#and i just had to knit a few hats or shake a few trees or talk to a few fairies...

[stlamb]

if theres one thing that will get me through life its cute relaxing video games....

[steveshairychest]

The party is at Steve's house for Christmas. There's presents under the ridiculously large Christmas tree for everyone and Hopper is wearing a Santa hat and is handing the presents out to people one by one.

He reaches towards the back of the tree for the last present and says, "To Stevie, From E." Hopper hands it to a very confused Steve because he's already gotten his present from El; it was a beautiful scarf that she'd knitted with Joyce's help.

"Is this another one from you, El?" She shakes her head, just as confused as Steve. He opens the present carefully, the fact it was addressed 'To Stevie' made something inside him twist painfully because only one person called him Stevie.

And he was dead.

He tears the last of the paper away and gently pulls out the present, everyone's eyes are on him. It's a brand new yellow sweater, almost identical to the one he lost, the one he'd thrown at Eddie before he jumped into the lake. He exhales shakily and runs his hands over the soft material, it's still got the store tag on and as he unfolds it completely, a card drops out.

"Guys, stop playing around, who's this from?" They all shake their heads, a few shrug, Dustin looks like he's going to be sick as he stares at the very un-christmas like bat covered card. "It can't be from... " He cant say his name, hasn't been able to since it happened, it gets stuck in his throat and chokes him. "It's been months."

"That present was under the tree when we all got here." Robin says quietly, she's staring at the spot on the floor where it had sat, it had been right underneath his lounge room window. Steve felt like he was going to pass out. This can't be from Eddie. He'd pressed his ear to his chest and heard nothing, he'd shaken him and begged him to wake up while his lifeless eyes stared up at nothing. This doesn't make sense.

With shaking hands, Steve opens the card and tries not to cry as he reads it aloud. "Hey, Stevie - fuck." He tips his head back and blinks away the tears threatening to fall onto the card.

"I know you probably have a few questions but I can't answer them just yet. He's watching me, Steve. He knows everything I know. I'm sorry to drop this on you on Christmas but you have to know that he's back."

"P.S. I hope you like the present. I felt bad for losing yours and you just look so good in yellow, I had to buy it. I'll see you soon, Stevie."

"From Eddie."

[dawneternal]

Take the World in Your Hands | Eris x Elain | Four

Summary: Eris's brothers catch wind of his proposal to Nesta. They plan to find and deliver her to their father as a gift, surely winning his favor. Their plan takes a turn when they kidnap the wrong Archeron sister and Eris finds her in the Autumn Court dungeon.

all aboard the crack ship???

Notes: it's the shopping episode!! 🛍️💅 Also I discovered dividers. This one is by cozykitsune

Warnings: none for this part

Word Count: 2.5k

Ao3 link / Masterlist

When Elain woke in the morning, Eris was frying pancakes in the kitchen. Shirtless and barefoot, which seemed very unsafe but admittedly nice to look at. It was a good sign, as well, that the balm had done it's job. The smattering of bruises seemed to be mostly gone, only a few smudges of color ghosting his shoulders.

"Eat up! Long day of shopping ahead," Eris sang, gesturing to the full plate of pancakes and eggs on the kitchen table.

A mug of hot cider sat beside it, and Elain eyed it suspiciously, wondering if he had somehow sensed her dream. Nevertheless, he seemed very chipper this morning and it was a pleasant change from the awkwardness of last night.

Elain savored the pancakes, a little hum of satisfaction escaping with the first bite. Food in Velaris was delicious, but the variation of another court's flavors was a nice change.

"You didn't have to sleep in your dress," Eris said, joining her at the table, "I'm sure the tunic was more comfortable."

"Is that what your guests do? Sleep in your shirts?" Elain looked up at him through her lashes as she took another bite, "I did notice you don't have any nightgowns."

Eris suppressed a grin. Somehow, no one else had figured out that little scheme. Or at least, no one had said anything.

"You don't seem to be a morning person," He said, instead of answering.

"Oh, I am, actually. I love the early morning. But I watch Nyx so often that I've more or less adapted to his schedule, and he definitely takes after his father." Elain sipped her cider, relishing the spices that lingered on her tongue.

"Poor little fellow," Eris clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

Elain emerged from the washroom, dressed, groomed, and bathed. She had decided she liked the cut of Autumn Court dresses. Comfortable, modest, and delicately adorned with embroidery and beads. She had chosen a warm burnt orange and admired the way it complimented the honey-brown of her hair. Eris resisted the urge to tell her exactly how well the wardrobe of his court suited her. Or that he wished she'd wear her hair down, as was the current fashion in Autumn.

Instead, he held out a wine colored-coat for her to slip on, and tucked a knitted scarf around her collar. She found the matching mittens and and hat stuffed into the pockets and tugged those on as well.

"Ready," She said, a little bit muffled behind her layers. He couldn't help his grin then.

Eris began to put on his own coat, but stopped and let out a hiss of pain.

"Are you okay?" Elain's brows knit together.

"I'm alright," He sighed, "Just stretched a little too far on my bad side."

Elain took his coat from his hands and helped him into it, fastening each wooden button for him. He gave her a grateful smile and led her out of the cabin, away toward the edge of the wards. When Elain turned around, the cabin had disappeared. There was not even a clearing where it should be. Nothing but a tiny gap in the trees.

"Neat trick, no?" Eris eyes sparkled.

Elain placed a mittened hand on his arm and looked up at him with furrowed brows. "Are you sure you're up for winnowing?"

"Yes, dear," Eris smiled, "I'll be alright. Not all of us have wings to take us where we wish, anyways."

"How is it so cold here, if we're in Autumn?" She asked, ignoring the pet name. But she did take the hand he held out to her.

"We're very close to the Winter border. Hazelbury is the last Autumn village before the Winter Court border. Its higher up here, so it snows during cold snaps. Ready?"

"Ready."

Elain gripped his hand tight as they winnowed. She was grateful for the barrier of their mittens and gloves, but she could still feel his warmth radiating through her.

They landed among the trees, bits of loose snow falling onto them from above.

"Alright?" Eris asked, brushing snowflakes from her eyebrows. Elain looked up at him and started, forgetting that the plan had been to glamour them both. He was unrecognizable, his red hair now deep brown, the angle of his nose smoothed, his skin clear of freckles. The fire was gone from his eyes. A little ruby teardrop dangled from one ear, as if to compensate for the missing warmth.

"I stole a description from a Sellyn Drake novel," Eris gave her a crooked smile.

"How do you know Sellyn Drake?" Elain laughed. Her eyes drifted to the bustling village ahead of them, a blur of colors and motion. The murmur was pleasant, frequent laughter rising up from it.

"My observational skills are excellent," He said, "And how do you know Sellyn Drake?"

"Am I glamoured?" Elain dodged yet another of his questions, bringing her fingers to her nose to feel it's shape.

"A little, you'll see." Eris started toward the village path, stepping high through the snow. Elain was grateful for her the heavy boots and wool socks she'd been given. The cabin truly seemed to hold everything one could need.

"What do you usually call yourself when you come here?"

"I've never needed to come up with a name. What about you? What would you like to be called today?"

"I suppose I'll think of one in the moment if it comes up," Elain said, blushing at the improper answers that had come to her. None of which she planned on ever uttering out loud.

The bustling crowd flowed around them as they stood on the edge of the cobblestone street - presumably the main street. Worn buildings popped up all around, their once-colorful roofs spreading as far as the eye could see. Lanterns hung from the awnings, and strings of fae-lights wove back and forth overhead, illuminating window displays filled with lovely things.

"General store first," Eris said, pressing a guiding hand to the small of her back. He led her inside one of the wooden buildings, warm air greeting them in the doorway. He gave Elain a smile and nodded toward the displays. "Pick whatever you want."

So, Elain took her time studying the displays as Eris made polite conversation with the shop keeper. She felt a little pang of guilt as she came across a box of pencils in an autumn color scheme that Feyre would surely love. She wasn't even sure if her sister would accept a gift from the Autumn Court, anyways, judging by her reaction to Elain's note. And Nesta was not supposed to know she was here, so she couldn't pick a gift for her, either.

Instead, she picked for herself a maple sugar candy to try, and a few varieties of seeds she had never seen. Perhaps someday, when things were different, she could return with her sisters and shop with them.

Elain dared not make the comparison aloud again, but Eris's shopping habits were very similar to Rhys's. He encouraged her to pick something at nearly every shop they stopped in, claiming it was necessary for the "full Autumn Court experience."

By the time they had made it to the dress shop, his arms were full of bags with handmade cheese and bread, fresh flowers, books, and  candy. Half were recommendations or gifts from the shop keepers, all of whom seemed to recognize and greet him eagerly. Naturally, Elain began to wonder how often he did this and how often he needed to visit the safe house.

The dress shop was no different. Eris flopped down into a chair at the front of the store, letting his arms rest from carrying the heavy bags. A short, older women scurried to greet him.

"Ezra, my love," She cried, planting a kiss on his cheek.

An involuntary, shit-eating grin spread across Elain's face. Eris flashed her a warning look. So he had chosen his name him a Sellyn Drake novel, as well.

"What brings you in today?" The woman asked after she had finished fussing over him.

"My lady is to accompany me to an event in a few days," He gestured to Elain, who blushed and nodded in greeting, "Do you have anything that we could take with us today?"

"Of course," The woman cried, placing a hand over her chest. Her enthusiasm was rather infectious. "I will find a few sections for you."

"I do hope she brings something scandalous," Eris grinned, leaning back in his chair as if it were a throne, crossing one leg over the other.

"I will not wear anything scandalous unless you agree to show just as much skin as I do," Elain retorted.

Eris tipped his head back and laughed. He seemed so at ease here, pretending to be someone else. Someone proud of his court, enjoying a day of leisure in a tourist town. It made Elain's chest ache for him.

The seamstress returned and beckoned Elain to a dressing room. She seemed baffled by Elain's insistence that she could dress by herself, but left her alone nonetheless. It did not escape her that the woman had never asked for her name, leading her to wonder how much she really knew about Eris. How much she knew about guests that must remain anonymous.

The first time Elain looked in the mirror it startled her. She forgot Eris had glamoured her, though the changes were not as drastic as his. The curve of her nose and lips had tilted, eyebrows thicker and straighter, and her eyes shifted more towards a solid green than her own hazel. It was unsettling, though the girl who stared back at her was pretty.

Elain had planned to show each choice to Eris and let him choose. It was his money, after all. But she lost her nerve after slipping the first dress over her head. A moss green silk gown with cut outs around the waist and translucent gossamer sleeves. The skirt hugged her hips and flared out at the knees, a train of shining fabric falling behind her. It was beautiful and skillfully made. But she was not brave enough for the plunging neckline and skin-tight bodice.

She made her way through the rack of dresses, each one-of-a-kind in some gorgeous jewel toned fabric. When she found one that she loved, it took her a long moment of staring in the mirror until she gathered enough courage to leave the dressing room.

It was not anything as revealing as her sisters might choose, but it was tighter and showier than anything she'd normally go for. The plum-colored velvet gown had a full shirt with slits up each side, inching dangerously high on her thighs. The bodice laced up like a corset, the square neckline framing her cleavage with shimmering golden lace. Over the whole gown, swirls of beadwork caught the light and glowed like gemstones. The back dipped low, threatening to expose the dimples at the end of her spine.

"Well?" Elain appeared before Eris, wringing her hands in nervousness.

Eris's eyes snapped up from the newspaper in his lap, his gaze dragging slowly down her body. As if memorizing every detail. He swallowed hard before clearing his throat and announcing, "It's perfect."

Elain padded to stand before the mirror. Eris appeared behind her, dutifully clasping his hands behind his back.

"And what do you think?" He asked, eyeing her furrowed brow.

"It's a bit more...scandalous than I'd usually choose," She said, turning to side and letting the slit in the skirt expose the length of her leg.

"Well we are hoping to cause a bit of a scandal, no?" He flashed a wild, crooked grin.

"I suppose you'll be baring your back in solidarity?" Elain watched him in the mirror, his eyes drifting up and down her form.

"As I promised." Eris laughed, "Now you just need a dagger to match. There's a shop a few doors down-"

"No," The words came out before Elain knew she had wanted to say them. "I want it to be yours."

Eris's eyebrows arched high, a little of his glamour fell and let a few flames through. They burned into her, blush creeping across her chest under the golden lace.

"I want the dagger to be yours. I want to-to have something of yours," Elain stammered.

Eris's eyes were on hers in the reflection. She watched them darken, a muscle in his jaw twitching. One of his hands, despite his best efforts to behave, reached out to rest on her exposed thigh, fingers brushing just underneath the velvet fabric.

"I'll give you a dagger of mine," He purred into her ear, deep voice rumbling in his chest, "if you'll promise to wear it here."

Elain's stomach fluttered, skin heating under his touch.

"Promise," She whispered.

"Go change, little dove," Eris whispered, giving her a gentle nudge.

It took her just a moment to return to herself, to resist the urge to lean her back against him and let his lips brush her neck. Perhaps they would, before their time together was over. And perhaps she was terrible and wicked for wishing such a thing. She moved towards the dressing room as if in a trance.

Elain managed to collect herself before returning to Eris, shoving down the butterflies in her stomach and fanning her face to cool her skin. Eris stood at the counter chatting with the seamstress, No sign of the hunger that had gripped his features before. They had found a pair of matching shoes and enchanted them to fit Elain's size.

"Eris," Elain said as they gathered their bags and boxes.

"Yes?"

"You are not buying me anything else today."

"I refuse to be ashamed of my love for buying things," He proclaimed, "Just dinner, and then we go home."

"Just dinner," Elain repeated firmly.

"And maybe dessert," He grinned.

"Eris," Elain groaned at him but he just smirked.

Eris took her to the edge of a village, leading her to a restaurant with walls of full-length windows. The waiter led them to their own room in the back, a cozy booth tucked into an alcove of glass. A little faelight, encased in a dome of glass, sat on the center of the table. The heavy snowflakes just outside caught the light and glittered as they fell.

"My favorite thing about this place," Eris said after the waiter had left them, "Is that they decide your order for you and have it sent to your table. You don't have to talk to anyone for your whole meal."

Eris tapped the faelight on the table and two mugs of hot chocolate materialized, garnished with whipped cream and chocolate snowflakes.

Elain's heart hammered in her chest. Of course, he had to look gorgeous in the dim light, every handsome characteristic accentuated by the fae light. He had dropped his disguise, the full force of his beauty hitting her like a rough wave. He smiled like he knew what she was thinking, and Elain wondered if it was a good thing or a bad thing that no one would return to wait their table. No buffer for her to insist on propriety in front of.

Because the most troubling thing of this whole ordeal was how easy it all was. Easy to talk, easy to flirt, and so very easy to want him. 

[curi0us-gh0st]

Christmas Gifts (xg)

pairings: xg x fem!reader!8th member, chisa x jurin.

word count: 955.

genre: fluffy.

summary: Christmas Eve with the XG girls!

a/n: Merry Christmas? Oh, this is late lol || Happy new year guys! [no review]

The snow had been falling for almost a week, the girls gathered together in the dorm after Simon gave them a few days off to enjoy the celebratory date, Christmas. Everyone was eager and excited to spend it together, they all bought gifts to give each one individually, Chisa and Jurin were currently in the kitchen preparing cookies to eat while they were all around the tree, while there were three excited children poking and pinching the sweets, aka Maya , Harvey and you.

Scaring Juria and Hinata when they ran into the living room after almost being attacked by a Chisa furious because you were stealing the freshly baked cookies, with the threat: “If you come back, I won't have any mercy!”. Of course, if you came back she would be ready with half a bag ready to throw at you.

It's a few minutes before midnight, they were all spread around the room, laughing at each other because of what they were wearing, Chisa and Harvey dressed as Christmas trees, Maya and Cocona as snowmen, Jurin and you as reindeer, finishing with Hinata like Santa Claus.

“Okay, should we start delivering presents?” Maya asked anxiously as she looked at her pile of gifts.

"I think so?" Hinata nodded hesitantly, waiting for a response from the leader, looking at Chisa.

“Oh, sure. Here we go!" Chisa agreed.

They all flew to the Christmas tree, picking up their gifts with their names on them and sitting down again, waiting for another answer to open them or at least try to guess who was responsible for the gift. Chisa held her gift in her lap, giving a signal to everyone to open their gifts, whistles of excitement and murmurs of excitement could be heard throughout the room.

“Why is mine so big~~?!” Cocona asked as she tried to open her gift, hearing the members giggle.

“It must be bigger than you!” Maya laughed at her friend as she opened the large green bow.

“Oh!” Cocona blurted out, taking the gift out of the bag and shaking it as she hugged the large stuffed Snorlax.

"So cute!" Harvey said as he hugged the giant plushie with Cocona.

“We can all hug, literally.” Hinata commented, looking at the plush in awe.

Meanwhile, you opened your gift, happy that your hidden friend loved the gift you chose especially for her. The members were startled by the scream you let out, holding up your gift excitedly, your nerd screaming inside you after getting a personalized Jinx.

"I don't believe!" She shouted as she held the biscuit sculpture, jumping up and down excitedly, the members laughing at her reaction.

“The nerd is excited.” Chisa teased the newest joining of the other members.

"How am I?" Jurin asked, drawing attention to the leader, seeing her with a hat with kitten ears and on each side a small knitting rope with stars hanging from it.

The girls applauded and laughed at the eldest as she praised her, who had a smug and proud smile on her lips. A bright flash reached the girls' eyes, regaining their vision to see Maya with a huge naughty smile as she held a polaroid camera, some laughing as they asked to take more decent photos.

Juria, Cocona and Harvey were excited as they played with their current plushies, including Snorlax, Juria's Hello Kitty and a unicorn giving it to Harvey, laughing like a child who had just received his wish from Santa.

Chisa drawing attention from all over Japan by turning on a microphone as a gift, as she loved singing, the members' current thoughts would be to buy earplugs, while on the other side of the room, Hinata dangled Ariana Grande's album in her hands at you and Maya, they spent a long moment enjoying the exchange of surprise gifts before giving that look.

They dispersed to get more cookies in the kitchen, Chisa and Jurin shrugging as they talked in the living room, until the youngest girl's call was heard and they walked to the kitchen entrance and were stopped by you and Maya excitedly as they said nonsense things until Tell the older ones to look at the ceiling. Looking only to see the little mistletoe being hung by a ribbon.

That wasn’t there earlier…” Jurin spoke calmly, Chisa agreeing with her.

“No, you just didn’t see it.” You snorted, adding to the lie. “Either way, it doesn’t matter at this point.”

“Really, just do tradition.” Maya encouraged, her eyes shining.

A wave of encouragement filled the kitchen, Chisa and Jurin's cheeks red, shy that their members were doing this.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Chisa agreed, silencing the audience, looking shyly at Jurin after a quick sigh. "So you…"

Chisa didn't have to complete to receive a sweet and soft kiss on the lips by Jurin, her wide eyes relaxing with the mutual feelings as it was just her and Jurin left, the surprised younger girls began to clap and celebrate, jumping up to hug their leaders. .

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting that!” You mentioned it to Maya, she agreed.

“What were you waiting for?” Juria innocently asked.

“A kiss on the cheek?” Maya replied, silence taking over the room after they managed to bring the new couple together, both with their cheeks burning with shyness.

“Oh, we're still under the mistletoe…” It was Hinata's turn to speak. “Can we have Christmas cheek kisses?” She asked the older ones, receiving a nod.

“Of course, my loves!”

The night followed by you covered in kisses from both Chisa and Jurin, the night just ending in the early hours of the morning, snuggled in the living room, clinging to each other, sleeping peacefully after a session of Christmas movies.

[lazulian-devil]

The bells of winter

I found another prompt I fucked around with and Im sure whoever wrote it meant something entirely different by it, but I dont care :p Enjoy!

Part 1 about a retiring pirate

(3K characters)

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It had been an incredibly cold winter that left the wood half frozen when you brought it in the house. The ice crawled onto the windows, the snow sat in front of the doors and your breath was like cigarette smoke, hurting all the same in your throat and lungs. I didnt quite like it, but then again, nobody did.

It was a slow kind of terror that came with the wind, but decided to stay and wander our village. We hadnt invited it but none of us knew how to make it leave. And it was followed by all its children: Fear of hunger. Of freezing. Of pain. Of being unable to repair what would inevitably break under the ice pressure. Fear of loosing someone. Of loosing everyone. No amount of mittens, coats, hats, lined trousers and shoes could safe you from a cold that would freeze your beard if you didnt cover it. Or snowblind your eyes if you went out for too long. As I said. I didnt quite like it.

But I remember vividly the small green something that had broken through the snow in february. Everything was still so white, every step making that distinct crunching noise I never quite knew to put in words, my mittens more hole than cloth. But there it was, like a wound in the snow. Vivid. Green. Alive. Surrounded on all sides by slumbering trees and bushes. And the endless, all swallowing white of the world. The small blade of green had pushed away the snow around it, piercing through the blanket with more vigor and hope than I had felt in the last weeks. I didnt want to believe it yet. I didnt want to be hopeful. I had been, a few times before. When the elders told of the feelings in their bones, when a few birds came looking for seeds in our barn, when Maria finished spinning her threads of wool and started knitting me the itchiest and yet warmest sweater yet, so I could finally make the journey to Rivan without freezing to death. But all that hope had died on me not shortly after. The bones of the elders didnt mean anything when the storm hit. The birds were eaten. And Rivan was just as barren as our village. Nobody wanted to trade except for the children. They needed new knucklebones for their games. Something I at least could provide them with.

So, looking at that green wonder growing next to my trampled paths in the snow, I closed the door again and tried to forget about it. There were always outliers. It wasnt warm enough yet. How could it be.

By the next day, there were seven of them. Tiny knives, stabbing the snow. Soon enough, the first one I had found grew another blade and another, until a small blossom stretched itself towards the sun, its head opening up to a beautiful white bell, hanging and swaying in the wind. "Snowdrops." Maria said at the door and I agreed, a stack of firewood in my hand. Then she hushered me inside. The wind shouldnt get in after all.

And then, by the day, there were more. First a handful. Then a few dozen. Then hundreds. They grew wherever we hadnt trampled the snow down, always in bundles of four or five, as if they were holding on to one another when the winds came to shake the white bells they had for heads. I wondered if the other plants could hear them chime. "Look." They were saying to all the slumbering seeds under ground. "It will be over soon."

I agreed, reluctantly. Cautiously. My trust in the sun had been shaken a little too much. But I continued on regardless. And soon, when the snow started melting, leaving a patchwork of dirt and white and grass behind, things changed again. By the time the last snow drops blossomed in March, they were accompanied by others that had followed their call.

I wish I could have preserved them. But then again, I wouldnt need to look at them in summer, when everything is still green or in autumn, when everything is color. They are, all things concidered, quite boring little flowers. But when the timing is just right, they are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

[shares-a-vest]

Fruity Four Advent Calendar, Day 14: Decorating

Prompt List

Eddie, Nancy and Robin convince Steve to decorate his house for Christmas after being left home alone for the fourth year in a row. But he’s being a difficult grouch about it. That is until he finds the perfect ornament to hang on the tree.

This ended up being longer and angstier than I had planned whoopsie. I’ll be back on the 17th. I totally need to finalise rl Christmas stuff because it's just too overwhelming. Whyyy is Christmas just this endless stressful time every single year???

‘Steve Cries Over a Christmas Ornament’

Steve finds himself standing in Hawkins' last operating gas station, rotating a stand of cheap, last minute Christmas decorations as Eddie, Nancy and Robin stand in an aisle arguing about beer. That's when he spots it. An oversized, glittering ornament, hanging precariously on the stand and sticking out like a sore thumb amongst delicate red and green trinkets.

He smiles, possibly for the first time since the others had practically broken his front door down after Dustin had blabbed and told them his parents were going away, yet again for Christmas. It would mark the fourth in a row and Eddie (new to this heartbreaking revelation) had decided to do something about it. Which is how Steve ended up spending his morning off hauling his mother’s dusty Christmas boxes in from the garage in the snow. The others, of course, didn’t help and instead stood around debating whether he should buy a plastic store-bought tree or a real one.

"I'll just go buy a plastic one," Steve had insisted, annoyed at the lack of assistance. "I'm not spending weeks sweeping up pine needles."

A modest green tree was sliding around in its box in the back of Eddie’s van when Robin had demanded they stop for beer and candy, an indication to Steve that the trio probably wouldn’t be helping him decorate the house either.

He tucks a six-pack under his arm and plucks the ornament from off the display hanger, glitter comes with it, falling onto the sleeve cuff of his sweater, a red and white hand-knitted sweater Dustin’s mum gifted him for Christmas last year. He looks it over, chewing his lip in thought as his eyes glaze over the shimmering glitter.

"What's ya looking at?" Robin asks, craning her neck over his shoulder as he jumps and encloses the Christmas decoration in his hand.

He whips around, hiding the ornament behind his back as Robin sets a six-pack on the counter.

"Nothing," he insists.

"Whatever," she says, further filling the register space with some impulse purchases she grabs at the front counter. "Stop being a grump."

"I'm not", he retorts.

Knowing he’ll likely have to foot the bill, he begrudgingly grabs his wallet. Robin merely shrugs, the earflaps of her winter hat swishing as she hauls the beer back under her arm. As she does so, Nancy and Eddie load up more purchases, seemingly having settled their loud argument, save for a few defiant glances as they set their chosen candies on at the register.

After some awkward lingering and quizzing from the others, Steve manages to stay back and pay for the silly (not-so-little) ornament and shoves it in a bag he doesn’t let out of his sight for the trip back to his house.

The quartet spends hours assembling the tree, all because Robin and Eddie feel the need to comment on Vivianne Harrington’s choice of a gaudy red and gold Christmas motif with every ornament and decoration they unwrap from the Christmas boxes. Nancy spends the duration of their decorating time untangling Christmas lights and it is possibly the only task Steve has ever seen her truly struggle with. 

At one point he finds himself up on a ladder with Eddie conveniently spotting him on the ground as he adds some finishing decorations around the living room, loathing to admit actually enjoying it.

"Eds, is it straight?" he asks, holding a ‘Merry Christmas’ banner up over the fireplace.

Eddie, in a total trance and staring at Steve’s butt, shakes his head.

"Nope, absolutely not."

Nancy and Robin burst into laughter from the couch, having abandoned helping entirely after the tree was finished. The noise sets Steve off into a series of wobbles. Eddie places his palms squarely on Steve's butt cheeks, pushing him forward against the ladder rungs. He makes a shrieking sound as Robin positively cackles.

"Can you two help?" Steve snaps, looking over at the girls positively rolling around on the couch in hysterics.

"Nope!" Robin says, popping the 'p' and shaking her head, hair frizzing as she holds up a beer can.

"We are relaxing!" Nancy nods in agreement, waving around a takeaway Chinese menu. "Anyway, Eddie said he’d spot you."

Steve looks down at a grinning Eddie, still cupping his behind. He flashes his teeth in an even wider, and not-at-all-innocent, smile.

The girls eventually decide on their Chinese order and leave to get it, even though Robin is even more unfocused when inebriated. Steve bides time in the living room and decides to turn off the light switch to bask in the full effects of the Christmas scene that has been absent from his house for years. As he flips the switch, his heart drops at the sight and tears quickly well up at the sight of the tree.

His tree.

He steps closer and takes it in, hugging himself tightly as he blinks away tears. Not a moment later, he feels Eddie behind him, snaking his arms around his middle and hooking his chin on his shoulder. Steve promptly pinches his nose in a further attempt to stop his tears and turns on the spot, Eddie not detaching himself an inch.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, shocked, brows furrowed.

"Nothing," Steve replies in a low mumble before adding a little more upbeat, "I have something for you. Just… let me get it."

Before Eddie can say any more, he disappears and bounds up the stairs to his bedroom to retrieve the Christmas ornament he had bought at the gas station from its hiding spot in a box on his unused desk.

When he returns, Eddie is still standing where he left him, eyes wide in thought as he stares at the decorated Christmas tree and chews at his nails. Steve holds out the ornament and practically shoves it in Eddie’s hand before looking down.

"This is for you," he mumbles, sniffling. "To hang on the tree we bought."

At that, he bursts into tears.

In a split second, Eddie's arms are around him again, although his hug is tentatively loose.

"M’Sorry," he says, crying into Eddie’s shoulder and stating the obvious, "I never cry."

He hiccups as he white-knuckles Eddie’s (or, his) sweater.

"I know, Steve," he says with a faint hint of a laugh.

Steve pulls away to look at him. Eddie gives a little squeaking gasp at the sight of him, nose red and cheeks wet with tears.

"Oh, Stevie," he whispers, reaching up to gently comb his fringe back as he furrows his brow and worries, "Was all this one of my dumber ideas?"

"No, no, no," he replies, shaking his head. "I-I… I love it."

Ever the contagious crier, Eddie is welling up too. He gulps heavily and gives a faint smile as he tilts his head in the direction of the couch. They sit and Steve continues sniffling away as Eddie holds out the ornament, slipping it onto his ringed index finger to examine it.

In the low light of the living room, it was perfect, the black glitter covering the bulk of the castle (looking like a rip-off of Cinderella’s) glimmers subtly. The contrasting silver details of the roof, window frames and door shine brighter, looking like snow covering some dark and sinister castle straight out of one of Eddie’s DND campaigns.

"The Prince’s Castle," Eddie declares as the ornament twirls precariously on its thin string, his grip on Steve’s shoulder growing a little tighter.

"I think there’s enough room in it for his Bard too," Steve adds, ungraciously wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Eddie chuckles, "Okay. That was very smooth, Steve."

Steve gives an unconvincing laugh as he rests his head on his shoulder. He feels Eddie’s hand come up to the back of his head, fingers moving through his hair.

"I cried when we were all in the hospital after everything," he explains, eventually breaking the silence. "A bunch, actually."

Eddie merely hums and continues combing his hands through Steve’s hair, a little more purposely now, as he always did when he was listening to Steve talk.

"I cried when Robin was finally allowed to come into my room and when she told me you were okay," he continues and closes his eyes with a sigh as Eddie continues twirling the castle on his finger.

They only stir in the darkness of the living room when Nancy and Robin burst in the front door, loudly rustling bags as Robin excitedly recites the whole Chinese order.

"We’re back," Robin sing-songs as Nancy holds up their food. She glances over, not noticing in the dim lighting that her best friend has been crying, "Oh, the two of you are being gross lovebirds."

She continues on into the kitchen as Nancy follows along, shaking her head.

"Don’t bitch if I eat all the spring rolls because you are too busy making out with your boyfriend, Steve!"

Steve straightens up on the couch and wipes his eyes.

Eddie’s quirked eyebrow disappears under his fringe as he hesitantly asks, "You okay?"

"Yes," he replies, reaching out to hold his boyfriend’s hand as he considers what to say next. "I just really like you being here with me for Christmas. And I wanted to give you something to show it."

Eddie leaps up from the couch and offers a hand.

Steve takes it and Eddie quickly wipes under his eyes with his free hand before leading him across the living room and back over to the tree. Eddie looks it over, his dark eyes twinkling even more than usual from the Christmas lights. Steve watches as he pokes his tongue out in concentration, carefully deciding where to hang the castle.

He grins when he finds the perfect spot, about halfway up the tree, facing the living area. He hangs it on a branch, being careful to hook the string further onto the twig so it won’t droop down and slip off. He quickly bends the branch underneath it up slightly so the heavy and oversized castle has something to sit on for extra security. It’s perfect, tucked in between some Christmas lights for maximum shimmering.

Once he is satisfied with its placement and certain it won’t fall, he looks over to find Steve positively beaming at him.

"What?" he asks, a grin creeping across his face.

"You have glitter in your hair," Steve says, reaching up to pick his fingers through his curls.

[lasagnadenoodles]

The Devil Resides in Louisiana

Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~

A week had passed since Father Zion visited the witch named Rosemary. Yet she never left his mind. It puzzled him, and he prayed long and hard about why she lingered in his head. Had she cursed him? Put a spell on him? After asking himself every question he could think of, he felt maybe that this was the Lord’s way of telling him not to give up on her. That she needed him, and it was up to him to guide her to her salvation.

He walked back to her house a few hours after his Sunday sermon. It was warm, but more bearable this time around for him as he enjoyed his walk a bit more; listening to the cicada's cries in the trees he passed by. When he came to the little white house, he heard movement coming from the backyard. He stopped in his tracks, leaning to the side and peering over the house. He could see an ivory, floppy hat moving behind the fence. He stepped over, the English-ivy covered fence coming up to his waist.

Rosemary had her back to him, kneeling barefoot in her herbal garden. He felt his chest tighten, his eyes lingering on the dress that hugged her hips. His eyebrows knitted together, clearing his throat loudly. Rosemary looked over her shoulder, her lips curling into a smile.

“Father Zion! What a pleasant surprise.” She beamed as she stood up, brushing the dirt off her pink knees. Zion never expected to see her like this in a million years, doing such a... domestic activity. However, he had to admit; it does match how she behaved. So far, she had shown she was gentle and caring. Even her black cat was lying in the grass not too far from her, lounging under the tree’s shade.

“Good afternoon.” He finally responds, his voice low and cold.

“What brings you around here? Come to tell me more about how filthy my soul is?” She joked, brushed her red curls behind her shoulders and lifted a handful to air out her sweaty neck.

Zion doesn't laugh, he even narrows his eyes at her comment. “As a priest it is my duty to help lead the flock away from sin. I have come to bring you back to salvation, as well as make sure you are not leading anyone else astray.”

“Oh. Alright then.” She shrugged and smiled at him “Would you mind helping me in my garden? I could use a hand. I need to gather the catnip that's ready to be cut, but Boo gets in the way whenever I do.” She nodded towards the cat, his head perking up hearing his name.

The priest is visibly surprised and even a bit wary. He sighs and shakes his head, but he’s not one to reject a pretty girl’s in need of help.

“Fine. Open the fence.”

“What a gentleman.” She grinned, crinkling her nose while she stepped over and opened the fence. He nods and walks in, his eyes taking in the rather large garden. It's quite impressive; well organized and properly labeled herbs. It’s obvious this garden has been well taken care of. Zion seems almost impressed by the number of herbs and plants she has. There’s all sorts of them, some that the priest had never heard of before.

“Here,” Rosemary said, handing him a woven basket “Be a dear and make sure Boo doesn’t get to it. If you hold it up though, he shouldn’t bother trying to snatch some up.

Zion took the handle of the basket in his hands, still looking unsure of what he was doing. He stood perfectly still as she got back down on her knees, picking up a small pair of silver scissors off the ground and began to snip the long, catnip sprouts.

“How was your week, Father? Explore the town at all? Or do you stay cooped up in that little chapel of yours?” she asked, her voice sweet and tangy. Zion tries to remain stoic while he holds the basket, watching her place the green and purple plant into the basket. He doesn’t want her to think he’s enjoying this, that he’s just taking up the help as a priest.

“Yes, I’ve explored the town a bit. But it’s such a small place, There’s not much else here besides the main strip with a few decent shops.”

“Oh, you’re telling me. It's why so many of the townsfolk are so...the way that they are. All they can do is go to church and make up silly rumors. They don’t know how else to get a rise.” She tisked her tongue and shook her head “There are a few nice places just on the outskirts of town, though. Some trails in the woods, swamps. There is a beach about an hour drive from here.”

“Those the same woods you sacrificed men in this town?” He arched a brow, looking down darkly at her. Rosemary’s grin only grew as she continued harvesting the catnip, placing a small bundle in the basket.

“Well now, of course not. It’s definitely not secluded enough.” She joked, glancing up at him. Her eyes locked onto him, for so long it made him uncomfortable. He’d never met a woman before that made such intense eye contact with him before. “Your eyes look much better, Father. I see you’ve tried that tea I gave you?”

In a moment of frustration when his insomnia was getting to the best of him, he had said a quicker prayer before brewing a cup of tea a few nights before. He’s been sleeping like a baby since.

“It worked okay.” He grunted, turning his head away from her. Rosemary tilted her head up at him, the bundle of catnip in her hands.

“See? I’m not so evil, am I?”

“One stone thrown in the ocean won’t fill the sea.”

“Well, let’s see how many I can throw in.” She stood up this time, placing the last bundle of the sweet-smelling herb into the basket “Would you do me a kindness, Father?”

Zion narrowed his eyes on her. He couldn’t imagine what else she could ask of him. He was already helping her pick flowers in her garden. “What, witch?”

“Could you tell your flock I’m not hexing their men or having orgies with the devil, or whatever silly rumor they’ve stirred up this week.” She asked sweetly “I think if I’ve shown a priest I’m not all that bad, maybe they’ll believe you.”

Zion could not help but let out a snort of frustration at her request. She knew what she was doing, batting her eyelashes up at him with that wicked smile. Manipulative little lamb; the blackest he had ever seen.

“I am willing to tell the town that you are a good woman. That I and the rest of this town have been wrong for accusing you of being a witch with nefarious intentions,” he began, a grin curling over his mouth “If you agree to considering accepting Christ and attending my church next Sunday.”

She thought for a moment, pursing her lips before shaking her head. “No can do, Father. I had a feeling you’d say that, but it was worth a shot.”

He couldn’t help but feel his irritation brimming over the edge now. This witch was being so stubborn now. She was willing to prove to the town that she was pure of heart, and apparently what she was doing was not evil, but she was unwilling to even go to his church.

“But don’t you see?” He argued “If I go telling them otherwise now, without making sure you truly change, they will think that I have been bewitched myself. If you don’t accept Christ, this whole thing would have been pointless!”

“Becoming my friend was pointless?” She pouted her bottom lip, looking genuinely upset by his statement. Zion froze. He wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps some sort of spell she just inflicted on him just now, but her pout threw him off guard.

“That...you know what I meant!” He scoffed with a slight wave of his hand “I meant that if you refuse to accept Christ and continue this evil, all while I tell the people here you’re not bad; my words about you will be dismissed as the ramblings of a man corrupted by a witch.”

Rosemary said nothing, just placed the catnip in the basket. She was standing close to him, so close Zion could smell the earth and flowery perfume on her. He was about ready to shove the basket back to her and call it a day with her, hoping maybe his words would ring in her head as she performed more of her damned craft.

A small chirp was to be heard below. Zion looked down, finding the cat, Boo, pawing Zion’s legs as he stretched his sleepy legs. His little pink nose sniffed the air thoroughly, eyeing the priest as he held the catnip.

“Get that animal away from me.” He squinted at Boo.

“Now, Father!” Rosemary gasped, scolding him “Don’t be so cruel. He's no hell cat.”

In all truth, Zion loved cats. He even had an orange cat that came by to visit him at the church occasionally that brightened up his day. Even as Boo rubbed his head against Zion's leg, it was melting his heart. Yet he kept on that stoic and cold face, his lips pressed tight against his mouth.

“You’re a walking stereotype, you know that? Growing herbs for potions with your little black cat.”

“Oh, well, I don’t care what color Boo is. He’s a good little kitty.” She cooed as she picked up the cat and cradled him in her arms. “He was just a sad, starving little baby on the side of the road I saved shortly after my mother’s death. He helped me mourn her with his playful and loving self.”

Zion was visibly disturbed by yet another confession coming from the red-haired witch. Making tea and saving cats on the side of the road? It made her sound so...pure. This witch isn’t supposed to sound innocent, she was supposed to sound like the devil himself.

“Why are you trying to appeal to me like this?” He hissed, putting the basket on the ground roughly “I don’t understand. Are you trying to make me forget all the sins you're committing?”

“I’m not trying to appeal to anyone, Father. I’m just...telling you about me.” She shrugged. Boo was now eyeing the basket full of catnip on the ground, Rosemary keeping her hand on his chest to avoid him rolling around in the herbs and making a mess. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m famished from all that gardening. You hungry too? I could make us some lunch.”

“No.” he said sternly with a shake of his head. He wasn’t letting this woman manipulate him into anymore pleasantries “I will not be doing that.”

“Oh,” she frowned, holding Boo closer to her chest as his pupils grew wider as he stared at the catnip “Well, maybe next week then?”

“I-no! I’m not here for...” Zion let out a heavy sigh of frustration, raking a hand through his inky, black hair. He then dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small, travel sized bible. “I came by, to give you this.” He presented her the bible, holding it with his thumb and index finger.

“For me?” Her frown was instantly replaced with a smile, accepting the little holy book.

“For you.” he confirmed with a nod “Read it, study it, ponder it; do whatever you want. And perhaps I will consider telling everyone you’re not as evil as they say.”

“Alright then.” She kept her smile on, flipping through the pages with one hand. He wasn’t convinced she would do it, but he could only hope and pray that she would.

“Good girl.” he grunted, spinning around on his heels and heading for the fence gate. “I hope I’ll see you next Sunday.”

“Don’t get your hopes up now, Father.” She watched him leave, finally giving up and letting Boo indulge in the freshly cut catnip. “Bye, now!”

Father Zion waved his hand once at her as he walked away, not bothering to turn around and face her. In the back of his mind, he knew he’d want to stay for lunch if he looked at her once more.

[masterofmunson]

promises, promises (1)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Eddie Munson, accuses you of cheating on him due to your strange behavior. If only you could tell him you were hunting interdimensional monsters instead.

Word Count: 3.1k+

Warnings: language, drugs and alcohol mentioned, it’s a sad one

Author’s Note: As always, please reblog and comment to show your love on content you consume! Let me know what you think xoxo

“Are you cheating on me?”

Eddie’s tone is hard and accusing as you walk into your bedroom. You scream in shock and clutch at your chest as you turn the lights on. Your eyes meet his and your heart races at his unannounced arrival.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you sighed, tossing your backpack on the foot of your bed. “You scared me. How long have you been sitting there?”

“Are you cheating on me?” he repeated, getting up from his spot on your bed. He moves so he’s standing just a few feet away from you. Eddie seems much taller and more intimidating now. His face is cold and his voice struggles to remain steady. How long has he been thinking that you’ve been cheating on him? It devastates you just thinking about it.

You frown at him and shake your head. Where was this coming from? Just yesterday you went on an amazing date to a concert he’s been dying to take you for the last six months and now he was accusing you of cheating on him. “What? Of course not! Why in the world would you ask me that?”

He glares at you and crosses his arms over his chest. “I dunno, maybe it’s the fact that despite being your boyfriend, you’re still keeping things from me. You won’t let me spend the night. You won’t let me touch you! I had to drag you to the concert last night that I’ve been dying to take you since the moment we started dating and you’ve blown me off several times over the last few weeks.”

The growing volume of his voice startles you. You should’ve expected that Eddie would start asking questions. You have been distant, but it’s not because he thought you were cheating on him. You were so wrapped up in dealing with the probability that the gate to the Upside Down was back open that you pushed Eddie to the side.

It started because of the nightmares. Although you hadn’t been a victim of the Mindflayer like Billy and Heather had, you would have vivid flashbacks from the night at Starcourt. Memories of pushing Steve out of the way from the monster always repeated. The feeling of its claws wrapping around your arm and tearing through your flesh stung. You made it out alive because of Billy’s sacrifice and El’s powers. The teeth incision scars running along the length of your arm reminded you every day.

You pushed through it. You were fine, all things considered. You went to therapy because your parents asked you to and you shared what you could and it made you better. Until a month ago, you hadn’t had nightmares about the night. You had reminders of the night etched on your skin just like several of the kids and your friends did, but you made it out alive together.

One nightmare was worse than all the rest, which is why you brought it up to Steve, Robin, and Dustin in the first place. It was terrifying how real it felt.

The crisp spring air nipped at your skin as you followed Eddie through the forest brush to get to Lover’s Lake. With your hand wrapped gently in his, he tugged you with him. His backpack is draped over his shoulder and you hold the blanket under your arm. Eddie steps over a fallen tree and turns to help you step over it. His hand slips around your waist and kissed the side of your head as you walk to the frozen shoreline. Eddie helps you lay the blanket down on the hard sand.

“I still think this is a dumb idea,” you said, adjusting the knit hat on your head so that it covers your ears. Eddie pulls you into his chest on the blanket as you stare out into the lake. The heat from his chest warms you through your coat and his lips rest against the shell of your ear.

“I’m trying to be romantic,” he mumbled with a smile.

“By making me freeze to death? What if I get sick?”

The smirk you feel against the side of your face makes your stomach twist in anticipation for his answer. Eddie sits up and gently twists you around to face him before laying you down on the blanket. “Then I’ll just have to take care of you… and I can think of a few things to keep you warm.”

Your laugh mingles with the sounds of the leaves whistling on the forest floor. Eddie playfully nips at the nape of your neck and you feel his smile grow against your skin. Your gloved fingers card through his hair and rest at the base of his neck. Your breaths are labored and you see each exhale hover over you.

Eddie leans back on his knees and stares down at you. His own gloved hands travel up your body before resting it against your neck. You preen at him and Eddie’s smile brightens in the moonlight.

“Why do you keep lying to me?”

Your brows pinch together at his question. You frown at him and attempt to sit up but his hips pin you to the floor. “What are you talking about, Eddie? I’m not lying to you.” Eddie’s face shifts and his eyes noticeably darken. The grip on your neck tightens and your hand flies on top of his. Your fingers squeeze his. “You’re hurting me, Eds.”

You struggle to breathe. The air in your lungs is cut off and it makes your head spin. Blood thumps loudly in your ears and you ache for a drink of water.

“You’ve been keeping things from him.”

His voice is deep and menacing. Your eyes search his as he spoke. He snarls at you and it’s getting harder to breathe. This isn’t Eddie. You squeeze your eyes shut in hopes that he’ll go away. His deep, evil laughter filled your ears. A finger strokes against the top of your cheek. You freeze under his touch.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Your eyes open and stare into soulless blue eyes. His face, although once human, is mutilated with dark, thick tentacle like shapes covering his skin. There are holes where his ears and nose should be. His claws dig into your arms and it makes you cry out. Your scarred flesh burns underneath his touch and tears coat your cheeks.

You shake underneath him and shove as hard as you can. You scramble to your feet and run straight through the woods. Your legs ache and your chest burns as you breathe the cold air. Your heart races as you jump and run over fallen branches and brush.

His voice echoes in your ears. “You can’t hide from me.”

You spin in circles and grab at your hair. You let out a gut-wrenching scream that leaves your voice raw. You scream for Eddie, for Steve, for Robin in a weak attempt to get help. How had you ended up in the Upside Down? One second you were with Eddie and then he was gone. Now you’re being chased by him with no way out. You were sick with fear. You had no idea how to get out.

You woke up in a cold sweat. Why did you feel so threatened and targeted by something you’ve never seen before? There was no reason to be scared. The gate was closed and El was safe in a small town all the way in California. There was no reason to freak out over a nightmare. You had them all the time as a kid, and this was no different.

At least that what was you tried convincing yourself until you woke up the next morning with a large gash in your arm and dried blood staining your sheets. You called Steve and Robin in a panic that morning and they drove over to console you. You’d been trying to figure out what it could mean ever since. Although you have yet to have a nightmare like that again, it had stalled your monster haunting efforts and began to impact your relationship with Eddie.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. You didn’t want to have this conversation, not yet at least. You were under strict instructions from Dustin not to tell another person about the possibility of the gate opening again. The rest of the party was kept in the dark which you suppose made it easier since Mike was dealing with his long-distance relationship with El, Lucas was on the basketball team, Will was in California, and Max was keeping her distance. If they couldn’t know what was going on, neither could any outsiders, boyfriends included.

“Eddie, I can’t talk about it, but I promise that I’m not cheating on you. I would never do that to you,” you said softly, reaching for his hand.

The frown on his face deeps and he dodges your touch. Your chest squeezes at his blatant rejection. “What is it then? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Is that why you never want me around anymore? Am I just your dirty little secret?” he sneered with dark eyes.

Tears loom at the corners of your eyes. You shake your head violently and swallow the lump in your throat. “No. No. Of course not, Eddie,” you answered pathetically. “I’m not. I promise you—”

“Stop saying that!” he yelled angrily, making you jump. “You promise you’re not cheating on me. You promise you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, but that doesn’t tell me why you’re keeping secrets from me. It doesn’t explain how weird you’ve been acting lately. It doesn’t explain how you spend all your time with Steve, Robin, and Dustin. I shouldn’t have to beg to see my girlfriend. When I asked Dustin what you were up to, he wouldn’t answer me either. I don’t want to be an overbearing boyfriend, but I want to spend time with you. I miss you.”

The tears at the corners of your eyes escape and silently coat your cheeks. This conversation wasn’t going well and you weren’t getting through to him. You wipe your face with the back of your hands and let out a broken sigh. You hate how you’re making him feel. You didn’t mean to push him away. You were so caught up in monster hunting that you pushed Eddie away.

The silence is heavy between the two of you. The emotional distance you caused swallows you whole. You never meant for this to happen. You just wanted to keep Eddie safe and now your relationship is hanging by a thread. You don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” is what you settle on.

Eddie’s face noticeably crumbles at your response. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. You didn’t give him what he wanted. He expected an answer. He expected the truth and you hadn’t given it to him. You never wanted to be the cause of his pain, and here you were, refusing to answer any of the questions he asked you. It made you want to puke.

Tears gather in the corners of his warm brown eyes as he stares at you. Eddie shakes his head in disbelief and reaches for his bag on your bedroom floor. You’re at a stand still and neither one of you are getting what you want.

You want to reach out and beg him to stay, but it wasn’t fair. He had done the same thing and you kept blowing him off. As much as you hate that it’s come to this, you know you deserve it. Eddie deserves better. He deserves someone who won’t keep things from him. He deserves someone that doesn’t lie. He deserves better than you.

Eddie doesn’t say anything as he walks around you to the door. He’s said what he’s needed to say. Now it’s up to you. Now he’s giving you the space freely. It’s up to you to decide whether or not you want your relationship to continue. He said his peace and now you had to grapple with the consequences of neglecting your relationship. It was all your fault.

The tears fall in rapid succession when you hear the front door open and slam shut. Slamming your own door, you collapse on the floor and cry between your knees. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Your life helping El and the party with the Upside Down wasn’t supposed to impact or intermingle your personal life, and now it had.

You don’t know what this means for your relationship now. Were you broken up? You didn’t stop him from leaving, should you have? Your relationship with Eddie wasn’t supposed to be hard. Loving him came easy. Loving him was natural. Loving him was second nature. Was that gone now that you refused to tell him the truth?

You certainly hope not.

….

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Dustin asked as you, Robin, and Steve sat down across from him at the only diner in town. Steve pursed his lips at the teen and flicked his hat off. Dustin shoves him and glares at you.

A week had gone by since your altercation with Eddie and you haven’t seen or spoken to him since. You were too busy wallowing in your own self-pity to resume the monster hunting efforts with the group. Instead, you drank and smoked yourself stupid. It was easy that way. You momentarily forgot what you did and the pain you caused in the haze of your highs and drunkenness. If you couldn’t remember for a brief moment, you couldn’t remember the pained look on Eddie’s face when he left that night.

You cried pathetically to Robin and Steve the morning after. Although it was your fault in the first place that you were (presumably) single, your friends still attempted to console you. They distracted you with new movie rentals and boardgames you haven’t touched in years. You appreciated the effort but the ache in your chest wouldn’t subside.

You neglected to share the news with Dustin. He practically worships the ground Eddie walks on. You didn’t want your stupid decisions to get in the way of their friendship. It wasn’t Dustin’s fault that you weren’t being honest with Eddie, even if he knows the reason why.  It was your consequence to bear.

It was one of the reasons why you were avoiding Dustin in the first place. You didn’t want to have the conversation with him. If you did, you would just start crying again. You couldn’t stand to see another person you care about be upset with you, especially over something you have complete control over. Dustin’s told you at length how much Eddie adores you. He always brings you up during school or Hellfire Club meetings. Thinking about it hurt.

“A lot of things, Henderson,” you grumbled back. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“What the hell happened between you and Eddie? When I asked about you today, he looked like a kicked puppy. What did you do?”

You sigh loudly and shrink into your seat in a weak attempt to hide from the overbearing teen. The last thing you wanted was to be yelled at by a 15-year-old. “Nothing, which was the problem. Eddie thought I was cheating on him because of how distant I’ve been lately. I couldn’t tell him that I’m too busy hunting monsters with my friends to spend time with him, now, could I?” you snapped at him. You’re not in the mood to be lectured to. You’ve been in a consistently sour mood since your fight with Eddie and Dustin is only making it worse.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence settles over the table and you cross your arms over your chest as you stare out the window and watch cars drive by. Your bottom lip starts to quiver as you struggle to hold back tears. “It’s better this way, right?” you sniffed, locking eyes with Steve across the table. “Eddie’s safe. He doesn’t have to know. He doesn’t have to get involved.”

Robin reaches for your hand and squeezes it affectionately. She doesn’t offer up an answer. None of them do. You just have to bite the bullet and end the relationship. Eddie would see it coming. He’s probably accepted it already. You’d gone a week without talking and it was all your fault. He was willing to put the effort in and try to fix things, which was why he confront you about it in the first place.

Eddie’s letting you make the choice. He’s letting you decide if your relationship is worth saving. It’s up to you. You have to let him go.

“I mean… it’s your choice,” Dustin said after a long pause. “Steve made the choice to involve you. You made the choice to involve Robin. Lucas made the choice to involve Max. I don’t think any of us would oppose having a new member to the team. You and I both know that he’ll be there for you no matter what, even if he thinks you’re crazy at the end. It’s for you to decide.”

You blink away your tears and stare at him in awe. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe what Dustin’s suggesting. You swallow hard. “Are you sure? You told us not to tell anyone what we’ve been up to. Your friends don’t even know. Why are you okay with letting me tell Eddie?”

Dustin shrugs and nods in affirmation. “Yeah. The Upside Down has taken enough from us as it is. I don’t think you should sacrifice your relationship with Eddie because of it. If you do, the Upside Down wins. I’m surprised you listened to me in the first place, to be honest.”

You grin at his reply. God, he’s such a twerp. You would never tell Dustin, but he’s right. You couldn’t let the Upside Down win again. You didn’t want to keep secrets from Eddie anymore. You didn’t want to lie to him. You wanted him to know why you’ve been acting so strange. Eddie deserves the truth.

You would go to him tomorrow and tell him everything. Everything would be fine. You would get your relationship back on its feet and you would tell him that you love him for the first time when it was all said and done. Things would work out.

Eddie would hear what you have to say and listen. Your honesty and vulnerability would save your relationship from ending. You would kiss him and everything would go back to the way things were.

You wouldn’t realize until the morning just how wrong you actually were.

[hollyhomburg]

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 9)

(Yoon Min Joon x Reader) (Hybrid au) (Mafia au)

Summary: Why would yoongi run away? With your due date fast approaching- you don’t have much time to search for him.

Tags: birth (non-graphic), baby fluff, mommy issues, revenge, Dead bodies, violence, serious gore warning, knives, guns, discussions of death, non-consensual body modification, psychotic characters, hybrid abuse, physical abuse, implied sexual abuse,

W/c: 12.6k

Song rec: Txt - I know I love you

A/n: ah it’s been a while hasn’t it? honestly, I still have to re-read and work my way through reading the whole series to make sure I haven’t missed anything- but kudos to anyone who starts reading this after this chapter is released BECAUSE HOLY FUCK those first few chapters are so bad. wow, I didn’t know how to use commas back then huh. anyways! here is the long-awaited return!

Series Masterlist - Previous chapter

- It takes a little while to confirm that Yoongi really is gone, maybe forever, maybe for good.

- Though there isn’t much arguing with the note or the presence of his hat- you’d still kind of hoped that you were wrong. That Yoongi would pop out from around a tree or the line of a fence, grin and shake his head as if to say, “sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

- You spend the morning tapping your foot on the front porch, one of the cat hybrids knitting a yellow baby blanket next to you while Jimin, Namjoon, and Taehyung comb the property, the barns, everywhere. The three of them had convinced you to stay back; their noses are infinitely more sensitive than yours. Jimin has walked both banks of the river to try and pick up his scent. Taehyung even walked the mile down the trail to the train tracks just to see if there was any sign of him.

-  And Namjoon, Namjoon had hunted Yoongi’s scent around in circles. Namjoon is a freaking police dog and yet, he can only smell Yoongi as far as the driveway. Nowhere else besides the toolshed either and his other habitual haunts. The other hints of Yoongi’s marshmallow scent are laid out thick and in confusing patterns; too many days of routine have made the differences near unrecognizable.

-  You sit there, Waiting anxiously. The cat hybrids plying you with lemonade and squares of lemon tart, feeling like the world is falling down around you without Yoongi there to hold it up. Your baby doesn’t seem to be able to quiet down either- kicking uncomfortably and hitting your ribs more often than not. Maybe they sense the fact that you’re unhappy or that something's wrong.

- Around three they return to the house, ears and tails hanging low, and you stand, one hand on your stomach and one on the railing. You and Namjoon lock eyes and from where he stands, a few feet below you on the grass, you see one tear carve its way down his sweaty cheek, he shakes his head, jaw pinching to keep in sobs, dimples turned down

- You descend the stairs, hold him close, your big burly puppy who nuzzles into your hand finally broken down because no- Yoongi couldn’t be gone- Yoongi couldn’t just have disappeared like that, like smoke through your fingers.

- Maybe last night was just too much- maybe you pushed him and he didn’t feel safe or maybe he felt like he had to leave or else be sucked into something he didn’t want. Whatever the case- you’re not giving up so easily.

- You search the nearby towns too, Tae sits in the back of the car, clutching Jimin’s hand as they slowly comb through the streets of a nearby town. The mood somber, nothing but faint static playing from the radio and shivers that dust Jimin’s arms like phantom touches. You can’t stop looking at Jimin in your rearview mirror.

- He looks frozen, his eyes glassy like he hasn’t accepted that Yoongi’s gone yet. His hand trembles on the door handle, ready to jump out the second he sees anyone that might resemble him wandering the streets. He actually does, nearly twisting his ankle as he loses his balance when he drops from your slow-moving car. 

- Jimin’s got a photo of Yoongi, one of the few pictures that you ever took of your snake, and you show it to any willing stranger searching their faces for signs of recognition or pity- anything to give you hope. 

- A zoomed-in one of Yoongi’s face that you’d taken while he’d slept, the green blanket that still sits on your couch tucked under his chin.

- It makes you cry when you finally give up for the day, the street lights flickering on and your ankles swelling to a point where Namjoon frets but does not force you to stop, just sit in the truck. You finally agree to go home, feeling red-eyed and stiff limbed, like sadness and fear have settled in your muscles like rigor mortis. You leave your name and number at every establishment in town, but you don't know what good (if any) it will do.

- No one there has seen hide or hair of Yoongi; some of them even scoff and turn up their nose at you and your hybrids. Because who gives a fuck about a hybrid that’s run away, those are a dime a dozen. Their disdain is nothing you’re not used to but right now it feels even more like a slap in the face than usual.

- You end up feeling Frustrated. Because you need help and no one is giving it. 

- By the end of the second day, Namjoon is even desperate enough to call up his old police chief. But the man doesn’t have any encouraging words to say; if anything- it only makes Namjoon angry (and significantly guilty). “It kind of sounds like he wanted to leave pup. Who are you to stop him?” Hand going white around the phone with how hard he’s holding it. Namjoon hangs up, he doesn’t care how rude it is- his old partner deserves it.

- He’s in your nursery, and he slams down his hands on the windowsill. Knocking the little window charm that yoongi got you onto the floor where it cracks. You stoop to pick up the pieces, the round end of a cherry and two pieces of green- one of the stained glass leaves.

- Jimin (folding some new baby clothes to put them away in the two dressers) makes a displeased noise when you bend over (a whole ordeal when you're as pregnant as you are) Namjoon holds your hand, and you ignore his protests and keep leaning even though he says a little "I've got it."

- The baby clothes are just a gift from one of your relatives who had insisted on sending you them even though you’d been clear on your intentions not to throw a baby shower. Most of your family hasn’t been keen on your hybrid heavy lifestyle. But since most of them live so far away- it hasn’t been too much of an issue. Your relationship with them had never been great, but you'd made it clear to them that if they wanted to see your baby after it was born they'd need to come to you, you can't leave the farm unattended.

- Though soon, you will- your due date is fast approaching.

- Namjoon instantly feels guilty when confronted with the shattered ornament- that was a gift from Yoongi. One of very few and now it’s broken. You can’t handle looking at it and shove its pieces into a drawer in his room so that you don’t have to think about what else you might have broken.

- That night when you get home, you’re too upset to calm down, tears and little sniffles echoing from your chest where there is a Yoongi shaped space. Filling the house with the smell of ‘mate- mate upset- soothe mate” makes Namjoon and Jimin’s instincts go haywire. Without Yoongi’s soothing marshmallow scent- it feels like they have less control over their instincts (or maybe its easier to rely on the parts of them that are more animal than human when things feel so scary and unsafe)

- Namjoon lays his hand directly on your baby bump and guides you through some calming breaths, while Jimin wraps his arms loosely around your shoulders, leaning his cheek against the back of your head, unable to do anything more. Shoving down his whines because he knows they won't help. He rubs his knuckles into the spot on your lower back- the one that he knows has been hurting recently.

- But it’s barely any use. The breaths won’t stop coming. You can’t imagine why Yoongi would leave, trying to figure out what you did wrong. And you can’t place it. - Suspicious lurks under your veins like a snake poised to strike. There must have been some other reason, why else would Yoongi’s scent stop in the driveway if someone else hadn’t taken him away? But the only thing that gives your theory any pause is the fact that Namjoon hasn’t said it- none of the pups have.

- You’re the only one who can’t smell what might have happened to him and yet- you can't get the idea that someone must have happened to Yoongi. It’s probably foolish, the idea of someone come to steal him away but then again-

- Stranger things have happened in the last few months, and you're not an idiot. You’ve had a dead body and a snake dropped at your front door. You get the feeling that both of them weren’t meant as a message for you- but Yoongi. But you don’t think you’ll figure out what happened unless Yoongi comes home.

- The day after a tragedy is always foggy, slow in its stillness, and slowly fading hope. You sit in the kitchen at the prep table with Yoongi’s hat on the chair beside you, jumping up any time there is a ringing at the phone. But the call that you’re waiting for never comes. For most of the day, Namjoon and Jimin bookend you. Waiting, waiting and waiting- for nothing, just to see the sunset on the second day.

- That night jimin hears you crying in your bedroom and hovers outside your door before he decided that he better not interrupt, of course, Namjoon would be there to comfort you, and Jimin- Jimin would just be an addition. He wouldn't want to give you another person to comfort when he might not be capable of being a rock right now.

- Sleeping arrangements have been off and on. Yesterday, he fell asleep in his sunroom early- intending on only taking a nap until he woke up the following morning feeling the opposite of well-rested. As exhausted emotionally as he was physically.

- He thinks- maybe- maybe he needs distance, maybe this is what it feels like when you fall too fast and too hard. But when he wakes the next morning to find Namjoon siring more sugar than he usually does into his coffee, his eyes puffy from crying too- he knows he's chosen wrong, that what you needed was a lack of space.

- After that, Jimin makes sure he sleeps in your bed, sometimes on Namjoon’s side, sometimes on yours. He falls asleep with your head on one shoulder and Namjoon tucked in close to the other. His tail thumping on the bedspread, nose squishing and ears twitching with every little noise in the house.

- It’s pity little that he can do but the soothing circles he rubs onto your aching shoulders to help you sleep easier, physical affection might be a little easier for jimin to give than emotional support. At least he can hold you when you shake through nightmares, of Yoongi somewhere, cold and alone and afraid. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s just- not safe. Maybe it's just your newly budding maternal instincts.

- Jimin takes to caring for you and Namjoon when it’s clear you’ve let your usual routines slip without Yoongi there. He encourages you to go out in the garden for an hour to pick some vegetables, just to get you out of the house. He makes sure Namjoon showers probably more than he wants to but still.

-Jimin showers with him the first time, whips his golden skin clean of dirt and grime, hoping that his little kisses can soothe away the ache of his hurting muscles if he can’t soothe the ache of Namjoon’s heart. But though they kiss and touch each other like lovers would, easy deft movements, something is missing there that wasn’t gone before. A lingering sweetness that says this connection is shared- under-ripe like a green tomato.

- They both miss Yoongi a little too much at first to remember what it’s like to properly love each other (not that they’d ever really gotten used to it in the first place, but jimin had been excited for it to feel familiar).

- Jimin doesn’t feel neglected by you and Namjoon- it’s just a hard time for the three of you. Jimin feels numb for the first few days, too preoccupied with what everyone else might be feeling to address his own emotions and what he might be feeling.

- The loss of Yoongi doesn’t really hit jimin until a few days after; out in the garden while you sit in the swing, your legs pulled up as far as your stomach will allow them. and jimin sees the tomatoes untouched in the basket, the kind that Yoongi would have popped into his mouth by the handful, his cute fangs puncturing the red suns early to make them spill down his cheeks. They sit untouched and increasing in number by the minute as Jimin adds to them. Too many for just himself to eat.

- Namjoon had been lingering, as he’s been doing for the last few days, rushing forward at the first shaky exhale from jimin’s chest, to crush the pup- with his face against his shoulder without a word. His hands curling in the back of Namjoon’s hair as Namjoon huffs a heavy breath, and then starts crying in earnest. Crying with Jimin- heart broke open too.

- “I’m so fucking worried- what if he's hurt or alone and he thinks we're not looking for him, why did he leave? What if he…what if he doesn’t come back?” Jimin’s voice breaks, confesses his deepest worries into the safe cleft of Namjoon’s collarbones. Namjoon will always be a safe harbor for jimin to come and moor. It’s not safe- it’s not safe for any hybrid out there alone- and without a pack. Especially not for Yoongi- his softness- so easily confused with coldness- the world doesn’t know him like the three of you do. And that’s maybe the scariest thing.

- Jimin had expected him to come back by now, had hoped his absence would only be temporary. None of you have a good answer to jimin’s questions and Jimin can’t think about Yoongi- can’t daydream about him, can’t turn to look for him to make some comment. He feels Yoongi’s absence so keenly it might as well be his own heart gone.

- He’d become so used to the snake hybrids' quiet presence, even more, used to the quiet way he’d love. Yoongi had always been fantastic at showing the others how much he loved them. Even if he'd never said the words. Jimin had known, you'd known, and so had Namjoon. His love a special thing, like a butterfly or a bumblebee come to sit next to you in the garden. Something that only gentleness gets you, the quiet love that growing things have for the sun.

- Min Yoongi was your sun, and now your flowers point aimlessly in every direction.

- None of you are sure if he will, and after the first few weeks when no one calls and your missing fliers go unanswered, it's clear that you have more pressing issues on your mind. The day after you go to the nearest city and hang up missing fliers: you go into labor.

- It's too soon- two weeks before your due date and still, you’re underneath the hot midday sun, all alone in the fields investigating a patch of what looks like sprouted beans, probably self-seeded from your garden a spare 100 feet away, when a sudden gush of liquid between your legs alerts you to the fact that- your life is about to change for good.

- You honestly should have known this was going to happen today. Both Jimin and Namjoon had been tripping over themselves to be close to you all morning. Scent marking you copiously, nipping at your neck and your ears and not let you get more than a few feet away before their protective instincts had them pulling you back with growls turned whines.

- It’d been cute the first 5 times but after that, you’d needed some space from them. In fact, All of the hybrids had seemed agitated this morning more than one of them snapping at one point over breakfast, all hackles raised, something in the air that had them all twitching.

- It all makes sense now though. Starting down at the wet grass. Must have been your pheromones.

- When the first rush of wind carries your scent in the direction of the barns, Seokjin comes running. He can smell your fear from a mile away- cloying and sensitive. He shouts and a nimble tiger hybrid runs to get Namjoon and Jimin. Darting up the hill faster than human legs could carry a man.

- But Seokjin is there, a comforting presence at your side. "It’s gonna be okay, come on, you're gonna be fine," his hands steady as he helps you over potholes and unseen rocks in the tall grass, navigating you back to the path trampling over the flowers with little thought to them.

- Namjoon is so shocked when the shout comes over the hills, dashing as fast as she can and yelling for Namjoon at the top of her lungs, a small army of pups following her too. Appearing from the underbrush little kits with floppy ears and pups running in a gaggle. Chatting about a new pup.

- A new pup- Namjoon's pup, come at last.

- Several other groups get drawn to the house by the shouting, rushing to see the commotion. Several of the cat hybrids Flank you and Seokjin, who guides you with an arm wrapped under your shoulders, half carrying you half guiding you through your breaths. Hoseok's not too far behind looking so pale he might be about to pass out. Rounded ears pressed tight to his skull. Everyone is a mixture of agitated and excited and-

- And Namjoon looks at you and knows he's about to be a dad. You're both about to become parents.

- Jimin knows what’s happening the second he sees your panicked face, running to snatch up your maternity bag that you’d put together and left by the door in case this very thing happened.

- He makes it back to the car before you’re both even upon each other, bouncing on his heels equal parts excited and afraid. Namjoon's panicked voice filling the driveway with the muttering of the gathered hybrids “Are you sure!? The ob-gyn said it wouldn’t be that abnormal for you to go past your due date and-”

- “Yes I’m sure!!” you yell as you squeeze Seokjin’s hand incredibly tight, enough that he winces. Your knees giving out as another contraction strikes you- the worst pain you think you’ll ever feel racks your abdomen again, Several hybrids reach out to make sure you don’t actually fall but Namjoon’s the one that scoops you up into his arms, heaving you up like you weigh nothing. A growl ringing out at the others who reach for you.

- “Namjoon” Seokjin voice cuts through his panic. Mate- mate hurt- mate needs help- Pup’s here, instincts taking over when his human brain is so preoccupied with fear. “You need to take her to the hospital.” You look at the alpaca hybrid- thankful.

- The other hybrids hover, unsure of how they should help as Jimin opens the car door and Namjoon sets you in the passenger seat. (No way he was going to have you drive yourself to the hospital while you were in active labor). You'd agreed on this beforehand and yet-

- “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Jimin asks as Namjoon buckles you in, you’re breathing out through your nose, jaw clenched. “Yes I’m Sure,” Namjoon says, but Jimin can see his nervousness in his eyes, the horrible quivering worry that fixes on his face when it comes to you- to this. Ears pressed tight to his skull

- Taehyung runs up the hill, his red hat tossed onto the gravel as he almost bowls over a wolf hybrid, skidding to a stop as he takes in the scene. “I’ve got this- just go- what the fuck are you still doing here? Namjoon- go-" so panicked- the opposite of the easy countenance you’ve seen in Tae.

- Your drawn scared face, sweat beating at your temples, and Jimin makes a split-second decision, especially when you grab his hand through the open window and squeeze it as tight as you did during your first contractions.

- “I’m coming,” he says, (not that he was ever really planning on not coming) opening the door up and climbing over you to sit in the middle. Internally judging that he was not going to make you scoot in, the passenger seat is safer than the middle one anyway (Jimin might not have the most confidence in Namjoon’s driving skills. But at least now he can grab at the steering wheel if he needs to.)

- Both you and Namjoon heave a sigh of relief when jimin gets in; he quickly pulls up the directions to the hospital on your phone. Dictating to Namjoon as you pull out of the farm.

- “I have no idea how long one mile is jimin”

- “I know but 3/4ths of a mile now before you’ve got to turn”

-“If I don’t know how long one mile is how the fuck would I know how long 75% of one is”

-“If you both don’t shut the fuck up I’m I’ll let you know what 100% of a distressed pregnant woman sounds like!” you shout through gritted teeth as another slightly less intense contraction wracks your frame.

-The hospital is luckily a very safe drive away, a good 10 miles down a route with no need to get on the highway. As it is, Namjoon puts the flashers on even if you have another contraction during the drive, and Namjoon breaks at a green light because of it, getting middle fingers and a chorus of honks from the cars behinds him. Namjoon is trembling like a leaf, equal parts excitement and fear- fear because

- Because Namjoon is about to become a dad.  You’re both about to become parents.

- Your obstetrician is a very kind woman who seems entirely unprepared to handle two very agitated hybrids that want to get into the birthing room. But she won't let them in to see you no matter what they say- and she has your orders not to do so, something that Jimin had heard you and Namjoon argue over countless times before this day but had never bothered to really consider until he was here and smelling you- the distress filled waiting room of other distressed men and family members

- He didn’t understand how hard it would be to hear your muffled cries and do nothing. Namjoon is about ready to start pushing people away to get to you.

- But you just didn’t want Namjoon to see you that way, didn’t want to have him hold you through the pain of this. It is not something that you like to think about- any hate or distaste that might come out because…

- Because your child will be your ex-husband's baby. And while you know you won’t hate them on principle for that- that you will try your hardest not to see him in their little face- this is a pain that might be easier to handle alone. The last pain he will ever give you- you don’t know if you want anyone there to help you with that- or if you want to just feel it and be done with it.

- You also really don't want Namjoon to have to see your crap all over the table; you'd been told that happens with almost every labor. That’s something you want to be spared the embarrassment of, especially when you're already having too many people prod at places they have no business prodding at.

- You’re not sure you want Namjoon to hear you curse your ex-husband out. The vibrant curse words have the nurses exchanging amused looks.

-  “Alright mother fucker, shit to my stain, ass to my hole- the last little bit of you needs to come out of me Right this fucking instant, or else I’ll drag you up from hell and fight you, and give you your piece back. Because they’re going to be mine and his- not yours- our baby isn’t yours.” Maybe it’s just the hormones or the localized anesthetic they’ve given you. They don’t give you the epidural until close to the end but you're loopy without it.

-  The midwife tolerates Namjoon and Jimin for about five hours before Namjoon growls at her. Which makes her stony, and reminds them that since neither of them are the father, she is under no obligation to let them stay in this waiting room or the hospital. The sting of the thinly veiled threat is lessened by her promising to give half-hourly updates, she gets their protective instincts, even if she’s not used to them. Jimin doesn't like her- thinks she's a little bit entitled when if anything Namjoon and jimin should be.

- In the last hour of the 8-hour labor, you finally call for Namjoon, and he pulls himself into your bed and lets you lean your chest against his back. The midwife's hands are stained with blood and it soothes you so much to have him there. His voice, his body, warm against your back. His face pressed to your shoulder, muffed words.

- “I’ve got you- we’re going to be parents- I’ve got both of you.” the muscles and bones in his hand's creek as you squeeze both of them, Jimin waits outside, aware that this moment- this is for the two of you.

- He hasn’t really thought about what place he will have in your child's life, it's been painfully apparent that you and Namjoon will be the parents. So Jimin doesn't feel excluded, he knows he’ll be allowed in the second it’s over and to be honest, he thinks he’d pass out if he saw the miracle of birth. He’s okay with seeing the aftermath.

- Just as the sun starts to threaten to come up, your daughter is born. A sigh and a final push, crying punctuating the waiting room. Jimin shoots up from his chair, feeling the shift in the air, smelling Namjoon's happy pine scent like it was sweetened with maple syrup. And pushes himself towards your room.

- The small cadre of doctors has already placed the wet and bloody lump against your chest. The endorphins are something else. Coursing through your body, as you look down at her little face. It’s a girl, small and squirmy, a little grey and red but so fucking cute, ten toes and ten fingers, a cute little nose, and a scrunched up face as she cries and cries making you feel more panicked with each second.

- Namjoon looks at her and it feels like his whole world shifts. Your baby is washed and weighed and put back snugly into your arm in a little green blanket and hat to keep her warm. She’s cute and so small and light in your arms. You’re a little doped up on pain medication, but you think she’s a cute baby already. (All new mothers think their baby is the cutest thing).

- Her eyes are closed and her face is a little red and puffy and even purple in some places, but the second that Namjoon see’s her he knows without a shred of doubt in his heart that he would do anything, climb any mountain, step in front of a thousand bullets if it meant keeping her safe.

- She's so small- so impossibly small it can’t be safe to be that tiny.

- Jimin hovers a little bit, feeling more than a little awkward as he takes his seat next to your bed, but the sense of satisfaction he feels seeing you safe, happy, and exhausted and your daughter healthy is glowing. He can feel that soft expression on his face as he watches you and Namjoon. Namjoon wipes your sweaty hair back from your face, kissing your forehead. “You did it- god- you’re so strong- I love you so much, you did so well baby.” He continues softer. “I've got you,”

- One of the nurses is kinder than the others, sees the way that jimin and Namjoon look at her. Your baby wrapped up tight and warm. She looks a little grumpy, tiny eyebrow pulled together. “You know, if you cuddle skin to skin, it will help you bond with her.” jimin and Namjoon have never undressed quicker, tossing their shirts to the floor and jostling for a chance to hold her.

- Namjoon wins of course, Jimin was only being playful. At your laugh, your tiny daughter stirs against your neck, turning a little. Unsurprisingly she’d gone to sleep shortly after she was born already tired from her first few minutes alive. (You can’t say you feel much different) - Her cheek goes against Namjoon’s bare chest and she makes a little suckling noise, small and wet, lips smacking. “Hey, there little one,” Namjoon says, something deep and reaching welling up in him, keenly aware of how dependent she is, all the love in the world in Namjoon’s chest and still- not enough for his daughter. - Namjoon holds her gently in his large work-roughened hands, the same ones that will guide her through her first steps, hold onto her shoulder when she rides her bicycle down the steep hill and carry her up the hill when she asks him to let go of the handlebars and immediately falls off,

- The same hand that will hold picture book after picture book and never say no to another story when she falls asleep at night, no matter how heavy her eyes look. Namjoon holds his daughter for the first time and feels like he’s going to fucking start bawling. Does start crying, but holds her so gently, doesn’t wake her any more than he already has. - He tucks her close under his chin, swaying gently. As if she were a pup and not a human baby her face nuzzles, just a little into Namjoon’s neck, he hopes she likes his scent. That he knows she’s safe in his arms. “I know the world is big and scary, but you should know that your mother and I love you, we will always love you” his voice is so thick with emotion that his voice cracks, Namjoon murmurs with his mouth against her small head. - Jimin stoops to his side to rub off the tears around his eyes because he doesn’t have a free hand to do so. No one in the room has a dry eye. Namjoon turns to jimin, smiling showing his dimples, holding her out for the younger man easily. He hesitates for a moment, and you nod encouragingly along, your eyelids heavy, and though jimin knows you’re rapt with attention, even though Jimin blushes and stutters and shakes his head and tries to find a reason why he shouldn’t. He was just so eager to hold her- why does it suddenly feel so scary.

- Your daughter is so so small, her weight in Jimin’s hands so impossibly fragile and slight, she wakes up, squirming a little in the warm confines of the blanket. Eager to move around and flail her little arms now that she’s been released from the confines of pre-existence and into the bright butterfly wing cacophony of life.

- “Oh!” he says surprised, the second her eyes open, though they look wide and unfocused, they’re beautiful and glittering, so much possibility in such a small body. She gurgles a happy sound, her arm moving free of the blanket, Jimin grabs onto her small fist. Her tiny fingers trying to grasp onto his finger gripping as hard as she’s able. Your daughter grips his hand as easily as she has gripped his heart and pulled it clean out of his chest. Jimin gives a shaky exhale.

-The nurse who’s tidying up looks happily at the two of them, your heart gives a pang, does Jimin feel it? how natural he looks holding your daughter. you know things haven’t been ideal since yoongi left and yet- jimin holds her like she’s holding onto him; every atom begging him not to let go.“That’s good- a sign that everything’s alright. Looks like she’s got quite a grip on her.”

- She smiles up at Jimin, her face a mirror of his, though significantly gummier. You and Namjoon talk on, excited by her first expression But jimin only has eyes for her. 

- “How are you so tiny pup?” he asks, reverent with her everything, tracing along her cheek with one of his fingers, with the same hands that will braid her hair when it starts to grow more than the tufts she has. And tug it into pigtails and ponytails and princess braids, anything she wants. 

- The hands that will play patty cake and paint with her at your kitchen table for hours and hours, the hands that will show her bugs and butterflies in the garden and tuck countless dandelions behind her ear and in her hair. Will pull them from her mouth too when she inevitably decides that the tiny yellow flowers are the best snack. And Jimin will let out a tired sigh and say ‘those are bitter- you’re going to spit them out in two seconds.” 

- Jimin doesn’t know it yet- but she will call him after those flowers, ‘dandy’ that becomes ‘daddy’ not unlike she’ll call Namjoon ‘papa’. Jimin will be as much her parent as you and Namjoon are, even if the three of you don’t know it yet. Even if Jimin feels a little separate from the two of you now- one day you’ll be a little unit, determined to give your daughter everything, the happiest childhood possible.

- His tail wags when he nuzzles into that hair “she smells so so good” that out of everything- he didn’t expect. It feels like there is a chain that runs from his heart to her, dragging him in. She smells like softness like velvet and something milky, something just inexplicably you and her, But individually different. Now Jimin realizes that part of your scent that had seemed so sweet and needing protecting- it must have been her.

- Namjoon has to smell her too once Jimin says that, and both hybrids are smiling down dopey at her, both of their tails whacking against the chairs in happy syncopation.

- You only tolerate being separated from her for a few minutes at a time. You know that Namjoon and Jimin would never dream of being careless, both of them even bristle when a doctor comes by to check her heart rate again and she starts crying. Namjoon barely leashing his growl, but you guess something’s must run too deep, the parental urge too strong in him.

-Your abdomen aches when you try to sit up in bed. The second Jimin and Namjoon scent you’re in pain they get the doctor. But it’s just your body- new and defined in terms of pregnancy and birth. Jimin and Namjoon busy themselves with her when the doctor checks you over. “Postpartum pain is common, you’re alright, it's just the epidural wearing off.” Jimin and Namjoon's noses flares at that- because how could any pain be normal?

- It might be all the hormones and the pups in the room that make them feel so protective (Namjoon’s head is a whole mess of ‘protect mate- protect pup’). But still- the second she starts squirming and reaching out for you they’re powerless to keep her in their arms. The same nurse comments, “she’s probably hungry, let us know if you have any trouble.”

- But it’s easy, you’ve long since been producing milk and it only takes a second to nuzzle before your daughter starts to feed from you. Namjoon and Jimin keep their eyes on the sealing before you roll your eyes. “It’s not weird, you don’t have to act like it's weird.” They both grimace- properly chastised.

- The feeling of panic dissipates once her tiny body is pressed against yours, is that what being a mother is like? feeling like your soul is not inside of your own body, and instead, encased in a few layers of chub. The feeling of dread that only dissipates when her skin touches hers and you get her bundled close under your chin. 

-  She has her first meal, and then promptly falls back asleep in your arms, curling into your warmth. As safe and as tiny as she’ll ever be, every moment an upward battle of time. “Any idea for a name yet?” Jimin asks.  

- “Joon and I were thinking of Rin for a while but now that I’m seeing her I kind of want to name her something different. I was thinking about June, maybe April?”

- “That’s my name,” Namjoon says aiming for deadpan but smiling too hard to really pull off the joke. 

- “I know that idiot, I was talking about the month!” the bickering prompts giggles out of all of you, the chorus makes your daughter's little gum-filled smile tug up again and initiates a fresh wave of coos and dewy eyes. Jimin leans over, running a gentle finger across her cheek, they feel so soft, like the side of a fresh peach. She is already so healthy-looking, pudgy, and squirmy.

- “Well if June is off the table, I think I have one in mind,” your eyes flicker up to meet Namjoon’s, you look tired but so awake, Namjoon pushes back your sweaty hair, fingers lingering on your neck, fiddling with your baby hairs in a tactile affectionate way. “How about “Iris?” Namjoon’s gaze is heavy on Jimin’s as his ears perk up at the mention.

- Namjoon’s mind instantly goes to a spot by the riverbed, back at the farm where the grass slopes down to the water's edge. And his memory tugs up a moment from a month ago; Jimin leaning over away from a picnic blanket to bend one of the yellow irises to his level, breathing in a deep breath and saying, “This one is my favorite.”

- And you laughing, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder while Namjoon looked on behind you after the work was done for the day. Looking so unbelievably fond of you with Yoongi a mirrored look beside them. Sitting back on his wrists, looking like sunbathing snake, face tilted up towards the sun.

-“You’re my favorite.” 

- Iris, like the blue ones in your garden and the wild yellow ones that grow down by the river. Wild beauty untamed but maybe contained, like your hybrids, equal parts animal and human, Iris’s- purple and yellow, and every color in between.

- Jimin looks at you with a heavy gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat down, he leans forward and nuzzles into your daughter's feet. “I love that.”

- “I love it too” you clutch your daughter closer to your chest, your delicate fingers tracing across her face, memorizing her little features. “My little Iris.”

- “Hello Iris,” “hello little flower” Namjoon puts his hand on the back of Jimin’s neck for comfort. Leaning to get his face close to your daughter too. To press his nose against her head again and “I love it.” he says through tears in his eyes, voice hushed, what little falls, wiped away by Jimin's hands or soaking into the fabric of her baby blanket.

- The three of you share a moment of silence, iris falls back to sleep, and Jimin and Namjoon cuddle close on the bed with you. Namjoon makes an upset noise in his throat- still crying a little too, building into a whine. 

- “Joonie?” 

- “What's wrong?”

- it takes him a second to answer, holding Iris's little hand, fiddling with her little fingers, rolling her knuckles to feel the delicate pads of her little fingers. “I wish Yoongi was here.” 

- Iris is born at 5:24 in the morning, right as the sun rises. You’d never know it- but Yoongi is watching the sunrise too.

- he cranes his neck to watch the sky change color in the window of a trailer, a little more 50 miles south of the farm, deep in the pine forest and hidden from prying eyes. And that moment; the moment when he watches the new day begin with a feeling of impending doom- will be the only moment of peace he’ll get that day.

- It’s hard to turn too far with his wrists bound behind his back, the rope digging into his skin so tight that blood has long since soaked through and crusted in the twine. A twinge in his neck that hasn’t left in weeks flares- a twisted nerve hot under his skin. But yoongi looks- let the light burn into his irises and watches the one little square of the sky turn from blue to yellow and back to blue. 

- The dread never leaves him; though he’s lived countless days Unsure of how many more sunrises he’ll get to see and even less what those days will look like. he’s lost track of how many days it’s been since he left the farm. 

- He’s been sitting in this spot since he was taken; wrists bound behind his back, bloody and sensitive from the days spent pulling at them. Maybe he’d pulled a little too hard at them sometimes. Pain to ground him against what was happening to his body. Yoongi’s shoulder hurts, he hasn’t been allowed out of these restraints even once, and his body has started to hurt so much it feels like he’s going to go numb from it soon.

- The ropes are a little looser than they were yesterday, but that’s probably because he hasn’t been fed much in the last few days. The few pounds he managed to put on since being at the farm have all but melted away in the few weeks of neglect.

- He was lucky if they remembered to feed him, unlucky if they remembered- because being noticed was almost as dangerous as being forgotten. In his worse moments, Yoongi wonders if you've forgotten him too. Probably- but a sinking suspicion in his heart that feels a lot like what it was to love you- tells him not a chance, not a chance that you've forgotten, no way you wouldn't be looking for him these last few weeks.

- But Yoongi hopes that you won't find him. Because that would spell death for the both of you, and more than anything he wants you to live.

- Most of the time he tries to keep his head down and his mouth shut (not that that’s really hard at this point if anything it’s just habitual). But the less he makes himself a nuance, the better he can avoid getting kicked and prodded. Every breath makes pain lance up his side, no doubt a few cracked ribs, they ache painfully every time he breathes in too deep.

- Gang wars are messy- the gang needs a punching bag to take out their frustrations on. Most of the time Yoongi’s too hungry to properly pay attention to the plans being made, ground zero a few feet away, pages and pages of meticulously made plans and records. Most of the time he’s conscious enough to track when his owner is angry, louder voices mean more pain and that much makes fear shiver down Yoongi’s spine, learned- not instinctual.

-  Until yesterday he’d been able to crumple himself up in a ball too, but one of the gangsters decided Yoongi was to be their entertainment last night, and sure; it’s not like his leg is completely immobile, but the knife they’d sunk into the side certainly keeps him from folding it closer and making himself smaller. 

- It sits stretched out, in the middle of the hallway. In the way- the perfect diversion to encourage a pissed-off kick or a twist to the knife. It’s not a long knife, one of those small ones that are only a few inches long, perfect for hiding away in a pocket or shoe. 

- Yoongi would remove it, use it to cut his bonds, but he can tell by the way it twinges when he moves his ancle that its near something important, nerve endings, or one of the major arteries in his legs. Removing it would spell death. 

- Somehow it's worse going back to this, everything infinitely more painful than it used to be. Before he didn’t know what living without pain felt like. Oh- you’d ruined him hadn’t you?

- When he’d first been tied up here three weeks ago his owner had questions. Each time he’d failed to answer she’d put her cigarette out against his skin, just to see him squirm. Yoongi’s pain tolerance was already through the roof- but even that was a lot to handle. Every time a red cherry was pressed into his skin, he had to fight the urge to flinch away.

- Yoongi had not sobbed, his fingers trembling at worse, but he doesn't let himself show any other pain. “I already told you- I don’t know where the drugs are, I searched everywhere, under the barns, the basement of the big house. If they’re still there- they’re so well hidden that no one will ever find them.”  

- sick with worry that she’d try to find them herself and then eventually, the frustration when she was punishing him just for fun. “You think I wouldn’t tell you if I knew? I would have told you the second you picked me up if I’d ever found them!”

- Yoongi knows enough not to beg, that kind of thing has only ever made his owner hungrier for more pain.

-  His owner had given him a dark look; her breath and teeth caked in tartar as she blew the smoke into his face. Already burned down to the yellow filter, which only meant one thing. She’d pinched his cheeks, “stick out your tongue Yoongi.” He hadn’t- clenching his jaw. “Stick out your tongue before I decide to cut it off snake” her shout shrill and painful.

- And that had been the end of questioning. Yoongi didn’t know if you’d been aware who your husband had been or if you knew where the drugs were. Yoongi hadn’t ever asked. He doesn’t think you did- and If you did and you’d sold them off to pay for the farm then he’d gladly let it happen. Let his soul be the collateral for your dream; saving as many hybrids as you could.

- The drugs had been worth the ballpark of 20 million dollars, after all, that could pay for the farm nearly indefinitely. 

- If his own life were enough to pay for the safety of so many hybrids- for Jimin and Namjoon, then Yoongi would gladly die here. He’s well aware he’ll die even if they find the drugs. Nothing- not money or power- would be enough to keep Yoongi from an early grave.

- Yoongi’s honestly more worried about what will happen to him when they let him out of the restraints than the condition of his body if he stays in them any longer. He’s only alive because the war isn’t over yet.

- Yoongi’s owner promised the first thing she’d do when the war was over was take him out back and put a bullet between his eyes. The only reason he’s still alive is because he might have some important information locked in his brain somewhere. You can’t ask the dead questions about where millions of dollars of illicit drugs might be stashed- no matter what every palm reader and psychic on the street corners tell you.  

- Yoongi tips his head back against the wall as the day starts, the sounds in the trailer that foretell people awake and impending pain. Fear is a learned drug in his veins, but there is nowhere to run, this is the end of the road. The pangs of hunger in his stomach nothing compared to the aching in his heart.

- One of these days, Yoongi will see his last sunrise, and he won't even be able to look at the sun with burning eyes. To watch every moment of the colors changing, to measure teaspoons of yellow and pink and know this is the last time he will see those colors. One of these days- Yoongi is going to die. So he lays his head back against the cracking and caked cigarette smoke plaster, and thinks of other happier things.

- He thinks of you, Namjoon, and Jimin. The sweet way those few kisses had felt. Yoongi had never even been able to kiss Namjoon. Or tell him that he loved him. Though Yoongi thinks that maybe- maybe he knows. Maybe envy and love are one in the same because in another world- Yoongi would have wanted to be exactly like Namjoon. Dependable, protective, a good provider- a good alpha.

-  In this reality, Yoongi is nothing more than a liar- barely deserving of softness let alone love. And somehow for those few months, he’d had it- he’d snatched it from you. Most of the time- Yoongi tries not to feel too guilty. Because, in the end, he'd been a hungry little thing, hadn't he? Crawled to your door and never begged for the love you'd given; you'd loved him and he'd loved you as a snake loves a garden.

-  Have you had your baby yet? Are the dandelions coming up in the path without Yoongi there to weed them? Does the garden smell so sweet and fresh like it always does at this time of day? Is the dew sticky against your ankles?

- Or maybe you don’t even know. Maybe you’re wrapped up tight and warm with Namjoon and Jimin. Yoongi wonders how it feels- he’s never really cuddled with another person. Never gotten their bones all aligned or felt skin against his that he wanted to feel.

- The little closeness he’d had with humans early on in his development- had trained what little love for closeness that he’d had and yet- yet Yoongi feels like he would have been able to get used to it with you. The future he’d almost had hurts now that the possibility of it all has vanished. He tries not to think about what could have been.

- Do the hills look golden and rolling? Has Jimin moved into your bedroom now that you’ve all become a couple? Or has he moved into Yoongi’s room? Somehow the idea of jimin wearing his clothes, his sun hat, makes Yoongi feel warm like he won’t be completely forgotten the second he breathes his last breath.

- On his deathbed, Yoongi imagines all kinds of long-lost love stories, countless futures you could have had together. And each one as out of reach as freedom is.  Even if Yoongi could escape his bounds- he wouldn’t be able to escape this trailer with his life. So there’s really no use trying.

- The sounds of people get louder and louder the closer they get to Yoongi, his shoulders closer and closer to his ears as the tension builds. He shifts a little. Eyes still closed deep in his daydream. 

- If he was at the farm right now he’d have already made you coffee, and maybe in a different future, you would have back hugged him, snuck down the stairs to cuddle him to contentment before you’d had your coffee. neither of you talking while the machine gurgles. Your face pressed between his shoulders, hands smoothing over his side. And you could walk the garden together in the early morning, hand in hand, trading sips from the same coffee cup, Yoongi’s favorite- the one with the little tangerines on the side. Orange and bright like your lips in the morning sun, and he’d-

- “Wake up fucker” his owner, says, kicking him on her way past. Yoongi bites back a whine as pain flares up his side. Yoongi opens his eyes and she leans down, pinching his cheeks so that his mouth opens. He clenches his jaw- but she’s only toying with him.

- Yoongi’s no stranger to getting drugged against his will, but luckily this isn’t that, no- she just spits at him, and it hits the side of his face and part of his tongue. Yoongi gags, but there isn't anything in his stomach to come up. She laughs, stepping on his injured knee with a barefoot, and moves on. Yoongi tries not to feel disgusted, whipping it off on his shoulder as best he can. spitting onto the carpeted floor. 

- He feels cold in a way that might be dangerous. But he knows soon the trailer will be a hotbed of smoke and ashes like usual. He’d kill for a fresh breath of air at this point. Maybe dying will be a little bit of a relief. Hopefully is last breath of air will be a fresh one.

- But there isn’t anything they can do with him that hasn’t been done before- nothing that can’t be taken that hasn’t already been taken. Yoongi has the memories of you- and until they kill him they can’t take those either.

- The world passes in fast-forward, everything moving and alive except for Yoongi. He hopes they kill him before his scales start to shed. Or else it's going to be hell to handle the itchiness in conjunction with all of this.

- Sometimes he’s alone, and sometimes he’s not but it hardly matters. Yoongi might as well exist on a different plane than them, he feels so disconnected- like he’s watching the end of a movie and not living through this. the shouts and anger and fear that builds in all of them as the days go on and things get worse.

- He doesn’t know when he falls asleep only that it’s night time when the sound of the door slamming against the outside of the trailer wakes him. The screen clanging against the doorframe as the sound of a dying man fills the trailer.

- His owners second in command is dying, choking on his own blood, face ripped apart by someone. His throat slashed just deep enough so that he'll suffocate. Whoever's hurt them certainly favors the knife. he’s a big burly man that Yoongi had never known to take punches without hurting his opponent ten times as bad. He whimpers like one of the tiny pups at the farm does after a nightmare as 3 other gangsters dump him unceremoniously on one of the couches.

- Most of the time- Yoongi’s too confused to put together the actual events of the war but now that he sees him- Yoongi realizes it’s been several days since he’s seen this gangster in particular. Missing maybe- or stolen. His body is certainly in a sorry state. Vertical curved lines criss cross across his chest, barely an inch of skin unoccupied by pain. Both his nipples removed and bleeding profusely.

- Ouch, that looks like it hurt.

- “Fuck- we have to go.” His owner slams her gun against the counter; it goes off, the 3 or so gangsters duck. Even The dying man gurgles and falls, Yoongi’s pretty sure he’s the only one who doesn’t flinch, “No! This is over when I say it is!”

- She’s got someone’s blood all over her, but before anyone else can make a move. Headlights shine into the room, crisscrossing in a strobe light cacophony. Yellow squares sliding across the scene.  

- Bullets spray like water on a sprinkler in the middle of summer. Cool air rushing through the broken window as it shatters in the volley. Yoongi inhales a thankfully cool breath, Yoongi’s sure there must be glass in his hair by the time it quiets and he lifts his head.

- His owner's been hit, dove behind one of her men by the look of it, his body a husk that she shoves off, his breath rattling around in his broken open chest. Someone’s bong sits beside her- leaking rancid water onto the carpet.

- His owner is not completely unscathed. A bullet wound leaks from her femoral artery, slowly bleeding out. It’s as good as a death sentence if she doesn’t get to a hospital soon.

- Yoongi grins.

- Glass crunches under a platform boot, whether they’re to make the wearer taller or just for aesthetic remains to be seen. The bunny manages to be scary even without the height. 

-Yoongi knows who he is by hearing his owner rave about him time and time again and the tattoo on his cheek. He looks so ordinary in person, with soft features and keen wide eyes that could be boyish if it weren’t for the darkness in them. He’s not covered with blood- if anything- he looks like he just rolled out of bed.

- The bunny sighs, sitting down at her level, crouched on his knees; he kicks her gun away from her when she tries to reach for it. “That was more trouble than it was worth.” He tilts his head at her, his curls fluffing around his ears. “Don’t you know better than to run from fate at this point?”

- Her teeth are coated with blood when she spits them out, the front one broken. “Who the fuck do you think you are bunny boy? Trying to take something that doesn’t belong to you?”

- “If you don’t want someone to take something from you- take better care of It.” he cocks his gun with a percussive cling, bullet slides into the chamber. He shoots the dying man on the ground and then tosses the gun away. He has a veritable army behind him, lingering in the driveway outside, a pair of them looming by the doors like dogs, grinning, ready to attack if their master only says so. 

-“Also- I'm pretty sure I'm the person that’s going to kill you. But that’s only a good guess unless you’ve got a wildcard under your sleeve” his owner's eyes are inexplicably drawn to Yoongi. 

- The bunny looks up- seeing him for the first time. “Ah,” he says, eyes widening. Unreadable eyes as a tenseness in his shoulders settles. Yoongi isn’t sure why his presence makes the bunny's hands shake, but they do. “Didn’t see you there.”

- He shakes his head free of the sudden surprise. Yoongi’s perplexed, having just seen him walk into the trailer without fear. Curious- but Yoongi has other questions. Those questions as always being if this is the end of the road.

- For the first time in weeks- Yoongi wonders ‘if’ and not ‘when' he will die.

- The bunny walks over to him, tilting his head to the side gently, his hands are cold, and Yoongi shivers. “Haven’t seen one like you in a long time.” He says, spotting the scales, and the round burns on the side of his neck, barely healed.

- “These from her?” Yoongi nods. And something in the bunny’s jaws ticks. His steps are quick when he stalks over to her, grabbing her by her hair, lifting her off of the ground to a more comfortable height. The bunny must be strong because he does it with one hand. 

- She tries to push at him weekly, “ah ah ah- none of that now,”  her hands go still, staring up at him, blood dripping down her chin. She looks as afraid as Yoongi feels.

- With as unstudied an air as possible, He eyes the knives in the butcher block, selecting an unused large one. No one has ever cooked in that kitchen besides Yoongi, and it’s a good thing- because the knives are sharp. “Maybe your life isn’t mine to take but how about it hybrid, do you think your owner deserves to live or die?”

- his owner can’t keep quiet, “Fuck- do something- fucking- just help me-“ bunny shuts her up by slamming his elbow down onto her face, breaking her jaw. Teeth shattering and cluttering to the floor in a tiny tinkle.

- Now in the cold of the trailer- god- Yoongi feels like he wants to set fire to hell itself. To taste ashes on his tongue, so soft and sensitive from years spent not speaking.

- He wants to speak now- to shout- everything he’d never said, I love you I love you I love you from the rooftops, hopefully loud enough for you to hear him. He thrashes against his binds at the hint of freedom.

- The words have never been easier to say, coating his tongue like her cigarette ash; they taste like sweet damnation and bitter freedom. He speaks to his owner- to the woman who has hurt him, time and time again. Yoongi does not owe her a second of mercy.

- “If I had to choose between saving you and not, I wouldn’t- I would want you to burn.”

- Maybe Yoongi had never really belonged anywhere but if there was one place he felt like he could have belonged- that would have been with you, Namjoon, and Jimin. And he cared enough if not to claw his way home to you- to also make a space for himself in this life. Yoongi feels almost breathless for it the rabid desire to live that had never taken him before at least not when he hadn’t had anything to live for other than his own slow heartbeat. 

- Yoongi doesn't expect the bunny to speak, but his eyes flutter, staring down at her. holding the knife in his hands more firmly.

- "Goodbye Mom." 

- He drags the knife across her throat, delicately, in an easy swooping motion. Like he's done it countless times.

- Yoongi jerks against his bindings, mom- the bunny was- Is her son. her carotid artery spurts violently, a little bit of it even hits Yoongi’s cheek. The bunny lets her fall, cheek hitting the wet carpeted floor louder than it should. 

-  It should feel too brutal- more visceral to think about how many women have met their death under a man's hands, but too Yoongi she’ll never be less than a villain. Even as she chokes and sputters on her own blood. Face pressed against the floor and unable to look up as she dies. The bunny steps on her back, keeping her down. Letting her die on the floor. 

- She wasn't just his villain no- now it looks like she was the bunnies too.

- Yoongi had always wondered why he'd been purchased and whom he'd replaced. Why his owner had used him as a punching bag. But now that he thinks about it- there had to have been someone before him; Someone who she'd gotten used to hitting, gotten used to controlling.

- Most hybrids fill a void and now Yoongi knows whose spot he’d taken. 

- Her hands scrape futility at her own neck trying to stem the blood flow, losing energy every second, it’s too late. the flock of gangsters outside descend on the trailer like a flock of crows would to carrion. the many people filing into the trailer distract him And by the time Yoongi looks back at her body, her eyes are glassy, looking at Yoongi, not blinking or begging just- gone.

- Yoongi doesn't feel sick, he doesn't even feel happy. He breathes in deep, the cold air from outside filling his lungs, easing their ache just a little, he breathes in deep again, hyperventilating as he realizes that fuck- he can breathe in deep finally. Whatever spot in his chest occupied by her- now gone. No more fear- at least not of her. 

- The bunny pulls himself onto the counter, lights a cigarette while the gangsters tear apart the trailer, one of them produces a brick of cocaine, another a wad of cash, each presented to the bunny while he puffs on his cigarette, and Yoongi watches the blood soak into the carpet until it stops pooling, still and sticky.   

- No one moves to untie him. Yoongi wants to laugh at himself for being hopeful. They finish up and file out one by one, but still- the snake and the bunny remain in the trailer at a stalemate. Yoongi looking brazenly as his owner's son pretends like this was just another day. 

- “I’ll be a few seconds, just want to talk to this one.” He flicks cigarette ash in Yoongi’s direction. They nod, though most of them haven’t even acknowledged his presence, a few of them cast Yoongi a sorry look- because there are no loose ends in this life. No loose ends in the war and Yoongi is the last one alive.

- “Take me outside, please- I don’t want to die in here” the bunny ignores him. As the rest of the gang leaves gets into their cars and drives off until it’s just the two of them, Yoongi and this man. Bunny makes no move to wipe off the murder weapon, fiddling it between his fingers until his fingers are slick with their monster's blood.

- One monster to another- Yoongi thinks it suits the man in front of him. Unlike the tattoos- the bunny poking out under his eye and the other numerous others dotting his body. The gangster catches him looking, his brother not in reality, but maybe abuse. If what Yoongi suspects are true- then they were both hurt by the same woman. “What do you think? Should I get a snake tattoo for you?”

- Yoongi’s mouth is dry, he doesn’t have a joke to say in his defense, every few seconds he catches himself looking back at his owner, how she’s slumped.

- It feels different and strange to see someone whom he’d hoped would die for so long- dead. A place where pain can't reach her, the pain that still claws its way in Yoongi’s chest and down to the wound in his leg. Not enough. None of it is enough. His pain cannot pay for the sorrow of what was stolen, or the revenge for what was taken.

- He swallows back something that tastes like vomit, letting hope take its place. Growing like a weed in Yoongi’s chest, dandelions, peonies, and pine sprouts (and maybe a few iris's too).

- “Well now that that’s finished,” the bunny says, wiping the knife on his jacket shirt pocket. “What do we do with you?”

- But Yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat; it almost feels like he’s lost the ability to speak, he's never been more unsure that he could get the words out than he is now.  “You could let me go.”

- living side by side with the knowledge that Yoongi probably won't be left alive by the next time the sun rises is the desire to see the farm again. and maybe it’s foolish to hope but-  He wants more than anything to see you again. 

- To walk into your house with his nest upstairs, ready to nurture his soul and his body back to warmth. Maybe sit with his head in your lap so that you can run your fingers through his hair like you do when he’s not having a day where it feels like his skin is crawling. He wants to get old enough, to get far enough away from all of this to where he can touch and be touched without feeling like he's going to vomit.

- To see Namjoon’s dimpled smile and play cards with the others on your porch before dinner, to curl up in the other hybrids' frankly massive arms and feel the rush of protection that can only come from an alpha. To hold those hands that like fixing things so much and be fixed in kind. To run his own hands through Namjoon hair and have him lean into Yoongi’s hands the way he leans into yours. 

- He wants to hear Jimin chatter like a bird in the garden, and pretend he’s not watching when he sees Jimin sneak cherry tomatoes, to share handfuls with him, even if Jimin’s tail thwacking up against the nearby plants wasn’t a dead giveaway. To even see the other hybrids and their hushed whispers about them, that wouldn’t matter even- he'd still smile.  

- Yoongi wants to go back more than anything, more than he wants to live. If Yoongi is worth a place in heaven- that’s what it will look like to him. So maybe either way- he’s going back to you. Even if he dies- there will be a garden somewhere in the afterlife where he is waiting for the three you. he’d get the beds growing all pretty all perfect for the three of you, even if he has to wait a while.

- The man in front of him laughs and cleans the blood out from under his fingers with the knife. His eyes flicker to Yoongi’s for a moment, and he sees something almost like pity in his eyes before he glances at his guards waiting outside for Jungkook to be done. “As if I could do that.”

- Yoongi tries not to let his heart drop, but what else could he have expected? In the record of his admittedly shit life, why would he think that something would go right for once? How had he fooled himself into thinking he was deserving of that sunny place, he should be lucky for the short time he’d been given and take no more, accept his death with a grace he’d never been able to manage in life.

-There is the piece of paper still in the bottom of his boot, from the man in front of him. A "you're welcome," that could have only been meant for you. a mark of his hidden agenda. Yoongi is one of your sweet things, an item that needs to be returned, No matter if the rules of war demand the opposite.

- The truth is Jungkook is the most dangerous man in the underworld both by birthright and blood right, the rules can bend for a king. 

-  Yoongi almost wants to lift his teeth at the man, an aggressive action more animal than human. yoongi will fight like an animal if it means he can survive. but then one of the last lingering guard's calls to the bunny, says that a cleaning crew is 20 minutes out, joking about gas fires, and how dangerous they are.

- A fire lights in Jungkook’s eyes, equal parts hope and relief. The bunny doesn't want to kill him, and maybe he won't have to.

-The bunny finishes his cigarette, eyeing the knife in his hand, “Better leave this,” he says, sinking the knife into the coffee table across from Yoongi, “Can’t have a murder weapon walking out of here after all.” His eyes hover on Yoongi for a minute, waiting until he understands before dropping in a wink before he shuts the door.

-“See you in heaven, Yoongi.”

- Had Yoongi ever told the bunny his name? He can’t remember if anyone had said it. 

- Yoongi waits until he hears their cars exit the gravel driveway, waits until the popping of tires has faded into the distance before he lunges in the direction of the kitchen, dragging his body along with his good knee, using his shoulders to prop himself up, his body aches with every memory of pain and still- he pulls himself closer and closer to freedom, eyes on the knife.

- It takes him nearly 3 minutes to haul his body over to that side of the table and another  to get the knife into his sweaty hands. He uses up five precious minutes maneuvering it into place and slowly sawing through his bonds, finally ripping his wrists free with a broken sob, the skin around his wrists is red and bleeding in some places, the rope rips off a few of his scales.

- This pain doesn't feel like it did before, sweeter and cleaner than any other pain- because this is Yoongi surviving- visceral and painful. Breathing in his first few breaths of air as he heaves open the door and smells the clean night air that smells like the Pine trees- like Namjoon. The forest smells like safety too, hints of the salty ocean on the wind and Yoongi’s face, he’s in so much pain- crying like a baby as he takes his first few steps of real freedom- something Yoongi’s never had only dreamed of.

- Even when he lived with you he was always scared of something- But not anymore. 

- He barely hesitates to walking away from that place, limping as best he can. he's thankful that his muscles haven't atrophied too badly though his whole body aches. The leg by his side useless but for a crunch. He throws himself into the tree line, tripping on a root and falling into the bushes the second before a car pulls back up the driveway. The cleaning crew comes to dispose of the bodies.

- pain erupts down his leg, the knife twisting under his bodyweight, He looks down at his leg, the handle of the knife broken off, but at least the metal bit didn’t fall out- then he’d have a real issue trying not to bleed to death. 

- The two gangsters are completely unaware of his presence, crouched in the bushes, hidden from view. But Yoongi can see them, carting two-gallon jugs of gasoline per person. He stays in the bush until they finish as still as he can be until he hears the car pull away, tense moments where he thinks that maybe he’ll be spotted.

- Yoongi waits for a little while until he can see flames lick along the inside, feeling something cathartic in the burning carve its way through him, though the double-wide hadn’t been large, it was Yoongi’s hell for so many years. Not home- never home because Yoongi has a different place to be.

- Standing up again takes more effort than Yoongi, but there is a future he can claw his way towards if he stands- if he can only get his leg under him again. The wound in his leg twinges painfully with every movement, but he knows better than to try and take out the knife. That’d be a death sentence. He’d bleed out before he even made it a mile.

- And he’s got about 60 miles to walk if he wants to make it home. He lets the light from the burning trailer hit him, warming his bones. 

- For years Yoongi had looked at the stars out of that little window he can pick out the North Star without issue now. He also knows that somewhere along the horizon- is where you are. Home is just over the next hill, just a few miles away. 

- Yoongi can make it- He knows he can. Even as the blood slowly starts flowing again, soaking down his pant leg and into his sock. Yoongi can make it if he just keeps walking. he turns away from the trailer and takes a few shaky steps, as fast as he can go and still not fast enough. Yoongi wants to scream and yell and shout- I’m coming, I’m coming home.

- With only the stars as his guide, barely visible through the tops of the pine trees, Min Yoongi heads in the direction of the farm.

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[docockbrainrot]

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFW eventually, 18+, Female Reader

(A/N: you guys have been so supportive and amazing ;n; i really appreciate all of your kind words- it's definitely keeping me going <3 )

AO3 link here.

Previous Chapter

Chapter 4

streetlights// ludo

It’s Him. You already know it is, even before he lifts his head and nimble metal claws pluck off his hat so his face becomes bathed in the warm yellow light of the streetlamps. You’ve always loved that this road in particular had the vintage style ones, seemingly made of intricately wrought iron encasing it’s light source. Now you aren’t sure you’ll ever see them the same way again, with the way it graces his features, like some kind of Renaissance painting. You would almost say he looks… nice. Handsome, even, if you were being strictly objective.

“Nice slippers.”

Asshole. You take back every potentially pleasant thought you just had about him.

“What… What do you want?” You want to sound accusatory, scathing even, but you’re certain it comes across as more pitiful than anything. Chekov, ever so keenly in tune with his animal instincts, keeps himself busy by sniffing the base of a gingko tree. Some guard dog.

Octavius makes the entire situation worse- he smiles.

“That’s my car,” you point out feebly, trying to avoid another close encounter, but feeling like it’s going to be quite impossible at this rate. Might as well be on your own terms, if it's inevitable. Putting on your big girl boots (yes, yes, they’re still slippers, shut up), you take a deep breath and advance towards him, dragging Chekov along determinedly.

“I know,” comes the cocky response, boiling your blood instantly. Maybe it’s been building all day, mounting and piling up inside you, waiting for an opportunity to spill out, but the emotions explode out of you before you can stop them.

“Now you- you listen! I don't know who you think you are, just, just sitting on stranger’s cars and creepily waiting for them in the dead of night but I’m here to tell you- it’s not fucking cool. I need to move it to the other side of the street and I am tired and I have had a very bad day, so please take your supervillain-y garbage somewhere else. I am so not in the mood,” you end your rant with a deep breath, followed by a heavy exhale.You put your hands on your hips and give him the best ‘I’m very sick of this shit’ look you can manage. Wow. And you didn’t even get choked up. Nice. At this point, you’re only a few feet away from him. You had forgotten quite how… intimidating his build was, but you refuse to let it daunt you. This time. If this is what gets you killed, finally, as far as you’re concerned you’ve said your peace. “Now if you’re gonna murder me or whatever, can you just get it over with? Maybe leave the dog out of it though. He’s just an idiot.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you and there’s that look again- the same one as last night. Like he’s ostensibly impressed with your stupid gumption. “You’ve got moxie, kid, I’ll give you that,” he laughs, shaking his head, and it feels… so genuine, it’s almost contagious. You swallow back the urge to cry or laugh along or maybe even throw up. This is it. Your final moments. Sorry, Mom. He reaches into his inner coat pocket- what? Is he going to really kill you with a gun? The street lights glint off his glasses. The tint is opaque; all you can see is your own reflection and the adrenaline is dwindling, leaving utter, unadulterated fear.

He’s holding something out to you in his gloved hand. It’s not a gun. It isn’t even a weapon. It’s…

“How did you get this?” You whisper hoarsely, eyebrows knitting in a quizzical expression.

“You dropped it last night. You know there’s a fine for littering, don’t you, kiddo?” Octavius waves it at you expectantly. Fingers trembling, you reach out with the hand not gripping Chekov’s leash for dear life and take it from him. It’s your work badge. You run your thumb over the mugshot-esque photo of yourself on the front and then slowly trace out the logo on top.

OSCORP

“I… I didn’t even realize. Um… thanks. I guess,” you hesitantly slip the badge into your sweatshirt pocket. “I won’t ask how you knew this was my car,” you add, clearing your throat uneasily. He chuckles again. You don’t really think you’re being all that funny to warrant this much laughing.

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to match a name to some license plates, love,” he gives a noncommittal half shrug of one very broad shoulder, like running plates is just a normal thing that normal people do, “plus I saw you park it here yesterday. Knew you’d be back to move it before tomorrow.”

Ah. Great.

“So you were watching me. Before you chased down that guy?” You ask, somewhat in disbelief. There’s no way your life could be that interesting to a freaking mad scientist criminal.

“Multi-tasking. I watched you while I chased him,” Octavius corrects you and for some strange reason you decidedly don't feel any better. You frown. This entire situation is incredibly off-putting, and for a lack of better description… very bizarre. Your life has always been perfectly average for the most part. Maybe your childhood wasn't perfect, maybe things always could have been easier for you, but at the end of the day no part of it had been what you would call extraordinary. Until now. You aren't sure what's changed, if there's something in the New York water or what, but you are fairly certain you do not like it.

"Okay. Fine. Whatever," you fold in defeat and that's when something else, once again off-putting and bizarre, happens. Chekov has deemed it necessary to investigate the scene, finally. He approaches Octavius with all the caution as if he were meeting an old friend. Traitorous beast. The strange part, however, is when one of the metal claws reaches out towards him, it's little maw closed and looking almost like it's cocking its head in curiosity. You hear an odd hissing… chirping sound and you give Octavius a Look. "Please don't kill my dog."

Then he, or at least the tentacle-like appendage… pets Chekov. With the claw slowly opening to do so, bathing his fur in a garish crimson light. And Chekov eats the attention right up, going into full ham mode, leaning his head into the metallic robot ear scritches. For some reason, Octavius looks every bit as surprised as you do. "I didn't know you liked dogs," his voice is low and it's clear he isn't talking to you- but who? "We should be on our way." At that, the tentacle thing gives a little warble before retreating and, dumbfounded, you wonder 'Was he talking to the arms?' He did say ‘we’, right? For the first time, you consider the very intriguing possibility that they were separately sentient, with minds of their own. You suppose stranger things have happened, and continue to happen, with every passing day of your suddenly very exciting life.

"Uh yeah… right… Thanks again. For stalking me and stuff," you watch him give you a long look and it feels like his gaze is burning a hole through your heart even though you can't even see his eyes. He slaps the trunk of your car twice before pushing himself off of it.

"I like the bumper sticker, by the way."

And then he's giving you a quick, mocking two finger salute before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking, yes, walking like a normal person, away. "Wait!" You call out suddenly and for a moment you don't think he's going to stop. But he does, and turns slightly to look at you over his shoulder. "What… what should I call you?"

You swear you see the glint of a smile.

"Just Otto is fine, my dear."

And then he's off again. You're fairly certain he's whistling a catchy, jaunty Broadway tune as he goes and you're reminded of the fact that he hasn't always been a bank robbing sociopath. It makes you sad for him, in a strange way. Sympathizing with supervillains, what's next?

You watch him leave until he's out of eyesight and feel yourself physically and mentally deflate, turning your car keys over a few times in your hand.

You can't shake the feeling that you haven't seen the last of him.

[fleetwoodmak99]

Long Past Dawn

Eric Draven x reader

This is requested from @sister-morticia "Hi!! Can I please request an Eric Draven x reader whump with lots of hurt and comfort/worried!Eric? I need some caring fluff! Thank you!! ☺️" I had so much fun working on this!!! I'll be posting a part 2 as hcs of the aftermath soon. It will focus more on the comforting aspects. Also I’m really sorry this is long. 

WARNINGS: Panic attacks, hyperventilating, serious wounds, gun violence, mentions of blood, depression, talks of deep sadness, death, resurrection, paranoia, explosions, and fainting.

SUMMARY: It has been a year since you lost your lover, Eric Draven. While you have managed to get by, it has been extremely difficult. After having a particularly hard night, you decide it might be a good idea to go for a walk to release some steam, only to fall upon a danger situation.

Its been a entire year since you had lost the love of your life, Eric Draven.

It was around Halloween. The leaves on the trees were starting to change from green to orange and yellow as the air turned cool.

Halloween used to be Eric’s favorite time of the year. Always making a big deal about it with lots of horror movie marathons and tons of candy. Now, you had none of that.

No celebrating, no watching horror movies all night, no eating a bunch of candy, no Eric.

Even though it had been a whole year since that dark night, it still haunted your every waking thought.

Every day seemed to bring a new struggle. The worst of it being at night. The pain of losing Eric broke you down to the point where you could do nothing but spend most nights crying.

Anxiety making itself known at every turn. Always worried that the men responsible for taking the life of your lover and leaving you for dead will one day realize you aren't and come after you.

Memories of that night plagued your dreams often. Seeing flashes of T-Birds gang breaking through the door of your shared apartment and attacking you while you were cooking dinner.

The panic consuming your chest becoming too overpowering as you relived that night over and over again. Jolting awake in a pile of sweat when it became too much. Feeling your stomach turn to the sickening thoughts roaming around in your head.

You tried to calm your thoughts. You really did. But the terror that filled your chest was too powerful.

A strong force making you leave the warmth of your bed in an attempt to ease your mind. Pacing around the room, completely lost in thought.

Are they going to come after me? Will they want to harm me?

The demanding thoughts running through your head was starting to cause a wave of nausea to wash over your body.

No. They don't know you are alive. They would have come after you if they had.

You were lucky enough to get Sergeant Albrecht assigned to your case. He was the only one on the force who was kind to you.

Albrecht helped you stay under the radar until you were able to get enough money to move far, far away. The main problem being that you couldn't find a good steady income that would get you out of this hell hole while not blowing your cover, creating the never ending cycle of being trapped in the city. Being doomed to live here forever with no escape.

Still, you felt an overwhelming ache in your stomach every time you thought of Top Dollar still being out there, controlling most of the violence in the city. Hoping that the brutality won't one day unleash on you.

Knowing that it went against the rules you had started following in an attempt to protect yourself further, you decided it might be a good idea to go for a quick late night walk. Noting the dangers of what you might be doing, but it was your last attempt to ease your anxieties and distract you from the pain.

Hoping that the fresh cool air will be a jolt to your system, you grabbed a light jacket and black high tops, placing it over your pajamas and venturing out into the night.

Stepping out of the safety of the apartment building and into the bitter cold. Feeling the tip of your fingers and toes already starting to turn into ice. Still, you were determined to complete your walk as it has always been a good way of distraction you from your intrusive thoughts.

With that being said, the streets of Detroit certainly looked different at night. Feeling a thick layer of sorrow and rage in the air. It being so thick it became difficult to breath.

Choosing to ignore it, you kept walking.

A smile spreading across your lips when you see a group of children in Halloween costumes running with bags of candy in their hands, laughing as they did so.

Curiosity taking over as to why children would be out this late on Devil’s Night. Seeing as you did much worse things when you were a kid, you let it slide.

Either way, you began to have doubts if this was a good idea, deciding it might be time to head back and hide from the world once more.

Turning around and walking the other way, you could already feel a wave of relief washing over you as you made your way back only for your heart to be ripped out of your chest when a booming explosion erupted just up the road. A burst of light blinding you as the ground rumbled.

The sudden event sending you onto the ground, holding your heads up to your head in an attempt to protect yourself from the eruption.

Trying your best to focus on what exactly was happening as the light started to dim into small flames and a bundle of smoke coming from an old abandoned building.

At first, you wanted to run the other way. Knowing that this was most likely the work of Top Dollar or some other big mob boss trying to cause some havoc in an already broken city.

Yet when you tried to get up, you remained planted on the ground. Your body being completely immobilized and without breath.

As you tried getting your strength back, you started to hear a faint scream coming from up the road. Your thoughts immediately going to the children you had seen giggling to each other just moments ago.

You tried remembering which way they had went. Hoping that they were far away from the building now engulfed in flames but after hearing more yelling, you knew you had to make sure no one was hurt or worse.

With a new found determination, you felt yourself starting to grow stronger, experiencing a rush of adrenaline fueling your body.

This time when attempting to get up, you were able to get onto your feet. Your legs still feeling weak, you forced yourself not to waste time and move towards the very thing you made you shake.

Getting closer to the fire, you could start to feel the heat coming from the flames. Inspecting the building, you couldn't see anyone inside. In fact, you couldn't see anyone at all.

You thought for sure the police or at least the fire department would be on their way considering it was a Devil’s Night tradition for the whole city to burn. Yet no one was there. It was almost unnatural.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard not a scream but groaning, murmuring and the collusion of masses coming from the back side of another building. 

With caution, you started to make your way towards the sounds. Leaning on another building for support, gaining distance from the heat.

Hearing the unknown sounds starting to grow louder and louder, you could see the silhouette of different bodies laying on the ground. You didn't know if they were dead or unconscious.

Deciding to grab a nearby wooden stick. Just in case.

Two men suddenly bursting in front of you, struggling against each other. They rolled around the dirt floor, one trying to get the upper hand on the other. Both eventually getting up and starting to throw hands. 

You couldn't decide whether to intervene and try to break them up or start running, but once again your body worked against you. Forcing your mind to turn blank and stay in place. Making you now watch the whole thing go down.

At first glance, you couldn't recognized who the men were yet you couldn't help the strange feeling that you were meant to be here. Somehow this was related to you. You felt it deep down.

You tried analyzing them as they continued, trying your best not to be seen.

One of the men was a lot shorter than the other and had greasy shaggy dark brown hair underneath a worn out black knit hat with baggy clothes.

While the other one taller, and more muscular. Mostly wearing tight fit leather. His dark brown hair was longer than the other one, resting just above his shoulders. Black and white paint covering his face as some type of mask.

His hits being more calculated and precise going against the others, who was becoming more and more sloppy by the minute.

As the two men start to taunt each other. Somehow neither seemed to notice you as you stood there in fear. Your heart sinking when you hear one of the men starting to speak. You recognized that voice, clear as day.

The short man was Skank. He was apart of T-Bird's gang, who worked for none other than Top Dollar.

Shit. You need to leave now.

Finally, you were able to slowly make yourself move backwards as your feet stumbled on themselves. You tried your best not to make any noise, not even risking breathing. You couldn't help your eyes from being glued to them.

"I-I know you. You're that guy we had to straighten out cause you and your partner were protesting Top Dollar's tenant relocation program. B-But you're supposed to be dead. We killed you, dead." Skank mumbled, slightly laughing in disbelief at the end.

This made you stop. Your body turning cold.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. Remember a few months before the attack, gathering other tenants to protest. But that wasn't what was making your nerves go wild.

It was who Skank was fighting with.

No. There was no way. He has to be talking about someone else.

You didn't even want to think of the possibility of seeing Eric again. Knowing that there was no possible way that could ever happen.

But why did he look so familiar? When you heard the strangers voice, deep down you knew.

"I guess not all things that die, stay dead." His voice was deep and raspy, showing off his classic sarcasm that reminded you of Eric before his death.

How could this be happening? There was no way that could be Eric. No way.

As your thoughts battled it out in your head as to if this was a dream or not, Skank began to laugh hysterically like he was losing his mind as well. Slowly starting to move his hand behind his back to retrieve the loaded gun resting on his waistband.

While you hadn't noticed, Eric did. Giving off an eerie smile before springing into action, darting right for Skank.

Not being quick enough as a gun shot ring out, causing you to let out a small shriek. Placing your hands upon your ears in an attempt to shelter them from the sharp pain booming through it. Dropping the wooden stick in the process. Closing your eyes to try and hid yourself, knowing fully well that it was useless.

Not being able to contain your breath anymore, you started to hyperventilate. Trying your best to get your breath under control but finding it almost impossible as it kept escaping you.

Not even realizing that the two men had turned their attention to you. Eric taking a second glance as he couldn't believe his eye. He was in complete disbelief that it was you standing right there. Eric assumed you died as well that night, seeing you there made his blood drain from his face.

As the pain in your ears started to die down, you slowly forced your eyes open. Blinking a few times before getting a clear picture as to what was going on. Seeing the two men wrestling to take control of the gun. Eric grabbing at Skank's face, trying to block his vision. Somehow Eric seemed completely fine for being just fired upon.

Was he hit at all? Was he hurt?

Panic fueling your body to run but when you looked at Eric, you knew that wasn't going to be possible.

Now you needed answers.

What was he doing here? How is he alive? How long has he been alive? A day? The whole year?

Not knowing if it was the sense of curiosity or the excitement of seeing Eric in the flesh that made your heart pound. Being completely convinced that this was all just a dream. 

Hearing another bang piercing through your ears once again, causing your body to flinch out of instinct. All this followed by a tight pressure coming from the side of your thigh. Even though it wasn’t painful, it was still enough to send your body to the cold ground. 

At first not realizing why until you began to see a pool of red liquid starting to collect underneath your leg. Knowing fully well now that you were Skank's target. Lucky for you, he has terrible aim. 

Hearing who you assumed to be Eric and Shank struggle against each other once again but you couldn't find the courage to look away from your wound.

Now feeling a strong burning sensation beginning to form on the right side of your thigh, pinpointing exactly where a bullet had ripped itself through your leg. Leaving a nickel sized hole in its place.

Quickly placing your hand on it, in an attempt to somehow ease the intense feeling that throbbed through your entire leg. Feeling a wet sticky substance slipping through your fingers.

Your body starting to jitter uncontrollably as darkness began to form around the edges of your vision. The world starting to go blurry around you.

A comforting hand suddenly resting on top of yours, causing you to jerk yourself back. Only for you to make eye contact with the worried gray eyes of Eric.

A sense of relief washing over you, a small smile resting on your lips. Quickly fading, when he applied a slight pressure to your injury, trying to stop the bleeding. Causing the pain to become more intense.

Your thoughts moving to Skank, hoping he was no longer a threat. You scanned the area, your sight landing on him running down the alleyway and disappearing as he rounded the corner of a building. Your vision starting to become more and more faint as you tried to focus.

You felt a gentle hand caressing your cheek, pulling your sight back to Eric.

"I need you to stay awake, y/n." You could hear the panic in Eric’s voice.

You tried to respond.

You wanted to tell him you were trying, that you missed him, that you loved him. Yet nothing but a slight whine came out.

The energy starting to leave your body as a dull ache started to form at the back of your head. Losing all control off your body as it went limp.

The darkness completely consuming your vision as your heart pounded.

Eventually not fighting it anymore and allowing sleep to take over as the world disappeared. The last thing you remembered was hearing Eric calling your name.

[peachy-inserts]

𝕙𝕢 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝

✉︎ request: n/a

✰warnings: none. fluff!

✎a/n: please i made myself cry over asahi during this i love him so much

➳ᴅᴀɪᴄʜɪ, ᴀꜱᴀʜɪ, ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ, ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ, ᴛᴀɴᴀᴋᴀ, ᴛꜱᴜᴋɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ, ꜱᴜɢᴀᴡᴀʀᴀ, ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ, ɴɪꜱʜɪɴᴏʏᴀ, ᴜꜱʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

✰Daichi loves to bake with you. He hopes on the pumpkin spice wagon just because it means there’s an excuse for the two of you to make something together in the kitchen, but there are times when he just wants you to feed him. He’s an absolute glutton this time of year, both for sweets and for you. Also, coffee dates! Loves taking strolls with you in the crisp fall weather and warming up with a hot drink, though one time he spilled his latte all over his lap because he was so focused on the way your nose scrunched in delight and fingers tapped against your styrofoam cup at the sweetness of the beverage that he completely missed his mouth. Of course, this only ended with you spitting your drink out all over his front and the table

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✰Asahi always makes sure you’re warm. The sudden and drastic change in weather makes his bones ache, maybe it’s because of his old soul, or maybe (as you tease him) his body just can’t keep up with its own size. When you leave the house together, he takes his time to wrap the scarf his mother knit for you around your neck with care, tucking it gently into the folds of your jacket so the scratchy yarn doesn’t irritate your skin, already dry and chapped from the cold. He’s a human radiator, though, and often goes out with as little as a sweatshirt with nothing underneath, to which you call him a hypocrite for. You know, though, that you’ll end up clinging to him against the wind while he laughs and comments on how he isn’t at all cold while you shiver under his hold

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✰Iwaizumi takes you to pick out pumpkins. He drapes his heavy tan coat over your shoulders as you stand idly with your arms crossed and tucked under each other for warmth, him taking far too long and being far too picky in his selection process. He looks like a dad with the way he insects every pumpkin, knocking on it a few times before shaking his head and moving on. You can’t help but admire the way his biceps flex as he struggles to carry the numerous pumpkins you had chosen, despite your efforts to help him. You only carve a few of them, though, and the rest are placed around them. When they rot, you break them apart to discard and jokingly mention that he should chuck the pieces at Oikawa, but he takes you a little too seriously

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✰Tanaka takes you to a corn maze. On the way there, you take a tractor ride and he lays his coat down before you sit so that the hay doesn’t poke through your jeans, although he looks panicked in doing so, and practically rips his entire outfit off in his eagerness to be a gentleman for you. The ride is faster than anticipated, though, and now missing his outermost layer, he clings to you for warmth. You get lost in the maze and end up being yelled at by an old woman for cutting through the crops, so he hoists you onto his shoulders to scout for an exit. The two of you end up speedrunning the whole maze, and you laugh hysterically while teetering back and forth and clutching the top of his head for support, stealing his beanie for yourself.

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✰Oikawa takes you on a shopping spree. You both indulge in the latest fall fashions, and although he intended to choose a few pieces for himself can’t help but search frantically for items that you’d enjoy, and that he’d certainly enjoy to see on you. He doesn’t let you leave the shopping mall without a new waist coat, one that matches his but doesn’t clash with your shoes and compliments your eyes, two pairs of boots, and a comfortable hat that you look absolutely adorable in, the cinch of it’s fabric material drawing your hair down flat beside your cheeks and accenting your nose, which he can’t go a day without peppering soft kisses onto; usually in the morning when the sun has just hit your face. He loves to see you glow like rudolph, and it’s one of his favorite features

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✰Tsukishima invites you to his family’s thanksgiving. It’s a big deal for him, who usually separates his interpersonal relationships from his home life, and although he’s flustered, does the best he can to make you feel welcomed in his house. Despite his typical cold attitude, something that you are not spared from, it’s better to be kind to you than be publicly lectured by his mother for not being courteous to you, especially when most of his family is meeting you for the first time. Not that he doesn’t mind being kind to you in the first place, but he’ll save the teasing for another day; right now, this is a test for him. When he walks you home after you’ve stuffed yourself full, he’s extremely relieved, and thanks you for coming along. You know this is a big step for him, and that it can only mean you hold a special place in his heart

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✰Sugawara learns to crochet, just for you. He stays up late watching youtube videos, and although the awkward positions he twists his hands into just to finally get a yarn over on the hook make his joints ache and cramp, he works vigilantly at making you a matching set consisting of a scarf, headband, and pair of mittens. The stitching is loose and uneven, and you can’t really tell if he actually used a pattern or not, but it’s so heartwarming and thoughtful that you simply can’t get by without wearing it at least once. The same night he presents you with this set, you go out to a haunted maze, and you’re wearing each piece proudly. He spends the whole time creeping behind you trying to get you to scream, though, with a phone in hand, and you’re reminded of his pesky duality and the tendency to wreak havoc and stroll away carelessly

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✰Bokuto takes you on a ghost trail. He takes you here with the intention of being your knight in shining armor, but you swear he’s going to break your hand with how hard he squeeze it every time there’s a particularly loud gust of wind, the kind that whispers behind your ears and rustles the trees. He’s caught off guard by its low hissing, and when a crisp red leaf falls on top of his head he yelps, hoisting you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and breaking into a run before you lower yourself and stop him in his tracks. You decide to leave, after that, and stop by the vendor at the entrance for candied apples. Hey, at least he took you with him instead of using you as a shield, right?

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✰Ushijima arranges a ride through the countryside. You clamber into the back of an old, rusted pickup truck with him, and he lets you use his hand as leverage to hop into the bed, which has been covered in hay. You pass by fields of corn, and excitedly point out every horse you see to him, and although his only response is a low hum, you can see the way he smiles softly, genuinely, at you out of the corner of your eye. You lean over the wheels a few times to get a better look at the scene, and he instinctively reaches out to steady your legs so you don’t fall over

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✰Nishinoya goes trick or treating with you. He’s planned out several routes in case someone calls him out for being so old and asking for candy, so you always have another place to go and start over. When he’s rejected too many times, he has the ingenious idea to drag Hinata along with you two and tell people that he’s your son. It doesn’t work out exactly that way, though, and you find yourself being asked if you’re really just babysitting the two. Hey, at least he got what he came for though, right?

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✰Kuroo goes apple picking with you. When you mention how they would make a good pie, he somehow ends up rambling on about the chemical properties in the pie crust you find on pinterest, and how it’s more likely to burn, how you shouldn’t add that much brown sugar, and on and on and on until you finally find something to distract him. He pulls the branches down for you, but only after you’ve hopped up towards it a few times. He pulls a twig off and uses it to smack your head, teasing you for being so short compared to him

[secondhand-trash]

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter. 

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

-

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth. 

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

-

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did. 

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two. 

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around. 

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there. 

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?” 

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes. 

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice. 

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself  

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank. 

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning. 

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

-

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes. 

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser. 

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper. 

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face. 

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric. 

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

-

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you. 

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list. 

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus. 

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

-

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.” 

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom. 

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate  conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

-

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

-

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

-

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

[yeenybeanies]

INTRO: Clayton Hess

just some quick info to clear things up: this is a world wherein humans & human-sized things exist, but also centaurs exist, & centaurs are huge. this is normal. well... semi-normal. humans and giantfolk don't tend to interact much. but!! this is my first piece with my big centaur boy clay posting here as promised! one day late smh you can find this piece and others on my patreon!

OCS | clayton hess

5,671 words

no warnings

thanks for reading!

Before the sun had even risen, there was much activity on the floor of the towering megaforest. People scrambled about at the mouth of the path leading further in, calling out to each other, distributing supplies, reigning in their horses, calming their dogs. Everyone moved with an urgent, anxious energy.

“O’Rourke! All teams are ready to depart.”

The old man, O’Rourke, lifted his eyes first to the horizon, and then to the one addressing him. His fluffy, grey eyebrows stayed fixed, knitted in a stern, stony frown. “Good. Stay ready, ladies and gentlemen. As soon as that sun rises, we’re going in.”

“You said that we had one more joining us?” The same person, a woman named Sanouk, looked to the teams of people assembled around her. “Who are they going with?”

“Yeah, he said he’d be here.” O’Rourke continued to watch the sky, noting the changing colors. The pinks and purples were gradually bleeding into oranges and yellows. Dawn was almost over. “Don’t worry about placing him. He’s gonna be going on his own.”

Sanouk eyed him skeptically. “Why? We already have one missing girl to find in this megaforest; we don’t need to lose anyone else. He could go with Team Fou––. . ..” Her words trailed off, her attention suddenly occupied with something else. First she felt it in the ground: a low rumbling, almost like a faint earthquake; then she heard it as a steadily-growing thunder.

O’Rourke shook his head and waved off her concerns. “I don’t think he’ll be getting lost. He knows these woods like the back of his hand.”

“But––but that’s–-” Sanouk tried to speak, but her rising concern over the thundering and the quaking kept cutting her off. O’Rourke could see the worry on her face, and on the faces of everyone else present, but he chose not to address it. All questions would be answered momentarily.

The disturbance sounded like a landslide. It had not only the people nervous, but the dogs and horses as well. A few high-strung beasts reared up and hollered their concern, while others fidgeted anxiously. The noise crescendoed, then abruptly quieted to a slower, rhythmic thumping. Concern in the gathering turned to confusion. Still, O’Rourke looked unbothered.

All attention snapped to a rustling in the dense foliage lining the path’s mouth. Alarmed gasps and yelps rang out as the source of the disturbance––the rustling, the rumbling, the quaking––pushed his way through the trees and stepped into view. Dogs barked, horses whinnied, and a good many people retreated several feet away from the newcomer.

The two most notable things about this newcomer were his enormous size, and his four very equine legs––and equine body from the waist down. He was a centaur. From under the wide brim of his hat, he surveyed the crowd, noting the fear in many a human and beast.

“Mr. Hess!” O’Rourke removed his hat and waved it, drawing the newcomer’s attention. “Good morning! Glad you could join us.” The old man strode forward, through the still nervous crowd.

“Morning,” the centaur said, his voice unexpectedly, and intentionally soft. He remained where he was, neither wanting to scare the crowd more, nor risk getting any of them underhoof.

O’Rourke stopped a few yards away from the centaur and turned around to face the crowd. He waved an arm up. “Everyone, this is Clayton Hess. As you can see, he’s a centaur, so be sure to keep out of his way. He’ll be helping us in searching for that little girl. Sanouk––” He beckoned the woman to step forward, which she did after some hesitation, “––if  you’ll please give him a quick rundown of the plan, then we can be on our way.”

Sanouk stared up at Clay, her mouth agape. Clay paid it no mind, being quite used to the range of emotions humans felt whenever they first saw him. He took a couple of steps backwards and slowly lowered himself onto the ground, legs tucked neatly under him, out of the way. From there, he leaned forward, arms folded behind his back.

“Morning, Miss,” he said with a polite dip of his head. “I hope I can be of some help in finding––”

“Mani Sanouk,” she interrupted, her hand extended out to him. She moved stiffly, clearly uneasy.

Clay blinked, one brow raised. This wasn’t the first time a human had offered to “shake his hand,” but it was still an unusual gesture. Not wanting to be rude, however, he brought around one hand and, moving deliberately slow, offered his pinky to meet her. “Just ‘Clay’ is fine. Pleasure to meet you.”

Sanouk went rigid at his hand’s approach, so much so that Clay could feel her tension when they made contact. She was a tough woman, though; she held onto her nerve through their “handshake,” and didn’t flinch at his retreat.

“You as well. Here’s a map that shows . . . er . . ..” As she pulled said map from her satchel, Sanouk frowned. It was a rather large map in her hands, but, to a truly behemoth being like Clay, it was no bigger than a business card. “Erm, right. Teams One and Two will be covering these sections,” she said, pointing to the marked areas. “Three and four will be covering these sections.”

Clay squinted at the map. He couldn’t quite make out all of the writing, but the marked sections were clear enough. “Understood. I’ll cover those four sections to the East.”

“Four of them?” Sanouk’s head snapped up to meet his eyes. “That is a lot of ground. Are you sure you’re going to be able to––” she paused mid-sentence, reconsidering her question and the being she was talking to. Clay allowed himself some amusement and a faint smile.

“I might be able to cover more, depending on when and where we’re rendezvousing.”

“Right . . .. Right. Okay.” She looked back down to the map and pointed to a river bend. “We will all meet back at this bend in Joyelette’s River at noon. That will give each team about five hours to search their sections. Do you know who we are looking for?”

“I do,” the centaur said with a nod. “O’Rourke printed me a picture and gave me all the information I needed.”

Sanouk returned the nod and stowed her map once more. “Then we are good to start.”

Clay gave the woman a moment to step back, then pushed himself off of the ground and rose to his full, towering height. “I’ll head out first. Best of luck to all of you. Let’s find this girl.” He tipped his hat to the crowd, then turned and started off on the trail into the giant forest. Once he was several yards away, he could hear the other groups slowly filtering in behind him. Their horses and dogs still made nervous noises, but he figured they’d calm once he was out of sight.

It was always interesting to see how humans and animals that had never encountered a centaur before reacted to him.

                                                                        – – –

By ten o’clock, the forest had changed dramatically. The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the landscape below. It was hot and humid, almost muggy. Birds swooped around Clay’s head, snatching up insects from the tiny swarm that he’d accumulated. While most of the insects were too small to actually bother him, there were still the occasional few that managed to make a nuisance of themselves. They had his ears flicking, his tail swishing. He lamented silently to himself for not bringing some sort of repellant.

“Pauline!” he called, his voice echoing amongst the trees. He tempered his yell, not wanting to scare the girl, but wanting to be heard, should she be around. “Pauline Kelly! Are you there?”

Silence. Clay sighed, his ears drooping momentarily. This wasn’t his first rescue mission, nor would it be his last; he was familiar with the monotony and the frustrating silence after every call.

Sometimes the missing person was found. Sometimes they weren’t.

He hoped, for this little girl’s sake, she would be found. It wasn’t just exposure that could kill out here. Megaforests were not meant for humans, let alone for human children. Like the massive trees and the greenery, the fauna in here were gargantuan in their own right. Most of the larger creatures wouldn’t pay mind to a human; it was the smaller ones––relatively speaking––that worried Clay more.

Clay stopped in his tracks, stiff, ears pricked. A scream. A scream broke the silence.

“Pauline? Pauline!” The centaur called out. “Pauline, can you hear me?”

“Help!”

There! Clay’s head snapped in the direction of the scream. Turning quick on his hooves, he leapt into a gallop. “Pauline! I’m coming!” From the sounds of things, she couldn’t be too far away. He raced through the foliage, running so fast that he might as well have been flying. The girl screamed again, making the centaur skid to a halt and reassess his direction. He looked around desperately, feeling his anxiety rising.

There!

Atop a fallen log, a bear-sized, reptilian creature dug at the rotting wood with its claws. Another scream rang out, a little muffled. Clay gritted his teeth and rushed the lizard. Upon spotting him, it puffed up and hissed, but its threats were no match for his own. He halted before the log and reared up on his hind legs, forehooves kicking, promising something far deadlier than anything it could offer in return. Fighting a full-grown centaur was not worth whatever meal it could have made of the girl. It quickly deflated and skittered away, nearly losing its footing in its haste to avoid Clay’s punishment. Only once it disappeared into the underbrush and vanished from all his senses did Clay turn his eyes to the log, his expression softening.

“Pauline?” Carefully he approached the log, ears angled towards it. Quiet sniffles and whimpers came from within. Clay rested a hand atop the log and peered in through the hole the lizard was digging at. There, backed into a little nook, sat the girl from the picture––the girl they were all looking for. Dirt caked her skin, and her clothes looked torn. He couldn’t see much else of her physical state, but she was alive. Relief overcame the centaur.

Unfortunately, that relief was short-lived. The girl, upon looking up and seeing Clay’s massive face staring down at her, let out an ear-splitting shriek. Clay flinched, ears swiveling backwards to try and dampen the noise. His hands shot up in a placating gesture, though it only made the girl scream again.

“Miss Pauline––please! I’m here to help you. If you could just come out––awh––!”

The girl scrambled out of view. Clay bit back a frustrated groan and tried to catch sight of her again. From the sounds of things, she was crawling deeper into the log.

By the skies, it would have been better if one of the human groups had found her. She was, understandably, terrified of him. It was going to be a challenge to get her out of the log. He could tear it open, but that would just scare the little one even more, and could potentially harm her. He’d save that as a last resort.

Clay sighed. He rubbed his temples, digging under his hat. With a heavy thud, the centaur sat down on his haunches. He figured he might be here for a while.

“I know you’re scared, dearheart. You’ve been in this forest for two days, probably seen some frightening critters like that lizard. Probably hungry n’ thirsty. Tired too.” He opted not to say as much, but Clay figured that the girl would not have survived another night in the megaforest. She was lucky to have made it this long.

“My name’s Clay,” he continued. He kept his voice soft, hoping that he might be able to soothe her. “I know I’m big, and I’m kinda scary-looking, like everything else in these woods. But your Ma and Pa––Mr. Marty and Mrs. Lana Kelly––they’re both real’ worried about you. They sent me and a bunch of other people out here to look for you.”

The sniffling was softer now. Clay had to strain his hearing to catch it. He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign. He listened, silently willing the girl to give him something––any sort of sign that he was getting somewhere with her.

“Y-you… know my mom and dad?” came the small voice after a long silence. Clay’s ears flicked up. Oh, in this moment, her voice was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

“Er––yes. I know them.” Or rather, he knew of them. It didn’t matter right now. “They’ve got a whole lot of us combing these woods for you, Miss Pauline. They miss you bunches, want you to come home.”

The girl went silent again, much to Clay’s alarm. He stood up again and tried to spot her within the log. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at her the first time; he could only guess her condition. Was she injured? Had he been too late in chasing off that lizard? He couldn’t smell any blood, but maybe–––

Wait. The girl was on the move again, picking her way through the log’s hollow interior. Clay followed the sound with ears and eyes as she climbed down towards the lower end. Though he was tempted to meet her down there, he decided that it was best to remain still and let her come to him.

Hopefully she wouldn’t run when she saw him.

Once she reached the opening at the bottom––likely the same opening she’d entered the log through––Pauline timidly peeked around the jagged wood. Wide eyes first found the centaur’s giant hooves, then followed up his forelegs, his torso, and way, way up to his face, where he stared right back down at her. She shrank away upon meeting his gaze, but didn’t break eye contact. Clay felt a pang in his hearts.

“That’s it, dearheart,” he said, his voice as soft as he could manage without outright whispering. “You’re so brave. Can you come a little closer so I can see you better?”

Pauline shook her head quickly. It didn’t surprise Clay.

“Okay… that’s fine. I’m gonna sit down, alright? Don’t go nowhere.” He waited a moment for a response, and continued on when he got none. Slowly, and keeping his hands where the girl could see them, Clay got down onto his foreknees, and then dropped his hocks. The girl flinched, but didn’t run.

“Alright now. I know you’re scared, little one. I understand. But I promise, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Pauline just continued to stare up at him. Sitting down did cut nearly a third of his height, but Clay still towered a good sixty feet over the girl. He did his best not to loom, impossible as it was.

He told her more about himself, about how he’d come into these woods many times to find lost humans, about how he liked to grow fruits and raise bees. He asked her some questions, too––some of which she even answered. Some of them, he already knew the answers too. Pauline Kelly was seven years old, an older sister, and she’d just had a birthday when she went missing. What he learned was that her favorite color was blue––like the color of his shirt, she liked to fingerpaint, and she thought his hair was pretty. That last point, wholly unprompted, caught the centaur off-guard.

“You like my hair?”

Pauline nodded. “Mhm.” She looked a little less scared now, and stood where Clay could better see her. Thankfully, save for some minor scrapes and bruises, she looked unharmed.

Clay pushed his hat backwards off his head, letting it fall and catch on the string around his neck. Black and grey locks spiked out at odd angles, only partially tamed with a swipe of his hand.

“You wanna touch it?”

His offer had the girl pause. She regarded him nervously, looking between his face, his hair, his hands, and… down at his tail. Clay followed her gaze. That could be a good first step. She could reach his tail on her own. He swished it around so the long hair, the same black and grey as was on his head, was closer, and more in his view.

“Go on ahead. I won’t move none,” he encouraged. Pauline hesitated, clearly debating with herself. Eventually, her curiosity won the debate. Though she remained wary of Clay, glancing up at him every other second, she shuffled out from the log’s shelter. She gave him a wide berth as she circled over to his tail. Even when she stood a mere foot from him, she paused. An approving nod from Clay granted her the last bit of encouragement she needed to sit down on her knees and run her hands over the dark locks.

Clay’s tail was kempt, for a farmer. He combed it and kept it neatly trimmed without sacrificing its purpose. Even still, the hair was coarse and wiry, as was the case with all centaur tails and manes. That didn’t seem to bother Pauline, though. She rubbed chunks of hair between her hands, combed her fingers through it, and even twisted a few locks into tiny braids. Then she stood up and moved closer to his hind hoof––the white-socked one. Clay watched her carefully, but remained still, wanting neither to spook her nor hurt her. She knocked her little fists against the tough, cream nail, and then the metal shoe underneath.

“Did this hurt?” She asked. For the moment, there was more wonder in her eyes than fear.

“Hm? The shoe? Naw, that didn’t hurt none. Barely felt it when I had them put in.”

Pauline moved on from the hoof and dared to step even closer, right up to his side. Clay leaned over to better keep an eye on her. She dusted her hands––what a polite girl––and raised them to feel the short, tan fur along his flank. It too was pretty coarse, though it was a bit softer than his tail.

“It’s a lot softer up here,” Clay offered, startling the girl. Her head whipped up to meet his gaze. She looked a little bewildered, as though she’d forgotten that he was alive and present. He pointed to his head of hair. “Softest you’ll find on a centaur. And I take real’ good care of mine.” He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Immediately, the girl’s nervousness returned. “Um…”

Clay twisted his upper body to better face her. He brought one hand down to the ground a few feet away from her, palm up, fingers flat. “Promise I won’t hurt you, Miss Pauline.”

She stared at his hand, once again debating with herself. Clay waited patiently, watching her, willing to accept if she didn’t want to come to him immediately. They still had another hour or so before the rendezvous at the river. So long as no danger came along, he would use that time to gain her trust. It’d make things easier for the both of them. The girl deserved to feel safe after two days of being lost in a megaforest.

With an understandable amount of hesitancy, Pauline drew nearer to Clay’s hand. Like she had his tail and his hoof, she first inspected it. Next to him, the girl was miniscule. From fingertip to wrist, his hand was longer than most humans were tall. With her, his pinky finger exceeded her in height. She gave the pad of his index finger an experimental prod, and flinched when it twitched in response. Clay offered a quick apology. It seemed to reassure her, if only a little. She put her hands to his finger again, feeling over the whorls and the callouses. Clays hands, though gentle, were not soft. They were the hands of a working man, rough and weathered..

It took the girl a few more minutes of touching and feeling, and a little bit more encouragement from Clay, before she felt confident enough to step up onto his hand. She took a few unsteady steps over his fingers, finding it a little unusual and difficult to walk on such a squishy surface. Where his fingers met his palm, she lost her balance and fell onto her knees with a yelp. Clay fought back the urge to cup his hand around her.

“You’re okay, dearheart. Why don’t you sit down in the middle right there, hunh? Get yourself comfortable.”

Pauline, finding that to be a good idea, did as told and sat herself cross-legged in the center of his palm. She planted her hands to either side of her for balance. Smart girl. Once she settled, his fingers curled in around her, not enough to enclose her, but to make a barrier to keep her from falling. She sat in nervous silence, glancing at her surroundings. Slowly, carefully, Clay lifted his hand from the ground. The girl tensed, but made no sound as he brought her up to eye level. It was even more obvious now how small she was compared to him.

Up close, Clay could get a better look at her. Her clothes were dirty and torn in places, she had a layer of dirt and mud caking her skin, and her arms and legs had a good many abrasions. Overall, though, she looked fine. Stressed and ready to get home to her parents, but fine.

Her sniffling snapped Clay out of his silent observation. He blinked twice and regarded the girl inquisitively. She’d begun shaking in his hand, and little tears pooled in her eyes.

“Now now, Miss Pauline. You’ve gotten this far. You can be brave for a bit longer.” A warm smile spread across his lips. She was a cute little girl. Tough, too. If she weren’t so terrified, the centaur might have given her a little nuzzle. Instead, though, he’d give her what she was promised for her bravery. Clay brought the girl closer and tipped his head forward, letting his forelocks hang closer to her. He closed his eyes, hoping that it might make the girl more comfortable. Once all stopped moving, Pauline stood up, still a bit shaky. She reached out to the long strands, taking a handful and filtering it through her fingers. Clay had not been lying; the hair on his head was much softer than that on his tail or his fur. Pauline was immediately enraptured. She ran her hands through it, rubbed a lock to her cheek, fluffed it and smoothed it again. She took a chunk and loosely braided it, giggling softly. Clay was content to let her do as she pleased. He was surprised, though, when she moved closer and ran a hand over his eyebrow. Said eyebrow twitched, then joined its counterpart in a furrow.

“What are you doing, little one?” He spoke not with any accusation, but rather kind amusement.

“You’re missing hair on this one,” she said, touching his right brow. Clay opened his eyes, but she was too close for him to focus on. His eyelashes brushed her arms, drawing another giggle from her.

“Yep. Got a cut a long, long time ago, and the hair never grew back.” His smile widened. A child’s wonder was a marvelous thing to see. To be the object of that wonder was, in a way, flattering. After everything this girl had been through over the past couple of days, she deserved some happiness.

“Could I please touch your beard?” she asked. Wordlessly, Clay obliged. He tipped his head back, lifting his chin so she could reach it. With far less hesitation than before, the girl pushed her hands into the shorter hair. It wasn’t as soft as the hair on his head, but still softer than his tail. It tickled her palms as she rubbed along his chin and jaw.

Clay glanced up at the sky, noting the sun’s position. There was still time, but noon was approaching.

“Dearheart,” he said, gently pulling his head back so he could better regard her. “I’d love to let you braid my hair all day, but I think it’s time I got you back to your parents.”

The girl’s eyes lit up, as if she’d suddenly remembered why Clay was here at all. She nodded eagerly.

Warmth filled Clay’s chest. He reached with his middle finger to give her a gentle pat to the head. “Sit down now, just like before. I’ll take you to them.” Obediently, she did as told and returned to her previous spot. Clay pulled his hat back onto his head, then cupped his free hand next to his occupied one for extra security. “Hold on, now. This might be a bit bumpy.”

That was putting it lightly. A centaur standing up was a rocky ride. He lurched as his hooves found footing under him, making the girl yelp and grab onto his pinky. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped harder when she was suddenly lifted even higher into the air.

“It’s alright, Miss Pauline,” Clay said. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, though she kept her eyes closed.

Standing up was the rough part. Clay, like most centaurs, could keep his upper body steady through a full gallop. While walking, the worst Pauline had to endure was a little bit of easy swaying. He periodically glanced down at her as he picked his way through the forest, happy to see that most of her fear was gone. She looked around at the giant trees and bushes with a new sense of awe. From up here, things didn’t look quite so daunting. The fact that no predators could reach her provided a great deal of comfort too.

With comfort came confidence. The girl started asking questions about the forest, about Clay, about centaurs and other large creatures. Clay indulged her curiosity as best he could. Having lived with these woods his whole life, he was something of an expert. Were they not on a bit of a time constraint, he would have been happy to stop and show her some of the things he talked about, like the bright mushrooms or the abandoned bird nests.

Clay could smell the river before he could see it. He could hear it, too, as they drew closer. Over the sound of its flowing, he could hear some voices, too––human voices. Dogs barking greeted him first as the animals sensed his approach. He paid them no mind, nor the startled noises of the humans as he pushed through the trees and into the path that ran perpendicular to the river.

“Mr. Hess!” said a familiar voice. Sanouk waved to him, and he nodded in return.

“Afternoon, Miss Sanouk.” The centaur stopped a few yards away from the group of humans, both for courtesy and safety’s sake. He curled his fingers again to keep his charge secure as he once more lowered himself down to the ground. “I believe I’ve found who we were looking for.”

Sanouk eyed him curiously, then looked to his cupped hands. Her expression morphed from confused to elated. “You found her?” The rest of the group perked up at the news too.

Clay nodded and turned his attention to the girl in his hands. “Miss Pauline, these people were out here looking for you too. They’re real’ nice. I’m sure they’ve got some snacks and water they’d be happy to share with you.”

Pauline looked uncertain, but the mention of food and water brightened her mood. Clay brought his hands down to the ground and flattened his fingers. A few of the other humans cheered and whooped their joy. Sanouk looked ready to cry. She took a knee and held her arms out to the girl.

“Come here, child. Come get something to eat and drink. Your parents will be here soon.” She beckoned with her hands.

Pauline looked back to Clay, who gave her an encouraging nod, then she scampered out of his hands and ran into Sanouk’s arms. The woman embraced her tightly. She mouthed a word of thanks to Clay, then lifted the girl up and carried her to the crowd, many of whom already had water and food to offer. Clay straightened and crossed his arms, satisfied that the girl was now safe.

A few humans broke from the group to thank Clay for finding the girl. He humbly shrugged off their thanks, saying that they were all out here looking for her. Any one of them would have brought her back if they’d found her. He was just the lucky one. Still, it was nice to see that at least some of the humans were warming up to him.

Over the next half hour, the other groups filtered in. The Kellys were part of the last group to arrive. Pauline spotted her mother before either parent could receive the news. “Mama!” she yelled, startling the whole group. Both parents looked up, bewildered, to see their daughter sprinting towards them. Their knees hit the ground, arms outstretched, and cocooned the girl in a long-overdue embrace. A chorus of sniffles and relieved sighs echoed throughout the whole group. Clay looked away, not wanting to intrude on a personal moment. He was just happy to see the Kellys reunited.

After a few minutes, approaching footsteps drew the centaur’s attention back. Ears pricked, he turned his head to see O’Rourke walking his way. The old man wore a grin as wide as his face.

“I’m told you’re the one that found her.”

Clay dipped his head once. “Out in section six. Got to her just in time, too. Found her in a log with a lizard trying to get at her, the poor thing.”

O’Rourke raised a fuzzy brow. “Have any trouble catching her?”

“No, not really. I let her come to me. Figured she’d been through enough; she didn’t need me grabbing for her and scaring her more.” He lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. His pinky caught on one of the braids the girl had left there. It brought a fond smile to his lips. “She okay? Didn’t look too banged up to me, but I’m no doctor. Certainly not no human doctor.”

“She’s fine,” O’Rourke said with a wave. “Better now that she’s back with her family. Thank you, Clay, for coming out today. We wouldn’t have found her without you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Clay said.

“I do. Don’t be so modest. You saved that girl’s life today,” the old man insisted.

Clay was ready to retort, feeling a little indignant with his modesty being challenged, but he paused when he spotted others approaching. O’Rourke followed his gaze to the Kellys, Marty and Lana, heading over. Pauline was held in her mother’s arms, clutching a snack bar that she eagerly munched on. They stopped next to O’Rourke, who gave the father a firm pat on the shoulder before he departed.

The father spoke first. “Mr. Hess…?”

“Clay,” he corrected.

“Clay…” he repeated, clearly uneasy. “I––we wanted to thank you for finding our daughter. We knew that if we didn’t find her today, she might…” he trailed off as his voice started to shake, and swallowed thickly.

Clay shrugged humbly. “No need to thank me, Mr. Kelly. I’m just happy I could help. Happy to see her safe.”

“You saved her life,” the mother said. She looked less afraid than her spouse, like her strength and courage returned with her child. “You’ve done us a great service. How could we ever repay you?”

Clay frowned. These humans didn’t listen, did they? It must be their tiny ears. He shook his head. “I don’t need repayment. A child was lost, and I helped find her. I just did what any decent man would do.”

“But––”

He waved a hand, cutting off any rebuttal. “You wanna repay me? You take that girl home, get her cleaned up and healthy again. You take care of her and raise her well. That’s plenty reward for me.”

The parents stared up at him, clearly feeling contrary. Before they could say anything, though, Pauline started to squirm and protest the hold she was in. Once mother reluctantly set her down, the girl ran towards Clay. She beamed up at him, arms held over her head. The centaur went still, going so far as to halt his breathing.

“Clay!” the girl called, waving her hands. There was no trace of her previous fear.

Clay allowed himself a breath and a smile. “Yes, dearheart?” She pointed to his hands. Now it was his turn to be hesitant, but he did still oblige the child. He lowered a hand for her, offering her his forefinger. She latched onto it, hugging as tightly as she could. The gesture filled his hearts with a warmth he didn’t often experience.

“Now now, don’t go getting all sappy on me,” he chided gently. He couldn’t return the hug, but he could allow her to hold on for as long as she wanted. Her parents followed behind, both resting a hand on his knuckles.

“Thank you, Clay,” the father repeated.

The centaur shook his head. “It was my pleasure.”

Pauline held on for another minute before her mother coaxed her away. Clay pulled his hand back, still aware of the little warm spot where she’d held him. He gave the family a wave as they retreated back to the crowd, no doubt ready to head home and tend to their daughter.

Clay didn’t stick around much longer. There was nothing left for him to do here. The girl was safe. The family was whole. He was happy. With all humans a safe distance away, the centaur gathered himself up to his feet, tipped his hat farewell to the crowd, and turned to the forest to head home.

He could celebrate the day on his own with a bottle of his homemade cider.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Snow Covered Lashes

A/n:  so this is my first ever “collab” and I'm so excitteddddddddd! i hope you guys like this and enjoy! 

Tag List: @woodiegochile​ @mini-meanhoe​ @leggomylino​ @hanstagrams​ @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @jeonqqin​ @geminirules​ @crscendoforsung​ @mrsunshine999​ @jisungsjheekies​ @hannie-squirrel00​ @cotccotc​ @kodzu-ken​ @konenichi​ @yangs-jeongin​ @binniebutter​ @orangegyu​ @skzwriternet​

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary:  There's a common saying that whoever you connect eyes with during the first snow, you are destined to spend forever with.

A Christmas tree needs to be bought for your apartment and you have drawn the short straw. Sans your roommate you head out to a local Christmas tree farm to pick out the perfect Christmas tree to brighten up your home with holiday spirit. Fate may have a different plan for you. 

Genre: fluff, meet-cute, winter themed, stangers to lovers au

❅

The clunky door of your rundown car shut behind you as you exited the vehicle. Two weeks before Christmas and there was still no tree in your apartment. Days ago your roommate had promised to get one, but to no one’s surprise they didn’t follow through. 

After searching for an hour you finally found a Christmas tree farm that was still stocked and open. Before you even left the parking lot the sweet strong smell of the timber embraced you. Taking a deep breath you walked through the cold and to the entrance of the farm. The proprietor greeted you with a smile and welcomed you. 

The evergreen trees were propped up in rows creating almost a labyrinth to get lost in. The mulch crunched under your boots as you wandered between the tall giants. While you would love nothing more than to buy the biggest tree here and bring it home, none of these would fit in your small apartment without breaking through the ceiling. You were surprised to see so much greenery left in stock this close to the holidays. 

Ironically, you felt like Goldilocks searching through the rows for the tree that was just right. But, you were determined to leave with a tree even if you had to cut one down yourself. 

You brushed your fingers over the pointy fronds of a tree, trying to imagine it fitting in your living room. Each time you breathed in the brisk smell of the cold mixed with the branches settled in your chest. Each time you breathed out a puff of warm air escaped like a billowing cloud of smoke. 

“Remind me again why we have to get a real tree?” A deep voice said from the other end of the row. Turning, you found a group of four boys rounding the corner. The one with red hair responded.

“Because, it smells nice and there is no room to store a fake one.”

One of the older looking boys huffed, rolling his eyes. “Chan, it’s going to shed everywhere. There will be needles all over the practice room for weeks!” Your eyes fell on the tallest of the group. He was certainly one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. 

His brown hair, looked soft and blew gently in the winter wind. His long fingers shoved themselves into the tan coat he wore. A scarf was loosely wrapped around his neck and his nose was turning pink at the end. He reminded you of a puppy, long legs moving side to side to keep warm. 

“Seungmin, what are you looking at?” The deep voice asked. Shockingly, it came from the smallest boy, with a happy pixie-like face and freckles across his cheeks and almost white blonde hair. 

The handsome boy, Seungmin, had stopped moving and was staring down the row. Turning around, you attempted to find what he was looking at only to find nothing behind you. Was he looking at you?

Pulling your knit hat securely over your burning ears you shook your head and ventured down the next row. “You are here for a Christmas tree. Not attractive boys. Get your priorities straight.” You softly scolded yourself. 

“HEY! GIMME BACK MY HOT CHOCOLATE!” The deep voice shouted from  over the wall of trees. Minding your own business you continued your search and paid the rowdy boys no mind. 

A tap on your shoulder paused your quest for the perfect tree. “Ummm....hi,” Your eyes widened as you turned and found the tall boy behind you. Not only was his voice sweeter than you could ever imagine, but up close his features were even more striking. “You don’t know me....and this might be creepy or serial killer like.....but um...do you want some hot chocolate?”

Looking down, you saw a to-go cup in his hands. Steam rose from the small opening in the lid. You pointed to the vessel before looking up at the boys hopeful eyes.

“Had I not just heard the screaming complaint of your friend, yes that would be a very serial killer move on your part.”

Your fingers brushed over his as you took the cup from his hands. A nervous laugh left his lips and he brushed over the back of his neck. “Sorry, you just looked cold. Felix didn’t drink from it and to be honest, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The heat in your ears was returning and now spreading quickly to your cheeks. “I’m Y/n.” He smiled hearing your name and his grin grew bigger as you stuck out your hand for him to shake. 

“Seungmin.”

His long fingers wrapped around yours, sending a warm tingling feeling all the way up your arm. “Have you found a tree yet?” You questioned, beginning to walk down the row, Seungmin following very closely behind. You could practically feel his body heat right next to you. 

“Chan will probably pick the biggest one we can possibly fit in our practice room without us getting yelled at.”

“Practice room?”

“Oh,” Seungmin looked at his feet, a bright smile still on his lips. His hands were pushed deep into his coat pockets. “Um....I’m actually an idol. Those are some of my members back there.” 

Your brow quirked up and a mischevious smile played at the corner of your mouth. “Really? Prove it. Sing something for me!” Seungmin laughed and looked around before coming to the conclusion you were alone. He took a breath before a soft melody left his lips with a smile. 

“Last Christmas I gave you my heart. And the very next day you gave it away. This year to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.”

The way Seungmin sang, felt like it was just for you. “Okay, I believe you.” It was your turn to look down at the ground in hopes of hiding the deep red flushing your cheeks. The singer leaned down to see your face, before standing back up and walking a few steps ahead of you. 

“You’re cute when you blush.”

Catching your lip between your teeth you shuffled to catch up to him, shoulder brushing up against his arm. Just as you were about to speak again, something cold floated down onto your nose. Halting your steps your eyes looked down, unintentionally crossing to see what had lighted upon your skin. Seungmin giggled at your cute expression and brushed away what you saw to be a snowflake.

“Snow?” You questioned, looking up at the sky. 

As if you said the magic word, hundreds of soft snow flurries drifted down from the sky. White flecks floated down to rest on Seungmin’s brown tresses. Your eyes locked and you couldn’t help but think that this was a sign from the universe that Seungmin was someone special to you. 

Hesitantly, the handsome boy raised his hand. “Close your eyes,” Smiling, you did as he asked and waited for what he was going to do next. A gentle touch on your eye lids surprised you, but you didn’t pull away. When the feeling retreated, you opened your eyes to find Seungmin with a shy smile on his face. 

“Sorry....you had snow on your eyelashes.”

You watched him stare timidly at the ground, which was slowly collecting snowflakes. “I thought you were going to kiss me,” You whispered before sipping on the warm sweet beverage.

“I wouldn't do that. Not unless you asked me to.”

“What if I asked you to?”

It was Seungmin’s turn to blush and he shyly adjusted the scarf around his neck. He stepped closer, clearly nervous. Your heart was beating faster at how cute he was being. The boy leaned down and softly pressed his lips to your cheek. If he had moved only a little, your lips would meet his. 

The two of you stood facing each other for a moment, both completely frozen from the innocent kiss that had just occurred. Both his and your cheeks were flaming red and you struggled to find any words. All you could do was smile and take another sip from the chocolate liquid confection. 

With an anxious laugh, Seungmin finally spoke. “So...uh...can I help you pick out a tree?” He asked as the snow around you continued to fall, catching on both of your forms. 

“If you let me take you out to lunch after.”

Seungmin looked up, pretending to think. A tight lipped, but genuine smile lay on his face. “That’s a tough deal. But, I think I’ll take it.” He lifted his hand from the warmth of his coat pocket and reached for your own. Your stomach did flips as his long slender fingers laced themselves with yours. “Let’s find you a Christmas tree!” 

❅

Masterlist

[openheartthot]

All I Want for Christmas

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 1,636

Warnings/Rating: T, some mentions of light sexual activity 

Summary: The evolution of Ethan and Camille’s relationship from one Christmas to the next. 

***

I’ve been having such a hard time writing lately, but I love the Christmas season so much I had to do something haha. I hope you all have the most wonderful holiday season :) 

intern year

Ethan stands by the window in his office, staring out in idle contemplation. By this time on Christmas Eve, most of the non-emergent hospital staff have already left. They’ve gone home to their families and friends, to their bright Christmas trees and rooms full of laughter. 

Part of Ethan is glad to be left alone. At least now he can try to make some progress on Naveen’s case. But some other part of him keeps him rooted to his spot by the window, unable to look away. 

The sun has long since set, and the only light in the snow-covered city comes from the soft yellow glow of the streetlights. There aren’t many people out, save for a few commuters heading towards the train. 

Inadvertently, Ethan finds his gaze lingering on a couple, who walk arm-in-arm through the flurrying snow. There’s something about the easy closeness of their bodies, the way the man’s arm curls around the woman’s waist… 

His hand rises to the window, unbidden, and he touches the frosty glass with his index finger, the couple’s merriment seeming to call to him from outside his quiet office. 

A hesitant knock on the door shakes him from his reverie. Ethan drops his hand from the window and turns on his heel, startled by the interruption so late in the evening. 

“Dr. Ramsey?” 

It’s Camille. Of course. She’s the only person brave enough to enter his office without an invitation. 

She’s dressed for the snow in a puffy coat and gloves. Her blonde hair curls over her scarf like a golden halo. It’s clear that Ethan’s office is her last stop before she leaves for the night. 

Ethan’s voice sticks in his throat, unsure of what to say. Things have been immeasurably awkward between them since his lapse in judgment in Miami. Whenever he sees her, all he can think about is the softness of her lips on his, of the thundering of her heart against his palm. 

“I, uh, have something for you.” Camille says, breaking the tense silence. She presents a green gift bag, filled with red tissue paper, taking a few steps forward and pushing it into Ethan’s hands. 

For a moment, she hesitates in front of him, but Ethan stares at the bag  in bemusement. The silence stretches once more, until Camille flushes pink, and turns abruptly to leave. 

Before Ethan is entirely conscious of his movement, his hand reaches out and closes gently around her wrist. Her breath catches, and her wide green eyes look at him expectantly. Ethan swallows hard. 

“I apologize, I didn’t think to get you anything.” He says truthfully. Christmas gifts rank very low on his list of priorities, lower still a gift for an intern.

“Don’t worry about it.” Camille insists, the pink blush creeping down her neck. Ethan's eyes follow the rosy bloom, longing to press his lips to her smooth skin. 

“I’m broke, so it’s not much.” Camille explains, gesturing to the gift bag. “It’s just something I make for my friends...and my bosses, sometimes.” She adds the last part hastily, avoiding his eyes. 

Overcome by a strange curiosity, Ethan reaches into the bag, brushing aside the tissue paper until his hand brushes something soft. He pulls out a simple gray scarf, and his fingers run over the pattern. 

“You knit?” He asks, his voice inexplicably gravelly. Impulsively, he winds the scarf around his neck, his throat tightening at the thought of Camille’s handiwork pressed against him. 

Her eyes dart to the scarf, and she takes a step closer, reaching up to straighten it. Ethan shivers as her glove brushes the underside of his jaw. He finds himself wishing desperately it had been her bare skin. 

“I crochet.” she corrects, avoiding eye-contact and focusing her gaze on her hands as she carefully tucks the scarf around his neck. Her hands pause, and her brow furrows. 

“I didn’t know your middle initial, or I would’ve included it.” 

Confused, Ethan looks down to find Camille touching the tail end of the scarf, just above the fringe, where the letters E.R. are embroidered in blue thread. 

Ethan touches the initials too, hearing Camille gasp quietly as his fingers brush hers. He doesn’t pull away, and when she looks up at him with a searching expression, Ethan realizes just how close together they are. 

“There’s also a scarf for Naveen in the bag.” Camille blurts out. “And a bone for Jenner, I just thought--” 

“Thank you,” Ethan interrupts her, and his other hand finds her waist as his head dips down. Camille’s lips part in expectation, and the warmth of her breath on his cheek sends a wave of longing through him. 

Ethan wants nothing more than to close the distance between them, to claim her lips and never let her go. His grip on her waist tightens, his fingers flexing as he fights against his instincts. He catches himself before their lips meet, but he can’t quite make himself pull away.

“I can’t.” Ethan whispers, and Camille’s eyes cloud with disappointment. She slides her hand out from under his, and takes a step back. 

“Merry Christmas,” she says quietly before reaching for the doorknob.

Ethan wishes he could call her back. He wishes desperately that they could be close enough to know each other’s middle names and exchange presents under a Christmas tree. He wishes they could hold hands in the snow and spend Christmas Eve together somewhere other than his office.

But for the sake of her career, he lets the door swing shut behind her. 

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Prescott.” Ethan murmurs to his empty office. 

***

one year later

“Hey, you.” 

Ethan glances up from his laptop, a smile already tugging at his lips at the mere sound of her voice. 

“You look ridiculous.” Ethan says, raking his gaze over Camille’s oversized green sweater and the Santa hat perched atop her blonde hair. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that getup at work.” 

“The kids in the pediatric ward loved it, and I think I look festive.” Camille gives a little shimmy, and Ethan’s eyes lock onto the movement of her chest, his mouth going just a tiny bit dry. 

“You look like an oversized elf.” Ethan snorts, but he can’t stop himself from reaching for her. His hands close around her hips, and he pulls her against him, fighting against the sudden urge to slide his hands under her ugly sweater. 

“Elves are sexy. Haven’t you ever watched Lord of the Rings?” Camille teases with a smirk. Ethan quirks an eyebrow at her, knowing fully well that she hates fantasy movies. “Okay, I haven’t seen it either. But Orlando Bloom is hot.” 

“Oh, is he?” Ethan growls, backing Camille against his desk and lowering his head to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck. She gasps, tilting her head back and granting him further access. 

She smells like peppermint, and Ethan groans as his lips rove across the column of her neck. He lifts her with ease to sit on the edge of his desk, and presses his knee between her legs. He pulls back, smiling triumphantly at her slight moan.

“Okay, I take it back.” Camille whispers, grabbing the scarf around his neck and tugging him closer. “Just don’t stop.”

“Trust me, I have no intention of stopping.” Ethan murmurs as he trails kisses up her neck until he reaches her mouth. She sighs as Ethan parts her lips with his tongue, cupping her chin in his hand. 

Her hands spread across his chest, and Ethan’s muscles flex under her touch. His mind seems to fog over as Camille’s thighs lock around his waist, and he hardens at the friction of her hips against his. 

“Wait…” Camille pulls back with obvious difficulty. “I know I told you not to stop, but we should go. Someone might see us.” She casts a pointed look at the glass walls of the office. 

“This late? On Christmas Eve?” Ethan snorts. “I think it’s safe to do as we please.” He slides his hands up the back of Camille’s sweater, and she shivers at the warmth of his palms spread over her back.

“A tempting offer, Dr. Ramsey,” Camille says with a flirtatious grin. “But we have to leave now or we’ll be late for Bryce’s Christmas party.” 

“For the record, I would much rather ravish you on my desk than attend the Scalpel Jockey’s party.” Ethan mutters. 

“Come on.” Camille slides off his desk and Ethan begrudgingly helps her into her coat, tenderly brushing her hair out of the way. 

They hold hands all the way from his office to the empty lobby of the hospital. There’s something deliciously freeing about the knowledge that they’d still be holding hands even if they weren’t alone. 

Camille shivers as they step out of the hospital and into the snowy Boston night. Instinctively, Ethan wraps an arm around her, pulling her snugly against his side. 

“I feel terrible that I didn’t get you a present.” Camille pouts as they trudge through the snow towards Ethan’s car. “We’ve been so busy with the hospital closing…” 

“I don’t need anything.” Ethan says vehemently. “Christmas is little more than an obnoxious display of capitalism, anyway. Gifts are wholly unnecessary.” 

Camille smiles sweetly, reaching up and patting his chest with her gloved hand. 

“Then why are you wearing the scarf I gave you last year?” 

Ethan feels his demeanor soften immediately, and he smiles gently down at her. 

“The exception that proves the rule, Rookie.” 

What Ethan doesn’t say out loud is that no gift could ever make him as happy as Camille does. That precious thought he keeps for himself as he and Camille walk arm-in-arm under the golden haze of the streetlamps towards the best Christmas Ethan has ever had. 

***

Tagging separately :)