#I feel so god damn Helpless and Suffocated and some days it makes me want to break shit and scream and throw myself against a wall until

[hoodieimp]

Ngl it feels like my Finals Season Stress Freakouts are happening a) earlier and b) more and more frequently every school year

That's......probably not good huh

[tinyboxxtink]

“Return To Sender” *Part 2*

So I promised @objection-argumentative I would do a second chapter of this, and instead I wrote “Helpless”. So I wanted to make good on my promise. Sorry took so long babe!

This will either end here, or if it continues it’ll be a “Sexy friends eventually build real feelings for each other and don’t know how to handle it” situation. Don’t know who’s all down for that. 

Also, I did some...research, and learned how to write smut! Yay me! That sounds so awkward...but, anyway. I really thought that this story just entirely focused on that so, I did my best! (Shout out to @storiesofsvu for inspiration 😅☺️)

WARNING: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT. 

If you missed Part 1 

Check out Part 3

"And then he just walked out?" 

You were detailing the horrific night to your room mate, who wasn't making the situation any better.

"YES!!!! God I am so fired…." You sighed, putting your hands over your face.

"Well hold on there, drama queen," they interrupted your breakdown. "Did your boss seem upset?" 

“I mean, not really but why wouldn’t she be?” You shrugged.

“It’s not like you were texting during work or something. And he’s like, not even close to being in charge of you right, so it’s not sexual harassment…”

“I’m pretty sure discussing one’s oral skills would be considered sexual harassment babe,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well you didn’t actually say it to him! Or even text it! He just... happened to find out,” They shrugged with a giggle.

“I guess…” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it hon, seriously,” They patted your head and went back to their own room.

You agreed and went to bed, still not entirely sure they were right.

----

The next day as soon as you got to work, there was paperwork sitting on your desk. 

“What’s this?” you asked Amanda, who was your desk mate. 

“Barba wanted you to come collect a warrant,” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh for fuck’s sake...Can’t you do it? Couldn’t ANYONE do it?” 

“I mean he did ask for you,” 

“God….great, now I have to go and listen to him gloat about he’s such a big deal, and that I’m in love with him, and blah blah blahhhh….”

“Yeahhhh, his ego’s probably too big to fit through a door now,” She chuckled. 

“Ugh...I’ll be back,” you sighed and grabbed the paperwork, headed downtown to the District Attorney’s Office.

---

“Hi, I’m here for Mr. Barba,” You greeted Barba’s receptionist. 

“He’s on the phone, but if he’s expecting you, you can go right in,” 

You figured he was expecting you. You nodded and walked right into his office where he was indeed, on the phone. Dressed in an all black suit with the square shoulders, a pink dress shirt with a black tie. God he always looked amazing. And now that he knew you knew that, he’d never let it go. 

He smiled when he saw you, mumbled something about having to call the person back and hung up, still grinning wildly. 

“Well that was fast,” He took the papers from you.

“Yeah...what did you need them for?

“I actually didn’t need them, I needed you,” His tone suddenly shifted into a seductive one. 

“....For what?” You blinked your eyes in confusion; was this actually happening?

“Well, I thought you might wanna take me up on my offer,” He grinned devilishly, walking around his desk to get closer to you.

“A-Are you serious?” You thought you might pass out right there in his office.

“Were you not?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean I, just-- I mean I never thought that--” your face was flushing hot, you couldn’t breathe. Of all the possible scenarios that could have come from him finding out about that text, this was the LEAST possible one you ever thought would happen. 

“...You weren’t serious, were you? I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have assumed--” He turned away sheepishly and started back to his desk.

“YES I WAS,” You blurted out in an almost deafening tone. You hadn’t been serious, but if he was offering what you thought he was, there was absolutely no way in hell you were passing that up. 

“Lock the door,” His eyes sparkled with arousal, his grin turning mischievous. You ran to lock the door as you heard Barba speak into his intercom: 

“Sarah, hold all my calls. I’m gonna be busy for a while,” He smirked, making you shiver with anticipation.

“I um...ahem…where do you want me?” You looked around the room for a spot that would be comfortable to lay on...for God knows how long. 

“There,” he nodded to a couch in the corner. 

“Oh. Right. Obviously,” you giggled nervously. God dammit, now is not the time to be your weird awkward self!

“Calm down carino, I’m not going to bite…” He smiled, coming closer to you. When he reached you close enough he pulled you into him, making you gasp with excitement.

“Hard,” he winked, before picking you up and tossing you on the couch. 

“Now you just relax, enjoy and remember-- tips are always appreciated,” he winked as he hiked up your skirt. 

You were going to say something about him being such an ass, but you barely got halfway through your sentence before it was strangled by a thunderous moan, because Barba had wrapped his wet lips around your clit and started sucking.

“OH FUCK,” you yelped, suddenly not giving a damn how loud you were being. Barba laughed against your body and the vibration traveled through you like an ecstatic earthquake.

 “Keep it down sweetie, people are trying to work,” He smirked, before going back down between your legs.

Pinning your thighs apart with his big warm hands, Barba started to work his tongue in an up-and-down motion on one side of your clit and then the other. 

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, lifting his head for just a moment, and you growled with frustration and shoved his face back where it belonged. You had never been so forward and...aggressive, like this before but something about him just brought out an animalistic side of you. 

Barba switched to a circular motion, his tongue looping up, over and around your clit again and again, catching it in a tiny whirlpool of pressure and wetness and just enough friction. You couldn’t believe how good it felt. It was like your own fingers, but faster, softer, smoother..

 You made noises deep in your throat that you didn’t even know you were capable of: wild, uninhibited, un-you-like noises.

 Barba grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over your face, trying to silent your quite visceral noise making. You couldn’t help it, and you didn’t care.

One of Barba’s hot hands left your thigh and you missed it immediately, until you realized where he had moved it to. As his tongue continued to twist and spin against your clit in a seemingly impossible rhythm, he slipped first one finger, then two, inside you, and pushed them up against your G-spot. His hands were bigger than yours – you’d often secretly admired the way they looked wrapped around the grip of his pen– and his fingers felt so much more substantial than your own, filling you up like you never could when you were by yourself.

His tongue slipped across that one spot on the tip of your clit that always set you off, and suddenly you were coming on his mouth, grasping fistfuls of his hair and moaning into the pillow so hard you thought you might suffocate. He clamped his lips around your clit and squeezed rhythmically, riding it out with you, using his free hand to hold your hips steady as they bucked against his face. Your internal muscles gripped his fingers in waves and he waited until your contractions had completely stopped before slowly sliding his two fingers out of you and into his mouth to lick them clean.

“So what did you think, as good as you imagined?” He smirked, looking down at your body, that wasn’t moving. 

“Y/N?” He pulled the pillow from your face, and you still lay there comatose. 

“Oh fuck, Y/N!” He shook you, to which you finally responded with a blink of your eyes. 

“Jesus Christ, I thought I had killed you,” He sighed in relief, grabbing his pocket square out of his suit to wipe his mouth clean.

“....I think you almost did,” You were finally able to form words; you had actually blacked out after coming because it was so exquisite.

You were still reeling from his mouth being inside you, now you wanted yours in his. You jumped up off the couch and tried to kiss him, but he stopped you.

“Oh sweetie no, I don’t kiss on the mouth. Too intimate,” he shook his head with a “no” motion of his fingers.

“Oh...um...sorry,” You suddenly became very insecure and awkward once again, realizing what had really just transpired. He was actually just proving to you that your thoughts were warranted, nothing more.

“So um..do you want me to….?” You gestured to his very obvious erection poking through his suit.

“I mean...if you want to,” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I mean I just...um, I’ve never….” Your face grew hot and you twirled your hair nervously. Barba’s face went from a smirk to a look of horror.

“You’ve...You’ve never….Christ don’t tell me you’re a virgin, Y/N,” His hands went over his head in a stressful manner.

“N-NO, I’m not! I’ve had sex…” You looked everywhere but his eyes as you added “...Once,” 

“...And have you ever had...that, done?” He raised an eyebrow.

“...Kind of?” You thought back to your one and only serious boyfriend, back in college. He had tried going down on you, but halfway through he had gotten sick and thrown up. It later turned out that he was very, very gay. Yes, your dating life was fascinating.

“Oh my god...what have I done?” He shook his head with a dry laugh.

“You don’t need to do anything, sweetheart,” He smiled, putting his hands on both of your shoulders. “This one’s on me,” 

Sweetheart? What were you, ten all of a sudden? And THIS one? Was he implying this was going to happen again? Was he NOT just freaking out that he had taken your “oral virginity”? This whole thing had suddenly turned into a competition, and you were sure as hell not going to lose.

“You know what, I’m gonna go learn how to do...that,” You gestured to his erection once again. 

“And it’s going to blow your mind. Then we’ll see who’s calling who ‘sweetheart’, ok counselor?” 

“Oh I very much look forward to that, Ms. Y/N. Doubtful, but I enjoy the enthusiasm,” That cocky tone of his dripped with sarcasm as he led you to his door.

“Yeah...well...GOOD,” You literally had no better comebacks than a five year old, mostly because your mind was still in a haze from his brilliant mouth work. Dammit. 

“Very productive meeting, Ms. Y/N!” He yelled at you as you walked down the hall and out the front door onto the bustling New York City streets. 

As mad as you were, you still had to text your BFF: 

“I was ABSOLUTELY right!”

[hannie-dul-set]

wc: 3.9k | warnings: swearing, some violence, cheating mentions

it was past noon when you and seolhee parted ways after eating lunch at an admittedly over-priced restaurant. you two decided to go out because she was leaving the school in two days. the whole jeno incident led almost the entirety of the student body to deem her not too fondly, so even if you wanted her to continue her education here, it would only be hard for her to cope with.

seolhee said that she did not expect jeno to apologize for the things that he did, but you still had your hopes up. which was why the conversation you two had over lunch made you feel a lot lighter inside.

("he said sorry! oh my god, i'm still thinking that it was a dream."

you let out a laugh at your friend's upbeat demeanor, reaching out to a napkin to wipe your lips. seolhee accidentally hit the table from her excitement, but luckily none of your drinks toppled down. "well, he could do more than apologize," you started. "maybe make it up to you by clearing up the situation that happened at the cafeteria so that you wouldn't have to transfer."

a slight frown tugged down the corners of her mouth. "an apology is enough for me, really. that much already means a lot considering his personality. and even if he does clear it up, i've already enrolled at eastwood so there's no undoing it anymore."

you placed down your fork, looking at the hazy expression on your friend's face, and then you opened your mouth to speak.

"do you still like him?"

seolhee choked on her drink.

"no!" she hastily wiped away the stray droplets that made their way onto her chin, staring at you as if you've just accused her of a crime. "of course not! oh my god, y/n—" there was a red hue that washed over her face, and you couldn't hold in your laughter. "i—i was just happy that jeno has the capacity to change. he actually seemed genuine, you know? it was the first time i've seen him like that."

seolhee droned on about how the confrontation went. you didn't get to listen even though you were on the line with seolhee— after hearing jeno's intentions of asking her to meet, you ended the call to respect their privacy.

"he told me that i could punch him if i wanted."

"did you?"

"i would've ended up with a broken hand."

giggles erupted and the clacking of utensils followed after. you finished your meal before her, taking a sip from the remaining liquid in your glass with the straw. it was still quite early, so you figured that you still had an ample amount of time to talk.

"i'm glad that everything turned out well for you, seolhee," you started, placing down your glass on the table. "but remember not to sell yourself short. you shouldn't be satisfied with the bare minimum."

"i know…" she sighed. "that's the most we could get out of him at the moment, and i'm satisfied with that. actually, i don't think he would have even done anything if you didn't reach out to him. so thank you, y/n."

seolhee held gratitude in her eyes as she looked at you, and you pressed your lips together into a thin smile.)

you stared at your phone as you sent your last message to seolhee, walking down the sidewalk on the way to the bakery that chenle and jisung always went to. they were close with the owners, apparently, but you've never gone there until now. the smell of freshly baked goods sent you the signal that you were nearby, and you confirmed upon seeing the lines of pastries displayed from behind the glass windows of a cream painted building.

it was a quick purchase, your hands now full thanks to the three boxes of assorted pastries. you were sure that they'd fight over it if you only got them one— so getting one for each of them would be much better. the other one was for you to bring home to your parents later.

"thank you so much, taeyong! i'll be sure to stop by often," you shot the handsome man behind the counter a smile before turning towards the exit.

"bring the kids with you too! they haven't gone here in a long time and i'm starting to think they've forgotten about me," you laughed at his words, nodding, before finally facing the glass doors that led outside. taeyong was nice, and you were already planning your next visit here. there was brightness in your face as you reached for the door handle, though with great difficulty considering the stack of boxes that you were trying to balance with your other hand.

you were about to push the door open, but you froze, brows furrowed, and the brightness of your face dimmed down. there was a scene going on from across the street— four people ushering themselves into an alleyway. normally you wouldn't be as affected, but you knew these people, and an ominous feeling buried itself in your gut.

"taeyong?" you turned around once more, eliciting a curious expression from the older male. "can i leave these here for a while? i'll be back, there's just something i need to do."

he was evidently confused by your sudden request, but he relented without any questions. you thanked him one last time before finally exiting the bakery, making your way across the street.

"had fun fucking my girlfriend last night, lee?"

it was difficult for donghyuck to maintain his carefree composure when he was shoved against the brick wall with his ribs and jaw throbbing in pain. sweat trickled down his forehead and his hearbeat rang in his ears. he wondered how the fuck was he supposed to get himself out of this situation. 

"look, hyunsung. i get that you're pissed, but let's tone down the violence, yeah?" donghyuck let out a wave of nervous laughter, raising his hands in front of him in surrender. "i didn't know she had a boyfriend! so can you really blame me?"

that was a lie. donghyuck knew well that cheonhee (or whatever her name is) was, in fact, taken. someone from the party last night told him so but he didn't exactly give much of a fuck. he thought it would be fine because they were from different schools, anyway— but it looked like he was being too careless.

hyunsung still had him trapped against the wall by the collar, the bigger male's glare drilling holes into his skin. donghyuck knew he wouldn't make it out alive if he made a run for it. he wasn't that strong or fast, and the damned neanderthal still had two other friends to back him up. all donghyuck could rely on was to somehow fool him into letting him go.

but even that didn't seem easy.

"you think i'm gonna believe that, you little bitch?"

donghyuck's blood ran cold and the grin on his face twitched. he felt his lungs squeezing in suffocation when he was pushed harder into the concrete walls, even if what he was saying was true, hyunsung was seeing too much red to believe him. a fist was raised, and he prepared himself for the impact of the third punch.

"kim hyunsung, jung hayoon, and kang jiho."

a gentle voice somehow stopped hyunsung from moving. a mixture of confusion and relief washed over donghyuck, but that was quickly overturned by unease. he froze. he knew that voice, and he internally cursed.

oh my fucking god, were you stupid? at that point, donghyuck decided that being punched would have been the much better option. why the hell were you here? and another question— how did you know these people? worry was writhing inside his gut and he bit down his lip as he watched you walk closer to the scene.

"i didn't expect to see you again, y/n," hyunsung's attention was momentarily diverted to you, but he was still helpless pinned on the wall. jesus fuck, this guy was strong. your gaze quietly moved over to donghyuck, and he hoped that you got the message that he was mouthing. hyunsung leered at him, which brought donghyuck to quickly shut his mouth.

your lips tugged down into a frown. "and i expected that all those corrective sessions with the dean would've at least made a dent into that personality of yours."

hyunsung scoffed. "righteous as always. you know this fucker?"

"he's a friend," you calmly stated, and donghyuck narrowed his eyes. what were you planning? "and i suggest that you let him go."

there was a phone in your hands and the screen was open. he couldn't see what was on it, but then you flashed it over for him and the other three boys to see. "i believe you were already at your final warning before i transferred from daeil academy."

donghyuck could see hyunsung's jaw clench as the guy glared at your phone, and it caught his intrigue. on your tiny phone screen was what seemed to be an open conversation with someone, and on the message box were a series of similar pictures waiting to be sent. donghyuck couldn't see the pictures clearly, nor did he know who were you planning on sending it to, but he got the gist of situation.

"hayoon and jiho might not get any major punishments," your eyes flickered over to the two boys, and they froze upon your stare. hyunsung's grip tightened. "but you're already on your last thread, hyunsung. you'd be expelled once the dean sees this."

at that point, donghyuck concluded that you were very very scary. but you were also very stupid for getting yourself involved in his own problems. no matter how much leverage you had over hyunsung at the moment, a guy like him would still find a way to get back at you.

"you've already done a number on the guy. don't you think that's enough?" you reasoned. "this isn't my business in the first place, so i won't send this if you let him go."

hyunsung's glare was as cold as ice.

"delete it."

but you didn't seem to be shaken at all.

"of course."

you sighed, explicitly showing to him that you permanently deleted the evidence from your phone. hyunsung finally let go of donghyuck, and he released a long breath, hid hands gently nursing the bruise on his face. the pain on his jaw and chest was momentarily dulled by his fear that you'd also get pummeled, but it once again resurfaced and donghyuck flinched at the throbbing feeling.

"you're still the same, y/n," hyunsung let out a bitter chuckle, signalling the two other boys to start moving, and you sent him a nod and a smile.

the three eventually left, but donghyuck still hadn't moved from his spot. he stared at you who seemed to be frozen in thought, that is until you released a sharp huff of breath and your knees nearly gave in to the floor.

"oh dear god, i thought i was going to die," you exhaled, sauntering over to donghyuck who was ready to catch you in case you actually did fall over, but you shot him a glare to stop him. "don't move— you're hurt."

donghyuck gulped and firmly nodded in obedience. you found yourself before him, but you didn't say anything further yet. you didn't scold him or ask him if he was sleight. instead you had your yes locked on your phone, fingers tapping down before shutting it off and shoving it down into your pocket. you finally looked up to him, and your brow raised upon seeing his puzzled expression.

"what were you doing?"

"sent a message to the dean."

his eyes widened. jesus, you were seriously scary. before donghyuck could press on any further, you quickly snatched his hand, staring over to the only opening that led out of the alley. "c'mon, let's go."

you already started walking before he could even retort, dragging the flabbergasted male behind you. "w-wait, where are you taking me?"

there was no answer from you, instead you just kept on walking and donghyuck was left with no choice but to follow.

“will you two be okay?”

“mhm! thank you so much, taeyong!”

the both of you were hidden in the furthermost area of the bakery, donghyuck sitting on the available chairs with a pack of ice firmly pressed against his bruised jaw. taeyong had been generous enough to let you two stay here for a while (the ice was from his, as well), and you promised to buy another box of pastries to thank him, to which he firmly refused with the shaking of his head.

“just make sure you get the guy home safe, okay?” he told you before going back to man the store. you concluded that taeyong was perhaps the nicest person you’ve ever met, and you were suddenly worried by the idea that chenle and jisung might have extorted this man’s kindness somehow (the former, mostly).

“y/n.”

donghyuck’s voice— lacking the confidence and cockiness that it usually held— called out to you amidst your thoughts. your ears perked as you sat before him, leaning forward in your seat and your eyelashes fluttered as you waited for him to continue. he wasn’t looking at you though, eyes in a faraway daze as he looked at the bakery’s sleek wallpaper.

“thanks for saving my ass earlier.”

he muttered, a slight pout on his lips as he did. donghyuck couldn’t bear to look at you at the moment due to his stained pride, but he isn’t that prideful to miss out on actually thanking you. It was genuine, though the embarrassment of you seeing him so helpless was still present. he was suddenly afraid because you weren’t saying anything, but then the sound of your chair screeching as you closed in on him happened, and all he felt now was confusion.

“what are—” donghyuck was about to look at what the hell were you doing, but when your hand gently made contact with the non-injured side of his face, turning his head to look at your worry eyes, the words he was about to say fizzled into air in his throat, leaving his mouth agape in fluster.

“it’s fine, hyuck. does it still hurt?” the rapid pace of his pulse when you brushed away the ice pack in his other hand to examine the dark bruise somehow made him even sensitive to the pain when you mentioned it. he flinched, unable to say anything. “ah, this is gonna last a while. you should drink some painkillers in the meantime, okay?”

donghyuck gulped. oh my god, why were you so close. your soft voice flooded not only his ears, but his entire being and it felt like he was drowning in your presence. the pain that was screaming under his skin was blocked away, numbed into nothingness because all he could feel was how his heart was running to follow you even though you were already so, so close.

he wondered what the fuck was going on with him.

all of a sudden, he felt like an absolute idiot. how would people react upon seeing the rumored fuckboy, lee donghyuck, flaring up at something as innocent as this?

he needed to pull himself together.

“ah!" donghyuck made a hissing sound when your fingers brushed over the area again, instinctively jumping away from your hold, and your brows furrowed in worry. he pouted at you, pressing the half melted ice pack to soothe his jaw once more. "i don't think ice and painkillers would be enough to get rid of the pain, y/n."

instantly, your eyes widened in panic. "oh no, does it really hurt that bad? should i take you to the hospital? oh my gosh, what if it's broken? donghyuck, how much does it—"

"maybe you should kiss it better."

there was silence.

your voice stopped midway, mouth hanging open and you deliberately put it to a close. a cheeky grin was painted on donghyuck's face, one that made it look like he wasn't feeling any pain at all. he noticed the worry on your face being slowly washed away, replaced by your lack of emotion, and you stood up. once more you decided to move closer, walking up to him and barely hovering over and— wait a minute, were you actually gonna do it?

he didn't think about it this far, oh my god.

"wait. y/n, i was just— jesus fucking christ—"

"you deserved to get punched."

donghyuck let out a yelp of pain, hunched over as he hugged his torso. he forgot that he was also attacked on the ribs and was only reminded when you mercilessly jabbed your finger to his chest. he looked at you as you went back to your seat, letting out another groan. “did you just hope that i was also injured here or did you actually know and deliberately subjected me to pain?”

“the latter,” you hummed, crossing your legs. “i was watching from the beginning.”

“so you just let that bitch hyunsung attack me?”

“like i said— you deserved it.”

there wasn’t a hint of jest in your voice and features, meaning you really waited until the last moment before you decided to swoop in. donghyuck bit down his lip, unable to meet your eyes. you were there from the beginning meaning you knew why hyunsung was about to beat the living daylights out of him. suddenly he felt like he didn’t deserve to be saved by you.

"but why did you still help me?"

he was genuinely wondering why you did that. you let him get beat up for a while before deciding to finally get between, but why? it really didn’t make sense to donghyuck, and his heart hammered against his pained ribs while he waited for a response.

“did you really think i was just gonna leave you like that? hyuck, you’re my friend and i care about you.”

what was supposed to be an answer only raised more questions.

“but— but didn’t you say i deserve it?”

“i thought that two hits was enough.”

donghyuck was flustered by your responses and he didn’t even know why. people either sided with him or were against him yet you were situated at both boundaries at the same time. it was a kind of combination that brought him to a place in his head that he’d never been before. you probably noticed the flurry of emotions swirling in his face, so you decided to speak up.

“donghyuck, are you alright?”

“o-oh, yeah,” he shot up under your worried gaze, and he pressed his lips together before speaking. “thanks again for helping me.”

he felt like he wasn’t worthy of your kind smile. “a-also, can i ask a question?”

“go on.”

“don’t you think that i’m like… a shitty person?”

donghyuck was afraid of your response. he was afraid of hearing that you’d agree even though he knew that he was really a terrible person. more than anything, he was afraid of what you thought about him, actually.

“i don’t think so,” you said. “but maybe you’ve done a lot of things before that would be considered ‘shitty’.”

he was genuinely surprised by your answer.

“it’s never too late, hyuck.”

it was quiet for a moment, but it was welcome. donghyuck took this time to think for a moment, to actually get in touch with the mess that had been long ignored in his head. he looked at you as you silently busied yourself with your phone, lips pursed in a manner that had his chest tightening. as if you noticed him staring, you shut off your phone and faced him.

“i think we’ve been loitering here for too long,” you breathed, a sheepish smile on your face. “should we go?”

donghyuck nodded before scrambling to get up. he went over to pick up the boxes neatly placed on the table beside you, but you quickly smacked his hands away. “what?”

“do you think i’m gonna let you bring all of this while you’re injured?”

“y/n, my hands are fine. didn’t you watch as my face and chest got brutally assaulted?”

“you’re still hurt, hyuck,” you protested. “also i’m not letting you go home by yourself. what if hyunsung decides to come after you? do you have anyone to come pick you up?”

donghyuck bit down his lip at your question. he wasn’t planning on going home and he somehow knew that you weren’t going to let him off easily if he told you that. there were many options that flooded his head on what he should tell you— maybe he could say that he’ll head to his dad’s company so that you wouldn’t have to worry, or maybe he can call renjun or jeno pretending that it was his mom.

but for some reason he didn’t want to lie to you.

“um,” his eyes were trained behind you when he spoke. “i don’t really want to tell either of my parents to know what happened... and i don’t want to stay at home, either.”

surprisingly, you didn’t press any further.

“okay,” you assured, and he sighed. he didn’t think that one simple okay could make him feel lighter. “still, i don’t like the idea of letting you off on your own. why don’t we call one of your friends?”

wait a second—

“should we ask jeno? wait, maybe we shouldn’t bother him for now.”

donghyuck’s face paled.

“what about renjun? ah, he might be busy today.”

god, please no—

“oh, let’s ask nana! maybe he’d let you stay over at his to rest for the time being.”

he wanted to stop you, but you were already calling him, and his blood ran cold. there wasn’t a problem with him staying over at jaemin’s— he was actually planning on doing that, anyway. the problem laid on the fact that jaemin would probably kill him once he found out that you were with him. donghyuck was too dumbstruck by the situation to even realize that wait— how did you know jeno and renjun? you even had their numbers? what the fuck?

“thank you so much, nana! i’ll text you the address,” there was a smile on your face when you were talking to him, and donghyuck didn’t want to get rid of it by telling you that the person on the end of the line was probably scowling at your request right now. that would also mean that he’d have to tell you that jaemin had been trying to pursue you, and he didn’t want to get in the middle of that.

so all he could do was smile and nod as he waited for his friend’s wrath.

but much to his surprise and relief, it never came. because the moment jaemin arrived to drag his ass to his house, he seemed to be too distracted by you to even look at him. he noticed something different from his friend; the bright gleam on his face when he looked at you was something he had never seen before, and it welcomed a feeling that he had never felt before.

“thanks again, nana! i’ll see you two tomorrow,” when you finally parted ways, donghyuck expected to finally be berated by his friend for, once again, not listening when he told him to stay away from you, but all that happened was the dimming down of his previous elated demeanor.

“let’s go?”

jaemin uttered without a trace of anger or malice or anything— and donghyuck was more unnerved by this. he nodded in response, wordlessly trailing behind his friend as he went over to crash at his place for the umpteenth time that week.

AN EYE FOR AN EYE // A HEART FOR A HEART

as they say, what goes around comes around. so when you break a hundred hearts out of the selfishness of your actions— be prepared to get your own heart broken a hundred times, as well.

24 // kiss it better

a/n: it’s 12:30am as i’m typing this and i’m just about to shut down oh my god ayways i hope you enjoyed this part!! some hyuck action hehehehe i’d say more shit but i’m really so tired rn so good byE

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[boxboysandotherwhump]

Monsters and mushrooms

Tags:  @salamancialilypad  @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee  @ashintheairlikesnow   @haro-whumps   @moose-teeth @vickytokio​ @yet-another-heathen​ @orchidscript

A Nature fun fact: Bioluminescent mushrooms do exist actually and snails have the habit to foam when distressed in order to deter predators and protect their soft body from tiny satans like ants.

Chapter 4

CW: emotional overload, negative stimming, fear of abandonment, hints at past abusive parent

Sahar hasted up to the farm, stumbling on the crooked steps.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop and the world around him dissolved into a melted aquarelle painting of leaves and grass and roots as he stormed past the house. 

He wedged himself between the root and the old stump they chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the axe still rammed inside, his back hitting the root over and over and over again, while he purged all the unwanted feelings from his body through movement. 

There would be bruises tomorrow, Sahar thought when his violent rocking finally slowed into a gentle rhythm.

His lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salt water now, not overwhelming aches.

Sometimes, Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

But for what?

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root and her worried face peered down at his cowering form. “There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was to come.

There had always been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d abandoned him. At long last. 

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish but couldn’t. He rocked up against the root once more. Let his shoulder blades collide with it until he  felt the scratch of rough bark through his grey linen shirt.  

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe routes and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was no such time. .

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled. Crashed violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. I promise. I promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here.  And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips. 

A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin. The expansion of his ribcage, how it filled with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, on every inhale and his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from her arms. The snail immediately clung onto him as best as her soft slimy body allowed, wiggling in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down and put her over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you, there you  go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped herself flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into her shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given her yesterday. 

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod.  “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the memory of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart.  He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… headhunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest remains nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next few days.  No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while her body pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails, if one  gets lost and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. The others already left to check the InD-Unit’s for a possible breakthrough. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

“We gonna go pick glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms!”

Mara shrieked, running in circles around Charlotte, a woven basket clutched tightly in her small brown hands. Her yellow hairband fluttered and the ‘thud thud thud’ of her prosthetic leg got drowned out by the other children’s laughter, hot on her heels in a tumultuous chase for the basket.

A small pale boy broke out into a bright grin as he caught himself from stumbling over the hem of his pants, way too long for his small, stubby legs.

“Did Julian steal Hanne’s clothes again?” Kaja emerged from one of the orphanage’s many crooked entrances with a box of flashlights under one arm. A bag full of pocket knives dangled from the other as she dodged a low hanging wooden beam with practiced ease.

Charlotte took the box from her with an irritated sigh. “I’m glad he’s wearing clothes at all, this time.”

“Are you sure you can handle them on your own?”

Kajas cocky grin vanished under Charlotte icy glare. Blue eyes frosted over as she yanked the bag from Kajas hands and shouted: “Everyone who does not want to stay home lines up here now! You don’t lose your flashlight and when I see one pocket knife flicked open for anything other than picking mushrooms you celebrate the festival in your room. Am I clear?”

The children’s excited shrieks died in an instant as they hurried to get in line, waiting obediently for Charlotte to hand every one of them their items and making a show off storing them dutifully away in their pants pockets and backpacks.

The perfect picture of orderly compliance.

Everyone knew it would last for as long as it would take them to leave the orphanages grounds.

___

 The academy yard’s gravel crunched under Gideon’s boots as he snuck away from yet another disciplinary task. He had scrubbed all the bathrooms to shine in the past, had assisted in the kitchen more than once, and had sorted the trainings gear enough times to know it by heart.

Sometimes he even understood why it always ended up like this.

What he couldn’t understand, however, was having to clean up the entire two story training hall because that stupid farm boy provoked him. For once, he hadn’t even done anything. At least nothing that wouldn’t have been deserved.

Not that the little shit had been helpless.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

Gideon nearly choked at his upperclassman’s call. His hands clutched the spear’s strap dangling from his shoulder tighter and  he turned to face the young man who had hurried over from their living quarters. His dark thick brows were harsh, frowning lines in a permanently stern face.

“Berkan.” The corners of Gideon’s mouth twitched. He was really in no mood to deal with this stuck-up right now. “Just out for some late night practice.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He did want to get some extra training in, only someplace where he had some damn peace for once. Who could have thought the countryside would be even more suffocating than a life under his father’s roof.

Turning around before Berkan opened his mouth in protest Gideon hurriedly added,“Just finished the cleaning ‘n shit. Go look for yourself if you want.” before he skidded down the large staircase leading down from the academy campus.

Even if Berkan decided to check up on his task Gideon would be already gone by the time the other boy realized he hadn’t done shit.

 ____

 Sahar rubbed slow circles over Asmodea’s head, right between her antennas. It was one of her favorite spots, right after the underside of her foot, when Sahar would gently wipe it clean with a fluffy towel whenever she’d managed to get something unpleasantly stuck to her body. Like the godforsaken acidic tree sap she had blindly glid through on their first forest excursion.

Asmodea carefully extended one eye, gently poking Sahar’s other hand while she began to softly nibble his leg. The raspy sandpaper-like sensation made him chuckle and his fingers began to tap over the warm earth. 

“Hey, hey hey. I’m fine. Don’t, don’t worry.”

Another enthusiastic nibble made him smile, bright and toothy for the first time on a day unpredictable like a summer monsoon.

Sahar was just about to coax Asmodea from his lap and get some strawberry, when a gut wrenching shriek pierced the evening air. 

Something rustled through the bushes.

He shouldered Asmodea and sprung to his feet in one fluid motion, eyes fixed on the timberline and heart stuck in his throat.

Don’t tell me?! Did something break through the border after all?

His pulse hammered in his ears as Sahar listened to the sound of snapping twigs, to the rapid ‘thud thud thud’  coming closer with every second ticking by. His thoughts raced. Would he be fast enough to hurl Asmodea over the root? To jump after? His eyes snapped to the axe. Could he run at all?

The bushes parted.

Sahar was about to throw his friend over the root, risking an injury to her precious shell, when he saw who had screamed. His body froze dead in its tracks and Asmodea fummed in paniked protest. 

Mara had burst out of the thick bushes, covered in scratches, her little face blotchy and tear crusted. The yellow hairband that had been seemingly fused to her head was nowhere to be found and the glittering drawings on her prosthetic leg were smeared over with dirt. Sahar was kneeling by her side in an instant.

“Hey hey hey hey what- what happened? Mara?”

Wiping at tears rolling in endless rivers down flushed chubby cheeks, Sahar scanned her shivering disheveled form for injuries that, to his immense relief, didn’t seem to exist.

“Hey hey hey, It’s fine. It’s fine now. I- I’m here. Every- everything’s fine, fine now.”

“Nonononono.” Her tiny hands fisted in his shirt as she pressed her forehead against his collarbone, shaking and rubbing her head into Sahars skin.

Her fluffy curls brushed his chin.

“Monster. A monster. Monster at the glowy clea- clealing!”

“Glowy- what what what do, what do you mean?”

His hands tapped a rapid-fire rhythm over her shaking shoulder blades as Sahar tried to make some sense of her choked-off babbling. 

Sobbing, Mara dug the remnants of a squashed luminescent mushroom out of her pocket. The glowing blue pulp dripped down her fingers and painted sparkling droplets of night sky onto the muddy earth.

“Oh. Oh! The the The clearing! I know, I know, know now. That that that’s close. Were, were were you, were you- were- fuck.” Balling his hands into fist tight enough to leave crescent indentations in the soft flesh of his palm, Sahar forced a long breath in through his nose and out of his uncooperative mouth.

Slow now, sweetheart. Don’t get too worked up again.

“Were you and the others pick- pick picking- for the fest?”

Burying herself back against Sahar’s chest with a frantic nod Mara howled: “The others- the monster, the monster trapped them!”

A breakthrough. Fuck, fuck. Fuck! There must have been one.

She trembled as he held her at arm’s length, meeting dark panic hazy eyes with a determination he thought had died that fateful autumn night eight years ago.

“Listen Mara. I, I I go to the clearing and and and you run to to to the, run to the tea house. Every- everyone’s gonna be, be there warming up for for for for tomorrow.”

He hastily wiped her cheeks before hoisting her over the root. Sahar flashed her a wry smile, trying to look braver than he felt.

“Everything’s gon- gon- gonna be fine.”

Sahar willed his hands not to shake as he tore the Axe from the cutting stump and vanished into the woods.

[dweetwise]

day 12: clenched fists

prompt from: flufftober pairing: felix x ace notes: some more soulmate au, this time with actual fluff. continued from day 10. warnings: none word count: 1540

‘I love you,' Felix thinks for what has to be the twentieth time today, and it's not even 10 AM.

He grits his teeth and clenches his fists to stop himself from blurting it out. It's way too soon, and when Ace shoots him a funny look he merely offers an encouraging smile, giving his companion the incentive to continue telling the story of how he scammed a group of tourists out of their money at only nine years old.

The past three days have been amazing. Felix has barely attended the conference he'd originally come to Vegas for, architecture seeming incredibly boring for the first time in his life. At least compared to his honest to god soulmate.

Ace snickers at one of his own jokes and Felix stares with a dopey smile. Damn, Ace has to have figured out at least some of his feelings by now, even if he's not saying them out loud. He’s acting like a lovesick puppy, and he’s helpless to stop it.

The waitress comes by their table and Ace offers her a charming smile and gives her his menu before turning back to Felix.

“I'll have what he's having!" Ace smiles. “My treat, baby.”

And maybe Felix should protest, his family's wealth not taking the slightest bit of dent even if he were to have covered all of their expenses this weekend. But it's been so damn nice to feel like Ace likes him for him, and not his money or name.

“Blueberry waffles and a black coffee, please,” Felix says instead.

It's not what he'd usually have for breakfast, but there's a lot of things he's done during his three short days in the city of sin he didn't think he'd ever do.

Meet his soulmate. Ditch an architecture seminar to gamble. Sleep with a man.

Fall in love.

“Aww, with blueberries?” Ace teases. “You're too cute.”

"I figured you weren't that hungry, after stuffing your face with sausage this morning,” Felix shoots right back. And when Ace laughs at his joke despite it not being that funny, Felix has to clench his fists again.

Curse his dumb little heart for falling way too fast.

They finish their breakfast while Ace asks him about anything he can think of, from his childhood pet cat to his most embarrassing drinking story. Three days isn't nearly enough time to really get to know each other, Felix realizes this. But he’s also acutely aware of the fact that his plane leaves in six hours and he needs to do something before that.

They've spent the last forty-eight hours straight together, and about twelve before that. He's spent every night sleeping next to Ace.

Well. Among other things.

He's lucky Lauren had the foresight to get them separate rooms and have a respectable two-room distance between said rooms. Felix could deal with her knowing little smirks every time they ran into each other in the hallway, but having her hear the main event was definitely something he was glad he'd been able to avoid.

After the meal Ace drags him to a Ferris wheel, and it's a little silly for two grown men to visit at noon, but he doesn't care in the slightest. If anything, the privacy will be nice, and hopefully he’ll get a chance to talk about the future in a way that doesn’t completely scare Ace off.

Felix’s heart skips a beat when Ace sits down on his side of the small gondola, tilting it at an angle from off-balance but apparently willing to sacrifice an easy ride just to be close to him.

And maybe they spend half of the ride making out instead of actually talking like he’d planned, but Felix just can’t get enough. He wants to stay like this forever, silently cursing his visitor visa that will expire tomorrow.

Felix reluctantly pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Ace's. The other looks at him with curious brown eyes and a fond smile, and Felix digs his nails into his palms to stop himself from spilling his heart.

“Shame you have to leave so soon,” the corner of Ace's mouth twitches up but there's a sadness in his eyes that betrays his real sentiment.

It's enough for Felix to unclench his hands and give up all semblance of subtlety.

“Come with me.”

It's not what he really wants to say, but it's close enough, and surprise washes over Ace's features.

“To Germany,” Ace says, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Only for a few days. Or weeks,” Felix says, hoping he doesn't come across as too forward. Ace is silent, so he continues. “Or we can go somewhere else—maybe Italy? I'll pay," he rambles, definitely coming off as desperate from the way Ace's eyes widen in shock. "Sorry, I just… don't want this to end,” Felix cringes in embarrassment.

“What then?” Ace asks, an unreadable expression on his face. “After the… vacation or whatever. What's your plan for after?”

Felix takes a shaky breath.

“How do you feel about living in Germany?” he asks.

“With you,” Ace clarifies.

“If you want to,” he says. “Or I can help you find an apartment.”

“Why?” Ace asks.

“I mean, moving in together is a big step—”

“No, I mean why me?” Ace clarifies.

Felix gives a pointed stare to his—need he repeat it?—goddamn soulmate.

“Yeah, I know, we share a pain receptor or something,” Ace dismisses with a wave of his hand. “But I've told you what my life is like. I mean I know I'm great, but I'm not that great,” he jokes, but there's uncertainty hidden underneath the smile.

“You're the most interesting person I've ever met,” Felix says, hoping to ease the other’s sudden insecurity.

“I'm a freaking broke ass con man,” Ace shoots back. “And you're this… gorgeous, respectable businessman!”

“Maybe it's meant to be,” Felix argues. “We balance each other out.”

“Ah yes, your three thousand positives and my twenty big fat red flags,” Ace snarks.

“I’ve had it so damn easy compared to you,” Felix argues, and even Ace looks a little taken aback at that.

Ace had told him a lot about himself, but there were gaps in his story, injuries Felix had felt that were never explained. He'd never pry, but it also wasn't too hard to fill in the blanks himself.

“I never had to work for anything in my life, but you can be sure I'm fighting for this,” he says, taking Ace's hand in his and hoping against hope that the man he’s hopelessly in love with doesn't push him away.

“Okay.”

“…What?”

“I said okay,” Ace says, intertwining their fingers with a smile. “I'll come with you.”

“Are you serious?” Felix asks, not believing his ears and hope blossoming in his chest.

“I've never been able to quit while I'm ahead,” Ace grins. “Let's see what happens.”

Felix's heart feels like it's about to burst, and he leans in for a kiss that Ace is happy to respond to.

“Just, uh,” Ace starts, pulling away. “Give me some time to… ‘acquire’ a passport,” he says with a sheepish grin, and after a lifetime of being on the straight and narrow, Felix shouldn't find it endearing.

But he does, because it's his soulmate, and he's prepared to embrace all the baggage that comes with him.

“Let me know if there's any ‘respectable’ individuals that need an anonymous donation,” Felix murmurs, ready to bribe anyone he needs to in order for his lover to follow him back home.

Ace stares at him, gaping a little bit.

“What?”

“Nothing, you're just…” Ace falters. “Literally perfect. Are you for real?”

“You'd be the first person to think of me that way,” Felix snorts but is helpless to stop the heat spreading over his cheeks. “You make me feel…”

‘Happy’? ‘Content’? ‘Hopelessly in love’? ‘Like I’ve finally found my place in the world’?

“Free,” he finally settles on, looking deep into Ace’s eyes and hoping to convey all the things he’s left unsaid.

“Same,” Ace says, looking even happier than usual, an earnest smile on his face. “I though this… soulmate thing would be suffocating—it’s a lot of pressure, you know?”

Felix had never felt that way, but he nods, realizing why Ace would be hesitant. And he knows he’s been a little intense, despite trying to take things slow, but apparently his feelings aren’t unwelcome.

“But everything’s just been pretty damn amazing,” Ace continues with a grin. “It’s weird, but it feels like I’ve known you forever.”

Felix swallows and tries to calm his beating heart, mouth opening and closing and not knowing what to say, what he’s allowed to say in a situation like this.

Ace leans in for a kiss and it’s enough to ground him, bringing his hand up to card through soft hair and melting into the gentle kiss. God, he’s never been this happy, he doesn’t want to lose this—

“I know,” Ace pulls away just enough to whisper against his lips, as if reading his mind. “Me too.”

And then Ace keeps kissing him and his hand clenches into a fist where it’s grabbing Felix’s jacket, and Felix realizes maybe he’s not the only one holding back.

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

if I can't love her (Tokoyami Fumikage X Reader)

Dudes... Josh Groban has a HELLA lovely voice... so deep... so powerful... for some reason this is how I imagine Tokoyami would sound if he got some vocal training~. 

This takes place shortly after ‘Lights Will Guide You Home Part 2′ I didn’t really plan on THIS little excerpt but I heard this song and I just couldn’t resist...

PART 1: https://ice-cream-kitsunegirl.tumblr.com/post/189811426209/lights-will-guide-you-home-tokoyami-fumikage-x

PART 2: https://ice-cream-kitsunegirl.tumblr.com/post/189819603459/lights-will-guide-you-home-tokoyami-fumikage-x

Summary: You were the only person Tokoyami ever loved and fell for, but he believes that he killed you. 

Tokoyami Fumikage was not a man of romance or love. Of course that was despite being a romantic at heart, but who would love someone like him?

Nobody that’s who.

He knew it and he was content with that. At least, that’s what he always convinced himself and told himself that he needs to be content with. Yet, fates were cruel to him because they brought you into his life, and now they had taken you away from him.

A MONTH AGO:

“C’mon Tokoyami~! It’s gonna be awesome!!” You were lulling him by the arm, a tad bit forcefully as you gave him a ticket to this Beauty and The Beast musical that you had been wanting to see for weeks. It was literally going to start in 2 hours and you JUST gave him the ticket. Tokoyami wasn’t one for spontaneous things.

He sighed when he realized he had no choice, “Very well then.” He tried to not sound annoyed, even though it was a musical so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He appreciated music, actors and how they could set up such a work of art.

“Hooray!!” You cheered as he felt himself being partially dragged along the ride as he often was. For a shy little thing, you were pretty chatty when it came to your friends and him for some reason.

Tokoyami would have been lying though if he said he wasn’t happy about that though. He was glad that he was one of the friends you felt you could be yourself around.

The musical was miraculous and he could see the awe and marvel in your eyes the entire time, and Tokoyami couldn’t help but admire how lovely you looked so happy. Although he was so fascinated by you that he didn’t even hear the music come to a stop as there was a brief intermission. And he started to blush quite heavily under his feathers as soon as you turned to face him with that smile and blush on your cheeks. 

You opened your mouth to say something since you felt that now this would be a good time, “Tokoyami...”

“Y-Yes?” He hated himself for stuttering, but he almost had hope for a minute there but you looked just as nervous as he did. “We’re friends right...?” Dammit, that’s all you could bring yourself to ask even though you really wanted to ask something else.

Unbeknownst to you, your question both relieved and mildly disappointed Tokoyami. However, he would be more relieved because he wasn’t certain how he would react to a confession. Then again, there’s no way anyone would confess to him so he told himself to not get ahead of himself...

“Yes, I would say we are. We work together well and get along better than most of our classmates. I can even consider you a friend I have a few things in common with.” He stated with mostly formal honesty which made you smile, that was just Tokoyami for you. Always serious, always polite, but that’s why you liked him. Sure you weren’t the most serious person in the world, but you both enjoyed the same kind of gloomy aesthetic, tastes in music and you were always a fan of the gothic fashion and subculture that you knew Tokoyami was a part of. 

“Aww...” And you couldn’t help but feel touched by this even though you were... too nervous to really add on to your question. “Cool... I just wanted to make sure since... I really only take my friends to cool things like this.” That was your ultimate excuse and your ultimate lie that Tokoyami would believe.

He hummed at your response, “I’m glad that you invited me (L/N).” Tokoyami then expressed his gratitude. He truly was thankful that he at least got to spend time with you. Being with you was a time of bliss and a time where he could actually relax and enjoy because it was nice to have someone to talk to about his interests and someone who was just good company

Secretly though, in this deepest abyss of his dark heart, he wished he could be someone you could like maybe more than a friend, but he would never tell you that.

No, Tokoyami wasn’t as brave as you were when it came to that kind of thing. Those were simply words he would never say.

RIGHT NOW:

Tokoyami used to enjoy the night-time, such a mysterious time that brought the beauty of darkness, sweet revelry in the dark. 

Yet now it just felt painful, and only the luminous glow provided by the moon was the only thing bringing him any sense of comfort as he tried to ignore this dull ache in his heart. He wanted to blame fates for bringing you into his life, only to take you away, but in the end he knew that he had no one to blame but himself.

After all, he’s the one who last saw you before you disappeared, he’s the one who murdered you with his quirk that he couldn’t control because he was pathetic and weak. It’s only been two days, even after he watched All-Might fight off All For One, the thought of you was haunting him and now he couldn’t even bring himself to sleep.

No... it’s been two sleepless nights because he couldn’t sleep knowing that your blood was on his hands and that you weren’t going to smile at him again. Because those two nights ago was the same night that he killed you.  

Everything that happened to you, it was all his fault. Now he had nothing, nobody to console him about this because he put himself in this kind of emotionally suffocating torture. He didn’t dare tell his classmates or his family though, and he was honestly glad that they weren’t home tonight because of pro-hero work.

He wanted to suffer alone in silence like he had been for the past couple of years. 

He deserved this pain though, he deserved to feel this misery swallowing his soul as he could only think about the lovely memories he shared with you. Every smile you smiled, every laugh you laughed, every movie you watched with him, every song you sang and listened with him.

It brought pain upon his hollow being and he deserved every bit of it.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6BiSTFRJlw)

“And in my twisted face There's not the slightest trace  Of anything that even hints of kindness” Without even thinking, the lonely raven started to sing the song he remembered from that musical you and he went to. It was one of the saddest, most tortured and heartbreaking songs he had ever heard in his life, and now he understood it more than anything in the world.

Tokoyami didn’t feel anything. Nothing but misery and bitterness he lost you, someone he liked... and dare he say loved. “And from my tortured shape No comfort, no escape I see, but deep within is utter blindness” You were the one who could comfort him, even though you didn’t know it. You brought Tokoyami comfort without even knowing it. Just by smiling at him and being kind to him brought light to his world and he missed it.

There was no longer light in his world though, not without you... “Hopeless As my dream dies As the time flies Love a lost illusion Helpless Unforgiven Cold and driven To this sad conclusion” He’d always wanted to be a hero, even when he was isolated once upon a time for his ‘scary’ quirk and less than human looking features. Tokoyami wanted to be a hero and prove that there was no need to fear the dark.

Then like many a teenage boy, he found himself a new fantasy upon spending more time with you. He almost believed that perhaps you could be with him always and be at his side in his crusade of heroism.

Yet any dream he had, it all died, now he had nothing to love because you were the one he felt love for. He damned the notion that perhaps it was just his emotions doing the thinking for him.

He loved you... “No beauty could move me No goodness improve me No power on earth, if I can't love her No passion could reach me No lesson could teach me How I could have loved her and make her love me too If I can't love her, then who?” Clenching his fists as his eyes started to well with tears he could almost see you now smiling at him from the full moon brightening up the dimmed sky. He knew you were gone though as he shook his head slowly.

Tokoyami loved you, he wanted you here so he could love you. Maybe be less of a bloody coward and tell you that he loved you so maybe, just maybe you could love me too.

But you weren’t here, and now he couldn’t even do that. Still, he felt that he deserved it.  “Long ago I should have seen All the things I could have been Careless and unthinking, I moved onward” It was his fault, he lost control of his quirk, he was terrible, he was a terrible person with a terrible power. Terrible people don’t love good people, they couldn’t love good people. Tokoyami should have known better.

He should have known that he couldn’t love someone because of his dark heart and dark powers. You were light and he was darkness, so that means he couldn’t love you.

Tokoyami couldn’t love you because it wasn’t meant to be, the fact that he destroyed the light in his life meant that he couldn’t love you and would never be able to. But he was the fool who believed that someone as bright as you could love a dark creature such as himself. “No pain could be deeper No life could be cheaper No point anymore, if I can't love her No spirit could win me No hope left within me Hope I could have loved her and that she'd set me free” He raised a closed fist and brought it to the wall as the tears finally escaped and ran down his feathered cheeks and dripped to the floor. God he could feel his soul dying the more he thought about his foolish attempts at being your friend, and believing that he had a chance at loving someone like you.

You believed in him, he knew that because you were kind to him, smiled at him, and you hugged him. You didn’t turn away from him, you actually hugged him and warmed his heart. Those moments that others would dismiss as minimal decency to Tokoyami made him believe that he could be loved, that he deserved to actually be loved. 

There was no more of that though, no hope, Tokoyami lost any hope of feeling love and being loved because he couldn’t love the person he did love. No, he was doomed. Doomed to be lost to this darkness forever without any sort of love and happiness because losing you meant that fates just didn’t have it planned for him.

Tokoyami wasn’t meant to be loved, he wasn’t meant to love. He knew it, he’s always known it.

Yet he couldn’t stop missing you, he would never stop missing you. Even as he resigned himself back into the darkness, his withering heart still ached for you. Tokoyami still loved you even as he stared upwards at the moonlight being shrouded by the blackened clouds.

Just like his soul, the light was gone and now there was nothing but the darkness to engulf everything else. As Tokoyami brought himself to lie on his bed, he saw your visage flash through his misty eyes one last time before he allowed them to close and could only pray for an ending for him. 

“But it's not to be If I can't love her Let the world be done with me...”

[lokihzra]

My Heart’s On Fire For Your Love

Chapter 3

Thor falls to his knees in front of his brother, his heartbeat picking up with every sharp inhale Loki takes. “Loki hey look at me” Thor demands through the lump in his throat as he gently lifts Loki’s face to look at him “you’re okay, we’re in New York” he says as soft as he can, keeping his touch gentle and pleading, hoping Loki can see the worry and pain in his eyes.

“no I-I” Loki stops and gulps to try and ease the lump in his throat attempting to suffocate him “I don’t know what’s happening” he mumbles and tries to look back down at the floor.

Thor pulls his head back up and Loki couldn’t tell if he wanted to pull away or lean into Thor’s touch “breathe Loki, keep your eyes on me”

“I can’t-“ he breaks off into sharp gasps and leans forward until his head hits Thor’s shoulder “make it stop” the gasps burned his lungs but his head hurt more.

worthless, useless, nothing, a monster. Who can love a monster?

Especially a fallen jotun runt.

“Loki please breathe” Thor begs, tears welling up in his own eyes. Helpless, the weight in his heart screams at him to do something but he can’t. Thor isn’t skilled with a Seidr so no matter how bad he wanted to, he couldn’t help his brother.

“Please make it stop” Loki sobs and his stomach drops as he remembers the darkness, the endless silence “Thor please” he begs, pressing his face farther into thor’s shoulder, his hands gripping Thors sweater so hard that Loki swears he feels one of his nails crack.

Thor starts softly shushing him and Loki feels his hand rubbing his back gently, his other hand playing with his hair and he only notices that it calms him down near ten minutes later when his lungs stopped burning and that dull throbbing started pounding at the back of his eyes.

“what do you need?” Thor asks quietly, not moving to pull away.

Loki gulps, trying to ignore the embarrassment as he pulls back “I don’t know why that-“

“you want to rest? you look like you need it” Thor smiles softly making Loki’s nose sting.

“okay”

“Sir, Mr. Rhodes was already on his way here”

Tony sighs but it just gets caught in his throat “wher-where is he?” he says quickly.

“he’s just parked”

“he has a damn suit-oh god” Tony falls back on his ass and brings his knees up to his chin.

“he’s in the elevator”

Tony nods to himself as he grips the table and pulls himself up to his feet. He stumbles and hits his hip against the table so hard he knows there will be a bruise but he doesn’t care because he hears the door slide open.

He turns around to see Rhodey rushing over to him and Tony stumbles over to him, Rhodey catching him before he could trip over his own foot. “Hey man what happened?” Rhodey asks softly as he lowers them to the ground.

“Loki-I-” Tony buries his face in Rhodeys shoulder, his hands holding onto Rhodeys jacket like his life depended on it “me and Loki-“

“You and Loki what? fought?” he asks quietly as he rubs Tony’s back, drawing patterns and words into it.

“no-we-opposite”

“you guys hooked up?” Rhodey nearly yells.

“no-he’s my-“

“okay Tony calm down just breathe, copy my breathing” Rhodey demands and he doesn’t breathe louder on purpose, It helped Tony a lot more when he had to strain to focus, when he blocked everything out to focus on one thing.

And it worked. The pounding in his head got quieter as he strained to listen to Rhodeys even breaths and mimic them. Tony loved Rhodey with all his damn heart, if it wasn’t for Rhodey, Tony probably would have died by 22 and Tony never ever expresses how much Rhodey means to him and he hates it because he got it from Howard.

“you okay now?” Rhodey breaks him from his thoughts, the hand on his back slowing to a halt.

“I love you, you know that?”

“shut up”

“No i really do Rhodes, I would die for you man”

“you’ll die for anyone Tony”

“not true”

“well if you love me so much tell me what happened”

“um” Tony pauses to try and think of how the hell he tells his best friend that soulmates are real and he knows because his soulmate is upstairs right now and it just so happens to be the man who attacked the very city they’re in at the moment “maybe another time buddy”

Tony starts to get up but Rhodey pulls him back down to the floor “I’m your best friend douche bag, tell me”

“do you believe in soulmates?”

“sometimes” Rhodey says with a shrug but continues when Tony raises a brow “I thought you and Pepper were soulmates”

“yeah well she’s not and my soulmate is a guy”

Rhodeys face falls but he quickly breaks off into a quiet laugh “you’re telling me soulmates are real?”

“the city was attacked by aliens five days ago and this, you don’t believe?”

“okay fine keep talking” Rhodey demands as he focuses his attention on Tony.

“nevermind I shouldn’t-“

“Tony tony I’m listening so tell me please” Rhodey nearly begs.

Tony rambles to hopefully avoid the subject but Rhodey knows him. Rhodey knows that this is what he does.“apparently soulmates are rare. Like extinct rare and I don’t really know the purpose but-“

Rhodey interrupts him “Tony”

Tony stops with a huff and as he opened his mouth to say the words, he suddenly couldn’t. “Tony?” he sighs before lifting his sleeve and revealing the L on his wrist, the black marking standing out against his tan skin like an emo at Disney land.

Tony watches as Rhodey frowns at it before his face drops “am I being punk’d?”

“fuck” Tony says harshly as he pulls his sleeve back down “see?” he quickly gets up and walks over to his desk “this is why I don’t want to tell anybody”

“do you love him?” Rhodey asks and Tony stops abruptly.

“no” he says without missing a beat and he turns around to face Rhodey in case the latter doesn’t believe him.

“well then you’ll be okay” Rhodey says reassuringly.

It doesn’t work thought because Rhodey can’t hide his concern from Tony, not after 12 years of being bestfriends. “Thor said something about a bond becoming complete-the fuck does that mean Rhodey?” Tony asks quickly, his heart beating faster than his tongue moves.

“Call Loki down here”

“what? no-“

“I can’t answer your questions only he can”

“Sir it seems that Mr. Odinson is not functional enough to come down here”

He groans before mumbling “and why not?” secretly hoping that JARVIS never heard.

“he’s suffering from a migraine ” JARVIS informs him and Tony sighs in relief before something catches his attention.

“Aliens can get headaches?”

“technically sir he is Asgardian, A god, not an alien, they have the same physiology but they’re only denser so yes Asgardians can get headaches”

“diseases?”

“no sir, their density makes it near impossible for diseases to survive off of their body, it would take nearly a million years for any disease to affect them”

“hm” Tony shrugs “won’t have to use a condom.

“Tony!” Rhodey scolds as he watches Tony walk to the door.

“i’m kidding sourpatch”

May 9th, 2012

“we ordered supper, it’s on the counter” Natasha nods towards the several takeout plates on the counter.

“didn’t know what you guys wanted so I just ordered almost everything” Tony says through a mouthful of food.

Loki frowns down at the meat and vegetables mixed together, with rice or noodles, a bowl of soup and small balls covered in a red sauce. “what is this?”

“Chinese food” Clint says through his mouthful of food

“Why are you here and why are you all dirty?”

“While you guys were destroying the training room we were out cleaning your mess” Steve states

Loki frowns and it disappears before anyone could even notice it. His eyebrows are furrowed and his fists clenched together as he walks over to the giant windows. Thor and Tony silently watching as Loki scans the wreck of the city below him.

Suddenly Tony’s throat closes up, his eyes filling with tears and the weight in his heart makes him literally stop breathing for a moment. He freezes before harshly putting his plate down and watching as Loki is staring down at the city.

Loki's fists are clenched so tight that his arms tremble along with his tense jaw, shaking, trying to form words as he scans the debris littering the streets and buildings. Broken windows and signs, craters from explosions and some buildings had holes in them that was at least 4 stories big.

He blinks quickly to make the tears go away before he holds his palms out, parallel to the window in front of him and his guilt doesn’t fade as the warmth travels through his veins. The warm green light of his magic absorbing the mess; garbage, debris, glass and metal all disappearing from the streets and buildings. He couldn’t fix the buildings or signs, not until he got more of his strength back but this was enough for now.

He couldn't fix broken families and give children their parents back.

He’ll do better.

He’ll make up for it, somehow.

“how many people?” he asks quietly, staying in his spot “how many people did I kill?”

“one hundred and ninety three” Steve states and Loki couldn’t hold in his shaky exhale.

He was about to say something but Clints cold tone made his brain short circuit “cleaning up the mess won’t do anything”

Lokis guilt completely fades morphing into anger as he scans the avengers in the living room. “I accept you all for who you are even when you can’t find even a shred of humanity to accept me. Natasha’s ledger is worse than mine, Thor waged war on Jötunheim out of anger, he wasn’t mind controlled, tortured and forced like I was ” Loki snarls but he continues before Thor can ask questions “Clint you had a secret family, Bruce killed his abusive alcoholic father” Loki stops quickly, his gaze softening as he looks at the tense scientist “I’m not judging you for that I would have done the same thing. Tony is an alcoholic who made weapons and Steve claims to be a self-sacrificing hero yet he has 90 years to prove that”

The room is silent as every word sinks into their bones. Every word was true and none of them could deny that not even to themselves, Tony never ever denied who he was but that doesn’t stop the anger from boiling his blood and organs.

“I’m not the only one with mistakes or a past, I’m not the only one who lies about who I am and I know that, so degrade me all you want but don’t throw it in my face” Loki deadpans “because I promise you Barton, I will win at that game every time” he says lowly.

“shut the fuck up”

“pardon?” Loki glares and Tony feels another wave of that hot red rage setting in his bones.

“shut the fuck up, you’re pissing me off”

Loki scoffs, folding his arms and barking out a laugh “I’m pissing you-“ he stops abruptly, his face dropping as he suddenly marches into the elevator, leaving everyone shocked.

Except for Tony, as fast as the anger came it transformed into fear as soon as-

As soon as Loki wasn't angry anymore.

[artificialqueens]

Love Connections and Other Works of Art (Sashea) - Estuary

Summary: Sasha becomes infatuated with a mural. That’s not the only thing she’s infatuated with.

A/N: I had an idea and ran with it. A meet cute and all the fallout. I hope y'all enjoy it! AO3 Link

        “Ma’am? Ma’am, I am so sorry, but my boss wants to know why you’re loitering.”   

        Sasha flushed, becoming painfully aware of how long she had stared at the mural on the side of this building. The mural was captivatingly colorful and practically pulsed with geometric shapes that were just abstract enough to draw in the viewer with the desire to discover what they were. However, even after staring at the mural for upwards of ten minutes on her way to work, Sasha could not determine their meaning. At one moment, the shapes became silhouettes of dancers, at another an architectural landscape, and at yet another, angular clouds.

        Upon tearing her eyes from the wall and spinning around to face the chiding voice, Sasha’s pale complexion deepened to a strawberry red as she laid eyes on a truly stunning woman. Her deep, creamy skin glinted under the sunlight, long, tight curls piled on her head’s right side. Her mouth formed a smirk as Sasha stared, but even with that smug expression, the lady looked beautiful. A pink blazer paired with a cobalt blue skirt usually wouldn’t seem professional, but with her stature and poise, she looked expensive and unique.

        Sasha looked down instinctively, not wanting to ogle this poor woman any longer. However, staring at the concrete sidewalk only led Sasha’s eyes to a pair of frighteningly tall, pink stiletto pumps. Pumps which then connected to a pair of slender, toned, mile-long legs.

        “Um.. girl? Are you good?” The woman asked. The question seemed to reflect concern, but the smirk had transformed into nothing short of a full, shit-eating grin.   

        Good job, Sasha. You look great. Get yourself together.

        Sasha steeled herself enough to meet the woman’s eyes.

        Talk about art. You can do that. 

        “I’m so sorry, I just was looking at this mural. The colors and composition are so wonderfully vibrant. The style speaks to traditional cubism, but the interplay of light, shade, and color reminds me of a Charles Demuth.” Sasha explained, eagerly gesticulating. Even then, she cringed slightly when her hand movements caused the pins littering her own blazer to rattle loudly.   

        After a brief pause, the woman responded.

        “Well, I’m happy you like it so much. In fact, do you want to meet who designed it?” 

        “Absolutely! If you could give me a phone number, or an email, I’ll contact her. And I’ll get out of your hair, sorry about all that.”

        “Oh, I’m not gonna go through all that trouble. You can just talk to me now.”

        Fuck. Sasha was a goner.

        “Really?”    

        “Yes! Do I look like I’m playing?” 

        “Oh my god…” Sasha muttered, the expression slipping from her lips. And upon seeing Sasha so flustered, this beautiful, perfect woman threw her head back in a full laugh. 

        It was the most lovely laugh Sasha had ever heard. It sounded deep like thunder in the mountains, and it sounded warm like an embrace or a crackling fireplace. It sounded like all these things, and Sasha felt like she was experiencing all of them at once. Maybe this mystery woman of Sasha’s dreams was laughing at her, but she would be ridiculed at forever if it meant she got to hear that laugh. 

        Double fuck.

        “I’m Shea Couleé,” the woman said, sticking out her delicately manicured hand.

        “Nice to meet you, Miss Couleé,” Sasha replied, earnestly (probably too much so) grabbing Shea’s hand and shaking it, “I’m Sasha Velour.”

        “Oh, call me Shea. It’s Miss Couleé only if you nasty.”

        Sasha felt more blood rise to her cheeks, opening her mouth to only remain silent. Shea pulled Sasha in slightly close, so her cheek practically touched Sasha’s ear. They were much too close for strangers, but for an enamored woman, perfectly fine. 

        Whispering against Sasha’s ear, Shea muttered, “By all means, continue to call me Miss, then…”

        Shea (damn her!) let go of Sasha’s hand and stepped back into her original position.

        “You know what, Sasha? Why don’t we talk about this,” Shea flippantly gestured to the mural, “over drinks later today?”

        How can she treat such a masterpiece so casually?   

        “I’d love to do that, Shea.”

        “Catch you later, Miss Velour,” Shea tossed the phrase over her shoulder, strutting back into the shop, leaving Sasha standing bug-eyed on the sidewalk.

        As Sasha hurried away to work as initially intended, she could only focus on Shea’s breath on her ear and the weight of her hand on her wrist.

————-

        Sasha’s job mostly consisted of staring at a screen for hours on end, so going out to the bar provided a nice change of pace. She enjoyed her job authoring write-ups of local art galleries, but the near-silence of the office and the polite hushed tones of artistic display spaces felt suffocating after long stretches. In places built on self-expression, the most primitive form had to wait until after work to shine. 

        The additional mounting excitement and nervousness of Sasha’s meeting with Shea didn’t help with anything. Shea had slipped Sasha her business card before returning to her job, and all-day, Sasha couldn’t help but run her fingers over the cardstock to remind herself that the interaction that she had was real. 

        While Sasha might typically reject the stereotype of the helpless, love-stricken woman (particularly when viewed through the eyes of men), Sasha felt like nothing short of François Boucher’s The Love Letter. Normally, she found the grazing animals, the flowers, the women swathed in layers of pastel silks to be patronizing and suffocating in its delicacy and adorable pleasantries. Sasha now could not relate more. Maybe her pastoral paradise could be a desk and ergonomic chair. Perhaps her love letter could be the business card of a beautiful stranger.

        Even later, at the bar, Sasha’s fingers carefully traced the edge of the card. The repetitive motions felt soothing, although it was hard to calm the tidal wave of nervousness in her head. 

        What should I say? It’s been five minutes since 7:30. That’s normal. That’s fashionably late still. Was I supposed to change before I got here? Does she… like me?

        Sasha’s mind raced, but it kept getting stuck on that final question. Like a record player skipping over and over.

        It’s been ten minutes since when we agreed. She should be here. She won’t come. It’s a joke. I hope it won’t look strange if I just leave the bar alone when she doesn’t show up. She can’t like me. Could she like me?

        Sasha hooked and unhooked her heels on the rest of the barstool. She took a pen from her purse and began to draw on Shea’s business card.

        It’s been fifteen minutes. I’ve been duped. I should have known. It was too good to be true–

        “Sasha! Sorry I’m late.”

        Triple fuck.

        Sasha needed to get used to how gorgeous Shea looked because constantly getting this flustered was frankly getting embarrassing. However, Shea wasn’t making it easy.

        Shea had changed into a vibrant, pink, crushed velvet minidress that shone under the bar’s lights. As she approached Sasha at the bar, she smiled widely and met Sasha’s eyes. 

        Putting her hand on Sasha’s back, Shea took the seat next to her.

        “You wear pencil skirts to the club?” Shea asked, bemused eyes flickering from Sasha’s blouse to the aforementioned skirt.

        “I didn’t have time to change, I’m sorry,” Sasha said, torn between her desire to examine how she looked and her desire to continue staring.

        “No, it’s all good, girl! You look just stunning here as you did on the sidewalk today. So you wanted to talk about my mural?”

        This casual, kind, and flirtatious manner kept throwing Sasha off her rhythm. One second she had her–very professional–thoughts and questions organized, and a whim, her thoughts were cast into the sea.

        “Um, well, yes. I just thought your mural was so lovely and captivating. It captures such a specific artistic feeling, and I wanted… I wanted to know what your inspiration was?” Sasha forced the first part of the question out but gradually took a stride as her mind focused and settled itself once more on the topic at hand.

        “I’ve always loved, like, cubism and the reduction of big things to more abstract shapes. I wanted to do that, but for something that was already semi-abstract, leave it up to the viewer. I love pop art and bright colors, and I figured, this’ll attract shoppers,” Shea leaned in, smiling again, “and some hot women.”

        Sasha, to her delight, learned so much about Shea as the dinner continues. 

        Shea hadn’t had formal painting or visual arts training, instead studying fashion and design. Her job at the store exists mostly to pay the bills, but she volunteered to do the mural for free. Shea loves pairing pastels and saturated colors. Shea likes savory foods more than sweet foods. Shea was raised in Chicago and moved to New York for school. Shea was single. Shea was very single.

        As the conversation continued, Sasha found herself in turn revealing more and more about herself. Her love of Keith Haring’s Unfinished Painting and Jean Michel-Basquiat’s Untitled (Skull). Her dream of owning a gallery specializing in queer art. Her disdain for salty snacks. Her beloved dog Vanya. How she was single. Very single.

        The conversation also served to distract Sasha from the copious amounts of alcohol she and Shea were consuming. Alcohol that loosened Sasha further and further, to the point that her inhibitions began to evaporate. 

        “I’m glad that you liked my mural. If you hadn’t looked at it for so goddamned long, we wouldn’t have met,” Shea and Sasha both laughed, and as Shea rested her hand on Sasha’s shoulder, Sasha just looked at her.

        Sasha had already heard the sound of Shea’s laugh, but being able to watch her laugh added an entirely new dimension to the experience. When Shea laughed, she’d throw her head back, tossing her long black curls. Her eyes would scrunch, and the light caught on her cheeks. 

        God. Every part of her shone and sparkled. Just existing near her made Sasha feel strangely buoyant and pleasant. It felt like she got to witness someone massively special and joyous and who, in turn, made Sasha feel special herself.

        “What are you thinking about?”

        “How beautiful you are when you laugh. And smile. And do most anything.”

        “I like the way you talk, Sasha”

        “That I do it about you?”

        “No, bitch!” Shea says, giggling, “Your voice and the phrases you use. I love it. I feel like I’m listening to a hot, hipster audiobook. You don’t think that’s creepy, right?” 

        “I don’t think it’s creepy. I don’t think I can think ill of you at all right now”

        Shea laughs again.

        “I like you a lot Sasha,” Shea says. Suddenly, she stands up and grabs Sasha’s hand. “Dance with me?” Shea asks, nodding her head to the masses of people on the main dance floor.

        Sasha eagerly followed Shea, and as the lights and alcohol blurred the edges of her vision and the writhing bodies bumped into her own, Sasha couldn’t look away from the vision of Shea’s beautiful hand clutching her own. That beautiful, warm grasp. Even in a sea of stimulation, the only thing that mattered was Shea’s hand.

        After making it to an open spot, Shea dropped Sasha’s hand and they both began to dance.

        When Sasha danced, she danced mostly with her hands and upper body, in a style some might call “stilted” and the more charitable might call “interpretive”. Sasha liked to claim that it came from a slightly limited range of motion caused by a pencil skirt. While that might have been somewhat true, Sasha preferred not to dwell on the fact that she had turned up going to parties in exchange for spoken word poetry nights.

        Shea, meanwhile, danced like water. She kicked, jumped, and shook, but each movement blended into each other. Her braids had been tucked into a ponytail, but still swished back and forth as she moved, emphasizing her movements. 

        What changed?

        The music didn’t slow down.

        Maybe it was Shea saying that she “loved Sasha’s ‘dad dancing’”.

        Maybe it was the lights shifting to an electric blue color that shone on Shea’s hair and skin, making her look like an ethereal vision.

        Maybe it was Shea pausing from her dance to touch the assortment of pins on Sasha’s blazer, holding each one up to the light and pausing to read it.

        Maybe nothing changed.

        But Sasha felt so wonderful, so magical that she threw her arms around Shea’s neck. The music still pounded and shook her bones, but all Sasha knew was that she wanted to see Shea’s face. Wanted to feel it.

        Lifting her hand from Shea’s neck, Sasha traced Shea’s cheekbones. The curve of her ear. Her smile lines. 

        Shea wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist, rubbing small circles with her thumb, delicate circles that Sasha could feel through her skirt. As Sasha gently ran her thumb along Shea’s cheek, she saw Shea’s eyes flutter as she let out a large sigh.

        Sasha felt like Henri Matisse’s Icarus. So obviously plummeting at lightspeed into this love, but for a brief moment in the unknown, the uncertain, silhouetted against the sky.

        Wingless and among yellow stars. The only aspect of her being, a red, glowing heart. A brief moment of glory.

        Shea’s sparkling eyes. 

        A brief moment.

        Shea’s smile. 

        A brief moment.

        They had danced around it long enough.

        Sasha leaned upward, catching Shea’s lips with her own. Her hands moved downward, clutching Shea’s back, pressing Shea towards her. Shea sighed, and Sasha could feel the corners of her lips move upwards. 

        “Why?” Sasha whispered breathily onto Shea’s lips. “Why me? Why not anyone else?”

        “Because no one else blushes so profusely at my words in their ears. No one else wants to talk about the philosophical implications of French impressionism on gender roles. No one else is a beautiful, unique, unibrowed and pin-covered woman who looks at my mural like it’s the greatest piece they’ve ever seen and then looks at me like I’m, like I’m some kinda magical being.

         I wanna witness you, Sasha. I wanna witness you all the time.”

        As they held each other close, Sasha put her racing mind to rest. Resting her head on Shea’s shoulder, she felt the music and sweat of the club gently fade away, replaced by the sound of two beating hearts. 

[felicityfiction]

[bulletproof glass part 3] part 2

“choi san is dangerous”

those were the first words that hongjoong uttered after the fateful meeting in the warehouse. “maybe i underestimated him.”

yunho remembers hongjoong having a nightmare that night, ending with a loud shout of “YUNHO!” and the banging open of his door, a frenzied hongjoong barging in his room, gasping for air like someone was choking him. yunho remembers hongjoong startling him awake, only to have hongjoong gather him in his arms and mutter incomprehensible things into his ears while he just sat there, helpless and confused.

“they can’t take me, hyung. it’s okay. i’m here, i’m safe.”

a frantic shake of the head. “no, you’re not. i made you a target since the day i took you to see them. i shouldn’t have done that, but i couldn’t leave you alone.”

“i know, hyung. it’s alright. we’re okay. i can protect myself”

a muffled laugh. “as much as that gun is loaded, yunho, we both know you can‘t bring yourself to shoot.”

yunho purses his lips, drawing back and holding hongjoong at arms length. “i’ll shoot it if anyone threatens you, hyung. threatens us. you know that.”

hongjoong sighs, and wonders for the nth time why he brought this sweet soul into the tainted abyss of the underworld.

he sleeps much better after that, though, buried in 185cm of yunho.

“hello again, yunho ssi”

yunho, in his sleep deprived, coffee induced haze, barely recognises the person standing in front of him. “huh.” he manages to utter, sounding so incredibly dumb that even he himself winces. damn it, yunho. get it together

but then he realises he shouldn’t even be engaging with choi san, who’s holding a latte to his lips and grinning at him like they shared some kind of inside joke.

yunho thinks he should find a new cafe to frequent. he can’t keep being distracted by devilishly attractive mafia bosses while he‘s trying to work on his dissertation. shame, the coffee here is the best he’s had in a while.

“what do you want.” he sighs out, not bothering to try and intimidate san into going away. somehow,within three meetings, he already understands san more than most people do.

choi san cannot be cowed.

“like i said last time, nothing. just wanted to say hi. and good luck on whatever you’re doing, it looks difficult.” choi san hums, still staring at him, and yunho, much to his horror, finds the tips of his ears going hot.

san’s grin morphs into a smirk. “i told you before, yunho- we’ll probably be meeting a lot. and it’s probably to my benefit that you look cute almost all the time. even holding a gun.”

what is this guy‘s problem?!

yunho grits his teeth, willing himself to ignore the man. “i am busy. go away.”

“of course, of course. see you soon, cutie.” san winks, and to yunho’s horror, the blush on his ears creeps onto his cheeks.

“i hope not.”

“darling, we don’t always get what we want in life.” san chirps merrily, and yunho tenses. choi san is dangerous.

warning alarms go off in his head when san leans in closer, just like he did the last time they met. this time, yunho forces himself not to shrink away. he can’t shoot me in broad daylight. he’s a mafia boss, not an idiot.

“but i’m the exception. i always get what i want. and right now, jung yunho, i want you.”

yunho chokes on air, and san whirls around on his heels, strutting off, a satisfied smile decorating his chiseled features. making yunho flustered was his new favourite past time.

while yunho is still recovering, an employee brings out a piece of hazelnut cake and sets it on his table. yunho eyes it suspiciously. “sorry, i didn’t order that.”

“yes, but that gentleman just now did. told us to bring it to you. oh, and he left a message. enjoy, sir!”

a card is slipped onto his table, and yunho can’t resist.

eyeing the cake and gingerly picking up the fork with his left hand, he turns the card around with his right hand and blinks.

you intrigue me, jung yunho. hazelnut is your favourite right? i bet you’re wondering how i know, though the answer won’t surprise you. i’ll get to know you more, and maybe you’ll want me to know you too.

by the way, my name is san, since you never use it. here’s my number. i trust you won’t do anything with it, but maybe save it. i’ll see you again.

for gods’ sake. was a mafia boss flirting with him?

“san. what’s your intention with yunho?”

“god, seonghwa, you’ve asked me that so many times. i told you, he’s a bit of fun and amusement. such an innocent thing. maybe i want to ruin him. who knows? i just like messing with him.”

seonghwa pursed his lips, eyeing san cautiously while he spins in his leather chair behind his gigantic desk.

“there’s no time for amusement.”

you have to kill him.

“that’s where you are wrong, my dear stick in the mud.” san tuts at him. “there’s always time for fun, and jung yunho is the best fun i’ve had in a while.”

“usually you sleep with the fun on the first try.” seonghwa deadpans.

san laughs, and then contemplates. “true. but he knows me, knows what i am. he’ll take more effort, if i want to go there. but strangely, i’m not sure that’s what i even want out of him.”

“why do you care so much about him?” seonghwa bites his tongue, regretting his statement immediately when he sees san tense.

“i don’t. i’m just bored, seonghwa. don’t get anything screwed up inside your head.”

god, seonghwa wants to tell him so bad.

they’re going to make you kill him

stay away from him

i don’t want you to hurt

“i’ll have him soon. and then i won’t want him anymore, just like all the others.” san whirls around in his chair to face the window, the view of seoul greeting him. “they’re all so easy.”

seonghwa knows jung yunho isn’t easy. he’s not a toy, and he won’t fall for san.

at least, seonghwa hopes he won’t. he hopes that jung yunho is intelligent and cares enough about his own wellbeing to stay away from san. then maybe the elders would reconsider his target, and seonghwa won’t have to look hongjoong in the eye and tell him that his little brother is about to be killed-

seonghwa grips his phone tightly, standing outside an apartment smack in the middle of hongdae. he’s trying to decide whether or not to knock, when the door opens and decides for him.

kim hongjoong stands before seonghwa, in all the glory that one can at 4am in the morning.

“the fuck?” is the only thing he gets in lieu of a greeting.

seonghwa can’t help the little smile that crawls onto his face, or the little flame of warmth that blooms, just for a split second, in his heart.

this apartment is hongjoong’s secret hideout, away from all the filth and burden that he carries in his day to day life.

somehow, seonghwa has been let in on the secret.

“hey.” seonghwa manages, biting his lips to keep from spilling everything out.

“do you need something?” hongjoong’s voice is husky, and seonghwa feels slightly apologetic for waking him up. especially since he has no idea why he’s there, other than the fact that his feet took him there of their own accord.

so he decides to be honest. “wanted to see you. that’s all. i can go now.”

he doesn’t move, registering hongjoong’s slight widening of his eyes and the way he seems to be more alert.

god, if choi san knew how dangerous it was to be so, so attracted to the enemy, maybe he would stay away. but seonghwa is a hypocrite.

kim hongjoong is his biggest secret.

there’s a pale hand on his wrist, tugging him into the apartment, and seonghwa complies easily.

he has always, always been weak for kim hongjoong.

here, in this apartment, he tosses aside his persona as a senior member of the choi mafia, and hongjoong sheds the title of leader. at least for a while, they both pretend like they’re just normal people, enjoying each other’s company

and maybe they both secretly entertain the thought that they might be normal people, who don’t want to let each other go.

within each meeting on opposite sides, with the threat of dying ever present, hongjoong will never admit it, but he doesn’t think he could shoot seonghwa. or hurt him. or do anything besides gather the taller man into a tight embrace and press his lips against the tatoo on his neck. the insignia of his gang. maybe, if he kisses it hard enough,it will fade away and hongjoong can take him into his arms without feeling like he’s playing with fire.

there’s not supposed to be trust between them. but seonghwa bares his neck a bit more, and he knows he’s long gone , unable to stay away from hongjoong.

if it came down to it, they’d both shoot themselves before they would each other. of course, neither of them says that, because that would mean crossing a line that they couldn’t afford to. they’d trip over the web of strings and not be able to catch themselves. on the surface, they don’t speak of each other. but at night, seonghwa’s thoughts flit over to hongjoong automatically.

and seonghwa wants.

he wants so,so badly.

and he’s scared that san wants, too.

san, who covers for him silently and doesn’t use hongjoong as leverage against seonghwa. san, who has so much more on the line.

charming, seductive choi san, who wouldn’t be able to realise he’s in too deep because he thinks himself invincible and beyond attachment.

in hongjoong’s bedroom that night, buried under the sheets, seonghwa prays and prays, but he feels hopeless.

he’s always prayed to wake up the next day and still be here, next to hongjoong without a gun between them.

but tonight, he thinks of san.

there’s a mountainload of guilt in his chest. the knowledge that san will be tasked to kill, and seonghwa will be forced to choose between two sides of himself that have been clashing from the beginning

in his heart, seonghwa knows. he knows because he can read san like an open book. he’s grown up with san, and he feels suffocated at the thought that san doesn’t know himself as well as he thinks. san is plunging head first into the deep end.

san’s falling, and seonghwa might not be able to catch him.

A/N: i really didnt think this through. i dont know how i want the story to develop because i am an impatient prick who wants to get to the climax but can’t put together a good enough storyline to get there and shfhnfew i’m so frustrated

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Restraint

Word Count: 3800+ (oneshot) 

[AO3]

Genre: Angst With A Hopeful Ending

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Bakugou Mitsuki, All Might, Shigaraki Tomura, Midoriya Izuku (mentioned)

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki has always thought of himself as a force of nature: more than human, pure fire and fury, meant to burn stronger and brighter than anything else. He hadn't expected that the world would have so many ways to smother him instead.

Written for the @forceofnaturezine!

Warnings for panic attacks, suffocation, and self-hatred.

~0~

He is primal, explosive fire and thunderous sound, and he was never meant to be restrained. 

“You’ve been like that since the day you were born, you know that?” Katsuki had appreciated Mom’s gift of a punching bag for his room, but he could do without her strutting in unannounced while he was busy with it. “Kicking and fighting and being fuckin’ relentless.”

Sure, he knows. He hears the story all the time, usually around his birthday: about how he had given his mother hell right from in utero — no matter how much amusement Mom puts into the words, it’s still what’s being said — and then been born too early and had to struggle for weeks just to breathe on his own. 

Every year he gets older, the more details — the more memories of fear and preemptive grief — his parents let slip. He knows that it all adds up to one thing: if he weren’t the strongest, he wouldn’t be alive right now. 

Katsuki doesn’t think to so much as look over his shoulder at Mom in the doorway, just keeps dutifully pounding away at the bag. The sound of the tape on his fists against the thick fabric has even gotten into his dreams lately, and it doesn’t pause for an instant now. 

“You gotta take a break and cool down sooner or later. Look, it’s gotten dark, aren’t you even going to turn the light on?”

His fists are a blur in front of him. “Did you need something?”

“You need food, hero. Dinner’s ready, I made those fire noodles you like. Take a breath and come on.”

He grunts in response. Mom snickers, taking it as a yes, and he hears her footsteps going down the stairs. Right now he doesn’t feel he can stop his arms from moving any more than a normal human could stop a lava flow. And he doesn’t want them to stop moving; the burning in his muscles is pain and life and strength. But he knows that if he’s not down in five minutes it’ll mean a fight.

So with considerable effort, Katsuki does stop. There’s pins and needles from his fingertips to his shoulders. His heart still pounds like a racehorse’s, pulse in his ears. Sweat soaks his hair, his face, his workout shirt, and he can smell the traces of nitro in it. He closes his eyes — no darker there than in the room around him — and breathes it in, listening to the ringing in his ears. 

He guesses this is what peace feels like. Contented exhaustion, as his power is built and maintained. 

Katsuki takes a long, deep breath, and opens his eyes. 

~0~

He had never seen the Sludge Villain coming. It would take him several years to stop kicking himself for his lack of awareness. 

How dumb had he been, skating through elementary and middle school thinking he was stronger than anything? That he was enough? 

Katsuki has never known anything so disgusting in his life as the mass that engulfs him, not quite solid or liquid. It moves like viscera with a mind of its own, it feels hot and sticky like vomit, and it smells like he’s had his face shoved into raw sewage. 

This was the scenario he’d always fantasized about: having some villain pick a fight with him, underestimating him, and then absolutely blasting them away with a laugh and a wild grin. Impressing the heroes. Being a hero. 

But he can’t move, let alone use his Quirk. He can’t even breathe.

Oh, god, he can’t breathe. 

Katsuki tries. He’s struggling harder than he ever has in his life against the sludgy body forcing its way into his mouth and throat, his ears, and his nose. His blood is on fire, veins constricting and muscles fighting to spasm for lack of air. He’s sure that any second his heart will burst open. Muffled and distant, he can hear explosions, screams, and destruction in the villain’s wake.

Destruction. That’s what he and his Quirk are. Right now he wants to wield it more than anything, but to have it wrested from his hands and used like any common villain would...it makes him want to scream with sheer rage. 

(Terror as well, and helplessness — but those are the things he can never acknowledge himself capable of feeling, even in the grip of death.) 

His eyes feel like they’re about to burst like grapes from the pressure. His mind can no longer even race with thoughts of escape, it’s slowing, fogging up, as white tendrils snake in on the edges of his vision. He isn’t burning up anymore, he is simply sinking...fading, into death and into obscurity...

“KACCHAN!”

Even with his inner ears blocked up by sludge, that screeching voice manages to pierce straight through. 

His eyes slowly roll to the side, and he still can’t see very well. But he’d recognize that bug-eyed green blur scrambling towards him anywhere.

Someone like him should be running away from this monster, as far as those stupid red sneakers could carry him. Especially after everything Katsuki has done to him to push him away, to hurt him, Deku should not be the one charging full throttle to help him, heedless of the villain that could tear him apart from the inside out even faster than it was killing him —

Katsuki can’t even tell what he’s feeling when thick tendrils of sludge fire at Deku, or when they’re hit by a bellowing comet that breaks him free (it takes him a long, dazed few moments to recognize it as All Might, up close and personal). He’s crouched on the street, eyes wide and bloodshot, dripping in sweat and sludge. He isn’t not sure whether it’s disgust or horror or indignant fury that’s making him tremble, on the verge of throwing up.

He walks home by himself, keeping to shadows and back roads, thankful that he had kept enough of his wits about him to escape before the press descended on the scene. They’ll find out his name, of course they will, but he won’t willingly give them anything. The sun is setting by the time he makes it back to his house. 

Neither of his parents are home, in the one bit of good luck he’s had today. Katsuki still sneaks in through his bedroom window: no way does he want to track any smell or residue through the house for his mother to detect. 

He has his own bathroom, and he has always been comfortable with that. But for the first time, he flinches hard when the shower door shuts behind him. He can’t stand looking at his own body, bruised and dirty and weak, with the light on. If he turns the lights off, there’s a churning in his gut that he can’t stand.

He can’t put a name to it that feels correct. So he decides to just chalk it up to shame and humiliation at what had happened: things that he’s already resolved never to reveal of himself to anyone else, and that will pass from him if he just fights harder. For the rest of the night, he wills himself to ignore the tightness in his chest, the spinning in his head, and the shakes all over his body. 

This time, he can push the whole thing down, and pretend it never happened.

~0~

The next time, he doesn’t have a choice. He is put on full display.

Fuck this fucking festival, is the only coherent idea in his brain. The rest is a burning red river of indignant anger, drowning his thoughts and suffusing his body. All he wants to win, he wants to be on top. But he’s not some...cheating glory hound, willing to accept victory through a fluke. 

What fucking Half-and-Half had done with their fight was a mortal insult. He wants to indisputably earn what he has, on his own, and he won’t accept less.

What’s so wrong with that? Why did he have to be turned into a joke for it?

He knows he looks like a rabid dog, howling and foaming at the end of its tether — he feels it — but he can’t help it. He might have been able to, even with the chains restraining him to the first place podium by a pole, locking his limbs into place like so much heavy sludge...but for the muzzle. 

There’s air holes in the damn thing. Filters and shit. But half his mind and all of his body are convinced that he’s suffocating again. That his failure has meant death, as it has all along. No matter how much he bellows and thrashes, adrenaline flooding his veins, it doesn’t trick his system out of believing that.

The stadium around him is a blur, tinged in scarlet. Katsuki can’t properly make out the hundreds of faces surrounding him, but he knows in his gut that all of them are jeering and laughing at him. His heart pounded so hard it ached.

He should have expected All Might to be the only one to show mercy. (He refuses to think of pity directed at him, and he’s glad to see that the famous smile isn’t one bit strained.) 

“Oh, now...this is a little too much.”

He can’t even feel relief when his face is freed from the muzzle. His first reflex isn’t to gulp in air, but to protest his being cheated: “To win first place like this, it’s nothing! It’s not enough to make me number one!”

If All Might is at all perturbed by that, it doesn’t show. “Society will acknowledge you as number one, young Bakugou, whether you do or not. Even if you only think of it like a scar, take this medal, okay?”

It occurs to him that All Might could be too optimistic, he thinks bitterly, standing there like a fool with the gold medal hanging from his jaw. Society will not see him as an object of glory, only mockery. Nobody will take him seriously or let him forget it.

And as per the norm for times like this, he can’t tell whether his old lady is proud of him or disgusted by him.

“You know, your grandparents called while the end of the festival was airing.” Mom leans into the living room, holding the landline phone in one hand and wearing her usual wry grin. “They don’t usually watch ‘hero shows,’ they said, but they had a lot of fun watching you.”

Katsuki grips the arm of the couch tight as he lounges against it. “Yeah? They liked the end?”

“You bet, kid.” Mom sits down on the couch next to him, picks up the TV remote, and turns down the volume on the world news. “Grandma’s hoping you decided to keep the gold medal after all.”

His heart starts thumping again. “Bet she thought it looked cute.”

Her laugh goes straight through his head, like a flurry of needles. “Yeah! You should check out some of the videos going around online of the festival, people are really talking. You’re gonna be a popular guy, Katsuki!”

His palm slams so hard on the arm of the couch that something cracks beneath the upholstery, and he just barely bites back a snarl of red-hot anger as he jumps to his feet. “I don’t have to listen to this shit.”

“Hey!” Mom’s voice goes up a few octaves with indignation as he storms out. “Katsuki! What the hell’s the matter with you, come back here!”

Katsuki does not, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists all the way back up to his bedroom. Whether she’d meant to make fun of him or if she really was clueless, he doesn’t care. The darkness stifles him when he opens his door, and he can’t stand it; he turns the lights up so high they sting his eyes. 

His trusty punching bag waits in the corner of the room. Without bothering to tape his hands up, he drops into a grounded stance and pummels it mercilessly, picturing nobody in particular, but with mocking laughter in his head. He doesn’t know how long he’s at it, trying to lose himself in the exertion and pain, but when he’s done, both the leather and his knuckles are bloody.

Both his head and his chest feel like they’re being squeezed in a vice, his body slow and weak. Isn’t there anywhere he can turn that will let him breathe? Anyone who will acknowledge him as a powerful hero instead of something pathetic?

For once, nothing he tries can calm him, only stokes the fires stronger. He feels like he could burn the whole world down if he simply chose. He could. He could...

~0~

...But he wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. His shame has caught up with him. There are things his fire can’t touch.

Like the rest of the world, he blames himself for everything that happened, every domino that fell as the result of his weakness. Everything because he hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough, strong enough. Because he lagged behind the others, in every way. He thinks fleetingly that if his last thought is that image of their backs, he’ll die ripping his throat in a scream of fury.

Hardening sludge? Chains and a muzzle? Nothing compared to the damn magician’s compression spell. It’s like having plastic wrapped tight around his face, like being trapped at the bottom of the ocean, like...nothing he could have imagined. He can’t think of words, only of how awful it is.

Even when he’s been released from it, that doesn’t mean he’d been freed. Dabi’s hand, still burning hot and smelling of smoking flesh, is gripping his neck. Thirst for heroes’ blood radiates from him like heat, and Katsuki has no doubt that if he makes a wrong move, that hand will crush his throat like a soda can. As it is, he can barely choke out his warning to Deku, let alone imbue it with the ferocity needed to repel that idiot, racing to reach him again without a thought for himself...

At the other end of the portal, Katsuki only has time to register gold light and the scent of whiskey, before strong hands from both sides are grabbing him, and his back slams into the solid steel back of a large chair. 

Before he can even protest, his hands are locked into another metal box, and he hears several small sounds of buckles clicking shut. By the time he gets his bearings enough to jerk forward — the insides of the box heating up fast as he tries and fails to use his Quirk — he’s strapped in tight. 

“There you go, kid.” That smoke-smelling hand is palming his head back, with a sharp smack of skin on skin. “You won’t mess around anymore, right?”

What he wants to do is get fired up, break free and unleash hell on every villain here. But he reflexively freezes instead, once it fully sinks in that he is alone and surrounded by the League of Villains. 

“Leave him alone, Dabi.” 

Shigaraki Tomura is leaning against the bar, sounding for all the world like this is a casual meetup between friends. Katsuki remembers how this guy had trapped Deku in place at the mall, four fingers around his throat in broad daylight, and knows that he could kill him just as casually. Just the thought makes him dizzy with fear.

Every villain in the room is staring at him, seeming to loom over him, and he feels suddenly very, very small. Between waxy white fingers, Shigaraki’s small red eyes are burning a hole into his own. 

“You can relax, Bakugou Katsuki. We’re not the torturing types.”

“Most of us, at least,” Toga Himiko cuts in, playing with a knife. “But if we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

He forces himself to speak: “So what d’you want, then?”

“Well...to create a scenario that would help us both out, honestly.” Shigaraki turns on the bar’s TV, flipping every couple minutes between news stations. “Listen to how they talk about heroes. About you.” 

As time drags on, anger bleeds through his fear. The way this asshole rambles on about society, justice, corruption, heroes, as if he has any right, as if he has a point...

And those eyes are still looking down on him, expecting him to jump on board with it all.

“We’re planning on winning. You like winning too, right?”

Outwardly, Katsuki is as still and quiet as a mouse before a fox. He can’t help but tense as his hands are freed, and he momentarily worries that they’ll sense his intentions. But he shouldn’t have: the bastard doesn’t see it coming at all when a nitro blast blows that dumb fake hand right off his face.

It’s a relief to feel the words spill freely from his mouth:

“Basically, you mean, we wanna hurt people, so please be our friend, right?” 

He’s no one’s fucking friend. He’s realized that, and he’s braced himself to fight on his own no matter what tried to hold him back. The fire is roiling deep in his gut. 

“Don’t bother.”

His smiles don’t come easily. But he can just barely remember a time when they did: when he had been small and newly powerful, and a mere glimpse of All Might smiling on TV filled him with the same fearless pride. 

It’s an imperfect imitation, he thinks as he bares his teeth and forces his lips to stretch wide, and it doesn’t convince him. But maybe it’s enough to convince the League that he's still that fearless, proud, and unyielding, despite how much like a trapped animal he feels.

“I’ve always admired All Might’s victories. No matter what anyone says, that will never change.” 

Shigaraki’s expression is blank. But the self-preserving part of Katsuki’s brain, small as it is, notices that the look in his eye is considerably more unhinged. Oh, well: he had been risking himself from the moment he blasted the stupid fuck. He’ll fight himself free with U.A.’s distant blessing, their belief in him and his ideal strength.

They went through all that trouble to mount a huge attack, and all they got was me. 

His smile pulls upward, turning lopsided and feral. Despite his spotless record, there’s plenty of people who think he’s nothing but trouble; the U.A. interview had proven that well enough. So he’ll put that to good use. All Might’s victories...weighing the odds, he doesn’t stand a good chance of pulling one of those off. But he’ll do it anyway. He will. He will —

He’s as shocked as any of them when the world suddenly stops for a moment, and then shatters when the man himself bursts through the brick wall, taking instant control of the situation by his very presence. Katsuki is swept away in the strength his idol exudes, without even trying. 

Since becoming his student, Katsuki has gotten used to looking All Might in the eyes. But this time feels different. “I’m sure you were scared, but you did well bearing it. It’s okay now, young man!”

All at once, his throat constricted. He feels the ridiculous expression his face is contorting into, and blusters something to save face — heroes do not get scared — but he can’t deny that right now, he’s admiring All Might more than ever. This is a true victory, it has to be.

Then the Nomu appear.

Everything is ruined as easily as it was relieved. Out of nowhere, he’s choking and panicking, cold and thick sludge filling his mouth, throat, and chest again. He blinks, and the golden bar is replaced by darkness and stone. No, not stone: wreckage. And this man...

He spends maybe thirty seconds in All For One’s direct vicinity before All Might charges back onto the scene. But they’re the most horrifying seconds of his life. The faceless man emanates just as much power and certainty of victory as his hero, that takes Katsuki’s breath away, that by all rights he should idolize. But where All Might exudes warmth and protectiveness, All For One exudes ice and venom, lust for the destruction of everything around him. 

And destroyed everything is. The scene that plays out before his eyes is more like a nightmare than reality. All Might fights and wins, of course, as he was supposed to do. But to see him battered and bleeding, all the vitality and strength sucked from him, is beyond anything he could have imagined. Even after it’s all over — while he’s being questioned by police, while Mom throws her arms around his neck, both crying with relief and loudly lambasting him for worrying her like that — every part of him is numb.

Katsuki had thought he understood. But he’s been entirely clueless...entirely powerless. 

It is all his fault. And the realization feels darker and colder than anything else.

~0~

He sits alone on his bed, letting darkness fall around him. 

In hindsight, he doesn’t know what the hell beating up Deku was supposed to have done for him. Prove his own power? Get answers? Free him somehow, from all of this?

Chains, hands, muzzles, filth, fear...so many things had trapped him, restrained him, smothered his fire, when all he wanted was to burn the brightest. That’s what he’s meant to do, isn’t it? What he’s been doing since he was born?

Being relentless is exhausting. And for the first time in his life, he wonders how long he’ll be able to keep it up. Forever? 

Of all the things that hold him prisoner, he doesn’t want himself to be one of them. That is a weakness he can’t fathom. But something has to change. If he can’t figure out what it is...then maybe it’s time to see if someone else can.

“Young Bakugou?” He still isn’t used to seeing All Might like this: shoulders hunched, body shriveled like a scarecrow, blue irises small and sharp like candlelight. “What’s the matter?”

He lingers in the doorway of his teacher’s office, not sure how to word it. “It’s...nothing really, it’s just...do you ever get, like, these feelings in your chest? Tight, and...squeezing? Like you’re trapped? Not all the time, I’m not sick or anything, but...sometimes?”

He half-expects All Might to laugh at him. But he listens intently, and speaks very seriously once Katsuki is done. “That sounds familiar, young Bakugou. Sit down, tell me more. When did you start having these feelings?”

Katsuki sits down on the couch, surprised to find that the words finally leaving his mouth make him feel...lighter. Warm in his chest, like sparks floating up from a fire. Like he’d felt when Kirishima had called to him, reached out his hand to free him from that nightmare scene. 

(Nobody’s friend? What bullshit that had been.)

Deku, damn him for understanding him so well after all, had known that that was the only way he could abide leaning on somebody else. It still feels strange...but it’s a start. And maybe it really is something he needs.

He’s only human, after all.

[cownnor]

North and Connor Drabble

She’s angry today. Everything has piled onto each other into one massive shit show, each mishap and fallback of the past week blaring their bright lights at her until she feels suffocated under their lack of progress in the revolution. The past days have built upon each other in an effort to push her into exploding, and now today every single misfortune that finds itself on her shoulders may be the one to push her right over the edge. 

She’s free, but the politicians still look at her like she’s fresh meat, and the women turn their noses up at her when she tries to fix the buckle on her jacket in the bathroom. It’s humiliating in ways she thought she had left behind. The burn of anger in her processors is so familiar, and yet it hurts all the same when her mind tangles itself into a further knot of rage and frustration. 

She thought she’d be used to the humiliation by now, but she’s not. She’s still impossibly angry, and it’s misery. She wants to be free of it, but every time she thinks of her past, or her present, or god forbid, her future... 

She has to stop walking sometimes and lean against the closest wall, eyes squeezed shut as she fights back the red in her vision, forces herself to calm down. She takes measured breaths in an attempt to sync up her thirium pump and calm down. 

She manages. She always manages. One day, she won’t have to. 

Today, especially, is testing her. 

Everything is so entirely fucked up, and it’s not getting better, and the anger peeking through the cracks in her interior are starting to show in how she stomps down the hallway, walking too quickly, face twisted into a promise of demise to whatever poor soul tries to speak to her next. 

It’s not fair. She’s pissed, and she needs to go cool off. She’s gotten better at it, but sometimes she doesn’t want to. Sometimes she wants to explode— scream and kick and destroy something— if nothing else than to have something to testify to how angry she is. 

Today is one of those days. 

Still, she doesn’t want to take her fury out on some helpless bystander, so she starts off towards the rec room in Jericho. If nothing else, she could drag out the boxing dummies and knock them around until her stress levels evened out again. 

Thankfully, no one within their right mind even attempts eye contact with her. She’s practically vibrating with rage, and it must be oozing off of her as she walks down the halls, because everyone leaves her alone. It’s just as well, because she knows for a fact that the next time she opens her mouth, it will be to yell obscenities. 

And then she rounds the corner to see Connor, who she’s not sure has ever been in his right mind to begin with, because he is either utterly oblivious to her foul mood, or just suicidal enough not to care. 

Judging from his volunteering to invade Cyberlife Tower, she’d guess it’s the latter. 

“North.” He calls for her, stepping forward when he sees her approaching. He has the same impossibly impassive look on his face that he always has, but there’s something in his eyes that she doesn’t have the patience in that moment to wonder about. 

She glances at him, but doesn’t stop walking. She can’t. If she stops walking now, she’ll inevitably end up destroying Connor, and she doesn’t want to do that. She normally doesn’t mind him much, but just the thought of being interrupted— made to pause in where she needs to go just to chat— 

It will only add to the shit fest piling on top of her shoulders, and she’s already so fucking done with today—

Apparently it doesn’t matter, because Connor doesn’t even bat an eye at her pointed snuff at his presence. He simply falls into line at her side, and begins walking with her. 

It’s almost worse. 

She has to tell herself that she will not tear Connor’s head off. He hadn’t done anything. He just had the misfortune of coming across her— 

“I wanted to ask you about the meeting with the police commissioner, I was considering taking out—” 

“Connor, I swear to god—” She rounds on him, fully prepared to brush him off and make a hasty retreat (or murder him. She hadn’t decided.) but pauses at the look of slight bemusement on his face. “What?” She snaps, voice far harsher than normal. 

“You changed your hair.” He tells her, eyes twinkling. 

Her hands twitch as if they have a mind of their own and are considering reaching forward to wrap around Connor’s neck, even though it wouldn’t do a lot of good. 

He was wasting her fucking time— Was he yanking her around on purpose? Just stating the obvious to waste her fucking time?

Her voice comes out far more strained than she means it to. “Yes. Connor. I did.”

He is unblinking at her tone. “It looks good.” 

“It—” She blinks at him. That is certainly not what she was expecting him to say. Connor rarely gave his opinion on things— hell, rarely talked unless spoken to. Markus and Simon were still fighting to get him to open up and express himself, and from what she saw, it was a struggle. It had only been a few weeks since the ceasefire, and most androids were still struggling with understanding where they stood in the world, and who they were supposed to be, but Connor struggled with it far more than the rest. 

This unprompted sharing— it means something. She knows it does, she just doesn’t know what. 

She must have taken too long to respond, because Connor is speaking again. “You do that a lot. You never leave it in the same style.” He pauses for a second, and she can practically see the clogs in his mind turning over each other before he speaks again. “It suits you. The changing hair.”

The anger has been mostly surprised from her mind, but her words don’t immediately reflect that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She practically hisses. Even in her fogged mind, she already feels a little bad for that. Only twice had she ever seen Connor say anything maliciously, and each time had been towards abusive humans. 

He pauses again, eyes floating away from her and to the wall instead. He seems to have taken the question literally, and he’s not offended when he speaks again. “Is it alright if I’m not completely sure?” 

She’s taken aback by him again. Connor struggled with his self concept, but damn if he wasn’t one of the most honest motherfuckers in the damn place. He knew how to lie about the little things— how to lie in speeches and in front of the cameras— but he didn’t know how to lie about himself yet, or about his feelings. He could put on an act, but he couldn’t shape himself. 

Instead he was earnest and honest in everything concerning his feelings or emotions. He spoke what was there, and he didn’t twist himself into knots to fit other people’s predesigned concepts of him. 

He was Connor, and nothing else. 

She doesn’t want him to learn how to shadow himself. 

The anger from before is still there pulsing at her temples, but it’s dulled and looser— easier to push away. 

Connor is still staring at her, fingers fiddling in his pocket where she knows he keeps change. It’s another thing he hasn’t mastered of himself— how to hold still. 

She can’t help it. She throws an arm around his shoulders and tugs him with her. “Don’t you ever change Connor, you hear me?” 

She can see him blink in her peripheral vision. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

She leads him further on towards the rec room. “That’s okay. Doesn’t matter. Are you free?”

“Until Markus arrives back, yes.”

“Great. I need a sparring partner.”

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Persistence - 4

My first Bad Things Happen Bingo fill, featuring the next installment of the pirate whump series, for Handcuffed/Manacled. Requested squares are white hearts, completed squares are red hearts. If you want to request any, send an ask with the trope and (optionally) a character of mine to fill it with.

Series Masterlist

Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, choking/strangulation, collar whump, 

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“Wonderful. Well, until then. Make me proud, buttercup.”

The door shut, and the waiting game began.

It would only be a few hours. Floyd had worked longer, more strenuous days than that before. He would be fine.

The stiffness set in quicker than he expected. Shifting the weight on his knees only relieved the ache for a few seconds before it returned worse than before, the prolonged stress and pressure bruising them quickly. His shoulders ached from being wrenched behind him and his back protested at the compression. Floyd couldn’t relax, lest he pull any harder at the too-tight cuffs around his wrists and cut off his circulation.

Slowly but surely, he lost strength. His legs were begging him for permission to give out and slump to the floor, but the tug of his collar and the promise of suffocation was a greater threat than the pain. Floyd battled exhaustion with the sheer potency of his fear, which kept him balanced on the precipice of stability until he inevitably tumbled down into panic.

But not yet! He was stable, and he was hurting, and he had no idea what time it was, or how long it had been, and Floyd was fine.

The first time his legs buckled, his terror choked him before the collar had the chance. Heaving lungs couldn’t comprehend that none of the air around them was coming in. It was pure adrenaline that pushed Floyd’s body to its knees and shoved air into his chest. His heart pounded with the adrenaline, demanding quick gasps to keep it going.

Thoughts clouded over into a haze. Had it been long enough yet? How long had it been? It had to be late now. Percival would come back soon. He would return.

God, he needed Percival to come back but he never wanted to see that sick bastard ever again.

Disgust and longing curled together in his gut, and he felt sick with how hard the longing for his tormentor fought to win. Nausea drove him off balance and desperation kept him afloat. He fell again at least two more times within the hour. It never got better. He couldn’t get used to the absence of air in his lungs and the feeling of helplessness as his vision blackened and he drowned outside of water. His every instinct rebelled against it, but instinct couldn’t give him the strength to survive. As his body nearly dropped a fourth time, the door slammed open.

And the first feeling he felt was joy. Hatred pushed through immediately thereafter, sloshing together in a heady mixture that left him reeling.

“Aww, poor thing... you look exhausted,” Percival smiled. “Not planning on passing out, I hope? As much as I’d hate to punish you this early on, following orders is a lesson I like to teach with a firm hand.” He surveyed Floyd’s body, listing to the side, the leash nearly taut. Glassy eyes looked up and a whine caught in Floyd’s throat.

“No… ple-ease…” His voice was broken and cracking, weak from the constant pressure on his windpipe.

“I suppose I am a little late. I thought I’d watch you here a little longer, but…” Percival trailed off with a sigh and strolled over, reaching behind his captive’s neck and unclipping the leash. The moment the pressure was gone he collapsed to the floor, gasping and shuddering with the pain of moving so much again, but relieving the unbearable tension was more than worth it. 

“There you are. Is that better?” Floyd nodded despite himself, grateful for every breath flooding into his lungs after hours of restricting pressure. 

Percival let him recover for a few minutes there on the floor, slowing his breathing and heartbeat. The tension drained out of him with the last of his energy as he organized his thoughts, putting himself back together for whatever would come next now that Percival was back.

He couldn’t help but think back to his own crew once again. What were they thinking right now? Were they really coming after him? It felt so long since Floyd had been taken already... Did they think he had perished? Did they even care?

That was a useless thought and he knew it, but with every hour that passed it tugged at his heartstrings, insisting it had a place in this debate. It wasn’t like he’d been all that much of a necessity when he was there. He'd been a primary caretaker, sure, but that job could just as easily be given to an amateur who had been aboard only a matter of weeks. Nothing special, really.

“So, dear, what’s your name?” Floyd flinched and looked up to see Percival standing over him, a soft, conversational smile on his face. It took a few seconds to process the question before he opened his mouth to respond.

“I-I-” he coughed, falling into a rough fit that scratched and tore at his raw throat.

“Ah, you must be thirsty. And here I almost forgot I brought you a glass of water,” Percival laughed lightly when his captive’s head snapped up at the mention of water, an instinctive plea swallowed before it could crackle out. 

“Here, sit up for me.” He waited for Floyd to struggle and push himself up, but when the exhausted man didn’t move he took it upon himself to help. Percival leaned down, hooking two fingers in the back ring of Floyd’s collar and strangling him all over again as he was pulled to sit up against the wall, leaning on arms still restrained behind him.

Percival walked to the table, returning with a cup that Floyd only realized his bound hands wouldn’t be able to hold when it was brought up to his lips, and a hand gripped his chin. The struggle of dignity didn’t even have the chance to begin before the redhead gave into his overwhelming thirst and held still, opening his mouth to accept the water.

The liquid that flowed past his lips should have been sweet and soothing against his parched mouth, but he recoiled at the salty brine that he’d already swallowed, and was flowing uncontrollably thanks to Percival’s steady hands. The distinct taste of seawater burned against his raw throat as it went down, lighting up the cracked skin of his lips like gasoline and throwing the match all the way down to his stomach. Fire licked at his insides, and he coughed against the current in hopes that it would spill and stop. It didn’t even feel like water anymore, only serving to hydrate his body in the loosest of terms.

When the cup was finally empty, its contents having been forced down his throat or spilled over Floyd’s face and shirt, it finally came away from his lips along with the hand holding his chin in place.

“What the hell-” Floyd sputtered before a stinging backhand whipped across his face.

“Don’t even start. I could’ve done so much worse than that, and I will, in due time. Just be happy that I cared enough to offer you water this time and I’ll consider the issue resolved, alright?” Reluctantly, Floyd let go of his glare and averted his eyes. “ Your name, then?”

“Floyd.” His voice came out bitter and rough.

“Oh come on! I didn’t wait all that time just to get a last name. Spit. It. Out.” The light inflection on the last word sent a shiver down Floyd’s spine. He chewed his lip, avoiding his captor’s eager gaze.

“Benedict Floyd,” he muttered, “I don’t have a middle name. I-uh, I go by Floyd anyway so-”

“Benedict...” Percival tried out the name, raising a brow when Floyd flinched. “I think Benedict suits you rather well, don’t you?” He grinned when the harsh inflection on the name made Floyd shrink back even more. He shook his head but Percival kept on despite. “Yes, you’ll be going as Benedict here.” He leaned closer, breath ghosting over his captive’s ear. “I can’t see why you wouldn’t like it in the first place.” Floyd stayed resolutely silent, staring holes into the floor and wishing they could take him away from here.

“Anyway, Benedict, I was really wondering why you actually stayed how I put you. I was half expecting you to have figured your way out of it, having seen that slick swordsmanship of yours.”

“You… I was, I couldn’t move. What do you m-mean?” he said, shooting a confused glance up, and then back to the floor when he couldn’t hold eye contact. Percival got a funny look on his face, and nearly giggled when he replied.

“Oh, you know, pshhhew…” he made theatrical hand movements and sound effects that may have been intended as fire, “...did you even try?”

“Did I try what?” Floyd was almost irritated at this point, and looked back up incredulously. It took his captor a matter of seconds to shift from disappointment to disbelief, into a twisted sort of joy as he laughed. A genuine, full-body shaking laugh that would have been maniacal had his usually quiet voice not been wheezing through it.

“Ohhh, holy shit! You can’t, you don’t even,” Percival couldn’t get out a full sentence without interrupting himself with continued laughter halfway through, “come on, what are you, twenty? How old are you?”

“...I-I’m, uh, twenty-one.” he responded hesitantly, still entirely put-off by the sudden mood shift.

“Twenty-one! And he can’t even, he doesn’t even… Hell, and I thought the power restrictor was a necessary measure! He hasn’t even lit his first fire, the little pyro…”

“What are you talking about?” He’d gone mad. Either him or Percival, he supposed; he couldn’t even tell if this was some damned hallucination where he’d wake in a moment, tied up to the wall again. But the flowing coat of a man knelt quickly before him, linking his fingers under his chin and propping his elbows on his knees.

“Dear, have you ever heard of magic?” A finger came forward to bounce playfully off his nose, and he wrinkled it, drawing back. Floyd had decided that his captor was definitely the mad one here.

“Magic… magic isn’t real, Percival.” And right then, before Floyd’s eyes, he disappeared. Just… departed from existence. Perhaps it had all been a hallucination after all.

But he could hear footsteps echoing around him, and phantom fingers on his cheek, and lips on his ear, speaking in a low drawl, “If you ever address me by name again, you may find yourself rendered unable to speak completely. I would watch my tongue very closely if I were you.”

His heart pounded out of his chest as Percival fizzled back into the room beside him, the smirk of a sly fox on his lips.

“Now what was that about magic, sweetheart?”

It was all too much. Floyd couldn’t tell if it was the exhaustion, the emotion, or the surprise that pushed him over the edge before he was falling, spiraling down towards the ground and into darkness.

Next part

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Tag list (contact me if you’d like to be added or removed): @whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump

[annehall24]

Like the Heart Goes [Part 1]

Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: In a fit of rage, Sam picks up the gun to kill God. When he accidentally shoots you instead, Chuck decides that he has had enough.

Warning: Lots of Language, Season 14 /15 spoilers, Angry Chuck, Violence, injuries

Word Count: 2500

A/N: Okay, so I know I said that it would be called “This Is Not the End”, but I changed my mind. All GIfs/Pics come from Google Images and are not mine.

You should have seen it coming. He would be calm and happy one second and scary and intimidating less than a millisecond later. There was that, and the whole "soul" thing. He had created billions of souls, yet he claimed that he couldn't fix Jack's. Then, there was the gun. The equalizer, as he called it. He created it to be used on his own grandson, just for entertainment. You thought, either he changed dramatically since you last saw him, or he was always like this and you were a fool. Either way, you sure did feel like one.

"Hey, Chuck!" Sam yells. You turn towards Sam and see him holding the equalizer, as Chuck called it. Whatever happens to the target happens to the person who shot the gun.

It took a second to realize that if Sam killed Chuck then not only would Sam die too, but the universe would as well. It was all about balance, as Chuck once told you. Even if you now know that Chuck never cared about you, you still couldn't let him die.

"Sam, wait!" You yelled. As Chuck turned around to face sam, You took two small steps before you felt something ripping through your right shoulder. It felt as though you had been shoved backwards and next thing you knew, you were on the ground with a small hole in your right shoulder.

"Y/N!" Dean yelled. You put your hard over the wound as you looked at Sam, who also had been affected by the shot.

Chuck looked at you with worried eyes before setting a straight face again. He was angry and you could feel it seeping out of him like radiation. It was suffocating you. You were the one who had been shot, not him. What would he be angry for?

"Fine! That's the way you want it?" He yelled at Sam. Nothing could have prepared you for what came out of his mouth after that. "Story's over. Welcome to The End."

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asks Sam as you lean against one of the tombstones. Sam just shot you, accidentally of course, but it still hurt like hell.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Sam says. "Y/N, are you okay?" you nod your head in response.

"I'm fine." You respond as Dean helps you up. "What the hell just happened." It was day, now it is night. What the hell is the point of changing the damn time?

"The hell if I know," Dean says. Sam struggles to his feet as you notice Cas. He's sitting next to Jack's corpse, and you can't help but feel sorry for him. He was closer to Jack than the rest of you. Even though you help Cas when it came to hiding Kelly from everyone, including the Winchester, Jack chose Cas as his father.

Sam looked at Jack, whose eyes had been burnt out by Chuck, before saying, "Wait. I thought Chuck said that the gun was the only thing that could..." He was referring to when Chuck said that the gun was the only thing that could kill Jack. That obviously wasn't the case, since he killed Jack no problem.

"He's a writer," Cas managed to say. "Writers lie." Not long after those words left Cas's mouth, you heard a popping sound. Looking around to see if anyone else heard it, you figured out that you weren't alone. It happened several more times, and that was when you noticed the things popping out from the ground. Is this what Chuck meant when he said, "Welcome to the End?"

"What the hell is happening?!" Dean said. He looked at you, so you shrugged your shoulders. You had no idea what was happening.

"Cas?" You asked. You figured that out of everyone, that he'd have a better idea. Honestly, you were mostly wanting Chuck to show up again so that you could beat the living crap out of him.

"Souls." He said. "They're souls from - from Hell."

"Shit." You say. Several more souls shot up from the ground, then something else happened. Lighting struck some, more like several, of the graves. The dead began rising, and you could tell you were all screwed. It actually wasn't that hard to figure out.

The zombies, for lack of a better word, began approaching you guys. You notice Cas taking out his angel blade. You suddenly wished that you had your sword, but today had been a really stressful day. Before you could realize that Dean had walked away in the first place, he was handing you a rusty iron rod that was probably from one of the fences. He handed one to you, then Sam, and he had one for himself as well.

The zombies get closer until they finally decide to attack. You swat the rod at one of the zombies. The almost fell over, so you took the chance to stab them with the rod, which actually did make them fall. You fought two more zombies before, hearing Cas call out all of your names. He picked up Jack's body and began running away from where you all were standing. You took that as your cue to follow.

Sam seemed to notice something, although it was probably because he was a giant and taller than you. He yelled, "Dean, this way!" Suddenly, you felt something grab onto your ankle. You looked down and then you felt it snap.

Dean heard you cry out in pain and smashed his foot onto the zombie's head. He picked you up bridal-style and began running behind Sam and Cas. You guys were pretty surrounded. You looked at Sam, and if it were just a normal day, you would have laughed at how Sam shoved one of the zombies over, causing it to fall and lay there.  You guys ran inside of a mausoleum. Dean gently set you down while Sam barricaded the door.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Dean asked. You nodded your head before he checked your ankle. You winced as soon as his fingers brushed it. He gave you an apologetic look, before refocusing his attention on your ankle. He examined it with a frown before sighing.

"It's broken." He says as he pats your shoulder.

"Figures." you scoff. This was the worst time to break your ankle. You felt helpless.

"Here." he finds some pieces of clothing in one of the corners. he grabs one of them and tries tears it to shreds. Once he finally succeeds, he wraps it around your ankle. He holds out his hand for you to grab. You take it because you needed something to hold on to. He was being as gentle as he could, but it still hurt. You were sure that you were hurting his hand by how hard you were squeezing it. If it did hurt him, he kept it to himself.

He stands back up and examines the room you guys are in. Then he looks down at Jack. "He didn't deserve this," he said. You completely agreed.

"Cas, is he here? C-C-Can you... Can you...?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so," Cas said. He looked downright miserable and he had every right to be.

"So, what? Chuck throws friggin' zombies at us now?!" Said dean angrily. He looked pissed, and although he usually never gets angry at you, you felt it. You were about to say something but Sam spoke up before you did,

"I don't know if they're zombies, Dean," he said, "I think... I think whenever the souls came up from Hell that they... they just..." You understood where he was coming from. You were about to respond, but Dean beat you to it.

"They what? Just jumped into the nearest body?" He said. You figured that if you wanted to speak, you had to do it fast.

"It makes sense," you said. "They're souls from hell. Those bodies probably aren't theirs." Dean nodded his head in understanding while Sam looked at you and your ankle with a worried expression. Today just wasn't your day.

First, your first love showed up out of nowhere. He had the nerves to bring back old memories of the two of you. Then, he betrayed you. Then, he killed someone you cared deeply about. One of your best friends accidentally shot you. Afterwards, he set a bunch of zombies on you and you broke your ankle. Well, technically the "zombie-like" creature did, but that's beside the point.

"Is that door really going to hold?" You ask. The way the barricaded it didn't look very stable. It looked like one push would cause the torch to fall and allow the ghosts to come barging in here.

"The doors are banded iron, so... I hope." Sam says. Dean paces around the room. You wanted to yell at him to knock it off and stay still, but then you wondered if it was calming him down.

"Chuck... He said, 'Welcome to the End.' What... What does that mean?"

"Maybe it means 'Welcome to the end'?" Dean gave you a Sam level bitch face before he continued pacing.

"Cas? Come on, man! Ideas! Can you smite our way out of here?" He asked.

"No. You saw them. I would be overwhelmed, Dean. I... I don't know. They... They're ghosts, technically. Maybe... Maybe we can burn their bones?" Cas suggested. You thought about it, but then you realized the flaw in that plan.

"Burn their bones? Cas, their bodies could be anywhere." Sam said. They needed to give Cas a break. He's hurting, Dean's hurting, Sam's hurting. Everybody's hurting.

"Great. So we go outside, we get ripped apart. We stay in here, w-what, starve to death?!" He says standing next to where your sitting.

"Well, I wouldn't starve." Way to go, Cas, for stating the obvious.

"Well, good for you. Good. Son of a bitch. Chuck. Man, I knew it." He said. You slightly winced as soon as Chuck's name was said, but luckily nobody noticed... except Sam. "I knew he would do something like this. He's always so squirrelly, you know, with the... with the... the robe and the beard and... the smile that's, like, half-nice, half I'm gonna rip your throat out. 'Oh, let me play you a song.' Ugh!" What Dean said was true. In the past, Chuck didn't seem as bipolar as he did today. It actually made you feel pretty uncomfortable when he yelled at Dean, then he smiled and snapped you guys back to the bunker. Your ankle began to feel uncomfortable.

"Damnit. I think my ankle is swelling," you say capturing Dean’s attention. He kneeled next to you so that he could help.

"Here, let me look at it,” He said as he tried to get a good look at your ankle.

"It's fine. I can- What the hell!" You yelled. You were no longer in the mausoleum with Sam, Dean, and Cas. You looked around the familiar room, and quickly recognized where you were. This was Chuck's living room, or at least it used to be before he disappeared in 2010. You knew this place all too well. You lived here with Chuck, as his assistant, before you knew monsters were real, before you knew Sam and Dean were real, and before Chuck told you his feelings for you were real. What a load of crap that was.

"Hey, Y/N," Chuck said. You finally notice him standing in front of you. "How are things?" You could feel your face becoming redder than the time Dean accidentally spilt beer all over you in public.

"You know damn well how things are." You said. You were not going to let him know how heartbroken you were. Although, him being God, he probably already knows.

"I know. When Sam shot you, I was angry too." He said casually.

"I'm not mad at Sam. I'm mad at you!" You yelled. Things with him weren't the same anymore. He left you too many times and his betrayal was too big.

"Okay, yeah. I admit that was pretty crazy."You looked at him with pure anger, before you somehow managed to get up. You struggled towards the door before Chuck worriedly asked, "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving." You say. You stop hopping toward the door and you have to hold on to something to not fall over. "I'm going back to my friends. I will crawl back to them if I have to because they actually care about me."

"You think I don't care about you?" Chuck asked with a confused frown as he makes his way towards you. You hold out your hand to tell him not to come any closer.

"I know you don't," You scoff. "If you did, you would have left us alone."

"Y/N," Chuck says seriously as he crossed his arms. It was the kind of look a parent gave their kid before they grounded them."I never toyed with your life. Do you really hate me that much?"

"Let me see," You pretend to think for a moment before speaking."You killed Jack, betrayed us all, and freed all the souls from hell. Take a guess."

"What about all the good moments we shared?"He said, ask though reminding you would convince you to stay. "Like when we went to the beach, or that Supernatural convention, or our first kiss?"

"You mean all those times you lied to my face?" You said trying to give him your best bitch face.

"Be reasonable, Y/N." He ordered. You would have slapped him if you didn't need to hold onto the wall for support. "Would I have ever given you a second glance if I didn't care about you?"

"Fuck you." You said turning towards the door. You missed the regretful look Chuck had at his words. You wouldn't have cared either way if you did see it.

"Y/N, wait." He said as he turned you around. "I'm sorry."

"You said that you've never toyed with my life, but every fucking second I've spent with you is you toying with my life." You snap.

"How?" He said. Did he not realize how messed up he's been to you?

"You made me fall in love you, only for you to go running to Becky when things didn't look so good for you. Then you came back to me and then disappeared for six years. It took a whole year for me to move on! I thought you died! Then you come back and make me fall in love with you again and then you left me again. Now you're back again, but what you did to Jack-" You said stopping before you could say any more.

"Y/N-" He said, Although you weren't finished.

"I wish I never met you." That seemed to get his attention because his expression went blank. After a second it turned dark. You'd be lying if you said it didn't terrify you. That look would probably look terrifying on anybody, but it would be nothing close to how it looked on Chuck. Most of the time you've seen him, he looked calm and happy. Now he not only looked pissed, but deadly as well. He raised his fingers to snap, but he didn't. Instead, He just stared angrily back at you before storming out the door instead.

[crazyfreckledginger]

Batmom!Reader x Batboys - “I’m Still Your Mama”

When you go to the mansion one evening, you find no one there apart from a distressed Alfred and take it upon yourself to take a very important mission, getting your boys back from the maniacal clown when Bruce decides to go offline.

Requested on Wattpad: “If you’re still taking requests ((and are comfortable with the plot and want to write it, I won’t force you to)) here is a plot idea:, mom!reader is not in a relationship with Bruce anymore after deeming their relationship unhealthy but that didn’t mean that the reader didn’t stick around to help raise the boys. The reader is also a vigilante, during a patrol they all get captured and Batman is off world (as always and that angers the reader) then the reader has to step up and rescue their children, ((and maybe scold them and Bruce later))” 

A/N: I hope you like it!

Warning: I think there is cursing?

A part of her was so excited to see her boys again, but another, slightly more intense part of her hoped she wouldn’t have to see Bruce. Things had become a little more awkward between the pair -- but the distance really did make going to the mansion a lot more tolerable.

“Boys, I’m home!” (Y/N) announced, locking the door behind her and making sure the gate closed after her car drove through it. Her toes peeled the heels of her shoes off of them respectively and wobbling to the kitchen island to place the bags of food on the counter. 

Her fingertips massaged the sore skin of her hands from carrying the heavy plastic bags that were rubbing sorely into her.

Opening the fridge, she frowned once she saw that the few things she had bought a few days ago for them to nibble on were still intact, in the same place she left them. 

“Dick?” she called out, knowing his room was the closest to the staircase. 

No answer.

“Jason?” her feet took her up the stairs, not getting an answer from any of the names she called out, especially Tim, he can somehow hear her when fully absorbed in his computer screen and yelling back, unconscious of how loud he can be when he hasn’t readjusted to his actual surroundings. 

Even Alfred didn’t answer her yelling, something was very wrong and she was getting increasingly anxious. 

Without a second thought, however, she raced towards the living room, moving towards the tall clock and opening the batcave. 

(Y/N) was so alarmed, she nearly slipped down the damp stairs.

“Miss, (Y/N), thank the heavens!” Alfred praised. 

“Alfred, thank god, where is everyone?” she gave him a hug to reassure herself. 

“They have been kidnapped -- but Master Bruce is not answering his calls, I couldn’t manage to get a hold of you either and I fear to lose the location of the other masters if I leave this room,” The butler sighed.

“How long have they been there?” the woman asked through gritted teeth, why was Bruce so… aggravating? 

“A few hours after your last visit, Miss (Y/N),” he clarified.

“You have been down here for two days without food or water?” her eyes widened. 

He nodded slowly but voiced, “my hunger didn’t grew stronger than my need to find the boys and trying to find Master Bruce,” 

“Damn that man,” she muttered, scurrying back up the stairs.

“I’ll make you something to eat quickly then I’ll need you to guide me to their location,” The girl commanded.

“Thank you, but there is no need, Miss-”

“Please, I insist,” 

The woman managed to fix him a simple but satisfying meal before slipping into her vigilante suit and already racing down the underground tunnel on her motorcycle.

“I sent the location directly to your vehicle, Miss (Y/N), your GPS should have calculated the route you will need,” The butler explained through the com.

“Copy, thank you Alfred,” she spoke, jaw clenched and revving her engine to make her drive even faster. 

****

“Now that you all look weaker and more pathetic than usual, I can draw the Bat out by exposing you to the world,” The green-haired madman cackled. 

Jason was sweating under his mask, feeling how dehydrated he was becoming and the constant use of his helmet was suffocating. 

Dick’s stomach and leg was badly injured and was still bleeding out painfully slowly, it could have been another day or so before he couldn’t keep fighting it, especially since the stupid clown made sure he would keep bleeding out at a rationed rate. The Joker had the “bright” idea to put a medium sized bear trap on Dick’s ankle, which made open wound so much more prone to infections and slowed down the bleeding, it didn’t stop it though. 

The two youngest were the healthier looking ones -- as far as that could go with a complete psychopath in proximity.

They felt helpless, they couldn’t think of a way to get everyone out, their intense hunger and thirst put them at a severe physical disadvantage, not to mention it made it incredibly difficult to think straight. 

“I’m going to go get the camera, don’t move.. Oh wait,” The Joker laughed maniacally as he disappeared into the next room. 

“Fuck, I hate this,” The Red Hood cursed, trying ti squirm but giving up because of how painful and exhausting it was. 

Soon enough, the sound of breaking glass pierced through their eardrums as shards fell in front of the boys. A dark figure landed in front of them and they instantly recognised the outfit, despite how difficult it was for them to focus on anything. 

“I’ll come back for you,” the woman promise before rushing after the Joker.

It felt like forever until (Y/N) finally returned and the sound of a roaring engine outside made them even more disorientated. 

“Hang on,” the soothing voice reassured as she freed Red Robin and Robin, helping both of them into the Batmobile that Alfred was controlling from the Batcave. 

“The police are nearby, Miss (Y/N, I would approximate less than 2 minutes before the area is too crowded for a proper exist,” Alfred informed. 

“Understood,” she rushed back inside, helping Jason into the car.

“M-mom,” he whispered painfully.

“I’ll take care of you soon, I promise baby,” she squeezed his gloved hand before letting go and hurrying to her eldest boy.

After much difficulty, she managed to unlock the bear trap and carry most of Nightwing’s weight, dragging him in the back seat with the second youngest. 

“Okay Alfred, you can drive back, I’m right behind you,” The woman pressed on her com and waited for Alfred’s confirmation before glancing to the car as it drove off and got on her motorcycle as the police sirens only grew louder and louder.

****

“How are they?” The girl came down with trays of food and water. 

“They are all patched up, Dick is sleeping, the rest are in and out of consciousness,” Alfred clarified.

“Alright, thank you for everything, as always, I’ll go and feed them.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Y/N).” He smiled softly before taking his leave.

The woman peered into Jason’s room, seeing him stare at the ceiling.

“Hey, baby,” she had the softest of smiles, it made him forget the guilt he was feeling. 

“Hey mom,” he tried sitting up.

“No, no,” she slowly pushed him back down, and digging a fork into the food for him.

****

A few days had passed and she was taking care of her boys as they sat on the couch, watching a movie with they newly changed bandages.

The door flew open and finally, Bruce appeared. The girl stood up from her seat and paced at him. Her boys turned around to watch the scene unfold eagerly.

“Where the HELL have you been huh?” She snapped, “our boys were injured, helpless and where were you?” 

“I was on-” 

“An important mission?” the woman scoffed, “So there are more important things than our own children?” 

Bruce didn’t answer.

“And you, I didn’t scold you earlier but now that everyone is here, might as well do it now,” her fingertips pinched the bridge of her nose, turning to the boys she loved with all her heart.

“Why didn’t you warn anyone about the mission? One of you always, always send me a message to keep me informed in case anything goes haywires, you had me so worried, don’t be so reckless-”

“MooOOoOm” Dick whined like a three year old.

“I’m serious!!”

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[seven-sirens-of-the-sea]

DRABBLE :: Beginning Everything with an End

Rating: SFW || Diavolo’s Warning: Mentions of suicide, implied suicide attempt

Words: 1,308

Characters: OC / Tsunayoshi Minamoto [ft. Diavolo]

Notes: Feb. 29 is Tsuna’s birthday! So to celebrate, we share the prologue to his story, the events prior to his arrival in the Devildom~ It’s quite heavy so if you get triggered easily, please turn away now. Aside from that, enjoy!

The first time Tsuna saw a view so wide and attractive was in third-year middle school. He had taken off his shoes, silently trying not to alert anyone in the third floor that he had sneaked on the rooftop.

To his surprise, there was a girl around his age, her hair done in a delicately beautiful braid. She was sat on the thin railing, shoes lay forgotten on the floor.

Suicide.

“Hey, don’t do it!” He screamed in horror at the sight. “Please!”

Tsuna blinked at what he said, suddenly realizing that he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t know this person.  He forced himself to not look irritated at the missed opportunity; trying to walk slowly towards the girl in an attempt to... rescue her.

The girl looked at him with a shocked expression at his presence.

Don’t jump. Tsuna thought to himself. If you do, I’ll be fucked.

She stayed still for a moment then turned towards the brunet. With a sad smile, she started, “You’ve probably heard it all before... I really thought he was the one.”

A messy break up?

“But he told me he’s done with me.” The girl with the braided hair sobbed, hands now attempting to wipe off all the tears that streamed down her cheeks.  “I must be such an ugly person for him to just dump like that...”

“Are you serious? I can’t believe this!” Tsuna blurted out in revulsion.

She’s committing suicide over a stupid break up?

“You’re a disgusting cut-sleeve! Who would want to date you?”

What an idiotic reason to come here before me.

“Are you upset because you can’t have what you want?” He said to her in a reprimanding tone. Tsuna held out his hand, “At least you haven’t been robbed of anything.”

The girl stared at him for his words, slowly calming down seeing that at least someone tried to stop her.

He’s right - taking her life over a break up is stupid.

She took his hand, “I’m feeling a bit better. Thank you for listening.”

After she left, Tsuna sighed to himself. The young priestess-in-training slipped back his shoes, taking the stairs down and making sure he left no trace of ever being there.

---

The second time he came back to a rooftop, he was in second-year high school. With cold icy hands, he took both of his shoes before proceeding to enter the deck.

Today’s the day, Tsuna. No turning back.

To his surprise, there was a small girl who is sitting by the railing. She seemed lost in thought, arms hugging her legs as the wind blew on her hair.

Not again.

“Don’t do it!” He exclaimed without second thought, “Please!”

Wait, no. Tsuna back-tracked his thoughts, scolding himself for being so nosy once again. Another opportunity missed, damn it.

She looked up at him, eyes wide at the sight of another person. The girl sighed yet remained seated by the edge, patting the place beside her as an invitation to him.

Tsuna followed in order to appease her, should she try to jump without any prior notice.

“Everyone ignores me in my class... They steal from me and push me around every day.” The girl stared longingly at the warm glow of the sunset, “I don’t fit in here.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake!” Tsuna turned to her with an exasperated expression.

It’s just bullying. Even if it’s terrifying, even if it’s not justified, forgive it.

“From now on, your sister will take over all of your duties as a priestess. Dismissed.”

Another stupid reason to come here before me.

“Are you serious with that?” He asked the girl, then proceeded to make dark contrasts to show her some sort of light, “Even if people here at school hate you, at least you’re loved by everyone at home! There’s always dinner waiting at the table, you know?”

The girl looked down on her hands, shedding a tear before standing up. “I’m hungry. Thank you for listening.”

----

From years, to months, to weeks, to days... Tsuna started to come back to the rooftop almost every day.

And each time, he finds someone else - someone who is there before him. But today was different, much different from the other days of visiting his usual spot.

He felt suffocated.

He felt helpless.

He felt tired.

His wrists itch from the bandage that covered the length of his forearm. The bruises left on his body looked absolutely disgusting from when he saw his reflection on the bathroom mirror. Everywhere he went, the hairs at the back of his neck stood up to its tips at the feeling of a thousand pairs of eyes watching him, judging his every move.

Tsuna pushed the rooftop door open with much desperation, his eyes bleeding tears and breath bated at the idea of someone being there before him.

With a cardigan as bright as the sun, a girl watched him as if she expected him to be there. She asked him with a deadpan expression, “Are you here for the same thing?”

The same thing? He tried to catch his breath, hand held over his chest to calm his pounding heart.

“I just want to stop the scars.” She told him as a matter-of-factly. Tsuna looked down at her wrists; her bandages were undone and showed several lacerations that he recognizes so well. “That’s why I came up here.”

He was stunned at the girl’s statement, gulping at the gravity of her words.

She’s not like the others.

He doesn’t have the right to stop her.

“Hey...” Tsuna softly mumbled, his body shaking at her pitiful gaze, “Don’t do it... please.”

Her stare alone had sent off a wave of memories that he thought he had repressed in the deepest part of his unconscious.

He had bitten off more than he can chew.

This wasn’t just a simple problem that he can solve with a few words of hard enlightenment. This was years of unkempt emotions and everything else that had driven him mad until this point.

“Please, go away.” The brunet’s legs gave up on him, crumpling into a squat position to hide his face from the girl’s intimidating glower. “I don’t deserve your pity!”

Tsuna heard footsteps walking away from him, the girl telling him that ‘it’s not her day’.

..

...

....

The silence of loneliness rang loudly in his ears.

He’s finally alone.

No one can interfere with him anymore.

He can do it now.

Weakly standing up from his position, Tsuna pulled on the braids of his tail. His heartbeat has calmed as he removed his shoes. Feeling the chill of the February winter breeze, he pulled on his yellow jacket for one last warmth.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, he smiled at himself. “Happy fourth and three-fourths birthday... I’ll give you a gift of freedom this year, Tsuna.”

He jumped.

---

For a moment, everything was dark.

Tsuna didn’t mind.

If he’s going to be punished by the gods, eternal silence would drive him absolutely insane... but that’s okay.

There’s no more pain in the afterlife.

He can--

His vision cleared within a moment’s notice, Tsuna is in the middle of what looks like a courtroom. Unnervingly, several men are looking his way.

Before the brunet can ask, the man in the seat of the chief judge starts speaking, “Welcome to the Devildom, Tsuna.”

The Devildom? Is this some kind of borderline to his last life to the next?

“Oh, pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked, are we?” The man looked at him with a worried expression, “Well, that’s understandable. You’ve only just arrived, after all.”

Little did Tsuna know, the hell he was expecting wasn’t quite a punishment that he anticipated. More so did he truly realize that he’s living, breathing and existing among these people...

[neoculturetechxgot7]

Gardenia on the Crown - J.J.H.

3; White sheets and frustration

pairing: Jung Jaehyun × Reader

genre: angst

length: lil less than 1k words?

warnings: mild language

``

The moment your hand comes in contact with the bronze coldness of the handle it's impossible to stop your chest from overfilling with waves of relief. You're only seconds away from walking into your newly acquired room, your personal maid awaiting on the other side of the door and fresh, perfumed sheets silently pleading to rest you.

Jaehyun is hot on your tail and although his suffocating grasp fell after reaching the top of the staircase, you can still prominently sense his presence behind your back, each one of his footsteps bouncing loudly against mosaic decorated walls and shiny marble. The burning feeling of his fingers curving around your wrist has now turned into a dull numbness, spreading out like some kind of venom over your skin with a unique lingering warmth.

Without sparing him a single glance, you push the heavy, wooden door open and enter your chamber, gaze instantly landing on the white bedding you've been longing to see all day. A light scent of flora and dust seeps into your lungs as you take a hesitant step inside, observing the room you'd be calling yours until the damned marriage for the first time.

Having arrived too early in the morning to meet both the prince and his father, you haven't had the chance visit it, only sent your maid to settle the luggage and assure everything is in order, even clean if needed. Judging from the looks of it, the royals were very generous with the choice of your temporary place...

Engraved walls, adorned by thin, intricate streaks of gold that shimmer so stunningly under noon sunlight, luxurious furniture on every corner and a bed almost bigger than the one back home, to house all your peachy dreams and grey nightmares. Upon walking further inside with slight precaution, you spot a gigantic bookcase taking up the entire expanse of the west wall, a colourful variety of book spines placed neatly in order on the shelves.

Thank God, they have books in this hellhole.

At least you will be more than comfortable while hiding from Jaehyun in here now.

The very next moment, a girl dressed in crimson red appears in front of you, bowing with her humble eyes falling to the ground in respect. The sight of her, one of the most trustworthy people in your life and probably your closest friend, instantly draws the curve of a smile on your face. Suddenly, it's almost as if that hideous morning fades into wrinkled scraps of memories, as if everything is going to be okay because her mere existence feels like home and that calms you in more ways than imaginable.

She greets you with the kindest voice, a small bow following.

"Can you please bring me my sleeping gown?" You order with a newfound liveliness dripping from your tone, fingertips reaching up to untie the front of your tight dress; sleep, sweet sleep how it's seducing your eyelids so greedily...

But the girl remains still, her gaze only rapidly moving from the floor to your face and on then something far behind you.

Then, it hits.

Swiftly and more aggressively than needed, you spin around on your thin heels just to find his overly too annoying figure leaning against the door frame, eyeing you with bare impatience.

"Why are you still here..." you ask, not able to conceal the obvious irritation oozing from each word.. "...your Highness?"

Jaheyun promptly nods at your maid and proceeds to casualy walk further inside your room -without permission-. "Could you leave us alone for a second, servant?"

Your blood immediately starts to boil upon hearing him. Who does he think he is to invade your private space so carelessly and give orders your maid in such a rude manner? Prince or not you aren't having it.

Watching her bow again and scurry to the door, you want nothing more than to pull the poor girl back and proudly show indiscipline to your future husband, but for the sake of honour, you manage to contain yourself to a dramatic cough to gather both their attention.

"Excuse me, but she is no servant. She's my maid and you have no right to boss her around!" You are nearly yelling, arms crossed over your chest, as the built up frustration has the chance of a small release for the first time today.

He moves aside for the girl to leave and keeps a quiet stance while slowly swinging the door closed.

"First of all, I do have the right." His voice revibrates into the room louder than you expected, before he turns to focus a pair of icy, freezing eyes, with all the intimidation and arrogance they carry, on you. "And second..."

His long strides quickly lead him just in front of where you're standing in the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back.

"What the hell were are you doing?"

You're utterly taken aback by his sudden reaction, not fully understanding what he means. Even so, you stand your ground, taking a step forward and wearing the most stern face you can master, hands subconsciously running over the ruffles of your dress.

"What am I doing?"

"Why did you fake a headache?"

And your limbs fall still, lips slightly parting at a loss for words, your glance descending from his face to the thin white shirt cladding his chest. This is a second blow you didn't expect, although it was quite obvious the pretentious pain and dizziness back there wasn't all that believable.

Does he have confront you for it though, as if he hasn't realised you're practically running away from his oh so noble existence the whole day?

"How did you know I was faking it?"

"Well, you just confirmed it." Damn him "But also, you're a terrible liar."

"The hell I'm not!" Your voice is growing steadily louder and if he steals any more time from your life to kindly piss you off with stupid, pointless accusations, the whole palace will hear your rage.

"Well, for a princess, your acting was awful, sorry to break it to you." His eyebrow arches mockingly, a grin pulling across his lips to reveal the breathtaking grace of pearly teeth and for a second you think how this is the first time he's ever shown you his smile; as much as you hate to admit it, the entire room just got a little brighter and your head feels a little lighter, a little drowsy...

And it miraculously only appears while he is making fun you. How fitting.

"I grew up in royalty. Do you know how good of an actress one must be to pretend they're not bored out of their mind when dancing with princes who's name they don't even remember?" At this point, you're close enough to kick him straight where he deserves for being such a jerk and the air buzzes heavily with the electricity of every tense emotion radiating off of you.

Jaehyun only drops his gaze to the leather shoes he sports, a chuckle escaping him in the process and if you didn't hate his guts so much, it would've made your heart skip a beat or two at how gentle and beautiful the sound is. "Is that so?"

The prince comes to stand just a breath away from you, minimizing the distance with his eyes rising to render you helpless under their dark pits where a lone spark of mischief shines. "Did you feel the same way on our first dance?"

Did he seriously bring that up?

The smugness on his smirk solely grows, he's teasing...

At the reference of the very first night he laid eyes on you, the most obvious shade of red tints your cheeks as you stand frozen, mouth slightly agape in search of an appropriate answer. He managed to leave you speechless, a river of memories from that ball flowing into your mind ceaselessly and after a moment of silence, it strikes you how you are embarrassed yet again in his presence. No man has ever made you blush three times in a day.

Damn. Him.

"Either way, you might need to learn to lie a little better if you want to stand by my side like a true queen one day."

The words slice through your chest harder than a sword as Jaehyun carelessly backs up towards the door, after just having insulted your dignity and simultaneously rubbed this stupid arranged marriage at your face.

It doesn't surprise you anymore how you long so intensely to grab the closest heavy object and throw it straight at him to wipe that sinister smirk off of his face once and for all. He has surpassed the level of patience you're willing to have with him.

How dare he?

"I don't want to stand by your side like anything!" You shout, startling him as the suppressed anger finally bursts and he halts in place, still like a boulder.

He didn't see it coming.

The faintest trace of shock is written across his face in narrow eyes and a parted mouth, the one emotion he doesn't manage to mask all that well.

You're waiting for him to yell back, scold you and degrade you even more for mouthing such a thing, openly showing your disagreement towards marrying him. You're waiting for bad consequences to come, seeing his lips slightly quiver when he tilts his head.

If he meant to say something, you will never know, as Jaehyun spares you one last glance that hides a mixture of anger, disappointment and something else you can't quite define before reaching for the handle. He leaves you in a deafening silence, interrupting it only by banging the door closed with force and you're alone, at last.

Only that now sleep won't seek out for your eyelids so easily, his words tormenting your mind like restless spirits, a bitter echo to remind you how cold the prince truly is, after all.

//

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