#I’m being a bit facetious

[youngerfrankenstein]

To people who like Heavensward… why?

[criticalfai1ure]

i was right, dnd fixed me.

[deedee-sunflowers]

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: I'm so excited that y'all loved the first part! Thanks for your enthusiasm, you rock <3

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

WC: 2000+

Part I | Masterlist

“I’m getting hungry.”

Bradley glances at the restaurant sign as he passes it on the interstate, suppressing a sigh. He usually skips lunch on long trips so he can arrive at his destination before nightfall. “I’ll get off at the next exit,” he says.

“Will you?” you exclaim excitedly, as though he’s offered to catch and cook your next meal himself.

Bradley chuckles mildly. “Well, I’m not going to let you starve.”

“You’re so sweet,” you reply, and Bradley eyes you with a grin because he’s about eighty percent certain you’re being facetious.

“What’re are you in the mood for?” he asks as he gets on the off-ramp.

“Something greasy and very bad for my heart.”

Bradley lets out a small laugh. What’s bad for his heart is you sitting next to him being all cute for the next twenty hours straight.

He pulls into the lot of a little diner just off the highway and parks his car while you flip down your sun visor to glance at your reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Bradley tries not to examine you directly and instead just glances in your vicinity. “Better than the truckers, I bet,” he comments, noticing the row of semis at the back of the lot.

You give him an unimpressed look and then push open your door. “I sure hope they have French toast.”

“I thought you wanted something greasy,” Bradley says, walking around the front of the Bronco to join you.

“I want options,” you state, marching forth toward the front doors.

Bradley strides ahead and pulls the door open for you. He can’t say he isn’t looking forward to having a sit-down meal with you, like it’s a date or something. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s almost thrilled at the prospect of the other patrons assuming the two of you are a couple.

You walk through the open door and Bradley stalls for a moment, trying to clear his head. He shouldn’t even be thinking about that sort of nonsense. He and Hangman have enough issues without adding Bradley’s crush on his baby sister to the mix. They’ve just begun to mend their bumpy – to say the least – relationship, and Jake would sure as shit not appreciate his colleague developing feelings for his younger sibling.

“You comin’, sugar?” you call from inside.

Bradley, who’s clearly taken too long of a beat, glances at you in a bit of a daze. He’s sure you just called him ‘sugar’ and that has utterly thrown him. He enters after you and gives the hostess a look that he hopes might resemble a polite smile. But his face feels hot and numb at the same time, so he can’t be sure.

…

“I think I’ll get the pancakes,” you muse, flipping through the menu leisurely.

Bradley smiles at you when you’re not looking. “Want to share some things?”

You glance up at him happily. “Can we?”

Bradley chuckles. “Why not? I could go for a pancake. What else should we get?”

Your eyes light up and you instantly refer back to the menu. “Fried pickles.”

Bradley cringes but he’s still amused. “Those’ll go great with the pancakes.”

“I agree,” you respond without a hint of sarcasm. “Chili?” you continue. “Or tacos?”

“Why not both?” Bradley shrugs.

You give him a serious look. “That’s just crazy talk.”

Bradley laughs. “You’re right, what was I thinking?”

“I sort of want some pie, though.”

Bradley closes his menu and leans forward into the table. “I’ve already thought of that,” he mutters under his breath, as though he’s about to divulge a secret. You lean in too, your bright eyes blinking up at him eagerly. “We’ll get one for the road,” he whispers.

You gasp. “You’re a genius!”

Bradley chuckles, leaning back in his seat proudly. “I won’t deny that.”

…

When the server arrives to take your orders, you let Bradley do the talking, but chime in with little requests now and again; onions on the home fries, maple syrup for the bacon, sour cream in the chili. And Bradley can’t help but delight in the fact that, every time you think of something, you tap his hand that's resting on the table, ‘oohing’ with excitement.

Bradley eyes you with a smile once the server departs. “Maple syrup for the bacon?”

You wave a hand at him. “You’ll see.”

Bradley shakes his head with a smirk. “Not on my bacon.”

“Yeah, my brother warned me that you’re a bit of a square.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Your brother said what?”

You grin at him mischievously. “Don’t worry, I can make up my own mind.”

“Your brother warned me that you’re a bully,” Bradley replies, his smile only getting wider. “And, coming from Hangman, that’s saying something.”

You let out a peal of laughter so exuberant that several faces turn to look in your direction.

“Don’t worry,” he adds when your laughter partially subsides. “I can make up my own mind.”

“And?” you ask with soaring eyebrows. “Have you?”

Bradley hesitates for a moment and then decides to respond in a cheeky manner to avoid any awkwardness. “Not just yet,” he says with a chuckle.

You reach out and lightly smack his forearm. “Stop!”

“I’m joking,” Bradley concedes, grabbing your hand before you can strike him again. “It’s not like you’ve ever hit me to get your way,” he says pointedly.

You shake your head with a smirk and withdraw your hand.

…

“Everything was delicious,” you gush to the waitress as she clears the table. “We had such a wonderful time!”

“Glad to hear that, dear,” the waitress gives you a smile and then winks at Bradley, as though she’s in on some scheme with him.

Bradley furrows his eyebrows in amusement as she walks away and then digs into his pocket for his wallet. “My treat,” he says when you reach for your purse.

“No way!” you exclaim. “You’re already giving me a ride. The least I could do is feed you.”

“You don’t have to do anything. I’m happy to be your ride.”

“I insist,” you declare.

“I insist harder,” Bradley presses, laying down several bills onto the receipt tray.

You gaze at him pensively and finally slide your wallet back into your purse. “So, you’re stubborn,” you note.

“So, you’re observant,” he remarks.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Thanks for lunch, Rooster.”

…

Back on the road, you offer Bradley a turn with the radio, muttering something about not wanting to be a bully by hogging the music. He can tell you’ve said it in jest, but he still wants to make sure he hasn’t offended you.

“You know I don’t think you’re a bully, right?” he says, glancing between your face and the road several times.

You eye him playfully. “Well, give it a minute.”

Bradley chuckles. “It’s getting dark,” he notes after a little while. He was hoping to get farther on the first day, but the prospect of maybe spending an extra day with you on the road doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it might have in the morning. “Want to stop for the night?”

“I can drive if you want,” you offer.

Naturally, Bradley overthinks your response. He wonders if maybe you’ve had enough of him and would prefer to get to Texas as soon as possible. “No, no,” he responds. “I can drive. I just thought you might be tired.”

“From sitting?” you quip.

Bradley gives you a flat look. “It’s been a long day.”

You shrug. “It flew by.”

That sets his mind at ease somewhat. A day doesn’t fly by unless you’re having a good time. “I think we should stop,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond, “let’s stop.”

…

“You two lovebirds want the mountain or city view?” the hotel’s front desk clerk enquires with a beam.

Bradley is about to explain that the two of you will, in fact, require separate rooms because you are the absolute opposite of lovebirds, when you respond with, “Mountain, please.”

The clerk hands you a key and Bradley follows you down the hall mutely, with both of your suitcases in tow. He’s not about to dispute your decision to share a room, despite knowing that it’s exactly what he swore he’d avoid doing the moment he laid eyes on you.

You open the door and enter, holding it open for Bradley so that he can bring in the luggage. He sets it down gingerly by the door and straightens his back to look around. The are two double beds against the wall and a large window with a spectacular view of the Santa Catalina range.

You flop down on one of the beds with a contented sigh. “You know what, darlin’? I am tired.”

Bradley watches you climb further up the bed and rest your head on one of the pillows. He’s used to you calling him all sorts of terms of endearment at this point, but it still warms his heart each and every time you do. “No dinner tonight, sweetheart?” he responds, adopting your speaking style on a trial basis.

You lift your head from the pillow. “Let’s just order in?”

You seem unfazed by the fact that Bradley just called you sweetheart. Meanwhile, he’s nearly thrown up from the anxiety it’s caused him. He resolves not to call you that – or any other overly-friendly name – ever again. “Yeah, we can do that,” he responds casually. “Pizza?”

You nod. “With barbeque chicken.”

“You got it.”

…

“Did you always want to be an aviator?” you ask, taking a bit of pizza while dusting crumbs off the bedspread.

The two of you are sitting cross-legged atop one of the beds with the open pizza box between you. Bradley grabs another slice. “Pretty much.” He doesn’t really want to get into specifics, because that means being vulnerable, a state which Bradley does not much enjoy.

“Interesting.”

“What about you?” he asks. “What are you studying?”

“Math.”

Bradley nearly chokes. For some reason, he expected something less cerebral. “Are you going to be an accountant, or something?” he asks with a smirk.

You frown slightly. “I sure hope not.”

“Well, what do you want to be?”

“A good person,” you respond thoughtfully.

Bradley lowers his pizza and stares at you. “You are a good person,” he says hoarsely.

You shrug. “I have my days.”

“I mean, I don’t know you very well,” Bradley reasons. “But you seem great. Much better than your brother.”

You laugh and lower your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” you say warmly.

Bradley can feel his heart pounding like a double bass drum. The only sweetheart in this room is you and he can hardly keep that to himself. To think that you might be doubting your own integrity is affecting Bradley on a near-physical level. “You’re a good person. Anybody who tells you otherwise is an idiot,” he states.

You smile, still looking downward. “Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

You place your half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and fall back into the pillows, sighing dramatically. “I’m stuffed!”

Bradley, who’s just taken his final bite, mutters around the crust in his mouth. “Me too.” He closes the pizza box and picks it up to set it onto the floor by the bed. Then, he moves to the other bed and lies down on his back with a weary exhale.

“Hey, Rooster,” you call from your bed.

“Hmm?”

“Are you a good pilot?”

Bradley turns onto his side to face you. “I think so.”

“My brother said you were just alright,” you say.

Bradley snorts and throws a pillow at you. You laugh and then stuff the pillow in between your knees. “Joke’s on you, I’m keeping this.”

Bradley adjusts his second pillow under his head and mutters, “You’re welcome.”

“Tomorrow you can choose what you want to listen to,” you say.

Bradley chuckles. What he wants to listen to more than anything is probably you.

“Hey, Rooster,” you say quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Is there any pie left?”

Read Part 3

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments shortly!

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[ellecdc]

Hellooo i joticed your requests are open and i was wondering if you could do a moonwater x fem!reader where reader has eczema since she was a kid and the boys would stop her from itching or picking on her hand and would remind her to use her hand cream whenever the eczema on her hands are dry :b

thanks for your request, sweets <3

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who is struggling with eczema [511 words]

CW: cracked/dried hands, brief mention of insecurity of eczema, fluff

“Amour, I swear to all that is holy, if you do not stop I will duct tape oven mitts to your hands.” Regulus threatened as he hastily stood from his seat on the couch in order to press a loving kiss to your knuckles (after prying them apart from one another) before stalking off further into the flat. 

“Don’t threaten her.” Remus chided after him before turning to look at you quickly. “Do you think it would help though?”

You let out a very petulant half-laugh, half-sob as you threw your head back into the sofa with a thud. 

You didn’t even have time to verbally respond before Remus was making a sympathetic tsking sound and rising from his own chair to kneel in front of you. 

“I’m sorry, dovey.” he cooed as he peppered kisses over your dry, torn knuckles that you’d been angrily clawing at. 

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I just want it to stop.” You bemoaned as you lifted your head to look at him, both loving and hating the sympathy that was simply oozing from his being. You hated him even touching your hands; they felt mangled and rough and nearly un-human, and certainly not at all deserving of his tenderness and affection.

“Here, love.” Regulus interrupted quietly as he returned to the living room with a bowl of ice water. “Let’s have a soak for a little, hm? I’ll get a damp, hot towel ready for after, and then we’ll moisturize.” 

“Then the oven mitts?” You pouted, offering him your best puppy-dog eyes and lip jut in spite of Remus’ warning tap to your thigh for being facetious. 

“If you insist on shredding your hands apart, then yes, amour.” Regulus responded in kind, though he pressed a conciliatory kiss to your forehead as he placed a fluffy blanket on your lap and then the bowl of cold water on top. 

You quickly placed your hands into the bowl without prompting which had your body nearly melting in immediate relief. 

The cold stung, sure, but your hands didn’t itch and burn when submerged which was a huge improvement. 

“Better?” Remus murmured from below you, prompting you to open your eyes which had fallen closed. 

“A bit.” You murmured back, earning you a half-smile from your boyfriend. 

“Take it easy on him, okay? He hates seeing you in pain and discomfort just as much as you hate being in pain and uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t mean to be combative, but-”

“You’re not.” He assured you quickly. “You’re uncomfortable and feel defensive when you feel like he’s scolding you, which he was; he needs to be patient with you, too.” 

You nodded in understanding as he rubbed circles into your thighs. “He takes good care of me.”

Remus smiled at that. “He takes good care of both of us.” 

And when Regulus returned with both a steaming towel and your moisturizer, he also brought a few of Remus’ pain meds and a glass of water for him. 

Yes, Regulus certainly did take good care of the two of you.

[bunnwich]

Uh just a heads up, did you read/saw the Leona and you meeting in the novel? I kinda wanna talk about it

Leona and Yuu Meeting in the Novel

ANON ANON. YOU REALLY BROUGHT MY ATTENTION TO SOMETHING W I L D BC I HAD NEVER ACTUALLY READ THE NOVEL VERSION OF THE MC MEETING LEONA???? Also, I was gonna see if the EN translation had been released but it doesn’t in my area until 8/27 so RAAAAAAAAAAAA. OKAY SO LET'S BREAK IT DOWN. (Using @/yuurei20’s wonderful translation) So as we know, in the game and manga Leona comes off as very… aggressive?

He threatens to “rip out our tooth” which, sir???? Like from the first time, I could tell that this was just a “flex” and he absolutely was saying it in a facetious manner. Though in the manga they further escalate it, even going as far to have him going to kick Yuuken.

BUT, HERE???? IMO this interaction is much more indicative of his character as a whole. There is so much more nuance to his intentions here. Protecting his dorm, deescalating, being smart. All the stuff that I’ve been saying from when I started playing twst about him just keeps being proven to me. Also that perhaps Leona, actually doesn't like fighting. These are my main takeaways.

1.) Leona is a well-respected and liked dorm leader who is looking out for his dorm's best interests.

And his dorm mates follow his word like gospel for the most part. I feel like ppl tend to gloss over this bc he is lazy or w/e but the Savanaclaw students mostly love Leona and would do anything for him. 

It’s just nice to see so much of the stuff you get reading between the lines at the forefront here. He’s so much more calm and menacing here than cranky and aggressive and that feels so much more him? Leona’s intimidation IMO doesn’t come from his physical strength per se, it comes from the authority he commands, his demeanor, as well as his magic I’m sure.

-- He is wrapped in a strange atmosphere that attracts the stares of everyone around. Even hidden under his school uniform it is clear he is well-muscled, with a scar over his left eye that lends all the more power to his chiseled face. The fists of the older students froze in mid-air at the command, completely throwing off their momentum. Now, like small animals under the watchful eye of a predator, they shrink away, murmuring, 'Leona-san'. Ignoring the confused Deuce entirely, Leona raises an eyebrow at the formerly brawling group. 'Move up a grade and the first thing you do is start a fight in the street--are you all stupid?' 'But that brat is the one who started it first.' 'Huh. And? Don't like what I have to say, then?' 'Impossible! It's not like that at all.' Leona is dressed down, wearing neither the jacket nor the tie to his school uniform, but he does wear the same yellow vest as the three students who had come so close to exchanging blows with Deuce. All three have become properly obedient in front of their fellow dorm member, Leona. --

2.) HE DID WHAT???

SO in my head I always imagined Leona stepped a bit close and sniffed the air around Yuu/MC but in this version HE SNIFFS THE NECK?? LIKE FULL ON PUTS HIS NOSE TO THE BACK OF YUU’S NECK?? WHAT THE HELL???? THATS SO WILD SIR?? I’M CALLING THE POLICE??? YUUYA ,ARE YOU OKAY??

-- ‘Hey. You.''Y-yes?' Yuuya's response leaves him in a sound that is almost a yelp, because Leona has suddenly drawn close enough to place his beautifully-sculpted nose near to the base of Yuuya's neck.Yuuya breaks out in a cold sweat. Having his neck so exposed is frightening in a way he cannot put into words: he is frozen in fear of Leona tearing out his throat at any moment. --

3.) In this Ruggie CALLED Leona over to help Yuu and Deuce fight off the Savanaclaw goons.

That just gives such a layer to Savanaclaw as a whole, that neither one wanted to see Yuu and Deuce get beat up. Leona continues to show he has a soft spot for his underclassmen perhaps. I do think it mostly was about him protecting his dorm mates and not wanting them to get in trouble bc he knew Yuu was taken in by Crowley, the headmaster.

-- 'My name is Ruggie Bucchi.' Ruggie responds, with a deliberate shake of his whole body. 'And this scary personage is Savanaclaw Dorm Housewarden, Leona Kingscholar-san. We already know you're dumb enough to pick fights with upperclassmen, but even you know you won't be winning against our Housewarden, yeah? Times like this, you gotta side with whoever will benefit you the most.' 'Benefit? They're the ones who started this fight, and now they're trying to run away!' 'My my, aren't you a hot-blooded kitten--and here you should be thanking me. I called Leona over because I saw you were in danger, y'know?'Leona looks to Ruggie. 'Tch. Patronizing bastard. You just wanted to give me more to deal with.' 'Shi-shi-shi. That's our housewarden! Settle brawls in an instant like that, and people will start relying on you.' The three students who had been scuffling with Deuce and Yuuya look down at their feet, snickering; they seem to have cooled off after being chided by Leona. As his position in the dorm would lead one to assume, Leona seems to be well-liked.) (!!!) --

4.) Perhaps, Leona’s Lazy demeanor is just a front to something more.

-- Though he has a languid stare, his narrow pupils send a shiver down Yuuya's spine. Yuuya knows, instinctively, that challenging Leona on their own would be disastrously reckless. --

Anyways its just so funny that I never read this bc I assumed (wrongly) that it was just similar to the other version of this meeting and like…whoa. 

I know it doesn't seem like much of a difference now but when twst was newer and we got less depth to Leona, andhe came off as very one-dimensional guy who was aggressive for aggressive sake and most of my HCs were really were speculation for the most part, and at that time as not many bothered to read between the lines about him.

Yes, he is scary (stop sniffing ppl) but also a bit teasing, but lowkey a caring and good leader. I do think his intimidating persona is two-fold. Like…half is so he can command respect from his dorm mates and it’s needed to be the Savanaclaw dorm leader in the first place. And the other half is a front to hide the softer parts of his personality that he denies at every turn, like being idealistic and a good mentor.

5.)  Leona sort of defends Yuu when the 3 goons make a comment implying that Yuu needs to watch who they tangle with.

-- 'Nothing wrong with having guts, but prepare well enough to know who your opponent is.' 'Hahaha! Yeah, just like the Housewarden says!' 'I'm talking to you three, too.' --

IMO He’s clearly looking out for his Savanclaw member’s well being here but I think he does some inkling of respect for Yuu, whether that bc they are strange or simply bc they are affiliated with Crowley and he doesn't want trouble, either or both is interesting to me. 

(TBH I’m still NOT over the neck sniffing thing.)

I will be interested to see the official EN translation of this scene, so I’ll update ya’ll on that once I see it! I NEED to know if they change any of it. Sorry for the ramble but YES please anon, feel free to talk about it with me! I love to yap, thank you for bringing it to my attention!!

(Thanks again to @/yuurei20 for all the translations for this scene!! Your work is so so appreciated!!)

[sorcerersseestars]

LIMERENCE (II)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

part i here

summary: Gojo is uncharacteristically insecure and unsure to the point of double guessing himself—something practically unheard of for the self-proclaimed Honored One. Meanwhile, the ever-feared blood-laden flowers make an unwelcome appearance.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: mentions of sickness and blood, descriptions of vomiting (caution to fellow ppl with emetophobia), characters are anxious and stressed!, cussing (obvs), use of (Y/N), kidnapping!

genre: hanahaki disease au, hurt/comfort, DRAMA

a/n: Here is part 2 (finally lol)! It is a whole 6.7k words (😫) to make up for not updating until now haha. This chapter features serious!Gojo and worried!Gojo 😳. It seems out of character but it’s intentional (or so I claim). Also, I kinda make a pun out of Utahime’s name—hime (姫) means princess in Japanese! Two last notes: for clarification—I use italics to emphasize things, but also for characters’ thoughts. Geto is still alive (still excommunicated tho) in this timeline. More notes at the end of the chapter!

“Hey, ‘Hime, when’s your lunch break today?”

He hears a scoff that hardly conceals the crackly laugh that follows through his speakers. Her laugh is delicate and bright, even over the phone.

“Don’t call me that, Gojo. Never been into the princess thing.”

“We’ve been over this, it’s Satoru. And what should I call you then? Hime is perfect, it’s literally in your name.”

“I’ll call you Satoru if you call me by my real name: Utahime.”

“You’re so boringgg! Come on!” He whines, pretending to pout.

Utahime breathes in sharply at his words, “Satoru…you shouldn’t say things like that.”

Gojo stops walking. His brow creases in confusion: this is how he has always behaved, with obviously facetious and playful words. Even the people that claim they can’t stand him the most, like Shoko and Nanami, recognize when his words are intentionally over the top or ridiculous. Utahime also knows this: he has not concealed this aspect of his personality from her.

He can’t stop his next words from being spoken with a twinge of annoyance. “I was kidding, you know. Is something wrong?”

Utahime sighs, “No, no. Sorry, I’m just a bit stressed since the higher-ups asked for a meeting with me. Have no idea what it’s about…”

“They did? So, you’re not free for lunch? Please say you are…”

His words feel unnatural and stilted, but he brushes the feeling aside. He’s probably just nervous since it’s her, right?

“Yeah, I’m going to my meeting in a few, but I should be able to make it. Could you get the reservation for us?” Utahime asks, tone leaning on snippy.

“Mm, maybe. What’s the magic word?” He teases with a playful tone, trying to lighten her mood. This should work, it should make her feel better. He has experience with this.

“C’mon Gojo, not now,” She groans, apparently disgruntled. “But, fine, could you please make the reservation?”

He frowns. Not exactly the reaction he anticipated.

“Okay, but next time you gotta call me Satoru,” He says with a small awkward chuckle, this time easing up a bit on his teasing tone. “I’ll let you off the hook this time, though.”

“Sure,” She snorts, but not in the way that she would if she thought it was funny. It’s a sardonic snort, rather, and he would bet money that her eyes are rolling.

A loud click signals the end of conversation, but his phone remains pressed to his ear. He lowers it slowly, a strange feeling swirling in his chest. It’s an uneasy, heavy feeling from deep down, but he can’t discern what exactly it means.

“Why would I expect that to work?” He mutters to himself. “That’s so annoying, who would tolerate that?”

Suddenly, an image flashes under his eyelids, almost making him flinch at how intensely it conjures itself. A vivid apparition of you doubled over in laughter appears in his mind. It’s a memory, he realizes: you’re leaning on him as tears part from your eyes, unable to catch your breath due to how hard you’re laughing at one of his horrible, stupid jokes.

He remembers this moment well. You had been crying for real before—quietly sniffling, trying to hide it from him. He knew that you hated crying in front of others—trying to always appear strong, he knew this feeling well—so he started direct attention away from it with the corniest jokes he could make. That’s when your tears, first full of the hurt that he could clearly see in your crumpled expression, turned into ones of relief and joy. Your eyes had sparkled with some other emotion he couldn’t identify—something familiar, something that made him feel warm in the chest, but also made him feel so, so scared.

He never did figure out what it was. Or, rather, he has tried not to dwell on it. Every time it pops into his head, he pushes it down, the fear rising in him each time he comes closer to the answer.

Utahime never made him feel like that. That must be better. He never feels scared like that when he thinks of his feelings for her. That must be better, it has to be.

He enjoys talking to Utahime. He likes that he can get under her skin with little effort, likes how easily he can get a rise out of her: and most of the time, she’s amused by it, giggling and slapping his arm. He’s never scared with Utahime, but…why does something feel wrong?

His fingers, typing in his name for the reservation, pause and begin to tremble when he sees what he typed. He typed your name. His eyes widen beneath his blindfold—he’s grateful it helps to conceal his expression, even if nobody he knows is around. In truth, this is partly why he seldom removes it; he masks his true emotions more often than not. Not that anyone suspects it, though, too convinced by his saccharine smiles and forever jocular personality.

The blue horizontal line blinks in and out of existence as his fingers hover over his keyboard. Your name, though written in normal text, appears bolded to him: it sucks his attention away from anything else on his screen. He begins to break out in a sweat.

Sweating just from their name? How pathetic…

He shakes his head, frantically backspacing, trying to erase all traces of you from his mind. He’s been trying to do this for months, ever since he began to distance himself from you. There is a legitimate reason he has been giving you the cold shoulder, but it feels like an excuse to drive away this fear that grips him when he thinks of that warmth, that sparkle in your eyes.

Fuck. Now he can’t get that image of you out of his mind—his chest aches, his breathing comes quicker, but he does not know why.

He walks almost endlessly in the town he booked the restaurant in, in a pace-like fashion. His large stature and height make the brisk pace he walks at look absurdly hurried to passerbys: they stare at him unabashedly and he barely notices.

It’s only when he checks his phone that he realizes how much time has passed since he called Utahime. His reservation is soon: he will be late if he doesn’t start walking there now. Shit.

His breath comes heavy when he finally reaches the restaurant. It’s a casual yet nice ramen place—something familiar yet suitable for a lunch date. He’s wearing a baby blue button down shirt, nice slacks, and trades in his blindfold for heavily shaded sunglasses: also suitable for a lunch date.

A date. Yes, that’s what he’s on. A nice lunch date with a girl whom he kissed before the first date. A bit untraditional, not that he would be one to mind.

He approaches the hostess, about to ask for a table for two, but then he spots a familiar red ribbon perfectly adorning the dark strands of hair she always pulls back. She’s already here, sitting alone in the corner.

Gojo sighs. Fuck, ‘messed up again.

He hurriedly stumbles over to Utahime, probably looking a bit disheveled. She gives him a questioning glance at his appearance—Gojo laughs and immediately plasters on an easy smile.

“Hey,” He says nonchalantly, slowly lowering himself into the chair opposite her.

“Hey. You’re late,” She notes, but she doesn’t sound as bothered as he thought she would. “Did something happen? You look…like something happened.”

He goes along with it, sighing dramatically, “How’d you know? Yeah, Yaga was bothering me about some mission stuff. Dumb paperwork I’m supposed to do and whatever.”

She smiles, but it’s tight lipped, “Of course. But that doesn’t explain why you’re all sweaty.”

“I am?” He questions, feigning confusion, but his next words are partly true. “Ah, well, I realized I was gonna be late since he was pestering me so much. Guess I walked too fast.”

“Hmm,” Is all she says. She stirs the tea in front of her with a small spoon, expression blank as she does so.

Once he realizes she isn’t going to initiate talking further, he takes it upon himself, “How did the meeting go?”

She stops stirring. She sets down the spoon more harshly than she means to: it clangs loudly on the tea tray.

“I have some questions,” She says seriously.

“Questions? About what?” He asks.

Her dark, stormy eyes meet his. “…About you.”

He gulps, “Sure! What type of questions? You know, people ask me a lot of stuff. I’m sure I can handle anything.”

He winks at her, his usual smirk spreading across his face. Maybe if he jokes he can diffuse this god-awful tension. Not that it worked before, but he can try.

Utahime blinks slowly, exhaling deeply, as if attempting to calm herself down. He can see the fire in her eyes between blinks.

“How about that the higher-ups were asking me about my relation to you, when they believed you to only show interest in someone else?”

No. They can’t still believe that.

Terror strikes Gojo’s heart, electrifying his nerves, but he tries to play it off. He breathes out a chuckle and a few weak words, “That wasn’t a question.”

“For once in your life, be serious! We’ve only been dating for 3 weeks and I–” She inhales deeply. “I don’t think it’s a good sign that you’re intentionally avoiding answering me about this.”

“I’m not, I just don’t know what you’re talking about. Who did they even ask about? I can’t think of anyone they could say that about.” He’s lying through his teeth. Alarm bells are ringing through his head, and he dreads her answer.

She narrows her eyes, but seems convinced enough at his alleged cluelessness.

“They were asking about (Y/N). Asking about…your relationship with them. About how close you are. Asking if it’s changed.”

Gojo takes a sip from his glass, avoiding her eyes.“Well, did they say why? Seems awfully strange to ask you about it.”

She’s silent for a few seconds, mulling over her next words. They end up making Gojo bristle. “Satoru, you know I couldn’t tell you even if they did.”

His tone is abruptly serious. “The hell does that mean?”

She blinks at him slowly, with anger flashing in her dark eyes. “Gakuganji is very involved with them. If I told you, it would definitely get back to him. Who knows how he would punish me.”

"So you'd rather possibly endanger (Y/N)?" Gojo scoffs.

“Who said anything about danger?” Utahime says lowly, suspicion clear in her voice.

“Well, when the higher ups ask questions about my life, it usually isn’t just for fun,” Gojo says with a shrewd smile. “I don’t know what the hell they’re thinking so I can only assume the worst.”

“Does this really matter right now? (Y/N) is capable enough if it does turn out like that, and besides, I sorted it all out. Told them that your ‘relationship’ is fine and dandy and yada yada.”

Gojo sucks in a breath, nerves beginning to turn in his stomach. No. No! That’s not what I wanted…

Utahime doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort and continues, “You two have always been close…didn’t you have a thing for each other in high school? They have always had these eyes for you.”

Her tone is strange, gushing and gossipy yet also jealous.

“What?” Gojo says more loudly than intended as he takes in all of the information Utahime just casually dropped.

“You know, I even told them that you two were meant to be together,” She chuckles. “Funny how things work out—or, rather, don’t work out.”

Gojo’s stomach twists painfully at her insinuation—even though it shouldn’t. He likes Utahime, he’s with Utahime. Not with you. He’s not with you, he has never been with you.

“Gojo,” Utahime says suddenly. He blinks rapidly in surprise, eyes finally landing on hers. “Can we agree to be honest with each other?”

“Of course. What do you mean?” He says easily, nervously.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” She shakes her head. “You’re deflecting at every question I ask. You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Gojo lets himself sigh this time.

He studies her expression. She’s beautiful, he has to admit. She’s beautiful, but she’s not you.

“Utahime…what is this all about?” He asks slowly.

“I should be asking you that,” She counters. “Why did you ask me out if you won’t actively participate in our relationship?”

“What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?” Gojo responds carefully.

“But you mind isn’t,” Utahime sighs. “You’re miles away, Satoru. You always are. When you’re with me, you’re not thinking of me, are you?”

The question is so accurate that it seems rhetorical to Gojo, to the point of him not responding for many moments before he realizes she is genuinely asking him.

It’s so true and yet he physically cannot bring himself to admit to it. “I mean, I think about the higher-ups and work related stuff a lot. I’m sorry I haven’t been that present on dates and stuff, but–”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Gojo!” Utahime hisses out, tone bordering on venomous. “You’re always thinking about them. You make decisions thinking of them. I bet even when you kiss me, you think about them. Are you going to deny that?”

“Utahime…” He says softly, guilt constricting his vocal chords.

“I don’t understand you, Gojo. You asked me out and have taken me on fancy dates as if you want a committed relationship, but then your mind is always wandering away. I know that you still care for them, but then I heard from Shoko that you’ve been ignoring them for months. And then the fucking higher-ups ask me your relationship with them. Why would they ask me that and why would they even care? Something isn’t adding up. What’s really going on here?”

Gojo blinks in surprise at the depth of concern in her voice. It’s like she has already moved on from her jealousy towards you, and now is worried for you.

He must look surprised, because she adds on, “Just so you know, I’m not that sad. You’re kind of a shithead for doing this to me, but this wasn’t that serious for me. Obviously not for you, either.”

Gojo winces. Everything she has said so far has been true, but he wishes it wasn’t.

“Iori, I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t even realize that…that I was doing that,” Gojo sighs. “And to answer your question—I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I think I owe it to you. I don’t know what’s going on either, and that’s what scares me. I have no idea what they want or what they’re plotting, but it can’t be anything good.”

Utahime sits there with a small smirk on her face. When he raises an eyebrow at her expression, she just chuckles and shakes her head. “You can’t even say their name. Just how much denial are you in?”

He can’t even answer. He just sits there, a hand brushing his cheeks in order the cover the warmth the rises at the mention of the depth of his denial concerning his feelings for you.

When she realizes he isn’t going to answer, Utahime rises out of her seat. “Well, I guess I can say I’m officially breaking up with you, not that you or I really care. Just…if you need help with this, just know I’m in your corner, yeah? Unless it’s something to do with Gakuganji, and in that case my hands would be tied. Otherwise, just ask. You know, I wasn’t joking when I said I rooted for you guys in high school. That’s a fact and I can’t deny it.

You should really figure this out—for their sake. It sounds like they’re not having the best time with it. And besides, as much as it pains me to say it, you owe it to yourself after fighting against whatever feelings you have had for them for so many years.”

He doesn’t interrupt her even once, instead quietly absorbing her advice. He fidgets at the mention of his feelings for you, still uncomfortable even at the thought of them. Still scared.

“Goodbye for now, Satoru. I hope you figure all this shit out. Have a nice lunch,” She says coldly as she readies her things. Her coldness stings a bit, but what else could he expect?

“Oh, one last thing,” Utahime pauses. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me this, but I guess you’re too in over to head right now to think straight. I think I might know partly why they have taken an interest in (Y/N).”

Gojo’s gaze turns to her sharply, blue eyes bright with curiosity behind his shades. “Why? How do you know?”

“I think the higher-ups must have asked Yaga about them. I forgot until now, but they were asking me if I knew anything about (Y/N)‘s identity. And who would know better than anyone? Your nosey principal who digs deep on everyone,” She rolls her eyes, huffing out a small but humorless laugh. “Well, that should be it then. Bye, ex-boyfriend.”

She gives him one last look, then struts away with her head held high. He sincerely hopes she isn’t hurting too much, despite her very “okay with it” façade.

So it has to do with your identity? In Satoru’s view, you have somewhat of an average identity for a sorcerer. A grade one sorcerer who comes from a sorcerer family. You had not inherited your clan’s special innate technique, but you are still pretty strong regardless. There’s nothing unusual about your background, or at least to the best of his knowledge.

And yet this sickening feeling has begun to creep into his stomach, that feeling that something is horribly wrong. What he does not know is what he cannot control, and each heartbeat and breath of his feels tortured with the knowledge that you may not be safe.

Shoko won’t stop texting you, almost on the hour, despite your radio silence. It’s strange when you think about it—she has always hated texting, always grumbling that it’s going to give her carpal tunnel someday. And yet here she is, blowing up your phone with notifications.

You haven’t been to school in weeks, taking mission after mission instead. It’s very obvious that you’ve been avoiding Shoko and Gojo, but you won’t admit that.

The missions have been grueling and gruesome—your stomach turns when the curses you exorcised spring to mind. They were ghastly and frankly were some of the most mentally scarring curses you’ve encountered. So, you’ve decided to take a break.

You feel your skin crawl when you’re sitting at home doing nothing—the curses come to mind much more easily, and also thoughts of him—so you abandon being cozy for the sake of your mind. It’s cold outside, so cold that your breath greets you in a cloud with every puff of air you release. Winter has arrived, and it nips at your cheeks and numbs your extremities just to remind you.

You haven’t been coping well, and you know it. Avoiding thoughts of Gojo has not been working very well, even after physically avoiding him. You try to forget what you heard that day, but it won’t escape your mind no matter how much you distract yourself. You think of Utahime: her beauty, her quiet strength, of how she always seems so calm and collected and yet somehow always makes her voice heard. She has everything that you lack.

The skin of your face burns with envy when you think about her. And when you picture her with Gojo—her dark eyes looking into his pooling blue depths, her leaning forward and up to kiss him—your chest crumbles in on itself.

It hurts. Right now, everything surrounding Gojo Satoru hurts.

But today, you will change that. This will definitely help. You’ve taken yourself out of your apartment and straight into a place that has always lifted your spirits—the local florist.

You scour the aisles, wincing at the very romantic red roses and the bright yellow daffodils. But then something catches your eye: an array of festive bouquets.

You end up picking out a bouquet fit for the season: it features a string of cranberries, enveloped by branches of pine and pinecones, with a striped garland draped around it all. Despite all of your poisonous feelings inside, you crack a small smile at the sight.

You take it home, putting care into the beautiful and yet flowerless bouquet. You carefully mix the plant food into a vase full of cool water, cut the ends of the stems under running water, then submerge the bouquet.

It brings a sense of homeliness that you’ve been desperately missing ever since you’ve starting living on your own. It almost soothes the ache in your chest.

But, as always, reality swoops in to remind you that you cannot run from your feelings within. Within only minutes of arranging the new bouquet, you accidentally swipe at the vase. It crashes to the floor, the glass shattering everywhere, glinting beautifully as it spins through the air. The cranberries begin to bleed into the water, the impact too much for them to tolerate.

You bend down, slowly processing the collision. When you stare into the expanding pool of water, you see wild eyes brimming with pain. Brimming with heartache. It is then that you are painfully reminded what cranberries represent: a cure for heartache.

The irony is not lost on you. You begin to howl in laughter, and the voice that reverberates back to you sounds crazed.

Then, it begins. You abruptly stop breathing; you are choked, silenced, almost as if something is blocking your airway. And then your throat begins to convulse, an instinctual reaction to choking, and you have no choice but to obey your body. You stumble through the shards of glass and collapse at the foot of your toilet. You heave and heave—whatever is lodged in your throat is large, making it difficult and painful to retch up.

When you finally use enough force to hack up the offending object, you freeze at the sight in front of you. Vibrant hydrangeas the same color as his eyes float in a murky red cloud. Blue hydrangeas: a symbol of rejection and regret.

Your chest bursts in pain at the realization. You are in love with Gojo Satoru, and he doesn’t love you back.

You feel another bloom emerging from within. You shudder in fear, knowing that you have little time left. Once the flowers present themselves, death is almost always imminent.

You spend the next few hours by the toilet, conjuring a newer, more painful bouquet than the one that lays in shattered remains in your living room.

“You told them what?” Gojo exhales deeply, a sigh following his exasperated words. He pinches the bridge of his nose—a gesture uncharacteristic for someone as self-assured as him.

“That (Y/N) is important to you,” Yaga Masamichi states calmly. “Satoru, there is no reason to fret. Their intentions concerning this matter are pure.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? The higher-ups intentions are anything but pure.”

“I can sense that you are agitated,” He observes, eyebrows beginning to furrow. “But you are blinded by your bias. They first and foremost protect our community. (Y/N) is of no threat to Jujutsu society, thus they should be in no danger.”

“You don’t understand,” Gojo shakes his head. He is clearly angry, but now his nerves are showing through more: his voice is uneven and his tone has an air of desperation. “The higher-ups are out to get them. I don’t have any answers for that, even though I’ve been searching for months. I’ve had to show indifference towards (Y/N) to convince them that there is nothing between us, and it was starting to work. Why did you tell them this without consulting me first?”

A frown etches Masamichi’s stony features. Behind his shaded glasses, his eyes rake over his former student, taking in his state. Gojo isn’t one to openly show fear or anxiety, yet his breathing is audibly shaky and his fingers twitch by his side.

“I see I have made a mistake,” Masamichi concedes. “But why are you so convinced the higher-ups have ill intentions toward them?”

Gojo begins to pace back and forth in front of Yaga’s desk—also very unlike him.

“They called me to meet them a few months ago, asking what my relationship with (Y/N) is. I brushed it off at first and basically told them to stop sticking their nose into my business, but then I started to notice something.”

Gojo pauses by a window. The light streams down onto his face, illuminating his rather uncommonly stoic portrait.

“They started assigning (Y/N) missions that were labeled as second or first grade, but actually turned out to be special grade. And it can’t be coincidental—the incident rate of this happening is much higher for (Y/N)’s assignments than any other person.”

“That does seem to be true,” Masamichi comments, thinking back to reports he’s reviewed.

“No, not seem,” Gojo snaps. “That is the reality of this situation. Ever since I realized that, I’ve acted coldly towards (Y/N), distancing myself as much as possible. And guess what? No more special grade missions. Less injuries. And—”

“Satoru!” Masamichi raises his voice, pulling Gojo out of his frantic spiel. He blinks in surprise; he didn’t even realize how much or how fast he has been speaking.

“I don’t know what they are thinking or planning, but stressing like this will not help the situation. This is our world; this is how they operate,” Masamichi says, leaning forward and resting his chin on steepled fingers. “We will find a way around this.”

“It shouldn’t be like this,” Gojo says, voice rumbling deep and low, dangerously quiet.

“They are resistant to change,” Masamichi counters. “We can’t directly influence their decisions.”

“Not if they can’t make them anymore,” Satoru snorts, a dark and bitter smirk curling his lips.

“That is completely out of the question,” Yaga says firmly in a warning tone.

“Their thinking is antiquated,” Gojo argues. “I think we need a complete refresh.”

“And yours is too radical and rash. No, Gojo. I will not even entertain your idea.” Yaga says with a note of finality.

“Won’t you let me have my fun?” Gojo sighs, exaggerating his disappointment. “You’re such a drag, old man.”

Yaga almost smiles. He’s back to his normal antics.

“So, there is nothing that you can think of that would cause the higher-ups to go after them like this? I know you looked into all of your students closely even before you became principal. You must know something.”

Yaga frowns. You were his student and, as Gojo claims, he did thoroughly look into your background. But—how can you truly be thorough when the information presented is so little?

“There was little to nothing on them,” Yaga says. “Even when I tried digging further, I didn’t find much. However…there are rumors that they have made a Binding Vow.”

“A Binding Vow?” Gojo echoes back. “That’s very vague. That can mean practically anything.”

“But it’s still interesting, is it not?” Yaga says with a wry smile. “If the higher-ups have heard, we can only assume that the Binding Vow is with another entity, not with themselves. Otherwise, why would they be interested? That is assuming this is true, of course.”

“Who did you hear this from?” Gojo asks. “Someone credible?”

“I’m not sure about their credibility. And you can’t really go out and interrogate them, even if you wanted to. If you did, there would be another expectation for your visit.”

Gojo grows suspicious from his obvious attempt at a non-answer, “Yaga, who?”

He sighs, “Geto Suguru.”

There’s silence. Then, Gojo cackles—it’s a bitter and sardonic laugh, slightly crazed as well—and shakes his head.

“Of course. Of course it was from him,” Gojo continues laughing, a hand covering his face this time. “Guess you’re right—there’s no avenue for conversation there. In that case, I’ve gotta go. See ya, old man.”

Yaga bristles at the nickname, but does not attempt chastise Gojo as he walks away without waiting for Yaga’s response. It simply doesn’t work, so why waste his breath?

Gojo walks out, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. He opens his text conversation with you, fingers twitching over the keyboard. But what would he even say? The last texts are all from you, scattered over a few weeks from literal months ago. He didn’t respond to any of them. He feels the need to contact you, but how would he even start that? ‘Hey, I know I’ve been ignoring you for months, but I heard that you might have told Geto that you made a Binding Vow and I think the higher-ups know about it.’

Nope. That’s not gonna work. He swipes the texting app out of existence, then locks his phone and puts it back in his pocket.

He leans back on the pillar, resting his head while he closes his eyes. Why does everything surrounding you have to be so complicated? Then, a series of hurried footsteps meets his ears, and he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. Gojo is ambushed by someone he hasn’t seen for a few days—your mutual friend, Shoko.

“I heard what happened from Utahime,” She says immediately.

Gojo exhales loudly, not even trying to conceal his annoyance, “Shoko, I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on.” She says firmly, her tone hard.

“What? We broke up. What’s more to say?” Gojo says dismissively.

“No, Gojo. That’s not all there is. Things have been going on. She told me that she’s concerned for (Y/N) but wouldn’t tell me more. And it just so happens that I have been texting them just about every day for weeks and have heard nothing back. Tell me there’s ‘nothing more to say’ again! Because obviously something is going on.”

Gojo inhales sharply, his breath suspended at her words. He shifts his weight forward, finally leaning away from the pillar. Shoko takes notice of his surprise.

She sighs, deciding to clarify one detail, “They’ve still been taking missions so I assume that they’re fine…but they’ve never ghosted me like this. Even back then, when Geto…they didn’t…agh. Well, you know what I’m saying. I don’t know what they’re thinking.”

He only really gathered one thing from that. So you’re safe for now. Gojo recovers, his expression evening out into something more normal.

“Shoko, I don’t want to complicate things further,” Gojo sighs. “Too many people are already involved in this, ones I had no intention of involving. I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I should say anything.”

“You ass!” She shouts at him, making his eyes widen under his blindfold. Shoko never blows up like this—she’s always indifferent and sort of passive. “They’re my friend too, and I want to know what’s going on!”

“I don’t know what’s going on!” Gojo blurts out. Shoko blinks rapidly, shocked by the volume of his voice. He hates getting emotional like this, but he can’t help it when he’s so fucking worried. “I don’t know, Shoko. The higher-ups have been probing into my life, but this time– this time it’s about them, and I don’t know why they want to know. I don’t know what they’re looking for. I’m just praying every day that they stop, but then somebody else in our circle tells me that the higher-ups keep mentioning them. I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t be good.”

She looks at him, finally noticing how…un-Gojo-like he looks and sounds. Worrying about others isn’t something that Gojo does, or at least not something he ever speaks about. He never has his brow creased like he does right now. He doesn’t bite his lip in worry, either, so why is he biting down so hard he’s almost pulling blood?

“Okay,” Shoko yields. “Okay. I believe you. I didn’t realize…I didn’t believe that you still cared so much.”

“You don’t even know,” He mutters under his breath, but Shoko still hears it. She acts like she doesn’t.

“Well, if you hear anything, tell me, okay?” Shoko asks him with a low exhale. “They’re really stressing me out.”

She pulls out a lighter and a cigarette, prepared to light up. The blinks, and the cigarette now lays on the ground, mysteriously absent from her grip.

“Fuck you,” She grumbles. “You know, that’s littering.”

She hates to say it, but her chest, heavy with worry, lightens a bit as his regular smirk spreads across his face. She feels a bit more hopeful as Gojo disappears in front of her, the wind from the teleportation blowing her hair and lab coat around furiously.

“If only you two weren’t idiots, this mess might have solved itself ages ago,” She chuckles to herself. “The densest people I know.”

Your lungs ache. You wheeze with each breath. You blink blearily, rubbing your eyes with one hand. You’ve been drifting in and out of sleep while you’ve been laying on the cold tile in your bathroom. The air is tinged with iron—the smell of your own blood curdles your stomach.

“What time is it?” You mutter to yourself, and jolt at the sound of your own voice. It’s raspy and weak; you almost don’t recognize it as being your own.

Your hands skate across the smooth tile as you try to locate your phone. When you finally do, you grab it and bring it close to your face. Your eyes, barely cracked open, ache at the bright light of your screen.

The time reads as 3:31 AM. You’ve really been here for that long? Under the time, a plethora of texts from Shoko appear. You groan and slam your phone back down on the ground, ignoring the guilt that rises from how long you’ve been flat out ignoring your friend.

I’m being just like Gojo. Your lips curl down at the realization.

You feel a wave of weakness wash over you, and you are forced to lay back down on the ground. You are half conscious, vision swimming half through dream and half through reality. You can barely think, barely process your own actions.

You feel cold metal in your hands, smooth glass under your fingers. You are tapping randomly, the light blinding you so much that you can’t open your eyes to see what exactly you’re doing.

All you hear is your own horrible breath. And then you hear a voice.

“(Y/N)? You called me?”

You blink blankly in confusion. Did you? You can only assume that you did.

“‘Guess so,” You try to say, but you can barely get it out with how sore your throat is. “Who…who is it?”

“What do you mean? You called me, silly.” They say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 3 am. Are you drunk or something?”

Why can’t you recognize their voice? Their voice sounds underwater to you. Your head is spinning so much and your ears begin to ring. Your feel yourself slipping from reality.

You hear yourself saying words, but you don’t remember thinking them.

“No…gonna pass out. Or die. Can’t tell.”

“What? (Y/N), what’s going on? Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you right now.”

You swear you know that voice. It’s deep and smooth, but filled with so much worry that you barely recognize it. He’s never sounded this scared before.

“Oh, you’re…you’re Satoru,” You wheeze out. “Why? Why you?”

You’re not making much sense, you don’t think. But you can’t, not with how far from reality you are right now.

You called him? It’s just too painful, too cruel a fate, that you accidentally called the man you’re in love with and who doesn’t love you back while you’re knocking on death’s door. You cough violently and choke on the bloody petals that rise to your throat. You wince in pain and struggle to breathe.

He is bordering on panic now, but he fights to keep it out of his voice. “It’s okay, (Y/N), just tell me where you are. You’re on a mission, r-right? I’ll come get you. Just hold on.”

Confusion floods your brain. A mission? Are you on a mission? Is that why the scent of blood is clogging your nose?

Your heart beat pounds in your head, faster and faster. It’s scary just how confused you are—how do you not know where you are?

“I don’t know,” You choke out. You didn’t even realize you were crying. “I don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay, c-can you check your phone for me? It’ll tell you your location. Just open it and–” His breathing is fast. “And check in your maps. Please. Please (Y/N), I need you to do this for me. Then–then everything will be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” You answer softly. “How do–”

You startle at the sound of a loud bang, your own gasp cutting off your words.

The door to your bathroom—that’s where you are—is knocked down, nearly missing your form where you lay on the tile.

Satoru is calling your name desperately, his voice louder with each repetition of your name. You can’t decipher any other words, but you know he’s shouting things, trying to get you to say something, to say anything so that he knows you’re okay.

A dark shape towers over you. You can’t make out who it is with your blurry vision and with how dark it is—but you are immediately intimidated by their large, broad frame.

“There you are,” They snarl. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this to happen. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

You scramble to get up, grabbing your phone while you unsteadily rise on your shaky legs. You are an inch away from passing out and you fight the feeling with every ounce of your strength.

“Not looking too good, are we?” He says, tutting mockingly. “That’s perfect. Remember what we agreed on, my dear (Y/N)?”

You stare at him blankly, no recognition in your eyes.

“Silly me! Of course you don’t remember. That was intentional, you know. A good move on my part,” He chuckles, and it’s a soft sound that juxtaposes his words. “While you’re the one who has to suffer. Don’t blame me too much, though…this is all situational. It’s not like I ever disliked you or anything. It just has to be like this.”

You hear Satoru’s voice again, and this time it sounds dangerous, “Who the fuck is that?”

Anger runs through the man’s features, and he strikes the hand that carries your phone harshly. You yelp loudly both in surprise and in pain. Your phone clatters to the ground, instantly silenced. Probably broken beyond repair.

His words are chastising and almost playful, but he is furious. “You shouldn’t talk to him anymore, (Y/N). That’s not part of our agreement.”

Then he grabs hold of you and begins dragging you out of the room. You scream loudly, kicking and punching him as much as you can as you’re moved against your will. You are a strong sorcerer, but all of your cursed energy and strength has been sapped away by this horrible disease that afflicts you. You are powerless to stop this man.

There’s one thing you were mistaken about. With the crunch your phone made as it shattered against the ground, you assumed it was completely broken. That’s only partly true: the speakers were damaged, no sound coming out, but your phone actually survived. Your microphone continued to pick up every scream and cry you made as you were dragged against your will—kidnapped. He heard every whimper of pain and every plea of yours for the man to stop! and to let you go!

Even in this state, your heart would ache if you had heard the unadulterated fear that gripped his voice as he shouted and screamed for you through his phone.

Even if you didn’t recognize the man who manhandled you out of your apartment, Gojo Satoru has no doubts about who it was. It makes his blood boil thinking about it—he’s never going to forgive him for this, even if they used to be best friends.

next part

a/n 2: Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot!! This got a bit out of my hands, I will admit…I ended up writing some details I hadn’t planned on (and a lot more lol) 😅 But I think it actually makes it more interesting!

TAGLIST: @certainduckanchor @kawaiivillainess98 @arehzhera @starrylibras @mandysfanfics @rain-and-a-nice-nap @csillana @sup-hoes-its-me @llliissuu @hawkdaddy1111 @unoriginalidea

@dcvilxswish @angel-kyo @eliz-lovesgojo @5268r @wooasecret @timetobegone @ceronnica @torusblindfold @mo0nforme @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @dasztasha

@soapysofi @qualitygiantshoepsychic

Some of these tags didn’t work, but I hope it still tags you…Lmk if I typed anything in wrong haha. 😌

[atlabeth]

you’re beautiful — anthony lockwood

summary: a meeting goes wrong, feelings come out. you’d like to be sedated again, please.

a/n: so this started as part of “leave the door open” but then i decided i wanted something different (hence the wound dressing scene) but i really liked what i wrote there so here’s an entirely different fic! wow enjoy

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): reader gets stabbed, quite a bit of blood, couple death jokes, mention of not eating, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending tho

There was a saying in Lockwood & Company, courtesy of its namesake, that, if you had enough confidence, you could dazzle any ghost into submission. 

Nothing but facetiousness of course, but it was true in a symbolic sort of way. If you didn’t believe in yourself, in every slash of your rapier and every circle of filings and every salt bomb measured to perfection, then there was no use showing up at all. You might as well sit down and wait for the ghost-lock to set in. 

Lockwood’s words kept coming back to you every time you doubted yourself, his charming smile and eyes popping up in your mind, twinkling as he made you laugh. 

And those words were certainly echoing through your ears as you stumbled through Portland Row’s door, a hand still pressed to your abdomen when you collapsed. Your rapier, still holstered, clattered against the floor.  

George called your name from the kitchen, cheerfully oblivious to your joy. “You’re finally back! How did the meeting go?” 

When you could only groan in response, he emerged into the hallway and his eyes instantly widened. “Oh my god— Lockwood!” 

He rushed over and helped you up, propping you against the wall as his eyes darted all over. He took one hand away to push up his glasses, and you noticed he already had some blood on your fingers. “What in the world happened?” 

“The meeting didn’t go well,” you grit out, sucking in a breath as a sharp column of pain shot through you. 

“I could gather that,” George said wryly, and when you heard footsteps, you both looked up to see Lockwood taking the steps three at a time. 

“What in the world happened?” he asked brazenly, a wild look in his eyes. 

“That’s what I asked—” George said, and your breathy laugh was interrupted by a grimace. 

“The meeting didn’t go well,” you repeated. 

“I need actual details,” Lockwood called as he went off in search of the medical kit. 

“Everything was fine,” you grumbled. “But as it turns out, our lovely source Mr. Pallworth was more skilled in getting into trouble than actually being an informant. He was in debt to some even lovelier relic men.” 

“Oh, god,” George muttered. You winced as he put more pressure on your wound, having taken over for you. “I’m sorry, but this is so you don’t bleed out.” 

“Did you get into a fight or something?” Lockwood marveled, bounding back over with a white box in his hands. “Because it looks like you were stabbed.” 

“One point for Anthony,” you said groggily. “Mr. Pallworth ran off the moment he could, leaving me to deal with his mess. I was indeed stabbed. Only once, somehow. The relic men deserted when the police showed up, and I wasn’t far behind.”

Lockwood knelt down next to you, and he looked at you for permission. You nodded, and he pulled your shirt up to expose your wound. He did a good job hiding his grimace as he began to gently wipe away the blood, but it was still there. “Why did you come here and not immediately to the hospital?” 

“I don’t know if you remember, Lockwood,” you breathed, “but this job that we’re doing is not exactly legal.” 

“I don’t care,” he enunciated. “This is above our paygrade, and your life will not be on the line because of our lack of medical knowledge.” 

“We either have to help her here or get her to a hospital,” George said, “because if we sit here bickering, she’ll bleed out before we make a decision.” 

“I’d rather die here than a hospital,” you said.

“You’re not going to die here,” Lockwood said harshly, and his hands opened and closed into fists. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. He eventually let out an annoyed sigh and glanced at George. 

“Phone 999,” he said. “She’s not dying because of her stubbornness.”

George nodded, grimacing at the blood on his hands—your blood, you supposed, which made it worse—and he ran off. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there alone,” Lockwood grumbled as he started taking things out of the medical kit. 

“No, you didn’t,” you said. “We had no reason to believe anything like this would happen.”

“Well— I should have known!” Lockwood’s voice rose, and his jaw clenched as he got himself back under control. He continued to clean out your wound, and you could hear George rattling off information in the distance to the authorities. 

“You’re cute when you’re determined,” you said. 

“I am determined to not let you die in our foyer,” Lockwood said.

“The foyer.” You mimicked Lockwood’s voice. “So posh.”

“If she’s being this annoying, she can’t be doing too bad,” George said dryly. 

“Loopy from the blood loss,” you said offhandedly. You frowned as it sunk in. “Maybe I should go to a hospital.”

Lockwood heaved a very dramatic sigh as he continued to keep pressure on your wound. “At least you’re coming to your senses now,” he said dryly. He was still kneeling next to you, his hands covered in your blood, that wild look in his eye. “What the hell took so long?”

“I’m not…” you blinked the black spots out of your vision, “good with hospitals.”

“Well, I’m not good with you dying,” Lockwood said.

George came back over. “I’ve called the police—an ambulance is on the way.”

You groaned, half from the pain and half from the thought of the police. “We’re going to have so much explaining to do.”

“Leave that to us,” Lockwood said. For some reason, you found yourself grabbing his hand. He didn’t hesitate, his throat bobbing as he laced your fingers together. “Just hold on for a bit longer.”

You nodded, your mouth going dry for a moment when you looked at him— really looked at him. 

There was unbridled fear in Lockwood’s eyes, the slightest glimmer of tears. If you weren’t slowly bleeding out, if the black spots weren’t taking over your vision, if your grip on his hand wasn’t loosening, you might have been embarrassed at his closeness, at his doting.  

But apparently, you weren’t. 

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured. 

And then everything went dark.

-

You were assaulted by a barrage of lights and beeping, too-bright fluorescents and the sterile scent of disinfectant alerting even your still groggy mind that you were in a hospital.

There was something in your arm—multiple somethings, actually. A tube with a lot of red in one arm, and another with clear liquid in your other arm. Blood and an IV, you guessed. 

Right. You were stabbed, and one does not just walk away from a stab wound without a few problems. 

You weren’t dead, though, and that surely counted for something. You would have to thank Lockwood later, for his stubbornness beating out your own. 

“You’re awake,” a voice breathed, and you realized it was just the boy you were thinking about. 

Lockwood sat next to you in a chair pulled up at your bedside. His tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and he’d draped his jacket on the back of the chair. His eyes were slightly red, but there was undeniable relief sketched into his face. 

“I am.” Your voice was raspy from disuse, and you grimaced at the soreness in your lower chest. “How long has it been?” 

“A few hours,” he answered. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his chair, and your eyes followed the movement. He was holding your hand— he’d been holding your hand. “You— um, you had surgery. A small one, it didn’t take too long, but—” Lockwood’s voice broke, and he laughed mirthlessly as he shook his head. “It was scary. Terrifying, actually, but…” he managed a smile. “You came out the other side. You always do.” 

Your breath caught for a moment, and your grip on his hand tightened subconsciously. “I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” Lockwood asked wryly. “It’s not your fault you were stabbed. You did a rather excellent job fighting them off, actually. It could’ve been much worse.” 

“I’m sorry for putting you and George through this,” you murmured. “I worry about the two of you every second of every day, and most of the time it doesn’t come to fruition. This—” you laughed, which immediately turned into a wince— “I’d say this is fruition.” 

“I’m just glad we got you here in time,” Lockwood muttered. He looked at you, his eyes boring into you with equal parts concern and desperation. You used to hate that about him, especially when you joined, how it always felt like he could look at you and know every single thing. “You said the police showed up in the fight. You were obviously injured— why didn’t you get them to call an ambulance? Why did you risk it all to come back to Portland Row?” 

“I told you. The job we took on was illegal, and I felt it was going to be a much bigger mess than we needed to deal with.” 

“I don’t care how illegal it was,” Lockwood said stiffly. “You were hurt— you were in danger. That comes before anything else, alright? You come before anything else.” 

The intensity of his voice made you pause, unable to do anything but… look at him. His hair was tousled, no doubt from running his hand through it endlessly as he was wont to do whenever he was stressed. His undone tie and discarded jacket, his eyes, red from… from crying, most likely. He cried over you. 

When your hand tightened around his this time, you did it on purpose. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. “You’re probably the reason I’m alive.” 

Lockwood managed to crack a smile. “It wouldn’t look good for the agency if my employees started dying. I don’t have very many to lose.” 

That got a genuine laugh out of you, and you tried your best to ignore the subsequent wince. “Of course. That’s why I pulled through, to make us look better.” 

“Your efforts are much appreciated,” he said, that small smile still on his lips as he rubbed mindless circles on your hand with his thumb. 

The door creaked slightly as someone pushed it open, and a smile broke out on your face when you saw it was George. 

“I was wondering where you were,” you said. 

“Tea,” he said, lifting the drink holder with one hand and a box with his other, “and donuts.” He looked at Lockwood pointedly. “You’ve got to get something in you. It’s not exactly healthy, but the sugar will help.” 

You looked at Lockwood. “You haven’t eaten?” 

“I was preoccupied,” he said dryly. 

“That’s no excuse,” you said. “Eat your donuts, and as soon as we get home, George is cooking you something.” You looked up at him. “Right?” 

“Right,” George agreed. He handed Lockwood one of the cups and set the box on the table, and he smiled as he took a seat across from you. “You look much better. You’re bossing everyone around again—I take it you’re doing better too?” 

“Much,” you nodded. “Thanks for getting me here, by the way. I’d probably have bled out if it weren’t for you.” 

“Of course.” George took a donut from the box. “I can’t let you leave me alone with him.” 

“Oh, I would never,” you said wryly. 

“I’m surprised you’re willing to be alone with him after what you said,” George said offhandedly, and both you and Lockwood stared at him. 

“George—” he started. 

“What do you mean?” you interrupted. 

He made that funny little expression where he knew he said something he probably shouldn’t have, and he busied himself with his donut. “Nothing.” 

“George,” you deadpanned, “I’m the one in the hospital bed. I have pity points. Tell me.” 

Lockwood sighed and leaned back in his chair, though you noticed he still didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you said,” George said slowly. “Before you blacked out, I mean.” 

“No.” Your eyes darted between the two of them. “Why? Did I say something awful?” 

“Not awful,” Lockwood said, still looking away. “Pretty far from it, I’d say.” 

“Why are you two acting so weird?” you asked. “Spit it out!” 

“You called Lockwood beautiful,” George finally said, and you just about died right there. “Right before you went out, you said he was beautiful.” 

You blinked. Looked at Lockwood, who didn’t seem to be the slightest bit embarrassed—god, was he smiling?—looked at George, who was this time busying himself with his tea. 

“You’re kidding,” you said. 

“...He’s not,” Lockwood said, tilting his head to the side. “You did do that.” 

“Looked up at him, said ‘you’re beautiful’, passed out.” George shrugged as he took another sip of his tea. “Quite dramatic, I’ll give you that. It drove Lockwood absolutely insane, too.” 

“George,” Lockwood said sharply, “don’t you have a phone call to make?” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. How could I forget?”

You weren’t even able to watch him as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Lockwood. You wanted to melt into the bed. This was the absolute worst way for your feelings to come out, feelings that you were content to let sit forever and never really reveal. Apparently, you couldn’t even almost die with dignity. 

“It’s alright,” Lockwood said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

“No, I do have to be embarrassed.” You stared up at the ceiling. “I do have to be embarrassed, because my last words could have been ‘you’re beautiful’.”

“Why?” he asked. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?” 

You groaned, and if you hadn’t been practically immobile, you would have buried your face in the pillows. “Get a nurse to sedate me again, please.” 

Lockwood flashed that irritatingly pretty grin as he took your hand again. You hadn’t even realized he’d let go. “Relax. I think you’re beautiful too.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Even now?”

“Even now,” Lockwood said. “Always.”

“At least you’re not saying it half-conscious and dying,” you mumbled. 

“I think it’s better I’m saying it now,” he said. “You know I mean it.” 

You looked him in the eye. “You really do?” 

“What did I just say?” Lockwood chuckled. “Always. Forever.” 

You felt the heat creep to your cheeks. “I can’t believe this is what it took to get you to admit your feelings.” 

“It took this for you to admit your feelings,” he countered. “It took you admitting them for me to admit them. I never really knew you felt the same way.” 

“I guess I have a flair for dramatics,” you said wryly. 

“It seems so,” Lockwood said. “How about after all this is done, when you’re good and cleared by the doctor, I’ll take you out for tea. My treat.”  

“You pay my salary,” you said. “Everything is practically your treat.” 

Lockwood grinned. “Do you want to go on a date with me or not?” 

You smiled, and you pulled your joined hands closer. You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“Excellent.” He smiled as well, a breath of relief coming out of him, and he leaned closer. “Just remember that you don’t have to get stabbed to get me to ask you out on a second date.”  

[sociopathicartist]

“vanilla?”

“No.”

“lavender?”

“No!”

“i give up.” Sans tossed his hands up in defeat, falling back onto the couch to sink into.

You rolled your eyes, lighting up a tea light candle you had and setting it on the coffee table. “You only guessed two times. It’s coconut.”

“how the hell was i supposed to guess coconut? we aren’t in hawaii, babe.” He complained, unamused by the scent of your candles.

There had been a power outage about an hour ago due to the storms outside. While you weren’t scared of the storms you did happen to be a bit scared of your entire house being pitch black, so you turned on the flashlight to your phone and started setting out tea light candles everywhere in your house. You saved them up since power outages happened a lot during the stormy summer weather.

As you had been lighting up the kitchen, your boyfriend suddenly appeared. You freaked out and almost whacked him across the skull with the lighter, which he backed up and tried to ease your freak out with a simple ‘ let’s not get things too heated, babe. ‘

Naturally, he was very amused by how you had managed to light up almost every main area in your house with little candles. He kept wandering around your house to see all the lights and would blow one or two out to annoy you, but stopped after that. Now he was just occupying himself with asking random questions while you were putting the candles out, like what their scent was.

“okay okay, you get to be alone with me for the whole week or get one dinner with ryan gosling.” Sans questioned, waving his hand up at the ceiling while he spoke.

You sighed as you placed two more candles on your TV stand. “You already know my answer. You, obviously. Even before dating you, I wasn't appealed much at the thought of dating a man.”

Sans snorted, a small twinge of blue coming up on his face. “awww, really? i guess you’re really into skeletons, you necrophile.”

“Human fetish.”

“maybe. me personally, i would choose ryan gosling.”

You turned around to walk over to him on the couch, setting the lighter down on the coffee table. “You’re a big liar and you know it. Now move or be moved.”

Sans chuckled and sat up, scooting a bit to the side as you wormed your way next to him on the couch. The layout didn’t work at first, and you both exchanged an awkward look before you moved to sit in between his legs, your back resting against his ribs. His arms rested over your chest, his mandible sitting on the top of your head. Comfortable.

“you know, i’m not critiquing your choices here, but you lit up the whole house when we won't be anywhere but the living room and bedroom,” Sans spoke to you, his voice lowered down to an attractively quiet tone which only assisted with how correct his words were.

You shook your head, your hands going to rest over his. Why did he have his mittens on right now? “Nuh-uh. Who said I was taking you up to my bedroom?”

Sans scoffed, but you could tell he was being facetious. “i was meaning to sleep, you perv.”

“Sure you were. And my candles my choices, pal. You showed up out of nowhere and choose to sit here and make fun of me for being scared of the dark.” You paused your complaints, leaning forward a bit to turn your head and look back at him. “Why did you come over here out of nowhere again?”

Sans took one of his hands off your chest, bringing it up to brush some hair out of your face while he spoke to you. “just thought you’d want the company. i know you don’t like the dark, and paps is sleeping anyway.”

You smiled and leaned your face into his hand, a bit glad he was thinking of you. There wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t, but it still made you happy nonetheless. “It was a very nice surprise. I’m glad you showed up to protect me from the hallway demons.”

There was an attempt from Sans to run his hand through your hair while he listened to you, but since he had his mittens on it was just slipping over the top of your head and making your hair all staticky. He found it a bit amusing to do even after you tried batting his hand away.

“you didn’t need to light the candles you know.” He suggested another solution, successfully nagging your attention.

You know him well enough for it to only take 3 seconds to realize what he was getting behind.

“i have something that glows.” He was holding back laughter, partially from his upcoming joke and partially because of your expression.

“Shaddap. You come over to my house and make disgusting jokes. How sick.” You moved your head away from his hand, trying to pat down the static he was causing.

Sans’ hand kept trying to rub on your hair, his mitten charged up with electric static now.

He snickered, both his hands cupping your face to make you look at him. “deez nuts.”

“Out of my house.” You let him hold onto your face, enjoying the little shenanigans he was up to.

He didn’t answer back with a witty pun or joke, instead just pulling you down to rest your head on his chest. “there there. it must be so hard having such a hilarious boyfriend.”

“No.” You wrapped your arms around him in an attempt to snuggle into his embrace.

It was hard to cuddle up to him sometimes because he was always shifting around or letting his hands roam on you until you had to call him out to stop so that you could both go to sleep. Unless he was sleeping or pretending to sleep, he seemed to have a difficult time staying in one place for too long. Sometimes though, you’d catch him after he had an exhausting day and you’d both just hold each other in comfortable silence, not moving an inch or saying a word for hours. Those were some of your favorite days.

“Sans?” You called out his name after a few minutes of quiet.

“yeah, babe?” He answered immediately, one of his hands gently rubbing up and down your back while the other petted your hair.

You thought for a few moments about your question. “How did you first know when you liked me?”

Sans inhaled deeply. He loved asking and answering these silly little romance questions with you, but sometimes it was difficult to find the correct words for an answer.

“i just knew. i looked over to you and the realization hit me. there were no second thoughts or doubts about it.”

You stared at the wall for a few moments, your thumb rubbing small circles on the back of his vertebrae just above the hood on his jacket. Your candles were starting to burn out. You needed to light up new ones in a bit.

You kept your voice quiet to match his, acting as if speaking too loud would break the moment. “Do you remember when it was?”

“oh, yeah.” His smile tugged up a bit on the ends, his genuine smile showing through at the thought of the memory. “you want me to tell you about it so that i can gush over you?”

“Yes, please.”

“okay, uhhh,” He paused before recapping his memory with you. “you were at my house. in my room to be more specific. i was showing you through one of my video games since you hadn’t played it before, but i was kinda off that day.”

It was weird to him to think about because he didn’t remember why he wasn’t feeling well that day, or what video game he was showing you. He just remembered you.

“you somehow noticed, and you asked me what was up. whenever i told you nothing was up except for the ceiling, you told me to stop lying. you said you could tell by the way my voice sounded, and how my smile drooped down just a tad. i don’t even remember if i ended up answering you, but i know i was quiet for a while. nobody had ever uh… ever seen me like that before.”

You listened to him speak. His hands had stopped moving around on you entirely, just resting on the small of your back comfortably. “Yeah?”

“yeah. i don’t know why it was like that, but it was like i was dragged out of the little reality in my head where i was noticed by everyone but not noticed enough to be cared about like that. and the worry in your voice. you just looked like a different person in that moment and from then on. it was like i saw you clearly after looking through fogged glass.”

Sans always had a really good use of his words whenever he chose to use them instead of being silly. This was one of those moments where you were fully convinced that you could listen to him talk for hours.

“I love you.”

“i love you too.”

You weren’t sure if the rush of being able to tell him that you loved him and having him respond with such little hesitation would ever go away. Sans wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to it either.

All your candles had begun to burn out since they were just little tea lights, leaving you and Sans to succumb to a slow progression of darkness.

His voice broke the silence first, as it usually did. He always had lots of things to say to you. “all your candles are burning out, babe. you wanna light up some more? the power probably won't come back on for the rest of the night.”

The power probably wouldn’t come back on for a while, he was right. “Why don’t we just go to bed? It seems like a waste to light everything again when it’s so late at night, and I know you’re tired.”

“up to bed?” His voice took back a joking tone, and you braced yourself for the devious intentions behind his words. “no need for a candle, i know something that glows, hehe.”

“Sans… Don’t say it. It doesn’t get funnier the more that you say it.”

“deez nuts in your face.”

thanks for reading:3 it’s been storming really bad down where i live, so i wanted to write a little drabble for it. uploads might be a bit slow since finals during school r catching up to me, sorry! have a lovely night:)

[leonskennedysfavoritewife]

Sobriety - Part 2

DILF!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k PART 1

MINORS DNI! 18+

WARNINGS: depressive themes, creampie, praise kink, age gap relationship, slight mention of su*cide.

Other: No use of Y/N, aftercare, Leon is acting like a boomer that he is- surprise (not), him and Chris being my favorite pair of friends that definitely have had experimental sex at some point (I consider this canon but it’s not apart of this story)

The sun shone through the blinds- Leon’s head pounding harshly as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

“Fuck.” He grumbled- shifting in his bed- wait. This wasn’t his bed. It smelled of perfume, floral fabric softener- and the sheets were silky on his naked form. He had slept so well he had forgotten he had even… shit.

You laid on your stomach- peacefully sleeping with your hair in your face- naked.

Cute. Is what Leon had thought before realizing everything that happened last night. You two hadn’t been drunk- but definitely tipsy and equally horny. It slipped his mind that the two of you had even fucked twice.

‘Cuddle with me?’ you had asked lightheartedly after everything. Leon already knew that- 1: You were up to no good. And 2: He too was up to no good. It was hard to not be hard around you.

Though- the two of you did get a nice cuddle session in. He both loved and enjoyed affectionate things like that.

Before he could move or snap from his thoughts on his own- you grumbled something and lifted your head- hair a mess and your body halfway uncovered as the sheet slid off of you.

“I’m leaving the whiskey to you ‘old farts’ from now on…” you murmured- Leon smiling at your jest. He put a hand on your back- rubbing soothingly.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, taking a moment to admire how pretty you were even in this state.

You mumbled a soft mhm, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your back. He slowly removed his hand after a few moments, leaning over to check his phone on the nightstand. 10:23 am, along with missed calls that must have been silenced.

Fuck! he had forgotten he had work today.

He jumped up, getting into his boxers and looking for his jeans- frantic.

“Woah, what is it?” You asked, sitting up now.

“Late for work.” He responded, throwing the rest of his clothes on.

“You can’t shower first?” You asked facetiously.

“This kind of job doesn’t exactly allow much room to be this late.” His tone was a bit harsh- but you just tried to assure yourself he was just stressed right now.

He grabbed his keys and his phone, walking towards the door of your bedroom.

“I’ll text you, okay? I’m sorry to leave like this.”

You smiled, your reply lying within your face. He smiled back for a moment, before going down the hallway and letting himself out.

“Leon. Where the hell have you been? We tried calling you. The damned D.S.O. Was ready to come knock down your door.” Chris whisper-yelled, walking alongside Leon.

“I was busy.” Is all he replied, settling himself in front of the office’s coffee machine- pouring himself a steamy black cup.

“Busy? What the hell can you be busy with that you don’t answer your phone for once. I almost thought-“

“That I had offed myself? Yeah- as much as I’ve worried you and Claire before, I’m fine. It’s just life stuff.”

Chris scanned Leon’s face, looking him over. He didn’t smell like alcohol, which was a constant recently, and his clothes weren’t straightened and presentable like they always were.

“Oh.” Is all he said, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Leon knew Chris well enough to turn when he said that- practically hearing his smirk loud and clear.

“What’s that look for?”

“You know- you’re never usually this calm. Normally you’d be arguing back with me. That’s all.” Chris chuckled, amused.

“No- what’s so funny?” Leon pressed the issue further.

“You got laid, then?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

Leon could swear he felt visible heat coming off of his face and he turned back to the counter, sipping his coffee.

“You fucking did! Well- that explains a lot recently.” Chris added.

“Keep your voice down. Jeez.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“Who is it?”

Leon sighed- realizing he wasn’t exactly in a bad mood- even with Chris grilling him.

“She lives in my apartment building.”

Chris’s face turned somehow even more intrigued.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He uncrossed his arms and patted Leon on the back, walking off.

“I’ll come finish pestering you later, buddy.” He teased, his voice a little too loud for Leon’s liking.

Idiot.

Finally- the last few reports were out of the way and he could relax. Leon had a few interns around to help manage his workload anyways- being the D.S.O. ‘Golden Boy’ (he hated that nickname), it was a given.

He closed the door to his office, sitting down at his desk and pulling his phone out. No text from you. He assumed the worst, and figured you probably hated him for leaving so abruptly.

No. Stop that.

Yeah. His abandonment issues ran deep.

He sighed, typing up a message for you. He hated spilling his feelings over text- which he barely knew how to text in the first place- but it felt so… in-personable.

“Hey- sorry to leave so suddenly. I can’t exactly disclose my work but I just hope you know last night meant a lot to me.”

Send.

He leaned back in his chair- anxious. He didn’t care about how mushy it was- he just wishes he could give a better explanation. To tell you about everything. This job. The bullshit. But he’d rather be sure he can safely tell you without getting a bullet to the back of the head for saying it.

Buzz.

He picked up his phone from his lap, quick.

“I understand. It meant a lot to me too- but I wouldn’t be mad at you for having work. I just hope you’re doing alright, is all. 💕 “

Leon’s heart fluttered for a moment, relief flooding his veins. You were understanding and actually giving a shit- despite most people doing the opposite.

He smiled wide to himself- his fingers typing.

“Yeah. I’m perfect- thanks to you, anyways.”

You both sent a few more back and forths- Leon so invested he didn’t even realize Chris had entered his office and was standing behind him- watching him text.

“Damn- look at you being all tech savvy. You two are cute.” Chris interrupted.

“Redfield. Get out.”

“Woah- your best friend comes to tell you that you can leave early and this is how you treat him?”

Leon cocked his head.

“Leave early? Why?”

Chris walked around the office- looking at the decor briefly.

“Oh, nothing much. I just might have.. put in a word that you needed a short vacation.. pulled some strings here or there.” He mumbled the last part, turning to Leon again.

What?

“Vacation?” Leon stood up, pushing his chair back.

“What did you say? Do you know how fucking long I’ve been trying to get a damned vacation- and they just listen to you over m-“

“Woah- woah. All I said was… well.. mentioned your little girlfriend. That’s all.”

God dammit.

“Chris. Her and I are not dating, and you can’t just go around-“

“Leon. Just take the damned leave and go home.”

Leon went straight back to his apartment- needing some time to himself. Apparently, before- he hadn’t been a priority for a vacation, being a single man and all. But now that they suspected he had a relationship- they were more willing to give him time away. After all- the single men at the D.S.O. were always the ones picking up the toughest, dirtiest jobs and heavy workloads. It also helped that Chris was oh-so-convincing.

Asshole.

He shrugged off his leather jacket- tossing it on the back of the couch.

The more he thought about it- the more a relationship didn’t sound bad after all. Then again- his previously mentioned abandonment issues ran too deep.

On top of all of that- you guys only fucked after getting tipsy. Sure, it was obvious why you invited him, but was it really all that romantic and a calling for commitment? He did like you. A lot. More than a lot. Otherwise he wouldn’t have slept with you. His mind flooded with overwhelming thoughts about everything going on right now.

A date!

He wanted to properly take you out. Make up for this morning a little, too. If he was being honest- he’d buy or do whatever for you at this point.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket, sending you a text.

He placed a hand on his chin- hoping that the text was okay. He was still getting used to the whole dating thing- especially with someone who was younger than him and more… caught up on things. He might as well live under a rock.

You looked over the last bit of your report before hitting save- your phone buzzing and bringing you from your school-work induced trance.

Glancing over Leon’s text- you couldn’t help but giggle.

He’s such a boomer.

You respond back with how much you’d love to- another text chain continuing for a bit.

It’s settled. Tonight Leon plans on taking you out for a date, details and time left secret to you as a surprise.

Leon feels the wave of excitement radiating through his nerves- barely able to contain it. He was happy to finally be able to get to know you a little more. Being friends- he knew plenty about you already- but now he could find out the personal details. Things the two of you wouldn’t tell most people. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself- but he hadn’t connected with someone in so long.. or ever. So he wanted it to go smoothly.

He showered- spending his usual 30 minutes after to style his hair. He wore a navy-blue suit and a white button up underneath, not bothering with a tie (He didn’t know how to tie one). He secured his watch back onto his wrist before spritzing on his cologne- going all out.

Not giving you a specific time- he decided to wait a while before showing up- figuring you might be ready by now. When he finally knocked on your door, you got up from the edge of your bed- nervous- wondering if you had dressed appropriately for this mystery date. You chose a short, simple but form-fitting black dress, heels to match, and your hair styled nicely to go along with your dark makeup.

You pulled the door open- the two of you equally blown away by the other.

Fuck. I want to tear that suit right off of-

“You look beautiful.” He murmurs, almost entranced.

“And you look… handsome.” You say- almost feeling guilty by how horny looking at him made you. But if it was any constellation- he felt the same about you.

“Something wrong?” He hummed, gesturing for you to step out into the hallway with him.

“No- it’s just. You look really good.” You smile- hiding the fact you think he looks a lot more than just ‘good’.

He grins, smile lines and all.

“Shall we?” He asked- holding out his elbow for you to hook with his.

You respond by doing so- Leon leading you down the hallway and helping you carefully down each step of the stairs. The trek to the parking lot was almost too long- the two of you now outside his car. and boy, was it nice.

“I thought you had a motorcycle?” You inquired, cocking your head.

He chuckled.

“Yeah- well it’s just for when I’m out on my own. I’d rather not risk something happening to you- especially since neither of us are dressed for the off chance we encounter road rash.”

“Ah- you’re right.” You hadn’t thought about that- then again you weren’t the most educated on motorcycles and riding as a passenger on one.

He pulls his keys from his suit pants, unlocking the vehicle and opening the door for you. You stepped in- sitting down on the shockingly comfortable leather seat.

Leon himself gets into the driver’s side- pressing the push to start button- roaring the smooth, quiet engine to life. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard people breathe louder than this car makes noise.

“So…. Mind me asking what you do for work? Drug lord? Pimp?” You tease- already figuring he won’t want to talk about it. Though, you still have some unease about his mystery job.

He sighs, a hand on your seat as he looks back to reverse the car.

“You’re cute. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Well- I can’t exactly give you details. Let’s just say I work for the government. At the most- all I can tell you is I work alongside the president.” He tries his best to give you as much as he can. He knows how unnerving it might be to go on a date and screw around with someone who you don’t even know where they work or how they get all of the money that they have.

Plus- he figures he owes you that much

“I see- so… if you work for the president- why are you living here? Wouldn’t a nice house or somewhere in Washington suffice?”

“Yeah- I suppose it may seem that way. But considering what I do, I’m always on the move. Not to mention- I don’t have time to be a homeowner. Repairs, upkeep. It’s a hassle. And sure- maybe I could hire someone to look after it- but again- with what I do, I can’t ever bring myself to feel comfortable with a complete stranger in my home. I like to keep things under my watch in the places I sleep. That- and I feel less unnerved on high ground.” He explains- every bit of it makes sense. Whatever he works with must be awful.

“What about me- I’m a stranger.” You add- mostly teasing but a little serious.

“Not… entirely. I trust you.” He says- turning to look at you for a moment before focusing back onto the road

You smile.

“I trust you too.”

The night continues- full of banter and you learning more about Leon- and vice versa. He had taken you to dinner in the city’s nicest restaurant- managing to score a last minute reservation thanks to, once again, his job title. It really did make you more and more curious now- but you knew better than to pry- especially after getting that much detail from him earlier. After dinner, the two of you were back in his car- satisfied after an expensive, filling meal.

“So…” he says, turning to look at you.

“Did you have a good time?” He asks, this not being the question you expected.

“No.” You start, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I had a great time.” He leans his head back on the seat with a thud, sighing

“You know- I’m practically a fossil. My heart could easily give out at this rate when you scare me like that.”

“Sorry- sorry. Maybe I should be carrying around a defibrillator?”

He chuckles, pushing his hair back for a second with relief.

You both make eye contact- silence strong.

Leon clears his throat, once again starting the car with a press of a button. A few minutes down the road and with soft rock music- courtesy of one of the ‘dad rock’ CD’s you had given him, an idea crossed your mind. Fuck. Maybe you should just go for it.

“I’m really glad you invited me out. I was starting to think I scared you off with the whole riding thing.”

You saw him visibly perk up, shifting in the drivers seat.

“Well- if that scared me off, I’d have to be a little fucked up in the head. I mean, it was-“ you interrupted him, a hand on his thigh- the fabric of his suit pants soft on your fingers.

He glanced at you, your face full of that usual mischievous look you gave before doing most anything at all. He knew it well at this point.

“Shit-“ he mumbled, feeling your fingers creep up his leg. He kept driving- his blue eyes scanning for somewhere to pull off. It didn’t take long.

You’re a little surprised by this- but the idea of fucking him in his car isn’t the worst idea. It actually starting to turn you on a lot.

He parks the car, one hand on the steering wheel.

“I can see what you’re doing, you know.” He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and a throb to your pussy

“Yeah?” You ask, a slight bite to you lip.

“All I’m going to say is…” He leans in, just a tad.

“I wanted tonight to be special. So, when we get back to mine, I’ll give you exactly what you want. We can fog up the windows another time.” He smirks, knowing he had misled you indefinitely.

You go to stammer something- but the car is already back on the road. But now- the anticipation and horniness are tenfold.

He shuts the door apartment door, turning to you. Without a word, he leads you off to his bedroom.

“Why don’t you go ahead and sit down for me, hm?” He asks, going to the bathroom and returning with two matching candles. He sets them both on the nightstand- lighter in hand as he ignites each wick. Then, he cuts off the light- leaving the room flickering with a sunset glow.

Leon kneels down in front of you, slipping off your heels and setting them aside- his hands trailing up your bare legs.

“You’re beautiful- you know it?” He asks- huffing a quiet breath as he says it.

“Stand up for me, baby.” You waste no time- letting him guide you up before he gently turns you around with his hands on your shoulders, moving his fingers to pull the zipper of your dress. Leon gently tugs the fabric down your body, letting it fall before you step out of it.

You feel his lips make contact on the back of your neck, hair brushed aside as he lavishes the area with care.

“So… so beautiful.” He mumbles against your soft skin. He again turns you back to face him- eying you over. “God…” is all he can say- urging you to lay down on the bed. He unbuttons his suit jacket- laying it in a nearby chair, his white button up joining it. His muscles tense as he moves, his hands finding their way to hook around your thighs and pull your butt to the edge of the bed. He sinks to his knees in front of your clothes pussy- the fabric of your black underwear hugging your puffy lips in a way that makes him let out a low groan.

Leon’s rough digits glide over your hips and descend to your waistband- tugging the lace garment down those pretty legs and off into the corner of his room.

“God- I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He murmurs- his breath now fanning your bare pussy. He takes two fingers- spreading you out and exposing your clit perfectly- swollen and aching to have any contact.

He trails kisses along your thighs, the present stubble tickling you before he makes his connection with your pussy- his tongue dragging flat against your clit- making you buck your hips suddenly. He takes the liberty to snake his arms around your thighs to keep you still while his mouth sucks at your clit for a moment- alternating between those gentle suckles and licks. Leon tries his best to apply his memorization from how you liked him touching you last night.

Your moans quickly pick up in pace and volume from his ministrations- never having felt something this pleasurable before. It’s almost too much- along with the vibrations as he hums in delight against your throbbing center.

Or, well, moans against you- his cock strained in his layer of boxers and tight suit pants created a delicious friction for him as he ate you out- his hips moving lightly to situate the ache.

His right hand creeps from around its place on your thigh- loosening the hold on your flesh and moving to your already soaked cunt. His index finger gathers some of your wetness before pushing in- curling gently after letting you adjust to the feeling.

He pumps his finger in and out- adding a second which gives a nice stretch- being that his fingers aren’t exactly small.

Your back arches against the bed, hands clutching his sheets and perfect, genuine moans escaping your lips which only spur more reverberated noises from Leon against your clit. He more than eagerly laps at you- still flicking his tongue against your puffy, overstimulated bud.

You prop up on your elbows, watching him go at you like he’ll never get another chance to do so. His eyes flicker up for a moment- a sort of grin on his face without stopping what he’s doing. His other hand on your thigh creeps along your stomach to your chest now- pushing you to lie back- a silent agreement that he wants you to relax and enjoy it. (Which would be impossible not to)

You can barely get any other thoughts in- your orgasm so, so close. And it takes just a few more precise licks and a curl of his fingers and you’re in heaven- moaning and whining out for him while tugging on his soft hair.

But he doesn’t stop just yet- he runs his tongue along all of you- tasting every bit that he may have even missed before giving a last gentle suck to your overwhelmed bundle.

Now- here he was positioned on top of you, your thighs on either side of his hips as he stared down at you and unhooked your bra. He set it aside- his hands gliding over your stomach.

“God- where do I even start..?” He murmured, raising up on his knees a bit- his cock already poking at your puffy lips. You could feel him twitch slightly- his face conveying that he was thinking.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I enjoy looking at that pretty face when I’m in you.” The butterflies in your stomach soar with glee.

He reached one hand down- guiding himself against your entrance and pushing in slightly.

“Fuck-“ He looked down at himself sliding into you- his face proud and his cheeks tinged red while his hair covered his face.

“This what you wanted, baby?” He asked, bottoming out with his hips flush against your butt- his hands moving your legs onto his shoulders. The nickname is still making your head feel light and airy- it’s almost absurd how endearing he is despite the two of you still not being official.

You nod, a small ‘yes’ escaping quietly.

“Oh, I know. You’re cute. Thinking I couldn’t tell how badly who wanted it in the car. If I’m honest- I almost caved right there.” He huffed towards the end of his sentence, pulling out and slamming back into you with a good bit of force but not roughly. He wanted to keep things a tad bit sensual- unless you begged otherwise.

He began moving in and out slowly- your walls dragging along his cock.

“Jesus…” he mumbled, his hands coming up and caressing your thighs gently as he moved his hips- no guidance from his hands.

“Leon-“

“Hm? What is it, baby?” His voice is so low and gravely that you swear it even travels through you- striking every chord of pleasure.

“Faster- please.”

A soft smile played on his lips- and he stopped for a moment's time, turning to kiss gently on the leg that rested on his left shoulder- the familiar tickle of his stubble making you squirm a little.

“You know… I think I might be able to do that. Maybe hearing a ‘pretty please’ might help me decide, though.” .

“Pretty please.”

“Pretty please what?” He grins, his brown strands feathered messily across one side of his face.

“Pretty please… fuck me faster.” You muster- any embarrassment fading.

He turns, letting out a low laugh of amusement.

“When you ask like that- I’ll give you what-“ he slams back into you fast, punctuating his words. “-ever you want.” He warbles the end of his sentence, and his movements are fast now. Leon bites his lip- his own hushed noises coming out louder than he intends. Grunts and low, throaty moans.

“God, baby.” He gently guides your legs off of his shoulders, leaning forward onto his palms by either side of your head so he can be closer. Your lower limbs lock around him eagerly, making him chuckle.

He keeps his weight on his palms, bending his arms a bit so we can lower down enough to kiss you while his cock plunges in and out of your wetness.

The kiss itself is slow and sensual- for a moment he bites your lower lip gently before pulling away.

“You feel so fucking good…” he picks up one palm and trails a finger over your lower lip- puffy and swollen from his earlier nibble. “So pretty… You like when I fuck you deep like this?”

You nod.

“Yes- Leon. ‘Ts so good…” you mumble hazily, drunk off of him.

He’s eating up everything about this- your face, your noises, the way your body reacts. Even better is how infatuated he is with you.

“Glad to hear it, pretty girl. Fuck- you want me to cum in you again?” A broken ‘yes’ escapes you- barely- and he thrusts a little harder, clearly trying to give you exactly what you want.

“Oh my god…fuck- you feel so…so good.” He groans, clashing his lips to yours as he cums in you- buried as deep as he can possibly be with one arm hooked under you to keep you close. His body is tense for a moment and he gives you a soft, lingering kiss before pulling out and sighing.

He rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of him- his muscular arms wrapped around you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face- appreciating the afterglow and crimson flush on your face.

“I really like you.” He says- out of nowhere.

“Mmm… I could kind of tell. But I really like you too.” You respond, the way he looks at you makes you melt.

“Good, because uh.. that leads me into my next proposition. I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

You’re taken aback for a second- you had figured with his job he wouldn’t exactly be open to a relationship- but your heart flutters.

You return his earlier gesture- brushing his hair out of his face.

“Well- consider me your girlfriend.” He smiles- pulling you closer to him to kiss you once more, before patting your back. You groan, not wanting to leave your spot on top of him, but you know he wants you to pee and clean up. And you know better than to not do so for your own sake.

He helps you to the bathroom just like he had the night before, sitting you down on the toilet. He walks out, pulling the sheets off of the bed and putting them in the hamper- and you can’t lie- you take a moment to appreciate his ass. It’s…really nice. Probably better than mine.

You giggle internally, finishing up in the bathroom. Leon’s already putting on new sheets- spreading the comforter back over the bed.

He looks over at you, smiling.

“Hey- uh… maybe you’d want to stay over? I can make us breakfast tomorrow.” He asks, saying it carefully as if you’d decline.

You smile. Once again- your answer lying within your expression.

[youngerfrankenstein]

Like, okay I’m being a bit facetious. But given how much Asimov influenced the genre and how Daneel is one of his robots. How the character is one of the first of what we think of as Androids. How he created or codified a lot of the tropes we see pop up. How he influenced the creation of Spock and Data…

You know what yeah. A decent amount of modern sci-fi traces back to the sad gay robot on the moon.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Dr. Kemp facetiously saying, “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

Fluffy ending?

Kiss It Better » Steve Kemp

Pairings: Steve Kemp x Female Reader

Summary: After taking a little bit of your “meat”, Steve asks you if you want him to kiss it better.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff ending, language, crying, cannibalism, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator @unearthlydust

You woke up to a dull feeling in your thigh. You reached your hand down to rub it, only to feel a bandage on top of your upper thigh. Your eyes shot open and you quickly sat up, throwing the blanket off of you. You looked down at your thigh to see it wrapped in gauze. You took it off to see stitches underneath it. You heard a familiar chuckle and looked up to see Steve sitting in a chair on the other side of the room.

“What the hell, Steve!” You shouted. “I told you not to do this!” You say.

“No.” Steve sat up and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “You specifically said to not kill you and not to take any part of your body.” He says.

“It was implied!” You say.

“You should’ve been more clear, sweetheart.” He says.

Steve stood up from his chair and approached you, crouching down in front of you. You scooted backwards till your back hit the wall behind you.

“Get away from me!” You shouted.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t be like that.” He coos. “You’re just upset that I took some of your meat.” He says.

“I have every right to be upset!” You say.

“You’re making it sound like I amputated your leg and you told me not to do that.” He says.

Steve moved some of your hair from your face. You flinched away from him.

“Don’t be like that.” He softly said. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t take much.” He says.

You looked down at your thigh to see how much he actually took. Like he said, it wasn’t much, but you still hate the idea of him taking some of your meat.

“I’ll be right back. Since you took the bandages off, I have to rewrap it.” Steve says.

You watched Steve stand up and walk out of the room, closing and locking the door behind him. You sighed loudly and leaned your head back against the wall. It wasn’t until now that the pain had hit you since you were running on adrenaline when you seen it. You whimpered and your eyes began to water. You sniffled and a couple tears rolled down your cheeks. Steve came back the second time you whimpered.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Steve asks, crouching down in front of you.

“It hurts.” You say with a small whimper.

“I’ll get you something for the pain after I rewrap it.” He says.

You tried to relax and watched as Steve put clean bandages on your thigh. You noticed how gentle he is with you. It made you wonder if he was just as gentle with the other girls or if you’re just his favorite.

“Just because I’m in pain doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you anymore.” You say.

“It was just a little bit.” Steve says again.

“I know, but it still hurts.” You say, looking down at your thigh.

Steve gently caresses your cheek and tilted your head so you were looking in his eyes, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

“Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?” He asks with a facetious look on his face.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s being sarcastic or funny.

“I can’t if you’re trying to be sarcastic or funny, but it’s not funny.” You say.

“I was just trying to get you to laugh.” He says.

“By saying you’ll kiss it better?” You say.

“I will if you allow me to.” He says.

You stared at him again before nodding your head yes, giving him permission to kiss the part of your thigh he cut into. Steve leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your thigh.

“I should hate you for this, but I don’t.” You say.

“You know as well as I do that you don’t hate me.” He says.

You stared at him, trying your hardest not to smile, but you did. Steve is right. You can never hate him, but you’re still mad at him for what he did.

“You’re right.” You smile. “I don’t hate you.” You say.

“Told you.” He says with a smile.

“I’m still pissed at you for this though.” You say.

“Fair enough.” He says, kissing your forehead.

🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺

-Bucky’s Doll

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Ex Appeal

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin gets a frightful visitor on Halloween.

CW: Angst, fluff, suggestive themes, alludes to past cheating

WC: 3500+

This fic was written for @roosterforme’s Rocktober challenge! Inspired by the song Poison by Alice Cooper.

Masterlist

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jake says with a look of disgust – as much of it as he can muster. You, after all, have been his greatest source of misery as of late.

You give him a dirty look – your specialty – and barge into his home as though you own the place and Jake’s just a goddamn doorman. “I need to lay low for a bit.”

Jake narrows his eyes as he turns to face you. He keeps the door open because he’s still hoping you’re going to leave any minute. “Lay low?” he asks mockingly. “What’d you do? Commit murder?” He wouldn’t be surprised.

You peek around his arm to glance out at the street. “Someone’s looking for me.”

Jake watches you impassively. “Is it the police?” Then, after a moment, he adds, “Is there a reward?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re the only one in this neighbourhood that I trust,” you say, pushing on the door that Jake is obstinately keeping open.

Jake nods. “Shame that trust doesn’t go both ways,” he comments contemptuously.

You eye him irritably. “Close the door.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“I just did.”

Jake shakes his head. “You could not have been more vague.”

You sigh. “Close the door and I’ll tell you.”

Jake exhales warily and shuts the front door. He surveys your outfit. “What are you wearing?”

You glance down at your ensemble: a black, form-fitting body suit and fishnet stockings. You’re also sporting knee-high boots and you’ve got what looks like six extra arms coming out of your back. You look back up at him with an annoyed expression on your face. “It’s Halloween,” you snap defensively.

Jake grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” He gestures to a cauldron full of candy sitting near the front door. “There’s gonna be a fuck-tonne of children coming through here trick-or-treating in like half an hour and you’re dressed like a gothic porn star.”

Instead of being offended, you lift your eyebrows in surprise. “You’re handing out candy?”

Jake sighs and places his hands on his hips, fixing you with a stern look. “Yeah, I’m handing out candy. That’s what adults do on Halloween.”

You stare at him as a smile materializes on your face. “Is that your costume?” you ask facetiously, gesturing at his checkered polo shirt. “Adult?”

Jake squares his jaw to mask the fact that he found your joke humorous, but you seem to notice the shift in his features because your own grin broadens. “My mom got me this shirt,” he says.

“Ah,” you respond. “A fellow adult.”

Jake tears his gaze away from you, focusing instead on the shiny, pointed toes of your stilettos. “Why’re you here?” he asks again, this time a lot less peevishly and a lot more grimly.

You bend down to unzip your boots. “I’m a spider,” you say. “Black widow.”

Jake glances up to meet your gaze as you straighten up. He nods. “Suits you.”

You give him a flat look. “I was at the bus stop and some dude started harassing me.”

Jake’s eyes trail down your scantily glad body. “You don’t say,” he remarks sarcastically.

Your jaw drops in outrage. “Are you victim blaming?”

Jake chuckles and shakes his head. “It was a joke.”

You cringe. “It was in poor taste.”

Jake closes his eyes and lets out a tired sigh. He’s had about enough of your attitude. “You wanna talk about poor taste?” he asks. “Where’s that lovely boyfriend of yours?”

You watch him sourly. “We’re not together anymore, if you must know,” you reply.

Truth be told, Jake probably didn’t need to know. But, now that he does, it’s only fitting that he respond with, “Shocking.”

You give him the finger. As if he were the one who’d been dating two people at the same time.

There’s a knock on the door. “Fuck,” he mutters, giving you a moody look. “Hide,” he says. “Unless you’d rather traumatize a bunch of eight-year-olds.”

You grimace at him. “You think eight-year-olds haven’t seen worse?”

Jake scans the low-cut neckline of your costume. He can’t think of anything more erotic if he tried. But, if he’s being honest, it’s not the outfit so much as your insane body that’s the culprit. He reaches out to grab your hand and pull you aside, making sure you’re tucked safely behind the door before opening it.

He smiles down at the two little kids on his porch when they yell, “TRICK-OR-TREAT!” at the top of their lungs.

“Well, well, well,” he says cheerily, bending down to grab a handful of candy out of his cauldron. “Who do we have here?” He puts the candy into one of their bags. “Are you a mermaid?”

The girl nods happily.

Jake wows in amazement. “You’re the prettiest mermaid I’ve ever seen!” He bends down to grab another handful of candy and drops it into the second child’s bag. “And you must be Iron Man!” he exclaims. “That’s one cool costume, bud. You look great!”

When Jake finally closes the door and looks at you, he sees that you’ve got your arms folded over your chest and a giant smirk on your face.

“What?” he asks darkly.

Your smile widens. “That was cute.”

Jake takes a step from the door and looks away from you. He’s not about to get sucked back into your web of lies, no pun intended. “You wanna hand some out?” he asks.

“I thought you don’t want me traumatizing the children,” you respond sarcastically, stepping out of the corner toward him.

Jake glances at you with a small smile. “I can give you some clothes, if you like.”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Adult clothes?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Come on, before more kids show up.”

He makes his way into his bedroom and grabs a pair of jogging pants and t-shirt and brings them back out for you. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says.

“I remember,” you respond, but you’ve already started to remove your bodysuit.

Jake turns away in alarm and holds out the clothes for you. “Do you?”

“Come on, it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” you say. “Shoot, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Jake groans. “Are you for fucking real?”

“You got a pair of boxers?”

Jake swallows uncomfortably. “Hold this,” he instructs, keeping a hand over his eyes as he hands you the crumpled clothes and starts back for his bedroom.

“You know what? I’ll just go commando.”

Jake takes a deep, cleansing breath and turns back toward you. He keeps his eyes closed and holds a hand out so as not to bump into anything as he walks. Of course, as luck would have it, he stumbles into you.

“What the fuck, dude?” you exclaim as his hands cling to your naked body, steadying you so you don’t fall over.

Jake squeezes his eyes tightly so that they don’t open inadvertently. “Sorry, sorry!” he winces, finally stabilizing both himself and you. He feels the softness of your skin underneath his palms as his hands do a final sweep along your back before he lifts them away from your body with a grimace. He’s bracing himself for a punch in the face.

“Are you a dumbass? Open your eyes!” you screech. “You’ve seen me naked how many times?!”

“Twelve,” he responds, a little hoarsely. All he can think about is how smooth your skin felt in his hands not a moment ago and it’s driving him a little mad.

“It was a rhetorical question,” you say pointedly. “You counted?”

“Are you decent yet?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“I’m never decent,” you mutter under your breath and Jake can’t help but smirk. “But if you’re asking whether or not I’m dressed. Then, yes, I am.”

Jake releases a heavy sigh and opens his eyes cautiously.

You scowl at him. “What, you think I’m tricking you?”

“Well, you aren’t treating me.”

You stare at him coolly. “You’re such a delight. Can’t imagine why we ever broke up.”

“Need a reminder?” he calls as you make your way back into the front hall. “It’s because you cheated on me!”

You’re standing at the front door with your arms crossed. “I didn’t cheat, for the last time,” you retort. “We weren’t exclusive.”

Jake presses his lips into a thin line. “I was exclusive.”

You shake your head in frustration. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

There’s another knock on the door. You sigh irritably and reach for the doorknob.

“Hello!” you exclaim enthusiastically the moment the door is open.

The mob of children on Jake’s doorstep all look up at you with exuberant grins and yell their opening line in a loud, messy chorus.

You react with an animated gasp. “Oh my goodness! You guys are a frightful bunch!”

The kids laugh. Indeed, they’re dressed as zombies, ghosts, and vampires, and, when you comment on their appearance, they growl and make scary faces at you. Jake smiles at them and then at you as you distribute the candy from the cauldron excitedly.

Once the door is closed, however, you drop the act, giving him an icy look as you settle yourself on the little bench near the door.

Jake fights the urge to sit next to you and maybe get a little lost in the smell of your perfume. He still gets a whiff of it from time to time when he walks by his closet. Which reminds him –

“I have your sweater,” he says awkwardly.

You glance up at him coldly. “Well, why didn’t you give it to me? It’d probably look better than this.” You tug on the hem of the t-shirt he gave you.

Jake doubts it; the fact that he could see your nipples through the fabric of his own shirt is even more of a turn on than your low-cut bodysuit had been. But he responds with, “Probably. But I’m not about to let you change again.”

You snort. “Fair.”

Jake wonders just how detrimental sitting next to you might be to his personal journey of recovery. He figures that you also would prefer that he stay as far away from you as possible. Ultimately, however, he decides that it’s his bench, after all, and that he’ll be sharing it with you and not the other way around. And, with regard to getting over you, well, he can try again tomorrow.

Jake makes his way over to the bench and you eye him cautiously as he approaches. Silently, you slide to make room for him. He gulps nervously and lowers himself onto the seat beside you.

“What were you doing at the bus stop, anyway?” he asks, staring down at his own clasped hands because he can’t handle looking at you when you’re sitting so close.

“Frank and I were on our way to a party,” you respond sullenly.

Jake glances up at you despite himself. “Thought you two broke up.”

You meet his gaze and promptly look away – apparently, you’re not too keen on engaging in eye contact at this proximity either. “We did,” you say curtly. “About an hour ago.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “An hour ago?”

“We had a fight on the way. I hopped out of the car at a red light.”

Jake leaps out of his seat. “Are you crazy?” he exclaims. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

You give him an amused look. “Don’t you fly jets for a living?”

Jake gapes at you incredulously. “I trained for that,” he retorts.

You let out a small laugh. “You’re right,” you reply. “I should’ve practiced first.”

Jake draws a hand over his mouth. “Okay, so you got out of the car in the middle of traffic,” he says with a wince. “And he, what? Just let you go?”

You shrug. “Wouldn’t you?”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “In what you were wearing? I wouldn’t even let you go to the bathroom by yourself.”

You stare at him with a grin. “That’s a bit excessive.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “How many guys made passes at you before you finally decided that taking the bus home wasn’t the brightest idea?”

You lower your gaze without responding.

“As if that douchebag just left you,” Jake says angrily.

“Well, I wasn’t being very nice.”

“There’s a surprise.”

You eye him dangerously.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” Jake says. “This isn’t the safest neighbourhood.”

You suck in your cheeks and nod. “Yeah, I was pretty freaked out actually,” you admit. “There was a group of guys following me and they kept making lewd comments. When I got to the bus stop, they sort of surrounded me…”

You trail off and Jake’s hands curls into fists of their own volition. “I could kill your boyfriend.”

“Ex,” you remind him.

“Whatever,” he says. After a moment, he asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod. “I pretended to call someone – you actually,” you say with a laugh. “I had a whole fake conversation with you on my way over. They lost interest in me after a little while and took off.”

He watches you solemnly. “You could’ve actually called me,” he says.

Your face turns skeptical. “Right. And you’d pick up?”

Probably not. “Of course,” he responds. Then he sighs and shakes his head. “Maybe I wouldn’t.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

Jake sighs and sits back down beside you.

Several more groups of trick-or-treaters come and go and you and him take turns answering the door. Occasionally, both of you jump up at the same time and end up oohing and aahing in unison at the various costumes that grace Jake’s doorstep.

This activity does little to help quell the feelings he’s tried for months to repress. He remembers grudgingly the night he told you he was falling for you and you telling him that you weren’t ready for that kind of commitment. That’s when he found out that he wasn’t the only one you’d been seeing.

In your defense, it’s not something you had been actively hiding. In fact, you probably thought that Jake was also sleeping around, given his reputation. But Jake caught feelings like an idiot and was heartbroken when you finally showed your cards.

He spent nearly a year convincing himself that you’re absolute scum. Yet, here you are, looking cute as a button in his joggers and t-shirt, laughing giddily at the neighborhood children like you’re some kind of sweetheart. Like you could fool him now.

Jake slumps back down on the bench, trying to interact with you as little as possible. He can sense that you’re starting to win him over again, and he can’t have that happen. He will not be seduced.

You sit beside him with a grand sigh and lean your head back against the wall. “You get a lot of kids here,” you say lightly.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, bending forward to rest his arms on his legs.

“I’m getting hungry,” you say. “You?”

Jake closes his eyes. The last thing he needs is a fucking dinner date with you. “There are some leftovers in the fridge. You can go heat some up for yourself.”

You lay a hand on his back and Jake goes rigid. “You’re not going to eat?” you ask.

“Not hungry,” he manages to say.

Your hand slides unhurriedly down his spine, your fingers grazing him delicately. Jake brings a fist to his mouth to suppress a moan. “I’ll wait, then,” you say softly. Then, before Jake can gather the strength to remove himself from the situation, you lean your body into his and rest your head on his shoulder.

Jake sits very still, trying to decide how best to navigate this turn of events.

“Do you ever miss me?” you murmur faintly.

Jake turns his head to look down at your face while his heart springs into his throat to constrict his breathing. “What are you doing?” he asks huskily.

Your eyes stare deeply into his. “I’m just wondering,” you whisper.

Jake sighs and rubs his forehead. “You just broke up with Frank.”

Your eyes start to fill with tears. “I miss you.”

“Fuck,” Jake mutters and straightens his back. His head drops like a deadweight against the drywall in behind.

You’re displaced in the process but, once he’s situated, you slowly move closer, until your head is resting over his chest.

Jake grits his teeth but wraps his arm around you and, in response, you lay your arm over his abdomen. He can feel your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. He tightens his embrace around your shoulders and curses some more, in silence this time. What is it about you that he just can’t resist?

You lift your head off his chest so you can be face to face with him. Jake tries very hard not to lock eyes with you because that would likely be the end of him. “Jake,” you say in a wispy sort of tone and Jake instantly loses that fight. He meets your gaze, and your eyes entrance him. “I want you to kiss me,” you breathe.

Jake can almost taste the citrus of your perfume; it hangs over you like a veil. He can already hear your melodic moans; he knows what you sound like when he touches you. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the ardent urging of your hands as they slip underneath his shirt.

But what he can’t do is kiss you.

Your lips… your lips are all he can think about. He wants you more than anything in the world but you’re not here the same way he’s here; you’re just passing through while he’s here to stay.

You come impossibly close, aching for just a split second of contact. “Don’t you want to?” you whisper.

Jake can hardly stand being this close to you. “Why are you doing this?” he asks in a low, uneven voice.

You gulp and the tip of your nose brushes his. “I want to be with you, Jake,” you whimper, your fingers digging persistently into his ribs. Your travelling hands ignite a chain of pyrotechnics under his skin that sort of set his entire chest ablaze. “Don’t you want that?”

If only you knew how much. He shakes his head, cupping your cheek in his hand. “How can that be? When you’ve only been single for an hour?”

Your eyes start to sparkle. “You don’t believe me?”

He’ll never believe a word you say. But that doesn’t make him want you any less. He catches the tears that stream down your face with his thumb.

“I never got over you, Jake,” you say, clasping your hand over his on your cheek. “I think about you all the time.”

Jake leans his head into yours and grips your hand in his. If you’re telling the truth, he sympathizes. But, more likely than not, every word coming out of your mouth is fiction.

You push him away and sit up straight, wiping at your tears. “I never meant to hurt you,” you say. “I made a mistake. I realized that the moment you left. And I was too proud to go after you.”

Jake grimaces. “So, you dated Frank for ten months?”

You shrug. “On and off. He cheated on me, so…” you trail off with a cynical laugh. “Got what I deserved.”

Jake furrows his brows. “You don’t deserve that.”

You glance up at him with renewed hope. “I don’t deserve you,” you say with a strangled sigh. “I know that. And you know that, obviously. Which is why you won’t kiss me.”

Jake shakes his head.

“I know that it’s long over, Jake. I’m not delusional,” you say, your eyes so penetrating it feels like they’re clawing right into his soul. “And, I swear, I did not come here for this. It’s just, seeing you again – and your fucking disgustingly adorable adult shirt – handing out candy like a well-adjusted member of society – it reminded me what I missed out on.”

Jake lifts his eyebrows. “A lame, costume-less, party-less Halloween?”

You smile. “It’s not lame. It’s perfect.”

Jake watches you wretchedly. You may look innocent sitting before him in his very own baggy joggers and t-shirt with your dizzyingly beautiful eyes. But you are a fucking black widow. With a venomous bite. And sweet lips that spew lies, webs of which he could never untangle. Poison on the tongue. Toxic to the bone. Fatal. “You’re perfect,” he says.

You gaze at him tenderly, waiting for your moment to strike. Jake is waiting too. There’s no use fighting it, he lost the moment he met you. And he’ll lose as many times as it will take to win you for good.

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. Let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

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[lefarte]

Marina is so neglected in the xreader scene, could you do something for her? (F reader lets go lesbians!)

There are multiple requests for Marina in my inbox rn ladies love Marina

tags: warning for alcohol, ok so as a general rule I only do GN reader but I made this one more feminine 4 u

“What is that?”

Marina pressed the bottle towards you with a big grin. “It’s vodka, dummy.”

You pursed your lips. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“I like to party, moje láska…” She giggled.

You rolled your eyes and took the glass bottle out of her hands. You swished the bottle of garbage-vodka a bit to find it was already half empty, or perhaps more like two thirds of the way empty. What had put you at pause was that the rim of the bottle was coated with sweet-scented pink lip gloss. The culprit was twirling her hair like a giggling idiot and repeating “mooojeeee láskaaaaa” and “mojeeeeee holkaaaa” as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

You took a sip. “You know, I don’t know what that means.”

She just looked at your bubblegum-stained lips with a big stupid grin. “Aha….”

You pretended to ignore her teasing. “I never thought I’d see you speak your mother tongue.”

“It was satirical!” She scrunched up her nose pridefully, almost looking a bit shy. “I was being wry and… and facetious!!”

“Your wit is sharp as ever.” You nodded.

Without warning, she crawled into your lap like a little bug, and laid her head down on your thighs. You made a little ‘whoa’ noise in response.

“You don’t understand the joke…” she muttered drunkenly. “Don’t understand my jooookeess…. Boooo…”

“You’re drunk as a skunk.”

“Drunk as a skunk.” She parroted.

You took another small sip. It burned in your throat. “Explain the joke to me, then.”

She started to twiddle her thumbs, like she was embarassed. “It was this song my dad used to listen to on the radio all the time… I freaking hated it…. There was this guy, and he was like… uh… Ó, lásky mé, čas mě táhne k vám… Váš smích i pláč měl jsem rád a mám…”

You brushed her hair out of her mouth. “I’ve never heard that song. And also, you’re slurring your words so much that I can’t understand you.”

“I’m drunk as a skunk.” Her embarrassment was as gone as soon as it came, and she was grinning up at you again. “Drunk as a skunk. Ahaha!”

[sebastianswallows]

A new family — Chapter 2

— PAIRING: dark!Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: Ominis gets tired of his family and how miserable life is with them after he graduates. So he follows Sebastian's example for once, and kills them in cold blood. Now that he has the mansion to himself, he discovers he would still like to have a family, but one of his own making.

— WARNINGS: none, just Omi being sneaky

— WORDCOUNT: 2k

— TAGLIST: @littletealight @skarathewitch

“This is a pretty impressive place…”

“Is it? I never noticed.”

“You’re just being facetious now.”

“I assure you, I’m not.”

When she arrived at the mansion via floo, Ominis was there to greet her. The fireplace in the living room was large enough for her to stand in. The elves carried her suitcase upstairs while Ominis served her mint lemonade to clear her throat after the powdery journey. Then, he led her on a tour of the place.

He could tell from her tone of voice that she liked it. This was probably on the grander side of things compared to what she was used to. It was curious, walking ahead of her and hearing the subtle ways her voice changed when she looked up or behind her as he described each room, gawking, he imagined, in a bit of wonder.

Gaunt manor was not the greatest wizarding residence by far, ranking far below what the Blacks and Malfoys owned. The family was past its golden years and in this generation had fallen, befittingly, to silver, thanks to his father’s unwise spending and his mother’s rash investment choices. Marvolo, the celebrated son, was even worse at managing expenses than their parents were.

Ominis didn’t use to care. It could all turn to dust as far as he was concerned. But now that he was on course to being the sole inheritor (once he resolved the Marvolo issue), he found himself being a bit more interested.

So it soothed him somewhat to hear his friend so impressed with the estate.

“You can stay however long you wish, you know,” he smiled, turning his head toward her as he led her up the stairs.

“What about your parents?” she asked.

“Oh, they’ve been gone for over a week already. If they were going to return, I’m sure they would have by now.”

“Don’t you think you should go looking for them?”

“No,” he said coolly. “Why?”

“Right… I forgot how you felt about them.”

“It’s not about how I felt about them,” he pressed, stopping at the top of the stairs. “It’s how they were.”

“Or how they are?”

He paused, privately embarrased by how he almost gave himself away. Did Sebastian ever slip up like this?

“Well, right now they are not here, so it’s irrelevant.” Before she could read too much into his words, he changed his tone and smiled. “Come, I’ll show you to your bedroom.”

There were many rooms to choose from, but he gave her a suite right next to his, on the eastern side of the house. It caught the first light in the morning and was quite dark at night, perfect for a restful stay. What he didn’t mention was that there was a little door blended into the wallpaper that connected her room to his.

“The elves must’ve brought your luggage here by now.”

“They have,” she said with a bright smile as she walked around the room. “But, Ominis, you know I could make do with a little cupboard to live in…”

“Nonsense,” he grinned. “You’re my guest, and I want you to feel welcome. Now, make yourself comfortable and afterwards I’ll show you the grounds outside. We can have lunch there too.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll be in the living room.”

The ticking of the grandfather clock mounted above the fireplace filled the silence while he waited for her. He’d already told the elves to prepare a lunch for two at the large table on the veranda near the rose garden, and had given them a plan for the whole next week filled with the dishes he knew she liked. Every meal, every sweet, even the drinks, all were chosen from her favourites. The bookshelves in the reading room as well were stocked with her favourite books, and as he picked them, he’d taken the liberty to bring out some of his father’s hidden studies on dark magic.

It was a subject he had long avoided, although over the years it became impossible to escape the teachings of his parents, especially those that were enforced on him. He’d tried to forget all the curses, the jinxes and hexes they’d taught him, and now he strove to remember them.

Something had always felt wasted about his childhood, and he used to think that was because of how unhappy he was around his family — and what a tragedy that was all on its own, to not feel safe at home, among his only flesh and blood — but now Ominis began to think it was because of his repressions. He’d rejected dark magic because they liked it, he willed himself to be the opposite of his tormentors, and fashioned himself into someone who was a stranger to them… but also to himself.

How many opportunities had he missed out on by forcing himself into a wilful mental construction, a fake persona, an act of escapism? How many adventures, how much fun, how much exploration of the magic and the literature that existed, even in the small world of his childhood, had he kicked away from himself out of fear? He had been — and still felt himself as being — so concerned with the notion of regret, of mistakes, of needless trouble, that he had forgotten to live. Now, he found himself with no life at all.

“That’s about to change,” he said to himself as he waited quietly in the armchair for his friend to come down the stairs. “It might feel like it’s too late, but it isn’t. It’s never too late.”

“What isn’t too late?” she asked breathlessly as she stepped into the living room.

“Lunch,” he smiled, getting up from the armchair with a spring in his step. “With me, outside.”

“The room is lovely, by the way. Thank you,” she said as she came closer. “I’m ready now”

Ominis closed the distance and took her hand, hearing a little gasp escape her. “This way.”

He led her out through another door, opposite to the main entrance, into a hallway that opened to a pair of glass doors. Ominis could feel the sunlight streaming on his face as they approached and passed through it out onto the grounds. This was the back of the house, with a little maze of hedges and a fountain with a statue of a serpent in the middle.

“That over there is supposed to be a basilisk,” he said. “By the sound of it, it’s turned on.”

“Turned on?”

“It’s streaming water from its mouth, is it not?”

“Oh,” she giggled. “Yes, it is.”

A smile curved Ominis’ lips, and he held her hand tighter.

He didn’t even need the wand to show him the way, he knew it by heart. Going around, he walked with her to the front, where the gravel turned to a neat cobblestone path.

“You can see the forest far to the right,” he said without turning. “Where my parents disappeared.”

“What is in those woods?” she asked quietly.

“Old oaks and beech trees. And a few wild animals too. Foxes, deer, wolves, and boars mostly…”

“Do you think that’s what happened to them?”

“Possibly. They’re just as likely to have tripped on an overgrown tree root as to have been mauled by a boar,” he shrugged.

She knew how he felt about his parents, and most importantly knew why. Every summer was a reminder, when her letters never reached him and she spent the months wondering how he was. She had come to fear his parents almost as much as he did.

It gave some comfort now to Ominis that he didn’t have to hide his indifference toward their deaths, even if it was for a reason she did not yet suspect. So he walked forward with her hand in his and showed her around the other side of the mansion.

“This is where the greenhouse is,” he said, pointing vaguely ahead. “It is connected to the house.”

“It looks lovely!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled. “We grow some poisonous plants there, so be wary. But it is otherwise a comfortable spot, especially in winter. Makes for good reading.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grinned. “Although I’m not sure I will still be here come winter.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirked, his face turning toward her slightly. “Now, we come to the best part.”

A bit toward the right from where they started, behind a certain angle of the house, was a little flower garden enclosed by stout green shrubs. A few fruit trees grew there too, apples and cherries heavy with fruit. Songbirds rested in their branches. But what dominated the field were waves and waves of white roses.

“Oh, Ominis,” she said with wonder. “It’s so beautiful.”

They slowed their pacing as they approached, and he took the time to feel her hand in his. It was warm, and soft, and his began to sweat, but he could not let go.

The rose garden was not as well tended as it should have been. His parents didn’t think it a priority. It was a wild and thorny growth, coiled and dangerous, but Ominis was still fond of it. It was mostly tended to by the elves, and primarily at his instruction.

“Careful you don’t get pricked,” he said, squeezing her hand as they got closer.

“Don’t worry,” he heard her grin. “I’ve been through worse than a flower garden.”

“Not a Gaunt one, I’m sure,” he smirked.

“You’re not that scary, Omi,” she said fondly, turning toward him. The scent of roses surrounded them now.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm…”

“How long do you plan to stay?” he suddenly asked.

They stopped in front of a large rose bush and she let go of his hand so that she could touch them, smell them, feel their velvety petals.

“Not very long,” she said. “I wouldn’t like to impose.”

“It’s no imposition,” said Ominis, stepping closer. “On the contrary… I want you here.”

“Really?” she asked innocently, turning toward him. “What for?”

“For company?” he offered. “For companionship? For…”

“You miss Hogwarts, don’t you?” she grinned.

“I miss you.”

She said nothing, and for a moment the breath froze in his lungs. He had said too much… But then, her fingers curled around his own again and she held his cold hand in hers.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said closely. The intimacy of it made him flush.

“I… I’m glad to hear that,” he grinned.

“Are you?”

Holding her hand, he stepped closer. “Stay longer,” said Ominis. He could feel her breath fan on his neck. “Stay the whole summer, and even longer than that.”

“Why?” she asked quietly.

“I never want to miss you again.”

“Ominis…”

“I know it’s a bit unexpected coming from me. I was always a bit of a cold fish, wasn’t I?”

“No…”

“Not hot-blooded like Sebastian, right?”

“No, that’s not —”

“I’m all alone in this house,” he said. “But I don’t regret that my family disappeared. I don’t expect they’ll appear again, and if they do you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I know,” she said. “I trust you.”

“But I don’t want to live here alone. If I want to spend my days with anyone, it’s with you.”

“I… I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to say anything now. I just told you so that you know where I stand.”

She said nothing. Although he couldn’t see her face, he could feel her hand getting damp in his grasp, could feel the hints of nervous trembling and excitement. It said more than her face or her words ever could.

“And if you change your mind at any point… If Sebastian ever writes back,” he said with a light smirk, “then you are free to leave. And, of course, to return.”

He knew what she was thinking. Sebastian would only get in touch with her when he wanted something — that’s what he always did. And by leaving the door open for her to return, Ominis already placed into her mind the inevitability that, should Sebastian show interest in her again, it would not be long-lived…

His fingers squeezed her hand.

“Let’s go have lunch,” he smiled, pulling her with him toward the veranda.

She followed with a light step and a tight, warm grip.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 49.5

➻ characters: mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa, san, minho, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 11.4k ➻ rating: m/18+ ➻ chapter specific warnings: talks of addiction & death ➻ pre a/n: as always, interims are completely optional and made in a way to where you won’t miss out on significant plot if you choose not to read! however, i highly recommend that you read them to better understand the full context of the story ^-^

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

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very important pre-chapter note: at the end of mingi’s pov there is a break. at this point, the story is not happening in chronological order. everything that occurs after that break happens prior to recovering mc/minho from rathmos. then it switches back to after recovering them from rathmos. i think i made it very clear in the narrative but i wanna cover all my bases too so please note that happy reading ^-^

──────────── act seven ➻ part 1.5

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It’s as the soft wrap over his knuckles sinks into the flesh of the punching bag before him that the door slides open and brings a visitor into the training room with Mingi. It does nothing to stop the pace of his swings, nor does it deter him from his course of action — that being to beat the shit out of an inanimate object, that is — but it does serve to make his senses hone in on the body that just stepped into the room.

Alone.

Laying his hand flat against the bag, Mingi steadies the weight of it before it swings back to him wildly and turns to face the newcomer head-on.

“Do you truly wish to be here, Doctor?” he asks before he even gets a good look at the person. He doesn’t need his eyes to know who it is anyway; the aura of the man is foreign and unnatural to him so there’s no one else it could be besides the new doctor.

“I was in search of the captain, but this’ll do just fine.” His voice lilts a bit, but the sound is grating on Mingi’s ears. “We have not spoken yet. How do you feel about my joining the crew?”

“You’re not Yunho.”

“No, I’m not.” His expression seems to twist in a way that implies he wants Mingi to believe he’s being tentative and careful about this conversation, but the tone of his voice is so directly opposite that that the Berserker sees straight through the ruse. “Is that an issue to you?”

He wants to pick apart your brain.

“You’re not Yunho,” Mingi repeats with more force to each word, “so you don’t know what questions to ask.”

He wants to cause trouble.

“Does that make you feel uncomfortable in my presence?”

Minho, he thinks his name was when Jongho mentioned bringing him onboard and showing him around. He isn’t all too interested in learning the man’s name or anything personal about him, however, when it’s so highly unlikely that he will be around for long.

“I don’t feel things the way you do, nor do I process tonal or visual implications the way you do.” Mingi is at the very least careful in the way he lets the doctor know that he’s not as sneaky as he hopes to be. “That’s your first mistake.”

“First?” There’s a level of amusement to the way Minho speaks, and it grates against Mingi’s mood terribly.

Plaything. Fool. Blood.

“Your second was entering this room alone.”

Blood, blood, blood.

The doctor licks his lips, eyes flitting to the panel beside the door that will let him out quickly, and Mingi feels the first delicious hit of fear radiate off the man a split second later.

“But I won’t hurt you.”

You could. You could kill him so easily. Wrap your fingers around his neck and feel the tendons snap under your weight, feel the bones shift under your fingertips. Think about the blood that would spill if you split him open.

“How gracious of you. I suppose I should thank you for your kindness and mercy?”

“I want to kill you. You’d best keep from acting facetious in my presence because that only makes me want to snap your neck. It wouldn’t be too difficult. I’m certainly stronger than you so I can align your neck to whatever angle I want without issue and violently twist your head so quickly that your neck snaps and crushes your windpipe. It wouldn’t be instant or painless, you’d probably feel quite a bit of pain in that scenario. You wouldn’t be able to breathe at all though, and given how much pain you would be suffering, you would very desperately want to breathe. It would take minutes for you to die, and I would feel none too torn up over it. All that to say, I do not want you as my doctor. I will remain with Yunho.”

“I understand that changing something on such a personal and sometimes intimate level can be daunting. Not everyone is open or willing to change such monumental things. However, as a doctor seeking the best interest of those around him above all else, it is my personal recommendation that you give my services a try. Your personal relationship with Yunho outside of him being your doctor is cause for concern, not because it’s wrong but because it puts a conflict of interest on Yunho’s shoulders.” Minho finds some confidence again as he speaks, and now that the veil has fallen, there is far more honesty to both his tone and expression. It matches exactly what Mingi feels rolling off of him in waves now, every facet matching and in harmony with fear ebbing away by the second.

It makes the voices quieter and quieter, too, until it’s easier to ignore them and push them down.

“If you are honest with me on all fronts, then that’s best for your safety too,” he relays to the doctor quickly. Sharp, cat-like eyes hone in on Mingi’s face. His gaze is similar to San’s in that regard, though San’s holds far more darkness and many more secrets. “Trying to deceive me will only put you in danger.”

“Ah. I think I understand then. My tone, my expression, my emotions — if all three are in line, then… that makes things easier for you?” Mingi nearly laughs out loud for no discernible reason other than sheer disbelief. It took this man all of a minute to understand what took Yunho several years to dissect, with little more than vague threats to guide him to the right answer. “Is that why you do so well in the presence of children?”

Mingi hums his approval, settling with the fact that he likely won’t be returning to the punching bag again today. As he begins to strip the soft wraps off his hands and arms, he takes a step in the doctor’s direction.

“Children have a much harder time lying than adults do. They don’t understand how to deceive or manipulate others’ thoughts and feelings as well either. If they do lie, their tone and expression both match what they’re feeling inside, which would be the conscious knowledge that they’re lying. It all matches. But an adult, an adult can do what you just did upon walking into this room. Feel overwhelming confidence in what they’re about to do, express with their face and gestures that they’re timid instead, and speak in a tone that implies cautiousness and lack of knowledge. You’ve already my file. You know a great deal about me. You did not need to ask my feelings about you joining this crew or my comfort level around you. You already knew, and I felt that.”

“Incredible,” Minho mutters to himself, and the wonder shines through in his gaze too. “Your file did fail to mention the astounding levels of intelligence you possess, although I sense that you do not weaponize it often in front of others unless it’s to warn the way you just did to me.”

“You would be correct.” He sidesteps the doctor to dispose of the leftover wrap in the waste bin near the wall. The man is still a bit in the way, almost blocking the door but not enough for Mingi to be unable to leave, and even as Mingi puts his palm on the touchpad, Minho steps further out of his path. Not out of fear, Mingi notes, but rather some minute level of consideration.

“How truly fortuitous it is that you live amongst such liars and deceivers then.”

The whoosh of the door opening fills his ears with white noise, and it’s joined by a clamor in his brain that spreads distance cheers and clanging metal.

“I expect we will speak again in the future, Doctor. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same to you, Mingi. Take care.”

“Oh, and for future reference, you’ll never find the captain down in here.”

“So it seems.” The lilt pushes its way back into Minho’s tone, but the door is already sliding back shut and putting a wall between them. Nails bite into Mingi’s palm as he curls them into a tight fist and refrains from slinging a punch at the wall. Of course he was never after Hongjoong; the man has enough sense to realize that that would have been the last place to look, and yet Mingi fell for that excuse hook, line, and sinker. He almost wants to call the doctor a genius simply on account of how well he pulled Mingi like putty in his hands.

“Everyone in life is after something, Mingi. They will all seek to use you, to lie to you, to deceive you. But I will you the power to fight back. My son, I will give you the power to kill. To fight. To win.”

“How amusing,” he mutters to himself. He won’t lay hands on the doctor as of yet — wouldn’t dare do so without permission from the captain — but should the time come, he imagines it wouldn’t be too difficult a task to snap his neck. A gun to the back of the head would cause too much of a mess, of course, and Spectre would likely not be pleased with having to clean up after him when he could be spending said time with his lover. A knife in the ribs would work too, perhaps, if he wants something more drawn out. The man is a doctor at the end of the day, however, so it would be best to end his life quickly so as to avoid the possibility of him trying to help himself.

Mingi winds up standing at his captain’s door shortly after, and he doesn’t bother knocking at the metal before making his way into the room. The lights are dimmed but not enough to keep the captain from view. It’s hardly a glorious sight either: slumped over his desk with papers strewn about as usual, but also accompanied by an open bottle of liquor near his left hand. There’s no glass in sight, but Mingi finds one soon enough as he pushes closer to the scene. Seemingly, it had rolled off the desk or out of Hongjoong’s hand at some point to find a new home on the carpet in front of the desk. It’s still in one piece, at the very least, though it lays atop a dark splotch on the carpet that makes the room reek of alcohol. Though he could wake Hongjoong now with no trouble, he opts not to for the time being. It’s easier to leave him asleep, easier to see him sleeping and not feel the full weight of everything the captain feels like the worst crashes of a tidal wave against him. So silently, Mingi collects the cork and presses it into the bottle, then picks up the glass tumbler that fell to the ground to add it to the mess on the desk.

“Lieutenant to Captain’s quarters.” The words are quiet enough to not disturb Hongjoong from his spot at the desk. Dragging the lieutenant into this mess isn’t ideal either but Mingi knows his limits. He isn’t suited to look after the captain while he’s in this state, not in the slightest, and he would rather not risk making matters worse by trying. Content to stay until Seonghwa arrives, Mingi drops into one of the armchairs set across from Hongjoong’s desk.

“I’m entirely sober, you know.”

Mingi laughs through his nose.

“You’ve gotten better at playing dead.”

“You didn’t have to call Seonghwa up.” Despite insisting upon his sober state, Hongjoong still seems to struggle quite a bit in peeling himself off the desk. Even when he does get himself somewhat upright, he relies on resting his head against the heel of his hand to keep from falling right back down. “I was just looking through leads and fell asleep.”

“And did you find anything new?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth then closes it just as quickly, gaze turning to the side before he mutters out a half-hearted response, “Let’s wait for Seonghwa to arrive.”

The following knocks on the door are so passionate that it makes Hongjoong sit up straighter if not in shock then perhaps in mild fear because of how enraged the person behind said knocks seems.

“A minute and thirteen seconds,” Mingi quips just before the door opens.

“Are you fucking wasted again, Kim Hongjoong?!”

“He’s gotten quicker,” Hongjoong retorts to the Berserker across from him before moving his focus to the back of the room. “Would you like to come sit, Seonghwa?”

“You… are not drunk.” The tension in the room deflates like air being let out of a balloon, making the pressure on Mingi’s shoulders pull away into something more manageable.

“It’s barely nighttime, of course I’m not.”

The spike in frustration behind Mingi tells him that Seonghwa wishes to say much more in response to that but he holds his tongue instead. Likely out of consideration for none other than the Berserker, and he feels that in full when Seonghwa squeezes Mingi’s shoulder on his way to the other empty chair across from Hongjoong.

“Any idea where San’s at?” The captain’s focus remains honed on his lieutenant like a magnet being pulled in one direction. The question, however, has Seonghwa huffing air through his teeth and leaning further back in his seat.

“Probably fucking—occupied, if I had to guess. It’s late, after all.”

Hongjoong barely reacts to the comments as he busies himself with cleaning a fraction of the mess across his desk. “And? Call him up so he can get back to fucking Miss Occupied quickly.” Seonghwa scoffs. Mingi eyes each paper lifted carefully — each one bearing similar red streaks and scribbled words in ink around words and pictures but that’s the only constant amongst the papers.

“San to Captain’s quarters,” Seonghwa says against his wristband, eyes not leaving his captain even though the favor is not returned.

“Here—” Hongjoong finds a book hidden beneath the rubble of paper and leans across the desk to hand it to Seonghwa. When the lieutenant doesn’t react fast enough, Mingi meets them halfway and takes the book from his captain’s hand to pass it off to his lieutenant in a fluid motion. “Read over that when you get the chance. There are some interesting notes on Fortuna and what’s contained in it. Might be good to have some clue about what we’re looking for when the time comes.”

Some part of Seonghwa reaches out to Mingi and it stabs Mingi right in the chest like a knife. Firm and sharp and like a small needle digging into his heart. But Seonghwa’s face reads no clear emotion, and Mingi hasn't felt such a thing before, so he's lost in a vast sea of unknowns. He isn’t left time to debate it internally either, since San makes a loud and hasty arrival seconds later. Something to ask Yunho about later, he notes to himself.

“Sorry for being late,” the Spectre exhales, and based on his breathing and the amount of time it took him to arrive, he ran to the bridge thinking it to be an emergency. He comes to stand between the chairs where Mingi and Seonghwa sit, one hand coming to rest on the back of each one as he leans towards the captain’s desk. Though the gesture seems casual enough, Mingi can see the quick scan of San’s eyes across the papers and the man behind the desk himself. “Did something happen?”

Hongjoong turns a larger slab of paper — a map of what appears to be the Vida system — towards them with a red pen in hand. He brings it down to circle one of the planets.

“Gorgon. That’s our next stop.”

Silence answers the man for several dragging seconds before San offers a response.

“…Gorgon.”

“There has been talk recently of a witch there,” Hongjoong continues. He pulls back briefly, shuffling through one of his drawers before returning with a tablet. After a few taps, he has another map displayed, though this one is far more detailed and intricate than a simple galactic orientation map. “Sehteno is the most common name brought up regarding the rumors. Small city, rather out of the way compared to other more populated ones. The witch supposedly lives down in the gorge beneath the city, and there’s no direct way to get to her unless it’s through under-the-table dealings. Those won’t be an issue at all. Military is lax in the area and not connected to the Aurum military network, so it will be a sufficient enough place to lay low for a time. Have the crew rest and recuperate on land.”

“What kind of witch are we talking about?” San inquires next. Though Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, the answer comes from the man on San’s left instead.

“One that is rumored to communicate with the dead. Emphasis on rumored. We’ve looked into her in the past but nothing was concrete enough to warrant a search.” It isn’t as glaringly apparent, but Seonghwa’s tone holds some confusion too, indirect questions for Hongjoong to answer seconds later.

“I have a planet and the name of a city now. That ought to make things easier. A city is better than a planet, and a planet is better than a system. We have all those things and more. Black market dealings are nothing if not a specialty of ours.” The captain’s gaze shifts to the right to settle on Mingi. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but are you certain… you truly want to relive the past in this manner?”

“Is that what this is about?” His heart jumps a bit in his chest, a sudden burst of excitement that he isn’t used to, but this has been a mere pipedream for him for so long now that he never imagined it coming to fruition. “Is she capable of such things?” A true chance laid out before him now, one to settle the score and face the voices head-on. His fingers curl into his palms to curb the trembling anticipation now rushing through his body.

“I have high hopes that the rumors are true, but we do need to be prepared for the possibility of it not working out,” Hongjoong says under his breath.

“There’s always medication,” the lieutenant adds half a second later, keeping the quiet from lingering to any degree, “like those that Jongho takes.” But Mingi denies it with a shake of his head before the man can even finish speaking.

“Those are to dull the effects of what he feels a residual from his ability. There’s no medicine to quiet the voices.”

Hongjoong looks him in the eye, and Mingi stares back.

In that moment, he feels heat on the back of his neck, like that of the sun shining down on him, and there’s a heat clinging to his skin that makes him itch and burn. How long ago was it that they faced each other in a similar manner to this one? When the arena was very real and very present all around them both, when they stood face to face on the bloodstained sands and Hongjoong called for him to survive.

Kill, kill, kill!

Bring us his head, crush his bones, rip his throat out.

Past Hongjoong’s shoulder, residing as a phantom in the shadows, stands a man hunched over so far that he is at eye level with Mingi in the same way Hongjoong is. Dark brown hair greying to the point of obscurity, beady black eyes that reflect scenes of blood and corpses. It’s been so many years since Mingi set his hands around that man’s throat and forced the life out of him. The last witness to his crime of patricide is none other than the Healer, yet even after all these years, not once have they addressed it. He imagined coming to terms with such a loss was clean cut — finished as soon as it started and wiped clean once Mingi buried that body six feet in the ground behind Yunho’s clinic. His father is the last ghost trailing behind him, however, always moving with him and lingering in places where Mingi wants nothing more than to be alone. He’s settled whatever ghosts were left in that arena, and they’ve been quiet for some time now. All that remains is one bloody thumb pointed toward the ground and the raucous crowd that answers the call.

“Captain…”

“She is rumored to be capable of a lot of things if nothing else. I will see to it that she can do something for you.” His captain’s voice sounds muffled, like Hongjoong is speaking through a tank of water and Mingi’s ears are filled to the brim with liquid. Red seeps into the corners of his vision, then his eyes sting.

“I want them silenced for good,” he says through the metallic scent that brushes against his nose now. His mouth moves but nothing comes out. Hongjoong drops his gaze to the desk, and San’s hand moves from the chair to grasp Mingi’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure if that’s something she can do but we will do everything in our power to try. If nothing else, we can try.” His captain sounds certain and confident in ways that Mingi isn’t. “She may have information on where or how to find more Sirens too. The dead sometimes leave a trail that spreads far beyond that of the living.”

Hongjoong continues to speak, focus now redirected and shifted over to his lieutenant, but San is urging Mingi to his feet and ushering him around the chair. He barely has the right of mind to process what is going on, but the Spectre’s touch is so soft and gentle, something barely there in a feather-like sense, and it feels good on Mingi’s burning skin. He squeezes Mingi’s bicep as they reach the door. His palm spreads across Mingi’s shoulder blades when San turns and dismisses himself from the captain’s quarters.

The Berserker isn’t sure where he is or where they’re going, but San remains firmly by his side as they walk through long corridors and empty hallways. He blinks, and he’s returned to his room, sitting on the foot of his bed in a trance and a daze. The bathroom light is on. San emerges, cradled by the fluorescent light. He passes a damp rag into Mingi’s hands, then brings both of his up to cradle Mingi’s face.

“We will find a way to help you, Min,” the Spectre whispers. Mingi is confused as his face is brought against San’s chest, an awkward cradle meant to comfort him, though Mingi still isn’t wholly sure why he needs to be comforted, to begin with.

When San leaves and the door shuts to finally seal him away in solitude, Mingi looks down at the rag laid across his palms. Beneath it, four crescents dug deep into the skin and stained red with blood on each hand. The trail of crimson drips to the floor.

In the corner of the room, that phantom figure makes itself known again.

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“We’re nearing Sombre, Captain.” Hongjoong glances up from his desk to find his lead strategist standing in the doorway, prim and proper as ever with hands folded behind his back in a way that makes his chest puff out. “You’ll be needed at the helm in roughly ten minutes.”

“Understood. Dismissed, Yeosang.” The room falls so quiet that Hongjoong nearly forgets that he is not alone; it’s only the slight stirring from the chair dragged up against the wood of his desk that clues him into the present again.

“I presume your decision is made then?” Seonghwa’s voice grates on his ears with a sharpness that Hongjoong is quickly growing used to from the man. He clenches his fingers hard around the pen in his hand.

“No.”

A sigh pushes past Seonghwa’s lips. The noise would humor Hongjoong if not for how irritated he is because Seonghwa sounds like he’s having to deal with a petulant child and the rather immature parts of the captain wish to cause some sort of distress in his right-hand man.

“We have one Siren. One, if she is not present on this crew. Please do not tell me you are so bothered by a woman that you would set our goals back so far.”

“We need Sirens,” Hongjoong prepares his counterargument internally as he speaks, and Seonghwa preemptively shakes his head. “And we need useful Sirens. What does she have to offer us beyond her status as a Siren? Good with a gun? A fair shot? Hot-headed, brash, arrogant, disobedient, messy, and walking cesspool of volatility, authority issues, and a savior complex. Did I cover all the bases?”

“If we didn’t so actively attempt to deceive and manipulate her, then perhaps—”

“Perhaps she would already be long gone! San alone was not enough to keep her on this crew and you know it!” Hongjoong jabs a finger at the man, pointed and accusatory in every manner. “You were the one to suggest your first tryst in bed with her, you wanted to offer that to her so that she would more readily stay, and more importantly trust you. I’m not at all surprised that you fell for her after fucking her once, and I warned you before you went through with it that your heart would hurt you in the long run.”

Seonghwa’s jaw snaps shut, making the scowl across his face appear all the more putrid.

“I knew you needed her!” In a shocking twist, their roles seem to flip — now Seonghwa’s tone carries a particular whine to it, the kind he uses when he begins to feel the weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders. Hongjoong debates leaving him to be crushed under it. It’s a thought that has crossed his mind time and time again, each time they found themselves in similar places in the past, but as always, he comes up short of carrying through with it. His duty, his purpose, and the whole reason he keeps pushing forward with this self-assigned task lie within Seonghwa and everything he encompasses. The first lamb brought to slaughter saved by the very hand that sought to kill him.

Reaching across the desk to plant his palm down on the wood near where Seonghwa sits, Hongjoong fights to meet the man’s gaze.

“I am not going to give her what she wants, Seonghwa. You know what happens when I go get her? She will say that she was right, that I need her, that I can’t complete my mission without her.”

“Heaven forbid you actually do, Hongjoong!” Seonghwa gets like this when he’s denied what he wants, and perhaps that fault lies on Hongjoong’s shoulders for always being so accommodating to him and rarely ever denying him those wants in their years together. He’s spoiled the Siren more than he deserves, surely.

“I need Sirens, not Y/n. I need what she is and nothing else.”

“Then lie to her. Tell her it’s for me, for San, for the sake of the crew — lie like you always do, Hongjoong. You’re damn good at it!”

The captain hisses through his teeth. The flare of anger in his gut is too hot to ignore, and his hand snaps up from its position to clasp around Seonghwa’s face. His fingers bite into the soft flesh of his cheeks, palm smothering soft pink lips and pinching them with the brutish metal of his rings. Seonghwa’s eyes are wide and round, carrying far more innocence than is truly accurate to what Hongjoong knows the man to be.

“I am very much of the mind to let her lie in the grave she dug for herself, Seonghwa. What is it we say whenever one of the crew makes a stupid decision on their own? We’ve long since agreed to let them deal with the consequences on their own.”

“Only if it isn’t a matter of life or death! That man will kill her the first chance he gets, the second he’s done with her, the moment whatever purpose she’s fulfilling for him runs dry! But I suppose it’s not any different than how we’re forcing her to live here, seeing as you’re so ready to throw her away the first chance you get.”

“You keep her close because it better keeps her in line. Do not let guilt in now, not at this point after all the trouble we’ve gone through to keep her right where she is! You have been twisting her arm this long. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you have done nothing to properly teach her how to use her Siren abilities. Are you insecure all of a sudden, dear? Think you’ll be replaced? Do you need to be the only Siren useful to me now? How selfish.”

Seonghwa wrenches himself free of Hongjoong’s grasp but it leaves a pretty red swell to the corner of his lips where Hongjoong’s ring caught on skin. The captain wishes to ruin him more, to see the scowl settle in and make his cheeks blot red with fury.

“Captain?” This time, it isn’t Yeosang who interrupts but rather San. Still bound to that cursed wheelchair, Hongjoong can’t look at him straight quite yet. The memory of just how close that bullet came to paralyzing him springs to the forefront of his mind each time he sets his sights on the man. Three seconds too slow, three seconds of horrible planning, three seconds of absolute failure in his position as their leader. Him, the one who is supposed to guide them safely and protect them from harm. One quick glance at the sorry state of his crew as of late makes him laugh at his own reflection. The perfect picture of failure he is.

“Can you fly the ship?” Hongjoong inquires of the man. San surely came in to ask something else seeing as no one called him to the captain’s quarters, but Hongjoong pays that no mind for now.

“I mean — yeah, I think I can?”

“Then…?” Seonghwa is pushing his luck to the limits today. Maybe Hongjoong is feeling some kind of graciousness for once because one glance at San makes the decision right then and there for him.

“If you want to get to Rathmos to save her, you can go fly the damn ship yourself. Get Yunho to help if you have to, but I will not be doing so myself.”

“Hongjoong, this is truly pathetic, are you serious right now?” Of course Seonghwa would take the order at face value with no care for the nuances behind it or what Hongjoong is truly offering for San. When she left, San was incapable of protecting her to any degree because of his injury, and while Hongjoong isn't keen on it, he does know how desperately San adores and loves that woman — as pathetic of a notion as that is in his eyes.

“Is it not you who is being cruel right now? Let him have this, Hwa, he needs this. He can tell her he was the one to convince me and that he was the one to fly us to her rescue even in his current physical state.”

“All because you can’t admit needing someone to be part of your crew?”

“As long as she knows how valuable she is, she will use that to her advantage to act out of line and against me, just as she has been since she got comfortable on the crew. The second she got comfortable, those feelings of gratitude that she held turned in an instant. If I am to break her of that nasty little habit, then she needs to think she is completely and utterly useless in my eyes.”

“No more. Please, Hongjoong. Don’t make me do anything more,” San whispers, eyes stuck to his lap. Seonghwa exhales a quiet sigh and turns his face away. “I-I will do anything you ask of me. You know that. I’ve always done that, but I just…”

The captain finds himself at a loss for words. His most loyal dog reduced to this level of disarray because of one woman? Incredulous.

“Your hand in things is finished,” he says in return, watching the way San’s expression lifts to something akin to relief in the blink of an eye. All that hope placed in the palm of Hongjoong’s hand — it’s intoxicating to see how heavily these men rely on his word. If he desired, he could snuff out that hope for good. “Go fly the ship. I said no more than a week, we need to pick up the pace if we’re to stay on schedule.”

“Thank you,” San says under his breath. He sees himself out quickly after, wheeling himself to the door and slipping out onto the bridge to leave Seonghwa and Hongjoong alone in the room together. Still, it takes quite some time for either of them to speak, and even when Hongjoong does decide to break the silence, the air feels thick with tension.

“I want you to tell her that San has had a greater hand in things than anyone realizes. If she knows how closely he truly works with us both, it will plant the seeds of doubt.”

Seonghwa licks over the front of his teeth.

“Could you consider letting San have this one thing?”

“This one thing?” The rage he felt earlier comes bubbling up again and threatens to spill over the edges. “He can have her as freely as he wishes once we’ve broken her down into obedience.”

“So you’re lying to him now too then? His hand in things isn’t finished — you’re using what he did against him.”

“And what did he do, pray tell?”

Seonghwa is silent.

“I have not asked him to do anything cruel or unusual. I know San. He will do everything in his power to keep her close to him, and it will work. So I have zero concerns about the relationship between them failing. I did not lie. He has nothing more to do for me in regard to her destruction. Anything that happens next will be of his own volition.”

“Are you gonna turn her into the last one, is that it? Because he still has blood on his hands from that incident, don’t think I’ve fucking forgotten. I didn't ask him to try to kill the last one even though Jin was plotting a fucking mutiny against us! The only reason he got away with his bullshit is because you called San off before he could take care of the fucking problem.”

“You'd like it though, wouldn’t you?” Hongjoong tilts his chin upwards a hair to stare down the bridge of his nose in Seonghwa’s direction. “Love being the only one of value to me, the only one special to me, I bet you would kill her in her sleep if I told you enough pretty words.”

“Don’t. Don’t do it.”

“Anyway, if that becomes an inescapable need, I won't have him do it. I'll do it myself if I have to. Speak again when you’ve come back to your senses.” Seonghwa turns docile without much effort on his part but seeing him slump back in the chair in such a childlike manner makes the gears in his brain turn a little bit faster. He leans forward, moving his elbow up to the table in the same motion, and rests the side of his face against his knuckles. “Do you propose another idea, Seonghwa?”

Wordlessly, the man blinks at the side of Hongjoong’s desk several times before deigning to look the man behind it in the eye.

“You’re becoming obsessed again, to the point of derangement. You’ve been spiraling bit by bit for a while now, but San’s… the mission to retrieve San and the subsequent visit to my mother were like simultaneous breaking points. I need Y/n here, on this crew, on this ship, to prevent what happened when Jin left from happening again. I am still your lieutenant, Hongjoong, and I am still on your side as always. Please, trust that I will not allow her to have any thoughts of mutiny, and should those thoughts arise, I will take whatever steps necessary to squash them.”

The captain grins.

“It’s an honor to have you, Lieutenant Park.”

“And you, Captain.”

────────────

He hasn’t been down this far in the depths of the ship in some time. It’s rare for the captain to go further than the mess hall, though he does so today. It makes his mind wander back to times when the crew was far different and not full of the faces he’s grown used to seeing in the past few years, times when he (according to some) was a better captain to his crew. As time went on, so did the need for him to wander from door to door asking things of those who pledged their loyalty to him. He walks with purpose now to one door in particular that has not been used for months on end. It opens before he can even bring his knuckles up to the metal.

“Captain. I thought I heard your brooding coming down the hall.”

“Two days and you’ve made yourself at home already, I take it?”

The doctor, with his fading lilac hair and upturned lips, gives a few sideways nods.

“Something like that. Come in?”

Hongjoong hasn’t made himself accustomed to the interior designs of his crew either, though Minho’s room still holds memorabilia from people long passed that he does recognize. From the knick-knacks on the shelves to the cheap carpet sitting at the foot of the dresser, even the table and set of chairs placed near the wall are old relics of past memories Hongjoong can never let go of. The lines of scars at his hip seem to sting from the shot of nostalgia placed before his eyes. The chessboard laid out on the table is new, though; the doctor must have pulled that out of the depths of storage.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Either out of respect or an attempt to test the waters, Minho remains standing close to the door as Hongjoong moves towards the table. He sits on the side where the black chess pieces reside, already halfway to knowing that Minho intends to make him play this game, and if that truly is the case, then Hongjoong will make him take the first move. Minho, it seems, is one step ahead of him though. He joins Hongjoong at the table moments later, and upon sitting down and setting his mug down, he immediately turns the board around to have the white pieces now in front of Hongjoong’s hands instead of the black. The captain can’t contain the laugh that breaks through his lips.

“Why give me the illusion of choice at all then?”

“You did make a choice, a telling one at that. Thus, I’ll invite you to ask whatever it is you wish of me before I do the same in return.”

“The point of this game?” Hongjoong wastes no time in moving his first piece forward.

“To learn more about the man whose… delicate care I now find myself under.” Minho pushes a pawn further toward Hongjoong with the tip of his finger.

“What do you hope to learn?”

“I would like to see into your mind a bit, understand your decision-making process, see firsthand how you plot things out for both yourself and your crew.”

“This—” the captain passes his hand through the air in a rather dismissive manner “—game will show you all of that? How can you be so certain now that you’ve told me your intentions? I could easily skew the game in whatever way I like now.”

“Hiding our true nature is a near-impossible task,” Minho says under his breath. As his hand moves down to the board once again, Hongjoong slaps the side of the table with enough force to make the pieces quake under the impact.

“I’ve gone my whole life perfectly that craft. It would do you well to not underestimate me.”

The doctor matches Hongjoong’s stare with a lopsided grin, arms folded over his chest as he leans over his knees.

“Humor me then, Captain.”

It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the game. Though it’s been some time since he engaged in any sort of activities outside of missions with his crew, this game is one he used to readily play with Yeosang. The Elitist was, of course, the only one who could match his level of play, and still claims the honor of being the sole member of the crew to beat Hongjoong at the game. It was only one time, but one time was more than enough for him to lose a good deal of credits on the bet they placed. Most of the crew did the same themselves — lost thousands of credits to Wooyoung, who was the sole person banking on Yeosang’s victory that night. The memory almost places a smile on his lips, and it likely would if he were not so conscious of the person sitting across from him at present.

“What is your professional opinion of Ghost?” he asks instead to keep the fonder emotions from slipping through. Minho doesn’t startle at the question, nor does he seem surprised in the slightest at the sudden shift in topic. His initial response is through a close-lipped hum. Words don’t come until the doctor peels his eyes off the chessboard and finishes his turn.

“She is very ready to oppose any sort of authority in her path.”

“Do you know why?”

“Hm.” He sits back enough to pull one leg over the other and clasps his hands around his knee. “Because she is used to doing so?”

Hongjoong moves his bishop behind a pawn.

“How do I fix that issue?”

“I speak to her. Often and with the intent to resolve whatever disconnect is present. These cases are very prominent in my field, and many times fellow doctors struggle with the same arrogance. It starts in pride, of course, but in her case, there is much trauma centered around those who have had power over her.”

“Let me rephrase — how do I resolve that quickly?”

Minho shrugs as he takes his turn at the chess pieces, eyes scanning the board for several seconds before he settles on his next move. Hongjoong watches the pawn sitting beside his bishop fall, then he takes Minho’s attacker in quick succession as retaliation.

“There is no ethical way to do so.”

“Then list the unethical options for me. Quickly.”

Minho stares.

“I’m certain you have already implemented many unethical methods of keeping her under your thumb of control. There is no need for me to add to the list, is there?” The doctor lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I have physical proof of the measures taken to ensure my loyalty. If I did a little digging into that brain of hers, would I find proof of your cruelty too?”

“No. There are no scars there of my own doing. What others have done and will do — how could I have any control over that?” Hongjoong thinks back to Dorado, a fleeting memory that pushes its way in against his will. In his mind, he sees Seonghwa seated at his mother’s bedside with hands clasped over his head as though in some form of desperate prayer from where he had perched in the doorway. How could he have control over that? Before him, his queen lies exposed. He moves a knight into her line of defense without thinking.

“Check.”

He neglected to notice that in moving that knight, he exposed his king to a worse fate. He moves it in front of his queen to escape the check without saying anything, then watches the doctor knock that knight on its side a second later. Hongjoong almost laughs but manages to refrain long enough to move his bishop into its next position before glancing up and across the board.

“Checkmate.”

Minho inhales sharply, and his gaze darts all around the board as though desperate to find a way out of the corner he’s been backed into but Hongjoong already made sure there would be no escape several moves ago. “It seems that you’ve won, Captain.” He sits back as the defeat settles in, leaving the captain to swing his bishop against its final target. The clatter of the ivory on the wooden board is harsh on the ears.

“Did you learn all you wished to with that?” Rather than a straight answer, Hongjoong receives a rather unexpected question from the man.

“What position would you like Seonghwa to be in?”

A litany of filthy thoughts arises and threatens to leave the sanctity of his mouth.

“He’s right where I want him to be.”

“And is that where you consider him to be safest?”

“The closer he is to me, the safer he is.”

“Is he aware of that? Have you told him as much?” Hongjoong stares at the doctor in the hopes it will force him to drop the subject but Minho stares down at the now-defunct chessboard instead. “You hardly made any use of your queen except to protect her when threatened despite having many opportunities to use her offensively. You did not let her leave the king’s side for more than one move, even if it risked other players on your side of the game. Yet — you used your bishop to sabotage and sacrifice some of your own pieces if it meant moving that bishop ahead in the game. That is your telling cue, Captain. It speaks volumes to how you perceive your closest confidants.”

Hongjoong’s hand curls into a fist against his thigh.

“Is it the devotion of man or that which begs worship, I wonder? What compels you of all men to give so much to someone you don’t seem to feel deserves it? Unless… it’s the only thing that keeps that person where you want him? What’s the cost of your religion, captain? Of your faith? What must someone do to be counted amongst your devotees? Your eagerness to bend Y/n to your desires, to have her fall in line with whatever holy crusade you have in your mind… I cannot help but wonder what trials you would have her suffer to earn her place amongst the faithful. You leave me with much to ponder, Scourge. I suppose I ought to thank you for giving me a good game, but — and I hate to be the one to say this, trust that — I do not think you will be the best player I face.”

“He will never agree to play you in this game. I merely did so to entertain you, but Seonghwa has no interest in humoring a fool’s errand.”

“You thought I meant your lieutenant? No, no no, I’m afraid I meant someone else entirely.” Minho laughs to himself, head shaking as he redirects his focus to the floor. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I’ve learned much from this. But I’m left to wonder what exactly it is you want. You are a man who could have anything and everything he wants and yet you are still unsatisfied. What is so unattainable that it drives you to the brink of insanity? Don’t tell me yet — I… wish… to find that answer on my own.”

Hongjoong finds that his initial suspicions upon meeting this man were correct. Beyond the obvious quirks surrounding him, there were more minute details to pick up on from the near-constant swaying of his head from side to side to the slight slur in his tone. He huffs out a nearly inaudible laugh.

“How about we detail my expectations of you?”

“I imagine I don’t have much of a say in the matter,” the doctor says with a kind smile.

“Don’t let her try to play her games with you.”

Minho stops with his hand halfway to the mug on the table and shifts to stare at Hongjoong. He doesn’t try to hide the look of bewilderment painting his features this time.

“Do you fear her being successful for once?”

Hongjoong actually laughs at that, and based on the way Minho’s confusion continues to be apparent, the doctor wasn’t expecting such a reaction.

“She doesn’t need the confidence of success. The only way I am going to get her to stop fighting me is if she continues to fail. Hence—” Hongjoong leans across the table where the remnants of their earlier game linger untouched. Something rattles as he stretches over the board. The doctor reacts like a dog being handed a bone, expression turning suddenly alert as Hongjoong places an orange pill bottle on Minho’s side. “I’ll take every fucking pill off this ship if I have to. Don’t fuck her and don’t fuck around with her. Those are my rules.”

“You are…” the doctor wets his lips. His gaze loses its focus on Hongjoong as something else becomes much more enticing — the little bottle that looks so deceptively innocent in comparison to what it provides. “Quite greedy, Captain,” he whispers. He sits up straight and lunges forward like he’s going to snatch the bottle from the table, but the man opposite him is just as quick to steal it away once again. Minho winces. “I’d like to ask why those are your terms. Something tells me you won’t be wholly honest about it.”

“Desire drives her. Robbing her of what she wants makes her desperate. And when she’s desperate… she obeys. If I manufacture who has her and in what way they have her, then I can orchestrate her destruction, no? The perfect picture of obedience, the way to stop her from fighting me so heavily, to end her attempts to save those who do not need saving. All it takes are a few sweet words and fond glances to have her caving a bit. Imagine what I could do with her full devotion. I hope that is the sort of unethical option you predicted.”

“We have a term for that sort of behavior, Captain.”

“And I don’t need you to diagnose me with anything I don’t know already about myself.” Hongjoong tosses the bottle in his hand across the gap between the two men. It rattles dramatically as it passes through the air, and Minho jerks upwards to grab it before it can slip through his grasp a second time.

“Is this meant to be a reward for my hard work?” he inquires, teeth grinding hard against each other as he speaks.

“You can view it as such.” One corner of the captain’s lips twitches upwards. “But if Yunho starts asking questions, I cannot defend your addiction. He is the one keeping stock of our medications here on this ship after all.”

“You have issues with control. Probably a fear of not having control, which is amplifying pre-existing issues and mental instabilities.”

“Do you want your pills or not, doctor? I for one am not opposed to seeing how you fall apart without them. In fact, I would revel in it. So, tread carefully.” Minho clutches the orange bottle a little tighter. “You are free to do as you wish, but if I find you face down in a pool of your own vomit then my kindness will not last. If you’re alive, that is.”

“I have no qualms with those terms, Captain.”

“Good. Then, I’ll formally welcome you to the crew, doctor. Try not to disappoint me.”

Minho barely spares him a second glance when he gets up, and Hongjoong is all but invisible as he makes his way out of the room. The face that greets him in the hallway is a pleasant surprise.

“Yunho,” he exhales in a saccharine tone.

“Cap—Hongjoong. I was just checking in on San and Y/n.” Yunho’s gaze keeps flitting to the door at Hongjoong’s back now. That simply won’t do.

“Were you?” Hongjoong presses as he moves toward the taller man. “And how are our nesting lovebirds?”

“Y/n is healing well, physically at least. San’s been keeping up with the physical therapy well enough, but you already know that. Were you in—”

That simply won’t do.

“Come up with me, would you?”

“Huh?” Yunho’s brown eyes go a bit wide at the request. It wasn’t Hongjoong’s initial plan, but it was a good diversion tactic and part of him doesn’t want to sleep in an empty and cold bed alone tonight. “We haven’t — since we… with Seonghwa… huh?”

“And? I didn’t tell you to leave me forever. Let’s just go to bed, nothing else.”

“Have you spoken to Yunho at all since the other night?”

Seonghwa's resulting scowl is nothing pretty to behold but he wants to see it deepen further to the point of hatred.

“Of course not. You think he wants to speak to me at all?”

“Okay, um, yeah. I’ll meet you up there? In a little bit? I need to upload my notes and put them in files before I forget.”

“Mind if I stick around?”

“No…” Yunho drags his gaze all over Hongjoong, examining head to toe as though expecting to find something out of place about the smaller man. When his eyes rest on Hongjoong’s face once again, the captain offers a half-smile. “No, come on.”

He waits until they’re within the walls of the medical bay to speak his mind and broach the subject at hand, the metaphorical elephant in the room forcing space between them.

“Have you spoken to Seonghwa at all since the other night?”

Yunho lets out a sigh as he sits down at his makeshift desk.

“No, not even once. I doubt he wants to talk though.” Hongjoong nearly laughs at how horrifically similar the two men are. Instead, he watches Yunho plug his tablet into his computer and get to work on uploading those aforementioned notes. San’s name flickers across the screen.

“I'll talk to him tonight.”

Seonghwa stops where he is, midway to the only exit out of the chambers, and when he turns, Hongjoong sees his expression blossom into something venomous.

“So the two of you are still...?”

“Did I say that? I will speak with him tonight after dinner.”

“Has San’s resolve weakened since Y/n joined the crew?”

“Since he came face to face with her for the first time, more like,” Yunho answers without missing a beat or looking away from his screen. Hongjoong’s scowl reflects back at him on the screen, but the doctor doesn’t pay him any mind. “He’s always been a bit soft around the edges though. I think you set him up for failure in asking him—” Yunho cuts his thought short out of the blue, and Hongjoong’s gaze turns to sharp daggers on the back of his head.

“In asking him what? Who was gracious enough to tell you as much?”

When the younger turns, Hongjoong gets an eyeful of knitted brows and pursed lips.

“You did. You told me, Hongjoong. Because you felt guilty for giving him those orders, or at least you used to.”

“Seonghwa, I told you before that it's not your fault.”

“Then why is it that you're asking me whether I've talked to Yunho yet? Why are you asking as though that’s my responsibility? If you don’t consider me to be at fault then why am I being tasked with fixing this mess?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong wants to lie down. There’s a throbbing in the side of his head that keeps turning into something more piercing every few seconds, and Yunho’s stare feels more invasive by the second.

“I’m done here. Still wanna go up?”

“Let’s go.”

It’s as they leave the med bay side by side that Hongjoong recalls exactly why he hates coming down here so much. There are too many ghosts living in the walls and lining the corridors. Even in the brief darkness that comes when he blinks, he can see their faces at the corners of his vision. Stood still, alert, watching and waiting for the command from their captain who failed to do the one duty asked of him. He looks up to the side of Yunho’s face. Thinks of Seonghwa’s endless frustrations these days, of San being shot, of the kidnappings, of losing his newest crew member to a petty criminal who couldn’t hope to hold a candle to him and all he can taste at the back of his throat is failure.

He pushes further into Yunho’s space, enough to bump his shoulder against the other man’s arm as they make their trek in utter silence. The rhythm of their bodies is familiar as they cross the bridge, when Yunho brushes his knuckles over Hongjoong’s hip, and the captain smiles to himself. But once they reach the door and Hongjoong plasters himself between it and Yunho’s larger form, his wrists are caught mid-air on their path to reaching around Yunho’s shoulders.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Hongjoong had thought he would have more success with Yunho than he has with Seonghwa thus far — an easier time at least patching a bandage over the open wound still carved into his chest. And perhaps he thought he was already victorious on the walk up to his quarters, but Yunho stops that thought right where it is.

“Yeah,” he exhales back and moves his arms down to his sides once more.

The silence continues to permeate every inch of the room as Hongjoong gets ready for bed. Yunho makes himself at home as usual, but it’s evident that his thoughts are elsewhere based on how he looks around the bedroom like something is going to sprout up from the darkest corner. Hongjoong is no fool. He knows Yunho’s thoughts are on the mess of a situation that occurred not too long ago when both he and Seonghwa were present here for something Hongjoong should have had the foresight to stop far in advance. He finally says something about it midway through brushing his teeth.

“The two of you have got to talk eventually.” He nearly winces at the words coming from his own mouth because of how harsh they sound.

“What’s there to say, Hongjoong? Hey, sorry our fucking threesome didn’t work out because you’re too possessive over a man that’s not even yours. Sure, that’d over great.” Hongjoong glances in the mirror to see Yunho in the reflection, perched on the side of the bed but it’s not his usual spot. He always goes for the other side — has for all this time that they’ve been doing this — yet last time he was on that side, Hongjoong was under him and there were tears. Lots of them, in fact. His stomach turns in disgust at the memory alone.

He spits the leftover toothpaste into the sink.

“It’s unfortunate, Yunho, how everything played out. If I had been… had more common sense, I would have refused it right away.”

“Have your cake and eat it too, huh?”

Hongjoong sighs as he exits the bathroom, hands already moving to his hips in a way that echoes the chastisement he’s ready to hurl Yunho’s way. Either the exhaustion or the shreds of guilt he does feel win over though, because he can’t bring himself to lay into Yunho much.

“Stop arguing with me over it then,” he says instead, climbing into bed on a side that’s foreign and uncomfortable to him. They have their backs to each other even now.

“I’m not even the one who fucked up, Joong! It was Seonghwa’s brilliant fucking idea, why am I being punished for it? Hell, even you fucked up more than I did by insisting that you were okay with it!”

“I get it, Yunho. I know whose fault it is. You aren’t being punished.”

The younger man exhales a pathetic excuse for a laugh. More than anything, Hongjoong wishes he had the courage to turn over and face him, to see how badly he fucked up written on Yunho’s expression, and try to mend the cracks as best he can. At the end of the day, however, he knows what he is — a coward running from his demons, even when they’re at his back begging to be seen. If there’s a grave to be dug, Hongjoong stands at the edge with a shovel and plunges it deeper into the dirt.

“I wanted it. That’s why I pushed for it, and I’m sorry—”

“Now you’re fucking sorry!” Yunho huffs out a scoff. “For fuck’s sake, Joong, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to salvage whatever was left of my relationship with Seonghwa.”

“And I’m sorry, what more can I say? You should have said no from the start—”

“I can’t say no to you, Hongjoong! That’s the fucking problem here! It didn’t matter to me what my feelings about it were because I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I said over and over that I didn’t want you to base your decision on what you thought would please me. It wasn’t about my happiness, it was about comforting — comforting him! He asked to sleep with us, I asked you if it was alright and you said it was, so—”

“What does he have, Hongjoong? What is it that he has that I do not? Why is he enough for you and yet I’m not?”

The rawness in Yunho’s voice is what stops him, at least that’s what Hongjoong will tell himself in the days to come because it is easier to swallow such a pill. Seonghwa has his jealousy, and Yunho has his fear of inadequacy. Hongjoong knows what both sides of their respective coins look like well enough after all these years together, and he knows how they flip. Yunho is teetering on an edge with no knowledge of what side he wants to land on.

“Is this how it’s going to be between us now? Arguing back and forth before bed?” Yunho’s tone is still strong, for all that’s worth.

“You tell me, Yun, you’re the one who turned this into a fight.”

“The issue isn’t that you love him, Hongjoong. You know that.”

“What’s the issue then?” Hongjoong sounds as defeated as he feels when those words get pushed out into the side of his pillow. He doesn’t have the heart to admit his true feelings even now, though it should be easy to deny something so heinous. Behind him, Yunho shifts under the sheets as though trying to increase the already obscene amount of distance between their bodies. Maybe Hongjoong should be grateful enough that Yunho is even here to warm the bed with him, despite not touching him or giving in to his captain’s advances earlier. What he says next snipes those hopeful feelings right out of Hongjoong’s chest.

“It’s that you don’t love me.”

Ice crawls its way through his body in a split second, and suddenly it’s almost as though his lungs have been dunked in frozen water.

“You always say that Seonghwa and I don’t get along, that we can’t possibly be suited for each other, that the two of us are the problem because we can’t see eye to eye. But really, if your love was fair and kind, Hongjoong, that wouldn’t be an issue. Don’t worry. I know my place at your side. And I will never try to take Seonghwa’s because I know where I belong. If it’s at your feet, then again I tell you I shall grovel. But, my captain, you cannot ask me to accept an unfair bargain of love. I’m selfish and greedy, but I too just want to be loved fairly. At this point, I don’t think I will ever receive such a thing from you and for that reason, I will take steps back where necessary. I simply request that you allow me to mend myself on my own terms.”

“Yunho—” His voice sounds choked and broken even with just one word uttered. Yunho continues like he hasn’t said a thing.

“It’s nothing personal, Captain.”

The ice pick in Hongjoong’s chest sinks deeper.

“I simply fear that your use for me has run dry.”

“That’s… hardly true at all, Yun.” But speaking those words out loud is harder than imagined, and Hongjoong chokes on them, around the tongue that feels like lead in his mouth. The bed creaks again, but this time Yunho is rolling over to face Hongjoong’s back. Tentatively, the captain shifts to match the movements. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

“Let me salvage what I have left, Captain. Otherwise, you may end up with another notch on your hip.”

Staring each other in the eye like this, however, Yunho hardly looks like a man who has deigned to pull away, especially as he reaches out to touch Hongjoong’s cheek and laughs under his breath.

“Can I even dare to call you mine if this is how things must be?”

“You do this, Hongjoong. You! You take the things you claim to love and care about and you — you break them, you tear them apart! Leave Yunho out of whatever fucked up problems are still left between us, for the love of god.”

Hongjoong reaches up to clasp his fingers around the ones Yunho lays against his face. The line of morality has always been a muddled one for him, yet now with a soul so pure and innocent in the palm of his hand, he feels the full weight of right versus wrong upon his shoulders. The words staining the back of his tongue black with bile are nothing pretty — no encouragement or reassurance meant to bring Yunho down from his hysteria — and so Hongjoong swallows them down in favor of giving him something beautiful.

“Or you… force them into a mold and pretend they’re yours. And every fucking time, they fall for it just to break from the pressure of you trying to pin them there.”

“My Yunho.” In the hierarchy of things that Hongjoong considers to be his, he does not need to think long about where Yunho falls. It’s so very clear in his mind’s eye: fourth from the top on a good day, somewhere lower when other needs arise. The shame is that Yunho has decided to be so greedy as to crave a higher place. He peels Yunho’s hand away from his face and brings those long fingers to press against the soft curve of his lips. The gleam in Yunho’s eyes softens with each kiss Hongjoong lays against him until he’s putty in Hongjoong’s hands. “You’re mine.”

The words are spoken so softly that Yunho doesn’t dare disrupt the fragile peace between them. He doesn’t bother to ask if the same is true of Hongjoong, if Hongjoong is his too, but that thought seems far and away already as the captain guides him to lay flat on his back, leg swinging across Yunho’s hips seconds later. From his new perch, he sees the reverence in Yunho’s eyes. It’s as beautiful as it is delicate. Hongjoong seals the cracks with a feather-like kiss.

──────────── a/n: hi hi long time no moc! ngl the wc got away from me i really expected 6k max on this but then it kept going and going and we don’t stop the writing gods when they want the narrative to keep going thus.. she is a bit long! i’ve been sitting on this for a wee bit just bc i wanted to get a bit of 50 fleshed out and in a good place before posting this so we’re working hard here at caly’s writing station 😎 as always plspls let me know what you think! 

as always the questionnaire is available and open (https://forms.gle/rMvFD1TDz52nRJMN9), don’t be shy to fill it out honestly! i genuinely use it to improve my writing and storytelling so it’s very helpful to me to see feedback and work off of it as best i can 💪

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