out Katsuki grab ahold of your ass and uses his own strength to strengthen each thrust.  

You look down to where you both were joined and almost came on the spot. The sight of his cock pistoning into you was mind-shattering. He looked like a god beneath you. His large muscles building with effort, the thick veins in his arms standing elevated.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his bright red eyes filled with determination. “Right now you are mine, that means the only thing you are allowed to think about is me. About how good my cock feels splitting you open. Is that clear?”

You weakly nod your head, too overwhelmed to speak. A soft smile spreads across his face, “That is my baby, so good for me.”

His praise felt like a caress on your skin. You needed to distract yourself or this would end too soon. You lean forward and press your lips onto his. His tongue glided along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You happily opened your mouth allowing his tongue to slip inside. The taste of his spit was mixed with your own flavor, and you still had some of his taste on your tongue. The combined flavor was so fucking lewd and hot.

The familiar tingled started to grow in your pussy, you were not going to last long. The muscles in your legs begin to tremble making your thrusts grow sloppy. Katsuki was not having it. His hips rose to meet yours, forcing your body to endure even more pleasure all the while he toyed with your mouth.

It all became too much, the different sensations all worked together to drive you up, higher and higher you were climbing until it was hard to even breathe. Then, just like that, all the pressure released sending you spiraling.

Your pussy clamped down on his cock, forcing Katsuki to erupt. The thought of him filling you only lengthened the brutal pleasure filling your mind. There was no room in your mind for anything but him. You had no care in the world but him just like he ordered. 

As the pulses of pleasure slowed you were able to finally catch your breath. You both laid still in each others arms for a few minutes, letting you come slowly back to earth. Of all the times the two of you fucked this definitely had to be in the top three. Though they did say that makeup sex was the best. 

“How are you feeling?” Katsuki asked, his voice rough. 

You rest your ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, “I feel good.” 

He places a soft kiss on your forehead, “Do you think you are ready for me to come home?” 

You take the time to think about it. Having him back in your life did not set off fear like it used to. Instead, it made you feel warm inside. You looked forward to going to bed with him instead of dreading it. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “Yeah, I am.” 

The arms around your waist tighten pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. You snuggle in closer, getting comfortable. Katsuki would never admit it but lying here with you in his arms safe and happy was one of the happiest moments in his life. 

Neither of you was healed from what had happened but you refused to push him away again. You will get past what happened and you will do it with him by your side. 

[ayellowcurtain]

Would you ever write an Elu fic that deals with the fact that Lucas was homeless for a while and couldn’t pay rent for a while?

It’s a late night. Eliott lives by himself and he has been for a while. His family is rich and he needs his personal space to keep his mental health in good shape and his parents know that and what’s best for their son. So he lives by himself but like a five minutes walk from his parents’ place.

One night he’s there, by himself, thinking about his date with Lucas earlier, smiling to himself while eating whatever he ordered for him tonight when the intercom rings downstairs. He isn’t expecting anyone and it’s pouring outside but he rushes to pick up, slipping with his socks against the floor and he freezes when he hears the voice.

“Hi!” An out of breath Lucas says, loud enough to be heard over the very loud rain. Eliott knows that anxious tone in his voice because he’s often the one using it, “Can I come in?”

Eliott looks around him, at his very messy (but clean) house. This is not how he expected Lucas to first see his place. That first time doesn’t count because they were just getting to know each other months and months ago, and the cleaning lady had just left a few minutes before they got there.

Eliott wants Lucas to like everything about him, every single thing. For once, he wants someone that’s completely in like he is in everything he does in his life.

He lets Lucas in and tries to at least put all his dirty clothes inside the washing machine and all the dirty dishes inside the sink, looking himself in the mirror inside the bathroom, fixing his hair and his black shirt that should have been giving away a long time ago, way too worn out to be considerate a goos shirt.

There’s enough food for him to share if Lucas is hungry but it’s a little late, Eliott doesn’t think Lucas will want to have dinner at this hour.

He rushes to the door when he hears the last few steps on the stairs, followed by silence and a knock on the door.

Lucas is soaking wet when Eliott opens the door, carrying what seems to be a heavy bag, looking a lot like a stray dog.

“Can I stay with you for a few days?” Lucas asks without hesitation but Eliott can tell he’s not happy to be asking. Eliott doesn’t want to make him feel worse so he nods his head, stepping aside so Lucas can get in. He’ll ask what’s going on later.

“I’m so sorry for coming so late...I didn’t know where to go.”

Eliott holds his bag and Lucas lets go without thinking twice, not moving much to not leave a trail of water on Eliott’s place, barely looking him in the eyes, so ashamed. He steps closer, touching Lucas’ hair, putting it back and hugging him carefully not to bother him with how physical he’s been when Lucas is clearly struggling with something.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Eliott kisses the top of his head, feeling as Lucas’ wet clothes quickly get his own clothes wet and cold too, “And I would love for you to stay for as long as you want to.”

This seems like something that anyone else would think through before deciding but there’s no way Eliott would ever say anything else. Lucas is his boyfriend, and even though they don’t talk about it often, Eliott knows that Lucas’ home situation is not an easy one and even the smallest change can take a tool on Lucas. He has more than enough room for two people and he would be the happiest if Lucas moved in permanently.

He holds Lucas’ face gently and presses their lips together and Lucas moans very softly, melting in his arms, finally giving up on his facade, letting go of all his worries for a while, letting Eliott make him relax for tonight.

Eliott helps Lucas takes his wet clothes off on their way to his bedroom, smiling against his lips in an attempt to make Lucas smile too, forget about whatever is bothering him, they’ll fix it tomorrow.

Lucas sighs when he’s finally naked, the coldness not bothering him anymore, lying in bed where Eliott leaves him, kissing his chest slowly.

-

Eliott tries to move his hips to the beat of the song playing on the radio. He should focus on the waffles he’s trying to make, knowing how bad of a cook he is and how much Lucas needs a good breakfast this morning but he’s too hyper to keep his body still and completely focused on one thing.

The thought of living with Lucas made him wake up way too early this morning, he has plenty of time before his shift starts so he decided to make an effort, show Lucas how good life can be if this was their every morning. He doesn’t want Lucas to worry anymore, Eliott will always be by his side to help him with anything and he shouldn’t feel ashamed for needing help.

He hears the old wood floor squeaking with every step behind him, a warm and soft body pressing against his back, nuzzling against his skin, breathing him in and soon enough, there are two arms around his middle, hugging him tight.

“Fuck, good morning.” Lucas half whispers, half yawns, his lips brushing against Eliott’s back lightly, making his smile thinking about a sleepy Lucas attaching himself to Eliott.

“Good morning, beautiful. I’m making some breakfast for us.”

Lucas doesn’t make a joke out of it and Eliott lets him be, still with no rush to pressure Lucas into explaining what’s going on.  

He moves away way too soon and Eliott looks over his shoulder, watching Lucas drag himself to sit on the stool around the counter, watching him from a distance, with no need to use his legs now.

“I...” He starts and stops almost immediately, and Eliott continues making his small pile of waffles, paying attention but not staring to make Lucas even more uncomfortable, “I can’t pay rent for now.”

“My dad lost his job and he was very fucking passive aggressive when telling me that yesterday. I know I have to find a job, I’m more than old enough but he made sure to remind me of that over the phone. We had a fight...”

Eliott nods his head, turning everything off before grabbing the plate with all the waffles and putting in front of Lucas while he grabs some honey, maple syrup, butter, whatever Lucas might want to use.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I do, though.” Lucas sighs, grabbing the fork that Eliott gives him, with no intention of ever really using, not seeming hungry at all this morning, too worried to think about taking care of himself, “It’s stupid that I still don’t have my own fucking money. I’ve been living in this stupid situation for over a year and I should get my shit together and stop needing my selfish dad’s money.”

“Lucas.” Eliott finally sits right next to him, putting his hand on Lucas’ thigh, squeezing carefully to get his attention, “Stop punishing yourself. Your dad said he would pay for your rent and food, you’re just a teenager.”

Lucas drops his fork on the counter, looking at Eliott just for a second before looking away again, clearly too ashamed to hold his gaze.

“Please, believe me.”

Lucas nods his head just to not start an argument. He’s stubborn and Eliott knows this money situation is one of the few that really get to him.

“I’m sorry for showing up with no invitation. It’s just with the fight and the flat situation...I couldn’t stay there. And I can’t ask Yann again because I know he would never let me homeless and I would end up staying more than anyone should, and-”

Eliott kisses his temple, brushing his nose against Lucas’ cheek, hoping to get his attention.

“You don’t have to explain, and you don’t have to ask Yann. You can stay for as long as you want. If it was up to me, you would stay forever.”

“It’s not fair. I don’t have money to give you.” Lucas runs his hand through his hair in a failed attempt to calm himself.

“Lucas, don’t worry about it.”

“But I can’t help it! It’s all I do! Worry about fucking money!”

“You don’t have to! Money is not important in this situation, okay? My parents love you so much, we both know we don’t need more than a bed to live together. And they will be more than happy to know I’m not living by myself here.”

Lucas sighs, frustrated, putting his elbows on the counter, covering his face with his hands, trying to even his breath so he doesn’t end up crying. Eliott pulls his stool closer, in between his legs, kissing Lucas’ naked shoulder, still shirtless from last night, looking at him even though Lucas is still hiding against his hands.

“Move in with me. You would make me so happy.” He runs his hands gently over Lucas’ knee and thigh, hoping his boyfriend knows he would ask him the same thing even if this wasn’t an emergency right now.

Lucas doesn’t answer for what it seems like eternity but he finally looks over his shoulder, at Eliott looking at him, and he rests his chin on his shoulder, too tired and desperate to fight.

“I wish this happened differently.”

Eliott smiles bright, his heart beating so fast and loud inside his chest, kissing everything he can reach of Lucas.

“What matters to me is that we’re living together. And we’ll figure it out. Minute by minute.”

[ajokeformur-ray]

👰593 days with you.💐

@loveletterstoledger​ made this beautiful moodboard for me after I sent her some initial ideas (and, naturally, what she came up with is 1000000 x better than anything I was able to come up with myself!) and darling, I cannot thank you enough for making me such a stunning piece of art. These are all my own pictures (except the picture of myself and Joker, which was also put together by you🥰💖) and what you created with them is wonderful. Thank you, darling. Thank you, thank you, thank you.💜💙💗🌸

Below the cut is an emotional letter written by me, addressed to Joker. There is no obligation to interact with this post. This is a purely self-indulgent post and I make no apologies. This is an important milestone for me and if I were anyone else, I’d encourage them to celebrate it as much as they want to... so I’m taking my own advice!🥰💖

Dearest Joker, 

I’ve been thinking about writing this letter to you for weeks and now, on the eve of our anniversary, I must stop thinking and start doing. I know that even if I forget to say something here, you will feel it within what is said and you’ll understand... Joker, my love, you always understand me. 

For 593 days, there hasn’t been a single moment in which I haven’t felt understood and accepted. You have been through so much in your life. For thirty-five years, you received nothing but shit. As a result of this, there is nothing you can't understand. It breaks my heart, but all the same I love you all the more for your unending understanding and your wisdom. You have taught me much about the world, about myself and about you. You taught me how to let you in, how to love, how to be and how to breathe. Honey, you tried so, so hard for so long and you were only ever beaten and run down, used and abused, mistreated and lied to and society was always going to beat you down no matter what you did. I feel like you knew it but you kept pushing through anyway, because what more could you do? I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be with you through everything you went through before you and I met, dear heart. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t take every punch, every kick, every insult. Would that I could, my love, I would take every mocking and every humiliation, every shift, every day you went without eating because you could only afford to feed one person on your salary. I would take every laughing attack. I would buy all of your medications, buy you new clothes because you have had the same ones since high school. I would make sure that you ate every meal, that I was there to pull you out of the fridge at 3 AM, to pull you out of the unforgiving cold and into the warmth of my embrace. I would take every evil thing you went through and encountered, I would take all of your pains away for my own (without changing a single thing about you) if it meant that you knew nothing but love and peace for the rest of your life.

Because that’s what you deserve, Joker.

Arthur. 

You deserve nothing but the best of everything good in this world and I would set the world ablaze just to give that to you. Just to see you really smile, I would strike a match to burn the world to the fucking ground. You inspire me, every single day, to do more and to be more. You inspire me to keep going (step step step...), to keep trying... to get through every day. When I lay awake at 2 AM staring at my ceiling and willing for sleep to come, you find me there at threshold consciousness and you climb into bed beside me and you stay. When I struggle to find a reason to get out of bed, you’re there to haul me up with a gentle smile and a strong hand. When I don’t want to eat because what’s the point? I’ll only be hungry later, you’re there with a set jaw and a plate which is set in front of me before I can protest. When I have a nightmare or a scare, you’re there to shush me and to settle me back down. With my pillow and with your arms becoming the safest cage I’ve ever known, I find sleep eventually. With you, I find it all. When I can’t find the energy to shower or brush my hair, you’re there to do it with me. You never do things for me. You do them with me, so that I know I’m not alone, so that I know there is someone beside me in those moments when I am physically alone. 

You are so beautiful in so many ways and I can never describe you without resorting to celestial terms. You’re my fallen angel, my light in the dark and my reason. Your name is the one I speak in times of need and my thoughts always return to you; as my body comes home, so too must my soul, and I find everything in you. We met a lifetime ago, it feels like, and you found me at a time when I was ready to give it all up, to end it all in the most permanent of ways... you found me and you held me and you brought me back into myself. You saved me, Joker, and every day since then, you have found me again and again and you have made me into who I am today. You tore me down and built me back up with threads of gold to bind the cracks of my heart. There’s nothing romantic in falling apart, but you help me every day to keep going, to try again and again and again, and every night, you’re there to coax me into sleep even when my mind is screaming at me to do and to be more even when I’ve taken myself beyond the point of exhaustion. 

I never expected to fall in love with you. I never thought I was even capable of love before I met you. You have liberated me emotionally, physically... you have given me and shown me a whole other side of life, and I would not be who I am today without your place, a permanent fixture, in my life. We were only together for five months when I proposed to you, and I will never be able to thank you enough for saying yes to me that day. I never expected us, my love, but I wouldn’t trade what we share for the world. I’d make the opposite trade in a heartbeat, however.

I love you, Joker. So much it hurts in the best way. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, there is no one I wouldn’t go up against for you. I wish so badly that I could protect you, shield you, but above all I wish that I could love you in all the ways that you deserve to be. We are hurt and we are tired, but we’re together and that’s the most important thing, isn’t it? In our pain did we find love, and that’s such a beautiful bond for us to have forged from the fires of the Hells which have plagued us in our lives. I wish not to fix you, for there is nothing to be fixed, but I wish to help you, to love you and to protect you and to aid you in finding peace and closure within yourself. I want nothing but the best for you, in all things. 

There is so much more I could say, there is so much I want to say, but just as you always do, have you brought me to the moment where words run dry and all I have is my heart, cradled tenderly in your hands. You are my one and I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you all the ways I love you. Not just in who I am, but in what I do, for this next academic endeavour is for you, because of you. I shall always try to be someone you can be proud of, someone you can love and someone you can be glad to have met. Dearest husband, I love you, I love you, I love you. You are my true love, my whole heart, the reason my soul breathes as often as it does.

Happy one year of marriage, my knight in red, and here’s to many more!

Forever and a day,

Erika Fleck.

💗💗💗💗

[neon-junkie]

Siesta

Summary: Flacos mission for you today is to have a nap.

Pairing: Implied Flaco/gn!Reader

Word Count: 1347

Rating: SFW

Tags: Nap time, Cuddling, Spooning, Fluff, Gender-neutral reader.

Notes: he just looks so cosy, specially with that coat on, so i wrote this bc i wanna nap with him.

It's another long day for you, lugging yourself up the mountain, heading hours up north just for that gunslinger to chit chat with you a short while, before sending you off on a mission. Why do you do it? You're not too sure. He'd sparked your curiosity the second you attempted to find shelter in his cabin, only for him to sneak up on you and make you dance with all six rounds of his revolver.

But either way, you've been forcing your way through the cold and snow just to see him, just to spend those few moments with him before he sends you on your way. It's worth it. It's worth the journey, the dangerous missions he gives you, the freezing cold snow, and the predators that lurk nearby. He's come out of his shell more and more every time you see him, he even called you his friend a few months back.

So here you are, hitching your horse, and entering his cabin for what feels like the hundredth time.

"You're here," Flaco greets you, watching you stomp the snow off your boots before shuffling over to the fire, raising your hands to the heat in hopes of warming up, despite knowing that within a few minutes, he'll be sending you back out there.

You can feel his eyes on you more than usual. Flaco's always one for eye contact, studying you, reading every single sign of body language; that just seems to be how he is. He's probably fuelled by trust issues, so you're not surprised that he's always on the lookout for betrayal. It must be something he does to everyone, as you've seen that same language displayed when he spoke to one of his men once, although they're rarely around.

"Has the cold froze your lips shut?" Flaco asks, suddenly drawing your attention to him.

You feel so rude, but you can't help it; it's normal for you to zone out, hearing what people are saying to you, but not always responding. You're tired. These sleeping problems come in waves; some weeks you're fine, others you're not. And guess what kind of week this was?

"Sorry, Flaco," you sigh. You once called him by his surname, and he scoffed at you, waving his arms about as he complained, telling you 'we're friends now, and friends call each other by their first name!'

"I'm just tired," you finish off your sentence.

Flaco leans back in his chair as he hums. "That problem again, eh?" he questions. Flaco knows about your sleeping problems; you once explained why you zone out so easily, back when he first caught you doing it, and he seemed to understand. He'll go for days without sleep, always on alert, always worried the Pinkertons are finally going to catch up on him and force him into an endless sleep.

You nod in agreement, "that time again," you repeat, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes go back to the fire.

Flaco's already picked up on a few smaller things as he studies you; the bags under your eyes, your slight slouch, your slower reflexes and judgment.

"You're exhausted, amigo," Flaco informs you.

"I know," you reply.

"No, listen to me. You're exhausted, not tired. You haven't yawned once, and your body seems drained. You need to rest, please, for your own good."

As Flaco talks, your eyes drift back over to him. He's been sincere and open ever since you first met, but the tone of concern to his voice seems to pull at your heartstrings.

"I'll rest when I'm off the mountain. I don't want to be camped out in the snow," you explain, but Flaco cuts you off.

"No! I said rest. There's a bed behind you, isn't there?" Flaco says as he points to the bed in the middle of the cabin. You look over your shoulder, despite knowing that there is a bed there.

"That's your bed," you protest.

"That's a bed. This cabin isn't mine, amigo," Flaco shrugs. "Now go and have a siesta, or a 'nap' as you Americans call it."

"Too cold for a siesta," you smirk.

"Oh. Come onnnn," Flaco groans as he puts the wood he was whittling down on the table, standing up to fill the empty space in the room. He makes his way over to you and for some reason, you're a little intimidated. Why was he getting so worked up over you having a nap?

Flaco greeted you for the first time with a gun to your head, but for some reason, Flaco grumpily approaching you, urging you to nap seemed scarier.

 "Go to bed," Flaco orders you. "That's your mission for today. Sleep. Rest. I'll pay you for it," Flaco tells you as he takes you by the shoulders, physically moving you over to the bed.

"Don't you think it's a little uncomfortable?" you ask as you take off your hat, leaving it on the bedpost. Flaco takes his hands off you as he huffs.

"What is? You think I'm gonna watch you in your sleep, hm? I'll do that, if you want."

You remove your weapon equipment, boots, and heavy clothing, every so often flicking your eyes over at Flaco, still talking to him. "No, I just think it's... I don't know. I've never had a nap in someone else's company before," you shrug.

"You want me to siesta with you then, huh? You could have just asked, you know," Flaco tells you with a chuckle.

Your eyes widen, and you're about to start telling him that you didn't mean that at all, but he's already taking off his bandolier's, chucking them to the cabin floor with a thud. You sit on the edge of the bed, awkwardly watching him as he kicks off his boots, leaving his sombrero on another one of the bedposts.

You'd never seen him without his hat before, and he's kinda cute? you always assumed his hair was short and swept back, but you've discovered that he has a small ponytail, always hidden away under the thick brim of his hat, and the forest of fur on his coat.

Flaco catches you staring but doesn't comment on it. He'd be staring too if another person was stripping off in front of him. Flaco leaves his thick fur coat on, loosely done up by what's left of a few buttons.

 "Move over," he orders you in his gruff tone. You shuffle across the bed, lying down and sandwiching yourself between the wall and Flaco, who's now lying down beside you.

He pulls the covers over you both, his eyes meeting yours as he tucks you in, a tender gesture, despite the permanent scowl on his face. Flaco stops for a moment, propped up on his elbow, studying you again. You're unsure if you should look away, but Flaco eventually breaks the silence.

"Lift your head up," Flaco orders you. So you do, sitting slightly upright, looking over your shoulder to wonder what's going on.

Flaco suddenly lays his arm out, right under where your neck will fall. Before you can even breathe, his other arm is around your waist, pulling your head back down and shuffling your body against him.

He's a firm cuddler, his hands gripping onto you, holding you against him but comfortably. You accept the fact that this is happening and decide to get comfortable, adjusting yourself so you're the little spoon, your cheek resting against Flaco's arm, the thick fur of his coat brushing against your face and back.

You can feel his hot breaths on the back of your neck, his body heat warming you up. You've forgotten just how cold it is outside, eager to stay in this comfortable spot forever. Flaco can sense thoughts running through your head.

"Rest now, amigo," he softly orders you. There's a tiredness to his voice; you dread to think how many days he's been awake for, which unfortunately is normal for him.

So, you do as he tells you to, shutting your eyes and swiftly falling asleep. Your siesta turns into a deep sleep, and Flaco's there through it all, enjoying your company as he catches up on the many nights he's missed.

[consumedkings-archive]

“ i thought you only had eyes for me. ” serve us some unholy trinity queen xoxo

oh!!! hello dove!!! thank u for gracing my inbox i am SO unworthy but so happy to try and provide you some content!! i hope you don’t mind that i combined yours and @shallow-gravy’s requests.... they just felt like they fit so well together, i couldn’t resist  (ಥ﹏ಥ)

iii. vicious traditions ✤ the unholy trinity

john/elliot/diana + “i thought you only had eyes for me” and “i can’t stop picturing you with her” or: a dissertation on “Mine is a noun if you capitalize it” john seed struggling to reconcile sharing his wife and also having more of what he Wants. taken from this prompt list!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: language, sexual themes, but nothing explicit. as always, herald!elliot and john deserve their own warning. ✧･ﾟ also i only sort of proof read this so APOLOGIES IN ADVANCE

The first time Elliot kisses Diana, John thinks about it for three days after.

He’s known. Of course, he’s always known, because Elliot made it perfectly clear why she wanted the deputy from the get-go. I like her, she’d said, a phrase normally reserved for the most puzzling of obstacles. It’s not a game, isn’t fun if she doesn’t have to work for it, and on that front he and Elliot differ entirely—he would prefer Diana Baker’s complete and utter submission, in written and verbal form, handed over in a glass frame so that he can hang it on the wall in the bedroom to admire as he pleases.

In a way, he does. Each time there is a violent collision, each time their mouths and teeth meet, he holds onto it for a while—keeps it for himself, even though his wife is pacing herself, even though she reprimands him for rushing, for pushing Diana too far too fast.

Conversely, Elliot wants to work for it. She wants to get her hands dirty, elbows deep in the gore of Diana, the filthy fucking carnivore that she is, and normally John would love it; normally, it’s one of his favorite things about his wife, that she’s so willing to get the blood up to her elbows, no gloves required. Normally, he likes watching her sink her teeth in—but it’s different, now.

Diana is different. 

She has always been different. She is the exception to every one of their rules. They had taken lovers, before, to share—this was not new—but they had never taken someone permanently, not the way that Elliot wants Diana (and the way that John wants the deputy, too). They would have never tolerated this kind of blatant disrespect from anyone, not even a pretty little viper skittering through their garden.

But they do; whenever she takes something, Elliot will just go out and take it back. She’ll go out and build a new silo—it doesn’t replace the product, but what can you do—or she’ll pay the viciousness back, in turn, another way. Hit them somewhere else. They’re incapable, nearly, without Diana—so if she’s all the way in the Henbane, who’s going to pay attention to poor Fall’s End?

It goes like this, on and on, vicious cycles before Diana eventually finds herself back there. This evening, John expects no change of pace, but when Diana enters the room, Elliot’s eyes fix on her; he feels like the outside party, the interloper, because the blonde clicks her tongue and brings Diana, bloodied and bruised, to her with delicate fingers.

“Let me see,” Elliot says, the pads of her fingers tilting Diana’s chin up, smoothing along the pillar of her throat. John can only watch—memorizing the way Elliot touches her, different than the way Elliot touches him, both because he wants to covet the image in his mind for as long as possible and because, like watching a car crash in motion, he cannot look away.

And he cannot look away when his wife guides the deputy’s face to hers and kisses her, either. 

It’s not even a particularly enticing looking kiss, really. It’s nothing more than a chaste brush of lips, with all of the desexing of a kiss from the Pope, but the intent and the message behind it is clear, because Elliot’s eyes look to him pointedly.

See? The kiss says, his wife’s thumb coming up to drag on Diana’s lower lip, making the brunette’s breath hitch in her throat. See how good she is for us?

So yes, he can’t stop thinking about it. Not that night, and not the morning after, when Diana has left in their sleep—a shorter visit than usual, perhaps spooked by the physical intimacy, strange and alien in comparison to the way that John and her have locked lips before—and there is a whole conflict of emotions occurring in him for another two days after that.

I do like that she’s good for us, he thinks, watching Elliot at the vanity, pulling her hair back from her face. He does like it, he does like that Diana Baker comes back to them time and time again, but Elliot is their bridge—she’s the go-between, and this slow progress means that John has become the interloper.

“What is it?” Elliot asks, watching him through the mirror. She’s given up trying to put her hair up in a ponytail and instead now sits, cinched in a silk robe, chin in her hand as she gazes at him.

His mouth twists. He shifts back against the pillows. “I can’t stop picturing you with her.”

The blonde’s eyes don’t flicker, not even a little bit. Not a sliver of softness in her expression. She doesn’t move to comfort him—and she wouldn’t, but he wishes, sometimes, that she would come to him more readily; but any emotion, any feeling, makes her feel deranged, makes her feel seen, and one of those is worse than the other—but rather watches him.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Elliot smooths a strand of hair from her face. “For you to think about your girls? Together?”

John’s mouth plants itself in a frown. “I’m not being funny, hellcat.”

“What’s so different?” she says at last.

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” It’s her turn to shift carefully moving some items on the vanity out of the way—trinkets, kept from her childhood. “What’s so different this time?”

“It’s—she’s yours,” John posits.

“Noelle was mine,” Elliot says plainly. “You loved Noelle. You called us your little wolves.”

“Yes, well—” He sits up, swallowing. “It’s different.”

Elliot turns in her seat so that she’s looking at him now, and he can see it—the brows furrowing, the defiant tilt of her chin in his direction. “So I’ve gathered.”

“Elliot—”

“But I’m asking what makes it different.”

“It’s different because you picked her!” John snaps, finally, the hot spike of emotion flaring in his chest. “You singled her out. She’s your—”

“Our.”

“She’s not mine,” he manages out, voice bridging on strained. “She’s not, and you know that. And you want her for longer. It’s always just been a little while, and you want to keep her, don’t you?”

Elliot stares at him. “Don’t you?”

Yes, John thinks, furious, mouth dry. Yes, I do. I want her for-fucking-ever, the same way I want you, until the cold black fucking end. I want her forever, just like you, and she won’t fucking have me.

“I thought you only had eyes for me,” he says instead.

The blonde sighs, coming to a stand finally—at last—coming to him, crawling onto his lap.

“I have eyes,” she murmurs, draping her arms around his shoulders, “for us.”

John exhales through his nose. It’s more complicated than that. It’s more complicated because Elliot so easily fits with Diana—even in the beginning. Elliot’s strange juxtaposition between Diana and John afforded her a comfortable advantage on both playing fields, as it does now; and maybe he’s jealous of that, too, that his wife, beautiful and charming and deadly in equal parts, is somehow reeling Diana in better than he could. With less carnage.

It should be him. He should be the one winning Diana over, drawing her to them, presenting her to Elliot as his conquest, his gift, for them to both enjoy. And no matter which way, she always bucks against him.

“Honey,” Elliot says, her voice soft. “I’m your wife. And she’ll be our wife. Don’t you want that?”

Dropping his head against her shoulder, he lets her card her fingers through his hair. “Yes,” he manages out. “I do.”

“Then let me get her for us, baby.” The blonde’s words are light. “What’s mine is yours, so if I get what I want, then we get what we want.” Her lips brush against his temple as his arms wind around her. “You’re always doing everything for me. Trust me to do this for you.” Another pause, and then: “For us.”

His chest feels tight. He thinks, no, I have to do it, you asked me, and he thinks, I don’t like sharing my wife, and he thinks, I want her too, I want Diana too.

And he thinks, yes, please, do this for me.

“I do,” he says, into the crook of her neck. “I trust you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s late; the sky is speckled with stars and dark clouds, promising a storm on the way even amidst the humid summer heat, and John is exceptionally tired.

This isn’t the first time he’s stayed late at the compound, listening to Joseph’s furious whispers, and it certainly won’t be the last. But now he’s home, and his shoulders ache and burn with the tension of having driven himself home, and the last thing that he wants to do is think about anything.

However, as he enters the bedroom, he’s surprised to find not one viper in his bed, but two.

“You’re home,” Elliot says, her voice sweet; thick and syrupy and laden with what he can only assume are the remnants of red wine from the empty glass on the bedside table. “We missed you.”

He looks at Diana. She seems less pleased at his presence, but there is a tenuous curiosity; Elliot’s said something to her, done something, but there’s no reeking floral scent of Bliss, and there’s clarity in both of their eyes. No games here, he thinks, even as he tentatively crosses the distance between the doorway and the foot of the bed.

“Did you, now?” John asks, shrugging out of his jacket.

“One of us, anyway,�� Diana says, the bite in her voice not at all lessened by the humidity of the room.

His wife smiles at him, and she tilts Diana’s face towards hers and kisses her—long and languid and open-mouthed, and he watches her pearly teeth dig into the deputy’s lower lip. A rebuke. She’s done it to him plenty of times; seeing her do it to Diana spikes something wretched and desirous in him.

Against the brunette’s mouth, Elliot says, “Don’t be cruel, honey. John’s been working hard.”

She beckons John with a crook of her fingers, and of course, he obeys, slides onto the bed and lets Elliot hook her fingers into the front of his shirt so that she can undo the first few buttons.

“Diana’s been working hard, too,” Elliot murmurs. “But we’re going to take care of her, aren’t we?” She looks at Diana, lips kiss-reddened and gaze hungry—and he can tell that the deputy’s in a mood, like maybe she can’t quite get the taste of blood out of her mouth, and he likes it. “Do you want that, baby?”

The brunette’s eyes flutter. She swallows thickly, hesitating. “I—” Diana begins, and she looks like she wants to say yes but that stubborn, obstinate nature of hers, purposefully obtuse for the sake of raking up his ire, is rearing its head.

“John.” His wife’s voice is saccharine. She moves lithely, sitting behind Diana, letting the brunette lean back against her a little. “Are you going to show the deputy how nice we can be?”

His chest is pleasantly tight, at the vision of them—his vipers, perfectly entangled, eyes fixed on him. Not so much an interloper, anymore.

John leans in, tilting Diana’s chin up; there’s a second of hesitation where he thinks maybe she’s going to balk, throw nails and teeth to get out from between them, but Elliot grazes her mouth along the brunette’s neck and purrs, “Let us take care of you,” and the brunette’s body relaxes, just a little, just that much where he can lean in and kiss her.

And kiss her, and kiss her, in a way that he’s never been able to before. Luxuriating in it. Tasting the ash and blood and red wine in her mouth, and liking it.

“So good,” he hears Elliot praise silkily, when their kiss breaks. “We have the loveliest little viper, baby.”

“Yes,” John agrees, and his voice is rough as it comes out of him, the electricity palpable. “We certainly do.”

Diana watches him for a moment, her fingers knotted in Elliot’s hair, before she leans forward and captures his mouth in a kiss more punishing than the last, with more teeth and heat; he can hear his wife sighing delightedly into the brunette’s skin, and for the first time, it feels most apt to say we have and not you have.

Ours, John thinks, mind fuzzing pleasantly in the static aftershock of Diana’s kiss.

Our little viper.

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek2020 Bonus Day

JaliceWeek2020 Bonus Day: Quarantine

Also Untitled We’ll Worry About That Later

Notes: Under 3k, woohoo! This barely fits the prompt, but I’ve decided to go rogue. The real question now is... can I get another one posted today?

--

The phone rings at 11:27 p.m. on a Tuesday night.

It’s not Carlisle’s night on call, but everyone is being a bit more flexible at the moment. He expects a summons, that the hospital is short-handed again. It’s to be expected once Forks got its own outbreak - of the fifteen people hospitalised, eight of them were doctors or nurses.

Edward hits a sour note as he overhears the the phone call, trying to temper his reaction so not to signal that anything is wrong.

Carlisle is utterly professional during the call, but when he hangs up, he is left with the hideous duty of walking upstairs and telling his youngest - and oldest - son that one Mary-Alice Brandon has just been placed on a respirator.

—

They’ve put the infected in the old wing of Forks Hospital, where they can be properly quarantined. There’s no blood in the wing yet, and so Carlisle sees no risk allowing Jasper in to see Alice through the window; it’s the closest anyone can get to these patients.

And Jasper was not doing well. Telling him had been so much worse than Carlisle had ever envisaged. Esme was still repairing the damage to his study, and Jasper had gotten himself worked up, his terror at a point where he was infecting the rest of the family - Edward was almost permanently camped out at Bella’s, unable to tolerate another second of that bone-deep fear that Jasper pushing out.

But the second they arrive, and Jasper gets to see her, Carlisle fears that he just made things much, much worse.

Alice is tiny in the hospital bed, pale as the sheets tucked around her. The respirator is strapped to her face, obscuring most of her features. Tubes and wires run out of both her arms, the machines surrounding her beeping routinely. She’s completely unconscious, the dark circles under her eyes the only spot of colour on her entire face.

The whole scene is devastating, and Carlisle is quite sure that he’s watching his son’s heart break into a million pieces as he stares at his human mate, slowly dying alone, not a single person allowed to hold her hand.

Carlisle is not cruel, and hasn’t told Jasper the full details of Alice’s prognosis, but Jasper is no fool. Alice was already so fragile, with existing health issues, and she’s just so very, very sick.

“Jasper…” Carlisle begins in a low voice, reaching out to put his hand on his shoulder, but Jasper jerks away, storming out of the hospital in such a rage that Carlisle’s just relieved the door stays on its hinges as his son disappears into the night.

—

He is furious. He is rage. He has never, ever been so angry in his entire life. He wants to destroy, to fucking decimate something because it never, ever should have been her.

He thinks of going to the Brandon house, and crushing her selfish father into pulp. To bestow upon Alice’s father, who could not resist his trips to his mistress in Seattle, the slow, lingering death he passed on to his eldest daughter.

But he doesn’t. The man is sick - the whole family is sick, though not nearly bad enough to require hospitalisation, that particular honour had been given solely to Alice - but he tries to comfort himself with the fact that the man is at least suffering.

He steals into Alice’s bedroom, how many times had he climbed into this room and found Alice sitting crosslegged on her bed with her laptop or with her sketchbook, her face lighting up at his appearance. How the fairy lights strung around her bed would be lit, as well as the lamp shaped like a rabbit, and half a dozen novelty lights scattered around the room. It made the room look like magic, like home.

But now, it is cold and still. The bed is unmade, her quilt crumpled on the floor. The lights are off, the hamper is full, and he wants to destroy it all.

He lets himself have one moment, one little weakness, as he picks up the sweater tossed over the back of her desk chair and buries his face in it. It still smells like her, before she got sick - like raspberries and rainwater, her floral shampoo and rose perfume, of a million different little things that made up her human life. It is a comfort, yes, but it is also hurts in a sharp, new way that makes him want to weep. She’s not here, she’s not coming back, not going to walk in and tease him for being ‘weird’, as she wraps her arms around his waist and presses against him.

And he puts the sweater back, swallowing hard against the rising grief. He’s here for a reason. And so he goes hunting.

For her sketchbooks, and her diary, and her little worn out plush rabbit that always sat on her pillow. Her Polaroid camera, her very favourite purple top, and the ‘Alice’ necklace she wore every day, and the little photo-book that she kept by her bed.

It has to be things that won’t be missed, will be easily overlooked, but things that are precious to her, and thus precious to him.

Whatever happens next, he needs to keep them safe for her. Let her know that the things she treasured above everything else won’t end up at a garage sale or a thrift shop, won’t be boxed up and forgotten, won’t be thrown away. No, they’ll either find their way back to her hands, or they’ll be his shrine, his holy objects, for the rest of this cursed existence.

He goes back for the sweater.

—

Her heart stops twice. The first time, Carlisle hears about it second-hand and by the time he gets to her, she’s back.

The second time, people talk. That Dr Cullen was like a monster, forcing that girl back to life without compromise. That he short of reached into her chest and squeezed life back into her heart by hand.

It’s not going to help, the staff whisper. The Brandon girl is going to die, the youngest fatality in the state so far, before she even graduates high school. It would take some kind of miracle for her to come back from this, no matter how long Dr Cullen insists on delaying ‘time of death’.

—

The question needs to be asked, but he can’t form the words because it changes everything. It’s turning reality upside down and inside out. He’s never been good with change, and he was happy like this, for the first time in a long time.

Asking the question admits that he failed her.

He wishes he’d asked her before now, but it was one of those things they never talked about. And not in a tense, unspoken way. He can’t think of any moments with her that weren’t comfortable; love and affection and appreciation dipping and swirling between them.

They were going to be together forever, they both knew that. They were going to go to college and go travelling and get married. But neither of them ever specified if her eyes would be green or if they would be gold, and now he can’t ask her and he doesn’t know what would be worse - letting her go, or having her hate him for it, for the rest of their lives.

Why hadn’t he asked her?

—

Carlisle takes Edward to the hospital, to see if he can get a read on Alice’s thoughts; Edward looks grim and shakes his head minutely - whatever physical state she’s in, her thoughts are nothing decipherable now. There is no awareness of anything around her, and if her organs weren’t slowly failing, maybe they could wait.

They sit in Carlisle’s study, Edward feeling every year of his life, as they discuss Alice.

“Is it wrong that every single day, I’m grateful that it’s not Bella?” Edward says finally. “That the dice was rolled it was Alice, not Bella?”

Carlisle is quick to reassure Edward that anyone would feel the same, and he shouldn’t feel guilty. Except, Jasper overhears that statement and smashes the piano into kindling.

Bella was healthy. Bella probably wouldn’t have needed a hospital, let alone wasted away with broken ribs, and a machine breathing for her.

—

In the end, he doesn’t have to ask.

Carlisle offers.

He accepts and hates himself for it.

—

Mary-Alice Brandon dies at 1:57 a.m. on Saturday morning. Dr Cullen is more restrained this time, following procedure precisely before he calls it.

Alice’s family are still quarantined at home, and Mrs Brandon’s voice is quiet and shaky when Carlisle calls to give her the news. She doesn’t ask any questions, just thanks him and hangs up.

Her daughter died alone, with only a doctor, an intern, and two nurses clad in PPE with her. That’s what Mrs Brandon has to live with.

Carlisle comforts himself that he was with Alice when she died. That he already loves her like a father, and he watched over her as he prepared her for what came next. She wasn’t alone, and she was loved. That she would have felt no pain, no fear.

If this doesn’t work, he hopes that that offers Jasper some kind of peace.

—

The Brandons have Mary-Alice cremated, and interned at the local church as soon as they are allowed out of a quarantine. They have the funeral over the little hole in the ground where they will place the box of ashes; just the Brandons, all pale and solemn, Minister Weber, Angela Weber, Bella and Charlie Swan, and the Cullens.

It’s very short, with Minister Weber praying over the box, and then the box is placed into the hole, a tile with her name and the dates is settled into the dirt, and it’s over. Seventeen years of life, and that’s the final page in the book. There’s no reception, not during the current crisis, with the Brandons still so tired and weak. Cynthia puts a small wreath of daisies over the plaque, and Mr Brandon scowls when the bouquet of pink and yellow roses that Esme bestows upon the grave, from her own garden, is so much finer.

No one lingers in the rain, and Cynthia is quick to comment on how distant and cold Jasper Hale was, that he didn’t put any flowers on her grave, even though he claimed to love her.

“Teenage boys, Cece,” Mrs Brandon sighs, as they get in the car. “He’s probably already gotten over her. It was nice of him to come today, with his whole family.”

And then they drive away.

—

The basement of the Cullen house isn’t exactly the ideal place to undergo the transformation, but it is utterly sound proof, and they’ve made it as comfortable as they can. The plan is that, as soon as Alice awakens, Jasper will take her to Alaska for her newborn year - there’s too much risk, staying close to Forks.

Assuming she doesn’t pull him to pieces for changing her in the first place. It was supposed to be Carlisle who changed her, but in the moment, he’d just done it. It seemed like the natural response to seeing his mate in such a state, to lean into her throat and sink his teeth and venom into her whilst the others were fussing around, preparing for something so simple.

Everyone had been shocked he had the control, the self-restraint, to do such a thing but he didn’t bother to explain. He had done what needed to be done, and her wrath would be his to bear alone.

The sickness left her wasted and weak, and it is the quietest, stillest transformation he has ever been witness to. He sits with her, holding her hand like he wasn’t able to do in the hospital, watching as her body is healed from illness, from pain, from every little imperfection. She’s going to be lovely, of course, but in truth she’s no more or less beautiful to him after the venom than she was before.

She whimpers and cries and moves around a little, but mostly she is still.

Carlisle checks on him regularly, assuring him that she’s doing fine. Esme checks on him, and reassures him he made the right choice. Rosalie checks on him and tells him she’ll totally support Alice if she decides to dismember him for the next decade. Emmett checks on him and promises that he’ll keep Alice under control for the next year if Rosalie’s prediction is true.

Edward does not check on him, and instead plays his new piano loudly, still the indignant victim of the original’s destruction, agitated that this sudden change of plans has inconvenienced his own plans with Bella.

One day.

Two days.

She doesn’t wake up on the third day, and whilst he starts pacing, Carlisle tries to be reassuring. A longer transformation means nothing, not when her body was so completely damaged from illness. It’s going to be fine.

It’s the middle of the fourth day when her heart is racing, and there’s nothing left for the venom to do; Esme and Rose have washed and dressed her in a clean dress, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and now it’s just waiting.

Waiting for that moment when her heart

just

stops.

And she opens her eyes.

—

The first thing Alice is aware of is love. Adoration. It’s wrapped around her, warm and sweet, and so when she opens her eyes, she is already smiling. No one could do anything less, not when they are so certain of their worth.

Everything is quite strange, sharp, and clear, like a veil has been lifted over her eyes. She can’t quite remember what came before this little bed, this room, - was she sick? - but it doesn’t really seem that important. She’s looking around for something… no, someone.

He’s crouched about four feet away, golden eyes fixed on her with a look of clear desperation. He looks like he’s holding his breath, like he’s waiting for something.

Jasper. Her Jasper. A million little thoughts, memories, erupt in her mind - laughter, stolen kisses, plans and hopes and dreams, and that feeling of perfect love that she’s still wrapped up in, only she’s not sure if that’s her love for him or his love for her. She decides that it doesn’t matter.

“Jasper?” her voice sounds a little different to her own ears. She thinks about getting up, and suddenly she is standing, only a foot away from him.

“Alice,” his voice practically caresses her name, and he straightens up, towering over her (still?). “How are you feeling? Do you remember what hap-”

Before he can finish his sentence, her arms are around him, and she’s clinging to him like she’ll never let go.

“You did it, you did it. I was so, so worried you’d change your mind or be chivalrous or something ridiculous,” she babbles into his shirt, and he gently pulls back to look at her eyes (perfectly red, framed in black eyelashes, and oh, he’s falling in love all over again).

“I never asked you if you wanted this,” he says hoarsely, smoothing her hair from her face.

Her laugh is like … delight, the bubbles in champagne, perfect happiness.

“Oh, Jas,” she smiles at him. “There was never any question to ask.”

(He kisses her then, not like high school sweethearts; he kisses her like she’s his beautiful, perfect, newborn mate and he’s not even a little bit sure how she’s managing to tolerate the burn her throat and the thirst this long because the only reason they don’t put her little cot to another use is because Carlisle comes down to check on them, his relief like a cool spring breeze when he sees the smile on Alice’s face and the matching one on Jasper’s.)

—

They leave Forks two weeks after she dies and rises again, with a smile on her face. They leave hand-in-hand, vanishing into the forest towards Alaska. A year there, and then as much time as she needs to maintain control around humans.

And then… they have so many plans. She wants to go to college, study fashion or maybe painting or maybe photography… and they want to go travelling, to all those places on the list in her diary. She wants to help Esme restore a house, and have Rosalie teach her to drive. She wants to meet every single one of their friends, and he can’t wait to introduce her to Peter and Charlotte.

And he wants to marry her, in a white dress, with a preacher. He wants to watch her marvel at the Northern Lights, and create havoc at Milan Fashion Week, and dance with her to the old records in his study. He wants to make sure that there is never a single moment, a single thought, where she ever regrets what she lost. Anything she wants, he’ll bring it to her.

She looks up him, sensing his worry, and lifts his hand to her lips.

“It’s okay, Jas. It’s all going to be amazing,” she murmurs to him, leaning against him as they walk. “You don’t have to worry - we’ve got all the time in the world.”

They leave Forks at 11:28 p.m on a Tuesday, hand-in-hand, and neither of them looks back.

[flowercrown-bard]

The Boy who Ran: Chapter 5

Whumptober Prompt 17: Dirty Secret

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/ Jaskier

Read on AO3

part 1   part 2   part 3  part 4

“No! Geralt!” Tears streamed down Jaskier’s face. “Let him go! Please, let him go!”

He struggled, needed to get closer to Geralt, but he couldn’t move. He was stuck in place, forced to watch the knives slice into his beloved.

Jaskier screamed his name, begging for his tormentors to stop.

They didn’t.

Only when Geralt had fallen to the ground, having lost too much blood for him to survive, did they finally step away.

“Get up!” he pleaded. “Come on, Geralt, get back up…”

But Jaskier knew it was of no use. Geralt was dead. He had known it would end like this. It always did. Over and over again had Jaskier watched his beloved die, unable to help him and yet bursting with the need to do so.

The image finally changed. Geralt was back up, fighting again, dying again. Over and over, a twisted roundabout of destruction.

“Please stop,” Jaskier said, unable to avert his eyes as Geralt got killed by a monster, human bandits, the Fae, and worst of all by Jaskier himself.

All the while voices whispered in Jaskier’s ears, voices that he had once thought calming in their familiarity. Now the Faes’ words cut him like knives. Physical injuries had never hurt him much in the Feywild. They didn’t last. Unlike the poisonous whispers.

You cannot save him. No, no, it wasn’t true. Jaskier had saved him before. He could do it again. The one time you healed him was luck. It had almost killed you too. It… it was true, but Jaskier would gladly risk his life again if it meant Geralt would be safe. He could learn to use more of the Fae magic. Oh, but he would not be too happy about that, would he? If he ever finds out what you are, half-bred, he will hate you. He will hunt you down and if you want to save your own life, you will have to kill him yourself.

Jaskier screamed. He screamed and screamed as though it would drown out the lies – they must be lies!– as though it would make the images of Geralt’s torment disappear.

It didn’t help, nothing could. Geralt continued hurting, continued dying, continued screaming, shouting Jaskier’s name, begging for help that he was unable to give.

“Jaskier!”

He flinched as his name was whispered in his ear, not poisonous, not the last cry of a man as he was dying. Arms tightened around him.

“Jaskier, you’ll be fine. Everything is fine.” Geralt’s voice was a low rumble, soothing and familiar. Safe. “I’ve got you, Jaskier. You’re not there anymore.”

Slowly, Jaskier opened his eyes.

His head was buried in Geralt’s chest, as he held him close, protecting him from all the threats of the outside world, his voice desperate to protect him from the images in his mind as well.

The cool night air that came through the window of their room made it easier to breathe. He was free. He was free and he was held in Geralt’s embrace. This was fine. Everything was fine. Geralt was alive and safe.

Except that he wasn’t.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s arms loosened slightly around him and he drew back enough to look Jaskier in the eye. “Whatever you see in your nightmares, it’s over. Those dreams are not real.”

“No they’re not.”

But they could be. Owing a Fae a favour never ended well. Jaskier had known the risk he had taken when he had proposed the deal. He had known what he would get himself into. It had been worth it, if it had meant Geralt being spared by death, even if Geralt suffering and dying was all that Jaskier had seen for the eternity he had spent in the Feywilds, his life belonging to Valdo for as long as they would leave Geralt alone.

And stupid, reckless, brave Geralt had made sure Valdo wouldn’t leave him alone. Despite everything Jaskier had seen happen to Geralt, the moment he had realised what Geralt had done was the worst moment in his life.

Geralt had killed part of Valdo’s family. Whatever the Fae was planning on using their favour on, it would be bad.

A tremble took hold of Jaskier. Geralt held his shaking body, combing his fingers through his hair in a helpless attempt to calm him. But for all the monsters Geralt could fight, the ones that lurked inside Jaskier’s mind weren’t one of them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Geralt asked carefully.

Jaskier shook his head. Even if he wanted to tell Geralt, he wouldn’t be able to find the words. How could he, when they would describe him dying over and over again. It had been months since Geralt had made that deal. Months of nights that were filled with terror. Months of throwing glances over his shoulder, and seeing Valdo’s eyes everywhere, ready to strike and take Geralt from him. Every sparrow seemed to have their eyes, every sound of the forest sounded like the echo of their laugh. It had been too much. Even those past weeks that Geralt had insisted on staying in town with Jaskier where the Fae couldn’t just summon their Fairyrings and appear out of nowhere, he didn’t feel safe. The Fae could always find a way to hurt Geralt.

“Just hold me,” he whispered.

Instead of answering, Geralt tightened his arms around Jaskier, showing him that he was here with him. Always. As he had been for the past months, not even straying from Jaskier’s side for a minute, just so he would feel safe.

Jaskier willed himself to relax. Hours must have passed, before Geralt’s breath took on a different rhythm, slow and steady and peacefully asleep. It was a luxury Jaskier hadn’t had in such a long time.

He brought his hand between them and rested it on Geralt’s chest, feeling his heart thrum steadily, strongly.

For a few blissful moments, Jaskier let it create the bittersweet illusion that everything was alright. Reality and the echoes of Geralt’s screams came back far too quickly, burying the calm under a wave of dread.

Careful not to wake Geralt, Jaskier slipped out of his embrace. His bare feet hit the cold floor and immediately he missed the warmth of the bed and Geralt’s arms.

One last glance at Geralt told him that he was well and truly asleep, even as his hands grasped at the now empty space where Jaskier had lain. With shaking hands, Jaskier went over to his bags and produced what he had been working on each night for a month now.

The necklace he had stolen from a blacksmith for a lack of money, was almost perfect for his cause. He let it glide through his fingers, as he hummed quietly. It had taken an eternity to figure out the melody he needed, but as he now felt the thrumming strings of chaos weave into the necklace with every note he sang, he knew that it had been worth the sleepless hours.

As he sang of a roof over his head in a stormy night, of hot tea in the winter, of Geralt, of all the things that kept him safe, he felt the chain get stronger. He sang of Geralt shielding him from the eyes of an angry monster; he sang of the secret escape route from his parents’ estate, he sang of the forest that had protected him from all harm.

With every moment he held it, the chain of pure iron burned his fingers, but the pain only served to make him more determined. It meant that it was working. If even he, the half- bred, was burned by iron, that meant that a true Fae would not be able to touch it at all. And with Jaskier’s protection woven into it, their magic would not even be able to come near Geralt. Hopefully.

His fingers slid down to the pendant as his song reached its end. The buttercup that was forever captured in glass lit up, before going back to normal. It was done.

Jaskier might not be able to permanently break the deal Geralt had made with Valdo – not for a lack of trying. He had spent many sleepless nights trying to do so, but to no avail – but he would be able to make sure that the Fae wouldn’t be able to come close enough to Geralt to collect their favour.

The smile on Jaskier’s face was quickly replaced by a frown as the exhaustion of the spell washed over him and the familiar pain of a thousand needles prodding at his skill returned.

Swiftly, he put the charm back into his bag and snuck back under the blanket and into Geralt’s embrace, letting sleep engulf him. For the first time in months, he wasn’t worried about the terrors of the night, for he knew that now, they would stay in his dreams.  

*

“I have something for you.”

Jaskier was brimming with excitement, as he told Geralt to close his eyes.

Geralt lifted an eyebrow, but obeyed. It had been too long since he had seen Jaskier with this spark in his eyes.

Once Jaskier was sure that Geralt wasn’t looking, he pulled out the necklace. He bit his lip to supress the hiss when he touched the iron and gently laid it around Geralt’s neck.

It looked perfect. The fine chain and flower certainly wasn’t Geralt’s style, but it wasn’t about being pretty. It was about protection, not that Geralt would know about it.

The tension that had choked Jaskier in its suffocating grip finally released its hold on him. Seeing the charm lay atop of Geralt’s heart finally made Jaskier believe the words he whispered to him at night, that they were safe.

“You can open your eyes now.”

For a moment, Geralt didn’t look at his gift, but at Jaskier, studying him with eyes that grew softer with every heartbeat that he took in Jaskier’s smile.

Only at Jaskier’s urging did he finally look at the buttercup pendant that rested next to his witcher medallion. Gently, he held it in between two fingers to study it better.

“It’s… it’s pretty,” he said finally. There was unmistakable confusion in his voice and uncertainty about how to react.

Jaskier huffed, but his smile didn’t disappear.

“I know you don’t really care much for pretty things – “Jaskier began only to be interrupted by Geralt cupping his cheek.

“There is one pretty thing I care about.”

Jaskier swatted at his hand, but his smile widened.

“It’s a reminder,” Jaskier said after a brief pause, in which he just stood there and soaked up the feeling of Geralt’s hand on him. “That I love you. No matter what.”

“I don’t need a reminder for that,” he said, no doubt lacing his words as his thumb brushed over Jaskier’s skin.

“Oh?” Jaskier said, tilting his head to the side and quirking his lips playfully. “If that is so, I guess, I’ll just take it back.”

Geralt’s hand that was still holding the pendant tightened and he growled “Don’t you dare. I am keeping this.”

*

Jaskier had a new skip in his step as he danced through the inn. The air that smelled of alcohol and sweat was easier to breathe and his songs held a happiness they had lacked in recent times. Jaskier was well and truly happy.

How could he not be? Geralt was wearing his necklace day and night, right next to his heartbeat, where it would protect him from Valdo or any other Fae.

Jaskier’s rediscovered joy was obvious and his songs brought more coin than ever – which they were in dire need of, since Jaskier had been the one providing for them both ever since Geralt had refused to go on hunts to protect Jaskier instead.

They had everything they needed. It was a good life. It was a safe life.

“You are happier again, aren’t you?” Geralt said one day, when they were lying on the bed, arms slung around each other.

Jaskier hummed happily, tracing lazy patterns on Geralt’s chest that always brought him back to the buttercup pendant.

Under his hand he felt Geralt’s chest rise as he took a deep breath.

“Jaskier, I’ve been thinking…”

“Realy?” Jaskier said, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Must have been hard for you.”

Geralt’s lips twitched, but he quickly became serious again. “You are happy again. You feel safe again.”

“We both are.”

Geralt nodded, even though Geralt must still think that the Fae could come collect their favour at any time. For a brief moment, Jaskier was tempted to tell him the truth, about the necklace, but the memory of what Geralt had said about Fae held him back. With everything that had happened, Jaskier couldn’t blame him for resenting the Fae. He wouldn’t be able to blame him if he would resent Jaskier too if he ever found out.

Geralt’s voice shook him from his musings.

“You are safe,” Geralt repeated. “and I was thinking that maybe… maybe you would be able to be alone for a bit again.” Jaskier grew rigid in Geral’t embrace and Geralt quickly added “Not for long, of course. I wouldn’t do that to you. Only for one contract.”

Jaskier swallowed hard. “Is there… do you have a specific contact in mind?”

He had known it would come to this eventually. Geralt was a witcher. He couldn’t stay holed up for months on end without going outside and hunting. As much as Jaskier knew Geralt loved him, he also needed to hunt. Not only for the money, but for himself. If it hadn’t been for Geralt’s sake that Jaskier had kept him in the town for so long, he would have called himself selfish for doing so. Now, that Geralt was safe from the Fae, he had no such excuse anymore. Geralt needed to hunt again and Jaskier had no right to keep him from it.

Geralt rubbed his face with his free hand and sighed. “Someone approached me while you were performing. There seems to be a griffin near-by. It shouldn’t take long to do the job. If I go early tomorrow, I will be back by dawn. I won’t leave you alone in the night.”

Geralt’s voice sounded so gentle, so reassuring, but Jaskier hadn’t registered any the words meant to comfort him. All he could focus on what was Geralt was risking.

“A griffin?” he said, voice shaking almost as much as his body. “Geralt, do you not remember what happened the last time you fought a griffin? You got hurt Geralt. You almost died”

“I was fine.”

“Yes, because I was there!” The words escaped him before he realised what he had said. As soon as the words were out, Jaskier pressed his lips tightly together, praying that Geralt would not question him.

For once in his life, the gods were merciful, for Geralt didn’t seem to have noticed the slip up.

“I am glad you were there, of course, but I wouldn’t force you to come with me. You can stay here where you are safe and I will be back in no time.”

“Oh, hoho, no, my friend.” Jaskier sat up in bed, towering over Geralt who was still lying on his back. “I will sure as hell not be left behind while you fight.”

Geralt simply looked at him for a long moment. “Do you…would you feel safer, if you came with me?”

“Yes!” There was no hesitation in Jaskier’s voice though it couldn’t be further from the truth. Jaskier wouldn’t exactly be safer accompanying Geralt on the hunt. But Geralt would be safer, having Jaskier there.

Geralt’s eyes softened. “I promise I will protect you.”

And I you.

*

There was no skip in Jaskier’s step, no joyful melody on his lips as they walked across the field. The tremble of his hand was only stopped by Geralt holding it.

Despite all of Geralt’s reassurances that everything would be fine – he had done this hundreds of times before after all – Jaskier couldn’t make himself believe it. After all, he had almost died because of a griffin before, hadn’t he? It had taken all of Jaskier’s might to keep him alive. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do it again.

Not that he would ever let it come that far.

The closer they got to where the griffin’s hunting ground, the fast Jaskier’s heart was beating. Geralt must have heard it, for he haltered and turned to Jaskier.

“You don’t have to come closer,” he said softly. “I know you don’t really like watching me fight.”

Jaskier’s grip on Geralt’s hand tightened. “No, no it’s fine. I want to be close to you.”

Geralt searched his face for a moment, but didn’t say anything. Eventually, he sighed. Jaskier watched with growing terror, as Geralt lifted his free hand and took of the pendant. The one thing protecting him from the Fae. Jaskier’s blood ran cold.

“What are you doing?” His voice was shrill. “You have to wear it!”

“I need you to hold onto this for me.” Geralt put the necklace around Jaskier’s head and it burned, burned but not nearly as much as the fear that Geralt wasn’t safe anymore. “I can’t risk it ripping while I fight. I promise I won’t forget your love.”

“You will take it back as soon as you are done, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Geralt paused. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait at a distance?”

“Absolutely,” Jaskier said without hesitation. Now, more than ever, did he need to be close to the fight. Maybe the aura of the magic he had caught in the pendant would be strong enough to reach Geralt if Jaskier was close to him.  

Together they hid behind some trees and waited for the sheep Geralt had brought as bait to catch the griffin’s attention. Jaskier prayed it wouldn’t. If the griffin never showed up, they could just turn around – “too bad that the griffin was a no-show, huh, Geralt? But what can you do?” – and go back to the town where nothing bad could happen.

The tiny glimmer of irrational hope Jaskier had was squashed, as a shadow passed over the sheep and Geralt shot out from behind the trees and towards the beast.

Jaskier held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

Geralt would be fine. He had promised Jaskier everything would be fine.

With wide eyes, Jaskier watched Geralt evade attack after attack. The thrill of the fight seemed to radiate around him. This was what he was meant to do. He was good at this. Nothing bad would happen.

And yet ….

Unbidden images crept up on Jaskier, slowly, quietly like a predator in the night. He didn’t even notice they were coming until they hit him with full force. Visions of the Feywild torture and real memories blending together in a twisted picture show of death.

Geralt lying on the ground, bleeding out. Geralt being slain over and over again. Geralt’s glassy, dead eyes staring unseeing into the sky because Jaskier hadn’t been able to protect him. Geralt calling out for Jaskier, but Jaskier couldn’t help him, he couldn’t move. He needed to move, get to Geralt, protect him!

The thought was so all-consuming that Jaskier didn’t even notice that he was no longer hiding. All he could think about was that he had to safe Geralt before it was too late, before his visions would become cruel reality.

He sprinted towards him. Geralt’s shouts rang through his ears, made him run faster, gave him wings. The wind and his blind desperation carried him to his beloved, who would not die today.

He shoved Geralt away with more strength than an ordinary human could possess, standing over him, ready to take on everything the world threw at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt’s sword flying out of his hand at the impact.

For a split second he caught Geralt’s eye, saw it widen, saw his lips move, but he couldn’t hear.

Whatever Geralt said, it was drowned in the thunder that was Jaskier’s voice. What left his mouth didn’t resemble a melody anymore. It was a battle cry, filled with all the rage and fear and love inside of Jaskier that now finally burst out of him. The iron chain burned around his neck, but it wasn’t enough to hold him back, his own protection magic that he had woven into it strengthening him instead of blocking the erupting chaos.

The griffin swooped down towards him, talons at the ready to tear into him – to take Geralt from him!

Power surged through Jaskier. The screaming and pain in his head became unbearable. Behind his eyes burned a fire, hotter than a dragon’s breath and threatening to rip Jaskier apart. It didn’t. No pain, no fire could ever be enough to stop Jaskier from protecting his loved one.

As the griffin shrieked in pain and disorientation, crashing and wreathing in pain, Jaskier could almost imagine his teeth sharpen, his fingers turn into claws. He could almost feel the weight of antlers and the translucent wings on his back. Here, standing over Geralt, deciding over life and death and defying nature, for the first time, he felt more Fae than human.

“Jaskier.”

The name sounded far away. It sounded strange, as though it had never fully encompassed all that he was, until this moment that Geralt had witness Jaskier become.

Without warning the power left him. It wasn’t the gentle ebbing away that he had expected, it was a damn breaking. The pain in his head returned with a vengeance. Jaskier was forced to his knees. He clutched at his head, desperate to stop the agony that burned, burned, engulfed his whole being in flame.

He tried to focus on the voice that had spoken before. But it was silent. No one was speaking anymore.

With all of his strength and despite the pain, Jaskier opened his eyes. He needed to see Geralt. Needed to know that he was alright, that he had succeeded.

Why wasn’t Geralt saying his name anymore?

He found Geralt’s eyes. There was a foreign expression in them. No, not foreign. Jaskier had seen it before, countless times. But never directed at him. Betrayal, disbelief, unbearable hurt.

“Geralt,” he said and his voice sounded strange even to his own ears. “It’s alright. You are safe.”

Geralt didn’t answer. His lips moved, formed Jaskier’s name, but no sound left him. As though he wasn’t sure if the man before him was still Jaskier. If he had ever been.

Black spots danced in Jaskier’s vision and he blinked them away with vigour. He couldn’t look away from Geralt. Not now. Not until he was certain that he was truly unhurt. He looked so hurt. Why was he hurt? Jaskier had protected him! He had made sure Geralt was safe!

Not knowing what to do and not trusting his voice for the first time in his life, Jaskier reached towards him.

Geralt didn’t flinch. Witchers didn’t flinch. But for a split second his eyes darted away from Jaskier. Jaskier followed his sight and his heart stopped. There lay the sword. The silver one. The one meant for monsters.

Like a stone the realisation sank into Jaskier. Geralt had witness him become other. He knew. He knew and he was … he was afraid of Jaskier.

Geralt’s hand twitched, ready to dart over to the sword and before Jaskier could grasp at what was happening, he fled.

He ran, ran until he couldn’t run anymore. He pushed through and stumbled further away, no matter where, as long as it put distance between him and Geralt. The man who had seen Jaskier and reached for his sword.

Jaskier’s legs shook from the effort as he blindly stumbled towards the uncertain. Everything hurt. His legs, his lungs, his eyes. As long as he focussed on them, he wouldn’t be able to feel the other pain, the one that sat deeper inside him than any physical one ever could, the one that would stay with him long after his exhaustion had passed.

So he continued running. He pushed himself, chasing that hurt, so it would drown out everything else and make thinking – feeling – impossible, knowing that the bliss of the distracting pain wouldn’t last.

*

Geralt didn’t get up until long after Jaskier had disappeared from sight. He didn’t know what he would do once he got up. He was a witcher, there was only one thing to do. Witchers hunted monsters, killed them.

Was that what Jaskier was? A monster?

He couldn’t be. How could the one who had stayed by his side, who had combed through his hair and whispered sweet things that no other witcher had ever heard into his ear, be a monster?

Geralt wasn’t even sure what he had seen. He only knew that he had been lied to. Of course he had. It had been too good to be true. A joyful bard that loved pretty things didn’t fall in love with a witcher.  

From the very beginning he had known that Jaskier had not always been with him because he liked him. He had travelled with him for inspiration for his songs. Because Geralt was his chance to see the world. Because Geralt could protect him.

And yet, as the years had passed, Geralt had thought – he had been foolish enough to think that maybe Jaskier had enjoyed his company. That maybe he had actually meant it when he had told him that he loved him. That foolish hope had turned into a certainty. And now it was shattered, exposing itself as the deceit it had always been.

He closed his eyes against the sudden ache in his chest. Without thinking, his hand went to his chest, as though pressing against it until it physically hurt would make it better.

It didn’t. Instead it felt the painful nothingness where his hand should have met something cool and smooth. The pendant. The gift Jaskier had given him. The reminder that Jaskier loved him, no matter what.

A lie. All of it. And now it was gone. How fitting.

Except, Jaskier had never lied, not openly. Not even once had he told Geralt that he was a human. He had probably laughed about it, each time Geralt had been worried about the fragile and breakable human that he had so blindly assumed that he was.

Even more stupid, seen as Geralt had wondered about it. Every once in a while, when Jaskier was singing, his medallion had hummed lightly, as it had when Geralt had woken up thinking he had been on the brink of death. And lately, it had been vibrating constantly. Geralt had assumed it had been because of the deal he had made with the Fae. He had ignored the fact that it had gotten stronger ever since he had started wearing Jaskier’s necklace. Every single time Geralt had pushed the thought that something could be wrong away. Time and time again, he had made up some stupid explanation, everything so he wouldn’t have to confront his fear.

Gods, he had been so gullible. He had noticed how young Jaskier was, how special his eyes were, how strangely captivating his voice. How right it had felt anytime he had said Geralt’s name…

How much of it had only been a game to Jaskier? All this time, had Geralt only been some amusement for the Fae? A challenge, of how long he could keep fooling a witcher? Fucking long, apparently. Years, decades. If it weren’t for today, he would have probably let himself be fooled for a lifetime.

Or had it been more calculated than that? Had it been a ploy to get Geralt to agree to a deal with the Fae? Had Jaskier even been in pain at all, when he had been dragged to the Fae world? There was no way of knowing. The only certainty Geralt had, was that he had jumped to the opportunity to get Jaskier out of there, ready to risk anything. And he had. He owed the Fae and it was his own damn fault for trusting Jaskier.

There was no such a thing as a good Fae. He had said it himself. They were liars, cold-hearted beasts that manipulated people.

It was too much. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t do anything as he realised that none of it had been true.

A tremble shook his body. He wished he still had the pendant, so that he could feel the satisfaction of crushing it. Of throwing the pieces as far as possible or dropping them right here in the dirt and show the world that he didn’t care.

But oh, he did. He cared so much that his heart felt like it had turned to ice at the thought he had not allowed himself to think just yet, but that lurked in his mind, waiting for the right moment to strike. It was easier letting himself be drowned in anger. It was easier than to realise that he would never see Jaskier again.

And still he was fooling himself. Even with all the anger he felt, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to destroy the necklace, even if he still had it. Like the fool that he was, he would keep it as a reminder. A reminder of what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

He went through the motions without truly feeling them as he set the sheep free and watched it take off with a terrified bleat. He was numb as he chopped the head off of the griffin he had not slain himself. He felt nothing as he dragged it back into town and dumped it unceremoniously in front of the man who had given him the contract. The first thing he felt was an unbearable weight as he pocketed the money he was given. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. No amount of money would be worth today. If he had never found out – if he had stayed the blind fool, he could have used the money to buy his beloved a gift, to treat him, like he had been convinced he deserved. He would have been happy.

Instead he felt hollow. He would have to return to the room they had shared. The room where all of Jaskier’s things would be waiting for him.

He clenched his jaw and made to leave the man from the contract. He had just left the house when another man stopped him, a blacksmith from the looks of it.

“Master Witcher?”

Geralt grunted. He didn’t care enough to open his mouth.

“Earlier today a man came by, told me to give you this and to he said that I should help you with everything you needed.”

Geralt turned back to him, a frown on his face as he took the letter the man held out to him.

“What is this? Who is it from?” he asked, without truly caring for the answer.

“I don’t know,” the man said hesitantly. “But he said to tell you that it’s time to collect a favour.”

[ncityislove]

His Worst Nightmare

➳ Pairing: Demon!Jisung x Reader

➳ Genre: Angst, Demon AU

➳ Word Count: 9.2k

➳ Warnings: mention of murder and blood but no actual death

Requested? Nah.

You wake up in a pitch-black room, the smell of something burning, stinging your nose. You let out a choked cough, attempting to sit up, only to realize you can't. Your chest is tied down to a table, along with your arms and legs with buckled straps. Fear runs through your veins as you call out for help.

You don't know where you are but the room must be humongous for the way your voice echoes, your screech bouncing around the room for what must've been over a minute until it comes back to you. That's when a singular lightbulb hanging over your head comes on and a boy standing to your left comes into view. You scream again and he hushes you with a finger to his lips.

The light is dim so you can only see his silhouette. How long he had been standing there, you didn't know, but all you could feel was the shrill voice in the back of your brain telling you to run away from him. You're breathing loudly now, the cold metal of the table contrasting with the warmth of your skin. The smell is stronger. You finally recognize the scent as burning flesh.

You stir on the table, screaming and calling for someone—anyone—but the boy puts a hot hand on your shoulder, silencing you. You don't know how he did it, but your voice is gone, your limbs frozen. He leans into the light and you can finally see his face.

He's handsome, his jaw chiseled with small eyes that would've been charming if it wasn't for the alarming blood-red pupils that stare down at you. His lips curve into a wicked smile, his pointed teeth white and pearly as his tongue slid over them quickly.

"Wake up," he whispers.

You shoot up in your bed with a gasp. Your heart thuds in your chest as you try to stop the stream of tears pouring out of your tear ducts. You had to remind yourself that he wasn't real, your breaths coming out uneven.

You've had the same nightmare every night for the past month, leaving you on edge and restless. The bags under your eyes have bags. You put a clammy hand to your forehead, the skin hot to the touch, only reminding you of the burning temperature of the room in your dream.

You don't know why you were having nightmares and why of all things it was always the same boy every night. It never went any further than that bone-chilling smile except once, two or three weeks ago, when his jaws opened the size to fit 3 large watermelons, blood dribbling down his chin. You woke up screaming that time, causing your parents to rush in to check on you.

You get up to make a cup of coffee, deciding against going back to sleep. Caffeine has been your kindest friend for the past few weeks. Unfortunately, you couldn't stay awake forever and eventually, you'd drift off, finding yourself strapped to that table again.

You groggily padded across the kitchen floor, grabbing your favorite mug from the drying rack and pouring yourself the largest cup of coffee possible.

-

The computer cafe you were currently sitting in was emptier than usual, which slightly lifted your spirits. The icing of your half-eaten cupcake was starting to become too sweet so you get up to dispose it in the garbage at the ordering counter.

Your legs feel weak as you walk, your entire body suffering from the lack of proper rest. You feel the world sink in when you blink occasionally, dozing off over and over. This won't do. You get into line to grab another coffee.

You're sitting back at your computer, nose hidden in your oversized coffee mug, when a tall figure shadows over you, their presence strikingly familiar to you—so familiar that when they touched your shoulder, you didn't even flinch.

"Excuse me?," said the young boy.

You turn around, your blood suddenly running cold. The face you've dreamed of every night for the past month—the face that was so terrifyingly beautiful that his image was permanently ingrained into your mind. The slope of his nose those his slanted eyes—it was him! There was no mistaking it.

His lips curl into an awkward frown, his eyebrows lifting slightly at the way your eyes pop out at him.

"A-are you okay?"

You shake your head side to side as you abruptly stand up, gathering your things with trembling hands. You had to go home. You were hallucinating now. You had to be. But why did he seem so real? You were going insane.

"Hey!" he calls out, his hand reaching out to stop you, and you do flinch this time although he never actually makes physical contact with you.

"I just came over here to tell you that you missed the trash can," he points to the bin that you threw your cupcake away at—or at least you thought you did. You look at him, noticing the pastel pink uniform and his name tag.

"Oh," you manage to say. "I-I'm sorry, I'll pick it up. It's just—I thought you were someone...I mean you look so much like him."

He looks confused as he struggles to put together your words, as he simply got annoyed with you trashing his workplace with your unfinished food.

"Jisung," you read his name tag aloud. "Jisung, how long have you been working here?"

"About two weeks," he shrugs.

You nod. It still doesn't make sense that he had the exact same face as your torturer—the same voice too!  You struggle to maintain eye contact with him, expecting the red pupils to make an appearance any minute. But he seemed like a completely different person. He was kind of awkward, shy almost. He wore his hair differently, his eyebrows barely visible under the blonde locks that covered his forehead, unlike the perfect middle part you were used to. That way you could see his eyes clearly when he watched you writhe in fear, that ever so wicked smile would appear when you tried to scream.

You swallowed thickly as you apologize again, making your way to pick up your cupcake when his voice stops you.

"Who is it by the way? Who do I look like?"

You freeze, the tone of his voice alarming as if he knew something. Or maybe it was all in your head. You turn slightly to face him, his head cocked curiously at you, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Some guy I know. He's an awful person...if you can even call him that," you say and then you turn around not caring to see his reaction, quickly cleaning up your mess before squabbling out of there.

-

You don't visit the cafe again. It's been three days since then and you've still been getting the same nightmare except for the new addition of Jisung's cheap name tag. You weren't even sure if they were the same person but all of it seemed impossible either way. How could you dream of someone you haven't met? And if it truly was him that tortured you in your sleep, was he that evil creature in real life too?

You begin to cry. You just wanted it to stop. You hide your face in your bookbag as you wait in the cold.  The firm cemented steps offer your bottom no comfort as tears dampen the collar of your shirt. You had fainted in class from exhaustion and now the nurse was sending you home early.

As if you weren't already embarrassed enough a group of people walked passed you during your meltdown—no doubt ogling at your crumpled figure. One of them stops and heads back towards your direction. You cringe, waiting for them to walk past again except they don't. They stop right next to you. You really didn't want to be bothered right now—wasn't it obvious? You kept your head down, hoping if you didn't acknowledge the person they would go away. Maybe it was working. They're backing away now. Thank god—

"Uh, hey, are you alright?"

You squeeze your eyelids shut as a string of curses run through your mind. You give a curt nod of your head, your face still nuzzled into your bookbag.

"I remember you," the voice pauses. "You're not crying because you missed the trash can again are you?"

You slowly sit up to look at him, tears still streaming down your swollen cheeks. It was him. He found you again. This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Bad joke?" he awkwardly chuckled.

"You don't go here," you state.

He was caught off guard by your response. He gives you a once over before sliding off his plum purple puffer jacket and placing it over your shoulders. Your eyes widen at the warmth that envelopes you. The jacket was nearly scorching but barely just warm enough to where it wasn't uncomfortable.

"My cousin goes here. Me and my parents are picking him up for my aunt as a favor."

You nodded not really believing him. "So you're skipping school to come with your parents?"

Jisung took the question as an invitation to sit next to you. "No, of course not. I'm homeschooled."

You frowned. It angered you his words made sense when every cell in your body told you he was lying.

"You wanna talk about why you were crying?"

You shake your head, looking back at your book bag as a strong gust of wind blew your hair wildly in your face. You shiver, closing the jacket tighter around you.

"Aren't you cold?" you ask.

He just shrugs, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a tilt of his head. "That guy I remind you of, you must not like him very much, huh?"

"Hate his guts," you grumbled.

"Whatever he did to you must've been bad because you treat me like I'm gonna bite your head off any second."

You look back at him with the toughest expression you could muster. "Who's to say you won't? What if you are the same person?"

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

"What are you trying to say?"

Jisung stares at you for a beat and you swear you see a flicker in his eye. "I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

He gets up and walks away just as your mom arrives. You stare at his back as he walks through the glass double doors, not even taking a second glance back.

Later that afternoon, you're stuck on the couch with your mother hovering over you. She's currently on the phone with the doctor while you're swamped in blankets with a wet towel on your forehead that's slightly blocking off your vision. She's frantic, making up symptoms you don't have as she paces around the living room space.

You huff, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. You sit up, removing the cloth from your forehead only for your mother to force you back down with an icy glare.

"Yes, we'll be there at 10:30 sharp," she writes the time down on a notepad.

"Yes, thank you so much...okay...bye."

"Mom," you call out as soon as she hangs up. "I gotta return my friend's jacket."

"You're not going anywhere in this state," she puts her hands on her hips.

You flop back on the couch dramatically. "But I told him I'd give it to him today," you lie.

"I think he'll understand," she says walking into the kitchen.

There was no way you could stay here another moment without getting answers. What did he mean earlier? You knew he was trying to convince you of something, but what?

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

Did he know about your dreams? Your head was beginning to ache and you weren't sure if it was because you were going to faint again or if your brain was starting to hurt from overthinking.

"I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

You double-check to see if your mom is paying attention before grabbing the jacket and your shoes, tip-toeing out of the front door. You hop on your bike and pedal like there's no tomorrow down the street to the computer cafe.

The ride feels longer than usual, the streets cold and barren. The grey sky threatened rain but as if someone were looking out for you from above, the heavy puffy clouds held out a little longer. You nearly get hit by a red pick up truck in your haste, gaining you a middle finger as he zoomed by angrily.

Out of breath and slightly dizzy, you step into the cafe, your eyes peeled for a familiar head of blonde hair. You're red in the face, bent over your knees as tears sting your eyes. You don't see him. He's not here.

The door opens behind you and you're too emotional to move out of the way. Whoever it was would just have to squeeze by.

"Oh, thanks, my jacket," Jisung says, standing beside you now.

You stand up straight, almost smiling in relief. Jisung was still dressed in his casual clothes; his shift must not have started until now. Suddenly you feel foolish for being so melodramatic. Here you were, your eyes still glossy and your cheeks still glowing a faint red from the cold ride and the wind whipping your hair against your face when it all seemed so dumb. Why were you here? To confront a boy you hardly knew about your nightmares? To accuse him of the impossible? You had everything you wanted to say planned out perfectly, imagining the weight that would lift off your shoulders ever since he left you at school but now, finally face to face, all those words died at your tongue.

You look at Jisung and stick your arm out, the jacket dangling in your hand. Jisung smiles brightly at you before taking it, the corner of his lips turning downward as he examines your face. He looks somewhat hesitant to bring it up but he does anyway.

"Is whatever was bothering you earlier still upsetting you?"

You nod, biting your lip.

"I was hoping leaving you my jacket would cheer you up somehow," he chuckled, his eyes thoughtful. "It was stupid."

"It did cheer me up in a way," you start. "It reminded me of something...but I'm ready to tell you what's wrong now."

The whites of Jisung's eyes became more visible as he looked at you, his lips parted slightly. He leans in closer, ready to hear what you have to say.

"Can we step outside for a minute?"

"Uhh," he glances at his watch. "Yeah, sure."

You walk out first, hearing his soft footsteps follow behind you. The sky is even darker now, even though you were only inside for a moment, the smell of rain in the air. The wind was strong, blowing the trees wildly.

You kept your back to him. "I've seen you before."

Jisung is silent for a moment. "You mean the guy who looks like me?"

"No," you correct him. "I've seen you before. You are the guy who looks like you. Aren't you? Except you act different."

"Huh? I just met you...how would I..." he trails off.

You turn around, tears threatening to spill over. You weren't afraid of him now, only in your sleep you were but for some reason, as you spoke, your heart thudded in your chest. You didn't feel in danger when you were with this Jisung. The Jisung that kindly asks you to pick up your trash and gives you his jacket in the cold. But the jacket...it was more than a kind gesture...something wasn't right about it.

"Why was your jacket so hot?"

His eyes fell low before looking back at you. "You and I meeting was fate, you know that?"

You frown. "What?"

"If you've seen me before then we must've met in your dreams correct?"

You take a step back. "How did you—"

"How did I know? It would take me forever to explain. But you're special, __."

A white flash illuminates Jisung's face, a loud crack of thunder echoing around you causing you to jump.

Jisung starts to laugh madly. Terror runs through your body as you start to regret coming here at all.

"What are you?" you ask, your voice shaking in fear.

Jisung smirks at you. "You know what I am, baby."

There's another crash of thunder and you nearly hop an inch out of your shoes. Jisung starts to laugh at you again.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He puckers his lips at you with a tilt of his head. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Isn't that what you do," you tutt, your throat tight. "In my dreams, you were always about to kill me."

"That's...no, I'm not like that," he clenched his fists at the statement.

"But you think it's funny to torture me? I haven't slept in over a month because of you."

"A month? No, that's not right. What happened in those dreams?"

A drop of water hits the top of your head but you ignore it. "Like you wouldn't know!" you answer, your brows furious and angry as you look up at your torturer.

"I have no control over your dreams. Can you tell me about them, please?"

"Nightmares," you correct. "Call them what they are. Don't act coy with me. Don't lie. If you're going to kill me then just do it already."

"I don't kill anymore!" his eyes flash red.

You gasp, you're blood running cold at the terrifyingly familiar image. You run away. You make it to your bike but before you can hop on, a hot hand grabs your arm, yanking your body off onto the damp pavement.

"Don't you run away from me!!" Jisung looks angry and maybe a little hurt by your actions but you don't care. You just want to get out of here.

"Just leave me alone, okay!" you get up to run away again but he lifts you again with one strong arm, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Your eyes bulge out of your head when you realize you can't breathe.

"You're pissing me off now. I don't want to hurt you but it's the only way to make you listen."

You struggle against him, your fingers clawing at his hand while he seems entirely unaffected. His nostrils are flaring, the pointy teeth now visible as he glares at you with those blood-red eyes.

"I don't control your dreams. The only person who can control your dreams is you. I only met you a week ago so stop accusing me of something not even I can do." And with that, he drops you.

You fall on the sidewalk, gasping and coughing. Your butt hurts from landing on it so roughly and your left arm stings, probably a cut from the fall but you don't check. You can't bring yourself to look away from him.

"What do you want from me?"

"Well, I can't tell you now," he scoffs. "I don't trust you."

A fat tear escapes your eye, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to make sense of reality. "Who the hell would believe me even if I told anyone??"

"There are those who believe we exist. Mostly the looneys of the church but I can't have you going around exposing me. Then I'd have to kill them all and I don't want to do that again. I'm reformed now."

Again?

"You said you're not who I thought you were. If you're not him then who are you?"

A gentle ring of thunder fills the thick air as it starts to rain. It's cold and uncomfortable but neither of you makes an effort to go back inside.

"I'm not a killer. That is, only if you don't make me out to be."

How could he say that when you could see the fangs that could tear your body in half. How could he say that when he almost killed you just now?

"You've killed people before," your voice waivers even though you will it not to. "You're a murderer. That's what your kind does to humans. Kill."

"Say it. Say what I am." Jisung crouches to your level. "C'mon. Say it."

Your body's shaking from how close he's gotten. You say nothing as he waits for you to respond. You remain silent.

He leans into your ear and whispers, "Either you say it on your own or I'll make you say it."

You let out a weak noise, turning your head away as he tucks your thick wet hair behind your ear.

"Demon," you wail, as tears blur your vision.

Jisung smiles triumphantly, pressing his warm lips to your forehead. Your body shrivels away from him as you scream, a fist landing on his hard chest. He takes your hand in his, keeping it on his chest, sliding your hand to the left and you feel something. Something that doesn't make sense. It's a heartbeat. It was a little faster than a normal one but it was still a heartbeat.

You look at him in shock, your mouth rendered speechless.

"I'm late for my shift," he gets up. "I'll see you soon. But remember what I said. You control your own dreams."

Jisung wraps his jacket around you once more with the obvious intent on having you return it again tomorrow. His eyes fade back to brown as he sends you one last smile and the awkward and kind Jisung is back almost as if he never left. He walks back inside the cafe, leaving you alone in the rain, shivering, wet, and traumatized.

-

A slightly chubby waitress decked out in tattoos with blue hair brings out your steak, medium rare, with a side of lightly salted fries as per Jisung's request. His order was something French that you couldn't pronounce, nor identify, but smelled heavenly, your mouth watering for the order that was not your own.

Jisung checks his expensive watch. "They're late. As usual."

"Hmm?" you snap your eyes away from his meal. "Who is?"

"We're here!" A beautiful older couple makes their way to your table.

"Mom! Dad! It only took you fifteen years," Jisung remarks as he leans in to give them a hug.

"It was your father, love. He got hung up with the gentleman at the sports club."

"Ah! It was business! You know how that sort of thing goes."

They both sit in their seats across from you, picking up their menus. His mother's hair is combed back neatly, her youthful skin glowing as she smiles pleasantly at you. His father is dressed rather casually, wearing khaki shorts and a baby pink polo but the giant rock on his pinky finger told you of his financial status.

"Oh my," says his mother. "And you, my darling, how are you? I've heard so much about you."

His father hums. "Ah yes, you're a special one aren't you? Haven't had a human dine with us in decades."

"Special? How am I special?" you ask, taking a French fry.

"Jisung, haven't you told her?" his father takes a sip of his sparkling water.

"Tell me what?" you look to Jisung.

The temperature in the room starts to rise and you break out into a sweat, fanning yourself with a napkin.

"Why would I tell her what she already knows?" Jisung answers, taking a spoonful of his soup.

You give him an odd look which he ignores and you decide to bite your tongue. A certain glimmer around Mrs. Park's neck catches your eye and you can't look away, like it was a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, willing you not to look away.

"Mrs. Park? That's a lovely necklace your wearing," you say marveling at the shiny red cut of the mysterious diamond. "May I ask what stone that is?"

Her lips curve a little, the pointed bones of her teeth peeking through. "That's a family secret. One that you'll know soon, my dear."

The waitress returns, notepad in hand, asking what the two would like to order.

Mrs. and Mr. Park smile sweetly at the young girl, giving her a long once over. "Yes, we'd like to have you for dinner."

She drops her pen from her notepad. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Park jumps up and snaps the poor girl's neck like a twig, catching her limp body as it falls forward. You scream in horror.

"Christ," Jisung rolls his eyes.

Mrs. Park rips her head off, dropping it carelessly to the ground with a thud. The restaurant is unbearably hot, and you're sweating through your lengthy dress. Your mouth is gaping as you helplessly watch them tear the woman to shreds picking off the meat on her bones and tear the flesh with their teeth. You look around to see everyone carrying on normally as if someone didn't just get ruthlessly murdered.

You can't pry your eyes away as they continue to feast on her carcass, blood dripping down their chins, red splatters tarnishing their clothes. Mrs. Park looks at you, that same smile from earlier still there but now it holds something dark behind it. Her eyes were that crimson red that you'd seen so many times. She crawls onto the table making her way towards you, and you scoot back falling out of your chair.

"I'm not who you think I am," she whispers.

"Wha-what?" you stumble backward.

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not..." she turns over on her back, her arm laying on your food, giggling wildly.

"You control your dreams, __" Jisung says standing up.

You look at him, bewildered.

"This is your dream. Control it."

A whack of thunder shakes the ground, yanking you out of your dream. Your heartbeat is irregular as you stumble out of your bed. Startled, you jump out of bed, pulling on your shoes and jacket, grabbing Jisung's coat along the way.

You left the house in haste, going to the only place you could think of. You needed to talk to him. Whether he'd show up or not was a chance you were willing to take.

You pedaled your bike down the cold, empty streets with the thought of Jisung on your mind. You were confused but you felt like you knew everything at the same time. It was so strange but you couldn't remember the last time anything felt normal.

The cafe was closed. The door was locked, obviously, so you let out a gust of air as you sat down against it. It was nearly 3 am and you left the house alone, loitering around some dumb computer cafe. What had your life come to? You don't even hang out with your friends anymore. You barely even speak to your family these days.

"Jisung!" you yell.

It was only a guess that he would show up. Maybe he'd hear you from wherever he was or maybe you could summon him? It sounded dumb but it made sense at the time.

You yelled his name once more, the desperation in your voice evident but still, nothing.

"Jisung, please," you whisper, your head falling into your lap.

Just as you're about to give up and go home, a blast of heat blows against your back in the strikingly cold morning. You gasp at the sound of the door unlocking behind you, jumping up to meet the boy you came to see.

Your eyes drank in his familiar face and dark clothes. "You came."

"Didn't you ask me to?" he tilts his head, giving you a sideways smirk that you never saw before. "Oh, Jisung! Oh, Jisung, please!" he mocks you and you frown.

"You need to loosen up a bit," Jisung clicks his tongue. "I don't think I've ever even seen you smile."

"I don't do that much these days."

"I see. Come in," he opens the door wider and you follow him into the warm cafe.

It's dimmer than usual, only half of the lights had been turned on and the absence of music almost made you uncomfortable. Jisung sat down at a random table and you cautiously sit across him. It feels as if he's examining every inch of your skin, his eyes slowly dragging over your face to the bottom of your torso where the table blocks his vision. It makes you antsy. You try to ignore the feeling.

"You heard me calling. How'd you do that?"

Jisung drums his fingers on the table in thought, "I don't really know. I've never been summoned before. I just heard you so I came."

"But how'd you get here so fast? Where'd you come from? Your home? Where do you live?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Now, why would I tell you all that? I don't trust you."

You sigh, chewing your bottom lip—a motion you caught his eyes following.

"Well...what can you tell me? I deserve some answers, don't you think?"

He laughs at that. "You don't deserve anything, human. I owe you nothing."

You press your lips together in annoyance. If he didn't want to tell you anything then why'd he show up? He seemed to have some interest in you by the way he keeps toying with you. You can't figure him out. He's hot then he's cold. One minute he's shy and sweet then the next he's rude and angry. But sometimes he was a mix of both, like right now. A happy medium of kind and a touch of asshole. But at least he wasn't going to kill you. You were sure of that. You couldn't explain why but ever since you had that nightmare this morning you had this feeling that he didn't want to hurt you—which was illogical of course—because he did, in fact, hurt you. You had the bruises to prove it. Your neck was covered in black and blue bruises with a distinct outline of five large fingers.

"I had another dream," you start and Jisung raises a brow at you. "I trust you. I don't know why but I have this feeling that I can't get rid of that you won't hurt me."

He frowns for a bit before he begins to chuckle. "My suspicions were true."

"What do you mean?"

"You want to know why you've been having those dreams?"

You nod frantically, bracing yourself for what he was about to tell you, but nothing could prepare you for the words that were about to leave his lips.

"You're destined to become my slave."

-

You come to on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. It was a living room. A large one at that. You sit up, your head feeling heavy and full of fluff. Your shoes are sat neatly to the side of the couch along with your jacket. Standing up on sore legs, you stretch before looking around in what you could only assume was Jisung's house.

It's very...empty. Like it had been barely lived in. Almost as if no one lived here at all. The kitchen's beautiful, large and spacious with fancy looking cupboards. You walked down a long dark hall passing an extravagant dining room with a table that looked like it was a mile long and a chandelier that was so humongous it must've weighed more than your immediate family all together.

You hear the sound of water as you approach a room on your right, pushing open the door left slightly ajar. Jisung is staring right at you as if he knew you were coming. The bathwater is running and he's sitting on the toilet seat with a tub of bath salts in his hands.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiles cheekily at you.

You step into the steamy room, eying him with a groggy pout. "What the hell happened?"

He scoffs. "Of course you don't remember. I told you that you're my slave and you didn't handle it well."

You almost lose your balance, grabbing the counter just in time. "Pardon??"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "I made you a bath. You look like hell so I'll leave you to it," he gets up patting his jeans.

You didn't notice his change of clothes until now. Just how long had you been there?

"Hold on, I have a question. Several actually—"

"I'll be back in a bit," he stalks off closing the door behind him.

You open the door to call after him but he's nowhere to be found. It was like he disappeared into thin air. It wouldn't surprise you if he actually did. You return to the bathroom and disrobe, deciding you might as well. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath. Must've been years. You pause at the mirror and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw how awful you looked. Jisung did not lie when he said you looked like hell. There were dark circles around your eyes and you looked pale, on top of that your hair was a frizzy mess. You finger-combed your hair to the best of your ability before giving up and sinking into the warm bath Jisung had drawn for you.

You let your mind reel as you sat in the tub, your knees tucked into your chest. Nothing made sense anymore. Oh, how you longed to go back to the life you had where the only thing you had to worry about was struggling with your math homework. If Jisung was telling the truth, then your life would never be the same. There had to be a way out of this, right? Maybe this is your punishment for something horrible you did but what? The worst thing you'd ever done was steal a couple of lipglosses from Target and that was two years ago. Or maybe it's because you lied to your mom about passing your Spanish test last month? You regretted it but it still seemed too small of a thing to be punished so greatly for. No matter how hard you picked your brain you couldn't come to a conclusion in any reality where you deserved this. You just wished you could get some answers soon. What would you tell your parents? Your friends? Would you have to leave them all behind? Did you have to do evil things now?

No, he said he changed. He wasn't like that. At least you hoped he wasn't. The scary thing is that you couldn't find it in yourself to care if he did make you do evil things. Just yesterday you would rather kill yourself than to do Jisung's evil bidding. You didn't like that you didn't mind it. You didn't like that nothing added up. You couldn't understand why in the world all of this had to happen to you. You didn't know where you were, how long you've been gone or what was going to happen to you. It all felt like a never-ending bad dream.

After you washed up and dried yourself, you sat idly on the toilet as the water drained from the bathtub. You felt a little better now that you were clean but you could feel the foreshadowing of an oncoming headache from the stress.

There was a gentle knock on the door, shaking you out of your pity party and you get up to open it. Jisung is in different clothing once again, wearing a hoodie and baggy dark jeans.

You stay there for three long days. You don't speak much in that time, but you feel like you know him a bit better. He wasn't as scary as you thought. After spending seventy-two hours together, you feel more at ease in his presence. He refused to discuss your circumstances and you never ask to go home. The thought never crosses your mind after the first day and you almost forget about your life at home completely. Instead, you spend all your time observing Jisung. You watch him cook and clean, sew and paint. He's perfected almost a million hobbies.   He doesn't acknowledge your existence as you watch, only bothering to speak to ask what you wanted to eat or if you were tired and wanted a bath. Contrary to your earlier thoughts, he never ordered you around. He left you to wander around on your own, doing as you pleased. Whether that be to read a book from his collection, watch a movie or watch him.    On the third morning, you're up early, sitting cross-legged in the bed of Jisung's guest bedroom. After taking a shower, you were stuffing your face with a bowl of oatmeal Jisung had so expertly prepared.

"You ready to go home? School should be starting soon."

Home. Your mother. Oh, shit.

"What time is it?" you tuck your damp hair behind your ears.

"Five thirty-seven."

Your eyebrows knit together as he tosses your uniform at you and you catch it.

"Hurry up," and with that, the door is shut in your face.

It only took you about a minute to change and then you were scampering down the hall to the living room where Jisung was waiting patiently, sitting as still as stone.

"Good then. Let's go."

"Wait," you grab his sleeve and Jisung stares down at your hand as if it were alien.

"Can you please tell me what's going on now? I'm going insane here."

He sighs before motioning for you to sit down. You quickly oblige, plopping down on the couch and he sits opposite of you.

"Sometimes, there are certain circumstances where a demon who does their job very well would be rewarded by Satan by being gifted their very own human slave.

"It's very rare actually, and Satan stopped doing it centuries ago bc it led to us being discovered. Then he had to "handle" it so I'm not sure why he gifted you to me. Does that answer all your questions?"

You give him a pointed look. He sighs.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what's going on either; I don't even work anymore."

"What do you mean you don't work?"

"I'm retired. I don't like causing harm to humans and Satan let me settle down up here."

"Satan sounds awfully nice..." you frown a bit.

Jisung rolls his eyes slightly. "Oh, believe me. He isn't. Satan lives up to his name just fine. He let me go under special circumstances."

"So you're special?"

"Yep."

You folded your arms over your chest. "How so?"

"My parents and I were really good at doing what we do. The best actually. For centuries we were the apple of Lucifer's eyes. I mean, we got the best treatment, luxury lifestyle, the other demons didn't dare mess with us. It was almost like...heaven."

You purse your lips, feeling uncomfortable with the comparison to heaven.

"One day, I met a human I was assigned to and she was different than any human I'd ever seen. I was supposed to influence her to sin but I just couldn't no matter how hard I tried. This human was the purest of any kind I'd met and she was so young. The young ones are supposed to be the most malleable but she always resisted. She was good.

I realized something then. I thought, maybe not all humans don't deserve to go to hell. Some do. Some don't. And without the influence of us, a lot of them would go to heaven. After doing it for so long, I started to feel guilty. I've never been human. I was born like this. I never experienced a human life but I wanted to. So I asked to retire."

You were sure your eyes were bulging out of your head but you were too shocked to try to change your expression. "And he just let you go? Just like that?"

"Yeah. Satan wasn't happy. He thought it was stupid, which, it might be a little. A demon can't live like a human. He claimed after a few decades I'd see humans for what they really were and then I'd be back."

"So, then Satan made me your slave to try to convince you to come back?"

"I'm not sure," he flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes. "But Lucifer doesn't do anything without a purpose. I'm sure we'll find out soon."

"Will you go back?"

"I don't want to but if I have to then I will. It's what I was created for."

"Oh," you were lost on what to say next.

"Are you ready to go back home?" He stands up, holding a hand out to you.

You're about to take it when the doorbell rings. Jisung looks frigid. Was that fear in his eyes?

"My parents are here."

"Huh? Why?" The scenes of your dream flash in your mind. The headless waitress and blood gushing everywhere. If they were anything like the dream version of them then you were dead meat.

"I don't know. They're not nice people, __," he warns.

"Should I run? Or hide?"

"There's no point; they'd find you. Just sit still and don't say a word."

Jisung walks to the door, opening it to reveal two faces you've seen before. His mother didn't look pleased to see her son but his father pulled him in for a quick hug, patting him on the back.

"Well, are you going to invite us in? We knocked this time. Just like you asked," his mom says with a hint of annoyance.

Jisung steps back to let them inside and it's like an alarm goes off in their heads because as soon as they step one foot inside, their heads snap to find you sitting on the couch.

"Oh...you have company," his father says in confusion.

"Jisung, what is this?" His mom looks at you in disgust.

"Mom, Dad, this is __. We were just on our way out, actually. So, this is a bad time."

His mom shoots him daggers with her eyes. "You aren't going anywhere we just got here. Jisung, where are your manners?"

Jisung stands there, looking defeated as he mumbles an apology.

"Hello, there! I'm Mrs. Park," she extends a hand out to you. You look at Jisung before getting up to shake it.

"Mr. Park," his dad shakes your hand next. Their hands are just as hot as Jisung's. You shuffle back to your spot on the couch.

"Is this your friend, Jisung?" Mrs. Park asks, looking you up and down.

"She's my slave, mother."

His parents look at each other in shock, smiles of joy creeping across their faces.

"Lucifer gifted you a slave?" Mrs. Park practically jitters with excitement.

"Yes, mother."

"Son, that's amazing! You have to come back now!"

Jisung clenches his fists at his sides. "I'm not coming back. Not now. Not ever."

"Don't be silly, Jisung. It would be extremely disrespectful not to after receiving such a gift. He stopped gifting slaves centuries ago," Mrs. Park snaps.

"Mom, I made my decision."

"You foolish boy. You're an embarrassment to us all. We've been forced into hiding ever since you left. We're the laughing stock of the underworld because you decided to go soft and ruin the reputation we worked so hard to build. Two centuries of hard work down the drain."

"Mother—"

"Don't you understand? This isn't a gift it's a warning. You've been gone too long, Jisung. He wants you back. You've had your fun living your little fantasy; now it's time to come back to reality."

"Son, please," Mr. Park sits down next to you. "Listen to your mom."

"I...no. No, I'm staying here," says Jisung.

"You're so selfish! He won't just punish you he'll punish us all! Me and your father will be extinguished right along with you. My dearest son, please use the common sense I gave you and come back to us. I've missed you. We were a great team."

Jisung looks torn as he looks at you then back to his parents. "I have to get going."

"Jisung," Mr. park barks.

"Please leave," Jisung opens the door for them.

"You're going to get us all killed," Mrs. Park snarls as she nudges her husband to get up. "Close the damn door, Jisung. We're leaving."

Jisung closes it, his back falling against the wall.

"We're not done talking about this," his mother declares before looking at you one last time, the corner of her lips turned downwards. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you as the couple dissipate right in front of you, fading into a silhouette and then finally nothing. They're gone.

Jisung opens the door again. "Come on."

   The ride to your house is silent and too quick if you were being honest. Jisung lives fairly close to your house although in a much better neighborhood for someone who's living off of minimum wage.

   You're still a bit shaken up but much calmer than before. Once you enter the house, you find the lights off. Your mom was still asleep. You thank god as you creep to your room as quietly as possible. When you open the door, however, your mom is sitting on your bed holding a book in her hands. Was that your diary?

"Y/n, just where have you been all night?"

You deflect her question. "Why do you have my diary?"

"This is my house and my rules. I am your mother for Christ's sake; I have the right to know what's going on in my daughter's life and if you won't let me in, damn it, I'll find out my own way."

"That's a complete invasion of my privacy!"

She looks taken aback at your brazen comment. "Raise your voice at me one more time—I dare you! You were out with that boy from the computer cafe, weren't you?"

"What? No! My friend, Deana broke up with her boyfriend and it was an emergency. I had to go talk to her."

She narrows her eyes. "Don't you lie to me."

"I swear it! It's true," your bottom lip trembled as you held back tears.

You wanted to tell the truth but you couldn't. Jisung wouldn't like that very much and quite frankly, you were simply terrified of what his parents might do to you more than your angry mother. Would she believe you anyway? You didn't have any proof. She'd probably lock you up in some psych ward hundreds of miles away from here at the first mention of demons. Or maybe she'd just think you were lying. Her face was red with fury but you can tell by the slight quiver in her voice she was more worried about your safety than anything.

"I know somethings going on," she rests her hands on her knees. "You've been having sleepless nights and you don't go out as much anymore. And now there's some boy who comes out of nowhere and you're running out to meet him when you've got a fever. You scared me half to death and I just let it slide but now you're sneaking out and coming back three days later at six in the morning?

"No ma'am. This is not how I run my household. You know that. I mean is it me? Did I do something to make you wanna push me away?"

Your throat aches as you choke back tears. "No, mom, it's not that at all. I just have to solve this on my own."

She looks heartbroken but nods nimbly. "But you'll come to me if you can't figure it out on your own?"

"I promise."

"Good," she stands up. "We're leaving in ten minutes so hurry up and get dressed. Oh yeah, and you're grounded."

You couldn't say you didn't see that coming.

-

When you get home from school, your mother's in the living room. She usually doesn't get off of work for another two hours but it wasn't that hard to think of the reason why she was home so early. She asks about school and you say whatever it takes to end the conversation as soon as possible so you can go to your room. You lock the door behind you when you're finally alone, changing into more comfortable clothes. You make sure your mom's still downstairs before you whisper Jisung's name and a warmth envelops your body from the tip of your tongue down to your toes. He appears before you in seconds, wearing his work uniform. He doesn't look at you at first, inspecting the interior of your room before making himself comfortable on your bed.

"Your mom didn't seem too happy about this morning," he sighs.

"How did you know that?" you ask and for some reason, you think, you might be better off not knowing.

"You and I are connected now. I can see you whenever I want. I can...feel you."

You gulp. You didn't like the thought of him checking up on you whenever he wanted. And what's worse is that if you ever tried to run, he could find you.

"Right...well I have a question."

"Oh, you're just full of those, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes. "If you go back to working for Satan...would he allow you to let me go?"

Jisung's face hardens. You could feel the warmth in the room grow.

"Why would you ask me that? Do you know what you'd be asking me to do?"

"I'm sorry," the words leave your mouth at lightning speed. It's odd. You didn't want to say them but you did.

"Am I really so awful you'd rather send me away to do the devils bidding than to be stuck with me?"

"No, not at all," you say this on your own this time. It should worry you how true it was. You truly didn't mind his company. It took some time to separate the man from your dreams to the one in reality but once you did, you saw the good in him—once you overlooked all the sarcasm, of course.

"Don't get offended, please. That's not what I'm trying to do here," you approach him. "I just want my life back."

There's a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He sighs. "I suppose, you're right. It's selfish of me to impose on your life when you didn't ask for any of this. I'll take my problems elsewhere and leave you be."

You're surprised at how quickly he gave you what you wanted. You expected to have to squeal your way out of it. It was so easy you almost felt bad for asking.

"There won't be any consequences? He won't get mad if you leave me alone?"

"I'm not sure what he'll do. Just as I can see you, he can see me," he pauses. "Whatever the outcome, I'll handle it."

He stands up and you stand up with him.

"Is it weird that I'm going to miss you?"

His eyebrows fly up and he almost looks embarrassed. "Uh, I'm sure that's just a side effect of being my slave."

"I see," you look down feeling awkward. "Can I get a hug?"

You can tell he's uncomfortable with the request but he opens his arms for you anyway. You hate how attached you've become in the last twelve hours. You hardly knew the man and after meeting his parents you shouldn't be standing anywhere near him. But you still felt a pull towards him and you weren't so sure if it was a side effect. Maybe you were crazy—actually, scratch that, you were definitely crazy—but you actually kind of liked Jisung. He protected you from his parents and was willing to take whatever the devil was going to throw at him. So you lay your head on his chest and the heat is already scorching your skin. The fast rhythm of his heartbeat almost rocks you as his hands wrap around your shoulders and you stand there for a moment. He was a little stiff but you could tell he was trying his best. When you let go, his face is different. He's smiling at you and there's this gleam in his eyes that you'd never seen before. Then there's something pulling you towards him, an unexplainable compulsion to kiss him. He doesn't move as you lean in to peck your lips on his warm ones. It's like his limbs are frozen and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to do. He's never encountered someone like you before. Someone so beautiful and smart. You were the only person that could ever make him feel anything other than complete misery and he was so sad to let you go. He didn't want to let you go and he didn't have to. You were his slave, after all. But you had asked him to and he couldn't find it in him to deny you. Finally, his instincts kick in and his eyes close as he kisses you back. It's the most intimate kiss you've ever had and you find your hands pulling his shirt to pull him closer to you, wanting more but suddenly he's gone. You look around your room to find it empty. He left. He left you. Just like you asked.

"Jisung?" your voice breaks as you call out. "Jisung??"

Your door bursts open causing you to flinch.

"Hey, what do you feel like for dinner?" your mom walks in. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

   You try to stop the tears from falling but you fail as you burst into sobs. Your mom runs over and hugs you, begging for you to tell her what's going on but you can't. You can't tell anyone. No one could ever know.

-

   You think about Jisung every day for the next two years. How could you not? His face was branded into your mind, his voice a never-fading memory. You like to think he was okay. That whatever battles he had to face with his creator went successfully. You hoped he was free and happy. You imagine he watches over you from time to time, just to see how you've grown and what you were up to.    For some time, he's everywhere you look. You'd see a flash of blonde and go running to catch him, no matter where you were. In the end, you never caught him. It was always your mind playing tricks on you. Your friends and family grew concerned but those concerns faded away as the spottings did. Every hot summer day reminded you of him. Even the heaters in the winter made you think of him. He was always in the back of your brain.    After a while, it felt like it was all one big fever dream. The only reminder that it was real was the poorly written entries of your old diary. That, and one other thing.    One day, you come home to find a necklace on your bed, the glowing red stone flaring up the memory of the matching one his mother wore. He was alive. He hadn't forgotten about you. The smile that adorned your lips was big enough to give one the impression it was a gift from your lover. You vowed to wear it every day, thanking Jisung aloud, and you swear you feel his presence in the room for a moment, a rush of heat flowing into your bedroom and then it's gone.

[bandaged-writer]

gasoline 03 || dazai

➤ Pairing: Mafia! Dazai x Ability User! Reader

➤ Genre: action, fluff, angst, smut, gore, violence

➤ Warnings: mentions of blood

➤ Summary: It wasn’t every day that someone dared to attack the mafia’s men, it wasn’t every day that a stranger joined the organization and it certainly wasn’t usual for Mori to get an innocent citizen killed.

➤ Word count: 4k

➤ Note: Enjoy reading + feedback is very much appreciated!

➤ previous || next

Pitch black heels clacked against the concrete at a steady pace while the breeze was gently playing with the hem of the equally dark dress you wore. It felt like the wind was greeting you after you had holed yourself up in the new apartment Mori had provided. How had he phrased it? Ah, right. Since someone was out for your life and you were a member of the mafia, it was their duty to be able to keep an eye on you. You had seen no lie in the boss’s eyes, no matter how deep your eyes bored into his - he was honest about this. 

Three days had passed since Yukino’s death, three days had passed since Mori had tended to your wound, three days had passed since your life had taken a brutal turn. 

The people passing you seemed to have no face, although you knew that all of them carried a name, a birthday and a very individual voice. They had become faceless and the words they spoke were silent, never reached your ears. Instead, the dull sound of your shoes hitting the street filled every fibre of your being along with the fear of attending your friend’s funeral and meeting her parents for possibly the last time. 

Your hands were cupped right above your stomach as your feet carried you down the street you were so familiar with, the street in which you used to live in. From the corner of your eyes, you could see your neighbors gazing out of the window, cooking or trying to feed their children. Oh, how lucky they were to have a healthy, functioning haven which would protect them from every storm. Oh, how nice it had to be not to be transparent to the world. Oh, how that luxury slipped through your fingers like water.

Suddenly, your feet stopped in front of your former apartment. Raising your gaze, you felt pain itself tug on your heartstrings and wanting to pull them apart. Breathing physically hurt as the plain white facade of the house stared right back at you, still filled with furniture and plants as if no one had died in there, as if it didn’t soak up Yukino’s blood. Your heartrate sped up against your will, but you remained calm on the outside like a doll.  

“We’re finally living together!,” a grin adorned Yukino’s small face, her dark eyes filled with nothing but the purity of happiness and a hint of exhaustion. Various colors of paint stained her cheek and clothes, hands a bit calloused from putting up wardrobes and shelves. You chuckled in response and breathed in the fresh paint. It was an unpleasant smell, but it’d soon become the scent of home. “You’re always too excited about the smalles of things,” you flicked Yukino’s forehead gently like she was a child. Pouting, she rubbed her forehead, brushed your comment off and fished her phone out of the back pocket of her now more than colorful jeans.

“Let’s take a picture! It’s our first memory in here and will remain forever.” 

You stood next to Yukino who wrapped an arm around her shoulder, her grin never fading. The corners of your mouth tugged themselves upwards into a gentle, warm smile as Yukino snapped the picture with her phone.

 “Say cheese, [Name]"!

 You tugged some of your hair behind your ear, exhaled slowly and turned your back to the place you once called home. It was too painful to visit the past, to visit the place of a happy memory when you were drowning in an ocean of thoughts, regrets and guilt. “The place which holds our first memory has become the place which now carries our last memory,” you spoke to no one in particular, the wind washed your words of sadness away as you turned your back toward the building you had once loved so much.

Out of the blue, dark dots decorated the concrete and as you stretched out your palm, you felt that it was starting to rain.  

It’d pour soon, you thought. 

Relatives had gathered around the tombstone which had become Yukino’s permanent bed, flowers of all colors glowed among the dark garments on everyones’ bodies, among the tears being spilled, among the dreary clouds which seemed to mourn as well. She had always liked bright colors, you remembered. 

“[Name]..dear..,” it was Yukino’s mother who first spotted you isolated from the crowd. She didn’t seem to mind the mud dirtying the fancy black of her shoes as she came running to you, her slender arms wrapping you into a hug and her chin finding home on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to witness this,” the woman’s voice was shaking, became more fragile than fine china the more words fell from her red-painted lips. It took you a moment to find the strength in your arms to return the hug and once your arms were wrapped around Yukino’s mom, she broke into tears. 

“Why would anyone take Yukino’s life? She couldn’t even harm a fly,” she sobbed and ruined her makeup she spent quite a while on - possibly to shorten the time she would have to be at the funeral. It was understandable and you couldn’t blame Yukino’s mother. Who wanted to attend their child’s funeral? “I know,” was all you could say as the mother used you as a rock to steady herself.

“How are you holding up?,” you recognized the voice and sent Yukino’s father a faux smile which never filled the emptiness of your eyes. His strong arms gently pulled his wife away from you and she immediately wiped her eyes, leaning her weight against her husband’s body. “I’m alright,” you lied through white teeth but the more you’d say it, the more you could convince yourself that you indeed were okay. Father didn’t seem to believe you, but he never dug deeper than that. Maybe he understood your way of dealing with this tragedy, maybe he didn’t even want to know.  

“I hope the police will catch the murderer. Yukino deserves justice,” mother had regained some of her composure, but her nose was red from all the sniffing, eyes a bit bloodshot from all the crying she had to go through. You couldn’t sense any hatred in her - she was either too broken to hate or she was really that kind. Oh, how badly you wanted to tell her that the police would be no match for the masked murderer, that they’d end up drowning in their own blood much like her daughter. However, there was one thing you could guarantee the shattered parents:

“She will get justice. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Small hands found home on your nearly bare shoulders, a sad smile finding its way on the lips of Yukino’s mother. “You’re a strong one, aren’t you?,” she brushed drenched strands of your hair away from your face and cupped your cold cheek - her touch was warm and welcoming as always. A woman who was the embodiment of love and forgiveness. “You’re always more than welcome,” Yukino’s mother offered you to stay at their place, to become a temporary home, but did you deserve it after letting their daughter die in your arms?  

You had already lost your home and it was buried two meters under.

“Thank you. But it won’t be necessary,” you removed the hand from your cheek and bid your farewell to the parents. You had no right to console them after what had happened three days ago.  

And so, you had sat down on a bench not too far away from Yukino’s colorful grave with the rain pouring down on you. Hour after hour passed, guests left one by one after giving the parents a comforting hug and words of encouragement they probably couldn’t commit to themselves, yet. Why did people try to cheer up others when they themselves were in so much pain that they couldn’t believe their own words? Maybe it was the same as you telling Yukino’s parents that you were okay when in reality, you were broken beyond repair. 

Eventually, the graveyard was empty and your only company had become the rain. Dull eyes stared at the grave like they were waiting to wake up from a nightmare, but one couldn’t wake up from reality. Not when you knew that the rain soaking you was very much real, when the wind blowing by froze you to your bones, when that hole in your heart physically hurt you to the point your lungs hurt with each inhale. 

At once, the rain seemed to avoid you. Looking up, you saw Dazai standing next to you with an umbrella in his hand which shielded the both of you from the sky’s endless tears. For a moment, the brunette said nothing while his dull eyes were fixed on the grave which you were visiting with distance - like it could burn you if you got too close. 

“She was your friend, wasn’t she?,” Dazai suddenly spoke up, but the low timbre of his voice prevented you from feeling startled. In a dark corner of his heart, he felt sorry for you losing your best friend. He remembered the determined glimmer in your eyes when you had stood in front of Mori and burned whatever piece of information about your past the boss had in his hands. But now, you seemed like a shell of who you used to be, the light in your eyes burned out and what was left was someone who became transparent to the world.

“The cause of death was a cut to her jugular,” your gaze fell back to the grave in front of you as you recalled the memory bit by bit without being asked to. It felt like you were running on gasoline like a machine. “That night, I tried to cauterize it to win some time, but the cut was too deep. Yukino died in my arms before her murderer came for my life, as well,” everything was monotonous. Dazai understood why you had been drenched in blood when he found you at the pier, but now the question was how he was supposed to respond.

Blood stained his own bandaged hands, the lives of countless of people went on his account. He himself had committed more crimes than he could count. 

Maybe, Dazai shouldn’t say anything at all. 

“What do you plan on doing now?,” it nearly sounded like Dazai was offering you a way out of the mafia, to go live your life and get yourself back together or maybe he just wanted to know what you’d do now that you could use the mafia’s influence and resources. You’d probably never find out what his intention was. Briefly, your eyes looked up at the grey sky, a few rain drops found their way on your cheeks as the wind blew from a different direction.  

“I promised to avenge her. Until then, I can’t afford to die,” suddenly, it stopped raining and the sun slowly peeked through the thick clouds, dipping your form in a false halo as you put on the mask of a smiling fool. It tightly stuck to your skin as it melted into your face, the smile was a bit too angelic, too pure to be real and Dazai saw that the mask you wore threatened to become one with you.

“I see,” he turned his back to you and looked at you over his shoulder, catching your gaze. “We’ve got some things to talk about. Come.”

Sitting in the corner of a small restaurant which mainly sold crabs, sake and ramen, you rubbed your hair dry with a towel the owner’s wife had kindly gotten you after being outraged about your soaked form. You looked at your reflection in the window, trying to make your damp hair look as acceptable as possible when Dazai chirped up:“You know you’re already a sight for sore eyes, right?” This guy would never give up his attempts to woo you, would he? A huff left your lips and your fingers reached for the small menu card which listed more dishes than expected - a pleasant surprise. “Thanks for your unnecessary input.” 

“Ah, your tongue is as sharp as always, belladonna!,” the brunette threw his head back and covered his eyes with his right hand, the other one placed on his heart as the man let another rejection of yours sink in. Silently, you wondered how a dumbass of Dazai’s caliber could make it into the mafia and managed to survive that lifestyle. The more you wondered, the more you could feel a headache approaching and stopped. Gazing over the edge of the menu, you hid your pout behind the sheet of paper. “Quit acting like you’re hurt and tell me if anything on this menu is good.”  

“Everything here is good,” Dazai looked at you with doe-like eyes, a sense of innocence filled them and he nearly looked boyish. Skillyfully taking the menu card from your fingers, he pointed at the bowl of ramen, saying that you’d probably like it best. “How do you know I like ramen?,” it was a bit creepy, considering you had never shared a meal with the brunette and didn’t even know of his existence until three days prior. Dazai leaned back in his seat, a small shrug of his shoulders quickly followed. “When I followed you home, I could smell your roommate cooking ramen and people usually cook dishes their roommate could like. Especially after having come home after spending a year abroad.”  

How badly you wanted to pin this on beginner’s luck or a lucky guess of his, but Dazai’s reasoning was too accurate to be deemed as mere luck. What he had let you see was probably only a tiny bit of his wits and you weren’t sure if you were ready to see more of it. 

Your train of thought was interrupted by the waitress coming up to your table and you couldn’t find it in you to be surprised when Dazai was flirting with her. “Your hands are as tender as ever,” Dazai mused as he traced his finger along the waitress’s pale knuckles. A blush quickly rose to her cheeks and you could tell that these two were at least acquainted up to some sort of level. “Oh, quit it. Not here,” the woman giggled and bashfully pulled her hand away from the brunette’s grasp as she took his order: crab soup. She was about to leave when you caught her attention by clearing your throat and smiling at her - she was beyond unpleased. 

“Excuse me, but you forgot my order, miss,” you spoke a bit too sweetly and blinked a few times too many. The nerve this woman had. “Right, of course..”

 In the end, you could see why Dazai flirted with the woman. He got a discount and a bigger bowl than you. 

“I can’t understand how someone can be so smitten with you,” you spoke after gulping down a fair amount of your noodles and slightly burning your tongue in the process. The dish was surprisingly delicious, neither too spicy nor too bland and tickled your tongue just right. If only it wasn’t piping hot and burned your esophagus. Well, that went on you for being too greedy. “Are my ears deceiving me or are you jealous?,” Dazai took a bite of his crab, a pleased look on his face as he tasted the tender meat of the creature. Not having had his favorite food in a while made Dazai appreciate the dish more than usual. “Not in this lifetime,” you warningly point your chopsticks at the brunette with narrowed eyes and your lips forming a straight line. You’d rather die than develop a thing for Dazai who was a scaringly smart dumbass. 

From that point on, the conversation died down which you were thankful for. You could finally enjoy your meal in peace without worrying about what kind of words would assault your poor ears. The noodlesoup warmed you up from within your very core and made you feel less dead than before. In the meantime, Dazai occasionally stole glances at you, committed every reaction of yours to his memory and analyzed you from head to toe. 

You were kind to others and could love deeply - the sudden change you went through after Yukino’s death was solid evidence of that. However, beside those positive traits, he could sense the thick cloud of sadness and loneliness surrounding you like a hug and Dazai saw himself in you for a second.  

You just finished your bowl of ramen relaxed into your seat when Dazai was the one to start a conversation, one which you would rather avoid, but you know it had to happen sooner or later. “Have you seen the ice user? Any detail is important.” Your cheek rested on your right palm while your left index finger traced the rim of the glass of water you had ordered. The glass squeaked quietly once in a while. “It was a woman. The body was delicate and about my height, but that’s all I could see. She wore a mask and a long robe of some sorts.” Dazai cupped his chin in thought and nodded to himself, his hair went with the soft motion. “Any anomalies?” You told him about how Yukino’s body nearly froze yours, how the temperatures dropped and how the woman could manipulate ice to create weapons and even freeze rivers. “The description is identical to our information. It’s a good thing you fought her in combat. Then we have at least an idea of her ability.”

The ringtone of a phone interrupted the small exchange of information and made your heart skip a beat. Dazai brought his phone to his ear and you could see the brunette’s face fall as he realized that Mori was on the other end of the line. “How’s your date with [Name] going?,” the mafia boss seemed to be in a good mood if his cheery tone was anything to go by, but Dazai wouldn’t bet money on it. Seeing the chance to tease you and get another reaction out of you, he went along with Mori’s words. “Why, my date with [Name] is going well!,” the rest of the phone call was spent by Dazai only saying okay or yes - much like when a mother phoned her child, bombarded them with questions and the kid just wanted the conversation to end as soon as possible.

“This is not a date. And you won’t ever take me on one, either,” you crossed your arms over your chest while Dazai hung up on his boss. You were familiar with guys like Dazai, guys who were popular with the ladies, got what they wanted and then vanished the morning after. The story with the waitress wasn’t much different, either. He flirted with her, got his discount and never took it any further despite getting the poor woman’s hopes up. “Will you, belladonna, at least let me try to win your lovely heart?”  

You had to admit that Dazai was handsome, even quite charming. But you knew where this would get you if you gave in. “Dazai, please, save the both of us the heartbreak.” At that, he raised his eyebrows in curiosity, eyes sparked up with something you would call being challenged, maybe even pleasantly surprised. “Are you implying that I could fall for you and vice versa?” You shrugged lightly and let your eyes fall on Dazai’s face and tilted your head to the side, smirking. “Over my dead body.” 

The carpet drowned out the clacking of your heels and you noted that the hole you had burned into the fabric was gone. With the sun setting, the light painted the mafia boss’s office in an orange hue and let the river outside seem warm and welcoming for a quick dip. It was a picture perfect.

“I will only remain here until the person who killed Yukino is dead,” you sat down in front of Mori’s desk, Dazai sat next to you with legs crossed and his ears following the conversation attentively. He acted as a witness to whatever compromise you and the boss would agree on. “Until then, you’re going to keep my original job secure and once this is over, you’ll pretend like I’ve never been part of the mafia and destroy every bit of documented information you have about me.” 

Mori was impressed by your negotiation skills, figuring that business school taught you that much. Looked like your grades were neither a disappointment nor a lie. “I’ll agree with this if you agree to my conditions,” Mori smiled and rested his chin on the back of his hand. He definitely had no problem with the things you demanded from him, they sounded fair and he doubted you would ever leak the way the mafia operated - they could take care of you faster than you could blink. “All I expect from you is to be loyal and obedient. If any of my subordinates suspect you of betraying the mafia, they have the right to kill you.” Unconsciously, your spine straightened and a drop of sweat ran down your temple. You squirmed in your seat at the mere thought of everyone in this building being allowed to kill you of they thought of it as necessary. “Fine,” it didn’t sit quite well with you, but this was the cost for regaining a normal life. 

“Excellent!,” Mori clapped his gloved hands together once, reached for a file in his drawer and handed it to you. To your surprise, it seemed to be one of confidential content since it was sealed. The seal was already broken by Mori, though. “Dazai already enlightened you about our situation and information, so I want the two of you to partner up and find out who’s behind this. You’ll find more information in there.” 

You bowed more out of fear than respect before leaving his damned office. 

As soon as the heavy doors to Mori’s office fell into the lock behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Something about this man absolutely terrified you and you feared that if you let the boss know you were scared of him, he could smell it and attack you like a dog. 

Walking down the corridor, you could feel Dazai’s shoulder brushing yours every once in a while, his steps were prominent in your ears and his cologne overwhelmed your sense of smell for a moment. You hated that he actually smelled good on top of already being gifted with good looks. “I can’t believe I’ll be stuck with you,” you groaned and opened the file, the number of the mission greeting you in thick writing. Dazai pouted, let his shoulders fall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You can be so mean and all I did was breathe.” 

As you read through the content, you stopped dead in your tracks and broke out in a cold sweat. Eyes widened, a lump found home in your throat while your fingers were shaking. This couldn’t be true, right? Everything had to be the universe pulling a joke on you, an illusion which you were stuck in. You had suspected that your past would catch up to you, but everything came at once. Never in your entire life did you desire to see this hellish place, again. Dazai stopped several steps ahead of you as he noticed you were no longer following him. “Hm? What’s wrong?”  

“Several mafiosi have been murdered at the abandoned hospital..” 

A wicked smirk was stretched across Dazai’s lips, his gaze bore into your shaky form and a chuckle spilled from deep within his chest. This mission would definitely be more interesting than the previous ones which caused excitement to fill Dazai’s lungs bit by bit. It wasn’t every day that someone dared to attack the mafia’s men, it wasn’t every day that a stranger joined the organization and it certainly wasn’t usual for Mori to get an innocent citizen killed.

“The only place in Yokohama which is half burned and half frozen. Looks like you have a past with our target, [Name].”

[like-the-wings-of-butterflies]

This Moment In Time (Racetrack Higgins x Reader)

Summary: Upon moving into your first apartment with Race, you’re reminded of the moments that led you to where you are

Warnings: Some mild angst quickly followed by sweet sweet fluff because I’m an absolute sucker for it

Word Count: 2,244 (this is longer then any of my usual stuff wtf)

A/N: I KNOW I’M A QUEEN BLOG BUT I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS AND DIDN’T FEEL LIKE SETTING UP ANOTHER BLOG TO POST IT SO ENJOY SOME OF MY OTHER FANDOM NONSENSE

A.K.A - I rewatched Newsies for the upteenth time (god bless you disney +) and it sparked an idea which is only a tiny little bit self indulgent

Feedback and comments are always appreciated! ♡

“So this is it.” You breathed into the darkened room, a smile dancing on your lips.

Race placed the burning candle in the centre of the one room apartment before rising to his feet again and grasping hold of your hand. The gentle flickering glow revealed that the small apartment. It was neglected to say the least, paint peeling from the walls, dust-encased windows and the odd squeaking floorboard; certainly a step up from the lodging house however. “I know it ain’t what we were dreamin’ of, not even close, but it’s-“

“It’s got a roof and it’s got you,” You finished for him, squeezing his hand in assurance with an honest smile despite him barely being able to see through the darkness. “It’s perfect. Nothin’ a bit of cleanin’ won’t fix.”

Truly, you couldn’t help but fall for the mess that was Racetrack Higgins. When you first showed up on the doorstep of the lodging house at the age of 13, it was Race that volunteered to take you under his wing and teach you the fine art that was selling newspapers. Staying as his selling partner permanently wasn’t exactly part of the plan, either was becoming one another’s best friend, but the pair of you couldn’t imagine selling with anyone else; having grown too accustomed to each other’s company.

He’d always flirt with you - as he would with every other person who’d give him the time of day— flattering you with compliments and cheesy pick up lines at every opportunity. You’d flirt back of course, not being able to resist the handsome blonde’s charm, but at the cost of catching feelings; no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, a childhood crush steadily emerged, turning the heads of the other newsboys.

But as the years progressed, you both matured into young adults. Your experiences bringing you closer together as you grew fonder of one another day by day.

Never in your entire life did you think you’d be living anywhere else but the crumbling walls of the lodging house or in one of New York’s damp alleyways. Yet here you were, hand-in-hand with your fiancé, settling into your first home together. Many were shocked that you were engaged at such a young age, but neither of you could truly see yourselves without the other in your life. Now too old to live in the lodging house, Race ironically managed to find work operating printing presses, and you as a server at Jacobi’s. In a unlikely twist of fate, you managed to earn enough money to move into the small apartment and support yourselves, all while keeping a close eye on the other Newsies.

“Should we check out the penthouse?” Race grinned ear to ear, running to the window upon your nod. He wrestled with the frame for moment before it opened with a satisfying ‘crack’ that echoed through the apartment, before stepping out onto the fire escape.

“M’lady~“ Race offered his outstretched hand with a charming smile, helping you step onto the raised surface. Your breath hitched as you saw the landscape in your surrounds. You were about four floors up which made the view expansive, and you suddenly became keenly aware of how many beautiful sunrises you’d be able to watch from your current position. You’d been in Jack’s penthouse on a couple occasions, but never just to sit and admire the view.

“How the hell did we make it here Racer?” You breathed in awe as you watched lights and lampposts decorate the otherwise dull streets of New York, like little stars in a blackened sky.

Race wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a sweet embrace, your back pressed against his chest and his head resting on your shoulder, “I was just the prettiest Newsie you’s had ever seen and you’s couldn’t help but fall for me,” He teased, pressing a long kiss against the side of your neck as he giggled lightly to himself.

“You don’t think growin’ up or working together our whole lives had anythin’ to do with it?” You jested back, reaching a hand behind you to fiddle with the curls upon his head as you closed your eyes and leaned into his embrace.

“Absolutely not. But the strike?” He mused thoughtfully, “That’s when I realised I loved you.”

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

It was no surprise waking up to Race sitting on the cold floorboards beside your bunk the night after the strike had been announced. Your beds weren’t too far from one another and Race always slept lightly, often being the call of comfort whenever anyone was having nightmares. He gently shook you awake while brushing away the tears that stained your face, smiling lightly once your eyes opened.

“What’s goin’ on Doll?,” He whispered out, careful not to wake the others, “Why you’s havin’ nightmares?”

“I’m scared what we’re doin’ is gonna get us all hurt,” You croaked out into the darkness, doing your best to hold back a sob. “That we’s gonna end up in the Refuge.” Nobody was oblivious to the chances of the strike ending in violence, the stakes were high; you were only a group of kids fighting against one of the most powerful men in New York after all.

Race’s hand stilled on the side of your face, his warm palm flat against your cheek grounding you and bringing you a sense of comfort. He could see in your eyes just how scared you were.

“I’m scared too,” He admitted before pausing, seemingly collecting his thoughts, “But we’s gonna be okay. Jack and Davey are smart, they’s know what they’re doin’.” He vowed, taking hold of one of your hands and rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

You both sat in silence for quite some time, both too distracted by your thoughts swirling around your heads. As you felt your eyelids growing heavy, you lightly tugged on Race’s arm who brought his eyes up to meet yours.

“Stay with me?” You queried, eyes hopeful.

Without so much as a second thought, he lifted the thin sheet covering your body before sliding into the small bed, his chest pressed against your back, “Anythin’ for you (Y/N).”

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

A few days later, when the bulls attacked, you were an absolute mess; much like the others. In such a short amount of time, your entire world had flipped upside down and everything was shrouded in a new sense of seriousness.

Of the entire group, Davey, Mush, Albert and yourself had come out relatively unscathed - save for a couple bruises - meaning you’d been tasked with patching up the others who weren’t as lucky. You’d just finished tying up Les’ arm into a sling, only as a temporary measure however, just to stop the energetic boy from exercising it too much until he got home. You bargained on the fact that Mrs Jacobs would have a far better fix to his seemingly broken arm, knowing that if worst came to worst, the family could afford a doctor.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” You grinned softly as you walked towards Race in the back corner of the lodging house, shrouding himself in the shadows of the late afternoon sun.

“Ha ha.” He imitated, his usual playful attitude absent as he refused to look in your direction.

Something wasn’t right.

With your bodies facing each other, his legs hung over the edge of the table he was perched on as you remained standing. After a few moments of unmoving silence, you lightly tapped his knee, asking him to move so you could stand between his legs. He complied, but kept his eyes secured to the wall on your right. Slowly, you reached out to cup his jaw with a gentle hand, tilting his face to meet yours. You face fell the instant you saw the extent of his injuries.

His left eye was swollen shut, with hints of black already forming on the delicate skin. His chin was tinged an unforgivable red from where he’d wiped away the blood from his busted lip and damp trails ran from his watery right eye.

He’d been crying.

Your own tears welled up when he looked you in the eye, and you found yourself biting your lip to stop any from falling.

With your other hand, you grasped hold of the brim of his worn hat and placed it on the table beside him, letting the mess of curls fall lose against his face.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded solemnly, bringing a hand up to wipe away at his own tears before resting his head against your chest and wrapping his arms around your back, “You?”

“Just shaken up.” You stated, wasting no time in wrapping your arms around his shoulders and placing your chin upon his head. The pair of you stayed like that for an extended period of time, without anyone questioning you. It was a hard day for everyone, no one needed to make it any harder. After some time, the sun had set and the lodging house was quieter then ever before. You longed to sit down and fall asleep yourself, your legs sore and aching. But you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb the heavy sleeping form of your best friend. The years of denial on your behalf, stating that you hadn’t caught feeling for Race were long forgotten now.

The things you’d do to make that moment last forever.

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

A few days later, you and the other Manhattan Newsies had recovered for the most part. Physically, everyone were well on their way to healing, but emotionally there was still a fair way to go. Crutchie was still in the Refuge and Jack was still missing but everyone had managed to rest up while Davey reassessed the group’s future movements.

While the others sat glumly in Jacobi’s, you’d decided to go for a long stroll around New York to clear your head, musing the thought of visiting Crutchie in the Refuge. He was one of your closest friends, so sweet and so caring with an equally as vibrant personality, the thought of him in such a wretched place brought tears to your eyes.

You’d helped Jack smuggle food and blankets on too many occasions to count; how difficult could it be without him?

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the shout of your name from a long way down the busy street. Race’s figure came into view quickly, his chest was heaving as he sprinted down the cobblestone footpath towards you. Immediately, you panicked, thinking Race had been caught stealing cigars again and the cops were on their way but much to your surprise, he slowed as he neared you. Rather then desperation being painted across his features, his face held joy. Pure, unadulterated joy.

“We’s in the papes (Y/N)!” He gasped out, bending to place his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“What are you talkin’ about Race?”

“Katherine got us in the paper!,” He heaved, sweat glistening on his forehead. He pulled the rolled up newspaper from underneath a strap of his suspenders, before unrolling it to the front page and holding it out to you, “Look! That’s us!” He beamed, pointing a finger at the image underneath the headline: ‘NEWSIES STOP THE WORLD’.

In your slight state of shock, you glossed over the story and mentally took note to personally thank Katherine later on.

You actually made it into the papes.

“You’s know what this means?” You queried, your smile transforming into a bright grin as you grabbed hold on Race’s hands, tucking the paper under your arm.

“We’re famous.” He finished for you, his grin matching yours.

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

“Newsies of New York City.” Jack addressed from the top of Newsies Square, Joseph Pulitzer at one side and governor Theodore Roosevelt at the other. It was nice to see him back where he truly belonged, the so-called ‘King of Manhattan’. You could feel your heart beating painfully in your ears as you awaited the news, the anticipation making every second feel longer then what it actually was. Race’s hand was tight in your grasp as you sucked in a final breath, “We won!”

The chorus of cheers that sounded was deafening. It was finally over. After two ruthless and unforgiving weeks of striking, and everything had finally come to a close.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realise you were holding and turned towards Race. Race grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, laughing and chorusing while you were grinning ear to ear yet entirely speechless.

When he pulled away, you were slightly disappointed with the loss of contact, but when his arms around your body were replaced by his lips against yours, the world melted away. Slow and soft yet fiery and passionate the same time, as unpredictable as Race himself. His hand moved to cup your jaw and draw you closer, your arms finding their way to wrap around his neck.

When you pulled apart, there was stars in both of your eyes.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you too Racetrack.”

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

You sighed lightly at the fond memories, feeling incredibly grateful for all that had happened in order to bring you to where you were.

“We’s really made it huh?”

Race briefly chuckled into your shoulder, before raising his head and placing another long kiss against your neck, “We’s really made it.”

[missnxthingg]

Hi, please could you do a story about Tom based on 505 by arctic monkeys? Many thanks! 💖

Summary: Tom has been away for too long now, but he can’t help but stay awake at night imagining knocking on that one door with three golden numbers shinning in front of him.

A/N: YES! The Arctic Monkeys are my favourite band and 505 is one of my favourites. I’m sorry for the delay honey, hope you like it! 💖

Words: 2.2K (including song lyrics)

Pairing: Tom Holland x Ex!Reader

Warnings: Might have a swear word once or twice and angstttt.

masterlist | main blog | arctic monkeys playlist | song title

BACK TO 505

I’m going back to 505

If it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive

In my imagination, you’re waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs

When Tom lied down his bed at night and closed his eyes, all his mind could go back to was the bright white entrance of the 505 house on High Green Street back in London. The cold black and while tiles under his feet, trailing his way to the black door where he would hold on the silver door knocker and wait for you to come out from your room’s balcony wearing the white robe he’d seen you teasing him with it many times before. You’d smile to see him and rush down the stairs to meet him at the door with a jump on his arms like you always did. He’d do anything to smell your perfume again, sprayed in the place she knew he always buried his nose.

But now if he knocked on your door, you would probably come out of your room, look down to him and that upset look on your face would appear. The disappointment to see that it wasn’t someone more interesting, someone she wanted to see. And that would be the thing that would hurt him the most in the world. Looking back to the girl he loved the most in the world and her eyes would show indifference instead of love, or hate. Indifference is worse than hate.

Stop and wait a sec

When you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?

I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

Or I did last time I checked

She wouldn’t pull him inside and invite him for a tea as she always did. Or maybe for a glass of her finest whiskey because she knew how much he enjoyed. No, she would probably lean against the door frame and stare into his eyes, showing disappointment and how little she cared that he was standing right in front of her. He’d try to come up with words to say to her, but failing in the process. He didn’t want to speak, he just wanted her hands wrapped around his neck again, right where they should belong. 

The feeling that kept him awake at night. Thinking about being back in your arms, resting his head on your chest until he fell asleep, lulled by the soft heartbeats coming from your chest. There was no way you would welcome him back like that, you probably hated him by now and didn’t want to see him again even if he was painted gold. Tom was everywhere now, and he hasn’t been home for a long time. He was everywhere but beside you, and that was the reason why you didn’t talk anymore.

Not shy of a spark

A knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

Frightened by the bite, though it's no harsher than the bark

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start

But Harrison was almost convincing him to come back home. He knew that his best friend needed some time with his family after long months in New York, living the craziest movie star life with everyone following him around like a puppy dog. Tom needed to be back where he was from to remember that life was present in the simple things like having the ones you love right beside you.

Tom was frightened of the idea of coming back to England because that meant that he needed to confront his feelings, something he avoided for a long time now and wasn’t ready to face just yet. Sure, maybe cry in his mother’s arms would be helpful now, but he couldn’t run away from his feeling when they were living nearby.

He wanted her to slap him, to shoot him with a gun, throw a rock on his head, stab him. Anything. Anything at all, but not the littlest speech that would be stuck in his head through all eternity. Physical pain could go away, but what was craved on his mind was permanent and even death wouldn’t make it go away. 

I’m going back to 505

If it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive

In my imagination, you’re waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs

But eventually, Harrison convinced him of coming back to London, even though he tried his best to postpone it. Shootings would eventually come to an end and they need to go back home. That apartment with a great view of the beautiful New York skyline wasn’t meant to be theirs forever. And when the day came, he had to face all of his fears and come home to the thing he had avoided the most.

“Mom, can you give me a hug?” Tom whined as he walked into the kitchen. Nikki stopped everything she was doing to hug her firstborn. She planted a kiss on his temple and he held her tighter. “What if she doesn’t want me back?”

“Tom, if there’s one thing I know is that she loves you just as much as you love her. But she’s pretty upset, so I’m not going to say that everything’s in going to be fine. But I didn’t raise you to be a quitter.”

“But I’m so scared.” Nikki leaned back and wiped some tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. 

“Love is scary, but if it’s real, you can’t give up now.”

“I love her so much.” Nikki pulled him back into a hug, using her hands to caress his hair.

“I know you do, love. That’s why you’re going after her.

And that was what Tom did that night. He took the long drive all across town to park his car in front of the same old house and he was already freaking out. It looked exactly how he remembered in his head. The bright white entrance, the black and white tiles under his feet, the black door with the golden door knocker and the three numbers stuck on his head. He brushed his thumb over the 505 written in gold and sighed before knocking on the door. Tom took a couple of steps back to glance up to your balcony. The door was slightly opened with the curtains being blown by the wind, but no sign of the girl.

She opened the front door instead, and Tom could swear his heart stopped when he crossed her eyes once again. (Y/N) looked prettier than ever, a little different, with shorter hair and a little mature. She wasn’t wearing her white robe. No… She was wearing a Spider-Man Tshirt with her sleeping slacks and fluffy slippers, which made him smile with the corner of his mouth because he gave her that shirt. Her mouth fell agape and he could notice her uneven breathing.

“Tom.” She whispered and he could feel himself tearing up without being able to take his eyes away from her.

“(Y/N).”

“You’re back.” He nodded and she took a couple of seconds to assimilate it. “You’re here, like… really here.”

“I am.” He opened a little smile and she remained in place, completely frozen. Tom wanted her to say something, maybe punch him, scream at him, anything. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

But I crumble completely when you cry

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with "Goodbye"

I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

When she dropped the first tear, Tom’s heart crumbled. He hated many things, but that was the thing he hated the most in the world. Watching the person he loves the most crying, and not out of joy, because of something he did. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve him.

“Y-you were gone.” She started and he nodded.

“I know.”

“You left me all alone without even saying goodbye.”

“I know.” He repeated.

“You decided to only tell me when you already were in New York.”

“I know. And I never regretted something so much.” He finished and she looked up, trying to stop the tears from falling.

“You know Tom, I got tired of waiting for you. Tired of waiting for your knock on my fucking door, of hoping that the person outside it was my boy. My shiny boy that always makes my heart sink and light up with joy at the same time, even though I’m so fucking mad at him.”

“What are you feeling right now?” He asked and she started to cry harder.

“I feel like punching you.” She slapped his chest and started to slap him harder, but Tom could handle the pain, he deserved it. “My heart is hurting so much right now, and you don’t give me a break to make it heal.” She gave him one last punch before starting to sob from crying and pulling him into a hug. Tom was crying just as much as she was and there was nothing he could do to stop it. She hugged his middle and buried her face of his chest. He rested his chin over her head and hugged her by the shoulder. “I hate you.”

“I love you.” He whispered before pressing a kiss on top of her head. “And I fucked up so bad that I don’t even think you should be with me. But I missed you so fucking much it hurts. I’m a difficult person, I know I am. We’re not perfect, but I can’t imagine being without you. No matter where I go, I’ll always come back to you.”

I’m going back to 505

If it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive

“Please, don’t go away.” She mumbled against his chest.

“I won’t.” She leaned back and held his face between her hands, brushing her thumbs over every inch of his face, trying to understand that he was really there. By now, Tom was a mirage to her, as if she was in the middle of a desert and he was the oasis calling her to refresh. “Please don’t cry because of me.”

“I always cry for those I love.” Her lips curved into a little smile and she cleaned some of his tears.

“I’m so sorry.” He spilt some more tears and she cleaned them again. 

“I forgive you.” She nodded and he opened a little smile, even though he was completely broken. She leaned up and softly kissed his lips. They still tasted like the sweet strawberry lip balm she always wears, and her lips were just as soft as he remembered. Her hands fit his neck perfectly, just like his fit her waist. When she parted her lips and their tongues touched, Tom felt like coming home. She was his home, and always will be. “I love you, Tommy.

“I love you too, (Y/N/N).” He glued their forehead and the tip of their noses.

She searched for his hand and pulled him inside the house. It was pretty much the same. The long coats and bags hanging by the door, the incredible messy stairs with paper bags and other stuff that he knew she put there in hope to get them upstairs sometime. Her living room always so inviting to sit on the couch and cuddle with her over hot tea and a dumb movie. He stopped for a second to remember some moments right there with her, moments he would cherish forever because they were so dear to his heart.

“I’ll be waiting for you upstairs.” She said, walking away first and letting Tom process the whole thing for a little longer. He took a long breath and followed her to the second floor. Every step he took, he remembered a moment and suddenly his heart wasn’t aching anymore. When he got to her bedroom door, he knew for sure that he was okay.

In my imagination, you’re waiting lying on your side

With your hands between the thighs

She was waiting on her side. The left side. Just the way he imagined on long nights awake wishing and praying to be back with you, lying on his side, the right one. She opened her arms so he could join her in bed and that was exactly what he did. After taking his shoes and trousers before lying on her arms again. Suddenly the weight on his heart wasn’t so heavy anymore. Her touch always helped him feel better and he was finally feeling her again. She turned the other way and he followed her by pulling her into a hug, spooning her with smalls kisses on her cheeks.

“I promise to never let you down again.” He whispered in her ear. “I dreamed about this for so many nights and you don’t know how grateful I am for being here. You don’t know how thankful I that you let me in, that you forgave me.”

“I’m grateful too.” She kissed his hand over and over again. “Can we just sleep now? I’m tired and I know you are too. We can talk more in the morning.”

“I love you.” He kissed his cheek again and she smiled.

“I love you too.”

And a smile

…………………

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