#(for the purpose of this fic Carrie maybe does not live in a house with barbed wire and a gate lol.) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adeaddogsdove · 9 months ago

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read a fic the other day about sam and dean spending that week after john dies at bobby’s, and the sweet rottie rumsfeld being involved which got me thinking how much i headcannon sam as a dog person. hope to god i did this image of sam justice.

It’s hot and the sun beats down unforgiving as ever, but Dean spends all day out working on Baby. It’s for the car of course, because he needs the car. But it’s also so he doesn’t have to face Sam.

The heat drowns out his thoughts, turns him into some zombie that’s only goal in life is to fix the car. It makes him sick, makes his head hurt if he thinks too hard about it. He probably wouldn’t feel as sick as he does if he let Sam close enough to remind him to drink enough water.

His tan lines are starting to show from wearing an old mildewy white tank top, one that he’d found in the corner of Bobby’s laundry room. His jeans have soaked with sweat, and then dried, so they’re sticky and cool as they cling to his legs. Usually, he wouldn’t be this unclean but there’s a drought so Bobby’s been unnecessarily anxious about laundry.

It’s been four days — maybe three, maybe even five. Dean doesn’t know, the heat makes time pass in weird ways. He finds himself going out under the car early in the morning; and his body carrying him back to the house for dinner just before the sun sets. Counting days hasn’t exactly been his top priority.

Usually, the sound of Sam playing with Rumsfeld lulls him into that state. The door clinks open from across the yard, just barely audible over the sound of Dean’s music. Rumsfeld will bark at Sam once, and Sam will usually laugh. The ball gets thrown, sometimes hitting one of the cars in the yard — which usually makes Dean’s awareness flicker with urge to tease Sam for having bad aim.

But Rumsfeld clambers through the dead cars to get the ball every time, so Dean absentmindedly wonders if Sam does it on purpose just to make her work for it.

Sam will play with her like that for a while, with the occasional pause to walk down the yard in search of Dean. Which Dean knows Sam thinks he doesn’t notice. He does, he just choses to ignore or forget it most times.

She’ll lap at a bowl of water after the sound of her steps across the creaking porch, and Sam will praise her for it before going in for lunch.

Dean went in for lunch the first day they were here because Bobby was still home. Dean’s sure that the tension between the brothers is what chased him away on a ‘meet-up’ with some other hunters.

After Sam finishes lunch he either organizes shit in Bobby’s living room (Dean doesn’t know how he knows this, but the information sits in his memory like its been branded there. He gathers he’s maybe spent time looking in the window of the house from against Baby) or, Sam finds a book and comes back outside despite the raging heat.

Sam will stay there, silently, until Dean comes inside before sundown. Somehow, Sam always knows to go in just a few minutes before Dean wraps up. And then they eat dinner in silence until one goes upstairs to the guest room they used to sleep in as kids, and the other promptly takes their turn on the couch.

Today, Dean hasn’t heard the door to the house open once. Rumsfeld’s getting impatient, Dean could hear her pacing and whining.

It’s not all that abnormal, Sammy’s a big boy. He’s allowed to have freedom to do whatever he wants. But it has Dean on edge, enough to break through the barrier of his fever-dreamed haze.

He could easily barge in the house and complain about Rumsfeld whining for being the reason of asking why Sam’s not played fetch with her — to inadvertently ask what’s wrong with him, why he broke routine.

But that would take effort, and lead to a real conversation that Dean doesn’t think he’s ready for. Because’s he’s fine, he absolutely is, talking about it would only disrupt his fine state.

So he doesn’t go inside to check on Sam, he goes back under Baby and continues his work, hoping for the sun-haze to take over his brain so he stops thinking again.

It’s probably hours later when he breaks through it again, having just finished the task he set out on early that morning. He doesn’t have Sam to gage what time it is, so he doesn’t know if it’s after lunch or not.

The yard seems to be void of the sound of Rumsfeld, which makes him uneasy because the sound of her collar is always clinking with the rhythm of her pants.

Dehydration plagues his mouth, and makes him dizzy when he clears his throat. He rolls the creeper out from under Baby, and forces himself to stand. It makes his head pound unforgivingly.

Dean wipes his hand with a rag, searching the yard for Rumsfeld — who’s nowhere to be found.

He clears his throat again — immediately regretting it, then sets the rag down on the wood bench and forces himself to walk up to the house.

Minus the absolute crave for water, his stomach rumbles in hunger, angry at him for having skipped so many lunches.

He forces himself up the old creaky steps, and draws the screen door open before pushing his unwilling body into the slightly cooler house.

Dean doesn’t hear signs of Sam upon immediate entry, and he neglects to look for him until he gets to the fridge and manages a bottle of water.

The fridge feels only a few degrees cooler than the air in the house, but the water bottle he picks up cools his hand down the rest of his body like frost spreading on a late October night. He shivers in his place.

The action of unscrewing the cap and bringing the bottle to his mouth happens on instinct, and gulping down the cool liquid brings life back into his body. He groans softly, chugging the bottle down — minus a few drops that escape from his mouth and down his chin.

He pops off it with a desperate breath, crunching up the bottle and throwing it into the open paper bag on the floor next to the trash can.

Sam’s name sits heavy in the back of his throat, nearly having made it’s way out when he turns. His breath is ripped from his chest, forcing the name to die in his throat.

Sam’s asleep on the couch, Rumsfeld promptly atop him like it’s where she’s meant to be. She’s not even allowed in the house unless she’s being fed.

Sam’s limbs are too long to fit on the ugly brown couch, one of his legs is propped against an arm, and the other moulds his neck to mimic a pillow. His other leg hangs off the couch, dangles just above the surface of the old wood floors just like one of his arms.

It can’t be a restful sleep, Dean wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping like that — but Sam looks more peaceful than he’s been since he was at Stanford. The warm — clearly afternoon — sun beams in through the louvered shades, caressing his soft features just perfectly.

He’s not angry, or upset, or even happy — he’s just there. Peaceful, relaxed. Perfect. He’s perfect.

Rumsfeld covers him like a ratty blanket, drooling against one of Sam’s stupid geek shirts that he loves so much. The arm not dangling off the couch clutches her fur, just above her collar where there must be a sweet spot that she likes to be pet.

The image of Sam calling her up onto the couch, getting himself comfortable, and petting her till they both dozed fills Dean’s chest with a kind of warmth he hasn’t felt since Sammy was just a snaggletoothed sticky mess that looked up to him like Dean was the fuckin’ sun.

In this moment, Sam looks like more than just the sun. He’s fucking divine — angelic. The sun clings to his skin and his hair that looks two shades lighter — because they’re one. It finds every bit of open skin — the spot where his shirt’s been hiked up and his hip shows, his arms and neck — all scattered with gleams of pure warmth and light.

Dean doesn’t consider himself religious, threw the idea of anything but horrible away when his mom had died the way she did after reminding him night after night that their family was blessed. But Sam’s restful state, his soft and mesmerizing features almost has him on his knees.

Rumsfeld doesn’t wake, doesn’t even seem to graze the surface of a stir — she lets Dean stare. Lets him stand there and gape at the two of them.

Sam’s breathing is soft — just like Dean knows his voice would be if he took the few steps forward to wake him.

He is soft. He is delicate. He is the boy that Dean fell in love with at the age of innocent. He is nothing but perfect; even when he strays from his usual self in times of anxiety and trouble. He is everything that Dean would kill for and die for, just from a silent pleading look — and from so much less. He is Dean’s everything.

Dean doesn’t know how long he stands there, doesn’t know how long he watches Sam and Rumsfeld just breathe in their sleep, but he does until his knees and his hips ache, and until the sun shining in is turning a dark orange. He does until Sam stirs awake, softly turning in his spot to rub his eyes open just like he did when he was 10 years younger.

Dean melts at the soft mewl he lets out, and melts even further at the less soft groan when Rumsfeld turns to lay fully on her side atop him.

He can’t find it in him to move from his place, even though he suddenly feels guilty for watching Sam as long as he did.

Sam huffs at the rottie, scratching behind her ears before turning — he looks surprised to see Dean at first, his eyes flickering back and forth between him and the dog before he softens and shifts to sit up as much as he can under Rumsfeld’s weight.

“Dean,” he says gently — and it’s exactly the way Dean knew he’d sound when he woke.

“Sammy,” Dean says back — exasperated to finally speak his brother’s name, but just as supple as Sam had.

He has the urge to whisper it again, to say his brother’s name over and over like a prayer because Sammy is something that deserves to be worshipped.

He doesn’t. In fact, he stands there, unsure of what to do with himself; go up to Sam, and touch his face — whisper his name like a desperate plea, kiss him softly — or leave, let the moment be remembered and burned into Dean’s brain as how gorgeous his little brother is, with no mistake to taint it.

Sam seems to not know either, so they stay there in silence. Dean’s legs aching and screaming at him to just sit down for a minute, Sam’s messy hair and face painted with the fading sun — and Rumsfeld dozing away.

For a second, the flashes of Dean on his knees in front of that very couch feels so real he thinks he might actually be there, that he might’ve actually manned up and done what he craves so badly to do.

But then the fridge ticks, and Sam clears his throat, and Rumsfeld jolts awake, suddenly starved for her dinner.

They don’t part unkindly — Sam tears his eyes from Dean’s, and the moment ends as harmoniously as it could’ve.

Dean regrets not having gotten on his knees for his brother the moment they sit down at the uneven table for a dinner they’ve had for the last several nights.

He regrets not showing Sam how badly he worships him.

He regrets it, He regrets it, He regrets it, He regrets it.

But he can’t bring himself to change it.

They eat in silence, maybe Sam having moved on from the moment just as much as Dean had — and Dean’s still sure he can feel the still air, and the cramp in his legs, and the hunger in his belly for more than just the food promised for dinner — but instead the heavenly being that is his little brother.

They don’t talk about it, but after dinner they gravitate to the couch together — where somehow Sam ends up leaned against Dean in the way he had when they were younger and only — still — had just each other.

They don’t talk about the way that Dean slowly snakes his hand over Sam’s body to find one of his, desperately seizing the palm that is so much softer than his. They don’t talk about the implication of it, or where it would lead if they managed to take the next step — they don’t talk about the trouble of what would happen if Bobby found them like this, with Rumsfeld at their feet in the house she’s not allowed in unless she’s being fed — and with their hands, hearts and bodies intertwined.

#i didnt know how to end this can you tell #dean who needs to worship his baby brother has my whole fucking heart #angelic sam #sam is dean’s sun #i know rumsfeld is probably a boy #and also probably dead #i dont care #sam is a dog person #dean is in love with sam #wincest #wincestie #samdean #sam x dean #weirdcest #weecest #spn #supernatural #religious imagery

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genlosscharliie · 7 months ago

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more of a personal piece this time around. same fic under cut

The beginnings of winter freezes over the remains of concrete and the strikes are still overhead, just like they’d been yesterday, just like they’d been a week and a month ago.

Perhaps it was the Turks this time, or the Americans, or the Russians, or your very own Syrians. Did it matter in the end? The homes were still destroyed. Your people were still dead and dying.

This used to be someone’s house, left only rubble and a wall and exposed foundation. You clasp your hands over your ears, perch yourself in the furthermost corner of what was left here, and try to imagine what the streets here looked like before this.

You remember your own—did these ones hold protest, too? Did they once house vendors selling fruits and inviting peoples into their shops, the rudest of them kinder than the gentlest soldier you’ve ever met? Did the children run up and down them with their parents yelling to come back home, dinner is ready and grandpa is waiting to eat with them?

What do they hold now, other than the bodies of those unable, unwilling, to leave these cities? Will you be one of them one of these days, be discovered and labelled a fighter for your only crime of existing? Will anyone mourn you? Can one mourn for a hundred, a thousand dead?

You list every martyr you know of, everyone you had met and that you had not, men and women and children, and you give a prayer to each you name. You do not know the name of every dead. Who will mourn them if you can’t? Who exists to?

You close your eyes and picture every face when the noise does not yet cease, when it only gets closer; circles like a fox to an injured rabbit, shark to fish.

At least it was not gas this time.

It could have been worse, you tell yourself when the planes finally retreat and you lift your hands off your ears tentatively and the ringing does not disappear so easily.

(It could have been much, much better, you know. You cannot live like this forever, cannot bear to or cannot survive like this—dying piece by piece, day by day. Maybe you will just hand yourself over someday, stand in the middle of the street and declare “I am a martyr!” as everything crumbles and for once you do not hide.)

(Maybe you should have accepted that invitation, so long ago now, to flee to the shores and try to escape this. Drowning on the way to Greece or Italy or Cyprus, or making it to the mainland and only lending yourself to more strife, only now of a different flavour.)

(You think of it more, and you realise there is no world in which you can just abandon all of this. You had only torn yourself from the ground a handful of years before the revolts came, yet you have always had the underlying knowledge of this country, its heroes and innocents and corrupts and civilians. Your purpose is here, what could the outside offer but the better of a jail cell? Besides, what could a not-quite boy, who knew only Syria and only Arabic and had only to his name this, do for Europe that a hundred others that could not make it, could not?)

(You try to not acknowledge the tears that fall, the hand you have to hold over your mouth to muffle sobs. This will not be how you are found. It can’t be.)

(You recall once, not so long after the guns had been turned to the army’s own people, seeing on a wall as you hid from shelling of a crowd of students, Assad or we burn the country, and the irony nearly makes you laugh even now. Here is your Assad, here is your burnt country. What is the point of carrying on? What is hope for the hopeless?)

(You cannot bring yourself to condemn those who join the fight. What else to do, how else to escape the futility of all of this? Maybe…)

(Maybe you can join it, too. You have little to offer, but you can come back when struck. You learnt this the hard way. A hundred maybes and I clouds and what ifs. You could. Will you?)

(Perhaps you will regret it.)

(You will regret this.)

(You will hate this.)

(But you can help.)

(You can help. You do not have to sit idly by and hope, hope so fruitlessly just as everyone else is, hope that diminishes your spirit, that everything will end soon enough, that this season would be the last with the war raging on.)

(You are scared, scared of death and futility and oppression and maybe all of this being for nothing, but you are scared of being the reason all of this is for nothing, of having no dignity, more than that.)

(Maybe you will look back on this in ten years time, or in five, or three, or next month, and think how stupid I was, how naïve, what was I thinking?)

(But the morning after, when you don’t hear droning in the three o’clock skies, you will set off and you will find rebels and you will join.)

(You will be strip-searched, because everything has turned all on each other, and you cannot trust anyone who will not give their lives up to keep both of you alive or die alongside you, and maybe sneered at by whichever man is assigned the job for not being the right kind of guy for this. But they need all the hands on deck that they can get, so they will not be turned away for it.)

(You will be asked for a name and in the seconds you have to decide on one, you will decide on Jihad, because Free Syria is such a pretentious thing to be introduced as.)

(You will meet other fighters there. Boys who look younger even than you, who cling to their comrades because they have none else and none else to lose but. Men who have deflected, who do not wish to be the ones putting the people down anymore. Women who cannot bear to be put aside anymore, who carry their rifles with steadier hands than the boys and men. Those who only know aid, who cook, who shout commands and train.)

(You will hold each near, those you know and those you don’t, in your units and in others, you will say a prayer for all of them and you will mourn the combatants as you did the civilians. Who else will, if not you?)

(You will hate it. You will wish that you could not be brought back. You will want to have never joined when you are captured by enemy forces for a period that does not exceed two months.)

(But,)

(and there are so many buts, here.)

(But you will cheer and sing and smile as you raise the banners of green-white-black and yellow-red-green over cities captured, strongholds broken through, capitals of terror finally gone.)

(You will hold the hands of your friend—Maiah, she calls herself; Rojava, you know her as—and you will see the joy in her usual stoicism.)

(You will not be handed your dignity, but you can take it with force, can rip it out of the hands of your rulers and nurture it into something worthwhile.)

(Revolution is such a delicate thing.)

#chposting #midas writes #countryhumans free syria #countryhumans syria

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your-girl-mj · 3 years ago

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Soulmates [Camilo x gn!reader] pt 1

Summary: Soulmates exist, so why does it feel like you two aren't meant to be?

Warning: injury, swear words. angsty??

Note: this fic was inspired by the peter parker x reader "ugh" in the wattpad, that fic was years ago, but I still remembered it 'cause it's one of my favorite stories. He/him for camilo, they/them for reader.

Created: January 26, 2022

Published: February 28, 2022

Part 1 part 2

Soulmates exist, and you can find them in so many different ways.

First, we have the red string. Just like his cousin had: Mirabel and her best friend, this also goes with his cousin: Luisa and their friend who works in the library. Second, in your body, the first words you say to each other are marked, just like his cousin Isabela and the farmer's daughter.

Thirdly is the last words you say to each other are marked on your body, just like his Abuela Alma and Abuelo Pedro. Fourth is feeling each other's feelings, like his Mamá and Papá.

Fifth is a tattoo marked in a part of your body like his sister: Dolores and Mariano, same ones like his tía Julieta and tío Agustin.

Unfortunately to Camilo, he doesn't experience any of those. He can't see any red string at his pinky like it is supposed to be, He can't see any words marked on any part of his body, he doesn't feel any emotions that are not from him.

Any sign from them, anything. His heartache at the thought of it, he has a soulmate, he knows it. The boy is determined for the past few days after his 16th birthday.

The shape-shifter looked for other signs like his friends have, like: feeling the same pain, or the time and date is marked when you will meet them.

Maybe his soulmate's still haven't on the right age so that's why he still doesn't have a mark? Or any string? Maybe it's another sign, something that's not taken by his family? Maybe... but after years of waiting, still nothing.

He was almost certain, that he doesn't have a soulmate. He'll be all alone for the rest of his life. Just like his Tìo Bruno.

It felt like they were doing it on purpose, not a day goes by without you feeling a single pain from them. You can feel your ribs ache yet no bone cracked, you clench your chest as pain roam all over.

Gasping for air, gripping tightly at the side of the table as your cousin rushes over to you, distress written on his face, doing his best to help you, to his dismay all he can do is comfort you.

It was nothing new, you'll never get used to something like this. It's embarrassing how you just suddenly crouch down in public, as you try to endure the torture.

Oh, how you despise your soulmate.

Do they even think about how much pain you are in right now? Or every time they decided to jump from the second floor??

The agony stopped like it was never there in the first place. Your breath, as relief washed over you, "Mierda, you gotta find that huev��n, [name]!" Your cousin: Manuel, exclaimed. Frustrated that he can't do anything about your situation. "They can't keep being reckless, you're also getting hurt!"

"I'm fine, it's gone now." You breathe out, finally standing from your spot at the side. Rubbing your chest, as you lightly pant.

"For now," the boy runs a hand through his hair. He can't help but be furious, he hates seeing his close family suffering, "you can't live like this for forever, it's been 2 years..."

2 years. You've been suffering for two years.

The sudden pain arrived unexpectedly. It was the day after your 16th birthday, thinking about your father's words once again for the nth time for the day. Your family has always been against soulmates, they can't tell you who to love and who you can't.

As you were walking alongside Manuel by the bridge, the sunshine above you as he assist you with the supplies you need to the house, you instantly felt your leg numb by a second before you feel the most painful thing happen to your leg, you can barely stand. Manuel is so worried about you that he carried you to Juieta as fast as he could, but before you two could make it to her stall, the pain stopped.

It's been like that ever since, random pain kept appearing, here and there. You don't know why they're doing this, you never knew.

You're scared, terrified even. No warnings, no signs, nothing. It just happens unexpectedly, even in the middle of the night, you can feel someone hit you from the back of the head.

What are they even doing? Are they part of some sort of circus? Why are they getting hurt all of the sudden?

♡♥︎♡

Yesterday was a bummer, your cousin is more determined than ever to find the person who's causing you so much pain. You consider him lucky for having a mark on his back instead of feeling the torture you're having.

The morning sky is beautiful, goofy cloud shapes here and there as the rays of the sun hits the crown of your head, reading peacefully by the porch of your house as you sip on your Avena Colombiana, as a good start of the day.

Turning the page, careful not to give yourself a papercut, you felt a scrape on your left knee, but no wound is seen. Your other toe hurts, so you assume they tripped while running.

They're ruining my day already. You had enough of waiting, and want to take action yourself. You did nothing to deserve the pain. Taking revenge, you purposely burn your tongue, with your hot beverage, wincing at the feeling of it, but give you slight contentment at the thought of hurting them as well. They deserve it.

Not a moment later, the side of your face burns so bad, that you yelp at it and almost drop your cup. It feels as if their face is being scraped on the ground, both of your palms are next, then your right elbow, they hurt so bad you can't help but feel tears flooding your eyes as you rub the ones that sore the most.

Are they serious, right now!? Just after your little revenge, they will give you a much painful one?? How cruel.

You massage your hands together, trying to ease the prickle of it you were feeling. You continued to read, frown plastered on your face, as your eyes trailed along with the words. Angry thoughts cloud your head. You can't even fight back, so how can they be your soulmate when they don't care about you!

In the streets of Encanto, a boy around your age is running at the speed of volt. Camilo is trying to do his cousin a favor by taking care of the little kids in town, now they all teamed up and chase him for "cheating" when he's just good at the games they played, as they announced they are it while Camilo is the only one they have to tag, to win.

A pant is heard as a certain shape-shifter hid by the corner of your house, his curls stick to his forehead from the sweat. His body is straight as a pole, like a chameleon in camouflage, moving his side to the side, glancing if the kids are there. He let out a big sigh of relief when the kids chasing him pass, leaning at the wall him, finally relaxing from the chase he just had.

"What a lovely morning, isn't it?" Camilo greeted, smiling warmly once he noticed you, fixing his posture and appearance quickly, despite his bruised face, and red-stained sleeve, you guess his bleeding elbow, he's oddly happy. His words are pronounced funny in some way, it's like he's avoiding using his tongue.

"Aye, Santa rosa! Are you alright? Señora Julieta is kinda far from my house, here have some rest!" Taken aback by his appearance, you quickly lead him to one of the seats by your porch, worried about the Madrigal's wound, but he swiftly assured you.

"Oh it's okay, I'm fine! More than fine, that is!" His grin never left his face, still breathing heavily, you giggled at how he spoke.

"Funny how you talk like that." You stated, the shape-shifter mimicking your smile, also laughing lightly, shaking his head. "You're all bruised up too! I'll be back, I'm just gonna get the kit, then I'll help to Señora."

Not waiting for his reply, you dash inside for the kit, just to disinfect his injuries, leaving Camilo by himself. What a caring person, how come he never met you before?

The boy examined his cuts, whimpering a bit when he moved his arm. He's more worried about his Soulmate though, they got hurt too because of him. How will they react when they met him?

"Sorry for waiting. Let's clean that before you go." You exit to your door, putting a little bucket full of water, as well as a small basket made of pure wheat straws, as you turn your chair in front of him, before sitting. Inside is a bunch of bandages, a small piece of clothing, and a little bottle of an unknown substance. "Early in the morning, you're already beaten up," Gesturing to bring his bruised face forward, which he gladly does.

Groaning a bit at you pat the now wet clothing to his face, closing his eyes as he does so. Your gaze fell on his cheeks dusted with freckles as you clean the injury before you catch a glimpse of his emerald-like eyes, smiling in appreciation at you. "Thank you, by the way." Mirroring his smile, you ignore the little sting on the side of your face.

It's quite peculiar.

"Don't mention it," you carefully move to his elbow, gently lifting it before folding the helms of it, revealing a huge scratch on it. "Aye, that's a big one. Do you mind telling me, how did this happen?"

"It's a funny story really, my Soulmate accidentally burn their tongue." His words cause you to halt, heart pounding, but recovered quickly and get back to work.

His Soulmate did what?

Camilo continued, strangely animated by the actions of the person he's betrothed to. "it caught me off guard, and tripped! That's why I hurt my face and elbow. My hands got hurt too, but I think it's fine," looking at his palms, seeing a few scratches.

Is he being serious, right now?

You started to connect the dots about what's happening. You analyze his body, from the top of his head to the bottom of his foot.

The boy's face has a huge scratch on his cheek, his curly hair covering up the rest. His right elbow, the one you're treating right now, you can feel how painful it is as you clean it. You experimentally press the clothing hard, your eyes expand as you put things together. Glancing at his left knee, his pants (that has a bit of dirty over them) is shielding the wound, but you can feel the pain it's causing.

He can't be...

You're only hafted sure about it, but how can you prove that's he's your soulmate? Your eyes trailed back to the hot beverage of Avena Colombiana that is still chilling beside your book.

"I'm alright!" He exclaimed once he noticed you were observing at his wounds. "I just hope my soulmate-"

What caused him to stop talking is how you suddenly grabbed your hot beverage and dumped them in your hand.

"Ugh!" You both winced in pain, your hand burns so bad, but you were more focused on his reaction. As he held his untouched hand in agony, waving it to soothe the pain. Finally, click on what just happened. The shape-shifter's gaze fell on you, his eyes filled with hope and admiration.

He's my soulmate.

They're my soulmate.

You, on the other hand, are furious.

"you're my—"

"So you're the one who's behind all of this?!?" Your sudden rise of voice caught him off guard, as you stood up. The motion causes the chair to scrape when it slides. Why are you angry?

"Behind what? What do you mean?" Following your actions, he also stood up, approaching you.

"Behind all of the torturing!" Camilo fell silent for a bit, not knowing how to respond. "Of all the pain, you've been causing me for the past 2 years!"

"2 years...? You've been- you've been feeling the same pain as I am for the past 2 years??" So you've been here, all this time... he has a soulmate. He has a soulmate!!

You scoff at him, grabbing your things running past him, before storming inside the house. "I can't believe this!" You mumbled to yourself, the boy heard it loud and clear.

"Wait! Can I at least know your name?" The curly-haired called out, trying to stop you from taking another step by grabbing your arm but failing to grasp it.

"Tsk, why do you even care?? You've been going around hurting yourself, I feel the pain too!" Your glare pierces through his skin, as you repeatedly point at your chest. "Do you even know how scary it is to suddenly feel your ribs stab your lungs, without even warning!? Not a day goes by without worrying if you're free from it!"

Camilo stood, frozen from his spot. He just met you, at least give him a chance. The heart in his chest-beating rapidly, as he stared back at your scowl. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"Damn right you're sorry, I don't want to see your face, ever again!"

With that, you slammed your doors closed, the structure shook at the impact. Leaving a stun Madrigal by your porch, mouth agape at the events that happen unfold.

♡♥︎♡

Camilo lay on his bed, staring at his ceiling, deep in thought. Arms support the back of his head, as he rethinks what had happened. His mind trailed back to you, he can't believe it. He has a soulmate all this time.

You're here all this time...

After years of thinking that he doesn't have a soulmate, there you are. He doesn't want to lose you, never again.

How did he not know you? Not even your name. You're a very nice person, he knows it! Offering him a seat, cleaning his wounds, you have the gentleness touch he ever receive from a girl outside his family, You're worried about him, and still are! When he passes by your house again at noon attempting to see you at least. All that he saw is a drink of Chicha, with a small note. "I feel bad for pushing you, but I'm still mad. here's a drink, mi tia likes to drink it whenever she's stressed." He doesn't need a name for it, he knows it's from you. He'll keep the note forever.

You're sweet and kind, you only change once you realize he's your soulmate.

Your angered face flashed back, as his heartache. He hurt you, and he can't forgive himself. He needs to be more careful, and not hurt you.

Hehe, they look like an angry chihuahua, and an adorable one too!

Note to himself: not get hurt, and befriend you. It's the least he can do.

The boy is beyond happy when he finally felt the pain that's not caused by him. But sadden knowing you're annoyed with him, so much that he doesn't want to see his face.

Unless it doesn't have to be his face!

Tomorrow came, as you work by the wheat fields. The sun is mocking you with your hardships, as you swing your sickle, wanting to finish the chore as much as possible. Wiping your sweat with the back of your hand, cursing yourself when you feel more of your hair stick on your skin, cheeks flushed from exhaustion. A familiar hand offers you a towel, as the face of your cousin beamed when you greeted him. "Manuel! Good to see you, didn't think you'll be here. I thought you hated the heat?"

The boy listened as you folded the towel with a careful hand, before wiping your forehead as well as your neck, he looked away at your action, red dusting his cheeks. "Heh, I'm not Manuel..." the shape-shifter stated, still looking down.

You throw him a confused expression, before realizing what he meant. Frowning at him, "what do you want Madrigal." You inquired, though it's more like a statement, swinging your tool to cut the wheat, ignoring the boy.

"I just want to get to know you! That's all!" Flinching when you professionally sliced the plant. Gulping when meeting your glare, but he won't give up.

"Did my sentence 'i don't want to see your face, ever again' not enough for you?" You pointed your tool at him, the blade barely touching his skin which made his breath hitch. The boy's hands are up, showing you that he wants no harm.

"It's not my face though, it's your cousin's!" Camilo smiled sheepishly, but look away when your glare hardens. "Come on, let's start over..." He slowly lowered the tool, gently touching the slides that are not sharpened, you can see the uneasy expression he's giving to the tool. Thankful that you didn't slice his throat. He introduced himself, "I am Camilo Madrigal, son of Pepa and Félix Madrigal! Nice to meet you!" The shape-shifter offers you his hand.

You had your eyes narrowed at his offer but took it. Giving it a rough shake, that you can feel your other hand tingle. "[Name] [lastname]." You utter sternly before you went back to work, not wanting to feel his existence anymore.

"[Name], huh? It suits you!"

"Piss off, Madrigal."

"No need to be formal, Camilo is fine."

"Ugh, has anyone ever told you, how annoying you are!?"

"Yes actually, you and Dolores!"

You two talk for the whole day, it's more like one-sided conversations. Where ever you go, he goes as well. He still does choirs but, he will find a way to speak to you again, much to your dismay. He's still in your cousin's form, as he talks to you, which is kinda weird.

Not gonna lie, Camilo is enjoying himself. He's finally talking to his soulmate! The one he's been waiting for in his entire life. You're insulting him though, with every chance you get. He doesn't mind, of course, your voice sounds lovely, even when they're full of threats.

"Great talking to you!"

"Can't say the same!"

The shape-shifter waved at you for the last time before taking his leave when he was sure you got to your porch safely. You wave back at him, not wanting to be rude considering he did escort you home.

You rub your face in exhaustion, watching his figure retreat for the night. He's not as bad as you thought he is, not as bad as any of your family said about your soulmate. Growing up with a family that does not believe in soulmates, made you think that these things are just something for others to have hope for when there isn't.

"The universe doesn't tell you who you need to be with, you do." your father's word rang in your head, as Camilo's silhouette faded into the distance, rethinking what he said to you when your mother left for another man. "but if you want to be with them, then go for it, I won't stop you. I just don't want you to make the same mistake as I am."

All soulmates do is bring you pain and distraction with the important things you need to take care of. Ignoring the slight pain in your chest, you got inside the house.

The shape-shifter went home grinning like a Cheshire cat, everyone noticed of course. He's never been this cheerful ever since he found out he doesn't have a soulmate. No one knows the reason for the sudden joyful attitude, except his sister: Dolores, who can't help but smile at his state.

"How is your day, mijo?" Félix inquired, all ears for the news as he sweep on the floor. He wants to know what happens and why his son is all love-struck.

"Wow, Cami'. Who made you all smiley-smiley, eh?" Isabela teased as she pass by, holding a bunch of colored bombs.

"Guess who I met today!" The shape-shifter exclaimed, trying to contain his excitement.

"Santa??" Antonio asked jumping into his brother's arms who caught him, as he imitated his grin. He can see the stars in his eyes.

"No, but it will be cool if it's Santa though! Hehe," he lightly chuckles, tickling the little one by the neck. "I met my soulmate!"

"Wooah, I wanna meet them too!"

"Soulmate?" His father throws his questioning look, but the smile is still there. stopping his sweep for a moment.

Years ago the teen admitted with tearful eyes to his family that he can't feel nor see any signs of having a connection with his soulmate. Félix can't help but feel sorrow for his eldest son, but now seeing him this happy makes him feel the same joy.

"Yea, I talked to them all day! They're a lovely person, Papá!" He strolled forward while putting his little brother up to his shoulders. The grin never left his face. "They told me that they feel the same pain as me for the past 2 years!"

"Aye, look at that! Pepita, our son finally found his one and only!" The man said to his wife, who happen to be reading a sad story in a book. The rain above her stopped and look at her family, heart-melting at the news she just heard.

"Aww, that's so wonderful mijo!" She showered him with cheek kisses as her sons both giggled at their mother.

"Amor, you still haven't changed." Her lovable husband reminded, giving her a soft look.

"How did this happen? When are we gonna me-", pepa's words stopped when she realized something. "hold on, how are you sure that they're your soulmate?" She questioned, slightly pulling away from her son.

She will be furious if someone took advantage of his son's desperateness of having a soulmate and break his heart. She would have any of it.

"Uh, hehe... they hurt themselves and I got hurt too, so that's how I met them." Camilo played it off, leaving out the parts where you yelled at him and blame him, which is something he's technically responsible with. The boy didn't want you to have a bad first impression with his parents.

A rainbow glows brighter, above them. Good thing it's night, or the sun with shine brightly and cause some heat.

"Buenos Dias, [name]!" The shape-shifter greeted you, from across the street. Waving his arm up, with a radiant smile.

Flinching at the sudden voice, gripping at the basket tightly in your hands, you looked back immediately at the boy. Glaring at his beaming face, you gestured your hand to shut up, and signaling him that your Father, who was with you the entire time and witness the whole thing.

Did he give a damn? No.

His actions cause many people to look at you, questioning if you're the one Camilo's talking to. As a result, you tried to hide with the basket you've been carrying.

"A friend of yours?" Your father asked, lightly grinning at your embarrassed expression.

"More like an acquaintance, I hate that guy." You mutter under your breath at the last part of your sentence, grimacing as the boy approaches you both.

"Ah, señor [last name]! Buenos días to you too!" The curly-haired playfully salute the man, erupting a chuckle from him. "I'm here to assist your child, señor!"

"Are you sure, you two aren't friends?" The older [last name], giving you a side glance. A little suspicious about your guy's relationship.

"I'm sure, papá." Nodding your head, you secretly pinch your sides, knowing that Camilo can feel it too. "A Hundred percent."

"Ack-!" The said boy yelps, moving his body as if he's avoiding something when nothing is touching him. "Hey, that's hurts..." he whined at you, pouting as he gently rubbed his side.

Your breath hitch at the shape-shifter's choice of words, glancing at your father who has narrowed his eyes at the both of you. You wince at yourself for forgetting to tell him since you're too busy complaining to your cousin about your soulmate.

"Hurts? What hurts?" The older man's eyes shifted between the two of you making you panic.

"Oh, they didn't tell you?" You'll find it adorable how Camilo tilts his head in confusion if you aren't in a situation like this. "I'm [name]'s so-"

Swift as a light, you cover his mouth with your hand, blocking his words, "nothing, pá! I need to- we need to go now, bye-bye!"

The [last name] watched you as you, dragged the boy away, pinching his ear and whispering things at him. Making him assume you two are more than just an acquaintance.

"What do you think you're doing?! Are you insane??" You harshly whispered, your ear tingling at the pain you're giving to the green-eyed.

"Your dad doesn't know we're soulmates, why didn't you tell him?"

"I couldn't! He will kill you!"

"What?? I didn't do anything!"

"If he knows you're the one who's behind all my pain, you'll be dead by the end of the day!" making sure you leave a few parts. Letting go of his ear, slightly rubbing it to ease a bit of soreness from it. "Now go do your own thing, and leave me alone."

"Nah, I'm good. I'll help you again like I did yesterday! Let's go!" He dragged you to do your chores for the day, with you groaning, not wanting to go with him.

As weeks go by, his constant bugging you is getting on your nerves. He'll pop out of nowhere, he's trying to befriend you badly, and even try to explain his situation why he always got hurt.

Why do kids like it when someone face planted? He doesn't know, but still, does it, because not only he get to make the children laugh, he also got an excuse to eat as much food as he wants. He's trying not to get hurt again for you, he doesn't want you to hate him even more than you do, right now.

You hate to admit it, but you enjoy it. You enjoyed his company, his jokes, his caring attitude, his joyful personality, all of it.

But there's something that's always been at the back of your head. You're his soulmate.

You two are meant to be.

But what if this soulmate thing didn't exist, would he still like you? Would he still be your friend?

He didn't care about you until he learned you were his.

You hate it. You hate your overthinking brain for coming up with something like that, but what if soulmates don't exist. Would he still like you?

No, of course not.

You hate how he made you feel butterflies, you hate how much love spending time with him. You hate his dazzling smile he flashes you every time you're with him.

You're not sure anymore. If you hate him for hurting you before you met, or the thought of him not caring about if you two aren't soulmates.

He is a Madrigal, he can have all he wanted!

Maybe your father is right. it's the universe's fault for making you believe that you're meant to be.

♡♥︎♡

Camilo trailed behind you around once again, humming a little tune he made up. "So, when are we going to the river?"

"We? No, me."

"[Nickname] we all know you have-"

"[Name]." You emphasize every syllable of your name.

"Oh right, [name]..." glancing at you for approval, and grinning when you nodded, he continued. "We all know you have a big family, like mine. So, I'm helping."

His heart warms up with your little laugh, rolling your eyes at his attempts, "okay, fine. Later at 3, don't be late, molesto."

The shape-shifter watches your back as you leave, breathing out a lovesick sigh. Hearing a familiar grunt at his back, he turned around meeting his cousin: Luisa's curious look with a hint of amusement, as she carried a bunch of shovels.

"I didn't know you were friends with the [last name]s." Lightly chuckling, like she's in disbelief, "no one has ever befriended a member of their family, they're good people though." She announced, before walking away.

"Wait, no one?? As in, never?" Camilo followed right after her, wanting to know the reason behind it. "Why? [Name] seems likable, her cousin too!"

"Wait, you haven't heard?" The big Woman stopped her steps, turning around with a baffled expression, the skirt of her dress swaying side to side. "Their family is against soulmates."

Tagglist: @chayauwu @dai-tsukki-desu

Part 2

Storyline explanation: here

#camilo madrigal x reader #encanto camilo #camilo x reader #camilo madrigal #camilo imagine #camilo x you #camilo x y/n #encanto imagines #encanto angst #encanto x reader #encanto

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limenysnocket · 4 years ago

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Expensive Thrifting

Taika Waititi x Reader

Summary: Like a lot of girlfriends, you steal your boyfriend's clothes. But, what happens when roles switch, and your boyfriend steals your clothes?

Request: @honorarytenenbaum (FROM A LONG TIME AGO I'M SORRY)

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 1.7k another shorty for you

A/N: Okay. So. To get back into the spunk of things, I've decided to challenge myself to write a fluffy fic this time. I didn’t edit it much, so be prepared for mistakes.

@honorarytenenbaum @olyvoyl

•○●•○●•○●•

"Hey Taik," your voice echoed through the large house, from your room, down the stairs and into the living room. "Have you seen my DBZ hoodie anywhere?"

You don't receive an immediate answer, so you go to look for yourself. After a quiet walk down the stairs, peering around every corner for him, you find him sitting in the living room, sitting on the couch, in a very... awkward position.

"Are you okay?" you were concerned. You've never seen his leg bend like that before.

Taika's head snaps right to you, and he looks speechless. He's trying to come up with something. "I'm great. Just chilling. Watching..." he looks to the television screen. The television wasn't even turned on.

"Go on," you encourage, now leaning on the guardrail to the steps and tilting your head. He's still quiet.

After another long, insane moment of hesitation, he finally picks up a bowl from the ground. "Grapes?" He offered them out to you, and all you did was just stare at them.

"No, I'm good," you hummed, eyebrows furrowed while Taika still tried hard to play it cool. "While you were having a stroke, I'm assuming, I think I lost my Dragon Ball Z hoodie. Have you seen it at all, or did it get mixed in with your laundry?"

"Uh, no. Nope. I don't even like that show. Sorry," he looked away and up at the ceiling like a purposely oblivious little boy. You were starting to catch on. Suspicious, but you didn't have enough evidence.

"It's hard to miss, Taika. You seriously didn't notice it going into the wash with your clothes? At all?" you held your hands up, and he began to twiddle with his thumbs.

"Nuh-uh," his answer was stout. He was still avoiding eye contact with you. You gave up.

"Fine," you huff, then drop down from the final step. "I'm just gonna go have a look for myself. You know, just in case." You walked right by him. His position didn't waver, except for his eyes that were bouncing all over the place in order to still avoid you.

Instead of actually digging through laundry, you hid behind a corner, and lurked there to casually stalk your boyfriend. He was still acting weird when you left. He would check over his shoulder from time to time, and after a minute or so, you finally saw him get up and start digging through the couch cushions. He didn't make much of a sound, but he certainly found something that he liked, because he picked something up, and he had the biggest smile you had ever seen on his face.

All it took was a little glimpse of red-orange fabric and you knew. He had your hoodie.

You burst from your hiding place instantly. "Taika David Cohen, I know what you're hiding!" You shout at him and instantly he's a deer in headlights, but not for long. His eyes never moved from yours and there was a brief moment of silence. He juked the couch corner once, at first thinking he should run to the kitchen, but ultimately made a break for the stairs, hoping to make it to the bedroom with the only lock. You, like a dope, ran right after him.

His long legs helped carry him, but you had unwithering speed and determination. At the end, he almost had you. His hand was on the doorknob and he was just about to slam the door shut to lock, but you pushed through like a tank and plowed into him. The force you had knocked him back onto the bed, but the hoodie was still in his hands. You reached for it, but he scrambled to the other side of it. He didn't notice where the bed ended, and fell to the ground as a result. He picked himself up, thankfully unhurt and unphased by the whole chase, and the thing you wanted was still in his grasp.

"Taika," you were panting on the other side of the bed, and you outstretched a frustrated hand. "Give me the hoodie."

"Absolutely not," he wasn't breathing as hard, and he hugged the hoodie close to his chest.

"This is the third time this week! Give me the damn hoodie! I just washed it!" You shake your hand to add emphasis, but all he does is just look at it with a disgruntled attitude.

"It's your fault for being gullible and not watching your things better," he stuck his tongue out at you, childishly. The longer this went on, the more huffy you became. All you wanted to do was relax in your favorite hoodie and maybe cuddle a little bit! That's all!

"Okay, that was a low blow from the biggest procrastinator on earth. And, like you said, you don't even like Dragon Ball! Why the fuck do you want it so bad!?" It was a petty argument, sure, but you were a bit hardheaded, so why not drag this out a little longer?

"I could like it!" He shouted and spluttered, trying to come up with excuses. "And it's comfortable. It's a massive size!" He held it out in his hands, just looking at it, and his eyes lit up. "We could share!"

"No."

His idea was stomped out quickly, and he went back to pouting. He wouldn't give it up yet.

You sighed, getting tired of trying to find a solution. Your eyes started to trail, looking for something, anything, to call it even. Just to your luck, you landed on the closet.

"Give me your One Piece sweater," you said, and folded your arms.

Taika, still admiring the piece of clothing in his arms, became suddenly baffled and looked right at you. The look he gave you said it all. "No!" That word was popular with him today.

"Why not?" You said, eyes lingering over to the closet again. "What's stopping me?"

His whole body tensed and his jaw shifted. It was a sudden standoff, just waiting for the other to make a move. At first, he tried to make up more excuses, but you taunted him like Chris Tucker in Rush Hour. With every stumble and fumble he made with his words, you played the shadow game with him.

When he was at his lowest, you bolted to the closet. He dropped your hoodie and ran right after you, just as the closet door swung open. Your hand was centimeters away from the hanger you needed, but Taika came crashing right into first, bumping you right out of the way with his hip. With plan b failed, you ran right to where he dropped your hoodie and managed to snag it in seconds just by the sleeve.

In your moment of glory, you were cocky enough to try and run out the door. Taika had been anticipating that move, ever since he got his One Piece sweater and saw you dive for your hoodie, he was waiting in front of the door. So, when you turned on your heel and made a mad dash, you ran right into Taika and his hand had grabbed onto the collar of the shirt.

Taika tried to yank it from your hands, and you gasped, holding on tight. He tried again and again and again, but you kept holding. Neither of you were noticed that the fabric was slowly starting to rip.

"Taika! It's not yours!" you yell, pulling back.

"I know, but I like it! It fits me!" he yelled back, and yanked it.

Childish taunts went back and forth, and both of you were both talking at the same time for a point in time. The room started to swirl, and eventually the strings keeping the hoodie together grew tired of the fabric and it just...

Snapped.

There was a piercing rip, and both you and Taika stumbled back. He left with the entire collar in his hands, soft string still dwindling from it and hanging from under his nails. You broke away with the rest of the hoodie. Once you realized what happened, it fell from your hands. You kind of just... looked at it. Your hand came up to cup over your mouth and your other arm cradled just beneath your chest.

Taika was talking to you, but you just tuned it out. When you finally looked back up at Taika, you had a look on your face that he only saw during actual, serious fights. He had royally pissed you off this time.

At least he had enough sense to move out of the way when you walked out of the room. He still had the collar in his hands, and he watched you go downstairs.

You needed to cool off for a little bit. You went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and sat down on the couch. You curled your legs up to your knees and turned the television on. You weren't really in the mood to watch anything, so you endlessly flipped through the stations, reading the descriptions and quietly wondering how some of these shows even made it at all.

You hadn't noticed it, but Taika had summoned up enough courage to come downstairs. He brought a peace offering with him. He slowly crept to the living room, staying out of your peripheral vision for the time being until he was behind you and the couch. He cautiously came to wrap his arms around you, making you pause from your channel flipping and he buried his nose into the crook of your neck. He let the thing he brought slide onto your knees. It was his One Piece sweater.

He murmured a soft, "I'm sorry," into your tender skin and kissed at it.

You couldn't stay mad at him, no matter how hard you tried. Your hand went up into his hair and you massaged his scalp the best you could with one hand. "It's fine... but there's one thing you can do to make it up to me." You pulled away from him and folded your arms. He sighed, giving you a soft frown, but he only knew it was right.

"I'll buy you a new one..."

#taika waititi #fanfiction #taika waititi x reader #taika waititi imagine #taika waititi imagines #taika waititi x you #taika waititi/you #fluffy #gosh I missed writing fluff this is nice #should I write something dirty again???#thoughts

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anonymous1038 · 2 years ago

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Loss

@ila-appreciationweek

The appreciation week may be over but I still got a few fics left to give (aka ideas that popped into my head at 3 in the morning), if you allow it that is. This is for day 1 again and yes this was heavily inspired by the ending scene of Hopping Mall from Amphibia.

"How's the leg doing?" Violet asks as she takes a seat beside Harper on the couch, making sure to avoid the crutches as she did.

It's been a month since the whole fiasco with the caves and carnival. Violet became part of a team dedicated to hunting down and curing the horrors while also protecting the Power against those who wish to use and abuse it. Meanwhile, Harper went back to the hospital for further treatment and was let out a few days ago when the doctor determined that his condition is stable enough to let him go. Now, he's staying at his grandpa's house until his leg is fully healed.

"It's fine. A pain most of the time." Harper looks at the cast with disdain. "God, I just want to run around again."

"Yeah, that looks like it sucks." Violet subconsciously places a hand to her eyepatch. "How did you get it broken?"

"Not sure. Maybe it was from struggling too much while underneath the lake bed, or the Power broke it on purpose or..." Harper sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "I'm just glad I'm back...that I'm real again." He looks at Violet, gratitude evident on his face. "And it's all thanks to you."

"It was nothing. You should thank the doctors and the therapists. They did much more than me."

"But you're the reason I'm here now. If it weren't for you, there was no way I could've been freed from the lake bed. The Power wouldn't let me go. You made it let me free again."

Harper smiled. "So, once again, thank you."

Violet couldn't help but smile back. "Alright, you're welcome."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, occasionally Harper would grab a pillow from the couch and contemplate starting a pillow fight or sleeping with it, but he never goes through with it.

Violet looks around the living room until her eyes rest on a framed picture on the far wall opposite of them. It showed two adults and two boys, playing happily together in a yard.

"Are those your parents?"

Harper looks up, an agonized look crossing his face for a moment as he sighed and nodded.

"Yeah." He confirms. "They're dead."

"...fuck, I'm sorry." Violet winced, regretting what she said.

"It's fine. It's been a while since it happened anyway."

"... what were they like?"

"They were the best parents I could ask for." Harper smiled, bittersweet. "Todd was more of a father to me than my biological dad. And mom...she was awesome. She was kind and headstrong, and never hesitated to do tell off the teachers when she heard about them mistreating me and Elliot. Though we didn't always see eye to eye. Sometimes they like making out the second my back is turned just to annoy me, either that or they were just impatient..."

"...and the funny thing is, sometimes I would crave to be annoyed by them again, and how I would give anything just to hear their voices again."

Violet looks at his face, tears forming in his eyes. She listened intently, but she couldn't help but be stricken all the same. How his parents remind her of her own the original Violet's, and how she wished he had gotten more time to spend with them.

Harper seems oblivious to to his tears until he felt something wet on his cheeks. Once he realized that, he quickly wiped them away on his white sleeves. "Oh, sorry. Sorry, just got carried away."

"It's fine." Violet knows his pain. Or at least, she thinks she does. She never had a family to begin with. But she misses them all the same. "It's nice that you actually knew them."

Harper gives her a confused look. She took that as a sign to continue.

"My...own family were killed five years ago."

Harper's eyes widened, a hand flying to cover his mouth.

"I know it's not actually my family. It was Violet's...I was never actually her, but I have her memories. I remember everything about her life. Even though it wasn't actually mine."

"And now...I've always wondered. Can you miss someone you never actually knew?" Violet shakes her head, chuckling bitterly. "Of course you can't-"

She was cut off by arms wrapping around her. Harper gives her a squeeze, hugging her tight.

Her eye formed tears she tried to hold back as she returned the embrace. The pain, so unreal yet real at the same time. How she remembers it all like it's her own.

Harper doesn't need to say anything else. The pain they share can't be conveyed through words alone.

Just hugging each other is enough to give each other solace and comfort.

#ilaw #ilb mc #ilw mc

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cherry-velvet-skies · 3 years ago

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The purpose of this blog was never to bring any of my negative feelings on here or to talk about my personal issues, and I promise it won't be a regular thing, but I need to vent and I can't hold it in any longer. I know that this is supposed to be a happy time of year and I'm not trying to bring anyone down I swear but I just can't take it anymore. Every day I try to feel happy and my life is so fucked up at this point that it never seems to work out. Sure I have things that make me happy but it's only temporary. I am so sick of feeling horrible most days and having nobody to talk to about it. I thought that I was getting to a point of having a better emotional relationship with my parents but lately all we do is argue. We can't say anything to each other without one of us flying off the handle. I can't go to therapy because I live in America and can't afford it. I can't go out anywhere by myself because I don't have my license and am terrified of taking the test because I think I'm gonna fail. I only have like two irl friends and they would never reach out unless I made the first move and I told myself I was gonna stop making the first move because I didn't wanna do it anymore and I haven't spoken to either of them in like four months. I have so many things I wanna work on but have no motivation. I wanna make art and sell it so I can finally have some sort of income because I can't hold down a job either. I haven't worked on my book in seven months and I wanted to have it published by my 21st birthday which is only six months away and it's not even halfway done. I have so many fics I wanna write and post on here but I can't clear my mind enough to write anything. I try meditating and it actually gives me more anxiety because my body is not used to feeling that calm so it thinks I'm dying or something I don't fucking know. Now that I've stopped reaching out it's clear that no one wants to talk to me and honestly I don't blame them sometimes because I have nothing good to talk about. I can't do anything. I can't go anywhere. I'm just stuck in my house forcing myself to converse with people who don't fucking understand me and I don't want to do it anymore. I want it all to fucking stop. I'm tired of pretending that I'm happy all the time when in reality I wanna blow up every time someone talks to me. I don't even know why I'm typing this out here I don't expect anyone to read it but I feel like if I don't stop bottling up all my feelings I'm going to fucking explode. Sometimes I just find it so hard to carry on like this but I've realized that I have to accept that no one is going to fight for me to stay in their lives no matter how much I fight for other people. And while I may have occasionally happy moments with my parents it's different. I hate the rest of my family so they don't count. All I've ever wanted in life is for someone to care about me like I care about other people and I keep going through situations alone. Sometimes I think that maybe I'm just not meant to have a person like that in my life. Ever since I was a kid I was always the joke, always the person made fun of, and the person people were friends with out of pity until someone better came along. I'm so sick of living like this I just want it all to stop. I just want someone to care. But it seems like no one ever does.

#cherry chats

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ephemerlskies · 5 years ago

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constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3

#bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts writing #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook #constant craving #rubycoast

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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Warm

Pairing: Kirishima x reader

Warnings: This one’s a little spicy, there’s some implied smut and nudity + kissy kissy (it’s really nothing major tho). Fem!reader (only bc he refers to you as his wife). Hmm, bit of hurt/comfort? Just a bunch of fluffy flirting with dashes of angst and spice (okay maybe a lot of angst)

Author’s Note:

Hello! Here’s the long-ass Kiri fic I’ve been working on! This is actually just loosely based on the request—I really took it and ran I guess 😅. I kept changing my mind with what I wanted to happen until I eventually wound up with this!

Ignore how it’s basically Bath Bomb but with Kirishima

Anyway I hope y’all like it!

-Sugar

*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡⋆｡*ﾟ✲*

Your consciousness bloomed back into being at the sensation of lips trailing kisses down your shoulders. Daylight pierced into your cracked lids, faintly illuminating your bedroom with the caress of a new sun.

A body pressed up against yours, his broad chest and shoulders wide enough to support the width of your own back. His mouth languidly worked its way over your bare skin; from your back, to your neck, over your shoulder. He moved as if he had all the time in the world, and he was more than willing to spend it all on you.

You hummed and shifted, signaling your newly awakened state. A thick forearm you weren’t previously aware of tightened its grip around your waist, his palm gliding over your stomach and up to your chest. It moved up and down, before finally stopping to give you a gentle squeeze.

“Morning, Eijirou,” you said, a laugh already in your sleep-worn voice.

“Hey, Princess.” His chin slotted in the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his cheek pressing against yours. “Sleep well?” His own voice was so low and quiet and deep in the mornings, making your nerves fire in an odd excitement within you.

“Of course I did,” you smirked, ignoring the stirring in your chest. “I’ve got you.”

He chuckled, and finally a small shiver shot through your body at the sound. “Glad the feeling’s mutual.”

You ducked out from under his chin, turning to your other side in order to face him. His chest pressed against yours as you hugged him back, and you couldn’t help but notice how warm it was under the covers like this. Finally you met his eyes, (E/C) meeting glittering vermillion in the morning sun for a long moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “I swear, I married an angel.”

Your heart sped from its steady beat, heat climbing the back of your neck. “Eiji!” you mumbled, flustered, hiding your face between his pecs.

He chuckled again, and at this point, you swore he was doing it on purpose. “It’s true. Gorgeous, perfect—what more could I have asked for?”

You smiled against his skin, and you felt his warm hand gently begin to stroke up and down your back. You cuddled in silence for a minute, growing lost in the touch of the other.

“This is nice,” he sighed, drawing you impossibly closer. “I finally get to spend my whole day with you.”

You lifted your head again to look into his face, smirking. “Is your plan to spend it all in bed?”

He shrugged. “That wouldn’t be a bad thing. Think about it—here, finally alone with me, all warm and snuggly? No stress, no responsibilities, just . . . me. And you. It’s been too long since we’ve had something like that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, perhaps too readily. Eijirou’s face fell. “Hey,” you crooned, taking his cheek in your palm. “I understand you’re busy. You’re out there being the best hero ever. Do you know how proud I am of you? My Red Riot, saving the day out there. It’s worth the wait.”

His ruby eyes glimmered as they affectionately bored into yours, leaning into your touch. “I still feel bad I can’t be here for you like this every day.”

“But then it wouldn’t be as special.” Your thumb stroked his cheekbone, finally pulling him into a kiss. It started out soft, but Eijirou was quick to escalate the gesture. He devoured your lips enthusiastically, just like he always did, licking and nibbling at the skin.

Warm, you couldn’t help but think, as your heart pounded and blood rushed towards your face. Warm as his fingers laced with yours on his cheek, warm as your skin touched without a centimeter separating you.

Kisses with Eijirou were addictive, and once you started, you could scarcely bring yourself to stop. With every push and pull of your lips, it was as if pure joy had flooded your veins. Even after all these years of being together, you basked in the truth that he could still make you feel this way.

His lips pecked the corner of your mouth, then moved down, down to your jaw, then your neck.

“Eiji,” you breathed, a smile tugging your lips up.

He met your eyes again, removing his tongue and teeth just enough to innocently question, “What?”

“I—weren’t we—it really is—” you began, but your brain was already distracted, focusing on the way he sucked and nipped at your skin, moving ever lower.

“Are you actually going to stop me?” he asked, kissing your collarbone.

You gulped. “No.”

It was a few more hours until you got out of bed.

…

“Eiji.”

You spoke his name and tapped him on one shoulder blade, muscled and kissed by the sun. He grumbled, asleep once more, nuzzling closer into your bosom.

“Eijirou, it’s noon,” you said, glancing at your bedside alarm clock and shaking him again.

“So?” he mumbled against your skin.

“So I’m hungry,” you pretended to whine. “Let’s make breakfast. Or lunch. Brunch, yeah.”

He sighed, dramatic, hugging you tight. “But I don’t want to get up.”

“I’ll make us pancakes,” you offered, threading your hands through his soft red hair.

He didn’t move.

“—with extra bacon and sausage,” you added.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours as his chin settled on your chest. “Okay, I’m listening.”

You chuckled, ruffling his bangs and poking at his nose. “Come on, you have to get off of me. We can cuddle again later.”

Eijirou finally straightened, letting you slide out from under him. You both stretched and moved towards your dresser; Kirishima choosing a pair of gray sweatpants while you opted for one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts.

Eijirou trailed after you to the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you rummaged through the fridge for a few ingredients. Within minutes, you had the batter mixed, and you poured it into the hot pan with a satisfying sizzle. Your husband watched with interest from behind, chin perched on your shoulder and arms resting around your waist.

“That one looks nice,” he’d comment every now and then. “Good job, babe.”

His hands stayed ever-present on your body, mostly resting on your shoulders or hips as you finished making breakfast. You ate with him, making light conversation as you plowed through the stack of pancakes and meat.

When you were done, you spent some time catching up around the house. Eijirou helped you wash the dishes and fold and put away the laundry. He insisted on doing it all by your side, happy to chat while you shared effort on the chores.

“How do you keep up with all this?” he asked, setting one of his t-shirts on the bed, freshly folded. “With your job and everything, it’s amazing that you still do so much.”

You shrugged. “I manage. It’s not so bad. And don’t completely discredit yourself, you still help when you can.”

“Well, of course I do,” he said, carrying a pile of clothes to the dresser. “You shouldn’t have to take care of everything by yourself.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “but you have other things to do that’s more important than dusting behind the TV.”

He came back to your side again, putting his arm around your waist and pulling you in so he could kiss your temple. “I’m just thankful you’re here to keep up with the house.”

“And I’m thankful you’re here to spend time with me today.” You popped up on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, taking the now-empty laundry basket back to the laundry room.

“Would you like to watch a movie together?” you asked when you were back in the doorway. “The evening is young. We can make a snack and go back to cuddling on the couch. How does that sound, huh?” You grinned and wiggled your eyebrows, trying to sound convincing.

“Sounds perfect to me, babe,” Eijirou said, striding up to where you leaned against the doorframe. “But I think the only snack here is you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ei-JI—AAA!”

He picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, grinning his shark-toothed smile as you laughed.

“I meant popcorn!” you said, pretending to struggle.

Kirishima landed a gentle smack to your behind and made a little pop noise with his mouth.

“Ugh,” you said, going limp.

“Shall we continue to the living room, my lady?” he asked.

“Fine. But I don’t think ladies are supposed to be carried like a sack of potatoes.”

He chuckled, already making his way down the hall. “You’re the finest sack of potatoes I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey!” You landed the softest of punches against his back, still lighthearted in the situation.

He set you down once you were back in the kitchen, going to the pantry to grab a bag of popcorn. You sat on the counter to watch him put it in the microwave.

“I’m always scared I’m going to burn these,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly as he tried to decide on a time to put in.

“I do it for a minute and fifty seconds,” you said, childishly swinging your legs.

He inputted the time as you said, the microwave humming to life as the turntable began to spin. Eijirou turned to you again, moving so he was between your legs. “Now, about my snack.”

You snorted, giggling until he cupped your cheek in his hand. He slotted his lips against yours, pulling your body flush into his. Your hands wandered over his bare skin, tracing the blade of his shoulder before gliding up into his hair. You let your fingers lace through the vibrant red strands, anchoring yourself and pulling him in further. Your legs even went as far as wrapping themselves around his waist, your feet meeting at the small of his back.

Eijirou hummed into your mouth, happy to savor you, glad he was there to hold you. The microwave beeped that it was done and you felt his attention shift momentarily, but soon he was back to cherishing you, getting lost in your taste and your touch. How could he care about anything other than you right now? You were his everything, his world, his reason to be. He kissed you harder, not caring that he was running out of breath. He just wanted more of you, wishing he never had to stop. His hand traced over your thigh, longing for you to somehow be even closer.

The microwave beeped again, impatient that it hadn’t been opened.

“Are you going to get that?” you asked, pulling back.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, but he still insisted on giving you a few more chaste pecks before he moved.

You released him and hopped down, wandering into the living room with your husband right behind you, newly equipped with a steaming bag of popcorn.

“What should we watch?” you mused. “Ooh, how about Star Wars? It’s been a while and I know it’s one of your favorites.”

“Okay,” he said, settling next to you on the couch. It was a good idea. You were right about him liking it, but he’d also seen it enough times that he could place all his focus on you. There was no way he was going to let your little make out session go interrupted like that.

“Why don’t you go turn out the light?” you asked, already turning on the TV.

Eijirou stood, walking up to the switch on the wall. It was then that he felt his phone begin to vibrate in his pocket. He flicked the lights off as he fished out the device. He figured it was junk, but then he saw it was his work contact. His heart began to sink.

“Who’s that?” you asked, apprehensive when you saw the expression that had already come onto his face.

“The agency,” he said, voice low and small.

He wanted to think they were just calling because he’d left something in his office. Or maybe it was a mistake and they hadn’t meant to call him at all. But they wouldn’t contact him on his day off like this if it wasn’t an emergency. Kirishima wasn’t so naïve that he’d think otherwise.

What if he just didn’t answer? What if he ignored it and went back to you? You were the one he wanted to spend time with. This was his evening off—your evening to be together.

But he had a job. He had a responsibility. An innocent person’s life could be at risk. What kind of person—what man, what hero—would he be if he selfishly ignored it? His passion demanded sacrifice, and that was just something he had to live with. He only wished that you weren’t the one who always had to get hurt.

He never knew his thumb to feel so heavy as he pressed receive.

You watched him put the phone to his ear, watched his face fall further as it seemed your collective suspicions were confirmed. He shot you an apologetic glance before he briskly strode off in the direction of your bedroom, still listening to what his secretary was saying on the other end.

You looked back to the TV, the ‘st’ still present in the search field from when you’d typed it in only moments before. Sighing, you turned off the screen, sitting back into the couch.

Maybe he wouldn’t be gone long, you thought, chewing on your lip. Maybe you’d still have time to be together when he got home.

But you knew that it was little more than a lie to yourself. You knew he never came back soon.

The front door slammed shut somewhere else in the house, and you were alone again. You lifted your left hand, examining the glittering rubied ring that rested on your finger. The ring that claimed you as his. The ring that had made you a Kirishima.

You twisted it absentmindedly, appreciating the sensation of friction against your skin. You’d known what you were getting into when you’d accepted the ring. You’d known as soon as he’d gotten down on one knee nearly two years ago. Being wed to a hero wouldn’t be easy. Not only were you in danger just being involved with him, you were also going to be alone a lot.

And even still, you’d accepted. You always cherished every moment you were able to have with him. Every cheesy, teasing joke, every kiss, every time he’d come home to you exhausted and tired and dirty—you still loved it. Because you couldn’t even imagine spending your life with another. Maybe in some other reality, you’d find someone who loved you as much, but here, you wanted Eijirou. No matter what it took, you’d be the one waiting for him to come home. It was your shoulder he’d cry on, your chest he’d fall asleep in, your lips that were there for him to claim. And nothing would change that.

You knew how guilty Kirishima felt about leaving you. He didn’t like that he’d essentially forced you into being his housewife, even though you still had a day job of your own and didn’t really mind.

Being a hero is what he wanted to do his whole life. You saw how passionate he was about his job, all the wide, toothy smiles he’d display to the live TV cameras when he’d win another battle. His job was something he loved, and you wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of it. It wasn’t perfect, nor was heroing as glamorous as some made it out to be. But this was his dream, and you would continue to be his number one fan no matter the circumstances. If only it didn’t have to take him away so much . . . .

You munched on a handful of cooling popcorn—not burnt—wondering what you should do with the rest of your night off. You certainly couldn’t spend it sitting by yourself in the dark.

You stood, stretching. This was nothing new for you, you could be independent. But a part of you couldn’t help but selfishly wish it didn’t have to be this way.

…

Kirishima fumbled to put the key in the lock on your door. He’d done his work for the day, he’d won. But had he really?

God only knew what time it was. The house was dark when he opened the door, stepping in and taking off his boots. He knew the drill by now, setting his duffel bag down to rest in the genkan before trudging through the shadowy rooms of his home. Could he even call it his home? Sometimes he wondered if he was still able to say he lived here.

The bedroom door was cracked open. Eijirou peeked in to see your shadowy form asleep, alone on the large mattress in the masses of blankets. He sighed and toed his way into the guest bathroom where he knew he was less likely to disturb you, cringing when he flicked on the bright light.

He caught a look at himself in the mirror as he stripped off the hoodie he wore to and from work. His hair was a tangled mess, sweat and grime still smeared on his skin. The shower sputtered to life, the din of water droplets hitting tile filling his ears. It was almost comforting; letting his thoughts drown to a low, unpleasant hum beneath the sound.

Water rolled over his skin, washing away what should have been his victory. No one’s life had really been in danger today, but he’d still stopped a villain from potentially destroying someone’s business. Why wasn’t he as happy as he should be?

Kirishima wearily went through the motions of taking a shower. He just wanted to fall into your arms and sleep, but first, maybe he should apologize for ruining your evening together. Had he even said goodbye to you as he rushed out the door?

At least he smelled considerably better when he stepped into the bedroom, changed only into a pair of loose basketball shorts. He walked up to your slumbering form, wondering if you’d wake up if he were to try and take you in his arms.

Eijirou already felt like he was in heaven as soon as he felt the soft mattress under his body. He practically melted under the already warmed blankets, the lids of his eyes suddenly feeling like lead weights when his head met his pillow. His arm draped over your side out of habit, pulling you closer into his chest before he even realized what he was doing. You began to stir, and Kirishima frowned. He hadn’t really wanted to wake you.

“Eiji?” you mumbled, still half asleep.

“It’s me,” he whispered in your ear. “I’m home now.”

You ran your hand over your face. “Did you eat? What time is it?”

“Shh, go back to sleep, honey, don’t worry about me.” Eijirou placed a soft kiss on the skin of your neck, rubbing circles on your midsection in an effort to soothe you back to rest.

“But I do worry about you,” you protested, voice still hushed. “I’m your wife.”

He sighed in defeat. “Alright, I haven’t eaten anything,” he confessed, “but I’ll make sure to get breakfast in the morning. I’m too tired right now, I just need to hold you and sleep.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, already moving to stand. “It’s not good for you to not eat like this. I’ll get up and reheat something for you—”

“I’m fine. Really, please.” He held you down and nuzzled into your neck, not caring about the way your hair tickled his nose with every breath.

You took his hand, lacing his thick fingers with your own. “Did everything go okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “They just needed some emergency backup. I’m sorry I ruined movie night.”

“Oh, honey, it isn’t your fault.”

Eijirou sighed again. “I know.”

“I’m not upset with you.”

“You never are,” he mumbled, and there was a strange bitterness to it that made you frown.

“Well, it’s a part of your job—”

“Why can’t you just be angry with me?” he interjected. “Why don’t you hate me for having a job that always takes me away from you?”

You froze at his outburst, shocked. “Eijirou—?”

“I—I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, instantly regretting the way he’d spoken to you. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, baby.” You turned onto your back, shuffling so Kirishima could lay his head on your chest. “There’s something going on. Please talk to me.”

He nuzzled closer into you again, holding you in his arms as your fingers began to twirl around his hair. “I just wish I didn’t have to leave you so much,” he admitted softly. “I want to be here for you.”

“But you love your job, right?”

“Of course I do.” He looked up at you so his chin rested in the valley of your chest. “But I love you more. And I feel like I don’t show that to you enough.”

You brushed his bangs out of his face, your hand moving down so your thumb could stroke his cheek. “Eiji, I know you love me.”

“Yeah . . . ,” he trailed off. “But I want to show you. Every day, like I did when we were younger. I don’t feel like it’s manly for me to leave you here by yourself all these nights, and come home late, and not be around. You deserve better than that. I want to contribute more. I want to be here for you. What if—what if something happened to you and I couldn’t protect you?” His voice seemed to break at the thought, his arms wrapped around you squeezing you even tighter.

You hummed, taking in his laments, fingers still carding through his long red hair. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now,” you murmured, hoping to soothe him with your actions, “but you should know by now that I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

He nodded against your hand, but his shadowed face still looked glum.

“And yes, I miss you and I wish we had more time for each other, but I’m sure that someday it’ll change. Your job is tough right now, Ei, but this is your dream. Every day, you’re doing amazing things and I couldn’t be more proud of you. This is what you want to do in life, right?”

He nodded again. “Of course.”

“Then I’m going to support you. If this is what comes with being a hero, then we’ll just have to . . . adapt. Take things as they come, you know? You’ve got a lot on your plate and I want to help you. I know you doubt yourself sometimes and it only gets worse when you’re tired like this.”

“Mhm,” he agreed, voice a little airy and distant. He took your hand in his and began to press slow kisses to your palms and knuckles. You could see the shine of his eyes becoming more obscured by the droop of his lids.

“Maybe you can try to get a week off next time?” you suggested. “And maybe tell Bakugou to hire better back up so you won’t have to get called in like that.”

“A whole week with you,” he mused, sighing. “I’d get spoiled at that rate.”

You bent forward to kiss his forehead, smirking. “It’s nothing you don’t deserve. Either way, we’ll talk about this later, sleepyhead. You still have to go in tomorrow. Maybe it was a good thing we slept in today.”

He chuckled, turning the both of you on your sides and sliding up so he could have better access to kiss all over your face. You couldn’t help but smile at his gentle, languid movements; still determined to display his love for you even half-asleep.

“This is my favorite part of the day,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your cheek. “Coming home to you. I just feel so . . . comfortable around you.”

“You should,” you said, poking the tip of his nose. “I’m your wife.”

“Yeah. But you’re also like, warm and stuff.”

Was he even still conscious at this point?

“Goodnight, Red.”

“Goodnight, my little lovebug.”

And so you began to drift off with him. You had to admit, it had been cold and lonely sleeping without him. But now his presence overwhelmed you in all the right ways, from his fresh-out-of-the-shower scent to the feeling of his arms caging you in against his chest. You felt comfortable, yes, but also warm.

So warm.

*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡⋆｡*ﾟ✲*

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicaegyo @hyunmin-1404 @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars @sendhelpimstupid @sxngwoos-ash-box @xoxopam4

#eijirou kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima bnha #eijirou kirishima bnha #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #request fulfilled!#sugar fics

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ambivalentmarvel · 4 years ago

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happy birthday amy @thinkingisadangerouspastime!!!! i’m a day late, but i love you!! thank you for all your fic snippets, fielding my ramblings, and sending me ffwf asks even though i’m not always good at responding to them asdfasdf. enjoy some domestic sambucky (+ aj and cass) being annoying and also in love at the grocery store.

sweeter than us

“For the last time, why do we need the app when I have perfectly good coupons right here?” Sam asks in a grocery store aisle, holding up his binder clip stuffed with deals cut out of the newspaper.

“Babe, quick question.”

“Shoot,” Sam challenges, his eyebrows raised in a way that should be inquisitive but is mostly just irritated. Vaguely. Bucky is nothing if not talented at pushing Sam’s buttons, particularly when they’ve both chosen something to argue about for the hell of it, so he’s gotten familiar with the look.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the old man here?”

Sam glares. AJ and Cass stand off to the side, debating what color the frosting on the cake should be. Sam is still holding out the binder clip between them, and with the way his fingers clench it, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to turn it into a weapon or, at the very least, a projectile; he’s seen people do more with less. “You, James Buchanan Barnes, are a major pain in the ass.”

“I’m your pain in the ass. Also, the app can price match.”

A vein in Sam’s temple throbs dangerously. Bucky, frankly, doesn’t understand why his reliance on modern technology is such an inconvenience for him. If everyone in the 21st century carries around tiny computers, shouldn’t they use them? Sam is sucking in a breath and Bucky is preparing to continue his defense of his grocery shopping app when AJ speaks up: “Uncle Sam, we’re getting stuff for chocolate cake, right?”

Sam shoots Bucky a look to say this isn’t over, but he turns to face his nephew. “Hell yeah we are.”

Cass frowns. “Mom says you’re not supposed to cuss around us.”

“Your mom is also getting a chocolate cake when everyone knows vanilla is the better flavor,” Sam points out. “Besides,” he winks, which makes both AJ and Cass grin conspiratorially, “are you guys gonna’ tell her?”

“Hell no!” they chorus, and Sam’s vein is doing that thing again.

“Now, wait a second—”

Bucky lets him chew them out. They’re up early getting ingredients for a cake and breakfast in bed for Sarah, seeing as it’s her birthday, and while he suspected bringing AJ and Cass along might not help their productivity any, it is endearing to see his boyfriend around them.

Bucky eyes their cart. Going to the grocery store with a big family—and somehow, Bucky has one of those now—inevitably means, as Bucky has learned, picking up things you didn’t plan on getting. They’re not doing too bad this time around, but lunch meat, goldfish, cantaloupe, chicken nuggets, and ice cream, among other things, are definitely not the ingredients they came for.

“—just because I say something doesn’t mean you get to say it!”

“Why not?” AJ grouses. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m an adult. You two are not.”

“But—”

“And I’m Captain America. Comes with special privileges.”

Bucky’s pleased he tuned in just in time to hear Sam pull the superhero card on his nephews. The boys glance at him, maybe to see if he’ll jump ship and side with them to irk Sam, but he prioritizes staying in Sarah’s good graces over bothering his boyfriend. Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know what you guys want me to say—I’m a super-soldier. The two of us get shared benefits.”

“Shared benefits,” Cass mocks under his breath, distorting the words into a higher pitch. Bucky chooses to let that one go, as does Sam.

“Do we have everything we need yet?” Sam asks, effectively distracting the boys. “We were down to more cocoa powder, oil, and powdered sugar for the icing, right?”

“And sprinkles!” Cass interjects while AJ skitters to the back of their group.

Sam shakes his head. “We already have sprinkles at the house, bud.”

Cass ignores him, going to a shelf, standing on his tip-toes, and reaching for an admittedly oversized container. “But these are yellow. And sparkly. And yellow is Mom’s favorite color!”

He makes a good point. However, Bucky can see that Sam isn’t convinced, and he has to be the boys’ uncle’s cool boyfriend somehow. He leans in, pecking Sam on the lips. “Come on, babe, it’ll be a good touch. And they’re sparkly,” he reiterates.

Sam turns to look Bucky in the eye, his expression equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

Bucky holds up his hands placatingly. “I live to serve. You should too, Captain Ameri—”

Sam tugs him in for a kiss by his collar to cut him off, and Bucky’s vaguely aware, through the haze of appreciating that a) he has a boyfriend b) he loves his boyfriend so fucking much and c) the cake is, honestly, going to look fun with the sprinkles, of AJ and Cass gagging in the background.

“Gross!” AJ complains. “Grooooss!”

Sam pulls away from the tragically brief kiss rolling his eyes. “That wasn’t even that long,” he points out as he tucks an arm around Bucky’s back. “If you guys want a gross kiss—”

“No!” the boys shout together, and though Bucky and Sam keep grinning and accidentally-on-purpose bumping into each other as they grab the last few things they need, they keep the PDA to a minimum, as their audience has so clearly requested.

It’s not until they’re up to the register that Bucky clocks that his jacket pocket feels suspiciously light, and when he glances around, he finds AJ at the end of the checkout taking deliberately bad selfies on his phone. His mouth drops open because how did a ten-year-old get the drop on him, a seasoned assassin? Sam starts using the contents of his stupid, outdated binder clip. “He got you while you were convincing me about the sprinkles,” he smirks.

Bucky tosses a half-hearted glare toward AJ, but in terms of revenge, it’s nice that he has a lovely, if annoyingly smug, boyfriend to capitalize on. Distracting Sam from scanning the cantaloupe—which he’s getting a discount on, the asshole—Bucky leans in for one more kiss, and while AJ loudly protests, Bucky thinks Sarah’s birthday is off to a pretty great start.

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon #the winter soldier #thank u ali for the idea bc. head empty no thoughts whenever i need to think up a fluff prompt.#ILY AMY I'M SORRY I'M LATE #PLS ENJOY IDIOTS BEING IDIOTS #ambivalentmarvel #thinkingisadangerouspastime #starkravinghazelnoots

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becaeffinmitchell · 4 years ago

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Fic: what i have (is who i carry home) (1/1)

Summary: Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least.

aka, five Valentine's Days Beca Mitchell's had.

Note: After ten thousand years, I’m free! Or, you know, after eight years, I’m finally posting my first Bechloe fic. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone 🥰 Gif credit goes entirely to @evenstars (thank you so much again!)

Words: 4,954

Read below or on AO3!

--------

i. 2012, Freshman Year, Barden University

There are so many other things Beca would rather be doing.

Like go to the dentist. Actually show up for class. Spend time over dinner with her dad and the step-monster.

Okay, maybe not that last one. Nothing in the world would make her choose that.

But here she is, in that stupid red hoodie, holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, refusing to sing that stupid song with Amy.

Later, back at the auditorium where they have Bellas practice, Aubrey's voice is shrill and loud. (As always, Beca thinks.)

"Beca, you really need to be picking up the slack. We need every dollar that we can raise so that we have enough to cover our journey to the semi-finals, and you're dead last in our fundraiser right now."

Amy mutters something under her breath, soft enough for Beca to hear something about — the bus? The Trebles? She doesn't really know. Whatever it is, it's not something she wants to get in the middle of.

"Maybe we can think of something new to do." Beca's tone is dry, and she schools her expression into something neutral on her face, her head tilted slightly, knowing that Aubrey has to know she isn't just talking about the fundraising activity.

It's just — she can feel the potential of these girls, okay? And it's such a shame that they're stuck doing the same three songs, over and over. If she could at least try, show them her arrangements, maybe they'd have a fighting chance.

"I have the pitch pipe, and I say we do this exactly how we have been doing it."

Beca is about to say something snarky, something she knows is going to get under Aubrey's skin, when Chloe's voice rang out beside her.

"It's okay. I'll do it with Beca tomorrow."

She hasn't even noticed Chloe approaching them in the midst of this, so her head whips around so fast at the sound of her voice.

"Don't you have a class during that time, Chloe? That's the whole reason why we couldn't pair you up with Beca." There's something about Aubrey's clipped words that is super careful and controlled, like there's more that she wants to say but isn't.

Chloe shrugs, before turning to Beca with a beaming smile. "It's okay, skipping out on one Russian Lit lecture won't make a difference."

Chloe, as it turns out, loves Valentine's Day.

Of course she does. Beca can't say she's surprised in the least. She thinks she doesn't know anyone who's more enthusiastic about everything and anything.

There's something about Chloe that feels like embers starting at the base of Beca's dead, cold heart, warming it up and turning itself three sizes larger.

It's not a thing she wants to unpack right now; she's not the type to get attached to people, and especially not when she's going to go through with her plan, and leave at the end of the school year. It doesn't matter if her dad helps her or not.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Chloe's voice, melodic as it comes, breaks the silence as they walk towards the south quad. She looks ready to go through the entire residence hall, her angel wings bouncing behind them.

"It's a day corporations literally invented to convince everyone to buy cards and chocolates and flowers at jacked up prices, so..."

Chloe lets out a happy sigh. "Maybe so. But it's also a day to celebrate love! And love is so awesome. I love love. And I'm not just talking about romantic love, though that is nice. You can also celebrate the love from all relationships in your life. Like your best friends, or your parents, or your siblings."

Beca raises an eyebrow, because Chloe is just so goddamn earnest. She tugs at her hoodie. "Let me guess, you and shower guy have a date?"

"Who, Tom?"

"How many shower guys do you have?" There's a beat. "Actually, don't answer that."

So here she is, still in that stupid red hoodie, still holding that stupid bow and arrow, standing in front of people, and singing a duet with Chloe Beale.

The next morning, Kimmy unceremoniously drops a box at the foot of Beca's bed, a loud thud waking her up.

There's a sleeping mask, a whole clip of flash drives, two huge jars of peanut butter, and cans of Red Bull in the box. There's also a card, and her name is written carefully in the middle of an envelope.

Happy Valentine's Day, Beca!!!! I've said this before, and I'll say it forever: I'm SO glad that I met you. I LOVE that you love music like it's the one thing you can't live without. It's something that really resonates with me, too. You make us better. :) :)

xoxo,

Chloe!

Beca drifts off to sleep that night, the music still playing in her headphones. She's wearing that sleeping mask across her eyes.

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

ii. 2014, Junior Year, Barden University

The thing with Jesse is, he really loves these grand gestures of romance.

Sometimes Beca thinks that that's his favorite part. It's almost like he's in love with the idea of being in a relationship.

Worse still, in love with the idea of her, like she's this perfectly scripted character who exists for him.

Last year for Valentine's Day, Jesse had shown up at her dorm. Well, outside of her window actually, boombox on his shoulder. She'd tried not to wince, her lips pressed together into something resembling a smile (she hopes) to the strains of In Your Eyes, at the ungodly hour of dawn.

It isn't even that she had just gotten to sleep like, two hours before that. Or the very clear and enunciated "fuck off!" that her neighbor gave them, complete with a dramatic slamming of her window. At least she doesn't have to deal with that now, now that they've all moved into the Bellas house, newly renovated.

It was just a lot, right? And maybe she should have been a better girlfriend to anticipate it this year, or at least match some of that. Rise up to his level, or something. She just has a reservation to a fancy Italian restaurant in Midtown, and she made that way in advance. So maybe she gets points for that?

January rolls into February, and she dreads it. Every day is a countdown to The Fourteenth.

Here's the more pressing thing: Chloe seems sad. Not all the time, but Beca catches it occasionally.

She presumes she knows her best friend pretty well by this point, until she's doing things like failing a single class on purpose so that she doesn't graduate. For the second year in a row.

And Beca gets it, at least on an abstract level. If she starts thinking about what comes after graduation — and that's in a year and some — she gets nervous, too. But in no version of her reality does she get so paralyzed with fear, that she would opt to repeat her senior year like it’s groundhog year.

She wishes she could know why, for certain. She can't help if she doesn't know what's going on in Chloe's head, but for the first time, it's Chloe's turn to clam up and switch the subject.

So Beca doesn't push. She hopes it's enough to keep her afloat as she works through whatever it is. She doesn't really know what that entails, but music? Music she can do.

She pours her energy into putting together a really solid mix for Chloe; it's all the songs that remind Beca of her, and their friendship. She picks songs and arranges them and removes them before she puts them back in, because it has to sound right.

Beca feels like the world's biggest dork for giving it to her the morning of Valentine's Day.

Well, second biggest dork, because she intercepts Chloe leaving the gift boxes in the room, for her and Amy.

"Hey, uh. Happy Valentine's Day," she says, handing her the flash drive — one of the many that Chloe has gotten her over the years, like she's her supplier — and hoping she doesn't look as awkward as she feels. "It's not anything like your, like, super thoughtful gifts." She gestures in that general direction. "But you're my best friend, so... here."

She gets pulled into a hug, and Beca can't be sure, but it sounds like Chloe's 'thank you' is strained and she's about to cry.

Beca hopes it's enough.

"So, Jesse gave you just the one earring?"

Beca's back from the dinner. It was... nice? There was a string quartet and Jesse made them play John Legend's All Of Me, and Beca didn't actually die of embarrassment when he started singing along, so she'll chalk that up as a win.

"Yeah, it's like — symbolism, I guess. From the movie." Beca shrugs, chewing on the popcorn she's made that Chloe is currently stealing. She thinks about lightly smacking her hand away, but ends up shifting the bowl so that it's nearer to Chloe.

Does she regret putting Don't You (Forget About Me) in their setlist? Maybe.

Probably not, all things considered, because it worked well together with the other songs, and they did win the finals that year. But it elevated the movie to mythical and legendary status for Jesse, and if he does that arm raising motion one more time during squabbles he wants to get out of? Beca might lose it even harder.

"Is it symbolism or a metaphor? I could never tell the difference."

"I think it was a metaphor in the movie," Beca starts, a thoughtful expression on her face. "But more of a symbol for like, me and Jesse? Oh my god." She presses her free hand to her eyes. "You're such a nerd. Stop making me think deeper about this than I need or want to."

"I just think it's nice," she hears Chloe say.

Beca hums, tone neutral. "It's something, for sure. Wait." She whips her head to face her best friend. "You didn't go out tonight? Ms. 'I Love Love'?"

Chloe chuckles lowly, quietly. "I have all I need here in this house, anyway."

When Beca goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water, she thinks she hears the soft strains of her mix playing from Chloe's room.

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

iii. 2017, Brooklyn, NY

It's apparently the warmest February in New York on record, but Beca is still fucking freezing.

The incessant chill envelops the air, and she pulls her coat closer to her. She's bundled under layers, but the radiator in their tiny little apartment is, as most things in it, almost completely busted.

Jesus Christ. It's cold.

Amy is convinced she's cold because she's moping, because she's sad about breaking up with Jesse.

Beca knows she isn't, and it's not just the long distance thing.

They'd given it a fair go, and it sucked that he got busier with classes and she tried to solve all of the music industry's problems as an associate producer, working hours trying to make tracks sound... sonically unrotten.

It's not just the long distance thing, because if Beca was honest with herself, it was probably a sign that when he told her that he was thinking of completing his studies in California, her immediate response was that of neutral indifference.

So, she is totally fine.

Beca hears Chloe singing softly before the door even opens, and she can hear it swing open too, and she knows Chloe is about to shrug her coat off —

"Don't bother, it's also cold in here," Beca says, from under the covers.

Then, her eyes track Chloe as she walks to the radiator —

"I checked, it's working. Supposedly."

"Aww." Chloe strides the distance — not that it's that long — and sits down on their shared bed. "You're so cute when you're grumpy."

"Aren't you freezing?" she chooses to deflect the comment, hugging herself petulantly. "Hey, how was your date with that guy at the clinic?"

Chloe hums noncommittally. "We went for coffee and he double-booked me with another girl."

"Dude. What a dick." Beca feels a flash of — annoyance? Chloe deserves the world. Chloe deserves everything she wants. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay though." Chloe smiles at her. It's that smile that Beca catches that she thinks it's just for her, but she's also a logical person who knows that Chloe has that ability to make people feel like they're the most important person in the world. "I've got all I need right here."

Warmth pools at Beca's stomach, and honestly. It's a nice change from the freezing.

It's 2 AM, and they're cuddling, because of course they are; because Chloe is warm; because Chloe is an embrace personified; because... Chloe.

Beca stirs awake, and she feels Chloe's breath tickle at the base of her neck. She shifts, not uncomfortably. Then, Chloe's hand drifts sleepily, and lands somewhere on Beca's hip.

And then.

There is a sudden, startling clarity in Beca's mind, knocking the figurative breath out of her. Her eyes fly open.

She loves Chloe.

And not in the same way where she loves the rest of her found family in the other Bellas.

Oh no, a voice sounds in her mind.

Oh, this is very bad, she thinks.

She can't believe how still she is right now, feeling the entire weight of Chloe's body in contact against her. Feeling her slow, steady breathing against her back. She's not even cold anymore.

Okay. So she loves her best friend. Cool, cool, very cool. That's totally fine. She can handle this.

Chloe's been such a fixture in her life, at every turn; in every note in between the downbeat and upbeat that is her life. Music is in Beca's veins, her whole life, but music flows right through Chloe. She's tucked warmly in the melody, a motif throughout the entire song.

Holy shit, Beca thinks. She's been in love with Chloe for so long, she doesn't even know when it started.

Okay, so. There's a weird spot on the ceiling, right? And Beca just keeps staring at it, because if she closes her eyes, she will feel Chloe's presence so keenly, pressed next to her.

She can't do anything with this knowledge. She can imagine it now, Chloe giving her a comforting hug but tells her, sorry Beca, I love you but not in that way.

It's five whole years of friendship, of Chloe by her side no matter what, and that is the one thing that she's got that she doesn't want to risk, just because she had this stupid revelation.

God. It's so stupid. It'll pass. Right?

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

iv. 2018, Los Angeles, CA

What is really fucking weird, even in the grand scheme of things, is journalists asking her if she's doing anything for Valentine's Day.

Which, like. First of all, Beca's not stupid, she knows it's a way to suss out her personal-slash-love life.

She's kept that pretty close to her chest for now.

But also, there's literally nothing to tell. She's not being defensive because there's something to hide away. Beca is knee-deep in work all the time, and she goes home to an apartment that feels too big for just herself. It's a big change from the entirely too cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

Sometimes she finds herself missing that very specific part of her life. Not the struggling and being unhappy doing work with no integrity, obviously. But Chloe is now a message and three hours ahead, instead of being a daily fixture in her apartment, and it leaves Beca feeling off-kilter.

But maybe that distance is a good thing, after... you know. Revelations.

Anyway.

Her work ethic doesn't stop rumors. She's linked to every guy available — and some not — every single time one of them likes her Instagram posts. She's pretty sure she's had at least two full relationships, according to the National Enquirer.

Theo gleefully sends her screenshots. She tells him to fuck off.

Chloe Look out, super star! I'm going to be in LA for a good friend's wedding in February!! If you think we're not going to hang, you're sorely mistaken.

Beca is busy, but she sure as hell isn't going to miss Chloe coming to LA.

Beca You have good friends outside of the Bellas? I am shocked, Beale.

Chloe Don't be jealous 😉

She's not. Not because of that, she catches herself thinking, and frowns at herself. Not because of anything, she decides. It's also exactly how she decides she doesn't have feelings for Chloe anymore, because Chloe is happy with Chicago, and Beca has work, and honestly? Best outcome out of every outcome possible.

Still, Beca offers up her apartment for the long-ish weekend that Chloe would be in town. She's not a monster, and Chloe has like, a mountain of student debt.

It's the least she could do.

(Beca thinks back to that first performance at the Citadel, just under a year ago. Thinks of all the nerves she's never felt before, while she's walking to the microphone. She's always had the girls on stage with her, but not this time. Her family would be seated in the front row, supporting her no matter how far she goes.

She gets to bring them up on stage this time, of course, but it's also a temporary balm and she knows it. But that's fine, she can figure that part out.

It's the after that smarts a little.

After the performance, after the event, after she feels that pit, growing and clawing from her stomach when she sees Chloe lock lips with Chicago.

After she walks away with Theo, trying her level best to carry on a conversation as if she's not affected by what she'd just seen; trying not to think of all the what-ifs.

After, on the plane back home, when she directs a small smile at Chloe's direction. If she's happy then she's happy for her.

It's the least she could do.)

Chloe's flight reaches the airport at 7 in the evening, and Beca's right there at LAX, waiting for her to emerge. She can see a couple of people with the big paparazzi cameras, training their lenses at her, but she doesn't care.

There's a flash of red as she sees Chloe running to her, and thankfully she catches her.

"Oh, I've missed you," Chloe says, so earnest and sincere as always; always, and Beca can hear her own heartbeat. She's almost worried that Chloe can too, like a traitorous Tell-Tale Heart.

"Yeah, well, regular sight for sore eyes, that's me." That's good, right? She hits jocularity right in the bullseye with that, as if she can't feel the top of her ears growing hot.

Chloe just laughs; like another kind of warmth. She draws her in again, hand rubbing up and down Beca's back.

Beca thinks she's stupid, for feeling like she's home.

They get to Beca's place, Chloe appraising the place appreciatively as she wheels her luggage in.

"This is already at least fifty times nicer than our little shoebox in Brooklyn," she observes, and Beca shrugs, a little embarrassed.

"I mean, the label's paying for it, and it's like, it's — it's ridiculous." There's a voice at the back of Beca's head repeating, our little shoebox, and she wants it to shut up.

But it is ridiculous. She has so much space, and two rooms; she sleeps in one and the other one is where she works. She's pretty sure she spends more time in the latter than she does the former.

"Anyway, uh, so here's my sort-of office, it's a bit of a mess right now." She waves her hand around (god, why is she using her hands so much) at the room with her equipment and instruments, before stepping to her bedroom door. "And here's the bedroom, which, like. You should take the bed. My couch pulls out and it's really comfortable?"

"Don't be silly," Chloe tells her, looking back at the king-sized bed. "We've slept in way more crowded spaces. This will be perfect."

Beca swallows, hard. Perfect.

Falling back into a routine with Chloe is scarily easy.

She's been here for less than three hours, and Beca's already back to being attuned to her. They put on some music in the background, she listens to Chloe talk so passionately about school and all the stuff she's learning, and Beca is so proud.

She brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas after Chloe does, exactly like how they used to, and climbs into her bed.

"Oh, shoot, I almost forgot," Chloe's saying, and Beca cocks her head curiously to see what she's forgotten. Her best friend comes back with a box, and hands it over to her.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bec. Also, I don't think flash drives are in fashion now," she winks. "So your Google Drive storage has been renewed, for all the audio files you need to back up. Don't worry, I didn't look at anything else."

"Wh — oh. Oh, right, Valentine's Day, gifts and all," Beca says, and looks at the box in her hand. "Wait, is this —"

"Chocolate from your favorite place in New York? Yessss," Chloe says, a laugh coloring her tone. She settles back into bed. "Not that you have a shortage of chocolate places here, but Amy reminded me of the time she ate most of the last box after how you were saving your favorite pieces, so I thought I'd bring some here for you."

Beca's heart clenches.

"Thanks, Chlo." She's pretty proud of how unwavering her voice is. "I miss it."

"It's been tough for me too, not having you in my orbit," Chloe says, bumping their shoulders together.

"Yeah? Must be extra tough, because Chicago's not around either." Then she's scrambling. "Not that I'm like, comparing myself to your boyfriend in any way."

She sees Chloe's mouth twist to the side. Beca's eyebrows knit together.

"Chlo?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." Chloe's words are slow, measured. Like she's afraid of setting something off.

Beca pauses, as she takes it all in.

"Oh. I mean — Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's been..." Beca sees Chloe's furrowed brows as she thinks. "Three months, almost. Just right before Christmas."

Beca thinks back to Christmas; to the group messages, the online gift cards and food deliveries made in each other's names. Nowhere in her memory exists this piece of information, and she's pretty sure she's not been that shitty of a friend to miss this.

It feels a little bit like being hurt, actually.

"Oookay," she says, licking her lips a little, letting the air out of her slowly. "Okay. Well. Good night, Chloe."

Beca can't fall asleep, and she's pretty sure she knows why. It's been an hour of staring at the ceiling, and she tries to will her stupid mind to shut down for the night.

She thinks Chloe must be asleep by now; her body clock must be three hours —

"Bec?"

Beca pauses for so long that she thinks Chloe might actually think she's asleep.

"Yeah."

She feels Chloe shift. "I want you to ask me."

Beca wants to be obtuse and frustrating; wants to pretend she doesn't know what she's talking about. Instead, the confusion and hurt win out.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, then into a sitting position. It doesn't feel like a conversation that they should have lying down. She waits for Chloe to do the same, before finding her voice and words.

"Why didn't you tell me that you and Chicago broke up?" Dimly lit by the street lights outside, Beca sees her shift in place, and she feels Chloe's hand reaching for hers. "I thought — well. You know. That we tell each other things."

Which is slightly rich, coming from her, she knows. But still.

Chloe sighs, just quietly. "Because I have feelings for someone else."

Beca blinks, taking that in. It's a weird feeling because she's simultaneously crushed and hopeful, and maybe it's the hour, or maybe it's Chloe's hand in hers, but as her eyes sweep across Chloe's face, Beca is emboldened.

She leans in, and time feels like it's slowing down as she closes the distance and presses her lips on Chloe's, roughly and then temperately.

Beca's not the most impulsive person. In the moments, though, when she is, they always leave her wondering if she'd done something stupid — like punching creepy middle-aged a cappella guys, like leaving in the middle of a fight, like pulling the girls up on stage during her solo set.

Like kissing Chloe Beale in her bed.

So she pulls back suddenly, as quickly as she had started it, an apology already stumbling out. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I just assumed, I'm so sor—"

Chloe makes a noise; something that sounds like no, her eyes so startlingly blue even in this light, and Beca freezes. She's sure her brain is working out some sort of rambling apology or excuse, maybe pass it off as a joke somehow?

But Chloe pulls her back in, both thumbs lightly touching Beca's cheekbones as she meets their lips again.

This second kiss is deeper, slower, more connected. It takes her breath away, as her hand curls at the back of Chloe's neck. Chloe tastes like mint and sweetness and sincerity, and a little like hopeless optimism on Beca's part.

A soft gasp escapes, and Chloe pulls away this time.

Beca has a tentative smile on her face, as she takes in a breath heavily; the questions written so plainly on her face.

Chloe's eyes shine.

"It's always been you, Beca."

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

v. 2020, Los Angeles, CA

Having your anniversary on Valentine's Day is good. And bad.

Mostly good, because it means that Beca has that to help keep herself honest and not forget it, because it's impossible to.

Also, she won't forget, but, you know. Just in case.

Bad, especially last year, because it fell right around the Grammys weekend, and apparently when you're nominated and win pretty much... every single category you're in, that's kind of a big fucking deal.

(It started with Best New Artist, and by the time she's on that stage a fourth time, she literally had no other words and nothing but so much gratitude.)

But yeah, so last year's Valentine's Day-slash-anniversary was overwhelming. People contacting her from all corners, wanting to congratulate her and get some sound bites; the internet pouring both support, and scathing critique on her and her music.

Beca wishes she could say she rose above it, that she was as cool as her publicist thinks her to be.

Instead, Chloe had to deal with her, a stressful human ball of anxiety and nerves. Amazing, wonderful, sweet Chloe, just happy to be around her during these exciting and utterly vulnerable times.

This year, though. This year she's older and wiser.

Hopefully.

This year, the day falls on a Friday, but they've decided to celebrate it the next day and through the weekend instead, because Chloe has a seminar she needs to attend for school, and Theo had packed Beca's entire day with a long meeting.

Key word: had.

At 7 AM, as she wakes up groggily and checks her phone, the invite has disappeared from her calendar, presumably rescheduled for some other time. She vaguely notes the message from Theo about entire teams not being available, and Beca's not going to question the reason why, because she's immediately looking up flights to Ithaca and books the first one out.

(I'm not private jet rich, dude. Also, carbon footprint. Text to Amy, because of course.)

Here's her plan:

She'll make a beeline to Chloe's apartment (Beca's been here plenty of times, in the past couple of years; met her friends here in Cornell, hung out with them, appreciated that they're her support circle while she's here), and she'll say something incredibly dorky, and Chloe will kiss her, and then, they will properly celebrate.

God, the things Chloe can do with her mouth; the sounds Beca can get her to make.

Beca doesn’t even bother squirming in the plane seat.

Chloe I have a surprise!!!

Whereeee are you? 🥰🥰🥰

Here's what happens instead:

Beca has to fly back home — noun, the place where she lives; noun, Chloe — because while she was spending six hours flying east, Chloe had done the same in the opposite direction; her seminar being canceled (something about the professor being sick?).

She can't believe it.

Okay, she can maybe believe it.

God, the Bellas are going to have a field day with this.

In the group chat, Chloe's taken a selfie of herself in Beca’s apartment and captioned it: I flew here a day early to surprise Beca, but she flew to Cornell instead to surprise me too 😂

Emily OMAG YOU GUYS that is SO CUTE!!!!!!

Beca reads Emily's text, shaking her head, knowing that this is the younger girl's version of restraint.

Flo One time I thought a guy was going to propose to his girlfriend on the plane, but turned out he was having a heart attack instead.

Jessica&Ashley #justsoulmatethings

Rush hour in LA is so horrible, and it's nearly 8 PM when she finally gets back to her apartment. She jogs all the way from the Lyft to her door.

Beca never jogs.

Her own door flings open, and she sees the smiling face of the woman she loves.

"Flying cross country for me is so romantic."

"You did that too," Beca points out, a small smirk on her face.

"Yeah, but you did it twice." Chloe beams, and kisses her again, and again.

#bechloe #pitch perfect #bechloe fic #beca stupid mitchell #and her working through her feelings #kinda #(also please validate me)#my fic

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retrievablememories · 4 years ago

Text

afterdeath | lucas

title: afterdeath pairing: vampire!lucas x fairy!reader genre: angst, forbidden romance, fantasy, vampire!au request: May I request a Vampire!Lucas with a fairy!s/o (Forbidden romance perhaps?) word count: 8.6k warnings: descriptions of death and sickness, mentions of a funeral, viewing, and funerary preparations, major character death (but...with a slight twist), mentions of blood and drinking blood, smoking cigarettes, arguments/conflict, mentions of physical violence, some romeo and juliet elements? a/n: hmm this fic probably could’ve been more detailed but i was trying to avoid triggering my own damn self with so much talk of death...ha...not sure why i went this route but i wanted a forbidden romance with an actual decent ending for both characters and this was the first idea i had recommended songs: OLLA - jhené aiko

Year 1508

“We’ve felled the demon!”

“Indeed, we have!”

Cheers ring through the dawn as a large group of fairies dance around an immense bonfire, raising their shouts of celebration to the sky. Within the fire burns the body of the Primitiva Vampire, the One and Only Pureblood, haphazardly thrown over the wood pile and relieved of her head—which sits near the bottom of the burning mass of wood, her face still twisted in a mien of anger.

As the sky begins turning lighter with the onset of sunrise, the fairies continue their celebration, staying close to the fire all the while. They carry large flaming torches to guard against any of the Primitiva Vampire’s followers who might try to sneak upon them and strike in that sliver of space where the sun has yet to rise.

The Primitiva Vampire had a long reign of terrorizing fairies and turning humans and other supernatural creatures into vampires. Each transformed being became a terrible revenant, one which viciously hunted villages and stole into people’s homes for more blood, more death, and more unwilling adherents to the vampiric cult.

Mass numbers of fairies had been decimated once the vampires first tasted their blood and took a unique liking to it. For over 200 years, the carnage continued on at the hand of the Primitiva Vampire, who had one day blinked into existence in a way that could never really be explained by any conceivable means, either human or magic. And without ever giving a hint to her strange conception, she tore across cities and towns, converting others into night creatures like herself and building a loyal following of half-bedeviled beings.

When fairy populations had dwindled to nearly extinction-level quantities, they were left no other choice—fight back or be wiped completely from the universe’s ledger. So they took up arms, honed their magic skills, and did just that.

And now, all their efforts culminate in this blood-stained morning. It marks a much-anticipated moment of revelry before they have to return to their posts to watch for the night creatures inevitably waiting on the other side of the sunset, ready to avenge their slain Goddess.

Present Day

“You probably shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I wanted to come,” Lucas replies, taking your hand is his large one. “I wanted to see you.”

“I can figure that.” You laugh quietly, a little afraid to let your voice rise higher in case it carries too far. “But that doesn’t mean you should’ve come.”

Lucas holds your hand tightly. His skin is cold against yours due to his slow blood, and colder still from the chill permeating the air. It’s only one of many vampiric traits that the other fairies would think of as strange or barbaric, but you don’t see it that way. The chilliness just reminds you solely of him.

“Well, I missed you. And I’m here now, so you’ll just have to deal with me.”

The building you’re standing behind is damp, old, and dilapidated, and it’s not even one of your pre-designated meeting places. In front of you is a rusted chain link fence, which barricades a field of tall and unkempt grass. More aged and crumbling buildings scatter themselves across the distance, taken over by grass and climbing vines.

You don’t know what’s out here. This is one place within your district you haven’t been to before. It was Lucas’s idea to come here, after your last meeting place had nearly been discovered and he found it too risky to keep going there.

The entire city of Beijing is split up into different districts, each belonging to a different faction of supernatural beings. Some nonhuman races have close ties with each other and allow frequent cross-district mingling; others are sworn enemies, forbidden to fraternize with each other under pain of death. In these latter cases, crossing into another’s territory without express permission—or in rare situations, ties to a powerful ally (or allies) on the other side—is asking to get arrested, injured, or worse.

Lucas would be your tie to the vampire side and you his tie to the fairy side if your species weren’t centuries-long enemies. Instead, you’re relegated to having him sneak in and out of your district and hide what he is with blood-scent blockers and eye contacts to make the trickery easier to get away with. There’s only so much you can do to disguise your fae nature; stepping into vampire territory would turn you into a shining beacon.

“Hmm…” you sigh, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. You grasp Lucas’s hand so you’re now holding it with both of yours. “How long do you think we can keep this up? Going from place to place like this. Hiding like criminals.”

Lucas gives a lopsided grin—one that cannot morph into a full smile because of the sadness coloring it. “I don’t know. Forever, if we’re lucky.” He chuckles.

You stare at your intertwined hands, unaware of the sheer intensity of the longing expression on your face, though Lucas sees it clearly. It threatens to burn his heart to ash. “Unfortunately, fae don’t live forever like you do, so maybe not. Besides, your people would probably find out and come after me before we could even settle into a ‘forever.’”

He shakes his head fretfully at your words, squeezing your hand. “Do we have to talk about all that now? You know we don’t have much time together. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is.” Lucas pulls you into him, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“That’s fine by me,” you say, and resist the urge to make some dark joke about how scandalous it is for a fairy to have their neck so close to a vampire’s mouth—or a vampire’s anything.

You both stay together in that dingy and old spot for a while, talking in the dark until he tells you he has to go. He follows you the whole way back home to ensure you’re safe, keeping to the shadows until he sees you disappear past your front door. Then, he slips away again to head back to the familiar manor in his own district.

It’s nearly morning when Lucas gets back to the large house he shares with the other six men. By this time of day, he knows they will either be in bed or getting ready to turn in.

“Still visiting that fairy, I see.”

The unexpected voice doesn’t scare Lucas, but it does make his body tense up a bit in irritation and a slight sense of anticipation. He sighs and stops in his tracks on the way to his room, though he doesn’t face the clan leader just yet.

“Is that a problem? Because you know I’m not going to stop.”

Kun makes a noise of disbelief. “Of course it is. You know what the consequences are if anyone outside of us finds out.” Lucas turns to him slightly, and the look on Kun’s face is more disappointment—maybe even slight fear?—than anger. “I clearly can’t stop you from doing what you want to, but I can’t help you if the Association gets involved.”

Lucas rocks back on his heels and sighs, rolling his eyes at the mention of the vampire organization. “Fuck the Association. They’re nothing but a bunch of old ass hags who have no purpose in their lives other than ruling over every other vampire in the world.”

Kun looks weary at his words. “You really don’t care, do you, Xuxi. They’d have your heart on a stake if they ever heard that.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “They’re also not that much older than me, so I wonder who you’re calling an ‘old ass hag’...”

“Isn’t it a good thing that they won’t hear it, then?” Lucas laughs, but it’s not an entirely humorous sound, and he gives Kun a searching look as his chuckles die off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have no interest in telling them anything, mostly because I also have no interest in our whole clan being wiped out.”

Lucas nods, reaffirming his somewhat shaky but still present trust in Kun, needing the regular reassurances for his own calm. He stretches his arms above his head and takes a few steps like he’ll go to his room, though he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Just don’t see what the big deal about all this is. All this over some ancient bloodsucker who died like 500 years ago...who cares.”

Kun winces again, though he doesn’t bother with reprimanding Lucas this time; he only shakes his head and sighs heavily like it’s already a lost cause. “A vampire and a fairy together is more than blasphemy—it’s ridiculous. It’s illogical. They all think we’re bloodsucking demons hellbent on killing them.”

“To be fair, there’s definitely a sect of vampire zealots or two who are trying to do exactly that despite the laws.”

Kun sighs. Lucas is right; what can he say to argue that? “Xuxi…”

“I’m telling you I’ll be fine, Kun-ge. You don’t need to worry about me and Y/N. Things have been going fine for this long.” Lucas nods, then heads off to his room for real this time. Kun watches him leave, feeling a lot less reassured than the younger man.

Ten takes Xiaojun and Lucas on one of their weekly outings to a blood lounge. Blood lounges are an easy and accessible way for vampires to get blood, though the legalities of this practice are a little muddy. Before getting with you, Lucas didn’t mind drinking straight from the source—going to one of the back rooms and sucking some willing, vulnerable being just to the point of death—but now, it feels like a type of transgression. Drinking someone else’s blood can be an intensely intimate act, on the same level as sex depending on the context, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make you think he’d be unfaithful.

To his fortune, there is no club rule about having to feed off other beings; many vampires take their blood in fancy champagne glasses, just like drinks in a human club. He does that now as the three men sit in a darkly lit booth.

Their conversation is unexciting for a while, with Lucas keeping careful not to mention you or any of his recent visits to your district to avoid any prying ears in the lounge. However, things soon get interesting. “We all know how Renjun got taken off the Association’s Registry a year ago, right?” Ten asks suddenly.

“Yes, of course.” Xiaojun answers like he’s already bored of this turn in the conversation. “That’s what happens whenever a vampire dies.”

Ten nods, but his eyes are wide like he has a secret he’s itching to tell. “But I don’t think he actually died.”

Lucas’s ears perk up at that.

“Why?” Xiaojun asks.

“He was seeing that human before he supposedly died, you know—”

“The one who lost it and drove the stake in his heart? We all know how it happened—”

“Can you let me finish? Anyway, I’ve heard some...suggestions that he faked his death—that maybe he got a magic user to set the whole crime scene up and make it look like it was real. Illusory magic, or something like that.”

Xiaojun sits forward. “A magic user. As in a fairy? Or a witch? Who?”

“I don’t know, just someone who uses magic. People are starting to think he and the human faked it all and ran away to Tianjin. I heard someone even claimed they saw somebody who resembled him when they went to Tianjin recently, though I don’t know how true that is…”

Xiaojun’s interest is thoroughly engaged now. “Think the Association will go looking for him, if it's true?”

“I don’t know if they’d care enough to hunt down an unregistered vampire who’s laying low and not creating chaos with other citizens. We all know Tianjin is way more relaxed about inter-species relationships, too. But the Association doesn’t like looking stupid. And that kind of trick definitely makes them look stupid.”

Lucas sits back, taking all of this information in. He is uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t know what to make of that situation or why Ten is telling them about it. He thinks he can guess why, though, by the way Ten’s gaze lingers on him, and that scares him a little. The way this rumor piques a forbidden interest in him scares him. Lucas lifts the glass of blood to his lips and drinks from it, trying to distract himself from the current conversation.

“All this for a damn human. Only an idiot would try something like that,” Xiaojun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a smart one. It did get him off the Registry.”

“How can you be a smart idiot?!” Ten and Xiaojun start arguing over the semantics of the term, and Lucas watches them in amusement, though his mind remains in two different places for the rest of their time in the blood lounge.

—

Later that night when they are back at the manor, Lucas pulls Ten aside, just like the older man expected him to.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, though his expression shows he already knows exactly what’s the matter.

“You...the stuff you said about Renjun earlier. I…” Lucas doesn’t know how to start or break his idea to him softly, so he decides to just say it. “Is it really possible?”

“I think it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get off the Registry…though many other attempts were way less successful.” Then Ten hesitates before saying, “You could try it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Ten’s expression softens a little. “I know you and Y/N love each other a lot, but there’s no way the Association will ever let you stay together if they find out. Y/N’s life could actually be in danger. Both of you are, every moment you spend together while living in these districts. If you really want to stay with Y/N, then…”

“...But I wouldn’t be able to see any of you again.” You and Lucas have become so entwined with one another that he can hardly imagine a life without you, but he also finds it difficult to picture his existence without his brothers. They’ve become like blood family to him over the last couple centuries.

“Yeah.” Ten sighs deeply, and although his reply is short, Lucas knows that one word is carrying the weight of all of his stress and sorrow about the idea. “Maybe we could find a way to visit you sometimes. Get the fairies or witches to do some of their magicky shit.” Ten laughs quietly. “But...it’s still just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

Lucas shakes his head slowly. He wants to put the idea to bed and try to continue on with his life, managing his clandestine visits to your district when he can. But now that he knows of an alternative way, no matter how unreasonable or unbelievable it is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget about it. “Kun-ge is going to kill you once he finds out this was your suggestion. You know that, right?”

Ten shrugs, and the sadness lifts momentarily in the curve of his lips. “He can try.”

The next time you and Lucas meet up, it’s in yet another different place under an ancient and mostly abandoned bridge. As a precaution, you stand together underneath the darkness of the bridge and stay out of sight, though there are few chances of anyone being around to see you in the first place.

He has to muster up the courage to tell you of his idea, unsure of how you’ll react or what you’ll think of it. It’s a lot to ask of you. Your kinships and friendships are not as extensive as his, only having a brother and two cousins left in the world, but he doesn’t know if he could ever ask you to leave them behind like this. Or if he could shake off the guilt that would remain from it.

“There might be a way for us to change things…” Lucas starts, skipping the build-up because he knows it would take him forever to think of something appropriate to say. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Change things?” You glance at him curiously. You wish you could see the deep red of his irises, but they are hidden behind his brown contacts. “As in, with us?”

“Yes. So that maybe we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. Or at least...not sneak around as much as we do now.”

“What is it?” you ask. Despite yourself, your wings flutter against your back as wonder and excitement rise in your chest. You and Lucas have waxed poetic many times before about how you wish things could be different; and neither of you have ever been able to come up with a workable plan. But now, his claim that maybe something is possible has you dangerously curious.

“Taking myself off the Registry. I could basically just...disappear. The Association can’t harm what technically no longer exists.”

You stare at him in confusion. “But you can’t do that, right? Only under special circumstances…”

Lucas sees the question in your eyes and nods. “Right. Like if I die…” You flinch, shaking your head immediately. “...or pretend I’ve died.” This makes you pause, not expecting to hear something like that come from him.

“Pretend...you’ve died. Faking your own death?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but...there’s another vampire who we think has done it before. And...it worked. Supposedly.”

You shake your head again, but you turn the idea over in your mind. “How would you even do that? Someone would have to know you’re not really dead. That can’t be as easy as it sounds...”

Lucas swallows hard. “I know, it doesn’t, but maybe if we plan it right...I think we could pull this off. Some of the others...already know about it.” Only Ten, really, but that’ll inevitably change soon.

Your heart is hammering in your chest just thinking about this plan—the small, undefined plan that it is—and you’re unsure how to approach it. “If we leave under those circumstances, we can’t come back here to Beijing. Which means we won’t see anyone else again, our families and friends...”

“You understand that.” Lucas’s voice comes out strained.

You sigh, wringing your hands. “I do.”

Lucas hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s too much to ask of you. We can just forget about this, really. I know sneaking around has been difficult, and I just—”

“I never said I wouldn’t agree to it,” you say softly, interrupting him before he can begin deriding himself about the idea.

Lucas’s head perks up again, and you both look at each other for a long moment. A cold night breeze flows through your clothes and rustles your wings, which remain tucked close against your back.

“Just think of it as leaving the nest, I guess,” you say, though there are tears welling in your eyes. “Growing up and making a life for ourselves. We can do that...right?”

Lucas bites his lip and closes his eyelids to stave off the tears trying to form in his own eyes. “Yeah. We can do that. Even if it’s a bit...unconventional.”

You nod hurriedly, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before any more tears can make their way out. “If you really want to do this, then we need to visit my brother.”

—

Your brother is predictably not thrilled about the idea. He likes Lucas well enough, but he’s never been very good at hiding his skepticism about your relationship. Though he would never say this to you directly, he never expected your relationship to make it past a few months; and yet it’s been a year and a half since you and Lucas started seeing each other. Maybe he’d be glad about your relationship’s stability if your partner was anyone other than a vampire. Alas, he instead spends all his time stressing over whether either of you will be found out at any moment’s notice.

“You’re playing with fire,” your brother says as he sits down at his desk within his apothecary office. He shakes his head the entire time, but he rifles through his collection of books on magic anyway. If there is anyone who knows a potion or spell that could work for this scheme and would actually be willing to keep it all secret, it’s your brother.

“I know that, Aldriel.” You cross your arms, sighing impatiently at your brother’s continuous reprimands since you’ve stepped through his door. “That’s why we came to you. You’re one of the best magic wielders and potionists around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. No need to blow smoke up my ass,” Aldriel replies, never one to let a moment to brag slip away. He continues flipping through his book fast enough to make the words on the pages blur, his brow creased with focus. He is paying attention to the words and pictures on the pages, though you also know him well enough to realize this is him trying to distract himself from the many thoughts that must be crowding his brain.

“Don’t be so worried about it,” you say, trying to speak against the lump that’s suddenly forming in your throat. “You’ve always complained about wanting me out of your hair, anyway.”

Aldriel pauses in flipping through his spell book to look directly at you now, his brows creased even further and his face creating a visage of bitter desperation. “Not like this.”

Sighing, you turn away from him and let him go back to his textbook, knowing you’d probably start to cry if you look at him any longer. And who knows what will happen once that begins.

You go back to Lucas, who is sitting in the other room with his face turned to the window. It is nighttime and the blinds are closed, so you know he’s not looking at anything in particular. His mind must be similarly preoccupied.

“You okay?” you ask, touching his arm.

“Fine,” he answers, though he doesn’t turn to you. He just grasps your hand where it slides down to his own, gripping your fingers tightly. “As fine as I can be in this situation, I guess.”

You sit down in front of Lucas on the floor’s intricately decorated rug, resting your head against his knee. “It’ll be okay.” You aren’t sure of the words when they leave your lips, but you have to believe in them or else all will be lost.

—

You both spend a few hours at Aldriel’s place. At one point, you try to prod Lucas into going back to his clan to avoid raising suspicions for being gone too long—you can just get the potion to him some other day—but he insists it’ll be easier for him to stay and receive the potion now.

Finally, in the hour before dawn, your brother’s door opens and he steps through. “It’s ready.”

Both you and Lucas come alert at that, and you step back into Aldriel’s apothecary to see what he’s developed.

“This is an advanced death glamor potion,” your brother says, holding up a small glass bottle. “It contains a magic incantation that will leave you dead for a week and only a week. Seven days. Your body will remain in perfect stasis, so there’s no risk of the regular side effects that come with death.”

“A week?” you repeat, nervousness coursing through your body. Lucas looks equally apprehensive, and he squeezes your hand tighter.

Aldriel nods, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “That should be enough time to take care of the funeral arrangements and make everyone else think you’ve passed.” He says the last bit while gesturing to Lucas. “I’m not super clear on how vampire funerary customs work, though, so—”

Lucas nods. “No, it’ll work. That’s enough time.”

Your brother’s mouth creases into a thin line. “Good.” He passes the vial to Lucas, makes an expression like he might say something else, and then shakes his head, glancing to you instead. “You plan to go to Tianjin, right?”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“You’ll need to find a place to stay, then, until you can get one of your own. And I think we both know exactly where that will be.”

The potion works just as Aldriel said it would. It’s hard to know whether to be dismayed or relieved about this, though the former emotion quickly wins out with everyone.

Lucas takes it a week after meeting with your brother and procuring all the necessary fake documents, claiming it’s best not to wait any longer for it. You feel apprehensive about doing it so soon; or maybe you just want to stall for a little while longer. By now the other five men in his clan all know, each with varying reactions to it but ultimately unable to do anything to change his mind—not even Kun.

On the night Lucas uses the potion, Kun makes one last ditch attempt at reasoning.

“You don’t need to go to this extreme,” the older man insists. Though his voice is cold and sharp and deceptively calm, his entire face is a picture of perfect anger. Everyone had already had their turns talking to Lucas alone and telling him what they needed him to hear—and now it’s just Kun left.

“It’s my decision,” Lucas says, keeping his voice steadier than he feels. “I want to be with Y/N. There is no other way.”

“You’re endangering the entire clan with this. You’d throw us all away for one person?” Kun’s eyes are red-rimmed, but not just from the rage; Lucas knows he’s been crying. Lucas shuts his own eyes, his forehead creasing as he presses the pads of his fingers to his temples.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Lucas shakes his head, knowing he is treading on very dangerous waters with what he’s about to say. As if the situation weren’t already contentious enough. “You closed yourself off to love a long time ago. After Jingyi died. You just wouldn’t know.”

The vivid red hue of anger bleeds into Kun’s irises at the mention of his late human lover, and he has to make a very concentrated effort not to reach for the younger’s neck. “How dare you speak of her.”

Lucas opens his eyes again and looks directly at his elder now. “You’ve let the Association run your life too much,” he says, though the words come out sounding a bit defeated. He’s not even sure why he invokes Kun’s lover now; maybe he is trying to make the split easier by provoking the other man into hating him. “You’ve let them beat it into you that love is not worth trying for. What did you gain from that, in the end? But more loneliness.”

Lucas gets the breath knocked from him when Kun slams him up against the wall, and the unpleasant sound of wood splintering strikes against his eardrums. A long vertical crack forms in the wood behind Lucas, but not wide enough to make the wall separate completely. Not using his full strength, then, Lucas thinks to himself.

Kun looks for all the world like he might kill Lucas then and there without the younger man ever needing to take a potion—just bite his heart right out. He crumples Lucas’s shirt in his hands, fisting the fabric tightly enough to create small rips in it. His irises are the color of newly spilled arterial blood, and alongside the red rimming of his eyes from his earlier crying, it makes for an agonizing sight—one that sears itself into the back of Lucas’s mind. It’s made even worse by the new tears spilling down the older man’s face.

He chokes out through the tears, “You cannot do this. I raised you. You would have me destroyed twice?”

Lucas wishes he could shut every one of his senses off right now, but he can only manage to shut his eyes, once again, against the pain in the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Kun-ge.”

—

After that, Lucas goes back to his own room and sits on the bed for a long time, replaying the events in his head and growing colder with the realization of what he’s about to do. He stares at the small vial on his dresser until he can’t stare at it anymore, and then he downs it all at once. He looks at the vial with renewed interest as it actually disappears once the fluid is gone, the glass evaporating away in the palm of his hand like water droplets under the sun. No evidence.

Lying on his side, he stares at the wall across from his bed and waits for the spell to begin working. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually his vision begins to blur, almost so imperceptibly that it’s difficult to realize until he notices everything in his field of view is doubled, objects bleeding out of their lines like pictures drawn by a drunken artist—there’s a strange ringing in his ears too, a sound on the edge of his hearing but still present, and he doesn’t know what any of it means, or if this is how other beings feel when they are on the brink of death—it’s frightening, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for other nonhumans and humans alike who have no choice but to experience this terrible ordeal at the closing of their lives—

It’s harder to keep his eyes open now, so he closes them and lets all sounds and sensations fade out of his hearing—he only holds one last memory of you in his mind, of the soft and filmy texture of your wings underneath his fingertips, of you laughing whole-heartedly at something silly he’d said, and he joins his hands together in the universal symbol of prayer even as they grow weaker, hoping and praying even to his cursed vampire ancestor that this won’t be the very last memory of you—

—

“Yes, he has...most certainly departed from this world.”

An Association council member known as Belial announces this to the room of men after doing a thorough check of Lucas’s body. His voice is distant and saddened. The texture of it is almost tangible, dragging everyone down with it like a physical thing—akin to a rock being dropped into a thin sheet. “Such a fledgling, too. Truly tragic and strange circumstances.” Belial stands beside the bed, shaking his head and looking down at the still form of the younger man as if he might discover an answer if he stares for long enough. “Was there no indication…?”

“He was probably exposed to bad blood,” Ten replies, his voice tense and quiet. Though Kun is clan leader, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaving all the dirty work of explaining the lie to Ten.

Belial’s gaze turns to Ten. He shifts his head slightly to turn his ear towards him, as if he didn’t understand what the other man said. “Bad...blood? As in death by blood weakness?”

The room feels like it’s been sucked of air once these words are spoken, and the younger men shift uncomfortably. Sicheng never lifts his gaze to look at Belial, though Yangyang’s eyes keep darting between Belial and Lucas on the bed like he’s waiting for something to happen. Hendery is just as anxious beside Yangyang, both of them passing uneasy energy between each other. Xiaojun’s face is still fixed into the same permanent frown it had been in since Lucas first told them of the plan. His eyes remain downcast and fixed on Lucas, silently asking Why did you have to be the idiot this time?

“Yes, blood weakness. He hadn’t drank as much blood as usual in the last few days...maybe he seemed a little restless...but we didn’t think it was unusual. He...didn’t seem sick.”

“Where would he have gotten bad blood from? We vampires always take such care…” Belial’s tone turns condescending, as if he could expect no better from a young vampire—someone not even wise enough to tell bad blood from uninfected blood. How could one let themselves be taken out of this world by such a fundamental, basic mistake? Kun curls his fingers into a fist at his side, though he quickly remembers himself and tries to let them relax.

“The blood lounge,” Hendery blurts out. Every eye turns to him now, and Ten’s mouth thins into an agitated line. This isn’t what they agreed on. “M-maybe it was spoiled blood from the blood lounge. It had to be. He’s more careful than that…”

Belial’s eyes are whirling with so many emotions that it’s hard to pin any singular one down. “Serving bad blood, with or without knowledge of it, is an incredible offense within any vampire district. In that case, the establishment must be shut down—after an exhaustive investigation, of course.” This statement causes more discomfort among the gathered men, almost too much of it to be properly concealed.

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Kun interjects quietly. Belial looks at him with an expression that reeks of offense, and Kun returns the stare, glaring straight into the elder vampire’s eyes. “He died of blood weakness, most likely from drinking from some disease-ridden human. Even though he used the blood lounge and blood bags, he was in the habit of getting outside blood on occasion. It was a moment of poor judgment that cost him his life...and nothing more than that.”

A tense silence stretches over the room, and Belial’s eyes still don’t leave Kun’s. The other men remain statue-still, waiting to see what will happen—if it will work—until Belial says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll file his passing with the Keepers of the Registry, as protocol states.”

The other men stay quiet and motionless until Belial departs from their house.

“You used your compulsion on a council member,” says Yangyang, and even his voice is trembling when he speaks.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Xiaojun notes, though his tone is more irritated than awed. “They’re all so much more advanced.”

That action obviously didn’t come for free, though, because Kun is holding his head like it hurts, turning away from the rest of them. “Such recklessness is not my style. Primitiva help us all. We’re all dead if we’re found out.”

“Why did you say that,” Sicheng deadpans, his words directed to Hendery. Even though Sicheng hasn’t said or done anything since stepping into the room, he looks thoroughly exhausted. “You almost gave us away.”

Hendery holds himself up on the bed as if he’ll collapse, his body bent with all the weight of their lies. He makes a motion like he might sit on the bed before remembering it’s where Lucas’s body is resting, and he straightens himself with some effort. “I...but he was thinking badly of Lucas. Like it was his fault.”

“It was,” Kun says faintly.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you right now. Just let me handle the talking.” Ten’s expression is stressed, and for a moment he starts to wonder if he should’ve ever said anything to Lucas at all.

Xiaojun shakes his head. “For now, there is a lot more we need to do than just talking.”

Vampire funerary procedures are much different from what many other supernatural races are used to—even blasphemous to some. Everything is handled at the home of the deceased instead of a funeral home or mortuary, in keeping with the tradition of honoring one’s vampire ancestors—and ultimately, the Primitiva Vampire. After the Primitiva’s gruesome death hundreds of years ago, all that had been left was her ashes once the fire burned out, but her followers still gave the remains a proper processing and burial.

The men dress Lucas in one of his nicest suits and perform all the necessary actions that would be involved at a funerary home, including preparing the casket. All of them help throughout this process as tradition dictates, though it is more difficult than any of them expected it to be. (No one even makes a dark joke about you’ll have to do this for me when I’m gone, which speaks to their inner turmoil.)

The viewing is equally challenging to get through, if not more.

Many of their vampire friends and acquaintances attend, including various members of the Association. Everyone seems to buy the blood weakness lie perfectly, which means Kun’s compulsion worked as it should have. That knowledge does very little to relax any of them in the grand scheme of things, though.

Though they know Lucas is not really gone, the sight of him lying there in that dark coffin with other vampires looking sadly down at his still face and dabbing their tears away is deeply frightening.

The night of the viewing goes by at a glacial pace, and every other night after that up until the funeral passes even more slowly, like time itself has dropped its speed to prolong the torment.

When the last few straggling visitors for the viewing are gone, the men go their separate ways to try to deal with the not-so-small trauma of the day’s events. Kun goes up to one of the manor’s several wide balconies, one that they’ve all used as a familiar hangout spot or simply a place to unwind over the years. The sun will not rise for another forty-five minutes or so, giving him enough time to sit and think before it becomes unsafe. He is not very surprised when he finds Ten already there, though he decides not to leave.

“You stopped smoking three decades ago,” Kun comments, waving his hand in a pitiful attempt to clear out the smell of smoke filling the air. There’s no hint of teasing or personality in his voice, only hollowness and exhaustion. He sits beside the other man in one of the chairs sat outside. “Where did you even get cigarettes from?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is just for the nerves.”

“Why would I worry, it’s not like you can—” Kun pauses before saying the word they both know, realizing it hits far too close to home right now. Silence falls between them until Kun asks, “Do you actually believe this will be worth it?”

“It will. We’ve worked too hard for it not to be.” Ten takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’re giving them a second chance. Isn’t that something to feel good about?”

“A second chance. How interesting.”

“Everyone deserves one.” Ten glances at Kun from the corners of his eyes and doesn’t say anything more, but Kun already knows what he’s vaguely implying.

“And yet everyone doesn’t get one.”

“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it becomes possible.”

Kun doesn’t reply to that. Ten places a hand on his shoulder, but the older man meets this with little regard as he rises from his seat and walks away at a sluggish pace.

You stand in the train station ready to buy a ticket, clutching documents falsifying your identity and feeling more terrified than you possibly ever have. Today marks the seventh day, and you don’t even know if Lucas is alive right now. It was too risky to have any of the other clan members contact you—not until you and Lucas meet up in the designated place. You know Aldriel is an excellent potion master, and if he says the spell will work as intended then it will, but there’s always that seed of doubt.

Your parting with Aldriel had been typical of your relationship with him—you crumbling before him and him pretending like he was fine, lending enough strength for the both of you to survive on, though you knew he was also bleeding from the heart.

“You better not forget about me,” you’d told him, smushing your face into the sleeve of his shirt to hide your tears, though there was no stopping the flow. It was staining his shirt sleeve right through.

He’d scoffed at you, though it was a watery sound. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He’d held your head closer against his shoulder, the both of you glued together in whichever way seemed fit when you’d walked through his door one last time to say goodbye. “We’ll see each other again. Don’t worry.”

You’d lifted your head from his shoulder then, looking at him with an aggrieved expression. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aldriel put his hand on top of your head, petting you like a small puppy. It was a thing you’d disliked since you were both children, but which only made your heart hurt even more now. “Have more faith in me than that, dear sister. You’ll see.”

When it’s your turn to get a ticket, you step up to the counter and hand over your information, trying to keep the shaking in your hands to a minimum. The teller behind the counter is also a fairy, their wings tucked against the back of their uniform but peeking out at the sides. You childishly try to take some solace in that, hoping there will be some solidarity between you two. Maybe they’ll be less critical of your legitimacy than any other being might be.

The process is scarily easier than you’d thought it would be, though you are sweating the entire time. A fake name and birth date, and no one suspected anything. All of this would have to be your new identity now if you were to live with Lucas in Tianjin without being discovered.

Getting on the train when it comes is only part of the long journey ahead. It doesn’t provide you with much relief, but you are at least thankful to have one segment of that journey complete.

—

It takes another cab to get to your destination once you’re off the train, but you soon arrive at the house of one of Aldriel’s friends and his similar-name twin—Raziel. Raziel was Aldriel’s most trusted and oldest friend, their woven history extending back to childhood. The three of you had grown up together, and you’d even been quite familiar with Raziel until they left for Tianjin some years ago. Now, you’re back in front of each other again under circumstances that you never could’ve guessed.

“You’re here. Good.” Raziel welcomes you into their house with open arms, tugging you into a jittery hug that you anxiously return.

“Have...you heard anything?” you ask, though you know it’s futile. Raziel wouldn’t have gotten any more information than you have, not until Lucas was standing right on their doorstep. They shake their head and give you a sympathetic look, patting your hands.

“He’ll be alright. Everything will go well. I believe it.” Raziel guides you further into their house, presumably towards the room you’ll be staying in while you’re there. “It’s all so romantic, though—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I hope you know you’re doing a good thing, in the end.”

You force your facial muscles into a smile, though it is a ghostly and fleeting one. “Thank you.”

Either way, you will have to wait until nighttime to know if Raziel’s words come true or not; the sun is still high in the sky. It’s only midday. You’ve never before hated the sunlight, but right now you curse the sun’s rays that elongate the time between you and your lover.

—

“You all, give him some damn space,” Ten says, trying to pull the younger vampires away so they won’t crowd around the coffin. “He doesn’t need the scare of his life looking at all your faces when he wakes up.” Despite trying his best to be the voice of reason, Ten also has to refuse the urge to station himself beside the coffin and watch for the slightest movement of eyelids, the tiniest twitch of the lips. His hands shake from the frayed nerves of a week of nothing but death and gloom, and even though he doesn’t need to sleep, he thinks he will be out for at least two days after all of this is over.

There is no set time, no designated signal for when—or the dreaded if—Lucas will awaken. The waiting game feels longer than it really is, especially with the hours until the funeral commences steadily counting down. However, it is not very long before there’s a big sucking breath coming from the coffin, the sudden sound of lungs being filled after a week of complete stillness. Everyone rushes back to the bier when this happens, peering wildly inside the coffin.

Lucas’s eyelids flutter for an eternity before shooting open. He immediately seems distressed upon waking, sitting up out of the coffin so quick that it stutters on its stand, and the others have to steady it before it tips over.

“Xuxi...are you okay?” Sicheng asks, voice hushed with nervousness. Despite his unending anger and distress about the situation, Kun has also crowded in to witness Lucas’s awakening, and he visibly sags with relief to see the younger man is at last awake.

The look in Lucas’s eyes is wild. They are momentarily afraid that maybe something has gone wrong with the potion—maybe it has affected his mind somehow and he doesn’t remember any of them— but then he says,

“Y/N. Is Y/N okay?”

“We don’t know,” Sicheng replies. “I mean, hopefully. But it was safer to not have so much cross-communication going on—you’ll have to go to the meeting spot to find out…”

Though the reasons for this make sense, this does not provide consolation. Lucas fumbles his way out of the coffin with the men’s help. It’s clear he’s still disoriented, which makes them even more nervous, if that’s possible at this point.

“You should drink some blood before you leave,” Hendery suggests, and everyone else agrees. Lucas won’t argue that, so he downs one of the blood bags they have stored until he feels a little more like himself.

“You have to go soon, the funeral is set to start in another hour—we’ll have to leave—” Yangyang warns him, though the words fade at the end of his sentence. He doesn’t know how to continue his thought or how to even begin saying goodbye.

Lucas fills that gap by steeling himself and saying his farewells to each of them in turn, though his eyes are troubled and his chin crumples like he might cry at any moment.

“Don’t say I never helped you out with anything,” Ten says, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Being separated is painful, but it’ll ultimately serve its purpose of giving Lucas a chance at having a love that none of them could. After seeing Kun suffer the way he did after losing Jingyi, Ten wants to spare another one of his mates from dealing with the same fate.

When Lucas gets to Kun, there is a slight awkward silence and a swift exchange of glances—Lucas’s soft gaze butting up against Kun’s more solid one, which is simultaneously pleading to him and rebuking him for his actions. Still, Kun embraces him tightly enough that their bodies could join together.

“Xuxi…” Kun starts, “I don’t…” And then his words break, leaving an unspoken thought between them.

“One day, you’ll forgive me for this,” Lucas whispers to the older man. Kun gives him an endlessly hurt look in return, silently asking him how he could even conceive those words. When they separate from each other, it’s with much reluctance. Lucas looks at them all and nods once, his mouth tight with grief.

“Right. Time to go, then.”

—

You awake in the middle of the night to cool fingers on the side of your face, which startles you completely out of your sleep. Opening your eyes to an unfamiliar room scares you even more, and it takes you a moment to remember why your surroundings have changed. The knowledge comes back to you quickly when a large palm slips against your own, long fingers twining with yours.

“Xuxi,” you whisper quietly, the sound of his name hanging in the air like a prayer. One of the last few times you’ll be able to freely call him that, except in private.

You can’t see his figure well with all the lights turned out, but he had no problem navigating through the dark to reach your bedside. Wanting desperately to see his face, you fumble around for the bedside lamp switch before turning it on.

“Y/N…” Lucas’s face is suddenly illuminated to you in all its golden glory, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” you say breathlessly. You’re somewhat sad and wish you could’ve met him at the door, embraced him after his long trip, but it doesn’t much matter anymore because he’s here now.

“Poor Y/N. My baby must’ve been so tired.” Lucas bumps his forehead against yours, his whole body drooping with relief as he practically sinks into you, and you giggle a little as you complain about having to hold his weight up. There is a tingle behind your eyes that threatens to turn into a sudden burst of tears, but you try to hold them at bay for a while longer.

“Are we safe?” he whispers, needing your confirmation. “Raziel said so. But...are we really safe?”

“That’s frightening to even think about,” you reply quietly. “We can’t stay here too long, but for now…I think we will be.” Lucas nods without a word, still holding your hand. His blood-scent is completely absent, as it usually is when he’s around you, and you know he’s used the blockers. Soon, with the ability to go out together and not be arrested or threatened for it, that will not be necessary to disguise his vampirism anymore. “It...won’t be easy.”

“No, but the things we want out of life usually aren’t.”

You squeeze his hand. “Raziel will help take care of things for us. It won’t all be trials and tribulations. I hope.” More hesitantly, you ask him, “What was it like? Being dead?” You know that vampires, being once human, still have souls and an afterlife to go to like most other living beings.

The look on his face is worrying. He doesn’t meet your eyes; he only shakes his head and stares at your joined hands. “It was cold without you.” His lips pull into a weak and chapped smile, if only to quiet your worrying, but that doesn’t work as intended. You decide to leave it for now, figuring there will be more time to talk about it when he feels ready.

Turning the light back off, you both press your bodies together as close as they can physically get, Lucas’s head on your chest and his long legs all jumbled together with yours. You fall asleep before he does, lulled away by his comforting and safe presence. He stays awake for a while longer, staring into the dark and the dark staring back into him, before everything else falls away.

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amatchinwater · 4 years ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where…Theo steps in between a seated Stiles with his legs spread, and if he happens to grip a thigh or two, 🤷‍♂️ 😝

I swear, it's like you looked directly into my brain with this request! How did you do that 😂 Thank you ❤

---

It wasn’t uncommon for Stiles to hang around after a pack meeting. He and Theo have been getting along really well as of late. So, more often than not, once the pack leaves, the teen spends some time with his best friend. It’s not like Scott’s exactly around any longer to fill that role and the chimera does more than a good enough job now. So Stiles is in the kitchen of the Alpha’s house, cleaning up the mess they’d made making dinner for the pack. Okay, maybe it’s a little more than Theo just being his best friend and more so the massive crush he has on the chimera that keeps him here. But whatever, let him crush and wonder if the Alpha shares the same feelings in peace.

Once done, he hops up on the counter nursing a cold bottle of root beer, waiting for Theo to come find him when he’s done fixing the living room back up. Setting his drink on the marble counter beside him, the teen leans back on his arms staring at the ceiling. Too lost in his thoughts to notice the chimera came into the room.

But he definitely notices when Theo’s hips slide between his spread legs, both hands running up his thighs, squeezing lightly as he goes. Stiles freezes when the chimera leans in, brushing his lips against the teen’s pulse. “H-hey, Theo,” Stiles gasps, his brain bursting into a million pieces.

“Hi,” is all the Alpha says in response, taking a deep breath of the teen’s scent, nipping lightly at the flesh with a soft growl. “Tell me you were bearing your throat on purpose,” Theo says, licking the mole speckled skin, making Stiles shiver. “That you’re finally offering yourself to me.”

Finally? “W-well, no. I-it wasn’t on purpose,” Stiles admits and it’s the chimera’s turn to clam up. “But I’m not complaining,” the teen says quickly, letting his head fall completely slack for the Alpha to do as he pleases. What better way to let someone know you want them than by total accident? And he certainly doesn’t want to turn the chimera away by giving him the wrong impression. “I’ve always wanted you, Theo.”

“Good,” the chimera chuckles, actually biting Stiles’ neck, sucking a mark to make the teen moan. Theo grabs his thighs, hard, pulling their hips flush, grinding against his Beta. The Alpha leans back and Stiles looks at him through hooded eyes, “I want you too,” Theo smirks, “just say the word and I'm yours, Stiles."

That's truly not something the teen ever thought he'd hear the Alpha ever say. But here he is, throwing himself out there because he was hoping Stiles was. Talk about a boost to his self esteem. The Beta grins, "yes," leaning forward gaining a dose of courage from who knows where to press his lips to the chimera’s. Loving the way Theo smiles into it before he rumbles in his chest and takes control.

One of Theo's hands is a constant on his thigh, squeezing and rubbing the denim, sending goosebumps all over. The other cups his neck, thumb along his jaw to tilt Stiles' head this way or that. Making sure every inch of pale skin exposed is covered in either his scent or a mark from his lips before claiming his mouth and carrying Stiles upstairs.

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #theo x stiles #stiles x theo #teen wolf #thank you for asking #Match Writes

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years ago

Text

Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)

Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

nah.

Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.

Ha.

Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.

There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass.

Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.

“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.

Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper.

There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.

She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.

It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape.

She can’t keep making mistakes.

Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.

Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks.

Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.

Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.

What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery?

When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.

Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing.

She opens the curtain.

Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.

“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.

“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

“How is that possible?”

“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”

“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.

There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

“Get out of here.”

His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind.

Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate.

Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.

Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face.

“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches.

“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.

When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”

“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.

“You’re a liar.”

Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”

“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this.

“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.

“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”

“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”

Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”

Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”

Ven rolls his eyes.

“In the communal shower.”

He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”

Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.

“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”

Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.

Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.”

At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time?

Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack.

“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.

Kiss.

A word as loud as a volcano erupting.

Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.

Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.

Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.

Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.

“It’s just a sock, Terra.”

Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.

“Call me stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn.”

She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.

Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.

Shit.

Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.

He opens his mouth to say something.

Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”

“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap.

Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?

“It was an accident, Terra.”

He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”

“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake.

That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it.

Shit.

Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.

“Terra?”

He hesitates. “Yeah?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.

“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”

Her cheeks burn harder.

“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.”

The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.

“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”

All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.”

“So the mud—?”

“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”

“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.

Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”

“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.

The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”

Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal.

When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes.

Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.

“What was that?” he whispers.

Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.”

“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.

“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.

“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”

Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”

Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”

“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”

“No.”

Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too.

“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”

“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter.

“What were you doing?”

“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.

“Typical Aqua.”

At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.

There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.

They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No, wait, I’m helping you—”

“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”

“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”

“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms.

“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away.

Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.

Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.

She gets tapped on the head.

“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.

Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.

And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.

Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand.

Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”

Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”

They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”

“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”

Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him.

Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world.

It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.

Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.

Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”

They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #ventus #kingdom hearts fanfiction #lmao omg #this cute little one is finally out #i hope you like it!#my fic

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milkybonya · 4 years ago

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Unnamed

order #002: large banana milk tea with pudding and lychee jelly for Shinwon, requested by anon

-> Warning: food/drink mentions, mentions of alcohol + a bit suggestive?

-> in the same soulmate universe as my Named fic for Haechan, where "Some are named, some are unnamed. The named have their soulmate's name written somewhere on their body, and the unnamed don't have a soulmate", here you're unnamed.

[a/n]: i know this is a soulmate!au but i wanted to try writing from a perspective where the reader doesn't have a soulmate?? i think it will be fun hehe (but i hope the anon who requested doesn't mind!). i think it will work well with the enemies to lovers concept too :)

You're unnamed, and it sucks. For all your life, you've had to deal with all your loved ones moping about how they can't find who the name on their body belongs to, while you don't even have a name on your body. You're unnamed, like I said :(

They call you dramatic for being sad about it, telling you that you're free to date around and just do whatever... as if that helps. Of course it makes you feel worse.

The worst of them all if your neighbour, Shinwon.

"Good morning, [y/n]. Got a hot date today?" Shinwon asks you as he opens up the door to his flat.

You're dressed nicely today, but no, not for a hot date.

"Got a job interview."

"Oh... of course. I'm sure the unnamed wouldn't be going on dates much, anyway."

"You literally told me last time I must date around a lot because I come home late and have no soulmate so I can do what I want," you spit out, growing angry.

"Whatever. No need to get so mad!" Shinwon says, waving his hands around and finally stepping into his flat.

You huff and stomp off to your job interview.

Ever since Shinwon moved in next to you and found out you were unnamed, he's been getting on your nerves like it's no one's business. He's always teasing you about it, even in front of the other neighbours! He constantly embarrasses you and you hate him for hit.

He even leaves notes on your door, with 'unnamed!' written on it with stupid ' :P ' faces all around. It's so childish, but it still manages to make you so angry.

There's only one mystery, though.

Shinwon has never told you if he's unnamed or not.

You asked him many times, and he's always managed to dodge the question.

He lives alone... but of course, that might not mean anything. Still, you like to think that he's unnamed too, and lets out all his anger on you. The day that you find out for sure, you'll never let him live it down!

After absolutely killing it at your interview despite being nervous and angry because of Shinwon, you head to a café to treat yourself. Of course, Shinwon just has to be there. Working. At that café.

You don't realize it until you're right at the counter, since you're so giddy from the successful interview, still. But as soon as you hear him laugh right into your face, you realize who it is.

"[y/n]? What are you doing here now? Are you stalking me?" he laughs. His coworkers grow increasingly confused until he introduces you.

"This is [y/n]. They're my neighbour, and unnamed. Isn't that sad?" Shinwon tells them, cracking up.

His coworkers nervously nod and continue with what they were doing, but you feel absolutely embarrassed. You don't even know any of these people but now all of them know that you're unnamed? You'll get Shinwon back for this....

"Can I get that drink please?" you ask Shinwon, pointing to the menu. After paying for the drink, you wait on the side for him to prepare it. When he finally hands it to you, your rage is bubbling up so intensely inside that you do something you never thought you would have done.

As you go to pick up the cup, you pretend to 'accidentally' knock it over and spill it all over Shinwon.

"Oops, sorry," you say, innocently.

Shinwon wears a blank look on his face. He pauses, not doing anything until one of his coworkers rushes forward to help clean up.

"I'll get you a new drink!" they tell you.

You start to feel a little nervous as Shinwon's mood has very obviously changed. He greets the new customers quietly and without a trace of a smile on his face.

Why does it even matter, though? He's the one who's always making you feel angry. How about he be the one who feels angry for a change?

After taking your new drink and heading home like a boss, you spend the rest of the day resting at home. You decide to go out for a walk later in the evening, though, and you're met with a surprise when you open your door.

Your favourite plant, that you've placed right outside your door so you can see it everytime you enter and leave the house, and also so it's easy for people to know which flat is yours when they're visiting, has been completely smashed to pieces. The gigantic pot that was holding the little tree that had grown taller than where the doorknob sat on your door is now laying on the ground in a sad state.

It breaks your heart to see it like this, but you know exactly who's done it.

You take a few steps until you're at Shinwon's door. Then, you knock loudly, wondering if he's still home. Sure enough, he opens the door. And when he notices its you, he glares.

"What is it?"

"Why have you gone and broken my plant?"

"What makes you think I did it?" he shoots back, a slight, evil smile dancing on his lips.

"I know you did it, Shinwon."

There's a moment of silence as Shinwon thinks of what to say next, but you don't even let him speak as you continue.

"Shinwon, you embarrassed me, today, just like you always do. If this is because of me spilling my drink on you earlier, then no. We're not even now. We were even after I spilled my drink, because you've been tormenting me for so long now."

"What have I done?" Shinwon asks you, raising his eyebrows.

You sigh.

"It's not even worth telling you. Maybe you should clean up my plant and take some time to think about it yourself," you tell Shinwon before walking away.

He's left in a daze and actually ends up cleaning his mess, wondering why you have such an effect on him so suddenly. They're hot when they're angry, is what he finds himself thinking, but he quickly pushes this thought away.

"Shinwon, you jerk!" you yell up into the sky as you sit in your balcony, drinking some alcohol.

Nothing quite hits the spot right now like the drink in your hand as you peer down at the peaceful view below. A light breeze hits you and you close your eyes, feeling like it's caressing your face.

"You called?" Shinwon asks, poking his head out from the balcony next to yours.

You almost drop your drink out of your hand and curse at him. Shinwon just laughs at response.

"I never called you!"

"I clearly just heard you call me a jerk..."

You stick out your tongue at him and continue to drink. Somehow, he climbs over from his balcony onto yours and takes a seat across from you, taking a few sips from your drink. You feel so hazy that you don't even feel surprised.

"What are you doing?" you finally ask him.

"Not letting you drink alone," he murmurs.

"And what's wrong with drinking alone?"

"I do it all the time. It sucks."

Shinwon wears a small smile on his face as he talks to you, different from the mischievious one he'd always give you when talking to you and teasing you.

"And why do you drink alone if it sucks?"

Shinwon hesitates, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm unnamed... we all do that, don't we?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. Unnamed... so you were right.

"Just cause we're unnamed, that doesn't mean we have to drink alone."

"Maybe... but we do it anyway, right?"

You hum in response before drinking some more.

"Why do you tease me so much if you're also unnamed, then?"

"It makes me feel more at ease. You make me feel... more comfortable in my skin."

You laugh a little.

"And what does that mean?"

"Maybe that I like you?" Shinwon giggles.

"What? You're joking, right? It's just cause we're both unnamed."

Shinwon shrugs, looking down.

"Shinwon, you know how it feels to be unnamed, then, right?" you ask after a long pause. "I feel so unloved, so unneeded and unwanted on this stupid planet. It's like I don't have a purpose."

Your eyes start to tear up as the burden and many thoughts you've been carrying begin to spill out.

Shinwon remains silent, probably unsure of what to say or do. Instead, he says something unexpected.

"Can I kiss you?"

You cock your head at him, confused. Why is your rude neighbour asking if he can kiss you when you're literally about to cry?

Oh, well. This will be your first kiss.. Finally, you're kissing someone...

When your lips meet, Shinwon's feel so soft and warm against yours. You don't want to pull away, and it all makes sense now. You don't feel so alone anymore.

The next day day, you wake up to flowers at your doorstep, along with some hangover soup. There's a note on top:

feel better, [y/n]! i'm sure the hangover must be bad... i would come to your door in person, but i thought you may be too embarrassed to see me.

- jerk Shinwon

You smile as you read the way he ended the note. This all feels very weird to you... You used to hate your neighbour, but after tasting his lips last night, hearing him say he doesn't want you to drink alone and seeing what he's left for you now, you're second-guessing how you feel about him.

You knock on his door, hoping he's still home. To your surprise, he opens the door, his hair messy and his eyes puffy.

"[y/n]? How are you feeling?" he asks, looking a little frazzled.

"Me? Better than you, it seems. I'm about to head out to work!" you say, pointing to your formal wear.

"Oh... won't be needing the soup, then?"

"No, I need it! I haven't had breakfast."

Shinwon smiles, looking down.

"I'm glad," he says.

"Well, Shinwon. Wanna go on a coffee date or something today?" you ask him, your heart pounding as your veins overflow with sudden courage.

Shinwon laughs slightly, the corners of his eyes creasing.

"That sounds nice."

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druidx · 4 years ago

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Family Treasures

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (2015) Context: A friend linked me a TAG fic with the most perfect description of Lasagna I have ever read. I then got carried away and read nearly every fic she recommended to me... and then I figured I should watch the 2015 version of Thunderbirds (having only seen fragments of the original ‘60s show as a kid)... and then this happened. I’ve also been leaning heavily into the subtext thing still, so constructive criticism, with subtext in mind, is welcome on this piece. Words: 1700 CW: Injury mention, worried people, minor maudlin thoughts Tagged: @viawrites-andacts @strosmkai-rum @scribeofred Read on AO3

Kayo paces. Her sleek leather boots sink into the plush carpet of Tracy Island's lounge. She has been grounded by injury, left to recover while the Tracy boys are out there doing what they do best. She trusts them; knows they know what they're doing, knows they can handle themselves... But it doesn't help. Her fingers itch to activate the comms, but she doesn't. The boys don't need her micromanaging, and she trusts John to forward anything if he thinks she can assist... But still, the ache remains.

Those leather boots softly tap as she reaches the parquet flooring, and Kayo finds herself standing in front of Jeff's desk. It's a big, sturdy, mahogany thing. Impish sunlight glints off the polished surface, winking and laughing. It makes her think of Virgil. The sun drifts behind a cloud, and the laughter vanishes. She turns away.

Her steps lead her to the portrait of Thunderbird One, and the nicknacks beside it. Her eyes slide over the portrait – seen a hundred times before – to an antique barometer on the shelves. And there is Scott: Quicksilver in a glass; carefully controlled vim and daring. She pictures him in freefall, madcap laughter stolen by the rushing wind. The thought of his pack failing at fifty thousand feet is enough to have her leaning against the wall, head reeling like she's nosediving, seconds before the impact that has left her arm in a sling, and Thunderbird Shadow a pile of scrap.

Kayo huffs out her indignation at her weak and maudlin thoughts, wrenching back from the wall. She pinwheels away, her boots marking out time on the parquet as she passes in front of the vast window. Outside the sun glimmers off the swimming pool. Bright. Cheery. Such a laughable contrast to the storm inside. She wishes it were raining, dark skies and tempestuous winds. The bowl of forget-me-not blue is almost mocking in its temptation. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply, and brings herself back to ground level.

Kayo finds herself in the far corner of the lounge, at a kitschy '60s coffee table tucked into the fold of the room. On its surface sits a porcelain pug, which reminds her of Sherbet – and, by extension, his owner. It appears delicate – a dainty conversation piece; but her foot knows it is sturdier than one might think. Her eye catches on a woollen beanie, abandoned next to the pug – and she scowls; Lady Penelope has Parker to keep her from serious trouble. Kayo's brothers are up there without their usual safety net.

She turns back, pacing towards the piano. She plays only a little; her mother insisted, to start with. But after a year of tantrums and sword fights, Mama Kyrano gave up. But the island is empty – even Grandma Tracy is on the mainland – and the house is too quiet.

Kayo sits down at the piano and raises the lid, leaning absently to the side as a small, spring-loaded, plastic frog sails over her shoulder – the latest victim in the ongoing prank war. Her fingers wander over the ivories, and she settles into picking out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in the upper third. As the sweet notes fill the air, Alan comes to mind – bright, lively, graceful; effortless as the rising music. Kayo lifts her head as if she might somehow see to the edge of space; see Thunderbird Three shimmering with star-stuff as if picked out in the silver, gossamer notes she plays. She dismisses the fanciful thought with a twitch of the lips, finishing the refrain.

As her hand falls still, she looks across the room, gaze drawn back to Jeff's desk. She remembers the moment he asked her to become his head of security – when Papa Kyrano retired. She'd not long returned from her last field stint with Mossad when he'd called her to the desk. His lips had asked her to help him protect the world; his eyes had asked her to protect his boys.

Kayo sighs, the guilt of disappointing the indomitable Jeff Tracy laying heavily over her shoulders. She closes the lid and turns on the stool, intending to resume viewing life through the plate-glass barrier, when her foot nudges the plastic amphibian, abandoned on the floor. She picks the thing up, lips quirking at the cartoonish features – the bugging eyes and wide, red grin – and is inexplicably reminded of Gordon. Kayo places it on the piano, where it wobbles, brilliant green out of place on the ebony-silk surface. Three birds, two star-men, but only one squid-boy. She purses her lips and tries to tell herself the unease this thought causes is about lack of process redundancy. Perhaps she should expand her skillset in an aquatic direction...

She stands with purpose and walks over to the nook in which sits Goron's transport chute. But as Kayo reaches over to activate the chute, a flicker of something catches her eye. Her free hand is already fumbling for her stun-gun when the interloper reveals itself: a long-legged tropical spider has found its way into the aquarium. It flails and panics, and she wonders if it might drown. But even as she watches, it's already hoisting out of the water and building a complicated nest in the corner of the tank. Kayo watches it work, watches its ingenious use of resources in an unfamiliar environ, watches it engineer a refuge... and thinks of Doctor Hackenbacker. Distracted from her previous thought, Kayo turns away from the chute access, making a note to tell Gordon about the spider. She doesn't think it's a threat to the fish, and the lid is a four-handed affair. Besides, knowing Gordon, he'll want to coddle the thing before he releases it.

Instead, Kayo climbs to the mezzanine. Somewhere in the aether, a stack of security reports grows ever larger, but she is unable to read them, to even consider distracting herself with them at a time like this. Worry still fills the well of her stomach, bilious and vile. There are too many close calls, too many near misses. Too many times she's snatched one of her brothers from certain doom. She's so useless here. Idly, she picks up a blown-glass paperweight. Does John ever feel like this? she wonders as she stares into its nebulaeic swirls. Drifting high above them, like a flame-haired malāk – a messenger of God – with his brothers so far from his grasp, does John ever feel powerless? She wonders how he does it: how he can stay so removed from the action, remaining so calm. She wonders how he manages the silent panic that maybe this is the mission someone does not come back from.

The glass has chilled her hand, chasing phantom skeins of cold and fatigue through her body. Kayo carefully replaces the paperweight and makes her way back down the stairs. She settles into the sofa lining the conversation pit, a hand falling to her side as she allows her body to sink into the plush stuffing. Something rough touches the side of her hand, and Kayo fishes out a blackened cookie from where someone – Gordon or Alan, most likely – has stuffed it between the sofa cushions. Kayo screws up her nose, making a noise of revulsion. It's been at least a week since Grandma Tracy tried baking again. Mouth still in a down-curve of disgust, she leans to put the cookie on the table but finds herself pausing as the light sluices across its dark, oleaginous, undulating surface. It reminds her of the Iceland mission and the pictures of cooling magma Doctor Hackenbacker proudly showed off – and his lecture on igneous rocks. Created by fire, he'd said, melded and reforged into something tougher. Used the world over – even here on the island – as foundations. Unshakable and resistant to all the world could throw. It makes her think of the island's second foundation, of all Grandma Tracy has been through, and yet still stands firm and loving despite it.

She wishes any of her extended family were here, now. Like that spider, Kayo feels out of her depth, could do with someone strong, cheery, soothing; a solidity under her feet. But they are not.

Kayo is a woman who knows when her limits have been met. The island is empty, there's no one around to witness the break caused by cracks of worry, pain and fatigue. Her lip wobbles, vision growing hazy with tears. She gives a small sob, then another, allowing herself the luxury of a little cry.

"Kayo?" She sniffs, swatting at her eyes, and looks up to see Alan's hologram looking down at her, eyes pinched with worry, tone edging towards frantic. "Kayo, is everything okay? John-" "John," comes the even tone of the auburn-haired man who appears next, "should be more careful about what side remarks he makes while on comms to his worry-wart little brother." He rolls his eyes. "Sorry to disturb you, Kayo. But your telemetry did do something unusual a few moments ago-" "Kayo? Alan pinged me. What's your status?" Scott cuts in, as if they are in the sky and all is normal. Before Kayo can say anything, Lady Penelope appears, the picture of decorum and class as usual. "I'm sure it was nothing. Isn't that right, darling? Just a little wobble, eh?" her Ladyship says. "'Wobble'?" asks Gordon, from where he and Brains cluster behind the pilot of Thunderbird Two. "What the hell does- Hey!" Kayo's lips twitch in amusement, as Gordon rubs his head from where Virgil has given him a brotherly love-tap. "It means: keep your nose out, squid-boy," Virgil tells him. "Is everything okay, Kayo dear?" says Grandma Tracy. "John asked me to- Oh," she adds, looking at the packed comm channel. "Well, it looks like you all beat me to the pinch." She smiles and rubs the back of her neck. Kayo looks over her family with a swift, critical eye. Apart from Gordon's head, they all appear healthy and uninjured. Relief floods through her, loosening tense muscles. Her wry amusement turns into a full-blown smile. "I'm alright," she says. "Like Penny said, it was just a little wobble. Everything is F.A.B."

#writing #tanusha 'kayo' kyrano #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fandom #constructive critism welcome #wandering words

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