#it's all of these things piling up and making it impossible to deny the truth of his and buck's relationship

[lesbianrobin]

ok so here is my pitch for my dream buddie catalyst:

eddie and maddie are trapped in some sort of likely-fatal time sensitive situation together (drowning related probably because it's Them) (have they overused it yes is it still thematically appropriate YES) where one person could potentially sacrifice themselves for the other to survive. i want eddie and maddie using their combined experience and ingenuity to survive together and discussing who should be prioritized which means they talk about parenthood and how they both feel they've failed their children by "running," how their lives have been so defined by trauma and they don't want to scar their children any further by leaving them again. of course they're doing everything they can to get out together, but as the situation deteriorates throughout the episode(s) (c'mon something like this could be at LEAST a two-parter) they can't help returning periodically to the world's most morbid debate.

i want buck and chim on the outside both going out of their goddamn minds. they know that eddie and maddie are stuck (wherever), know that they're probably alive, but aren't sure in what condition and if they'll stay that way. rescue operations begin as everybody walks on eggshells around buck and tries to comfort chim, who wants absolutely none of it. time is running out.

eddie says that he couldn't possibly let maddie sacrifice herself for him and look buck and chim in the eye afterwards. maddie says that she couldn't do that either. she says that at least jee-yun would still have her father, and eddie says that christopher would still have buck. maddie says that of course none of them would just abandon christopher if something were to happen to him but—

and eddie cuts her off and says it's in my will. if i die, christopher will have buck. buck will have christopher.

they just look at each other for a weighted moment. maddie makes a decision. she says ...i meant it, you know. that i couldn't let you die down here (wherever here is i don't KNOW okay i'm not here to think up convoluted emergencies i'm here for drama) and look my baby brother in the eye knowing that i could have changed it. eddie says i know, okay, but it's different, you're his sister, and maddie says, yeah, but you're his... and she pauses. and eddie says what? best friend? partner? that doesn't—

and maddie says you're his. eddie, you're his.

and eddie... i want to see something slot into place. i want to watch him understand as maddie spills everything she's been suspecting since the day that buck came out to her and maybe since before she and eddie even met. maddie says you know, when i first came to california, you were all he talked about? you're still all he talks about. you and christopher. you're his. i couldn't... eddie, you're out of your mind if you really don't think that losing you would break him just as much as losing me. he would forgive us both, because he's buck, but i couldn't... i'm no saint, eddie, i want to survive. i don't want my daughter to grow up without me. but i can't do that to him. i don't know if he'd survive it. even if he did, the guilt would eat me alive.

meanwhile. buck is barely holding on to his sanity as rescue efforts are underway and time is running out. chimney is keeping it together as best he can but there isn't much that he and buck can do. he can't let himself fall apart because buck is already a stiff breeze away from clawing his own skin off and somebody has to keep their cool. something goes wrong—suddenly, their short amount of time has gotten shorter, and they may only have enough of a window to get one out before it's too late for the other. buck, who has been ranting and arguing and screaming this whole time... is silent. he is silent, and he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, and we know that no matter which way the scales tip, his soul will be destroyed all the same.

eddie regards maddie for a moment. grief, heartbreak, anger, all flicker over him, but what settles is determination. he says that neither of them are going to leave again. that they'll survive together, or not at all, or leave it to the universe to decide.

of course they make it out. by the skin of their teeth, they make it out, working together, clawing their way back to life and love and possibility. maddie makes it out first, and eddie sees buck as she falls into chim's waiting arms. he watches as buck sees his sister, and reaches out to take her hand with trembling fingers and white knuckles, but there is no relief, no happiness in his red-rimmed eyes. just a deep, unspeakable grief, until his eyes slide past maddie and meet eddie's.

finally: relief. and then he is in buck's arms, a perfect parallel to chim and maddie, and we see eddie's face over buck's shoulder, and we know. he is in love, and buck is in love, and eddie knows, and he sinks into his partner's embrace with joy and acceptance.

after that, who knows? maybe a grand confession. a moment of quiet understanding. a passionate post-rescue kiss. a chaste, tender kiss in some kitchen or other. maybe eddie panics later, or maybe he's found peace for once. maybe buck has realized something and he makes the first move. maybe it happens immediately. maybe it takes a while, takes discussions about how it'll affect work and christopher and whether it's worth risking all that they have for all that they want.

and maybe they'll ask whether it's even a risk at all.

[veryextraincorrectfegbaquotes]

And now, the special edition "Goop Lyn has horrible identity crisis nightmares" story

This one has got lots more dialogue, so if you like reading the Lyns talk to each other then boy is this the story for you!

To say ‘it was a memory, but not her own’ wasn’t exactly a unique thing for Goop Lyn. She has all of Lyn’s memories, underneath her own memories that only really started about a week ago. So for her to ‘remember’ something she wasn’t present for was if anything, painfully normal. But to have a memory that Lyn wasn’t present for either? That was, or at least should be, impossible. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t recall any time Lyn had this conversation.

“Not in real life but I know what you’re talking about.”

She hadn’t said anything, but he was responding. As she stood there, frozen, trapped in this place and time she’d never been, she could only watch as he looked aside, smiling and bemused. As he looked back, visibly trying to not look condescending and failing, he said something that made her feel sick.

“Wendy buying 52 unique knives would be devastatingly expensive.”

That’s not me. I’m not her. Don’t call me that. I fought to be who I am. Look at me. I became this. I fought to be this. Acknowledge it. Acknowledge me. Look at me.

Every part of her was trying to scream out, demand he call her by her own damn name, but the sound wouldn’t come out. She felt like she was choking, then it got even worse as she felt her form giving out on her, melting away the person she was into the anonymous pile she refused to be ever again. She tried desperately to claw back herself but it just. Wouldn’t. Work. All because Hector had called her Wendy.

Then she woke up. Of course, phrasing it like that implies that ended the situation. She still felt awful, she woke up coughing and fell out of bed trying to get up. She was on her hands and knees, struggling to breathe, but at least she was in her room. Undeniably hers, specifically cleaned and prepared to be hers. It was proof that she was here and that she was herself. Because this was Her room. With her spit on the floor from struggling to breathe. Once she stabilized her breathing, she went to the bathroom to wash her face and calm down.

She walked out of her room, went down the hall and entered the bathroom. It was still late at night or early in the morning, so she had to turn on the light. She turned to the sink, looked in the mirror, and went to hell. It was wrong. It was lying, it had to be. She reached up and pulled at the lie, but it was still there, a bright pink stain on everything she was. She pulled harder, trying to yank it out, like pulling out the lying pink would show the green truth that had to be underneath. She was choking again, her throat not just feeling clogged but visibly in the mirror pulsing and changing.

Lyn’s hair was not pink. Goop Lyn’s hair is not pink. My hair isn’t this. Get rid of this fake hair. Why won’t it come out. Why is the mirror showing me Wendy’s hair. The mirror is wrong. I need to break it.

The next time Goop Lyn woke up, she was bleeding from the forehead and the mirror was broken. The streaks of red blood in her hair briefly made her feel like she was choking again, but they were just streaks against the green. Her green. Lyn was standing over her, looking in the part of the mirror that wasn’t broken while she brushed her teeth. She spat in the sink, briefly looked down at Goop Lyn, said “Hit your head like a dumbass, huh.” then left the room.

Goop Lyn jumped to her feet, rushed out and grabbed Lyn by the shoulder.

“No. We’re talking about this. Lyn meeting.”

“That Isn’t a thing.”

“Well as a 50% shareholder in Lyn inc, I’m making it a thing. And calling one. Bitch.”

“As the other 50% shareholder, I make a formal motion for you to blow yourself.”

“Motion denied, you freak.”

“You’re the bigger freak. Objectively.”

“Can you shut the fuck up so we can go start the Lyn meeting!?” “I thought this was it.���

“Sometimes I’m baffled by just how someone as great as me could have started out as a copy of you.”

“You’re really inspiring confidence in the company, miss 50% shareholder.”

“Shut up and go to the table!”

The Kitchen/Dining area, the most ‘open-plan’ area in Lyn’s (or as is more accurate Lyns) house was the standard place to discuss anything they didn’t want to end up resolving through fighting games or just regular fighting. Since Lyn was more argumentative than she let on and Goop Lyn was exactly as argumentative as she let on, it was a space they used a lot. Lyn slouched in her chair, one arm slung over the back to make it visually apparent she did not care and was not paying much attention. Goop Lyn sat with her elbows on the table, fingers steepled infront of her face.

“I hereby bring this Lyn Meeting to order. Pausing for applause.”

“Go fuck yourself. Meeting adjourned.”

“You should really make a better choice of words around your clone.”

“... Okay you got me.”

“Now then. First point of business. I… had a nightmare.”

“Damn, that sucks. Meeting adjourned.”

“Take this seriously you shitting piece of fuck!”

“Any more cusses you wanna string together or can I go.”

Goop Lyn slammed her fist on the table “It was a nightmare that was one of Wendy’s memories! I was her! Can you imagine why that would freak me out, Hm!?”

Lyn leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. “... I guess?”

“You fucking GUESS!? I woke up and I still had Wendy’s hair and you GUESS that’d bother me!?”

Lyn sighed, waved her hand to pre-emptively stop Goop Lyn from saying ‘don’t you fucking sigh at me’, then leaned forward and looked her alien clone in the eyes.

“Listen. I’m the foremost expert on whatever the fuck you are. That doesn’t mean I get it. You have my memories, so you know I don’t have any actual experience with your whole deal outside of this. So yeah, I guess dreaming you were someone else and then waking up with their hair would mess with you, I guess because I don’t fucking know. Don’t give me shit about it, alright?”

Goop Lyn paused then looked to the side.

“Maybe I was being unfair because I was stressed out of my fucking head. Maybe. It doesn’t sound like me to make a mistake, but there is a lot of you in here and you do make many, constant mistakes so…” she trailed off, then her eye widened. “There’s a lot of you, but plenty of other people. That’s how I got my strength back, by absorbing it from the mass produced clones. They must’ve put more in me than I thought.”

“Cool, we’ve cracked the code, good job team meeting adjourned.”

“Meeting not fucking adjourned, now we have a theory on why this happened, that doesn’t mean I’m over it.”

“Well get over it, there are other things I want to do today.”

Goop Lyn started moving to hold herself but stopped out of pride.

“You Listen to me this time. I don’t have a lot that’s ‘me’, okay? I’m still trying to figure out exactly where you end and I begin, but I know I like this form. It’s mine. It’s a lot like yours, because I am a kind of Lyn, my own kind. And that means a lot to me, it means pretty much everything. So can you understand why it not looking like it should, looking in a mirror and seeing someone else's hair when there’s already so little proving that I’m me would freak me out?”

Lyn paused for a moment to take it all in, this was a rare case where she couldn’t dismiss something.

“This is like, heavy shit for you huh?”

“The only thing heavier would be Lloyd coming back and yelling in my brain again.”

“Shit dude. I think this is something people would normally like, get therapy about.”

“But that’s not an option for an alien clone living in hiding.”

“And I don’t think they teach shit like that in psychology 101.”

“They’d have to reach at least 709 to start getting into my problems.”

“So what do we actually do about it?”

“... I don’t know if there is anything. I don’t think there’s ever been anyone like me, so there’s no info to go off of. For all I know this’ll never happen again, or maybe it’ll happen every night. I just don’t know.”

Lyn recognised the fear hidden in Goop Lyn’s voice. Only someone who knew her as thoroughly as Lyn did could. They were both intensely prideful and unwilling to show vulnerability, it was beneath them. Even to each other. So she knew that it was taking a lot for Goop Lyn to express this. And since they had no solutions to her problem, all Lyn could do is respond in kind. Even if she hated doing so and thought it sucked bad.

“Well if you figure out anything I should do about it, just tell me. Even if I have to sleep in your bed with you to hold you down if you wake up freaking out again. I’ll look out for ya. Not like anyone else does.”

“You better, I’m only alive and like this because of all your self confidence. You owe me.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve got your back til death do us part.”

“Don’t fucking say it like that!”

[kikiswayside]

Taya, Between Today

She could feel the curtain slide closed behind her. Not soft like a curtain should but firmly like a sturdy door. She looked behind her to make certain it did close. No one needs to deal with a Gumberoo or worse. Before her was a long hallway. Impossibly long really. There should be nothing much beyond the curtain but wall and then street. There was just hallway. It was not lit. But her eyes were made for the dim light of hidden places. Taking fives steps forward then turning slightly to her left and taking five more steps she came to a doorway. Tay knocked softly and hoped that the guard was on the other side. It would suck if she had to stand here long with this pile of books. Time stretched and she sat down the box and took out the book String had ordered for her. She cracked the spine and dove in. She was on the third chapter when the door opened. "Taya Of the Hill Folk, you know you are not to bring back undeclared items. I cannot let you through until you declare." Startled by the guard, she thought this one was called Horner, she slowly closed the book and stood. She then picked up the box and cleared her throat. "I, Taya of the Hill FOlk, Declare this box of books from the human folk to be mine and mine alone. I declare this collection of herbs and teas to be for the GrandMar and they alone. All other straggling things are on their own." She said loudly and firmly. Horner nodded and swung the door open wider. Crossing over the threshold Tay felt the world tilt and become her world. The colors deepened and the light became something more of an ambient glow. The light was so similiar to the light of a rainy fall Seattle morning and yet so different. In Seattle the light came from the sky, here it just was. This doorway as at the back of the Day Market of the West. That was the thing about the paths. They came and went to similar places in their worlds. If Tay waited she could have gone to the Night Market. But that was not where she was needed. Thanking Horner she picked up her box and headed into the chaos of a fae market. Her first stop was for chestnuts. She was starving. They weren't as tasty as the steam buns but they did the job. Next up was to find GrandMars tent. Which was always near the center and always lit like a small city. Today the top of the lime green and pale blue tend was topped with a weather vane that reminded Tay of a skyscraper. Which probably meant he knew she was coming. Good. She wanted this over with. If he were to prolong her exile, she wanted to take her books and go back as soon as possible.

The front of the tent was open. Folk milled about waiting for their turn to enter and have audience with GrandMar, the defacto mayor of both Day and Night Markets of the West, and of the Western Edge folk. Here he settled disputes or created them, set rules and guidelines and just generally made things work. Mostly. Most regular folk never got an audience with him. No one ever really wanted an audience with him. As Tay approached the guards saw her and crossed their absurdly long spears (all show and zero function) to prevent her entry. "Halt human, you have no place here" Tay straightened her back and carefully set the box down. She dropped her glamour and the guards dropped their comical spears. "I am Taya of the Hill Folk and I have been summoned by the GrandMar. To deny me entry is to deny his wishes." The guards slid to the side and bowed deeply. Taya walked past them and entered GrandMars tent. Inside was vast. One huge circular room with a raised circular dias in the center. On the dais was a throne. Or what the GrandMar treated as a throne. The truth was, as most things were, much more complicated Taya approached the dais. "Grandmar of the Western Folk, I, Taya of the Hill Folk am here at your request. I have returned from the exile you sent me to. I do not come of my own accord." She spoke loudly making sure the whole of the tent heard here. GrandMar turned his attention to her and smiled. He looked like little more than a fishmonger. Long stringy grey hair, that framed the wizened face of an old man. But GrandMar was not old, not a fishmonger. He was a powerful and dangerous fae lord. Who had the power to control much of the lives of the fae he ruled over. Today, for the first time in a long time that included Taya.

[jessiebanethedragon]

Good Soldiers

Empire!Crosshair x Reader

a/n: takes place after the events of the first episode so SPOLIERS

warnings: kissing, idk angst

Word count: 1749

The Green Visor stares at you menacingly. Even though it is not powered up, nor is it being worn at the moment. Having wrenched it off of the sharpshooter whilst clambering over him as Wrecker held him at bay. The scratches on your face, the busted lip and bruises littering you body are proof of the intense fight you’d been a part of. To say you were grieving might not be too much of an overstatement.

To be honest, all of you were grieving.

The damage the five of you had to do to Crosshair just to sedate him so that he couldn't hurt anyone else was enough to give you all nightmares for years to come. You did not feel like you were crying, crying implies you almost had control over the tears on your face. These ones started falling before you were conscious that they had started.

The rest of the batch only had an inkling of what the sniper meant to you. Their proximity to the two of you made hiding your feelings impossible, but to the exact degree, no one knew quite how deep these feelings went. They could see his eyes soften when he looked at you, the lingering touches and prideful smirks. They could see you bat your eyelashes at his scornful glare when you asked for something, and they could glance at a smile only reserved for their brother.

Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and Echo never heard the whispered ‘I love you's’ in his bunk, nor did they know that you knew how his ungloved hands felt on every part of your body. Rough on the surface and soft underneath, just like the sniper himself.

You clutch your necklace in your hands as you cry. Aggressively wringing the chain through your battered hands in hopes the pain grounds you. But it couldn’t deny the truth. Crosshair was no longer the man you loved.

He’d shot Wrecker, electro shocked Echo, busted Tech’s glasses, and even though Hunter said he was unscathed, he was twitching at every noise.

“Hey.” It was Tech, moving to crouch down to your level from where you sit on the floor of the Havoc Marauder.

“Can I see him?” You ask, sniffling up the tears in an effort to look more like the warrior the men know you to be.

“I don’t think you want to.” Tech says while scanning you over with the handheld medical-whats-it. Nothing serious is wrong, and yet at the same time, everything serious is wrong. “He’s still… restrained.” Tech explains slowly. “There hasn't been a change in his disposition yet.” the scanner beeps as it delivers its report.

“So you mean he’s still on a homicidal rage to kill us all.” You simplify bitterly.

“When you put it like that he sounds exactly the same as before the chip.” You try to manage a fake smile at that, but even with all your acting skills piled together the curve only makes it halfway. It drops so quickly when you hear the sound of struggle followed by an anger induced scream that sounds too familiar.

The havoc marauder does not have a set of barracks or prison cells so the only way to keep Crosshair safe from himself and to keep you safe from him was to magnetize a pair of cuffs to the metal of the bunks, three sets total, one for his hands and one for each foot. You shudder at how dangerous he really is, and how you never noticed.

You’re making your way into the bunk area before Tech can stop you and you rush through the doorway, wisps of hair surrounding your dirty face and heaving chest.

Through the glare, he grits his teeth. Sitting with his hands pinned above him to the metal frame of the second bunk. Forcing him to sit on the edge of Tech’s bed.

“You’re clever traitors, I'll give you that.” He says, words slithering out threateningly. The commotion that caught your attention has bought the other four into the doorway as well.

“Ohhhhh,” he taunts. “The cavalry has arrived hasn't it?” you blink. A lot. Because if you blink fast enough the image blurs enough so that it looks like the man you love. Gingerly you step towards him, ignoring the hand that reaches out to stop you. You sit yourself on the bunk opposite.

“Do you… do you recognize me?” You ask, still clutching your necklace. He shifts as best he can in the cuffs and doesn't answer. “Crosshair…” You whisper hopelessly.

“CT 9904.” He corrects. You raise an eyebrow, and decide to switch tactics.

“So CT 9904 what do you make of CT 9903, CT 9902, and CT 9901?” you gesture to Hunter, Wrecker and Tech respectively.

“Enemies to the empire.” He states,

“You can’t reason with him with the inhibitor chip still inside.” Tech chimes in, making you sigh and look away from the prisoner on the bed and back at your necklace.

“Do you recognize this?” You ask softly, holding it out to him. His eyes narrow as he looks at it - but stays silent.

It’s a tense moment, the rest of the batch also analyzing the rough gem wrapped in leather that you’ve been wearing for as long as any of them can remember. How Crosshair would have a connection to it, they’re only just realizing. He was never one for much romance, but this gift was different. Given to you on shore leave far away from prying eyes, and confirmation that even though you could never tell anyone, he’d always be yours. The necklace was confirmation of a secret relationship and the only public display of affection either of you could show.

“Crosshair.” you press desperately, “do you recognize this?” His breathing becomes a bit more laboured, more stressed, more like he's fighting something.

“Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders. Good-”

“Tech scan him again.” you demand watching as he begins to struggle against the bindings. Tech presses his way in the room.

“Hold his head for me,” he says before beginning a scan with a specialized tool that he's been young with for some time. You rest your hands on his face, one cupped behind and one so that you can rub calming circles on his cheek. It's the same way you used to hold him after missions that had gone less to plan.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” He says over and over as his eyes glaze over and become unfocused.

“Tech,” you say worriedly, desperately trying to coax Crosshair back to life and calm him down.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” He says with his head falling back, and you do your best to keep him supported.

“I’ve got it!” Tech shouts, looking at the left side of his temple. “Everyone out! I need to sedate him.” Your head flies up, you’re not keen to leave him, not when he's in this state.

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

“I can't leave him…”

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

“Wrecker get her out now!” Tech shouts and you feel arms like tree trunks around your middle and you can’t do more than wriggle as your hands slip from Crosshairs face as you're dragged out of the room.

It’s not too long later when Tech re-emerges but it feels like a lifetime to you. And before you can even get a word out he places a petri dish on the table, before leaving to go into the fresher. You rush back to find Crosshair laying on the floor, one hand still magnetized to the leg of one of the bunks. You doubt the cleanliness of the operation but if there's one thing the bad batch had in great supply it was Bacta and antibiotics.

There's a patch of shaven hair by his temple with a small bandage over it, and the drugs seem to be wearing off quickly because he's already shifting. You run a soft hand over his stubble. You’re scared to wake him, because if he wakes and it isn't the man you know under his eyes, you don’t know what you’ll do.

He groans, it's long and deep like the kind you're used to getting in the early hours of the morning when you get up to sneak him out of your bed and back into his bunk. Your name slips past his lips, and his eyes flutter open.

You’re ready to jump away, scared even though he's still bound. And you recoil when his arms reach for you and get stopped by the binder. He looks confused for a moment before his eyes meet the metal restraining him.

His eyes meet yours with tears falling from them.

“Crosshair?” you ask, “I need to know it’s you.”

“The necklace, I gave it to you.” He says, but you remain far from his grasp still. “It was the last day shore leave, at your-our place. We were in bed, the sun was rising, it was the first time I told you I loved you.” He says slowly, deliberately, in a soft voice he only uses around you. Unconsciously you move to him, his freehand wraps around your waist as he buries his face where your shoulder meets your neck. You pull him away only to press your lips to his in a kiss that’s a mess of tears, teeth and a need to be close to one another.

“I’m sorry.” He gasps when you break away the breath. “Maker, mesh’la i’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell him, unlocking the binder so he can hold you with both hands, before kissing him again, this time it is somehow more needy than the last, you can't get enough of Crosshair because now you know what it is like to lose him. Your hands reach under his empire blacks, partly because you want to burn every part of the empire to the ground and partly because you're desperate to properly feel him again. You feel his warm hands up your back as they go under your tunic and you keen into his touch.

Hunter clears his throat from the doorway.

“I was on my way to check on you.” He says after the two of you break away. “But it seems you two are getting on just fine.” Your face flushes bright red as Hunter turns away. “Good to have you back Crosshair.” Hunter says firmly.

Crosshair presses a kiss to your neck before smiling.

“Good to be back Sarge.”

[hoe-imaginess]

red | shigaraki tomura

Shigaraki x hero!soulmate!Reader

Based on two soulmate prompts:

You can only see color when you and your soulmate are touching.

You can’t use your quirk to harm your soulmate. 

word count: 2.4k

a/n: is two soulmate prompts cheating? idk. anyways, this is just some random angst I thought of a while ago, and just recently found in my drafts. probably some typos. pretend not to see it (:

⤰⤰⤰

If there was one thing worse than recruiting weaklings, it was recruiting slackers.

Active enlistment in the criminal world had the unfortunate ramification of attracting the lowest of the lows. The last two miscreants Giran drafted for the League had used the weaponry rationed to them for petty crimes. This included the robbing of a video store. Not just any video store, but one directly down the street from the League’s hideout.

Of course, that was unacceptable.

Shigaraki had little patience for the new recruits to begin with, but it was rapidly extinguished with their hazardous act, along with any leniency he might have had for their punishment. These men had exploited the power Shigaraki gave to them, and worst of all, undermined the League’s legitimacy. The solution to this problem was clear.

Kurogiri offered to dispose of the traitors swiftly and soundlessly, but Shigaraki’s hunger for retribution against these trespassers required a personal effect. And so, Kurogiri transferred Shigaraki to the location. The men were hobbling around in the same alley they’d been found in when Shigaraki emerged from the black vapor’s of Kurogiri’s quirk.

Upon seeing him, the duo went into an indignant frenzy. They knew who he was, and without even needing to ask, without even needing to hear the promises of violence that Shigaraki muttered under his breath, they knew what he was here to do.

The confrontation lasted mere seconds. They were as meek as they were stupid, and neither men were fast enough to counter when Shigaraki grabbed for them. He dispatched the first man with voracious haste, but took his grueling time with the second.

As the man’s sleeve cracked like dried mud, pieces falling to give way to vulnerable flesh underneath, Shigaraki reveled the sight with a sickening smile.

The deteriorating man’s cries of anguish were dreadful: the cries of a man forced to confront his imminent death.

It was a sweet tune of victory to Shigaraki’s ears.

Then, something ruined it.

“Stop!”

At the sound of your voice, Shigaraki glanced over his shoulder, his feverish, red eyes glaring at you from behind Father’s mask.

A hero. A hero on patrol, Shigaraki guessed, seeing that you were fitted in your uniform.

“Put the man down,” you demanded of him, with that confident, entitled authority that heroes enjoyed, and Shigaraki detested.

But Shigaraki granted you the request, not much concerned with revenge, or the man, now that he was soon to be a pile of dirt. Indeed, the minute Shigaraki loosed his grip on the man’s arm, Decay took its freedom in stride and consumed him within seconds. The screams abruptly stopped.

Now it was just you and Shigaraki in the empty alleyway. What had remained of the forgotten men floated away in the light breeze.

Your throat was tight, acid edging its way up the back of your mouth. The scene before you was horrific. Where the distressed man had just been, now remained only dust. And the villain standing over the formless corpses was looking right at you.

Shigaraki didn’t recognize you, didn’t know what your quirk was. But it didn’t matter. He would have killed you anyways, but the fact that you’d just disrupted the recreation of his revenge was all the more reason to do so.

He took a step forward. Not to be daunted, you did the same.

“Stop right there,” you demanded again.

Just another disillusioned display of hero supremacy. Shigaraki had no patience for it.

“Stop,” you commanded, firmer now as his approach went undeterred.

The eery slowness in his gait betrayed the bloodlust he radiated; his fingers twitched with their vitalized hunger for violence, and after you’d seen the carnage those fingers extracted on human flesh, you weren’t about to let your guard down.

In an instant, he was lunging for you. His speed shocked you, and the second you spent activating your quirk for a counter-move was enough time for him to invade your space. Adrenalized fear shot through your limbs, and briefly, you wondered how your quirk might defend against his. But it didn’t matter. You were about to find out.

With surprising agility, he ducked out of the way of your defensive attack, then took hold of your forearm. His quirk descended upon your flesh. The pain registered, and your throat tightened around a cry of alarm—

But then, something in the air between you burst.

Like ripples fanning across a puddle, euphoria extended from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, filling every space inside of you as it invaded your senses.

Shigaraki suffered a similair disturbance. The explosion was almost nauseating. But even more shell-shocking was the world which greeted him once his eyes adjusted.

It first registered in his peripheral: something glaringly present, something striking against his vision—

Was that his hair? 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It didn’t look like his hair. Not the hair he normally saw shrouding his face.

But then he realized it was in fact his hair. His hair, but colored.

It stood out unimaginably stark against the drab schemes of the alley. But then, the alley too found life. Its color came to fruition: a wash of brown along the brick wall, dirtied, beige cement holding the structure together.

Then, from the periphery, the infectious color worked its way to the center of his retina. The kaleidoscope of color that was you hit him in full force. Your outfit, your hair, your face and eyes—your eyes which flicked desperately between his own, and the place where his hand made contact with your skin.

Reminded of his assault, Shigaraki looked to where his digits curled around your forearm, and took in the color of your skin. The color was intervened by another now, deeper and angrier, as fissures broke along your flesh under his Decay. Lines of destruction that had always looked grey in his monochromatic world, like topography on a map, were now imbued with life—with the real, true physical destruction.

But the new life in his vision was momentarily overshadowed by another discovery: you were still alive. Alive, and whole.

He looked again, closer, at the place where his lethal hands gripped your arm. The spread of his Decay was compromised by some unknown force, the destructive lines breaking your skin denied in their desire to consume you completely.

His quirk had been stopped. He couldn’t hurt you.

All of these discoveries happened within seconds, and for a moment, his mind lost its war with rationale. He came as near to speechless as he ever got. While his sense of the world, of its truths and realities, tried to reassert itself, he became ignorant to the dilemma before him, and lost himself in the pleasure of color.

Something suddenly caught his eye, and he glanced downward. 

Were those his shoes beneath him? 

Their vibrant color was the very same as that of the raw sinew that showed itself beneath your flesh, as it cracked away under his quirk—

Red.

That was the name of the color.

He’d heard it before: a way to describe spilt blood. It was blood he was seeing. Your blood.

And the reason he was seeing it, the reason he was granted the gift of this true sight, the reason this contact hadn’t yet ended in your demise—was because you were his soulmate.

Shigaraki pulled away, eyes wide. The color left the world, replaced with the grays he’d endured for a lifetime.

He wondered if breaking contact would elicit Decay to recover its power. His mind raced as he prepared to watch you crumble, to watch you scatter into flakes and blood and organ—

But no. Decay was still obstructed by something unseen. It had damaged you, but refused to do any more than that.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, almost uncertain if he’d spoken it out loud or not; the fretful shock on your face, and your lack of response, giving no indication.

Apparently, you didn’t even notice the catastrophe his quirk had left on your skin. You merely stared at him, stunned into silence, consuming the same realizations he was.

Then, stirred into an involuntary need to confirm the revelations, to make certain it wasn’t some trick of the mind, you started to move toward him.

It couldn’t be, you told yourself. It couldn’t be him: this villain. It couldn’t be…

Shigaraki knew that you intended to reach out and touch him, your hand shaking as it angled upwards. But before you could make contact, he stepped back, extending his own hand not in an invitation of contact, but as a threat, his palm out and fingers ready to deliver Decay. Useless as it had proven itself to be against you, it was the only sense of control he had in the situation.

“Don’t,” he warned you, his voice weaker than he’d thought it to be.

There was a lump in his throat, centering his confusion and panic, both which spread over him in quick fashion. Mania returned to him like clockwork, a mania he often endured when facing accursed heroes. But he’d never felt it like this. Now there was anger, bewilderment, curiosity, and adrenaline all in one.

Unlike him, you worked through your confusion vocally, sputtering strings of rampant logic.

“But you’re—We—” You shook your head, and your arm moved again, inching up to him, seeking a touch that would give you answers. “We can’t be.”

Distress rushed through Shigaraki and he growled. “I said don’t.”

“It can’t be,” you kept on sputtering. “You’re a —It can’t be.”

A what? A villain? A monster? He dared you to go on. 

But even as his frustrations rose at the implications, Shigaraki concurred. You were a hero. A plague on society. But wasn’t the truth inescapable? Hadn’t that flash of colorful vibrance that nearly stopped his heart been evidence enough? Evidence that you two were fated to each other?

“It can’t be.” You said your mantra again, so close to touching him now. Kill, a voice in his head urged. Kill, kill, kill—

The pad of your finger made feather-light contact with his wrist, and the iridescence reinvented itself without delay.

All the colors that had teased him made themselves known again, bringing with them some disgusting bliss that made his insides curl with warmth. It was a delectable temptation, so overwhelming it made him nauseous.

Your eyes searched him, scrutinizing his colors and imbedding them into memory. An inkling of degradation tugged your brain as you realized the life of color you so desperately reaped was from a villain, one of the worst you’d ever encountered. Only from him would your sole, real taste of reality come.

You both pulled away this time, and the dull world of gray welcomed you like an old friend.

You shuffled back defensively, no colorful heaven able to erase the precarity of the situation. The throbbing, searing pain in your forearm returned, reminding you of the death he’d aspired to bring you.

Shigaraki stared behind Father’s fingers, eyes red and wide.

Kill, the urge came to him again. Kill you. Kill the colors, kill it all.

But he wasn’t sure if he could.

“Get me out of here,” he muttered.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Get me out,” he demanded again, infuriated. “Now.”

And after brief static, Kurogiri’s dutiful voice answered from the other end of the hidden communicator. Shortly after, the promised warp gate opened against the alley wall.

Shigaraki stepped back into its gloomy arch quickly. Realizing that he made to escape, you stepped forward, eager to prevent it.

“Stop,” you pleaded, but not with the antagonistic authority you’d shown before. It was a simple, desperate plea. Shigaraki knew he was leaving you with no less confusion than he felt in his departure, but his mind was scattered, and unable to rationalize this so long as he was in your presence.

Your mouth opened around another fruitless protest, but Shigaraki was already backing into the safety of the hideout, its colorless interior granting him security.

With one last valiant effort, you shot forward to reach for him. Shigaraki stumbled back and hit the floor when you lunged for the portal, but it was too late. The warp gate conjoining you both disappeared, separating you from him for good.

With Kurogiri’s gate officially closed, and you officially out of reach, Shigaraki simply stared at the spot where you’d been eager to touch him just moments before.

He was reminded of his station on the ground when he felt the hard wood on his backside. But he didn’t bother getting up; his muscles refused him.

“Shigaraki Tomura.”

He ignored Kurogiri. He ignored it all, let it fade into the gray banality of the colorless, lifeless world around him. How else could he describe it except lifeless, now that he’d had a taste of the true world?—The colors and their vibrancy?

And what was the price of attaining this world of bliss? Knowing that his fate was tied to you. A hero. The very thing he’d dedicated himself to hate, to kill. You, a hero, his soulmate.

It was disgusting. It was cruel. It was unfathomable.

Kurogiri was saying his name again, but Shigaraki didn’t care. He instead looked down at his body, down his stiff legs to his feet. His gaze remained fixated.

His shoes. What fucking color were his shoes? Red, he knew. But what did red look like? Why couldn’t he fucking remember what it looked like?

Kurogiri’s voice was harsher now, spurred by dutiful compulsion. “If you’re injured you must let me know,” he pleaded.

“What?” Shigaraki answered, voice thin, and lost. “What happened? Are you injured?”

“No.” “Then... why did you retreat?”

Now Shigaraki looked at his hands, the hands that had tried, and failed to kill.

His quirk. His Decay. For once, his touch had bore something other than destruction; it had shown him life.

Years before, when he’d still doubted his purpose in the world, and had yet to fully commit to any ambition besides to survive, learning about the histories of soulmates had been a gratifying discovery. Learning that there might be someone out there that would see him as more than just a destroyer, more than just a wielder of such a deadly power, had inspired hope.

But now, now that he’d all but given up on the idea of a soulmate—ridiculed it, in fact, having seen the optimistic idiocy it swelled through the populace—he wanted no part in it.

He’d always known the idea of a soulmate was baseless; that two people were to be decided for each other by fate.

Fate? What did fate matter?

Only cruel fate, the very same which had left him to suffer under the mantle of false heroes in his youth, would presume to make his soulmate one of those very heroes. Only cruel fate would show him a world of colorful life, but put its key in the hands of the enemy.

And what—he was expected to willingly accept it?

No. That wasn’t his fate. It wouldn’t be. This was no blessing. Tasting the promised world of color wasn’t worth the fretful irony. It was filthy. It was greedy. It was wrong. And he didn’t want it.

However alluring the true world was, however satisfying its colors and exquisite its details, Shigaraki fought the compulsion of its visual pleasure. He wouldn’t be a slave to destiny.

“Send me back,” he suddenly commanded. Kurogiri lingered over him, nervous in his confusion. “Are you sure? But, you asked me—”

“Send me back.”

There was only one way Shigaraki would find resolution. He would have to destroy the unattainable world of color, so he would never be weak to its promise.

And to do that, he would have to destroy you.

[sunshineseung]

Little Secret // Changbin

🍄 | genre: smut mini-series  ☁️ | pairing: Seo Changbin x female!reader 🌿 | wc: 2k 🌸 | includes: plot *yawn*, masturbation, fear of being caught, actually being caught, most of the hot and heavy stuff happens in the other parts lmao

☀️ | synopsis: Seo Changbin is your brother’s best friend. He comes over all the time, and you practically grew up together. If only you hadn’t gotten a crush on him. If only he knew how hard you had fallen for him.

🌊 | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Finale |

You and your brother had never been as close as your parents had hoped. Jisung was always loud and obnoxious, making friends everywhere he went and never looking back. You were much more comfortable by yourself, spending night after night alone while Jisung was out partying. Your shelf was full of books and fandom memorabilia while your brother’s shelf was covered in dust and toy robots from his youth he refused to get rid of. His GTA V poster covered the wall next to his bed while the only decoration in your room was the fairy lights and fake vines around the perimeter of your walls. These fundamental differences pushed you away from your brother, and after several years, you turned more into a punchline for Jisung to discussed jokingly with his friends while he was just the annoying older brother you’d wished would move out.

As much as you wanted to leave home and go to a prestigious college, your parents insisted you go to the same local college as Jisung for at least a year “just to try it out,” a.k.a they didn’t have enough money to send you away, which was reasonable. You and your brother, still under the same roof, fought to no end over the smallest things: loud music, messy bathroom, eating each other’s leftovers. Just about anything was fair game when the light-hearted hatred was so tense.

There was one bright side, though. Since Jisung entered Kindergarten, he was close to a boy named Changbin. You grew up with Changbin at your house, and even when your family moved 20 minutes away from him, he would always be there. There was nothing separating Jisung and Changbin. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have the slightest crush on Changbin. While Jisung was only one year older than you, Changbin was two years older, and that initially intimidated you. His intimidating and off putting nature is what drew you in, but his glowing smile and gorgeous face only made you fall harder. You couldn’t explain your feelings for Changbin when you were in middle school, and even now, it was hard to describe the overwhelming nervousness that overcomes you when you’re in his vicinity. As high school went on, you knew you couldn’t be with him, but while you had your head in books throughout high school, Changbin was going to his college’s gym. His smile was one thing, and that was good for a middle school crush, but his insane arm and chest muscles send you through the moon in high school, and the image of Changbin shirtless at your neighborhood pool has been etched in your brain since your junior year of high school.

But now you’re in college. You’re a greasy little freshman while Changbin is a worn-out junior. There’s no way in hell you can shoot your shot, even if you’re both adults. And to make things even more impossible, Jisung would never allow his best friend to date his little sister. That would ruin him.

As improbable as it was, you still loved to fantasize about Changbin, spending most of your time alone daydreaming about his sculpted body above yours, praising you and making you feel like the only girl in the world.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

“Sis, could you put on some actual clothes, jeez.” Jisung covered his eyes dramatically as you entered the kitchen in your very appropriate shorts and tee shirt. You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him, punching him in the shoulder lightly. 

“Changbin’s been coming over for how long? It’s fine.” Your response sounded steady, but your mind was buzzing. You didn’t know Changbin was coming over! Why are you never told about these things?! At this point, you should have assumed given it was a Friday night, but you’d still like some warning. 

“Just because he’s used to it doesn’t mean he should be subjected to it!” Jisung went into the living room, arguing with you under his breath. Another stupid mini-fight for a stupid reason. 

If anything, the information that Changbin was coming over would have only prompted you further to wear shorts and a thin tee shirt with no bra. As shy as you usually were, you still had the inexplicable want to be noticed by Changbin, even for a moment. Unfortunately, your brother adamantly tried to hide you from his friend, probably knowing Changbin always gets what he wants.

Jisung always babied you infront of Changbin, so you usually just stay in your room to protect yourself, and you’re sure Jisung would prefer that. Your parents worked late nights attempting to pay for their children’s college tuition, so when they came home well after midnight, they’d go straight to bed, uncaring for their adult children’s wearabouts. This gave Jisung the perfect opportunity to be as loud as he wanted in the living room, whether it was with a girl or one of his friends. 

Tonight was going to be one of those loud nights, but that was nothing new. You always had a surefire way to fall asleep, regardless of the chatter going on downstairs.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

It was midnight. Why was he still here? You wanted to sleep more than anything, but the ruckus of your brother and his best friend chatting loudly downstairs prevented you from getting any sort of shuteye. 

However, the only thing that can help you sleep is Changbin, or at least the thought of him. You reached to your bedside drawer and pulled out your bullet vibrator. If anything was going to help you sleep, it was an orgasm while imagining Changbin railing you like you’ve always wanted him to do since high school.

Although you hated to admit it, your thoughts of Changbin had been drifting towards the smuttier side since those days at the pool. All you could think about to get yourself off was Changbin, and no amount of other casual romantic partners could satiate your burning desire for Seo Changbin to fuck you on every surface in the house, including in your brother’s room while he was away. Every time you’d overhear Changbin talking about a new girl or his plentiful sex life, your face would flush red and you would wish that one day, he’d talk about you, but maybe not to Jisung. That would be too weird. 

You undressed lazily, tossing your shirt and shorts onto the ground. You hesitated to take your underwear off, but there was no way you could properly get off with them on. Your panties joined the pile of clothes on the floor, and you spread your legs, tracing your fingers through your own heat, spreading your wetness across your holds. Your free hand eases the cold vibrator onto your clit, pressing the button at the top to turn it on. You bucked your hips into the toy, shutting your eyes and pretending that it’s Changbin holding it onto you, teasing you gently with every movement. His voice from downstairs echoed to your room, and the more you imagined his voice whispering the dirtiest sweet nothings into your ear, the closer you got to release.

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

This was just supposed to be a fun little game of truth or dare, a common occurrence between Changbin and Jisung. Truth or dare was their way to let their feelings out and have a bit of fun. Before suggesting a movie, Jisung offered his friend one last truth or dare.

“Dare.” Changbin crosses his arms, waiting for Jisung to respond to his response. 

After a moment, Jisung’s face contorted into a smile like that of the Grinch before he stole Christmas. Changbin knew nothing good could come from that expression, but nevertheless, he was interested in what awful, terrible, no good idea his friend had come up with. 

“I dare you to go upstairs and scare my sister.”

“That’s it?” Changbin was beyond confused. He’d thought Jisung had come up with a dare so evil, so vile, so wicked, that only the devil himself could come up with it, but to be fair, Jisung could easily have been more sinful than the devil. 

“That’s it!” Jisung clapped his hands together in seeming victory. “Sneak up those stairs, go to the second room on the right, barge in, and give my good little sister a good little scare.” Jisung wasn’t letting go of his smirk. He still looked sinister, even after explaining such a boring, and honestly disappointing, dare. Changbin sighed, shrugged, and stood up from his seat, but before he could turn around, Jisung had one last thing to say: “Don’t take too long up there! I want to finish this movie.”

Changbin rolled his eyes and trudged on, tip-toeing up the stairs so you didn’t even hear him coming. Jisung was vibrating with giddiness, but Changbin couldn’t see. All he saw was the door to your room, looking more menacing than ever before. It’s such a lighthearted prank, why was Changbin so scared now? He reached for the doorknob, turned it quietly, and pushed the door open as fast as possible. 

His first scream was that of a shitty jump scare in a horror movie, but his second scream was that of terror with a high-pitched tone. Nothing could have prepared him to see you, his best friend’s sister, a freshman at the college he was a junior in, with a vibrator pressed against your nether region. You were totally naked aside from your shirt that was pushed up over your tits. The sight made his body go pale, and he felt his soul leave his body. He didn’t run away; he was just frozen, but you hardly would have noticed him if it hadn’t been for his stereotypically girly scream. You threw your duvet over yourself, wrapping yourself up like a burrito. 

“What the fuck, Changbin?” You raised your voice slightly, hardly able to yell since your voice was hoarse from the orgasm you’d just been denied by the rude interruption. Changbin couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think, let alone defend himself. He stood in your doorway, eyes blown out, hand practically glued to the door handle. Jisung’s manic laughing can be heard from downstairs, but both your mind and Changbin’s were too fuzzy to tune in, although your minds were fuzzy for differing reasons.

Changbin let go of the handle and shut the door behind him. You squirm under your blanket burrito, adjusting yourself and getting ready for an attack from Changbin, but he doesn’t come near you. His back hits the door, and he holds his chest where his heart is. Once he calms down for a moment, he’s finally ready to speak.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He takes a step towards you, but you lean back, scared of what he’s going to do to you. “Jisung dared me to scare you, and I- I didn’t know you were up here… doing that. I-”

“Changbin,” you cut him off, “just get out.” 

He doesn’t move. He collects his thoughts one last time and takes another step closer to your bed. “Did you finish?”

“Changbin!” Your vocal cords had healed since being hoarse just seconds ago, and you were finally able to fully raise your voice.

“I’m gonna go back downstairs, but when that movie’s over, text me.” Fuck, you forgot you had his number. “I want to make it up to you.” 

You’re beyond hesitant, but after a minute, you nod, and Changbin leaves your room without a word. 

🍓🍰🐤🍀💐🍯

An hour passes, and you reach over to your nightstand and grab your phone. Your messenger app stays open on the window with the empty text screen under Changbin’s contact. Ow, this is hurting your brain to think about. How could you ever get over yourself for fucking your brother’s friend, let alone the friend that’s watched you grow up. This was a mistake. Turn back now. Don’t text him, don’t text him, don’t text him.

Fuck it.

Your fingers fluttered over the screen, repeatedly typing and deleting the same message until it was perfect.

Is the movie over?

The ellipsis text bubble appears in the corner and your heart drops. You know your face is bright red, but you can’t help be excited while simultaneously feeling terrified.

The movie ended 10 minutes ago. You ready for me, princess?

No no no no no no no no

Ready when you are ;)

Oh my god oh my god oh my god

Come out to my car. I want to take you to my apartment so your brother can’t hear us.

No turning back now.

[ronnieiswriting]

BY DORNE PART 3

F!reader x Oberyn Martell No descriptive terms for reader, no use of y/n, EXPLICIT, ongoing

Part 1 Part 2

Important: set WELL before the events in Game of Thrones/ Book one of ASOIAF- King Aerys Targaryen is on the throne, Elia Martell is alive, Ellaria Sand is not in the picture (yet?) and Oberyn doesn’t have any daughters yet. As for the universe this is set in, Each major house (Starks, Tyrells, Arryns, Martells etc) are the families that run each region of Westeros but with a 70s backdrop instead of a high fantasy one.

The reader is Oberyn’s favourite arm piece- one he brings to lots of events. He’s known as the hungriest of all the Martells and he likes to prove that to anyone who might question that, therefore, its no secret that Oberyn has had a number of partners and sometimes multiple at once, men and women. Insatiable appetite aside, Oberyn hasn’t enjoyed spoiling any girl as much as he does you, and he’s set on keeping you around for as long as you can keep up with him.

TAGS!!: female masturbation (descriptions, references, partner watches), subtle power play, 70s circle beds, crotchless romper, lots of praise, implied oral f receiving, other sex acts implied/ referenced, feelings, a little bit of angst at the end. ENJOY (if I missed any tags pls let me know!!)

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

If you had expected any other words to be the first from your lover’s mouth the second he found you- after almost two months apart- you would've been disappointed. The first thing he had done, however, was pull you to him eagerly and greet your starved lips with a searing kiss. When you had separated only for the necessity of air, Oberyn had started remapping your body with his hands as if he had forgotten it in his absence.

You hummed against him, arms circling around his neck where his dark curls brushed against your skin. It had gotten longer since he had been away- you wondered if he planned to get it cut soon. “I missed you.” you told him, drawing in a breath of his cologne.

Oberyn groaned. “Honey, did you touch yourself?” His hands climbed up further, thumbs brushing against the sides of your breasts.

You nodded. “Of course I did. I missed every bit of you with every part of me.”

His brow creased in response. The world forgotten, Oberyn led you in the direction of his room. “How many times.”

You weren’t oblivious to the power you had over the man currently attacking your neck with desperate lips, and you couldn’t deny its effect on you- his effect on you- a welcome kind of intoxication. You gave him an answer, “I lost count.”

He nodded against you, lips dragging and stubble catching across your skin when he looked away to fumble with door handles. After he cursed them for sticking, he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’ll forget all about your fingers when I’m done with you.”

When he finally got the double doors open it was you that pulled him inside, slamming one shut again by shoving his back against it and the other with a kick.

He looked at you differently then- still like an animal of course- for you had never known the hunger running deep in his pitch black eyes to ebb its flow. But this look came when you would reach out and touch the power you had. And nothing needed to be said, no words to acknowledge the truth- the way Oberyn looked at you let you know exactly how he felt about you seizing power.

The hardening length of him pressing against the inside of your thigh also got the message across without spoken language.

You leaned into the sensation and ran a hand up his chest, along the thick chain of his heirloom necklace. Dropping your voice only slightly, you said “Why don’t I show you?”

Oberyn was leaning forward so far on the vanity stool that you were almost sure he’d fall off it and get a mouthful of the brightly coloured shag rug that covered one side of the room. He watched intently as you draped yourself over his circle bed, pulling back the sheer curtain on your way in a manner you hoped was seductive.

Since you knew Oberyn was coming back that day, you’d made a point to wear one of his favourite pieces- a slinky, lace romper with only a few skimpy panels of silk. Though, what he liked about it most (other than the way it barely brushed the tops of your thighs- and the fact that it was sinfully crotchless) was the colour; not the typical warm orange or bright yellow that the Martell’s so famously covered everything in. You were like a beacon in the room as soon as you took off the earth-toned dress you were wearing, capturing the man before you as he drank in the sight of the romper- rich, royal purple.

He had muttered something that sounded remarkably like an old Dornish verse at the garment, swallowed, and restrained himself to the seat where he adjusted himself shamelessly.

Once you had gotten situated against the pile of velvet cushions set up against the arched bedhead, you stretched for effect, reaching high so he’d get a good view of the way your pert nipples peaked against the fabric. Seeking the rush from his response, you looked at him through your lashes and let out the faintest of moans.

His full lips tugged up at that, edging impossibly closer to the foot of the bed. You found yourself wondering how he would look kneeling for you… another time, you thought.

When he smiled fully, you were unable to resist mirroring it. “Go on, baby.” he said, voice strained with admiration. “Show me how you missed me.”

You obliged him, edging a hand down between your legs that you parted wide for your man to see. When you reached your uncovered sex, your eyes locked onto Oberyn’s as you spread yourself open with your fingers and felt the wetness that had began to gather there. It started slowly, your digits easing the anticipation into a low pressure that made your entire body relax further into the plushness of the bed.

He praised the sight, “That’s it, honey.” and you agreed with a lazy hum.

For a few minutes, you were content with the languid pace at which you teased yourself, running fingers up and down your slit and coating your lips with your arousal. Sufficient pressure built, you tilted your hips towards him and pulled one fingertip over your clit. The pleasure was instantaneous but you resisted throwing your head back in favour of maintaining eye contact with the man at the end of the bed. You noticed that he had scooted the chair forward and contorted himself to be eye-level with your cunt, elbows on his knees, one thumb tracing his bottom lip as he drank you in. He began to compliment you again, “Sweet honey, you look so-” but you cut him off when you moaned his name- circling the bud again to the sound of his voice catching. Before you could hold back the flutter of your eyes at the sensation, you saw the devilish smirk that took to Oberyn’s lips. He repeated the sentiment slower this time and complete, matching each word to the tempo of your fingers, “Sweet, sweet honey. You look so fucking gorgeous.”

It was then that you were suddenly, painfully aware that the man who was so good at pleasing you was so close to you and yet wasn’t touching you- not his hands nor his lips or his cock. His tender words were nowhere near your ear and they weren’t kissed into your skin- it was as if he had become the presence you imagined when he was away. And while the both of you were so clearly enjoying the dynamic, it was an intense thing to act out what you had done to imitate his affections in front of him. There was a rush to it- something exciting about showing him how you could superficially replace him- and the powerful feeling you got out of it easily outweighed the frustration of not having him between your legs right then.

Oberyn seemed to enjoy it as much as you did. You coaxed yourself closer to release with one digit slipping just inside every few swipes. You could hear him through it, his voice harmonising with each breathy moan from you and it sounded like he was repeating phrases- thanking the gods for what he was witnessing, cursing himself for not coming back sooner, praising you, encouraging you- and you could tell he was dying to touch himself.

Though you had intended to watch him the whole time, your eyes kept rolling with the effort to chase a climax. Looking at him again, you could’ve pounced on him- he had shifted upright and was working idly at the buttons on his shirt, never taking his eyes off you. He noticed the way your attention drew to the tent in his pants because you showed your appreciation by wetting your lips and arching your back, fingers never stopping.

You moaned his name again and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to touch myself. To think I’d come in my hand when your pussy is right in front of me- now that would be an insult.”

You replied without thinking, “You don’t have to come- you--” you paused to squirm, finding a better angle, “You could just stroke yourself a bit?” You were offering him the chance to even the dominance, maybe even take all of it. You’d let him.

It was a vain effort and a suggestion he refused entirely. “If I’m going to make you forget about your fingers- I need to see what they can do, right? I need to know what I’m up against.” He returned to his previous position, chain swinging heavily into his bare chest, hands locked together on his knees and gaze set on your dripping centre. “Don’t let up, sweetness, okay.”

His words encouraged you to go faster still and you moaned louder. When you started to thrust two fingers inside yourself everything felt enhanced. Your feet slid against the sheet as you struggled to ground yourself through the rapidly increasing intensity and your gasping breath turned into a string of words, “Gods, Oberyn- I missed you so much.” and “Did this every night- in every room.” A feat you exaggerated a little- Oberyn’s mansion was a relatively small building next to the Martell manor but it couldn’t be called humble. Your whole body started to burn when you told him how you missed his cock.

He didn’t hesitate to rouse you further, telling you how much he missed you- namely, “Your sweet cunt…” You lost sight of him when your head finally fell completely back into the mass of pillows but his voice rang equally insistent and lustful. “You’re my best girl, honey.” he said as you continued to tightly swirl your clit. “My sweet lover- that’s it, baby- so good for me.”

Tantalizingly close now, you reached under the romper to flick your nipples, squeezing because you desperately craved the same level of stimulation he’d so often saturate you with. Chasing that feeling further, you tried to hit your clit with the thumb of the same hand you fucked yourself on but you couldn’t.

For a second you almost gave up and asked him to help you come- add a finger- anything. But he got you there before you could even get out a word or a pleading moan. Oberyn’s praises came again and he practically begged you to come for him. “Come for me so I can make you come again and again. Let me prove that I missed you... Come so I can fuck you so good you forget the entire world--”

Your climax came out with a choked sob and in a white hot flash that drained all the feelings in your body. All of you went limp but your chest heaved in the air. The bliss was incredible and well-earned but there was so much more to be had.

With the little energy you could muster, you beckoned to him with the same fingers you pulled from yourself. They were still glossy with your slick but barely had the chance to cool in the air as Oberyn’s lips quickly latched around your fingers. His tongue swirled to devour your spend and hungry hands roamed over your tired thighs that trembled in the aftershock.

Kissing your knuckles once he had licked you clean, he moved the same hand to the crown of his head and encouraged you to grab hold. He gave your other hand the same treatment before he moved his lips over your thighs, massaging the tension from them with the pads of his fingers. “My turn.” he mumbled into your skin.

By the time Oberyn had proved himself better than your fingers, the sky was beginning to turn purple with dawn. When he had found you that day it had been just after 10pm.

Somehow, though, whether due to miraculous pacing or because neither of you had so recently exerted yourselves, you and Oberyn were still wide awake. He emerged from between your thighs again- this time without a heavy pant or a shiny chin- with a washcloth in his hand. Coming up to sit back fully on his knees, he unashamedly looked you over.

The purple romper had been folded down around your waist and you were sure one of the straps were broken from the force it had been yanked down with. He smirked proudly at the number of hickies he had left all over your skin as many of them would be seen regardless of what you wore. “You look good.” he said.

Oberyn was quite a sight himself. When he removed himself from the bed to return the cloth to his ensuite, you admired the way his skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat. His hair stuck out in every direction and before he disappeared behind the doorway, he rolled his shoulders and neck with a happy groan. You called out to him, “You make me look good.” Then, put off by the feeling of the lace against you, you kicked off the romper fully and stretched back out on the bed.

He replied, “I don’t agree with a single word of that, baby.”

When he came back into the room, you couldn’t help but admire the almost comical way in which he had shrugged on his favorite robe but not bothered with affording himself any more modesty in it than he had completely naked. You took the opportunity to ogle him openly, proud of the marks you had left on him and he wasted little time in crossing the room again to rejoin you on the bed. When he had gotten comfortable situated between your legs, this time on his back, with his head resting on your stomach and arms slung over your thighs, Oberyn looked up at you fondly. “I do think I proved myself though.”

“To who?”

That smug smile returned, “Well, to you.” Then he looked to think on it for a moment, pondering as his fingers drew half-thought images across the skin of your thigh. “Proved that I’m still good enough for you.”

You didn’t even bother to hold back from rolling your eyes. “You know that’s ridiculous, Oberyn.”

Oberyn nodded, warm eyes drooping before closing softly. “Mmhmm” he hummed.

It settled like that for a while. You stroked his hair, drawing more relaxed hums from him while a question started bubbling up in your mind.

You pushed it aside for a different one, “Why don’t we do something tomorrow?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid.” He sighed, “Doran wants me to come in first thing to review some clause in the trade documents with Lys- something about a weird shipment- it's all very complicated really. I’m sure he’ll find a way to keep me there longer too and spring more papers on me or something.” When he finished the silence started to sting. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I’d love to-”

You refused to let him get to the “but” in that sentence, “It’s okay--really! I mean we just did a lot… Maybe later in the week?”

Oberyn kissed your hand. He was visibly relieved of the tension diffusing between you.“You got it, honey.”

Oberyn left about an hour later, giving you a tender kiss on the forehead and the promise of “soon”. The warm spot beside you and the marks on you were the only tangible signs that Oberyn had even been there at all and you lamented the fact that they too would be quick to flee as the rest of him had.

You hated to pout but it was easy when your lover had barely spent a day with you before being snatched away again by something more important. Important, demanding or serious -any similar word- was more so because you were relatively less. You- unlike business or politics or events- could wait on his bed all day and night for his return.

Ultimatums weren’t known to be answered romantically every time. And you swore to yourself that you’d never force him to choose. Nevertheless, the seed of doubt had been planted and the casualness of your relationship with Oberyn nurtured it against your better judgement.

You stewed over these thoughts long into the morning, staring up at the canopy butt-naked.

He had told you something before he left for King’s Landing two months ago that you remembered suddenly. “... you are the reason I am going to rush back to Dorne.”, the unspoken idea there being that he would value your company above the general comfort of familiarity. You had almost told him then how you felt about him, but a nagging feeling had told you to hold it in and now you had to suffer under the weight of more doubts and insecurities.

Maybe if you had, he would have been able to clear up half of the doubts you were festering over- maybe he would have said he loved you too. It was a selfish thought but irresistible all the same and you were too quickly lulled into indulging in it.

[ghostlywritten]

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Eleven

James Potter x OC

Words: 3,6k

Prologue  Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven  Chapter Eight  Chapter Nine  Chapter Ten

It was a peaceful Saturday, sunny with a light breeze rushing over the Hogwarts grounds. I was sitting against the trunk of a tree close to the lake, enjoying the rays of sunshine on my skin as I lazily skimmed the pages of my Potions book with tired eyes. The end of the year exam for Potions was coming up in two weeks and there was rarely a Sixth Year seen without this book in hand, either studying during breakfast, lunch and dinner or in the library inbetween free periods and after classes. Usually I would be among them, ripping the last few good strands of my hair in stress but today I felt unbelievably lazy, feeling too heavy and tired to do anything. 'Stupid period,' I thought grumpily, tilting my head up to the sky as if the sun could help me feel better. Which it did, until-

"Oi, Cec!" Sirius called out, jogging up towards where I was sat, interrupting the peaceful silence. I briefly thought back on the last time he had interrupted something several days ago and felt myself go red once again.

"Hey Sirius, what's up?" I greeted him, closing my book. He glanced down at it, grimacing. "Potions, eh? What a waste of time."

"Don't you need it to become an Auror?" I asked him amused and he simply waved me off. "Yeah, whatever. You got some time? I wanted to show you something."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what is that exactly?"

"Just come and see?" he nudged my leg with his foot, impatiently.

"The last time you wanted me to see something, a mass of dungbombs exploded on me," I recalled, scrunching my nose. The smell wouldn't get off for a week.

Sirius burst out in laughter, "Merlin, I completely forgot about that! What a brilliant idea!"

"Sure, you call it brilliant," I muttered to myself.

"Oh come on. It was a little fun, admit it," he grinned cheekily and I simply rolled my eyes at him. "You are not really doing yourself a favour right now if you still wanted to show me something."

"Yes, right!" he snapped back to attention, clearing his throat, "I wanna show you something. In fact, it's something really cool that could be useful for you as well."

"And why would you want to show it to me?" I asked, still suspicious.

"Because you're my friend and I wanna share my joy with you?!" As much as the thought of Sirius Black calling me his friend warmed my heart, who - despite his open and social character - rarely considered anyone a friend besides his tight inner circle, I couldn't help but think what a good strategy it would be to trick me.

Sirius sighed, giving in at my silence, "And maybe I want to know your opinion on something, too."

"There is the truth," I said, grinning widely as he gave me an annoyed look. Kneeling down, he tried to widen his eyes in a puppy look, "Are you going to come now?"

I cringed, "Alright, but don't try that look on me again." I got up swiftly, brushing a few strands of grass off my skirt as Sirius sprang up as well with a fist pump in the air. "It siriusly weirded me out."

"Really? Usually it works on the ladies," he pondered before giving me devilish smile, "Don't try to deny it. It did get you to come with me."

"Sure, it did, Sirius," I said, patting his head like a dog, "Sure it did."

We headed into the castle and I prodded him with questions of where we were going the entire way up to the seventh floor but the black-haired boy wouldn't budge until we reached a deserted hallway. I could safely I had never been in this hallway before, seeing as there was nothing but a weird tapestry of a man trying to teach trolls ballet and a vase in a way too big size to be considered normal across from it. And a window.

"So...it's a hallway," I concluded slowly, watching as Sirius traipsed around back and forth, his face set deep in concentration, "You wanted to show me a hallway."

Sirius snorted, stopping his movements as the wall behind was starting to ripple. My eyes widened in astonishment as a door materialised itself where stone had previously been. "No, I wanted to show you this," Sirius replied, smirking at my comically shocked expression. He went to the door, opening it. "My lady." He bowed formally, his smirk giving space for an uptight look and I snorted but eagerly walked over and through the door, curious on what would be behind it. And my jaw promptly dropped down once more.

Inside was a small, cozy room. The walls were completely covered in shelves filled to the brim with books and the floor adorned a thick carpet in a rich burgundy colour with intricate, golden-coloured details woven in. A large fireplace was carved inbetween the shelves in the wall across the door, an inviting fire crackling in it with two, dark green armchairs and a silver side table in front of it.

"Wow," was all I could say, letting Sirius push me inside and staring open-mouthed up at the walls, "This must be heaven for all the bookworms out there."

"Yeah? I thought it would be," Sirius said, a nervous edge on his tone. It broke me out of my stupor and I immediately bombarded him with questions, "How the hell did you find this place? Is this a mini library for nerds? In that case, how come you of all people have found it? And why didn't you show me this earlier, this was a way better place to hide from all the gossiping people than the actual library," I whined at the end. Sirius held up his hands in a placating manner, "Calm down, woman. Take a seat and we shall talk about my awesomeness that made me find this place."

I took the right armchair, relishing in how I sunk a bit into the leather and briefly thought about taking a nap right then and there.

"Chocolate?" Sirius offered, having taken out a bar from his bag. I nodded, catching the half he threw my way and munching on a piece.

"So first of, this place is super duper secret," Sirius started, holding up a finger, "No one that I know of knows about this place besides you now."

"What an honor," I said and it wasn't even sarcasm.

The boy grinned, making himself more comfortable. "As to how I found this place; It was a few years ago where my mates and I had a...a little dispute and weren't on talking terms."

"You guys not talking to each other?" I rose an eyebrow, "That sounds nearly impossible."

"Right?" Sirius grinned, but I could see an underlined pain in his eyes, "However, we did have a fight but got over it." He brushed it off, taking a bite of his chocolate. I cringed, "Can't you break off the pieces like every other sane person?" He looked down at his half of the bar before toothily taking another bite. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Very."

"Good."

"Ugh, go on."

"Yeah, so anyway. During my dispute with the mates I was very much on my own in setting up pranks and stuff. One night, when I was out after curfew, Filch's blasted cat found me. I didn't have the Invisibility Cloak with me so I had to make a run for it, because wherever the cat is, our dear caretaker is close by as well. I got into this hallway, which was obviously a dead end and whilst I was pacing around thinking about where to hide, this mysterious door suddenly appeared on the blank wall just like it had right now."

"And it brought you to this library?"

"No, it was just a bathroom since I also had to pee very badly." I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, looking around the room. "How-"

"How is that possible, you ask? Well dear, I was wondering that, too because as soon as I got back out, the door disappeard and I couldn't get back in. So the next day, after I successfully escaped Filch and his cat, I went to this hallway and stood in front of this particular blank wall once more, trying to get back into the bathroom. Only, it wouldn't work. I tried everything, recalling every step I made that made the door appear, thinking I need to find this secret place and boom! The door appeared again!" he threw his arms up in emphasis and I would have laughed at his dramatic antics if I hadn't been so intrigued. No one could say Sirius wasn't a good storyteller. "But, it wasn't the bathroom I had seen last time. It was a much bigger room with millions of things scattered and piled up everywhere."

"What?" I asked, flabbergasted, "The room changed?!"

"The room changed!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at me with a proud look, "It's a wish room! A room that can transfigure itself in whatever you need it to be." I dropped back against the chair in shock. "That...is...bloody brilliant!" I breathed out, staring once more around the room in amazment.

"It bloody is, right?" Sirius agreed giddily.

"So, if I wanted a place to hide-"

"You get your personal hiding place."

"And if I want a Quidditch field to practice on whilst the other teams are occupying the field outside-"

"You get your personal Quidditch field."

"And if I wanted my own sleeping space to get away from my snoring roommates-"

"You get your own sleeping space to get away from your snoring roomates, when you tell me who it is!"

"This is bloody awesome, Sirius! And no, I won't tell you!"

"Fine, but yes! It bloody is!" I laughed in excitement, thinking about all the great things that this room could be used for. "How come no one knows about this place? James would use it everyday for practicing Quidditch if he knew about it!" My face fell in thought, "Perhaps we shouldn't tell him then. He would train us dead."

Sirius' face also morphed into a somber look. "Yeah, I don't really want him to know or anyone else." I looked him over in surprise, "How come you haven't told him or the others about it? I thought you told each other everything?"

The boy sighed heavily, running a hand through his lucious black hair as he stared into the fire, "I told you, we had a dispute when I discovered the place. I always came here when I needed a bit time for myself to reflect on everything...it was kind of my safe space and also a good sleeping place when the dorm got too suffocating." I bit my lip, seeing the sad expression on his face and wondered just what had been so bad to cause such a bad fight between them. "I always planned to tell them if we were to ever become close again and when we did, it kind of slipped my mind with all the other things that came up. It happened around Fifth Year." I nodded, musing that he probably meant the time he ran away from home. Sirius sighed heavily, "So far, I haven't told them yet because I still sometimes use it as my safe space."

"That's good. You don't need to tell them everything because you are best friends," I said when he almost looked guilty at the prospect of hiding this from his mates.

He looked at me with an almost desperate expression, "Will you not tell anyone about this, please? I don't know how many can occupy this place at the same time since I couldn't test it out yet. And if the mates find out they will know to always look here. And sometimes, I just wanna be alone. You know, when I have to think about stuff they wouldn't understand..."

"It's okay, Sirius," I cut him off with a light laugh and he stared at me with an almost pout, "I won't tell anyone. Of course, I won't if you don't want me to."

He deflated with a relieved sigh before his toothy grin came back up, "I knew I could trust you!" I felt myself go red a bit at this, feeling warmth that he would trust me enough with something he wouldn't even tell his best friends. Come to think of it...

"But why would you tell me about this place anyways?" I wondered, "If you haven't even told James about it...?"

Sirius nodded. "I know, it's confusing. It's just that they - especially James - don't really understand the concept of personal space." I coughed to cover up a laugh, knowing full well what he meant. "I mean, Remus and Peter would actually leave me to myself if I were to ask them but James? Oof, James would immediately cling onto you and ask you what's wrong until you give in."

"I can imagine that all too well," I agreed.

"Right. And don't get me wrong, I love that and I myself am like that, too sometimes."

"Probably all the time."

"Shut it. So, that's why I'm still a bit reluctant to tell them. You, however, know when to drop a topic I don't wanna talk about. You give me the space that I sometimes need from a friend," he stated, growing more serious, "...and you know a lot more about me and a certain brother of mine than the others do." It dawned on me where this conversation was going and my eyes flickered over all the books once more. "I can't really tell the others about Regulus anymore. Ever since I've run away, the others think that the chapter with my family is forever closed and done with. That I'm done with my family. James especially holds quite a grudge against Reggie ever since I told them he said I wasn't his brother anymore. He is determined to fill up that space," Sirius chuckled to himself, "I love that guy." I resisted the urge to scream 'Me, too!'. His smile faded. "I can't give up on Reggie though. Never Reggie. I could never leave him behind, even if I kind of did...," he trailed off, his eyes glassed over as if he were somewhere else with his mind.

"You are trying to rekindle your relationship with him," I decided to speak up when his expression got too pained, assuming he was reliving a bad memory. He broke out of it, shaking his head slightly.

"I am, yes. And this is why we are here." Sirius gestured around the room, "This is my 104th attempt at becoming close to my little brother again. What do you think?"

"You gonna show him this place?"

"Yeah. I figured if we were to spend some time here, undisturbed and away from all the eyes that are preventing Reg from talking to me, we would eventually become close again. And maybe - just maybe - I can finally get him out of our blasted childhood place."

"Well..., I believe this is the perfect place for a bookworm for sure."

Sirius smiled widely, "Then Reggie is going to love it!"

I smiled back at him, "I think, he would love it even if this room turned into that bathroom that you had seen during your first time here." Sirius barked a laugh, "He would be so confused!"

"You might wanna add some snacks though when you meet up with him here. And some tea," I mused, "To make sure you don't get too hungry and have to cut it short."

"Ah, yeah I will have to get that from the kitchen. The room can't produce food." I pouted, "That's too bad." Sirius grinned before it softened into an uncertain smile, "And you really think he is going to like it?"

"With the amount of times we have stalked him in the library compared to any other place, we can safely assume that he feels very comfortable around books at least."

"We weren't stalking! Stop calling it like that!" Sirius complained, cringing. I snickered into my piece of chocolate. The boy relaxed into his seat, shooting me another smile, "Thanks for your help, Cec. I really appreciate it."

I gulped down the chocolate, leaning back against the armchair as well, "You are very welcome, Sirius. When are you going to show him this place?"

Sirius shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. "Maybe tonight."

I gave him a sympathetic smile. "Good luck. I'm sure it will go well."

"Has anybody seen Padfoot anywhere?" James asked later that night as we lounged around the fireplace in our common room. I smiled a little when everyone declined.

It was the next Friday when the last Quidditch game of the year rolled up: Slythering vs. Hufflepuff. Nearly everyone was there, the last game being the most popular of all since it would determine, who would become first place (either Slytherin or Gryffindor) and who would win third place (Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw). I watched the teams come out of the locker rooms, James booing loudly whilst the members in green were announced by the commentator. I noticed he was especially loud during the announcement of 'Regulus Black' and I nudged him a little. "BOOOO-uff!" Alright, maybe a little hard.

"Sorry, love," I said, rubbing his side soothingly as he complained noisily, "Someone bumped into me."

"S'alright," he mumbled with a pout, pulling me closer and glaring over my shoulder at the non-existent culprit. I shot a wink at Sirius, who was stood next to James, and he smiled gratefully.

"And the game begins! Mulciber has the Quaffle and immediately shoots towards to opponent's goals-!" The game continued with Quaffles and Bludgers being thrown/beaten back and forth between the teams. I watched with rampant attention as the goal difference never seemed to get too high, occasionally glancing at the Seekers to see if they had caught sight of the Snitch. Catching it seemed to be the only way to determine the winner.

"It's to 280 to 270 for Slytherin, ladies and gentlemen, and neither side is showing any sign of fatigue. It's a game of win and lose, of life and death- AND BLACK HAS SPOTTED THE SNITCH!" All eyes snapped towards the small seeker zooming towards the ground near the Hufflepuff's goals, a mere blurred image of green and brown as he flew down in a breakneck speed. I noticed everyone lean forward over the railing to see the exact moment he caught the Snitch, the Hufflepuff seeker being one second too late. "AND BLACK HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS THE GAME AND THE CUP! OH MY MERLIN!"

The Slytherin stand broke out in an uproar, shooting green and silver lights into the sky as the teams touched down, the green-cladded members jumping on Regulus, who was holding up the Snitch clenched in his fist with a blinding smile. I noticed Sirius biting his lip hard to prevent a wide grin as his grey eyes twinkled with pride whilst James groaned in disappointment but proceeded to clap along with everyone else, knowing they had won fair and square. "Gonna bloody win against them next year," I heard him grumble under his breath and I squeezed his arm with mine as I clapped along, "Definitely." He smiled at me before his eyes flickered towards something over my head. I looked back forwards, sneaking a glance to my side to see Lily and Alice next to Marlene, who was next to me, a pair of green eyes looking in our direction.

My chest constricted once more.

"I'm going to have to schedule more practices," James spoke as we walked back up to the castle after the game, neither of us wanting to stay and see the Slytherins celebrate, no matter how well deserved it was. "Maybe I can even get everyone to train on their own during the summer holidays."

"That's a bit excessive, don't you think?" I remarked, arm hooked around his. All I wanted to do during the holidays was laze around before the N.E.W.T.s came up next year.

"What, you think the Slytherin captain doesn't force his team to?" James pointed out, "And it obviously worked. This way we don't need to get back into the routine after the holidays and can improve our teamwork faster rather than having to train our individual skills back into shape."

"But James, this is our last summer holiday ever. Next year will be our last year in Hogwarts," I pointed out.

"Next year will also be our last chance to impress any recruits that will be there during the last games," James replied and I thought back on the few foreign adults that had occupied some seats in the teacher's stands during this game. The messy-haired grabbed me by the waist, twirling me around as I squealed in surprise. "Think about it, getting recruited by the Chudley Cannons-"

"Montrose Magpies."

"-and becoming the best Chaser and Seeker the Chudley Cannons-"

"Montrose Magpies."

"-ever had in history." He led me down with grin, still holding onto my waist, "We would be the dreamteam." I gazed into his brown eyes that almost had a mahogany hue to it in the current light of the sunset. "Yeah, we probably would..."

"Definitely would!" he exclaimed and I wrapped my arms around his, burying my face in his chest as an uncontrollable smile almost made my cheeks hurt.

I was definitely whipped for this boy. Irrevocably.

Next Chapter

[octania]

Midnight stalker ( Dabi x Reader NSFW 18+)

Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Stalking, yandere, death (not Dabis nor readers), smut, NSFW.

Word count: 3300

Short description: A lot of scary things lurks in the dark, but when two blue electric eyes stick to you and don't let go, you'll see what the face of a villain who has a very specific way of showing his feelings looks like.

PART 2 - MIDNIGHT HUNTER

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"I have no useless feelings." - That's impossible. He would repeat those words to himself over and over again, but the only thing that’s useless in the end are exactly those words. He does not understand what's going on. And lack of knowledge is one of the first things that makes him angry. At one point, as he was following you as some kind of maniac for the fourth night in a row, hiding behind every wall bathed in darkness, he tried to convince himself that what was happening must be the result of your quirk. Yes, that is the only explanation. You know he's there and you bewitched him to follow you like a sad puppy.

"I am going fucking insane here." He cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyelids. Of course this was not the result of your quirk, you had no idea he was following your every step for days, you lived your most normal life, and despite everything, he saw you using your quirk on a third day of his mission, and it had nothing to do with what he had just claimed.

  He noticed you quite by accident. Damn that moment. He was walking down a dilapidated neighborhood in the middle of the night, minding his own business, when he heard a gentle female whisper from the corner of the street. Such a sweet sound was not at all characteristic for the place where he was, in fact, the only thing that could be heard from the corners of these streets was the screaming, swearing or unrestrained moaning of the lady of the night, not a gentle whisper. The devil did not give him peace, he had to see what was happening. When he leaned behind the wall of the building in the dark, all the filth of this place was gone. He had an eye for beautiful women, but none of them made him look at their faces longer than a few seconds before his gaze continued to their enticing curves. You knelt beside a pile of cluttered boxes, touching something small and fragile between them. A puppy. You stroked his soft head, whispering that everything would be fine and that he was safe now. 

He became a part of the shadows on the street, he managed to blend smoothly with each one as he followed you for the first time. You carried the puppy on your chest, not even looking back at the potential dangers of the neighborhood you wandered into. But the truth is, there was no real danger, not while Dabi was following you. He wasn't even aware that he would defend you to the last spark of his flame if something went wrong, and he didn't even know you.

 You were more than ... interesting to him. Yes, that was the word he decided to use. Everything he saw in life was gray and suddenly he discovered color. He had to see what the difference was, why his interest was growing. Fast enough, you got to your house. He stored the place, the street number, and the exterior of the house in his mental map, not even knowing that the place would become his obsession.

 That night he slept worse than usual. He rolled around on the rough sheets of his bed, trying to fall asleep and have a nightmare, what he used to do. But instead of the bloodthirsty scenes of his reality, before his eyes was an act of kindness and tenderness, a scene of you rescuing a puppy. It made him angry ... no, it made him furious.

"Tch ... damn it." He sat up, running his fingers through his charcoal-colored hair. It didn't take him long to open his eyes completely and jump off the bed, grabbing his dark blue hoodie, pulling it over his naked muscular body and diving into the cold night.

 He is in front of your house. He stands helplessly staring at the window. His eyes are half closed, but not from being tired. Fearful thoughts run through his head. "Damn bitch ..." - he wanted to hate you, he had to. People like Dabi, if only a little attempt is made to scratch the surface of their feelings, they defend themselves with hatred and denial because it is a place they never go into, because through life, they have learned that feelings bring nothing but pain and despair. So they decided to lock them up. Bury, hide, deny, and eventually destroy ... prevent them from surfacing, as was the case with Dabi.

He is in front of your window. He is looking at you. He found where your bedroom is. He watches you as you sleep. His electric blue eyes stare at you like a target. "You don't deserve to sleep so carefree ..." His intention was to finish you off at that point. Delete this irregularity. His hand was already bathed in blue flames, ready to obey his orders.

The light woke you up, disturbed your sleep. You opened your eyes, but there was nothing but darkness around you. You would swear the light woke you up. You laughed at yourself. Those crazy dreams. You rubbed your eyelids, which were still closing from the weight of sleep. You glanced at the clock on the wall. 02:45, that was the time the hands were pointing. Back to sleep, a simple decision. You turned on your side, your back was facing the window, but before you sank back into sleep, you turned once more to check on what your new hairy friend you had rescued from the street that night was doing. "That is odd ..." the little puppy sat on the edge of the bed, wagging his tail and looking out the window.

 "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck?!" - He banged madly against the wall of abandoned building back in his neighborhood. A gang of villains who decided to lurk innocent victims there that night fled like insects seeing a furious Dabi approaching, bathed in his own flames head to toe. As soon as his fist slammed into the bricks of the wall for the first time, they disappeared with their tail between their legs.  "Why did you have to look at me ... why ..." - you didn't even know that you looked him directly in the eye and that was what saved you. If you only woke up a few seconds later, you would never wake up again. He wanted to set you on fire and the place where you lived, to erase you as if you didn't even exist. But then your gaze caught his and a Pandora's box opened in his chest that he so desperately wanted to leave sealed. The kindness and tenderness your eyes carried seemed to shed light on his inner darkness. You froze him, a funny thing for someone bathed in flames. He escaped from there like those thieves from this building just now. Dabi doesn't run away. Dabi never runs away and does not dodge an opponent. He stopped hitting and sat down on the cold concrete. He leaned his head against the wall, his eyes searching for the large yellow moon that sat on the dark clouds. "Yeah ... that's exactly how you are." - in the monotonous darkness of his life, now something bright and big emerged, throwing its light on the shadows he kept inside. He compared you to the moon once more, this time again with a taste of hatred in his mouth. "That's it ... you are exactly like this, a big fucking irregularity."

At first he didn't want to go back, but he had to. He literally had to. His body ached from the mental prohibition he issued to himself. As a drug addict, he was drawn to another hit. He justified his action quickly enough, convincing himself that he wanted to check if this was all one big misunderstanding he had with himself. That he drank a few extra drops of alcohol  yesterday before he started following you. Anger piled up in his chest as he realized he was lying to himself. He drank only one whiskey, nothing compared  to what he normally drank. Before he could muster more hatred directed at you, he had already came close to your house. The interior was lit. She is home. The thought of you breathing only a hundred yards away from him lifted the hair on his head. He needed to stop those breaths, because that would surely stop his dilemma. He decided to put an end to this circus once again. On his burned neck, the culprits for that catastrophe were climbing on it again. A blue flame hugged him around the neck. As it appeared, so it withdrew, quenching his anger as if it had never been there.

You came out with a cheerful smile. Playfully jumped over the new leash you bought for your furry friend. You went for your first late-night walk together. You and ... a pair of bright eyes lurking in the dark.

When he saw you, he felt like a match whose flame was put out  with the weakest exhalation. That smile again. A smile that drew everyone to itself with its angelic vibe. Everything, even the dark and opposite of the angelic, Dabi. He has decided not to think about what he is doing, again patiently following you and watching from a safe distance. He realized that any attempt to explain or draw a conclusion resulted in his anger, and now he was rather tired of it. He could tell he was feeling defeated, not only because he failed to attack you, but because Pandora's box was now throwing its chains of dominance. He won't admit it, ever. He didn't even realize how hard it would be for him to deny it.

You came to the lake, after running and jumping with your puppy, you decided to sit on a bench and enjoy the murmur of the water. You tilted your head, removing the rubber band from your hair and loosening your ponytail. You inhaled a fresh breeze as it caressed your cheeks. Until your puppy suddenly jumped. He barked, wagging his tail merrily, looking toward the corner of the street. "What is it boy?" - you have to admit, you were lightly concerned. You haven’t seen anyone, and your friend apparently still feels someone. Although crime was not at a high rate in this part of the city, you were not far from the part where it was. You were far from an ordinary frightened girl, you knew how to defend yourself, you were brave, but you didn't ask for trouble if it wasn't necessary. You decided to head back home. Getting up, you picked up the puppy and headed the other way home. You checked behind you few times, but there was no one. Although, the feeling of someone watching you was not lost.

Damn traitor... he slipped away at the last moment before you saw him. This clumsy hiding was not in his style. He was usually pretty good at it, it was a part of his job, to go unnoticed. However, the others didn't have a curious dog sniffing you out from five blocks away. And after all ... he can only blame you for his slow reaction. Watching curls of hair falling over your bare shoulders that looked silky to the touch and your lovely face enjoying the breeze ... he swallowed more than once, fascinated by your every move. For the first time, he decided not to whip himself because of his weakness, but the desire to punish you for bringing him into a situation like this was growing.

The days went by and his night occupation did not change. Due to his absence from duty, he had a clash with other members of the LOV. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t do his part of the job. He forgot his responsibilities, following you instead. He remembers exactly what he learned about you that night when he was supposed to work. You like lollipops. You like lollipops a little too much. Of all the things you carried in those grocery bags on your way back from the store, lollipops of different fruit flavors took up most of the space. Hell, not only did you take them home but you ate three pieces on your way there. First you lick them a couple of times, traveling with your tongue around the round candy, then you put the whole thing in your mouth, sucking greedily. That evening he stopped  a few blocks before your house, turned, went to the park, went behind a large tree whose century-old trunk could hide three adults, and helped himself. The way you swirled your tongue around that candy drove all the blood into his lower body. His dick was hard in a second. He saw you on your knees in front of him, first crossing over your full lips with his tip. How he pulls you by the hair as he fills your throat to the point where you can’t breathe. How he decides when you will get oxygen. How obediently you give him pleasure by sucking his dick juicier than you did a lollipop. How he touches your lips with his thumb while you still receive it in your mouth. Scenes popped before his eyes, while he jerked his rock hard cock. He growled under his breath, feeling that he will reach the climax soon. He would make you swallow every drop, and only after he was sure you were an obedient little girl would he let you inhale when he took it out of your mouth. He came on a dry tree trunk. What a pity, it could all be in your mouth.

Who ... the fuck ... is..he ...- he saw red in front of his eyes. His blood was boiling and his hands were shaking when he saw you walking your dog with someone. That someone was a guy. You talked and laughed, walking pretty close to each other. When the damn idiot brushed his shoulder against yours, Dabi could clearly see how he is tearing that limb off  that morons body. Up to this point your smile had been creating a warm feeling in his chest that wasn’t there because of his fiery power, but now he felt disgusted every time you laughed. Repulsive, the only word that could describe the scene in front of his eyes. Something so disgusting must not happen again, there are already enough disgusting things in this world.

You and your friend parted quite far from your houses. He has been around for over a year, trying to get out of the friend zone you have putted him in from the moment you met. Before he left, he hugged you. You carefully returned the hug, not wanting to give him false hopes. You patted him on the back and walked away slowly, shouting “See ya’!” to him. You should have said goodbye, because you'll never see him again.

 Never before had he been so happy to take someone’s life as now, and the list of people he hated was long. However, this transcended hatred. He fed the horror in his eyes as he burned him slowly, so slowly that the unfortunate young man lost consciousness a couple of times from the pain and agony. But Dabi did not give him the satisfaction of dying in ignorance. He would punch him in the face, welcoming him back with his crazy smile every time. He wanted him to feel what he felt when he saw you two together. He wanted him to spend his last moments in hell and be fully aware of it. He burned him layer by layer, first the outer layer of skin, in order him to be alive for as long as possible. As he began to burn his inner organs, soon after the soul of his victim left the mutilated body. He threw it in the dumpster, like garbage that belongs there, and went looking for you.

You loved the night. You were always attracted to the mystical, the mystery of darkness and what is in it intoxicates your desires. Although you are a good person, you had a taste for dark things. Maybe you didn’t show that side of you so much in front of others, and because of it you had to endure endless efforts of the goodies  just like your friend, who wanted you to share the softness of romance with them, but that wasn’t enough for you. You used to not even know what you wanted. Your thinking was interrupted by an instinctive sense of danger. You couldn't even turn around to check what was behind you when your eyes were covered by complete darkness. The pressure on your eyelids made your head hurt. A rough palm gripped you mercilessly, and before you tried to defend yourself with your hands, like handcuffs another hand wrapped itself around your wrist. An unknown person pushed you against the wall, squeezing you with his weight. He was strong, he squeezed the air out of your lungs with his pressure. Before you could speak, you felt a breath on your cheek.

 „Make even a sound and I will bite that lips off your pretty doll face.“ Observation alone was no longer an option. After feeding the need to destroy what approached something that was his, he had to feed another need. He had to taste you. He had to know what the poison tasted like. You disrupted his way of life even without knowing he exists, you can’t do anything more when you finally feel his presence. At least he thought so. He forgot that like any addict, overdose is an option. He felt its sting the moment he pressed his lips violently to yours. With his lips he savagely parted yours, his tongue searching for yours, absorbing your taste and the sobs that came from your throat. The surface of his tongue traveled along yours. The longer he greedily kissed you, the worse the need to continue was. He kept your eyes still covered, fighting the urge to grab you by the jaw and let go of your  arms just to turn you over and lift you up against the wall as he lit your clothes. But his need to absorb you was stronger than his sexual desire. Pandora's box was now bursting, releasing the thoughts and feelings that haunted him like devils, and the fact that you didn't return the kiss voluntarily gave birth to more anger in him. He moved his head away from yours, breathing hard.

"If you don't want to become a living torch, you better not turn around." You could feel the pressure on your body being released, your hands free again, and the other person's sense of presence fading a bit. You stood in shock, eyes closed. Of all the fears and horrors you  have imagined when he first grabbed you, this was the last thing you thought would happen. That he will force you to kiss him and then disappear. I must not turn around, I must not ... the curiosity and fearlessness that were your most pronounced traits made your head turn and your eyes absorbed the sight of the person who attacked you. You saw his strong broad shoulders getting more and more away... you shuddered when you saw the scars on his arms and neck ... the black pointy hair... The last thing you saw was exactly what you shouldn't have seen, the look of blue eclectic eyes disappearing around the corner of the building into the night.

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[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 5 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: For the Love of My Husband

Summary: Bilbo is a thief and a conman who has tricked Thorin, Crown Prince of Erebor, to marry him as an escape from a tight spot. He thought their marriage was happily enough, but Thorin feels a disconnect from the hobbit he’s married. To appease his family and strengthen their bond, Thorin asks Bilbo to take the Trial of Souls with him. Problem is, Bilbo doesn’t want Thorin to know anything about him because they are most assuredly not Ones. And if Thorin learns the truth, Bilbo will find himself back in the streets or worse...

In a darkened pub deep under the kingdom of Erebor, a hobbit and a dwarf squared off. The waiting crowd was near silent as they waited to see what would happen next. The dark haired beast of a dwarf looked fairly confident as he shared a smirk with his two friends directly behind him.

“What’ll it be, Took? Fold or settle?”

The hobbit nonchalantly lifted his overturn cup to sneak a peek at the two dice lying inside. 

“How about I raise you instead?”

It was silent for a moment before the dwarf, Drulik, burst into laughter followed by his cronies.

“Raise? You have nothing left to bet with.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bilbo stated before pulling out a silver harp-shaped brooch with thin golden strings.

The dwarves surrounding the gamblers all began murmuring at once, some trying to lean in for a closer view.

“Is that…?” One of Drulik’s dwarves gaped.

“Yes.” Bilbo announced calmly. “The Courting Gift of our dearly departed queen, Mahal rest her soul.”

“How did you get that?” Drulik demanded.

Bilbo gave him a wane smile as he tucked back into his vest with a pat. “It doesn’t matter. The question you should be asking is how much do you think it’s worth?”

The gambling den awaited Drulik’s long drawn out answer. It almost made the hobbit want to roll his eyes at the melodrama. However, after years on the streets, he knew a good show could sometimes be the difference between success and failure. And Bilbo didn’t fail. Finally, Drulik pulled out another bag, spilling the golden coins onto the pile between them.

“Settle.” Drulik demanded before revealing the contents under his cup.

The crowd cheered and whistled much to Drulik’s ego at the combined total of eleven from his dice. Nine Rings was a gambling game loved by Durin’s Folk and Men alike with a very simple premise. Highest total won. So you bet and bluff to convince your opponent that you have as close to twelve beneath the cup as possible. However, there was one small exception. Nine always trumped any other number. Therefore, when Bilbo lifted his cup to reveal the five and four, there was a near frenzy of excitement. Drulik was rendered speechless as Bilbo lifted his pint in cheer before downing the ale all in one go. Producing a sack from his coat pocket, he raked all the golden coins towards him.

“Well lads, this has been more excitement than any hobbit can take, but I think I’m going to leave now while my fortunes are in my favor.”

“You cheated.” Drulik growled. “You had to have.”

“Check my dice if you wish.” Bilbo offered with a shrug.

The tavern owner, Nifror, who ran as honorable a den as one could for thieves and ruffians was at their table in a flash. Bilbo had heard a tale that the last dwarf who cheated at the game got their loaded dice pinned, one to each hand, with a knife made by Nifror’s wife. He threw the dice a few times and each time they landed with a different number. He shrugged.

“The hobbit’s clean.”

“But that’s impossible.” One of Drulik’s own gaped.

“Yeah, we loaded them ourselves!” The other snarled.

There was a pause and then Old Nifror was on them in a flash. Some moved to help the old barkeep out. The rest roared and placed bets on the winner. Meanwhile, Bilbo used this as the perfect opportunity to sneak away. He dropped the loaded dice he had smuggled into his pocket on the ground with a snort. Like he would be that stupid. Now most would have worried walking around with that much gold around the dregs of Erebor’s underworld. Fortunately, Bilbo was a professional at remaining quiet and unseen. A talent he had been forced to pick up early in his life. Which is why he nearly screamed when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Make a good haul?” The dwarf smirked.

Bilbo turned around with a glare. “You know you don’t have to be so smug every time you manage to catch me off guard.”

Nori, Bilbo’s oldest and dearest friend, just raised an eyebrow as he tried and failed to hide the mischievous superiority oozing from his every pore.

“Just like to remind you, you’re not the best just yet.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he continued on his way knowing the dwarf was following.

“We both know I was headed to your place eventually so is there a reason you’re bugging me now?”

“Can I not worry over the sake of my friend?” Nori gasped overdramatically.

Bilbo snorted but made no arguments or agreements.

“Well, if I were coming to find you, it might have something to do with the fact that your husband finished up his duties early today to surprise you.”

The coin he was holding nearly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

“Valar above!” Bilbo swore. “That dwarf. He’s positively incorrigible!”

“He’s in love.” Nori pointed out.

Bilbo scoffed. “Love. Well shit, looks like you’re going to have to take this to our hiding place for me.”

Bilbo shoved the bag of gold into the dwarf’s chest before power walking towards the secret tunnels. Nori kept stride with him, clearly not done delivering bad news.

“Are you anywhere close to the right amount?”

“I’ve nearly two-thirds at this point.”

“Bilbo, you only have a week left.”

“I’m well aware, Nori! Maybe it's enough to...buy me more time.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the whole point of you marrying some rich noble supposed to give you easy access to the treasury?”

“It was, but there was one teeny detail we didn’t take into account.”

“What’s that?”

Bilbo paused, his face falling into a grimace. “In-laws.”

***

One of the first things Bilbo and Nori did upon their rushed and unplanned move to Erebor from Ered Luin was scope out the best places for a quick getaway. They just so happened to make kind with a chatty miner named Bofur who, while deep in his cup, told them that the royal wing originally was meant to be on the other side of the mountain. When the architects realized the disadvantage of having the royal family so far from the guards’ posts and war meeting rooms, rather than just move the furniture back down only to go back up on the correct side, they cut unmapped tunnels around the outside of the mountain. It also had the added advantage of getting their monarchy out quicker in the case of a coup if the knowledge hadn’t been lost through time. It was perfect for the thieves’ needs. In almost no time at all, Nori and Bilbo had found the tunnels and utilized them fully. 

Something the hobbit was thankful for now as he flew down the tunnel to get back to his room. He welcomed the blast of mountain wind to rapidly cool the sweat on his face before ducking back into the opposite entrance. There was a small alcove where Bilbo’s fancier clothes lay and he all but threw himself out of his worn threads for the finer silks and cotton. The last thing he did was pocket the brooch before sprinting back down the tunnel braiding and beading his hair on the run. Once he was back in the royals’ wing, he ducked his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and then silently made his way to his suite. After closing the door behind him, Bilbo relaxed against it, heaving a sigh of relief.

“And just where have you been, Husband of Mine?”

Bilbo prided himself on the fact that he did not squeak even if he did jump nearly two feet in the air. Thorin, Prince of Erebor, was lounging in the armchair by the fireplace looking rather pleased with himself. Bilbo attempted to calm his racing heart as he stepped forward, plastering what he hoped to be a loving grin on his face.

“Just a walk on the cliffs with Nori. Surely, you would not deny this hobbit the feel of fresh air and sunshine?”

Thorin stood at that point, meeting him about halfway. His thumb gently caressed Bilbo’s cheek.

“If I had it my way, I would deny you nothing, ukradê (my greatest heart).”

Bilbo hummed in practiced delight as he met his husband’s lips with his own. The hobbit was at least content with the knowledge that as far as dwarves went, Thorin was stunningly handsome. Not a sentiment necessarily shared with others of his race. Which worked out just fine for Bilbo as it left a prince of all things, uncommitted and available.

“By the way, look what I found this morning.” Bilbo stepped back with a teasing smile as he produced the brooch from his pocket.

“My mother’s brooch!” Thorin gaped as he took it reverently. “Where…?”

“It was under my bed. You must have dropped it when you paid me a surprise visit last night.”

Thorin smirked as he latched onto Bilbo’s hips. “I remember the night well.”

Oh, and he was a really, really good bed partner. No, Bilbo was well aware he could have it much worse. It was just the dwarf’s nauseating romanticism that nearly caused him to roll his eyes more than once. Thorin gave him a long lingering kiss before he bent forward to press his forehead against Bilbo’s own. Their hands found their way into each other’s naturally interlocking.

“I promise, it won’t always be like this.” Thorin murmured when he finally pulled away, his blue eyes shining brightly.

Like this. The dwarf was so dramatic. It constantly made Bilbo feel like some player performing for the court. Heaving a sigh as he looked down between their conjoined hands. 

“We’ve been married for eight months, and two of those have been spent here in Erebor. If your family was going to accept me, they would have done so by now.”

Thorin released his hands so he could lift Bilbo’s chin to look at him.

“Don’t lose faith yet, amrâlimê (my love). I have a plan.”

It was a good thing Bilbo was a talented actor. He laughed, causing Thorin to smile.

“You have a plan? That sounds dangerous.”

“Tease all you want, but I have all the confidence in this plan.”

“Well, out with it. What have you come up with?”

Thorin shook his head teasingly. “You’ll have to wait. I want it to be a surprise.”

Bilbo linked his arms around the dwarf’s neck for leverage as he started showering him with kisses at his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and his throat.

“And I couldn’t persuade you to tell me any sooner?”

“You are cruel, thundanûd (tiny embrace).” Thorin moaned, his hands resting on Bilbo’s arms.

“It’s only cruel if you don’t accept the invitation.” Bilbo teased back as he pulled at the prince’s tunic to allow him access to his collarbone.

Thorin shuddered once with want before finding the strength to pull away. He grasped Bilbo’s hands again as he kissed him deeply as an apology.

“Later. There will be time later. But now...we are having dinner with my family.”

Bilbo’s building fire of lust was immediately doused, a small frown settled on his forehead that Thorin attempted to kiss away. Lovely, the in-laws.

It certainly wasn’t that Bilbo wanted them to like him. He could honestly care less. It was just their dislike of him that made it really difficult for him to do...well, much of anything. Thrain, still mourning the loss of his dead wife, remained suspicious and hardened against Bilbo for the sheer fact that he was a hobbit. Their marriage had yet to be announced to the Council or even the mountain in general. Keeping Bilbo out of the public eye was Thrain’s number one priority which was certainly no hardship. It was Frerin and Dis he had the biggest problems with. Thorin’s brother and sister, ever loyal to him, seemed to think Bilbo wasn’t good enough for the dwarf, and constantly had Balin, the royal advisor, keeping tabs on him. Bilbo was reluctant to admit the dwarf’s keen eyes and sharp wit, but it had taken quite a few of Bilbo’s best moves to lose his tails before entering the secret tunnels.

Therefore, coming together in the Royal Dining Room for “family dinners” was a...stilted affair. There were only two redeeming features to those evenings. One, it was always the best food Bilbo had ever eaten in his life. And two, Thorin’s nephews, Fili and Kili, were not the least bit bothered by him and had some story worth telling that took the edge of him for a little bit at least.

“And then the axe sailed through the air and straight into the boar’s head. So technically, technically we aren’t responsible for the mess in the trophy room.” Kili finished.

“No.” Vili, their father snorted. “Just responsible for startling the poor guard that set off the chain of events.”

“Well how were we supposed to know he was right there?” Fili defended.

Bilbo snorted in spite of himself. “Watch the shadows.”

He immediately tensed after he said it as he waited for the barrage of insults to be hurtled his way.

“Spoken like a true thief.” Dis sneered.

Yep, right on cue.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t corrupt my sons.” She continued.

“Namad…” Thorin warned softly.

Thrain’s hand met the tabletop in a harsh bang. “What have I said about speaking our language in front of the Halfling?!”

Bilbo sighed and turned his attention to his soup as the line of Durin flexed their tempers. Thorin rising to his defense, Dis and Thrain attempting to argue their points louder, Frerin leaving snide quips here and there, and Vili trying and failing to keep the peace. The joy of family dinners.

“Actually, while we’re on this subject, I have something to say.” Thorin demanded, his voice low and regal. “I will be gone the remainder of the week.”

Everyone, including Bilbo, froze and stared up at Thorin in relative confusion and outrage. The prince’s eyes were boring holes straight into his father whose scowl would be enough to frighten wargs off at this point.

“And just where will you be?” The king finally spat.

Thorin reached down for Bilbo’s hand making the hobbit supremely discomforted. Thorin’s eyes were soft and pleading though as they met his.

“We will be taking the Trial of Souls.”

“We’ll be doing what now?” Bilbo questioned.

“Thorin…” Dis murmured at a surprisingly subdued volume, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Finally! A sensible idea!” Frerin declared. 

All eyes rested on the brunette as he raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think? I mean, to put it bluntly, everyone at this table has been trying to convince Thorin out of this marriage in some way. When they don’t emerge from the tunnels together, that would be a pretty good indicator of the truth.”

“We haven’t. We like Bilbo.” Kili reminded softly.

Bilbo shot the troublemakers a quick smile of thanks. They were idiots, but they were sweet. Meanwhile, Thrain was rubbing his beard in thought before nodding once.

“Yes, this will do well. In fact, if you make it through all five chambers, I’ll hold a feast in honor and publically accept your union.”

Thorin nodded, still looking rather cross with his father. “As I’d hoped.”

Bilbo found he couldn’t take it anymore. “Now, wait! Wait just a minute! What is this...Trial of Souls?”

Thorin stared at his father for permission, and the king granted it almost the picture of satisfaction. Being a gambler, it made Bilbo largely nervous as Thorin turned back towards him.

“It’s a series of tests to prove two dwarves...or in our case, a dwarf and a hobbit, are Ones.”

Bilbo’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times, but no words were able to come out.

“Problem, Halfling?” Dis questioned with mock innocence.

“Thorin, a moment if you please.” Bilbo was finally able to say as he pulled his stone-headed husband out into the hall.

“Are you serious?!” He finally rounded on him.

“What?” Thorin questioned.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo fought for the right words without making this worse. “I don’t understand. What exactly do we have to prove? We’re married. Shouldn’t that be enough?!”

Thorin sighed. “It should. You are correct, ibinê (my gem). But don’t you see? It’s perfect! My family will be satisfied by our success at the Trials, and it’ll be irrefutable evidence to the rest of the mountain if any rose to challenge us. And politics aside, I want this for us.”

“Us?” Bilbo repeated too numb to be completely in control of his mouth.

“Yes!” Thorin nodded eagerly. “Couples that pass the Trials of Souls find they become closer than ever. Our...relationship hasn’t been for very long, and I respect that your past is painful to you, but I want to know you azyungel (love of loves). I want to know everything there is to know about my husband, and share myself in return. What do you say?”

Now being a hardened thief, the hobbit knew a thing or two about how to get out of a seemingly hopeless situation. However, as his mind swirled and swirled around the damnable logic of Thorin’s decision, he found himself becoming dizzy and nauseated. That was it then. Bilbo was doomed. He had just enough time to get out a soft ‘nope’ before he fell over in a dead faint.

[cinnaminsvga]

autumn leaves | l.i.b. finale

→ summary: and in the end, we fall because we have no other choice. some get up easier than others, and we bury the ones who never do. 

→ pairing: ??? x reader → genre: angst, humor, fluff, lib!au → warnings: tae gets hurt a little but its an accident (he’s fine dw), small blood mention (from aforementioned accident), rage moments (rip lol), heartbreak (yum!), a happy ending (?) → words: 7.7K → a/n: oh my god we’re at the end?? after two months of SUFFERING?? how can this be happening?? lol but seriously thank you to everyone for going on this journey with me. writing lib was honestly so much fun, and it’s been a while since i’ve been able to kinda go “all-out” or whatever. i’m kind of nervous with this ending, but hopefully it’s something everyone will be able to enjoy. peace!!

prev // part 38 of 38 masterlist here. [series completed]

October 1, 2020 — 6:18 PM

Min Yoongi’s phone feels like it's burning a hole into his back pocket. It’s a heavy presence, weighing like concrete enough to bend his spine. His hands itch to reach for it, to check for messages he knows he won’t receive. But in the back of his mind, he thinks—desperately and senselessly, that if he wishes hard enough, then maybe it’ll come true.

I should be glad that she isn’t calling me, he tries to convince himself. The itch continues to grow, licking at the back of his mind like a fire begging to be extinguished. I should trust her decision. I should be proud of her. But there’s always been a difference, after all, to what Yoongi should do and what he wants. It’s a difference that he has fought to ignore for years now.

“Hyung,” a soft voice calls out to him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Yoongi blinks slowly out of his trance, his eyes dry from staring out his car window for too long. He doesn’t turn in his seat, refusing to face his companion in the backseat. “Hyung,” the voice calls out again, this time shaking him vigorously enough that Yoongi has no other choice but to turn lest his shoulders get dislocated.

“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi growls, sneering at the boy. Jimin smiles sheepishly, but he doesn’t back down under his glare.

“Sorry. You were gripping the wheel so tightly that I was scared you were going to break it.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his tone, betraying his worry. Yoongi releases the wheel at once, switching to picking at the rips in his jeans instead.

“Didn’t notice. Sorry for snapping at you, I was just…” Yoongi trails off, expression glazing over once more. What was he trying? What was he doing here?

Jimin’s pupils flit all over Yoongi’s face, searching for something. “We’re not going to bring her home anymore?” he asks, but there’s a note of finality there. He knows that they aren’t going home with them tonight, at least not right now. They’ve been parked a block away from Namjoon’s childhood home for a few hours now, sitting in Yoongi’s car and waiting to see if you needed them to help you escape. Jimin has been watching Yoongi all the while, keeping track of the small changes in his friend’s expression.

They are hard to pinpoint sometimes, but Jimin sees them all. He sees the way Yoongi’s brow furrows slightly, sees the way his teeth nibble on his lips in worry, sees the way his head jerks every time he hears a sound, thinking that it might be his phone about to ring. Yoongi is like a pot about to boil over, hardly keeping everything together.

To many people, Yoongi often appears to be as unmoving as a rock. He hardly allows his emotions to control him, and he has always been proud to call himself a level-headed person. And for the most part, Jimin agrees with that. Yoongi is and always will be someone who thrives in times of turmoil, someone who relies on his wit to get him through adversity. He seldom gets angry, rarely raises his voice, never acts cruelly. He’s the person that everyone in their friend group often comes to for advice and support, as he’s always the one who seems to have the right thing to say.

But all those things begin to crumble, however, when it comes to you.

Yoongi is still human, too. He bends, he breaks, he yields—and he does so, especially for you.

“No, we’re not bringing her home,” Yoongi replies. The admission is there, hidden in plain sight. His words are laced with defeat, but it is a defeat that has been accepted long ago. Long before his text conversation with you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jimin asks, not unkindly. Even still, Yoongi winces. Jimin’s real question is there, hidden in plain sight as well. What are you waiting for?

Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against the wheel. He hears Jimin shift in his seat, feels his presence get closer as he leans forward to place a comforting hand on his back. “Nothing,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose and counts to three. Releases it. “We are waiting for nothing.”

Jimin hums and says nothing more. They sit there in silence for a bit longer, watching the sun’s final moments in the sky before the moon takes its place. The street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in its dusty yellow luminescence. Under the lights, Yoongi’s skin looks tired and worn, like a paper that has been crumpled and smoothed over multiple times.

“I wonder if they’ve finished speaking by now,” Yoongi says suddenly. He still hasn’t moved from his position, his face hidden from view. It almost looks like he hadn’t spoken at all, but Jimin had heard him. He looks at Yoongi in surprise but keeps his silence. Jimin can feel the beginnings of something about to break, and he is afraid that if he makes a sound, it might stop. Even stones break in the end.

“I doubt it. They have a lot of shit to talk about. Too much, in fact.” Yoongi sounds exhausted, his words slurring together like he’s falling asleep. But he’s never been more wide awake. “I’d have a lot to say if I were them. But I’m not them, nor will I ever be.”

Yoongi tilts his head high enough that he can rest his chin on the wheel instead. He stares blankly at the quiet street, listens intently to the sound of the wind beating gently against his car. Parked out there, in the middle of a small neighborhood in Ilsan, far away from the bustling streets of the city, he can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s the only person in the world—

“You love her.”

—but he isn’t alone.

Jimin says it without a shade of doubt. He says it like it's a simple truth of life, like there is no other possible way Yoongi could feel otherwise. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Min Yoongi is in love with you.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes it out, the confession tumbling through his lips with quiet ease. It does not struggle; it does not resist. It just is. “I’ve loved her before I even knew it myself, I think.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fall in love at first sight,” Jimin says it lightly, teasingly. There’s a shrivel of truth to it though, but Yoongi will deny it to his dying day; it’ll hurt less if he does.

“I think it started a year ago. When I was preparing for my junior year exhibition.” Yoongi remembers the long nights working until his hands bled, the recurring nightmares eating at his mind, the fear climbing his spine like a tightrope pulled taut. It’s one of the only times when he had bitten more than he could chew, piling impossible expectations onto himself. In those long three weeks of constant anxiety nipping at his heels, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. That is, until…

“She saved me. She taught me to slow down, to be compassionate to myself. She didn’t judge me or scold me or hurt me. She just… cared.” Yoongi exhales, clenching his eyes shut. He can see it in his head: your soft hands carding through his hair, whispering assurances and praise into his ears, guiding him to his bed and staying with him until he’d fallen asleep soundly for the first time in days. “Slowly but surely, I started to fall for her. There was just no other way. My heart refused to have it any other way,” he says.

Jimin hums. “I’d always guessed, but I never thought it was that early. You do have an awful habit of staring, hyung. Sometimes I feel like you have to remind yourself to blink.”

Yoongi laughs, hollow sounding. “I suppose I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it then?”

Jimin’s question is expected. It should be an easy one to answer, but Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s easy to say that he knew Jungkook and you already loved each other long before he realized his feelings, and Yoongi was the last person on earth who would do anything to hurt either of you to fulfill his desires. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

So instead, Yoongi responds, “It’s because I’m a hypocrite.” When he doesn’t elaborate, he sees Jimin give him a confused look from the rearview mirror.

Yoongi chuckles sardonically, shaking his head. His mouth feels like acid, as if bile had risen up his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it would hurt more later if he didn’t suck the poison out right here and now. “Nevermind about that. The point is, I lost my chance and I don’t regret it. Yeah, it fucking hurts like a bitch, but what am I going to do? Cry about it? We’ve all known since the beginning that if anyone is going to get a happy ending, it’s certainly not going to be me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. He had spoken so sternly that it impelled Yoongi to straighten up in his seat and turn to stare at him. It’s quite unlike Jimin to be anything but friendly and kind, so seeing him so severe is disconcerting. Though, it did manage to shut Yoongi up immediately.

“This is not the end of the world. You are not going to end up unloved or forgotten. There are people who love you, people who will love you. Don’t you remember? Those were the same words you told me when I got my heart broken the first time,” Jimin says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Yoongi’s gaze flies to Jimin’s fists, clenched tightly by his sides.

Of course, Yoongi remembers. It’s hard to forget the sight of Park Jimin sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, fat tears falling like raindrops and down his flushed cheeks. He remembers saying the same words to you, too. He wonders, not for the first time, if his words are as ineffective to you as they are to him right now.

“I know,” Yoongi says. He switches the engine on and watches his dashboard light up. The radio turns on, the last notes of a ballad playing through the speakers. Yoongi puts his hand on the wheel, carefully not to grip too tightly this time. It’s a start, he thinks.

They go home, leaving without looking back.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 9:20 PM

Kim Taehyung locks his bedroom door the moment he gets home, after casting a furtive glance at the closed door across from his. He does not know what he expects; the door across from him has been closed for almost a week now. The entire apartment is still, but he is not alone. The ghost who lives in the other bedroom still haunts him, in more ways than one.

He drops his bag to the floor, still cradling a small bouquet of camellias that was slightly crushed when he had bumped into someone in the elevator. He unpeels the plastic wrapping, gently placing them into the vase near his windowsill. He fingers the vibrant pink petals, but they don’t brighten his room the way they once did. It still feels dark, but he has a sinking suspicion that he had nothing to do with his lights.

It’s me. I’ve changed.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, the door across the hall begs to differ.

Typically, this shouldn’t be a problem for him. When everything is said and done, Taehyung is used to this happening. The closed doors, the unopened texts, the cold shoulders. It’s all a process that Taehyung has lived through for years.

Guilt: an emotion that Taehyung has become accustomed to. Abandonment: an action that Taehyung has learned to anticipate. Isolation: a lifestyle that Taehyung has mastered. Every relationship with Kim Taehyung will always lead to these three things, so it shouldn’t be affecting him the way that it is.

But over the last three years, he’d grown comfortable. The people around him had convinced him unknowingly, planting seeds of hope and optimism in a garden he had thought to be infertile. For once in his life, Taehyung had found a home in these people, and he’d do anything in his power to keep it safe.

Or at least, he thought he did.

His original intentions had been guileless; he wanted to help Jungkook because he was his friend. Jungkook had been his first friend in university—if he wanted to be honest, then Taehyung would even say that Jungkook was his first friend in his entire life. The boy was kind-hearted and supportive, wrapped perfectly with a goofy personality. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s faults, but he was sure that Jungkook didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had decided back then that he could trust this one, and once he had allowed Jungkook into his life, the rest followed suit.

It was easy to empathize with Jungkook because he was just so… awkward. It was like watching a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time, except Jungkook had long since outgrown his baby status and should have been independent long ago. Taehyung and everyone knew this about him, but they still gave him the benefit of the doubt. They mentored him, guided him, manipulated him in the wrong ways in hopes of hastening him to change. That was until…

Everything fell apart. Taehyung understood long before the fall that he had played a considerable part in Jungkook’s ruin. His negligence, his willful involvement in worsening the situation had exacerbated everything. He had ignored the signs, had barrelled through with his plans without another thought, all because he allowed himself to be blind to what he truly wanted out of this mess.

If he genuinely wanted to be a friend to Jungkook, he would’ve stopped interfering way before you had gone to Ilsan that one fateful weekend in August. He’d been aware he was doing more harm than good to everyone around him, including himself.

No, he stopped wanting to help Jungkook a long time ago. It had turned into his own personal agenda.

“Fuck!” Taehyung screams into the night sky, slamming his hands against the wall. He grabs the nearby vase, smashing it against the floor and scattering water, petals, and glass across the floor. The impact causes a few shards to imbed themselves into his shin, but he does not mind them, for he does not feel them.

He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth in unspeakable rage. He’s angry, so furious. This red hot searing rage builds up in his body until he starts to feel dizzy, his vision blurred with tinges of black. Why is he mad? Who is he mad at?

Is he mad at Jungkook? Yes, but that isn’t new. He’s been angry at Jungkook for a while now. It frustrates him to no end how lucky Jungkook is without even knowing. How easily love comes to him, how pain and misfortune had never been in his vocabulary until just recently. Jungkook had you, Yoongi, and Jimin for longer than he has. Jungkook has been swaddled in affection since the start but has always been too stupid to see. If he had just stopped being so cowardly, he could have easily gotten the person he loves without anyone’s help.

If he just learned to ask, if he just learned to stop fucking locking his goddamn door—

Just like Taehyung.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it scares him.

This raw, unadulterated rage is not about Jungkook, but himself. It was always about him.

He lets out one last defiant shout at the frigid sky before dropping to his bed in defeat. The fury subsides as quickly as it comes, but it only leaves a desolate landscape inside of him.

He does not know for how long he lies there. When he stands, he leaves bloody footprints in his wake. “Appropriate,” he mutters to himself. He limps over to his door, hobbling to the adjacent bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit. When he opens the door, Taehyung does not notice the small white box placed in front of his doorway. He nearly trips over it, saving himself by latching onto the wooden frame. He glances down, picking up the box gingerly when he sees a small sticky note tacked on top of it.

If you need help, just knock.

Taehyung looks across the hall. The door is still closed, but the person behind it is not.

His grip on the first-aid kit tightens. The first step is always the hardest.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 1:03 PM

When you had run the moment you spotted Jungkook, Jung Hoseok had chosen to stay behind. He had pushed Jungkook to go after you, had yelled at him when Jungkook had hesitated for that one split second.

“Go!” he shouted, jolting Jungkook to his senses. He sprinted off, but not before giving Hoseok one last look back. Hoseok put on his bravest smile at him, throwing a thumbs up. “Don’t give up yet!”

Even now, ten minutes later, his throat still feels scratchy from how loud he had been.

He sits by the curb where he had parked his parents’ car. Namjoon sits beside him, a few inches apart. The autumn wind sends chills down his back, the afternoon sun doing its best to keep him warm. Though, he reckons that half the cold is because of the weather.

Hoseok clears his throat at the same moment Namjoon does. They share a glance, the beginnings of a smile playing on their lips. They look back to the ground, avoiding each other once more. Hoseok taps indiscernible beats with his feet while Namjoon draws shapes in the air with his fingers.

Hoseok tries again. “Umm. Namjoon,” he mumbles tentatively. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I’ve known you since before you even learned how to walk.” Namjoon beats him to it, like always. “I can guess what you want to say.”

Hoseok hazards a glance at him. His friend is tanner than he remembers, the summer months having done well on his skin. He almost giggles when he notices the line where the edge of his shirt sleeve meets his bicep, the stark contrast of color evident whenever Namjoon moves his arm. It has been a while since he has seen Namjoon with a tan line, as Hoseok was usually there to remind him to put sunscreen on before leaving the house.

Usually.

Hoseok sobers up, the momentary amusement evaporating just like that. How is it that in only one month, so many things have changed between them?

“What do you think I want to say?” Hoseok responds. He tries to keep his voice level and cool, but he knows that Namjoon notices the small ways in which he falters. Namjoon knows how he rubs his neck when he’s nervous, how his ears get red when he’s embarrassed. He memorizes the exact time it takes for Hoseok’s mouth to downturn, forming into his signature pout.

He knows all these things and more. And yet, how could Namjoon possibly know the traitorous things that he has done?

“I think… you got sidetracked,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully. When Hoseok glances at him again, he finds that Namjoon is looking back. He has a contemplative expression on his face, his jaw clenched in the same way that it does when he’s solving a tough problem. “I think you wanted to help me get together with her, didn’t you? At least, in the beginning.”

“I still do,” Hoseok admits, breaking his gaze once more. He stares up ahead, where the park is bustling with children and their families. He watches a small boy swinging on a swing set, while another boy pushes him higher and higher. “Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“When you texted me while you were freaking out over how you were falling in love with her?”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course. How could I forget? I’m still freaking out about it now.”

“I was just… worried about you, you know? I’m always worried about you,” Hoseok says. The boy on the swing set is still going, but one extra strong push from his friend causes him to tumble, landing face-first into the ground. The nearby adults begin to panic, but the boy rises unsteadily, dirt caked onto his scratched up face. But when he faces his friend, he’s smiling and laughing like he has just won the lottery.

“Not an unfounded concern,” Namjoon chuckles, causing Hoseok to put on a small smile. His laughter dies as quickly as it comes. “Was that the time you decided to help me?”

“I’ve wanted to help you since the beginning, but that was the first time I actually did something about it.” Hoseok’s heart is beating a mile a minute, his palms sweaty despite the chilly weather. “I only wanted to find out if Jungkook really liked her or not. I wanted to know if you had a chance before you fell any deeper because I didn't want you to get hurt.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Hoseok continues. “Even when he admitted that he did love her, I could sense that there was a huge chance things weren’t going to work between them as long as if some things were just… pushed in the right direction.” His voice grows smaller the more and more he speaks, the guilt feeling heavy against his windpipe. But Hoseok is determined to tell him, no matter what happens. It’s the least that Namjoon deserves.

“I suppose, in this case, it would be the wrong direction,” Namjoon hums, but he doesn’t appear angry or upset. Not yet, at least. From the corner of Hoseok’s eye, he sees him nod for him to go on.

“Yeah. I could tell he was insecure, and that insecurity was prone to growing into jealousy,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots just to give his hands something to do other than to quiver. “I noticed that he shuts down whenever he’s cornered, so that’s what I did. I kept pushing him, forcing him to admit his wrongdoings but never berating him for them. So, in turn, he began relying on me for comfort instead of his friends.”

He keeps going, “I didn’t feel bad for it at first. I kept telling myself, ‘It’s all for Namjoon in the long run.’ But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t keep helping you without hurting Jungkook in the process. I was manipulating this poor boy, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to react. He can’t bear to look at him, far too ashamed even to consider turning. He’s sure he’ll find disgust in his kind friend’s eyes, and he isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from running if he saw it. But Namjoon refuses to speak, probably not until Hoseok finishes his piece.

“Jungkook didn’t deserve what I did to him. All the things he did is nothing in comparison to the punishment I inflicted on him, especially when it was never my place to do so. I fed the monster inside of him when he was nothing but a boy who was just scared. Then, just when he still had a shot at redemption, when she was still willing to listen to him, it was also me who ruined everything. I told her about all the bad things he had done. I told her about—”

“The thing about Jungkook paying to spread that rumor,” Namjoon speaks so suddenly that Hoseok nearly chokes in surprise. He had been so quiet that he scarcely even seemed to breathe. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

“I… Yes, I did. She told you about it?”

“Yeah. She never informed me who told her, but I suppose it makes sense. But there was something else you said, wasn’t there? Something even she wouldn’t tell me.”

Hoseok nods his head sadly. “Yes. I think she was probably more hurt to find out that Jungkook had been ignoring her in favor of hanging out with me. Indirectly, I fed into her jealousy, but instead of comforting her, I intensified her guilt.”

Beside him, Namjoon releases a shaky breath. “You brought me up.”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it; after all, Hoseok has always been a terrible liar.

“Did you tell her..?” The question hangs heavily in the air, but Namjoon doesn’t have to finish it for Hoseok to understand.

“No, I didn’t tell her you love her. I just mentioned how she was hurting you by loving Jungkook. That’s all. I don’t think she even had the chance to understand what I meant.”

There’s a moment of silence. The two boys sit side by side, looking to all the world like friends just enjoying an autumn afternoon together. The sounds of children singing, of parents chatting, of lovers laughing try their best to fill the space, but the gap is already too big to mend. At least, not immediately.

“Okay.”

Hoseok startles once more, this time managing to gather enough courage to take a peek at Namjoon. He keeps his eyes low, staring at the mole on his chin. “Okay?” he repeats.

Namjoon shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s done. All we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“But… you’re not..?”

“Mad at you? No, I’m not. Am I hurt? Incredibly so.” Namjoon swallows thickly, his chin wobbling as he finds the strength to keep his tears at bay. “But I can tell you found your way back to the light, and I’m more relieved that you realized your mistake more than anything. I forgive you, but just know that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

“That’s already more than I deserve, Joon,” he says shakily. He feels a hand snake around his own, and he looks down to find their fingers laced together. On Namjoon’s wrist, the bracelet he had made for him in the 7th grade is frayed and mangled, but still ever-present. “But… what now? If they truly end up fixing everything, will you be okay with it? If Jungkook is still fighting for her… why aren’t you?”

“Same goes for you, I suppose,” Namjoon says simply. He doesn’t explain what he means by that, but Hoseok is honestly too afraid to ask. He’s always felt like Namjoon knew a little bit too much about things that he shouldn’t. He smiles, but there is a tinge of melancholy there. 

Just out of reach, the way Namjoon has always seemed to be.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 5:12 PM

At first, Jeon Jungkook is surprised to find the park more empty than when he was here a few hours ago. He supposes it is only to be expected, as dinner time is fast approaching and all the families have returned to their homes, preparing for the festivities. In another life, he might have been one of those families, sitting around a table with his brother and parents and eating to his heart’s content. Perhaps he might’ve asked you to join him, just like you had in the past.

He finds you seated on one of the benches near the entrance, kicking away fallen leaves absentmindedly. He takes this moment to observe you from afar, his breath getting caught in his throat when he realizes how long it has been since he last saw you.

His heart aches, the constant heaviness that has made a home in his chest growing tenfold. There are no words to explain the plethora of emotions flying through his head, but all he knows is that at the root of it all, he simply just misses you.

You hear him approach him before you see him. When he looks at you, Jungkook doesn’t know how you’re feeling. He used to be so good at anticipating your mood, always the first one to sense when you were upset or annoyed. Now, you just looked… blank, and for some reason, that hurts to see more than if you had been angry.

Jungkook stops right in front of you, his black boots crunching on dead leaves. You motion for him to take a seat beside you, patting the bench lightly.

“Hi. It’s been a while,” you say softly. You aren’t looking at him, and your hair obstructs him from viewing your face.

“Hello,” he replies, feeling dumb. He can’t think of anything better to say, all the things he had prepared in his mind suddenly blown away with the wind. The sight of you alone makes his mouth go dry, his hands to grow cold and clammy. He realizes, not for the first time, how terribly out of his depth he is.

“This has certainly been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“It has been,” he agrees. “It’s almost laughable how long it’s taken us to get to this moment.”

You bark out a laugh, the hoarse sound ringing in the air. “Laughable is certainly one way to put it, I guess.”

“Then why did you ignore me for so long? Why did you suddenly shut me out when you told me you wanted to talk? What happened?” He speaks without meaning to, the words flying out of his mouth before he can think of stopping. If his sudden inquiry startles you, you don’t show it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shrug, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. He can see the slope of your nose, the outline of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He memorizes all these things about you, sees you in his dreams and nightmares, but nothing can ever beat real life.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a start: two words heavy with meaning. What does he apologize for first? The rumors? The jealousy? The betrayal? It wouldn’t matter which one he chooses to tackle first because he already knows sorry isn’t going to cut it, but he has to try at least. This isn’t really about him anymore or about asking for forgiveness. You deserve to know everything he’s done—if you wanted to know, that is.

You blink rapidly, but your eyes are dry. “I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” you say, and it hurts the both of you when you do. Jungkook feels his insides clench, feels his heart collapse in his chest. “I don’t trust you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I…” Jungkook has to take a few shuddering breaths, his vision going blurry as he tries to keep it together. He waits for the pain to ebb, but it flows like a river down his veins. “I hurt you a lot. It’s only right that you don’t trust me.”

“I have a lot of regrets,” you say, sniffling. You still aren’t crying, but your nose is red from the cold. He wonders how long you had sat here waiting for him to arrive. How long have you been waiting for him in general?

“I have a lot of those, too,” he says. “I regret being unfair to you. For keeping people away from getting close to you, like a property meant to be hidden away. I tried to steal you for myself, but that’s not a very good thought, is it? I shouldn’t have thought that you were a thing to be kept. You should have been someone I treasured.”

“Then why didn’t you treasure me?” The question echoes loudly in Jungkook’s ears, as it’s the very same question that has weighed in his mind the moment he started to wonder where he’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t he loved you the way that he should have?

“Because I abused your love for me, even when I wasn’t aware of it,” he says plainly. He has known the answer for a while now but refused to accept it until this moment. It feels like a cork inside of him has burst, releasing all the foul, wretched things inside of him and out into the open. And once they start tumbling out, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“I think we both knew we loved each other for as long as we can remember. We skirted around each other because we were scared of change, of losing the friendship we had built over the years. We purposefully ignored each other’s feelings and brushed off our friends’ attempts to help us realize something we already knew.”

“We did,” you say. “That was both our faults.”

“But I was never good at bottling up my feelings. It was only a matter of time before the love I had for you began to grow claws and fangs, and somehow along the way,” he pauses, a breath of sorrowful laughter escaping him, “I had gotten lost.”

Your expression morphs then, shifting from pain, to grief, to acceptance. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes look glazed over, like your mind is somewhere else. When you come back down, you already have another question for him. “Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

He should just say something else, but he can’t help but wonder—”Why didn’t you?”

“I tried—a couple of times. You never noticed they were dates,” you shrug. A leaf from one of the nearby trees gets caught in your hair, and Jungkook reflexively plucks it out. You both freeze when his fingers graze your nape, gazes locking with one another. He jerks his hand back, but doesn’t look away—doesn’t dare to.

(It might be his last chance.)

“I’m sorry for being dense. For resorting to buying rumors so that I could pretend to date you when I could have asked for the real thing. I’m sorry for setting you up with… Namjoon,” he hesitates on his name, and you notice. “It must have confused you greatly, only worsening the doubt you must’ve had for me.”

“It did.” The corners of your eyes look wetter than before, tears dangerously close to the surface. “When I asked you if I should go to Ilsan the first time... You told me to go, even though everyone told me you were jealous of Namjoon. I was starting to believe them, hoping that maybe it was a sign that everything before then had just been a misunderstanding. But that was all you, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. He shakes his head at the memory: a frequent recurring nightmare of his as he is forced to remember the moment everything had started to go downhill. “I had realized I was being a jealous asshole far too late, and I was trying to clear my own conscience. I thought that… if I let you go, then you’d think better of me. That I might be absolved of my sins if I took your trip as my penance. I didn’t think you were trying to see if I would stop you,” he explains, but it sounds like an excuse even to his ears.

You sit together, watching the sun begin to set, bathing the world in its orange hues. Jungkook feels empty, wrung out like a towel left to dry. The wounds inside him ache and throb, but he knows they won’t last. As surely as the sun will rise, he will also relearn to feel whole again—even if it means you won’t be there to see it.

“I waited for so long, Koo.” You shake your head, allowing a few traitorous tears to fall. You let out a watery laugh. “ I waited for this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Jungkook studies his hands. He desperately wants to hold you one more time, but the ship has already sailed. “We’ve already sailed past each other a long time ago.”

You nod your head sadly. “We have.”

“Is it bad that I wish that we hadn’t?” he whispers, but he doesn’t really expect a response from you. He rubs his face, covertly trying to wipe his tears away. “I guess there’s a reason why you called me number two, huh?”

You can’t even force out a laugh. You sob unabashedly, cupping your face in your hands. This is the end.

This is the end of a great long adventure between you and him—the time for your roads to diverge closes in, like a shadow looming over their heads.

Jungkook wraps you in an embrace for the last time. You shake like a leaf in his arms, clutching at his chest like you don’t want to let go. He drinks you in, tries to commit everything about you to his memory. “Thank you for loving me, even if it didn’t work out. Thank you for being my first love.”

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 7:07 PM

Kim Namjoon opens the door to his childhood home the moment he hears footsteps climbing up the stairs. He’d done so numerous times already, spooking one or two of his neighbors at his sudden appearance. This time, however, he finds the person he had been waiting for.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he sighs in relief when he sees you, rushing out the door just as you finish taking the last stairstep. You wobble in surprise when you notice him, nearly falling over with a scream before he catches you by the waist to keep you steady. He pulls you close, pressing your face gently into his chest.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for bringing you to Ilsan even though Yoongi told us not to go. I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew Jungkook and Hoseok were coming here, too. I’m so sorry for—”

“Namjoon,” you try to interrupt him, but he keeps going.

“—wanting you and Jungkook to reconcile even if you didn’t want you to leave me. You just looked so sad all the time, and I knew you needed to speak to him at least one more time so that you could find closure, but I should have asked you first like a decent person—”

“Namjoon,” you repeat. Namjoon pauses long enough to see that our eyes are red-rimmed from crying, further increasing the panic rising in his body.

“Oh god, I didn’t want you to be sadder! I just… God! I just wanted to help you for once, because you always helped me with everything. I know you deserve to make your own decisions, to be your own person, but I ignored that in favor of following my stupid gut—”

“Joonie, the neighbors can hear you,” you hiss, furtively glancing at the doors opening around them. You can feel many eyes on you, watching curiously at the red-faced idiot babbling like a man possessed. You motion for him to stop, but he’s too caught up in the moment.

“For a while, I thought I could stop myself from falling in love with you, but it was so hard! You have to understand how impossible it is not to love you. Believe me, I tried!” Namjoon all but shouts the last part out, shaking you by the shoulders. “I don’t deserve you! I’m just not a good boyfriend! I’m insecure to a fault, I’m boring, I have mild sleep apnea, I forget to throw out the empty milk cartons—”

You yelp as he continues to shake you, gently having to pry his hands off of you to save yourself from being shaken like a bobblehead. “Joonie,” you say, firmer this time.

He rambles and rambles and rambles. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, hands gesticulating wildly like a human helicopter. He’s so wrapped up in his monologue that he doesn’t realize immediately when you take his hands in yours, forcing him to keep still.

“Joonie.”

“—and I’ve never been able to hold a relationship for longer than two months! My past girlfriend even left me after cheating on me the entire time—”

“Joonie.”

“I’ve never been good at being vulnerable and being myself, but you somehow managed to make me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel so so so incredibly loved. You made me feel important!”

“Kim Namjoon!” You shout, finally losing your temper and flicking him on the forehead. That finally manages to stop him, his eyes going cross-eyed like a cartoon character. You could almost see the flying stars orbiting his head. Properly silenced now, you push him back into his apartment, kicking the door with your foot before locking it for good measure.

When you turn back to face him, he’s still frozen where you left him. He stands in the middle of his living room like a robot, his mouth slightly agape as if his wires had been fried. Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you pull him to the couch, gently guiding him so that he doesn’t accidentally fall on his ass as he continues to short circuit in front of you. It takes him another whole minute to get his bearings together, but you’re a patient person. You sit in the adjacent armchair and wait for him to speak.

“Oh my god.” He swallows awkwardly, the color draining from his face. “What the hell did I do?”

“Welcome back to earth,” you smile, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you.” It seems as though Namjoon’s weird candor spell is still in effect. He has the presence of mind to be embarrassed this time, however, and you watch amusedly as his cheeks begin to redden. “I, umm…”

“Gave quite a show out there. I didn’t know you could rap,” you tease, your mouth curling up into a smile. The muscles in your cheeks feel sore, almost as if it has been ages since you last used them. This morning feels like it had happened eons ago.

“Sorry. I just… had a lot to say,” he replies lamely. He hangs his head, embarrassed to look you in the eye. “So… I’m guessing you spoke to Jungkook?”

He hears you hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything on the matter. Namjoon has never been one to pry, but his overactive brain can’t help but make connections out of nothing, trying to make sense of the world in desperation.

“I’m guessing you’re here to reject me, right? I’m sorry for confessing to you all of a sudden when you’re already spoken for. It was unfair of me, and you don’t need to try and spare my feelings at all. I’ve been prepared for this since August,” he speaks rapidly, nearly losing his breath in his haste. “It was my fault for thinking we could have happened. I mistook your kindness for reciprocation when I should have known better—”

“Joonie, my love. You’re rambling again.” Your voice snaps him back to reality. He turns redder somehow, sinking deep into his seat.

“S-sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you huff, pouting in annoyance, but Namjoon catches the fondness in your eyes. “You aren’t unfair at all.”

“E-even so,” he stutters, heart hammering in his chest. “I shouldn’t have expected anything to happen between us. We were only going to fake date until the end of Chuseok, so it was foolish of me to try and… replace Jungkook, somehow. But I suppose, in the grand scheme of things… he’s a tough act to follow up to, huh? Seven years of loving someone is a long time. I don’t hold a candle to that,” he says dejectedly.

“But you do.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Your eyes widen, shocked by your own admission. Even so, you know what you said is true, and you wouldn’t take it back even if you could. 

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear it when he doesn’t react. It takes a second for his brain to buffer, but Namjoon had heard you, loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” His tone is soft, hesitant. Afraid, but hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders. You want to tell him everything, but you are impossibly tired, your eyelids like sandbags just waiting to fall. Namjoon must have noticed because he stumbles out of his seat with his arms outstretched, ready to keep you from slumping over.

“Woah, there. I’m sorry for interrogating when you must be exhausted. Do you want to take my bed instead of the couch tonight?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

You blink sleepily at him, nodding with a large yawn. “I wanna talk to you but I’m tired,” you say, before promptly toppling onto him. He doesn’t flinch at your weight, catching you in an instant. He lets you nestle your face into his neck, and he grabs your arms until they’re laced around his shoulders. Slowly, he gets up with you in his arms, a feeling of weightlessness filling your senses. Safe.

When he tucks you into his bed, the sheets smell familiar and homey. Namjoon sits by the edge, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. “Namjoon?” Your voice sounds muted to your own ears, as if you were underwater. But you don’t feel like you’re drowning, not at all.

“Yes?” He watches you with kind eyes, the same ones he has always had. To you, he looks like a prayer come to life, a promise ready to be fulfilled.

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?”

Namjoon exhales out a laugh, smiling sweetly. I love your dimples, you want to say, but your body feels heavy. Tomorrow. You’ll tell him for sure.

“Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be here. For as long as you want.”

You close your eyes. Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.

[shsldepressedlesbian]

ao3

“komaeda?” he coos softly, but he knows it isn’t enough to even shake the figure beside him. perhaps, subconsciously, he doesn’t want to shake him.

afterall, it’s hard to want to disturb the other’s rest, not when he looks so… peaceful.

it had undoubtedly been a long day- the foundation already had been no stranger to overwork, but this time, it had seemed even more like a drag. it had already been dark by the time hinata had been let off, and accompanying him close by, had been no other than komaeda himself.

when he had asked hinata for a ride, of course he didn’t hesitate to let him. afterall, they usually ended up driving to the apartments together. practical, considering their “roommate” status.

with the long drive and dark sky, hinata couldn’t blame komaeda for passing out. he had already looked exhausted when they met up, even if he had the same “bright” attitude he always had.

he hadn’t even been paying attention until they had finally parked in the driveway, finally turning his head to look at his partner.

hinata has become used to komaeda’s sleeping tendencies. normally, it always looks like he’s merely in a doze- one without movement or sounds, but still. he wouldn’t call it peaceful, usually, and that was especially apparent when komaeda was having a nightmare.

(that’s always the most obvious to tell. hinata had witnessed it quite a few times- his knuckles tight and face white, yet the only movement from him even then was just his faint shivering.)

but the way komaeda was now… hinata couldn’t help but stop and just stare, as though worried he would never be able to see the sight again.

he looked so gentle there, eyes softly shut and head tilted down ever so slightly, as much as his seatbelt would allow. breathing quiet and soft, fitting in with the nightly driveway atmosphere noises.

“pretty” is another word that comes to his mind. it’s an offhand thought, really, but he can’t help but find himself stupid for thinking about it in the first place.

(even if it’s a word he could easily describe komaeda with. everything about him is fundamentally “pretty”- even stuff that really shouldn’t be, like his worryingly pale, thin body, or his cold, almost shaky hands.)

hinata can’t help but lay his chin on the steering wheel of the car, gazing at the man with the corners of his eyes. besides the noises in the background mixed with komaeda’s faint breathing, it’s almost completely silent, and that in itself is comforting.

hinata can already feel his fatigue catching up to him as well- normally he was use to staying up for long nights, and thus wasn’t usually affected by it until he got to his bed, but with just how slow the world feels right now, it’s beginning to catch up to him.

the sight of his sleeping companion isn’t helping either, and hinata wonders if it really would just be nice to pass out alongside him.

...but no, komaeda would definitely wake up before him, and that would lead to just a whole bunch of teasing he’s not sure if he wants to go through.

and so, to keep himself awake, he reverts his full attention to the man in question, who has yet to even move an inch at all. hinata vaguely wonders how long he’ll sleep if he doesn’t wake him up.

this isn’t any kind of slumber he’s seen from komaeda before. not the content kind, or his usual tired, silent kind.

this was different: a gentle kind you would see from a dozing classmate only a seat away from you, looking completely ordinary, like nothing in the world could disturb them.

“ordinary”. “normal”. “domestic”.

perhaps the reason why hinata was looking into it so much was because he found it hard to associate those words with the komaeda he knew. the komaeda who he still barely understood.

he’s because so used to the abnormality of their relationship it had just become his normal. the idea that he’ll have to go his whole life always wondering about the truth of nagito komaeda being something he’s accepted, despite struggling not to.

because, truthfully, he wants to know the truth of nagito komaeda, but something in him also tells him he doesn’t. like a scientist digging into insane theories and timelines that he knows he’ll regret finding the truth of, but still finds it necessary because he wants to know.

the nagito komaeda who had shown him kindness in that simulation. the nagito komaeda who had broken down in front of him and everyone else, becoming this pile of nonsense about “hope” and “ultimates”, such figurative ideas that he had become obsessed with.

(and that once, hinata was obsessed with, to.)

the nagito komaeda who had scorned him the minute he learned the “truth” about hinata.

the nagito komaeda who had left the simulation, who was the manifestation of everything he had been in there.

(and in that way, perhaps he felt a familiar connection with him.)

the nagito komaeda who hinata had desperately tried to hate, but couldn’t find it in himself. the nagito komaeda who had made him feel intense and confusing emotions which he had never felt for anyone else, except for one girl, and even then, it had been so much more simple with her.

this was the nagito komaeda who was sleeping in the passenger seat of his car, sleeping like any ordinary, simple, overworked businessman you would see anywhere on the subway.

it almost makes hinata want to laugh, or even cry.

and yet, despite all of these complicated feelings stirring in his head, all of this that was between them, hinata didn’t want to become the scientist that wasted his whole life on the truth of the forbidden subject, just for it to break him to the point of becoming an alcoholic mess.

his desires to fully understand the komaeda he knew were futile, he knew that. he’d like to think that he’d be able to, someday, with his newfounds “talents”, but only to boost his fragile, non-existent ego.

it’s only fair, isn’t it? afterall, it was already impossible for komaeda himself to understand hinata now. the reserve course, the man who had wasted his life by obsessing over talent ever since he was a child, who signed his life away for a bunch of scientists to get their holds on a teenager, even the man who had been in the simulation, who had first met “komaeda”, was long gone.

replaced by the entity of izuru kamukura, parading the personality and memories of the boy who would never be able to recover himself, no matter how much he clawed at the surgery scars alongside his forehead.

to live a domestic life together, teetering on the edge of something bigger, more sinister, more tragic, something they couldn’t say to each other without risk of losing their holds. that’s what their relationship was destined for, truly.

and yet, would that be bad? a domestic life, even with repressed, dark thoughts, would still be domestic.

the idea of waking up to komaeda every morning, reading together, doing mindless, soft, sappy stuff together, until they were brutally torn apart in each other’s arms by the forces of a supernatural, screwed up thing like “luck”...

even if they would always be in confusion of the other, they would still always understand each other more than anyone else could or would. and surely, that was enough.

there was no such thing as a “perfect relationship” or a “happy ending”. there was only a future, the thing that had always remained as the one truth in this fucked up world, something that was relevant even when they were freaks who were causing it’s destruction.

when all you have is one another, you grow attached to each other.

and that was enough for hinata, despite everything inside him shouting at him that it wasn’t.

i wish that i could sleep like that, he smirks to himself, rising his head from the steering wheel. even through his whole introspection, komaeda had remained as quiet and peaceful as ever.

the only thing that had changed was some soft strands of hair falling into his face, and hinata, finding that they were kind of obscuring his view, hesitantly reached out a hand, gently stroking them behind komaeda’s ear, trying to be careful enough to not wake him.

still holding out his hand, hinata takes a second to just watch komaeda’s face. as calm as ever, and in this state, with the only light illuminating them being the car’s inside one, he was definitely even more pretty than usual.

that idea of waking up every morning to him begins re-entering his mind…

“isn’t it rude to stare, hinata-kun?”

it’s a miracle hinata doesn’t accidentally slap komaeda with how fast he pulls his hand back, straightening up with his eyes widened.

the man who he previously thought was deep in slumber chuckled, though it sounds more breathy than usual, opening his faintly-colored eyes to give hinata an amused look. the man feels his face going red, but furrows his brows.

“you- have you been awake this whole time!?”

as though to answer his question, komaeda yawns, stretching his arms out. he blinks a few times at hinata, as though still trying to wake up.

“oh, no, of course not. just for the past few minutes. when i did wake up, however, you were looking at me so intensely to the point where i could feel it, so i was scared to move, haha!”

“you- that’s-” it’s embarrassing how hinata finds himself stuttering like an awkward high schooler, so he bites his tongue and closes his eyes to regain his posture. it’s hard to do when he hears komaeda laugh at him, that same wheezy sound, but at the very least, he changes the subject.

“ah, i won’t blame you for it, though. rather, it was rude of me to fall asleep in someone else’s car, so i’ll apologise for that.”

“you don’t have to,” hinata immediately jumps on the subject. “today was pretty… tiring, so i don’t blame you either.” he ponders briefly if he should admit to wanting to fall asleep as well, but komaeda continues before he can add anything else.

“tiring, huh?” he murmurs almost to himself, before giggling to himself in the way he does when finding something funny for no reason. “ah, i suppose i can’t deny that.

“though, i am curious…” he looks at hinata with a newfound mix of curiosity and amusement, the suggestive kind that already has him blushing a little. “what hinata-kun could want, staring but not waking me up?”

hinata not so subtly looks away, covering his mouth with his hand to hide some remnants of his expression, though causing his response to be somewhat muffled. “i wasn’t staring. just zoning out. thinking.”

“oho? thinking about what?”

komaeda’s tone is playful enough to make hinata a little peeved, if not a little red. “nothing that you're thinking of, that’s for sure.”

this earns him another, genuine laugh from komaeda, which causes him to glance over to him again. a faint pink is dusting his face, though far from hinata’s more colorful blush. however, this only seems to make his expression, which has some underlying tiredness(most likely the cause of his boldness right now)to it.

“i would hope not, actually,” he muses, tilting his head a little. “i’d much rather sleep the rest of the night away. though, it’d be hard to go against hinata-kun’s desires.”

“oi, i want to sleep as much as you do,” hinata fires back, which gets him another grin from komaeda. it’s contagious, and he finds himself returning it.

“hm, even then,” komaeda leans towards hinata, raising a brow, “i’m sure you want something, right?”

the faux innocence of the question, mixed with that suggestive voice, agitates hinata for no real reason other than how effective it is for him.

komaeda would probably never be able to understand him fully, but he understood enough to get under hinata’s skin. and that itself almost infuriates him. it’s one of the many little things he both hates and adores about him- another conflict over something so simple.

“asshole,” he mutters affectionately, before leaning towards him as well. the only thing he gets is a small absentminded hum from komaeda, which hinata suddenly decides he wants to turn into something much more… gratifying.

it’s a small, soft kiss, but when hinata aims to deepen it, he finds himself confused when komaeda almost immediately pulls away.

his expression is lustful, as it usually is when they do stuff like this, but there’s a sort of a restraint to his eyes and stiffness to his smile. “though, you know, hinata-kun, if there’s something else you want to say, you should say it.”

hinata pauses, perplexed, before finally registering what he had said.

of course- komaeda knew there was more to that longing staring, to that hesitance to give him a solid answer when he had asked about what was on his mind. komaeda knew him best, afterall, and that makes hinata want to shut him up even more so.

yet, to the same degree, the other wasn’t a mind reader. he knew hinata best, yet barely understood his thought process, as did hinata for his.

there is many things hinata wants to say right now, but that’s always the case. always so many questions he wants to ask and so many thoughts to shout out, so much prodding of “what’s happening between us?” and “do you just like toying with me?”.

and yet, he’s come to learn that the only way to keep this peaceful, temporary, gentle lingering going was to not question any of it. to only open it when times for it appear, before it eventually does burst.

he wants this- the peace of being able to sit alone in a quiet car with komaeda, to give casual acts of affection that come as second nature. he doesn’t want to have to say anything, or question anything, between them.

to be in love with nagito komaeda was to be in love with a stranger who you knew every inch of, if only they could have that ‘in love’ part. if only they could have their silly little future together.

“i have nothing to say at all,” he lies, and remedies it with his lips, holding komaeda’s face and allowing him to live in this kind, terrifying ignorance.

[btsiguess]

Womyn With A ‘Y’ (m) - 4

Summary: You weren’t quite sure how you ended up working with the aloof Yoonji on your student council campaign, but you did know that that girl was starting to make you question yourself. I mean, if she’s even a girl at all…

Pairing: Yoonji/Reader Yoongi/Reader

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 3754

Warnings (if applicable): Moderately underaged drinking, Jimin being too good for this world. 

A/Ns: I’m back y’all 

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 

The  next day, Jimin had noticed you were upset right away. He had caught up with you just as lunch had begun. You hadn’t heard from Yoonji today, and the thought had been weighing on you heavily. Hadn’t she said that the two of you should talk?

“There you are!” He says, jogging up to you. “Did everything go alright with Yoonji yesterday? You look a little bit tense.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. You can feel rejection washing over you in waves, and even though you understand that it’s not Yoonji’s fault that she doesn’t want you, you can’t deny that it hurts.

Of course you weren’t good enough for Yoonji. When had she ever given you a sign that that wasn’t the case? That tall beautiful goddess could never fall for someone like you. On top of that, now you had to worry about what your relationship would be like in the future. Would she ever even want to speak to you again?

“Hey… What’s the matter?” Jimin asks. “Did you two get into a fight? Did she back out of being your running mate?”

“This isn’t about the stupid election, Jimin!” You snap, but you regret it immediately. Jimin hadn’t done anything wrong. You shouldn’t make him feel like he had.

Jimin looks a bit surprised by your outburst, but just holds up his hands in innocence.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize instantly, guilty about your outburst. But Jimin’s face just softens into a smile.

“You’re a bit cute when you’re mad, you know?” He playfully taps your shoulder and you scoff, a feeling annoyance flaring in your tummy.

“Oh, there it is again.” He winks.

“Shut up!” You say, but you can feel your lips twitch up just a little bit. It seemed like Jimin was impossible to stay annoyed at. It was probably his stupid boyish charm. But you continue. “We didn’t fight or anything serious. Just a minor disagreement.” Jimin nods, thoughtful.

“Still, you seem pretty bent up about it.” He notes. You’re a bit surprised by his astuteness.

“Is it that obvious?” You question and Jimin laughs.

“Not quite obvious. Just, I know the Yoonji blues better than anyone. I can catch it from a mile away.” He throws his arm around your shoulders. You’re surprised at the fact that it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “Listen, I have something that might help make you feel better. But it might not be the wisest idea you’ve ever heard.”

You look up at Jimin curiously. He’s got a mischievous glint in his eyes that you’re surprised to see on his cherubic face. His mouth quirks up slightly at your interest, the smirk making him look positively sinful.

“What did you have in mind Jimin?”

He winks at you. “Don’t panic. But we are skipping the rest of school.”

_____

You’ve never actually skipped school before, especially not to hang out with a boy.

You should have asked where the two of you were going. And as soon as you were in Jimin’s car, you realized that you could have put yourself in incredible danger. You had been too wrapped up in the prospect of doing something bad, so focussed on that that you hadn’t considered the ways in which Jimin might take advantage of you. He might seem sweet, but he was still a man after all.

Jimin catches onto your nerves, spotting the worried crease in your forehead from a mile away.

“I’m not going to kill you, I promise. We are going to my house.” Jimin soothes, backing out of his parking spot.

“Your house for what?” You say, mind racing back to how angry Yoonji would be if she found out you had gotten yourself into this situation. He begins to drive.

“Drinking.” He stated. As if the answer were simple.

“I- I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” You say, a bit flabbergasted at the boy’s suggestion. You weren’t supposed to drink. Especially not in the middle of the day during the week.

“I told you it was a bad idea!” Jimin defends himself. “But I think that you ought to let loose once and awhile. And Yoonji causes everyone’s feelings to go haywire. Just try it? Just this once? I promise I’ll take good care of you. Yoonji is something I know how to handle well.” If it were any other boy you would have doubted the truthfulness of their claims. But Jimin always had a way of displaying his earnesty on his face through and through. You couldn’t help but trust him.

“Alright… But if you try anything I’ll cut your dick off I swear to god.” You tried to sound as serious and menacing as possible, but Jimin just laughed, pulling into the driveway of what you could only assume to be his home. It wasn’t too far from your own home, you noted. And you were grateful for that.

Jimin leads you up into his room. It’s relatively clean, save for a few piles of laundry here and there. You couldn’t distinguish whether they were clean or not at a glance. He motions for you to take a seat on his bed then goes to his closet. Rummaging around until he pulls out a box full of liquor.

“How did you get all that?” You wonder.

“I have an older friend, Jin. He gets this for me. He’s really cool. We met at work.” Jimin places the box unceremoniously on the bed before you. “What would the beautiful lady like first?” He throws in a wink for good measure.

You’re not sure how long you and Jimin sit there, drinking and talking casually about your lives before he sprung the question. It had to have been hours at least, judging by the way the sky darkened. You had heard his parents come home at some point, but Jimin didn’t make a move to cover up the alcohol, and so you had remained. Talking and drinking and laughing. Losing track of the amount of empty cans and bottles that belonged to you. You had liked getting to know him, and he remained a respectful distance from you, as though he knew that any advance on his part would be more than unwelcome. It had almost helped you forget the source of all of your current problems. At least, until Jimin broached the topic you had hoped he would leave alone.

“So,” He says lightly, “are you going to tell me what happened with Yoonji?”

You take a long drink of the soju he had given you earlier, not even bothering to mix it with your beer at this point.

“Well…” You didn’t know if you should tell him. You hadn’t even told Soonmi yet. Too afraid of her reaction to let it slip.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it too. I’m not going to pry. I just think it might make you feel a little bit better.” His smile is gentle and kind. If you hadn’t been so wrapped up with Yoonji, your heart would have definitely fluttered all over the place.

“I don’t want to upset you…” You let slip. It can’t be in good taste to tell the president of the Min Yoonji fan-club that you’d kissed the girl he’s had a thing for for years, right?

“Oh please,” he waves his hand as if to shoo your worries away. “There’s nothing you can say to me that will upset me. I know Yoonji’s not into me. You don’t have to be considerate of my feelings. It’s cute of you though.” He tacks on for good measure.

“Well… Okay…” You started, you could feel that the words had to come out anyway, and with your tongue loose from the alcohol you had been drinking, you figured it was easier to just let it happen than try to stop it. “After Yoonji pulled me away from you at lunch yesterday, she ended up. I mean, it’s. I’m embarrassed to say it, gosh.” Your cheeks started to heat up. “She! She just kissed me, okay? And it was amazing and wonderful and all sorts of good! But… right after that, she ran away like I was some sort of monster. I can’t help thinking that I did something wrong. Am I that horrendous?” You put your head in your hands. All the feelings that you had been able to set aside with the help of the soju slamming back into you tenfold.

“Ahh, I see.” Jimin leans back on his arms. “Well, I can tell you one thing, it’s not because of the way you kiss.” His face flushes slightly as you raise your eyebrows. “Sorry. Locker room talk. Jihoon isn’t really a private person.”

Your mouth turns downwards at that, and Jimin immediately moves on, trying to avoid upsetting you.

“Well, maybe it’s the fact that you’re both girls?” He questions. “God that’s hot. I mean-- I’m sorry, I’m a little drunk.” His cheeks color slightly, the blush pouring over his nose. You can’t help but smile. It was cute to see him like this.

“It’s fine.” You laugh. “But Yoonji had already told me that she was bisexual by that point. It didn’t seem like it was something she was upset about?”

“Oh. I’m not sure why she’d run then, to be honest. But I don’t think it would be anything bad. Who would be upset after kissing you?” You don’t notice Jimin’s flirting, you never do. Jimin smiles to himself at the fact. You were way too nice.

“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling upset about it though. I didn’t even know I was into girls like that. I… I still think it might just be Yoonji or something? She’s just different you know?” Jimin nods in understanding and mutual pining. “All I know is that I want to kiss her again. More than anything.” You cover your face with your hands upon admitting it.

“Is that all you want to do with her?” Jimin questions.

“No of course not.”

“Why don’t you give her a call?” He suggests. “Ask her for what you want. To be honest if you called me and begged for me to kiss you I’d be there in five minutes flat.”

“I don’t know…” You blush at the boy’s suggestion. “It’s not… usually my style.”

Jimin smirks.

“That’s what the alcohol was for. Listen,” he leans forward to take your shoulders into his hands. “You’re hot as fuck. Yoonji clearly has a thing for you! You should see the way she stares at you when you’re around. She’s probably freaked out because she doesn’t want to hurt you or something. I mean, really, you have that effect on people. Too fucking cute, I say.” You blanch at Jimin’s swearing and he smiles widely at your expression.

“See?” He continues, booping you on your nose quickly. “Too cute. My vote is that you go home, call up Yoonji, and get her to give you everything you want. I bet you sound adorable all worked up. She won’t be able to say no.”

“Are you sure?” You ask.

“More than sure.” He responds. You nod resolutely and stand from the bed, shaking slightly from the alcohol in your system.

“Are you good to get home?” Jimin asks. “I might be a little too drunk to drive. You can always stay here and put it on speaker phone?”

You slap at his shoulder playfully. “Gross, Jimin. No I can get home. It’s only like a five minute walk.”

“Still it’s dark out. Let me at least walk you home?” You nod in agreement and the two of you start off towards your house.

The trip goes by much quicker than you anticipated, Jimin as usual proving to be the best kind of company.

You’re at your doorway when he looks you in the eye and takes a step in your direction.

“Here, take this.” Jimin laughs at your slight alarm, handing the small bottle of soju your way. “For liquid courage!”

You blush profusely, but take the bottle from Jimin regardless.

“And hey, babe,” He says, leaning far too close than was necessary to speak directly into your ear. “Go get that pussy.” Then he’s gone.

You manage to make it through your room, despite your heavy limbs. Dialing, first, the one person who deserved to know everything that was going on. She answers on the third ring.

“Hey! Where were you in last period?”

“Soonmi” You slur, opening the soju that Jimin had gifted you and taking another swig. “I wanna fuck Yoonji so bad.”

“H-Holy shit, bitch.” Is her immediate reply. “Have you been drinking? How much have you had?”

“Just a little,” you lie. “Jus’ like two shots.” Such a lie. You can’t remember if you’ve had two or three bottles of soju at this point. And that wasn’t including the fact that you were chasing with beer on top of it.

“Babe, oh my god. You need to go to sleep.” Soonmi says. “I can’t come to get you. I’m like an hour away…”

“Yoonji is so fucking hot. I never thought I’d eat pussy before but like I would, I so would.”

“Jesus Christ… Okay, I can’t help you right now… Are your parents home? Is someone there for you?” You understand why she can’t drop everything and run to you. She had no way to get to you, since she was staying at her dad’s house this weekend and couldn’t drive.

“Yeah, they’re home if I need them.” You say. “But I don’t need them. I need Yoonji. I need to call Yoonji.”

“No bitch, you do not--” but you’ve already hung up. Mind set on calling the only person you know you shouldn’t, bolstered by Jimin’s support. You can’t help it. You need to hear her voice. It’s late, and you only think that there’s a possibility of her being asleep on the third ring. But your worries are pushed to the side when she answers, her low voice gravely as she picks up.

It was go time.

***

Of course he’d picked up when he saw it was you. What else could he do? He was putty in your hands no matter which way he looked at it.

“Is everything okay?” He asks immediately. You aren’t the type of girl to call this late. He hopes nothing is wrong.

“Yoonji.” You breathe out, and the way your voice sounds makes Yoongi pause.

“A-Are you alright?” He asks again, not missing the irony of his stutter. It seems that you were also capable of turning him into a nervous mess.  

“I miss you, Yoonji.” You tell him, and his heart stops. “I’ve been thinking about you all night…” Your voice dips a bit and Yoongi can’t help but take the bait.

“What? What have you been thinking about?”

You make a little whimpering noise on the other end of the line, and Yoongi can’t help but bite his lip at that. It spurs him to think about all of the noises you would make if you just let him have his way with you. The small coos and cries in his imagination had kept him awake all night for during the past few weeks was nothing in comparison to the real thing.

“Your mouth and hands and everything. Yooooonji~” You say. Your words slur just a bit and Yoongi sighs.

“You’ve been drinking, huh?” He says.

“Yeah, but I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” Is your retort.

“You should sleep.” He says, but he doesn’t hang up like he should. Why wasn’t he hanging up? He chalked it up to not wanting to hurt your feelings but even he rolled his eyes at himself as he thought so. He was such a liar.

“I can’t sleep, Yoonji, I want you.” He chokes a bit at that. He can’t help it. It sounds so sexy spilling from your lips. You’re going to fucking kill him with this.

“You’re going to regret this in the morning.” He grits out. He’s already in trouble, he can’t dig himself into a deeper hole.

“How can I regret it when it’s all I can think about?” You sigh dreamily, as if the thought of the two of you together had resurfaced again.

Yoongi was in some deep shit as he considered the prospect too.

“Please princess, don’t say things you can’t mean.” Yoongi mumbles through clenched teeth. He was teetering on the precipice of something horrible and gratifying. He had to get the situation under control before it was too late.

“Don’t tell me what I feel, Yoonji.” Your tone is harsher than he’s ever heard it before. As if you had finally had enough of his shit. Yoongi smiles, his heart aching at how cute you sound when you’re mad at him. Geez, he was such a fucking creep.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re drunk.” He finally states, blessing whatever God might be out there for allowing him the strength.

“Can’t you just do it a little bit?” You pout over the line, making Yoongi let out a sharp breath. “Please Yoonji, I feel like I’m going crazy! I can’t stand this anymore. How am I supposed to just roll over and go to sleep when I know you’re somewhere looking hot as hell and-- ahh!” You sound as if you’re in physical pain, and Yoongi is familiar with the feeling. Your soft voice echoes throughout his mind at the most inopportune times of the day. He had hoped that if he had just pushed through it might pass, but in all actuality it had simply gotten worse.

“Please…” He begs, “I’m not necessarily saying no for forever. Just until you’re a little more level headed. Until I’m a little more level headed.”

He hears your resigned sigh resonate through the speaker.

“Alright, but please don’t hang up yet. I want to hear your voice. To talk to you.” Fuck. So damn cute. Unreasonably cute.

“Of course, princess. Anything you want.”

“Well apparently not anything.” You huff, more to yourself than to him and he bites his lip at the image of you he’s conjured up. All hot and ready on your pink bedspread, pouting up a storm because he wont fuck you. Fuck. Focus.

“What do you want to talk about?” He changes the subject.

You consider his question for a moment. As if debating whether or not you should say what you had in mind.

“Yoonji, I did something bad today. I’m sorry!” You lament and Yoongi can’t help the smile that graces his lips at the abrupt shift in conversation. It was almost as if you’d lost your nerve, all prior sexual tension leaving immediately in the wake of your sudden confession. He can’t help but feel a bit relieved.

“What happened, darling?” He asks softly.

“I drank.” You state.

“We’ve already established that.” He coos, picturing the flush in your cheeks as you tell him again.”

“Oh right. But… Yoonji. I drank with Jimin.” Yoongi can hear the shame in your voice, and he briefly wonders whether he had been too harsh with you about the younger man. Yoongi knows that the two of you would make a perfect couple, and he doesn’t know why he keeps standing in your way. Why it fills him with jealousy whenever he sees the two of you together. Well, maybe he does know, but it would be better for everyone if he denied it.

You must have noticed his silence on the other end of the line, because you start explaining yourself profusely. You tell him that you were feeling hurt that he hadn’t shown up to school to talk. That you were worried that he hated you now and that you wouldn’t want to be friends with him anymore. But it was one specific question which had Yoongi breaking apart under its weight, reeling at the shift in conversation and almost wishing he had just done what you had asked originally.

“Was I not good enough?” You had asked, in relation to the kiss that the two of you had shared.

“No, oh my god no.” Yoongi interrupts before you can say anything else as equally ridiculous and heartbreaking. “The kiss was wonderful. More than anything else, I want to do it again.”

“Then why don’t you Yoonji?” You ask. “Why did you run away?”

“I told you, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you. I could never forgive myself if I took advantage of you without you knowing all the facts.” “But you didn’t come into school today! Why are you avoiding me?” Yoongi can hear the way your voice tightens, holding back tears.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, I swear.” Yoongi responds. “Or… maybe I was but it’s out of my own cowardice. This has nothing to do with your actions. You mean a lot to me.”

“Yoonji, you know that I won’t care what you have to tell me, right? You know that the only thing I want is to kiss you again? Nothing you can say will change my mind.” Your voice sounds earnest now, and Yoongi feels his heartbeat quicken. Why are you so cute?

“Is that the truth?” He asks.

“Absolutely.”

“I’m sorry that I drank with Jimin. You ought to know that he means nothing in comparison to you. I even told him so.” You sigh.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, babe. I shouldn’t be so jealous anyway. You and Jimin might even make a good couple.”

“Don’t say that to me!” You cry, and Yoongi is taken aback. “The only person I want to be with is you, Yoonji. I don’t know how you’ve done this to me, but I’m so wrapped up in you. I can’t think of anyone else.”

“I don’t want you to think of anyone else.” Yoongi confesses. The answer is dangerously honest. “But please don’t make any decisions before you know the truth about me, okay? Can you promise me that you won’t?”

“I can’t promise you that… but I will promise to listen to you.”

“Then. Let’s meet tomorrow morning? Before school… I’ll tell you what you need to know.” His heart falls into the pit of his stomach.

You agree before hanging up the phone, leaving you both feeling tense, nervous, and eager for the following day to arrive.

________

A/N: Look at all that plot development. It’s almost like it’s a real story. 

Also please if you guys enjoy reading my work, please consider donating to my PayPal, literally every little bit helps and I am so poor I am dying :’-)

https://paypal.me/MackenzieBrennan

[mar1garden]

going batty part 1

masterlist

warning: this will be salty. very salty. if you think it’s ooc let me know and i’ll do the best i can to fix it, but the characterization in this show is so shoddy already that there isn’t much i can do. alya salt, adrien salt, lila salt, bustier salt, class salt. this is also my first posted fic!! if u wanna be on the tag list let me know 💙🌹

The first impression Damien had of his new class was that they were loud. Even as he walked up the stairs, he could hear voices in the classroom. It seemed a debate was occurring, though he couldn’t quite make out the two sides. He reached the top of the stairs, but before he could even make a grab for the door handle, the room fell silent. Damien was about to thank whatever deity was watching out for him and silencing the roomful of screaming children he was about to walk into when he heard another voice from inside the room.

“Of course she’s in love with him,” an effeminate voice said matter-of-factly. “But he barely knows she exists. It’s tragic, really. She tells me about it every time she sleeps over- oops!” the voice continued. Damien didn’t know who was speaking, and he didn’t know who they were speaking about, but he knew from their cadence and their confidence in “accidentally” spilling secrets that he couldn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. Damien sighed deeply to think that he was joining a class of liars and idiots as he reluctantly opened the door to the classroom. Once more the class quieted- chaos had broken out once more after the liar mentioned her little tidbit, which he expected had been the goal.

“Ah! Our new student! M. Damocles told me to keep an eye out for you. Would you like to say a few words to the class?” a woman- presumably the teacher, though she did nothing to show it- asked. She smiled expectantly at him as he moved to stand in front of her desk, facing the class.

“I’m Damien. I’m 15 and I’m an exchange student from America. I do not wish to distract myself from my studies during my time here, so please do not try to make friends with me. I’m not interested,” Damien told the class sharply. He walked briskly to the only open seat in the room- back row, next to some girl who smiled gently at him before returning her gaze to the front of the class. Interesting, he mused. By her bright clothes, he had expected bubbliness. Perhaps a high-pitched greeting. A hug, maybe. This was a pleasant surprise, though it was the only one of its kind he had had all week.

On Monday, they had received video evidence of a super villain in Paris. Tim had suspected it was CGI, especially since Paris was visually completely fine when he hacked some security feeds, even though the video clearly showed the Eiffel Tower falling. Bruce had decided that they really ought to at least check before writing it off, and Damien had drawn the short straw.

On Tuesday, Bruce had told him his cover for being in Paris was that he was an exchange student. He wasn’t allowed to be Robin while he was there, as it may put his identity at risk. He wasn’t allowed to leave until he had confirmation that the thing was either a hoax or genuine, unless he was in actual danger.

On Wednesday he packed. He couldn’t take weapons with him, obviously, because airport security may be a joke but he was pretty sure they would catch an actual sword stuffed in his bag. That afternoon he had flown to Paris and gotten settled in.

And now it was Thursday. Damien had learned much about the class very quickly, mainly that it was composed of a liar and some idiots. He had learned his deskmate was quiet. He had learned that he was far enough ahead in the syllabus that he could afford to study people in class.

He hoped the rest of the week was calm. Even if it meant he had to stay longer, he would rather have time to get settled before suffering a villain attack- if the whole thing was real, anyways. He pulled his focus back to the task at hand- assessing the class and finding any useful allies or sources of information. He recognized the girl next to the liar as the Ladyblogger. This meant the Ladyblog was likely an unreliable resource, which he mentally jotted down. That was good to know.

Damien cast a sideways glance at the girl next to him. She was patiently listening to the teacher and obviously tuning out the other students. When Damien bothered to listen, he noticed them gossiping about her. So Marinette was her name, huh?

Every rumor he heard was traced instantly back to the liar, and with each word he noticed the girl next to him tense imperceptibly more. He mentally scoffed. It was clear that she wasn’t going to stand up for herself. How pathetic. She was preferable to the liar or any of the blind idiots, but certainly not by much. So lost in thought was he that he flinched when the bell rang. Where had his restraint gone?

Marinette turned to him once the bell had rung. In a voice clearly pitched down so others wouldn’t hear, she spoke for the first time that day: “You’re Damien, right? I’m Marinette, the class president.” He scoffed slightly. The whole class clearly hated her, and she refused to stand up for herself. How had this mess become class president? As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued: “If you need anything, let me know. Here’s your class schedule and syllabi, and here’s a map of school. If you’d like, I can give you a tour later and explain the multiple purposes of some of the classrooms.” She handed him a short pile of papers and waited, as if she expected a response. When she got none, she nodded and left, and somehow, that made Damien feel worse than he would have if she had scolded him on his lack of a ‘thank you.’

The rest of the day, he remained in the same classes as her. He sat next to her in a majority of them, as she was often the only person with no seat partner. She remained quiet and focused, and she continued to pointedly ignore the other students, though it seemed he was not among their ranks. When he asked any questions, she answered quickly, quietly, and to the best of her ability, which he appreciated. She may be useful yet, if her succinct answers to non-hero questions were any indication of her general temperament. As he thought this, the bell rang for lunch and the class began to pack up. Damien wasn’t sure if he should risk the caf or head off campus, but as he turned to ask Marinette, he noticed that she had frozen in place. Her bag was half packed and resting on the table as she looked in surprise at someone standing at the table.

The boy was blonde and green eyed. He had had the liar hanging off of him, which either meant they were working together or he was a bigger idiot than them all. He smiled condescendingly at Marinette and Damien, then he turned solely to Marinette. “Marinette, may I speak with you real quick? It’ll only take a minute,” the boy asked, though it was clear ‘no’ was not an option. At the girl’s small nod, he turned to Damien. “Do you mind if I steal her for a sec?” he asked. Damien raised an eyebrow.

“Seeing as she’s a human being and therefore not property, I don’t see how you could steal her, but be my guest.” The boy smiled that same smarmy smile at him, and Damien decided that too many unlikeable people disliked the sweet girl next to him. He didn’t want to be among their ranks, and while the girl could do with a bit more spine, she had been nothing but pleasant to him. As the boy maneuvered her away to speak, Damien moved a bit more quietly. It would be easy for his trained ears to overhear, and they should both underestimate him, so it would be simple to eavesdrop.

“Mari, you didn’t say anything to him, did you?” the blond asked, looking searchingly at the girl in question. She sighed in response.

“Is that what this is about? I promise, I didn’t tell him anything. I think he knows she’s lying, and if he asks, I won’t lie to him to protect her, but I haven’t told him anything and he hasn’t asked.” Marinette rolled her eyes at the boy. Damien couldn’t help but notice that her posture, while visibly scared when other students were around, was simply bored when only Blondie was there. The boy had sighed in relief at Marinette’s words, but had quickly tensed back up.

“Wait, if he asks if she’s lying, you’ll just... tell him? Just like that? Mari, you can’t do that! He doesn’t know us, he doesn’t need to know our secrets!” the blond protested. He assumed a superior expression and quickly looked at Marinette in as disappointed a way as he could manage. The aforementioned girl glared at him.

“Agreste, I’m not going to lie. I refuse to do so, especially to try and protect a girl who hates me. Damien is perfectly kind and has been nothing but cordial, I have no reason to deny him information that may affect his time here. I won’t make him listen to some liar thinking it’s the truth.” Marinette ended the conversation there, walking back to the desk quickly and packing her bag before leaving class. Damien took this in with an air of quiet amusedness, though he was touched that she defended him.

Maybe his time here wouldn’t be so impossible after all.

that’s where i’m ending the first part! if you’d like to be tagged in the next part let me know! have a wonderful weekend folks! ~💙🌹

[queenmagnusao3]

Rescue & Recovery: Part Two

And some dramatic angst. Not a happy ending. Major Character death warning

Tenzin, Jinora and two other airbenders landed quietly behind her, taking in the current situation. There was a fire raging in what was thankfully a mostly unoccupied apartment building. Mako and several other firebenders were working diligently to try and calm the out of control flames but were not having much luck.

The wind was vicious and it was taking all of their concentration to keep it from spreading to neighboring buildings. Lin was feeling particularly useless as she supervised their efforts, barking orders every once in a while in attempt to keep her mind busy. Tenzin was back on Air Temple Island for the month and she had sent word to him hoping maybe some of the airbenders would be able to help.

Tenzin seemed to assess the best course of action and the four of them carefully spread out and began directing a controlled flow of air around the building and its surroundings until the whole street block was encased in a sphere of swirling air.

Lin noticed the difference immediately. With the supply of oxygen under the control of the airbenders the flames became more receptive to being told what to do. Mako and the others seemed to almost sag in relief as their frenzied hand motions became more methodical as they finally regained control. They moved in to find the source of the fire.

Tenzin approached Lin and she gave him a soft smile.

“Thank you. They’ve been struggling with this for nearly an hour now. The wind made in impossible.”

“And who better to tame the wind than a group of airbenders.”

“Exactly.”

Their conversation was interrupted by several loud shouts as her officers and the firefighters ran from the building.

“Everybody back! It’s gonna blow!”

Most people were running for cover but Lin was counting heads. People ran past her, everyone accounted for except one. Mako. She took a step towards the building just as Mako appeared in the entryway, an injured man’s arm draped over his shoulder as they shuffled towards the door as quickly as possible. He looked up, meeting her eyes, his mouth shifting to a soft smile as he started to call something out to her…

She didn’t even have a moment’s notice to react. One second she was feeling an immense sense of relief at the sight of Mako reappearing and the next she was staring up at the sky, her ears ringing and the world on fire.

She started to sit up and someone was at her side. Lin turned to look and recognized Tenzin through her blurred vision. He was saying something to her but she couldn’t hear him, her brain trying to catch up with what was happening as she struggled to remember where she was.

The building. There was a building on fire. But they got it under control. Except there was something wrong. She turned to look and her head started to throb in confusion as she looked at the spot where a multi-story building had stood, intact, moments ago.

But now. Now the whole thing was on fire again, much of the lower levels gone save for a few sturdy support beams. There were no windows left and the front door was completely gone. Lin’s brain finally caught up as the sound of the world around her came rushing back. People were screaming and the building was groaning, the integrity of the structure compromised and ready to collapse at any moment. But she didn’t care as she got to her feet, too quickly then she should have been able to, the adrenaline coursing through her veins giving her more strength than she had a right to have.

 Where was he?

She started to walk towards the building but someone had grabbed her hand, pulling her back.

“Tenzin, let me go. We need to help Mako. I need-“

“Lin, you can’t-“

“Like hell I can’t! Let me go!”

She pulled her hand out of his grip, moving towards where Mako had just been. He had just been there. She had seen him. He was just there. He was almost out.

She was stopped again as Tenzin wrapped his arms around her, holding her arms down by her sides as she continued to struggle against him.

“Lin! You have to stop. Please. He’s… he’s gone.”

“No! He’s fine. I just saw him. He got out. I saw him.”

She continued to struggle against Tenzin, slamming her foot down as she sent out seismic waves to sense the remains of the building. She refused to acknowledge the truth that was boring into her very soul. Her seismic sense wasn’t always right. There had been plenty of times where it had been wrong. If she could just get closer. She bucked her head back before driving a pillar of earth between her and Tenzin. He let her go with a yelp and she sprinted to the building.

“Lin!”

As her foot connected with the first step leading to the building it gave a shudder, the whole thing collapsing in on itself with the sound of grinding metal and creaking wood. Lin’s body was encased in air as she was dragged back, out of harm’s way.

“NO! Mako!”

The tears came then. She sank to her knees, hugging her arms around her torso as tears streamed down her face, her breathing coming in great heaving sobs. Tenzin was there again, kneeling down next to her, laying a gently hand on her arm. The others were watching but she didn’t care.

Mako was gone.

Memories flashed across her mind. Mako’s surprised face the first time she invited him to dinner with her and Kya. Her own proud smile that she hid until he was out of sight the day he had stood up to her. She had been completely pissed off but spirits she was proud of how much he had grown. He had regularly left a bag of food on her desk those nights she worked far too late than she should have. He always claimed he had gotten extra and didn’t want it to go to waste but she knew he was lying to cover the fact he had gotten her favorite, specifically because he knew she hadn’t eaten. He and Kya had developed the annoying habit of teaming up to keep tabs on her well-being.

 Kya.

She was going to have to tell Kya. She had already been through so much. How was she going to tell her that Mako was gone? How was she going to live with herself knowing she hadn’t protected him? That was her job. She was always supposed to keep him safe. Keep them all safe.

Breathing became harder and Tenzin moved to completely engulf her in his harms. She didn’t fight him, pressing into him while he murmured empty words of comfort in her ear.

He was gone.

And it was all her fault.

  ///////

Jinora was crying silently as she watched her father holding onto someone she had always seen as unbreakable. The entire group had gone near silent when her scream had echoed through the somber scene. Jinora had never seen her show such raw emotion, watching as the older woman sank to her knees in complete defeat.

She looked around and saw that others had noticed too, a few them wide eyed while others averted their gaze as if intruding on an intimate moment. None of them had ever seen their Chief break. She was solid, a steely demeanor and cold exterior. She was stone. Unwavering in her strength.

There had been a time when Jinora would have thought that nothing could break her. Lin had been through so much throughout her life but she had also changed so significantly in the time that Jinora had known her. She knew how much she had come to care for Mako, how much he meant to both Lin and her Aunt Kya. They had all teased him incessantly for basically becoming their adopted son. He had always put up a good show about denying it but Jinora could tell he secretly liked the idea.

As she watched Lin grab onto her dad’s robes, her entire body shaking, Jinora knew the fierce some warrior had been broken. One too many blows and even the strongest steel will bend.

He was murmuring something to her now and Jinora caught his eye over Lin’s head. They shared a silent moment and Jinora nodded, wiping her face as she turned to the gathered crowd.

“We need to secure this area and make sure that none of these nearby buildings were affected by the blast. Someone call for some healers and we’re going to need Assistant Chief Saikhan.”

/////

It was hours later as Lin approached the pile of rubble. It was no longer a danger, the flames gone and a steady rain falling from the dark sky. She looked up for just a moment, closing her eyes as she let the cool water hit her dirty and tear stained face.

Sucking in a deep breath she shifted her stance before slamming her foot into the ground, seeing everything the earth had to offer. It was easier to manage this particular job when there was a heartbeat to detect, much like that day nearly two years ago when she had been in a similar position. Only that time had been a search and rescue.

Today there was nothing left to rescue.

Today her job was recovery.

She knew someone else could have taken it on. She’d been told by so many others that she should let someone else do this. And she supposed they were right but she couldn’t bring herself to let anyone else do it. He was her responsibility. And no matter what any of them said, this was her fault.

Lin moved to a new position, stomping her foot again as she searched for him. It was only after the fourth time that she felt something different from the rest. She moved her arms, shifting the metal and earthen debris away to reveal a set of unmistakable human remains.

She stopped breathing for a moment as she took them in. The body was charred and mangled but there was a small fragment of green fabric unburnt stuck to it. The body was also smaller than Mako. This wasn’t him. It must be the man he had been trying to get out of the building. He was the reason Mako hadn’t gotten out in time. Lin suddenly felt angry at the man, her heartrate increasing as she silently wished he was alive just so she could scream at him for his stupidity. But it wasn’t this man’s fault.

It wasn’t even her fault.

Mako had been doing his job. It was a risk they all took with their line of work, the risk of never going home.

She steadied her breathing, bending the dirt from beneath his body into a solid slab before raising it up and resting it off the side. She finished and looked into the hole left behind, feeling her heart stop as she saw a burnt hand sticking out from the space next to it. There was a small bracelet around the wrist. A bracelet made of meteorite. Su had gifted it to Lin on her birthday and Lin had re-gifted it to Mako on his.

She carefully bent the debris out of the way.

It was just a body. It wasn’t really him, not anymore. She knew what to expect and it still hit her like a load of bricks. She stepped into the space near him, not sure what to do. She had to get both of the fallen men out but she also needed just one moment with him. Alone.

Lin had always told herself she didn’t want kids. Or rather, she kept pushing off the idea of having kids until was too late. She had certainly never expected to be blindsided by a young firebender who reminded her so much of herself. She had embraced her role as “Aunt Lin” but it was different with Mako. Kya had teased her at first but she had soon fallen for him as well. They never formally labeled the relationship but in every sense of the word she had become like a mother to him.

And now she was here. Searching through the crumbled remains of random building for a body that no longer held the soul of someone she had grown to care for so much.

Closing her eyes again she took just a moment for herself. Just the two of them, one last time.

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

AO3 Link

[cami-chats]

The Pattern Of Sleep

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Tony Stark/Natasha Romanov

Warnings: None

On AO3

"Do you never sleep?" Natasha asked, lounging in a spare rolling chair a few feet away with her wings over the back and leisurely falling so the tips of her feathers skimmed the floor. "It has been quite some time since I last had a charge, but I think you are still supposed to sleep more than this."

"You're only guessing," Tony said.

"I am creating a hypothesis based on what I remember. Staying awake for fifty hours seems a little extreme."

"You're fine," he pointed out. Because where he was mainlining coffee, Natasha didn't require food, water, or sleep and she wasn't flagging in the slightest.

"I am not a human," Natasha said. "I sleep when my charge sleeps."

Okay so maybe she did sleep. And come to think of it, he'd seen her snacking on an apple the other day, but he was pretty sure she didn't need it regularly the way humans did.

"And I think you are sleeping less than you are supposed to."

"A good guess, but you're wrong," Tony said. She'd probably believe him, but she wasn't as trusting as he thought guardian angels should be. Although, with how much he lied to her in an attempt to not have to change how he worked, maybe it was for the best that she didn't always take him at his word. If nothing else, he could appreciate how hard he made her job and the way she seemed to have magically nudged him into making better decisions on occasion. Magically, he was sure, because he did not decide to stop drinking all by himself.

Natasha hummed and said nothing.

*

"Do you survive solely on coffee?" Natasha asked, peeking over his shoulder to look at the four empty coffee cups on the cafe table in front of him.

"You've seen me eat."

She turned to start pacing around the table. The coffee shop wasn't very busy, so she had the space to circle the table without bumping into anyone. "Not as much as other humans eat. Are you a different species than them? Perhaps evolved to require more caffeine and less nutrients?"

"Sit down and stop being snarky," Tony said.

"No. Perhaps this is the same evolution that lets you sleep once every three days instead of once a day the way everyone else does."

"Natasha," he groaned. "Can you bother me about this when I'm not on a deadline?"

"You're always on a deadline."

"All the more reason to stop being snarky altogether," he muttered lowly, but he knew that she heard him.

"Have you considered lightening your workload? Less coffee, more sleep, and an all-around better life for you."

"If I had less coffee and more sleep, I would get nothing done."

"You said the same thing before you stopped drinking alcohol," she said.

"And it was true." He didn't regret giving it up, but there was no denying the fantastic waves of inspiration he'd gotten while drunk off his ass. The resulting hangover had balanced him out by making him incapable of doing anything but laying in bed, but he did sort of miss those days. He wasn't going to say as much to Natasha, though. She probably already knew what he was thinking because of the whole guardian angel thing. Or maybe that wasn't a power they had and she was just that good at reading him. He didn't really know, and he wasn't sure he cared.

"Yes, how dare I make you more healthy? A tragedy, to be sure."

"It kind of is."

Natasha's wings snapped close against her back like they did when she was aggravated with him. He didn't look up, but he heard it happen. "Why are you so insistent on fighting me? I'm trying to look out for you."

"Not because you like me," he muttered, not really meaning to.

"I may have been sent here, but do not think for a second that I do not love you, Tony. If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't be here."

At that, Tony did look over at her. She'd stopped opposite him, arms crossed over her chest. He took a gulp from his newest latte. "You're not allowed to leave me once you've been assigned, right?"

"Wrong. I can request a transfer at any time."

"Oh." He blinked at her, and she stared back stonily. "Good to know." He started to turn back to his work, but he glanced back up at her a scant moment later. "When I first asked you about this-" years ago "-you told me that I was stuck with you."

"Because I already knew that I had no interest in being reassigned."

"You could've said that."

"And deal with you acting out to try and get rid of me?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tony opened his mouth to deny it, then he closed his mouth again. "How many other half-truths have you told me?"

"Only as many as you've told me," she said evenly.

"So a ridiculous amount, then."

"I'm just trying to keep things even."

Tony snorted, but he wasn't actually very bothered by it. Like she’d said, fair was fair. "Does that mean that if I stop lying to you...?"

"I will follow suit."

"You're a lot sneakier than I gave you credit for."

Natasha grinned, her wings finally returning to a more normal position. "Did you really think you would be assigned a run-of-the-mill angel?"

"Not to sound too ignorant, but yeah, I sort of did."

"Well, you're only human. Some mistakes in logic are expected."

"What mistake in logic? Is there some sort of hierarchy for guardian angels that are supposed to be considered common knowledge?"

She looked puzzled for a moment, then cleared her expression and said, "You really should stop piling so much work on yourself."

*

Tony was used to ignoring his feelings, so he wasn't agonizing over it very much when he realized that he liked Natasha. He had a habit of finding the absolute worse person to develop feelings for, and then falling in love. So yeah, he'd gotten pretty good at ignoring his feelings over the years.

He couldn't deny it anymore when Natasha sat in his lap one day, though. He only had so much self-control. He didn't even have to do anything because she kissed him; all he had to do was kiss her back. He got used to being with her like that in a hurry. He got used to the way she would drape one wing over him as they slept, even though it tickled him at first.

They weren't together like that all the time. Hell, he still didn't go to sleep every night, and more often than not, Natasha was too busy trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself that there wasn't much time for romance or cuddling-- because being together hadn't made him listen to her anymore than before.

"Finally going to sleep?" Natasha asked.

"Mm," Tony said, because forming words was too much. He'd written far past the point that his hand hurt. It was completely cramped up, and he knew that he should do something about it before going to sleep, but he felt like he was going to fall over.

Natasha put her hands on his shoulders. "Deep breath," she instructed, and he did so.

He felt warmth seep into his muscle and down into his writing hand. When she pulled her hands away, the pain was gone. He flexed his fingers experimentally. "Thanks." He rubbed at his eyes. He was so tired that they itched, which was annoying, but it's not as if he could stay up longer and wait for it to go away.

"Of course. Come on, I'll help you change."

Tony yawned so wide that his jaw hurt. "Is that normal guardian angel behavior?" he mumbled.

"Each situation is different. 'Normal' is incredibly subjective." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

*

Tony blinked. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm your new guardian angel," he replied.

"Where's Natasha?"

"I have no idea, man. I just go where the boss tells me. My name's Sam, by the way."

"Well, what happened to her?"

"I don't know."

"Can you ask?"

Sam blinked. "I... could try, but I don't think you'll get an answer. Normally, when one guardian angel leaves, you don't hear from them again."

"Yeah, but did she leave? Or was she taken off my case by your boss?" 'Your boss' because Natasha had insisted it wasn't god how he thought of it.

"Like I said, I don't know." He shifted in place, wings ruffling uncertainly. Natasha's wings were black; Sam's were white. Tony didn't know if that meant anything, but the white was practically blinding. "Look man, are you okay? You look kind of devastated. I know that she was your guardian for like ten years, but this seems kind of extreme."

"She was my guardian for ten fucking years and you don't see why I'm upset?" Tony asked incredulously. If Sam was here to stay, this was not going to go well. He folded his arms over his chest. "I want to talk to her."

"That can't happen," Sam said immediately.

"Why not?"

"It's against regulation."

"So?" Natasha had said the regulations were for people that didn't know what they were doing.

"So I'm not doing it."

"Seriously? You're being serious right now."

"Uh, yeah," Sam said.

Tony stared at him. "What the fuck. Me and Natasha were paired together for ten years, and now you're telling me that I can't talk to her?"

"Yeah..." Sam said with trepidation, clearly not having anticipated this kind of reaction.

"That's bullshit. I want my old guardian angel back. Or a new one, if that can't happen." But personally, he didn't believe that getting Natasha back was impossible. There was no way that she had asked to be reassigned. Could guardian angels get sick? Maybe she needed to get back home and recharge or something; she'd said that his case was an unusually long one.

"I'm afraid you don't get to request for her to come back."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Regulations."

Tony rolled his eyes, hard. This wasn't his usual fond annoyance that he had for Natasha and Rhodey. This was more like the way he used to roll his eyes at his father when he wasn't looking and all his professors when- well, when they said pretty much anything to him. "Fine."

*

He felt kind of bad about it since it wasn't Sam's fault, but he ignored him all the time. He didn't listen to a damn thing he said. Any time he tried to do something for Tony, Tony shoved him away-- sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. It only took two times for Sam to stop trying to touch him, but the rest stayed. After all, he was Tony's guardian angel; he was trying to do his job.

"When was the last time you slept through the night?" Sam asked.

"Last night, or haven't you been paying attention?"

"That was three hours."

"How would you know? You were still asleep when I got up."

"I know when you wake up even if I decide to keep sleeping."

"I thought guardian angels didn't need to sleep."

"I don't need to, but I like it," Sam said. He was a lot grumpier than Natasha had been.

"Natasha never complained when I got up in the middle of the night."

"Then maybe she wasn't doing a very good job of guiding you."

Tony glared at him. "Natasha was the best. You never could've handled me five years ago."

"It shouldn't have taken her that long to make progress with you," Sam said. "I'm not blaming her; we all have our own timelines for how things will progress and our own methods, but-"

"Do you think that insulting her is really going to make me like you more?"

"No," he said easily. "But I am trying to understand why you're so attached because it seems to me that Natasha overstepped and made you rely on her too much. It's what makes her so good, to have her charges care about her the way they do, but on an assignment this long, she should've known better."

Should've known better, perhaps, but Tony wasn't going to blame her for that. God knows he made more than his fair share of mistakes; she should get to make a few of her own. That being said, Tony didn't actually think of it as a mistake. He loved Natasha. She'd always been there. Even when he screamed and tried to get rid of her, she'd been there. Even when she'd gotten mad at him, she'd been there. When Tony had no one else in the world that cared about him, Natasha was there. Part of that was because she was assigned to him, but after a few years, Tony had learned that she truly wanted to be there, with him.

That was the start of when Tony started ignoring Sam altogether. He knew he was being an absolute dick, but he would do far worse to get Natasha back.

He started hosting parties. He let himself seep back into his work and kept the hours he wanted with no regard for anyone else. It was childish, he knew, but he didn't stop. Sam never stopped trying to get through to him, but it was clear that he didn't expect anything to come of it-- his patience had long since run out.

He walked into a liquor store and stared for a very long time at a bottle of whiskey. It was the cheap shit. The kind he'd be able to swig and drown the bad taste with more of it. He looked at the bottle, and his fingers itched. In the end, he walked out empty-handed. He wasn't willing to give up the sobriety that he'd worked so hard for-- that was still a struggle to maintain. It might get Natasha back if he proved that Sam wasn't doing a very good job, but he wouldn't want to see the disappointment in her face if it did work. Besides, he couldn't. He couldn't do that to himself. There was a curl of shame to him as he headed home, and he didn't know if he was more ashamed that he had tried, or that he hadn't been able to go through with it.

*

"I know it wasn't your main goal," Sam said one day, "but you have successfully accomplished getting rid of me. Your replacement will be here in the morning."

Tony thought about continuing to ignore him, but that seemed cruel. "It wasn't anything personal," he muttered.

"I know. I think I would've preferred if it was, though. At least then I would've deserved it."

"Sorry," Tony said, because he could be gracious in victory.

"Eh, I'll get over it. I once had a charge that tried to kill me, so you're not that bad."

"Shit."

"Right? So you're not my favorite charge, but you're also not the worst. I still don't get why you're so intent on getting Natasha back. Now that you're getting rid of me, would you care to share?"

"Nope."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Didn't think so."

*

The next guardian angel was a woman named Sharon. Evidently, their boss thought that Tony would be more receptive to a woman.

She was gone a hell of a lot faster than Sam. The one after her was Steve, who lasted a similar amount of time. Tony had completely shattered his sleep schedule, but it's not like he was going to meetings or something. He made his own hours, which meant he could screw them up and not face consequences other than craving food from a joint that wasn't open-- which, not to be dramatic, was absolutely soul crushing at times.

After that was Bucky. He reminded Tony of Natasha in some strange way. At first he thought it was because his wings were black as well, and then he realized that it was because they moved the same way. Held themselves the same way. Spoke with a similar cadence. Reminded him of certain tasks without sounding demanding. Tony started listening to him without really meaning to, and he thought about backtracking, but Bucky and Natasha had to know each other if they were this similar.

"Do you know Natasha?" Tony asked, shortly after figuring it out.

Bucky glanced at him. "Yes." He didn't say anything for a moment, then added, "I was her mentor."

"So you're close?"

He nodded.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Doing time, as it were," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. He and Natasha had the same lounging position.

Tony frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Certain regulations are mostly for show, and others are comparable to crimes in your society."

"What crime-comparable regulation could she have possibly broken?" Tony asked incredulously. He was pretty sure he'd know if she'd done something, and he hadn't noticed a damn thing.

"Officially, I don't know a damn thing."

"Are guardian angels allowed to curse?" Tony wondered aloud.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

"I'm going to interpret that look as 'yes, we can curse if we're fun'?"

He snorted.

"Unofficially, what do you know?" Tony asked.

"That it was a real dumb move of her to fall in love with you." Tony's stomach dropped. "Not judging," Bucky continued. "I've fallen in love with a charge before too. When you know someone that well, you're going to love them in some way. Sometimes it fucks you over."

Tony swallowed thickly. Bucky already knew, and he didn't seem to care one way or the other about it. It had been a dumb move for Natasha to fall in love with him, much less act on it, and Tony had known that before Bucky put words to it. "That doesn't tell me where she is."

"Like I said, doing time. At the home office, on probation. She won't be allowed to leave for a while."

"How long is a while?" Where Tony had gotten older, she hadn't changed. He figured guardian angels had a ridiculously long lifespan if they weren't out and out immortal.

"I dunno. They didn't let me leave until he was dead. They might do the same here. It depends on how cooperative Natasha is," Bucky said evenly, then he sighed. "I wouldn't count on seeing her again."

"They never let you see him again?"

Bucky didn't respond. He didn't need to.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Who would've looked out for him better than you?"

Bucky scuffed his foot against the floor. "His attachment to me made him care less about the world around him. I imagine they're trying to avoid the same thing with you."

"It's none of their fucking business."

"They make it their business."

"So what are you saying? I should forget about her?"

"I wasn't giving you advice; I was telling you what happened. It didn't work out for me, so I don't know why you'd listen to any advice I could give you anyways."

"How to do it better than you, maybe?" Tony suggested, but internally, he was thinking that he had no fucking idea what he was going to do. He didn't believe in not doing anything. He just needed to make a battle plan.

*

In the end, Natasha was the one who took care of it. She showed up on his doorstep, looking oddly off-balanced without her wings.

"What the hell happened?" Tony asked. Then he got his wits about him and pulled her inside. He gave her a slightly awkward hug because he was used to working around her wings, and they weren't there anymore. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Then, "A little off. Everything feels different now."

"You can tell me about it later."

"Not now?"

She sounded too down-trodden to want to talk about it, so Tony said, "Nah, I've got to get used to you again. Bucky's here, by the way."

She snorted. "Only he would've finagled himself into this position."

"How dare you. I am a delight." He wasn't going to tell her about the other guardian angels he chased away. Not for a while, at least. Maybe a couple years from now, when they settled into whatever their new normal was going to be.