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buckysleftbicep · 16 days ago

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the things we left behind 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!ex!bucky barnes x widow!ex!reader (reader is female)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, a whole lot of angst, unprotected sex, creampie, painful break up, depression, toxic relationship

summary: you haven't seen bucky in years. not since the night he left. the blip changed both of you, and nothing was ever the same after. now, val has you working together again. the job is dangerous, the tension is unbearable. and the feelings? still impossible to outrun.

word count: 6.7k

author's note: hi loves, it's been a tough few days and honestly, i am trying to cope with work and school, and how i gotta start on my research paper in a month. i am so overwhelmed, and writing this fic kinda helped me to escape all of that for a bit 💓. thank you for reading, love ya guys and stay safe out there!

The email came at 3:12 a.m.

You didn’t check it right away—you were halfway through disassembling your beretta on the kitchen table, fingers slick with oil, an old jazz record crackling faintly from the busted speaker in the corner.

Outside, another storm carved itself across the city skyline. Rain hammered the tin roof. Wind screamed through the alley like it was trying to claw its way in.

You'd gotten used to nights like this. The quiet ones. The hollow ones. The ones where silence curled around your spine like a second skin. Where sleep didn’t come easy and ghosts sat in the corners.

But you never ignored a message from Val.

Especially not one marked URGENT.

You slid the half-cleaned barrel aside and reached for your tablet. The screen flickered to life, illuminating the room in cold blue.

A notification pulsed at the top corner, her name bold, bureaucratic, unmistakable. You hesitated for a second. Not out of fear, just instinct. You always read the fine print before you let something gut you.

You tapped the message open.

FROM: [email protected] SUBJECT: URGENT: Field Assignment Target: Codename OMEGA. Ex-military. Ex-Hydra. Now independent and building weapons that rival Stark’s worst. Expanding faster than Hydra ever did. You’ll be compensated generously, you’re the best tracker I’ve got. And Barnes could use your help. — V

You stared at the screen for a long time.

Barnes.

Your thumb hovered at the edge of the table, tapping once. Twice. Again.

That name wasn’t a landmine—it was a fucking extinction-level event. A seismic crack straight through your chest.

You hadn’t seen it typed out in over two years.

Not since you deleted every message.

Every photo. Every voicemail.

Not since you shoved him—all of him—into a vault inside your mind and welded the door shut.

Even thinking it felt like betrayal. The air shifted around you. Denser. Sharper. You weren’t sure if it was rage or something colder coiling under your ribs, but it made it hard to breathe.

You rose from the table without realising it, pacing to the window. The alley outside was bathed in harsh shadows, neon from the liquor store sign across the street painting everything a violent red.

You could still remember the last time you said his name aloud. It hadn’t been soft. Or sweet. It had been a whisper strangled by tears.

Just a few months ago, you had seen his face again. Unintentionally. On your shitty television, the one balanced on a rusted ammo crate next to your gear bags. You were flipping through channels to avoid your own thoughts—when suddenly, there she was.

Val, in that smug little purple coat, standing on some makeshift podium like a bad dream. Flanked by the press, and smiling like the devil.

"Meet the new Avengers."

And there he was. Bucky.

Your hand froze around the remote.

He was different. A little older. Clean-cut, almost polished. But not really. There was still something haunted behind the eyes. Something wild under the surface.

You knew that look. You’d memorised it—held it in your hands during the worst nights. It was the way he looked when he didn’t know how to stay. The way he looked at you.

You didn’t watch for more than a few seconds.

Didn’t listen to what he said.

You clicked the screen off.

Walked out of the room like it hadn’t just set a match to the walls you’d spent years rebuilding.

The last you’d heard, he was a congressman. Or maybe that was just another lie the world told itself to sleep easier at night.

You’d made it a rule not to keep tabs. Not to reach out. Not even when you missed him so much you thought your skin might split.

It was the only way you’d survived.

Now this.

Now Val was offering you money. A job. A mission.

But not just any mission. One that meant going back into the field. Tracking a target dangerous enough to spook even her.

A weapons dealer with enough firepower to start another war, based in Romania, deep-pocketed, ex-military, rumoured to be building something worse than Stark tech.

You could do it. Of course you could.

You were trained for it. One of the best assassins still walking—invisible, untraceable, lethal.

Val hadn’t exaggerated. You were the best.

But this wasn’t about the mission.

This was about him.

Working with him. Seeing him again.

Smelling him. Hearing his voice.

Pretending it didn’t hollow you out.

God, after everything— After everything—

You clenched your jaw until your teeth ached and looked back at the screen.

Val didn’t know your history. Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t have sent the message if she did. Or maybe she did know, and sent it anyway. You wouldn’t put it past her.

Your reflection in the glass caught your eye. Same eyes. Same scars. But the woman looking back wasn’t the one he loved. Not anymore.

Maybe she never was.

You sat back down slowly. The room was too quiet now. The Beretta still lay in pieces on the table, glinting dully under the bare bulb overhead. The silence felt like a countdown.

Your hand moved on its own. You tapped out a reply.

I’ll take it.

You could still remember the night he left.

It had started like all the other nights.

Angry, messy and quiet in all the wrong places.

You’d fought again. You couldn’t even remember what about, maybe it didn’t matter. It never really did. It was always about the same things—the silences, the avoidance.

The way he wouldn’t talk to you unless it was laced in something defensive. The way your voice always seemed to crack just before you said something unforgivable.

The apartment was dark, save for the sliver of streetlight cutting through the blinds and the faint hum of the heater that never quite worked right.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, spine tight, fists curled in the sheets. Your chest still heaved from the shouting match, breath shaky, shallow.

You hated crying in front of him. But it was happening anyway.

Behind you, he stood by the door, tall, unmoving, arms crossed like holding onto himself was the only thing keeping him from saying something worse.

Bucky hadn’t spoken in minutes. That always scared you more than the yelling. The quiet.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you finally whispered, voice raw.

He didn’t respond.

You turned to look at him, forcing your voice to steady. “Say something.”

He looked up then, and his eyes, God, his eyes. There was no softness left in them tonight. Just exhaustion, grief wrapped in the shape of a man.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said quietly.

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt. “I want you to act like you still fucking care.”

“I do care,” he bit out. “That’s the damn problem.”

The silence that followed was loud. So loud it made your ears ring.

Bucky’s jaw tensed as he stepped forward slowly, stopping just in front of you.

His voice dropped lower, strained, like it hurt him to say it. “You think I don’t care because I don’t yell back anymore? Because I don’t chase you when you storm out? I stopped chasing you because every time I do, you just run further.”

Your throat burned. “I’m not the only one running.”

That landed. You saw it, in the way his expression faltered, just for a second.

“I lost everyone, Buck,” you continued, voice cracking. “Nat. Steve. The world fucking flipped inside out. I came back and people I loved were either dead or moved on. And you—you were the only thing that felt real.”

He didn’t say a word.

“I just kept thinking… maybe if we held on tighter, we could—”

“Break each other slower?” he cut in.

The words hit you like a slap. Brutal, cold and unflinching.

You blinked at him, stunned. “Is that what you think we’re doing?”

“I think we’re trying to survive a war that already ended,” he said, a little softer now. “And neither of us came out whole.”

Your eyes stung. But you didn’t want to cry.

Not again. Not in front of him.

“So what? That’s it? You give up?”

“I didn’t say that.” he protested.

“Then what are you saying?”

He ran a hand through his hair, stepped back like he needed air. Like you were suffocating him just by standing there. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know who we are anymore.”

You stood up. Walked toward him. Close, too close.

Your voice was trembling now, but you didn’t step back. “We’re us. We’re still us. You know that.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth—like he wanted to believe it. Like he couldn’t.

“You don’t get to walk away,” you whispered. “Not tonight.”

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It was desperate.

The fight dissolved the moment your mouths met. Your hands went to his jaw, to his hair, pulling him in like you could anchor yourself inside him.

He kissed you back like a man unraveling, like he had no other language left. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you backward until your spine met the bedroom wall.

Clothes came off in clumsy, frantic movements. Tugged shirts. Shaking fingers. Gasps caught in the quiet like smoke. His lips trailed down your throat, your chest, his mouth everywhere—hot and hungry.

He pushed inside you with a groan, and your legs wrapped around his waist like instinct, like need. Your hips lifted to meet his, the angle bruising, perfect.

It wasn’t gentle, it never was when you fought.

Every thrust was a plea. Every moan a memory.

He held you like he wanted to stay. Fucked you like he didn’t know how to leave.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back as he drove deeper.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured into your neck, voice wrecked. “I know. I’ve got you.”

Your nails raked down his back. Your mouth caught his in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You’d done this so many times, made love like it was the only language you both still understood.

And maybe it was.

When you came, it was with a cry muffled into his shoulder. Your body trembled around him, and he held you through every wave. He followed soon after, voice breaking on your name as his hips stuttered, as he buried himself deep inside you, like he could stay there forever.

For a while, you just lay there. Breathing.

You were curled against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, still pounding hard beneath your palm. His arm was around your waist. His other hand gently cradled the back of your neck. He pressed a kiss to your hair.

And then—he spoke.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

Your whole body stilled.

You pulled back just enough to see his face. “What?”

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“This,” he said. “Us. The fights. The sex. The pretending, (y/n) it's killing us.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, we can fix it. We always do.”

“This isn’t fixing anything,” he said, voice quieter now. “We're just stalling the inevitable.”

Your eyes filled again, but you blinked fast, furious. “So what? You want to end it?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation was worse than anything he could’ve said.

“Say it,” you whispered. “If that’s what you want, just say it.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. He looked wrecked, like every word he said carved him open too.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said. “I’m not what you need. Maybe I never—.”

“Don’t say that,” you breathed. “Don’t you dare—”

He kissed you again.

Slow. Final.

And when he pulled away, it was like something tore loose inside your chest. Like a rib cracked open and your lungs forgot how to work.

“I love you, god, I do,” he said. “But we’re not good for each other.”

You stared at him, heart breaking open like glass.“Then why does this hurt so much?”

He looked at you—like it was killing him not to reach for you.

“Because I loved you,” he said, voice wrecked. “And I still couldn’t make it right.”

He left before sunrise. You didn’t sleep for three days.

Bucky hated briefings.

He hated the fluorescents. The cold coffee. The recycled air. He hated the staged professionalism, the smug undertone in Val’s voice, and the folders she always slapped down like a final hand in poker.

But he showed up anyway, half-shaven, black t-shirt clinging to the sweat along his spine, bruises still blooming across his ribs from the chase in Istanbul just a day ago.

A smuggler had gotten lucky with a crowbar and he had returned the favour with a shattered wrist.

Val didn’t even glance up when he entered the room.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered, flipping through a file like she hadn’t been waiting. “Sit.”

He dropped into the chair across from her, spine loose but jaw tight, watching her like he was waiting for the punchline.

“You said it was urgent.”

“It is.”

She slid the top folder toward him across the steel table. No smile. Just business.

“Weapons dealer. Codename: OMEGA. Ex-military and former Hydra, bastard’s freelancing now, he’s building something, Stark-level tech, maybe worse. We don’t know but black market says it’s mobile, adaptive, and spreading faster than anything Hydra ever managed.”

Bucky flipped the folder open, glancing over the first photo. Satellite images. Grainy outlines of a compound nestled in the Carpathians. Weapon crates stamped with false serials. And a man, dark-haired, lean, with a half-smile that made Bucky’s gut twist.

“You want me to take him out?”

“No,” Val said, narrowing her eyes. “Not yet. I want you to find him. Get intel. Map the pipeline. This asshole is exporting something fast, quiet, and powerful, and nobody knows how yet.”

He leaned back in the chair, nodding slowly. “So who’s running point with me?”

That was when she smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. It never was.

“Someone sharp. Knows the terrain like it’s etched into their bloodstream. I needed someone OMEGA wouldn’t see coming, a ghost, basically.” She pulled a second folder from beneath the stack and laid it down with calculated weight.

“So I found the best.”

Bucky’s chest went still.

She tapped the folder once. “You’ve worked together before.”

His eyes didn’t move. Not yet. He didn’t need to look to know. Something low and cold began to unfurl inside him.

“Who?” he asked, already knowing.

Val didn’t skip a beat. “She’s from the Red Room, trained with Romanov. One of the sharpest trackers I’ve ever seen, maybe the best. You worked with her back in 2016. Rogers brought her in to help you disappear for a few weeks.” She looked up at him. “That ring any bells?”

His throat dried out.

Of course it rang a bell. Of course it cracked the whole goddamn church tower.

“She ghosted after the Blip,” Val went on, oblivious to the way the blood had drained from his face. “Merc work. Off-grid. Her name comes up every few years, always attached to success stories. She doesn’t come cheap, but lucky for us, she said yes.”

Bucky didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

Val cocked her head slightly. “Problem?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his tone flat. “No. Just surprised.”

“Don’t be. I told you I wanted the best.”

And she meant it, that was the thing.

Val had no idea. None.

She was looking at him like she’d made a smart tactical move, like this was just another piece on her chessboard.

She didn’t know you were more than a name on a file. Didn’t know that just hearing your name was like being punched in the ribs with a memory.

Of course you said yes. Of course you did.

Bucky looked down at the folder, the one he hadn’t opened. The one that already felt like it was burning through the table. His fingers twitched, fighting the urge to open it. But he didn’t need to. He could already picture your face.

Exactly how you looked the last time he saw you, in that apartment, the light catching the tears on your cheek, your mouth trembling, your voice a broken whisper after one final kiss that hadn’t felt final at all.

You hadn’t spoken since. He’d made sure of that.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were the right choice.

You were. You always have been. Your instincts were lethal. Precise. Back when everything was chaos, when he was hunted, bleeding, feral—you’d found him with no satellites, relying on nothing but your skills.

You’d read the rhythm of his footsteps, you’d seen the man underneath the weapon—and somehow, you’d still touched him like he was worth something.

He remembered it all.

The way you’d looked at him without fear. The way you’d spoken to him like he wasn’t broken. The way you’d fallen— And the way he’d fallen harder.

Too hard.

He clenched his jaw and rose from the chair before Val could get clever.

“When do we leave?”

Val smiled, satisfied. “She’ll be here by morning.”

He turned and left before she could say anything else.

Bucky hadn’t seen you in years.

But the memory of you had never really left.

He had tried to pretend otherwise—told himself he’d locked it away. Buried it. Pushed it down into the same graveyard where the rest of his broken things lived. But the truth was simpler. Meaner.

You were everywhere.

In the way someone laughed too loud on a subway platform, in the weight of silence when he climbed into bed alone.

You’d lived beneath his skin long after you left his bed.

And sometimes, even now—in moments he didn’t expect, he could still feel you there.

He remembered the first time he saw you.

Bucharest, 2016. Steve had said your name, classified—a Red Room defector who knew the streets, the syndicates, the backchannels. A shadow that didn’t leave footprints.

He said you owed him a favour. He never said what that favour was.

You’d found him in less than forty-eight hours.

He was holed up in an abandoned tenement, hiding in corners, still haunted by trigger phrases and mission reports and words like asset and eliminate.

He hadn’t slept in two days. He hadn’t trusted anyone in longer.

Then the door creaked. A whisper of motion. And there you were, boots silent, a pistol tucked in your belt, eyes sharp enough to cut. You looked at him like you already knew every terrible thing he’d done.

And somehow… you didn’t flinch.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you said.

And maybe that was the first lie you ever told him.

Because you did. Just not in the way he expected.

You’d stayed longer than Steve asked. Said the apartment wasn’t secure. Said you didn’t trust the local chatter. But you’d also started bringing back coffee in the mornings. Left food on the table without asking.

You never made him say thank you. You never asked why his hands shook when he reached for a fork.

And when he had a nightmare so violent he woke up gasping, fists clenched, blood on his tongue, you didn’t back away.

You touched his shoulder, soft and steady, and whispered his name until the past let go of his throat.

Until he remembered where he was. Until he remembered who he was.

That was the night you sat on the windowsill, legs crossed, and told him about the Red Room.

Not all of it. Just enough.

You told him about the girl who never shed a single tear during conditioning. Who learned pressure points before she comprehended math. Who killed a man before she learned how to braid her own hair.

He watched you in the half-light. And something broke open in him. Something painful and quiet.

“You think you’re the only one who came out wrong,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve got blood on my hands too.”

He didn’t know what to say.

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It couldn’t be.

Two people clawing at each other for something that made them feel human. That made them feel alive.

You’d kissed him like you were starving. Pulled him in by the collar, pressed your body to his like you could crawl inside him and stay there. It was heat and teeth and desperation. It was need, masquerading as anger, safety masquerading as lust.

But later, when your breath had evened out and the moonlight spilled across your bare shoulder, he held you like a secret. His hand moved up and down your spine like he’d been doing it forever.

You curled into him. Stayed there. Whispered things you’d never say in daylight.

He didn’t ask about the scars. You didn’t ask about the dog tags beside his bed. You didn’t need to.

You’d already seen each other naked long before the clothes came off.

That was all it took. That was all it ever took.

Then the Blip happened. And the world ended.

He didn’t know what hurt more—watching you turn to dust in front of him, or himself coming back five years later to find out you hadn’t come back.

They say grief changes people. But this wasn’t grief. This was obliteration.

When you finally returned, months after the snap was reversed—something in you was different. Sharper. Duller. Both at once. Your eyes didn’t light up the same. Your voice came from somewhere deeper.

Bucky later learned the truth in pieces.

You hadn’t come back with the others. Not because you couldn't. But because you hadn’t wanted to.

The moment your body came back, lungs gasping, heart hammering, soul thrown back into flesh, you were alone. Dropped in a place you didn’t recognize. Somewhere cold. Ruined. A city that had moved on without you.

No one was waiting. No one even knew you'd returned.

And when you finally made it back to what was left of the world, you found out what you’d missed.

Natasha was gone. Steve was gone.

Everything you fought for. Everyone who held you up. All of it—just gone.

You didn’t go back to the Tower. Didn’t call anyone. You vanished.

You went underground, took jobs that let you bleed. Let you disappear. Let you punish yourself in silence, in shadows, where no one could see the way grief had gutted you.

It wasn’t about survival. It wasn’t even about revenge.

It was about not being seen. Not being found.

Because if someone found you—if Bucky found you—then you’d have to admit that you were still alive.

And some days, that felt like the worst thing of all.

It took Bucky weeks to track you down.

You'd covered your tracks—burner phones, false names, cities that swallowed you whole. But he knew your patterns. Knew how you moved.

He traced whispers of a woman who never stayed long, it had led him to a crumbling outpost in Albania, an old safehouse half-buried in snow.

You’d just come back from a mission, your knuckles bruised, your jaw clenched, blood dried at your collar.

He watched you from across the road, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. You didn’t see him until he stepped into the light and said your name.

Soft. Like a prayer. Like a wound.

You didn’t talk about Natasha. Didn’t mention Steve. You didn’t talk at all.

And when he finally got you to come home, Bucky tried to help. God, he tried. He made you tea on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Sat outside the bathroom door when you locked it, listening to the sound of your breath breaking apart through panic.

He held you when you let him—which wasn’t often—and never asked for more. And when the words ran dry, when silence grew sharp enough to cut, he touched you like he could piece you back together. Made love to you like it might be enough, like it might remind you how to stay.

But you didn’t come back to him. Not really.

And if he was honest, neither did he.

The world had cracked open. And when it tried to reassemble itself, the pieces didn’t fit.

He still loved you, that had never changed.

But love isn’t always soft. Sometimes it’s sharp, jagged.

Sometimes it’s made of splinters and sutures. Sometimes it bleeds.

And this one did.

The fights started small.

You stayed out too late. You took contracts without telling him. Vanished without explanation. Returned like nothing had happened—blood on your hands, silence in your eyes.

“Where were you?” “I handled it.” “You don’t have to handle things alone anymore.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Bucky.”

It escalated.

You screamed. He slammed doors.

You made love like it was the last time, every time. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from drowning. He kissed you like he couldn’t bear the thought of breathing without you.

You cried once—during.

He kissed the tears from your cheeks and didn’t ask why.

And the next morning, neither of you said a word.

He had left before sunrise.

Quiet. Measured. Like if he moved too fast, the goodbye would catch fire.

Hours earlier, you’d clung to each other like maybe it could still work. Like maybe the way he held you—deep and slow and shaking, like it could sew something back together that had already torn beyond repair.

He’d kissed you after. Whispered your name like it was a prayer. You’d thought maybe he was staying.

But the words came anyway. The softest ones. The final ones.

“I love you,” he’d said. “But we’re not good for each other.”

He didn’t leave a note, he didn’t need to. The silence between you had already said everything.

You didn’t chase him. He didn’t come back. And neither of you called.

Because whatever it was—love, grief, survival—it had finally burned through.

Now, standing in the tower hallway, hands clenched and jaw tight, he thought about all of it.

About the girl who kissed him with cracked knuckles and laughed when she beat him in hand-to-hand. About the woman who came back from the dead and couldn’t sleep through the night.

He thought about your mouth. Your voice. The way you used to touch him.

You were coming back into his life. He didn’t know what that meant yet.

But it didn’t feel like closure. It felt like fate trying again.

The helicopter touched down just before midnight.

The rooftop landing pad of the compound was slick with rain, wind howling against the glass walls like it wanted in. You stayed seated as the engine powered down, watching water bead and crawl across the window.

The city pulsed below, indifferent and alive. It had been years since you stood in this place. Longer since it had felt anything close to home.

You adjusted your gloves slowly, methodically. Your bag was already slung across your shoulder, weapons holstered, expression blank. The only tell was your fingers—twitching against your thigh like they were searching for something to hold onto.

Footsteps echoed behind you.

"You coming, or do I have to drag you out?" Yelena's voice, unmistakably smug.

You turned. And for a second—just a second, your composure slipped.

She looked the same. Combat boots scuffed from wear. Hair shorter now—cropped into a blunt cut that suited her sharp grin.

There was something in her eyes that made you feel twelve again. She crossed the threshold and threw her arms around you before you could react.

"You bitch," she said, laughing into your shoulder. "You didn’t even text me. I thought you were dead. I tried everything. Even hacked into a mercenary network that tracks off-grid operatives. That’s how low I sank."

You exhaled a breath that almost cracked. Your arms wrapped around her on instinct.

"I missed you too," you murmured.

She pulled back and looked at you—really looked.

"Where did you go?" Her voice dropped a little. Not accusing. Just softer. Like it hurt to ask. "I tried calling, so many times. You just vanished."

You hesitated.

"I couldn’t be here," you said finally. "Not after everything that happened."

Yelena nodded, but her smile faltered. There was understanding in her eyes. And maybe grief too. You had lost your best friend, and she had lost a sister.

"Well, you're here now," she said. "And Val’s gonna shit herself when she sees the two of us in the same room."

You huffed out a quiet laugh. It didn’t reach your eyes.

The elevator opened with a low chime.

And that was when you felt it.

A shift. A cold crackle in your chest. Like a wire pulled tight.

You turned your head.

And there he was.

Bucky stepped off the elevator like a ghost from a life you didn’t let yourself remember.

Dressed in black, cargo pants, worn boots, leather jacket unzipped just enough to show the grey shirt beneath. His damp hair pushed back like he’d just stepped out of the storm. A duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, his gait loose but alert.

And his expression—his expression was still, but his eyes...his eyes landed on you like impact—like an old wound splitting wide open

They locked on yours with such force it felt like gravity shifted. Something primal and painful surged in your chest.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

He froze. So did you.

It was silent. Just the distant hum of the building, the rain tapping against the windows, Yelena shifting awkwardly between you. No words. Just that unbearable, suffocating pause.

Then he blinked. Swallowed. And nodded once.

"Hey."

It was barely audible. Rough. Like he hadn’t said it in a long time.

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

Yelena glanced between you and cleared her throat. "I’ll uh… give you two a minute."

She was gone before you could stop her.

You turned back toward the window, throat burning. You felt him walk closer—not near enough to touch, but close enough that his presence bent the air.

"You look different," he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. "So do you."

Another silence.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again," he said.

"You didn’t try to."

That landed. Hard. You could feel it—the way his weight shifted, the breath he held like it might shatter.

"I didn’t think you’d want me to."

You finally turned, eyes sharp, guarded.

"I didn’t."

And it was true. At least partly.

Because as much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you told yourself you’d buried it all—your body still remembered.

The way he used to touch you. Hold you. Make love to you like it meant something.

It all came flooding back now.

You remembered the press of his mouth against your throat, the weight of him between your legs, the way he whispered your name when he was close—like it broke something inside him.

You remembered how he moved inside you, how he clung to you like a drowning man, murmuring your name over and over like it was the only anchor he had left.

You remembered his hands, calloused and warm, roaming your body like they knew every inch, every scar, every secret.

The way he used to fuck you like he was desperate to stay, to feel something that tethered him to this life—to you. Like the act of loving you was the only thing keeping him from disappearing entirely.

And you remembered what it felt like after.

Curled into his chest.

His lips in your hair.

His breath still shaking.

His voice—low and ruined—saying he couldn’t keep doing this.

The ache of it split something inside you.

You swallowed hard. Fingers tightening over your arms like they were holding your ribs together.

"This doesn’t change anything," you said.

He nodded slowly. "I know."

But it did. You both knew it.

Because for all the distance, for all the time, the pain, the silence—the second your eyes met, you felt it. That same, awful, impossible thing.

You still wanted him.

And he still looked at you like you were the only person who ever knew how to touch him without hurting.

It wasn’t love.

It was something worse. It was memory.

The ride into Romania was long, loud, and silent in all the worst ways.

The blades beat a steady rhythm against the night sky, slicing through clouds as the landscape below dissolved into shadow.

You sat across from him on the side bench, both of you facing inward, knees angled close, but never touching. The blades roared above as the helicopter cut through the clouds, the green glow of the instrument panel washing your boots in ghost-light.

You didn’t look at him. But you could feel it. Every flicker of his gaze, every stolen glance. Like gravity pulling him toward something he had long buried.

When the helicopter finally began its descent, the mountains looked like teeth—jagged, looming, half-lost in cloud. The safehouse wasn’t much. A stone structure tucked into a hillside, half-swallowed by fog and overgrowth.

The wind howled around it as the blades slowed to a halt, leaving you both alone with nothing but damp air and unfinished sentences. You slung your bag over your shoulder, boots crunching over gravel as you followed him up the narrow path.

There was no conversation. Just the weight of your history trailing behind you like a second shadow.

Inside, the safehouse smelled like dust and rain. There were two rooms. A generator humming low. A fireplace that hadn’t been used in years.

The air held the chill of old grief, you dropped your gear on the floor, peeled off your damp jacket, and stood there, cold, wet and exhausted. He did the same, his movements slow, careful, like even the air between you might break if he moved too fast.

The silence thickened. Unbearable.

You turned toward him, voice sharp. “You never came back.”

He looked up from his bag. Stilled. “What?”

You stared at him, every nerve in your chest pulled tight. “After the fight. After you walked out. You never came back. Not even once.”

He blinked. “You told me not to.”

“No, I didn’t,” you said, voice rising. “I begged you to stay. I begged you not to walk away, and you still left.”

His jaw flexed. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snapped. “You did anyway.”

He stepped toward you then, chest heaving, anger flickering beneath the surface. “What did you want me to do? Keep pretending we were okay? Just keep fucking you like that was enough?”

You flinched. “Don’t you dare—”

“I didn’t know how to make it better!” he shouted. “I loved you, god, I loved you, but I didn’t know how to reach you. And every time I touched you, I told myself we were okay, that I could keep us from falling apart. But it was fucking killing me.”

You swallowed against the ache rising in your throat. “So you let go.”

He nodded slowly, breathing hard. “Yeah. I let go.”

“And you didn’t look back.”

He stepped closer. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Act like you didn’t leave too. You shut me out. You stopped talking. You disappeared before I even walked out that door.”

Your eyes burned. “Because I was grieving, because everyone I—I loved was gone.”

“And I was still standing there,” he said, voice breaking. “I was right there, and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Something in you cracked.

You pushed him, open palm against his chest. Hard.

He didn’t move. Didn’t stumble. Just looked at you with something hollow in his eyes, like he was still standing in the ruins of everything you used to be.

“I waited,” you whispered. “I waited for you to come back.”

He stepped into you then, hands bracing against the wall behind you, caging you in. The air shifted, heat sparking between you like a live wire.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he said, low and rough.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at him, eyes wet, fists clenched. “Then why didn’t you try?”

His voice was hoarse. “Because I thought I already lost you.”

You shook your head. “No James, you gave up on me.”

“I never gave up on you,” he said. “I gave up on the idea that I was good for you.”

The words scraped across your chest.

“I didn’t want perfect,” you whispered. “I just wanted you.”

The distance between you snapped.

His hands found your face, your jaw, your waist, pulling you in like a man dying of thirst. The kiss came sharp, searing, desperate. All tongue and teeth and ragged breath.

You clawed at his shirt, fisting the fabric, grounding yourself in the heat of him. He pressed you back against the wall, hard enough to shake loose the memories.

His mouth dropped to your neck, your collarbone, biting at the soft skin like he was angry at it. You gasped, arching against him, fingers dragging down his spine.

“Tell me you don’t miss this,” he growled against your throat.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“Not what I asked.”

He lifted you with ease, walked you backwards to the bed, lips never leaving your skin. He dropped you down, followed you with a weight that felt like coming undone. The rain outside slammed against the windows. The bed creaked beneath the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

Clothes peeled off, slow and frantic at once. He kissed every inch of your skin, reverent and bruising. You clawed at his back, moaned his name like a plea, like a prayer.

When he slid inside you, it stole the air from your lungs.

He moved slowly at first, deep, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl, your body arch. You clung to him, nails biting into his shoulder blades. He buried his face in your neck.

“You feel the same,” he rasped. “Fuck—you feel exactly the same.”

“Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”

His rhythm quickened, rougher, harder. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by broken sobs and gasping breath.

“I should’ve fought for you,” he said. “I should’ve fucking fought.”

You kissed him, fierce and shattering. “Then fight now.”

He groaned into your mouth. “I love you.”

“Then stay.”

You came with a cry, your whole body seizing around him. He followed with a broken moan, hips stuttering, breath catching as he spilled inside you.

You stayed like that for a long time, chests pressed together, foreheads touching, breath mingling in the dark.

And in that quiet, brutal silence, something shifted.

Not healed. Not yet.

But something close to hope.

You lay still for a long time after, his hand tangled in your hair, your breath catching on every exhale like your body didn’t quite believe what it had just done. Bucky shifted beside you, his arm tight around your waist, grounding you.

“You meant it?” you asked softly. “When you said you love me?”

He turned his face toward yours. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no flicker of doubt. “I never stopped,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

You closed your eyes. Let the words settle. Let the silence stretch.

Then—his voice again. Quieter now. Rough around the edges, like the words scraped on the way out.

“Can we try again?”

Your eyes opened.

He held your gaze, steady and unflinching.

“I know I left,” he continued. “And I know you shut me out too. We both did damage. But I still love you. And I want to stay this time. No matter how hard it gets, I’m not walking away. Not ever again.”

Your chest ached.

Because part of you still wanted to push him away, to brace for the inevitable.

But a bigger part, the part that remembered the sound of his laugh in the morning, the feel of his hands holding your broken pieces together—that part whispered:

Yes.

And for the first time in a long time, you almost believed it could be enough.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! your feedback is forever welcomed my loves!

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shotmrmiller · 11 months ago

Text

response to this but it got so long and ig im in my throuple era rn

@xoxunhinged i listened to one (1) song on repeat while writing this on the phone

okay yeah wait or just

it's ghost x price first.

Big burly men taking up too much space in the little coffee shop you work at or something and they're there like clockwork too. Every wednesday and friday, 8 am, usually the first clients of the day and all they order is a regular cup of joe. Plain. You offer alternative sweeteners, powdered creamer, but no dice.

Plain black. Like the occasional smudge of eyeliner(?) around the bigger one's eyes.

They're cute, in their own way. John is a blend of rugged charm and seasoned wisdom. The other, Simon, is mysterious. Guarded. Speaks only to his companion.

The pet names start to get to your head. Of course, you reason that John's just not from around here. His calling you sweetheart from across the room to grab your attention must be English.

But logic cannot stop the heat from licking up your cheeks when he does. or when Simon calls you something different altogether eventually.

"Mornin', pet."

It's even more gut-twisting when you catch glimpses of the occasional PDA: A large hand curling around an even bigger jean-clad thigh. Faces so close they could kiss (Waterboarding couldn't get the fact that you've rubbed your thighs together at the thought of them actually kissing out of you) and the fact that Simon's usually sharp gaze softens around the edges, pale gold whispering against the puckered pink of a barely visible scar beneath his face mask.

A couple. They're a couple. It's bittersweet, that feeling settling in your chest. Like dark chocolate coating your tongue. Honeyed nectar of love, the bitter bite of it not being your own.

Maybe it's time to go out with your friends to the bar.

Things take a nasty turn when Simon, out of the both of them, had come in alone and propositioned you on crisp, saturday morning.

Oh, the acid in your stomach felt like it was corroding the walls of your esophagus as it rose. You don't remember much of what you said but it'd been loud, vitriolic. You'd been so furious. Hurt that they had something so sweet, something they could call their own, and here comes this big dumb oaf looking for a piece of warm meat to stick his cock into on the side.

Your manager sent you home for the day.

And home you were headed, well more like the bus stop, stomping away and across the street but the hand that wraps around your arm to keep you in place is John's. (You'd been actually fighting to get away and he hadn't even tightened his grip enough to hurt. embarrassing.)

He clears things up. Tells you to forgive Simon, he's not the most verbose or eloquent with the words he does choose to speak. "He's good at receivin' orders instead of givin' 'em. isn't tha' righ'?"

The "yes, sir" that comes out of Simon is immediate. Obedient. Submissive. (gagging, i actually slammed the desk with my fist rn) A man who knows his place because it is etched in stone. Your teeth grind like rusted gears to keep from turning into a pool of liquid in broad daylight.

"What he meant," he roughly clarifies, "is that we would like you to share our bed." your face burns hot enough to sting. "If you want," John continues, limpid blue eyes fixed on your own.

He looks rather handsome in his uncertainty.

They don't even let you go home to wash and clean up when you nod. (Or shave. Simon had very audibly scoffed at your complaint about that. Said something crass about eating lollipops off the carpet)

The dynamic had been exactly what you'd expected it to be in the bedroom. When authority spoke, Simon listened. Intently. Without hesitation. When John ordered Simon— who'd sat with his broad chest curling around your spine, cocooning you in warmth and the faint scent of smoke, mahogany, and leather— to hook his hands behind your knees and pull your legs up to your shoulders, he'd done so in an instant.

The subtle burn of your hamstrings stretching pulled a hiss from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Bit o' pain with pleasure never hurt anyone, eh, sweetheart?" The deepened rumble of John's voice vibrated in your chest and made your toes curl.

Simon's steady breaths are drowned out by your shuddering ones when John puts his mouth on you, the prickle of his facial hair tickling your sensitive, heated skin.

The burning stretch of your muscles is nothing compared to the sweet sting of two fingers sinking into your hot sex. Pleasure wells in the corner of your eyes when he curls and scissors them while his slick tongue swirls your clit languidly.

He sends you over the edge with practiced ease, shaky limbs, and unsteady mewls. The kiss he plants on your still pulsing cunt is tender, as are your now unrestrained legs.

And he slants his lips-- still dripping slick, dewy beads collecting on his beard-- over Simon's whose mask is now long gone, his erection coming to sit heavy on the fatty mound of your pussy. You can feel the heat of his cock even through his clothes.

A saliva strand connecting them two snaps as he pulls away, glancing down to look at you, sweaty and unkempt, glassy eyes shamelessly staring back.

"I'd let Simon get his turn but," hands weave up your shirt and inside your sports bra while John's grab your legs and wrap them around his thick waist, "gotta prep ya first."

(?)

That comes back to mind after your limbs feel like cold syrup, warmth dribbling from your puffy lips and falling onto the damp bedsheets beneath your arse cheeks.

The question answers itself when Simon slots himself between your aching legs, uncut cock fat and hefty.

(dis)Respectfully, you feel thoroughly used and even now, that doesn't look like it's going to go in easy.

"Easy, love," John's voice comes from above you, "He won't hurt ya. Isn't tha' righ', Simon?"

Simon, who's dark eyes hadn't moved from where John's spend still steadily flowed, cut to him instantly. "Yes, sir."

He hums, a low, raspy sound. "How 'bout you tell our bird tha'?"

A rough hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressed on your fluttering pulse. "I won't hurt ya." His grip tightens, and the swoosh of blood roaring in your ears is deafening.

Much.

The world around you fades, senses attuned only to what's currently wrenching your swollen walls apart, going in, in, and in, it feels never-ending, it's so much, too much, until--

Your stomach clenches, it feels like it's folding in on itself, and a sharp feeling radiates below your navel.

Lips kiss your sweaty temple. "That's all there is. Did so well, eh, sweetheart? Took 'im real good, like you were meant for it."

His cock drags along your over-sensitive, raw nerves in a way that has fire licking up your spine as he pulls back. "Easy, Simon. You'll get your fun from me," John assures.

Your cunt clenches unbidden at that, vise-like around Simon who quietly groans.

The first roll of his hips pushes the air from your lungs, the second blanks your jumbled mind, the third has your nails sinking into whoever's forearms are beside your head, and the fourth has you confusing John's glittering eyes with stars.

And then he places your feet flat on his chest, his weight folding you in half, pinning you in place. Nowhere to run.

Your teeth clack when he thrusts firmly, tip of his cock sitting firmly against the plug of your womb.

"Easy does it, love. Jus' be good 'n take it," John mutters into your ear.

As if you had any choice.

After, when you're completely spent, they tell you to lay back, head propped up by a mountain of pillows, but to keep your legs open, let them see that pretty pussy, they want to see their cum spill out of you.

You thought the fucking Simon gave you had been rough. What John gives him from behind is attempted murder. He grabs at Simon's hair like it's the scruff of a bellicose dog. Pins him in place with his words, growled, thunderous, then his grip. Simon doesn't bare his crooked teeth once.

When your tired hand slithers down to between your legs, tips of your fingers smearing cum around your swollen flesh, arousal surprisingly panging deep in your core, the sheer force of John's thrusts rocks the bed with enough force to crack the wall and Simon whines like a dog in heat.

#ghost submitting ONLY to price is my roman empire #toss in a very out of the loop reader who's just here to get dicked down but surprise you're the love of their pathetic lives now #there is no escape accept defeat #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #john price x reader x simon ghost riley #cod smut

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daycourtofficial · 1 year ago

Text

Blood moon in Autumn

Pairing: Eris x Rhys’s sister!reader | WC: 1.3k | warnings: mentions of nudity, mentions of sex, mentions of violence

Summary: fae cycles are no joke, but your mate is always there to provide you comfort in the best way possible: by being your personal heating pad

Author’s note: this is part of my gingerfucker series, however this can be read as a standalone. @writingcroissant actually gave me the idea for this so everyone say thanks Tori 🥰

Death was imminent, you were sure of it. Every fiber of your being ached, the pain emanating from your lower abdomen through the rest of your body. It felt like someone was stabbing you with a rusted, dull knife, the blade carving out your insides slowly at their leisure.

You heard your bedroom door open and close, footsteps coming towards the bed. You groan in greeting as the steps get closer.

“Just leave me here to die, Er.”

A soft chuckle makes its way to your ears, despite the layers of blankets you are burrowed beneath, the blankets not offering you the comfort you so desperately crave.

“You’ll be remembered for even in death, your flare for the dramatics never faltered.”

You push your face from the blankets, allowing your face to be seen. You scowl towards your mate, his smirk making you want to push him from the window. You take in the sight of him - he had changed into more relaxed clothes since you saw him last. Gone is his formal jacket, a deep red velvet with golden leaf embroidery. The garment would make anyone look like court royalty, but on Eris it made him look positively radiant, as if the fires of Autumn truly originated from him, as if the apple orchards and the crops found their nutrients from him. You loved when he wore it, your fingers tracing the fine embroidery along the lapel as you would straddle his lap, grinding softly-

You groaned, the idea of moving so much making you nauseous and slightly dizzy.

Now he wore a loose, billowy shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, casual brown trousers covering his toned legs. If it were any other day, you’d devour him. Any other day, you’d pull him directly into bed, pushing his clothes off of him, neither of you leaving bed until you slipped his shirt on to grab the two of you some pastries.

Instead, the sight of him made you slightly annoyed - he seemed fine as he set down a tray on the table next to you. He was fine this morning when he rose, having to tend to some things before returning. You were dying, and he was perfectly fine. You groaned, shifting to sit up on your elbows. “What’s this?”

“I believe those of us who leave our beds call it ‘food’.”

His smirk disappears at the pillow that hits his feet. He sends you a withering glare that just makes you scoff. “That could have hit the tray of coffee I made for you.”

You perked up at the sound of coffee - you were sure the warm liquid would at least distract your insides. Or at least provide you some comfort.

You’d take anything at this point.

“Did you make the coffee? Or did you just prepare the tray?”

“What difference does it make? Coffee is coffee.”

“Well, if Jora made it, then I aimed perfectly for your feet.”

“What if it was my coffee?”

“Then I would have aimed for the tray.”

He gives you a withering stare, his fingers halting their movements. “Now that’s no way to treat your mate who lovingly made you coffee.”

You squint your eyes, “if it’s my mate that’s making the coffee, it’s more of an assassination attempt than love.”

“You wound me, my love.” Despite your grievances, he continues preparing your cup exactly as you like it.

“Is the wound fatal?”

“Perhaps.”

“I shall pay my respects at your funeral, then. With my next husband.”

His eyebrow quirks as he rests the cup on your side table before he rounds the bed, peeling back the layers of blankets on top of you. He crawls in behind you, his body heat causing you to melt.

“Next husband?”

“I will get lonely. Besides, the hounds need a male’s touch. They’ll grow soft under me.”

“And who is this next husband? Is he capable of this?”

Before you can ask what ‘this’ is, he slides his arm around your waist, his palm lying flat over your lower abdomen, his fingers spreading across your skin. Your skin began heating under his touch, and you moaned at the relief he provided you.

“If he’s not, he’s not worth it. Perhaps one of your brothers will be capable. Lu, maybe?”

Eris growled at the teasing, your friendship with Lucien a constant sore spot for him amidst his rekindling relationship with his youngest brother. He hated to admit it, but he seethed with jealousy watching you interact with Lucien, the way your conversation would flow easily.

A life of regrets and Lucien takes several of the top five spots.

“Lucien would make a terrible husband. You’d never see him - he spends all day brushing his hair.”

“I like a well-groomed male.”

“The noises his eye makes would keep you up all night.”

“I think you’re getting us confused. The whirring would soothe me to sleep.”

He buries his face into your neck, mumbling, “you are not marrying Lucien.”

“Alastor, perhaps?”

You clutched onto Eris’s arm, the heat providing you some relief. You nuzzle your head into his bicep, and he blows out a hot breath, “if I die, and you are unable to continue alone, marry outside of my family, leave my brothers out of your marriage pool.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“Not Azriel.”

You huff, “well if I can’t have a Vanserra or Azriel, I’ll stay alone forever.”

“I prefer that alternative.”

“I will rule Autumn alone. Just as Beron would have liked.”

You spin in his arms, pushing his shoulder down so he’d lay on his back. You crawl on top of him, laying so every inch of you is touching him in some way. Not an inch of space exists between your bodies. You poke his ribs, urging him to start heating up. He ignores you, so you start tugging on the bond between you two.

“Patience is a virtue, don’t they teach that in the war camps they call villages?”

“I’m dying, I think the Mother can forgive my lack of virtues.”

He huffs, but starts warming his skin to better provide comfort. You groan, laying in silence with him for several moments, the heat a comfort to the constant pain.

A few moments later you roll, your back laying across his chest.

“Ah,” you sigh, the pain in your lower back lessening at his touch.

“You’re spinning like game over a campfire.”

He rests his hands on your lower abdomen, the warmth making the stabbing pain into a dull ache.

You sigh at the contact, practically melting at how he soothes your muscles.

“I want to go bathe but that requires movement and leaving this bed.”

Eris laughs into your hair, but you hear the water running in the bathroom. You groan just thinking about how soothing the water would feel on your joints. You breathed out slowly through your nose, preparing yourself for the trek across the room.

You rolled off of Eris, and before you could get off the bed, Eris moved from behind to in front of you, his feet landing softly on the floor.

“Care for a ride?”

You nod, and his arms sweep you up.

“I think this is my preferred method of travel.”

“Perhaps this is how you will tour Autumn, hm? I shall carry you throughout the lands.”

You laugh as he sets you down, helping you remove your clothes. He must be warming the air somehow, because you don’t feel the chill of the air when your clothes are completely off. He helps you into the water, which you melt into immediately. You close your eyes, laying back in the tub, the porcelain a nice surface to lean against.

You’ve completely forgotten about Eris’ presence until you feel him nudge your shoulders forward, his lean body slipping behind you into the tub. His legs stretch besides yours, and you lean your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“There’s no way my next husband will be as helpful as you are.”

He breathes out through his nose, “I fear you can only marry down from here. A pity, truly.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader

Thanks for reading 💕

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #acotar writing #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra

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only-lonely-star · 6 months ago

Note

Could you do a clingy Johnny Cade x female reader? Tysm <3

Just One More? 🌌

Warnings: None.

Summary: He won’t let you go just yet… 💤

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the request!! I have another WIP for a Johnny request, so I apologize if this feels a bit dull. The other request was similar. I hope you all enjoy, this is a cute one :) <3

Word Count: 1.3k.

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After a long day spent with your boyfriend, Johnny, the two of you headed home under the moonlit sky. He held your hand tightly, swinging it back and forth at an easy tempo while listening to your every word. The quiet ambiance of the night had wound the both of you down, creating a safe environment of quietness. The faint sound of crickets, slow breezes, and leaves crunching underneath your shoes were oddly soothing.

Johnny had his other hand stuffed away in the pocket of the raggedy denim jacket which he carried everywhere with him. It was his duty to walk you home safely before heading to his own place for the night. He looked at you with a gentle smile, “I had a lot of fun… spent just about the whole day together, didn’t we?”

That familiar smile of his brought a bubbly feeling between you two. His cheeks rose up faintly, a sheepish glint in his eye. He made your heart skip a beat without even trying. “Yeah. It’s too bad you couldn’t stay over, I just don’t think my folks would like that.”

Of course, they wouldn’t. Dating the boy was already something you had begged for, but having him over for a night would send them into a coma!

“It’s okay, it ain’t like I could kiss you in my sleep anyway,” he shrugged. Johnny looked down to the sidewalk as he meekly kicked a pebble.

Unaware of his flirtatious comment, he seemed startled when you nudged his shoulder harshly. He looked at you with wide, amused eyes as you spoke. “You’re a tease, you know that? If it were up to me I’d let you stay over every night. That way you wouldn’t have to stay at that hellhole of a place you got.” Johnny fell silent, swallowing hard. The topic change had his stomach in knots. You noticed it immediately, quickly rushing to his aid as you pecked his cheek.

Johnny turned red, rewarding you with a smile. He shook his head softly. “Okay- alright- I don’t want my goodbye kiss yet,” he grinned.

Johnny had been down this road more times than he could count. Each day he spent with you he made sure he walked you home in good condition, safe and sound. It became a ‘tradition’ after some time that he stood on your porch for a farewell kiss.

You could feel how Johnny had subtly slowed his pace as he neared the dip in the sidewalk, indicating you had arrived. The rusted gate surrounding your lawn was already cracked open, the wind blowing it open slightly as if it were beckoning you inside. Johnny paused, letting you in first. He reluctantly sauntered his way up the stairs as he kept a lingering hand on the small of your back. He sighed exaggeratedly to convey his frustration now that you had to part ways for the night. “So… same time tomorrow?”

That cheesy smile of his didn’t sway you for even a second. You stood under the amber colored porch light and clicked your heel on the floorboards with a bit of attitude. “I told you I’m busy, don’t you even try that,” you chided teasingly.

“Tomorrow night…? The day after tomorrow…?” Johnny attempted to offer, his voice growing quieter. His cheeks were red all over again.

One straight face sent the message without even needing to speak. “I said next weekend, Johnny. I’m sorry.”

He moped, shoving his hands back in his jacket pockets. “A whole week,” he mumbled, already dreading the idea.

The boy would bore himself to death now that he was aware he couldn’t sit in comfortable silence with you, kiss you to sleep, or even lay a finger on you until next weekend. It wasn’t often he felt this way with his peers - let alone anybody… but there was always an exception for you. He thrived in your presence.

“Come on here, it’s getting later and later,” you ushered him forward for his traditional kiss goodbye. There was no purpose in trying to excuse yourself for being occupied this week. It wasn’t your fault. Your hand gently grazed his scarred cheek as your lips met his in a loving kiss.

Johnny’s hands froze in his pockets, locking them into fists. Before he had the opportunity to cherish the moment, he felt your absence wash over him entirely. He felt his nose scrunch up in disappointment, his eyebrows casting a shadow over his face at how downturned they had quickly become. He could faintly hear your delicate voice wish him a good night and utter to him softly that you loved him. He blinked his initial shock away now that you were already approaching the front door. “Hey, hold on.” Johnny yanked you a few feet back with a firm grip on your hip. “I didn’t even- didn’t even get to kiss you back…”

His eyes became full of a softened, almost hurt look. This kiss felt abnormally short…or maybe he felt he deserved a longer one to keep him sane this following week. That look was one you couldn’t resist. You grinned, happy to please him with another kiss. “I’ve got a curfew, Johnny, come here,” you said with a smile.

Once again, your bottom lip took his top lip passionately. You ensured this one was longer, resting each hand on his shoulders. This time, Johnny reciprocated the touch and let his arms fall to the bottom of your spine. He enclosed himself tightly against you, his fingers pressing into your skin slightly. The touch created a sense of desire and longing for more. You tilted your head to the side ever so slightly with both eyes shut, naturally pulling away as Johnny held you. Johnny’s eyes opened as if he had been greatly disturbed. His greasy, dark tufts of hair fell back over his eyes that sent you a pleading look. “One more, don’t short me a kiss like that,” he pecked your top lip desperately.

It was one thing for him to miss you, and another one for him to not want to leave you be. You couldn’t help but quirk your lips into a smile as he tried to smother you in more kisses all along your lips and cheeks. “Johnny-!” you gasped after feeling his lips time and time again on the warm skin of your chin… now on your neck.

He paused, pulling away with a bashful smile. “Okay- okay…” he rubbed his forehead awkwardly with one hand, the other fiddling with his jacket sleeve.

“Goodnight,” you chuckled playfully. You removed your hands from his shoulders, maneuvering them to wrap around his torso tightly.

Johnny smiled charmingly and mirrored your actions without hesitation. He leaned his chin on your shoulder and swallowed hard. “Just one more?”

“One,” you relented, although you would be a downright fool if you denied his request.

Johnny had victory over your decision again, taking full advantage of his opportunity this time around. He darted his head forward and graced you with his touch once more, this time keeping it light and meaningful. He grinned once and for all, now satisfied enough to let you go. “Goodnight, see you next…week,” he croaked out. He had a bit of a lovesick tone that only seemed to worsen with each word. He was acting like a drunken fool - though it was purely on your love and your love alone.

Your eyes met his in a hazy manner, the lovesick feeling mutual. Johnny never left you unsatisfied. “I love you…goodnight,” you whispered softly, applying force to the doorknob as you turned it hesitantly.

“Love you,” he echoed, standing at the end of your porch with that same smug grin he wore just moments ago. He waited until the door was completely shut and your figure was no longer visible in the amber lighting to leave. He sauntered off the wooden steps with a satisfied look, relishing in your lingering scent on his denim jacket.

And now the yearning had begun…

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! 🤍

-Sophia 🫶🏼

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tipsynight0 · 8 months ago

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The weight of blood //part one

Jeff the killer x female reader

TRIGGER WARNING - suicide attempt, blood, graphic violence, self harm, stitches.

Word count - 900

Author’s Note: I’m sharing my thoughts and feelings in this piece, but I am in no way romanticizing these themes. If you are struggling or feeling this way, please seek help.

Synopsis - Jeff returns home after a long mission to find something terribly wrong.

The quiet drip of water from the faucet echoed in the dark, empty room as Jeff flung open the door, its rusted hinges groaning under the strain. He kicked off his boots, fatigue weighing down his every movement as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness. The mission had been grueling, each step back home feeling heavier than the last. His gaze instinctively traveled to (Y/N)’s side of the room, the place he always found her after the chaos. But the bed was still made, untouched, as though no one had been there in days.

A hollow emptiness spread in his chest. He shook it off, chalking it up to exhaustion. “She’s probably just out,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his sweater over his head with a weary grunt. Sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed, he closed his eyes, listening to the soft patter of water from the bathroom. The noise nagged at him. His brow furrowed as he turned towards the door, annoyance replacing the fog of weariness.

"Jesus Christ, (Y/N), you trying to flood the damn room?" Jeff growled, irritation prickling at the edges of his voice. "How do you forget the faucet like that?" He stood up, muttering under his breath as he made his way toward the bathroom, the cold floor shocking his bare feet. But as he neared, something shifted—a strange tension in the air, a stillness that made his heart pound just a little faster.

His fingers wrapped around the bathroom door handle. It was locked.

“(Y/N)?” he called, his voice rasping in the silence. No answer. His pulse quickened, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. He knocked harder. “(Y/N), open the door! This isn’t funny.”

Nothing. Just the steady trickle of water.

Bile rose in his throat, panic creeping up his spine. He slammed his shoulder against the door, once, twice, until the lock finally gave way with a splintering crack.

“Are you—” His words froze in his throat as he stepped inside. The room was flooded, water pooling around his feet, but that wasn’t what made his breath catch.

The tub.

(Y/N) lay motionless in the clawfoot tub, her skin pale, the water around her stained with a sickly pink hue.

“No… no, no, no…” The words spilled from his lips as he stumbled forward, almost slipping on the wet tile as he lunged toward her. His arms wrapped around her lifeless form, pulling her into his chest. Her skin was cold, her body limp, and as he pressed her to him, he could feel the blood soaking into his skin.

“What the fuck, (Y/N), no, no… What the fuck!” His voice broke, choking on the words as his hands trembled, desperately trying to assess the damage. Blood. It was everywhere. He pressed his fingers to her wrist, his pulse racing as hers slowed to a whisper. Her head lolled against his chest, her eyes barely open, distant.

"Don't you dare leave me," he whispered, his voice raw, barely holding it together as he smoothed her wet hair, rocking her back and forth in the rising water. "Don't you fucking dare."

The sloshing water, the sound of his ragged breathing, the cold creeping up his legs—it was all a blur as he carried her out of the tub, the water spilling onto the floor in waves. He laid her gently on the bed, but the sight of her pale face, the blood pooling beneath her, sent a jolt of terror through him.

Grabbing his discarded hoodie, he pressed it hard against the gashes on her wrists, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me, come on, please," he muttered, his eyes scanning her face, her skin a sickening shade of gray. He lifted the hoodie for a second, just to check, and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank god, no major arteries.”

But it wasn’t enough. He needed to act fast.

"You're not allowed to leave me," he barked, though his voice cracked with desperation. He fumbled for the first aid kit on the nightstand, his hands slick with blood as he rummaged for the needle and thread. He’d stitched himself up enough times, but this was different. This was her.

His hands shook as he threaded the needle, biting the cap off the super glue. He worked as fast as he could, pulling her skin together, sealing the wounds with precision born from desperation, not care. "Stay with me. Don’t you dare fucking leave me," he whispered over and over, as though repeating the words would make them true.

Finally, he pressed his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was faint, but it was there. His breath hitched, relief crashing into him like a wave, though it did little to ease the ache clawing at his insides.

"Please…" His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the fading sound of the dripping faucet. "Please don’t leave me."

Her pulse was weak, but it was still there. And for now, that was enough

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jayflrt · 2 years ago

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against the world

PAIRING ▸ park sunghoon x fem!reader x sim jaeyun (ft. park jongseong)

GENRES ▸ fluff, angst, psychological, horror, thriller

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, murder, descriptions of gore, unrequited love, found family, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, mc is an unreliable narrator

SUMMARY ▸ if you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting park sunghoon.

WORD COUNT ▸ 14,064 words

PLAYLIST ▸ back to black by amy winehouse • the french library by franz gordon • perfectly splendid by the newton brothers

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! this fic is a rewrite of one of my first horror fics that i’ve written :') it badly needed reworking and i completely changed the ending. i hope you guys enjoy my spooky szn contribution ♡

THE TRUTH WAS, YOUR LIFE BEGAN TO FALL APART EVEN BEFORE YOU MET SIM JAEYUN.

You realized this as you woke up, face pressed against the ice-cold, concrete floor of a holding cell; when the guards dragged your uncooperative, limp body into an interrogation room; when you were face-to-face with Detective Lee Heeseung and handcuffed to a cold, metal table as he read your Miranda Rights. The handcuffs dug into the flesh of your wrists, but you only fought against them once and gave up as soon as you realized they wouldn’t give in. You just wanted to thumb away the crusted blood staining your hands and pick out the flakes under your nails.

The room was foreign to you. It was something you’d seen in movies and read in books, but you never fathomed the idea of being in an interrogation room yourself. There was a two-way glass that you aimlessly stared at, wondering who was listening in on the other end.

You couldn’t figure out just how you ended up in this situation. Everything was smooth in your memory up until your supposed arrest—a tear in the fabric of your recollection. You hardly remembered what happened on the way to the police station or when you were getting booked in. You dug your palms into your temples and then pressed against the soft flesh under your eyes, frustrated by the stunted gears in your head. As much as you begged than to click and start spinning, they remained stuck and rusted in place.

But you couldn’t ask the brooding man standing over you. You couldn’t look up into his cold, unforgiving eyes. After all, he knew you were a murderer.

“There’s no use in lying to me, Y/N,” Detective Lee said gruffly with a gaze like steel, “the prints match.”

You drummed your fingers against the table—a habit that was rooted in your anxiety. Your fingers were stained and pruned like roses, and as hard as you tried to paint the table red, it only flaked off. You were sure your heartbeat was faster than the tapping of your fingers, your mind perhaps speeding off twice as fast.

Your stomach twisted. If Jaeyun was going to prison, too, then you could no longer protect him.

There was a limit to how much he could take; you knew that being thrown in the slammer would be intolerable for him. You knew you needed to get to him immediately because Jaeyun was the guy who felt too little and too much at the same time—the guy who looked for the part of him that ran away, who self-destructed when he felt the world closing in on him.

After all, Jaeyun was a stick of trinitrotoluene lit at both ends.

You worked up the courage to look Detective Lee in the eye, which made him stiffen up, biceps flexing under his white button-up.

“Where’s Jaeyun?” you asked.

Detective Lee’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line. Cutting into his pale cheeks. You decided that couldn’t be a good reaction.

You continued, “He didn’t do anything, I swear. He was just there. He didn’t do anything.”

“If you cooperate with us, then you can see Jaeyun again,” the detective answered in a clipped tone. “I can sit here all day and wait.”

Cooperate. You hated that word.

You knew Detective Lee was just trying to sugarcoat your betrayal. You knew he was looking down on you, ready to push you to your limit.

But there was nothing you could do in this room. There was no way for you to escape or talk your way out of it to see Jaeyun. You knew quite well that staying silent would only prevent you from making sure your boyfriend was okay.

You had no other choice but to work with Detective Lee.

“Will you at least make sure he’s not hurt?” you inquired, to which Detective Lee agreed with a nod.

“I’ll ask again: Will you cooperate?”

You stayed silent. You despised your old habit of shutting down like this, but you couldn’t help it.

Detective Lee sighed and sat in the chair across from you so that you both were eye-level with each other. “Listen, Y/N, you’re young. This murder investigation—this is serious stuff, okay? We just need to know the full story before we jump to any conclusions and make a false arrest. Can we start from last night?”

Deep down, you understood. But it’s all too fresh—too soon. The grief had yet to settle. The recollections of blood and lifeless eyes poisoned your head; it was all you could see when you closed your eyes.

You sounded hollow when you said, “It didn’t… start from last night.”

Detective Lee acknowledged this and leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him. “Then let’s hear it from the beginning.”

If you could change anything about your life, it would be meeting Park Sunghoon.

Your first meeting was at the age of fourteen. Moving schools was an unexpected shift in your life, and you didn't expect to find many friends at your new school. Starting new in the beginning of the year was one thing, but entering unknown territory with people already acclimated in their respective groups was another.

People flocked to comfort, and you were sure that no one would want to step out of their comfort zone to bring a stranger into their friend group.

And then Sunghoon swooped in, like an angel sent from the heavens.

Initially, he was awkward. You were both fourteen-years-old and going through the initial stages of puberty—all voice cracks and awkward intervals of growth stunts. Sunghoon was soft-spoken and didn’t have many friends when he approached and befriended you.

It started when you both found out you shared a love for novels. You spent hours talking about your favorite books, and Sunghoon shared his dream of wanting to craft the perfect story. Oftentimes, Sunghoon would share some of his writing with you, and then his eyes would sparkle upon hearing your feedback.

You two were classmates, sitting right next to each other in the back of the classroom, conveniently right next to the door. You got to know Sunghoon slowly—the same gradual feeling of starting to care for someone. You knew his boundaries, though, because you were aware that you could never be the closest to Sunghoon. He and Park Jongseong were attached at the hip, and you couldn’t lie to yourself; you felt like a third wheel in the beginning.

But there was some comfort in the security of your friendship.

“It’s you and me,” Sunghoon would tell you, “the two of us against the world.”

You knew you should have been grateful to have made friends in the first place, but you didn’t exactly know if you belonged with them. As comfortable as you felt, there was always a whisper in the back of your head, telling you that you would never be their number one.

You would never be anyone’s number one.

“I don’t understand girls,” Jongseong said one day, hands tucked behind his head as the three of you were hanging out in Sunghoon’s room. You were flipping through some comic book that Sunghoon had laying around, and you shifted uncomfortably upon hearing the question.

“You don’t have to.” Sunghoon’s eyes flitted from you, and then back to his phone. He swiped through some apps, but you could tell he wasn’t really paying attention judging by the glazed-over look in his eyes. “Girls make no sense at this age.”

Jongseong nudged you. “You have anything to say about that, Y/N?”

To be honest, you didn’t understand yourself much either. You were just starting to go through puberty, and it wasn’t ideal for a teenager as young as you to only have guy friends. You couldn’t relate to any of the girls your age, nor could you ask them if they were going through the same changes you were.

You were acquainted with several girls, of course, but you never got close enough to ask what feelings and experiences they had. You wanted to know if they were becoming as conscious of themselves and others like you were, but you kept those questions bottled up since you only had Sunghoon and Jongseong.

“Nope,” you replied. “I couldn’t tell you.”

You supposed Jongseong was having girl problems again, and it all clicked because lately, he had been hanging around a pretty girl in their class. They were cute together and clearly into each other, but you could pick up on the issue: Jongseong was on the down-low about their relationship. More importantly, he had been on the down-low about it around Sunghoon, which had to have been breaking some sort of best friend code.

Jongseong asked, “You like anyone, Hoon?”

Hoon, your brain echoed, and you imagined yourself using the name as casually as Jongseong did. It sounded awkward coming from you, though. Friends gave each other nicknames, right? What if you gave Sunghoon a nickname? How would he react?

Sunghoon flushed behind his phone screen. You could tell he wanted it to go undetected, but you caught a glimpse of his flustered expression before he was able to compose himself.

“Oh, not really,” he replied with an air of indifference. “I dunno. I guess I haven’t really been looking.”

“How about you, Y/N?”

You faltered for a moment before you realized you had been addressed. It was a normal question; you should have expected it, but it hit you like a tornado and your mind was swirling. Dating had crossed your mind a few times, sure, you had never prepared an answer because you thought it was going to be straightforward—a simple “yeah, there’s a few cute guys in class.” But that wasn’t the case this time, and you were wondering why there wasn’t any clarity in your head.

Come on, Y/N, you urged yourself, as if you were complaining to multiple, uncooperating attendants working in your brain. Just say something—anything.

Your mind was blanking, though, and you were scared. You couldn’t quite grasp why your stomach felt like a never-ending pit, but it only worsened when you couldn’t spit some guy’s name out. You wanted to open up your skull, thoroughly examine your head, poke at the areas refusing to work, and figure out who you couldn’t just list some attractive guy in class; on top of that, you wondered why you couldn’t just flat-out refuse the statement and claim that there was no one you were interested in.

You were struck with a painful realization that there was only one person you could think of.

Sunghoon.

No, no, no, your brain and your heart screamed at each other. Get ahold of yourself.

You quickly decided that it was just a passing feeling that you needed to suppress until it went away. It was just stupid teenage hormones and puberty making you feel this way and starving you of affection that you didn’t actually need in the first place. If you didn’t get a hold over yourself, you were going to crumble and ruin the good things you had going.

You internally convinced yourself that everything was fine. There were plenty of teenagers your age who had moments of weakness like this with their guy friends. You just needed to branch out more, that was all.

Sheepishly, you replied before the boys could chew you out, “There’s no one I’m interested in right now.”

You weren’t a very good liar, but as long as Sunghoon and Jongseong were sold, you were content with how things were.

Your group expanded when you turned fifteen, and you and Sunghoon grew closer—maybe even closer than Sunghoon and Jongseong were.

You were laying down in your bed one night, breaking into sobs when you realized that you needed more than one hand to count the number of friends you had now. Your shell was broken and your world was bigger. You normally lived like your uphills were mountains and your downhills were cliffs, but, lately, the mountains were getting easier to climb and the downhills weren’t that big of a drop. You didn’t need to stop and catch your breath or worry about hurting yourself on the way down.

You never felt lonely anymore. If Sunghoon or Jongseong weren’t free, you would call Nishimura Riki to catch grasshoppers in the creek with you, or you’d go play video games with Yang Jungwon. Kim Sunoo called you nearly every night to bother you, but you didn’t mind. You liked them; they made you feel important, like you were wanted.

“Come on,” Sunghoon teased Jungwon one day as he was blushing over some girl. “What are you being so shy about?”

“It’s embarrassing!” Jungwon complained, and you giggled over how a flush of red started creeping from his ears to his cheeks. “I’m not a smooth-talker like you are, Hoon.”

Sunghoon snorted. “I’m not a smooth-talker.”

“He’s practically, like, bulletproof,” Jongseong chimed in. “We can’t tease him about anyone. He just brushes it off.”

“I’m not bulletproof,” Sunghoon argued, but anyone could see the pride behind his expression. “I’m just not interested in anyone right now.”

You thought you had finally squashed the weird, gooey feeling that arose in your chest every now and then whenever Sunghoon came close. It was primarily due to the fact that Sunghoon was a respectful individual who didn’t try to weasel his way into your personal bubble as he pleased. That was probably for the best because you were sure your brain would go haywire if Sunghoon was too close for comfort.

And then there was Sim Jaeyun.

Jaeyun entered your circle pretty easily. With his radiant personality and warm presence, it was no shocker that he was accepted by the group instantly. He possessed some odd charm that drew people to him, and you couldn’t seem to figure just how that worked. You were almost jealous of him, honestly, with how much of a social butterfly he was.

Out of all of them, Jaeyun seemed to take a particular interest in you. It drove you crazy, though, and you couldn’t figure out how to get the guy to stop teasing and messing around with you. The others couldn’t figure it out either; you just weren’t as bright and bubbly as Jaeyun was, so it was odd that he kept nagging the one person whose wavelength wasn’t on par with his.

Sometimes it was cute—endearing even—but sometimes it was just flat-out irritating.

“Hey, Y/N.” Jake grinned, and his voice was all light and airy as he approached you. “What’re you doing for the summer break?”

“Probably sleeping in, hanging out with the others, and some more sleeping,” you replied, hardly sparing him a single glance.

You were too focused on clearing out your locker of all the books and papers you had tossed in during the year. Gotta keep this, gotta throw this away, gotta return this one, you rattled off in your head, mentally preserving a reminder of your various items. But Jaeyun knew how to push your buttons and grab your attention. He never took your deflection without retaliating back. That was one of the many reasons why you found it so difficult to be around him.

“And hanging out with Sunghoon, huh? Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it’s not there?”

You closed your locker with a swift swipe of your hand, revealing Jaeyun’s smug expression. Your eyes were practically bugging out of your sockets as you stared him down. Somehow, you knew exactly what he was hinting at, but you refused to spell it out for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, but Jaeyun was already walking away from you. He was turned away, but you could visualize that stupid smirk of his like it was carved into your memory.

Jaeyun was smart. Too smart.

Your summer was filled with laughter, beach trips, and shy glances at Sunghoon. He drove you around places and you sat in the passenger’s seat next to him, toes curled in your shoes because you were so overjoyed. The car was always loud with music and laughter, and whenever it was silent, it was because everyone else was sleeping on each other after a long day of being outside.

You still masqueraded around, playing the role of Sunghoon’s best friend who definitely had zero romantic feelings toward him. It was quite hard when you had to pretend like your heart didn’t flutter whenever Sunghoon’s fingers brushed against yours.

“Sunghoon,” Jaeyun would complain, rousing laughter from everyone at how impatient he was, “are we there yet?”

“You’re so annoying,” Sunghoon retorted, clearly as a joke. You couldn’t help but laugh at his outburst, but it quickly died on your lips once you caught a glimpse of Jaeyun winking at you in the side mirror.

Jaeyun had a mischievous glint in his eyes when he said, “But you still love me, Hoon.”

Oh.

He was trying to make you jealous.

You fought down the urge to laugh at him. You might have been harboring a small crush, but you were never the jealous type, especially not over petty things like this. There was one little thing, however, that you couldn’t seem to shake.

For some reason, the anticipation to call Sunghoon by a nickname made you anxious. You never tested it on your tongue; it just floated around in your head. However, when you addressed him as Hoon one day, your heart skipped a beat when Sunghoon responded with a smile that rivaled the brightness of the sun.

You grew closer to Jongseong, too. You didn’t feel like the third wheel with him and Sunghoon anymore; you felt like you were all at the same level of closeness. You and Jongseong hung out sometimes without Sunghoon, and despite a few awkward pauses in your interactions, you two warmed up quickly and you learned how to joke around with him easily.

Jongseong wasn’t all stiff and dry like you were initially afraid of; rather, he was surprisingly fun, and every time you learned something new about him, like how he adored cats but was allergic to them, you were even more amazed.

It wasn’t just Jongseong, though. You and Sunghoon grew far closer than ever before, whether that was for the better or worse.

Sunghoon only lived a street away, so it was convenient to hang out, and when you didn’t hang out with him, you two called each other. You could see him unravel in front of your eyes; he became visibly more comfortable when it was just the two of you—smiling, laughing, and bursting into laughter with tears of unrestrained happiness.

It wasn’t just the jubilant memories that tugged you two closer, though. It was also the despair.

In the first place, it was an accident that you even happened to break down in front of Sunghoon.

You two were in his room when it happened, and things were as they always had been before you sensed the calm before the storm. You joked around as usual and passed the time by playing video games. Sunghoon was perched on his usual spot in the corner of the bed. You looked over at him and realized how close you two had become as friends.

Friends. Just friends.

It was right at that moment when you realized that this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want to just be Sunghoon’s best friend. You wanted to be the reason why he smiled, the one to make him blush, and the one he could share his pain and happiness with.

But your feelings were the scariest thing you’ve ever had to face, and you felt ashamed for even wanting to cross the line drawn between you and Sunghoon.

You couldn’t dare bring yourself to confess. You were almost positive that Sunghoon didn’t feel the same way, and you would be risking a fall-out in your current relationship if you admitted anything. What if Sunghoon ended up hating you? What if you lost him and all of your other friends? What if you weren’t the closest person to him anymore?

That was why you felt like Sunghoon was in another dimension, always a layer away. Always.

This was your own fault. You were the one who fell for your best friend. You were the one who did this to yourself. You broke your own heart.

You couldn’t help it when you started falling apart in front of him. It started with a broken cough that was supposed to cover up a sniffle. You were thankful for the loud battle sounds in the game that drowned out your quiet sobbing. But the video game didn’t stop Sunghoon from noticing your shaking hands gripping the controller.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m okay.”

Your voice is so shaky, so broken. Sunghoon knew you were crying before he could see or hear it.

He paused the game and put the controller down, but your eyes were still trained on the screen, hands shaking as you clutched the controller until you were white-knuckled. Sunghoon was on edge—panicked. Although, it was a different kind of panic from all the times you would be stressing over an assignment and Sunghoon would offer some lame piece of advice in return.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” His tone was frantic now as he searched your face for an answer.

You smiled, although faint melancholy was tucked away in the curl of your lip. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Now, I know that’s not true.”

Your smile broke. It was so unfortunate that Park Sunghoon had to have a heart so big.

You could almost hear Jaeyun in the back of your head: Have you realized it yet, or are you still pretending it isn’t there?

You started crying, and it wasn’t something soft with a gradual crescendo. It was loud and all at once, like a wounded animal. Your hands shook more, and you finally dropped your controller, burying your fingers into your roots, as if tugging your hair hard enough would make it all stop, as if it would hurt more than the ache in your chest.

Sunghoon was quick to get off his bed and slide to the ground, right next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and it only made you feel ashamed. You stiffened up and shrunk back, hoping he wouldn’t notice how you tensed up at his touch. You could hear your own heartbeat, but you were pretty sure you were hyperventilating at a faster pace than the pounding in your chest. The world under you moved, bounced, so you decided to lean into Sunghoon.

The logical half of your brain informed you in a calm, clipped manner that you were having a panic attack. The other half meanwhile was screaming and shutting itself down.

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste, you tried telling yourself, but your senses overwhelmed you completely. Your tears were blurring your vision, you couldn’t hear anything but your sobs, and your lungs felt as if they were on fire.

“Y/N, talk to me,” came the softest voice that eased the painful ringing in your ears.

“I can’t,” you stuttered out. “Not right now.”

You wish you hadn’t let it get to this point. You were completely humiliating yourself in front of Sunghoon right now. This was the one thing you couldn’t let him find out about.

Your heavy gasps grew more labored. You then curled into yourself, sweaty hands tugging and knotting at your hair. And, shit, you couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you repeated again and again, like a broken record. The desperation in your voice was so ugly.

There was something fierce in Sunghoon’s eyes, like he was ready to protect you from anything or anyone that tried to hurt you, but there was also softness in his voice. “You know, you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, I’ll hear you out. I don’t want you to suffer alone, Y/N.”

With a small smile, he added, “It’s just you and me, right? The two of us against the world.”

That only made you cry even more. You just replayed Sunghoon’s words in your head, like it was your favorite song.

“Alright.” You breathed in real deep, through the aching chest and everything. “It’s really stupid.”

“If it makes you cry this hard, it can’t be stupid.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed. “I think I like someone—someone I can’t have.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond for a moment, and it rattled your brain. He probably was wondering this underwhelming confession warranted a breakdown from you, and you couldn’t blame him. However, it was the only way you could avoid lying to your best friend without giving him the whole truth.

For a split second, you wondered if Sunghoon simply just didn’t hear you. But you didn’t want to repeat yourself; you didn’t like repeating yourself.

To your surprise, Sunghoon just smiled. “Do I know them?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words were stringing together in your head to form a coherent sentence.

“Uh, well, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Sunghoon continued. He flushed and flicked his thumb under his nose—an awkward mannerism of his that you grew to love over the years. “Actually, I think we’re in the same boat. There’s someone I like, too. Someone I can’t have.”

His words bounced in your skull. Settled. Bounced again.

“Really?” you spluttered out, and it took you a moment to recuperate from the heavy sadness that was filling your chest. You brought yourself to ask, “I mean, you’re so popular, so why don’t you just ask them out?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not? Are they dating someone else?”

There was a sad smile on Sunghoon’s lips when he answered, “No, Jongseong likes her, too.”

At the age of sixteen, you realized that you couldn’t get over Sunghoon, but you could suppress your heartbreak and lingering feelings.

It physically hurt to think about how deeply ingrained your concept of friendship was with him, and the possibility that Park Sunghoon would never think of you as more than a friend. You two had shared too many experiences—worn each other’s shoes and walked miles—to ever become more than what you were.

Nothing would ever change.

You were hanging out by a creek near Jongseong’s house. It was just the two of you—no Jaeyun to poke fun at you, and no Sunghoon to distract you. It was just the two of you, and it was somehow so easy to be with Jongseong like this. You could laugh with your stomach and smile with your eyes without feeling the need to close up or shut down.

“It’s getting annoying, isn’t it?” Jongseong asked under his breath at one point. When you shot him a puzzled look, he clarified, “Sunghoon.”

You picked up on Jongseong’s annoyance toward Sunghoon over the past few weeks, but his words confirmed your suspicions now. You wondered if it was geared toward the girl they both liked—whoever she was.

You never thought to ask, mainly because you didn’t want to know. Either way, if Sunghoon wanted to share, he would’ve done so already.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying to grab at words and shove them together, but you genuinely didn’t know what to say.

It had always been you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong. You never thought about them turning on each other. The very idea made you feel sick to your stomach.

Over the past week, you had seen Sunghoon’s indifference toward Jongseong, but you were too afraid to ask about it. Your friend group was slow to pick up on it, but you noticed the way Sunghoon would purposely avoid conversing with Jongseong, or the way Jongseong would walk quickly past him if they crossed paths. It was odd, though, because everyone knew that Sunghoon and Jongseong were the best of friends—inseparable. How could you hold onto someone for so long and just let go of them like that?

You recalled that Jongseong and Jungwon went over to talk to Sunghoon about his moody behavior, but Jongseong never told you whether the talk went well or not. You figured it just never happened because Jungwon called in sick the very next day.

You prayed that he would hurry up and get over his cold. He had been out sick all week, which checked out since everyone was getting sick around this time of the year. Jungwon would know how to get Sunghoon and Jongseong to reconcile. He was always the friend that helped everyone patch things up.

“You guys are best friends,” was all you could say. “You’ll make up in a few days, right?”

Jongseong clicked his tongue loud enough to make your skin crawl.

But you didn’t want to drop it this time, you asked, “Seriously, what happened between you guys?”

For a moment, you wondered if you should’ve brought up what Sunghoon confessed to you—about him and Jongseong liking the same girl. But this couldn’t have been about that; Sunghoon would never let a girl get between his friendships.

“Sunghoon’s hiding something dark,” Jongseong blurted out. “I don’t think I can get him out of this one.”

“Something dark? What is it?”

“I don’t really know—”

“Jongseong,” you cut in. “If you know something, then just say it. He’s my best friend, too.”

Jongseong shifted uncomfortably, restless. He was silent for a long period of time, so you just waited for him to collect his thoughts. Uneasiness bursted from the tips of your fingers and crawled under your skin. You felt the heat of the sun against your face, so you looked up and covered your eyes with a hand, blinking back red.

“If Sunghoon did something unforgivable,” he started in a murmur, “would you forgive him?”

“I don’t know,” was all you could say.

“Yeah,” Jongseong replied, his terse words nearly making you flinch. “I don’t know, either.”

The sun grew hotter against your face, and all you could see was blood red behind your eyes.

You didn’t know how exactly it started, but you slowly started to find solace in Jaeyun.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to care for him a little more than the people around you. You were starting to get swayed by him—the things he said, the way he looked at you—and it scared you a little.

But Jaeyun felt safe. He felt like home.

You two called at night, sometimes. You weren’t normally one to be vulnerable in front of others, but you shed some tears in front of Jaeyun a couple of times.

The only other person you had cried in front of was Sunghoon.

“It’s kinda sad,” Jaeyun told you one day. You two were spending the afternoon studying together at his place, and you were feeling self-conscious because you were starting to regret not dressing a little cuter. “I’ve known you for a year, but we’ve only gotten close now.”

“I don’t think either of us cared about deepening our friendship back then.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You think I didn’t want to be closer? How do you think I picked up on you liking Sunghoon?”

“Because I was obvious about it?”

“No, idiot, because I like you.”

You blinked a few times until you fully processed his words. I like you, your brain repeated, and then you reprocessed the information.

No, there was an ‘idiot’ before that. Not only were you liked, but he thought you were stupid, as well.

You became painfully aware of your knees touching Jaeyun’s, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around the idea of him liking you romantically. You had never been in this position. Since your crush on Sunghoon had been one-sided for the past few years, you never expected to be on the receiving end.

“You…” you trailed off, floundering to find something to say—something that wouldn’t make you sound stupid or mean. You settled with, “You, too?”

His eyes beamed with hope. “For a year now.”

Your world was so small before. It was just you, Sunghoon, and Jongseong.

Before you could even wonder if there was space in your heart for Jaeyun, you realized that you had already let him burrow his way in there.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaeyun asked.

You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, and every once of nervousness slipped away. You always thought you could attain this level of closeness with Sunghoon, but maybe your relationship with him was just that fragile—where you could just grab the string binding you two together and snip it completely.

But it was different with Jaeyun.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling, “you can.”

And then, with Jaeyun’s breath fanning your lips, you felt Sunghoon completely dissolve from the impounding thoughts racking your brain. Right now, it was Jaeyun and only Jaeyun.

You leaned in first, cupping his cheek and pressing your lips against Jaeyun’s soft ones. It was weird, kissing for the first time, but he leaned into it instantly so that your movements were less awkward and more guided.

A fire blazed inside of you, burning hotter than imaginable. You didn’t expect Jaeyun to drive you this crazy—to crave more, to want more. You drew back before you slid your hand into his hair, although you were tempted to go further when his pillowy lips peppered soft kisses along your jawline.

But you didn’t want to go overboard or ruin anything by going too fast. You settled for leaving another chaste kiss against his lips before pulling back, and you were delighted when you saw how pleased Jaeyun was. He was practically glowing.

From then on, you and Jaeyun had a relationship that extended past something platonic, but it wasn’t like you two were official. Naturally, you ended up confiding in him over everything.

While Sunghoon still held a place in your heart as your first love, you grew to care for Jaeyun, who kindled a gentler fire in you. Sunghoon, on the other hand, left you burned and scarred.

You didn’t want to rush into a relationship, mainly because you didn’t want Jaeyun to think he was a rebound, and he respected that. So he waited for you to figure out your feelings and let your heart choose who was right for you.

You weren’t stupid, though; you knew that chasing after Sunghoon was a hopeless cause.

You and Jaeyun drifted about in a limbo-state of your relationship. You two went on a couple of dates, got to know each other at a deeper level, and spent a lot of time together. He became the person you thought about when you were falling asleep and when you woke up in the morning.

You two got along surprisingly well, and you wondered why you ever had doubts about him in the beginning. Sure, Jaeyun still got on your nerves at times, but you just found it funny after the wave of annoyance passed.

Your friends started to talk about how close you two were and frequently brought up the idea of you two dating. Of course, you always denied it, enjoying the privacy you and Jaeyun had.

But as your relationship blossomed into something more serious, you decided that you didn’t want things to stay casual any longer. So, you asked him out, and Jaeyun, being the lovesick puppy he was, accepted without a second thought.

You thought about how much had changed in your life. Sunghoon stopped hanging out with you completely, resorting to being alone most of the time. Everyone was concerned about his behavior, but after several attempts of failed confrontation, they all collectively gave up. You and Jongseong still kept an eye on him, using roundabout ways to find out how he was doing; it was the most you two could do given how little opportunity you had to talk to him.

You didn’t share many classes with Jongseong anymore, but you two were still close, even after your “two of us against the world” friendship with Sunghoon had gone to shit.

Jongseong was kind, though, and despite how he was rough around the edges, he was gentle enough.

But he knew that Sunghoon was hiding something dark, and that alone made you somewhat nervous around him.

You felt unsettled the entire day, but when your group chat started flooding with texts about Jungwon in the middle of the night, you felt an icy chill travel down your spine.

It was all over the news. The whole story about him being down with the flu was just a cover-up while authorities were looking for him.

You felt nauseous.

HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT FOUND DEAD NEAR WOODS. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.

The 16-year-old boy was found dead at the scene. The parents of the deceased student have identified him as Yang Jungwon. As of now, there are no leads, but authorities have ruled the case as a homicide.

Police have asked anyone with information to contact their local police department.

You read the headline again. Over and over again until your vision was blurry and the words were convoluted. Your fingers were raw and bitten down to the nail bed by the time you were able to put your phone down so that you could just cry into your hands.

By the time you got around to reading the details, grimacing at the descriptions of mutilation done to Jungwon’s body and how his body had been decomposing for weeks now, you had to run to your toilet and dry heave everything out.

You weren’t the closest to Jungwon or anything, but imagining such a bright person meet such a horrific end wasn’t easy to process. For hours, you ignored all of the calls and texts and attempts to comfort from your parents. You stared straight at your wall—so terrified that your chest hurt and your breathing was ragged.

Later that night, when the world was quiet and dreaming, you received a text from Sunghoon.

sunghoon: Hey sunghoon: I’ve been thinking about you. Are you doing okay? sunghoon: I haven’t been a good friend lately, I’m sorry sunghoon: It’s still the two of us against the world

There was a time when those words made you feel like you were on top of the world, soaring high over the clouds.

Now, though, all you could feel was a horrible sensation of dread.

It had been months since Sunghoon and Jongseong’s falling out.

You were seventeen now, but you felt hollower as you aged. Sunghoon showed up to school and lingered within your group silently, only contributing when spoken to directly. He didn’t approach you anymore or ask to hang out after school. Actually, no one knew what he did after school. He would head straight home and then go completely off the radar.

Gone off the rails, as Sunoo called it.

You cried several nights over it. You felt like not only was your best friend slipping away from you, but Sunghoon’s disconnect from the group would soon make you pull away, too. You had Jaeyun, of course, but nothing felt the same anymore. With Jungwon dead, the group felt tense and gloomy. You all started hanging out with other people and slowly stopped responding in the group chat.

Part of you realized that Sunghoon’s detachment was because you didn’t reply to him the night Jungwon’s murder was publicized. Back then, you suspected that Sunghoon could have been behind it, judging by your conversation with Jongseong earlier. It all added up in your head, but the only thing that was stopping you from believing it fully was that you couldn’t fathom Sunghoon ever doing something so evil.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” you whispered into the phone, even though there wasn’t anyone around that you were worried about listening in. “He’s shutting me out now. Something must’ve happened to him.”

You heard Jaeyun hum and contemplate for a moment before he replied, “Maybe he just needs space.”

“I think something happened between him and Jongseong,” you admitted, “but I can’t imagine Jongseong saying anything that would make Sunghoon ignore him for this long.”

“It must’ve been serious, then.”

“But… but it’s Sunghoon; he’s”—you paused as you recalled what Jongseong once called him—“bulletproof.”

There was a pause.

“I guess that’s the problem with being bulletproof,” Jaeyun spoke gravely. “People think they can just keep shooting.”

What Jaeyun told you that night kept replaying in your head over the next week—over and over again. It hit you a little too hard, and you waited to confront Sunghoon about it. You wanted him to know that he could be vulnerable, too. But you couldn’t even speak to your best friend these days. He had been avoiding everyone like the plague.

You assumed it had something to do with Jongseong, but when you talked to him about it, he was hesitant to get into it.

“You’re the closest person to him,” you told him. Today was colder, and you rubbed your hands together for warmth as you and Jongseong stood by the gates after school. “I think if you guys sit down and talk things out, then he’ll start being himself again.”

“I was the closest person to him,” Jongseong corrected with a scoff. “Plus, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? What about your friendship?”

You couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth. Anger roiled deep in your chest, and you were too furious to realize that Jongseong only looked dejected in response. If he wasn’t going to explain what happened, then you couldn’t understand what was eating away at their relationship.

“There is no friendship, Y/N,” he said slowly, in a voice so low that it sounded like the calm before the storm. His words made everything come to a halt, and you felt like time itself had frozen. “I suggest you let go of Sunghoon, too. You’re hanging onto someone who’s beyond help.”

“But I don’t know what you know!” you exclaimed. “I can’t let go of someone just like that, Jongseong. I need answers.”

He was quiet before he asked, “Do you remember when Sunghoon stayed over at your house once when we were fourteen?”

“When his house caught on fire?” you recalled, but the memory was sort of hazy for you. All you remembered was how you were in complete awe that Sunghoon was unscathed and unbothered by the incident.

“Yeah,” Jongseong’s voice was grim as he said, “and I bet he never told you that he was the one who started that fire on purpose.”

It was like a punch to the gut. You could only shake your head blankly, lips parted in disbelief.

He continued, “When we were fifteen, he thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught—”

No.

“—and, at sixteen, he actually did it.”

No. No.

“Jongseong,” you whispered, your voice smaller than you intended, “was it…”

“Jungwon?” He said the name so carefully, as if the world would explode into nothingness if he did. You had been gnawing at your lip so hard that you drew blood, yet that couldn’t distract you from the haunted look in Jongseong’s eyes. “Yeah, he killed Jungwon.”

You felt like you had just been doused with ice-cold water.

“I shouldn’t have brought Jungwon with me. I knew Sunghoon was gonna do it to someone, but I didn’t know…” He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath that racked his entire body. “I didn’t think it would be him. I brought Jungwon to talk him out of whatever was going on, not to…” Jongseong stopped himself again, covering his face with his hands to wipe away the tears that had started to fall.

It’s you and me, Sunghoon’s voice chimed in your head. The two of us against the world.

You thought your world had been shattered, but then you realized that it had actually been broken for a long time.

That night, you asked Jaeyun to come over, and he arrived at your door in record speed.

You two were sitting on your bed, controllers in hand, but the screen was off and neither of you were even in the mood to play. You must have trusted him more than anyone by now because the words started spilling with no preamble. You ended up explaining most of your conversation with Jongseong after you had Jaeyun swear on his life that he wouldn’t tell a soul.

Of course, you didn’t expect any normal person to compliantly come to terms with the fact that their friend murdered their other friend, but Jaeyun was a bit different when it came to you. Instead of accusing you of lying or denying the truth, he believed you wholeheartedly. You couldn’t tell if he was patient with you, or if he was just horrified by everything you had told him.

It had been an entire year since Jungwon had been found dead and the case closed as an unsolved murder, but your words sucker punched Jaeyun like it had just happened yesterday.

Jaeyun’s tone was urgent when he said, “We have to tell someone.” When he noticed your hesitation, he shook his head at you with a disapproving frown. “Y/N, this is serious. This is Jungwon, my best friend.”

Your mouth went dry. “I-I know, it’s just—”

Jaeyun didn’t have to cut you off. You froze right when you saw tears welling up in his eyes.

“Y/N.” He said your name gently, but you still flinched. You had never heard your name being called with so much despair. “If Sunghoon really murdered Jungwon, then I can’t keep this a secret.”

“Give me a few days,” you pleaded. “I just want to hear Sunghoon out. No matter what he says, I’ll come with you to testify.”

He shook his head immediately, eyes fierce. “You are not going anywhere near Sunghoon—not after what he did to Jungwon.”

“Then let me ask Jong—”

“Y/N,” Jaeyun interrupted, letting his hand slide over yours. His eyes were full of concern when he asked, “How do you know you can trust Jongseong?”

Your hands started to shake.

“Y/N,” he said again, “if Jongseong took Jungwon to see Sunghoon, what do you think he did after Sunghoon killed him?”

Your pulse raced.

“If Jongseong knew about Sunghoon’s behavior for this long, why hasn’t he ever done anything?”

All this time, you thought your world had grown a little bigger ever since you met Sunghoon and Jongseong.

But you were living in a fantasy by yourself.

Not so long after your talk with Jaeyun, your phone rang. You were in the middle of finishing up your history paper when you saw the caller ID flash across your screen.

It was Sunghoon.

You didn’t even give yourself time to think about it first. You just picked up the phone immediately. It was an old habit; you saw Sunghoon and accepted the call without a second thought. You never expected Sunghoon to ever call you again, so you didn’t exactly have any practice in rejecting his calls.

“Y/N?” came the familiar voice of Park Sunghoon—gentle, but almost like he was a caged animal.

“Sunghoon?” You swallowed hard. “Uh, how are you? It’s been a while since we’ve talked.”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, but you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. “It was supposed to be the two of us against the world.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering your question, Sunghoon hesitated before saying, “We should catch up sometime. You can read part of the story I’m writing.”

You paused, and before he could ask if you were still there, you replied, “Yeah, sure.”

“Right.” Sunghoon sounded like he had more to say. You almost didn’t catch it because he was so quiet, and the last thing you heard before he hung up was a quiet, “Bye, then.”

Your deepest regret was answering your phone later that night.

It was hours after Sunghoon called you. Jongseong was more of a texter, so you were surprised when his caller ID flashed across your screen. It was definitely not a reasonable hour for a high school student to be out and about, but nothing could have prepared you for what you heard on the other side of the line.

Jongseong was sobbing.

The sound chilled you to the bone. You never heard Jongseong cry, but this didn’t feel normal; this cry was frantic and mangled, like he was spiraling out of control.

“Y/N, you have to come over quickly,” Jongseong begged through broken sobs and heavy breaths. “Please, Y/N, I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”

“Jongseong, calm down. Tell me what’s happening.”

“You have my location, right? Just hurry. Please.” And he hung up.

In a daze, you called Jaeyun and asked him to pick you up.

“I really think we should just call the cops,” Jaeyun offered, almost pleading. “I don’t know what’s going on with Jongseong, but this sounds sketchy, Y/N.”

Pitted fear festered in your throat. You knew something was off, but you weren’t sure if you could handle losing Jongseong, too. You had gotten so used to not being alone that you were paranoid of returning to having no one.

“Call them as soon as we get there,” you said. “I just need to make sure Jongseong’s okay.”

Jaeyun pressed his lips into a thin, grim line, but he kept driving.

It was a port that Jongseong’s location directed you to, and discomfort crept into your limbs as soon as Jaeyun pulled into the area. Maybe you should’ve stayed back where it was safer and let the police handle everything, but you must have been a fool. It was just that Jongseong’s cries echoed in your head whenever you started having second thoughts.

You could hear him before you saw him.

Jongseong’s soft sobs could be heard from behind a metal storage unit, and you and Jaeyun inched closer carefully after getting out of the car. Your heart dropped to your stomach; you were dreading the worst, and when you turned the corner into the closed area Jongseong was in, you realized that the sight before you was the worst it could get.

Sunghoon’s body.

You waited for his chest to rise, but not even a shallow breath escaped his blue-tinged lips.

It took you a moment to reorient yourself and realize that Sunghoon wasn’t just passed out, he was dead.

You saw the blood pooling around him and the wounds piercing his torso, staining his white shirt, but you wanted to believe your mind was playing tricks on you. You convinced yourself that Sunghoon was going to get up any second now and start laughing, and then Jongseong would join in and tell you it was all a joke.

But that wasn’t the case.

It wasn’t fear that overtook you—not an overwhelm of emotion—it was numbness. You stared at Sunghoon’s body as he bled out onto the concrete, blood pooling into the cracks in the ground. You felt an odd sort of disconnect.

You tilted your head to see Sunghoon’s face turned to the side against the concrete. His blank eyes just stared into nothingness, and you realized that you would never get to see Sunghoon’s warm, sincere gaze ever again. You were never going to see his bright smile. You were never going to hear his contagious laugh. You were never going to read the wonderful stories he wrote.

You supposed your life was always meant to be a tragedy.

“H-Hoon?” Jaeyun choked up behind you. He was staring down at Sunghoon’s lifeless body in horror before his expression was slowly replaced with anger. “Jongseong, what the hell did you do?!”

“It was self-defense, man,” Jongseong whimpered out before his body was racked with sobs again. “He pulled a knife on me out of nowhere. I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” He exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at Sunghoon.

“Come on, guys,” Jongseong pleaded. “I can’t go to fucking prison. I’m eighteen now; it’s not juvie, it’s a life sentence.” You didn’t know what he was getting at until he requested the unthinkable, “Help me get rid of the body.”

You wanted to puke. You eyed the shiny metal soaked in blood that Jongseong was clutching. You were never going to see Sunghoon again. You were never going to hang out with him over the weekend. You were never going to hear his voice again.

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “What the fuck are you gonna do when they realize he’s gone missing? You just killed someone! This is on you, Jongseong, not us!”

“Are you going to help me get rid of it or not?!” Jongseong tugged at his hair. “Just help me throw him off the dock, and we can all walk away from this.”

You watched helplessly, horror-stricken. “I… I can’t.”

“The body’s gonna float and show up somewhere,” Jaeyun countered with stony eyes. “They’re gonna catch you.”

Jongseong looked terrifyingly pale. You wondered if it was just the glow of the moon, or if he was also holding in his urge to puke. “I’ll just cut his stomach so he sinks.”

Disgusted, Jaeyun scowled. “You’re a monster.”

You watched as Jongseong tried hauling Sunghoon’s body before giving up and dragging him by the legs. You shot Jaeyun a warning look, mouthing for him to call the police before Jongseong noticed. He lingered back to do so while you followed Jongseong to plead him to stop. His arms gave out as soon as he stepped onto the planks, and he let Sunghoon’s lower half collapse onto the solid wood.

“Y/N, help me cut open his stomach,” he ordered, hardly sparing you a glance. If he did, he would have seen how horrified you were.

“Oh,” you said, voice wavering, “that’s… that—that’s his…”

“Y/N, help me.”

“Jongseong,” you begged, “please… please stop.”

He paid you no attention, though. You felt ghastly as Jongseong used a paring knife to make an incision on Sunghoon’s stomach. The smell was putrid. You screwed your eyes shut as the metallic smell of blood invaded your nostrils. Your nausea plunged into your gut, and you had to fight the pervasive urge to hurl.

A stream of Sunghoon’s blood made its way to your shoes, staining the soles.

Jongseong was cutting your old best friend open.

The dread had kept you numb for this long, but it was when reality settled in that you finally lost it. You couldn’t handle it anymore and pitched forward over the edge of the dock, throwing up until you were heaving up bile. You sobbed through it all, mournful and low, and your friend paid you no attention while he was cutting through flesh.

When Jongseong was done, he wiped at his cheek, leaving behind a smear of blood. Sunghoon’s blood. You stared at him, and you had never been more terrified of him in your life.

And then you really noticed Jongseong. You noticed how Sunghoon’s blood was coated all over his hands, how he hardly had any scratches or bruises on his body, how merciless his eyes were as he stared down at his old best friend.

The realization that washed over you was frightening.

“Sunghoon didn’t actually try to kill you, did he?” you managed to warble out. “You killed him yourself.”

A deep silence from him followed—heavy and wretched. Sunghoon’s blood was so dark that it nearly looked black under the dim light, and you could only stare helplessly until Jaeyun made his way to the dock, placing his hands firmly on your shoulders.

Jongseong turned to you and Jaeyun, clutching his knife tightly. You could hardly recognize the boy in front of you. You never truly understood the term “paralyzed by fear” until you saw the crazed look in Jongseong’s eyes—cold and haunting.

Jaeyun’s eyes glistened with tears and his throat was thick with emotion when he said, “Jongseong, please—just hang on and… and we can talk this out.”

The hand gripping his knife started shaking. “You won’t tell anyone, right? You guys won’t snitch on me, right?” When there was no response from you or Jaeyun, Jongseong’s desperation grew stronger. He turned to you with his eyes big and terrified. “Y/N, come on, we’ve known each other for years. You know I—”

“Shut up!” Jaeyun yelled. His protective grip on you tightened. “Cut the bullshit, Jongseong. The police are gonna be here soon, and they’re gonna take you straight to prison once they see what you did to Hoon.”

It was like a switch flipped in him. A distant part of your mind wondered if you could get everyone out of this—somehow bring Sunghoon back and go back to your normal life—but you immediately shut down that fantasy as soon as Jongseong’s eyes darkened.

In the darkness, you could make out an amused expression on his face. His smile took on a cold edge.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll just have to get rid of you two before the police get here, then.”

You felt like your world slowed. Your eyes burned with the threat of tears. You could tell Jongseong was walking closer to you while Jaeyun was desperately trying to tug you and get you to run, but you were frozen in place. You wanted to believe that your old friend wouldn’t actually hurt you, but then you didn’t know what to think when he raised his knife.

It had all happened so fast. Too fast.

In your brief struggle as Jongseong tried to stab you, you heard a sharp gasp that tore you from your haze, like you had just been drenched in cold water. Brutally sober. You tried to push Jongseong off of you, but he was too heavy, too limp. Jaeyun shouldered his way between you two and shoved Jongseong back, grimacing when his skull hit the wood with a thud.

You heard one last, strangled gasp from Jongseong before he stopped breathing. The last star in his eyes twinkled until it dimmed for good.

Jongseong laid flat on the dock with his knife piercing his chest.

As you heard police sirens go off in the distance, Jaeyun wrapped his arms around you before you finally broke down into his chest.

Your best friends were dead and your world was broken beyond repair.

“So, it was self-defense?” Detective Lee asked, his piercing eyes boring right into yours. “Purely accidental? You had no intention of harming Park Jongseong?”

You shook your head. “I still couldn’t process the fact that he killed Sunghoon, so I didn’t think he’d actually try to hurt me.”

You wanted to cry. You bit your chapped lip, but all you could taste was blood that you doubted was even there. You couldn’t even say Sunghoon’s name without seeing that radiant smile of his stained with deep red.

You sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve told you everything I know. Can I see Jaeyun now?”

Detective Lee eyed you for a moment. Finally, you saw some sort of sympathy in his gaze, although you felt sort of repulsed that you were being pitied in this state. The detective muttered something about him being back later, and he left the interrogation room, leaving you handcuffed to the table.

A minute passed by. Another. Several more.

You were pretty sure it had been at least an hour or two of staring at the wall, but the passage of time felt meaningless now. You could wait hours, even days, but you didn’t think you would ever be ready to confront what cruel reality awaited you.

You were so tired of everything, so exhausted that you didn’t even think about your parents until now. Were they here? Were they informed about your arrest? They must have been worried sick all night.

When the door opened, your head shot up.

“You’re free to go, Y/N,” Detective Lee said, pulling out a key to uncuff you from the table.

You were frozen. You just stared up at Detective Lee with your jaw hung open.

“I know this took awhile, but there was no security footage at the scene to confirm your story,” he elaborated. “But your stories matched up, and we found more evidence in the trunk of Jongseong’s car that he had been planning this murder.”

He helped you to your feet and escorted you out of the room. You were able to pick up everything they took from you before you were locked up in the holding cell—your keys, wallet, and your phone. Then, you were taken to the waiting room where your parents were seated at the far end.

At the sight of you, they all but leapt from their seats to rush over, hands cupping your face and arms embracing your weak, battered figure. There was so much love in their eyes, and their fear over possibly losing their daughter replaced any anger they had toward the situation. However, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you ended up getting an earful the next day.

“Mom, Dad,” you whimpered out, suddenly overcome with emotion. You were immediately aware of how weak and pathetic you felt. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” your father silenced you by rubbing your back in soothing circles. “Jaeyun’s family wanted us to let you know that he’s okay, too. They just took him home about ten minutes ago.”

You were slightly disappointed. Part of you was hoping that he would wait for you, but you figured Jaeyun’s family would have wanted to go home right away. You definitely would have felt better if you got to see your boyfriend in the flesh to make sure he was alive and well, but you weren’t going to complain now.

There was still a ghost of a smile on your lips as your parents walked you to their car. They gushed and gushed about how glad they were about you being safe and sound, and about how they never would’ve expected Jongseong of all people to end up being a murderer.

You were happy to be alive, of course, but you felt so empty.

You pulled out your phone to try and text Jaeyun, but, as you thought, it was dead.

“Mom, can I use your phone?” you asked, and you dialed Jaeyun’s number immediately as soon as she handed it to you. You had it memorized because it was a combination of numbers that was fairly easy to remember.

It rang four times, and by the fifth ring, you were scared that he wouldn’t pick up. But then, it beeped.

“Hello?” Jaeyun answered. “Who is this?”

It was like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders once you heard his voice. Despite Detective Lee informing you that Jaeyun was, indeed, alive, you felt more reassured hearing it from your boyfriend himself. You wanted to cry then and there, but you didn’t want to make your parents worry unnecessarily.

You forgot you were even supposed to respond when Jaeyun spoke again, “Is anyone there?”

“Jaeyun, it’s me,” you mumbled softly. “Y/N.”

You heard him suck in a sharp breath. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Jaeyun gave you the breakdown of how his experience went, which took a completely different turn than yours. After receiving medical attention, they brought him back to his holding cell to sleep for hardly a few hours. The detective interrogating Jaeyun tried to build trust with him, telling him they wanted to help and just needed his confession. They lied about already having evidence that he killed Jongseong, but Jaeyun denied it and told them the whole story. He was only free to leave after they cross-examined his story with yours.

“Jesus,” you whispered into the phone, breathing out a small laugh. By now, you were already parked at your house and walking to your front door. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “but we’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, Jae. Us against the world.”

Sim Jaeyun spent nine hours being questioned by authorities.

He knew the nature of the crime that occurred was complex, and he was still reeling from the loss and betrayal that left a deep wound in his chest, but there was something that terrified him still.

It wasn’t the murderous look in Park Jongseong’s eyes, or the blood completely drained from Park Sunghoon’s face.

Rather, what scared Jaeyun the most was that he spent so long pining after you and getting to know you at a deeper level. He genuinely fell hard for you, even though you had monsters in the closet. He thought he knew almost everything about you, like how you were a terrible liar.

Yet, you had just lied about everything that went down last night for nine hours straight.

What scared Jaeyun the most was how clueless he had been about who you really were.

Truthfully, he was also in the wrong for going along with your lie. It was definitely going to bite him back one day. In the moment, though, he was far too much of a coward to go against you. Although he was able to get Jungwon the justice he deserved and allowed his family to finally be at peace with answers, Jaeyun still felt horrible. He just remembered the desperate look in your eyes as your face and hands were stained with blood, begging him to protect you.

Jaeyun’s downfall must have been that he liked you too much to say no.

It was true that Jongseong called you in a panic, begging you to show up at the port as quickly as possible, and it was true that you wanted Jaeyun to drive you there instead of calling the cops first.

Jaeyun knew deep down that you were making the wrong choice, but he had hope that you knew what you were doing. Truthfully, although he liked you a lot, he was still wary about how you felt toward Sunghoon. He just couldn’t understand how you were still unconsciously protecting him after hearing what happened to Jungwon. He knew that you wanted answers, but Jaeyun was worried about how you’d react once you got them.

The real story—the one neither of you told the detectives—never started with Park Jongseong killing Park Sunghoon.

It really started when you and Jaeyun arrived at the port to see that no one was around. It was eerily quiet, and Jaeyun was starting to regret not turning around and heading straight for the police station. When you two got out of the car, you walked several feet down the line of shipping containers before returning to Jaeyun with a confused look on your face.

“I don’t see either of them,” you said, but then your eyes grew unfocused as you stared at something—or, rather, someone—behind Jaeyun.

He turned around to see Jongseong walking over to the two of you in a calm fashion, as if he had no other care in the world. The port was relatively an open space, so he had no idea where Jongseong could have emerged from. Jaeyun rolled his neck, more frustrated than anything.

“Jongseong!” you called out.

When he neared you two, Jongseong shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, you brought your boyfriend.”

“What’s going on?” you urged. “Is it Sunghoon? Did something happen to him?”

“Wow, that hurts, Y/N.” Jongseong barked out a laugh, but nothing about his tone sounded sincere. “I call you in the middle of the night and all you can think about is Hoon? Wow. How do you feel about that, Jaeyun?”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just glowered.

Nothing about this felt right.

You stammered, “I-I just assumed—”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” Jongseong cut you off with little regard for your excuses. “Sorry to say this in front of your boyfriend, but imagine how I feel when the girl I’ve liked for years only cares about my best friend.”

The air went still.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you asked, “Excuse me?”

Jaeyun pursed his lips together, and, for a moment, he thought his tongue would start bleeding if he bit it any harder. Sunghoon liked the girl that Jongseong liked, and if that girl was you, then Jaeyun was worried that he already lost you. He knew for months that he would never truly have you the way he wanted. Your feelings for Sunghoon were stronger, and although Jaeyun was able to pack his insecurities into a tiny ball and shove it down his throat, it was all coming out now.

His uneasy heart shattered into a million pieces once he caught a glimpse of your expression—hopeful and longing. And it wasn’t for Jongseong; it was for Sunghoon.

“Now that’s a great expression,” came an overly-enthusiastic voice from Jaeyun’s right.

Park Sunghoon was leaning against one of the shipping containers, arms folded across his chest before he uncrossed them and made his way toward the three of you. He must have been hiding behind the containers this whole time because Jaeyun hadn’t seen him at all before.

The situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Jaeyun wanted to shrink back when Sunghoon suddenly took great interest in him, keeping his eyes fixed on him instead of you or Jongseong. He used to have such bright and happy smiles, but, this time, Jaeyun almost thought his grin had been sliced into his face with a blade.

Sunghoon slung an arm over Jongseong’s shoulder. “Wow, Jae, now I really wanna see the look on your face when you’re in total despair,” he crooned, almost mocking. Jaeyun’s blood rushed in his ears when Sunghoon’s tongue swiped across one of his fangs. “You should’ve seen the look on Jungwon’s face.”

Jaeyun lunged before he could even think, but he stopped himself as soon as you held onto him, stopping him from hitting Sunghoon.

And that was when he knew he already lost you.

“Don’t,” you insisted.

“Are you serious?” he breathed out, brows knitting into a frown as he looked down at you.

Shame clung to your throat, keeping your mouth shut, but Jaeyun was more concerned now about the sharp blade pointed at his throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Jongseong had a paring knife pointed straight at him, and Sunghoon’s smile never faltered. They were clearly on the same side. There was a reason why Jeongseong never did anything about Sunghoon after killing Jungwon.

Jaeyun felt stupid for not putting it together earlier.

“I’d listen to your girlfriend,” Jongseong warned. His voice crawled all over him, freezing Jaeyun cold to the bone. “You might as well hear us out before you die here tonight.”

“Can’t exactly let you two run off now that you know what happened to Jungwon,” Sunghoon added.

“Jungwon was our friend,” Jaeyun hissed. “He was my best friend, you sick freak! What did you do to him? Why? He’s never… he never did anything wrong!”

“You’re right. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunghoon confirmed, surprisingly calm and collected. “In fact, he exceeded my expectations. It was a great performance, actually.” Jaeyun clenched his fist tight—so tight that his nails dug into his palms and drew blood—and Sunghoon took notice of this with a delighted hum. “You should’ve heard him scream, Jae. I had my doubts about him at first, but when he was begging me for his life, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

You were distraught. “Sunghoon, you—”

It all happened in seconds, like a rubber band finally snapping after being stretched too thin. Jaeyun used his elbow to knock Jongseong’s arm out of the way, and he shoved Sunghoon as soon as he found an opening, driving his hands into his ribs. He heard you cry out, but Jaeyun could only see red until he was dragged back up by Jongseong, the sharp blade of the knife being pressed to his throat.

“Stop!” you cried. “Leave Jaeyun out of this! You wanted me, right? Just let him go. Please.”

“I don’t think so.” Sunghoon wrapped an arm around you. “You two already know too much, and Jongseong and I have been waiting for this finale for years.”

Your eyes had a faraway look in them for a moment before you turned your attention back to Jongseong. “You told me…”

“I told you that when we were fifteen, Sunghoon thought it would be fun to plan out a murder without getting caught,” Jongseong filled in the blanks for you, a haunting smile playing on his lips, “and I was in on it.”

Sunghoon tutted. “But you got it all wrong, Y/N. It wasn’t Jungwon’s murder that we were planning; it was yours.”

You looked up at him in horror.

Jaeyun struggled against Jongseong for a moment, face taut with unbridled anger. He just wanted to get to you. Get Sunghoon’s filthy hands off of you.

“I’m a writer. I write stories,” Sunghoon continued. “Isn’t it a great twist? Convincing my childhood best friend that I loved her all this time, only to reveal that she’s gonna die at my hands.” He scoffed. “Jungwon was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but he was good practice. I was too careless back then. I shouldn’t have left all those drawings and papers out like that when he came over, but now I’m gonna finish the job properly.”

Your breathing was shallow. Jaeyun could see the flood of despair racking your body with soft sobs and quick pants. Your gaze fell to the ground, and Sunghoon peered to catch a better look at you.

“Good,” he praised. “That’s what I wanna see. Wow, that’s great, Y/N. I can’t wait to see more when—”

“Get the fuck away from her!” Jaeyun yelled, grunting when Jongseong pressed the knife harder against his supple skin.

With an exaggerated flourish of his hands, Sunghoon raised both arms and backed up as if he was a deer caught in headlights. He wore an easygoing smile, yet something sinister was tucked behind the curve of his lips. Your inconsolable self stayed fixed in place, staring helplessly at your shoes.

“For the past two years, I’ve been isolating myself from the friend group for the sake of this story and its ending,” Sunghoon said. “I think I deserve a little fun right now, Jae.”

“Fuck you,” Jaeyun spat. “You deserve to go to Hell.”

Sunghoon took a step closer to Jaeyun, ducking his head so that they were at eye-level with each other. Jaeyun tried to struggle against Jongseong once more, but he froze when the knife pierced his skin. He felt something trickle down the column of his neck, and he soon realized it was his own blood.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Sunghoon mocked a pout. He lowered his voice by an octave, only for Jaeyun to hear. “Competing with a childhood friend is brave, I’ll tell you that.”

Jaeyun’s blood boiled. To his surprise, Sunghoon gestured for Jongseong to let go of him. He took the paring knife from his friend and handed it to Jaeyun.

“Take it,” Sunghoon said. “Why don’t you try killing me? You wanna get back at me, right? I killed your best friend, after all.”

Owlish, he blinked back at Sunghoon, almost absently. Jaeyun really considered it for a moment—like, really considered it. Some part of him wanted to senselessly beat Sunghoon up until he was unrecognizable, but the morally righteous side of him knew that he could never stoop to Jongseong or Sunghoon’s level.

Jaeyun took the knife by the handle, weighing it in his palm experimentally before chucking it away—far from both Sunghoon and Jongseong. Jaeyun was pretty sure he could overtake Jongseong if Sunghoon turned his back, but he wasn’t sure if Jongseong had another weapon up his sleeve. He heard the blade skid and scrape against the concrete, and he could only hope that Sunghoon and Jongseong being distracted by him would give you time to escape.

But Jeongseong immediately stopped you as soon as he saw you picking up the knife, and he let go of Jaeyun to grab ahold of you. Jaeyun tried to yank Jongseong back by the back of his shirt, but Sunghoon grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head against the metal of one of the shipping containers.

Jaeyun’s world was thrown off-balance. The ground bounced, tilted, swayed. He was so dizzy and disoriented that he couldn’t tell if his head was spinning or if he was collapsing.

The corners of his vision grew hazy with white splotches dancing around. Jaeyun tried hard to focus, making out some of the yelling that was going back and forth, but he couldn’t think at all when a newly-formed cut on his forehead was getting blood all over his face and hands.

He doubled forward, falling onto his knees. Jaeyun had to stay there for a while and ride out the intense waves of vertigo until he was stable again. When the world finally returned to its normal axis and stopped bouncing under him, Jaeyun lifted his head to see you and Jongseong screaming at each other.

And Sunghoon was on the ground.

He stumbled over, and it was as if the white noise in Jaeyun’s ears had drowned out everything in the background. He couldn’t see or focus on anything except the pained look on Sunghoon’s face as the color drained from his neck. Blood was gushing from his jugular vein, and he was digging his palm into his neck to put pressure on the wound.

“—you stabbed him!” you screamed at Jongseong. Your voice was hysterical; Jaeyun had never heard you sound so desperate, not even when he was being held at knifepoint.

“Fuck, Y/N, I wouldn’t have hurt him if you didn’t pull on my arm!” Jongseong yelled back. He sank to the ground, simultaneously dropping the knife and dropping his head between his knees.

The sight was miserable to watch. Jongseong wailed loud and mournful until he couldn’t take it anymore, doubling over so that he could throw up until nothing but bile was coming out. When it seemed as though he had nothing else to heave out of his stomach, Jongseong sat up for a brief moment. You and Jaeyun watched as his eyes rolled back almost instantly, falling onto his back and hitting his skull against the concrete. The exhaustion must have finally caught up to him, and you two didn’t have long until he was conscious again.

Jaeyun turned his attention back to Sunghoon, watching his life bleed out of his body slowly. For some reason, an odd disconnect came over Jaeyun, and he bent down to help apply pressure over Sunghoon’s wound. At first, Sunghoon gritted his teeth, but even he knew when to accept help when it was needed.

Sim Jaeyun was pretty sure he was broken beyond belief by now, but it was impossible for him to ignore someone who was dying right before him.

Even if he murdered Jungwon.

“Y/N, we need to get him to a—”

Jaeyun cut himself off when he looked up at you to see that your expression had changed. Something was different. You looked like numbness had seeped into your body, coiling around your heart until you couldn’t feel anything. The way you looked down at Jongseong, clutching his knife tightly, made Jaeyun worry.

“Y/N,” Jaeyun said again—slower, “whatever you’re thinking… please put it down.”

It didn’t seem like you were listening, though. Almost as if your body and brain were at two different places.

“Y/N—” Jaeyun shuddered when you brought the knife down, driving it straight into Jongseong’s chest.

Jaeyun’s stomach lurched. He watched as Jongseong struggled for his life, hardly conscious as you repeatedly stabbed him over and over again until Jaeyun was yelling at you to stop. He was sure he would never be able to close his eyes again without hearing Jongesong’s blood-curdling screams and seeing Sunghoon’s face drained of color.

“Wow,” Sunghoon choked out. One last amused look crossed his face before it fell apart painfully. “I told you, Jae, there’s no competing with a childhood best friend.” Jaeyun flushed with anger, but it dissolved quickly when he realized Sunghoon’s breathing got slower, shallower. The look on his face was one of someone accepting their untimely death. “Thanks for the show, though.”

In his arms, Sunghoon took his last breath and went still.

It wasn’t grief that Jaeyun felt. It was something far greater.

“Jaeyun, I—I didn’t mean to,” you sobbed out, shakily holding up your bloodstained hands. “It was self-defense! I tried to stop him, but he was trying to kill me, and then he… he killed Sunghoon. I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t—” You exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t do anything else.”

Jaeyun didn’t respond. He just stared at you in disbelief.

“Come on, Jae,” you pleaded. Oh, so it was Jae now. “You have to help me get rid of their bodies. I can’t go to prison!”

“Get rid of the body?” Jaeyun raised his voice, exasperated. “Y/N, they’re dead! We have to tell the police everything. I mean, what are you gonna do when your prints match?”

Your lips pressed together in a grim line. “Your prints are on the knife, too.”

Were you blackmailing him? Jaeyun couldn’t believe what he was hearing from you. He never expected you, of all people, to be the one to throw him under the bus like this. He had trusted you with his life before, and you threw it all away in seconds.

“Are you going to help me or not?” You looked toward the dock over the water. It was a good enough distance for you to drag Sunghoon and Jongseong’s bodies over to, but Jaeyun sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. “Just help me throw them in the water, and we can both walk away from this, Jae. We can go back to our lives, okay?”

He shook his head sadly. You just sounded like a stranger to him.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, tears stinging his eyes, “please stop this. You have to turn yourself in.”

But his resolve was shaky. Jaeyun knew that he would still be booked once they found his prints at the scene, and there was no telling what you would do to protect yourself. By now, Jaeyun wouldn’t have been surprised if you somehow pushed the crime onto him.

“Jae, listen to me,” you insisted. Your eyes were wide and brimming with tears, and Jaeyun couldn’t help but think you looked a little crazed. “We can both get out of this, but you have to help me out here. We’re gonna tell them that Jongseong killed Sunghoon before we got here, and then he chased us until we ended up stabbing him out of self-defense. I mean, that’s all this was, anyway! It was self-defense!”

A distant part of Jaeyun’s mind wondered what happened to you. He wondered if you had always been this way, perhaps keeping it tucked away. In the end, you were still trying to protect Sunghoon in your own way. You were still trying to protect some fragment of his golden image.

“It’s you and me,” you whispered, kneeling down by your boyfriend’s side until you were cupping his face with your hands, staining his cheeks with Jongseong’s blood, “the two of us against the world.”

Just hours ago, Sim Jaeyun looked at you like you were his entire world.

And now, with your bloodstained hands holding his face, there was unmistakable fear behind his eyes as he looked up at you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so so much for reading if you made it all the way to the end !! i would lovee for you to guys to share what you thought, but just to point a few things out, jake's pov was the unfiltered version of what went down that night. the dialogue from mc is similar to jongseong's because while she painted him out to be the villain in the end to protect sunghoon, it was really her who said those things. originally this had a happier ending but i'm a lot more satisifed with this one actually. i hope you guys liked it !! <3 also i am deciding against using my permanent tag list this time because i haven't used it in a year and don't know if anyone exactly signed up to read horror 🧎‍♀️

#enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen horror #jake fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon horror #jake horror #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst #jake angst #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #jake scenarios #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen

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koiiiji · 4 months ago

Text

fantasy AU x lookism

previous parts 1 2 3

starring ; Ma Taesoo, Vasco (separately)

author's note ; this supposed to be part of halloween special, but i fucked up with deadlines... just a little...🥹 also i planned to add ji gongseop, and i got an idea which fantasy creature he can be, but i haven't any ideas for scenario and wanted to post this one too badly....

tw ; kinda possessive in Taesoo part 🤔

Ma Taesoo — gladiator

the roar of the coliseum was deafening, but Taesoo heard none of it.

he stood in the center of the bloodstained sands, the glint of his sword dulled by crimson, his chest heaving with exertion. another victory. another step closer to his so-called freedom.

but the only thing that mattered was you.

seated high above, in the imperial box, you sat like a vision, untouched by the filth of this brutal world. draped in the finest white silks, fabric so sheer it seemed woven from moonlight, empire’s finest import from the farthest reaches of the world. you were a ghost among men — a creature of purity in a pit of savagery.

you sat close to your brother, the general. delicate fingers holding a single stalk of lavender to your nose, warding off the stench of the arena.

Taesoo had seen it before — the way nobles recoiled from the stench of sweat and death that clung to the air like a curse. the scent of the underground pits where fighters lived, where the wet, rotting musk of decay mixed with iron and blood, the stale breath of men who had long forgotten what it meant to be clean. he understood it. the gap between you.

you lived in a world of polished marble, of silken sheets and golden goblets. he was nothing more than a beast in a cage, a spectacle of violence for the amusement of empire. a wild dog meant to kill and bleed and die on command.

and yet, you always were there. watching.

always dressed in white — the sheer silk clung to your when the summer heat rose, the golden cuffs on ypur wrists glinting in the sunlight, your hair pinned with delicate ornaments befitting your status.

at night the pits were quiet and the only sound was the distant echoes of dying torches. the air was thick with the heavy breath of exhausted men, the metallic tang of rusting chains, the faint murmur of prayers whispered in the dark. Taesoo lay on his cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, the cold light of the moon spilling through iron grates. his body ached, fresh wounds burning against his bruised skin, but the pain didn’t matter. pain had never mattered.

not when his mind was filled with you.

you was always there, just out of reach — an untouchable phantom, wrapped in white silk that clung to your delicate frame in the city heat. you sat above him, behind veils of power and privilege, your scent of lavender and something sweeter lingering in the air, something he had never been close enough to truly breathe in.

and yet, he wanted.

at first, his thoughts of you were gentle. Taesoo imagined the softness of your voice, whispering his name in quiet reverence. he imagined your small hand reaching for him, offering something impossible — tenderness, understanding, mercy.

but the deeper he sank into his thoughts, the more it rotted.

he saw himself standing before you, unshackled, unchained. no guards, no nobles, no rules. just the two of you in a room of flickering candlelight and heady silence.

would you tremble if he stepped closer? would you try to run?

would you cry?

he imagined your wrists in his hands, fragile things, pulse racing under his fingers as he held you still. would you gasp, fight, plead? or would you whisper his name, breathless, overwhelmed, yielding?

a low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and he turned onto his side, eyes squeezing shut. it was madness. a sickness he had no cure for.

but the worst part?

he liked it...

the sun was relentless, beating down upon the arena, turning the sand into fire beneath Taesoo’s feet. blood soaked into the ground, staining it darker with each passing drop.

swords clashed, bodies fell, and now only two remained.

Taesoo stood tall, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. his grip on his sword was firm, unwavering. he was stronger. bigger. deadlier. the fight was already over. and the warrior before him knew it too.

boy before him was young, barely a man, panting through split lips, barely able to keep his sword raised.

Taesoo had fought a hundred like him.

this one was not meant to survive.

the crowd roared for blood, some voices breaking through the chaos, screaming for death. others begged for mercy, pleading for the young warrior’s life.

you sat in your usual place — left of your brother, close to the high officials, where power resided.

you sat with your back impossibly straight, your hand was raised to your face, fingers curled around that same stalk of lavender, shielding yourself from the stench of death. and yet, despite it all, you looked at him. not the way the others did, not with amusement or sadistic pleasure or boredom, but with something else. something he didn’t dare name.

Taesoo lifted his sword, pressing the blade’s edge against the boy’s throat.

he should have finished it. it would have taken no effort at all.

and yet, Taesoo hesitated.

not out of pity. not out of weakness. but because he wanted permission.

your permission.

his eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, unreadable. his blade didn't waver, nor did his stance, but the question hung heavy in the air between you.

'what is your decision, my lady?'

he watched as you turned sharply, grabbing your brother’s hand, nails digging into his forearm.

“Dagyeom, i beg you…”

your voice didn't reach Taesoo, but he read your lips with precision. begging. pleading. not for yourself — but for the boy.

your fingers tightened around brother's wrist, your wide, desperate eyes darting between him and the Emperor. Taesoo knew you were risking your position. you were not meant to question. you were not meant to interfere. and yet, here you were, openly choosing mercy over the spectacle of death.

your brother let out a heavy sigh. mischievous grin.

he turned his head, exchanged a glance with the Emperor. another bored chuckle. a condescending imperial glance in your direction. it's just another life. Dagyeom knew perfectly well that the Emperor had a soft spot for his sister.

then, a single, bored motion.

a finger raised.

mercy.

Taesoo’s grip loosened, his blade lowering, the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

and above, in the imperial balcony, your lips parted in silent relief.

he had won countless battles. had bathed in blood, had broken men, had earned the title of a champion.

but this was the first time a victory felt real.

Vasco — shark hybrid

the ocean was vast, a never-ending expanse of blue that stretched beyond sight. schools of fish darted between coral formations, their shimmering scales catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the waves. among the reefs, Vasco and his pack moved through the water with effortless power and grace. their bodies were built for the ocean — powerful, streamlined, and fast. gray fins jutted from their backs, sharp-edged and sleek, cutting through the water like blades. smaller, more flexible fins adorned their elbows and sides, aiding in swift, precise movements, for both speed and control their sleek forms slicing through the currents.

as shark hybrids, other sea creatures avoided them, and for good reason. most hybrids had a reputation for being territorial, picking fights, and asserting dominance wherever they swam.

but many of his breed, and Vasco himself were different. he know a lot of good guys!

Vasco wasn’t driven by senseless violence or the need to strike fear. he was curious, filled with an unstoppable determination to understand the world around him. and at that moment, his world narrowed to a single figure among the reef.

it started with color, something bright flickering near the coral, weaving through the coral in soft, fluid movements. at first, he thought it was just fish, maybe some rare ones he hadn't seen before. but when he looked closer, really looked, his chest tightened in quiet wonder.

your tail shimmered in the dappled sunlight, gliding effortlessly through the water. it was long, delicate, with few additional fins, it stretched along your body and tail like the finest silk... nothing like the strong, sharp fins of his kind. mermaids weren’t built for chasing or hunting — you were something else entirely, something mesmerizing.

Vasco had never seen someone so effortlessly beautiful, so serene in the water, and he found himself slowing down to watch.

he had heard of your kind before, stories whispered among his tribesman. mermaids were elusive, soft creatures that stayed near the shallows, away from the deep waters, where predators roamed.

he watched, fascinated, as you and your friends floated near the coral, your voices carrying like soft ripples under the water. you were talking, laughing, completely unaware of him and his pack at first. Vasco tilted his head, eyes wide, taking in how different you all were — your tails flicking gently in the water, your delicate fingers brushing against the reef, when you were looking at something in corals.

yours was the first he noticed. your tail shimmered like liquid silk, soft and smooth, its scales catching the sunlight that filtered through the waves. each shift of your body sent ripples of color cascading through it — hints of pearlescent blues and soft iridescent pinks blending seamlessly with the water around you. it was nothing like his own rough, battle-worn form.

he wanted to come closer.

his tail moved without thinking, just a little, just enough to shorten the distance between you. he wasn’t sure what to do — maybe he should say hi? maybe mermaids liked to be nudged like sharks hybrids usually did? he didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

but then, you saw him.

and everything shifted in an instant.

your eyes went wide, your whole body tensing as if you had seen something dangerous. your friends gasped, gripping your wrist, their tails flicking wildly as all of you darted away, disappearing behind the reef with a flurry of bubbles.

Vasco stopped, confused.

why were you swimming away? he hadn’t done anything. he had barely even moved.

he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the blue, your colors fading like a dream slipping away.

Vasco blinked, his broad shoulders slumped down and eyes filled with sadness. he turned to Bumjae, one of his packmates, his best friend, who swam up beside him with a knowing smirk.

“guess we scared them off,” Bumjae chuckled, flicking his tail idly.

“but… we didn’t even do anything.” Vasco furrowed his brows, his sharp teeth pressing together in frustration. “why did they swim away?”

Bumjae shrugged. “mermaids don’t usually stick around when they see other hybrids. it’s kinda normal.”

Vasco frowned, his gaze dropping to his hands, to his broad chest, to the dark fins cutting through the water.

“but we weren’t attacking them.” Vasco’s tail flicked behind him, his mind racing. he replayed the look of fear on your face, the way you fled so quickly — like you thought he was a threat.

he had never thought of himself as scary before. strong, sure. big, yeah. but scary?

maybe mermaids were just… shy?

Bumjae was already leading the pack away, their figures blending back into the depths of the ocean, but Vasco hesitated for a moment longer. his gaze lingered on the reef where you had vanished.

he had never seen anything like you before.

with one last glance, Vasco turned and swam away, but you never left his mind.

you will meet once again, right?...

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joluvsfinnick · 11 days ago

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Sandcastles And Second Chances

final part of this fic!!

summary - you return back to district 4, this time with your family. your heart is full, happy that life has worked out the way you always use to pray it would. you knew there was no avoiding him, not with how close your houses were in the victors village, but you didn’t expect to see him so soon.

authors notes - i didn’t expect to make a part 4 but i really really liked the idea of them being older and laughing at silly memories soooo here it is.

District 4 smelled like salt and memory. An indescribable feeling. One of loss, but also of love. You never thought you’d find yourself back here, in the home you left that night where your world seemed like it was ending, but here you are. But this time, you’re not alone.

You’d barely unpacked half a box before it hit you, how the ocean air clung to the wood of the house, how the seagulls called like they were laughing at everything you’d ever lost. But still… it felt right. This place, this home.

The house was warm with movement, filled with the low hum of voices, half-unpacked boxes, and the soft squeals of children playing on sun-faded rugs. The ocean breeze drifted in through the open windows, stirring the scent of salt and old wood.

From afar, you moved through it all with quiet certainty, sorting, folding, checking on your kids, pausing now and then just to watch them. A man, who he could only assume to be your husband, brushed past you, his hand always catching yours in passing like it was instinct. It felt like home, even though they’d only just returned.

Katniss and Peeta sat in the middle of the floor helping the kids untangle a pile of clothes and toys. Haymitch was in the kitchen banging around with a rusted hinge, grumbling under his breath about the “dumb coastal air.”

It was peaceful in a everyone hadn’t believed was possible, not for people like them.

“You should go.” Annie’s voice speaks softly behind him, a hand resting on his shoulder as she watches him look out the window towards your house. He sighs, his arms crossed as he watches.

“I don’t know.” He pauses, hesitating. “I don’t want to intrude or seem like-” Annie cuts him off.

“You won’t be.” She smiles, pressing slight weight on his shoulder to turn him around where he’s facing her. “I’ll bake you something. A homecoming gift of sorts.”

He returns her smile, more genuine this time, less strained. “That would help.” There’s a silence, not awkward, just full of shared understanding.

“Something sweet helps soften the hard things,” she adds. “No one expects to unpack history over cake. It gives you something to hold onto while you find the words.”

Finnick nods slowly, eyes thoughtful. “It’s easier to say hello when your hands aren’t empty.”

“Exactly.”

“And maybe they’ll see that I’m not trying to take anything… just visiting a piece of my life that I let go of too fast.”

—

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden haze across the sand. The wind off the ocean was soft, ruffling hair and clothing, brushing away the heat of the day.

Behind the house, laughter drifted up from the beach. Katniss and you sat in the sand, toes buried, watching their children turn driftwood and damp shells into imagined kingdoms. Your husband was still on the porch, sorting through books while Peeta and Haymitch argued over whether or not the swing they’d half-assembled would collapse under any adult weight.

Then a flicker of movement. You glanced toward the dunes.

Finnick stood there.

Half in shadow, half in light, barefoot in the sand with a woven basket in his hands. Hesitant. Still.

You rose slowly, brushing the sand from your legs. Katniss followed your gaze, then gave a quiet nod and touched your arm. “You want company?”

“No. It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

But when you reached him, met him halfway between past and present, neither of you spoke right away.

Up close, the silence felt heavier. Not hostile. Just full of things unsaid.

He looked down, then lifted the basket slightly between you both. “I, uh… brought something.”

You smiled softly, but the air between you two still felt uncertain. “Is that your peace offering?”

“It’s more like a… hopeful distraction.”

You tilted your head. “You made it?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know how that’d go.” He chuckles. “Annie made them. She wanted me to bring them here.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, and it loosened something. But before either of you could speak again, a tiny voice called out

“Mommy!” You both turned just as your youngest came running up the dunes, messy curls bouncing, cheeks pink from the sun. The little girl skidded to a stop in front of you, nose wrinkling as she leaned forward and inhaled dramatically.

“What’s that?” she asked, wide-eyed, pointing to the basket in Finnick’s hands.

Finnick crouched down a bit, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Would you believe me if I said it’s magic?”

The girl narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “It smells like cinnamon.”

“Smart kid,” he said, glancing up at you, then back at the girl. “They’re biscuits. With dried peaches. Want one?”

She looks at you, wanting permission first.

You nod. “It’s okay.”

The girl reached in carefully, pulling out a still-warm biscuit wrapped in wax paper. She sniffed it again. “You made these?”

“My wife did,” Finnick said. “They’re sort of a hello.”

“Hello,” the girl replied through a mouthful of biscuit, crumbs tumbling from her lips. “I like you.”

Finnick blinked, then laughed. “Really?”

“She’s a little blunt,” you say softly, watching the scene unfold. “Gets it from her father.”

“I don’t mind,” Finnick murmured, still watching the little girl. “Blunt is honest. Honest is good.”

The awkwardness had thinned now, gently unraveled by the innocence of the moment.

“Can they have some?” The little girl asks, tugging gently on your hand as she points towards Katniss and the other children who continue to play in the sand, oblivious to the scene unfolding near them.

Finnick glanced toward the shoreline, where Katniss waved from the distance, one child on her lap, another burying her feet.

He looked back at you, nodding slowly. “If it’s okay.”

“It is,” You smile.

You start down the beach together, side by side. Not quite how it used to be. Not quite new. But something in between.

Behind you, the breeze carried the scent of cinnamon and sea salt, as your daughter ran ahead of you both, waving her half-eaten biscuit like it was treasure.

It’s different now. You’re not the same girl he use to share sleepless nights with. You’re someone else now, wife, mother, whole in a different way. And maybe, just maybe, he’s not here to reclaim anything.

Maybe he’s just here to remember.

—

Your husband finds you in the kitchen, like he always does. Everyone is settled in the living room, indulging on the sweet treats Annie supplied and laughing as the kids run around the room causing havoc.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod, eyes on the sea. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. Then he tilts his head toward you, a familiar smirk tugging at his mouth. “Just checking. I saw the look on your face when he walked up to you out there. Thought I might need to come out here and defend my honor.”

You snort. “Please. You’re the only man I’ve ever known who wins hearts and builds houses without breaking a sweat.”

“Oh good, so I still outrank Finnick Odair.” He raises a brow, mock serious. “Tell me now,” He pauses, looking at you with a grin. “Do I need to start swimming laps again? I can be shirtless, running on the beach at sunset, if that’s what’s at stake.”

You laugh, tipping your head back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But charming, right?”

You nod. “The most.”

He leans in, brushing his nose against your temple before murmuring, “I know what he meant to you. What that whole part of your life meant. I don’t need you to explain it, sweetheart.”

Your smile softens as your fingers intertwine with his. “I know you don’t.”

He studies you for a moment, then grins again, lighter this time. “Still, if he tries anything funny I swear–”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “I wouldn’t allow it.” He gives you a soft, knowing smile. Almost as if he was saying, ‘I know.’ You shake your head, eyes crinkling as you glance back toward the living room’s warm glow. “Come on. Let’s go rescue Haymitch from being climbed over by our kids.”

He opens the door for you with a wink. “After you, my love.”

And just like that, with hearts still a little full and laughter trailing behind you, you step back inside, into the warmth, the noise, and the life you built together.

You return to the living room, your husband at your side, his hand brushing yours in that familiar, steady way. The kind of touch that says I’m here. I’ve always been here.

Finnick notices.

He watches from where he stands near the window, arms crossed loosely, a soft laugh playing at the corners of his mouth as he takes in the way you fit together. How easily you lean into each other. How your kids instinctively drift toward their father, and how your smile follows them, unthinking.

He never let himself imagine that kind of life with you, not really. His heart had always belonged to Annie, even when Snow tied you both together under the Capitol’s spotlight. You had been his partner in survival, his mirror in pain. But never the thing he allowed himself to truly need.

And yet… now, watching you in the warmth of this room, with your hair a little messy, your husband’s arm draped comfortably around your shoulders, laughter softening the lines on your face, he wonders. Just for a moment.

What it might’ve been like, if the world had been different. If he had been a different man. If he had let himself look twice.

But he didn’t. And now, you’re here. Happy. Loved.

And he’s happy, too, he tells himself that, and he means it. He has Annie and their few children, and that’s all he needs in life.

Still, as your eyes catch his from across the room and you offer him a kind, knowing smile, he feels the smallest shift in his chest.

Not regret. Not longing.

Just… a quiet echo of something that might’ve been.

—

The night is still.

The waves outside have gone hush, and the house has settled into its bones. The kids are asleep, finally, tucked into their little beds with sand still clinging to their toes. Your friends from district 12 have made themselves comfortable in your guests rooms for the week. Haymitch muttered something about bad pillows and stormed off to bed. Katniss and Peeta followed not long after, laughter trailing quietly down the hallway.

And now it’s just the three of you.

You sit on the worn couch, your husband beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you lean into his chest. Finnick is across the room in the armchair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The fire crackles low in the hearth, painting flickers of orange across the walls.

It’s your husband who speaks first, ever intuitive.

“Well,” he says, rising with a soft grunt and stretching, “I think that’s my cue.” You start to say something, but he bends, brushes a kiss to your temple, and adds quietly, “It’s okay. I get it.” He looks over at Finnick, offering a warm smile. “Don’t keep her up too long. She gets grumpy without sleep.”

You roll your eyes. “One time.”

Finnick chuckles, and your husband lingers just a moment longer, his tone gentle as he says, “It was nice to actually meet you. I’m glad you stopped by.”

Finnick meets his gaze, something quiet and sincere behind his eyes. “You’ve built something good here. You take care of her.”

“I do,” your husband says with a small smile. “And she takes care of me right back.”

A pause, one full of understanding, not tension. Then your husband gives Finnick a nod, squeezes your shoulder as he passes, and disappears down the hallway.

And now, it’s just you and Finnick.

He exhales slowly, sinking a little deeper into the chair. “Annie’s probably pulling cookies out of the oven right about now.”

You smile at the thought. “Still using too much vanilla?”

“Every single time,” he says fondly. “I tell her, but,”

“She doesn’t listen?” You laugh, understanding it all too well. She had made him some at a time during your fake marriage, and he graciously offered you some. The vanilla was always overwhelming.

“She smiles at me like I’m the fool for suggesting it.”

You both laugh, easy and quiet, and the sound sits softly between you like the tide.

Then Finnick grows still, his eyes flickering toward the fire. “I never let myself think about what it might’ve been like. You and me. Not because I didn’t care, but because Annie always had my heart. Right from the start.”

You nod, gently. “I know. I always knew.”

He turns to you then, voice low but clear. “But tonight… seeing the life you have. The way he looks at you, the way your kids light up around you, it made me wonder, just for a second.”

You hold his gaze, not sure what to say.

He nods slowly, a wistful sort of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a longing way. Not in a ‘what if’ way. Just… a quiet curiosity. About what might’ve been, if everything had been different.”

“But it wasn’t,” you say. “And we ended up where we were supposed to.”

Finnick leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, and gives a soft laugh. “Yeah. Annie’s probably got cookie dough in her hair, and your husband looks like he’d race the tide if it meant keeping you smiling.”

You smirk. “He would.”

Finnick stands, moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I’m really happy for you,” he says, and it’s not just words. It’s real, deep, earned.

“I’m happy for you too.”

There’s a silence that follows, not empty, not awkward. Just full of years and memories and peace.

Then, he looks down at your wrist, a flicker of something soft in his voice. “You still wear it.”

You glance down at your wrist, the bracelet, worn and faded, still tied where it always has been. Then, you look at his.

“So do you.”

He smiles. “Guess some things stay.”

—

It’s almost cruel, how time passes too quickly. You always heard it as a child, how the years would slip away like sand through your fingers, but you never realized just how fast it would happen until it already had. Now, your hair is silver, your hands are lined and softened by time, and your husband’s laugh still carries the same warmth it did decades ago, just slower, quieter, like everything these days.

You’re on the back porch with Finnick, an old wool blanket draped over both your knees despite the lingering warmth of early evening. The porch creaks beneath your chairs like it’s sighing with you. Your husband is inside making tea, humming off-key. The sun spills gold across the waves.

Finnick leans back, his gaze distant. “Do you remember that interview? The one right after the Quell announcement?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head in remembrance. “Where they made us sit practically on top of each other?”

He grins, deep lines tugging at the corners of his eyes. “And then Caesar, with that damn grin, asking when to expect a mini O’dair.”

“Oh god,” you cover your face with your hand. “And then the kiss! The kiss!” You laugh.

“It was… what’s the word,” Finnick smirks. “Painfully awkward?”

You nudge his arm with your elbow. “You missed. You aimed for my mouth and hit my nose.”

“I was under a lot of pressure,” he chuckles. “You were the one who elbowed me in the ribs.”

“That was intentional.” You both fall into laughter, the kind only shared by people who’ve survived something no one else truly understands. There’s a pause after, not uncomfortable, just reflective.

“Annie laughed so hard when she saw the replay,” Finnick says softly, his smile faltering at the edges. “Said I had officially lost my charm.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the mention of Annie bringing back all the memories you all share. “She adored you,” you say gently.

“I adored her,” he murmurs. “Still do.”

There’s a silence between you again, full of things unsaid. A breeze carries the scent of earth and pine. You glance toward the window, see your husband moving around inside, still humming. You smile.

“You two made it,” Finnick says, his voice warm but a little wistful. “After everything.”

You nod. “Yeah. We did.”

Finnick exhales slowly, eyes on the horizon. “Sometimes I still dream about the ocean. About being seventeen. About her.”

You don’t say anything right away. Just reach over and take his hand in yours. It’s aged, like yours. Stronger in memory than in grip.

“Time took a lot,” you whisper, “but it left us with something, too. Memories. This porch. Him.” You glance at the window again. “And you.”

Finnick smiles at you, really smiles, and for a second, he doesn’t look old at all. “And these darn bracelets.” You laugh at this, looking down at the bracelet that’s aged with you. It broke once, and so did a piece of your heart. But your husband has always been crafty and managed to fix it right up without you even asking. He knew what the bracelet meant to you.

You don’t respond right away. You sip your tea, let the warmth fill your chest before you say it, softly, gently, but truthfully. “I really loved you, you know.” You pause for a second, meeting his eyes. “And I think a part of me always will. Maybe not romantically anymore, but in the deepest way a friend can love another.” Finnick’s eyes don’t leave yours. He doesn’t look surprised.

“I know,” he says.

Silence hangs there for a beat. It’s not uncomfortable, just heavy with things you’ve both carried for decades.

“And I loved you too,” he adds. “I did. In my own way.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “But you loved her more.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

You nod, staring out at the trees. “I used to think that meant I wasn’t enough. That if I’d been stronger, prettier, different somehow… maybe you’d have picked me.”

“You were enough,” Finnick says, his voice suddenly firm. “You were everything. But Annie… she was the piece of me I couldn’t survive without.”

You feel the sting of tears, not from heartbreak anymore, but from the strange ache of closure, of something so long unspoken finally having a name.

“I’m glad you had her,” you say. “Truly.”

“And I’m glad you have him,” he murmurs, nodding toward the house. “You deserve that kind of love. That kind I couldn’t give you.”

Your husband opens the screen door just then, his smile soft as he steps outside with more tea. You reach for his hand automatically. He presses a kiss to your temple, then settles beside you with a content sigh.

Finnick watches the two of you for a moment, and the quiet between you all is full of peace and history. Of things that might’ve been, and of all the things that still are.

Your husband takes a sip of tea, then glances at Finnick with a teasing smile. “You know, I used to think you were insufferable on TV.”

Finnick smirks. “Not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

“No, but it’s true. All that charm and swagger? It grated on me. Then I show up in District 12, and I see her. Quiet and distant around everyone besides her friends and their kids, and I’m thinking, What happened to that girl who was madly in love with the golden boy?” He shakes his head, laughing.

“Then, when we got serious, she told me everything. About the Games, the war, and,” he looks at Finnick, “you.” Finnick nods

Your husband grins. “And then I found the letter.”

You groan. “Nooo, don’t bring that up.”

“Oh, I’m bringing it up. I found it tucked behind some photos, carefully folded, as if it was a secret treasure.” He winks at Finnick. “First line? ‘My sweetheart.’ I thought, well, there’s the competition.”

Finnick chuckles, running a hand over his face. “I remember every word. That letter was everything I couldn’t say out loud.”

“And you still keep hers?” your husband asks, glancing at you.

“Every word,” Finnick replies softly. “It’s tucked away in my desk drawer.”

Your husband shakes his head, chuckling. “You two are ridiculous, and I love it.”

Finnick’s smile fades just a bit. “Annie knew about the letters. She never read what I sent you, but she read what you sent me. She understood. She knew what it meant.”

Your husband looks at you both, quietly proud. “I’m glad you both wrote those letters. It provided her closure. And I’m even more glad she’s here with me now.”

You all exchange memories of the past. A few tears are shed as you realize just how quickly time really has faded away. It’s dark by the time Finnick decides he should head home.

“I better get going. It’s way past my bedtime.” He jokes, standing up carefully. I nod, looking at my watch to see it’s close to 9.

“See you tomorrow?” Your husband asks, although he already knows he will. It’s become a ritual at this point. All 3 of you on the back porch at sunset. Finnick nods.

“See you tomorrow.”

#the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #joluvsfinnick #thg fics #peeta mellark #finnick x reader #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen

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bonnibelleangelica · 11 months ago

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New Time Together Chapter

Uh ohh....

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 year ago

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Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ On Colours

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californiaahunny · 3 months ago

Note

can you do a duff one where he’s drunk on your doorstep after breaking up months ago! angsty and bitter back and forth but ends up being sweet :)

diamonds and rust , duff mckagan x fem!reader

well i’ll be damned, here comes your ghost again

☆ summary: it was a given that some things don’t last forever, even not having contact with your ex-boyfriend

☆ warnings: 18+ content, mdni. angst. drunk duff. mentions of other women, kinda not really tho.

☆ authors notes: when i tell you i have been waiting to write for duff, i literally have 3 drafts specifically for duff. also i’m sorry this is kinda short but i didn’t want to make it too lengthy with dialogue. i hope u enjoyed 🎉🎉

duff knows he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. the sense of despair rots inside him, broad shoulders hunched as his knuckles bang against the front door over and over and over again, practically waiting for them to become a bloody mess against the paint.

and you knew it was wrong, peeking through the peep whole on your tiptoes while your mind raced with contrasting sides. you chewed on the bottom of your lip, falling back onto your heels, knowing you could open the door to more than just the man on your step.

yet despite every mark and tear he left on your heart, your body wouldn’t let you turn on your heel, fall back into your bed like you once were and forget about this as a whole.

but you couldn’t forget, hell you couldn’t forget about him even if he wasn’t sulking behind your door and sending a haunting echo throughout your home with his knocks.

not when he was radiating a divine hue, his californian glory seeping through his skin while his sandy blonde straggling strands fell in front of his face. he was unapologetically himself, unapologetically the man who broke you.

and unapologetically, you found your hand slithering to the door knob and twisting it ever so gradually to reveal yourself to him.

“duff?” your voice was gravelly. his eyes snapped up from his feet, dazzling hazel orbs connecting with yours.

you could smell the alcohol on him, practically seeing it course through his veins and fog up every moral brain cell he had. a ghost of a frown painted his pink lips, his chest rising with a hiccup.

“duff,” you said sterner this time, eyebrows creasing and eyes turning into slits as he gently swayed silently.

a slight breeze sneaked through the sliver of the door you created, brushing against your exposed skin while the large t-shirt pooled around your thighs. goosebumps rose and scattered, you told yourself it was from the wind and not the way his shot eyes were looking and running along you.

“you have to go,” it came out as a whisper, “you can’t do this.”

he almost flinched at your hand jabbing towards him.

he hiccuped, “i miss you.”

your heart beat stops for a moment, eyes examining him as the words lazily fall from his lips like the smoke he exhales.

“don’t. don’t even, duff.”

he takes a step forward as if your words were dirt, walking all over them like it would persuade you to change your mind.

you stick your palm out against his chest, attempting to hold him back from advancing any further.

your name slips from his tongue, bitterly but almost a plea laced his tone.

“where were you before this, hm?” your jaw becomes tense, watching his body become still like he gave himself up during an interrogation.

his heart thumped against the pads of your fingertips, “doesn’t matter.”

“it does, it matters who i’m second to, duff,” you snap, “it matters who didn’t give you what you wanted, the reason why you’re standing here right now, after all these months.”

you notice his jaw tighten, rolling his eyes with a scoff as he turns to the side. he stuffs a hand into the back pocket of his jeans before facing you once again.

after silence overtakes the both of you for a moment, you speak up once again; your lips becoming tired from all of the words exchanged.

your body gently falls against the door frame, “you have to go—”

“wanna know why i’m here?”

you open your mouth to answer but the blonde cuts you off.

“you’re driving me fucking crazy, man,” duff’s finger shoots to his temple dramatically, “i haven’t been with anyone since you, the guys think there’s something wrong with me.”

his shoulders visible slump in defeat from the truth, the truth he wouldn’t admit to anyone except you.

“it’s like i’m fucking lost, can’t even fall asleep without you,” he continues, mumbling. he’s too afraid to catch your gaze, too afraid of his big rockstar exterior crumbling under you.

“a-and,” he hiccups, continuing to ramble, “i don’t know. m’sorry.”

it wasn’t a sight you liked to see, even when you hated his guts; his head hung, eyes drooping in sadness. you shifted your weight from one bare foot to the other, not realizing how long you actually had been occupied until the ache ran up your leg.

“it’s late, duff,” you mumble to him but partly to yourself to remind you that this wasn’t a normal occurrence.

“you’re killing me, this is killing me,” he waves a hand between you to, referring to the ongoing months of silence between the two of you. like you both were a distant memory of one another.

you sigh, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding in.

a finger wraps around one of his before fully allowing your hand to engulf his calloused one, pulling him closer to your space.

“you’re breaking my heart, duff,” you say quietly.

his other hand tangles in your hair, pushing back strands away from your face, “i know, I’m sorry, baby.”

and with those words, you tugged him into your home that was oh-so familiar to him. the scent of you engulfed him, the decorations you hand picked hitting him like a ton of bricks; he knew nothing or one ever compared, so he never tried to search.

duff gently closed the door behind him, his hand still in yours as your feet padded through your home, wrapped in darkness before reaching the bedroom.

it was just the way it was when he left, besides the evident coldness from his absence on his side of the bed. but now that he was here again, it didn’t matter.

you crawled into the messy bed, knees dipping into the mattress and curling into the duvet. duff stood to the side, lazily taking his shoes off as you laid on your back, gazing at the sight of his struggle.

you giggle, shoulders slightly shaking before his eyes snap to you; big puppy eyes sending you a confused look.

“what?” he murmurs, the small amount of alcohol still plaguing his actions. his fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and letting it drift to the floor, silently.

“come on,” you roll to your side, arm slung over your waist as he pushes the shoes away, stumbling slightly when he takes a few steps towards the bed before falling onto your figure.

his body becomes limp, forcing you onto your back once again. his height engulfs yours, his head on your chest as you rake your fingernails up and down the skin of his muscular back.

one of his arms snakes around your clothed waist, his eyelids fluttering shut and allowing your presence to slow his breathing down, turning into soft snores through his nose.

it was a nostalgic feeling, the moon was full and the man you cherished was in your arms once again.

#duff mckagan #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan imagine #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses x reader #axl rose #izzy stradlin #steven adler #90s #80s #slash gnr #lana del rey #rock #rock and roll #pamela anderson

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sunsetlobster · 3 months ago

Text

To Satiate a Hunger part 2

Authors: Myself and @sovietstrange45

Summary: Finding an appropriate stop on the brink of starvation, A Night lord War band ransacks Ghilana for every morsel of food and fuel they have. In the process, Ladomir an ex-terror squad member stumbles upon one thing they've been sorely needing.

Warnings: Self harm, horror themes, blood, implied violence, forced proximity, Ladomir has a blood kink, the writing structure is a raw cut from what was originally written so apologies for any weirdness there ><

Word Count: 7k

← Previous chapter | Next Chapter →

Blood covered her neck, dry and caked along her soft flesh. A crude bandage laid wrapped around herself, and she could feel how the dampness from such stains touched her shoulder. It hurt, it hurt terribly but that pain reminded her while she was alive, and it was dark. Terribly dark. She wasn't sure she'd opened her eyes at first, but she had. A soft gnarled whimper of a cry left her from the sting and throb of the slice she'd left on herself. Sneh put a hand over her neck unsure of where she was but with the certainty in mind that this was to be hell on earth.

The sudden slide of the door brought no light into the room. If not for the sound, you wouldn't even be able to tell where the door was. Or where the new presence was, without the growl of his armour joints and the thud of his ceramite boots against the metal floor. "Good, you are awake. The hunger begins to gnaw at the others."

She gave the voice a confused look, then memories of him lapping her blood from the knife came rushing back and once more her throat hissed with pain. “Who are you?” The small woman asked, her voice was a mere croak, a rasp of her usual sweet tone that greeted customers when they’d walk in.

The sounds of the hulking figure sitting echoed the sound of metal off metal. Followed by the thud of something else against the floor. "Ladomir, brother to many, friend to none." That strangely accented voice finally returned. "Former headsman of the Eighth Legion of the Legions Astartes. Though all your myths and golden lies would simply say I am the son of a demon."

Sneh burned holes into the darkness, a furrowed cautious brow on her soft face. She dared not move in the place she'd been laid lest he set upon her like a beast with whatever sort of intention he harboured behind those thinly vailed calm words.

"Well, what did they call you on that world?" He ventured, finger tapping against whatever it was that he had hauled with him. The sound of metal against tinny, rusted metal echoing throughout the void embodied room.

"Sneh." She said curt and short but with a restrained bite. Her fingers pressed into the flesh and bandages of her neck as her chest rose with the subtle breath.

"Sneh." Ladomir tested the name on his lips, and it rolled from his tongue in a grinning hiss. Just then a light shone, not particularly bright, but anything was much brighter than nothingness. Pointed directly at the woman laid out on the bed. A lamp pack, old and rusted over, with suspicious stains that one would hope at best was in fact blood. Set just between the armoured legs of her captor, unhelmed as before. "Welcome aboard the Bloody Screech, Sneh."

She gazed at the faint outline of his chin, the glint of his smile and the memory of those eyes. Those piercing eyes that infested her soul and made her instinctively look down and away, a stone newly formed in her stomach. "Why am I here?" She whispered swallowing harsh as the baseline closed her eyes to conceal herself in darkness once more.

Gently, he turned the lamp pack toward the side, just enough as to not be blinding her face with the newly introduced light. A small courtesy, and likely one of only very few that'd be offered. His gauntleted fingers wrapping the pole of his glaive, resting it against his inner thigh so he in turn could learn his head against it. An oddly and uncomfortable casual pose for something so gargantuan and beastly in its very nature. "Do you know what an army needs most to survive?"

"War." Her bladelike tongue spat without as much as a second thought as she lay prone before him. The soft light brushing over her cheek.

A laugh thudded from his throat, dry and without a smile. His glowing eyes like a predator's, assessing the baseline human in detail, like he may well make her his next meal like the pies and cakes from her shop. "No, war is what an army wastes all those precious efforts to keep itself alive on, to throw themselves onto spears and pikes until no one's left. Food, is what is most important to get to the war alive."

She looked to him confusion washing over once more. "You do not have cooks on this ship?" She asked genuinely surprised by the notion that such a force was so ill prepared and equipped.

"No, no in fact we do not." Ladomir admitted quite readily, his ceramite clad finger idly brushing up and down the wrap of his chain glaives handle. Softly shifting with every bump and slight imperfection within the material and its craft. "The last slave who attempted to show his worth by cooking, mishandled and spoiled our food so poorly, it was unsalvageable. So, we flayed him, made fashion pieces of his skin, and ate him instead."

She swallowed harsh and cold. The faint taste of bile in her throat. "I have no choice, do I?" Sneh asked taking a deep breath to keep her voice level and low as the faintness of sound became more prevalent with his impatience.

"You have a choice. Between being food or making food. I'd say make it quick, my brother's stomachs gnaw at them like a vicious tumour sapping all life it touches." The amusement never quite left his tone, at her expense of course. Given Sneh had no way of knowing that he could hear thunder of her heart, betraying her thin air of calm. "It'd be a shame, your baking tasted dilec'sthin." Again, that strange tongue, rolling from his lips so smoothly it became night and day from his Gothic.

Sneh brushed the strange tongue off from her mind and once more swallowed. “Does this ship even have equipment?” Sneh asked once more perhaps a little too hasty in her snap. “Or supplies?”

"We were just quite low," Ladomir once again admitted. Though the grin he held was followed by his gaze trailing up the well-loved chain glaive, still in need of a good clean from all the blood and viscera, before he looked back at that soft, human face. "Thankfully the raid on your home world seems to have been exactly what we needed."

The faint comfort of familiarity was enough to make her nod and roll onto her side, “then bring me to your kitchen or galley whatever it is.” She uttered trying to think of meals that she could produce in mass without having to worry about yeast needing to rise over hours.

Rising, Ladomir dropped the giant weapon onto its mount on the metal wall. Grasping the lamp pack setting it down at the bedside, now looming over. "Good, you will be needing this. As I am so courteous as to not try and make you bumble around our ship like a blind child." He remarked with another dry chuckle, dark eyes roaming over her bandaged throat. Lips feeling dry as he recalled the taste of her blood, and how he had lamented the difference when it was dried and stale.

Crawling out of the frankly massive bed, that house her, the gentle realisation that she'd been resting on his bed made her swallow down whatever other thought Sneh had as she tried to figure out and equip the lamp pack. Following him to the door with it on, she stayed close perhaps too close. Her gaze not daring to lower to the tabard that billowed from his waist, she didn't have to be a soldier or one of them to recognise that it wasn't an animals hide.

--------

"Stay close, little bird." Ladomir warned, before stepping out with the newest addition to their crew. The halls, at their very best, had dim lights that didn't light up the area, but more so offered a visible marker for those baselines in need of it. It didn't seem much an issue for the demi-human, who stalked these halls with black eyes and a familiarity unmatched. Guiding Sneh through those black winding halls of iron, whilst serving as her convenient wall in case of any danger. "Brother." A voice hissed. Raising a brow, the Night Lord turned to see his fellow. A man in battered old armour, covered in bonding studs. Crude and far from beautiful, but effective where it was needed. "Sarval." "Is this the new cook?' He asked leaning close, looming in the dark, hardly illuminated by her dim pack. Ladomir, clicked his tongue, gently raising a hand in front of Sneh. "Yes, she is."

Sneh's default now almost seemed to be that silent grimace, a brave face to hide the many stones that'd surely pile in her stomach and threaten to spill out one day. She said nothing, merely darting her eyes between the massive hand and Sarval’s barely lit visage.

"Slaves or rations first?" The other asked, his half blue and half yellow helmet still stained with the blood of its former owner. "That's what we're going to go find out now." Finally leaning back Sarval let out a scoff, garbled by vox modulation. "Well find out quick, we didn't raid that planet just to starve in the warp." Ladomir sneered, the thin blue veins underneath his pale skin shifting and pulling taught with his expressions. "Patience is a virtue brother. We'll make it to the eye, and we'll have food yet." "Better, or else that supposed cook is the one I'm eating first." Sarval spat, finger jabbing the air. "Go, brother. Fourth claw is certainly missing their stooge right now." "Whatever you say, Headsman." The sarcasm dripped from his lips as such that not even a vox grill could obscure it. Still, the Night Lord turned to leave, boots thudding against metal decking. "And find some paint for that damn helmet." Sarval, simply continued to laugh his way down the abyssal hall.

Slaves, there are humans onboard, how many? How many were there of their kind? “How many are in the legion?” Sneh softly asked after Sarval went on his way trying to gauge just how many mouths needed to presently be fed and how much she’d need to prep for.

Casting his gaze over his shoulder, those beaming eyes burned into Sneh. "In the warband, there are seven claws, four of which are at full strength. Give or take there is an average of five brothers to a claw." Ladomir went silent for a moment, rushing through numbers in his mind trying to assess the much less convenient to handle human population. "There are at least one hundred slaves on board, you included, but do not be surprised if that number is a rapid drop."

The notion of the slave population suddenly dropping sent a chill down her spine and yet the small classroom sized number of dower demons surprised her. But she didn’t her best to hide such shock in her eyes, keeping her head down. "So, roughly 140 souls are on board." She said silently hoping the space she'd been working to the bone in was at least clean.

"Give or take. Not counting the outliers such as the tech adepts, or the new slaves still being divided between importance, and a meat locker." The beast added, grumbling as he thought of the mess the lower decks must house. The moment this food issue was resolved, he swore he was going down there himself and instilling some order. Whether the salves down there wanted it, or not. "Which reminds me, that I need to have a servitor bring a crew member's cot to my quarters."

dared not say a word not when she had much more pressing matters to consider when it came to feeding so many mouths.

Finally coming to a double set sliding door, it opened for the two, to reveal a mess hall that looked like it hadn't housed a soul for generations. From blood and muck splattered tables and the cobwebs, it suddenly seemed a lot more believable how terrible their logistics were here. For decorations, there were dangling chains and old skulls that threatened to fall apart at the slightest touch. The skin and skull clad demon gestured for her to follow him into the actual kitchen. "Do not expect to see most of the ship. Your time will be spent here most often. When not here, you will either be in my quarters, or wherever I go."

There it was confirmation. She was to be a prisoner here, Ladomir's prisoner. A personal serf for a beast whose intentions she had no way of knowing except at least right now, he didn't want to rip her to shreds. She nodded and looked about. "I suppose the kitchen is close by then?" Sneh uttered coming to stand beside him in the dust bin of a mess hall.

"Yes." Guiding her toward the back of the room, this whole ship seemed designed to be hostile and unwelcoming in every regard. Not even where one breaks bread with others, felt safe. Thus, the kitchen itself was not any better. Only in the sense that it had better overhead lighting than any other singular room within the ship, minus perhaps the deck itself. As a room intended to be occupied by baselines, it seemed appropriate. Even still, it was nothing but rust and unwelcoming metal. Every surface meant for creating the dishes necessary for a long-term voyage on such a ship, looked as if it hadn't been used in years. And when it had, no one bothered to clean after themselves. It only made it look all the odder, when the old shelves held new and pristine boxes by comparison. Their most recent haul. "I took the liberty of waiting to bring you when my brothers were not so preoccupied with bringing all the new supplies here. To not surround you with their fresh skins. You're welcome." Ladomir chuckled, a throaty thing that resembled that dull thump, thump, thump of bolter shells firing.

She welcomed the light, a soft comfort that she'd be sure to cling onto as best she could even inside of a poor, rusted out kitchen. Then her skin crawled, the faint aroma of death still clung to the grime that stuck to the counters but that was for later. She needed one table. One clean space, a massive well of flour and as many eggs as she could physically amass. "How kind." She slipped it like a dagger once more the small knife on his back as she set the lamp down and went about investigating the space, evaluating the damage and trying to figure out what was workable and if there were any cleaning supplies.

"Of course." The tails of his laugh trailing away, Ladomir taking too much joy in this little game of daggers. Black eyes watched her intently, watching as Sneh inspected and discovered every new thing. Put together thoughts and possibilities in her mind to either discard or catalogue for further use. Putting her trade to work. It was relatable, in an odd way, even if the trades were far from similar. "Well? Is it adequate?"

"There are tables, and I think the water runs." She said finding towels to clean out the centre table. "I just need you to find me some eggs and flour." Sneh said searching for some kind of soap and a knife.

The expression on that pale, blue-veined face betrayed nothing, but his tone was another matter. "And why should I have to search for egg and flour?" He was like a midnight mountain, standing stiff as a rock watching the small woman scrounge up items he hadn't even realized still existed in those cabinets.

"Because your legion needs to eat." Sneh said Putting down the small bits and pieces to sweep her hair back in a cap and pull the top part of her apron on to wear it in full. Grimy massive bowls finally surfaced after what seemed like decades and she blew the dust off and threw them in the sink with a found fury.

Ladomir laughed, watching the wild woman go, dangerously confident in herself whilst dancing around the wolf’s den. Then, he stopped, eyes locked on her bandaged throat. Just a little clearer now with her hair back. Memories of his tongue over those dried blood streaks, came forth in utter clarity. And it still stung, how unclear the taste was in comparison to how it dropped form the knife's edge. Slicing his own tongue and mixing the sanguine fluid together, before it sealed like nothing and he was tasting the fresh drip, lavishing how it refreshed him like crisp dew off a mountain side. Scratching his bottom lip with a ceramite clad finger, Ladomir shook his head. "Careful, little bird. I may find your antics amusing, but my brothers won't. Speak too much, and they won’t hesitate to kill you and make you into a cloak when we come across another cook."

Sneh ran the tap and grit her teeth, her shoulders softly dropping. Her hands balled into fists over the dirty sink and that bite was swiftly channelled into violent scrubbing, soap suds spread like flames, and she was even more thankful to have short sleeves. Even so though, such bite even channelled wasn't hide-able, the intensity exuded off her back like a heat. "Do you all at least have a pasta frame?" She asked in a softer tone knowing it'd need to be full if the souls on board were to have enough to eat that night.

Raising a brow, he simply stared into her back, the growl of his armour joints signalling his steps toward the newly stocked, and none too much organized, shelves. Grasping a blue box and begrudgingly setting the flour on the nearby counter for Sneh. "A what?"

Pulling a pen and paper out of her pocket she slammed it onto the counter and drew out what looked like a picture frame, with ladder rungs into it. Beside it she drew it hanging from the ceiling. "You lay pasta on it to wait before you cook it or store it." Sneh explained ripping the slip off before she slid it over to him and looked at the meagre amount of flour knowing she'd need far, far more.

Ladomir scoffed, snatching the paper and giving it a moment's inspection. "As you command, my lady." The Night Lord mocked, stepping away to unceremoniously inspect the old storerooms left decades neglected by the bat fanged creatures living amongst this derelict ship. Soft flickers of light breaching the storeroom from his armour every once and a while as he searched for Sneh's odd object. Only returning after he'd thoroughly rummaged and kicked up a century’s worth of dust crudely knocking around for the odd contraption. An old and cobwebbed thing dangling from a midnight gauntlet before setting it up on the newly, somewhat, freshened counters.

Sneh paid his comment no mind even if she knew deep down, it was a dangerous thing to do. Such violent words could and would have consequences if spoken to the wrong people and yet as always, she couldn't help herself.

She'd just about made the bowls shine when he returned, and Sneh thanked him in kind only wondering if it'd truly hold out for what she needed it to do. But with it dangling from the ceiling and not instantly snapping in half, she gave it her faith and poured a heaping mountain of flour into each massive bowl.

His gnarled lip pressed into a thin line as he leant against a wall and watched as Sneh worked. A curiosity in his dark eyes, as much as they glinted with annoyance along the same line. Taking the moment to activate his wrist vox and request that servitor service while he waited.

It was maddening the amount of everything that was used to produce it, she swirled oil, eggs all of it until the liquid turned to a paste then a dough. And soon enough she was laying towels atop the bowls while he cut up the massive head sized dough balls into much more manageable ones. A rolling pin covered in flour pressed it and the handle of a cut up broom stick rolled each flat roll of pasta dough before she cut it and laid the pasta over the frame. One by one the frame was slowly filled until it was completely full, and Sneh was covered in dough parts, flour and a stubbornness on her face. And so, she wiped her brow with her elbow and washed herself off before she went to go to the meat locker and well, after one glance she quietly turned back. A cold shocked look on her face as she near slumped to the floor.

Ladomir's roaring laughter broke through the air, previously filled with the sound of vicious dough mixing. A booming thud, that was closer now to the blunt thud of a bolter shell finding home within flesh and detonating with force. "Not your Favorite cut, I take it?" That damn smirk etched itself into his features, twisted further by the scars.

She didn't even budge, a curled-up ball on the floor as Sneh tried to process what she'd seen. Skinless half bodies, organs, eyeless heads. Frozen fat and exposed bone all covered in a sheet of ice in the meat locker.

"Your planet was a good haul." Ladomir reiterated, a fond sort of gaze in his eyes as he cast them toward the meat locker. Servo joints whirring as he thudded his way over to stand in front of the freshly traumatized cook. "Personally, I prefer the fresh, but we make do. When food is scarce, you make do. Everyone does. So, I hope your stomachs hardens as much as your tongue has."

Sneh shook on the floor at the notion of it, her father had been a butcher, she was no stranger to dried or hanging meat carouses but.... These weren't animals. There were animals but, the eyeless stare of the frozen man wouldn't leave her. Her breath hitched as Sneh very well forgot to breath and the poor baker couldn't rip her gaze from the floor and far beyond where it truly laid.

Kneeling, he still was not at her level, just a little bit closer. With a huff, he curled a finger and tilted her chin upward to meet his dark gaze. The blue veins practically screaming and begging attention to the pools of black endless space that occupied his eye sockets. "Look at me, little bird. Do not clip your wings before you even take flight."

His words snatched her back into reality and Sneh's lip trembled a lone indicator that she was still with him at all. "And what if I try to leave of my own accord?" She asked small and soft her eyes phasing in and out of recognition of his face, the hiss of her freshly made cut and that man's face.

Fingers unfurled from his otherwise balled fist, the tips brushing against her bandaged throat. Something akin to an almost sickening form of affection. Affection for a memory, of a taste that still bit at his taste bud harder than the serrated edge of the knife could have ever hoped to. His face was that of cracked marble. Concerningly pale, near sculpted in its large and squared features, marred by cracks that took the form of scars and warped veins, and eyes that managed utter emotionlessness, and somehow the full range of them, on a whim. And his voice was softer than the black stubble ingrained on his jaw. "I stopped that once, I will again. Your life is not one worth wasting. But it is also not one worth so much hassle, should it become such, and it will not be on your own accord."

--------

She nodded and swallowed from the faint touch. Then her quivering lips opened. "Please, could you retrieve some meat from the back. I don't think I could carry half a cow even if I wanted to." She closed her eyes and tried to find comfort in the threatening touch of ceramite hands over her throat that could so easily rip her head from her shoulders.

Those midnight clad fingers lingered over her bandage, lips feeling particularly dry now. As before he shook it off, retracting his touch from the shaken maiden, and rising to his full stature. An indecipherable look in his gaze. Pity? Disgust? Perhaps both, or neither of? The only thing that was clear, was his intent as he wondered off. Disappearing behind the large freezer door and returned not a minute later. A corpse strung over his shoulder, and subsequently laid out over the proper surface, as if it were simply any other cut of animal one would expect to find.

She grimaced over what laid there and at the very least she didn't have to serve meat to herself from here on. So, pushing herself up on trembling legs, she grabbed the largest knife she could and did her best to remember what her father had taught her when it came to cutting meat. And sure, enough after wrapping the lower half of her face and trying her best not to think of it, she managed to pull usable meat from what remained of a dismembered human being. "If you crush the bones, it can be used as flour in future when stocks are low." She said washing her now shaking hands over the sink. Sneh felt like one of them, one of the horrible beasts that skinned people to wear as ornaments and clothing. Beasts who looked upon people as a resource and not simple as a soul. It mortified her that she'd gone through with it, that she'd salted and prepaid the meat as best she could for mincing and that now that it laid on the table it was near no different to that of a cow or pig. She'd very well never eat meat again and there was a faint comfort in that thought.

At that, the beast seemed genuinely interested. Finding new ways to utilize the mutilated figure must've been like discovering a new fact about your favourite hobby, after you'd dedicated your entire life to its pursuit. "That so? That can keep the slaves in the lower decks fed more easily." He thought aloud, already enjoying the sound of it. Whilst also seemingly taking great care to watch how she prepped and carved the flesh bit by bit, a truly skilled butcher indeed. Nothing compared to him and his brothers of course, but that was to be expected. "I knew that I chose well to bring you aboard, you have our touch, little bird." Whether mockery or genuine remark, who knew? The malicious glee on his features made it clear he had no intent to hide the joy he took in such acts as it was, as he did down on the planet, and as he as making her do now thousands of miles deep into space.

"Your Legion will need more; can you carve more meat?" She asked taking deep breaths to try and centre herself before she began mincing the meat away from the bones and viscera that'd be thrown away.

"That, is a much more enjoyable prospect, than picking eggs." Ladomir laughed, armour growling and flickering all the way to and from the freezer as he brought out more meat to cut. Like a well-oiled machine, he pulled the gladius from where it was strapped and sheathed on his shin and went to work. "Warband." He corrected, hand and blade moving with the resounding slick sound of a blade carving through meat. Barely even needing to pay any real attention to what he was doing. "This warband, has not been a legion for over ten millennia now."

"Forgive me for thinking more highly of you then I should have then." She returned putting it in a massive metal pot before going and trying to raid the vegetables from the pantry.

"Careful, speaking like that will have you labelled a heretic under your imperial law." His voice was laden with sarcasm, practically dripping off his tongue like her blood once had. Oh, how that sanguine nectar clawed at the back of his throat.

Ladomir had always been a tad peculiar in his own regards to that. Whereas his brothers had no care one way or the other, both before and after the food shortages, Ladomir did. He preferred blood of the living, the freshest, most exquisite delight one could hope to delight in.

Some were sweeter than others, bitter, sour, everything and anything. Sneh had been a particular delight upon his taste buds, still resounding within their memories now. So much it had him licking the dried streaks from the mess afterward. To kill her would not only be a detriment to their food stock, but a loss of such a delicacy. Yet, she could not serve well if she was held solely from the occasional blood draining. And Ladomir had a sneaking suspicion that she would not appreciate nor comply with him simply drinking from her throat whenever he pleased.

So now he was vexed as to how he should deal with such a conundrum. It was a delicacy he could never forget, but also an asset that he hoped they would never lose. Perhaps such a sweet taste came from its forbidden nature, he did not know. All he knew, is that he would have to stay his teeth now for a long while.

Coming back, she scrubbed down any blood left from her site, as though she were trying to sponge away the very imagery from her skull. But as the blood washed away, her memories did not, and Sneh could only lay out the vegetables to be cut into a bowl and the tomato’s to be mashed into a motor. “I think they’d make an exception for speaking ill of creatures like you.” Sneh softly said under her breath as she salted it and poured the paste into a bowl slowly but surely building a stock of a massive amount of tomato paste.

Another laugh came thudding from his massive and broad chest. A laugh that sounded tailor made for mockery. "The moment you laid eyes upon me Sneh, they considered your soul lost. The moment we stepped foot on this ship, you were considered a heretic. They wouldn't make an exception; they'd make a stake." The light shone and reflected off his old gladius, Ladomir holding it up for emphasis and letting the blood trickle along its edge and drip, drip, drip onto the metal flooring.

She thrashed the tomato in the mortar in turn, the red of the paste painted her pestle like it was a club to be used for her own crusade. Pouring out the paste she turned up the heat on the meat finally. "Put the meat in the pot after you mince it." She dismissed gripping the pestle with white knuckled fists.

"This was no doubt the first time you encountered the Astartes." Ladomir continued, mincing and prepping the human meat with all the casual grace of the village butcher. "You think my former legion monster, but I've always felt a strange kinship with my sanguine cousins. You call them the Emperor's Angels of Death, his divine smiting wherever it is needed. But the Blood Angels have always had such a vicious thirst for blood, only they think it something shameful." Shaking his head he scoffed at the notion, tossing the meat in the pot, licking his fingers of the left over. "The most noble and elegant of my kin, but they're savages at the core, and they may not me eating their serfs, but they are not so far from what we are doing here. Some have gotten unlucky, that a Blood Angel went mad, and tore through everybody without care, feasting on their blood while their hearts gave out their last pitiful pumps. Hypocrisy runs rampant through your Imperium."

She passed him a long wooden spoon, freshly cleaned for him to mash and turn it over as it browned and got even further lost in its origin. "I cared not for the Imperium before this, and I care not for your ramblings now." She spat back knowing all too well a reaction was what he was after, and yet she couldn't help herself. The spite was the only thing keeping her from dwelling on the fact she was stuck here, with him for the foreseeable future with no way to escape and the breath of winged demons down her back.

Perhaps that was the only way he could pass off doing such pitifully menial task. Still, it didn't make it any less difficult to deal with his pestering’s and provocations. His gauntlet clad hand stirring as she directed, while his lips split with the smile held. "Truly? That is quite heretical little bird, you really are like us."

Sneh's hair was the shade of midnight like her eyes, she wore a red gown with a dark blue head covering. Her hands were covered in red from the paste and her brow remained furrowed. Carrying the bowl over, she dumped the massive amount in and shook her head. "It seems wherever I go I need to bite my tongue." Sneh uttered to herself looking over the remains of the paste through long soft lashes.

Void filled eyes absorbed that absence of light that was Sneh's hair. Getting lost in the contrasting shimmer of the dull lights atop it. A soft reminiscence of home, thousands of years ago in a time nobody truly remembered anymore outside of myth and legends skewed by bias and age. "Such is the way of things, when death is around every corner in the galaxy."

"Like you?" She asked washing it out before cutting vegetables to also throw in and some to save on the side with what remained of the sauce. Then another heavy pot came to sit on the stove filled with water and the whole frames worth of pasta was laid in.

"Precisely." The grin was so clear, you could hear it before seeing it. Idly stroking one of the skulls dangling from his chest, most of its teeth removed to leave behind only the canines, a crude resemblance of his bat helm and the constant legion iconography.

--------

"...How do I call them?" She asked as the pasta cooked so very quickly. Like a mass of writhing worms in the boiling pot.

"I will take care of that." Ladomir returned, turning to speak into his wrist vox. Informing his brothers of the great news, in fork tongued, hissing speech far too flowery and eloquent with the way it rolled from his tongue, then it had any right to be. Just as soon, the growling thuds of their footsteps would be reaching the mess, for the first time in damnable throne knows how many years.

It was a tense dinner service, only one serf to dish up bowls to a classroom sized group of violent psychopaths that could rip her to shreds. Then she waited. Hoping they wouldn't skin her for the meal she'd provided and the amount of food she'd made to serve the slave hold. It still sent a shiver down her spine over the meat and how readily they ate it but none of that was her business anymore, she simply had to wait. Knowing if she did survive, she wouldn't be leaving the kitchen any time soon, not when every square inch needed to be cleaned.

Even when eating, they were all terribly silent. No bustle of common speak, but small conversations hidden and tucked away between individual claws, not so eager to share with others. Mostly time to speak, was spent as time to eat. Even Sarval had kept his tongue, bloodied stolen helm sitting just beside him as he devoured his bowl. Rarely, here and there, there might even have been a compliment about the quality of such a dish.

Yet, not Ladomir, no not Ladomir. He hardly bothered to mingle with his brothers, at best leant against a wall and savouring his sinister concoction. But he was like Sneh's shadow, making sure no one got out of hand, or that she didn't get herself skinned. A constant deterrent. Her jailer, and her protector all at once. Once it was all said and down, he was still smiling that maliciously joyful smile, thin lips pulled by thicker scars, and a pride somewhere within his blackened soul. "You did good, little bird."

“I still yet have work to do.” Sneh said finally eating her own bowl as she looked at the messy pile that now needed to be cleaned. Not to mention the rest of the ancient kitchen that no doubt harboured…. Pests between its grimy books and cranny’s.

"That it seems you do." He returned with a nod, his voice that of smooth stoned gravel. The licks and hints of rasp on the edge of his words. Accented as ever with his strange tongue. A tongue that still held the sweet flavours, a meal fit for lords of the night. "But when is anyone's work truly over?"

"When they're dead." She spat back pilling it all in once she'd finished her bowl and began to push the massive iron pots back.

"Unfortunate then, that none of us plan on dying soon, or letting you die either Sneh." The care in his voice, was it genuine, or another mockery? With such a creature, it could never be easy or as clear as any would wish to tell. No less when laughs left Ladmoir's lips so liberally, happy to play everything as a passing joke or snide remark.

"How kind." Sneh tatted back shoving it inside so she could shove the bowls in the sink. "How do you suppose the leftover food will be given to, the others..." She asked grabbing the crunchy sponge on a stick. to begin cleaning each bowl.

Tapping a finger against his chin, Ladomir could see already just how it would play out. The joy, and chaos that would ensue as a result. It etched a frown into his features, thinking about how unorganized it all still was. "No doubt, someone within one of the claws will draw a short stick, so to speak. And they will begrudgingly march down to those decks of whoresons and toss in the food and let them fight and kill over it."

She paused and then nodded. "And you'll stay here, to watch me work?" She asked wondering all too much how this would even work. Sure, he'd stay because of the fear of her poisoning his warband but would she be watched over every swab and mop of this place going forward? Would he drag her along to places or would she ever be left alone somewhere? Many questions swirled in her mind as Sneh began the long and terrible task of cleaning out this ancient kitchen. Only to find a cat sized violent rat creature that tried to bite her and left her scrambling back toward her captor.

"Oh but of course!" Ladomir laughed. Not that the prospect was a very exciting one. After all, all this time had been spent by entertaining himself as best he could. If his oh so delightful talks with Sneh were anything to go by at the very least. Only to have his head whip violently in her direction at her sudden scurry, a hand reaching for his gladius. "What is it?"

The vermin hissed a battle cry and lurched after her making Sneh in her tied dress reluctantly crawl behind him as fast as she could. "That!" Half the kitchen now was clean and the tub she'd had to change out twice was even now half clear and ready to be turned black with the muck that clung to every surface.

Stopping for a moment, he couldn't help letting out something akin to a bark, out of his amusement. "A rat?" He remarked with a shake of the head, of course finding an amusement in her fear and horror over what he considered such a simple creature. Flipping the gladius around to hold it by the blade's tip, Ladomir reared his arm back, and it snapped forward with a violent speed, a midnight smear that suddenly had his wrist aiming forward. While the blade shot like a bullet from his grip, finding home within the mutated and mangled rat, sinking into its flank and ending the creature with a sickening crack, and the sound of metal slicing through flesh.

She cringed at the sound but found a sweet sense of peace in its death. "Thank you." She said crawling out from behind his legs. She was a cocktail of grime and filth, sweat and the lingering stench of fear, blood and food. It was suffocating to a fiend whose nose was so far above a baseline human. And yet even as she shuffled outward to finish the job, Sneh did not want to cease. She needed the time and task to work off the shock and horror of the day.

"Now I am on pest control duties too." The giant of a man mumbled to himself, shaking his head as his metal being stomped over to the rodent carcass, yanking his blade from it. "Maybe I need to get you a blade, if pests are going to be such an issue." His nose twitched, tingling and stuffy as he took in all the scents. An odd concoction, not necessarily a pleasant one either, by any "normal" standards. For the Night Lord, it seemed standard fare as ever. Only layered with his unfamiliarity in dealing and having to interact with humans as such, on such a now regular basis.

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