#hurt my wrist three years ago it still hurts and it's annoying

[daily-whistlepaw]

daily whistlepaw until b becomes PoV day 685

whis with a (human) wristbrace

[latoyalestrange]

hi! i love your writing! 🖤 could you do one where sebastian is all jealous when f!mc starts spending a lot of time with another boy, seb says he’s a “bad influence” and she says something like “you taught me all three of the unforgivables seb, if you’re jealous you can admit it” just calling him out

accidentally escalated things near the end. oops?

green is for envy

s. sallow x f!reader

yes i'm using this gif again what about it

summary: you'd been friends with sebastian since your first day at hogwarts. during your seventh year, professor weasley assigns a project to complete alongside garreth, thinking you would be a good influence on him. you only thought of him as a friend, but sebastian didn't see it that way.

words: 3.1k (longest one to date oops)

warnings: aged up seb and mc, pining, jealousy, swearing, smut, unprotected sex pinv, soft!seb, virgin!reader not edited!

when professor weasley said you'd be partnered up with garreth, you were annoyed at first. he had a reputation of putting off assignments that didn't interest him. that of course wouldn't make professor weasley change your partner, so you had to persist anyway.

sebastian was distracted the entire study hall that day. you'd decided to sit with garreth instead of him, wanting to discuss the project. he sat on the opposite side of the great hall to you, your back facing him. he had a clear view of garreth as you talked. he scoffed as he saw the sly expression on the gryffindor's face.

"just look at him, trying to flirt with her. pathetic." if looks could kill, garreth would've been on the floor minutes ago. a searing scowl replaced his normally handsome eyes.

"merlin, i knew this was going to happen." ominis instantly rose out of his seat, closing his book and taking it in his arms.

"where are you going?" his tone was harsh, his mind still on you.

"i'm not going to listen to you mope about this. you've had plenty of chances." he started to take his wand out to light his way out, but sebastian placed his hand on his wrist, halting his movements. if it were anyone but sebastian or you, he would've blasted them with his wand.

"what's that supposed to mean?" his voice softened, almost sounding hurt. ominis sighed and retired his wand back to his pocket.

"i mean you've fancied her for two years and have avoided every possible opportunity to make a move. i wouldn't blame her if weasley was winning her over right now." sebastian's shoulders slumped at his words, looking more defeated than angry.

"i try flirting with her, but it doesn't seem to phase her. what am i supposed to do?" he let his head fall into his hands as he rested his elbows on the sturdy wooden table. ominis rolled his eyes dramatically and returned to his seat.

"you're oblivious, aren't you?" he asked, his voice hushed. sebastian peeked at his friend from behind his hands, his face feeling suddenly feeling warm.

"probably. to what?" ominis bit his lip, trying so hard not to laugh when he was supposed to be annoyed at him.

"she flirts back, you git. she's just not as arrogant as you, she's more shy. when she gets you little sweets from the kitchen, asks you to walk her to hogsmeade, or asks you for help on assignments, she's flirting with you." sebastian looked away for a moment, contemplating what ominis was saying.

"for merlin's sake, has she ever picked someone other than you to duel with? do you notice her doing those things for anyone else? no."

"bloody hell, ominis," he turned to face his friend and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pleading with him. "how do i fix it?" ominis rolled his eyes once more.

"send her an owl. tell her to meet you in the undercroft tonight." sebastian quirked his head to the side, expecting more.

"yes, and then what? fall to my knees and beg for her hand?"

ominis shrugged, "sure, i don't care. just don't break the couch. i like that couch." sebastian shoved him where he sat, withdrawing his hand back to his lap.

"don't speak of her like that. she's a lady." ominis stopped himself from chuckling, but his cheeks flushed a bright red as a knowing smile still shined through. "what's that face for?"

"you should hear some of the things she's said about you in confidence." sebastian's eyes went wide as his friend allowed himself to laugh. he swallowed down hard, his tie feeling much tighter than before. "don't ask, because i won't tell--"

"right, right, of course." sebastian wiped his brow with the back of his hand-- was he sweating? why was it suddenly so hot? and just his luck, you had turned around to check on your friends in that moment. you smiled sweetly at him and waved. with his jaw clenched tightly shut, he painfully waved back at you. you turned back just in time to miss garreth mocking sebastian by waving his fingers and batting his eyelashes. he didn't have the heart to fight him right now, he was already so distraught. he could've had you this entire time.

Undercroft tonight. Urgent.

S

seeing his lettering on the page made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl. maybe because you were one. you practically skipped down to the undercroft once the common room was clear and your roommate was asleep. part of you knew he was just going to ask for a favor or needed council on something, but another part of you hoped so badly that he just wanted to see you. to be in your presence.

your heart was racing as you were anticipating your answer, the door to the undercroft letting out a series of mechanical clicks as it opened. you stepped through, slowly advancing into the dimly lit room with anticipation. about half of the candles that were usually lit were put out, creating a gloomy orange hue. perhaps he wasn't there yet?

"sebastian?" you looked over the room once more, unable to spot his familiar figure. then, just as you relaxed as you knew you were alone, a pair of firm hands gripped your waist, startling you out of your skin. you gasped instinctively and forced yourself out of their grip, turning around as fast as you could. you let down your defenses as his eyes met yours.

"you have to stop doing that, sebastian. one of these days i'm going to blast you on accident." you placed your hand over your chest that was still heaving from the adrenaline. he was unphased, chuckling at the sight of you. he quickly stopped to place a comforting hand on your arm, rubbing circles with his thumb.

"okay, okay, i'm sorry." a pleased smile still remained on his face as he allowed you to regain your composure.

"you better hope that's not why you sent for me," you teased, fixing your hair slightly, which sebastian took note of.

"absolutely not." there was something behind his eyes that you were trying to decipher. something you'd never seen before. the smirk, sure, he looked at you like that every day, but you could tell that his mind was somewhere different. it made you feel like his prey as he towered over you.

"well go on then, i don't have all night." you folded your arms, but your face was anything but intimidating.

"i'll get to that in a minute. first," he took a small step towards you, his muscular hand still gently resting on the back of your arm. "how was your day? haven't seen you since you ditched me for weasley in study hall." his hand shifted upward and ghosted over your skin until it met your cheek as he delicately brushed the stray strands of your hair behind your ear. you tried to suppress the rouge that unfortunately persisted to your cheeks.

"yeah, i'm sorry about that. i was worried he was going to leave all the work for me, but he actually seems very interested in the project. he even offered to work on it after class with me this week." his hand fell to his side as he rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"of course he did." you furrowed your brow at him as he grimaced.

"what does that m--" you cut yourself off as it all started to click in your head. the lighting, the urgent letter, the attitude, everything made sense. "i can't believe it. sebastian sallow is jealous?" to your surprise, he didn't defend himself. in fact, his face was entirely confident.

"so what if i am? he's a bad influence on you."

"really, sebastian? you taught me all three unforgivable curses, the worst that he's done is procrastinate." he took a few steps forward, returning to your comfortable proximity.

"it's not what he's done, it's what he'll do. or rather, what he can't do." you found his hands palming the sides of your arms again, squeezing gently.

"yeah? and what's that?" you pushed through the sickening feeling of your stomach fluttering and looked up at him innocently, something you knew for a fact affected him. he met your gaze hungrily, then shifted down to your lips.

"there's absolutely no world in which garreth weasley can treat you better than i can." your breath stalled as he loomed over you, unable to find your words. it felt like he moved in slow motion as he brought his hand up to your cheek, palming your blushing skin. his amber eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. when he found none, he still waited for a moment, just breathing heavily with you. unable to hold back any longer, he connected your lips in a firm, but romantic kiss, tangling his fingers in your hair and letting his other hand pull you in by your waist. your arms eventually settled around his neck when he didn't pull away. he greedily snaked his arm around your back, bringing you further into him.

when you finally came up for air, he only trailed his lips further down until they were attacking the crook of your neck. you lips flushed and swollen, you still had the mind to tease him.

"is this what was so urgent, sallow?" he paused, and you could feel his devilish smile against your skin.

"maybe." he straightened his spine and composed himself a bit. "is that a problem?"

you shook your head, "not at all." you found your hands grasping at his neck and hair, desperate for contact. he obliged and pressed a gentle peck to your lips before retracting once more.

he sighed, "i want to do this right. come here." he directed you to the couch and sat opposite to you with your hands in his.

"are you sure this is what you want?" he didn't have to say it. the both of you knew exactly what was on the other's mind. you nodded softly, your doe eyes making him feel guilty for ruining such a pure thing with his touch. "i need you to say it."

"yes, sebastian, i'm sure." he returned the nod, looking as if he were going to burst at the seams if he didn't get some kind of release.

"okay," he breathed out heavily. "if you want me to stop at any point, just tell me."

he knew you were a virgin. there was no way someone had touched you and he didn't hear about it. you told him everything. so to say he was nervous was an understatement. perhaps more nervous than he was during his first time. he couldn't take something so precious and mess it up in the process. he needed this to be perfect for you.

he started with another gentle kiss while he refrained from letting his hands roam your body. you were disappointed when he stopped to fidget with the buttons on your uniform vest. he took his time, unhooking each one and licking his lips as he watched you toss it to the floor and start on your blouse underneath. he helped you shimmy out of your skirt and you were suddenly entirely exposed for him.

"lie back," he shifted, facing you as you let your head rest on the couch arm behind you. "just relax, okay?" he sensed tension in your stomach as he allowed his hands to needily search your body, wanting to memorize every dip and curve. he peppered loving kisses all down your stomach, stopping at the hem of your underwear. your skin felt like it was burning underneath his lips, sending electricity through your legs. he hooked his fingers under the band and slowly pulled down. you lifted your bottom half to aid him, your legs shaking as you did so. you felt so vulnerable as he took in the sight of your naked body. his eyes devoured you as he bit his lip desperately.

you let your gaze drift to the ceiling as he trailed kisses along the inside of your thigh, leaving purple marks with every few. you couldn't contain your voice, feeling so incredibly sensitive.

"probably never been touched like this, hm?" his mouth was still buried in the plush skin of your thighs.

you shook your head, "nuh uh." just as you answered, he dove straight into your core, gently circling your bundle of nerves. your back instantly arched into the couch and he forced your hips back down with his hands. your own clenched tightly at your sides, unsure of where you should put them. he noticed and placed them in his hair, encouraging you to grip onto the strands. you followed, using some of the pent up tension on his locks. he groaned, the vibration overwhelming you further.

"oh, sebastian!" your eyes screwed shut tightly as you tried your very best not to scream. everything felt so good, too good. your knees clenched around his face, which seemed to just encourage him. luckily, he came up for air, but only for a moment before he slowly pushed a finger into your heat that was already dripping. you stretched around his digit, making his pants even tighter than before. you let out a guttural moan, throwing your head back into the cushions.

"fuck, you're so tight." he couldn't help but grind his hips into the couch in search of some for of relief. after a few pumps, he added another and he could feel you starting to come undone around them. in hopes to not overwhelm you further, he retracted both of his fingers and began trailing kisses up your tummy, in between the valley of your breasts, all the way up to your lips. you could taste yourself on him, unsure if you should find it as attractive as you did. he paused to half-undress himself, leaving him in an unbuttoned dress shirt and disheveled tie. you took the opportunity to pull him toward you, connecting your lips in a heated exchange.

"eager, are we?" he teased, going back to kissing your neck. you nodded, biting your lip as you looked up at him. "don't tempt me. i don't want to hurt you." you blush deepened at his caring words as you felt his hardness press in between your legs. almost as an instinct, your back arched against him as you lifted your hips to meet his. he growled in your ear, sending a chill down your spine. he quickly planted a hand next to your head to hold himself up as he rubbed his tip against your slick entrance. you could feel the nervous pit in your stomach return as you looked down to watch.

"eyes on me, love. eyes on me." you felt his hand force your gaze upwards to meet his own. he placed one last gentle kiss on your lips before letting himself sink into you. keeping eye contact, he watched you unravel beneath him, unable to contain your moans any longer. he slowly bottomed out inside of you and stopped there, letting you adjust to his size.

"i know, i know. you're doing so good, darling," he cooed sweetly in your ear, a complete contrast to the sounds coming from you. he finally found his pace, an agonizingly slow one at that.

"sebastian, please!" you could feel tears start to brim your eyes from the frustration.

"please, what? tell me, princess." his sultry tone could've drove you mad.

"more, seb, please-- i want more!" he chuckled mischievously in your ear, lifting himself to face you again. the look in his eyes was almost scary. he quickly snaked an arm under your hips to angle them upwards, and placed his other hand on your lower stomach, pressing down gently. unsure but trusting, you closed your eyes as he aligned himself again. his pace wasn't rough by any means, but it was firm, and your cries were louder than ever before. you'd never felt anything like it before. your stomach felt like a spring that was so tightly wound that it could burst at any moment.

"oh, yes!" with each thrust you felt closer and closer to euphoria, all of your senses were drowned out by what he was doing to you.

"it's okay, i got you. let it happen." his voice was broken as he was close to his own release. he dipped his head down to push through it, sending the two of you over the edge and then some. warm tears finally fell down your cheeks as you let go, a blur of his name and other curses falling from your swollen lips. with one last go, he emptied himself inside of you.

"feels so fucking good...fuck." he fell into a heap on top of you, his warm body trapping you on the couch. not like you could move anyway. you felt stuck, your chest heaving with his.

"i'm sorry i didn't do that earlier." he admitted, his head resting on your torso. you were finally able to giggle, smoothing his disheveled hair down.

"it's okay." he sighed at your words, it wasn't okay. he placed another gentle kiss on your chest before pulling himself off of you to remove his dress shirt and tie entirely, leaving him in his shorts.

"can i get you some water?" he rose to his feet and trailed off to a dark corner to retrieve a blanket.

you shook your head once more, "nuh uh. can you just hold me?" he smiled sweetly at you as he returned, unfolding the blanket to drape around his shoulders before he sat on the couch again.

"of course." he opened his arms for you as he stretched his legs out next to you. you happily accepted the offer and found yourself engulfed in his warm, muscular arms with the blanket trapping the heat in around you.

"it's not okay, y/n." you quickly looked up to analyze the expression on his face. he looked remorseful.

"i could've said something too. i just had no idea you thought of me that way-- this way."

"that's my point exactly. i was sending mixed signals. but no more of that, okay? we tell each other absolutely everything from now on." you chuckled and nestled into him, feeling more comfortable than ever before.

"agreed."

you spent the rest of the night wrapped up in his arms on the couch.

reblog if you made it to the end!

[googoobabajogwick]

The monsterfucker in me is begging for some Vampire John Wick.

Vampire John Wick smut

Summary: you and John get stuck on a boat and he needs your help.

Word count: 1.4k

18+

The waves hit the boat causing it to rock back and forth. The cabin was starting to get dark as the sun began to set. It had been three days since you got stuck on the boat due to annoying circumstances. Always because of John.

John had a lot of enemies so even a trip out on a rented boat ended up becoming a hit. Four men shot at the engine and then came on your boat. Thankfully he was able to quickly dispose of them. Two fell overboard and two were in the fridge.

After getting hit John needed to heal so he drank all the blood of the one. See he was a vampire and to heal he needed more blood. When you first found out you were terrified. Vampire? Those were from books and movies, not the real world. But then everything started to make sense.

The way John wouldn’t go out during the day, never ate and was weirdly strong. He seemed to never age in the photos he showed you and hated garlic. That last one was almost a dealbreaker for you. Alas you stayed with him and had never felt more safe.

It took awhile but he was the same man you trusted for years. You knew he’d protect you. The safety you felt was like never before. Even with the constant date disturbances. John was able to keep you from harm while also fighting the bad guys. Plus it didn’t help how sexy he looked when he’d fight them.

John’s perfect form and excellent skills caused you to be horny while scared a lot of the time. This time the men were vampire hunters so they were able to hurt him in way’s regular people couldn’t. Your man was bleeding a lot when you dragged one of the freshly slaughtered men in front of him.

“Drink.” You had said, knowing it would help him heal.

John ordered you out of the cabin as he didn’t like you to see him.

That was two days ago. John had told you the bodies weren’t fresh anymore, the blood wasn’t as good. To him it was like eating spoiled food but he had to eat something so he did. Now he was sick and it broke your heart.

The shades were shut because there was still a little bit of sun out and John was under a blanket on the bed. You had wrapped him up to keep him warm but he still shivered. Never before had you seen him so weak. It scared you. You were hoping someone would find you guys soon.

“I told you not to drive the boat out that far.” You scolded him lightly.

“Sorry.” He coughed, “I didn’t think this would happen.”

This made your blood boil a bit.

“This is always happening and now you’re sick. What can I do? I want to help you.” You asked him in a pleading tone.

A look you couldn’t describe popped on John’s face but then he scowled and looked away from you. He didn’t want to drink from you but he knew it would help him. In fact he’d be stronger immediately. It scared him though, as sometimes he could get carried away.

John didn't want to hurt you or worse accidentally kill you. The thought of tasting your blood sent shivers down his spine. Good and bad. The idea of drinking from you seemed exciting in a way. He could tell from the way you smelled your taste would be divine.

John sat up in the bed and grabbed your hand. He kissed every knuckle before flipping it over and kissing up your wrist. Before shoving his face into your close to kiss in between your breasts. You grabbed his head and held him against you. He breathed in deeply, inhaling your scent.

“Let me…” John couldn’t even say it.

But you could.

“You want to drink my blood?” You asked, rubbing his head against your chest.

John kissed your sternum before pulling you on top of him and pulled you down so he could kiss your neck. His cock was hard and you could feel it rubbing against you. Immediately you started grinding down, letting out sharp breaths of pleasure. He began nibbling slightly and you finally groaned out and pulled away.

“Do it while you fuck me, please?” You asked with a smirk.

Your bluntness turned John on even more as his hand went to rub your clit.

“Anything for you baby.” He said.

His fingers found your sensitive nub and circled his fingers around it. He let his hand explore and get all wet with your slick, before bringing his fingers up to his mouth and sucking. A deep, primal groan left him and straight away his fingers went back to your clit. Your taste always satisfied him and knowing he was going to taste you even more intimately was turning him on.

You moaned out at the sight and grinded your hips against his fingers. Wanting to reciprocate, you shoved your pointer and ring finger in your mouth while groaning. You made a show of swirling your tongue all along your fingers. His own digits started to sped up as your hand went back to stroke his cock. He was harder than he’d ever been.

The clitoral stimulation was overwhelming when he thought you were ready, he flipped you onto your hands and knees. John got behind you and bent his legs so he was kneeling. He curved his back so his chest was against your back and entered you. Your boyfriend started fucking you from behind. A moan came from your mouth as your hands went to grab the sheets.

The best part was you could be as loud as you wanted. You were in the middle of the sea. Nobody could hear you two. The loud sounds you were making were accompanied by the sound of skin slapping against skin. Moans and groans followed like a song being sung. It felt so good having him pump in and out of your pussy, you were sure to tell him that.

“Fuck John yes.” You cried out, almost ripping the sheets as his fingers rubbed your clit, fast.

As your pussy started tightening around John’s cock he knew you were close and wrapped his arms around your midsection and lifted you up so you were sitting on his lap, back pressed against his chest. Your hands went behind you and into his locks. The way he was massaging your clit and his cock driving into you, hitting a spot that had you seeing stars had you almost screaming for him.

“You like that baby?” John grunted out in your ear.

“Yes, fuck baby yes!” You cried out.

John knew you were about to come and revealed his fangs. You couldn’t help but whimper in delight when you turned around and saw them. He pulled your head down, licked your neck and sunk his teeth in. With one hand he held your head to the side and the other came to continue to rub your clit. You felt your whole body tensed up against him as you came.

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head as your whole body convulsed and John held you tight with his one arm. You weren’t going anywhere. Your hands were in his hair, pulling hard. He kept thrusting and after a few more he came as well, sucking even harder into your neck with a whine. Everything felt loopy and your body felt like jelly.

When John felt like he had enough he released you but not before licking the two holes that were now in your neck. You felt fucking fantastic. The two of you were panting and you felt exhausted. He accidentally let go of you.

“That was great.” You gasped, “but I’m so tired now.”

And with that you fell onto the mattress, passed out. John couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling a bit bad. He cleaned you up, covered you with a blanket and snuggled up next to you. You were a bit colder than usual but he knew you’d warm right back up under the covers. He watched you almost the whole time, making sure you were okay and just in awe.

You were out cold for some time and during that John miraculously, somehow, got you two back to shore. Every time you asked him how he just shrugged his shoulders and smirked at you.

[supernovafics]

𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 5.4k words

summary: in which you want to get revenge on the people that killed your brother, but you needed frank’s help to do so

warnings: explicit language, death of a loved one, blood/mentions of violence, angst, implied smut

author’s note: i was working on this on and off for the past maybe three months (going through that never ending cycle of gaining inspiration and then losing it). and i’m so happy that it’s final done! and i really love how it turned out!! hope y’all enjoy<333 (full folklore series here!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

❝and there's nothin' like a mad woman. what a shame she went mad. no one likes a mad woman. you made her like that.❞

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“Y’sure you don’t want to just stay here?” 

Frank’s question didn’t surprise you, but that didn’t change how annoyed you immediately felt by it. 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” You were quick to tell him, and you firmly buckled your seatbelt to show him how serious you were. “Especially because you’re only doing this for me.”

“I’ve done worse things.”

It was hard to rebuttal Frank’s statement because you knew exactly how true it was, but you still said something. “I’m coming.”

Frank only nodded his head at your words before finally beginning to drive the car the two of you were sitting in.

If it were a year ago, you would’ve actually understood Frank’s hesitance toward you coming because, in comparison to who you were now, you were completely different then. And sometimes, it surprised you how vastly your life had managed to change in just twelve months. 

However, if it was also a year ago, you wouldn’t have needed Frank in the first place. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

❝now i breathe flames each time i talk. my cannons all firin' at your yacht. they say, "move on", but you know, i won't.❞

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Five Weeks Earlier

The pain in your wrist was what woke you up. 

A part of you felt upset because every other night, the sleep you had been getting in your motel room located in the middle of nowhere Illinois was shitty, but the deep state of rest that you’d found yourself in that specific night actually felt really good. 

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you noticed was Frank Castle sitting across the room in the creaky wooden chair that you hated. 

“Jesus Christ,” You said, shooting upward in surprise, and from the tug of your arm, you noticed why your wrist was hurting in the first place; it was handcuffed to the headboard. “What the hell?”

Frank dismissed your previous statements and instead leaned forward in the chair, squinting at you. “You’ve been following me for the past two weeks. Why?”

You mentally kicked yourself because, apparently, you hadn’t been as discreet as you thought you’d been. However, the man in front of you was Frank Castle, so it probably would’ve been more surprising if he didn’t notice you. 

You took a moment to truly think about how to respond to him. The next words that you would say would be the most important, and you knew that this was essentially your “make or break” moment with him. That was why you had only been mildly stalking him for the past few weeks instead of approaching him at any of the places you had followed him to. Because you couldn’t figure out the best way to actually talk to him. What you wanted, needed, from him was so important to you, and you couldn’t risk screwing it up. 

After Frank stared at you as you took what felt like hours to think of what to tell him, you settled on simply saying, “I want your help.” 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and his head cocked slightly to the side. “Who are you?” 

It sounded like a fairly easy question he was asking you. But you knew that it wasn’t; he wanted more than just you simply responding with your name. 

“Eight months ago, my brother was murdered,” You started and then stopped immediately. Those words still felt so foreign falling from your lips. “He got involved with this fucked up group of people that he thought were his friends at first, but then they wanted him to do a bunch of illegal shit; robberies, drug deals, kidnappings, pretty much any horrific thing you could think of. And when he tried to get out, to leave, they killed him.”

You left out the part about how you had been so close to getting him out of it all. That days before Jackson was supposed to board a flight to where you lived in Seattle, they shot him and left him for dead in the middle of a park. 

You also didn’t tell Frank that sometimes you couldn’t help but blame yourself because you had left him alone in New York. Even though when you got your job in Washington, Jackson had begged you to go because he knew how much you had wanted the job and to get away from New York. The city that took your parents and left you as the only guardian of your brother since you were sixteen and he was five. 

But that still didn’t stop you from blaming yourself. For not forcing him to come with you when you got the job, to get a fresh start like you wanted in a completely new place, sooner. Even though he was twenty and could make his own decisions, he was still your little brother, and you always wanted to protect him. 

You didn’t say any of that to Frank, though, because you knew it wasn’t needed. That information wasn’t important to the task at hand.  

Instead, you said, “And I found them. Exactly where they are in New York. What they’re doing right now, and what they’re planning to do. But I need your help. I know who you are and what you do, and I want those people that killed my brother dead. And you’re the only person that could possibly care and help me with that.”

Frank was silent once you finished speaking and your explanation just lingered in the air of the motel room. It was then, in that moment of quiet, that you were reminded of how badly your wrist was feeling. 

“So,” You decided to break the prevailing silence. “Can you help me?”

Instead of answering your question, Frank posed a few of his own. “How do you know where these guys are? How do you know anything about them?”

Frank’s lack of a response to your very important question didn’t worry you. In fact, a part of it made you inwardly smile. Because he wasn’t saying no to you, at least not yet, and that gave you all the hope you needed at that moment. 

“I work with computers; I.T., data analysis, it feels wrong to say hacking because of its negative connotation, but yes, that too,” You began explaining, happy to tell Frank what you had decided to look into a few months ago when your grief morphed from intense sadness to anger. “And these guys are idiots. It took me less than an hour to get into my brother’s phone, get these guys’ numbers, and find every single piece of information about the shit they’re doing. I tracked the warehouse that they’re set up at outside of Long Island, and I got into all of their phones, so I know every single text message and call they’re making at any time.”

Frank studied you for a moment, almost as if he was trying to see how honest you were being. “I wanna see.” 

“It’s all on my laptop. In my bag, on the table by the door,” You responded quickly, and Frank was quick to reach into your bag and hand your laptop over to you. You gestured your head in the direction of your wrist that was still cuffed to the headboard. “Could you take the handcuff off?”

Frank nodded as he pulled a key out of his back pocket and finally unlocked the handcuff, taking it off your wrist. You almost immediately began rubbing it, trying to ease away some of the pain. 

“It’ll be bruised for a bit, but it should stop hurting after a day or two.” 

You didn’t say anything in response to that, although you did appreciate Frank’s words. Instead, you opened up your laptop and began pulling up the information that he wanted to see. 

As he looked at your computer, you abruptly said, “Thank you.”

Frank shook his head at you. “I haven’t said yes. That I would help you.”

You simply nodded understandingly at his words. However, there was a certain look of intrigue on his face as you showed him everything you knew about your brother’s murderers that told you otherwise. 

He didn’t have to say it aloud, and a part of you thought he might never actually say it out loud, but it didn’t matter because Frank Castle was going to help you. That was something you knew for certain. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

❝i'm takin' my time. takin' my time. 'cause you took everything from me.❞

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was nearing eleven when you and Frank pulled up across the street from the warehouse that housed the people that killed your brother. 

A part of you felt nervous knowing what was going to happen, but the other part of you felt happy that something completely justified was about to occur. 

“They’re all in there, right?”

You looked down at your laptop, which currently showed the pinpointed locations of the cellphones of everyone involved. 

Apparently, from the text messages and phone calls you had been monitoring, there was an important meeting happening right then about the next robbery they were planning. 

“Yes, they’re all there and have been for the last thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” Frank responded. “Then it’s time.”

You nodded and shut your laptop before placing it in the backseat. When you turned your attention back toward Frank, you noticed a certain look on his face that you couldn’t necessarily decipher, but for some reason, it worried you. 

You almost asked him what was wrong, but he grabbed your arm before you could mutter out the first word of the question and handcuffed your wrist to the steering wheel. You were too in shock about what was happening that you couldn’t even put up a fight against him. 

“Frank, what the hell are you doing?”

“Remember that conversation we had a few weeks ago?”

You knew exactly what he was talking about, but you didn’t allow yourself to acknowledge it right then. “I don’t care about the conversation. Uncuff me, Frank.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” He shook his head at you. “Instead, I’m gonna go inside that warehouse, handle this for you, and then come back out. Okay?”

“No.”

None of this conversation truly felt real to you. The plan that you had curated with Frank over the past weeks felt like it was going completely down the drain. And although sometimes, deep down, you thought maybe you’d be the one to bail out and change things up at the last second, instead, it was Frank forcing you to do so, and you couldn’t believe it. 

He didn’t respond to your one-word protest and instead opened the driver’s seat door. 

There felt like there wasn’t really any hope that Frank would change his mind, but you couldn’t allow yourself not to try at least once more. 

“Please, let me go in there with you. I want to do this.”

He only looked at you for a moment before saying, “No, I’m not letting you do this. You’re a good person, and doing this will change that. As much as you think it won’t change you, it will. And I’m not gonna allow that to happen. So, just let me handle this for you.”

You didn’t get another chance to protest because Frank stepped out of the car before you could say anything.

He was protecting you, and you knew that. But, it also felt like after over a month of knowing one another, he still only saw you as weak, as someone that needed saving. 

And that made you angry because you never wanted him to save you; you just wanted him to help you. You truly wanted to fight your own battle and hurt the people that hurt your brother, and he took that opportunity away from you. 

As you heard the trunk pop open and Frank reach for the guns that he put back there, two of which were supposed to be yours, you couldn’t help but think back to the conversation he had been referring to only moments ago. 

There was a certain thing he said during the minor argument that happened during that conversation, and thinking about it right then, with your wrist uncomfortably handcuffed to the steering wheel, it finally made you realize that maybe you should’ve seen all of this coming. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

❝what did you think i'd say to that? does a scorpion sting when fighting back? they strike to kill, and you know i will. you know i will.❞

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Three Weeks Earlier

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was something worse about the motel room in Long Island than the one in Illinois. 

The smells there were far worse than what you’d experienced in Illinois, but there was something else too, something that you couldn’t fully decipher. 

Maybe it was simply the place itself. You were back in New York, the city that took your parents and your brother too, and you truly hated being there. It no longer felt like any sort of “home” to you, and it hadn’t in a really long time. 

However, knowing what you were doing there and what was soon to come made the smallest part of you feel good about being there. And you had Frank too, as both quiet and annoyingly bossy as he was.

“Why are we waiting so long?” You had asked him one night as the two of you sat opposite one another at a diner. 

“Waiting is good. Waiting lets us know exactly what we’re up against. The guys may be idiots about keeping their shit off of computers, but they might be smart about other things,” Frank explained as he adjusted the hat on his head that he was using as part of a disguise. A part of you couldn’t help but reluctantly agree with his words. “Also, you need as much target practice as you can get. You’ve gotten better in the past week, but you’re still pretty bad.” 

You felt absolutely offended by the statement but still knew that he was completely right. However, that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at him and dryly saying, “Thanks for the words of encouragement.” 

“You’ll be ready when the time comes.”

You didn’t thank him for the actual words of encouragement and instead just took a bite from one of the last few fries on your plate.

The ending of that conversation left you feeling the tiniest bit hopeful, glad that Frank seemed as if he believed in you and that the two of you were actually a team in all of this. 

However, on a different night, only a few days later, the conversation had been much different. 

“Doing this won’t take the pain away,” Frank had told you. He was sitting at the foot of the double bed that was closer to the door, and you were in the other with your back against the headboard. The tiny television was on and playing reruns of Friends, as it probably had been all day. Your head immediately turned in Frank’s direction when you heard his abrupt words and as he continued speaking. “At the end of the day, he’ll still be gone.”

“I know,” You said, the two words coming out a bit sharper than you meant for them to. You cleared your throat. “But that doesn’t mean his murderers should continue to run free and keep doing severely fucked up shit.”

“I agree, but I wanted to tell you, so you can make sure you understand what you’re gonna do.”

“I know,” You told him. This time your voice was softer as you said the same two words. 

“You’re a good person. Doing this, killing people, can change that.”

“You are too.”

“I’m not a good person.”

“I don’t believe that.” You were quick to shake your head. “You’re helping me. For absolutely no reason. There’s gotta be some good in you, Castle.” 

He bypassed your statement. “Just think about this, okay?”

“My mind is already made up and has been for the past four months,” You told him before getting under your blanket and then turning on your side, facing away from Frank. You weren’t the least bit tired right then, but you were happy to pretend to bring an end to the conversation. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

❝what do you sing on your drive home? do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? does she smile? or does she mouth, "fuck you forever"?❞

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Over the next three weeks, that conversation never came up again, so you thought that Frank ultimately stood by your decision. 

However, you were wrong. And you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about that just yet. 

Yes, you were mad at Frank, but you couldn’t allow yourself to hate him until you heard a good enough explanation as to why he wanted to do this without you. And not one that solely consisted of him calling you a “good person” because that sounded like a bullshit cop-out to you. 

It wasn’t long after Frank slammed the trunk shut and walked toward the warehouse that you heard the faint sound of gunshots. The sound startled you, even though you knew that it was coming, and you hated that the smallest, smallest part of you was glad that you weren’t in there. 

And that felt like a betrayal to not only yourself but especially your brother. 

You tried hard to push away the thoughts you knew would come next. The thoughts that you had successfully buried deep down for the past month you’d been with Frank. They were the thoughts that told you that you were to blame for what happened to your brother and that you should’ve tried harder to save him. When you thought about it long enough, the pain you felt from his death still felt fresh. 

You suddenly felt insanely claustrophobic, and you started yanking your handcuffed wrist hard in efforts to get yourself freed from the steering wheel. Of course, that did nothing but only hurt your wrist even more. However, you didn’t care because at least trying to do something at that moment felt better than wallowing in silence and crying as you thought about your brother. 

Barely twenty minutes later, you heard the sound of the trunk opening again. You hadn’t been paying attention to the sounds of the gunshots anymore, instead successfully dissociating yourself from the moment entirely, so you hadn’t noticed when they stopped, and hearing the trunk right then surprised you. 

You roughly wiped at your cheeks, which were unsurprisingly wet with tears, because some things you couldn’t push away, as you heard the trunk slam shut. And then moments later, you heard the driver’s side door open, and Frank get inside. 

He uncuffed your wrist without saying a word and especially didn’t say anything about the bruises already forming on your skin; from your pointless attempt to break free. He looked at your face— well, only the side of it, since you were staring straight ahead and avoiding eye contact with him— and he didn’t say anything about the fact that he could tell you’d been crying. 

Instead, he just started driving. 

You allowed yourself to take one quick glance at him, and right when you did, you knew that the sight of him with blood all over his clothes and face would never leave your mind. You silently wondered how much of it was his own. 

Instead of asking, you turned your head and decided to stare out the window as Frank drove back to the motel. 

“Don’t be fucking mad, okay?” He finally broke the prevailing silence after about five minutes. “It’s done and over now, and that’s what you really wanted, right?”

“Thank you,” You told him, words completely sincere, and you hoped your next ones came out the same exact way. “But, also, fuck you, Frank.”

He didn’t say anything in response to that, and you didn’t necessarily want him to, so it was a win-win situation in your eyes. Silence prevailed once again, and you continued to look out the window. 

“There was no reason for you to come in too,” Frank finally spoke. “It was seven guys. I’ve handled more than that, and smarter ones than that, before. Too many times to fucking count.”

“That’s not the point,” You responded and then sighed, not having the energy to explain yourself further. 

“Then what is the point?” Frank asked and then huffed when you didn’t say anything after a few moments. “Exactly.”

You let out a long breath before speaking. “I wanted to see them get what they deserved. I wanted to see them pay for what they did to him. That’s the point.”

Frank abruptly pulled the car over and looked at you. “So, what? You wanna go back? You wanna go see their lifeless bodies?”

You met his glare with a harsh look of your own and tilted your head a bit. “And what if I said yes?”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes at you. “It doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t say yes. You don’t have the stomach for that shit. As much as you keep trying to convince yourself otherwise, you’re not this kind of person.”

“You act like you know me, Frank, but you don’t. Like, how you keep spewing this shit about how I’m a ‘good person.’ Well, I’m fucking not.” You wanted to scream that at him, but you didn’t, and instead pulled your eyes away from his and went back to staring straight ahead at the empty road. “And you want to know how I know that? Because what happened to Jackson is my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

You almost didn’t respond to him, but ultimately you did. “I left him, and he fell in with that group of people that hurt him. I should’ve forced him to leave the city when I did. But I didn’t. And I truly hate myself for that.”

That was the first time that you admitted out loud how much you blamed yourself for your brother’s death. And hearing the words finally fall from your lips made them feel even truer to you, and it also made your last sentence feel a thousand times more right as well. 

You sincerely did not want to hear Frank say anything in response to any of what you had just said, and instead, you wanted the conversation to end there. He must have read your mind because he didn’t say anything else the rest of the drive back to the motel. 

When he pulled into the parking lot, you stayed in the car as he exited and went to walk inside the room. He didn’t question you about what was going on in your head, which you were grateful for. 

You sighed and let your eyes slip shut. A part of you wanted to cry, but the other part of you felt too empty and numb, so ultimately, you just sat in the car in silence. 

It almost pained you to realize how right Frank was. 

Now that this was done— you got your “revenge”—  it changed nothing for you. Jackson was still gone, you were still hurting, and it wasn’t only that you lost him; you lost the final person in your family. Now you had no one. 

Although you already felt pretty numb, you sincerely craved a drink of anything, and the liquor store down the road suddenly sounded like a really good idea. But, instead, you walked into the motel room and could immediately hear the sound of the shower running. When you closed the door behind you and locked it, you planned to force yourself to sleep and hope tomorrow would bring better feelings, even though you were unsure what you would do next. 

However, when you saw the bathroom door open and heard Frank say the words, “I need your help,” you knew that you probably wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. 

He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, and if this was any other moment, you would’ve allowed yourself to admire his body and how good he looked, a fact that never had been lost on you. However, all you could process was the gash on his hip, where you could tell a bullet had grazed him. 

“You’re bleeding,” You said, stating the obvious. 

“Yeah, that’s why I need your help,” He responded and then looked down at the open wound, examining it for a second. “It’s actually pretty deep so I need you to stitch me up.”

You hesitantly nodded and then went to grab the first aid kit that was packed in your suitcase and went over to where Frank was standing by the sink. 

“I’ve never done this before, so it is probably going to look very bad,” You told him before bending down to start stitching him up. 

He shrugged halfheartedly and glanced down at you for a brief moment. “It’s fine.”

You gave him a small nod and then pushed away the nausea you were already feeling because you had to do this. 

For the first time that night, you felt like things were too quiet, and the sounds of Frank’s soft winces as the thin needle pierced his skin didn’t fill the silence in a way that made things feel any sort of comfortable. 

Therefore, you decided you had to say something. “You were right.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, so you took that as your cue to keep going. 

“The pain hasn’t gone away. And honestly, it might feel a bit worse than before; I am not entirely sure yet.” The fact that you weren’t looking Frank straight in the eyes as you spoke made it easy for you to continue to ramble on and say the things that you wouldn’t have told him, or anyone, any other time. “He was the last person I had, and now I have no one. And now that this is over, that fact just feels much more solidified. So yeah, you were right, and I’m glad I wasn’t in there with you. And honestly, maybe none of this shit you did for me really mattered in the first place. I don’t feel angry about it anymore. I just feel so fucking sad.” 

There was more you could say, but you knew that you needed to stop there before you turned into a sobbing mess on the white-tiled floor. 

“I didn’t wanna be right.” Frank finally spoke, and you stayed quiet, not saying anything more as you finished stitching him up. 

“You’re done,” You told him before standing up and purposely avoiding his eyes. “And I need alcohol, so I’ll be right back.”

Frank furrowed his eyebrows at you as he went to slip on a black t-shirt. “Are you sure about that?”

You didn’t turn around as you walked toward the door. “Positive.”

Of course, you knew it was a bad idea, and maybe you should’ve noticed the wary look on Frank’s face directed at you, but right then, you didn’t really care. 

Your journey to and from the liquor store down the street surprisingly took less than twenty minutes, and when you entered the motel room again, you didn’t waste any time unscrewing the bottle of dark tequila and taking a swig from it. 

Usually, it took at least four shots for you to effectively feel something; even in college, your tolerance for alcohol had been good. However, this night you only needed to take two shots for your mind to feel fuzzy. You chalked it up to the fact that you had already felt pretty numb inside. 

After your many persistent requests, Frank joined you and took small swigs from the bottle as well. The two of you sat at the foot of the bed that was his and traded the tequila back and forth as an old sitcom played on the small television, and a silence that you didn’t mind took over. 

“You’ll be fine eventually,” Frank abruptly said as he placed the top on the bottle and put it on the floor, an action that you didn’t protest because you knew that it was definitely for the best. “It won’t hurt forever.”

Without much thinking, mainly because your brain couldn’t allow you to do a lot of thinking, you leaned your head against Frank’s shoulder and hoped that he would also be right about that because, quite honestly, you were tired of feeling sad. 

“I truly hope so,” was what you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t form the words on your lips. However, you still wanted to somehow show him that you appreciated his words. 

You pulled your head off of his shoulder and turned closer toward him to let your lips softly press against his cheek. The proximity was dangerous, and it was in that moment that you let yourself recognize how attractive Frank was; a thought that had been off limits from the second you decided you wanted his help to kill your brother’s murderers because you knew that thinking about him in that way would only pull your mind away from the task at hand. But, now, the task was over. 

Therefore, you allowed yourself to think about the stubble on his cheek and how it tickled your chin and made you want to smile. And you also thought about how nice he had always been to you, even when he showed it to you in a shitty way. 

He might not have seen himself as a good person, but to you, he was. 

You allowed yourself to meet his eyes for a brief moment, unable to read his expression, before letting your lips slot against his. You immediately tasted the tequila on his mouth, which sent a shiver down your spine but also warmed your insides. 

For some reason, kissing Frank at that moment didn’t feel wrong to you, and you could tell by the way that Frank’s hand found your cheek and pulled you the tiniest bit closer to him that maybe it didn’t feel wrong to him either. 

You slowly pulled away for a moment to catch your breath and maneuver yourself, with the help of Frank’s hands on your waist, so that you were straddling either side of his lap. When your lips found his again, you let your fingers thread themselves in his short hair. It was both slightly surprising and flattering to feel how hard he was beneath you, and the feeling made you moan in his mouth. 

Abruptly, Frank pulled away, and your confused eyes met his gaze as he softly said, “You’re sad and drunk right now.”

Both things he said were very true, but that didn’t mean that you wanted any of this to stop. 

“It’s okay. I promise,” You told him and started to slowly move against him. However, both of Frank’s hands found your hips and halted you. You sighed before letting out a soft, “Please.”

You hated how desperate you sounded at that moment, but you couldn’t help it. For once, you didn’t want to think about anything, and you wanted Frank to do the same. 

He simply looked at you and didn’t say anything for a few moments. You could tell that he was contemplating things, but the fact that he hadn’t moved you off of his lap yet gave you a small sliver of hope. 

“It’s okay,” You told him again and hoped you could convey to him how entirely true those words were. You knew that you wouldn’t regret this, even once your mind was fully cleared and devoid of alcohol. 

He didn’t verbally respond to you and instead pressed his lips against yours, which was a response you liked better anyway. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss before matching his intensity with your own and passionately moving your mouth against his.

It didn’t take long for you to end up with Frank on top of you, clothes still on but wildly anticipating the moment they weren’t anymore. 

For once, something actually felt okay in your life, and you couldn’t remember the last time that was true. Since your brother died, you felt lost; and perhaps even before then, that feeling wasn’t too far off. 

It worried you thinking about what was next; even the thought of tomorrow scared you, knowing that somehow you’d have to go back to a life that was normal. But you didn’t want to think about that too much because doing so scared and confused you. 

As Frank peppered harsh kisses against your neck, leaving marks that would definitely be there for the next few days, you knew that there was one thing that remained certain. At that moment, you wanted him, and he wanted you. Even if it would be just for the night. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

❝and you find something to wrap your noose around. and there's nothin' like a mad woman.❞ 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

[thruheavenandhighwater]

Young and Dumb

Part Five; 1988

[[PART ONE]] [[PART TWO]] [[PART THREE]] [[PART FOUR]]

Pairing: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson

Requested By: NA

Word Count: 1,804

Series Summary: Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington were best friends. Joined at the hip for a decade and truly inseparable, you never got to see one without the other. Until the summer before high school when everything changed. But now they each have Dustin. What will happen when young Henderson decides it’s time for the two most important people in his life to finally meet?

Chapter Summary: Eddie and Steve deal with the aftermath of Steves... outburst in part four.

Stranger Things Masterlist

Steddie Masterlist

~~~~~

Suddenly Steve was shot back down to earth. He was in Eddie's kitchen, tears on his cheeks, and he'd just kissed him. He opened his mouth to speak. To explain. To beg. To do anything. But all that came out of Steve's open mouth was a desperate and ragged sounding breath. He turned to leave but was stopped by a strong hand on his wrist. 

"No, you don't get to walk away from this. What the fuck was that?" 

The question stung even more the second time. He knew he couldn't undo the kiss. Just like he couldn't undo four years of bullying when they shared the high school halls. Just like he couldn't undo the moment he turned Eddie away when he was fourteen. Like he couldn't undo the feelings he had for him. 

"I'm-" another apology stopped on his tongue. The words sounded so stupid now. "I shouldn't have done that." 

Eddie's shoulders dropped. His fingers twitched at his sides. He let out a long breath and took a step towards Steve. "Tell me what's going on." He demanded quietly.

Steve looked to the floor. The old linoleum scratched and dented by years of wear. He spared a glance at Eddie, trying to figure out what to say. The older boys eyes were almost pleading as he looked back at him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at Eddie and seen anything other than anger or hurt. He took a breath, the tip of his tongue peeking out through his lips as he gathered his thoughts. 

"Do you remember that summer?" He asked finally. 

"'81?" Eddie questioned, nodding. 

"Yeah, '81." Steve sighed. "We were both all excited about high school. You were thinking about joining the band." 

Eddie stayed silent and motionless as he listened to Steve recount their last few weeks together so many years ago. He wanted to cross his arms again. But he didn't. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Eddie was done building walls. 

"God, you're gonna- just… Can we sit down?" 

Eddie nodded, his eyes moving from Steve's face to the old couch behind him. The pair silently walked to it before taking the seats on either end. Steve turned to Eddie, bringing his knee up to the cushion between them. 

"This is going to sound so fucking weird, but please, just listen." Eddie nodded again as he shifted in his seat. "You, uh, well - oh my god." 

"Just say it," Eddie prompted, an edge to his voice as he grew annoyed of Steve's dancing around his words. 

"You started to change. Right around Christmas, you started to change." 

"I never changed, Steve." 

"You did, though!" He exclaimed. "Your body, your voice. Everything." 

Eddie shook his head, curls bouncing as he closed his eyes. "You stopped being friends with me because I went through puberty first?"

"That wasn't the only reason," Steve answered, looking down to where his hands sat in his lap. 

"Good," Eddie giggled. "Because that would be so stupid." 

Eddie's giggle was like a song to Steve. It was different than the last time he'd heard it. Lower in pitch, but still light and pretty. The butterflies Steve had confused for stomach aches woke up from their seven year hibernation. He couldn't stop the smile that quickly spread over his face. 

"I remember when your voice started changing," he remembered fondly. "You sounded like an idiot every time your voice would crack. It always made me laugh." 

"Yeah, I know," Eddie laughed at the memory.

Steve looked up from his lap and was surprised to find a smile on Eddie's face. His dimples showing on his cheeks. It had been so long since Steve had seen them. He forgot how cute they were. How young they made Eddie look.

"And then you started getting all these crazy muscles. I'm gonna be honest, I was a little jealous of that part. I used to watch you stretch and I was like, mesmerized at how your arms moved." 

Eddie didn't answer this time. His smile had fallen into something unreadable. His eyes stayed on Steve, giving him time to keep going. He still wanted an explanation.

"Then, that weekend my dad bought us that tent for the backyard. We went swimming all afternoon after we set it up." Eddie nodded, recalling the day in question. Steve could feel his pulse racing as he got closer and closer to the truth. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes like white hot needles. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. 

"You, uh, well you took your shirt off and cannonballed into the pool. At first it was just funny. You were always funny. But then you pulled yourself out of the water and the sun was shining and all I could see was how your back glistened. The way the water drops fell from your hair onto your shoulders. It made my stomach hurt." 

"Steve," Eddie said so quietly that he wasn't sure he'd said it at all. 

"I really did think I was just jealous. I thought that I was mad at you for being older than me, and becoming a man before I did. But that wasn't what it was." He took another steadying breath, swallowing around nothing before letting it out. 

"I sat at my aunt's house and listened to my cousin Tracy talk about her new boyfriend for, like, hours. She said that she could never keep her eyes off of him. That she'd look at a picture of the two of them a million times a day. She said she missed him as soon as he was out of the room. She, uh, she said that she got the craziest butterflies in her stomach when he was around.

"And the whole time she was going on and on and on about this guy, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Everything she was saying, was how I felt about you. I thought it was normal to think about your best friend all day. To miss him when he went home even though we just spent the whole weekend together. But it was the butterflies. When she said she got butterflies around him, I knew. I knew I wasn't jealous. I knew that it wasn't random stomach aches. It was, I don't know, a crush? Puppy love? Whatever it was, it scared the fuck out of me. So I ran away from it. I pushed you away and I hurt you so that I wouldn't have to deal with it. And that's so fucked up of me, and I'm sorry." 

Steve didn't know if the tears that were falling down his cheeks were tears of relief or of pain. He felt both things in equal measure. Part of him was happy that everything was finally out. But the rest of him was terrified. Terrified of being rejected, of Eddie kicking him out and telling the whole town that Steve Harrington was a queer. He would have deserved that. 

When he brought his hands to his face to wipe the tears, he felt the couch shifting beside him. Eddie was now sitting in a similar position to Steve, one knee on the cushion between them as they faced each other. Their denim clad knees knocked against one another as Eddie leaned closer to Steve. 

"What are you saying?" He asked. Steve looked into his eyes, silently pleading. "I need to hear you say it, Steve." 

"I loved you." He finally said, tears falling as he spoke. "I was in love with you. And I was so young, and so stupid, and so scared of it." 

"And now?" Eddie asked. "How do you feel now?" 

"I still love you." He breathed.

Now it was Eddie's turn to look away. He assumed a similar stance to Steve's, hands rested on his lap as he inspected them more closely than he ever had before. He picked at his cuticles while his mind raced. He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he opened his door to Steve Harrington for the first time in seven years, but it was safe to say that a love confession wasn't it. 

"Steve," his voice could have broken Steve then and there. It sounded sad and almost sorry. Steve braced himself for what was coming next. "I spent seven years missing my best friend. And now he's here, sitting in my living room and telling me that the reason he left was… because he was in love with me? I think I'm just gonna need some time, ya know? To like, process everything." 

Steve nodded. That was understandable. More than fair, even. He stood from the couch and wordlessly moved to the door. When his hand touched the doorknob, he almost turned around. If he had, he would have seen Eddie on the couch, his head still dropped to his chest as he thought about what had just happened. But he didn't. He turned the knob, stepped through the door, and closed it behind him. 

He didn't know what was next. He wasn't sure if anything was going to be different between them now that he had come clean. He couldn't help but to hope as he walked across the lawn and stuck his key into the car door. He sat in silence for a bit outside of the small home that held so many memories, and now, his greatest secret. 

Suddenly the passenger door of his car was flying open. Steve jumped at the unexpected interruption. He turned towards the passenger seat to find Eddie plopped into the leather seat, grinning back at him. 

"So, I've had time to process." 

"You have?" Steve laughed, the butterflies in his stomach on overdrive. 

"I have," Eddie confirmed. "And I have to say, that was a piss poor first kiss, Harrington. All through school I heard tale after tale of King Steve and his sexual prowess. Gotta say, I'm kinda disappointed." 

Steve rolled his eyes, his smile growing. "Well, I'd hate to leave you disappointed." He noticed a pink blush crawling over Eddie's cheeks as he leaned over his center console. 

This kiss could not have been more different than the one they'd shared in Eddie's kitchen. It wasn't desperate or harsh or full of unspoken truths and fear. This was soft. It was sweet and tender. Eddie's hand cupped Steve's jaw gently. One of Steve's hands found Eddie's knee, the other landed on his shoulder, being tickled by his long curls. Both men could feel the other smiling into the kiss. It was perfect. 

"That was what our first kiss should have been," Steve whispered once Eddie pulled away. 

"Oh, so you've thought about kissing me?" 

"Spent seven years thinking about it, Eddie." 

~~~~~

Feedback is always appreciated! If you'd like to be tagged in my Stranger Things fics, please let me know. I also have individual tag lists for Steve, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and Steddie.

[harrison-abbott]

Not Just A Stickman

Lots of people have asked me if I’ve ever been bit by a dog on the job? Yes, I have. I used to try and chuckle it off. Then it happened so many times that it wasn’t funny any more.

So I showed them the scar on my arm. These big white dots on my forearm and upper wrist. And they stop laughing. I fought that dog back with a garden pot. Well, I picked up the nearest thing to me, which was the pot in the garden – and I smashed it over the animal’s head. Which dazed him for a moment and it bought me ten vital seconds, by which I could climb up onto the wall.

Then the man came out of the house wearing his dressing gown.

His dog was never put down. I didn’t really want the dog put down, because, umm, I’m kinda against that type of thing. It’s just a dog. I was more angry at the man in the house. Nothing ever happened to him in a legal sense. Even when he saw me perching on his wall, terrified, with his beast hollering at me, and with blood running down my arm – he barely reacted at all. Just stood there stupefied.

But, oh, that was six years ago. The nurses who stitched me up in the hospital were really nice looking. And I didn’t have to go back to work for three weeks. I went to Europe for a while, explored some cities, as the wounds healed up.

Many other people ask me if it’s a drag getting up at 4 a.m. to go and do a shift. I say that, I’ve been a night owl for as long as I can remember. The dark seems to suit me. Even if it’s winter. Especially if it’s winter, actually – I like how the frost plays colours on the streets in the silent hours, like how my shoes make the first patterns in the crispy whiteness. There used to be snow, as well, sometimes, when I first started. Not much snow these days, for obvious reasons.

Other folks wonder whether I get paid enough? Yeah, I do. I’ve never really bothered so much about money.

Or, doesn’t it mean that you have no social life – if you’re working in the early mornings and sleeping in the evenings? I’ve never really been one to mind about sociability. I was insanely shy in school. And when I was a younger man. And I used to be real hurt if people didn’t like me. Then I got a bit older and there was some drop-off point which I must have missed, because suddenly I didn’t quite care anymore. Some folks are naturally introverted, and that’s me. It’s better than having to drink beer in order to make other people intriguing, which is the tactic I had when I was a student. Meh. Doesn’t matter.

With this job, you tend to learn a lot about people that you don’t know.

Yes, it’s the 21st century. But, mail is still a big part of it. You can tell a lot by what goes in and out of a person’s letterbox. What kind of subscriptions they have. What types of packages they order, and from which companies. You’ll be able to tell which people are wealthier. You can tell whether they live alone or not. Or whether they have larger families or not, via the amount of handwritten letters they get, or not.

I learned to tell which letters contained money. There are a few traits about particular mail which give signs away … just like you can tell which packages are intended to remain covert. Many packages go through the regular mail without proper checks. And I just know that there will be illegal content within them – especially if I’m making similar deliveries to the same address every fortnight, with a similar weight and style of packaging.

It doesn’t really bother me personally. I won’t be the man taking the fall for it.

It does bother me when you get rude customers. Who get annoyed when you have to ask for a photo or a signature. They look at you with irritation. As if you’re below them. The whole irony being that you’re the one bringing them their item.

Back at the depot, there is an entire warehouse filled with packages which have never been claimed or reclaimed – that have gotten lost, indefinitely, in the system. And, I know that, if we were to open all of the packages and see what’s inside, there would be a huge amount of money to make in order to sell that on. And lots of items that we would pass on to the police.

There was one occasion where we did have to call the police. It was a package that came up dodgy on our scanners. We called the authorities because we thought it might be dangerous.

And, it was, the police took it away into the concrete yard behind the building. A mail bomb. They had to defuse it. It had been addressed to some politician who lived in the suburbs. For some reason this story never made the news. Maybe because the police told us to hush up about it and not go telling people.

But, yeah. Most days it’s just simple work. Gives you exercise. And I like the darkness of the mornings, as I say. Maybe I’m only an average Joe. But, hey, I’m not just a stickman: my job is fairly important, if you think about it.

Put it this way: your mail is in the hands of a total stranger. And I could do many things with what’s in your letters, your parcels, boxes. Letters from the banks, insurance companies – they all have logos on them; I know every type of letter … it wouldn’t be so tricky for me to open the letters, make photocopies, and reseal with a new envelope.

But, don’t worry. I’m not a bad guy.

It’s only that people don’t suspect ‘average’ folks like postmen. Don’t respect them either. But, meh: I’m fine with my work. Stickmen can often know way more than you do.

[themaskedtree]

So I went to an urgent care two days ago because my throat and ears are bothering me and when i got there they only checked my throat and not my ears even though I said to and just texted me for Covid and strep throat twice there was the fast text and one they sent out to get tested. I still don’t feel well and it got worse right I didn’t get a call yesterday from them even though they said they would call me the next day so I called them and somebody picked up. I asked what the test results were and they said it will come today. I don’t know why they didn’t check my ears at all but I feel worse today and yesterday so hopefully I hear something back today. I’m kind of annoyed because I’ve been to that place twice in stead of going to my normal doctors office because they suck and try to make you pay twice for the same thing and wouldn’t see me for a reaction to two vaccines I got and told me I have Covid every though I didn’t (that happened when Covid was bad and the vaccine were out) and would not let me in to get looked at. Honestly I’m not the best fan of doctors I have a bad wrist, hurts like hell and locks up for no reason right it starts acting up after 6th grade and I have a brace for it I have to wear for when it gets bad. I went to the doctors for it three times and I saw a different doctor each time and every single one gave me a different answer and one doctor said it was in my head and my doctor who was with me at the time and my brother both went off on him. It’s still fucked and never got fired and I had this one doctor tell me I when I kept having to pee and barely anything would come out that I ether have cancer or an ATD when I was in 6th grade so took a urine sample to see which one it was and it turned out to just be a bladder infection. That same doctor would always check my genitals (it was at a doctors office that would say kids from babies to 17 depending on where you went). Every time man! I would go in for pick eye and he would check down there and did the same thing to my brother. I remember this one time one time I went in because I had a sore throat and he checked down there! He made my brother and I uncomfortable and my family where it got to the point where they talk to someone about what he was doing and we didn’t see him working there anymore. Hell I’m a big guy right but I not so big I can’t walk or see me toes like I have a bit of a big stomach but not insanely big but for a while now every time I see the doctor it’s a flip of a coin if they blame something on my weight again I’m only a couple pounds overweight. So every time I take a blood test I’m so healthy it that every time really healthy and in normal range. Like I went in for an ear infection and they said I got it because I’m overweight! Like really how! Why? It had really good doctor that would take two seconds for them to figure out what wrong and how to fix it and some that just said I’m fat for I have the problem or they think it’s one thing and confidently tell me it is and then we need to get a test result back something completely different and get mad at me for not being right or missing diagnosed me giving medicine for some completely different and I end up not working I have to come back and then they get mad at me for work know something different they didn’t know it was. I try not to go to the doctors unless I have to because of all the bullshit over the years. Hell back in 2018 I kept having to use the bathroom (poop) and it got to the point where I would wake up at night having to use the bathroom so I went to a stomach doctor and he thought it could have been 8 different deadly diseases including cancer. So I was put on a liquid diet for three days and had to take this really nasty medicine that made you have to shit really bad to empty my system out so he could put a camera in both ends to see which disease it was and turns out I just have IBS and a bad case or it nothing serious at all! Again he was pretty sure I had something life threatening and turns out I was fine just have IBS. Also my wrist is still fucked

[euphorajeon]

boxer!gguk drabble #1

— pairing: childhood friend!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff (i guess..) | college!au, childhood friends to lovers

— word count: 0.9k

— warnings: harsh words, tattooed and pierced jk (eyebrow and lip)

— summary: after not seeing each other for two years, jeon jeongguk shows up on your doorstep with an arm full of ink and two piercings on his face.

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

“You’re staring.”

“Of course I am!”

He laughs. You haven’t seen each other for two years yet he still knows which buttons to push to annoy you, making you even more irritated.

It’s not fair.

When you both parted ways for college, the most ink you could see on his skin are a few scattered ones on his right arm. Three stripes on his wrist, a tiger lily on his forearm, and a chinese phrase meaning “the most beautiful moments in life” near his elbow are to name a few.

Imagine your surprise when he knocked on your door at 10 in the morning with his right arm wholly covered in ink and two piercings on his face. You almost thought that he was someone else altogether, but when he said hi and grinned, you knew it was your childhood friend whom you said goodbye to two years ago when you were both freshmen at different universities.

So much has changed, yet so little at the same time as he strolled inside your house even before you said anything to respond to his greeting, too shocked to even say hi back.

Your mom didn’t even bat an eye when he came up to her to say hi, and your dad gave him an amused smile at how strong he was handling the pain of getting all those ink painted on his whole arm. It seemed like you were the only one thrown for a loop at the sight of him.

Now you’re both sitting in the living room, him attempting to watch the TV while you’re staring at him. You don’t even deny it when he calls you out, shame thrown out the window. The sight of him sitting on your couch is too bizarre for you to just say nothing about it.

“Why are you so shocked? You knew I’d always wanted to get my arm tattooed.”

“Yeah, but not the whole thing.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” he shrugs, “it didn’t hurt.”

You glare at him as he chuckles at your expression. “Alright, it felt like a pinch. From Thanos.”

“And those two?” you ask, referring to the piercings he has on his eyebrow and lower lip. “Felt like what? Kissed by Thanos?”

“Jealous?” He grins.

You give him the stink eye, but you’re still curious and honestly a bit concerned because from what you know, getting pierced anywhere on your body hurts like hell. You can’t really imagine the pain of getting pierced on your face, yet he has two of them.

“Seriously though, don’t they hurt like you’re thrown in hell and then back?”

Your question makes him throw his head back in a loud laugh.

“It hurt, but nothing I can’t handle,” he answers. “You can stop looking at me like that. I’m starting to think that you’re worried about me.”

“You have two piercings on your face! One on your lip! How can I not worry!”

“This?” He nudges the lip ring with his tongue. “It doesn’t hurt now. It’s just like wearing earrings, you know, but on your lip.”

“I don’t wear earrings,” you say in a flat tone.

He pulls his mouth into a thin line, running out of ways to assure you his piercings don’t hurt him at all.

“Look,” he says, running his tongue on his lips before settling on his lip ring, pulling it this way and that with his tongue. “Do you see it bleeding? Do you see me wince in pain? Do you see it hurt me in any way?”

He continues to tug at the ring on his lip with his tongue to make a point, eyes boring into yours as if to challenge you to say anything more about his piercings. You don’t notice, though, as your gaze unconsciously focuses on the way his tongue rolls over the lip ring slowly, as if to tease and taunt you.

You close your eyes to get rid of the mental image.

“Stop doing that, you’re going to tear the skin on your lip.”

“Wanna do it for me?”

“Huh?”

“Tug at my lip ring with your tongue. You can soothe the burn by kissing it afterwards.”

“I—“

“Promise it’ll feel good. You’ve never kissed someone with a lip piercing before, have you?”

“… no.”

“Then come here quick.” He raises one eyebrow (his pierced one, fuck), taunting. “Or not. The lip ring will get cold but my lips will still be warm.”

Your whole face is already red but you make no move to kiss him. This is weird. He’s your childhood friend. Your very hot childhood friend. Why is he suddenly asking you to kiss him anyway?

“Come on, baby. Hurt me with your tongue.”

Something snaps inside of you and you yank at his shirt to shut him up with your lips. You tug at his lip ring harshly and he lets out a groan from the back of his throat from the pain. Well, he asked for it.

“You’re so annoying,” you manage to say in between kisses.

He smiles. “You love it,” he mumbles against your lips before angling his head to deepen the kiss. Your head spins.

He then notices you rolling your tongue over his lip ring over and over again, and pulls away slightly with a smirk.

“Loving the ring now, huh?”

“Shut up, Jeon.”

He chuckles before getting back to pressing his lips against yours, enjoying the extra attention you give to his lip ring.

Maybe he’ll get another one just to rile you up.

(And to kiss you like this again.)

— a/n: thank you for reading! it’s my first time posting writings on tumblr so pls be kind to me 😬 tell me your thoughts on my secreto :)

[slasherhaven]

Hi! Can you Do a Bo Sinclair soulmate imagine where the reader meets him while she’s with Carly, Wade, Nick, and the rest? Maybe where you feel your soulmates pain, or something. Sorry if this is too specific lol.

Bo Sinclair X Reader

Soulmate AU: shared pain and shared scars:

You had been friends with Carly for a little while now, which was how you got invited on the group’s road trip. You weren’t a massive fan of football and didn’t care much about the game you were going to see but you thought that getting away could be a little fun.

It was the night before the game when the group decided to camp out for the night and keep driving in the morning. After setting up the tents, you all sat around with drinks, talking among yourselves. 

As the group talked and laughed, you held your wrist in your hand, gently tracing the faint scarring with your thumb, an absentminded habit you had developed years ago. 

“Damn, they look nasty” Nick’s voice made you look away from the others and towards him, seeing how he eyed your wrists. 

“Leave her alone, Nick” Carly scolded her brother, already knowing about the scars you had received due to your unfortunate soulmate. 

“Are they yours?” Nick asked, completely ignoring his sister. You weren’t sure whether he was genuinely curious or actually trying to get under your skin. 

“...no” you answered honestly. 

“Unlucky bastard” Nick muttered before turning his attention back to his drink, like your conversation never even happened.

With everyone’s attention going back to more light-hearted conversation, you looked down at your scarred wrist and sighed. 

Carly had once asked you if you held any resentment for your soulmate, as have others in your life, and you had been perfectly honest with all of them. You held no resentment, you weren’t angry with your soulmate, you were nothing but sympathetic towards them. It wasn’t their fault that somebody hurt them like this, you just hoped that they had been able to get away from it.

Though, you doubted it. The injuries aren’t as frequent as they were in childhood, however they still occurred and they could be pretty bad. Once, you had even woken up in the middle of the night, bleeding from what looked like a knife wound.

“Here” Carly’s voice brought you out of your thoughts, making you look up to see her standing beside you with a smile. You returned her smile and accepted the can of beer she held out to you.

Opening the can, you hissed slightly as your thumb slipped and you cut yourself on the sharp metal, cursing your own clumsiness. You brought your thumb up to your mouth before lowering it again, taking a sip of your drink. 

- 

“Ah shit” Bo quietly cursed at the sudden stinging sensation in his thumb, it wasn’t particularly painful, just a shock.

He lifted his hand, noticing the slight cut on his thumb, and sighed. His soulmate must have done something stupid but he couldn’t find it within him to feel annoyed about it, not after everything he must have put them through.

He would probably be returning the favour pretty soon, since Lester had informed him of a group camping out nearby, they should be coming into town pretty soon. 

-

After the car broke down and everyone decided that there was nothing they could do to fix it, a man named Lester had offered to take three of you into a nearby town so that you could visit the garage there. So, you, Carly, and wade ended up walking into the town that Lester had left you on the outskirts on.

Walking under the hot Louisiana sun, you had to pull your jacket off and tie the sleeves around your waist. The three of you headed straight to the garage, which was easy to find, but found that there was nobody there. 

“Maybe there will be someone in the church?” Wade suggested, nodding towards the church at the end of the street.

“I’ll stay here in case someone comes back” you offered, thinking that the owner that Lester mentioned could be back any minute. 

“You sure?” Carly asked, not too sure about leaving you alone in a strange place. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” you shrugged.

Carly and Wade nodded before heading to the church to find somebody who could help while you waited at the garage.

You sat down on the curb, glancing around the street. From where you were sitting, the church was just out of sight but you could see the top of the Wax Museum in the slight distance. Ambrose was a small town, extremely quiet. It almost seemed empty, only the sound of birds flying overhead breaking the silence. 

After a little while of waiting, you started to wonder why your two friends hadn’t come back. Surely they would have found somebody by now and if they hadn’t you thought they would come to tell you that. You were just about to go looking for them when footsteps caught your attention. You looked in the direction of the church, seeing a man in a full black suit walking towards you.

You paused for a moment, just staring at him as he approached. It felt like the air was sucked from your lungs, like the earth stood still just for a moment. The strange feeling was all consuming, you didn’t notice the falter in his steps that suggested that he might have experienced something similar. The sensation reminded you of the description Carly had given you when she was explaining what it’s like to meet your soulmate. Though his casualness in his following question made you doubt it. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked with a charming southern drawl. 

“Do you work here?” you asked as you stood up, dusting off your shorts. 

“Own the place” he nodded before walking over to the garage and unlocking the front door. “Are you here with two friends? I didn’t catch their names” he asked, nodding at you to follow him inside. 

“Yeah, Carly and Wade. You saw them?” you nodded as you followed him into the garage, feeling some relief to be out of the harsh sun. 

“Said they needed a fan belt, I sent them up to the wax museum to kill some time before I could help them. Didn’t realise they left someone else waiting here” he explained. You frowned a little, it would have been nice of them to have let you know rather than just leaving alone on the curb. 

Shaking the thought away, you put another smile on your face. “I’m Y/n, by the way” you introduced yourself politely, holding your hand out for him to shake. 

“Bo Sinclair” he introduced himself and took your hand, giving you a firm hand shake. His charismatic smile remained on his face, something closer to a smirk than a friendly smile. His name spoken in that alluring southern accent. You simply couldn’t help but be a little charmed by him.

His smirk faltered for a moment as he glanced down at your hands, noticing the scars that wrapped around your wrists. He paused for a moment, holding your hand a little too long as his gaze lingered on the scars. 

Bo didn’t comment on it, so the small feeling you had that his man could possibly be your soulmate left your mind. There was no way he didn’t recognise them if he had the same ones. They were too unique.

In that case, you figured his staring was just because of the scarring. You had experienced people staring at them from time to time, wondering how you got them, but you never let it bother you. You weren’t ashamed of them. 

Bo plastered the smirk back on his face as he released your hand. He couldn’t help but catch himself stare a little. You didn’t hide the scarring like he did. Yours were also a little fainter than his, probably because you had them tended too properly unlike him and they healed better. The intense, all consuming, feeling from earlier and now seeing the scars so similar to his own. It couldn’t be a coincidence... 

“You seem a little over dressed for a mechanic” you commented to break the awkwardness, understanding the tension that had developed but the two of you seemed to move past it relatively easily. 

“I was at a funeral before you’re two friends crashed it over a goddamn fanbelt” Bo told you, irritation clear in his voice. You couldn’t blame him in the slightest. 

“Oh...I’m so sorry” you apologised on behalf of your friends, now feeling a little bad for dragging him away to fix up your car. “Who did you loose, if you don’t mind me asking?” you asked, hoping to be sympathetic without prying too much. 

“My mother” Bo told you, making you even more apologetic. 

“I’m so sorry...about my friends and that you have to fix our car” you frowned, feeling even more awful than before. 

“Ain’t your fault, darlin’“ Bo assured you, truly not seeming angry with you. 

You couldn’t help but blush a little at the petname, you just couldn’t deny feeling an attraction towards this man. Having felt an instant connection to him. It was strange, and you were already finding yourself a little longing, knowing you’ll have to leave once the car was sorted. 

“C’mon, let’s see if I can find that fanbelt for you” Bo’s smirk quickly returned as he gestured you to follow him further into the garage. “One of your friends told me what size you needed” he informed you as he started searching through his supply of fanbelts. “And...we don’t have it” he hummed.

“You don’t? What now?” you asked with a frown, having no idea what you were supposed to do now. Where the hell were Carly and Wade?

“Don’t worry, no need to frown, sweetheart. We have the rest of the delivery up at the house, we’ll have the right size for ya” Bo assured you with a charming wink.

“You could have lead with that” you chuckled to yourself, feeling relieved and trying to ignore the way he had winked at you.

“C’mon, we’ll go up to the house and get it for ya. I’ll get my brother to tow your car and we’ll get you all sorted” he told you, quickly putting you at ease and making you feel like everything was going to work you.

“Thank you so much, Bo” you sighed, giving him a sincere smile.

“It’s not a problem” Bo nodded. “We’ll take my truck, it’s just outside” he informed you, placing a hand between your shoulder blades as he guided you outside.

The two of you got into his truck and Bo started driving towards his house. Normally this would be something that you would be suspicious about but something about him put you at ease.

“Those scars of yours...they’re pretty intense” Bo finally commented on them, he needed to know what you had to say. “They yours?” he asked, reminding you a little of your talk with Nick the night before.

“No, they’re my soulmate’s” you told him, gently rubbing your wrists.

“You must have really ripped into him when you met them, huh?” he joked half-heartedly, something in his tone that made you curious.

“Oh, I haven’t met them...but I wouldn’t rip into them” you frowned at the accusation. “I’ve had these scars since childhood, which means they likely did too...it’s not their fault somebody hurt them. I’m not angry at them at all” you shook your head, clearly meaning every word you said.

“I’d be pretty pissed” Bo scoffed before his voice softened slightly, “but you’re probably a good person.”

“They were hurt by somebody, how can I be angry at them for that? I’m angry at whoever did it to them...honestly, I just hope they’re alright now” you confessed. “Just wanna give them a hug, y’know?” you laughed lightly.

“I hope my soulmate feels the same as you, they’ve probably been through hell because of me” Bo told you.

You weren't sure what that meant, of course. You didn't know what Bo had been through to worry about his soulmate's reaction to him like that but you were sure your soulmate had some similar concerns and you didn't want to pry further.

“They won’t be mad at you” you promised him with a smile.

Bo gave you a slight smile as he pulled up outside of his house, the way he looked at you leaving you curious. You couldn't quite explain it.

As Bo and you climbed out of the truck, Bo knew that you were his soulmate and that he couldn't let you go. A part of him had been relieved to hear that you didn't harbour any resentment towards him but he knew that if you didn't hate him now, you certainly would by the end of the day.

Still, Bo was selfish. He could let his soulmate, especially such a good one like you, slip between his fingers. You were his, and you had come home. He wouldn't be letting you leave any time soon.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Camlann, except no one is being held back by stupid destinies;

Merlin manages to keep Morgana and Mordred on the side of the light, which has a few rather influential knock-on effects.

Morgause leads her army onto the barren fields of Camlann, her hair and eyes wild, but her sword and focus sharp. Opposite stands her traitor sister’s half brother, the Boy-King of Camelot, surrounded by his precious knights. Today, they would all die, she would make certain of that.

Arthur struggles to keep his hands from trembling, he’s well aware that this battle will likely be his, and subsequently Camelot’s, downfall, but his nerves are settled slightly by Merlin’s comforting presence at his side. Which he feels immensely guilty at. 

He’d done his best to urge Merlin to run, to take Gwen and Gaius and maybe even Morgana, to go to Ealdor to pick up his mother and run even further, just in case. Merlin had refused of course; Gwen and Morgana had squawked at Arthur’s stupid chivalry and planted their feet firmly in the throne room, a symbolic last line of defence, and Gaius rolled his eyes and reaffirmed that he would be in the infirmary tent, as planned. 

He’d given his men his speech and they all seemed content to die for the cause, for one last desperate attempt to keep their home safe, but that didn’t stop the freezing claw of guilt from shredding Arthur’s lungs every time he took a breath. They were just waiting now. For someone to make the first move, for Morgause to get a little closer, for someone to send a messenger. 

Arthur’s broken from his stare when a warm, soft, steady hand takes his gently. His head whips to the side to see Merlin, stood without armour (oh, how The King despaired) staring at him with a slight frown. A frown, Arthur thinks, that should be much deeper, and much more afraid. He’s grateful it isn’t. He’s not sure he could cope with seeing Merlin scared:

“Arthur, if... if I knew a way to win this, once and for all, with not a drop of Camelot blood spilt... would you let me?”

It takes Arthur a few moments to process what Merlin had said, on account of his brain focusing on how grateful he is to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his hand instead of actually listening to him speak, but when he does, he copies his servant’s frown, though his is slightly more confused. He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand as he responds, instead tightening his grip:

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Merlin gulps and looks away briefly, a look of guilt if Arthur ever saw one, but he finds he doesn’t really care. They’re all about to die, he’d forgive Merlin anything:

“If I could win this battle, and the war, right here, right now. Would you let me?-”

At Arthur’s continued perplexed look, Merlin rolls his eyes and huffs, smirking slightly as he adds on:

“-Just humour me.”

Arthur gulps, glancing towards the slowly advancing army before once again squeezing Merlin’s hand and looking back at him:

“It would... depend on the consequences, I suppose. Would you get hurt?”

Merlin shakes his head, then stops, and tilts it sideways as though he’s considering something he’d really rather not think about. He can’t meet Arthur’s gaze as he responds:

“I... might need a few hours to rest, afterwards, but any... long term consequences would depend on your reaction.”

Arthur recoils slightly at that, frown deepening as he shakes his head, completely oblivious to the keen listening ears of his six most loyal knights, and another, hidden towards the back of the group. If he’d turned to see them, Arthur would’ve noticed the blank looks of steely determination on Lancelot and Mordred’s faces:

“Well we would never have to worry about that. I... I could never see you hurt, Merlin.”

The King’s voice cracks as he mentions Merlin getting hurt, and the servant’s gaze softens, knowing that Arthur was thinking of their inevitable demise, creeping closer and closer. He squeezes his hand, giving him a soft smile as his other hand lifts up to rest on his shoulder; his question comes out soft and pleading:

“Do you trust me?”

Arthur has to use all of his self control not to yell his answer across Camlann:

“More than anyone.”

Merlin smiles sadly and steps back, dropping both of his still-steady hands to his sides; Arthur feels the gap between them more heavily than he feels the armour on his back. Merlin goes to turn away without another word, but before he can take even one step, a figure is pushing through to the front, gripping his wrist and pulling him back:

“I’m coming too.”

Arthur’s eyes go comically large as he hears Morgana’s voice come from under the hood. He steps forward to rip it down, and she only spares him an annoyed glance before she’s back to staring purposefully at Merlin. A gasp goes up around the group from all bar two, and Mordred dismounts his horse, walking forward to be in line with Morgana. The three of them entirely ignore Arthur’s outraged words:

“Morgana, what the hell are you doing here? You need to be safe at the castle, you’re meant to take the crown what the hell are you doing here?!”

Merlin meets Morgana’s determined glare with a resigned one of his own:

“No, this is my-”

Mordred interrupts him, his voice strong in a way that Arthur had never heard from the youngest knight before:

“No. No, it’s not. You’re not just fighting for Camelot, Merlin, you’re fighting or us, for our people.”

Merlin looks like he wants to argue, but Morgana crosses her arms and holds her head high as she speaks:

“You’re making a stand and you have no right to stop us from doing the same. This is bigger than you, bigger than all three of us, this is our fight just as much as it is yours.”

Merlin can only hold their stare for so long before he sighs and looks to the floor, entirely oblivious to the knights panicking (bar Lancelot, of course). He looks up with a small, relaxed smile on his face, and if Arthur weren’t so preoccupied with the fact that Morgana was definitely not supposed to be here, he would’ve found Merlin’s almost-nonchalance calming. The servant holds both his hands out:

“Together?”

Mordred grins widely, taking one of Merlin’s wrists as he responds confidently:

“For Camelot.”

Morgana does the same, a sudden wind whipping her hair behind her wildly:

“For our people.”

Without another moment’s of hesitation, Merlin turns and marches towards Morgause and her army. His steps are purposeful and strong, and Arthur can’t bring himself to stop him, no matter how desperately his brain is screaming at him. Morgana turns to him with a not-quite-cruel smirk:

“This has been a long time coming, brother. Enjoy the show.”

Arthur can only blink in surprise as she turns and walks towards Merlin. Mordred looks to him next, though the young knight’s smile is a lot softer, a lot more pitying:

“You should consider yourself lucky, Arthur,-”

Arthur barely registers the use of his first name:

“-my Lord gave up his throne in favour of serving you, buried his crown in favour of polishing yours.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, his voice quiet and confused and strained as he asks:

“Your Lord?”

Mordred looks to Merlin, still marching across the seemingly never-ending field, with an awed smile; his voice is quiet and holds notes of what almost sound like worship:

“He’s more than you know.”

Before Arthur can respond, Merlin and Morgana stop, turning to look at Mordred expectantly. Merlin stares blankly, his brows slightly furrowed, but Morgana sports a wild grin as she yells back:

“I though you wanted to join in on the fun, Mordred?”

The young knight grins in response, turning to Arthur and giving him one last short bow as he cheerfully says, not a trace of worry in his voice:

“Lady Morgana is right My Lord, enjoy the show.”

He turns away quickly, jogging to catch up with the other two before anyone can say anything. Gwaine is the first to react, jumping off his horse and starting forward, to catch up with them, to pull them back, to ask them what the fuck was going on, but Lance quickly lands behind him, grabbing his shoulder:

“Wait, don’t. You trust them right?-”

He casts his gaze around the others, all looking slightly confused but mostly panicked as they dismount their horses. Mordred, Merlin, and Morgana make their journey to the centre of the field, but Lancelot’s eyes focuses on Arthur:

“-You said you trusted him, so just... this is what he does, Arthur. Please, just trust him, everything’s going to be ok.”

Arthur is desperate to question his knight, to demand that he explain what’s going on and give up anything, everything he knows, but before he can say anything, Elyan gasps and points somewhere beyond their friends. The whole army seems to resume their earlier jitters as Morgause differentiates herself from her soldiers.

~

The three magic users spread out slightly as they come to a stop, Mordred on the left, Morgana on the right, and Merlin, of course, in the middle.

A storm seems to be fast approaching and the loud wind makes hearing each other difficult, but they don’t need words to speak, and Mordred’s question echoes in Merlin’s head as all of their gazes focus on Morgause stepping forward:

“Are the other two coming?”

The Warlock nods, tapping his finger to his temple briefly as he replies:

“I called for them hours ago, they’re almost-”

~

Arthur is distracted from all that’s in front of him when a desperate and terrified voice screeches out from the back of his army:

“DRAGONS!!”

He, and all the other knights, whip their heads around in panic, only to see exactly what had been yelled about. The Dragon that Arthur had supposedly killed years ago is flying towards them like a hurricane, golden scales shining bright even in the shadows of the approaching storm. Next to him flies a much smaller dragon, pure white and clearly young, unstable in the air but still graceful, still terrifying.

Arthur’s heart sinks even impossibly further as they both fly straight over them, aiming for the other side of the field. If Morgause had two Dragons at her beck and call somehow, there was no hope, no matter what ridiculous plan Merlin had. Arthur felt the tears fill his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. If this was to end in fire, then he’d sprint to Merlin, just so he could see him, hold his hands, beg him for a smile, one last time.

Lancelot holds him back with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile:

“I know this doesn’t make sense, but just... trust him.”

He turns back to Merlin just to see the great beasts land in front of them, almost acting as a barrier between the three of them and the opposing army.

~

“-Took you long enough.”

Kilgharrah does his best imitation of rolled eyes before dipping his head in a bow:

“Where would you like us, young Warlock?”

Merlin grins, allowing Aithusa to push her head into his hands as he answers:

“I want you somewhere off to the side looking vaguely threatening. Only intervene if you have to, I don’t want the Camelot knights getting twitchy and skewering you, you’re an old man after all, I’m not sure you could take it.-”

Morgana laughs aloud and Mordred snorts behind his hand, but Kilgharrah just rolls his eyes again, giving another bow that this time somehow seems sarcastic before clomping off to the side, prowling up and down the edge of the field and huffing the occasional puffs of smoke in the opposition’s direction. Merlin looks down to Aithusa next, scratching her chin and using a much softer voice:

“Go watch over Arthur, keep him safe but don’t let him or any of the others hurt you, I’m sure Lance will explain. Try to stay out of the fighting and don’t let Morgause get anywhere near Arthur or the knights, you understand?”

The creature purrs and nods, stepping around her master and beginning an impossibly fast sprint towards Arthur.

~

Arthur stares with wide eyes at the gathering in the middle of the field, letting out a deep breath when the Great Dragon bows down to Merlin’s confident stance. The smaller creature bounds to him as he... exchanges words with the beasts, and all Arthur can do is stare as his brain argues over which emotion should be at the forefront. Fear? Confusion? Betrayal? Some kind of guilt? Pride, maybe?

Lancelot definitely looks proud, worried, but proud, and Arthur spares him a questioning glance; before he can say anything, Leon lets out a quiet yelp, pointing across the field and drawing his sword on instinct. Arthur whips his head around to see the white Dragon speeding towards them, eyes bright, teeth bared, and sharp claws ripping up the ground with every step.

He draws his own sword, panic clawing at his gut, but before he can step forward in some pointless attempt to protect his men, Lancelot pulls him back again, stepping in between Arthur and the approaching Dragon with a placating hand held out to each of them; his voice comes out quickly and desperate:

“No, no, she’s on our side, don’t hurt her. Merlin sent her here to protect us, don’t hurt her.”

Arthur stares between them with a mix of blood-curdling fear and endless confusion. But he trusts Merlin, and he trusts Lancelot, so much to Leon’s displeasure he lowers his sword, though he doesn’t sheath it, not yet.

The Dragon finally reaches them, coming to a skidding stop a few feet away. Arthur’s fear is overpowered by confusion, and an odd fondness in the back of his mind, when the creature almost topples over in it’s haste. She purrs loudly, and even Leon appears to relax slightly, even more so when she dips her head in what appears to be a bow to Arthur, before turning her attention to Lancelot and pushing her face into his hands.

The other knights all start forward on instinct, but when Lance lets out a low chuckle and begins... scratching the creature’s chin?? They step back again, watching as the Dragon begins purring even louder, almost bowling Lancelot over as it rubs it’s scaled body across his legs. It’s... acting like a cat...

Gwaine coughs very deliberately and Lancelot looks up with a blush, biting his lip before saying, his words awkward and stilted:

“Uh... guys, this is Aithusa, she’s... a Dragon. She can’t speak yet, but-”

Percival makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head with wide eyes as he asks incredulously:

“Dragons are meant to be able to speak??”

Lancelot grimaces, but nods, but before he can say anything, Morgause’s crazed voice echoes over the field, and their attention is drawn back to the face off between Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, and the enemy.

~

“You can not beat me, not even with your precious pets!!”

The gang can hear Kilgharrah’s low growl at the insult and the sound vibrates across the ground and up into their very bones, even with the distance between them. Aithusa tenses in response, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as she detects the anger and insult swarming in her Kin, but Merlin holds a hand out to the Great Dragon, and both creatures relax as he monotonously responds:

“I’m giving you one chance, Morgause, do not send your followers to a pointless death.”

His tone is even and confident, his back straight, his head held high, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed Merlin’s obvious power before. Despite speaking normally, his voice is heard by everyone, even over the howling wind.

The knights can see Morgause’s hands shaking in her rage, her eyes wide and bright golden as she screeches her response, her anger showing through clearly:

“I am no coward!! You are nothing but a servant, a child soldier, and a pampered princess! What hope do you have against me?! I am a High Priestess, you are nothing!!!”

Merlin lowers his head, nodding slightly in resigned sadness. His muttered words, once again, somehow seem to echo across the field, and Arthur recoils at the grief in his tone:

“So be it.”

He slowly lifts his arm, holding it at a forty-five degree angle from the ground, his fingers splayed wide, and Elyan gasps, pointing wordlessly to the lightening dancing between his fingertips. Gwaine lets out a boisterous laugh, grinning as he realises with sudden clarity that Merlin is about to kick ass in a major way.

Arthur just gapes, struggling to process what was happening even as Gwaine whoops and Lancelot smiles proudly. The other knights are also staring, varying levels of confusion, awe, and happiness on their faces. 

From where they’re standing, they can see Mordred and Morgana get into a fighting stance, though neither of them draw the swords they have hanging from their hips. Morgause lets out an ear piercing screech, this one wordless, giving the distinct impression that her mind had snapped under the weight of her fury. Her army begins their march forwards as she hurls a fireball the size of a horse straight for Merlin, but he simply twists his wrist sharply forwards. A bolt of lightening rips down from the sky, intercepting the fireball and forcing it to the ground where it explodes in a miniature storm of silver sparks and golden flames.

Morgause screams again, her and her army speeding up in their approach as Merlin gives some sort of unseen command. All of a sudden, Mordred gives a small leap forward, planting his feet firmly as he thrusts his hands towards the ground before ripping them up again; with the movement, the ground at his feet explodes, vines and rocks and roots bursting from the field in a sharp line heading straight for the army. Morgana, at the same time, swirls her arms gracefully around her head, a few sparks of fire lighting up in the darkness as if from the friction between her hands and the air. She brings her arms down again, completing the elegant flow, stepping forward as she blows harshly into her cupped hands. A great, hot fire bursts forth, huge and angry and writhing as it shoots towards the enemy.

A few feeble counter attacks are thrown from Morgause and the sorcerers she has in her ranks, but ultimately, the army can only look on in horror at their approaching deaths. After a few moments of Merlin staring proudly at Mordred and Morgana’s handy work as it rips apart the first few hundred soldiers, he takes his own step forward, raising his arm to the sky. Lightening dances between just his fingertips at first, then down his arm, then all over his body; he connects to the flashes in the sky, and he glows brighter and brighter until he thrusts both arms forward. A tornado of flashing, crackling light shoots out from his hands, striking down thousands of soldiers. Shards of lightening jump from enemy to enemy, leaving none untouched by magic, each being struck down by Mordred’s earth, Morgana’s fire, or Merlin’s sky.

The Camelot army can only stare on in shock and horror as the enemy is wiped out in minutes, screams of those being buried alive, burned as if on pyres, or fried from the inside out reverberating across the field. Arthur’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and frozen on Merlin as he conducts lightening as if it were what he was born to do. Something deep in Arthur’s soul tells him that this is what he was born to do.

Aithusa’s protection isn’t required; none of the enemy soldiers get within ten metres of Merlin and his pupils, let alone Arthur and the other knights, but she patrols the front edge of Camelot’s army regardless, nudging back those that step too far forward (everyone was too focused on The King’s manservant, knight, and half sister being... well... Godlike, to care about the fact that a Dragon was using her snout to gently push people around), always with one eye on Arthur, just like her master had asked.

Within minutes, the field goes almost silent; the only sounds to be heard are the gentle crackling of still-smouldering bodies, and the deep breaths of Morgause, Mordred, Morgana, and Arthur. Merlin seems entirely unbothered, his stance still strong and powerful where Mordred and Morgana sag slightly from the exertion.

Morgause falls to her knees, tears on her cheeks as she finally realises the power that she’s up against; Merlin tilts his head slightly before clicking his fingers. The four of them disappear in clouds of deep black smoke and Arthur struggles to stop himself from yelping and falling back when they reappear in front of him.

Morgause is still kneeling, Merlin in front of her with a blank expression on his face. Morgana stands to the side, her face an odd mix of sorrowfully defeated—Morgause was her sister after all—and vindictively victorious. Mordred stands at her shoulder, looking a lot more tired but still managing to stay upright as he gazes upon the scene with well put together indifference. Aithusa bounds over to be stood at her master’s side, and even Kilgharrah joins them, standing behind Aithusa a way’s off.

Morgause finally speaks through her deep breathing, staring up at Merlin in desperation:

“Who are you?”

Merlin just tilts his head and frowns slightly, crouching down to place a soft hand on her shoulder:

“Who do you think?”

Morgause sags even further, her tears streaming down her face as she almost whispers, her voice cracking:

“Emrys.”

Merlin nods slowly, looking to Arthur for the first time since the whole ordeal started. Arthur is taken aback at the shining gold of his eyes, but holds his gaze, gulping and waiting for his servant (?) to make the first move:

“Your orders, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, looking first down at Morgause, who is staring at the floor blankly, then to Mordred and Morgana, who raise eyebrows at him, then Lancelot, who shrugs, and finally the other knights, who stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for his answer just as Merlin is. His hands clench at his side, but he looks back to the dark-haired man, his face determined and his voice strong:

“Your suggestion?”

Lancelot nods approvingly at Arthur’s obvious show of trust; the question is more than just a question, it’s a display that The King is treating Merlin like an advisor, asking for his counsel and trusting his allegiance in front of a crowd. Merlin smiles slightly, tightening his grip on Morgause’s shoulder, not that she notices:

“I’m not overly fond of execution, but we don’t have dungeons strong enough to hold her long term, and too many have suffered at her hand.”

Arthur nods, though he sheathes his sword. He takes a deep breath before his next instruction, knowing that this is... delicate, and important; a turning point in his Kingdom’s history:

“Make it merciful.”

Merlin holds in his proud smile and Morgause only has time to gasp quietly as his hand moves from her shoulder to her forehead. Her eyes roll back and she collapses to the floor, dead before she even hits the ground. 

The Warlock spares the dead witch a quick, pitying glance, and the grief in his eyes, even after all she had done, is endearing, reminding everyone around them of the compassion Merlin is capable of. He stands quickly, but is careful not to make any of his moves too sudden, stepping away from the body and towards Arthur. His stance is strong once again, allowing some before unseen authority, confidence, power to shine through; Mordred and Morgana take their places either side of them, and even Aithusa sits up, tall and proud, as Kilgharrah edges forward slightly.

This is Merlin, showing off his army, presenting it to his King, offering it up for judgment. An army consisting of himself, his two apprentices, and two Dragons; not large, but likely the most powerful the land has ever known, and ever will know.

Arthur gulps, but meets Merlin’s golden gaze. The atmosphere is thick and charged and The King couldn’t pinpoint whether it was from the residual lightening still jumping between Merlin’s fingers, or the sheer power that was just displayed, seemingly effortlessly. He glances over the Warlock’s shoulder at the carnage behind him and can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath. Merlin tilts his head, glancing at the massacre for just a moment before looking back with an almost repentant smile:

“I apologise for the theatrics,-”

He’s interrupted by Morgana’s whispered murmur of “I don’t, that was brilliant.” but ignores her:

“-but I can... fix that. If you like?”

Arthur frowns slightly, confused and so far out of his comfort zone that he doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at what Merlin might be implying. He feels a mould grow spontaneously in his gut, a horror with spores that spread throughout his bloodstream as he realises that... he doesn’t really know anything about magic, about how it works, about how Merlin is offering to use it. It had yet to occur to him to be afraid of Merlin, but the sudden realisation that he’d been persecuting his servant’s people with no real understanding of his own former hatred was... jarring.

The Warlock sees Arthur’s hesitation, widening his reassuring smile slightly as he repeats an earlier question, from a time that felt as though it had come years before, but was really only minutes. The discrepancy in timelines between Arthur’s head and the real world does not alter the King’s answer

“Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone.”

Merlin closes his eyes, holding his hands out to the side slightly as he lets out a deep breath. The storm, which Arthur and the knights had become entirely oblivious of despite it’s ruinous thunder and blinding flashes of lightening, quickly dissipates; blue sky and bright sun peek through the fading clouds. A gold shimmer ripples out across the ground from Merlin’s feet, spreading backwards like a wave over sand, turning pebbles and leaving the beach clean and fresh in it’s wake. The ground clears, bodies sinking into nothingness and fires being smothered by magic, even Morgause disappears into the dirt. 

Arthur absentmindedly thinks that that could be seen as honorary or disgracing; he supposes it depends on what type of person you were before the end of your life. Merlin would see being entombed within the Earth itself as a blessing, he somehow thinks that Morgause, with her God complex and inflated feelings of infallibility, would find it... demeaning.

Merlin sags his head slightly, and when Arthur’s brain comes back into focus, mostly prompted by the gasping and widespread whispers of the uneasy army behind him, he sees that the barren fields of Camlann, soaked with blood and scorched by lightening, no longer exist. In their place was a vast meadow, bright with the colours of spring and summer; untameable wildflowers stood tall and crimson butterflies were the only reminders of the bloodshed that had watered this paradise before them.

Arthur feels the smile on his face before he had even made the conscious decision to smile, but he decides that today, of all days, he doesn’t mind accidentally wearing his heart on his sleeve. Trust Merlin to do something as unspeakable as rip an army to shreds with lightening, and then apologise for his dramatics by creating heaven on earth.

The King sighs before shaking his head slightly, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. He can feel the sun on his skin, and his smile grows with the knowledge that the heat warming his cheeks was entirely unnatural for this time of year; Merlin really was pulling out all of the stops.

“You’re a gift to this world, Merlin.”

His voice comes out softly, as if he were afraid of ruining the peace, though he only adds to it; The King finally turns to his Warlock again and almost stumbles back at the immeasurable devotion shining from his now-blue-again eyes. His whispered response carries on the wind as if he were a part of it, and Arthur wonders just how much of this world Merlin has touched, just how much of this universe Merlin has created, extended himself to. Did the wind exist before Merlin? Did the sun? Did butterflies, or lightening, or the colour gold have any space in this universe before Merlin willed it? Gaius’ thick books say they have an answer, but Arthur thinks they might be lying:

“A gift to you, Arthur, only to you.”

~

THE END!

I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for a while, so I hope y’all liked it!! I LOVE writing BAMF!Merlin, (and BAMF!Mordred/Morgana as well so) :D

Same as always, you wanna extend it/write it properly/remix it, then that’s fine, but drop me message before hand and credit/tag me!! :)

[brisbookmark]

The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head. 

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound. 

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now. 

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her. 

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all. 

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again. 

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother, 

No, he couldn’t. 

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her. 

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already. 

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth. 

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar. 

No. Please, anything but that. 

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries. 

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again. 

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones. 

"Wrong!" 

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult. 

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried. 

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths. 

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting. 

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain, 

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway. 

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes. 

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all. 

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him. 

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!" 

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness. 

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this? 

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck. 

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A. 

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting. 

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it. 

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing. 

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball. 

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go. 

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer. 

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him. 

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder. 

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared. 

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever. 

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him. 

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

x

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old. 

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness. 

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay. 

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. 

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like. 

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear. 

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up. 

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.  

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters. 

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running. 

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement. 

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!" 

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause. 

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster. 

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle. 

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities. 

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men. 

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm. 

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar. 

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd. 

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room. 

No. 

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again. 

x

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

[mrpenguinpants]

Spider’s Thread [Reverse AU]

Possessive Red Xiao x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Commissioned for: @profoundwitchsalad

Art Credit: @ruoyeahs

Warning: Unhealthy relationships.

Prompt:

“You’ve ruined my life because I have a warped idea of what love is and I can’t live without you. But now you’re trying to leave me and I won’t allow that. You left me alive. You have a duty to live for me and by me. I’m not letting you go.”

---

Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ] [ Fainting ]

Link to original posts:  [Red! Xiao.] [Reverse AU]

[Masterlist]

Alatus was once told a story by his Master. A sinner who falls into hell is rewarded for his only good deed, choosing not to kill a spider. As his reward, a thread is lowered down for him to climb out of Hell. In the end, the sinner remains in Hell because he kicks aside others and the thread breaks. Alatus doesn't remember why his Master told him this story but he still empathizes with the sinner. He would have done the same or asked for this 'saviour' to extend their hand down instead. That way he could pull them down.

"Xiao? Are you okay?"

He slowly opens his jade eyes to see you hunch over, peering down above him, eyebrows furrowed together in concern as you reach down and softly tap his temple. He allows you to take a moment to do whatever you want with his face before he reaches up to grasp at your wrist gently, holding back on his want to rub circles into your skin. His reminiscing can wait for now.

"What is it?" he asks curtly, sitting up and resting his elbow on his raised knee. You pout at his curt tone but shrug it off as you take a seat next to him and lean your shoulder against his. You dig into your bag and pull out slips of commission papers and hand it over to him to read through what needed to be done today. A few Hilichurl camps needed to be taken care of, sabotaging a slime balloon, all tasks that seem mundane to someone who fought in a war. As he's preoccupied, you take a moment to look at Xiao's face. He's just the slightest bit unnerved whenever you do this because you always seem to know what's bothering someone.

"Were you dreaming of her again?" you ask quietly. The silence is a good enough answer but you nod understandingly. You never knew his Master personally but you did fight a long strenuous battle against her. From one look you could tell she was a manipulative and cruel woman. While it may not be very kind to say, you were glad that with her passing, Xiao would be free from her physically. But mentally...there were still some things to work out. But Xiao was a very reclusive person, especially with his emotions, so pushing him any further would only make him irritated and closed off.

"Venti and Zhongli are joining our party for a bit if that’s alright. They'll help out a lot with our commissions and travelling. I like Liyue a lot but climbing mountains stresses my shoulders out," you laugh as you change the subject to something less depressing. Standing up as you dust your clothes off before turning to Xiao and holding your hand out for him to take. He stares at it hard for a few moments before huffing and reaching over to clasp your hands together.

It has been so frustratingly peaceful since the war ended. He's not used to it and he can still feel the lick of cutting winds and the heavy pressure of rocks against his body when he sees the bard and funeral parlor consultant just on the horizon. If it were up to him, he wouldn't play nice with these two Archons but they're important to you so he bites his tongue until he tastes blood. He knows the Archons do the same. As soon as the two of them spot you both, Venti is already rushing and tackling you to the ground in his excitement.

"Traveler! I haven't seen you in ages. You need to come and visit Mondstadt more," Venti cried into your shoulder as you awkwardly patted him on his back. Always with the dramatics but you cared about Venti all the same. Xiao scoffed before flicking his jade eyes to meet gold as Zhongli stared down at him cautiously. Since the war ended, everyone seemed to have this warped idea that Alatus had some vendetta against the Gods and Celestia but he was fighting because he was told to.

"Xiao. It's good to see you again," Zhongli said to him. Xiao just nodded in acknowledgement. Even with this new mortal form, Morax never bothered to change his eyes. His gaze alone held the weight of the mountains he had thrown. If Xiao hadn’t been under one of them before, he might have crumbled under the pressure.

"Alright alright, Venti. I promise I'll drop by sometime this month but we still have commissions to do!" you laugh as you haul the bard onto his feet and swat his cape down from the speckles of dirt. He grins cheekily at you, linking pinkies with you to seal your promise, before suddenly lighting up as if he just remembered something.

"Actually! Before we start anything, I need to speak to Mr. Zhongli and Xiao. Super important archon things, you know?" Venti nodded to himself as the two mentioned people stared at him with varying levels of confusion. But Venti just waved their worries off and linked his arms with both men as he dragged them off to a more secluded corner with a surprising amount of strength, “We’ll be right back!”

"Do what you need to do but don't take too long," you called after the trio as you trailed off to the side, messing with your bag of commission papers and gear. Xiao hated that. He knows that these two Archons are your...friends.. but shouldn't you be a bit more cautious? Just because they have mortal forms doesn’t make them human, it doesn’t make him human either.

"Hey, there's no need to look so scary. There really is something important I wanted to talk to the two of you about," Venti speaks up as soon as you're out of earshot. It still gives Xiao whiplash whenever he drops the persona and switches back to Barbatos. "Since Morax is the only Archon I trust with this information and, while I don't trust you one bit, you're the one that's with her all the time you should also know. She's ascending to Celestia."

Barbatos gauges both of their reactions. Morax seems visibly surprised, his eyes slightly widened a fraction, while Xiao has no idea what that means. His Master didn’t exactly give him a history lesson on Celestia or Archons, just pointed to who was his enemy and dealt punishments when he failed.

"And what the hell does that mean?" Xiao asks as he crosses his arms. Venti appears for a second as the bard pouts before continuing.

"It's like I said. A mortal who performs great, heroic feats can ascend to Celestia and achieve godhood. Where they will watch over their people from above. I've only seen this once before so it took me a while to recognize the signs. But 1000 years ago, I helped a woman named Vennessa with her ascension and with the traveler's recent actions with winning the war. Well, you don't need me to explain the rest," Barbatos finishes. Zhongli simply hums as he cups his chin and absorbs what's just been heard. He doesn’t seem troubled by the news at all.

"Have you told her about this?" Zhongli questions as he looks towards the direction that you left. Venti shakes his head. “That would mean that she would vanish from this world."

“I know she loves this world. Whether she wishes to ascend or not isn’t my choice but I want her to continue her travels with that beloved smile on her face. But if she does choose to ascend, she will need our help," Venti stares at the two of them in a mix of pride, sadness, and determination. "Can I count on you two for your help?"

It's a complete white noise in Xiao's ears as his surroundings fade out. He thinks he can see Zhongli nod to Venti wishes, the ever calm smile on his face to match the cheery grin on Venti’s. What, now you want to become a God? Leave this world behind? That’s not funny. You made him give up everything. While in your eyes, your blinded hero syndrome, you think you've liberated him from a soulless conquest but he still has nothing. You still took everything away from him and your only compensation was to have him by your side until he left himself. But now you want to leave without a warning? That’s not fair. You don’t get to take back what you owe. He won't allow you to leave him behind.

“Did something happen? Did Venti say something unnecessary again?” you ask out of the blue. Zhongli and Venti had returned to their respective regions once your commissions were all finished. Since the three of them disappeared to talk Archon business, Xiao had seemed even more tense and aloof than usual. As if he was out of it? You knew that everyone was still suspicious of Xiao and they were angsty to leave you alone with him, but you knew Xiao would never do anything to hurt you. When he doesn't answer, you slowly reach over and you subtly nudge his head up onto your lap and look at him curiously. Before reaching down and cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch before turning his face into your palm and leaving a soft kiss. It makes you giggle at the ticklish feeling as you look at him so softly. It annoys him.

"You were never connected to the war and yet you fought against us anyways. Even when I killed so many people, why did you choose to spare me?" he asked as you blinked at him before giving it some serious thought. He went on a rampage and almost destroyed the world. It was fun. He doesn't have any regrets at all because he hated humanity. His own Master was human after all. But then you appeared and stopped him. A random outsider that wanted to play the hero. He thought it was cute. Perhaps he had underestimated the lengths someone would go to to save the world they loved but when he fell defeated at your feet. He said that this wouldn't change a single thing. He would still scorn humanity and what they did to him. He was so sure he would die there but you chose to extend your hand down to him instead despite what your companions felt. Even when the war ended and he had nowhere else to go, you offered him to travel with you. Nothing changed about his mentality, every person that chose to talk to him was quickly scared away with piercing eyes. Every conversation started would end in silence. Every touch would be met by the tip of his spear. But you would link your hands together with his and smile brightly, and he would always end up forgetting his trauma for a moment. You’ve... become precious to him.

"I love this world and everyone in it. You are a part of that world even if you tried to destroy it. It...didn't seem fair to leave you behind when you've suffered just as much," you finish but it only seemed to spark a wave of deep anger inside of Xiao. He quickly lurched up, almost knocking your forehead with his, before grabbing the scruff of your shirt collar and yanking you forward.

"Cut it out with that "love of everything" crap. It's revolting. So you're saying the people I killed weren't worth avenging? Do you think I'm so weak that I need protection? It's one thing to try and please everyone but at least have some awareness would you?" he snarled as he pushed you to the ground. He knew he was being harsh on you and you had every right to walk out and abandon him but you didn't. Of course, you wouldn't. You needed him as much as he needed you. You just reached over and tenderly reached your hand and placed it next to his. Damn it, why is he always the one stuck worrying about you.

"Then you want to protect me, right? Then don't break your promise. You left me alive which means you have a duty to live for me," he takes your hand in his and squeezes hard. Digging his nails into your own until crescents appear and tiny specks of blood appear so you know he's serious. He doesn't care how you interpret his words, just so long as you never leave him.

"Don't die on me, Hero."

It's been a few hours since the conversation so it's pitch black outside but Xiao was never one to sleep. Even if he could, his mind is too loud to fall asleep too. He's startled when you melt against him fully asleep. Honey smooth as you curl up to his warmth and cling to him like moss to a rock. He can feel his cheeks start to flush as his heart begins to pound against his chest. He can't breathe as his world is filtered through each beat that drums against his ears. He's not sure if there's actually something wrong with him or if it's just been a while since someone got so close and his instincts haven't left.

He's just realized it. He's feeling pain. The feeling in his chest is black but he can't claw it away. It's strange in a way that he can't explain it, that he's never felt before, that he's never felt the need to experience. His life had been warped by battle and a constant push to submit to his Master. They are all things he knows but the gentle words that come from your mouth, the bright eyes that hold the world, the horrible ice-hot feeling inside of him is so foreign yet too easy. He doesn't like it.

It makes him feel...clean in a way. Enlightened perhaps? His Master is long gone and it's like you said. He's free now. Free to make his own decisions and live his life how he wants to. He carefully turns over so as to not startle you away as he really looks at you. You look so peaceful in his arms, eyelids shut without worry, face slack without nightmares, breathing so softly against him. If you weren't so close to him that he couldn't feel the rise of your chest, he wonders if he would think you were dead. He stares at the lock of hair swaying back and forth with each breath like a starved man. The strange feeling doesn't stop. He hates it. It's everything that goes against him and what he knows and everything he should want. He's supposed to be the villain in your story, he should kill you right now-

"Xiao..." he hears you mumble beside him as you lean further into his arm. Damn it. How low is he going to go?

“What are you thinking about now? You just need to think about me. Don’t think about anything else...but me” Xiao sighs before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him until you're snug against his chest. Close to him, where he can touch you, where you belong. Not with Morax or Barbatos. Not with humans but beside him. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his head into your hair and he stares off into the distance. The feeling never leaves him for the remainder of the night.

"Ah! There you are. I was running around crazy looking for you," he turns his hair to see your flushed form pulling yourself up onto the mountain cliff, "When I woke up I couldn’t find you anywhere! You gave me a scare there."

He hates you. He hates you.

Words of his previous master ring in his ears, almost as if her very soul is wrapping around him as she whispers in his ear how weak he is. Ones with power that refuse to take what they want because they rather live in the comfort of nothing. Be greedier, take what belongs to you.

"Xiao?" you say as his piercing eyes stare directly through you. His Master always told him that she loved him. Even if he hated her he still clung to that false love. Of being wanted. Isn't love for a single person vile? Would feeling such emotions for one person instead of "everyone" bring you down to reality? It's not fair that you've crawled your way into his heart while you walk along in bliss. Now that he thinks about it. It was so simple. He just needs to monopolize your thoughts and love. This time it won't be as friends.

"I love you."

He'll pull you down to where he is. You extended your hand down to hell so it's your fault. He'll drag you down kicking and screaming if he has to. You left him alive. You have to live for him and by him. He's not letting go.

Reblogged for extra notes

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[koushisatori]

if you can't believe in others, at least believe in us

kyoutani x gn!reader

genre: as ordered: a bit of angst w a touch of comfort

warnings: one (1) big jealous idiot, miscommunication

word count: 5.4k

note: this is smth an anon asked me to do (but like...nearly a year ago, I'm not sure if anon is still there or if they remember and my dumbass deleted the ask so I just beta-ed through whatever I had but I know they called me out on enjoying jealous characters so here we go) I'm sorry, mysterious anon, I'm stupid </3 Anyway, that's that. I don't remember if reader was supposed to be female or not so I made it gn!reader (but if I forgot to change something, pls tell me so I can fix any errors c: It's also my first attempt I apologize in advance)

In the beginning, you weren't sure why your boyfriend is ignoring you

You can't remember doing something that would annoy him, nor do you remember an instant of anger in his eyes that would give you a hint about his reasoning to stay away from you

He explained early on that sometimes he just needs a day of distance because Kentarou could feel the anger simmering right under the surface, enough that something small could tick him off already, and he would hate if you were on the receiving end of this unexplained fury

Both of you also made sure to promise each other to clearly communicate, the relationship between the two of you would not last long if you're not properly telling each other what might be bothering or hurting...just in general cross a boundary

Communication probably was one of the most important aspects of your relationship

cue to the actual situation: your boyfriend avoiding you

So, Monday evening you think maybe it's this overwhelming sensation of unexplained anger and that something at morning practice ticked him off completely

But then Tuesday comes and goes, and your boyfriend had avoided you all day long, did not even bother to read your messages,

on Wednesday, you try to talk to him, but all he does is glaring at you with a look that leaves you speechless and kind of heartbroken,

Thursday is the day you're replaying everything you did on Monday, trying to find something that he could have misunderstood, yet no matter how hard you think about it…your brain won't come up with a reason that explained why Kentarou was so upset with you!

So you decide to make him talk to you on Friday

Enough is enough, right? For gods' sake, he is your boyfriend! You miss him and his strong arms that give hugs so warm that you melt right into them

You don't get a second alone with him until school ends

you practically sprint out of the school building over to the gym, knowing that he had a free hour, which means that he is probably the first person there - your only chance

There he is, sitting with his back to you, aggressively chewing on a bun filled with chicken - his usual that reminded him of his favorite dish - glaring holes into the ground

After taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you carefully aks: ''Kentaro…Ken…?'', slowly stretching out your hand, wanting to rest it on his shoulder to maybe help to soothe him a bit

he flinches instead and his heated, agitated gaze meets your eyes, making you recoil in return

''…will you talk to me, I miss you…'' you say softly, realizing how it hurt being ignored by him

''Ah, suddenly you miss me…'' he spits, narrowing his eyes ''…didn't fucking seem like it the last time I saw you…''

''Kentaro, baby, I have no idea what you mean,'' you plead, keeping your voice low to hide the desperation lacing it, confusion written all over your features

all Kyoutani does is growl, hopping down from where he's sitting while shouldering his gym bag

''...shouldn't have been so flirty with Shittykawa like that then-'' he grumbles - ''Ken, I didn't-'' you insist, but he continues ''twirling your hair, batting your pretty eyelashes at him, fuck you Y/N, if you want him, then feel free to take a fucking leave" Kyoutani cusses, not even listening to you

You shake your head, ''Kentaro, no, you totally misunderstood the situation,'' you follow up, panic seeping into your voice now that you knew what he referred to, ''I love yo-''

''Tsk'', he moves to leave

you try to take his hand but, instead of turning around, Kyoutani just rips it away from you, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket

from behind you, you hear Yahaba and Oikawa approaching (talking about Volleyball and Captains duties)

once they guessed what must have happened, they offered you their help (they both swear that Kyoutani will never ever find a ''cute s/o as you are, y/n-chan, I'm worried for my little angry pomeranian kohai'' )

Usually, you would try to talk to him, but after enduring a week of radio silence and now this treatment, you were tired of upholding something that seemed like a lost cause

you just wave both setters off and leave the school grounds, a frown plastered onto your lips and tears swimming in your eyes

Kentarou had not listened to you, did not even really look at you, and the few seconds he did, his eyes were filled with rage instead of the warmth he had usually reserved for you (and only for you)

If your boyfriend thinks avoiding you for a week and blaming you for something ridiculous without hearing you out is how you handle a relationship…maybe you would have to consider not pursuing it any longer

Which is easier said than done

The whole night you wait for a message, anything, and then all Saturday morning

you still had hope left

You get one from Yahaba, who tells you that Oikawa tried to clear up the situation as well after the reason for your fight dawned on him (Kyoutanis piss poor mood and behavior towards him a strong indicator) but Kentaro, again, just ran off

The future team captain even called you after your lackluster answer, listening to you getting the frustration and sadness out of your system

It didn't matter, right? Your boyfriend decided to unofficially call it quits by implying that your feelings for him were not genuine instead of using his mouth to talk to you and disregarding everyone involved

as if he wanted to ignore the truth as a convenient excuse to get out of your relationship

that's the conclusion your brain came up with

You softly sniffle in the privacy of your room, clutching a pillow to your chest (which has seen more tears in the last two days than in the past three years), deciding that it would be a good idea to go into the city to treat yourself

knowing that your mother has a hair-dresser appointment somewhen today, you go and announce that you would join her to finally buy the latest season of your favorite series

once there, you additionally get microwave popcorn, chocolate, and ice cream, as well as a pretty shirt you saw on a mannequin while window shopping

you feel a lot better after spending some money and ignoring the lingering sadness of your presumable break up with Kyoutani (who you love ok, it is not that easy)

In between your stops, you meet Iwaizumi and Oikawa munching on fatty burgers (celebrating your cheat days like a holiday and indulging in whatever your heart desires, is what makes it easier to stick with healthier habits the rest of the time was the questionable explanation coming from the brown-haired setter, pointing at you with a soggy potato fry)

after a moment, the setters eyes turn sad, a frown replacing the smile on his lips

he wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you from going just yet, apologizing for being the cause of your fight and for being unable to talk some sense into him

(you assure him that it is not his fault, knowing that your friend will probably brood over it otherwise, which wouldn't be fair)

Iwaizumi adds that Kyoutani will come around and that his cooldown time is just longer than those of other people (and if not, he will give him one of his famous volleyballs to the head and use his status as only truly respected senpai to talk some sense into him) but you again decline their suggestions

after saying goodbye (and seeing Iwaizumi give his best friend an assuring gentle pat on his shoulder, the secret softy in the usual harsh ace shining through)

If Kentaro was willing...able to throw away your relationship this easily, he can't possibly really love you, and you'd accept this even if it's hard and painful

Now remembered of what you had attempted to forget about, you feel your eyes sting with unshed tears (you thought there was no possibility of you having more tears to spill, yet the impossible seemed to be the case) you look down at your phone to text your mom and frown

Kentaro 🥰: we need to talk. Kentaro 🥰: meet me there [location]

For a second, you hesitate, biting your lower lip harshly…you really want to go and talk to him but…

The tears still sting in your eyes and blurring your view reminded you of what you had gone through the whole time, and that it was his turn to finally come to you

break up or makeup, the ball was in his court now

so while walking to where your mother would be waiting for you, you begin to type

You: No.

You: I waited for you all week, even though you ignored me, and now you expect me to run the moment you choose to stop being a childish idiot?

You: if you decide to speak to me then comqjdkn

Kentarou wouldn't say he feels particularly bad. Not at all! If someone was to ask him, he would probably answer fucking peachy, what the fuck are you asking for or growl angrily. No one would bat an eye and further question him, nor guess that maybe he wasn't as great as he pretended because he missed his gorgeous better half, but…it was his fault, wasn't it?

Of course, he originally thought he had a valid reason to be upset. And if he had just spoken to you about it, everything would be solved now. Instead of being a decent boyfriend, though, his pride overtook his thinking processes once he realized that his behavior wasn't even the slightest bit justified. Not that he knew this when he saw you speaking with Shittykawa right before school. All he could see was his gorgeous s/o shyly fiddling with her fingers, conversing with a leaned forward, very involved Oikawa Tooru. He would have fetched you away from the brown-haired setter. He had no qualms about showing his possessiveness. God, Kentarou wouldn't have hesitated to growl at the tall, brown-haired boy if not for the question he heard coming from the Captain.

''Y/N-chan, how is it that you, an adorable, charming individuum, is with a brute like Mad Dog-chan? I really-'' Well, that's where he decided to leave you with the setter. He didn't need to hear your answer. Didn't want to witness an excuse or maybe the truth. If both of you were so fucking smitten with each other to flirt this blatantly, why don't you just go and cheer for him, hold his hand, and kiss his cheek goodbye? It was his choice to distance himself.

Kyoutani couldn't help the feeling of betrayal and hurt washing over him. Maybe you just used him as a stepping stone to get closer with Oikawa, and Kyoutani has been too blind to see it. He never doubted you or your relationship before, but it's not a secret how eruptive Kyoutani could be. It has always been beyond his imagination how someone so cute and sweet like you could love a person like him. Your friends thought so. The teachers. The whole school! Everyone questioned your poor judgment. And when you came running up to him, you're cheery voice calling out for him, everyone present looked at you like you grew a second head. It's the reason why seeing you with Trashykawa ticked him off so bad. It catered to his biggest insecurities and fears. He knew that all those skeptics would be delighted to see you, everyone's darling, with the schools' star setter. They all would agree that the pretty, handsome young man is a better fit than the always hostile-looking troublemaker.

While Kyoutani didn't take Oikawa seriously in most cases, he undoubtedly was one of the most devoted people Kentarou had ever met. If Oikawa wanted to get a new serve right, he wouldn't stop trying and repeating it until his legs gave in, and Iwaizumi dragged him out of the gym. When he wanted to find more advanced players to practice with, so he could, in return, give this new knowledge to his team, there was no way he would not manage to make it happen. Even if his ideas, wishes, and plans cost him blood, sweat, and tears (like getting Kyoutani to actually train), Oikawa never backed down. Kentarou had heard that Oikawa's last girlfriend dumped him because of his passion for Volleyball. Yet Kyoutani couldn't help but think that, in you, the ambitious setter would have found someone that would be able to handle it. You usually came over to watch the team when you knew that Kyoutani was there to play. You sat on the stands with your homework in your lap and a Seijoh-coloured pencil wiggling between your fingers, not bothered by the noises coming from the court. You play with your earlobe while you frown at whatever problem you came across. You patiently wait for practice to finish. Kentarou was sure that you'd be someone Oikawa would actually try for. You weren't one of his squealing fangirls, hanging from his arm on every opportunity, but his friend. You didn't pester him to take selfies with you while pushing cute bentos into his hands. When you bring food to practice, then it's for the whole team to share. If he wanted you, Oikawa would probably have to win you over and make sure that you'd stay. Courting and all that jazz. In all seriousness, Shittykawa would be a fucking idiot if not.

The dyed-blond wing spiker had been so sure that he was rightfully mad that he didn't stop to think twice before he reacted this coldly towards you. But, and this made it even worse, Kentarou knew that he was wrong the moment you asked what happened after an entire week of enduring his silent treatment. The second he heard your shaky voice and saw the tears welling up in your eyes, his brain rebooted, and suddenly he wasn't so sure of his own reasoning. You two were together for about half a year. Kyoutani - by now - was confident in his ability to identify most of your expressions. All he could decipher in your eyes was pain, paired with a need to understand, but…if he was in the wrong…it would mean that he had hurt you the whole week, which in conclusion implied that Kentarou had been the world's shittiest boyfriend. Fuck, he thought, I don't deserve y/n.

His situation didn't get any better the moment Oikawa entered the gym. The person Kyoutani thought he had a real reason to despise now tried to mend the rift between the two of you.

''Mad Dog-chan, I think you misunderstood something there. Well, no, you decided to not listen-'' The taller male says, hands gesturing wildly. While his voice still had that annoyingly cheery tone, it had something commanding hidden underneath. And oh, how Kentarou hated when someone demanded something of him, even if it was for his own good. ''Don't want to hear it.'' the blond mutters, already aggravated. The brown-haired setter resolutely puts himself in the way again. ''Oh, but you have to! That morning, Y/N-chan literally declared her love for yo-'' - ''I don't fucking care.'' Kentarou barks, not looking Oikawa in the eyes.

After another fruitless attempt to get properly into the gym, he growls and turns to leave. Already on his way to grab his stuff and take a leave, he hears Oikawa yelling. ''You answered and justified why I asked Y/N-chan to begin with!" And then louder, even though he could make out Iwaizumi trying to wrestle his childhood friend back into the gym, "APOLOGIZE, YOU IDIOT! YOU BETTER GROVEL FOR Y/N'S FORGIVENESS! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS SHOW YOU'RE PUTTING ON, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

This happened on Friday evening, and the guilt was gnawing away on him ever since. On his way home, Kyoutani had automatically taken the detour to your house. Kentarou enjoyed bringing you home (and more often than not, you pulled him inside with you, making him cuddle you!). It makes him feel like a good boyfriend, and he knew that you arrived there safely. He would never tell anybody and deny it if you ever decided to share this, but Kentarou relished in the feeling of your hand holding his all the way while going on about your day. He admired that you'd pet every cat and every dog you meet on the trip home together with him. You were perfect for him…why again did he act like this?

What caused Kyoutani's attempt to apologize - in his usual overly blunt and partly aggressive kind of way - was Yahaba, though. Both boys denied being remotely something beyond 'not really enemies'. But his future team captain was definitely one of the very few people that could and would tell him to his face that he fucked up without real repercussions. He would presumably even help Kyoutani to get it together.

After Yahaba had called you and listened to your heartbreaking rant, the setter realized that you, his friend, and his 'not really enemy' needed to talk ut out. Totally immersed in your tirade, you accidentally let slip that you couldn't endure Kyoutani's treatment any longer. That being pushed over by your boyfriend with brash and hurtful words after handling the cold shoulder was too much. That you expected Kyoutani to break up with you on Monday either way. In-person, if he had mercy on you or continue his treatment as a silent method of doing so. While you told Yahaba about your planned ''get over it-self-care'' weekend (involving tons of ice cream, movies with crying guarantee, lots of blankets, and no smartphone), the setter had already put on his jacket, shooting a message to Kyoutani.

From Yahaba: get your stupid fucking ass outside to meet me, or I'll bench you the complete season next year

Even though the wing spiker was sure that Yahaba's words were nothing but empty words, Kentarou allowed himself to accept this threat as an excuse to put his pride aside. Because, even though Yahaba annoyed him to no end - not as bad as Oikawa but still - Kentarou was also aware that you and he were friends. If someone could help him gaining your forgiveness, Kyoutani had to accept and admit that it was Yahaba. Meeting his light brown-haired teammate was kind of awkward. Kyoutani was unsure what he had to expect, though he should have seen the rough treatment coming. Yet, getting told that you, the person Kentarou was undeniably in love with, felt so neglected and hurt that you deemed this relationship to be as good as over allowed the guilt monster in his chest to grow. Shitty Oikawa was probably right ordering him to grovel and beg on his knees for you to even hear him out.

Your answer to his message was partly unlike you. Well, the last sentence. You usually were pretty forward with him to avoid miscommunication and uncalled-for moping around. And while you sometimes send keyboard smashes to express the chaos you felt, they were always in a separate message and not so…random. The text definitely meant something like ''then come to me'' but somehow, Kyoutani had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing.

Besides, he couldn't just wait till Monday and hope that you'd accept his apology! You may send him away today already, but he still had a teeny-tiny bit of hope. If he let the thoughts of him leaving you or the other way around fester in your mind for two whole days, though,…you'd probably realize that leaving him wasn't that bad of a decision. You'd come to the conclusion that all your admirers could treat you better than Kyoutani did. And he was too selfish to let you leave. Even though all he did the whole week was being self-centered and stuck up, he would be damned to begin being a saint now and let you go. That you at least were willing to talk to him was…a relief, to say the least. Kentarou hoped that this translated to you being willing to put up with him a little longer if he apologized correctly. That you're not opposed to giving him another chance to make things right.

At your house, he was greeted with darkness. Not even a single light illuminating any of the rooms he could see from his spot on your front lawn. And the ones he saw were your and your mom's most-used rooms. Your room window, your mothers' workroom, and the living room area with an adjacent kitchen. All of those rather significant rooms and the lack of light in them seemed to be a dead giveaway for Kyoutani that no one was home. Kyoutani guessed that you were probably out with your mom, glancing over to the empty spot in front of the garage.

Oh god, your mother had been the only supportive person of your relationship. Maybe it's in your family to see the best in everyone, even in shitty people like him. But if you told her about his behavior, she'd most likely not welcome him with a smile ever again, no matter if you forgave him.

There weren't many things Kyoutani could do in this situation, but it wasn't as late as nature let it on, and after a few seconds, he had decided to sit down at the front door and wait for you, hoping that it wouldn't take too long for you to come home. As if fate wanted to tell him something, the wing spiker had put on the jacket with the half-full power bank. He had worn it to the shelter when he visited it this week while distracting himself from your absence in his daily life. You had gifted him the piece of clothing, which is probably why he unconsciously had decided to wear it to everything he did after school in the first place.

Kentarou passed the time by snarling at people eyeing him for a moment too long to not be judgmental, petting the neighbors' cat wandering over to him, and watching videos. Every time he thought ''Y/N would like this'', his heart stuttered guilty.

To Kentarou, it felt like an eternity until your mother's car finally drove up the entry. To avoid your mother's potentially deadly stare, he nervously checked his mobile, realizing that he had waited for a little more than 3 hours. Yet, the wait had done nothing to soothe his nerves. They instantly spiked up again while his heart threatened to jump out of his throat.

She will hate me. Your mother would hate me, she'll hate me, she'll ha-

''Ah, Ken-chan! Good evening.'' Your mother greets him with a tired, yet still gentle smile. Oh. The blond blanches. He'd never admit it, but he enjoyed the treatment he received from your mother more than he should. Being spoken to without suspicion and receiving a warm smile every time without fail was a welcome change to his daily life. Your mother didn't listen to people trying to bad-mouth him. To her, he simply was the boy that - normally - treats her child the way a mother wished for. Even if he pulled a face as long as a fiddle.

''I didn't know you were coming, Ken-chan, or I would have messaged you…but now that you're here, maybe you can assist us out and help Y/N inside? It would help a lot.'' His gaze immediately flitted over to you on the passenger seat. With your arms crossed in front of your chest and that stubborn but endearingly cute pout on your lips, he nearly missed the tiredness your body emitted. Kentarou wanted to rush over to your side immediately but was stopped by your mother again. ''I don't know what you two are fighting about…but please talk to each other. I don't want my baby to be this sad. Especially now, and…'' she rests a hand on his shoulder, her eyes kind and comforting ''…I also don't want to miss you here, alright?'' He stiffly nodded and watched your mother carrying in plastic bags filled with various medicine packages and food.

After coming back to his senses, Kyoutani finally stumbled over to your side, practically ripping open the car door. This new perspective revealed a plaster cast wrapping your whole left leg and a removable wrist brace on your right hand. ''Bab- Y/N…what the fuck…happened?'' His honey-brown eyes continued to wander over your injuries, and with every second, he found more. Scratches and scrapes, bandaids and bandages peeking out from underneath your clothes. ''I'm so sorry,'' he whispered, hanging his head low.

All your intentions to fight his helping hand and limp over to the door by yourself disintegrated into nothing. You never witnessed such a devastated, beaten expression on his face before. Instead, you settle for ''Will you help me?''. A question asked quietly to your fingers picking at a loose band-aid edge on your arm and pressing it back onto the irritated skin.

After you loosened your seatbelt, he waits for you to carefully place your arms around his neck. It is followed by Kyoutani lifting you out of the car so gently as if he was afraid you might break. This whole situation in itself already contradicting his brash appearance and usual behavior. It would give whiplash to all the people pretending to know him. But he was always caring in his own way when it came to you. It's why you loved him after all. Because you usually knew that he loved you, too.

For a few moments, the atmosphere between the two of you felt awkwardly tense, both of you unsure how to interact with each other. The mostly blonde wing spiker breathed out a sigh of relief when you fully leaned into his chest once he stood upright, resting your head against his shoulder. A bit of maneuvering through the front door eventually lead to Kyoutani passing through the hallway and taking you to your room, where he was gently lowering you down on the bed.

It was a now or never kind of situation. For the both of you. While Kentarou was trying to find out where to begin his apology, he took a few steps back in case you wanted space until everything was cleared up.

You unconsciously helped him making a decision by impulsively grasping onto his shirt the moment he started to withdraw, stopping him in his retreating movement. Kentarou saw your lower lips wobbling, teary eyes looking up at him pleadingly.

''Please stay,'' you say weakly, which is enough for him to throw the whole thinking process away and simply sit down next to you, intertwining both your hands. ''I'm staying. I'm not leaving. Not now nor this relationship if you still want...an ''us''. The wing spiker took a deep, shuttering breath. '' I'm sorry, Y/N…'' he finally manages to say, honey eyes locked onto your linked your hands. ''I have been fucking stupid all week. 've been a fucking terrible boyfriend, the worst to ever exist.''

As if to encourage him...to show your boyfriend that his apology was not for nothing, you shuffled around until the last bit of distance between the two of you was closed. You hum, acknowledging his words while leaning your head on his shoulder.

''I didn't think you're cheating or something, …'' Kyoutani immediately assures you. There was no way he would allow you to think that he would accuse you of something like this. ''I had no reason to be jealous, but I was insecure. Let it get the best of me. Despite our promise to communicate, I was sulking. 't was easier. I'll do whatever the fuck you want for you to not give up yet…'' he says, taking his time with every sentence.

With a sigh, you squeeze his hand. ''It will probably take a lot of cuddling and attention from you...'' you say thoughtfully ''...but I forgive you…if you promise to not do this again…'' you murmur, tilting your head upward to press a chaste kiss to his jaw. ''Otherwise, I'll accept Iwaizumi-san's offer to get your thinking process restarted.'' For a moment, your voice had its usual joking edge. But you knew talking out everything was necessary. ''But, in all honesty, 'Tarou....please, never do this again. I am honest. I will not endure this a second time. When you tell me that you need a day or two for yourself then that is totally fine. If you feel yourself giving into whatever insecurity, talk to me about it. I am sure there will be an explanation or a solution but don't leave me in the dark. Don't treat me like that. I love you. Only you and no one else. But the time love can withstand straight-up ignorance by your partner is limited.''

Slowly, your boyfriend nodded, squeezing your hand to tell you that he understood. You would probably cling to him for a while but were sure that he would survive the extra closeness. Not even half a second later, his head leans onto yours cautiously.

''…and try being nicer to Oikawa-san, Tarou, he hasn't done anything to you.'' You add humorously before small giggles started to erupt from your lips. ''Also...Baby…'' you start, being interrupted by choked-up hiccups and giggles. By using your nickname for him, you take away another persistent fear of his. What he does not miss, however, is how you wince in pain before you continue, ''…who helped you put this into words? I mean…I loved it, but…,'' You leave unsaid that words usually are not his strong fort.

Biting back a smile, he frowns, huffs, and puffs…, but the way you are looking up at him, eyes shining with relief and adoration, allows him to admit defeat. He sighs ''…it's how Yahaba said I should say it…'' It usually would be an odd enough statement to make you throw yourself all over him with laugher. As a slight replacement, you squeeze his hand a bit, still shaking with suppressed laughter. ''I promise…that I will talk to you. Can't promise the Shittykawa part.'' Another soft chuckle leaves your lips before you look up at him again. ''I hope you try nonetheless. You should not let Iwaizumi-san hear you calling Oikawa-san that, though, I don't think this would turn out well for you…so...maybe stop this at least.'' Kentarou rolls his eyes at you, but in the end, he nods.

You wait for another second to clearly distinguish the two topics before you continue. ''…Thank you…for coming and finally speaking with me instead of break-'' A hand on your lips muffles your words.

''Don't say these words. I'd never break up with you,'' Kentarou grumbles, a light, uncharacteristic light pink settling on his cheeks. You stick your tongue out, which leads to him taking his hand off of your face with a surprised noise, rather dumbfounded that you had licked his hand. It gives you the chance to lean up and finally press your lips against his. ''I'm not leaving you either,'' you murmur, feeling his lips twitch upwards slightly. You decide to leave the teasing for another day.

Moving back into your previous position was enough of a hassle to hiss in pain. It brought back Kyoutani's awareness of the second problem at hand. ''What did happen to you?'' Kyoutani asks in an attempt to tamper down the excited, happy beating of his heart.

''Oh, this...uh, when I answered your text, I got driven over by a dude on a bicycle,'' you casually drop. It was kind of entertaining to watch his expressions change at an unequaled pace while processing your words. In the end, it settled into something akin to passive-aggressive worry. The way he was immediately fretting over you while cursing and cussing out the bicycle dude was his own way of caring. As you watch him retrieving the food your mother bought, while mumbling about how you're a dumbass for not paying attention to your surroundings, how he'd come over every day until you could go to school again to bring and teach you the stuff you would miss and how he would fucking murder the bicycle idiot if he ever finds out who dared to drive you over, you can't help the smile forming on your lips.

Once again, you are proven that loving him - while occasionally troublesome and demanding - was everything but wrong.

[skzsauce01]

Clementia

Anniversary Request Special

Description: You’d always had a special place in your heart for Lee Minho even though he gives you countless reasons to hate him. How long will your patience last?

Warning: alcohol, sexual assault

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x Minho

“Y/N—”

“Go away, Minho.”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“I said no!”

“Well I said I’m sorry.”

You snap around to face him. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Lee Minho. You screwed up. You. Screwed. Up. I gave you one request, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“I had my reasons!” he protests.

“Yeah? Well let’s hear them.”

He emits a few noises but can't come up with anything. His face flushes red, but not as red as yours.

“There’s no excuse for breaking someone’s heart ever. Remember that.” You turn on your heels and begin walking away until he says something even more repulsive.

“Why do you care so much? She’s not even your real sister!” he calls after you.

You pause, unable to comprehend how such words could ever enter your ears. You then slowly walk back to him as he stiffens with every step you take.

“Not my real sister?” Your voice is soft, but it is effective.

“I mean—”

“You’re saying the girls at Epsilon Phi aren’t sisters?” Your voice begins to rise. “We’re more sisters than you and I were ever friends, Lee Minho! We love each other more than biological families do, but of course you wouldn’t know how that feels, would you? All you have in your chest is a cold, hard piece of coal!”

You turn away and break off into a run this time. Tears stream down your face from being insulted and betrayed by someone you held with high esteem.

You like Lee Minho. Of course, you’d never admit that. To the world, he is just some kid of your mom’s friend who annoyed you to no end, but through the arguments and time spent trying to prove each other wrong, your feelings grew bit by bit. When he had a relationship with your very own Little, you held in your feelings and wished them both the best. After all, you love both of them, and their happiness together was good enough for you.

That is, until Minho broke things off as nothing but a fling.

Minho has always been a huge flirt, but he’d promised to take her seriously this time. You made him swear it, and you emphasized how much your Little meant to you. Now, because you’re his family friend, your Little won’t even speak to you. Minho had ruined your and her relationship, and evidently yours and his too.

He didn’t used to be like this, all manipulative and amorous. You remember he used to follow you at the heel, caring about nothing more than sticking gum in your hair. It wasn’t until senior year of high school did he start hanging out with random girls and trying daredevilish things. You missed the old Minho, but you thought you’d accept him for all his changes since you did, after all, like him.

Until this moment, that is.

What he did was too much. What he said was too much. You know he is becoming toxic, and if he is going to continue down this path, even your love isn’t going to bring him back to your heart.

Minho watches your waning back then slams his fist against a nearby tree with a curse. You didn’t give him enough time to explain, not that he would have been able to in front of you.

You’d forgive him though, right? You have to. When he messed up before this, Minho could be sure you would. But now, he isn’t so certain. He has never seen you so angry and disappointed before, and he did that to you. Him. Minho lets out another string of curses and trudges back to his room.

He tries making it up to you the very next morning. He shows up to your 8 AM class with a cup of coffee and slides it onto your desk before sitting down himself.

You don’t even look at him. You just take the cup and slam it down in front of him, causing its contents to spill and burn your fingers. He quickly takes your hand in his and begins wiping it with his sleeve, but you recoil your arm and take out your own napkin.

The next place he tries is at your neighboring frat party. He knows you would be there, so he wears his tightest black jeans and a loose button-up. This trick has worked with other girls, so he hopes it would on you.

He takes the dance floor with his powerful dance moves and charisma. He can see you deliberately turned away from him and chatting with someone else, so he dances towards you. The cheering circle that has formed around him moves as well, engulfing you into the crowd.

You finally turn to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. Minho takes this chance to shoot you a wink which draws the crowd’s attention to you. They cheer and push you towards him despite your protests.

Minho takes your arm and leads you in the dance. You used to like dancing with him; your and his flow matches perfectly, and the two of you could revive a dying party just by dancing together. Today though, you just aren’t having it.

Minho puts a hand on your shoulder and scoops his hips low earning a cheer from the crowd. You can hear them calling your name, anticipating your response. You look down at Minho and immediately recognize his choice of clothing.

I wonder who’s going to have her heart broken tomorrow, you think with a dry laugh. Minho flinches, recognizing that sound. You take his falter as a chance to fling his arm off of you before walking away.

A chorus of oohs fills the room, and the crowd splits like the Red Sea for you.

You hear your name from his lips again. “Y/N!” It is more strained now than it was last night. Desperate. Defeated.

You gave him some thought after hearing the sincerity in his tone, but you are glad you did not turn around that night when you see him in class with some other girl on his lap. Whatever. He’s dead to you now, so why should you care what he’s doing?

Minho watches as you walk farther and farther from him. He pushes the girl off and continues to stare with narrowed eyes at you as you greet your new seat neighbors.

This isn’t how he predicted you would react. Truthfully, he kind of knew this attempt wouldn’t work. For one, it hadn’t worked once since he first tried it in high school. He thought hanging out with other girls would make him more attractive, more desirable by competition. At least, that’s what some then-college kids told him. Once he started, he just found himself unable to stop. It was a self-feeding cycle, really. Holding onto other girls and charming them numbs the void in his chest, but you ignore him whenever he acts like this which only further widens the gap. 

What is he to do though? This is the only life he knows, and so, it is the life he leads. Not all love stories can end happily.

And his sure doesn’t seem like it is going to. 

Sirens wail in the background. With the amount of girls he’s fooled around with, he kind of had it coming. Minho stares at his wrists, not daring to think, but one thought keeps recurring in his mind: you. He is going to disappoint you yet again. You already hate him, and now you are going to see him handcuffed too.

The cold wind makes him shiver when you, his emergency contact, open the door and step into the station. Your eyes immediately find him, and you make your way over.

“Y/—”

“Are you hurt?” you ask plainly.

Despite your icy tone, those three simple words fill him with a warmth he hasn’t known for a long time.

“I’m okay.” His hands reach forward, wanting to grab yours and keep you with him, but you’ve already walked away to announce your arrival to an officer.

“Miss L/Y Y/N?” a young official greets a little too enthusiastically. She looks familiar, you note.

“Yes, I am she.”

The officer looks pleased by your annoyed attitude towards the defendant. “Mister Lee is here tonight because of an accusation by Miss Choi of assault,” she informs you coyly.

You look at him. “Minho,” you said with a chilled voice. “Is it true?”

“No! Y/N, I wouldn’t—”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“Excuse me?” the officer sputters.

“I believe him,” you repeat. “He’s been going out with more people than I have fingers, but he never laid a finger on them.”

“But Y/N, that doesn’t mean he can’t start now,” the officer protests. “You’re his contact, but you hate him now. Surely, he’s changed”

“First of all, it’s Miss L/N to you, Officer” —you read her name tag and pieces begin to fall together from her eagerness to convict Minho to the inkling you felt the moment you saw her— “Yoo. And secondly, is it not against the law for you to be working on a case where your cousin’s the accuser?”

“How did you—!”

“Nothing escapes us Epsilon Phi sisters, even news from other sororities. Besides, Minho never plays with the same girl twice. As expected, this report is filed for an incident two months ago. You, Officer Yoo, knew I was his contact and waited for us to get into yet another fight before having your cousin put in the accusation, didn’t you?”

She scoffs in your face. “That’s a bold accusation from yourself towards law enforcement.”

“Where is the accuser right now? Shouldn’t she be here for interrogation as well?”

“Well she—” the officer looks increasingly flustered. “She needs rest after having to relive the memories of what happened. We’ll call her in tomorrow. Anyway, Mr. Lee Minho, I can hear your testimony now in room #3.”

Minho stands obediently.

“Wait. I request someone else interrogate him,” you object.

“We’re busy right now,” Officer Yoo huffs. “We can’t just let you choose who does the job.”

You cross your arms. “Sure. Interrogate him and have the entire case be nulled after I file a conflict of interest.”

Officer Yoo grits her teeth but returns to her station to call for another officer.

In the meantime, you turn to Minho. “Don’t answer anything you don’t want to, especially if they start leading you on with questions. It’s in your rights to remain silent, alright?”

Minho nods numbly at your words, still confused as to why you are so nice to him. Before he can figure it out though, an older man appears from the back and takes him to an interrogation room.

“Mr. Lee Minho?” 

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chief Jeon. I’m just going to ask you a few questions today; is that alright?”

“Yes.”

The chief nods and pulls out some papers. “Would you mind describing what happened with Miss Choi?”

“Well I was with—” he gestures towards the papers with his accuser’s name on it— “and we were hitting it off. She bought me a couple of drinks and at some point leaned in to kiss me. I realized something at that point, and I stopped her. She got angry, saying how she spent all that cash on alcohol for me, and threatened to accuse me of assault if I didn’t do what she said, but I knew I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of what you realized?” the chief repeats.

“... Yes.”

“And what was it you realized?”

“Do I have to say it?”

“According to the law, no, but if it can help you with your case, you might want to.”

Minho fidgets with his cuffs. “They can’t hear me from outside, right?”

“No. They most certainly cannot.”

And so, Minho tells him.

Minho turns around while the metal bars clang shut behind him. The chief thinks he has a pretty good chance, but due to the gravity of the accusation, they still decided to keep Minho in holding to give the accuser more time to make her case.

You stare at him from the other side, arms crossed. Minho takes the fact that you’re still here at two in the morning as a good sign for him.

“Thanks for being here,” he tries to start a conversation.

“I didn’t really have a choice.” So cold.

“I’ll change my emergency contact.”

“Please do.”

He winces. “Look… Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for insulting your sisterhood and for hurting your Little. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

He looks at you with those doe-like eyes of his. For once, you don’t feel anything while looking back at them.

“That’s not why I’m mad anymore. In fact, I’m not even mad,” you tell him. “My Little told me what really happened. She told me that she was actually the one who dumped you after you adamantly refused to kiss her. I asked some other girls you’ve seen and they all said the same thing. That’s why I was so confident with the officer earlier. I guess I owe you an apology for getting angry when you weren’t at fault.”

“Then”—he holds out a hand sheepishly— “truce?”

You look at it but keep your arms crossed. “Taking a step back from you has made me see things I wasn’t able to before, Minho, and that’s made me realize how much you’ve changed. You were my friend, my rival— someone who never failed to get on my nerves but also someone I couldn’t go without. But now” —you drop your arms and shake your head— “I can’t even recognize you anymore.”

You take a step back to leave. You’ve done this many times before, like when he stuck a plastic spider down your shirt or when he called you stupid in front of your crush in fifth grade, but something about this time feels different. Something about this time tells him you aren’t turning back around once you left.

A sudden despair grips Minho and he runs into the bars. “Wait!”

You pause, offering him one last second.

“Your Little,” he gasps, “did she tell you why I wouldn’t kiss her?”

You nod. “The others I asked did too. They said you were thinking about some other girl while you were with them.”

“Not ‘some other’ girl. One other girl.”

“I know.” You begin to walk again.

“Then why are you leaving?” He reaches a hand out, trying to grab any part of you. “Stay with me. Please, Y/N, stay.”

You don’t pause a second time. Out of desperation, he cries out, “Y/N, I love you!”

That makes you stop midstep. He holds his breath as you put one foot back then the other next to it to face him. You are so beautiful when you look at him. He melts under your gaze as you focus on him and only him. He’ll cherish you this time when you give him another chance. He’ll quit this playboy lifestyle. He won’t take advantage of your patience anymore. He’ll give you all that his heart has to offer. He’ll make sure you’re the only one in his eyes. He’ll love you. He loves you.

“Minho.” You relax your shoulders and straighten your back. You tilt your head just slightly forward and erase the edge off your tone. “I loved you.”

[honeypiehotchner]

My Deep Blue Love (Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader) -- Soulmate AU one shot

This was 100% born out of boredom and loneliness and those damn Soulmate AU POV Tiktoks that I have seen practically 24/7 for the past WEEK on my fyp

(I’m not sure if I’ll do a part 2, rn I have no plans for it)

quick note on the technicality of this one: you lose all ability to see colors when you turn 12 and you don’t regain the ability until you meet your soulmate. but! you have to meet them in person and it has to be a mutual eye contact. pictures/videos of them don’t work, and if you just saw the back of their head or something in person, that doesn’t work either. it’s all about the shared eye contact babeyyy

small disclaimer: Brie Larson is mentioned in here and she has a wife, but that is very much only in this fic, and as far as i know Brie doesn’t have a wife irl lol (i also don’t know if she’s spoken about her sexuality at all so what i’m saying is take it with a grain of salt ok)

Summary: Everyone around you is meeting their soulmate, but you still see in black and white. You’re ready to give up, and basically have, when you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Warnings: None! Just a bit of angst, lots of fluff toward the end 

You knock on your mom’s bedroom door at 4:58am. She’s already awake, sitting up in bed, ushering you over.

With tears in your eyes, you crawl onto her bed, snuggling close to her chest.

“I don’t want to lose my colors,” you whimper.

“I know, baby,” she whispers, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

You were born 12 years ago on this day at 5:08am, so in a few short minutes, when you officially turn 12 years old, all color will drain from your life.

Or the colors could stay, but that’s only if you’ve somehow already met your soulmate. And that’s rare, nearly impossible.

You squeeze your eyes shut at 5:07 and you don’t open them again until 5:10.

The colors are gone.

+++

twenty years later

You sigh heavily as you receive yet another wedding invite. You are invited to witness the official beginning of Olivia and Jeffrey’s lives together as husband and wife, soulmates for all of time.

The glitter sticks to your fingertips, tiny black dots against your skin. Your friend told you it’s gold. You barely remember what that looks like.

Lately it seems like everyone has been meeting their soulmate. Just yesterday, you were having coffee with a friend when she looked up at the girl sitting behind you, and boom.

“It’s like the world just exploded,” she had said. Colors were everywhere. She immediately left you to go talk to the girl.

You don’t blame her for that. If you had met your soulmate, you probably would’ve done the same thing. But you can’t say for sure because you don’t know.

You wouldn’t be so cynical of it all if your boyfriend of five years didn’t meet his soulmate while the two of you were out at dinner. You wish you could say that he was faking it. But it was clear from his face (and the girl’s) that he wasn’t kidding. It was real. He had met his soulmate, and it wasn’t you.

It’s never you.

You’ve had guys cut off dates before they even start, all because they didn’t see colors when they laid their eyes on you. They refuse to even be friends with you.

All anyone is doing anymore is searching for a soulmate and it’s exhausting when none of them are yours. When all of your friends see color now. When everyone assures you that it’ll happen soon. What does soon even mean?

You grab your ice cream from the freezer and fall onto the couch, flicking to whatever channel has late night shows that aren’t complete garbage.

As usual, you find yourself watching a talk show, and tonight Tom Hiddleston is one of the guests.

You’re sort of familiar with him from a few movies, but other than that, you hardly know anything about him.

“So, Tom, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on with you and Brie Larson?”

“Brie?” Tom asks, clearly shocked to hear this question. “We’re just good friends, that’s all.”

“Oh, she doesn’t make you see any colors?”

“Ah, no, actually, she does not,” Tom chuckles, but doesn’t sound sad at all, surprisingly. “Her wife does that for her, not me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh really?” The host brushes past the mention of Brie’s wife and keeps the focus on Tom, of course. “So is that true, you still don’t see color?”

Your ears perk up at the mention of someone else not seeing in color. It’s rare for anyone to talk about this on television. Most celebrities don’t talk about whether or not they’ve found their soulmate, but more often than not, those that have are quite loud about it.

“Yes, that’s true,” Tom answers. “I still see the world in a lovely black and white.”

You snort, harshly jabbing your spoon into your ice cream. Lovely. Yeah, right.

“Do you really think it’s nice? Do you not miss the colors?” The host asks.

“No, no, I do. I do,” Tom admits. “But I like to think I’ll see them when the time is right.”

You groan, going to Google to look up his age. And when you see he’s 40, you groan even louder. He’s older than you and he still hasn’t met his soulmate. That’s just depressing. How can he sound so optimistic?

“Alright, well, if there’s one thing you wish you could tell your soulmate, what would it be? Maybe they’re watching right now, you never know.”

Tom smiles wide. “Maybe, maybe, um… Oh, so many things,” Tom exhales deeply. “I guess I could be cliché and say I can’t wait to meet them and wait for me, but I think I want to say… I think I want to say I understand. It is frustrating, still seeing in black and white, but our paths will cross soon, I’m sure of it. Until then, my eyes are blue.”

Blue. Blue.

You roll your eyes. You don’t even remember what the color looks like.

+++

seven months later

“I am not going to a movie premiere. You’re insane!”

“Please!” Your friend, Catherine, cries. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

You glare at her over your coffee. “That just makes it sound like you have a trick up your sleeve.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I just want you to take advantage of this and come with us! When will you ever have the chance to go to a movie premiere again?”

She has a point. Dammit. “Touché. How did you get tickets, anyway? Please tell me you didn’t spend thousands for this.” You wouldn’t put it past her, even though you tell her not to every time before she does something like this.

“God, no, Joe surprised me with them earlier. He said he went to school with the lead.”

“Oh. Cool. Who?”

“Tom Hiddleston, I think. Have you heard of him? He’s British, but that’s about all I know. Joe just said they ran into each other the other day and reconnected.”

You stop halfway through a sip of coffee, careful to not choke on it. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah. I...I’ve seen him in a couple things.”

“Apparently, he hasn’t met his soulmate either…” Catherine trails away, raising her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “I heard,” you set your cup down. “He’s probably met them by now though since he blasted it on television like that.”

“Or he’s still searching and you’re still being too cynical.”

“You’re probably right,” you chuckle.

“Sooo, you’ll come?”

You sigh heavily. “As long as you help me pick something to wear.”

+++

“I’m regretting letting you talk me into this already,” you mutter when you nearly trip in your heels.

“Oh, hush,” Catherine swats your arm. “It’s an excuse to get dressed up and look hot for no reason. Take it.”

“Fine.”

Catherine’s soulmate, Joe, was whisked away almost as soon as the three of you stepped inside the venue by some director (you think), but he promised to return in a few minutes. Catherine told him not to worry. She’s used to him being dragged away for conversation. You can see from her face that she’s more proud of him than anything, and not at all annoyed.

Currently, you and Catherine are standing near the small bar, waiting for them to announce that it’s time to take your seats. You desperately want a drink, but part of you knows it would be a bad idea.

One glass of wine can’t hurt, though. Maybe it’ll take your mind off the pain in your feet.

You peel away from Catherine when you see Joe coming back, and you flag the bartender down quickly.

After ordering a glass of white wine, you wait patiently, wishing you had chosen a dress with sleeves. It’s fucking cold in here.

“Darling, you’re shivering, are you alright?”

Your head turns toward the smooth voice, face set and mind trying to decipher whether or not it was a sincere or creepy comment when the world quite literally explodes.

There, standing beside you, concern written all over his face, is Tom Hiddleston. Only now the concern has washed away into awe when your eyes lock with his.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, stumbling even though he’s standing in place.

“Blue,” you murmur. “Your eyes are blue.” Without even thinking or asking, your hand lifts to cup his cheek, and then you pull back, “Shit, sorry—”

But he grabs your wrist gently, placing your palm on his cheek. “It’s alright.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you whisper in reply. But here he is. His eyes are blue, his lips are pink, he has tiny brown freckles all over his rosy cheeks. You look back to his eyes, narrowing your own. “You liar. Your eyes have green in them, too.”

“Do they really?” Tom chuckles. “I never would’ve known.”

“That’s why you have me,” you tease, and you don’t know where any of this is coming from, yet it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending. It feels like you’re finally yourself.

His other hand tangles with yours as he nods. “That’s why I have you, indeed.”

At this time, the lights in the theatre begin lightly flashing, signaling that it’s time for everyone to begin making their way to their seats.

But neither you or Tom move one inch.

The only issue is people are beginning to stare.

You notice it first, so you slowly pull your hand from his cheek. This movement shocks him back to reality, too, and he blinks a few times, yet he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I, um, I have to make a speech,” he says. “But then I can come back to you. Will you save me a seat?”

“Don’t you have to sit up front?”

He nods. “I do, but—”

“Then I’ll come with you.” You aren’t sure if it’s the fact that he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, or if it’s because you’ve been waiting so long that now you don’t want him to be further than an arms length away from you, but you mean what you say.

“Are you sure?” He asks, but you both need to make a decision quickly because you can see someone waving from the wings, most likely trying to get Tom’s attention.

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t question it, in fact, he grins, and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go, then.”

[loving-bucky-is-easier]

this is an 18+ blog only. minors do not interact.

☾ indicates potentially triggering themes (e.g. panic attacks, ptsd, sexual assault)

+ indicates significant violence

* indicates smut

fics are listed in alphabetical order within their section

one-shots

ain't it a gentle sound +

“I can’t hurt you,” he sobbed, his hands gripping your wrists.

“Добросердечный.”

“You’re not,” you soothed, your breaths growing shallow in an effort to control the waver in your voice. “It’s not you.”

black coffee ☾+

He looked down at the drink in his hand, at the little smiley face she had scrawled on the cup. Was he selfish enough to put her in the position of being in his life for more than an hour? He looked back up to her dazzling smile, her twinkling eyes, her scrunched nose.

Bucky didn’t think he could stay away.

calm waters if that serves you best

“I have to get better. I have to fix it, so I’m not broken. So I’m not doing the same thing over and over again because it’s fucking exhausting and I don’t want to exhaust you.”

in the right hands +

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes from her lips, from the frost melting into teardrops on her eyelashes, from her slack face that seemed like the life was being drawn straight out of it with every wavering breath. 

Blue lips were supposed to go with twinkling eyes and sticky fingers and half a headache from being in the sun too long.

straight through the heart ☾

Before you could answer him, offer any explanation for your presence in his bathroom, the reflection of his eyes dropped to the reflection of your chest. 

Or rather, it dropped to the reflection of crimson spreading across your bra, coating your fingers, beginning to trace down your stomach like dripping candle wax.

the key turns slowly ☾*

“I’ve seen you with a mark more times than I can count. I know what you look like when you’re afraid, when you’re disgusted, when you’re annoyed with them, even if they don’t have the slightest idea. This was different.”

bonus drabble: setting pins

the sound of me not calling

“On the house,” Bucky promised with a soft smile when you met his eyes. “You okay, gorgeous?”

You managed a grin. “‘Course. I got you giving me free drinks.”

Bartender!Bucky variant

we can fight the rain ☾

Bucky found it easier not to think much about what came next. Too many sins to atone, he thought. Not your fault, she promised. But still his hands, he argued. 

She’d tell him that didn’t matter, and someday if he believed her, he thought he might imagine heaven to be something like this.

two-shots + mini-series

leave what’s heavy, what’s heavy behind

deadweight +

His heart dropped clear through his stomach when he saw her. Strapped to a chair in the far corner of the room that hadn’t quite been visible from his spot on the wall, head lolling to the side, a small pool of blood forming at her feet. Bloodied wrists and ankles held fast with shackles to the arms and legs of the chair. Her face so ghostly pale it was almost translucent.

deliverance ☾*

Almost three months to the day since you’d woken up in the med bay with his hands wrapped around yours, since you’d finished your first kiss in a hospital bed and he’d stayed with you until Helen shooed him away. Almost three months of dating Bucky Barnes, which was lovely and confusing, because how many couples got together because of an accidental confession of love mid-argument post-torture in a terrorist facility? 

drabbles

and honey, i

the one with Bucky’s truck and a bottle of strawberry wine

chest infect me, waste my days

the one where Bucky tries to make it home in time for your birthday

couldn’t we just have one more

the one where you were left behind

for years or for hours, your hand in my hand

the one where Bucky climbs through the window

have them play it again

the one with a dance from a long time ago

slipped from your mouth into mine

the one where you have pneumonia

the fields are painted gold

the one where she helps him remember and then she lets him forget