#She thought him crumbling to dust was DRY SKIN!

[skvaderarts]

As a joke today I was dramatically listing all of V's problems -mentally, physically, and emotionally- to my grandma and I said "but I can fix him" and without missing a beat she said "Oh no you can't. There's no fixing all that. He's a gonner. But you might be able to talk him into some more sensible shoes before he falls and has to use crutches instead of a cane. Maybe get him some ointment for his dry skin" and I just-

GRANDMA!! 🤣

[azullumi]

”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but  the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 10 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Yoongi x Hoseok

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: side character breakup, jungkook is still a little jealous lmao, alcohol, curses, they both are anxious to lose each other tbh, explicit content: hickey, breast play, oral sex (male receiving), jerking off, fingering, protected sex

☆word count: 10.1k

☆a/n: fun fact, this is the chapter that made me choose the title for this fic!! and this is also where the angst starts :') I hope you still enjoy reading <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Monday, March 25th 

You hate college. More specifically, you hate having to turn in multiple lab reports every week. There’s just something about building a lab report that irks you.

You don’t know how researchers do it. You think you’d go insane if you had to write report after report after report but…

You’re already going insane after all.

You sigh, rubbing a hand on your forehead as you look at the tables you’ve been trying to make for half an hour. Yoongi, sitting across from you, raises his head from his laptop, an eyebrow cocked. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, going back to your report as he doesn’t pry, focusing back on his own work.

As much as he spoke to you at the party last week, Yoongi has been a lot more silent today. You reckon you might know why - Hoseok said in the group chat that he’d come to study too, and he’s yet to show up. It’s evening now, and you have a feeling he’s just not going to come. 

You don’t know if you can entirely blame him - it’s Spring Break after all, and most people are trying to forget about college for the week. 

But you can’t, because you’ve got that lab report to work on and a final to study for.

You blink a few times, trying to bring your laptop back in focus, and then you go back to work. You spend another thirty minutes fixing the tables, not caring that the titles clearly could be better. Nabi said she’d go over everything you’ve done, and you know she’s much better with titles anyway.

You’re lucky she’s your lab partner. 

“Are you hungry?” Yoongi asks all of a sudden, and you startle, looking up at him.

Right in time, your stomach grumbles, and you let out a small laugh. “Yeah, a little.”

“Want to order burritos?” Yoongi suggests.

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles, picking up his phone. The smile that was on his lips dies almost immediately, and he deeply sighs. You furrow your brows questioningly, glancing outside of your study rooms.

Jungkook isn’t working today, yet you find yourself looking for him all the same. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask Yoongi, pushing Jungkook away from your thoughts.

Even though every thought of him makes you warm inside, giddy like a teenager with a crush.

“Hobi,” Yoongi simply replies.

You purse your lips, picking up your water bottle to take a long sip as you search for something to say. You settle on, “You guys talked after the party?”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, sighing deeply again before handing you his phone. “Just choose which burrito you want.”

You grab his phone, quickly choosing what you want to eat as he remains silent, typing away on his laptop. You’re aware he’s avoiding the question, but you have a feeling he needs to talk. It’s in the way he worries at some dry skin on his bottom lip, an anxious tell you recognize all too well for having it too.

“How did the conversation go?” you ask as he finishes up the order, putting his phone back down on the table.

“It went okay,” he admits, yet he looks defeated. You understand why when he adds, “He told me he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.”

You widen your gaze. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi laughs bitterly, slightly shaking his head. “I feel blindsided. We were all happy before the party and now…” He shrugs vaguely, letting out a choked sound that almost passes as a chuckle. “It just came out of nowhere.”

“I’m really sorry…”

He shrugs again. “What can you do? I really just jumped in too fast without realizing that he was reluctant. I was stupid.”

“I don’t think you were stupid,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “You’ve had feelings for him for a long time, and it felt like you were finally getting something in return. Anyone would have been blindsided.”

“I should have known when he insisted we take it slow and not share a room though,” Yoongi insists. “And though the sex was great there was a lot of stuff he was uncomfortable with. Not that I ever did anything without him wanting to do it but…” He wets his lips, glances your way before setting his gaze on his keyboard again. “I was his first guy.”

“Yeah, he told me,” you admit.

Pink dusts Yoongi’s cheeks, and you can tell he’s embarrassed by the turn of the conversation. So this time you don’t pry, letting him figure out what he wants to say next.

“I think he realized that he’s not into guys all that much,” Yoongi eventually says. “Like… he wanted to try it out and turns out it’s not as nice as he thought it’d be kinda thing, you know?”

You nod. “It sucks that it had to be with you though. You didn’t deserve that.”

Another shrug, like it’s all Yoongi knows to do right now. “Yeah, I guess.” He chuckles, a sad sound that makes you want to get up and hug him, though you know Yoongi’s not big on physical touch. “I don’t know if I should be mad or sad,” he admits a few seconds later.

“You’re allowed to be both.” He cocks an eyebrow as if not convinced. “I’m serious,” you insist. “You like him. Obviously, it’s going to hurt if he decides he doesn’t want to be with a guy. And obviously, you’re allowed to be mad too, because to you it can feel like he was leading you on.”

Yoongi meets your gaze. “Have you ever thought about becoming a therapist?”

His statement surprises you, and you laugh, scrunching up your nose. “No?”

“I think you’d be good,” Yoongi says. He sighs deeply again, picking up his phone. “Food’s on its way.”

You’re technically not allowed to eat at the library, so you end up eating on the steps outside when the food arrives, the fresh evening air welcoming after being stuck in a small, stuffy room for a couple of hours. Yoongi keeps pouring his heart out to you all along, as if he’d been holding everything in for too long, and the dam finally burst.

You’re happy to be there for him. Even though most of it is the same thing as at the party last week, you’re happy he’s comfortable enough to confide in you, and you try to cheer him up. 

“If you want,” you say after a time. “I could try to speak to Hobi. See what he really thinks about this all.”

Yoongi holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking away, his eyes shifting to the cloudy sky. “Nah, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says. “I’ll just have to move on.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod. “Your choice. I’ll be here for you.”

He smiles, sighing. “I know. Thank you.”

On that note you return to your study room and to the lab report awaiting you. Yoongi busies himself with his composition as you work, and you finally finish taking care of the text for the results about half an hour later. Nabi said she’d do the discussion, so you send her the link, asking her to tell you if she wants you to fix anything, and then you close your laptop, folding your arms on top of it.

“Done?” Yoongi says, pushing his headset down so that it rests around his neck.

You nod, dropping your face on your arms. “And I’m dead.”

“When do finals start for you?” he asks.

“Next Tuesday,” you admit.

“Isn’t that early?” Yoongi asks, gaze widened in surprise.

It might be. You only have one then though, and you still have two weeks of classes in your other courses before the rest of your finals. You’ll still take it - it means one less final during the true final week.

You tell so to Yoongi, who admits he doesn’t have finals, instead having projects in three classes. It leads to a conversation where you compare biology to his music major, and another fifteen minutes go by in comfortable silence when the conversation dies of its own volition, as you scroll on your phone and Yoongi keeps on working on his music composition.

You startle when someone knocks on the door of the study room. You glance that way, eyes widening when you notice Jungkook on the other side. Yoongi lets out a small laugh at your expense, and you get up, opening the door for Jungkook. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask as he walks in, two coffees in hands. 

“Thought you might need this,” he says, offering you one.

You take it with an eyebrow cocked quizzically, and then you watch him as he drops in one of the empty chairs at the table. He’s got a backpack with him, and he pulls out a laptop and a notebook from it while you and Yoongi are just stunned silent.

“What are you doing?” you ask again as you sit back in your chair. 

“Figured I’d come study here with you guys,” he explains simply.

You glance at Yoongi, who shrugs.

“Oh?” you let out, settling your gaze back on Jungkook.

“Unless you guys don’t want me to?”

Yoongi saves you by replying, “No, you’re all good man. I was leaving anyway.”

He clearly wasn’t, as you’re the one who finished writing your report and he was still in the middle of his composition, yet he still gets up, closing his laptop and putting it in his backpack.

“Text me if there’s anything,” you tell him as he’s sliding one of the straps of his backpack on his shoulder.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he nods curtly. “Will do. Thanks for everything.”

You offer him a small smile, and then he’s walking out, not once looking back. 

“Did you really have to come here?” you ask Jungkook, and it sounds far more accusing than you meant it to be.

“What?” he lets out. “Just wanted to see what the hype is all about when it comes to the library.”

You offer him a no-bullshit look. “Were you jealous because I was studying alone with Yoongi?”

Jungkook frowns, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. His lips jut out in the hint of a pout, and something melts inside of you, like it always does when it comes to him.

“He’s the one that left the second I got here,” Jungkook points out.

“Because he’s going through a hard time, dumbass,” you say, punching Jungkook in the shoulder. 

He rubs at the spot, his pout intensifying, if that’s possible. “He still could have stayed, I wouldn’t have minded.”

Jungkook isn’t wrong, and though you really want to be there for Yoongi, you know he’s the kind of person that needs space a lot. Or at least that’s the impression he’s given you in general, and you really hope he didn’t leave because Jungkook showed up.

“I was done though,” you admit, patting your closed laptop. “I was thinking about heading home.”

Jungkook flicks your nose, taking you by surprise, and you sit back in your chair as you shriek. It earns you one of his bunny grins, and you truly are melting like snow in the sun. “Well then you’re going to have to stay with me for a little longer, mmh?”

You tilt your head to the side, though you can’t help the smile that tickles the corners of your lips. “And do what?”

“Study?” he sarcastically lets out. “Do whatever it is that you bio majors do.”

You end up doing so, rereading your notes for your first final. It’s boring, and you don’t think it’s really productive when Jeon Jungkook is sitting next to you, stealing quick glances in your direction. 

You catch him for what feels like the tenth time, and you roll your eyes. “Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” you offer as an explanation. “We should go home.”

He narrows his gaze at you. “Why?”

“People could see us here.” And go and tell Taehyung about it.

“I’ll handle Tae if he gets upset, don’t worry,” Jungkook tries to reassure you, but it does the opposite.

Indeed, a drop of lead forms in your stomach because, what if Taehyung learns?

You don’t want him to know. It’d complicate everything, ruin everything. 

“Besides,” Jungkook adds, “I’ll have to handle him in April anyway.”

You frown, a confused crease streaking across your brow. “Why?”

Jungkook meets your gaze. “I’m going to Paris with Jimin to see your brother at the end of the semester.”

Your heart starts racing in your chest, anxiety flooding your blood. “Oh?”

Jungkook toys with his piercings, scanning your features carefully. “Yeah. It’s been planned for a while.”

“You didn’t tell me.” You’re aware you once again sound accusing, but you can’t help it.

Not when you see the expiration date of your relationship with Jungkook flashing in your mind.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I just didn’t think to tell you? I thought I mentioned it when we Facetimed Tae the other day.”

You can’t blame him for not explicitly telling you - the trip has likely been planned for a while, and it’s not like you speak about your brother a lot. Though you mention him once in a while, you’ve both been good at avoiding talking about him. Now that he’s mentioned the Facetime call though, you do recall, and it’s like a hand is squeezing around your heart some more.

“No worries,” you say, and you offer him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When do you leave?”

“April 29th, I think? I’ll check.”

You nod, and you look away from Jungkook to stare at your laptop instead, though your gaze loses its focus as your brother invades your thoughts. You think about what he’d say - you know he’ll be furious, and he’ll likely kick Jungkook out of your apartment. 

Jungkook will never be able to handle Taehyung. Not when he’s being an overbearing asshole like only he knows to do.

“Peach,” Jungkook says in a small voice that almost sounds whiny. “Why do you look so upset?”

“You can’t handle Tae,” you say. You worry at your bottom lip and then take a deep breath. “It’s really better if he doesn’t know.”

Jungkook remains silent for a few seconds, though he nods his head. “Okay.” He nods again, offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Do you want to head home then?”

“Yeah,” you answer without a beat of silence. “Yeah, I think we should go home.”

Jungkook’s gaze drops to his laptop, and you feel bad. You truly do - he looks defeated, much like Yoongi looked like earlier.

“Can we watch something when we get home though?” you quickly ask.

You can’t help it. You can’t stand the sight of Jungkook upset - it’s just wrong to you.

He immediately brightens, a small curving his lips upwards. “Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah, definitely. Should get some cuddles in too.”

His smile widens, and he meets your gaze, the usual mischievous twinkle back in the depths of his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”

And it really is. You think, you don’t need more with Jungkook. You don’t need the relationship to change, don’t need anyone to know. Because it’s simple right now, and there’s beauty in its simplicity. 

Wednesday, March 27th

“Don’t!” you shriek, but Jungkook ignores you, stealing the TV remote from your hands.

“We’re not watching your reality TV show,” he says as he plops down on the couch into a lying position.

You glare at him, frowning as you fold your arms on your chest. “You like it.”

“Sometimes.” He flashes you a bunny grin that makes you gulp around a sudden lump in your throat. “But right now, I’m in the mood for a movie.”

You look up to the ceiling, searching for salvation yet finding none. “What movie?”

“Just come here,” he says, opening his arms for you.

You can’t resist. His gravity is too strong, and he pulls you in, like he’s the sun and you’re the comet. 

Though you might come from the Kuiper Belt, you know you’re bound to crash into him anyway.

Once you’re nestled in his arms, Jungkook resumes his scrolling on Netflix. 

“What about this?” he asks.

“Extraction?” you say as you eye the movie he stops on. “I’m not in the mood for action.”

“Then a romantic comedy it is.”

You chuckle against him, pecking the mole on his neck. He chooses the movie Always Be My Maybe, and then tightens his grip around you.

“I like that movie,” you say.

“You’ve seen it already?”

You reach for his hand before he’s able to change it. “Yeah, but I don’t mind,” you reassure him. 

He nods, and that’s how you end up watching the movie, slowly dozing off on his chest. You’re in and out of sleep, watching the bright screen whenever you wake up, and when the credits roll in, Jungkook yawns over you.

“Were you sleeping?” you ask, faking offence.

“You were,” Jungkook points out, flicking your nose as you raise your head to look at him. 

You move your face away, resting your head on the couch. “Barely.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, and then you both burst out laughing. 

You like this. You like the intimacy of being with Jungkook in your own home, like that in between these walls you get to call him yours. It’s treacherous, but oh so inebriating, like he’s summer wine you’ve become addicted to.

Instead of watching another movie, Jungkook goes to his room to retrieve his speaker, and he puts a random playlist on while you fetch a rosé bottle from the fridge, where you’ve left it before watching the movie. You’d decided to spend the evening in despite both your friends and his friends asking to hang out, and so you’d gotten a bottle earlier today.

That, and the board game Ticket to Ride, your favourite board game.

“That’s not how it works,” you complain a while later, when you’re one glass in and Jungkook grabs a locomotive and wagon card from the five on the side.

“What?” he lets out.

“If you take a locomotive you can only take one card,” you remind him.

It’s his first time playing, and though the game is fairly simple, you’ve noticed Jungkook has a tendency to try and cheat his way to the win. You’re tempted to let him keep the two cards when he offers you puppy eyes, yet you stand your ground, holding your hand out.

“Give me the wagon back.”

“Take it from me,” he teases, lips stretching in a smirk.

“Oh, you want to play this way?” you reply in the same teasing tone, and Jungkook toys on his piercings.

“Maybe?”

You get up from where you’ve been sitting on the floor, walking to the other side of the coffee table. Jungkook watches you, an apprehensive yet excited look in his eyes, and he laughs the second you drop behind him, hands aiming for his sides.

He leans against you, his large frame almost enough to make you crumple to the floor, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

“Give me the wagon,” you repeat.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m not playing the game anymore.”

He looks over his shoulder at you, a pout on his pink lips. “Okay then, take your wagon back.”

He gives it to you, and you smile victoriously before pecking his cheek. “Thank you.”

You walk back to your side of the table, though you stop halfway, eyes brightening.

“I love this song!” 

Jungkook leans back on his hands, tilting his head to the side as Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol starts playing.

It was your favourite song growing up. You used to listen to a different version of it you’d heard on Grey’s Anatomy, and you’d listen to it whenever you felt sad. Whenever you needed to feel like you weren’t alone in the universe, like someone was waiting for you, somewhere.

And as you look down at Jungkook while the lyrics start, you know someone was waiting all along.

“Sing it for me,” Jungkook says, smiling softly.

You can’t help the blush that creeps on your cheeks. “I don’t know how to sing. But you do!”

He chuckles, yet immediately starts singing as you offer him a hand to pull him up to his feet. He obliges, and he rests his large hands on your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. He sways you to the music as he softly sings, cheeks dusted in pink, and you pull him even closer, resting your head on his chest.

Simple intimacy. That is what you and Jeon Jungkook are made of, and you think, if he’d ask you to lay here, in this moment, you’d lie with him until eternity took you in its hold. Until you’d be nothing more than dust between the stars - remembrance of what was once great. 

But April is looming closer, a giant towering over the both of you, one step away from crushing you under its boot.

“You know,” Jungkook says while the song continues in the background.

“Mmh?” you let out, looking up to meet his gaze.

His eyes are heavy with emotions, and you swim in them, bathe in them. You feel complete, cherished, and you hope he knows you feel the same way.

You hope he knows you’ve been falling in love with him despite the odds.

“I’ve never been like this with anyone before,” he admits, his voice gentle. “I’ve had situationships, I guess, but nothing like us.”

You smile softly, your heart racing in your chest. “Me neither. You’re the first.”

It’s true. Though you’ve sort of dated Sam Hwang for a few weeks during the summer, it was nothing like it is with Jungkook.

Sam Hwang never looked at you the way that Jungkook looks at you.

Jungkook leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he keeps on swaying you both to the music, the song nearing its last chorus. Your eyes flutter shut from the proximity, and your breaths mingle as you fall silent for a few seconds.

“I love having firsts with you,” he whispers.

You almost reply that you love him. The moment calls for it - the atmosphere is that of romance,  the music is close to your soul, and he… He’s the blood in your veins and the oxygen in your lungs. Yet you can’t say it - you’ve never told anyone you loved them before. And you’re not even sure you truly love him. Yes, you have feelings, but everything is overshadowed by the knowledge that you’re bound to end.

You don’t want to tell him you love him and make it too real only to have him slip from your fingers the second Taehyung learns.

“Me too,” you instead reply. “I love spending time with you.”

It’s as close to the truth as you’ll get, and he allows it, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. It’s slow, patient, like the whole universe will pause for you two. He pulls away when the song ends, bending to grab his phone on the table. 

He restarts the song, and the second his phone is back on the table again, you pull him back in, tiptoeing to kiss him again. He wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight against him, and you sigh at the pillowy softness of his mouth, at the way his piercings feel just right pressing indents in your lip. His free hand cups your cheek, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, almost hesitantly, but you open up for him immediately, tasting the rosé in his mouth as he kisses you deeply, languidly. The kiss never accelerates, yet it’s infinitely passionate.

Much like that first kiss you’d exchange, during the power outage on Valentine’s Day.

You think you knew then - he’d kissed you so softly, like you were fragile, just a flower petal a second from being blown away. Even then, he’d cared for you, and it’d scared you.

But there’s nothing scary about this. There’s nothing scary about the way he gently hikes your shirt up to slide his hand underneath it, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. There’s nothing scary about the way he sighs when you run your hands through his hair, gently tugging at the soft strands. There’s nothing scary about the way he backs you towards the couch, spinning around at the last second so that he can sit down.

There’s nothing scary about him pulling you in, always, so that you straddle his lap, connecting your mouths again a second later. No, it’s only natural. He’s the wind and you the leaves. He’s the sun that shines on you, his moon.

You were always meant to collide after all, and though the aftermath might be terrifying, all you can do right now is enjoy it while it lasts.

Jungkook tentatively grinds up, his arousal evident as he presses against your clothed self. You let out a breathy sound that makes him push his tongue in your mouth, and you suck on it, earning a grunt from him as his hands drop to your hips to drag you on him again. You grab at the hem of his shirt, disconnecting your mouths just long enough to pull the fabric off him, and then you’re kissing him again, crashing your lips on his hard enough that you think you taste blood, though you don’t care.

You just want him. Need him, so viscerally you think you’ll combust.

“Peach,” Jungkook lets out as you move to his neck. 

Unable to resist, you suck a hickey on him, a bright purple mark on the spot where his shoulder connects with his neck. He groans, leaning his head back against the couch to give you better access as you lick at the spot, soothing the sting.

When you straighten, Jungkook meets your gaze, his chest quickly going up and down. You’re just as out of breath as him, and when he reaches for the hem of your shirt, you let him take it off you, leaving you in only your black lace bralette. He looks at your breasts, cupping them in his large hands as he sighs appreciatively.

“Every time it’s like you get more beautiful,” he murmurs, and he looks up at you then, his eyes crinkled at the corners in what you can only call adoration. 

“Kook…”

His hands return to your waist, and he wets his lips, playing with his piercings. You grind against him, and his eyes immediately flutter shut.

“You think we can fuck out here?” you tease, rolling your hips.

“On the couch that your brother bought,” he replies, and there’s something so sinful about the thought that you know you’ll do it.

It’s not like Taehyung is around and will know.

So you bend forward, capturing Jungkook’s mouth in another languid kiss while you unbutton his pants. When the button comes undone, you straighten, standing between his legs so that you can pull the jeans down his legs. You leave the boxers on, eyeing his length as you kneel, hands resting on his thighs.

“Can I suck your dick?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Yes. But please be quick, I want to be buried inside of you.”

You narrow your gaze at him, but let out a laugh despite yourself. 

You focus on his dick again then, on the wet spot at the top where his purple underwear has turned darker. You bend forward, littering small kisses along his shaft, and you tentatively lick at the wet spot, the taste of his precum filling your mouth. And though you’d planned to tease him, to be the brat you know he likes, you give in right away, pulling his boxers down just enough so that you can lick at his slit.

He lets out a breathy sound that has you bite your lip as you look up at him through your lashes. He’s got his head thrown back, eyes closed, and from this angle, all you can see is his sharp jaw.

You pull his boxers down more, and he helps you by raising his ass for a few seconds. His dick springs free, already rock hard, and you immediately grab the base to hold it up as you finish taking off his boxers, letting them tangle around his ankles. You’re quick to lick a long stripe from between his balls up to the tip of his cock, and then you take him in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around him.

He bucks his hips, fucking up into your mouth, and you moan when he hits the back, your eyes immediately watering. 

He lets you lead after that, hands lost in your hair as you bob your head up and down, working him closer to his high. You love the feel of him in your mouth, love the way he grunts and praises you under his breath, and you think you’d be able to come from just hearing him, pleasuring him. 

It doesn’t get to that though. When Jungkook truly nears his high, he pulls you away from his dick, and you meet his gaze to see his pupils are blown wide, filled with so much lust all you can do is obey when he says, “Go get a condom in my room, mmh?”

You nod, and you get up to walk towards his room, feeling his gaze burning on you as you pass the threshold and head to the night table. You pull a condom out, and you walk back to the living room to find Jungkook jerking himself off, his grip on his dick tight enough you know it has to hurt a little.

“Put it on for me,” he says, and he stops jerking off, holding his dick up for you. 

You sit next to him, pulling the condom out of the tinfoil package, and then you roll it on his dick. He hisses as you do so, but the second it’s on he pushes you back until you’re lying on the couch and he’s hovering over you. 

His hair falls in his eyes, and you quickly push the strands back. He leans in, pressing his lips on yours for a kiss far softer than what you expected, and you smile against him.

He grins when he pulls away, eyes shining with lust and adoration again, and then he’s taking off your pants, taking his sweet time. Kissing every inch of skin revealed, from your inner thigh to a spot below your knee. He stops after that, instead eyeing the wet spot on your underwear, and then he pulls at his piercings, sending you a dark look that makes you go molten.

“I want to fuck you in this,” he says as he finishes taking off your pants, his free hand going to your hip where he traces your underwear. “Want to ruin your panties.”

“Do it,” you challenge him.

He doesn’t need to hear more before he’s returning over you, and his hand pushes your panties to the side so that he can run a finger between your folds, and then circle your clit. You grind your hips, seeking more friction, but Jungkook doesn’t oblige, instead pulling his finger away from your pussy.

“Be patient,” he whispers, and then he kisses you again.

The kiss is feathersoft, gentle, and you lose yourself in the very essence of him. You don’t care - you just want this moment, forever. A scene constantly replaying, away from the atrocity of the world, with your favourite song as the background music.

“Please,” you beg in a soft murmur when he pulls away from your lips, and this time he obliges, returning his hand to your pussy. This time, he pushes in, and you sigh against him as your walls clench around his digit.

“You’re already so wet,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again, his tongue lapping at yours. 

You moan in his mouth, hands lightly scratching his back as he adds a second finger. You can hear squelching sounds between your legs, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good that you can’t form a single coherent thought.

“Fuck,” you curse, and Jungkook chuckles, pecking your cheek.

“You take my fingers so well, peach,” he praises. “Will you take my cock just as well?”

You moan again, and you nod your head yes. “Yeah. Please.”

He smirks, pulling his fingers out of you. You both eye them - they’re covered in your juices, and it’s decadent, sinful.

Even more so when Jungkook puts them in his mouth to clean them thoroughly, drinking in your juices. 

“So sweet,” he whispers after, and then he shifts, straightening between your legs so that he can align his dick with your entrance, your panties still pushed to the side. He meets your gaze, his own dark with lust. “How do you want me tonight?” he asks, rubbing his dick on you slowly.

“Just fuck me, but come near,” you say, pulling on one of his wrists so that he leans over you again. 

He smiles, infinitely soft despite what you’re doing, and then he pushes in, ever so slowly. Inch after inch, Jungkook spears you with his dick until he bottoms out. He stills there, and you wrap your legs around his dainty waist to keep him as close as possible. He obliges, stealing a deep kiss on your lips, and he slowly pulls out before slamming to the hilt again, and you moan in his mouth.

The rhythm he establishes is slow and steady. Deep, in a way that makes you see stars in his gaze. Or maybe that’s just the way the light reflects in his eyes, or the emotions still swirling in the depths of him. You don’t know. All that you know is that you’re falling and falling, with no chance to ever stop now.

You’ve crossed too many lines to ever be able to stop. So you’ll enjoy it while it lasts. Chase all the cars around his head until you can’t anymore, until the last nail is in the coffin and you have to say goodbye to this, to him.

But for now, you enjoy. And you enjoy as best as you can, eyes fluttering shut as he slightly picks up the pace, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You hold him close, arms and legs tight around him, and you moan as he makes love to you.

At least that’s what this feels like. And you wouldn’t want it any other way. You just want the warm proximity of his body on yours, of his lips kissing your mouth. Jungkook gives you all, and you hope he knows you’re giving all to him in return.

Everything. You’ll give him everything until you have nothing left to give, if he so takes it.

“Fuck, peach,” he whispers. He slows down his rhythm, meets your gaze. “I’m really in love with this pussy of yours.”

You know why he says it that way. Know exactly what he truly means but can’t say, and you take that too, keep it locked up in a safe corner of your heart.

“I know,” you whisper, cupping his cheek, and he rests his forehead on yours again.

“I’ll fuck you like this every day,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.

A promise that maybe you’ll make it past your brother’s return.

“Please do,” you beg, and then you’re kissing again, and he’s pounding into you harder, seeking completion for the both of you.

You come before him. Nails digging in his back while you arch yours, walls pulsing around him. That’s what sends him over the edge, and Jungkook climaxes, his head falling in the crook of your neck as he comes and comes.

He’d paint you white if it wasn’t for the condom, and the thought makes you grind your hips instinctively. He kisses your neck in retaliation, and you moan softly, tilting your head to give him better access.

When you’ve come down from the high, you glance towards the coffee table and your abandoned game of Ticket to Ride. The sight makes you laugh, and you press a soft kiss on the mole on Jungkook’s neck as he asks, “What’s got you laughing?”

“We never finished the game,” you remind him.

He lifts his head just enough to look at the coffee table. “Damn,” he lets out. “I totally forgot about that.”

You can’t blame him. When you’re together, you forget about everything, too - he becomes the center of your universe. And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Should we finish it?” you ask.

He meets your gaze, pecks your forehead once. “Shower first?”

You can’t say no to those big doe eyes, so you follow him to the bathroom.

And while he washes your back, you hear the clock ticking, your expiration date looming closer with every second that passes.

Saturday, April 13th

The movie theatre is packed. 

You’re waiting in line for popcorn with Nabi, Namjoon and Ria, while Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi go to the bathroom. The hall of the movie theatre is loud, and you’ve been standing in silence with your friends as you wait for your turn, though you’ve been eyeing the menu as you’re trying to decide what to order.

You settle on a medium-sized bag of popcorn to share with Yoongi, and Namjoon and Ria grab different candies and chocolate bars for themselves and your other friends. You’re walking towards your movie room when you notice an all-too recognizable tattooed boy, who stands taller than the group that surrounds him.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and he grins broadly as he waves at you.

Four pairs of eyes turn to look at you - Jimin, Sera, Lisa and Eunwoo - and you smile at them, though your gaze quickly shifts back to Jungkook.

You’d told him you were coming to the movies with your friends before going out for drinks. You’re not surprised he’s decided to pull up - despite everything you’ve told him, he’s jealous of your friendship with Yoongi. Which you reckon is funny - Yoongi is trying to fix things with Hoseok, and all you’ve been doing is offer help to him when he needs it.

You don’t think the relationship is fixable, but you haven’t had the strength to break it to Yoongi yet. Not when they had a moment last week, and he’s been far too happy about it since then.

You walk over to where Jungkook’s standing, your friends in tow. It’s hard to stop yourself from hugging him, but you manage to do it, instead greeting everyone and smiling at Jimin as he asks what movie you’re going to see.  

“Dune 2,” you reply. 

Jimin snorts, saying, “Thought so.”

It sounds ominous, and you slightly furrow your brows, glancing towards Jungkook. He only shrugs his shoulders as he purses his lips.

And that’s how you end up mixing friend groups for the movie. You’re not surprised when Jungkook manages to sit on your left - he’s clearly been scheming for this all along. Yoongi, entirely oblivious, sits on your right.

“I haven’t even seen the first movie,” Yoongi says as he leans towards you. He quickly glances further down the row, where Hoseok sat with Namjoon and Nabi.

Jungkook mirrors Yoongi, and he’s so close you catch a whiff of the detergent he uses to wash his clothes. “It was practically a walking simulator in the desert. Not much to miss.”

Yoongi nods, sitting back in his seat. He offers you a knowing look, and then turns towards Seokjin and Ria on his other side, joining whatever conversation they’re having. You purse your lips, before sliding your gaze back to Jungkook.

“What are you doing here?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“My friends wanted to see the movie,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought we could go at the same time.”

You look up to the ceiling, though a smile is playing at the corners of your lips. “What a coincidence.”

He grins. “What a coincidence indeed.”

It makes you chuckle, and before you can say anything else, the light of the movie theatre dims, leaving you in only the glow of the screen as it comes to life.

You eat your popcorn as many movie trailers pass on the screen, Yoongi taking some once in a while. The movie starts when you’re halfway done with the bag, and soon you’re lost in the scenes, too focused to eat.

That’s when Jungkook strikes, stealing a handful of popcorn from your bag.

“Hey!” you whisper-shout, and he winks at you as he eats a mouthful of the snack. 

“What?” he whispers back once he’s swallowed.

“That’s mine.”

He flicks your nose, leaning closer to say directly in your ear, “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours, peach.”

You narrow your gaze. “You haven’t even bought any snacks.”

He shrugs. “I knew I’d steal yours.”

You roll your eyes, slightly shaking your head as you look back towards the screen, and he chuckles softly. Scenes flash in front of your eyes, and you get lost in the action. It might be an hour later, or just a few minutes, when Jungkook pokes your knee, attracting your attention.

You glance at him, but he’s focusing on the screen, his skin looking honey-like in the light. You furrow your brows in question, but when he doesn’t say anything, you shrug, looking back at the screen.

He does it again thirty seconds later, and this time he’s stifling a laugh when you glance at him.

“What do you want?” you whisper as you lean closer to him.

“You,” he replies simply, his eyes darkening as he meets your gaze.

You gulp. “We’re in the middle of a movie theatre with all of our friends.”

“I know,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve just been thinking of how you feel around my…”

You punch his shoulder before he can finish his sentence, and Lisa throws you a look that makes you sit back in your seat, folding your arms on your chest.

“Just focus on the movie, Kook,” you mumble.

He chuckles again, but before he can say anything else, Lisa nudges him. He glances at her, leaning closer when she whispers something you can’t quite hear. 

His whole demeanour changes after that, and he sits back in his chair, a slight pout on his lips. Gone is the playfulness, but you think it’s safer that way. He’s way too obvious when you’re in public, and though Taehyung still hasn’t said a thing, you know it’s bound to explode in your face soon.

Jungkook is leaving for Paris in just a few weeks after all. 

It douses you, and you finish watching the movie with a lump in your throat, one that doesn’t disappear even when you’re at the bar later, your friend group mixing with Jungkook’s far too easily. Of course, Jungkook notices, and he sits next to you, nudging you.

You glance at him, noticing the concern in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” you lie, but he sees through it immediately.

“Is it your cramps?”

You’re on your period. Obviously, he knows, and he’s been sweet about it, buying you snacks and putting his hands, always warm, on your lower stomach while you cuddle. 

You purse your lips, shaking your head. The concern doesn’t disappear from his features though, and you feel bad. Enough so that you say, “I’m just…”

You trail off as Lisa appears, sitting on the other side of Jungkook with two beers in hand. She gives one to Jungkook, who thanks her quickly before setting his gaze on you again. Yet she lingers, and you find yourself unable to speak, shrugging your shoulders.

“If there’s anything, just let me know,” Jungkook says, and he offers you a small smile that does nothing to tame the worry in his gaze. “I don’t mind heading home earlier.”

You nod once, and the conversation dies as Hoseok appears on the other side of the table, cheeks red with the shots he’s already downed.

“Not drinking tonight?” he asks you.

You shrug. “Not really in the mood.”

Hoseok narrows his gaze in his suspicion. “I’ve never seen you not in the mood to drink.”

You chuckle. “Well, now you have.”

You’re relieved when he lets it go, especially as you sensed Jungkook tensing by your side, an indication that he was going to intervene if Hoseok didn’t drop it. There’s a short silence, during which you notice Hoseok looking at Yoongi where he’s drinking with Namjoon and Seokjin, a few tables over.

You glance at Jungkook, motioning towards Hoseok. Jungkook frowns, not understanding, and you quickly pull out your phone to text him.

[10:37 pm] You: i want to talk to hobi about yoongi but not in front of you guys

Jungkook pulls out his phone to read your message. He doesn’t reply, yet he nods, turning towards Lisa. “Where are Sera and Jimin?”

“Ordering something at the bar,” Lisa replies, entirely unaware. “Why?”

“Want shots?”

Lisa beams under Jungkook’s gaze, and you taste bile in your mouth as they get up and walk away together, Jungkook shooting you a quick glance over his shoulder.

You can complain all you want about Jungkook being jealous of Yoongi, but you’re just as jealous of Lisa after all.

“What’s up with you and Yoongi?” you ask when they’re out of earshot, gaining Hoseok’s attention.

“Man…” he trails off. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel.”

“Is that why you’ve decided to switch universities?” 

You’ve been asking yourself that question for weeks, but Hoseok has been good at avoiding you, clearly realizing that you’ve grown closer to Yoongi.

Hoseok widens his gaze, and the blush on his cheeks deepens. “No? I said it’s because I’m following a professor.”

“What professor?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Hoseok shrugs, his eyes dropping to a knot in the wood of the table. “Why do you care?”

“You’re my friend,” you remind him. “No matter the history that we have. I’d be sad to see you go.”

He chuckles, and it’s a lot more bitter than you ever expected to hear him. “Listen, I don’t really want to be questioned. Is Yoongi the one that asked you to ask me this?”

“No,” you say. “Not at all. I’m just worried about you.”

“About me?” he repeats. “I’m all good, Y/n.”

He doesn’t sound convincing at all, so you say, “Just make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“I already did,” he admits, and his glance towards Yoongi is far too telling. “I’m not into him like that. I don’t even know if I’m into men like that.”

“Have you told him?” 

He shrugs. “Here and there. I think he knows.”

You think so too, as Yoongi had mentioned it when you’d studied together a few weeks ago. 

“Just make sure you’re honest with him, and honest with yourself,” you say after a few beats of silence.

Hoseok purses his lips, nodding once. “Will do.”

The air turns awkward as Hoseok just keeps on staring at the knot in the wood. You feel bad - you used to be a lot closer to him, and in just a few weeks, your relationship shifted. But you think it might be for the better - you can’t imagine how Jungkook would feel if you were close to someone you used to sleep with, considering he’s jealous of a friend you’ve never done anything with.

Not that that would stop you from being friends with someone. Especially not when April 29th is coming soon, and with it, your situationship - you’re not sure you can call it a relationship - will end. 

“Where are you moving?” you ask.

“San Diego,” he replies quickly, and a shy smile appears on his lips, like the thought excites him. “I can’t wait to not have to deal with winter anymore.”

“I can imagine,” you say, chuckling. “Though winter wasn’t too bad this year.”

“If there was an inch of snow then it was bad.” He says it wisely, and this time you laugh as he breaks into a smile.

The conversation is easier after that. Still heavy, because you both know the friendship likely won’t survive the distance, but you still manage to have fun as you speak about classes, about life, and about what he’ll do once he’s in California. Half an hour passes like that, and then you move to the bar, agreeing to grab a single drink.

You settle on an Amaretto Sour, and Ria and Nabi join you at the bar. You end up doing Lychee bombs with them, and then you follow them all back to the table where the rest of your friends are, along with Jimin, Sera and Jungkook.

You’re relieved to see Lisa isn’t there. Not that she’s not nice. She always is, despite her obvious attraction towards Jungkook. And though she clearly senses that something’s happening between you and Jungkook, she’s never said anything, and you respect her for it.

You sit between Nabi and Ria, and Nabi quickly melts against Namjoon next to her. You snort at the sight, turning to say it to Ria, who seems to be in a staring contest with Seokjin across the table.

You don’t really know what’s happening between the two. Ria mentioned that she’s not interested in him, saying he’s just gotten out of a relatively long relationship, and you’re not close enough to Seokjin to know his opinion.

You’re just observant, and you know just how much the air fills with electricity when these two are concerned. Lightning is bound to strike at some point, and you just hope it does so without hurting anyone.

You wonder, is that how the people around you perceive you and Jungkook?

The evening unfolds, calmer than your usual outings - you find yourself going home just a little after midnight. Jungkook’s with you, and he unlocks the door as you slowly walk up the stairs, shooting you a glance.

“You sure everything’s okay?” he asks as you finally reach the top.

You purse your lips, meeting his gaze. The streetlight down the stairs reflects in his gaze, and he looks angelic, innocent like this.

“Yeah, I’m just…” you trail off. “You’re leaving soon.”

His features soften, and he opens the door for you to walk in, following behind you. “I know,” he says once he’s shut the door.

You turn the lights on, meeting his gaze. Unable to help yourself, you cup his cheek, thumb swiping at his skin. “Want to share a bed tonight?” you ask.

As if you haven’t been sharing a bed for weeks already.

“Yes, of course,” he immediately agrees, and he covers your hand with his own, tugging you closer. “If you kiss me first.”

That makes you smile, like only he knows to do, and you tiptoe, pressing your lips on his in a featherlike peck.

“That doesn’t count,” he complains, lips jutting out in a small pout.

“Then kiss me,” you challenge. “Kiss me stupid.”

You don’t need to ask twice - he closes the distance between your mouths, lips ravaging yours, and you lose your hands in his hair.

Later, after you’ve sucked his dick in the shower - you don’t like having sex on your period, but you still wanted to make him feel good - you lie down in your bed, the fairy lights making the atmosphere far gentler than it should be.

It’s treacherous, and you lie with your head on Jungkook’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Chasing Cars is playing on his speaker, and you hold him tighter, putting all of your love in the act. He kisses the top of your head, mouth lingering against you.

“I’m happy you came tonight,” you admit. Indeed, despite the anxiety of Taehyung learning, you like hanging out with Jungkook. Like spending as much time as possible with him right now - the clock is ticking after all, and the sound resembles that of a bomb about to go off.

“Me too,” he whispers. 

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Have you talked to Taehyung recently?” 

The question takes him aback, and his eyebrows knit together. “I speak to him almost every day, why?”

Because you’ve been avoiding your brother like the plague. Because you know the second you speak to Taehyung, you’ll blurt out the truth, and you’re not ready to face his reaction yet.

You doubt you’ll ever be ready.

“How is he and the girl doing?” you ask. “Ariane?”

“Good,” Jungkook answers. “They’re pretty much official now.”

Your lips stretch in a thin line, and you rest your head on his chest again. 

You don’t want him to see the jealousy in your gaze.

“Good for him.” It sounds just as flat as you feel - like a tire pierced with a nail, emptied of all air.

Jungkook must feel it too, because his grip around you tightens, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. As if it’d save you from the looming heartbreak.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jungkook whispers a while later, when you thought he was asleep. 

You hope he doesn’t take your silence personal - you just don’t think you can figure it out.

Taehyung would never let it happen. So silence is what you offer Jungkook, and you wonder if the beat his heart skips is an indication that he’s breaking, much like you are breaking too.

Sunday, April 28th 

Time goes by fast. Sometimes, you think it’s even faster when you’re trying to hold on to something - like sand slipping through the fingers of a fist held tight, time has been slipping away.

The end is near. 

You’re sitting on Jungkook’s bed, watching him as he packs his suitcase. He’s been lazy, stopping often so that he can kiss you, hold you. He’s been clingy lately, much like you’ve been.

Like you’ve been trying to fit a whole relationship in just a few weeks. 

Jungkook lifts his head from his sock drawer, meeting your gaze. He smiles, but there’s sadness behind his pupils, lurking in the depths of his eyes. You want to take it away, but all you manage to do is smile a weak smile.

“I wonder if they’ll want to go to the Catacombs,” Jungkook says.

He’s been saying random stuff once in a while as he packs, grasping for a conversation you haven’t been able to join in. But you try, you always try, and you know he’s not mad at you for it.

Jungkook could never be mad at you. 

It’s strange how he changed in the last four months. You think back on the Incident, that dreaded Incident you had believed to be the most embarrassing thing in your life. Today, you know it wasn’t. It was the start of something great, something you wish never had an expiration date.

But nothing gold can stay, or so they say.

“I bet they’re creepy,” you answer. “Not sure I’d go if I were you.”

“I assume you’re the kind of person who gets scared while watching horror movies too, huh?” Jungkook teases, and he walks towards you, hands full of socks.

He drops them in the suitcase at your feet as you slightly shake your head, a teasing smirk growing on your lips. You doubt it meets your eyes, but it’s the best you can do.

“Says you, who prefers watching romance over action,” you tease.

Indeed, the first few times you’ve watched movies together, he’s suggested going for action first. But he never once appeared disappointed when you chose a romance movie, instead beaming at you as he nodded enthusiastically. It was adorable, endearing, like everything is when it comes to Jungkook.

You can hardly believe he used to sleep around, used to be the most renowned fuckboy in your college. Nowadays, Jungkook appears more like a hopeless romantic, and it’s easy to figure out why.

As someone who never received love from his family, he’s been craving it his whole life. At least you think so, and you’ve been giving it to him, pouring it to him, by actions rather than words.

“Nothing beats romance,” he declares, and you chuckle as he plops down on the bed next to you.

You turn your head towards him as he lies down, one hand on his chest.

“Is that why you cry in every movie?”

He frowns, a pout adorning his lips. “I don’t.”

You cock an eyebrow, because obviously he does, and you both burst out laughing at the same time. 

No matter how dreaded the circumstances are, the chemistry between you and Jeon Jungkook is undeniable. And as you look at him, you wonder if there’s a universe out there where you’re allowed to be with him. Where older brothers aren’t a thing, and where you get to call him yours, to scream it from the rooftops.

It douses your enthusiasm, and your smile falls as you look away. 

Jungkook sits up, cupping your cheek to force you to look at him again. He scans your features for a few seconds, and you stare at his eyebrow piercing, as if that will keep you from crumbling.

“You know…” he lets out. He sucks on his lower lip piercings, pulling at them so hard you think it has to hurt. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I really want to make us work.”

His simple sentence empties everything in your head, in your soul, until there’s just him left. 

“But how?”

“I’ll speak to Taehyung,” he says, for what has to be the thousandth time. Indeed, you’ve had that conversation before, but you never once agreed. “I’ll speak to him in Paris, and then when I come back this doesn’t have to be over.”

“This?” you repeat.

“Us.”

You sigh, and you look between his eyes. Hope lights his gaze, and you think there has to be a museum out there to exhibit such beauty. 

Jungkook is breathtaking in every way that matters.

“Tae will kill you,” you say, and the hope slowly withers like flowers in the fall. “Try to have a nice trip instead.”

“Then we can talk to him when I come back,” Jungkook suggests. “Together. I can use you as a human shield if he tries to kill me.”

You snort, and the hope reignites in his gaze. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then he’ll be mad,” Jungkook simply states. “I don’t want to lose you, peach.”

Fuck. You’re in love, and you’re in love deep.

“You might lose his friendship,” you say, but your resolve is melting away far quicker than you expected. Because he’s offering you a silver lining, a life vest in the storm that’s been raging inside your head for weeks.

“I honestly don’t care,” Jungkook says, but you see it in his eyes: he cares, and he’d be hurt. “I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

You highly doubt so but… what if he does? What if he forgives Jungkook, forgives you?

Then you wouldn’t need to travel to another universe. You’d have this one, and you’d have Jungkook.

Maybe you should try.

“Are you sure?” you ask, voice smaller than the atoms holding your body together.

He nods vehemently. “I am. 100%. I don’t want to lose you when we’ve barely just started.”

“Kook…”

He kisses you then, as if he needs to show you with action instead of words. You end up tangled in his bed, your bodies connected on a level deeper than the physical, yet you wouldn’t dare say it. And he doesn’t either, not even when you inevitably go to bed later that evening. 

You’re nestled in his embrace, a few minutes after he’s turned his LED lights off, when you say, “Kook?”

“Mmh?”

“Don’t talk to Tae in Paris,” you say. “We’ll wait for you to come back. And we’ll talk to him together.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. If that’s your wish, then I can do it.” He’d said so earlier after all.

You nod. “I think it’s better if it comes from us both instead of just you.”

“Makes sense.” Jungkook kisses your forehead, and a soft smile spreads on your lips. “And peach?”

“Yeah?” you murmur.

“If you miss me too much, feel free to sleep in my bed and wear my clothes, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses your forehead again, and despite the words exchanged, you fear it might mean goodbye.

Prev | Chapter 10.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

no but why did I forget how sad this chapter was? Help, they are so afraid to lose each other :') anywayyys what did you guys think about this chapter? Did you like it?? Please let me know:)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[that-angry-noldo]

No matter how much time passes, the blood never seems to come off.

Blood, bile, rot, mud. If not to the skin, then it sticks to the spirit. No matter how hard he tries, Finarfin can't help but feel it on his fingers, his eyelids, his mouth.

He draws baths. Soaks in soap and warm water, scrubs his skin until it hurts, rubs oils and lotions into it. Or else it's a simple bucket with a rag, and the water is ice-cold, and the sharp smell of soap reminds him of tents and marches and furs and blood.

His skin is clean and pristine, but it does not feel like that.

He sits in the bath, and looks at the ceiling, counting the pieces of mosaic. The water is steaming-hot; if a few tears escape his eyes, he can tell himself it's because of the temperature, the sweat.

How often did he dream of a bath like this in Beleriand, mud sticking to his skin and mixing with sweat, blood drying on his hair? Let me survive the battle, and survive the week, and survive the war, and return home, and dive into hot water until it all comes off, let me rub the soap into my skin and feel it clean, let me wash the grease and blood off my hair. Let it all come off like a shell, like snake-skin. Let me emerge a new being, let me forget, let the water take memories as well.

But that is all fantasy, of course. He does not arrive to Tirion caked in dirt and dust; he does not arrive with his worries all in the past, with his lungs light and his mind kind. The years of war bled into the years of retreat to the shores, the grey worry of post-war struggle grew into nagging anxiety of the voyage, the voyage and arrival came with array of their own stress. Finarfin's mind races, and races, and races, thoughts jumping onto each other and fingers tapping inconsistent rhythms. He orders to draw a bath, and finds it different from his trench-fevered fantasies; the water is too hot, the lights are too bright, the smells are too sweet. There is no release and no catharsis; mainly numbness, and discomfort, and fear somewhere in the back of his mind. He swears in Beleriand he will soak in water for days. In truth it barely takes half an hour.

He pretends to not not see the broken grief of the yesterday soldiers; pretends to not see pity or well-hidden disgust of those who stayed behind. Pretends to not see Eärwen's sadness. Pretends to not feel the rough skin of his hands, so unsuited for a king. Pretends that still unhealed scars do not hurt more with every day, until all his body is a constant pain, until he thinks he feels his bones crumble beneath the weight of his flesh. Pretends he does not wish, more than anything, for an arrow or blade to find him, here, in land of peace. Pretends to not think about his daughter on the other side of the sea; pretends to not remember her eyes when she looked at him, and said, I will not go.

The councils grow longer, the taste of food—blander, and Finarfin's thoughts are empty. At the end of the day, it's always this: water, soap, steam, and the numb feeling that it's all that is left.

[zaceouiswriting]

The fairy stone Pt.2 (final)

Character: Klaus Mikaelson x male reader, Hope Mikaelson (platonic)

Universe: Vampire dairies, The Originals

Warnings: Death

The nights became longer. For every moment, you were chained up in this dark, wet place. A dungeon of sorts. Sometimes you see one of your captures. They look good, even great on some of these days. Three of them look at you in pity, when they come to get more of your fairy dust. The one thing that was keeping you alive.

In the years though, you produces less and less of it. They actually gathered you dry of it. On rare days, they still get some, but not even close to what they once could gather.

Only two of the people, who took pity on you, actually were concerned for your well being. Tried to talk to their leader to set you free, for years. But only encountered anger and his wrath in from of a dagger. Then you will not see them for a while. 

Not once has the leader of your capturers ever visited you, which only strengthened the pain you felt in your heart.

You even tried to flee from this place yourself a couple of times, especially in the beginning, until the bound you with chains, made of gold and copper. Which with fragments of the stone you gave them, could hold your magic in you.

Hope was lost for you a long time ago. Now you just waited for the death, that was long overdue. You saw worlds flourishing and fall. But never see one of your own kin see die outside of battle.

Alone the thought of an death this way, was humiliating for you. Never in your eternal life, you would’ve ever thought it would come to something like this.

Just another day in the Mikaelson dungeon, waiting for your demise. Only for you seeing a small child in this dark place.

At first you were confused, thinking you hallucinated. But the child was real. It touched you and asked if you were okay.

Most of your strength was used to give the little girl a smile, „What are you doing here?“, you asked concerned.

The girl only cocked her head to the side, looking at you, trying to piece you together. You could feel immense power radiating from her, even stronger than the one of the man you once loved so dearly.

„What is your name?“, you asked her a question again.

„Hope,“ she stated matter of factly. Which brought you to laugh. Not because her name was stupid or that it didn't fit her, but because she might be your only hope.

You two talked for hours, every day. Since you knew her, you hang on you life a little bit more. So sure that one day, someone would set you free.

And after months off getting to know each other you asked her, „Could you let me free? I don’t have much time left and I really want to see and feel the sun one last time.“

Your smile was genuine. And Hope knew as well as you did, that time was running out for you fast. She even mentioned it a couple of times, but you tried to be nice and not devastated her, because at this point, you two became friends.

She broke your chains with ease and even helped your stand up, „Wow, you are way stronger than you look,“ you teasingly told her, which got you a slight punch against your arm.

But both of you laughed. She was mature for her age. Maybe even a little bit too much.

Slowly she helped you walk up the stairs. You holding yourself near the wall to not fall backwards back into the dark.

As soon as the sun hit your sickened skin, you felt free. The air, dancing around trough her greasy hair and almost grey skin from the long time, you haven’t seen the sun.

For just a moment a spurt of strength came over you and without Hope you ran outside, directly into a patio with people sitting in it. The one who captured you so long ago.

Your eyes held nothing but hatred for all of them, even the one you loved most in your entire existence.

„What? How did you get out?“, he angrily asked you, storming over to you. But Hope stopped him in his tracks.

„He is my friend, dad!“, she exclaimed loudly.

Your world crumbled again. Eyes switching between the man and the girl, not wanting to realize the extend of his betrayal.

„You betrayed me, to became a full hybrid, let a woman conceive your child and what after that? Protect it against everything in this world? Even when I would die from it?“

Bitterness laid on your tongue as you spoke those words. You couldn’t hate Hope, she was innocent in all of this, but her family, you could hate them.

„What do you mean? You can’t die, you are a fairy,“ he dryly sarcastically through his hands in the air.

„You mean the fairy, you took the fairy dust off of, every time his body and magic tried to feed him magic back? Inside of chains that prevented me of building something that would’ve allowed me to live down there forever?“ 

Your words got the man in front of you thinking. Everyone only knew what your kin was telling them. So they actually did not know anything.

„Look at me Klaus,“ you asked him to do, but his eyes never looked at you directly, „LOOK AT ME!“, you screamed with all you had left.

Finally his eyes finally met yours, dead and completely unfocused on anything. Just then, you finally gave up. The love you once thought was in him, wasn’t there anymore, he looked at you in disinterest.

You finally gave up. As your body fell to the ground, the small child, hold your head before it could smash into the ground as well.

„Little Hope,“ you whispered with all your strength gone now.

Her tears at least showed you, that not everything in their family was dead yet.

„Give me your necklace, little Hope.“ She did as you asked her. Without any other word, you broke her skin with your finger, as well as your own. Both your bloods dropped down on her necklace, which had a part of the stone, you once gave her father.

„Whatever the fairy council decided to do to your family, you will be except of it, as long as you wear this and keep me in your mind. Okay? Never forget me, child born of the dust of an fairy.“

Not long after, you closed your eyes and the sun was shining down at you, your body began to vanish into dust. The last bits of fairy dust your body would ever produce. Your ashes if you will so.

Before you vanished from the realm of existence, a scream breaking all the realms trough, could be heard. The scream of your kin, wanting for vengeance.

[industria-adastra]

[Twisted Wonderland x Puella Magi Madoka Magica] - What to do when you reload in the wrong universe? - [AU] - I liked to have met you sooner

Summary: What was loss, to an immortal? Did they feel it keener than most, with how quickly intimate bonds forged would be broken by death? Or would the sharp wound fade over time, re-building scabs and skin over and over again? Malleus did not know. (He did not want to know)

Lilia had once told him that humans, most especially, had short lives. And it was knowing that shortness, that suddenly having a friend torn away, not by the passage of time, but by something she couldn’t have asked for to happen, that made it all the more painful.

Note: Can be considered a sequel of sorts to "The sky's overcast, and I'm sorry", which can be read here

-----

Malleus Draconia, for all the years and centuries he had lived, had never truly felt loss. He was the prince of the Briar Valley, and so, he was kept within its ornate dark stone walls, detached from the rest of the world. Even so, he found that, as lonely as it had been, with only his grandmother, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek…

It was incomparable to the sheer emptiness that followed after her death.

(Would it have been better for him to have simply stayed there, ignorant and alone? At least his heart would not have been torn into strips by both despair and hope.)

Death. Even now, the thought had yet to settle in his mind.

When they all had defeated the other child of man's (Homura. It hurt to even think of her name.) overblotted form, they had thought it'd be all over. But when the dust had settled, and her personal prison of despair had crumbled, all that was left was her cooling body.

A corpse. It was such a cold term. Cold, for a child who had burned so brightly in her own quiet way. Who had burned too bright and became consumed by her flames. That child, who had quietly accepted him like Yuu, allowed him to ramble on and on about gargoyles and his little pet Drago, allowing him to bask in the presence of friendship. As her knowledge of this world progressed, he found that he’d often come to her for help regarding matters of technology. 

Her image, once as pristine as the glacial waters of the rivers running through the valley, was now tainted by the ink of her despair. 

Malleus could see Yuu, wailing, so loud, louder than he’d ever been, as he cradled her broken body. (She had been through worse, so perhaps her eyes would open. Soon. Any second now—) The little monster—Grim—confusedly nudging at her still limbs. Al-Asim, Howl, and Spade, empty-eyed and wordless in their stunned stupor, Trappola, in loud denial. Rosehearts, Ashengrotto, and Viper were still desperately suggesting ways to heal her. 

Not a single face here was dry.

As well-trained as both Silver and Sebek were, Malleus was sure they had never truly experienced death before their eyes. Just like him, there was so much they had yet to know. 

(And she would no longer be there to teach him as well)

And just like him, they had been wholly unprepared, defenseless against this horrible twist of fate.

The sky crackled with thunder, and sorrow fell from the clouds.

Even the heavens were raining. How tragically fitting. 

The rain mixed with his tears, blurring his vision and hurting his eyes, wetting his hair until it became a black curtain. A curtain that shielded that image of her, sleeping, yet never to wake no matter how many kisses would be bestowed upon her. Curses, he could unravel. This… Malleus did not know what to do.

To his left, he could see Lilia, solemn, staring. Was he trying to commit all her features to memory, knowing he’d never see her again? To his right, Schoenheit was speaking in low tones to Hunt and his little protege. Yet not low enough that he could not hear.

“...I’ve always seen such scenes in films, and yet… It didn’t prepare me, even a little, to see it in person at all.” Schoenheit’s voice was quiet, subdued, wavering, and trembling. Malleus remembered, vaguely, that they had been close. Schoenheit had inadvertently taken her under his wing as well, always fussing over her in his own roundabout ways.

Humans, mortals. Even with their short lifespans, they too, were still unable to handle loss.

(Like a cog in the machine, take her away and it would cease to work)

She had been so small, even when caged within that large skeleton, surrounded by a ring of little puppets who had shed tears yet had laughed so mockingly. 

There had been the ink, an oily, noxious substance, overpowering in its scent of lilies, twisting and spiraling into macabre images and blooming into red spider lilies. There had been a girl without a head, a girl swallowed within black depths, a girl burning endlessly as she searched, and a girl who’d been torn apart with a smile on her lips. All placed upon their honorary pedestals of horror. And weaved within the hair of the half-skull were countless flowers and jewels. Guarding them all and pushing her towards the guillotine was a veritable army of magical familiars.

(She had begged them for death, yet had wished for happiness in that same breath)

Malleus remembered her giving him violet chrysanthemums, entwined with angelica flowers. He’d seen them then, curling round electric green gems and adding color to her mourner’s garb, amongst the other conflicting flora and jewels. He remembered pink roses, pinned next to her still heart.

They had not known then.

And they had been all so naive, even him and Lilia, with all their knowledge. So sure that it would simply be a repeat of the past seven times. They would defeat her, just in the nick of time, and while they’d be bruised and battered from the sheer amount of magic she’d thrown at them, they would have laughed together after having survived. With a wave of his hand, their injuries would have disappeared, and perhaps they would have celebrated within Ramshackle dorm. 

He had spun a tapestry of dreams, only to find that his thread had been too weak to withstand the forces of reality.

Malleus took a step forward. He felt unsteady on his feet, the world spinning around on an ever-changing axis. If he continued to stay where he was, perhaps he could still imagine that the child was still sleeping. Yet, as he came closer, with everyone wordlessly parting a road for him, reality could not help remind him that it was a futile delusion to keep. 

Kneeling, Malleus could see even more damning details that ripped out those threads and turned them to ash.

Her skin was tinged blue, ashen in its pallor. Her eyes were mercifully closed, but the cold of her skin seeping through his gloves was icier than the prickling rain. Each touch stabbed at his heart, reminding him that she had left to somewhere Malleus could not follow. Just as he’d been led halfway through a shadowed road, a light had been cruelly extinguished. 

Malleus carefully maneuvered her out of Yuu’s tight embrace, coaxing him to let go—barely even knowing what he even said for him to do so—if only for a moment. He held her within his arms, struck by the knowledge of how small and light she was all over again.

She had only been fourteen. 

Homura had only been fourteen, yet she looked to have carried the whole world on her shoulders. Even (asleep) in death, she did not look at peace. His fingers moved to smooth the rictus of agony, the furrow of pain in her delicate features. Her body wouldn’t stay still. Or was it him? Trembling and working to push down the lump in his throat and ease back the pressure in his heart. He couldn’t trust himself to speak out loud, so instead, he held her even closer and pressed his face to her hair.

The scent of lilies still pervaded. Malleus hated it.

He had never truly hated anything. Until today.

Magic crackled in the air alongside, running through raindrops and the ground. Plants were growing rapidly, twisting vines and brambly thorns wrapping around each other. The thorns scratched his skin. He could barely hear anything but the sound of his own heavy breathing, everything else becoming white noise to his ears.

As a prince, he always got whatever he wanted. 

Now, he wanted to crush her to his chest. Wanted to hide her in his arms and maybe shield her from whatever else would hurt her. Wanted to see if pain would shock her awake and snap open those eyelids, to reveal vibrant amethysts once more. Wanted to press her closer, as if his body could swallow her whole. Wanted, wanted, wanted. 

Malleus wanted Homura to come back.

The things he’d truly wanted were never given to him.

[infitsovermisfits]

Volatile P1: Meeting an Old Friend

info: "It's been years since Silco, Vander and (Y/N) split up. When Silco searches for his old friend again, asking them to help him teach a child he had recently taken in their 'explosive' craft, their feelings for him are reignited. The question remains if he burns for them just as bright as they do."

i also made a seperate blog (<<click) for my silco fic :p

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

possibly will have more parts? I'll try my best i just wanted to write for him so much he's been on my mind all day ;-;

WARNINGS: gender-neutral reader, mentions of pain, violence, murder, explosions etc. Takes place roughly hours after the events of episode 3 enjoy ;)

2057 words

Another hard day at the mines left your body aching and sweating. There were times where you thought your bones and muscles would one day betray you and crumble to dust, leaving you in a broken heap from all the work you do. Trudging into the backrooms of the dingy restaurant you worked at part-time, your eyes rolled as your boss pointed out you were 'late' once again, and that's all you spoke to him in the 3 hours you worked. Finally, you were free, the usually soft grey clouds that were visible between peaks of black and brown smoke had shifted to black, the night looming overhead. Your gaze focused on the ground as you walked, not wanting to see the usual street lurkers and thieves, or the lust-filled backstreets of Zaun. All you longed for was your bed- although not the best, you at least had one. And you should be grateful for it. Miss Eclipt was doing you a huge favour renting a room so cheap with a bed in it,  even if it meant she'd complain to you about how she's wasting money.

The aching in your body seemed to only intensify the more you trudged, but reminding yourself of the knowledge that you'd be sleeping soundly soon filled you with determination. Soon you made it, as usual, Miss E. greeting you and commenting on the stench of sweat that caused your clothes to cling to your skin,

"Not as bad as the fumes, Miss E," You jested tiredly, to which the small woman tsked and walked away. You headed to the communal showers, wincing and pushing the thoughts of the germs and bacteria that had built up here for a while, and undressing. You grabbed the least grimey towel, hidden away from plain sight and washed under the cold water, shivering.

Once again, you trudged up the stairs, knees, arm, back screaming in a painful unison as you slowly ascended, gripping the towel close to you. Luckily it was too late for anyone else to be up so no one would see you, but you'd surely get yelled at for all the excess water you dripped off on your way up.

Quickly drying your body, you grabbed your night clothes and slipped them on in a trance like routine, your body acting on its own amidst the pain as usual. Finally. Finally, you lay down, starfishing and sighing deeply as the stillness surrounded you, the pain making your face scrunch as you waited for it to transform into aches. Pulling on the blanket, your heavy eyes fell shut, as your mind flooded away to sleep.

It was still dark. Your hazy dream of a saturated world faded away and in place of those happy bright colours, the usual greys and blacks filled your vision. Blinking and shuffling your legs beneath the covers you felt an unusual weight. Frowning, you sat up and let out a faint gasp, your eyes springing open and breath quickening at the figure sitting at the foot of your bed.

He was there, clad in a dark coat, his head bowed and his elbows resting loosely on his thin knees turned to the side from you. The collar obscured his head slightly, so only the top of his hair was visible, and the tip of his long nose. He made no noise entering, explaining why you didn't wake sooner- you still couldn't determine if he came through the window or door: nothing looked out of place, not even his footprints seemed to disturb the layer of dust mimicking a carpet on your floor. With a sigh, his shoulders drooped, and his face finally turned to look at you.

One of his eyes appeared hooded, the other black, and glowing red in the darkness, whole and circular, the absence of an eyelid clear. In the faint light, you made out the scars slicing down this discoloured portion of his face. His lips were pulled into a frown as he observed you- his neutral facial expression.

The initial panic of another person being in your house subsided,

"Silco," You sighed in relief. Having a known murderer and dangerous man should elicit a different response. But alas,

"This is where you live," This comment, not question, was laced in his low voice, the volume barely above a hum. You stopped yourself from whispering a 'yes', and only gave a nod as you lowered the bed covers from where you clutched them protectively at first. The weight left your bed, and you listened to his silent footsteps as he explored the small space, "No kitchen," An observant comment. Once you finished rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes you pointed to a small bot full of ash, next to a kettle and pot. He walked right by them, glancing at the shelf where most of your clothes were and he stopped at the desk under your window littered with bills, receipts and other papers. Placing a hand on it revealed it wobbled back and forth, squeaking and rattling the pen and pencil. A soft grunt left his lips, his body reducing to a silhouette in front of a window, "This is barely a home," Yet another observation.

"Did Miss E. let you in?" You asked wearily, dropping your arms to your lap and squinting to be able to see him, eyes focusing on the glowing red pupil that emanated from his eye.

"I entered myself," He said, not moving,

"And to what do I owe you this visit?" You placed your chin on your hand, leaning an elbow on your head as he had done before, "After our argument years ago, I surely thought I'd never hear from any of you again. I thought you slunk into the darkness like the sewer rat you are," you told him casually. From how you squinted, you made out his frown, appearing more pronounced. He sighed,

"Savika is in a critical state. As is Singed, and most of my men and women," This perked up your attention, and you sat up in shock,

"Stars- how?" You said, moving the covers aside to reveal you wearing tattered everyday clothes, clearly frequently used, as pyjamas "What happened- how did-"

He produced something that caught the dim green light outside from his pockets. Gingerly taking it, you felt the coolness of metal against your fingers, the shape feeling slightly heavy, and being decorated with a cartoonish monkey- mouth painted red with sharp teeth and eyes glaring with angry eyebrows. The artwork of a child,

"A bomb," He said nonchalantly, moving from you to stand closer to the door, his hands moving behind his back as he locked his fingers together. Turning to see your shocked expression again, "She lost her family and-"

"Dear Stars, Silco don't tell me y-"

"I'm not entirely responsible... In fact, she is," He looked down, with what you thought could be a hint of sadness. It was difficult to tell- as was everything with Silco, "She created a powerful explosion- Sevika's arm is completely destroyed, beyond repair... Had she not jumped in front of me, likely I would have suffered that fate," He admitted with a heavy sigh, clear he felt regret, "Bodies were found in the rubble. Children. Likely her siblings. Vander-"

"You killed him?" You asked expectantly, to which his eye narrowed and he nodded,

"Vander was not the man you knew him to be," he said as he averted his gaze. His tone indicated he had rehearsed the phrase already,

"I know, Silco. He tried to kill you," You said, frowning, "And you... I understand your... Ways are unconventional, but I can't support... It's inhumane," At that his lips lifted into a small smile,

"There's a monster in all of us," Another rehearsed phrase, "You supported me once before, didn't you?" Your annoyance grew,

"Why did you come here?" You hissed now, a glare forming, "If you expect me to help you in-"

"I need you to help her," He cut you off. You fell silent again, eyes widening in shock as your head connected the dots

"You're didn't-"

"I took her in,"

"Silco that's-"

"What?" He watched you expectantly, eyebrow raised. His other, drawn on remained still, and you eyed the corrupted side of his face. You frowned, "It's what?" he asked, his voice dropping low again, judgemental,

"Is this... The best choice for her..?" You questioned him. He didn't have a response to this, allowing you to elaborate, "You taking her. Your lifestyle isn't exactly best suited for a child- she has no one else?"

"Shall I bring her to you?" You asked, bitterness seeping into his words and you found yourself cowering slightly in shame, glancing at the grey, tattered walls of your home, "Could you offer her more?"

"Safety-"

"Believe me, (Y/N), she is safer with me than she would ever be with Vander," His brother's name was spat at you, and you found yourself defeated, a sigh leaving your lips. You pressed them together, turning your attention back to the decapitated metal monkey head in your clutched palm, and tracing the now warm metal,

"You need me to train her how to make bombs?" You asked, frowning, "You'll turn her into a weapon?"

"She needs to know the dangers of her work. I'm not creating a weapon, I'm cultivating a passion" He lifted a hand to correct you, his long fingers pressed together, and your attention focused on a scar slicing into his palm, grip tightening around the monkey head in your palm, the metal touching a similar scar on your own palm "You're the only person I know who's... As inventive as she is," He said sincerely, dropping his hand and hiding it behind his back again

"I don't do that anymore," You reminded, "V- He, you and I all walked our separate ways years ago. For a reason. A good reason. And I threw that life away behind me, and-"

"And look where it landed you," He finished for you, smugly, our glare intensifying as you looked up at him, expression neutral, and yet teasing clear in his tone,

"This apartment is fine-"

"It's barely a home. It reaks of the mines. It's cold and damp. There's mould-"

"You've got a kid one day, and suddenly you're an expert on home decor Silco?" You shot back at him, His eye narrowed again, "Next time, let me ask you for advice before you barge into my home and complain,"

"I'm offering you a better life. For a favour. A simple one at that. Help her," He said lowly, and then shocked you, "Please," You had to admit, it may be the first time you ever heard him utter the word. You didn't even think it was part of his vocabulary. He was clearly passionate and in need of help. And damn your kind heart for empathising with the poor girl.

Losing family was something you were, unfortunately, familiar with, as was Silco and Vander. The three of you met in the Lanes, and formed a bond you had hoped was unbreakable. Now one of you was dead. The other, the killer and you... The one in the middle.

"Fine," You sighed, extending the warmed metal back to him, "But I'll need the right equipment and a workshop, as well as ingredients, and books. I'm a little rusty on my knowledge and wouldn't want something to go wrong"

"Don't worry, I'll get you whatever you need," He said, with surprising care. He turned away from you without taking the object, "My people will come to escort you with your things tomorrow,"

"I have work tomorrow," you stepped closer, still offering him the monkey. He gazed at you with his blackened eye, darting quickly over your face, wide and alert, unresting,

"Resign," He said simply, opening your door and stopping for a moment, " 'The Last Drop' is in need of a new bartender," walking down the stairs of your apartment and disappearing out of your sight. You shut the door, leaning against it,

"Stars guide me towards your light..." You whispered, your hand tightening around the metal of the object and pressing it to your chest, your gaze drifting to the dirty green window, in hopes they'd still hear you over the pollution filled air, "I'm dealing with fucking criminals again," You sighed in defeat, the monkey head being abandoned on your desk, watching as you pulled a backpack from bellow your bed and begun to stuff it with the few possessions you owned.

[silcoseye]

Volatile: P1: Meeting With an Old Friend

ARCANE SPOILERS!!

info: "It's been years since Silco, Vander and (Y/N) split up. When Silco searches for his old friend again, asking them to help him teach a child he had recently taken in their 'explosive' craft, their feelings for him are reignited. The question remains if he burns for them just as bright as they do."

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part7 | part 8

WARNINGS: gender-neutral reader, mentions of pain, violence, murder, explosions etc. Takes place roughly hours after the events of episode 3 of "Arcane" ((SPOILERS)) enjoy ;)

2057 words

Another hard day at the mines left your body aching and sweating. There were times where you thought your bones and muscles would one day betray you and crumble to dust, leaving you in a broken heap from all the work you do. Trudging into the backrooms of the dingy restaurant you worked at part-time, your eyes rolled as your boss pointed out you were 'late' once again, and that's all you spoke to him in the 3 hours you worked. Finally, you were free, the usually soft grey clouds that were visible between peaks of black and brown smoke had shifted to black, the night looming overhead. Your gaze focused on the ground as you walked, not wanting to see the usual street lurkers and thieves, or the lust-filled backstreets of Zaun. All you longed for was your bed- although not the best, you at least had one. And you should be grateful for it. Miss Eclipt was doing you a huge favour renting a room so cheap with a bed in it,  even if it meant she'd complain to you about how she's wasting money.

The aching in your body seemed to only intensify the more you trudged, but reminding yourself of the knowledge that you'd be sleeping soundly soon filled you with determination. Soon you made it, as usual, Miss E. greeting you and commenting on the stench of sweat that caused your clothes to cling to your skin,

"Not as bad as the fumes, Miss E," You jested tiredly, to which the small woman tsked and walked away. You headed to the communal showers, wincing and pushing the thoughts of the germs and bacteria that had built up here for a while, and undressing. You grabbed the least grimey towel, hidden away from plain sight and washed under the cold water, shivering.

Once again, you trudged up the stairs, knees, arm, back screaming in a painful unison as you slowly ascended, gripping the towel close to you. Luckily it was too late for anyone else to be up so no one would see you, but you'd surely get yelled at for all the excess water you dripped off on your way up.

Quickly drying your body, you grabbed your night clothes and slipped them on in a trance like routine, your body acting on its own amidst the pain as usual. Finally. Finally, you lay down, starfishing and sighing deeply as the stillness surrounded you, the pain making your face scrunch as you waited for it to transform into aches. Pulling on the blanket, your heavy eyes fell shut, as your mind flooded away to sleep.

It was still dark. Your hazy dream of a saturated world faded away and in place of those happy bright colours, the usual greys and blacks filled your vision. Blinking and shuffling your legs beneath the covers you felt an unusual weight. Frowning, you sat up and let out a faint gasp, your eyes springing open and breath quickening at the figure sitting at the foot of your bed.

He was there, clad in a dark coat, his head bowed and his elbows resting loosely on his thin knees turned to the side from you. The collar obscured his head slightly, so only the top of his hair was visible, and the tip of his long nose. He made no noise entering, explaining why you didn't wake sooner- you still couldn't determine if he came through the window or door: nothing looked out of place, not even his footprints seemed to disturb the layer of dust mimicking a carpet on your floor. With a sigh, his shoulders drooped, and his face finally turned to look at you.

One of his eyes appeared hooded, the other black, and glowing red in the darkness, whole and circular, the absence of an eyelid clear. In the faint light, you made out the scars slicing down this discoloured portion of his face. His lips were pulled into a frown as he observed you- his neutral facial expression.

The initial panic of another person being in your house subsided,

"Silco," You sighed in relief. Having a known murderer and dangerous man should elicit a different response. But alas,

"This is where you live," This comment, not question, was laced in his low voice, the volume barely above a hum. You stopped yourself from whispering a 'yes', and only gave a nod as you lowered the bed covers from where you clutched them protectively at first. The weight left your bed, and you listened to his silent footsteps as he explored the small space, "No kitchen," An observant comment. Once you finished rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes you pointed to a small bot full of ash, next to a kettle and pot. He walked right by them, glancing at the shelf where most of your clothes were and he stopped at the desk under your window littered with bills, receipts and other papers. Placing a hand on it revealed it wobbled back and forth, squeaking and rattling the pen and pencil. A soft grunt left his lips, his body reducing to a silhouette in front of a window, "This is barely a home," Yet another observation.

"Did Miss E. let you in?" You asked wearily, dropping your arms to your lap and squinting to be able to see him, eyes focusing on the glowing red pupil that emanated from his eye.

"I entered myself," He said, not moving,

"And to what do I owe you this visit?" You placed your chin on your hand, leaning an elbow on your head as he had done before, "After our argument years ago, I surely thought I'd never hear from any of you again. I thought you slunk into the darkness like the sewer rat you are," you told him casually. From how you squinted, you made out his frown, appearing more pronounced. He sighed,

"Savika is in a critical state. As is Singed, and most of my men and women," This perked up your attention, and you sat up in shock,

"Stars- how?" You said, moving the covers aside to reveal you wearing tattered everyday clothes, clearly frequently used, as pyjamas "What happened- how did-"

He produced something that caught the dim green light outside from his pockets. Gingerly taking it, you felt the coolness of metal against your fingers, the shape feeling slightly heavy, and being decorated with a cartoonish monkey- mouth painted red with sharp teeth and eyes glaring with angry eyebrows. The artwork of a child,

"A bomb," He said nonchalantly, moving from you to stand closer to the door, his hands moving behind his back as he locked his fingers together. Turning to see your shocked expression again, "She lost her family and-"

"Dear Stars, Silco don't tell me y-"

"I'm not entirely responsible... In fact, she is," He looked down, with what you thought could be a hint of sadness. It was difficult to tell- as was everything with Silco, "She created a powerful explosion- Sevika's arm is completely destroyed, beyond repair... Had she not jumped in front of me, likely I would have suffered that fate," He admitted with a heavy sigh, clear he felt regret, "Bodies were found in the rubble. Children. Likely her siblings. Vander-"

"You killed him?" You asked expectantly, to which his eye narrowed and he nodded,

"Vander was not the man you knew him to be," he said as he averted his gaze. His tone indicated he had rehearsed the phrase already,

"I know, Silco. He tried to kill you," You said, frowning, "And you... I understand your... Ways are unconventional, but I can't support... It's inhumane," At that his lips lifted into a small smile,

"There's a monster in all of us," Another rehearsed phrase, "You supported me once before, didn't you?" Your annoyance grew,

"Why did you come here?" You hissed now, a glare forming, "If you expect me to help you in-"

"I need you to help her," He cut you off. You fell silent again, eyes widening in shock as your head connected the dots

"You're didn't-"

"I took her in,"

"Silco that's-"

"What?" He watched you expectantly, eyebrow raised. His other, drawn on remained still, and you eyed the corrupted side of his face. You frowned, "It's what?" he asked, his voice dropping low again, judgemental,

"Is this... The best choice for her..?" You questioned him. He didn't have a response to this, allowing you to elaborate, "You taking her. Your lifestyle isn't exactly best suited for a child- she has no one else?"

"Shall I bring her to you?" You asked, bitterness seeping into his words and you found yourself cowering slightly in shame, glancing at the grey, tattered walls of your home, "Could you offer her more?"

"Safety-"

"Believe me, (Y/N), she is safer with me than she would ever be with Vander," His brother's name was spat at you, and you found yourself defeated, a sigh leaving your lips. You pressed them together, turning your attention back to the decapitated metal monkey head in your clutched palm, and tracing the now warm metal,

"You need me to train her how to make bombs?" You asked, frowning, "You'll turn her into a weapon?"

"She needs to know the dangers of her work. I'm not creating a weapon, I'm cultivating a passion" He lifted a hand to correct you, his long fingers pressed together, and your attention focused on a scar slicing into his palm, grip tightening around the monkey head in your palm, the metal touching a similar scar on your own palm "You're the only person I know who's... As inventive as she is," He said sincerely, dropping his hand and hiding it behind his back again

"I don't do that anymore," You reminded, "V- He, you and I all walked our separate ways years ago. For a reason. A good reason. And I threw that life away behind me, and-"

"And look where it landed you," He finished for you, smugly, our glare intensifying as you looked up at him, expression neutral, and yet teasing clear in his tone,

"This apartment is fine-"

"It's barely a home. It reaks of the mines. It's cold and damp. There's mould-"

"You've got a kid one day, and suddenly you're an expert on home decor Silco?" You shot back at him, His eye narrowed again, "Next time, let me ask you for advice before you barge into my home and complain,"

"I'm offering you a better life. For a favour. A simple one at that. Help her," He said lowly, and then shocked you, "Please," You had to admit, it may be the first time you ever heard him utter the word. You didn't even think it was part of his vocabulary. He was clearly passionate and in need of help. And damn your kind heart for empathising with the poor girl.

Losing family was something you were, unfortunately, familiar with, as was Silco and Vander. The three of you met in the Lanes, and formed a bond you had hoped was unbreakable. Now one of you was dead. The other, the killer and you... The one in the middle.

"Fine," You sighed, extending the warmed metal back to him, "But I'll need the right equipment and a workshop, as well as ingredients, and books. I'm a little rusty on my knowledge and wouldn't want something to go wrong"

"Don't worry, I'll get you whatever you need," He said, with surprising care. He turned away from you without taking the object, "My people will come to escort you with your things tomorrow,"

"I have work tomorrow," you stepped closer, still offering him the monkey. He gazed at you with his blackened eye, darting quickly over your face, wide and alert, unresting,

"Resign," He said simply, opening your door and stopping for a moment, " 'The Last Drop' is in need of a new bartender," walking down the stairs of your apartment and disappearing out of your sight. You shut the door, leaning against it,

"Stars guide me towards your light..." You whispered, your hand tightening around the metal of the object and pressing it to your chest, your gaze drifting to the dirty green window, in hopes they'd still hear you over the pollution filled air, "I'm dealing with fucking criminals again," You sighed in defeat, the monkey head being abandoned on your desk, watching as you pulled a backpack from bellow your bed and begun to stuff it with the few possessions you owned.

[helliontherapscallion]

Yellow Carnations (Destiny Written in Begonias Part 1)

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Summary: After hearing something deep within the woods, you give into curiosity and investigate. Who knows, whatever you find could be a prize.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly graphic violence (just some zombies getting dismembered)

Word count: 3,715

(A/N): So, welcome to my new series! I have so many ideas for this that I’d love to write. This story will be very gay, fluffy, and sorta angsty, so buckle up my children!

So just a lil background info: the reader is Techno’s adopted daughter. She is a piglin hybrid, but she is more human looking than piglin. This takes place about eighteen years after the most recent events of the SMP.

                                           ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“Techno, I think we have enough ender pearls for tonight.” You glanced to your side to look at your father and Philza, the enchantments of their armor glowing dimly in the moonlight and the orange light of the torches in their hands. Philza stretched his body and his wings out, a small groan escaping his mouth and small cracks sounding from his joints.

“The night’s still young, Phil!” Technoblade grinned, his gold capped canines glinting slightly. His hand moved to gently rest on the handle of his sword.

You snorted to yourself, “you two, however, aren’t.” A small shove came from your side making you stumble slightly, laughter bubbling from your throat.

“I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t hear anything,” Philza crossed his arms and looked off to the side. Though, you could hear a smile in his tone and the beginnings of a chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, “Dad set me up for that one. The opportunity was too good to pass up.”

“I’ll set you up for longer training sessions if you keep going for… ‘opportunities’ like that.” He glanced down at you with amusement glinting in his eyes and tugging at the corner of his lips.

His statement, though lighthearted, immediately made you stop laughing. You knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t joking; the last time you laughed it off you had to endure two extra hours on top of the four hour sessions you had daily. By the end of the punishment, your arms felt like they were going to fall off.

“No! I take it back, you guys are young! Not a single-”

“You’re digging yourself an early grave if you finish that sentence, kid. Besides, you can’t pass up opportunities like these!”

“I think I’m good for now,” you shivered slightly when a breeze blew past you. It was starting to grow colder as the night dragged on. Technoblade, noticing this, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him securely. Though the Blood God never shows mercy, he couldn’t let his only child succumb to a head cold; that’d just be barbaric.

You jumped at the feeling of the freezing netherite making contact with your bare arm. “Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, “forgot how cold the armor is… We should probably head back, it’s getting cold.”

As your family started to make their way back towards the tundra, banter was exchanged between the three. The journey out of the forest was uneventful, only a few mobs had attempted to attack or sneak behind you. Just as you reached the edge of the forest, a noise caught your attention.

It sounded like it was only a couple of minutes away; so faint that if you weren’t actively listening for it, it would have nearly been lost in the night. If you strained your ears, you could hear the trampling of dry leaves making you assume that there were several people or animals in that area. Alongside it, there was a faint whimpering.

Your curiosity was piqued, just what was making that noise?

“(Y/n), is everything alright?” You looked back at Philza. It seemed that they walked a bit away from you while you stopped at the forest’s edge to listen to the sound.

You absentmindedly nodded, “yeah, Uncle Phil. I think I left my bow back in that clearing when we were taking a break so I’m just going to go grab that. You guys can keep going home, I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can go with you-”

“No, you don’t have to. I’m old enough to go alone.”

Philza and Technoblade then spoke at the same time, “alright, we’ll just meet you there.” “Absolutely not.”

Philza elbowed Technoblade’s side lightly and looked up at him. They were silently communicating with pointed looks and pursed lips, every expression understood completely by the other. You never understood how they did that, even if they raised you. You could remember making a journal dedicated to deciphering their expressions, but you never could truly understand it (that, and ‘nose scrunch and eye narrow’ meant multiple things).

Eventually, Technoblade’s shoulders slumped and he ran a hand down his face tiredly, “you know the rules?”

You rolled your eyes, “of course I do. Fight to win, go for the throat, if you lose your weapon go for the pressure points. You remind me daily.”

He stared at you for a moment before his ear flicked, “don’t take long, we’ll be waiting.” They both turned and started to trudge towards the spruce forest in the distance.

Without a second thought, you ran into the forest with your ears perked. Following the noise was easy, the whimpers had turned into high pitched whines. You leapt over stumps and ducked under low hanging branches as they blocked your way; nothing was going to stop you from finding out what was making that noise.

Eventually, you broke through the trees and found yourself in a grassy clearing surrounded by large stones. If it were spring, you’d imagine wildflowers sprouting everywhere you stepped. A small spring sat in the furthest corner of it, waterfalls cascading over the jagged stones and crashing into the water below. Near the cliffside, a hoard of groaning zombies swarmed something and they were closing in on it. Now, what was it they were attacking?

You quickly unsheathed your golden sword and sprinted towards the hoard. The crunching of the dried, colorful leaves under your feet was enough to drag the zombies’ attention to you.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you made your first swipe at one of their torsos. In an instant, the zombie was bisected and fell to the ground. With a twirl, you slashed at multiple zombies at once. They all collapsed to the ground as their rotting flesh was torn and couldn’t support their crumbling bodies any longer.

As soon as all of the zombies were laying dead on the ground, you wiped your blade off on one of their torn tunics and sheathed it. Taking a step back to look at the bodies littered on the floor, you smirked; this was too easy.

Now, without the obstacles, your prize awaits you. Eagerly, you looked over to see what the zombies were swarming. Instead of the scared villager you were expecting, the person that stood there completely took your breath away.

The woman was wearing a simple white dress with a baby blue shawl shadowing the upper part of her face. Her skin was fair and her face was round, a button nose laid in the center of her face and plump pink lips slightly parted showing off straight white teeth. Curly dark brown hair framed the sides of her face and spiraled down to rest on her shoulders.

She was tall for a human, about five-foot-ten if you were to estimate. Her hands moved to clasp in front of her elegantly, your eyes catching sight of light blue nailpolish decorating her perfectly shaped nails.

Red was starting to dust her cheeks and her breathing was starting to return to normal. That was good, at least she wasn’t going into shock. For someone who nearly got eaten alive by the undead, she looked relatively calm and well put together.

“Are you alright?” You tried to keep your voice even, but there was a light wobble to it. You thickly swallowed, cursing yourself for showing any emotion in front of this stranger. The mask that hid the upper part of your face gave you a sense of security and safety, it hid most of your emotion.

You saw her lips move, but no sound came out. Were you going deaf like your father? You shouldn’t be; you haven’t blown up an entire nation yet. You stepped closer in hopes of hearing her better, “excuse me?”

Her lips curled up into a smile, dimples appearing on her cheeks, “Oh, I just said that I’m fine, nothing else. May I get the name of my knight in shining armor?”

Her voice was soft and light. Though it was on the deeper side, it had feminine, euphonious undertones; it was like honey was dripping out with every word she spoke. Just by the way she spoke, you assumed that she came from the nearby kingdom.

You smirked, playing along with the small game she was setting up. Stepping closer and kneeling, you grabbed her hand and brought it to your lips. Her hands were soft and velvety, a part of you longed to hold it in yours all day long.

Against her knuckles, you spoke, “(Y/n) Blade at your service. And you, my fairest lady?”

“Princess Helen Dahlia Eret, but please, call me Dahlia; Helen was my mother. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

You snorted, she was really dedicated to this game. You’d just play along with her, why not? It’s not like you have anything else to do. “Well, princess, it’s about time for you to head back to your castle.”

You looked up at her through your eyelashes and caught sight of the outline of her shadowed features. You could see her purse her lips, “you think I’m lying, don’t you?”

“Forgive me for thinking so, your highness!” You snickered, “the princess shall not step foot outside of her chambers, lest a scrape shall mar her flawless skin!”

She smirked before placing a delicate finger underneath your chin, tilting it upwards. You could feel your face grow hot as she removed her shawl. Ivory white eyes stared back at you smugly, sending a shock through your body. You weren’t sure if the jolt you felt was from her beauty or from the fact that she wasn’t lying.

“Would you like to try again, my knight?” She cooed to you, her other hand coming down to rest on your cheek. You stood up and gaped at her, “oh fuck, you’re actually the princess.”

A part of you wanted to dislike her for her title and for the royal blood that coursed through her veins. That blood tainted her, filling every nook and cranny with vile corruption. “All governments are bad,” Technoblade had taught you early on in your life, “they should, under no circumstances, be trusted.”

Though her parent Eret had been a fair king, always attending to the needs of their people, you were anticipating their corruption. If your memory serves you right, they were the one that betrayed the revolutionaries during the L’manberg Revolution simply because of their thirst for power. If they were a power hungry traitor before, who’s to say that they won’t be blinded by it again?

Every fiber in your body screamed at you to sink your sword through her abdomen to put her down, just like the bloodthirsty hounds that hailed long before her. You could just end her right now, make it quick and just leave her body here. It’d be easy and it would bring chaos to the SMP Kingdom, causing mass paranoia and tearing it apart from within. It’d be delicious, something that would give you a high you’d ride for years. You wanted to paint the grass with her blood, but something deep within you protested.

Filthy blood nourished her body, but that didn’t take away from her sheer and complete beauty or the way she covered her mouth with a delicate hand to hide her laugh. That did not take away from how she had cupped your cheek moments before, your skin still tingled where her hand was. That didn’t suppress the butterflies that fluttered wildly in your stomach when she stepped into the moonlight.

She put her hand out and smiled, “won’t you accompany me to my castle, my faithful warrior?” You merely put on a cold, uncaring facade and side stepped her.

“...You got yourself here, yes? You can find your way back.”

“Well you see,” she moved to rub the back of her neck and awkwardly chuckled, “I was hoping you know the way back?”

You couldn’t stop the snort that escaped your mouth, something about her made her irresistible. “You’ve got to be kidding me, you just ran blindly into a forest?”

“Hey, you would too if you were being chased by zombies!”

“Excuse me, who was the one that just slaughtered said zombies in under a minute?” You raised an eyebrow and looked down at her.

“I don’t have a sword like you do,” she crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at you.

“Even then, I doubt you know how to use one. Here,” you unsheathed the large sword and held it out to her, “I bet you can’t even hold it up.”

“Can too!” She protested before snatching the sword out of your hands. She grunted slightly at the heavy weight, almost dropping it, but she quickly steadied it. Looking up at you with a smug, slightly reddened face, she shook slightly. “See? It’s not that hard.”

You quirked an eyebrow beneath your mask, “oh really?”

“Y-yep,” was all she managed to choke out before she stepped back and dropped the tip. It swung down and buried itself inside the dirt below, scouring the earth as it made contact.

Smirking at her, you took it back with ease, putting it back into its sheath slung around your back. You once again stepped around her and started walking in the other direction.

“Where are you going?!”

“To the castle, you said you wanted me to take you home.”  

She rushed to your side and grabbed your arm with both of her hands. They snaked around your bicep and tangled themselves in your cape. You could feel yourself soar at the contact; you had to fight against every instinct to hook your arm with hers. You ripped yourself out of her embrace and put some distance between the both of you.

She crossed her arms and hugged herself, shivering slightly, “how are you not cold?!”

“It’s barely cold out here,” you mentally scolded yourself for being a hypocrite, “you’ll be fine.”

She said nothing and continued to walk. As you got further and further into the forest, she merely started shivering more. You could hear her teeth chattering loudly and could see goosebumps decorating the skin on her bare arms. Sighing, you unhooked your cape and slung it over her shoulders.

She squeaked in surprise at the feeling before realizing that you gave her your cape. She grabbed the edges and pulled it closer to her before snuggling deeper into the cloth; you could feel your heart explode at the small sigh that she let out and the content hum that left her mouth. Just as she looked up at you, you made quick work of looking away. The ground was very fascinating at the moment.

“Thank you,” she murmured. You just curtly nodded, avoiding looking at her.

The walk to the castle was short, luckily she hadn’t run far from her home. Just as the castle walls were in your sights, she tried holding your arm again. Once again, you stepped away from her.

“C’mon,” she chuckled, “I don’t bite.”

“Well I do. You really need to learn not to trust a stranger, princess.”

“Well, we aren’t strangers. We know each other’s names, do we not? And besides, I bet you’re just a massive teddy bear.”

“I don’t know what your teddy bears looked like as a kid, but they certainly weren’t me. If I wanted to, I could take your hand clean off with a single twist and pull,” you growled out. She was silent once more as she led you towards a specific part of the castle.

“...Why are you so defensive? At least treat me like you did before we knew each other!” She unhooked the cape and shoved it towards you. You gladly took it and put it back on. To your sheer embarrassment, you felt joy as you caught a whiff of books and expensive perfume. It smelled like her.

“...I could’ve just left you back there if I wanted to, consider this a favor. Respect is earned, not given. Even to royalty.”

You turned to leave, you cape swishing behind you as you turned. Before you could walk off, a hand on your arm stopped you. “Wait. Even if you’re a massive jerk,” she sighed out, “I still have to thank you. So, thank you for saving my life; I’m indebted to you, my douchey knight.”

She leant up on the tips of her toes and gently placed her lips on your cheek. You froze and watched as she turned on her heel. She walked towards the entrance with several glances back at you, some of them being smug and others being questioning. It was like you were entranced underneath the veil of a spell, unable to move until she disappeared from sight.

The walk home was quiet with no mobs sneaking up on you. The entire time, the memory of her kissing your cheek replayed endlessly in your head. Though the very thing you disliked more than anything was embodied in her, you couldn’t help but fall for the natural charm she had. You were probably just tired, it was getting late into the night after all.

As you walked through the door, you could see Technoblade impatiently waiting for you on the couch. He had a book open in his hand and his half-rimmed glasses were perched on the bridge of his snout.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, I just ran into more mobs than I anticipated.”

Technoblade said nothing as his eyes flickered over your body, looking for even the smallest of scrapes. When he didn’t find anything, he nodded to himself and stood up. Tiredly, he walked over to you and ruffled your hair before trudging to his room.

“Are you sure the only thing you ran into was mobs?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “just a lot of zombies.”

He rolled his eyes and gave you a knowing smile before walking over to you. He swiped his thumb across your cheek and showed it to you. It was stained with a light pink color. “In all of the centuries I spent living in this world, not once have I seen a zombie wearing pink lipstick or,” he took your cape in his hand and sniffed it slightly, “cherry scented perfume.”

Your face exploded in heat as you made hasty work of scrubbing your cheek making the older man laugh quietly at you, “all you’re doing is smudging it all over your face. Some warm water and soap will get it off fast… Now, wanna tell me who gave you that?”

You stared at his smug expression and quickly came to the realization that he wouldn’t let this go unless you told him. Or, at least until you told him what happened.

You sighed and started to remove your armor, placing it on the armor stand situated between Philza’s and Technoblade’s armor. You had insisted that the armor stands were in this specific order, it just made sense with the height differences between the members of the household. Since you were between Philza’s and Technoblade’s height at 6’4 (and still growing), it made sense with the order of the armor in terms of size.

You made your way over to the couch and sat down with a sigh, Philza following suit. He gave you a reassuring smile, “whenever you’re ready.”

So you told him everything that had happened that day. Needless to say, Philza was happy for you, asking you questions about the interaction.

“It sounds like she’s perfect for you, kiddo.”

“That’s the thing, Uncle Phil. She isn’t,” you ran a hand down your face and leaned back onto the back of the couch, your head resting on the top of the cushion. You heard Philza shift slightly before he grabbed your hand.

“Now,” he asked gently, “what makes you think that?”

“She’s King Eret’s daughter. Helen Dahlia Eret,” you sardonically chuckled, “I really thought she was just joking when she said ‘princess’.” Every part of you wished that that was a joke. That she would laugh and tell you that it was part of the game she was playing. But no, she just had to be royalty.

“Eret’s better than most, they are a good king,” he reminded you.

“Still, there’s royal blood in her. She’s actively a part of a government… I wanted to kill her on the spot; hell everything in my body was screaming at me to slaughter her, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Sometimes, someone is more than the blood inside of them; maybe she isn’t as bad as you think she is. Someone could be born into a family of saints and still destroy everything they touch. On the other hand, someone could be born surrounded by the lowest of humanity and grow up to become the best person you’ll ever meet. You have to understand that blood isn’t everything to a person’s character.”

You didn’t say anything, contemplating what he said. She didn’t seem like someone to rule with an iron fist, and neither did her parent. Tubbo was the first person to come to mind. He was raised by a malicious, tyrannical idiot, a man that had valued absolute power and booze over anything else. Your uncle turned out to be the most caring person you’ve ever met, always making sure that those around him are in a good mood even if he himself wasn’t.

However, it’s best to be cautious of somebody. Your mind flashed back to Wilbur and Dream, the two men rotting away in Pandora’s Vault together until either their time alive is up or time itself expires. They were charismatic and kind on the outside, but on the inside, they are two of the most heinous men you’ve ever met. 

It seemed like your mind was running in circles, bouncing between both conclusions like it was being slammed between two surfaces.

“...Do you think you’ll see her again?” Philza asked you, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles and squeezing it comfortingly when you didn’t respond immediately.

You sighed, standing up and walking out of the room, “if the odds are in our favor, we won’t see each other any time soon.”

                                          ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

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[queen-scribbles]

Ooh are you still doing the handholding prompts? May I request 24 for Ves/Kurt or 21 or 38 for Constantin & the de Sardet of your choice?

I absolutely am, I'll be doing those(even repeats of previously filled ones) until the whole list is done. 😊😉

24. only realizing it when they have to let go [Ves/Kurt]

Vesper’s pique at Burhan’s machinations had largely settled into weary acceptance by the time they approached New Sérène's gates. She knew how politics worked, only too well. She was troubled more by the watching the potential for a cure crumble to dust just as she grasped it. They’d been so close, or so she’d thought, and to have that snatched away... Nothing for it though but to think of some other avenues of inquiry since Mev had not held the magical cure-all they’d been led to believe.

“You alright, Green Blood?” Kurt fell in step next to her, checking his stride to not outpace her. “Haven’t seen you frown like that in a while.”

As if by instinct her brow unfurrowed and one side of her mouth tipped up in a wry smile. “Just thinking. It’s concentration, nothing worrisome.”

“Hmh.” I’ll be the judge of that, his eyes said as he studied her.  “Thinking about...?”

“Other leads we could follow since the Bridge rumors of the tierna were-”

“A pack of self-serving lies?” Kurt finished for her darkly. Apparently a grudge still lingered over the Bridge spy’s attempt to kill her. Not that she could blame him.

Vesper nodded, then bit her lip. “I haven’t come up with anything yet,” she admitted, keeping silent on the deep, frantic urgency that drove her to find an answer now, now, now. Before she lost one of the most important people in her life. She flashed a wider but equally wry smile. “Maybe after a night’s sleep in a real bed, something will come to me.”

He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That does do wonders for a great many things, I find.”

Vesper couldn’t hold back a small laugh of her own at his dry tone. “A great many,” she agreed lightly. I hope to high heaven this is one of them, because I don’t know what to do and we’re running out of time. 

“Vesper.” Kurt’s voice had gone softer, this part not meant to be overheard by the companions trailing behind them. “You’ll think of something.”

His certainty made something flutter in her chest. “I hope so,” she replied just as softly. Her eyes burned and she blinked to clear away the source--kicked-up dust or emotion, didn't really matter.

They walked in silence a few minutes, so close their arms brushed, before Kurt spoke again. “Since it’s a bit early to start on that good night’s sleep-”

“Speak for yourself,” Vesper muttered, only mostly-joking, even if it was barely mid-afternoon and he was right. She had too much to do, anyway.

He snorted a laugh before continuing. “-what are you plannin’ to do when we get back?”

“Before or after I wash off a day’s worth of travel?” she asked glibly, all too aware of the sweat and grit clinging to her skin.

Kurt gave her an amused look, though there was something in his eyes that made her stomach do a pleasant little flip. “Let’s go with before.”

“First thing, of course, is check on Constantin.” He wouldn’t care if she came to see him dripping mud and ichor across the expensive rugs, her current disheveled and dusty state was nothing. And she wanted to see if the remedies Catasach attempted were still helping. Even if that’s all they did. Helped.

“Of course.” 

“And that’s... probably it,” Vesper shrugged. “Everything else can keep until I’m clean. And probably should, for appearances’ sake.” It wouldn’t be proper to make official Legate visits with dust in her hair and smelling of sun and sweat. She cocked her head at him. “Why, is there something you wanted to do?” 

Her phrasing may have been deliberate.

Kurt gave her another of those looks but didn’t take the bait beyond a faint smile. He shrugged and kicked at a pebble, turning his gaze to the ever-nearing city gates. “I was thinking we should check in with Manfred, see how the investigation for Egon’s going. If they've found anything new.”

It was a good idea. And she knew how much the extortionist faction rankled for him. “D’you want to do that while I talk to Constantin?” she offered. “Even if the whole retinue doesn’t follow me” --she nodded back toward their friends-- “I’m fairly sure I’ll be safe with, say, Siora, Aphra, and a room full of guards.” Who we know are all loyal thanks to you.

“Is this you delegating, Excellency?” he asked with that same faint smile.

Vesper shrugged and arched one brow over a half-mischievous smile. “You’re the one who fusses about me doing too much,  Captain. Besides, It makes sense to have you talk to the Coin Guard. Especially with you and Manfred already knowing each other. We can compare notes afterward, if that sounds like a plan?”

Kurt gave her another look, one that said he’d caught the less-than-innocent undercurrent of the innocent suggestion. “A very good plan, my lady,” he said, tone turning the term into a promise and endearment rather than simple respect.

“That’s settled, then,” she said as they passed into the city, guards nodding respectful greetings to the group.

It was as their paths diverged to head in opposite directions for the Governor’s palace and Coin barracks that they realized their hands were joined, fingers laced together, the warmth of contact just starting to sink through their gauntlets. Vesper gave Kurt’s hand an instinctive squeeze and contemplated changing her plans to go with him simply so she wouldn’t have to let go. They just fit together so well, and she knew she'd miss his if it wsn't there.

When did we...? She didn’t even remember reaching for his hand, had she really been so distracted? She ran back through their conversation and failed to pinpoint a moment when she’d sacrificed or lost the freedom of that hand.

Kurt smiled, squeezed back, and kissed her temple as he let go. “See you later, Green Blood,” he murmured against her hair, and she bit her lip at the promise heavy on the words.

She still flexed her fingers, feeling the absence just as keenly as she'd expected, as she headed for the palace steps.

[hauntedelation]

Repeat

Description - The Hammer proves to utilize surprising ways to settle down after a rough assignment.

Pairing - Black Male Reader x August Walker

A/N - This is my first male reader insert and AW fic! I wasn't sure how I should write the man but I found my August to be a little unpredictable, maybe hard. (Maybe he has some feelings, but he won't tell you what kind.)

Word Count - 2.4k

Warnings - descriptions of blood, wound tending and cleaning, anxiety, surprise fluff and maybe pining? Just partners being partners.

(no real proofreading this time y'all sorry 😅)

⊱ ───────────── ⊰

What he applied to your hand forced a pitiful sound from your body, something like a whimper subdued poorly by you.

By the sickly fluorescent light you can see it, the split that was the palm of your hand. Crimson upon crimson flooded the tissue, renewing again. 

Your insides overturned, and for the first time in your career you averted your eyes. You had to. For a reason you couldn't place your finger on, you knew you shouldn't stare. 

The way your pulse was working more warm liquid out of your hand, his fingers stained and slipping back and forth to tend, you felt unsteady. 

The spaces in your mind were gradually being occupied. So there was no shortage, no problem taking your mind off of it. 

You went back to that first mistake, back to where you foolishly under-packed. This assignment was far, but a swift turnaround. Accordingly, you thought it good to keep the amount of bags you carried to a minimum. 

A good number of things were left, a tool here and there that didn't stand out. You had done it before. One notch carved into the wood and you were null of any mistakes up until this point. 

What you couldn't grasp was that these absent devices were the key to this assignment. It hit like a ton of bricks the moment you were met with the complex screen of a security lock. 

You were deflated when your eyes met the empty space of what could have been the bypass key. There you spent upwards of an hour working through the perimeter of the place.

The next one could have happened regardless, but it didn't make you feel less inept. 

Where you went right when you should have gone left. The opponent you met was just as trained as you were: blank, unrelenting and practiced with a blade. You fell to a place where you were at a strident disadvantage. 

Would you have picked your jugular or your hand? There had to have been something better, a third choice? You should have been faster than that.

You could have.

Still, your hand caught the edge and it wasn't until much later, long after you were walking away that you could feel heat trickling down your fingers.

It's like the movies until it isn't. You've got yourself thrumming, high from the situation. You're locked in and can take anything to your vessel, then you're coming down slow. All the little details enter your mind, focusing and you notice. He noticed, actually.

With the most austere set of eyes you had ever seen, he did. 

Before you were given the chance to sit down he was standing over you, breath hot and charged from the brawl. On the top of your head you could feel it. The fabric of his suit was torn and twisted over his chest, rising and falling with his loosened tie.

He'd backed you to one of the steel tables, squinting through the dim and the dark. You had in mind that you were to be spit in the face, condemned for dragging the job to left-field. The glower had already been there.

You were bracing for it, balling both of your hands. The blunt object in your fingers collided with the brick floor. And it rang out, filling the empty spaces with a loud echo. Soon there was nothing. 

That's how it was seconds after.

A pair of boots brushed against yours before there was a hand capturing your right arm. He'd brought your dripping palm up and opened your curled fingers. Your wound was inspected with cautious eyes, the extent picked apart.

His calluses dragged around the edges of your sticky palm. You sucked in a breath when he had gone a little too close, but he ignored it. There was a drilling leer into your face before he spoke, "You were sloppy." 

The back of your throat had grown bone dry. You took a second, swallowing then pulling your eyes from his hardened face. 

That had been the first time that you'd been told that. Knowing in the very depths of you that this was the beginning to many months of second guessing, wishing you could have done better. 

You don't know why you had let this one go. Everything seemed feasible in the documents, from the time requirement to the objectives. You expected to have gone above and beyond.

That is close to what you told Sloane all those weeks ago,

⊱ ───────────── ⊰

"This one looks like it's going to be less of an issue."

She had her arms crossed in her crisp sleeves, her hip propped against the hardwood of her desk. You were called in to provide an updated report over your assignment, your feelings and projection.

It had gone to the point where you could no longer count on your fingers how many jobs you'd been on. The second anniversary from your first day recently passed, the bouquet still sitting on your dining room table.

You recall being introduced to your boss, the gratification in seeing someone like her in such an esteemed position.

(Someone who reminded you of your mother at times.)

Right then, the woman appeared to be getting ready to give a critical reply. Her brow was curled sharply but you could see the corners of her lips begin to upturn. 

"You have been assigned an associate with this task, agent."

This was of no particular issue. It was not every mission that you collaborated with another. Be that as it may, you've grown accustomed to this practice, it evolved into something that you improved with. This was your dream, and you intended to flourish.

You were sure there was no one you wouldn't be able to work with. 

When your superior uttered the name, 'Walker,' you had asked her to come again. 

"You're up and coming, still figuring things out in this line of work. I'm placing you with my best on this one," Sloane announced.

You withheld any signs of protest in front of her, flashing professional countenance and a nod. She dismissed you with a lingering gaze, most likely holding the same thing in her mind as you were. You kept up the front until you were situated at the chair by your desk. 

Upon your back touching the seat, a sigh was released, one that you felt in the pit of your stomach. 

You wanted to smile at how comical his name sounded. One would have thought you were speaking about an exotic dancer, The Hammer. You didn't think it fit at first. 

He's just a man, but he is the kind that exceeded the weight behind his title. He had discharged far more in his profession by the time you were approaching yours, taking the limits of what an agent could do to the stratosphere.

You could wax poetic about those stories, try to recount those details. But, truthfully there had been such a divide in your experience when compared to his. You could feel the pricks of uncertainty in your chest.

Perhaps you were only afraid.

He'd never once acknowledged your existence until you met on the tarmac the following Tuesday morning. The moon was leaving the twilight sky. Under an orange colored light, shining on the side of his face you could see him check his watch.

And then those eyes flicked over to you, sizing up your bags, your clothes. You think you may have even caught those blue slits drag along certain parts of you.

Your voice was weak, coughing low in your throat you tried to press out, "It's nice to finally meet, Mr. Walker."

(Ah, Mr Walker? You wanted to flinch, but you found no time.)

Then you provided him your name with a reluctant hand. It took far more composure on not showing the tremor in your limb but when the man peered down at you, securing your hand with a firm shake you knew. 

He'd felt how clammy your skin was. 

That mustache made a microscopic twitch, "Call me August, and, ditto."

⊱ ───────────── ⊰

You allowed your hand to remain elevated, but your period of self-loathing was eventually disturbed. 

The sensation of his large hands appeared, firm and wrapping around your waist before hoisting you on the surface of the steel table. There was a soft thud from your good hand landing to bear your shift in weight.

It was then that you froze, ears pricking to that steady footfall departing from the table.

You listen and—what?

What crosses your mind is maybe you hit your head back there, sometime during taking that grunt to the floor. Yet, you don't feel anything, no pounding in your skull. The musing is washed away the moment the flicker of a pale-green light shines above.

The room is revealed to have been an abandoned kitchen of sorts. Pots and pans layered in a thin veil of dust with more grime to compliment. With your good hand you wipe at the sweat falling down your temple, you'd become a little hot. 

Glass crumbles underneath his boots, he rotates his back around to you with a small kit that strongly resembles the one you stored in your bag. 

The white plastic had your name scrawled on there in your handwriting. While you could sit there wondering how August retrieved that, you are still processing the way the man picked you up. How he brought you up like you were made of feathers. Why he…

He comes in real close, your vision floods with a view of his chest, his gloved hands shedding away the garment and laying them on the metal surface.

The soft click of the first aid box click echoes out, and under the hum of the lights above August murmurs down to you, 

"At least you had enough sense to pack this."

His tone is the same, puncturing only not quite as breathy. The rise and fall of his chest had slowed far more, the dark curls on his chest soaking in the sweat running down his skin. And you blink, not realizing how enthralling the sight is.

Your pulsing hand is taken again, gingerly, by a pair of rough hands. You brace yourself on the edge of the table upon seeing the clear liquid bottle.

He's cleaning your wound throughly and you're trying not to take it like a kicked puppy. Through grit teeth, "You think I could skip stitches this time?" They never were your favorite.

"No dice," he breaths out, placing the bottle of alcohol down next to your thigh.

"You about had your hand sliced in half, Agent. You're lucky anyway. But,"

The needle and thread is pulled out, more cleansing and draining. Rinse and repeat. Walker was moving quickly, probably sensing the adrenaline in you draining by the minute.

Your communication devices buzz in unison, you don't have time to check your screen for any updates before he reaches with one hand in his pocket to retrieve his.

He sets your hand down on your own thigh and you listen to his voice shift to a formal tone. The female voice on the other line, (Sloane most likely) sounds curt and questioning. 

Your stomach begins to roll in circles. Your fingers wrapped around the table's edge tighten around the metal, almost enough to leave marks.

Through those training sessions all those months, you learned to properly squash any threats of anxiety, distraction. You could feel yourself slipping, your body seizing up in front of the man. Walker seemed to have been approaching the height of his conversation with your boss, shifting so the phone rests between his ear and shoulder. 

In the meantime, you were breathing. That familiar rhythm, flowing in and out, counting. You fall into the headspace that you became acquainted with all too well. 

You lost yourself in it, not realizing that Walker was dissolving Sloane's interrogation. Every syllable. The way in which his voice formed the words was unknowingly steadying your brain, calming your heart rate down slowly. 

All the while taking your wounded hand was taken in his, he set about cleaning it one more time before starting to close it with the thread. 

"Yes ma'am. No, he had everything in his detail under control...Yes. That's correct. The only slip up had been breaching the security wall but we successfully infiltrated."

You could feel the sharp pricks in your skin, your arm tensing after each pull to the string when closing the wound. Eventually Walker drifted, and your eyes landed on the semi-clean criss cross stitching in the palm of your hand. 

The man's eyes were dead set on his handiwork, narrowing on the lines before clearing his throat to part ways with your boss. There was a, "We will report back upon leaving this location."

He hung up the phone, and slid the device next to your thigh. You didn't think anything of it, only Walker's hand didn't leave where his phone was sitting. And you were encircled, the fabric of his shirt practically enticing his body closer to yours.

It had been a number of seconds before you could bring yourself back. The same exercise was reaching its tail end, and maybe, just maybe you could believe Sloane would not chew you a new one when you return.

Those words, It's okay, you tried your best. Everyone has bad days. You said them once again, inaudible and only in your mind. The room at this point only held the echo of the cars outside, Walker's heavy boots shifting before—

His fingertips were cold against your jaw, you almost jumped away from him. You should have, what was he doing? His thigh brushed so light against your knee, and when he guided your eyes up, you saw him already peering at your damp face.

Everything about the man's face was blank. Thick brows, lips hidden under a bushy trail of hair, all set in a firm line. You made no attempt to divert, you weren't sure he would let you. You had been planted there, decided by him your next move would be included.

Then those words fell silent. 

His fingertips pushed up your jaw, against the grain of your facial hair growing there. Then you felt him cup your cheek, strong hands dragging along your skin. 

Walker used his thumb to brush against your temple, wiping away something sticky. Red tint coated the little grooves in his skin and he pulled away, wiping his digit on the material of your pants. His tone was far more entertained then,

"Looks like you hit your head back there."

⊱ ───────────── ⊰

Taglist - @mansaaay @hope-to-hell @feralrunaway @thetaoofzoe @luclittlepond @madbaddic7ed @brandycranby @emyearns

⊱ ───────────── ⊰

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter Eight

Here's Chapter 8, y'all. My work is not to be posted on any other site. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: language, violence, descriptions of torture.

Series Master List

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

You climb down from the tower, trying to dry your eyes. You dust your hands off and head for the lab. You don’t want to study these stupid flowers, you just want to forget that whole stupid fucking planet. Your eyes won’t stop watering, your throat thick and painful as you try not to burst into tears again.

You round a corner, glancing behind you as you wipe your eyes again. The skin around them is starting to feel raw as you rub them endlessly. There’s something in the middle of the walkway that shouldn’t be there. You turn back to look at what you’ve walked into, stumbling back as fingers wrap around your shoulders.

“Y/N,” Poe breathes, eyes fluttering closed.

Oh, Maker. Your lower lip trembles as you look at his beautiful face, the rejection from earlier swirling up and stifling you. Your eyebrows pinch against your will, eyes starting to squint as the tears threaten to overtake you. Fighting for control, you struggle to smooth out your forehead, but no matter how hard you try, it won’t relax. You inhale sharply through your nose and his eyes fly open.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He mumbles, pulling you in for a hug. It hurts, feeling him care about you this way. You don’t hug him back, keeping your arms rigid by your sides. If you let yourself give in, it will only make things harder. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He whispers, burying his face in your neck. “I didn’t mean… this morning…” he takes a shuddering breath. “Please? Just… pl-please.” He hugs you tighter, his voice breaking.

“Poe,”

“Don’t you think I want… if I let myself ki-“ he cuts off audibly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He whispers.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, but it comes out colder than you mean it to.

“Forgive me? You have to know I would do anything for you. Anything you ask of me.”

“You didn’t do anything that needs to be forgiven.” You say softly, your arms curling around his back, your willpower crumbling.

“In my room-“ he starts.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” You sigh, turning your face into his neck. “Moment of weakness. Will you forgive me?” You ask.

His soft lips press into your neck and you shiver at the unexpected touch. “Nothing to forgive.” He murmurs, lifting his head up to trail up your neck. Your heart thrums erratically in your chest as his lips brush your jawline. “Please tell me you haven’t been crying all day because I’m an asshole.”

“No.” You say, barely more than a whisper. It’s all you can manage as his lips trail up your cheek. “I finished my report for Leia.” You say and he tenses. “Poe? I know… I know I don’t deserve it, but can we talk about the river?” You ask quietly.

“I liked the river.” He mumbles against your cheek. You desperately want to turn your head, to catch his lips with yours. Maker, you feel like you’re on an emotional rollercoaster, high then low, upside down, then backwards.

“I meant what happened in the river.” You correct.

“Liked that, too.” That earns a weak chuckle.

“You shouldn’t have.” You mumble.

“Y/N,” he groans, guiding you against the wall. He brushes his thumb along your jaw. “What’s bothering you? Tell me. You have so much that you’re not saying and it just breaks my heart.”

Your holopad beeps and you close your eyes. “I have to get to the lab.” You twist your face away.

“I have literally nothing else to do. We can talk on the way.” He says, taking your hand.

“You don’t have to.” You look at him suspiciously. “Why send poor Snap to my room earlier?” You ask and he tips his head back, laughing.

“For funsies.”

“Pando? What the hell was that about?” You ask, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Lando Calrissian. You mentioned he was an inspiration of yours to become a pilot. I figured you would get the reference. Poe, Lando, we’re both pilots.” He shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“I mentioned Calrissian once, five years ago. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything.” He promises. “How was your caf?” He hints.

“Better than the one Bryce brought me. Thank you. And for the food.” You add and he beams, lifting your hands to trace your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Of course.” He looks at you before facing straight and keeping his lips pressed together.

“You might as well say it. You have a terrible sabaacc face.” You sigh, pulling him into the lab.

“I don’t like him. He’s been dating you for three years and still doesn’t know how you like your caf. It’s not hard. He’s a jerk. And I hate that he kept me from the med bay so I couldn’t see you. I hate that he acts like he owns you.” He picks up your protective lab coat and helps you slide your arms in. You wince in pain but quickly compose your face so he won’t see.

“Anything else?” You look up at him.

“Only a million other things.” He sighs, leaning against your lab bench.

“Tell me.” You say, catching his hand.

He lifts your hand to his mouth, lips parting slightly as he flutters his eyes shut. He inhales deeply, lips moving silently against the back of it.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“This is so fucked up to say, but I’m so proud of you.” He says. “When we were taken, you were incredible. I never should have put you in that position, but you didn’t say anything, not to save me, not to save yourself and, Maker, I’m so fucking proud of you. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to hold out when he started hurting you, but the fact that you weren’t breaking gave me strength.” He bows his head, clinging to your hand. “And I hate the fact that you think we went through all that because of you. None of it, none, was your fault.” He sighs, lifting his eyes to your face. “In fact, if it wasn’t morally the exact wrong thing to do, I would kiss you again in a heartbeat. Over and over. But you’re a good person and that wouldn’t be fair to you.” He murmurs softly.

“Poe,” you plead. It’s all you want, to kiss him.

“I know. I shouldn’t want that. You’re not mine to want that with, but I just… it’s in my head now. How good you taste, how soft your lips are.” He squeezes his eyes shut, cutting off his words and you squeak. You try to get your hands free, you want them in his hair, holding him to you.

“Poe, please!” You struggle and he drops your hands, hurt written all over his face.

“Okay.” He turns to leave and you grab his arm, pulling him back. You cling to his face, pulling his lips against yours. His hands grip your waist and you exhale in a rush. A massive weight is lifted off your shoulders as you kiss him, hold him. His lips part under yours and you moan low in the back of your throat. He clings to you, crushing you against him like he can’t get close enough.

Maker, you could stay like this forever.

He backs you into the lab bench, fingers pressing into your hips and you rock into him, starving. The door hisses open and he jerks back, spinning around and walking away a few steps.

Nya walks around the corner and looks up to see you fiddling with your holopad. Having barely recovered your wits, you grabbed the first thing your hands landed on.

“Y/N.” She greets with a smile. It’s fake and you want to slap her, but you just tighten your grip on your holopad instead.

“Nya. What are you doing here?” You ask, trying for polite at least and failing horribly. Poe smirks at you over the shelf he’s studying.

“Looking for you, actually.” She says, heading over and you internally groan.

“What did I do?” You ask and she laughs lightly.

“Nothing yet.” She promises. “Your plants are in bin Cin17.” She says, handing over the packet she’s holding.

“Oh. Thanks.”

She smiles at you and turns to walk away. You glance at Poe and he shrugs, coming back over. “That was odd.” He comments.

“Odd? That’s literally the nicest she’s ever been to me.” You sigh, turning back to your bench.

“I wonder why.”

“Maybe she wants something? Maybe she saw my outright panic attack in the dining hall and is getting off on my suffering.” You sigh.

“Or. On a slightly less negative note. Maybe she missed you? Maybe she realized she’s in love with you and now she wants to make it right and have babies with you.” He says and by the end, you’re laughing much harder than you should be. You double over, grasping your knees, your entire midsection aching for various reasons.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me rip my stitches.” You gasp.

“It wasn’t that funny.” He mumbles.

“Oh man, you’re a funny guy, Dameron.” You pant, standing up and wiping your forehead.

“Thanks.” He mutters dryly. “May I ask what, exactly, was so funny about that?”

“Nya. Liking me? She’s so into dick, it’s all she talks about sometimes. Everyone who has one is in her sights. Especially you, Commander. And then babies with me? Come on. Get serious.”

“Just her? Or anyone in general is unbelievable?” He asks, an odd, stiff texture to his voice.

“I dunno. Anyone? I never really thought I’d make a good mom.” You shrug, heading for the containers now that you’re back under control.

“Really? I do.” He says and your face heats.

“Moot point at the moment. Bryce doesn’t want kids.” You say and he groans.

“Just when I think…” he rubs his face. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He mumbles, swiftly heading for the door.

“Wait, Poe!” You call, half turning.

Too late. He’s gone.

***

You’ve never been punched before. Training was always hand to hand, blocking blows or fighting with weapons. They don’t teach you how to take a punch, or five, or twenty.

It doesn’t hurt at first. The impacted spot on your cheek just goes numb. You can feel the cut on the inside from your teeth against the sensitive tissue, but it doesn’t hurt. Yet.

Then after a couple minutes, it turns into a white hot pain. Couple that with fists landing all over your body, and you’re in pain like you’ve never felt before. Tears spill over your cheeks as the fist lands against your nose, cracking your head back against your prison table. You can’t see, can’t feel your face. Your mouth fills with blood, coating your tongue and spilling down your chin as you gasp for air. You can feel your lips split in different places.

There isn’t a part of you that doesn’t hurt, but you hold onto Poe. He didn’t give them anything, so you can’t either. You can’t let him have suffered for nothing.

The trooper stops, rolling his shoulder. “Answer me. Where is your base?”

You spit the blood out of your mouth at his feet. “That all you got? I was just getting into it.” You say and he grumbles, turning to leave for the time being.

You close your aching eyes and drop your head against the support. It’s not comfortable by any stretch of the word, but it’s better than having to hold your head up anymore.

The image from your nightmare flashes in front of your eyes, Poe fighting the invisible enemy, only now it’s not so invisible. A StormTrooper is wielding the blade, plunging it deep into Poe’s heart.

You jerk upright in your bed, upsetting your holopad and sending it crashing to the floor. You flip on the light, unnerved and feeling like you're not alone in your room. But there doesn’t seem to be anything there. Just your clothes on the floor.

You push yourself to your feet, not feeling safe here, and grab your blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders. You want to go see Poe, make sure he’s okay, be positive your nightmares haven’t gotten him yet.

But he doesn’t want to see you. Having avoided you for the rest of the day, you get the hint. A moment of weakness. That’s what that kiss was. You were there and he needed someone. Could have been Nya, probably for all he would have minded. Any port in the storm.

So, you bypass his room and head for the tower where you ate your lunch. It’s quiet, dark, you can see anything coming for you. You climb the steps slowly, feeling the familiar pinch of your stitches. They’re still ugly, crude, jagged. Maybe it’s good that Poe doesn’t really want you. No one could possibly love the new mutilated you. Bryce hasn’t seen them yet, either. You’re positive that the second he does, he’ll run for the hills.

Maker, you’re selfish.

You push open the door and a body in the tower makes you freeze. “Oh.” You mumble, realizing it’s Poe. “Sorry. I’ll leave.” You rush, ducking back down.

“Stay.” He croaks and you hesitate. “I can’t sleep. Stay and talk to me?”

“You sure you want me to?” You ask.

“I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He admits.

You feel like leaves on the wind as you climb the rest of the way up. Swirling around in chaotic confusion. You don’t know which way is up, what to trust. You sit a little ways away, back against the wall, facing him.

“What do you want me to talk about?” You ask finally.

He drags a stick through the dirt, making scratch drawings. “I told you some stuff earlier. Spilled some of my guts. Anything you wanna tell me?” He asks finally.

“Yes.” You answer. It’s harder than you think to get these words out. “I…” you close your mouth, thinking about where to start.

“Not easy. To spill your secrets.” He muses. The pale moonlight ghosts across his face. He looks terrible. Tired, hurt, miserable.

“Anything you wanna ask me?” You prompt. “Maybe I can say it that way.”

He looks at you warily. “Will you tell me the truth?”

“Always.” You answer immediately.

“Why did you kiss me in the river?” He asks. “I’ve been thinking over it on a loop and I just can’t figure it out.”

“It felt… right. I needed to do it. I wanted to do it. You’ve always been the best person in the world to me, always taking care of me and looking out for me. And on that planet, I was losing my fucking m-mind, seeing things, hearing things. You were so patient, so kind, so… you. And I could feel tension. Not in a bad way, but pulling me towards you. I’m so sorry, Poe. I know you said I didn’t do it, but I can’t shake the feeling that if I hadn’t, if I hadn’t distracted you, you would have heard those troopers coming. You’ve never been so compromised on a mission before until you go on one with me. I fucked up so bad and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for hurting you like that.” You ramble, the dam broken and the words spill out everywhere. He doesn’t move in the shadows.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Your ears start to ring in the dead silence before he speaks again. “So, why kiss me in the lab?”

You sniffle quietly. “You admitted you wanted to do it again, and it’s been one of the dominating thoughts in my head since you saved me in that closet. I want to kiss you. And I like kissing you, but… the guilt… it just keeps reminding me that I’m hurting everyone. Every time I kiss you, I hurt Bryce. Every time I mention him, I hurt you. I can’t get it right. I’m turning into a plague.” You press your lips together.

“You had a nightmare in the cave. What was it?” He asks. You’re not even sure if he’s actually listening to your words, he gives no indication of hearing them.

“I,” you pause, having to think back that far. “I was hovering over myself as I slept. You were saying something but I couldn’t really hear it. Then I went outside, but it was into a First Order ship. And then I saw the tables we were attached to. And then two men fighting with lightsabers. And then…” you cut off, swallowing thickly. This part you remember, even though you wish you could forget it. “A-and then you. Y-you were fighting something I c-couldn’t see. It had a bl-blade and it killed you, stabbed you th-through the heart.” You say, gasping for breath. It feels like the surrounding air is crushing you. “I w-woke up and you weren’t there, I pa-panicked.” You twist your fingers into your blanket, hiding your face.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” He asks finally.

“Poe,”

“Do you? If you say no, I’ll never bring it up again.” He promises.

“Of course, I do. But it’s not that easy. I keep hurting you. I don’t know how not to. And being around you, it makes me happy, it makes it easier to breathe. I don’t wanna lose you. I couldn’t survive it.” You admit shamelessly.

“You won’t lose me. I won’t leave you.” He says. “One more thing.” He starts.

“Okay?”

“Do you hate the way dickhead doesn’t know how you like your caf?” He asks and you crack a tearful smile.

“Yes. It’s not hard.” You mumble.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms. “Come sit with me.”

You scoot over, resting your head on his shoulder as he spreads your blanket out over the both of you.

“I need you, too, you know. I can’t lose you, either. And if that means I have to kick Bryce from here to Tatooine, I will.” He says, nuzzling into your hair.

“Please don’t. You’ve been hurt enough on my account.” You close your eyes to him stroking your hair.

“No promises, sweetheart.” He's quiet for so long, you nearly fall asleep. “But I’m not gonna stop kissing you.” He murmurs against your hair.

With one last conscious thought, you dig into your pocket, reaching for his hand with your other one. Sleep is making your limbs like lead, heavy and clumsy. You feel him chuckle a little, placing his wrist in your fumbling palm. You place the chain in his hand, curling his fingers around it.

“Meant to give it to you earlier,” you mumble, almost certain you formed actual words.

“Y/N, ” he chokes, squeezing you tight. “Thank you.”

***

“You have to eat something.” He protests, guiding you down off the ladder. His chain is back around his neck, shimmering against his tan skin as it always has. Some day, he's going to give it to someone; someone he wants to spend the rest of forever with. Someone who isn't broken like you. Someone who actually deserves him. And you'll try to be happy for him, but you know it'll break your heart.

“Can’t you just… go get it for me?” You ask, feeling your hands start to shake at the thought of the crowd.

He smiles softly, brushing your hair back. “Sweetheart. No.”

“Poe…” you start and he cups your face.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? I’ll be right there the whole time.” He promises. “But you have to eat. You need your friends. They miss you.” He looks around, noting the empty pathway. “If you need to leave, we’ll leave. Just say the word.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s gonna be loud.” You protest as he takes your hand and leads you towards the commissary and dining hall.

“This early?” He scoffs. He pulls you along gently. You could stop him, you could let the tears free that have been simmering just under the surface since you got back. You know he wouldn’t push you to do it if you’re not ready.

But… he’s gone in there, he’s seen his friends. If he can do it, you can, too. You take an extra step, falling in next to him instead of being pulled by him and he smiles down at you proudly.

“There’s my girl.” He says softly. He holds your hand right up until you stop outside the doors. He lifts your hand to his mouth softly, eyes never leaving your face. “I’ll be right next to you.” He promises. You nod and he lowers your hand, reluctantly letting it go until not even your fingertips are touching.

He pulls open the door and lets you walk inside first. He doesn’t shove you in, instead, he waits for you to take a deep breath, smiling down at you until you straighten with a false sense of confidence, and step inside. He follows you, just barely touching your arm as he guides you to the line of food.

Despite his assurances that the room would be mostly empty, with shift changes and missions leaving early, the room is fairly crowded. You can feel his eyes on you, along with about a hundred others, but you feel better today. Stronger, even. You can do this.

You hope.

Poe picks up two trays and starts to put food on both, watching your face for positive or negative signs. You could do this yourself, you’re perfectly capable, but you like him waiting on you a little bit. Just this one time, let him dote on you.

He finds an empty table, just the two of you and he sits across from you, foot tapping against yours. They trickle over, slowly, one at a time. Your friends come to sit next to you. But this time, they don’t swarm you. They sit next to you, or next to Poe, talking to him about something trivial and you’re so grateful. It lets you get used to it again, being around people, acting human again.

You watch Poe, listening to him joke with Snap; Beaumont sets an apple on your tray as he tells Poe some gossip. And Poe sits there, listening and laughing to all of it. He interacts, partakes, and never once does he look uncomfortable or like he wants to bolt. You don’t know how he does it.

And then Lieutenant Connix walks behind him. She leans down to say something in his ear, her hand squeezing his shoulder as she talks. His hand lifts to cover her own as he twists his face to listen. After a second, he nods and she walks away.

You’ve always liked her, she’s friendly, smart, ambitious. But maybe you need to rethink your ideas. She walks quickly, her hips swaying, and you huff under your breath. Since when are she and Poe so close?

You try to listen, to distract yourself, but you can’t tear your eyes away from where the pretty girl disappeared through. Poe’s foot taps against yours and you flinch, looking up at him slowly. He smiles softly, his eyes falling to your ignored food.

You roll your eyes, picking apart your roll and taking small nibbles. After a couple minutes, Connix is forgotten as Beaumont regales the table with a story of how he got trapped in a wedding dress on Coruscant.

Soon, you’re laughing along with them. You forgot what this feels like, your face hurts from smiling so much. Poe’s beautiful eyes are on you, his own grin infectious.

A crack echoes across the big room and you jump, hands grabbing the table, ready to run. Your heart pounds in your ears and it’s like your vision completely leaves you. Snap’s hand settles on yours closest to him as he shouts something. Your brain slowly fades back in and you realize Poe has your other hand across the table and Beaumont is out of his chair, peering across the room.

Two mechs collided, neither paying attention to what was in front of them, their trays falling to the cement. That was the cracking noise.

Poe’s hand is shaking just slightly, hardly noticeable, as it covers yours, but you feel it. You twist your hand into his and he glances over at you. You smile softly, tracing your thumb over the back of his hand.

Beau sits back down next to you, his eyes searching your face for a minute before he grins. “Never boring, eh, Y/N?” He asks, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“I guess not.” You answer. You pull your hands back and pick up the apple. Poe is quicker than you thought possible, his favorite knife out and the handle pressed into your palm before you can even realize you need one.

You cut the apple in half, core out the middle on both halves and give the other half to your best friend. He’s abnormally quiet for a minute as he chews, and you wonder if maybe he’s not as okay as you thought.

“Wexley, what’s on the agenda today?” You ask Snap, half turning to face him, giving Poe time to recover.

“Well, I have a mission the day after tomorrow. So, I need to get my ship ready. There’s a part that’s being problematic. I have some mechs that are gonna look at it today and see if they can fix it.” He sighs.

“Well, if they have any problems, you can always come find me and see if I can help.” You offer and he grins.

“I just might do that.”

Once Poe is sure you’ve eaten all you possibly can without getting sick, he collects your trays and you join him to deposit them before leaving the room with a wave to your friends.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks and you slip your hand into his.

“Thank you for making me go.” You say, leaning into his shoulder.

“Of course.” He smiles. “And… thank you.” He sighs, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. You cast your mind around, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thanking you for.

“I didn’t do anything.” You frown.

“With that stupid tray… you… fuck. How are you always so strong exactly when I need you to be?”

“Poe, I was ready to bolt. The only thing stopping me was you and Snap.” You tell him. “If you hadn’t grabbed my hand to keep me there, all you would have seen was my dust as I hightailed it out of there.”

He smiles softly, but it’s weak, a little broken. “I didn’t grab your hand to keep you there. I grabbed it to keep me there.” He admits, pausing outside the door to the lab.

You stare up at him, realization dawning much too slowly. “Poe,” you place a hand on his cheek and he leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. “Anything I can do, anything you need-I’ll always be here. You’re not alone.” You whisper and he pulls you close, kissing you softly.

Every time feels like the first time. His lips press against yours like they’ve known each other forever, no hesitation. He tips your head back, towering over you as you hold onto his shirt. His tongue is soft on yours, not domineering and controlling the way… someone else’s is… your subconscious blanks on the name, but it doesn’t matter, not when Poe is kissing you like his very life depends on it. No, like your life depends on it.

He pulls away, breathing slightly faster, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes are closed, but yours are open, drinking in every detail of his beautiful face. “Me and you, kid.” He agrees and you punch his arm, a smile already pulling at your lips. His eyes fly open and he rubs his arm.

“We’re the same age.” You glower and he laughs.

“I know. But you’re so much shorter.” He puts his hand on top of your head and you slap it away, turning towards the door with a huff. You’re about to swipe your keycard, but he pulls you back, plucking it out of your pocket. He swipes it and pushes the door open, letting you step in first.

“Will you stay?” You ask, reaching for your log books.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything else to do. I’m still technically on leave, recovering from…” he trails off, but you get the picture.

“Alright.” You start checking off your supplies and notes while he moves around your lab. You don’t pay him much attention, there isn’t much trouble he can get into. But you feel better having him around.

He looks through every box on the supply shelves, every glass container. You look over at him, catching his eye being magnified through a specimen jar. He looks so ridiculous that you can’t help but snort at him. He grins and straightens up, coming over next to you.

“Didn’t find anything you liked?” You tease, flipping through the last of your notes.

“Oh, I found plenty I like. Just nothing I can take right now.” He sighs wistfully. Your face heats, so you keep your gaze directly away from him. He chuckles and sits in the spinning chair next to your bench.

Chapter Nine

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[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

Human to Nation the Bride of Ignatius Ch 1

Murmurs and calls of vendors filled the dusty, Roman, outdoor market as the heavy Roman armor clinked against Ignatius’ sweaty tanned skin as he walked. Weapons softly clanged as they bounced against his muscular legs.

His magenta eyes scanned the various crowds as his face remained locked in a scowl.

Huffing, Ignatius pushed his way through the crowd, dodging the large marble columns and canvas tents. Eventually coming to stand by the large ornate fountain of the market square.

Now outside the large bustle, he continued to watch from under the fountain’s cooling spray.

As the hours of the day turned from the bright noon day sun to the golden late afternoon, nothing happened.

Ignatius stalked away from the center with the sun warming and drying his back. Grumbling under his breath about the lack of excitement as the shadows began to reach out from the darkened corners and caress him.

Rubbing his calloused hand over his sharp face as a heavy sigh filled the quiet streets. The sigh was quickly overshadowed by thunder of hooves. As they grew louder, the slower Ignatius walked until he came to a stop.

His dark brow rose as a small cavalry skid to a stop in front of him. Their white horses throwing their heads and manes shaking as they danced in the dust.

A man: similarly armored to Ignatius separated himself from the pack. His olive skin shined in sweat and a look of urgency resided in his brown eyes.

“General,” He took a deep breath, “we’ve been sent to retrieve you.”

Ignatius’ face returned to a stoic state as he questioned the why.

“Parva Civitas, is under attack and I’ve been sent to collect every able soldier.”

Chuckling, Ignatius showed his small fang, “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

No time was wasted as Ignatius, using his higher status, commanded for someone to give him a horse. Once saddled, the cavalry raced off like bolts of lightning across a darkening sky to the city of Parva Civitas.

In the distance Ignatius began to see the plumes of smoke that often-accompanied raids. His heart began to pound, and hands began to itch as the setting sky was lightened by the flames of destruction.

Forcing his horse to a stop at the crumbling, stone, entrance. Ignatius jumped off his steed and brandished his Pugio. Its iron gleamed red from the flames as he ran in. Like a lion on the hunt he ran through the flames and bloodshed looking for someone. Anyone to satisfy his lust for blood.

That unfortunate soldier was a man dressed in thick leather and fur armor. A helmet made of bone covered his head as he held a woman by her blonde curls. She shrieked as she fought back. Small, sharp nails attempted to dig in as she kicked against him.

Ignatius cackled as he dashed forward. His blade finding the weakness between the pieces of armor like it was the blade’s sheath.

A sickening squelch filled the air as the fur covered man coughed, his blood flew and dripped. He dropped the now blood speckled woman and turned to fight. Ignatius didn’t give him as chance as he withdrew his weapon from the man and struck again in repeated succession.

As his opponent dropped, now limp, lifeless, and bloody, Ignatius turned to look at the shocked woman.

Her toga was torn and dirty, but his heart skipped at her beauty. Highlighted by the flames around them her blue eyes looked like an ocean at sunset as they flowed with crystal tears. Soft, pale skin marred by dirt and burns reminding him of damaged silk. Still soft, but even more beautiful.

They starred at each other for what felt like an eternity, each lost in their own thoughts.

Loud cries grew louder and the sound of iron clashing roused him by to reality. Ignatius staggered away. Glancing back, his magenta eyes mesmerized her ethereal form as he left. Returning to the fray of bloodshed and violence.

Long after the battle ended, Ignatius sat in the dying grass surrounded by the burned carcasses like buildings. Covered in the visceral of his enemies. His muscles had long since recovered from the feeling of fatigue. Many of the surviving soldiers around him looking as he did.

Yet, his mind was not at rest. It was filled with the images of the battle torn woman. Those few images confused him. Why hadn’t she run? Was it the shock or did something else freeze her to the spot?

A cry of joy caused snapped his eyes opened as he watched an older solider embrace a smaller woman. He sat straighter at the realization that it was the same woman he had seen the night before.

His chest squished and churned at the sight of her tears. A disgusted scowl overtook his features at the strange feeling.

Standing Ignatius slowly entered a group of four men standing around a large water basin. Their hands were dipping in and out of the soiled water as they rinsed off the evidence of the night before.

He joined in; calmy cleaning himself as he spoke. “Does anyone know the silver hair soldier that embrace the young woman just now?”

They glanced at each other before looking at the duo. The youngest of the group, a boy about seventeen spoke up.

“Yes General. That’s Felix Aulus and his daughter, they live here.”

Nodding, Ignatius continued to clean, and he looked back to the chatting pair.

“Does anyone know where they reside in town.”

The same boy nodded as his eyes meet Ignatius’. “Then you will remain in Parva Civitas to show me when I return from Rome.”

With a firm yes sir, Ignatius went away. Returning to Rome reporting about the attack while his mind dreamed of the daughter of the Aulus family.

[cherryblossom-chopper]

Hihi♡ Can I please have an angst scenario for Benn Beckman where he had an argument with his fem S/O and said something rude then the S/O gets off at an island and is captured; and he finds her tortured and stuff. Sorry if it's too much hehe,, I've been soo deprived of angst lately. And if you don't write for Benn, can you do it for Ace or Shanks instead? Tysm in advance😘 love your writing btw😌 Keep up the amazing work honey💕

Hi dearest, I’m sorry for taking so long to get this up but here it is. I hope you enjoy it. Also, you may have seen this but here's something kind of similar I did awhile ago with Shanks. Love you!

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1,243

Faith

Benn flung open the cellar door. The musky smell of dust and rot floated past the pirate. He wrinkled his nose, and he took his first steps down into the cellar. The stone steps were crumbling under his feet as if they hadn't been touched in years. The unsettling cold of the near-empty cellar clung to his skin. Benn had to crouch to protect his head from hitting the ceiling. The farther he traveled from the steps, the meaner the chill became, and the smell of mildew became stronger. Benn let out a long low whistle; the sound bounced off the walls and into darkness. He listened keenly for his responses. His heart jumped into his throat as a broken-sounding whistle replied. It was broken, but it was her whistle. They continued their game of Marco-Polo until (Name) finally came into view.

Benn knelt in front of her. In the darkness, he cupped (Name) 's face and whispered, "Hey Sugarcane, are you with me?"

(Name) nodded her head yes before whispering in a hoarse voice, "I think I'm hurt."

Benn sucked in a breath, "Where? Where are you hurt, (Name)?" His hands gently began trailing down her skin. His warm fingers soothed the goosebumps for a moment. In response to her silence, Benn draped his coat over her shoulders as he began trying to find her wounds. His lips pursed as his fingers felt the rusted metal on the cuffs clamped far too tight on (Name) 's wrists. Benn struggled to pry them apart, then began investigating the chains attached to the wall. He was sure he looked pretty foolish at the moment; if a light turned on at the moment, it would certainly look as if Benn was the feral beast keeping (Name) captive.

He pulled his gun from his waist and began bashing the butt of the weapon against the chains. Benn desperately pulled on the chains, and the wall the chains were attached to began to give. With more furious beating against the cracks and then a final pull on the chains, the first one popped out of place.

(Name) watched with a tired but relieved expression as Benn began to work on the second chain. She couldn't help but reach out to him while working on getting the next chain free. She managed to grasp the hem of Benn's dark shirt before whispering, "What if they catch us?"

Benn looked over his shoulder with a sly grin on his face, but it's not like (Name) could see it. "Do you really think it was just me coming for you?" he chuckled, "I'm not the only one who loves you, Sugarcane." 

(Name) couldn't help but smile back at Benn. "The captain is coming?" she asked as Benn pulled the final chain free.

"Of course he is. Shanks is probably tearing the town upside down as we speak in search of you," Benn pulled (Name) to his chest, "Can you walk at all?"

In her stubbornness (Name) did make an attempt to walk. She managed to take a few awkward steps before her legs couldn't move anymore.

Benn did his best to hold (Name) as he moved through the tight cellar. "Damn, I'm sure you're the only one who fits down here, Shortie," Benn swore as he awkwardly moved about.

When they finally reached the steps, Benn sighed in relief. Not only could he stand up straight now, but the sunlight poured in from the surface. He held her close to his chest and hurried up the steps; there was no time to waste now that he could move properly.

(Name) squinted and groaned at the light and hid her face in Benn's chest. "It's so bright," she murmured.

Benn smiled a little before jostling her in his arms, "Let me get a better look at you now that I can see." His breath caught in his throat when he saw (Name) 's face clearly. Blood caked on the side of her face. It was beginning to crust at the edges. Part of her hairline was sticky, and her scalp was stained red. Her face and arms had been sliced and bruised. Benn couldn’t bear to imagine what other horrors were hidden beneath his cloak.

Benn's entire body started to tremble as he looked at her bloody and beaten face. "(Name) I'm so sorry," his mouth was dry, and he looked sick, "Gods, (Name). I'm so sorry, if I had known this would happen, I would've never…" Benn trailed off as she tried to turn away from him. He swallowed hard, then began heading towards the docks. As they left, Benn was murmuring apologies between stern reminders. "I know you're angry with me, but keep your eyes on me," he kept saying.

Benn managed to fish his handheld responder snail out of his pocket. He called his captain and confirmed that (Name) was alive but badly injured. She managed to croak out a hello to the captain as well. In which the Shanks-like face became upset at the state of his fellow crew member.

Once Benn got on deck, he was met with a serious-faced captain. Shanks’ face was dark with concern, and followed a very silent Benn toward the ship's infirmary. The captain watched Benn bring (Name) inside the infirmary and promptly get kicked out.

Benn tapped his foot impatiently and watched the door waiting for the doctor to let him back in. He was so focused on his thought that he jumped when Shanks patted his back.

"You can unclench your jaw now," Shanks said with a hint of a smile on his face, "She'll be just fine."

"Liar," Benn muttered, "She was trapped in a warehouse cellar." Benn began to fidget and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting it, he took a long drag from it and tilted his head away from Shakes.

"You can't wait out here forever, Beckman," Shanks sighed before turning to leave, "Have faith in your crewmates, won't you?"

And Benn did have faith. He waited and waited, and his faith rewarded him. He nearly collapsed with relief when the physician said (Name) would be alright. They asked him if he wanted to see her, and Benn said yes, but saying and doing are very different. The guilt began to bubble up in his mind and effectively make his stomach ache. If only he hadn't had shouted at her, maybe things would be different.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside the recovery room. Benn grit his teeth at the sight of his partner curled up on the bed. In a low voice, he called her name, the cowardly part of him hoping she'd be asleep. That part of him was overjoyed to hear the soft snore come out of (Name). The part of himself made of sheer grit and grease was agitated. Not with her, not really. Benn just wanted to kiss and make up.

Benn sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "You need to get better soon (Name). I need to apologize to you properly. Besides, if you leave me without at least getting the apology you deserve, I'll have to be grumpy for the rest of my life. And I'm far too scary as it is to win the heart of anyone else, so unless I'm destined to be a crotchety bachelor, you gotta get better. Please, have faith in me to do the right thing."

[hanibalistic]

#758A87 | LEE JENO.

genre | fluff, domestic au, platonic love

word count | 1652

warning | none​

note | i am back to advocate for peeling oranges for each other. also, yes, i may be writing a little nct but don’t count on it.

the way jeno kicked off his shoes and begrudgingly walked past you to go to his room told you that he was rejected.

there was this girl who he has been going on and on about for a while now. he kept it to himself fairly well in the earlier stages of his crush, but you caught on anyway after noticing the cues he dropped here and there—smiling at his phone, mentioning her name in and out of conversations, and mostly jaemin's constant teasing. after he came clean to you about his occupied affection, he fully allowed himself to express how ever-growing his feelings were.

although there were times when you felt an overwhelming urge to shut him up (for someone who talks so little, jeno sure talks a lot in the comfort of your shared apartment), ultimately you were happy to see that he has a reason to be so giddy and happy all the time. she makes him talk like nobody can, she makes him beam and coo, and you were grateful that this unknown girl could bring the best out of your friend.

occasionally, though, when you watch the way his eyes light up in the mention of the girl, you would feel a cold breeze of loneliness for the absence of a companion of your own. you were not in love, and neither was anyone in love with you, and there was a deep hollowness in the absence of affection, whether one-sided or reciprocated, that made you feel an unexplainable desperation to find love without being in need of it.

you turned away from your laptop that you set on the coffee table when you heard footsteps trailing out to the living room. water still dripped past his skin, showing that he didn't bother to dry himself thoroughly after the steaming hot shower he just took. his blue hair dripped wet and the towel around his shoulders was the only thing catching the rainfall from his head.

jeno moved slow and depressed, his eyes not a trace of glow in them and his jaw tightly gritted. he bent down to pick up the shoes he kicked off in a moment of a tantrum when he got home, but his fingers were flailing as if he has no will to do anything but lay on his bed and reflect on his entire love life—how it started, how much he loved the girl who broke his heart, where it went wrong, and what the hell was so bad about him that she didn't love him back?

you pouted slightly in awkwardness when he resulted in placing his shoes near the wall instead.

oh lord, he totally got rejected. that was not the worst thing but the fact that you never knew how to deal with someone heartbroken. you never had to go through it yourself, neither were you ever placed in a situation where someone else needed your comfort.

what could you do? distract him by giving him tasks to do? let him vent his emotions out to you even though he has always been quiet about his negative feelings? be insensitive and remind him there were bigger problems than being dumped?

what if he didn't need it, though? do heartbroken people truly need their hearts to be mended at all? if the heartbreak is the only thing left of whom they used to love, do they truly want to get rid of it?

"jeno."

annoyed but kind, jeno looked up from the cracks of the wall to you. he was upset, but he thought it unfair to take it out on you. your wide eyes glanced back at him when he stood up straight again, and you flashed him a tight smile as you raised your hands to him. he looked at the oranges sitting comfortably on your palms, and internally, he sighed.

"can you peel these oranges for me?" you asked as you usually would, sounding occupied but also free.

jeno really could not be bothered with doing anything. he just got rejected by who he thought was the love of his life; he felt confident this morning, especially after you helped fix up his hair and pick his outfit, as well as jaemin's encouraging words, only to have his expectations crumble with a simple answer. some part of him felt humiliated and stupid for choosing this route, for thinking that he had a chance, and he really cannot be bothered at all.

"[name], i'm sorry but i really don't feel like doing anything right now," he confessed lowly.

he was about to turn to leave when you called him again, much more urgently this time but still with a hint of dragging laziness in your tone.

"ah–jeno, please?" you pleaded in a faint childish whine, squeezing the oranges in your hands. "just one orange? please, jeno?"

he almost rolled his eyes when he turned to face you, but the softness that erupted in his chest at the sight of you sitting on the floor, oranges in your hand, stopped him from letting you see his annoyance. his hammering brain relaxed when he saw you put one orange down and attempted to peel the other one with trouble.

he sighed with unknown but familiar endearment when your thumb tore right through the fruit, sprouting juices over your once clean hands, and a gentle defeat once again rushed over him when you frowned up at him with the failure in your hands and a pleading glint in your eyes.

the softness in his heart—he never thought much about it. much of his affection for you was platonic, he believed, but they were also affection that seemed to trump the ones he felt for the girl he loved whenever they rush to the nape of his neck. the feelings he has for you often seemed to trump all else when he was confronted with them blatantly, such as now, and he could do anything.

he could do anything. he could declare that you are one of his best friends, maybe he could tell you he loves you, but mostly he could brush away his sadness to peel you an orange if you asked.

"jeno..."

"okay, okay," he said as he crouched down next to you and took the untouched orange from the table.

at some point, he lost his balance and he ended up sitting down next to you. he skillfully ripped the skin off the orange, carefully and precisely revealing the tasty fruit inside. meanwhile, you struggled freely with your destroyed orange by taking apart the slices and popping them into your mouth.

"oh, try it, this is good."

jeno looked up briefly when you spoke. he opened his mouth so you could feed him the orange slice, and he raised his brows in approval. you grinned, taking note that you should get more of the same ones next time you go buy groceries to stock up.

there was a moment of silence where you focused on the television and jeno on the last bit of orange slices in his hands. when he was done, he reached over to the coffee table and dumped them on the tissue you laid on top. when he was done, he dusted his hands and hoisted himself off the floor, just before you spoke again.

"you got rejected, didn't you?"

jeno pursed his lips, the sorrow rushing over him once again after having forgotten about it. he nodded. "yeah."

you turned your head to look at him. jeno felt self-conscious under your gaze. he never did so, but it felt like you were accessing what was wrong with the way he looked.

"maybe it's your blue hair," you said, pointing at his head and a playful laugher hanging on your lips. "maybe you reminded her too much of sonic, like the hedgehog, so she said no–"

"you are not funny." he smiled patiently but humorlessly.

"i am trying my best!" you exclaimed, then you leaned back against the edge of the couch and asked to the ceiling, "are you sad?"

"yeah."

"okay then," you muttered, then you laid your head on his shoulder and huffed. "how about now?"

jeno choked on a short laugh, in disbelief yet he was kind of used to your way of comforting people, but his heart beat softly against his chest at both the proximity and your discreet care. if anything, he would have preferred your way than the way of talking and reaching into the cave of his emotions. mainly because the latter does nothing but make him realize how much he missed with just one rejection.

at least with your head on his shoulder, he remembers he has friends, a companion. he has someone he has a soft spot for, someone he can put all his abandoned love for in the meantime as he searched for another lover, someone who can make him bother when he feels like he can't anymore.

"maybe a little less," he whispered, smiling to himself.

"okay..." you reached your hand to him, an orange slice in your hand, "care for an orange?"

jeno laughed, but then he grimaced with a choke of disbelief when he saw the monstrosity in your hands.

"[name]! i said peel the orange not kill it!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide at how sticky and wet your hands have become from just peeling the orange.

"i told you i just can't do it!" you laughed incredulously, shrugging and popping another orange slice into your mouth. "this is why i have you."

jeno rolled his eyes in defeat, but he denies nothing of it. 

you are where he puts his love into for now, you are who holds half of his soul for now. you are who he is willing to peel oranges for, maybe not just for now but for the rest of his life.

[heywoodvirgin]

WIP just a WIP

@wanderingaldecaldo​ tagged me a while ago for Wednesday WIP, but I’m only finding now what to post here! ( I could have waited for Wednesday, but I’m not the patient type ;p ) 

                                                            *** 

Excerpt from a Nomad V / Jackie Welles untitled one shot I’m still working on. ( sorry if any mistakes, no proofreading) 

                                                             ***

If she’s honest with herself, if she really wants to come clean, It always boiled down to the same thing, the same outcome, no matter how many times she hashed it out in her head. But there was always something stopping her from yielding to the inevitability, or maybe she always liked to make that something up. V was in love matters as she was in any other matter of life. Even back then with the Bakkers, she remained hung up to the last thread of hope of a possible reunification the very night before their final dissolution, screaming her opinions to the couple of nomads who deigned listen, with tears in her eyes and pity in theirs. And V thinks now that half of her time staying here - when she wasn’t crawling under bullets-  she spent on interpretations, speculations, assumptions… chopping up his words and actions into pieces to rebuild them up, again and again, until they lost all meaning.  She liked to hoard illusions like nuts and bolts in the boxes she used to tuck in the back of her tent. Now as everything seems to come apart, every fictional castle built of tiny hopes upon tiny expectations crumbling down at her feet, what’s the point anymore? But here she is, losing sleep over mirages in the shape of him. 

And now more than ever, she’s scared to flip out. 

But maybe she already did. Minutes ago she’d said yes to a job. The gig reeked from miles down to the wastelands to boot. Klepping for Maelstrom, and alone. An out of breath, eager yes, she gave. As if she was waiting for a real reason to fuck up and hate her guts, or to bleed out dry in an obscure cove of the NID. Or maybe she’s just looking for a valid reason to be ditched as a partner, for good. Most likely the latter. Jackie’s words replay in her mind and those have no need for interpretation “Ivy, the kind of trouble you’re always getting into, ya need to stay out of it, porfa?” and he’d always pronounced Ay-vee, but his tone was firm, worried, even slightly unnerved. Had the right to, her blood had stained his fingers red as he patched her up himself that night. V only remembers the way her skin felt under his touch as she nodded numbly to his words, she thought there was no better anesthetizer. 

There’s no sweet escape anyway, she’s just gonna burn her wings elsewhere. She tries to keep her eyes closed, as if to forget she's in his room, his bed, surrounded by his things, his smell.  

The bed is empty for the first time, the weight of his arm curling around her side an absence she feels a visceral need to fill, and all the pillows she’s thrown around are useless against the cold eating away at her. She’ll miss everything, even her ever-hated nickname, the way he insists on calling her “hermana”, excruciatingly pushing the big bro act. V thinks now that she’s never hated, just like she’ll never miss such a harmless word that much.

 When everything will be over, she wonders,  what would be the last souvenir of him burning to dust with her wings?

Tagging whoever wants to share something !